It has been two months since he set foot in Cirillo city and lived together with a woman named Hazel Skylar. That was after going through a rigorous screening selection from that damn property agent who kept preventing the woman from staying with him. He could not understand why the property agent was so desperately trying to prevent the woman from living with him as if that man was the woman's father. The decision should be in the woman's hands, although he hoped that many of them will accept his offer because it would save the cost of renting the apartment. The man kept giving him a bad image, describing him as a wild beast that could attack her at any time. He had to admit that he had been attracted to her from their first meeting, but that did not mean he was going to attack her like the damn agent's description. He still had his pride. Silently he continued to curse that man's insolence.

'I don't think it's good for you to describe someone you just met as you said. I think he's a good man. Besides, I can take care of myself, so thank you for worrying about me.'

The woman said in an intimidating tone as the man tried to inciting that woman's mind once again, causing the egg-headed man to finally gave up. Hazel's attitude touched him deeply because as long as that man kept saying bad things about him and he desperately held back from getting swept up in his emotions, she stood up for him. This was one of the things that amazed him. Did all the townspeople of Cirillo act like that real estate agent, want to stick their nose in other people's business? In his hometown, he never found anything of the sort. The people in his hometown held to the principle of not meddling in other people's business unless they needed to do that.

He had no idea. He did not know. After all, approaching Hazel Skylar was not part of his priority to visit this city. He did not have much time to deal with trivial things like that. Whatever it was, he must not prioritize his personal affairs and feelings. He had to keep reminding himself why he was in this place now.

He stretched his stiff body muscles while removing the anti-radiation glasses he wore so that he felt comfortable staring at the computer screen in the room for most of the day, walking to his bed. Throwing his body accompanied by the sound of a long sigh. A feeling of fatigue enveloped his exhausted body. He turned around, looked at the ceiling of his room and put his hand on his forehead.

Everything he needed was complete. His investigation into the owner of the name Amanda Chloe bore fruit—as much as he could. A gentle and graceful girl who was sixteen years old. Attending Saint Ignatius High School using the music scholarship path. She had a talent for playing the piano. Five years ago lost her parents, so she now lived alone.

There was absolutely nothing special about that girl.

Then why did his late best friend desperately want to protect that girl's identity as if her existence was important to him? He did not understand. A feeling of doubt began to settle over him. Was all he did worth the death of his friend? What, what if Arnold did not want him to investigate that girl? What if Arnold wanted to keep that girl's identity hidden forever? There were many things he did not understand from the Arnold death case. He knew exactly what Arnold was like. With his physical abilities above average, his best friend should be able to easily beat the people who attacked him. He could not die without a fight. What was more, his best friend was just an ordinary employee who had just been promoted to manager of Morozov's national bank on the day of his death.

Arnold did not deserve it. That was all he knew.

His thought suddenly brought him back to his memories of Arnold's death, causing him to close his eyes while biting his lower lip. Unfortunately, his mind did not want to listen to his request at all, it kept twisting the memory until it drove him crazy. His breath caught, along with everything he remembered about that day. The scent of gunpowder mixed with Arnold's blood was pooling, filled Arnold's messy apartment. There was not any smell from the killer, and it was confusing him. All the killers he knew always left traces, causing him to start thinking about the idea of ​​a professional assassin.

His smartphone, which he placed near his computer, rang, successfully pulling him out of that bad memory. He squeezed the sheets, before getting out of bed to take his smartphone.

One text came in. From Hazel.

I'll be late today.

Reading that woman's message made him giggle. What a strange woman. Since they became roommates officially and exchanged contacts, that woman always tried to let him know whatever she did. Like this one. Honestly, he found this side of Hazel very sweet. It was like having a lover, even though the two of them had not yet reached that stage. Being a roommate was more than enough for him, for now.

No problem. What do you want to eat for dinner? I'll cook it for you.

If he was not mistaken, several days ago Hazel had mentioned her desire to taste Italian cuisine after watching the video of her favourite vlogger while visiting in Sicily city. Should he cook Italian for their dinner? That seemed like a good idea. After all, he really needed high-calorie food considering that in recent times, he barely had time to eat much. It was not difficult for him to cook Italian dishes, considering that he had learned directly from his maternal grandmother who was Italian.

You don't mind I'll cook Fettuccini Alfredo for our dinner? 

Only that menu crossed his mind. Wait. What if the woman was worried about calories just like him? This was bad. Why did not he think of that option?

It did not take long for him to receive a reply from Hazel, accompanied by a white furry dog ​​sticker with sparkling eyes.

May I? Won't it trouble you to do that?

He found himself laughing softly again as he read Hazel's message. It seemed like it would be better for him to put his anxiety aside for a while.

No problem. So how about my offer earlier?

I want it!

His laughter exploded as soon as he read Hazel's reply.

Okay. I'll make it.

Raymond turned off his smartphone screen. The tiredness he had felt just now vanished. He whistled softly, walking out of his apartment to the nearest supermarket to buy groceries.

***

Hm? What was this?

He looked in amazement at the white tart Hazel placed on the table with fresh fruit garnish as he had just finished serving Fettuccini Alfredo. His eyes blinked, staring alternately at the tart and their high-calorie dinner menu, before looking back at Hazel, who was now sitting opposite him with both hands supporting her chin, staring at him with a super cute face.

'Er, Hazel? Can I ask you something? '

'Yes?'

Raymond pointed at the tart. 'What is this?'

'As you can see, a tart cake.'

'That's not what I meant,' Raymond stroked the back of his neck, not knowing how to convey his objection to the tart, which was undoubtedly very high in calories, given the amount of whipped cream used in the cake. 'But ... well, what should I say? I really believe that today is not my birthday. '

'You don't need a special day to enjoy cake, right?' Hazel was still staring at him, making him even more awkward. 'When is your birthday?'

'February 5.'

'I'll remember,' the woman still locked her eyes at him. 'I'm May 8th.'

Eh? Why was the conversation going in this direction? And wait, why did he even tell her his birthday?

'And I'm pretty sure that I've prepared Fettuccini Alfredo for our dinner today.'

'That's why I hurried home when I knew you were going to cook Italian food.' Hazel didn't seem like the type to hide her excitement, as she could clearly see her happy expression when she looked at their dinner menu. 'You still remember what I said at that time. I didn't even know you could cook Italian. '

'My maternal grandmother was Italian,' he returned to staring at the tart, languid. 'But this dinner is high in calories, not good for health. If you add this cake ... '

'Oh, so you're the type to worry about calories, are you?'

'Well, there you are. Because I get fat easily— 'Raymond paused, realizing he had just told his biggest secret. 'Ah, no. I mean— '

'I made this cake,' a feeling of pride caught in his ears when Hazel said this. The woman rose from her chair, humming, looking pleased, took the tart and put it in the refrigerator. Honestly, he felt scared right now. Was the woman disappointed in him not wanting to eat the cake she must have painstakingly made for calorie reasons? What if Hazel was disappointed, then sneered at him for not appreciating her effort? Shouldn't he have told Hazel about his worrying about calorie, offering to taste the cake while devising a list of exercises that would help him shed all those bad calories after eating them?

'Err… Hazel?'

'Hm?'

He swallowed hard. His tongue felt tight, but he had to say it. When he was living in Morozov, he often made his women friends offended or angry because of what he said, so he was afraid Hazel might feel the same thing. Based on his experience so far, one of the things he must understand was never to make a woman angry if he doesn't want something terrible to happen.

'The cake ... I don't think it's a problem if I eat a little.'

Hazel, who had just closed the refrigerator door, raised an eyebrow in amazement. Then laughed as she waved his hand in the air. 'It can be eaten at any time. I just wanted to show you. Besides, it was my fault, didn't ask you about your preferences at first.'

'But ...'

'Next time I'll make it low-calories for you,' said Hazel again, now back in her chair. 'I should have made it when we lived together at the start, but I was really busy, so I can only make it today. No need to hesitate. Besides, my cake can be eaten anytime, but not the Fettuccini Alfredo you made. So can we eat our dinner now? '

'Yes, of course,' he still blinked, confused. Did he misread the atmosphere?