From Sneers to Cheers: Anthea’s Ascent (Anthea ) novel Chapter 479

The man sitting across from Anthea had an air of sophistication about him, like someone who had received an excellent education.

As Anthea picked up a drumstick, she asked curiously, "Doesn't seeing me devour this big drumstick stir any feelings in you at all?"

"Is there a difference between a drumstick and a salad?" Sherman raised an eyebrow subtly.

Anthea replied, "A drumstick is meat! Aren't you the least bit curious about what it tastes like?"

Sherman took a sip of his soup, "To me, their only purpose is to fill the stomach."

Anthea took a bite of her drumstick, "You're quite the enigma! You earn so much money, yet you neither indulge nor enjoy. What's the point?"

Sherman looked up at Anthea, his deep-set eyes as inscrutable as a midnight sky. "I used to wonder about that myself, but now I know."

"So, what's your deal?" Anthea prodded.

"That's a secret," Sherman said, setting down his spoon and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Despite his relaxed posture, he exuded an innate elegance, and with Anthea sitting across from him, they drew more than a few curious glances.

After they finished their meal, Sherman drove Anthea home.

As they pulled up, Sherman noticed someone standing there—Nanson—holding what appeared to be a metal pipe.

When Anthea got out of the car, Nanson hurried over.

"Uncle, what brings you here?" she asked.

Nanson, still holding the pipe, grinned, "Annie, I recently learned a couple of new martial arts moves. Let me show you!"

Martial arts moves? Anthea looked at Nanson, puzzled.

Nanson shot a fleeting glance at Sherman and continued, "This isn't aimed at anyone in particular, just trying to lighten the mood."

With that, Nanson began demonstrating a series of martial arts moves, concluding with a flourish as he bent the metal pipe with a loud snap.

The message was clear: anyone thinking of messing with his beloved niece would end up like that pipe.

Sherman thought to himself, was Nanson indirectly warning him? But he had no proof.

Nanson nodded towards Sherman, "So, Mr. Christensen, what do you think of my moves?"

"Very impressive," Sherman complimented.

Nanson continued, "It's late, so I won't keep you, Mr. Christensen. Safe travels home."

In the morning, Anthea drove Nanson to the airport.

She had just got her driver's license.

Nanson, sitting in the passenger seat, was a bit anxious, "Annie, are you sure about this? Maybe I should just take a cab."

Anthea smiled, "Don't worry, I'm quite skilled."

"Are you?" Nanson asked skeptically.

She had only had her license for three days; how skilled could she be? Besides, female drivers had a certain reputation.

Nanson was genuinely concerned.

"Of course, I am." Anthea started the engine with practiced ease, reminding Nanson, "Buckle up, Uncle."

Nanson fastened his seatbelt.

"Uncle," Anthea advised, "Pellonia has been grappling with serious racial issues lately, with protests and demonstrations widespread. Try to avoid going out at night if you can."

Nanson nodded, suddenly feeling like the roles were reversed—like Anthea was the elder, fussing over him as he prepared to travel.