When Fanmuir returned to the dorm, he could hear the familiar, lively banter of Lonnie Spencer and the others echoing down the hall. Over time, Fanmuir had grown surprisingly accustomed to their antics, finding himself increasingly at ease in their company. At moments, he even envied their carefree, ordinary lives.
As soon as Lonnie spotted Fanmuir, he clapped his hands and called out, "Great, Fanmuir's back! Alright, everyone, let's go over our plans for next week's school sports meet."
The group exchanged sheepish glances before turning their gazes toward Fanmuir. With his sharp intuition, Fanmuir immediately sensed that something was up.
Lonnie, having been pushed forward as the group's spokesperson, scratched his head awkwardly. "Well, Fanmuir, there's something we need to tell you…"
Fanmuir raised an eyebrow. "Just say it. Stop beating around the bush."
Taking a deep breath, Lonnie finally blurted out, "Next weekend is the school sports meet, and, well… none of us are exactly athletic. So, uh, we decided to nominate you as our dorm's representative and signed you up for a few events."
Standing tall at 6'1" with a fit and healthy physique, Fanmuir easily outclassed his scrawnier roommates. Lonnie, for instance, looked like a stiff breeze might carry him away, and Luca was even skinnier, while the others were all below 5'7". Fanmuir, understanding their reasoning, nodded with a small smile. "Sure, why not? I've got great stamina. It's no big deal."
"Exactly!" the group exclaimed, visibly relieved by his response.
"Well… there's just one thing," Theo interjected hesitantly. "We… may have signed you up for more events than we originally intended."
Fanmuir's expression remained unchanged as he absentmindedly responded, "Oh?" Mistaking his calm demeanor for a lack of understanding, Theo raised his voice. "We signed you up for seven events."
"Seven?" Fanmuir asked casually. "Which ones?"
"High jump, long jump, shot put, javelin throw, 100-meter sprint, 1500 meters, and… the 10,000 meters," Theo admitted with a grimace, clearly feeling guilty about the grueling endurance race.
"It's fine. Don't worry about it. I'll handle it," Fanmuir replied with a reassuring smile, putting the group at ease. Seeing his calm acceptance, the boys collectively sighed in relief, their earlier guilt evaporating. Truth be told, they hadn't intended to sign him up for so much, but when the registration desk was manned by the famously stunning Sophia, they couldn't resist showing off—at Fanmuir's expense.
With Fanmuir taking the news in stride, the roommates quickly resumed their lively banter, leaving him to his own thoughts. Quietly, Fanmuir slipped out of the dorm and made his way to the library.
Immersed in the modern world, Fanmuir had grown deeply fascinated by the knowledge and culture humanity had developed. The library had become his sanctuary, a place where he could soak up the wonders of this civilization. Surrounded by books, he felt an unparalleled sense of fulfillment. Yet, with every discovery, he became acutely aware of just how much there was left to learn.
While exploring the library, Fanmuir stumbled upon books about cuisine and hospitality. He was amazed to discover how deeply food could convey cultural richness and how dining etiquette could exude such grace and sophistication. Spending the afternoon immersed in these discoveries, he marveled at the brilliance of human civilization, once again affirming that his decision to experience mortal life was the right one. Without this journey, he would have missed out on countless extraordinary facets of existence.
On his first day working at the bar, Fanmuir, a prince of the bloodline, found himself uncharacteristically preoccupied with his appearance. He caught himself glancing in the mirror several times before finally feeling satisfied.
This unusual behavior didn't escape the notice of his roommates. Over the past month, Fanmuir had shown zero interest in Helena, the campus beauty admired for her wealth and charm. Yet here he was, acting nervous and checking his reflection. Was he going on a date? His cryptic smile as he left only fueled their suspicions, with some roommates jokingly gritting their teeth in mock jealousy.
In truth, Fanmuir himself couldn't understand why he was so on edge. Was he actually nervous about starting a new chapter in his life? As he reflected on his emotions, an image of Carolyn unexpectedly surfaced in his mind—a vision of her languid, sultry elegance, her captivating curves exuding an undeniable allure. The thought left him momentarily flustered.
Quickly suppressing his thoughts, Fanmuir steadied himself and questioned his feelings. "Am I really acting this way because of a woman?" He scoffed at the absurdity of the idea. How could someone like him, with his lineage and discipline, be so easily affected by an ordinary human?
Determined to stay grounded, Fanmuir chose to walk to work to clear his mind. The 30-minute journey to the New York Story Bar gave him just enough time to collect his thoughts. He arrived at 5:30 PM, just as the bar was opening.
As he stepped inside, his eyes were immediately drawn to Carolyn's figure. She was dressed in a floral spaghetti-strap dress that hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating her alluring curves. The high slit along her leg revealed her smooth, shapely thighs, a sight that seemed to captivate the two male waiters nearby, who kept stealing glances.
Even Fanmuir wasn't immune to her charm, feeling a noticeable stir within himself. His arrival caught the attention of others in the bar, as it was unusual for a patron to show up this early. Carolyn's reaction, however, cleared up any confusion.
The sound of the door opening filled Carolyn with an unexpected sense of delight. It had been ages since she had made an effort to dress up, yet today, she had chosen a sensual spaghetti-strap dress. As the door swung open, her heart fluttered for a moment. "Could it be because of him?" The thought flashed through her mind before she quickly dismissed it.
"I'm twenty-eight, a single mom with a daughter. Why would someone like him ever be interested in me?" she thought, shaking off the fleeting hope with a wry smile.
Calming herself, Carolyn looked at Fanmuir with a graceful smile. "Good evening, Fanmuir!"
Her velvety, alluring voice, combined with the subtle yet intoxicating scent of her perfume, made Fanmuir's heart race. He froze in place, staring at Carolyn in a daze, unable to form a coherent response. After an awkward pause, he finally snapped out of it and hurriedly blurted, "Carolyn, you look absolutely breathtaking today. You've left me completely speechless!"
As the owner of the bar, Carolyn was used to receiving endless compliments from men who constantly sought her attention, often with ulterior motives. Normally, such flattery would leave her indifferent, if not annoyed. Were it not for her need to maintain business relations, she would have shown them the door without hesitation.
But Fanmuir's unpolished and genuine remark felt different. It was refreshing, like a cool breeze on a scorching day. She couldn't help but flash him a playful glare, her eyes filled with a teasing charm. The graceful tilt of her head and her radiant expression left every man in the bar momentarily entranced, as though under a spell.
For once, Carolyn wasn't irritated by the admiration directed her way. Instead, she felt a small sense of delight. Fanmuir's gaze, though filled with awe, lacked the predatory hunger she had come to expect from others.
"What are you standing there for? Come here—I'll introduce you to everyone!" With a mock scolding tone and a coy roll of her eyes, Carolyn reached out, took Fanmuir's hand, and led him toward the staff.
It was Fanmuir's first time holding a woman's hand, and it sent his mind spinning. His heart thudded wildly as if trying to escape his chest. Carolyn's hand was impossibly soft and smooth, her skin warm with a gentle femininity that made him feel both electrified and unsteady.
Unbeknownst to Fanmuir, Carolyn was equally flustered. Having already grown comfortable with him after seeing his bond with her daughter, Chloe, taking his hand felt surprisingly natural. Yet, as her fingers touched his, the strength and warmth in his grip sent her heart racing. A soft blush crept onto her cheeks, hidden by the dim lighting of the bar. Carolyn's subtle reaction didn't escape Fanmuir's sharp perception, and he found himself captivated by the delicate vulnerability of her demeanor.
"This is Fanmuir, our new waiter. He's currently a student at the Paris Institute of Arts and Sciences. Be nice to him!" Carolyn said with a smile, casually pulling her hand back. The sudden absence of her touch left Fanmuir feeling a fleeting sense of loss.
"And this is Alvis, our bartender! Over here are Allen, Barret, Shavana, and Nina…" Carolyn introduced Fanmuir to each staff member, and her voice was light and friendly. Finally, she entrusted him to Delfina, who would show him around and explain his responsibilities at the bar.
Delfina was the senior-most waitress at New York Story Bar, with 5 years of experience under her belt since starting work at the age of eighteen. She was the epitome of sensuality, with a slightly rounded oval face, almond-shaped eyes, a sharp, sculpted nose, and plump, inviting lips that made her presence irresistibly alluring.
The bar's uniform for waitresses consisted of a plaid crop top and an ivory mini-skirt. On Delfina, the ensemble was more than just a uniform—it was a weapon of seduction. The snug fit of the top accentuated her generous curves, her high, rounded hips looked flawless under the mini-skirt, and her long, shapely legs seemed to glow with a snowy radiance. She was the kind of woman who could turn heads effortlessly.
Fanmuir, despite his composure honed by frequent exposure to the allure of his stunning English teacher Olivia, couldn't entirely suppress his reaction. As Delfina approached with her confident sway, her distinctively bold charm stirred something in him.
But Delfina wasn't impressed by Fanmuir's collected demeanor. Men usually lost all composure in her presence, their eyes burning with unrestrained admiration. Yet this young, seemingly inexperienced man before her appeared unshaken. A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes—if her magnetic presence wasn't enough to fluster him, she'd have to step up her game and have some fun with the rookie.
"First time in a bar?" Delfina asked, her voice silky and rich, each word laced with suggestive undertones.
"Yes," Fanmuir replied calmly, his tone steady even as he felt the heat of her gaze.
"Let me give you a tour," Delfina said with a teasing smile, slipping her soft arm through his.
Fanmuir's heightened senses, a gift of his Apollon bloodline, made him acutely aware of every subtle sensation. When Delfina pressed her arm against his, the fullness and elasticity of her chest brushed against him through her deliberate movements. Her calculated provocations sent a wave of warmth coursing through his body. For someone who had never had intimate contact with women, Fanmuir's composure finally cracked for a brief moment, his body betraying him with an uncontrollable tremble.
Delfina, ever the seasoned tease, felt the slight quiver and pressed her advantage. Her warm breath grazed his ear as she leaned in closer, her figure brushing against him with calculated precision, testing his limits.
The other staff members exchanged wide-eyed glances, astonished at Delfina's overt flirtation. Meanwhile, Fanmuir's outward calmness became a topic of speculation—was his restraint due to self-control, or did he simply have no interest in women? Though his poise earned some grudging respect, it also drew envious glares from every man in the room, all of whom wished they were in his place.
The New York Story Bar wasn't large, spanning only 200 to 300 square meters. The ground floor served as the lively heart of the bar, where guests drank and enjoyed performances, while the upper floor was more secluded, offering a handful of private rooms. It didn't take long for Delfina to guide Fanmuir through the entirety of the venue.
As their tour ended and they parted ways, Fanmuir felt a lingering thrill that left his heart racing. It was an electrifying, unfamiliar sensation—both exhilarating and oddly comforting.
The moment Delfina stepped away, the bar's female staff swarmed around her. Even Carolyne, ever the composed owner, leaned in a little closer, her curiosity piqued as she discreetly tuned in to their conversation. Despite their hushed tones, Fanmuir's acute hearing caught every word.
"He didn't even react to your teasing! Delfina, do you think he might... you know, be into men?" one of the women whispered conspiratorially. The speculation amused Fanmuir, but Delfina's response left him inwardly groaning and questioning his self-control.
Meanwhile, the male staff weren't far behind, crowding around Fanmuir with their own commentary. Even Alvis, the suave and slightly brooding bartender, couldn't resist joining in. Barrett, the cheekiest of the group, wasted no time before blurting out, "Man, Fanmuir, you've got some serious luck! Delfina may look like a goddess, but she never lets anyone get close to her!"
Fanmuir listened quietly, his expression unreadable.
"No joke, I can back that up," Alvis chimed in unexpectedly, his usual calm giving way to a sheepish grin. "I mean, I've been trying to charm her for ages. What can I say? I'm only human!" His candid confession earned him knowing nods and grins from the others.
"So, Fanmuir, what's your take? Delfina's got an incredible figure, right?" Barrett pressed eagerly, his curiosity obvious. The other men leaned in, their interest equally apparent.
Fanmuir chuckled inwardly at their antics. "Ah, men—forever driven by their desires," he thought. Despite their blunt questions, he enjoyed the camaraderie and easy banter. But he wasn't about to entertain their curiosity. Instead, he flashed a mysterious smile and said nothing, leaving them groaning in frustration before they scattered back to work. Only Barrett lingered, pestering him until a new customer walked in, giving Fanmuir a breath.
As the night unfolded, the Seine's tranquil riverside transformed into a vibrant scene of nightlife. The soft glow of bar lights filtered through the dense foliage of French sycamore trees, painting the riverside with splashes of color. Groups of men and women strolled toward the various bars, eager to lose themselves in the evening's festivities.
In the corner of the New York Story Bar, near the riverside wall, Carolyne sat at her reserved spot, observing everything with her usual composed demeanor. She watched the flow of guests, the buzz of her staff, and occasionally stepped in to handle unexpected issues.
The regulars all knew who she was. The stunning beauty sitting in the corner was the owner herself, and those with sense avoided disturbing her.
Tonight, Carolyne's mood seemed particularly bright. Dressed in her alluring spaghetti-strap dress, she greeted familiar customers with smiles that left many patrons fantasizing. Yet, her eyes often drifted toward Fanmuir, stealing glances as he busied himself with his work.