Many people felt that Prosecutor Luo Hai had changed in the past few days.
It wasn’t about his demeanor or expressions.
No matter what happened, the icy prosecutor remained as emotionless as a machine, indifferent to everything around him. Just from his face alone, it was impossible to tell what he was feeling—or whether he even had the ability to feel emotions at all.
However, anyone who worked closely with him had noticed, to some degree, that Luo Hai seemed… oddly distracted lately.
Chief Prosecutor Doyle had given him a one-week deadline, yet Luo Hai showed no urgency whatsoever. Three days had already passed, and he hadn’t made a single concrete plan. When others urged him to act, he merely brushed them off with various excuses.
His reports contained multiple typos, and he often spaced out during meetings. During lunch breaks, people frequently saw him standing by the corridor window, gazing outside. His pitch-black eyes remained as unreadable as ever, like inorganic glass devoid of emotion—yet somehow, they carried an unmistakable sense of loneliness.
Not that anyone cared.
Everyone knew that Luo Hai had failed spectacularly in the Lightwing case, angering Chief Prosecutor Doyle. They all assumed he was simply discouraged, his spirit crushed.
Naturally, no one offered him comfort. Luo Hai had no friends in the prosecution office—only colleagues and subordinates. Those ranked below him didn’t dare to speak up, while those ranked above him eagerly awaited Doyle to push him out, so they could snatch up the lucrative cases he handled.
Only Colin knew the real reason behind Luo Hai’s behavior. But he dared not dwell on it.
With a boss like this, he couldn’t offer words of comfort, nor did he have the standing to intervene. All he could do was fulfill his duty as an assistant, ensuring Luo Hai’s work environment remained as smooth as possible.
….
On a sunny afternoon, Colin carried a lunchbox to Luo Hai’s office.
His superior was sitting by the window, frowning slightly. The warm light from outside poured in, casting a glow over his shoulders—softening the sharp and distant aura that usually surrounded him.
“Boss?” Colin knocked on the door. “Would you like to eat something?”
Luo Hai didn’t even lift his head. “Just leave it there.”
But if Colin really did as told, Luo Hai would probably go the whole afternoon without touching the meal.
So Colin stepped closer and glanced at the documents in front of Luo Hai. Nearly all of them were cases involving violent Alpha incidents.
Unlike Omega-related crimes, when Alphas caused trouble, things got serious.
In less than a week, violent crimes in Nantes had skyrocketed. While the prosecution office struggled to manage public outrage, they also had to deal with a surge in new cases. Every prosecutor had been assigned extra workload, and as always, Luo Hai received the most.
“When will these people finally stop?” Colin muttered. “It’s bad enough they keep rioting outside the prosecution office and police station, but now there have been multiple brutal assaults against Omegas. Those Omegas aren’t even connected to Lightwing—why are they suffering for no reason?”
“Because Alphas are the kind of creatures who bully the weak and fear the strong,” Luo Hai replied flatly, still not looking up. His pen moved across the files. “If you handed them a knife and told them to go after Lightwing, they wouldn’t dare. So instead, they take out their frustrations by beating the defenseless Omegas in their own homes.”
The room fell into silence for a few seconds. When Colin didn’t immediately respond, Luo Hai finally looked up.
Colin snapped out of his thoughts and gave a sheepish smile.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “I just didn’t expect you to say something like that. It feels… a bit surprising.”
Luo Hai’s grip on his pen paused slightly.
Surprising?
What had he been like before?
Was it that Eugene had truly changed him over the past month?
Or had something inside him irreversibly shifted the moment he decided to let him go?
“Speaking of which, I heard a rumor from the police station,” Colin said. “They say Eugene Oddis never actually left Nantes.”
“What?” Luo Hai’s head shot up. “Who said that?”
“It’s just a rumor—I don’t know if there’s any truth to it.” Colin shrugged. “But maybe someone in the police force dug up a lead. I figured I should tell you, just in case.”
Luo Hai stared at the desk, lost in thought. After a moment, his brows furrowed.
“Impossible. Why would he still be in Nantes?” he muttered. “Waiting to be caught? The whole city is hunting him. Everyone knows what he looks like.”
Shaking his head slightly, he added, as if convincing himself, “No way.”
Seeing his boss like this, Colin suddenly felt a strange sense of guilt. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“It’s just a rumor, don’t take it too seriously,” he reassured. “You know how these things spread. People talk, and stories get distorted… Anyway, let’s not dwell on that. You should eat before your food gets cold.”
Luo Hai sighed and reluctantly put down his pen.
Colin removed the plastic bag from the lunchbox, releasing a strong scent of seafood.
Luo Hai froze. “What’s this?”
Colin opened the container. “Uh… seafood rice? Why is the rice black?”
Luo Hai frowned. “Where did you get this?”
“I didn’t buy it.” Colin looked puzzled. “The security guard downstairs said it was for you. I thought you ordered delivery.”
Luo Hai shot up from his chair.
First, he hadn’t ordered delivery.
Second, he’d already tried every restaurant in the area, and not one of them served squid ink seafood rice.
Colin gaped at his boss’s uncharacteristic reaction, but before he could say anything, Luo Hai had already bolted out the door—without even grabbing his coat.
His mind was blank, consumed by a single thought.
The three floors between his office and the ground level weren’t far, yet not close enough. Under the surprised and curious gazes of his colleagues, he rushed outside.
The afternoon sun was bright, almost blinding.
The streets were the same as always—tree-lined, bustling with cars and pedestrians. The breeze swayed the leaves gently. People passed by without a care.
Nothing.
……
Luo Hai didn’t know why he had done something so reckless, so impulsive, so utterly unlike himself.
He had even considered questioning the security guard or checking the surveillance footage. But in the end, he restrained himself, returning to his office the same way he had left.
He sat down, opened the seafood rice, and ate it slowly—one bite at a time.
The moment he smelled it, he knew—no restaurant in Nantes could make something with this exact flavor. No restaurant would be generous enough to pile on such thick layers of shrimp and squid over the rice.
By the time he finished work, it was already past eight in the evening.
Outside, a light drizzle had fallen again, dampening the roads but not enough to warrant an umbrella. By the time Luo Hai unlocked the door to his apartment, his temple hair was wet, strands clinging to his cheek.
He was exhausted, yet he couldn’t summon any sleepiness. The apartment he had lived in alone for six years suddenly felt unbearably empty. No matter where he was, a strong sense of discord loomed over him.
Whether he was standing, sitting, or lying in bed, a nerve remained tightly wound, refusing to loosen.
He moved from the sofa to the dining chair, from the dining chair to the bed, then got up again and walked to the window. But no matter how much he shifted, the unease wouldn’t fade.
In the end, he pushed open Eugene’s bedroom door.
The dolls were still in place. The bedding was neatly folded. A few books Eugene had used for leisure lay scattered on the desk, along with a small handful of leftover coins from grocery shopping.
He hadn’t gotten around to clearing out Eugene’s things—or maybe he never intended to.
Luo Hai took a deep breath and let his body go limp, collapsing onto Eugene’s bed.
The soft mattress trembled slightly. The dolls at the head of the bed bounced, a few tumbling down onto him.
The bedsheets and pillow were clean. It seemed Eugene had washed them before leaving.
The bedding carried the faint scent of laundry detergent. But if Luo Hai inhaled carefully, he could still pick up a trace of Eugene’s pheromones.
Slowly, he tightened his arms around the soft quilt, buried his face in it, and took a deep breath.
It was faint, but he could still catch the lingering scent of juniper gin.
The scent coiled around his nose, sending a strange heat through his body, stirring deep in his brain.
Unbidden, unwelcome memories surged forward—the intimacy, the pain, the overwhelming force, and the unexpectedly gentle words.
Only in the loneliest of nights and under the coldest moonlight would Luo Hai admit to himself: no matter how unforgivable Eugene’s actions were, he would still surrender willingly.
He pressed his face deeper into Eugene’s scent, his breathing harsh and loud in the narrow room. Closing his eyes, his hand trailed downward, unzipping his suit pants.
The night was quiet, everything muffled by the silent drizzle.
Heat. Breath. The rustle of fabric. The slick sounds of moisture. Stifled moans caught in his throat.
When it was over, Luo Hai lay dazed, staring at the ceiling. The mingling scent of his own pheromones and Eugene’s lingering traces filled the air, bringing an odd sense of vindictive satisfaction.
When was the last time he kissed Eugene?
He could barely remember the taste of his lips.
Suddenly, he felt a pang of regret.
He never got to kiss Eugene one last time.
Luo Hai cleaned himself up with tissues, then stripped off his shirt to change. But just as he reached for the buttons, he heard a faint sound.
It came from outside the window—distant at first, barely discernible.
As his fingers continued to move, the sound grew clearer.
It wasn’t just a noise.
It was a melody.
It was a melodious tune played on the violin.
