SMACK!

A sharp smack echoed through the room as the old auntie brought her hand down on the back of the old man who had just spoken, the impact making him jolt slightly forward as she clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Watch your mouth before you speak!" she scolded, her tone carrying more habit than actual anger.

Damon gave a small, internal nod.

This old auntie is sensible...He deserved that.

But before the moment could settle, the old auntie’s expression shifted almost instantly, her annoyance dissolving into amusement as she let out a soft, mischievous laugh.

"Hehe... hehe... he is so young," she said, her eyes glinting with teasing intent, "they must be his girlfriends, right?"

Damon’s hand moved to his forehead as if a headache had just formed,

I spoke too soon.

His composure slipping just a fraction as he turned back toward Mira and Serena.

Mira—

Was completely gone.

Her face had turned a deep shade of red, her entire body stiff as though frozen in place, while it almost looked as if steam could rise from her head at any moment, her lips trembling but no words coming out.

Serena, on the other hand, stood calm.

Too calm.

Watching.

Clearly having no intention of correcting anything.

Damon exhaled lightly before stepping in.

"These here... are my classmates," he said, his tone flat as he gestured toward them, first pointing at Mira, "this is Miss Mira..."

Then he turned slightly toward Serena.

"And this is Ms. Third Wheel."

A brief silence followed.

The old man with shaving foam blinked, tilting his head slightly as he genuinely considered it.

"Ohh... is there such a name?" he muttered thoughtfully, "it’s certainly... unique."

Before the confusion could deepen, Serena stepped forward sharply, her composure cracking just enough as she stomped down on Damon’s foot with deliberate force, her expression tight as she corrected him.

"Don’t listen to him," she said smoothly, though her tone carried an edge, "you can call me Serena."

Laughter broke out again, louder this time, the old residents clearly enjoying the exchange as the atmosphere grew even more lively.

The old auntie, still smiling, shifted her attention toward Mira, approaching her with clear interest as she looked her up and down.

"Hehe... everyone look here," she said, her voice full of delight, "she is just like a doll... my granddaughter is the same."

Mira’s face flushed even deeper, if that was even possible, as she fumbled for words before finally managing to respond.

"T-thank you... G-grandma!"

The title slipped out instinctively, and for a moment, even she seemed surprised by it.

The old woman’s smile softened immediately.

"Oh my... just look at how shy she is," she said warmly, clearly charmed by the reaction.

The chaotic warmth of the room barely had time to settle before two of the old men at the card table spotted Damon and immediately waved him over with loud, unapologetic enthusiasm.

"Come here, brat!" one of them shouted, slamming a card onto the table with unnecessary force, "I will show you clearly who is the best among us today!"

"Hmph! You old bastard, don’t talk big," the other snapped right back, leaning forward with narrowed eyes and a crooked grin, "come, sit down, kid... you’ll witness the rise of the ultimate card king!"

Damon could already feel a dull pressure forming at his temples.

...This is going to be a headache.

Still, without arguing, he walked over and took a seat on a small stool beside them, his posture relaxed but his expression carrying faint resignation as the game resumed immediately, the two old men diving back into it with unfiltered intensity.

Cards slapped against the table.

Voices rose.

"Are you blind?! That was the wrong move!"

"It’s called strategy, you fossil!"

"Strategy? You just lost the round, idiot!"

"Hah! That was a warm-up!"

Damon played along without much thought, following the flow of the game mechanically, his moves neither particularly invested nor careless, while the two old men continued to curse at each other over every single play, their insults growing more creative with each passing round even as bursts of laughter broke through their arguments, the entire scene teetering between conflict and camaraderie.

Meanwhile—

Not far from the table, Mira found herself completely surrounded.

The old auntie had taken a particular liking to her, holding her hands at times, adjusting a strand of her hair at others, her eyes shining with affection as she continued showering her with compliments without pause.

"Oh my, look at your skin... so soft... just like my granddaughter!"

"And your eyes... so pretty... such a gentle girl!"

"And these clothes suit you so well... such elegance!"

Mira’s face remained a constant shade of red, her entire posture stiff as she struggled to keep up with the attention, her voice coming out in small, repeated responses.

"T-thank you... t-thank you..."

Each word softer than the last as she tried to endure the overwhelming affection, her fingers fidgeting helplessly while the old auntie continued, seemingly tireless in her admiration.

On the other side of the room—

Serena stood beside the old man with shaving foam still lingering on half his face, her posture composed, her tone polite yet probing as she engaged him in conversation.

"How long have you known him?" she asked casually, her eyes sharp despite her calm demeanor.

The old man blinked, tilting his head slightly as he stroked his chin—foam and all.

"Hmm... since yesterday... or maybe ten years ago... time flows differently when you are wise," he said with complete confidence.

Serena paused.

"...Does he come here often?" she asked again, adjusting her approach slightly.

"Oh yes, every day... or never," the old man replied without missing a beat, nodding as if he had just given a profound answer, "depends on the day."

Serena’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"...And what kind of person is he?"

The old man leaned in conspiratorially.

"A dangerous one," he whispered, before immediately breaking into a grin, "or maybe a good one... hard to tell... I haven’t decided yet."

Serena fell silent for a brief moment, clearly trying to process whether anything he had said held even a fragment of truth.

The answer was—

It didn’t.

And yet, the old man continued nodding to himself as though he had been immensely helpful.

Back at the card table, another loud slap echoed as one of the old men shouted triumphantly, "Hah! See that? I told you I am the best!"

"Best at losing, you mean!" the other shot back instantly.

Damon exhaled quietly, his fingers still holding a card as his gaze drifted slightly across the room, taking in the entire scene—the chaos, the laughter, the strange warmth of it all—before returning to the game in front of him, as if accepting, at least for now, that this was simply how things were.

The game carried on with its usual rhythm of chaos and laughter until, at some point, both old men seemed to arrive at the same thought, their attention shifting from the cards to Damon as they leaned in slightly, their voices lowering just enough to take on a conspiratorial tone.

"Hey... brat," one of them began, his eyes narrowing with curiosity as he jerked his chin toward the other side of the room, "those two girls you brought... who are they?"

The other didn’t wait for an answer, immediately following up with a grin that was far too knowing.

"Are you pursuing them?"

A brief pause.

Then—

"Both of them?" the first added, his brows rising as though impressed.

The second old man clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he pointed a finger at Damon.

"You are walking on a very thin line, boy," he said with mock seriousness.

"Hah! What do you know?" the first one scoffed, puffing his chest slightly, "back in my days, I used to be just like him... one woman on each arm!"

"That was in your dreams," the other shot back instantly.

"Shut up, you old bastard!"

"You shut up!"

They bickered for a moment longer before both of them turned back to Damon almost at the same time, their expressions shifting into identical grins, as though they had silently agreed on something.

"Hehehe... boy," one of them said, leaning even closer, "we are very experienced in such matters..."

"If you have any questions regarding them..." the other continued, nodding sagely, "you can ask us freely."

Then, with a sudden burst of laughter, he added, "But first... you will have to defeat us in a game of cards!"

Damon didn’t react to the teasing.

Didn’t engage with their assumptions.

Instead, his gaze shifted slightly, a faint glint appearing in his eyes as something else took hold of his attention, his fingers tapping lightly against the cards in his hand before he spoke.

"If I defeat you," he said calmly, "can I get an answer to a different question?"

The two old men blinked.

Then looked at each other.

And burst out laughing.

"You seriously think you can defeat us, boy?" one of them said between laughs, wiping the corner of his eye.

"We have been playing cards longer than you have been alive!" the other added proudly.

Damon’s expression didn’t change.

He simply looked at them.

And asked again.

"...Can I get an answer to any question?"