...
"Not bad at all, you make a lot of sense," Yves King chuckled, patting her on the head.
"Uncle Yves King, I was forced into this, too. Who can be blamed when your disguise is so bizarre today?" If anyone else had patted Dahlia Sanders on the head, she would have burst out in anger. But for some reason, when Yves King did it, she felt really warm and comfortable. It was like a father would do in her imagination.
"You haven't seen anything yet," Yves King said, moving with the crowd towards the theatre entrance, glancing around, "Really? I heard this theatre can only accommodate a few thousand people. There must be at least tens of thousands of people here?" There was still nearly an hour before the concert began, and the crowd had not yet reached its peak. This worried him, as the more people there were, the greater the potential chaos in a terrorist attack.
Furthermore, if anything volatile were to occur in such a densely populated plaza, a disaster could easily ensue.