Noan sat on the ground, checking information on the system while Hawke began dividing the group according to their assigned numbers. He wasn't particularly interested in the process.
Krit!
Suddenly, Zhisse's voice rang out—a faint sound, but enough for Noan to hear.
He frowned, glancing toward the distance, about ten meters away. Amidst the crowd, his gaze met Caleb's.
Noan looked at him for just a second before dismissing him entirely.
After all, Noan had already decided that Caleb wasn't a friend, so there was no need to pay him any attention.
Suddenly, Caleb stood up and moved to Noan's side, asking worriedly, "Noan, are you still mad at me?"
"Is it because I let slip that you had food, and now you're treating me like this?"
Caleb deliberately spoke louder, as if wanting everyone to hear.
"Food?"
At that, the crowd's attention shifted to Noan, their murmurs growing.
"He has food?"