Pushing open the antique shop's door, Locke's face lit up with an easy grin.
The brass bell above jingled crisply, its sound echoing through the dimly lit store.
"Shopkeep, this kid didn't cause you any trouble, did he?" Locke said, ruffling Dio's blond hair.
"Nah, not at all," the old man replied, adjusting his round glasses, his eyes crinkling into crescents. "Your boy's got a good eye. He picked out this little trinket."
He pointed to the silver coin in Dio's hand. "Heard it's his birthday today, so consider it a small gift from me."
"Oh?" Locke took the coin from Dio, rubbing it lightly between his fingers. "How much for this, sir? It's…"
He flipped the half-black, half-white coin, noticing the ruby embedded in the snake's eye on the dark side, glinting with an odd shimmer.
"It's a bit fancy, don't you think?"
"Not worth much," the old man said with a wave, his wide sleeve stirring up a puff of dust. "Just a little knickknack. As long as the kid's happy, that's what counts."
Hiss.
Locke sucked in a breath. This guy was a master at tugging heartstrings—talk about a critical hit to a parent's wallet!
"Well…" Locke glanced around, his eyes landing on a slightly worn wooden globe by the counter. "I'll take this one, then. Call it a toy for the kid."
"Deal," the old man said, his wrinkles smoothing out with a grin. "Hundred bucks, and we're buddies."
"?!"
Locke's hand twitched, nearly dropping the globe. This rough-looking wooden thing was worth that much? Jonathan could probably whittle one himself!
But seeing Dio's excited grin as he played with the coin, Locke gritted his teeth and pulled out his wallet.
"Dad," Dio said, catching his father's hesitation with a sly glint in his red eyes. "Maybe we—"
"Sold!" Locke slapped the cash down with a flourish.
But as they turned to leave, a nagging feeling tugged at him. Trying to sound casual, he said, "Hey, sir, you ever hear of Jackie Chan?"
"?"
"Chen Long?" The old man blinked, then chuckled. "You're pulling my leg, mister. I barely step outside this shop, don't know many folks."
"My bad," Locke said, chuckling at his own silly thought as he led Dio toward the door.
But just as they stepped out, Locke caught something through Star Platinum's peripheral vision.
The old man was slipping the hundred-dollar bill into a drawer—where a pile of identical ouroboros silver coins gleamed.
Got played!
Still, glancing at Dio, who was practically bouncing with excitement over his two new birthday gifts, Locke shrugged.
Eh, as long as Dio's happy.
"Dad, that old guy's a slick businessman!" Dio said.
"Yeah, butter up the kid first, then the parent's wallet takes the hit," Locke grumbled, ruffling Dio's hair. "You enjoying watching your old man get fleeced?"
"Nah, I'm just happy you'd spend that much on me," Dio said with a cheeky hum.
"Hey!" Locke laughed. "Kid, you're getting way too smooth with that silver tongue."
Alright, fine. Seeing Dio like this? That hundred bucks was worth it.
---
Night fell.
After wandering Chinatown all day, the father-son duo decided to switch things up for dinner.
After all…
"We… (munch munch munch)… what're we… (munch munch munch)… eating tonight?" Dio asked, chomping on a candied hawthorn stick.
"…"
Locke pinched the bridge of his nose. This kid had eaten his way through an entire street and still wasn't slowing down. At this rate, his wallet was gonna be toast.
Beep beep!
"Planet Daily, here we are," the tour bus driver called out.
Stepping off the bus, Locke and Dio made a beeline for the most famous French restaurant next to the Planet Daily building.
Le Ciel Étoilé.
The Starry Sky.
Rumor had it, this was one of Metropolis's few Michelin three-star spots, where reservations needed to be made three months in advance.
How'd Locke score a table? Well…
Big thanks to his buddy Lionel, who'd slipped him a dining voucher last Christmas. No reservation needed—just walk in and use it.
"Sir, you're welcome to take a seat at Leo," the waiter said, handing back the voucher with a professional smile.
"Huh?" Locke took the gold-embossed card, puzzled. "You don't keep this?"
The young waiter faltered, then leaned in and lowered his voice. "Sir, that's a LutherCorp black gold VIP pass. It's valid here forever, unlimited visits. You could even bring twenty guests if you wanted."
Locke's mouth twitched.
Last Christmas Eve, Lionel had casually stuffed the card in his pocket, saying, "There's a new steak joint in Metropolis. Here's a voucher for a main course. Merry Christmas."
That filthy rich jerk!
Wait. That filthy rich jerk's my friend?
Never mind, then.
Following the waiter through the main hall, lined with impressionist paintings, the restaurant glowed with soft lighting, casting a warm halo over Dio's blond hair. Servers in crisp black uniforms glided between tables, pouring wine and serving dishes with practiced elegance.
At their table, covered with a pristine white cloth, Dio's red eyes reflected the glint of silver cutlery. Even with well-dressed patrons casting curious or judgmental glances at the plainly dressed father and son, Dio remained unfazed, poised as ever.
"Dad," Dio said with a smirk, tapping his crystal glass with a fork, letting it ring out. "I bet these Metropolis high rollers have never seen a farmer this cool or his genius kid."
Locke's face flushed, and he waved it off. "Kids say the darndest things."
But the grin creeping up betrayed how much he was eating it up.
The appetizers arrived—foie gras with figs, truffle-baked escargot, and some kind of caviar dusted with gold flecks that neither Locke nor Dio had ever seen.
Dio cautiously scooped a bit with a silver spoon and popped it in his mouth.
His eyes went wide.
"What is this?" he asked.
Locke grinned. "Good, right?"
"No flavor at all. Total rip-off for the price."
"…"
"Really?" Locke, skeptical, tried a spoonful himself.
"Well?" Dio asked.
"Tastes… grown-up?" Locke smacked his lips. The caviar was like his early years—kinda bland and pointless.
The main course was pan-seared duck breast with cherry sauce, tender and juicy, slicing like butter under the knife.
"Mmm?"
"Mmm!"
One bite, and Dio was too busy devouring it to talk, cutting carefully as if scared to miss a single morsel.
"Not bad at all," Locke said, nodding in approval. "Just feels like it's missing a little—"
Whoa.
A chill ran down his spine.
Something was watching him.
Not the curious diners, but something colder, more dangerous. The sensation slithered across the back of his neck, making his arm hairs stand on end.
"Dio," Locke said, setting down his glass, his voice calm. "I'm hitting the restroom. Take your time eating."
"Mmph," Dio mumbled, his mouth full of duck.
Locke stood, weaving through the dimly lit hallway, Star Platinum's senses on high alert, scanning for anything off in the hum of voices.
—Click!
A faint, almost imperceptible metallic clank came from the back alley.
Adjusting his sleeve as a cover, Locke summoned Star Platinum and peered through the glass of the restaurant's back door with its enhanced vision.
There, in the depths of the alley, stood a hulking figure in a stark white ceramic mask.
One second. Two.
The figure seemed to sense something, slowly turning to stare into the air.
Then, like smoke, it vanished into the darkness, leaving only a small puddle of dark red liquid on the ground, evaporating with faint black fumes.
Locke's heart sank.
What he and Dio had felt…
It wasn't their imagination.
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