The night fell, and the bustling Sausage Street during daylight swiftly quieted down. Especially when the cold wind howled, pedestrians only hurried by. Hannibal parked his car, carried out a bag of food with one hand, and shut the car door with the other. Although he had peculiar tastes, that didn’t mean Hannibal refused ordinary food. He hadn’t reached Jason’s level. Most of the time, he still relied on ordinary food for nutrition. This made him somewhat helpless. But he still endured it. Only through endurance would ‘food’ become all the more sweet, wouldn’t it? Through this window, the pâtissier saw Hannibal, apron-clad, serving food to Jason. The metal tin holding the hot cocoa began to slowly deform in the pâtissier’s hands.