From outside your front door, I saw your mom elegantly dressed, carrying a beautifully designed box containing her special brownies. A smile was engraved on her face due to excitement as she ensured she was ready and hadn't forgotten anything, then began walking towards the third house in the neighborhood.
Our neighborhood hosted its first-ever social gathering, providing housewives a chance to mingle, relax and take a break from family responsibilities. They enthusiastically engaged in various board games and lively conversations.
Your mother rang the doorbell, prompting the housewives inside the grand residence to pause their games. They exchanged knowing glances, aware of the visitor's identity. She rang the bell again, confident she was at the correct address.
From outside, she cheerfully informed them of her arrival, only to be met with silence. The housewives, particularly the stunning yet venomous Mrs. Blossom, whose beauty was marred by jealousy, deliberately ignored her, their ill-mannered behavior on full display.
Mrs. Blossom discreetly instructed her companions to remain silent and motionless. Meanwhile, your mother approached the window to verify occupancy, only to find the occupants hiding, stifling giggles.
"Is anyone inside? I brought brownies for you. They're lovely," she said, peeking through the window. Despite her cheerful tone, her voice betrayed sadness and hurt, revealing her growing awareness of being unwelcome.
Despite repeatedly announcing her arrival and offering brownies, she faced cold treatment from the housewives, led by Mrs. Blossom. Defeated, she decided to return home, carrying the box of brownies and fighting back tears.
As you tinkered with your vintage truck, you noticed your mom trudging toward home, her expression troubled. You halted your task, worried, and went to meet her.
"It seems your gathering ended quite early," you said.
"Actually, I came home because I suddenly developed a headache," she fabricated.
"Did your head really hurt, or did they ignore you?"
"Why would you say that? I was warmly received, and they insisted I stay, but I explained my situation, and they understood."
"Why didn't you leave the brownies behind?"
"I brought this back because I realized I added too much sugar. As someone my age, I should be mindful of my sugar intake."
You believed her lie despite knowing she wasn't invited. I was the one who invited her, leaving the invitation at your doorstep. Your mother entered your home, immersing herself in crochet to distract from her pain. I saw you enter, only to exit moments later, carrying the brownie box, with an angry expression.
As you gazed upon the opulent gathering, you couldn't help but notice the elegantly dressed housewives from our neighborhood, their refined features radiant as they swayed to the rhythm within the grand estate. Their unbridled joy, however, only served to intensify your ire. In a fit of anger, you flung the desserts at the door, each one a manifestation of your frustration.
As darkness fell, doorbells echoed across the neighborhood, signaling mysterious gifts for each attending housewife. Upon opening their doors, they found an enigmatic present from an unknown sender. Despite initial hesitation, the creative and eye-catching wrapping compelled them to open the mysterious gifts within their homes.
The Blue Neighborhood is filled with screams as locusts infest our neighbors' homes. You think they, especially the housewives, deserve this prank due to their behavior. However, your mother finds it unacceptable. As you look out the window, a sly grin spreads across your face, juxtaposed with the discordant screams of your neighbors, eerily harmonious to your ears.
Meanwhile, as they frantically search for a solution to dispel the locusts, you slumber deeply. At Mrs. Blossom's luxurious residence, her house nurses are diligently working to dispel the locusts, refusing to rest until the pests are eradicated. Don't be complacent, as she blames your mother for the misfortune.
I'm sipping coffee, admiring the beautiful sunrise, but your day may not remain lovely upon seeing your uprooted and severed backyard plants. Your mother carefully planted and nurtured those flowers, only for you to find her rescuing them this morning.
"Mom, what happened here?" you ask, surveying the chaos.
"I have no idea. I simply stepped out to water and found my plants in this state."
"I strongly suspect that the president of the homeowner's association is behind this."
"Rigolos, you know accusing others is wrong, especially without sufficient evidence. My friend Sebastiana would never do this to me."
"But, Mom, who else could do this to us? Only she's capable. She's envious of your influence, manipulating neighborhood housewives against you, fueling hatred. Yesterday, at the gathering, they seemed delighted while you sat crocheting in a rocking chair. I wish I knew how much you wanted to join them."
"That's enough. If you have nothing more to say, please go inside and have breakfast. I'll tidy up the yard."
"No, I'll help you clean, and we'll have breakfast together."
You're a caring son, Beagle. Seeing your mom mistreated hurts you. However, revenge isn't suitable for her and would compromise her values, making her no better than those who wronged her. You consistently show kindness to those who treat you well, however, I've observed that you're gradually developing a prickly exterior.
I saw you with Burgundy on campus, heading towards the amphitheater. Despite her storytelling, you seemed distracted, staring at your palm. I'm analyzing how this behavior might benefit your defense against those bullying your mom.
"Are you paying attention?" Burgundy inquired. It's as if you've just emerged from a reverie.
"Excuse me, what did you just say?" Burgundy slapped her forehead.
"Goodness, you weren't listening! I said before Rosielush met Layvalor, he was a mafia boss." Now you have a clear understanding of what her stories are about.
"So, you mean he's currently a retired leader of clandestine organized crime syndicate typically engaging in illegal activities?" Many thoughts are racing through your mind, and you'd rather not think about Badboy, yet you still show some interest and curiosity to avoid disappointing Burgundy.
"I'm unsure if what I heard is true, but if it is, my fear of him has resurfaced. Remember the Xhinhuan clan's downfall? They were a notorious mafia group. Rumor has it, one person took them down, still unknown."
"I'm aware of that. It's been discussed for weeks. Do you think Layvalor is capable of that? You know him better than I do, and if anyone can attest to his abilities, it's you."
After finding seats at the amphitheater, you pulled out a cookie jar from your bag. You opened it and handed it to Burgundy, who took a cookie while listening to music and reading a novel at the same time.
Your schedules are out of sync. When you have class, Burgundy is free, and vice versa. You occasionally share the same class time. Whenever you find common free time, you spend it together, making it feel like centuries since your last meeting.
I've noticed you adore resting your head on Burgundy's lap. As you lie down, you gaze at her reading, her hair strands gently caressing her cheeks, blown by the breeze. For you both, this is ordinary, but others, like Warchaic, who's been observing you, interpret it differently.
You briefly left Burgundy to use the restroom. Only the two of us were inside. I occupied the last cubicle while you used the urinal. As you focused on your business, two men entered and flanked you. You're unaware that someone outside has locked the door, trapping the four of us inside.
Your intuition is raising concerns. You're suspicious of your companions' unusual behavior, and you've also noticed they're carrying swords, making their claimed fencing club affiliation implausible.
However, their objective is not to harm you, but to take you captive. You managed to slip away before they could apprehend you. You slowly step backward, inching toward the restroom door. Though sweating, you must clear your mind and stay vigilant, unsure when they'll strike.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?"
"You were the last person with Comtalc Erowhon before his death," the man with thick eyebrows said.
"It's impossible that he wouldn't share the code with you," the man with thick lips added.
"What code? I know nothing about any code." The two exchanged skeptical glances, unconvinced by your claim of ignorance.
"If you refuse to share your knowledge, we'll have no choice but to coerce you into confessing." A hint of menace and warning underlined Bushy Eyebrow's words.
You realized they were the remaining members of the red-coated group that pursued you and Pompadour. Frustrated by your evasive skills, the duo decided to resort to violent and forceful means to capture you.
They brandished their sharp weapons, instilling an eerie fear, for a single slash could be fatal. Yet, you knew they wouldn't harm you extensively, given your value to them.
Upon reaching the door, you swiftly opened it with your ability, only to be confronted by another accomplice guarding the outside. You were cornered by the trio, with no viable escape.
As they prudently approached you, they were surprised to see you remove your cargo pants, revealing your black underwear. You appear to be utilizing your pants as a makeshift weapon. With a powerful motion, you delivered a slap to their faces, revealing your basic knowledge of karate.
You swiftly delivered a straight punch to one, a lateral kick to another, and executed a rotating throw on yet another opponent. However, for them, it was merely a warm-up. Panting, you were ridiculed by the trio as they drew their swords.
Using your agility, you turned your leather boots' soles into makeshift shields. Through agile leaps, you parried their sword attacks. Meanwhile, the pants you're holding are beyond recognition. Your pants are now ripped to shreds.
You knelt down, wounded, as the sword sliced through your thigh. Though severely injured, you persist in fighting, only to collapse. Since you don't want to tell them that you don't know the code they're talking about, it's better for them to capture and torture you, and you wouldn't want your loved ones to be involved.
I once promised to save you whenever possible, yet this time, someone else has come to your aid.
One by one, the men fell to the ground, each struck by a bullet to the head.
And then you saw Warchaic, armed with a gun.