The Don Ferocelli family's garden, though not as extravagant as the Del Fiore estate's rose garden or the Di Malventos' colorful floral displays, had a unique charm.
Perhaps because the lady of the house was from a foreign land, there were many unfamiliar, exotic flowers.
And that, in its own way, made it just as special.
Even the small bridge crossing the stream was made of red-painted wood rather than the grand stonework typical of Western gardens.
As Rocco took it all in, a strange sense of nostalgia washed over him.
Honestly… if he had to choose, the Don Ferocelli family's garden felt the most familiar—like something from a distant memory.
Just as he was lost in thought, a sulky voice sounded from behind.
"…You're staring awfully hard. Do you really like this garden that much?"
Rocco turned around and, just as expected, found Laxus standing there, his cheeks puffed in a pout.
