Damien anticipated an uncomfortable dilemma as he approached the car, assuming neither Ezra nor Louis would willingly take the passenger seat next to Maximillian. To his surprise, Ezra swiftly claimed the spot, casting a challenging glance at Maximillian, as if silently daring him to shy away from the driver's seat.
Damien's another assumption about an impending awkward silence in the car was also as off the mark as a GPS in a cornfield maze. As soon as he sealed the car door behind him, his stomach decided to throw a full-blown rebellion, grumbling like it had just survived a week-long hunger strike. He half-expected it to break into a soliloquy about the trials and tribulations of being a neglected stomach.
To his dismay, the rumbling didn't subside after its initial dramatic entrance. Instead, it morphed into a comically sharp and squeaky symphony, persisting for what felt like an eternity. Damien couldn't help but wonder if his stomach had decided to audition for a role in a cartoon soundtrack.
Nobody in the car seemed to acknowledge the cacophony. Each person stared resolutely ahead, as if participating in a solemn staring contest with the dashboard. Feeling the need to break the silence and salvage what was left of his dignity, Damien blurted out, annoyance tainting his tone, "I haven't had breakfast yet, okay! Can't a man's stomach growl without turning it into an impromptu comedy show?"
Ezra fixed Damien with a serious gaze and deadpanned, "Why are you acting up? We didn't say anything."
"Then say something," Damien retorted.
"Okay, that sounded like my cousin's attempt at playing the violin. It was like a musical experiment—an endeavor to reinvent a classic."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "You mean an attempt that failed miserably since your cousin is basically the Beethoven of terrible violin playing. Honestly, I regret asking you. You've already transformed into the snarky little shit you become in times of worry."
Ezra gave him a judging look. "Well, what do you want me to say then? That it was an attempt that passed with flying colors? That the sound was as grand as Oh Fortuna played by a grand orchestra?"
Damien couldn't help but snort and chuckle. "Where the hell is this conversation going anyway...?"
Just as things were spiraling into the absurd, Louis's stomach chimed in with a more modest grumble. It was like a polite whisper compared to Damien's rebellious orchestra. Louis shifted uncomfortably, his shyness evident. "I... I too skipped breakfast... and dinner."
Before anyone could utter a word, another cry of hunger echoed through the air, and this time it was Ezra's stomach voicing its discontent. The sound was sharp and angry, like his stomach was staging a protest. Oddly unfazed, Ezra's annoyance wasn't directed at his growling belly but at Maximillian and Damien, who were giving him the look that said, 'Really, bro?'
Ezra's brow twitched, and he shot them a smile tinged with irritation, all while dramatically pointing at his eye bags. "As your graces can very clearly see and undoubtedly notice, I currently resemble a demented soul. The kind that, upon sight, could probably make people's colons prolapse. This sorry state of mine is the aftermath of the sheer amount of trauma I faced yesterday, which, by the way, kept me up the whole freaking night. Did you honestly think I was in the mood for food?"
Damien, not wanting to push Ezra any further after his dramatic revelation, decided to zip it. However, his eyes took on a judgmental life of their own, boring into Maximillian as if they were tiny laser beams on a mission. Though Damien kept his mouth shut, his eyes practically held up scorecards, and Maximillian felt the invisible daggers piercing him.
With an air of calm composure, Maximillian began, "Clearly, it's only feeble folks like yourselves who'd let an incident disrupt their life patterns to the extent of skipping meals. Besides, I've never had such embarrassing things happen to me in pub—"
He couldn't finish his sentence as his stomach decided to play the role of a rebellious teenager, mocking him outright. Maximillian's face went blank, conveniently ignoring the not-so-suppressed snicker from the passenger seat and stifled laughter from behind him. Without missing a beat, he started the car and drove toward a nearby café.
When he saw Maximillian getting out, Damien couldn't help but complain, "Can't we just munch on something in the car?"
Maximillian turned to him with an incredulous expression. "Excuse me? Did I hear you say you'd like to turn my car into a mobile buffet with your questionable eating habits? No. Never. My car has standards, you know?"
So, there they were, begrudgingly seated at a café that could be the poster child for questionable hygiene practices, complete with a menu that seemed to specialize in mysteries and greasy tables that could double as frying pans. Maximillian's face morphed into a perpetual frown as he prodded a pancake that felt more like cardboard, eyeing it with a mix of disbelief and mild horror. He was even too afraid to touch any of the utensils.
"Mister High-Fly, cruising into a crumbling town in your Bugatti – what were you expecting from the cafés here? A truffle-infused croissant garnished with edible diamonds?" Ezra rolled his eyes, unperturbed as he calmly stabbed into his honey toast. Maximillian couldn't shake the feeling that he heard a suspiciously crispy crack, not quite convinced that toast should make sounds like that.
"I expected food," Maximillian deadpanned.
"And you got your food," Ezra replied, gesturing to Maximillian's plate of cardboards cosplaying as pancakes.
Maximillian, still skeptical, surveyed Ezra's plate. "Did you order rusk? Like, brick rusk?" he questioned, eyeing the seemingly indestructible toast.
Ezra ruthlessly thrust his knife into the toast, applying so much force that Louis, contemplating his own breakfast set, started eyeing his food suspiciously from every angle. With an air of determination, Ezra tore into the toast, as if it had personally wronged him, and spoke amidst the toast-destroying chaos, "No. But I distinctly remember that I requested answers. So if you would be so kind."
Maximillian, ever the skeptic, retorted, "Sure, I'll spill. But I'm betting you won't even make it through one bite of that thing."
However, Ezra defiantly took a massive bite, chewing with the gusto of someone devouring their life problems. And, according to Ezra, his life problems were hard – harder than bricks – and tasted suspiciously like lemons. But, of course, Ezra was too proud to admit that or back down, especially not in front of Maximillian. The toast was no match for Ezra's unwavering commitment to chewing away life's sour moments.
Maximillian couldn't help but fight back a smile and a chuckle, having successfully predicted Ezra's stubbornness. Ezra was just so cute sometimes. However, despite his inner thoughts, he maintained a stoic demeanor as he turned to the seemingly happiest person at the table and inquired, "Hey, is that any good?"
Damien, with an air of culinary caution, replied in a hushed tone, "It tastes very much like porridge. The kind I cook for myself. It's fine. But, just so you know, Ezra once described my porridge as vomit, so I can't promise it's everyone's cup of tea."
Maximillian fought the urge to facepalm, realizing the comedy of errors that had led him to the gastronomic crossroads of questionable dining. He hadn't eaten lunch the previous day because his fashion-conscious brother insisted on a perfect fit for Maximillian. Dinner became a distant dream as he fretted over Ezra's well-being all night. After a sleepless night, breakfast seemed like an unnecessary luxury. And now, here he was, contemplating a meal that could double as a daredevil stunt.
The café was conveniently close, saving him from the prospect of a marathon search for a better eatery. He felt stiffled and uncomfortable at the thought of an extended car ride with Ezra and opted for the nearby questionable joint. Maximillian couldn't help but regret this decision, especially considering the café's emptiness and its location in what seemed like the shady underbelly of the town.
As he eyed the questionable feast before him, Maximillian wondered if this was the universe's way of playing a cosmic joke on him. Food poisoning: the not-so-glamorous price to pay for avoiding an extended car trip with Ezra.
His attention snapped away from the dubious breakfast situation when a protein bar materialized in front of him, presented by a very pretty hand. Ezra remained engrossed in his breakfast battle, avoiding eye contact, as he casually remarked, "I just remembered that I had one in my pocket. Celeste loves them and gave me one this morning when I didn't eat any breakfast. You can have it. Now get on with it, start speaking. What did you find out?"
Maximillian contemplated rejecting the bar, but the intensity in Ezra's serious eyes, bearing a somewhat omniscient gaze, dissuaded any banter. He accepted it without a word, pointedly ignoring Damien's openly intrigued gaze, acutely aware of the unspoken tensions lingering between him and Ezra.
"The countess mentioned that we're allowed to showcase minimal emotional displays, as long as it doesn't steal the spotlight from the ongoing plot or disrupt our character dynamics," Maximillian began to explain.
Maximillian ripped open the wrapper, maintaining a casual tone, "I mentioned that we've observed some overlap between our character traits and interests and that of our real selves'. Strangely enough, they seemed puzzled, insisting that the characters they portray bear no resemblance to their real selves."
A thoughtful silence settled over the table as everyone absorbed these words. Ezra, after a brief pause, inquired, "Did the countess share any insights on the matter?"
Damien, with a sly grin, teased Ezra, "Quite keen on the countess, aren't we?"
Ezra shot Damien an unimpressed look, retorting, "She strikes me as an exceptionally sharp individual. I simply value her opinion on the subject. My own theory seems like it could lead to a host of complications."
Intrigued, Louis joined the conversation, asking gently, "What's your theory?"
Ezra shook his head, "I'd prefer to hear if the countess had anything to say about it first. Or if anyone else has some input."
Maximillian's mouth formed a tight line before he spoke, his eyes subtly gliding past Louis's face. Maximillian knew that he himself had stumbled upon the same theory Ezra entertained. "She did say something, in fact," Maximillian began, his voice measured. "She started by asking about our majors. When I replied, she looked me square in the eyes and suggested that, considering various details, there's a possibility we might understand that world better than they do."
Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose at the revelation. "Observant doesn't even begin to cover it. Countess Penelope must have picked up on many things."
Maximillian, fighting to suppress a sneer, maintained a controlled demeanor. "Observant indeed," he muttered, recalling the way the countess had scrutinized the dynamics between Ezra, Louis, and himself. Her amused smile and sly glint as she commented after seeing Louis and Ezra's characters flirt, "What a pretty pair they make, don't you think so too, Mister Carlisle?" still echoed in his mind, leaving him annoyed.
Another persistent source of discomfort for Maximillian was Penelope's new found inclination to seek Ezra's perspective on various matters related to that world yesterday. The way she regarded Ezra with the same respect he observed in Ezra's eyes bothered him more than he cared to admit. It wasn't that Ezra didn't deserve such regard—he was undeniably intelligent and worthy of respect. What irked Maximillian was the apparent ease with which Ezra and Penelope clicked, seemingly able to anticipate each other's abilities despite not having shared that many words.
Maximillian felt his eyebrow twitching, grappling with an unwelcome surge of jealousy over someone who was no longer his. The internal struggle left him resenting himself for succumbing to such emotions.
Louis's expression grew more concerned as he voiced his worry, "Does that imply that... we might have some connection to that world?"
Ezra and Maximillian involuntarily locked eyes for a fleeting moment before diverting their gaze to their respective plates. Ezra spoke cautiously, "I was skeptical initially, considering the countess and her knight appeared to hail from a single world. The fact that we three share a world didn't seem significant. However, among all those transported to that world, it appears that only the three of us retain certain aspects of our real personalities in our characters."
He continued with a hint of hesitation, "Moreover, the major of the characters at the university in that world is software engineering. Ironically, I'm the only one among us who actually majored in it. But... well, there was someone I knew who had a deep fondness for that major. It was their aspiration."
Louis felt a sudden freeze in his chest, an unwelcome suspicion taking root. Ezra's next words only deepened his unease, "The food presented there, the colors of our clothes—it all aligns with the preferences of that person. Even the main charac—"
Louis interrupted, his voice shaky, "Wait, Ezra... Aston, this... you can't be serious." He looked visibly shaken, the implications sinking in, and a sense of foreboding settled over the table.
Maximillian sighed deeply, an air of resignation settling over him. "Denying the connections won't change the fact that many elements in that world revolve around that person. Micaela, once their classmate. Alicia Heathers, who not only looks remarkably like that person but also has a name eerily similar. The oddity of the main couple being Alicia Heathers and my character becomes clearer when you remember that the person used to pursue me relentlessly back then."
As Ezra and Maximillian unfolded the peculiar coincidences, Damien's mind cleared, and shock settled in. The pieces started falling into place, and a name stuck in his mind. His gaze shifted oddly toward Louis, realization dawning in the midst of the unexpected revelations.
Louis found himself entangled in a web of complex emotions, the turmoil evident in his quivering eyelashes. As he delved deeper into the revelation, small instances surfaced, aligning with Alice Hughes's tendencies and preferences. The undeniable connection extended even to the pairing of his character with Ezra, a realization that gnawed at him.
His head felt like it was on the verge of breaking, yet he managed to speak with a voice that cracked under the weight of his revelation, "You're... you're right. Why does everything seem to point to my sister?"