Click, click, click...
The echo of leather shoes stepping on the ground resonates through the corridor.
Upon close listening, one could discern that two people are walking in the corridor. On the left is a white-haired old man in a black suit, carrying himself with the elegance of a steward. To the right is a boy of about fifteen or sixteen years old, with black hair hanging slightly over his delicate features. He wears high boots that reach up to his calves and a black waistcoat – understated but elegant.
Their white cuffs bear a vintage silver pattern of rotating pupils - seemingly the family badge of an ancient family.
As they continue down the corridor, the boy appears somewhat excited, his fair and delicate face flushed slightly.
"Steward, those three caused such a ruckus... This should be the gang violence mentioned in the magazines, right? Gangs wiping each other out?"
He uses some not-so-common words he had picked up to express his opinions, "Was there a gunfight?"
