"Hic-hic—uh… sniff-sniff."
Hearing the apology, Georgia's eyes welled with tears. Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands.
"Uh, hey, Georgia, I said I'm sorry… please stop crying!" Leor's face twitched with panic as he noticed a group of burly, ape-faced men rising from their benches, their eyes locking onto him.
"Oye, lad, what the fuck did you just say?" A man in a cheap brown shirt and black trousers barked, his voice rough like gravel. He looked like a construction worker.
"Is she your lover or something? Even if she is, shouting that in public… with kids around? Are you nuts?" Another man, older, dressed in a well-pressed suit, scoffed. He had the air of a merchant.
"Nah," the construction worker cut in, eyes narrowing. "Then why would she cry if she was his lover? Bastard must've done something to her."
"I—I'm fine…" Georgia finally muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Georgia, I—" He reached out, but before he could finish, she turned and ran, lifting the hem of her gown as she disappeared down the left street. Embarrassed. Humiliated.
He watched her retreating figure, his stomach twisting. 'What have I done? What's wrong with me? Goddess.' At this moment he felt scared, confused, his negative emotions rising unnaturally.
"It's a misunderstanding, gentlemen!" Johan's voice sliced through the tension as he stepped in front of him, blocking the men's advance. His expression was calm, but his stance was firm—like a man pacifying wild animals.
Johan glanced at Leor, now crouching. 'This guy reeks of trouble… either he's the main character or the tragic side character in my story.' With that thought, he turned back to the approaching men.
"It's just a couple's quarrel—please try to understand. I apologize on his behalf. You see, my friend… well, he's already a bit mentally challenged and his grandmother died today," Johan added, his tone shifting to one of pleading sincerity.
The men exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable.
Finally, one of them—the largest, most ape-faced of the group—spoke gruffly. "I see… but you'd better keep a close eye on someone like him. Next time, things might not end so peacefully. And we could have involved the authorities—you know how that ends for commoners."
'How?' Johan thought, fully intrigued, planning to ask Leor later.
They shot him a long, hard look before returning to their seats.
"Seriously?" Leor hissed under his breath at Johan.
Johan smirked, nudging him in the ribs. "You're welcome." Smug satisfaction dripped from his voice— 'revenge for that morning, no doubt. But at the end of the day, he still saved my ass.' Leor thought, not paying it another thought.
He barely acknowledged Johan, his gaze lingering back on the empty street where Georgia had vanished, a hollow ache settling in his chest.
He wanted to chase after her, to explain himself, but his feet felt rooted to the ground. He didn't even know what was wrong with him.
Johan sighed, folding his arms. "But seriously, you need to chill the fuck out." His voice sharpened. "First, calling a dying old lady a bitch in front of her teenage daughter, and now this? Saying something like that out of the blue—"
Leor didn't respond. Johan didn't expect him to.
'Also back at the academy I felt the same desire to say something vile to Alya when she was crying, if I had…' Leor thought, struggling to make sense.
Thankfully, they didn't have to endure those awkward stares for long.
A carriage approached from the direction of his house, stopping near the wooden coach station.
They walked over and climbed inside, joined by a few other passengers.
The driver gave them a brief glance before muttering, "Tell me when to drop you."
Public carriages like this usually traveled between major crossroads, stopping wherever passengers needed it to.
Leor leaned back against the wooden seat, letting the afternoon sun warm his skin and thoughts flow.
'What a fucked up day. Was this even possible? I feel like I have lived a whole month in just a single day. Why was everything happening today? I made Georgia cry. My reputation is fucked if anyone heard about it… especially Clara. She was good friends with Georgia—she will kill me or worse be disgusted by me. But seriously… why did I even say that?'
Because she was beautiful? Well, of course, she was. Even back when I was sixteen or seventeen, I found myself drawn to her.
But love? No, I don't think so. It was simpler than that—the way my eyes lingered on the curve of her hips, the way her soft, red lips parted when she spoke, the pale smoothness of her skin catching the light just right. A thought, fleeting yet persistent. Something primal and natural.
Not that I'd ever say it out loud.
She was my neighbor. My sister's friend. Someone I had known for years. My friend… maybe not anymore. To cross that line—it would be wrong, wouldn't it? I respected her. So why… why did I say my primal desires out loud?' The more he tried to make sense, the more confusing it became.
'Maybe Georgia won't tell anyone….' he stopped thinking with a faint glimmer of hope.
His gaze drifted to Johan, the blond-haired man sitting to his right.
Johan sat upright, posture rigid yet at ease—like a soldier at rest but never off guard. His sharp eyes scanned the passengers, dissecting every nervous twitch, every clenched jaw.
He was reading them, deciphering unspoken stories through body language only he understood.
'Their culture and behavior resemble the 1800s, not the Middle Ages—I'm sure of that. As the main character, maybe I could introduce technology… nah, I don't know shit! I barely know the basics. I can use a computer properly, but building one from scratch? No way.' Johan's eyes dimmed slightly at the thought.
The carriage rocked over the uneven cobblestones, its wooden frame groaning with each turn. It was cramped, the scent of sweat and damp fabric thick in the air.
Ten passengers filled the space, yet each seemed locked in their own world.
A woman near the front clutched a rosary, her lips moving in silent prayer. Beside her, a man dozed, chin resting against his chest, lulled by the carriage's sway—probably exhausted from a long day's work.
Two merchants muttered in hushed voices, fingers tapping against their knees—discussing a business deal or selling drugs to each other.
A dim lantern swayed from the ceiling, casting shifting shadows across their faces.
The only sounds were the creaking wood, the muffled clatter of hooves, an occasional cough, or the rustle of fabric as someone shifted in their seat.
The man in front of Johan slumped against the carriage's wooden panel, mouth hanging open, breathing slow and heavy. A thin string of saliva glistened at the corner of his lips, stretching downward before snapping onto his shirt.
His stomach twisted.
Johan tore his gaze away, but the image clung to his mind, stubborn and repetitive. He squeezed his eyes shut, but even in darkness, he saw it—too clearly.
His lips curled in disgust.
The carriage groaned to a halt, jolting passengers awake. Some stirred, others quietly gathered their belongings.
Outside, the city unfolded in restless motion.
77 Crossroad, Wellington. Just another junction in the empire's sprawling veins. But to Leor, it was home.
Both stepped down, the weight of today's events lifting slightly as their boots met solid ground.
To the right, past the baker's stall perfumed with yeast and sugar, stood Leor's house—second to last on the street.
'Or was it? The street opened at both ends, bleeding into the city's chaos, which meant second-to-last could also be second.'
A pointless thought.
Wellington—no, the Thornfield Empire—was a beast of a city. Crowded. Suffocating.
The streets pulsed with bodies moving in every direction, shoulder to shoulder, breath to breath.
Carriages rattled over cobblestones, merchants shouted their wares, and the scent of sweat, roasted meat, and damp stone mingled in the thick air.
In the capital, space wasn't something one owned—it was something one fought for.
The problem?
That bakery? The one perfumed with yeast and sugar?
It was the same one Georgia worked at.
'Would I be stoned to death if I entered the street? I do deserve it to be honest…'