"Ah, how times have changed, and how the world has transformed."
Victor stood at the familiar street corner upon returning to Jericho Town, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
He dramatically swung his arm in a half-circle through the air, as if embracing this land he had only left for two months.
Enid, torn between laughter and exasperation, tugged at the corner of his shirt:
"Victor, we just went away for summer vacation. You're being way too dramatic."
"Hey, let's go to the Weather Vane for a bite. I miss their chocolate cronuts."
Victor retracted his theatrical pose, his eyes lighting up as he offered a more practical suggestion.
He remembered that café's chocolate brownies—rich in flavor, always dusted with a thin layer of powdered sugar.
"Good idea."
Enid immediately happily hugged Victor's arm, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Wednesday gave a slight nod, her cool voice betraying little emotion.
"I hope their coffee beans are satisfactory."
Her pickiness about coffee was no less rigorous than her approach to dark magic tomes.
The three pushed open the familiar glass door of the Weather Vane Café, adorned with a retro copper bell that gave a crisp *ding-a-ling*.
Inside, the air was filled with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee and the warm scent of pastries. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled patterns on the wooden floor.
However, Victor's gaze was instantly drawn to two unexpected figures in a corner booth.
It was Principal Larissa Weems and Donovan.
Principal Larissa still maintained the dignity of an educator, but her brows were slightly furrowed;
while opposite her, Detective Donovan appeared unusually anxious, his fingers unconsciously tapping the table, his face etched with exhaustion and worry.
"Please, Larissa, help me this once. I at least need to know what she..."
Donovan's voice carried a hint of pleading, yet was weighed down by anxiety.
"Victor?"
Principal Larissa was the first to notice the commotion at the door, interrupting Donovan.
Hearing this, Donovan looked up. Seeing Victor and the others, a complex expression flashed across his face—as if spotting a lifeline, yet also more awkward.
"Aunt, Detective Donovan, what are you talking about?"
Victor walked forward with a smile, greeting them naturally, trying to dispel the unusual tension in the air.
"Victor, I think Tyler's..."
Donovan, as if grasping at a straw, started to speak but was abruptly cut off by Principal Larissa slamming her hand on the table.
"Donovan!"
Larissa's voice carried undeniable authority.
"You cannot involve the students!"
Her gaze was sharp, clearly defending some boundary.
"Oh, sorry, yes, yes."
Donovan seemed doused with cold water. He slumped, wiping his face wearily, his shoulders drooping as if he'd aged several years in an instant.
He forced a smile, trying to change the subject. "How was your summer? I hope you didn't cause any trouble."
Principal Larissa also took the opportunity to ease the atmosphere, elegantly gesturing to order drinks for Victor's trio—
Victor's favorite chocolate milkshake, Enid's honey pomelo tea, and Wednesday's requested single-origin pour-over coffee, no sugar, no milk.
Victor slurped his cold milkshake and began to animatedly, albeit disjointedly, recount their experiences on the luxury cruise to Principal Larissa:
the Kraken, the wonders of Atlantis, and the bizarre yet heartwarming Hotel Transylvania.
He skillfully omitted the talismans, demons, and overly dangerous details, packaging the story as a fantastical summer camp adventure.
"My goodness," Principal Larissa couldn't help but exclaim after listening, her eyes sparkling with amazement. "Your experiences could be made into a movie."
At this moment, Donovan finally couldn't hold back. Leaning forward, his gaze fixed intently on Victor, his voice filled with long-suppressed hope and unease:
"Victor, how is my son? Did he come back with you?"
Mentioning Tyler, a faint glimmer seemed to light up his weary eyes—a father's most instinctive concern.
Victor paused mid-slurp, his eyes darting evasively as he mumbled in response:
"Uh, he's fine. He's helping out at my uncle's inn now and even has a... girlfriend."
He said the last three words with particular lightness, trying to gloss over them.
"Girlfriend?"
Donovan's eyes instantly brightened, the gloom on his face vanishing as he even broke into a genuinely relieved smile.
"Oh, my son is indeed at that age! How old is she?"
His tone was relaxed, as if already imagining a beautiful future of his son settling down.
Victor gulped, feeling the milkshake was a bit hard to swallow.
Avoiding Donovan's expectant gaze, he stared at the wood grain on the table, his voice growing even softer:
"Uh, a bit older than... you."
Donovan was taken aback for a moment, then waved his hand with a laugh:
"That's fine, that's fine. Just a bit older... 'An older wife brings gold into your life,' they say. That's good..."
He tried to use a light tone to dismiss the slight age gap.
But halfway through, he suddenly realized something was off and his voice cut off abruptly.
Older than *whom*?
He was already in his fifties!
"Wait!"
Donovan's smile froze on his face, his voice carrying a barely perceptible tremor. "Older... older than whom?"
Victor looked up, offering an even more awkward, almost sympathetic smile, confirming Donovan's worst fear.
Donovan felt a wave of dizziness. Before his eyes flashed an image of his rebellious son, arm around a lady of "mature" demeanor, sweetly calling her "baby."
Since when did his son's taste become so... unique and... weighty? He inwardly wailed.
But he still clung to a sliver of hope. What if she was well-maintained, still charming?
He pressed on stubbornly, a last flicker of hope still in his eyes:
"Specifically... how much older?"
This question stumped Victor too.
He frowned, genuinely starting to count on his fingers, muttering under his breath:
"Miss Siren mentioned she was born in the 1800s, right? It's 2025 now... subtract..."
Seeing Victor actually needing to use his fingers to calculate, Donovan's mind went *buzz*. The last flicker of hope in his heart was utterly extinguished.
This age gap... was it so large it required arithmetic?
This was no longer a "bit" of a problem!
After a good while, Victor finally completed this complex mathematical operation.
He looked up, wearing an expression as if announcing a major scientific discovery, and gave the answer in a definitive tone.
"Got it! About a hundred and thirty years older~"
?!!!
That number struck Donovan's head like a thunderbolt.
His eyes widened, his mouth opened, but no sound came out.
A hundred and thirty years older?!
Wasn't that older than his own grandmother?!
"Gah!"
Donovan let out a short, strange gasp, clutched his chest, his face turned ashen, and he stiffly toppled backward in the booth, slumping heavily against the backrest, eyes rolling white, as if all his strength and hope had been instantly drained.
"Donovan!"
Principal Larissa exclaimed, quickly rising to check on him.
Victor and Enid were also startled, Enid gripping Victor's arm nervously.
Wednesday merely raised an eyebrow, calmly took a sip of coffee, and commented, "His psychological resilience needs improvement."
The café briefly descended into chaos, with only Victor muttering softly in an attempt to defend himself:
"Actually... Miss Siren looks quite young, and... Tyler seems really happy..."
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