⚔️Serberia Auto-translated

One of the stylists shows Renold the options available for his height. — So, do you like anything?

So, I ask Leo (so that no one sees).

Having made sure that he was at least allowed into the men's section of the local beauty studio, Renold glanced boredly at the ridiculous "hunks" looking at him from pictures and magazine covers. Then, feigning as much politeness as possible, the guy pointed to a young man with a pyramidal mustache.
—This looks pretty good... Do you think that with this look, my appearance can at least be considered somewhat acceptable for the local noble gentlemen?

- I'm not with them.

- There's no need to appeal to pity. You're not making my job any easier, and I'm not making yours any easier. But it's a job, and we live in a free country – both you and I have the right to quit at any time, - Veserod smiled sadly. - The only difference between us is that you will most likely benefit from my work in any case, but I no longer benefit from yours at this moment. What can you do? Work, "craftsman," and be glad that you are a cog in this machine. If not for me, then maybe you can help someone else.
Waving goodbye to Grechnev, Veserod heads to the bookstore.