Confused though she is, she can still appreciate how CUTE Nico looks when she really gets into imagining these scenarios. ❝ Ahhh-h, I see . . . ❞ she answers, nodding with all the pretend but charmed understanding of a mother who had just heard their child explain the universe ( she doesn’t realize this is the actual reason to explain flamingo’s color ). ❝ Nico-chan, you should be a professor. ❞ Convinced or not, she believes Nico could hold an audience’s attention.
The idea of a shrimp-flavored potato changes Yerin’s tune completely, however. Trying to picture the taste of a usual golden-baked buttery potato married to another sweet but briny flavor, Yerin finds herself captured by the concept. ❝ That would be really delicious, actually . . ❞ Perfect for pasta! But, they couldn’t very well eat Nico.
❝ We’d probably have to form a team to protect you, Nico-chan. ❞
❝ A professor!? Haha, no way, N-Nico’s not smart enough for that! ❞ Her laughter becomes borderline hysterical in her haste to brush over the notion-- if she accidentally reveals the intelligence hiding underneath the floppy, dyed pigtails and accessories then-- then-- dead end! Nico’s likability factor would be flattened by a giant fist from the skies, smushed like clay under her hands in art class. However, the notion of being flattened is soon replaced with the fear of being eaten when she notices the slight gleam in Yerin’s eyes. Uh oh, does that mean--
A team-- for protection!?
❝ You mean-- but that means Nico would be delicious! ❞ With an ominous weight setting itself down upon her shoulders, she drops to her knees like an actress under a spotlight in a dramatic scene, crocodile tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. ❝ This is it. This is the end. ❞
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