Damon walked into the most exclusive restaurant in the city, with Ophelia and her daughter at his sides.
The place screamed money.
Damon felt like an intruder, praying nobody noticed he was sweating cold.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The metal detector at the entrance went nuts.
Shit.
He'd totally forgotten about EVE.
He brought it with him not to use it, but because having a gun in his pocket gave him this fake sense of safety. Like a charm against fear.
"Damn it…"
He had no choice. He pulled out the rusty revolver and dropped it in the tray.
The Inquisitors, used to cutting-edge weapons and shiny mana cores, stared at the old chunk of metal like it was a dead rat.
Ophelia Valen raised a perfect eyebrow. She didn't look mad.
She looked… entertained.
"A firearm?" she asked, her voice soft but full of authority. "With gunpowder? Zero, sweetheart, did you fall so low you need human toys to feel safe?"
Damon felt like the floor should open up and swallow him right there.
God, what a damn embarrassment.
Lieutenant Miller, who was also with them, let out a cruel little laugh.
"Looks like his brain damage made him forget bullets bounce off our mana-reinforced skin. Pathetic."
'Idiots! This isn't a normal gun!' Damon wanted to yell. 'It shoots antimatter! It costs me days of my life!'
That's when Iris stepped in, moving in front of him like a shield.
"It has to be a self-imposed limit!" she blurted out, defending him with that blind faith she had. "You know how he is. He's a Solo Hunter. Carrying a basic weapon is his way of training his discipline!"
Damon stared at her, shocked.
Her devotion was endless.
Even when it was this ridiculous, she found a way to make it sound heroic.
Still, Damon wanted to die.
He put the gun away fast, trying to look as dignified as possible, and in his best fake-Zero voice, he said coldly:
"It's vintage. I just like the design."
Ophelia let out a soft laugh that was way too attractive for how dangerous it felt.
"Vintage… I like that."
***
Dinner was a different battlefield.
And Damon was losing.
They sat at a table while waiters moved like ninjas, dropping plates with French names Damon couldn't even pronounce.
But the real final boss was in front of him.
The cutlery.
Damon looked at the setup. There were serrated knives, butter knives, round spoons, oval spoons, and… what, twelve forks?
'Why the hell do you need twelve forks?'
'One for salad, one for meat, and one to scratch your ass? If I pick the wrong one, Miller's gonna laugh at me until I die.'
Damon froze, his hand trembling a little over the white linen cloth. He didn't dare touch anything.
His poor-kid brain screamed: 'Just grab something and eat before they charge you extra!'
But the side of him trying to keep the act going screamed: 'Stay composed, idiot!'
That's when Iris noticed.
The Captain set down her wine glass and looked at Damon's hand.
She saw a wounded warrior, whose hands now shook from the aftershock of a brutal battle.
Her eyes filled with this painful tenderness.
Without a word, Iris reached out and took Damon's plate and his utensils.
CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.
With precise, elegant movements, she started cutting Damon's steak into perfect little pieces.
Miller looked like he was about to explode from jealousy. His face went red, like he swallowed a whole lemon.
"Here," Iris whispered, giving the plate back with a smile. "You don't have to force yourself with small things, Zero. Save your strength for what matters."
Damon felt his face burning.
'Oh my God, she thinks I'm disabled from trauma. I'm a pathetic fraud.'
But before he could thank her, or die from shame, Ophelia smiled.
It was cold. Pretty. And scary.
The Matriarch lifted one finger, casually pointing at the cutlery Iris still held.
The silver fork and knife in Iris's hands disintegrated instantly, turning into metallic dust that fell onto the tablecloth.
"Mother…" Iris started to protest.
"Iris, sweetheart…" Ophelia cut in, her voice sweet, but her eyes were pure ice. "Stop playing house."
Ophelia rested her chin on her hand, staring at Damon like he was a fancy dessert.
"Zero doesn't need a nurse, my daughter," she said, and her SSS-rank aura made the crystal glasses tremble. "He needs an owner."
Iris stiffened, and for a second, the "Ice Queen" came back, looking at her mother with open challenge.
"He's not a pet, mother! He's a… partner."
Damon was stuck in the middle of the crossfire.
He looked at Iris. She looked back with intensity, seeing him like an equal.
Then he looked at Ophelia, who stared at him like lost property she'd finally found again.
'She looks at me like I'm her savior… and her mom looks at me like I'm dinner. I'm a dead man.'
Ophelia dabbed the corner of her lips with a silk napkin and stood up.
She walked slowly until she stopped behind Damon's chair.
"You know, Zero… there's something that fascinates me about your 'memory loss'," she whispered into Damon's ear.
Suddenly, Damon's right eye throbbed hard.
He didn't activate it.
His survival instinct forced the [Legislator's Eye] open on its own.
Over Ophelia's head, the system flashed an urgent warning:
[SYSTEM ALERT!]
[Enemy Skill Activated: "DEVOURER OF LIES"]
[Effect: Detects any emotional falsehood within a 16-foot radius. If the target lies, they will suffer psychic suffocation and extreme pain.]
'Shit. Shit. Shit. If I lie, she tortures me. If I tell the truth, she kills me.'
Ophelia slid her hands over Damon's shoulders, feeling the impostor's heartbeat.
"Iris says you forgot who you are. That you're a blank slate," Ophelia said, her voice dripping poison. "But your heart… your heart beats fast when I'm close. That's not forgetting, Zero. That's instinct."
She leaned closer, her breath brushing his neck.
"So answer this, and I suggest you think very carefully, because I'm a very jealous woman," she whispered, her nails lightly digging into Damon's suit. "Tell me. Did you forget me?"
"Because if you lie…" Ophelia smiled against his skin. "I'll eat your heart right here."
The system window blinked red in front of him, waiting.
[Choose your words wisely.]