Junior hesitated to bring up Kudo's topic; for if any of the rumors were even slightly true, he would be the perfect match for Klaire. Even Metelda needed only a grunt to sum it up: four years older, keen-eyed for the unnatural, effortlessly handsome, and living a life stable on paper but dramatic in reality.
Junior shrank lower into his seat, waiting and hoping Klaire would forget the unnatural and concentrate on the okay-ish brat in front of her.
Unfortunately, his dreams lived shorter than Metelda's grunts.
"Oh, yeah… Kudo!" Klaire cheekily smiled at Metelda's reminder. "Tammy's sister, Tammy?!"
Metelda grunted again. And though Klaire never saw a smile on her face, Junior was shocked by her amusement.
"She wishes everyone had the same name," said Junior.
Metelda nodded in response, her energy for grunting already exhausted.
"A simple nod for greeting, ending any conversation, and grabbing attention," Junior clarified all of Klaire's doubts before she raised them.
Klaire knew by the way Metelda lingered on her for a second too long; all of them were a simple list of attributes, hovering in a three-dimensional projection, as in the Litrpg novels.
"There's no way he could've solved the case in twenty-four hours." Junior's rant brought Klaire back into the present. "People of this place are crazier than those in my town."
"He solved it the moment he glanced through the beat-cops' reports." Klaire jumped to Kudo's defense. "I've known him long enough to know he ain't ordinary. That's why—"
"—No!" Metelda said in a sharp tone, her expression clear enough for the approaching cheerleader to read and bolt.
Metelda took a deep breath, and Klaire knew whatever came next would be her final words for the month. She might even need Junior to haul her back and forth from the mansion to maintain attendance.
"Final shot for a new life. Wanted it, right? Choose wisely this time around."
Klaire clenched her fist.
This time around?
What did she mean by this time around?
The words churned in Klaire's head, dragging her breath with them until her nostrils flared and her lungs burned.
"Convenient for you to say," she snapped at last, her voice breaking through clenched teeth as her chest tightened around her throat, begging her to stop. "Never lost someone, have you!"
The words wounded her more than anyone else, yet anger pried loose worse thoughts. Her fingers crushed the tumbler in her grip, wishing it were her throat instead.
The glass shattered inward, taking her restraint with it. The words spilled out—raw, cruel, unforgivable. Words that tore at the soul and could never be taken back.
Anger bound its wielders in a cruel grip. Its heat compelled them to dig ever deeper, until descent became the only choice; a choice that led straight to hell.
By now, Klaire would have thrown coffee in her opponent's face, drawn them in with raised hands, and finished it with a clean, brutal nose break. That was the norm—Always!
But the norm never worked on this feline.
Klaire had already scratched, punched, yelled, and tried every provocation she knew to rattle Metelda. Nothing worked.
And she knew: nothing ever would.
Worse still, Metelda forgave and forgot almost instantly. Not that any of them were skilled enough to tell whether that forgiveness was real behind her poker face.
Junior yanked Metelda closer and snapped her collar open, revealing a small scar tucked beneath her collarbone.
"Remember," he muttered through gritted teeth, forcing his voice low and his lips unreadable. "Don't stab me." He shot Metelda a glare as her fingers drifted toward her fork. "Hello! I'm helping here!"
Noticing the missing button, he scooted his chair closer to Klaire. "If you want to fight," he declared, puffing up, "you'll have to go through her… first."
He patted himself on the back, visibly pleased—right until Metelda's indifferent gaze slid past him entirely, settling instead on the scrapes of curry still lingering on her plate.
"Let me finish that for you," he said, grinning as he snatched the plate away.
"I'm sorry," Klaire said, her voice hoarse.
She tried to command her tears to retreat, but they defied every order and pooled under her eyelids, blurring the world into soft, trembling shapes.
She begged them again and again, but they kept seeping through, pressing against the fragile barrier she had sworn would never break: The promise to herself to never cry again.
When was the last time she cried?
When she was nine and new to the streets?
No!
She had cried plenty since then, and every tear had revolved around… Metelda.
Wrongful arrests, political games played in the name of justice, public spectacles, and forced attempts of every kind, none of them broke her. None of them would, while Metelda's every lazy attempt could.
Her gaze drifted to Metelda's chest—the scar, the memories—still raw in her mind.
What's wrong with me?
"Eh!" Metelda grunts; the sudden expression of interest somehow cuts through the moment and stops Klaire's tears short of spilling over.
Junior jerks upright, startled by the unexpected sound. "Umm—mmm—ah!" He struggled to decode it.
Following Metelda's inconspicuous, lazy stare toward Jessy, he broke into a grin. "Your cover's been restored."
He hovered a hand over Klaire's back and hesitated, unsure whether to comfort or retreat.
"Eh-hh…" Metelda groans.
"And now she's chewing me out for some reason!" he blurted. "I didn't even do anything!" He raises both hands in surrender and frowns at the reply hidden within her silence.
"What do you mean—exactly!?"
———<>||<>——— End of Chapter Sixty-one. ———<>||<>———