Meanwhile,
Lorenzo stood on the rooftop, letting the breeze graze his face as he sipped his coffee slowly. The city's distant hum echoed below, but up here, it was calm. He exhaled softly—half relief, half reflection.
"You know," he said without turning, "it's not very priestly to sneak up on people. I thought the Sellzen family had principles… So, what do you want, Johnny?"
Sellzen emerged from the rooftop door, a plastic bag full of winnings in hand. His grin was as wide as ever, steps light with mischief.
"Sharp eyes, not surprising from someone from the Port. Still… what are you and your boss doing here? And more importantly—why didn't you tell anyone you're Austin's brother? Adopted, sure, but blood doesn't always define family."
Lorenzo took another sip, then set the coffee down and turned toward him, his expression calm but unreadable. He pointed at the bag in Sellzen's hand.
"Keep that up and you'll find yourself in hell—not because of what you do, but because of what you refuse to feel. Still, for a clown, you're oddly perceptive." He gave a slight nod. "Fine. I'll humor you. One: I'm here to watch over my brother. Someone has to, considering the storm he's walking into. Two: Miss Ceasar… has her own reasons. Some of them involve gratitude. Others go deeper. Let's just say she owes him a little more than a thank you."
Sellzen began scribbling in a notepad, a grin plastered across his face. But then, he stopped mid-stroke, his eyes lifting toward Lorenzo with surprising seriousness.
"Hey… maybe this is stupid, but since we're here—what's your take on emotions? The ones that make people… human."
Lorenzo's eyes flickered in surprise—just for a moment—before he let out a soft laugh. Not mocking, but nostalgic.
"Heh... That came outta nowhere. Oh… wait. Austin again, right? You're starting to piece it together, huh?"
He took a step back and gazed into the sky.
"You wanna know what emotion looks like on a guy like him? The first time he fell in love, he wrote something. It was the same day he got rejected… and the same day our parents drew their final breath."
Lorenzo pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat, worn and creased with time. His voice softened, quoting the words:
> "There was a time when even silence had weight—when the absence of hue and sound etched itself into my ribs. In that hollow, you arrived—not loud, not bright, but undeniable. I never did well with promises. They slipped past me like rain through open fingers. But then came you, and I began to chase flame—not for warmth, but to keep yours from fading.
I told myself I would be the spark each time the world tried to drown your light.
But now the music returns in echoes I can't feel, and the flames flicker in colors I no longer understand. There's heat, but it doesn't reach me. There's light, but it doesn't stay. The hands that once lit candles shake too much to strike fire. And perhaps that's the truth no one says aloud—sometimes even the stars must watch the sky without claiming it.
So may another hand, steadier than mine, find you. May they see the glow I only borrowed from you and call it home. And if ever your flame forgets its shape, may the memory of mine remind it.
I wasn't the name written into the final page—only the one scribbled in the margins, hoping to be noticed.
And though I walk backward into silence, I leave one truth folded between the spaces: still… always, even now—yes, especially now—
I never stopped."
Sellzen stood silently, the grin gone. He slowly folded the paper back in his mind, letting out a sigh.
"Damn… So the 'main protagonist' is a secret poet too. Guess I've got my work cut out for me. The Ice Princess better work for that idiot's heart."
---
Meanwhile, back in Miss Ceasar's office—
Labored breathing filled the quiet room.
Austin lay pinned against the leather sofa, his hands restrained above his head by Miss Ceasar's firm grip. Faint bite marks lined the edge of his neck, the crimson trails telling their own story. Her face hovered close—too close.
"Let me really thank you for the other day," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.
Austin swallowed hard, his spine tingling from a cocktail of fear, confusion, and something far worse—anticipation.
"I-I'm honored, really," he stammered, voice pcracking. "But, uh, this is wildly inappropriate. Y-You shouldn't be this grateful. I mean—ya know—thank-you cards exist for a reason."
Before he could squirm away, the door swung open with a loud creak.
Maki stood there, a mischievous smirk on her lips, holding a screwdriver.
"Sorry," she said sweetly, "messed with the lock. Hope I'm not interrupting… anything."
At that moment, as Miss Ceasar turned in shock and Austin turned pale, there was only one thought echoing in his brain like a siren:
Why the hell me?!