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“That stinking bastard...!”
Lee Hyeon-Su's fidgety hand kept trying to find a place to rest, only to fail repeatedly. His hand would grab his knee before rising up to his chest, then went down again.
Wiggins glanced at his disciple. “Isn't it a good thing?”
“Of course, it is. It is a very good thing, but…” Lee Hyeon-Su groaned loudly. “In times like this, I grow to hate myself more, master. I know I should be happy, but my brain only cares about benefits, you see…”
“As in, if only they had died back there?”
“...”
Wiggins chuckled gently while sipping his black tea. “No need to beat yourself up over it, Mister Lee. You are supposed to think that way, after all. As a species, that's how we operate, and it's a part of our job description, too.”
“Even so...”
“And that's why we can't stand on top as leaders,” said Wiggins, his demeanor relaxed. “A leader of men can't always be ruled by his brain, Mister Lee. At times, they must pay no attention to potential benefits. We humans are quite complicated creatures, after all. It's impossible to grade us in hard, cold numbers.”
“Yes, I think so, too.”
“It might be a loss, yes. But, so what? Haven't we already acquired what we initially wanted?” Wiggins asked, his gaze toward Lee Hyeon-Su slightly languid.
'The Round Table is limited in that regard...'
The Round Table selected its Master from the pool of its top knights. Which meant that, if a knight wanted to become the Master, they needed to be...
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