"That's basically it," Shiro said, just as he finished giving Nora the summary of where he was up to in the diary.
Luca stepped in front of them.
He tilted his head back and blinked. Then blinked again. Then gave up and just stared, because apparently his brain needed a second to accept what his eyes were telling him.
This wasn't the usual Luca. Not the Luca who was perpetually too busy juggling multiple girls to remember any of their names—the one who always smelled like he'd walked through a perfume store during a small explosion.
The Luca he knew would rather admire his own reflection in a spoon than notice someone drawing a weapon behind him. The Luca he knew had once tried to kill Shiro because a single drop of blood almost landed on his jacket.
No. This was a mature, responsible version of Luca. The kind who showed up when things got serious and actually handled them. The kind Shiro wouldn't mind admitting he respected—even if the words tasted like sand on the way out.
