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"Vic!"
Enid finally couldn't help but shout, her voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and jealousy she didn't even fully realize herself.
Vic, currently immersed in his role as the "Wolf Whisperer," looked up at the sound, wearing that brilliant, heartless smile.
"Oh! Hey! Enid!"
He quickly stood up, casually ruffling Carl's hair one last time and dusting the grass off his trousers as he walked toward them.
Behind him, the line of Sinclair brothers—and a still-eager Carl—subconsciously followed him.
Like a pack of wolf pups trailing their alpha.
The scene was... weirdly suffocating yet hilarious.
"Uh... hello, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair."
Vic walked up, showing a rare hint of awkwardness. He pulled a smile that attempted to be well-behaved, though his underlying manic energy still flickered around the edges.
"I'm Victor Black. Enid's... boyfriend."
Esther Sinclair's gaze was as sharp as a airport scanner. She swept from Vic's unruly black hair down to his grass-stained pant legs, then to the "pups" with wet, eager eyes standing behind him.
Finally, her eyes landed back on his face, which was trying very hard to look "normal."
The corners of her mouth slowly curled into a meaningful, almost pleased arc.
"So, you are the boy who gave Enid 'courage'."
Esther's voice held a smile, placing heavy emphasis on the word courage, her eyes darting between Vic and Enid's exploding red face.
"It seems... you aren't just good at encouragement. You're also quite skilled at... handling our 'little ones'?"
Mr. Murray Sinclair's expression was far more inscrutable.
He simply nodded slightly, his gaze lingering on Vic for a moment before sweeping over his own disappointing sons who had clearly been "tamed." A very soft, unreadable hmph escaped his nose.
Behind Vic, the Sinclair brothers finally realized that acting like dogs waiting for a treat in front of their parents was losing them some major werewolf dignity. They coughed awkwardly, trying to straighten their spines and recover some cold, wolfish aloofness.
But the glances they stole at Vic were still filled with expectation: Can we play again later?
Carl, ignoring the tension completely, hugged Vic's thigh and looked up. "Vic! One more time! Throw it higher this time!"
Enid felt like her cheeks were hot enough to fry eggs. She wanted to dig a hole and bury herself, Vic, and especially her embarrassing brothers right then and there!
"Mom! Dad! It's not what you think!"
Enid tried to salvage the disastrous situation, her voice weak.
"Vic isn't usually like this... he's actually... um..."
"So, when are you two planning to have wolf pups?"
Esther interrupted Enid effortlessly.
Her question was a throwing knife, hitting the bullseye with lethal precision.
Vic's brain—usually running at high speed, filled with crazy potion formulas and chocolate-flavored fantasies—jammed.
Have... have what now? Wolf pups?
The smile on his face froze, and his pupils dilated slightly. It was as if he had heard a universal law more ridiculous than Venom voluntarily going vegan.
Isn't this skipping a few steps? Between 'confirming the relationship' and 'discussing breeding,' shouldn't there be dating, fighting, making up, fighting again, making up again, a formal family dinner, and at least three hundred chocolate-sharing rituals first?
"Mom!" Enid's voice cracked, sounding close to tears. Her face was as red as a ripe tomato as she yanked on her mother's sleeve, trying to stop this social suicide. "We're only eighteen!"
Esther waved her hand dismissively.
"So? When I was your age, I was already carrying your three rowdy brothers."
Three in one go? Vic's mind instantly galloped off like a wild horse.
He suddenly remembered the Wayne couple—another pair of werewolves he knew. They seemed to be outstanding representatives of the "multiple births" phenomenon. From the moment he met them, Aunt Wanda's belly never seemed to be truly flat. Their family headcount was rushing toward four hundred; they were practically walking trophies for werewolf fertility.
His gaze subconsciously drifted to Enid's flat stomach. Werewolf bloodlines... sounds like they are very productive.
Will Enid also...
Hiss— Vic sucked in a cold breath mentally.
That would be a shockingly large army of little wolf pups!
Formula! Teething rings! Dog... uh, wolf houses! And the massive expenses for school, bail money for when they cause trouble, and possibly guns for self-defense!
His expression turned extremely serious. His brain began spinning at Mach speed, conducting an intense financial audit and future strategic planning session.
Although the profits from the arms dealing business are considerable, faced with a potential reinforced company of wolf cubs, the current supply chain scale is obviously far from enough.
Maybe I should expand into new sectors? Monopolize the chocolate supply at Nevermore? Or develop exploding candy specifically for toddlers?
His eyes glazed over, filled with "anxiety" about the future and a desperate thirst for money.
Enid noticed Vic staring at her stomach with a gaze that was incredibly complex, focused, and laced with worry—as if she were already carrying a bundle of dynamite that was about to detonate a financial crisis.
"Vic!" She shrieked, slamming her hands over her stomach in a mix of shame and anger. "What kind of garbage are you thinking about?!"
"How much formula money I need to earn to feed a litter of wolf pups so they don't starve."
Vic, completely lost in his Mind Palace, blurted out the truth subconsciously.
The air froze instantly.
Enid turned to stone.
Esther raised an eyebrow.
Mr. Murray let out a snort of unclear meaning.
"Uh... um... I mean..."
Vic finally snapped back to reality. Seeing Enid's face, which looked ready to bleed, and her eyes spitting fire, cold sweat instantly poured down his back. He tried to backtrack.
"I mean... future... long-term planning... uh... sustainable development..."
Esther grabbed Vic, her arm strong and powerful, wearing an expression of "I understand you" appreciation.
"Oh! Good boy! So thoughtful! Planning for a rainy day is the sign of a responsible man! Tell me, how much do you have in savings right now? Enough for a down payment... oh no, enough for the initial investment?"
"Uh, the last few months... maybe... a hundred grand or so?"
Vic cautiously reported a number (approx. $100k+), mentally calculating the per capita cost of raising a wolf pup.
"But maybe... it's not quite enough..." His tone was full of sincere worry.
A hundred grand?! Dollars?!
The Sinclair family collectively experienced an earthquake in their pupils.
"What kind of business do you do to make that much money?!"
Mr. Murray finally couldn't help but speak, his steady voice laced with disbelief.
"Arms dea—"
Vic's truth-telling skill triggered automatically.
"HANDICRAFTS!!!"
Enid lunged forward with the speed of lightning, clapping her hand firmly over Vic's mouth, using enough force to nearly suffocate him.
She squeezed out an incredibly stiff, sweaty smile at her parents.
"Ah-ha-ha... Vic is very good with his hands! He makes... uh... handmade necklaces! Yes! Purely handmade! Very popular! Supply can't keep up with demand! Hehehe..."
Esther gave her daughter's exploding red face and Vic's turning-white face a meaningful look. She leaned into Enid's ear, whispering at a volume she thought was low but was actually audible to everyone present:
"Listen to Mom, lock this down immediately! A man who looks good, has a... unique brain... and knows how to make money is a scarce resource! Strike early so you don't lose out. Tie him up and drag him home if you have to! Don't come crying to me later if some other girl snatches him up!"
Enid shot a resentful glare at Vic, who had just broken free from her "claws" and was gasping for air. Her inner self was weeping rivers.
What could she say? That her daughter was already late to the party, currently sharing this "scarce resource" with a "Goth girl," and had to sign a damn "Peaceful Coexistence" treaty?
Just then, Carl, who was still hugging Vic's leg, looked up with his innocent face and delivered a fatal blow.
"Is Big Brother going to marry Sister Enid and make babies? Does that mean you can play frisbee with me every day?"
He blinked his big, naive eyes and dropped another bomb.
"If you don't want my sister, that's okay too! I have lots of friends, and they all have very pretty sisters! I can introduce them to you! As long as you play with me every day!"
Enid: "!!!"
Her small fist hardened instantly!
This little traitor! Selling out his own family?! Digging away the foundation right in front of his sister?! And introducing other 'pretty sisters'?!
Terrified that her mother would ask another devastating question, and to prevent her brother from continuing to peddle her "rivals," Enid made a snap decision. She shoved Vic away, pointing at an old vending machine in the corner of the quad, speaking at Mach speed:
"Vic! I... I'm thirsty! I want a milk tea! The kind with no tea and no milk! It's in that machine! Go buy it for me! NOW!"
"Huh? Oh..."
Vic's brain was still trying to process "Formula Money," "Arms Dealing," "Pretty Sisters," and "Milk Tea with No Tea and No Milk"—information coming from completely different frequencies. He was in a state of total confusion.
He nodded blankly, like a robot receiving a command, turned around, and swayed unsteadily toward the lonely vending machine.