Frederic Chopin let out a small sigh.

If the Witch continued to drip on the carpet, it will definitely increase the chances of black mold. As much as he wanted to deal with it, he couldn't.

He was too focused on the musical notes that were swimming in his head. The rhythm that lulled warmly in his frail heart. The tempo, staccato, and polka atmosphere that moved every nerve in his arms to touch the keys.

In other words, he'll deal with the wet carpet problem later.

"...Chop-Chop is writing something naughty~♥"

"........................................."

"... O-oh wow. H-he's really into it today. I-if this keeps up... w-will he go into another phase where he plays with his piano for 10 hour straight without thinking about food... Oh god, my body would surely wither!!"

"Don't worry Penny. I'll still have to make dinner for the boys when they come back from school. Not to mention my parents and little sisters need to eat. I'll do my best to save you some food."

"... Hey, Chop-Chop... Why emphasize on 'do your best'?..."

".........................................."

"I know you can hear me. So don't pretend to phase out! Look at me!"

The wet Witch in a towel scowled and folded her arms under her bosom. The best way to explain how well her body bounced from such a simple movement... was a consistency of delicious custard pudding (#WantCustard).

Despite the foul expression on her face, she ended up sighing.

Seeing how the Composer was feverishly working on his new musical peace, she knew this War of Attrition would end badly for her.

She had to think of her value of survival. So she decided to change the topic.

"Feed me."

".......................................Hmm... Wrong note. I'll start over"

"PAY ATTENTION TO ME, CHOP-CHOP!"

.......