Eugene stuffed the last bite of rice into his mouth, wiped his lips, and said, “You’re right. I keep my promises. Since you fulfilled my request, I’ll answer your question. But you have to believe me.”
Luo Hai stared into Eugene’s eyes. “Speak.”
Eugene bent his legs, resting his elbows on his knees. He adjusted into a more comfortable position, his gaze focused and serious. “No.”
“You’re lying,” Luo Hai said immediately.
“See? I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Eugene spread his hands.
“Omegas committing murder with such brutal, bloody methods—the victim being the wife of a high-ranking duke—these are all signature tactics of the Lightwing society,” Luo Hai said sharply. “Not to mention the Lightwing emblem left at the scene—an open provocation against law enforcement.”
Eugene sighed. “Then let me ask you this. You’ve been investigating Lightwing for a long time. Have we ever targeted anyone other than Alphas?”
Luo Hai said nothing.
“Explosions, murders—has there ever been a victim who wasn’t an Alpha?” Eugene crossed his arms. “If this was our doing, why kill the Duke’s wife instead of the Duke himself? What would we gain from killing a Beta?”
“She was the Duke’s wife,” Luo Hai said quietly. “Killing her could threaten the social status of Alpha nobility and cause public panic.”
Eugene snapped his fingers, looking at Luo Hai approvingly. “Exactly. Lightwing is a resistance group—or as you call us, ‘terrorists.’ If a terrorist group doesn’t make people feel terror, what’s the point? Every action we take is broadcasted loudly to spread our ideology—”
“To brainwash the public,” Luo Hai said coldly.
“Call it whatever you want.” Eugene shrugged. “But it’s been a week since the Duke of Goss case, and aside from that poorly drawn Lightwing emblem, no one even knows about it. So what would we have to gain?”
Luo Hai fell silent.
Eugene’s argument was logical and convincing.
“If it wasn’t you guys,” Luo Hai said slowly, “then who?”
“There’s more than one terrorist group in this city. Plenty of people want to take revenge on society, overthrow the elites, and pin the blame on us.” Eugene tossed his empty meal box toward a nearby trash can. It landed perfectly inside with a clang.
“Omegas are always the easiest to exploit,” he said. “They live in endless torment and fear. The moment someone offers them a lifeline, they’ll cling to it until the bitter end.”
“You’re not an Omega,” Luo Hai said icily.
“I’m not,” Eugene replied, turning to look at Luo Hai. “But you are.”
Luo Hai frowned, looking puzzled. Before he could speak, Eugene cut him off.
Eugene stood up, brushing the dust from his clothes. “Let’s head back. It’ll get windy soon, and I didn’t bring a jacket.”
Luo Hai stared at Eugene’s back for a few seconds before standing up and walking toward the apartment.
……
That night, Luo Hai didn’t sleep well.
Fragmented and surreal images constantly invaded his dreams—flames, blood, and the scent in the air that filled him with fear.
A fledgling bird, its wings newly grown, flapped desperately, trying to escape the sea of fire. But before it could fly far, the rising flames consumed it, sending it plummeting to the ground, where it melted into the blaze.
All he could remember was running.
Fear to the extreme, numbness to the extreme—his mind went completely blank, leaving only the instinct to survive. He ran forward, endlessly.
Suddenly, something came crashing down from above, pinning his small body firmly to the ground.
He struggled desperately, trying to break free from the overwhelming pressure, but the weight remained unmoving, holding him in place. And the thing he feared was inching closer and closer…
Luo Hai opened his eyes. He took a few seconds to adjust, his familiar bedroom ceiling coming into view.
But the pressure from his dream hadn’t disappeared. He turned his head slowly—only to see a blond-haired head resting on his chest.
Eugene Oddis was sprawled across his torso, fast asleep. He had taken up most of the bed, and the blanket had been kicked halfway off, with the remaining corner pitifully trapped beneath his butt.
“…” Luo Hai’s expression darkened. He grabbed the blanket forcefully.
The man, still deep in slumber, was caught off guard and tumbled off the bed with a loud thud.
“Ah!” A pained yelp followed as Eugene sat up from the floor, rubbing the back of his head. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“What are you doing in my bed?” Luo Hai’s voice was ice-cold, laced with suppressed frustration.
Eugene lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes darting around before blinking innocently. “I… must have sleepwalked here last night? Oh man, how did I end up here? I don’t remember a thing…”
“Want me to throw you out the window to help you wake up?” Luo Hai asked expressionlessly.
Given how well Eugene knew him, this ruthless prosecutor might actually do it.
“My bad, my bad.” Eugene immediately raised his hands in surrender, grinning sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to, alright? My room’s window leaks, and last night it was raining and windy—I was freezing to death. When I saw your door was unlocked, I just wanted to warm up for a bit, but your bed was so damn comfortable that I fell asleep.”
Luo Hai stared at him.
“I’m telling the truth! I swear I didn’t touch a single hair on your head!” Eugene held up both hands, looking innocent. “You’d know if I did, right? At least your ass is perfectly fine—it doesn’t hurt at all, does it?”
“Get. Out.” Luo Hai enunciated each word. “Of my room.”
With the loud slam of a door, Eugene was unceremoniously thrown out like a dog rummaging through the trash and failing miserably.
……
Ten minutes later, Luo Hai stepped out of his room, now dressed.
His hair was still a mess, with a rebellious tuft sticking up at the back of his head. The top button of his shirt remained undone, revealing a clean expanse of pale skin at his neck.
Eugene, who was washing dishes in the kitchen, peeked out and couldn’t help but whistle.
“Don’t make me put a bullet in your skull,” Luo Hai muttered as he entered the bathroom and turned on the faucet.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Eugene replied with a cheeky grin.
“You can try me,” Luo Hai said.
He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it onto his face, then pushed his damp hair behind his ears.
Lifting his head, he saw his own reflection in the mirror—a sharp and cold face. Droplets of water slid down his high, straight nose and landed on his thin, pale lips.
His jet-black eyes carried a hint of exhaustion. Even the morning’s commotion hadn’t completely dispelled the suffocating weight left by his nightmare.
Luo Hai scowled at his reflection, then grabbed a towel and tossed it over the mirror, blocking it from view.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he immediately saw Eugene bustling around in the dining area.
The table was already set for two—two sets of utensils, two glasses of milk, and two neatly plated servings of toast with fried eggs.
Eugene took off his apron and draped it over a chair before pulling one out for Luo Hai with exaggerated hospitality. “All done? Come eat.”
“I don’t recall asking you to cook for me every day.” Luo Hai eyed him.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. You have to work every day, and I’m just bored at home,” Eugene said, pushing Luo Hai’s plate toward him with a sly grin. “Besides, who knows? Maybe one day you’ll let your guard down, and I’ll finally get the chance to poison your food.”
“Then you’ll earn the fastest police response and execution within a hundred-mile radius,” Luo Hai replied impassively. “Good luck with that plan.”
Despite his words, Luo Hai still sat down at the table.
The toast was perfectly made—crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. Even in restaurants, he rarely had toast this good.
Eugene really did have some real skills in the kitchen, a testament to his past as a chef in a high-end hotel.
As Luo Hai ate, Eugene rested his chin on one hand, watching him with great interest.
Luo Hai finally put down his toast and looked at him. “What?”
“Nothing.” Eugene smirked, his signature playful grin appearing. “I was just thinking—if you weren’t a prosecutor, you’d make an excellent idol.”
“…”
What nonsense was this?
“That sharp nose, those defined brows, the sculpted cheekbones, and those cold, obsidian-like eyes,” Eugene mused, his gaze sweeping over Luo Hai’s face with an almost tangible intensity. “You wouldn’t even have to do anything. Just standing there would be enough to make countless girls swoon.”
Luo Hai’s expression turned colder as he calmly met Eugene’s gaze. “If I weren’t a prosecutor, I would be just another ordinary Omega in the slums—likely sold multiple times by now, with at least three children.”
Eugene fell silent. The room was suddenly filled with an oppressive stillness, broken only by the soft clinking of utensils.
After a long pause, Eugene spoke again, his voice quieter.
“The orphanage burned down, you know? The entire place. Auntie Ai, Uncle Mi, Kirk, Xiao Tie… none of them made it out alive. Not long after you were taken away by Doyle, almost everyone else died in that fire. Did you know that?”
Eugene’s words pierced straight through Luo Hai’s heart like an arrow—sharp, unrelenting.
“So what?” Luo Hai looked up at Eugene, his black eyes void of anything but indifference and detachment. “The dead are dead. If that was their fate, they brought it upon themselves. No one else is to blame.”
With that, he tossed his knife onto his plate, stood up, grabbed his coat and briefcase, and walked out of the apartment.
