Rami's car zips past the rows of trees, shrubbery, and parked cars until the great white palace of the Don dominates the view. It's been so long since I've visited, I can't help but marvel at the mansion's timeless beauty. There is no line of cars ahead of us, allowing Rami to cruise past the gate without further delay. Oddly, from what I observe thus far, security is particularly absent except for a fellow dozing off on his chair, who only gives us a passing nod of acknowledgment.

It does feel a little off. A slight nagging that tugs on me. It seems rather uncharacteristic of Zhui to be light on security—quite the opposite even by his normal standards. But it is not a point I dwell on, and not something I share with others. Who am I to judge for his apparent lack of paranoia on this occasion?

I put the thought aside as Rami pulls up onto the huge circular driveway connecting to the equally massive building complex. It must be sometime past noon on this side of the Side now; it's gotten dark without me noticing. On that note, I find myself distracted by the various searchlights cast alongside the mansion's exterior. They illuminate the mansion's exterior, giving it and the vicinity a bright orangish-yellow hue.

Rami parks the car at an available spot, and the four of us make our way past the parking lot for the front lot. British whistles a tune, as he glances around the vast yard. "Lovely place, isn't it? I'm kind of jealous I passed up on living here," Brutus says "actually, I'm surprised you moved away from here, Madame. It doesn't seem like it's all that bad."

"Lovely place undeserving of a wretched owner," I answer wryly, to bemused subordinates, "the sooner I left, the better off I was getting proper sleep."

"That's one way of putting it," Brutus says. The oaf nervously glances around us as we make our way through the yard. Of course, there is more to it than simply not living with Zhui. As glamorous as it is, I have always found it disheartening that Zhui cares more about his estate than the welfare of the people he presides over. Most of the guests present are part of the Don's various cabals: Brunsb üttel elite, visiting mayors, and civilian authorities from other parts of the Toscana region.

Of course, most of their relations with Zhui are superficial at best. The ruling caste in Toscana welcomed our seizure of power back then practically with open arms. Part of it was likely because of Kamon if I have to guess, with regards to security agencies. But on the civilian side of things, many chose to respect Zhui out of fear. Zhui's reputation—and by extension even mine extends to the far reaches of the galaxy. Even a backwater region like Toscana would’ve known of Zhui's atrocities. Yet, it's as if the Toscana upper class treat him as their own—out of necessity, out of cowardliness.

This extravaganza unfolding around us is a far cry from our life before Toscana; before Abassi. Back then, I've seen our ruthlessness as a necessity, a cutthroat means to survive day-to-day in an endless struggle against Metropol and colonial ventures to curb our power—a battle that in some way, we have lost. And on the contrary, a battle we have won: this distasteful ceremony is proof of that. Even observing Zhui roar with laughter, crowded by fancy-dressed guests makes me realize Toscana made Zhui lenient in his ways. He's less of a cruel, inhumane pirate now than he is a hands-off, lazy dictator content with living in his high castle, enjoying the undeserved fruits of labor that lowly captains fought and died for.

Reflecting on it now, perhaps it is simply new management for the Toscana elite. Having long been forgotten by their Metropol counterparts, I would guess our crossing of the Rouen corridor was merely the final nail in the coffin. For them, it is merely appeasing and adapting, or speaking out and disappearing. There is no resistance, no conspiracies to depose of the Don.

It remains unsettling knowing that the ones who continue to suffer the most are the average citizen. Unknowingly abandoned by Terra, and with now dashed hopes of liberation from our yoke. And yet, day-by-day we have a population that merely sits down and accepts that this is simply their life—nothing has changed since our arrival. Simon and I have done what we could to maintain the status quo, and give what reasonable liberties we can afford the Toscananse citizen.

Occasionally, I stop to entertain guests with small talk. A compliment about my dress there. A toast to my health here and there. But I can see it in their eyes, the careful pauses in their speeches, the caution in smiling at the right times, the worry of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. The careful consideration in not upsetting the daughter of the Don. So long as the Madame Scarface is pleased with me, then I have nothing to worry about.

Even as the three of us move between groups, I peek back at the occasional guess shuffling away, collective sighs of relief knowing the heads on their shoulders are safe. I simply despise each and everyone's fakeness. For all my talk of being free, is this what it comes to? To drink carelessly and partake in this courtly-like lifestyle as if dining like aristocratic? It merely leaves a sickening feeling in my stomach.

Brutus and Olga, on the other hand, are enjoying themselves with free meat skewers and wine glasses. When Olga takes notice, she smiles dreamily. “When you’re frowning like that, Madame, you scare away all the conversation,” Olga says matter of factly, she takes a wine glass with transparent liquid and presses it to my chest, “you should loosen up a little, if you don’t you’ll prematurely go gray.” With a roll of eyes, I accept Olga’s unprovoked gift and slowly sip on it. Brutus is more than happy to share the remainder of his skewer with me, leaving him with only a half-empty wine glass.

Brutus downs the rest of his glass before chiming in, “y’know, Olga is right. Times like this you should learn to relax, Madame. I mean, we went out of our way to visit, right? Regardless of your opinion of Zhui, you can’t deny the food he’s servicing us is great!”

I should've known it would take something as simple as food to give Brutus some convincing. I only respond with an unwinding sigh, a sag of my shoulders. I expected better of both.

I tap the metal skewer as we wander into the enormous dining area: overhead a massive golden chandelier. Zhui had entered before us sometime before, and I spot him doing one of his usual toasts at one of his cliques, a disinterested Kamon at his side. At another, Simon sticks out sorely towering over guests. “By the way, are you going to eat that at all?” Brutus asks, I glance at him hungrily eyeing the half-eaten skewer.

“Didn’t you eat back at the manor with Haru?” I ask. I carefully shake the wine glass, and nibble on a dried cube of meat… I believe one of the waitresses said this was steak? I heard there are bizarrely-sized fauna called ostriches frolicking in the Toscana wilderness, but I’ve never seen one myself—or tasted one before that matter. It’s difficult to get an idea of the actual taste of it considering the pieces are overly marinated and what seems like a hefty amount of lemon juice.

As I steer the group towards Simon, I fail to notice that Simon is surrounded by women dreamily fawning over him. Clinging in one of his arms is Beatrice in a glittering white, v-shaped short-skirted dress. I try to look away, but I can’t help but think she’s pressing too hard on him.

“Well, uh,” Brutus ruffles his hair and squints past me, “a little—but it was more like an appetizer… I’ll be honest, I was kind of starving on the way here. Haru’s got a big heart for cooking, but the stuff here is on a whole different level,” Brutus pauses to look at my wine glass, “hey, why are you squeezing that so hard for? You’re going to shatter it!”

“Huh?” I utter. The loud ruckus and Brutus’s question aside, a subtle creak snaps me out of my flow of consciousness. I break off my gaze on Simon to examine the wine glass. There’s a noticeable crack on the cup base now, but at least it’s not leaking.

A concerned hum by Brutus, then he speaks, ”maybe Olga is right?” Brutus muses a little lightheartedly, “maybe you should lighten up a little,” Brutus pats me on the back before pointing at the half-eaten skewer, “but… are you going to finish the rest of that? Would be a waste if you only let it go cold,” too fixated on Simon, I hand it over to Brutus without much thought. Just as Brutus is about to take it, however, Olga swipes it instead.

“Get your own,” Olga tells Brutus before she tears off a piece of ostrich meat. Brutus only scoffs and stomps off to find the nearest waitress unfortunate enough to be confronted by his wrath. Simon must’ve taken notice of the commotion since he looks up from the flurry of girls at us. He looks remarkably tired—heavier eye bags than usual. A bit pale. His eyes stuck in a squint, lips hanging open.

Moments later, it ’s like Simon’s liveness returns to him. Color returns to his features, his eyebrows raised, his jaw drops—then he shuts his mouth shut. His eyes shift between the three of us, and his mouth becomes o-shaped. Beatrice and the others exchange glances—and everyone except her gives us space.

“Never took you for being popular with women,” I say warmly, rubbing the glass, “or friendly, for that matter…” my voice trembles a little, and I clear my throat in an attempt to hide it. I shouldn’t be upset, I don’t want to be upset. I should be happy that Simon enjoys himself around other people—around other women.

Simon blurs before me, and I realize too late he rushed forward. I don’t get the chance to bring my arms out before he wraps his around me—and a brief loss of air as Simon squeezes me firmly. Simon stammers to say something, but he only manages to collapse to his knees and brings me down with him. Increasingly lightheaded, I try to gasp for air. Simon’s grip lessens at first—then his arms slide up until his arms wrap my shoulders—one hand cradles me by my head.

“Li,” Simon utters, he buries his head into my scarred cheek, “three times already I’ve taken my eyes off you,” Simon pauses to clear his throat, “and three times too soon I fear it will be the last time…” Simon rubs his head against mine, his embrace slightly firmer, “the last time I’ll ever see you, Li you can’t just… you can’t just toy with an old man’s heart like that, I’m so glad—so relieved you’re fine,” an abrupt pause followed by Simon pulling me away, a concerned frown, “…you are alright, right?” Simon asks, his voice quivering.

After breathing normally, I weakly give my nod. “I’m more at peace now than I’ve ever been, Simon,” I say softly. The gray tearfully scoffs, stroking my bangs, “and you should too—we all should be now.”

“Kamon…” Simon shakes his head, “I should’ve stopped you sooner—“

“Simon,” I object. But Simon simply rags on.

“I should’ve done things differently, what was I doing?” Simon grits his teeth, “what the hell was Brutus doing? God, the next time I see the sorry bastard, I’m going to do more than just kick his ass!”

“Simon,” I say, more sternly this time. Simon’s eyes flicker, and he gazes into mine with those bleak, mature eyes of his. I reach out and pinch him by the ear, I smile despite the intense aching pain, “we don’t have to worry about Kamon or our situation anymore. Brutus was powerless to do anything, it’s behind us now… I’m free,” I caress his ear, “you’re free. ”

Simon stares blankly for a few moments, pursing his lips. Another clear of his throat, before he gestures for us to get up. He dusts the both of us off—briefly looking over my dress before dusting off my cloak—a slight readjustment, and then he takes a step back. Simon starts to speak—but he stops, glancing past me before reeling around to the women behind him.

“Sorry, ladies,” Simon begins, “didn’t mean to cause a little scene like this, this codger needs some alone time with his, uh…” Simon peeks at me, a smirk, “well, something of a date with his endearing protégé and her friend.” A date? My eyes dart as my face reddens from embarrassment. The ladies that previously accompanied Simon shuffle off with murmurs, excluding a bemused Beatrice. At the same time, I thought I hear a sincere hum from Olga, but maybe I am imagining things.

With most of the women gone, Simon turns to us with another sly smile. He comes back over to us but we find ourselves practically swarmed by a slew of guests pouring into the dining area. I almost lose my way among the sea of people, but Simon is quick to act and wraps my arm around his to ensure we don’t get lost. And thanks to his height, Simon can guide Olga out onto the orange-lit balcony, where there are far fewer people present.

“It got busy so suddenly,” Olga muses, the three of us lean on the cool, stone railing, “if I have to guess, Zhui is eager to celebrate Li’s—our victories against the Federation so soon?”

“Yeah,” Simon sighs. “Something like that, though it’s already been going on for a few hours before you three got here,” Simon remarks. I glance at Beatrice striding away from the crowd for us, “I imagine most must be puckered out by now—if not totally incubated by now… unless you guys were interested in joining?”

“No, I think you made the right call in dragging us out here,” Olga says, and I agree with a nod. Olga tears another piece from the skewer absentmindedly. Beatrice sighs, taking a shot from her wine glass. The unkempt maiden staggers after the drink and clears her throat.

Beatrice begins to speak, “it’s a good thing, too. You two might not be aware, but he’s all the more eager to show off his prized possessions—some cagey prisoners from Malabo.” With a long distressing sigh, my heart sinks a little. Malabo. It didn’t cross my mind to visit there. Malabo’s occupation was apparently more intense than Baltit, and the evacuation would’ve been more chaotic. But I was in such a hurry to return to the capital that I didn’t have a moment to spare.

More people suffered as a result of my actions. Or inactions, I suppose. Maybe I’m too hopeful in the Don having too much of a change of heart in his ways. “Oh, right,” another grievous sigh from Simon. “I wasn’t even thinking of that, honestly. Well… it’s a drunk audience regardless, so it’ll be a wild spectacle for them… drunk animals watching animals devour their helpless prey…”

“It’s a disgusting blood sport,” I retort, clutching my poncho, “I could’ve saved them at Malabo—I’m no better than Zhui or even the Metropolitans in abandoning them,” Simon exhales through his nose and leans in to rub my shoulder.

“I did hear of some shuttle hijack at Baltit,” Simon begins, “coincidentally happening during your visit. I didn’t think much of it, of course—but it was your doing, wasn’t it?” I look at Simon in his curious ripe eyes. Then I give a cautious nod.

“Are… are you upset with me?” I ask timidly, trying to avert my gaze and squeezing my sides. Simon slides his hand up to rub my neck. “Upset that I couldn’t save those in Malabo from a cruel fate? ”

“Of course not, Li,” Simon answers warmly, “a little surprised for sure, but upset?” Simon lightly scoffs, he presses me to his chest and pats my head, “perish the thought, Li. I’m more relieved you didn’t have them… well, butchered to save them from a crueler fate,” Simon says. His chest rises and falls slowly with a winding sigh. “You did the right thing, I think,” a pause, “a more humane right thing. ”

“Thank you, Simon, for the assurance,” I say warmly.

“That’s why I’m here for you, Li,” Simon says. He pulls himself away, holding me by the shoulders still. He draws a long breath, then unwinds a long sigh as he sheepishly eyes me from top to bottom. My cheeks blush a rosy red at his unsettling long gaze.

“Do… do you like the dress?” I ask warmly, I glance at an unimpressed Olga, “Olga picked it out for me—it was her and Brutus’s idea.”

‎ “It was my idea alone,” Olga corrects rather sharply. She tears at two helpless pieces of meat and vegetables on her skewer. Even Beatrice glances at her with morbid curiosity. Even Simon peeks at her briefly and cracks a grin.

“Olga, I have to hand it to you—you have a keen eye for taste,” Simon says wryly, his grin only getting bigger, “it’s incredible, Li, it looks unbelievably gorgeous on you. I mean, you’re enthralling as is—but it merely exemplifies your beauty,” Simon says, stroking my disfigured scar line. I find my world whirling before I know it. From his words? Or perhaps from the alcohol I consumed? Whichever the case, my lips tremble, and I search for the appropriate words to respond with. Simon chuckles and holds me steady in his firm grip.

Simon continues by speaking to Olga, “I guess that did a number on her. You know, I’ll be honest, I’m glad you guys dropped by when I was being attacked by those women,” Beatrice only retorts with a contempt laugh, “I was brooding at a table by myself wondering when—or if—you would come to bother little ol’ me,” Simon lightly chuckles. “But I’m relieved you guys saved me in the nick of time… in any case, say, would you guys like to come with me to a bar I frequent? It’s something of a little getaway for me when things get too much.”

Regaining my composure—Simon gently eases his grip—I glance at Olga before answering, “so soon? Wouldn’t that upset my father?” Simon only waves his hand.

“He has Kamon with him to keep him company. I’m practically, uh,” Simon scoffs, “the third wheel when she’s around.”

“Third wheel?” I ask. There’s that term again. Simon exchanges a glance with Olga and head-pats me again with clearly no intent on answering. “Well… I suppose it doesn’t hurt,” I turn to face Olga, “what about you?”

“I’d be more than happy to tag along with Master Simon and you, Madame,” Olga says, shaking her glass in her hands. I half-expected her to act strange again, but maybe I am simply imagining things, or drunk. “If you excuse me, I should go drag Brutus out of any trouble, I’ll meet you outside,” Olga states, “oh—you can hold onto this if you’re hungry, Madame,” she hands over what remains of the skewer then disappears into the crowd of people. There is thunderous applause and what is unmistakably the booming voice of Zhui giving a speech about the Federation’s plight.

“Will you be joining us, Beatrice?” I ask as Simon and I begin to depart. Beatrice hangs her head to the side, ruffling her unkempt and wild hair around.

“You know, I would love to,” the unabashed beauty answers, “but since that bastard father of yours is inclined to be lax on security … that means I have to stay here,” Beatrice resigns with a sigh and slumps on the stone rail, “you must have it easy with such reliable subordinates,” Beatrice muses, “I am simply brimming with envy.” Afterward, Beatrice waves me off as I scurry to catch up with Simon.

When I join Simon back in the front yard, a troubling look is cast over his face. When the old badger takes notice of me, Simon relaxes a little. “Li, listen,” Simon says, gently holding me by the shoulders, “I did forget to mention something about the bar, it’s uh… it’s located at the Löyly avenue,” just the name alone is enough to give me a chill—a repressed memory of the mechanical cock of a gun and my brush with getting executed.

Simon continues, “you don’t, uh…” a clear his throat, averting his sheepish gaze, “you don’t have to—we can go somewhere else, I’m sorry. I was being inconsiderate and didn’t think to bring it up earlier.” I place one of my hands over his and peek a grin once he locks eyes with me.

“It’s okay, Simon,” I say, his rough, leathery hands eclipse mine in size, “even so, I want to go there and make new wonderful memories over terrible ones—I want everyone to relax, to stop dwelling on the past and enjoy themselves,” I say warmly. Simon’s ever-tired eyes close, and he nods with a grin.

“Well… I gave my warning,” Simon remarks, “I can’t object to your request, I guess.” Simon then excuses himself to head off and talk to the two knuckleheads Mark and Rami while I lean against one of the cars and savor the rest of the skewer meal. It’s quite delicious. When I glance over at the trio, I notice Mark go pale as a ghost—most likely Simon informing him that we are heading for Löyly. But the man quickly regains his composure and seems to comply with going to Löyly.

Time passes by and Olga and Brutus join us. To my surprise, Brutus carries a dozing-off Olga in his arms. “My, did Olga drink too much?” I ask warmly.

“Yeah, you could say that, couldn’t pry me away from the buffet until she collapsed from tiredness.” The oaf scoffs. With the help of Rami, the two of them get the door open so Brutus can put Olga in a seat. Simon then informs Brutus of our destination—apologizing to Brutus beforehand—and Brutus takes the moment to take the information in. “Löyly… again, huh?” Brutus muses, he glares at me but shrugs, “if the Madame is alright with it, then I have no qualms. She goes on about moving forward, so best not to dwell on it too much, I suppose, yeah? ”

“That’s the spirit,” I say warmly, I turn to address the others, “let’s get going, shall we?”