“Are you sure about wanting a ride in my car, Li?” Simon asks, puzzlement in his voice—perhaps concern if anything, “I was able to get these useless stooges of mine to clear the backseat out, but we didn’t have any blasted refresher on hand.” I glance over at his underlings, and they practically hang their heads low: hands clasped like apologetic dogs. “You won’t be hurting my feelings if you wanted to ride with your men, you know,” Simon adds.

Knowing Simon, he would feel hurt, though.

I glance behind us at Olga and Brutus. They are at another car just behind us, exchanging some passing remarks over the car hood. I cannot make out what either is saying from here: most of the sailors are flowing past our makeshift parking, and it is rather loud. Olga is the first to catch my gaze, followed by Brutus. The two of them wave shortly and before I can lift a hand to wave back, I lose sight of them among the people around us.

I turn my attention back to Simon. “I believe I’ve spent more than enough time with them. I need a little break from their…,” I evoke a mild wince, “shenanigans. I’m sure they can last without me, at least for a car ride’s worth back to the manor,” I say, warmly, “it wouldn’t kill them to spend some quality time together. I don’t believe they don’t dislike one another, and since they have a common ground being my confidants, they’ll quickly form a friendship, will they not?”

Simon blows a sigh, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, well. I wouldn’t know anything about that… but it never crossed your mind that you’ll be torturing either of them this way?” Simon asks, tapping the hood of the ruby-blue car. I cock my head at the question, grimacing as I frown.

“Torturing them, how?” I ask, stroking my disfigured cheek. Simon rolls his eyes and blows a sigh.

“Well, I know if I were in Brutus’s shoes, I wouldn’t want to be in the same confined space for an extended amount of time as someone like miss Olga,” Simon muses, scratching his smooth chin, “it would make him, in particular, feel rather uncomfortable, don’t you think so, Li?” When Simon glances at me, he seems rather surprised. “Ah… you know what, Li, forget I said anything. I think it’s going over your head a little bit.”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to take that as you teasing me for being short,” I say, warmly, tugging at his cloak, “rather, I feel like you don’t want me to spend some time with you alone.”

“It’s not like that, Li,” Simon says, placing his hand over mine, “it’s more like…”

“The car really smells like shit!” Rami pipes in, nearly bursting in between me and Simon, “honestly, just standing by here, waiting for it to air out is still enough to make me gag.”

“Poor ol' Simon is worried about you getting sick!” Mark adds, also piling in from behind Rami, “honestly, just driving here with those cigs in tow made me nearly pass out several times!” From behind Mark, the last of the so-called Stooges, Rocco, grabs the heads of the other two and forces them down.

“At the end of the day, it is our fault—or rather these two knuckleheads are at fault for not even shoveling out the cigarettes earlier,” Rocco glares at Simon, who forces a pitiful smirk, “and this guy manages to be an even bigger bozo than these two. Seriously! Who runs through nearly a cart full of cigarettes and doesn’t even bother disposing of them properly?!” Rocco wraps his arms and nearly strangles Rami and Mark, “really, though, despite our shortcomings, we just don’t want you to get so queasily,” Rocco says, “especially after how horrible the stuff you just went through. The other car has clean air and stuff, though.”

“Rocco, Rami, Mark… I appreciate all of your concerns, and Simon’s too…” I say, softly, looking them all in the eyes as well as Simon’s, “I don’t mind, really… and for better or worse I’ve been sort of accustomed to it over the years,” I shift my gaze over to the rolled down windows, and the rear car doors both left ajar. “I’m sure they’re both adequately aired out by now. I think the four of you are fretting over this much more than you might think.”

Simon lets out a scoff. “Alright, alright, Li, you win,” he pats me on the shoulder, “should I have one of my boys act as Brutus’s and Olga’s driver?” I glance at the car the aforementioned duo are at. It crossed my mind that I could have Carla drive for them instead. But she has experience with piloting a shuttle, not a ground vehicle. Plus, I don’t have a way of summoning her at the moment. At least not in this confusing mess of a crowd.

“I don’t see why not,” I remark “I hoped of seeking out another pilot to act as their chauffeur—if it meant making things less awkward for Brutus… but now that I think about it, having two women accompany the big oaf would make him unsettled, so sending a male driver would make things more comfortable as company…” I trail off, looking the three stooges in the eyes, “…probably.”

“I’ll go!” Rami says, making his way towards the rear car, “I’ll make it my duty to make things as awkward as possible for the two of them,” he says, scurrying along. I give my nod but realizing that the crowd makes it hard to hear, turn to the remaining trio.

“Wait, what did he say?” I ask. The trio doesn’t say anything and only answers with smiles.

“Er, sorry, I think I bit my tongue,” Rami says, hurriedly, “I’ll try to keep things as lively and positive as possible,” and with that, he runs off out before I could protest.

“You know, I think I’ll join him,” Rocco says, rushing off to join him. He turns to glance at us, “just to make sure he doesn’t spark any arguments, and, uh, cause a tragic accident or something. Never mind Mark’s driving, Rami is the least qualified driver there is in Toscana.”

“Hey!” Mark shouts “I’ll have you know I only crashed… maybe four times this year,” Mark turns his attention to us, “y’know, wouldn’t it make more sense for Rocco to stay here and have me go, instead? I mean, the thought of driving for you two just makes me anxious.”

“Well, it probably doesn’t matter either way,” Simon answers, “just start the damn car already.” At Simon’s order, Mark enters the driver’s seat and gets ready to turn on the vehicle. At the other car, Brutus and Olga enter the rear passenger seats, and Rocco and Rami likewise start the car as well.

“Your henchmen are quite eccentric, Simon,” I say, laconically, “I’m not sure if I should be worried for our wellbeing, or Brutus and Olga’s wellbeing.”

“I sometimes wonder why I even bother with these stooges,” Simon says, palm to his face, “you wouldn’t believe how much trouble they cause me daily. Hell, just a few days ago I practically got thrown out of a hotel because of their idiocy. Eccentric doesn’t even do them… er, justice of describing their nature. The men under you are far more complacent in comparison, it makes me a little jealous I don’t have normal-functioning people under me.”

“With subordinates like these, how can you say you don’t have a moment of dullness in your life?” I ask, stroking one of my long bangs.

“Life’s a comedy, as the saying goes,” Simon laments in return, “in my case, it’s more like a black comedy.” I can’t help but peek a pained smile at those words. Simon gestures for me to enter the car, holding the door open as I duck and take a seat. Inside, I find myself nearly suffocated by a strong gust of lingering tobacco: my lungs and facial scar burn mildly from the still-strong stench. Simon must’ve noticed my brief agony, and he stares at me with a frown. “I did warn you it would be horrible… having second thoughts about the second-hand smoking?” Simon asks with his hand on the door’s handle.

“I’ve been through much worse,” I say, mustering a stinging smile, “at least this has been… ventilated to some degree. Unlike that one time when you—” Simon throws his hands up and groans.

“Alright, I get it,” Simon says. It is difficult to hear him being drowned out by the roar of the engine as the dim-witted Mark finally got around to turning the car on. The driver pokes his head out and yells at Simon to get in already. Simon shrugs with a sigh and breaks off to head around the car and enter the seat adjacent to me.

A slight pull as the car advances slowly through the progressively thinned-out crowd. We pick up momentum, but it isn’t for long as we then slow down as we make our way through the unfolding traffic jam at the harbor gate. “So, while we still have time,” Mark says craning his neck to us, “where are we heading, anyway? The capital building, the big boss’s palace, the lady’s manor, some pub-hopping…” Mark trails off into a whisper, indicating his carnal desire to stop at bars more than anything. I lean back into my seat and prop my head on the head cushion.

“Knowing my father… he’ll want to waste no time in capitalizing on our victory by organizing a grand feast at the palace,” I say, meeting glances with Simon. Of course, I would like to add that Zhui may intend to deliberate with Kamon on the best possible way to deal with me, but it’s a thought I quickly suppress. The longer I dwell on the issue, I feel, the more unnecessary stress I will be placing myself under. From what I know it is mere fantasy—delusions of a fate that may never come to be. I have to keep telling myself that disposing of me will not bode well in a future where the Metropolitans will indeed invade one day.

Without another thought, I grasp at the red bandanna tucked away under my cloak and stroke its smooth, relaxing texture. I have to believe that everything will work out fine for me. What other choice do I have? I lift my head before continuing, “what he’ll do until then is beyond me, though. So I’ll rather take advantage of this lull and relax at the manor, at least for the time being.”

“Alright… fair enough,” Mark says somberly “I take it you want Rami to drop them off at your manor, as well?” I think on the question for a moment before giving my acknowledgment to do so. Mark complies and orders Rami on the car radio about our destination. “Though what I’d do for a beer right about now,” it’s a mumble I only somewhat make out. Simon must’ve heard it too because he lets out a quiet scoff.

Before long, the bottlenecking of the harbor gate eases up. And like a surge of water bursting through a dam, our vehicle, and our accompanying car races through one of Brunsbüttel’s many highways. I take the opportunity to lean slightly out the window, taking in the somewhat refreshing air and the wind, ever so rapid, and coming at me so boldly, brushing off my skin with coolness. If we were driving slower, the gushing wind would be fine—smoother than what it is now, as calm as water. Nonetheless, I take in the whipping wind as I observe the surrounding meadows interrupted by the occasional suburban district and dotted by the sparse cottage.

It is almost as calming as it is hopeless to know that these people live in ignorance. If things had panned out differently, these lush fields and innocent communities would’ve no doubt been scorched to crisps. Any and all relations we have established would have been for naught. But even so, if I have failed at either Velksland or Valspon—there’s no telling what the Metropolitan forces would’ve done to the local populaces. Would they have initiated a campaign of brutality, or would they enforce a stricter living policy than what we subject the people to? I have heard horrible rumors of reprisals by Ruthenian soldiers, but not so much as Federation ones.

I shudder to think what would have happened if Jung did not annihilate the Ruthenian contingent and if we had lost the battle at Velksland. If they survived, they would have no doubt inflicted terrible retribution upon the L übeck colonies.

Jung …

Sliding back into my seat, I glance at Simon, who rests against the open window, a hand cupped over his mouth in deep ponder. His eyes wander the passing country towns. He reaches for his inside pocket—perhaps a carton of tobacco, but he retracts his hand with a clenched fist. He turns his gaze to meet eyes with me, but it’s only brief. As in embarrassment, his eyes dart back to the landscape.

“Sorry…” Simon mutters, “old habits will die hard. And for this old dog, teaching it new manners will be hard as hell,” Simon says, an attempt at suppressing a scoff.

I stare at Simon for a little longer. Then I pass across the seats, slowly, closing the gap between Simon and me. Simon tries his best not to pay attention but his curiosity betrays him. I gently rest against his arm: head on his shoulder. The unbelievable stench and the awkward positioning make it difficult to relax like this, but I bear with it nonetheless.

“I’ll be there to put you in your place, Simon, even if nobody else does,” I say, warmly, a stroke of his arm. Unexpectedly, Simon raises his arm—I lean the other way to give him ample space to extend it. I look at the man with bafflement, but it dawns on me what he was implying for me to do.

And I’m more than happy to oblige. I scoot closer, slowly, the stench all the more prominent, and rest myself on Simon’s chest. His outstretched arm lowers itself-seemingly rather reluctantly, and I tug at him in assurance. Simon wraps his arm around me, a modest grip on my feeble shoulder.

“Li,” Simon mutters “you don’t know how sentimental I’ve gotten this past week,” a loud clearing of his throat “to be able to have you in my arms… to be able to hold you like this—if I had to… if I had to hold your lifeless body, I’d… I’d be a very broken man. I’m holding it in like you wouldn’t even know, Li… just thinking about Emmanuel and Jung’s deaths…,” Simon clears his throat again, a little pronounced this time, “I’m still in shock, still coming to accept that these old boys are gone.”

A sense of unprecedented guilt swells in my chest. I bury my head onto Simon’s chest and let out a tired sigh. I close my eyes and grip Simon’s cloak. “Their deaths were on me, Simon,” I say softly, “I could’ve prevented their deaths. And yet, still… I pushed forward and wasted so many lives. I acted so carelessly…

“It should’ve been me that died, Simon. So many good men perished because of my incompetence…” I bury my head in Simon’s side, “I’ve judged others for letting me down with their incompetence, but I’ve come to realize I’m a bigger failure than any. I’ve let you down, Simon…,” I slip out the crimson bandanna that once belonged to Julius, “I’ve let down everyone I’ve ever known and love.”

There’s no response at first, and I dare not look up. I’m too lost in my guilt to even bother. But I feel a droplet on my head—wetness. Then a pressing and gradual rub of my hair.

“Nonsense,” Sim nearly croaks, “nonsense, nonsense, Li. People have died, but it’s not your fault,” Simon continues to comb through my hair with his long, slender fingers, “blaming yourself will not solve anything. Resigning yourself to sorrow will not bring them back,” Simon places his other hand on mine and strokes the bandanna as he continues, “agonizing over the past accomplishes nothing but hurting yourself, Li. And when you suffer, the people around you hurt too: like me, Li,” Simon clears his throat, followed by a sigh, “I don’t want to see you suffer alone anymore.

“We may have lost a lot of friends, old and new, but it’s inevitable. It is by no one’s fault that they have died, other than the Feds who were forced to fire in anger. But what I’m getting at is, Li, it was all out of your control. The only thing you can do is accept reality and move on—they would’ve wanted that too.

“And as for me,” Simon continues, struggling to keep his throat cleared, “I don’t want you to think you failed me, Li, or any of that nonsense. You did what you could, and I don’t want you to think otherwise. You did what many couldn’t, and survived. And for me, that’s more than enough,” I bite down on my lip and shut my eyes as Simon’s stroking hand slides down to caress my cheeks, “you did good, Li. I…” a brief pause, “I’m proud of you. You’ve remained so strong against overwhelming odds even without me by your side. I couldn’t possibly express in mere words how proud I am of you.”

I lift my head, and as I do, Simon embraces me tighter. Likewise, I reach around him with my arms, trembling all the same, “thank you, Simon, thank you so much,” I choke, “and…,” I bite down on my lip, brushing against his chest, and tightening my embrace, “I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble. I’ve been so terrified… so terrified of what I was doing. Terrified of what will have to come.”

A slight squeeze and I look up at the weary-smiling Simon. “Everything will be okay now, Li,” he says, softly, holding me closer, “I won’t make the same mistake twice and let Zhui or Kamon lay a finger on you,” Simon traces my scar with a thumb, and I wince a smile, “that’s a promise I intend to keep, so long as I live… no matter what.”

“As long as you remain dedicated to quitting smoking,” I say wryly, grinning more despite the pain, “you have two—but very big—promises to keep, Simon” as I finish, the man emits a grunt.

“Yeah,” Simon sighs, “yeah… I do, don’t I?” He chuckles and gives me another gracious rub. Simon then takes one hand to prop his head against the window: a furrowed brow. I follow his gaze at the depressing concrete jungle comprising Brunsbüttel’s central block that passes us rather slowly because of traffic. “Let us hope that the Don or his wife won’t make any irrational decision in the foreseeable future.”