"Irina. It's okay, don't worry."
This was a familiar scene, warm sunlight streaming into the room through the window......
"B-but... it, it's broken..." a child's trembling voice.
A little boy knelt before a shattered vase, his nimble hands piecing the fragments together.
"Don't worry, I'll fix it," he reassured, his voice a soothing balm to little Irina.
The little boy focused and calmly manipulated his magic, displaying an extraordinary ability.
Little Irina's eyes widened as she watched, amazed, as magical threads intertwined in the air. The broken pieces of the vase floated up, reassembling themselves by an unseen force.
It was a wondrous scene, showcasing the little boy's innate talent.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The warm sunlight seemed to flicker, and a woman walked in. Her gaze was cold and sharp, her fiery red hair framing her stern face. Yellow eyes coldly locked onto the little boy and the restored vase.
"What happened here?" the woman's voice cut through the residual magic in the room.
The little boy hesitated, his eyes darting around. "Nothing, Madam. We were just playing."
However, the woman's keen perception didn't miss the traces of magic lingering in the room. Her eyes grew colder as she scrutinized him. "Just playing?" she asked, suspicion lacing her tone.
She walked with measured steps towards the restored vase, squinting as she examined the magical traces on it. She said nothing, simply waving her hand towards the vase.
With her movement, the atmosphere in the room changed, a strange power enveloping the restored vase. Little Irina watched in shock as the magic that had pieced it together began to unravel.
The vase shattered once more, fragments scattering across the floor.
Fear washed over her instantly, and little Irina lowered her head. Even as a child, she knew what lying to her mother meant.
The woman's gaze was as sharp and cold as a blade, fixed intently on the broken vase, her silence amplifying the tension in the room. The air grew heavy, stifling. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice icy.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her gaze shifting from the vase to the little boy.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, the little boy met the Madam's gaze without hesitation. "I'm sorry, Madam, it was my fault. We were playing, and I accidentally knocked over the vase."
The woman's gaze remained icy, and after hearing his confession, she said coldly, "Is that so?" her tone devoid of any emotion.
"Yes," the little boy answered firmly.
"Very well, hold out your hand," the woman said in a commanding tone.
The little boy extended his hand without hesitation.
Whoosh!
The woman's palm ignited with a flame, swiftly engulfing the little boy's hand, leaving a burning mark.
"Ah!"
The little boy gritted his teeth, letting out a moan of pain. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes as he fought to endure the pain.
The woman then turned her gaze to little Irina, her face expressionless. "This is the consequence of disobedience."
!
At that moment, Irina's body jolted, and her eyes snapped open.
"Hah..."
She was pulled back to reality, the gentle rocking of the train slowly replacing the unsettling dream.
"Hah..."
Her breathing gradually steadied as she looked around, the lingering effects of the dream still present in her mind.
'That dream again.'
As she looked up, she noticed Morse watching her, his face as expressionless as ever.
"Did you have a nightmare?" Morse asked, his tone flat, but with a hint of curiosity.
'Is it about him?'
As a player, Morse knew about Irina, and there was someone who was a very important factor in Irina's route.
"It's nothing, just a strange dream," Irina replied, avoiding his gaze, trying to shake off the unease brought on by the dream.
Morse continued to watch her, his expression unreadable. "Dreams can sometimes reveal things we don't expect; they are reflections of our subconscious."
Irina sighed, feeling the unsettling dream still lingering in her mind. "Just old memories, it's nothing."
"Memories..." At the mention of the word, Morse's eyes changed slightly, something she couldn't quite pinpoint flashing through his mind. "Sometimes it's memories that shape us."
Irina looked at him suspiciously. "You sound like a philosopher."
Morse shrugged. "I just like to think; if that makes me a philosopher, there's nothing wrong with that."
"Heh, whatever you say."
Morse leaned back in his seat, his gaze shifting from the scenery outside the window to Irina. "You know, memories always surface when you least expect them. They're like fragments of our past, constantly influencing who we are now."
Irina raised an eyebrow. "You're quite the expert on memories?"
Morse's expression remained calm, but Irina sensed a subtle change. "I observe, it's my habit. People often inadvertently reveal information about themselves."
Irina felt a surge of annoyance, as if he knew her well. "You observe? Then tell me, what have you seen in me?"
Morse's gaze locked onto her eyes. "Do you really want to hear the truth?"
Irina hesitated, but finally nodded. "Yes."
Morse said in a calm voice. "You are a vibrant, strong-willed, but sometimes annoying woman. Beneath that strong exterior, you hide your vulnerability. You think that by acting strong, you can escape the things you want to avoid."
Irina's annoyance deepened; she widened her eyes and gritted her teeth.
'Does this guy think he knows me? First that dream, and now this annoying guy!'
She was provoked again, and this time Irina wasn't going to hold back, like a volcano about to erupt.
"Oh? Really? Mr. Philosopher? Then let's talk about you. You act so cold and sharp because you lost important family members, right? So now you're a lone wolf, filled with resentment, pretending to be a sage observing others."
Morse's expression remained unmoved; he tried to maintain his composure, but one could see his clenched hands and widened eyes, as if he hadn't expected her to say such things.
"Is that why you're always so serious and distant? You want to cut off all ties to avoid feeling the pain of loss again, right? Observing others is just your way of keeping your distance, isn't it, you bastard?"
"......"
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, a heavy silence enveloped them.
Irina stopped, her gaze meeting Morse's. Only then did she notice the change in his expression and the vulnerability that had been revealed.
"Wait, I didn't mean that..."
She was about to continue, but stopped when she saw Morse raise his hand.
His eyes, usually so cold and firm, now showed an unexpected vulnerability. Her words settled in, and she found herself at a loss for words.
After a moment, Morse spoke, his voice calm but with a hint of emotion she had never seen before, as if he were recalling past experiences.
"In a way, you're right; loss does change a person. But that doesn't mean I have the right to act like I know them better than they know themselves."
Irina swallowed hard, the weight of her unintentional accusations heavy on her. She wanted to take back her words, but the momentary vulnerability in Morse's eyes kept her frozen in place.
"I'm sorry," Morse continued, his tone slightly colder than before, reverting to his usual aloofness. "I shouldn't have interfered."
His sudden return to composure made the awkwardness in the air even more palpable. Irina cleared her throat, trying to find the right words to mend the rift in their conversation.
But she couldn't say anything.
Should she apologize for saying hurtful things?
When she saw Morse resume his usual cold demeanor, she understood that there was no need to apologize, because he wasn't expecting any apology.
'Who did he lose?'
She asked herself.
'What did he experience in the past?'
Irina looked at him, his gaze turned back to the scenery outside the window, lost in thought.
As Morse gazed out the window, his expression growing distant, the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks provided a backdrop to their silence. Morse broke the silence first, asking an unexpected question.
"Was Trevor Phillips the one who spread the rumors at the academy?"
Irina's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the shift in the conversation. She hadn't expected Morse to connect the clues to Trevor Phillips in such a short time.
She hesitated, then answered, "That's right, it was Trevor. I had him investigated, and he was the one behind the rumors at the academy."
Morse's eyes remained fixed on the scenery outside the window, his eyes slightly narrowed. The revelation stirred something within him, but his expression remained calm.
"Why did you do that?" he asked. "I didn't ask you to do that."
Irina took a deep breath before replying. "I don't like owing people favors, and the money I gave you didn't feel like enough to repay you for what you did for me. So, I decided to help you. It's a matter of principle for me."
A flicker of emotion crossed Morse's eyes. "So, I guess we have no debts to each other?"
"That's right." Irina nodded, a subtle understanding passing between them.
"Very well."
