Chapter 254: He will pay him back

That same pleasant voice, delivered with that same infuriatingly gentle tone.

Anthony stared at Zlatan for a moment before forcing himself to smile.

"Hi, again..." He adjusted the shopping bags in his hands. "Do you need something?"

Zlatan tilted his head, his smile remaining unchanged.

"Not particularly. I said goodbye to Blake and Myles, then continued my stroll. Since I’m all alone, I thought we could talk a little more."

Anthony’s mouth twitched.

Talk?

He glanced down the corridor, then back at Zlatan.

"Ah, I see. That’s... nice of you." He took a small step backward. "Unfortunately, I’ll have to leave as soon as my cousin comes back, so—"

"No problem."

Zlatan took a step forward. Without the slightest hesitation, he leaned against the wall beside Anthony.

"I’ll wait with you."

Anthony went quiet, staring at Zlatan’s profile.

The man seemed perfectly comfortable, one shoulder resting against the wall, his expression as relaxed as though they’d arranged this meeting beforehand.

Anthony looked down at his shoes.

’This man really can’t take a hint.’

He’d practically announced that he was leaving as soon as Asher returned. Surely, any reasonable person would understand that he wasn’t particularly interested in extending their conversation.

Then again, he definitely had understood and simply didn’t care.

Anthony discreetly shifted the shopping bags from one hand to the other.

There was no reason to panic. This was a manageable situation, and he could handle it perfectly well if he approached it rationally.

First, he needed to estimate how long Asher would take.

Anthony began calculating.

The nearest public bathroom was approximately seven minutes away on foot, assuming Asher maintained his usual walking speed. Given that the route included a short stretch of crowded corridor, he should account for a slight delay.

However, Asher had mentioned that he needed to use the bathroom, not merely wash his hands. Therefore, the duration of his stay would depend on several variables.

Anthony mentally organized them.

Based on Asher’s habits, could reasonably be estimated at somewhere between three and five minutes, provided he didn’t get distracted by his phone.

But Asher hadn’t taken his phone out.

That reduced the probability of an extended bathroom visit.

Furthermore, if he encountered a queue, the waiting time would increase. However, given the current hour and the location of the facilities, the probability of a significant queue was relatively low.

Anthony mentally revised his estimate.

Perhaps seventeen to twenty minutes in total.

Actually, no! He’d already been waiting for a while before Zlatan appeared, so the remaining time should be shorter.

If Asher had left approximately two minutes ago, then...

Anthony’s calculations came to an abrupt halt.

He stared blankly at the floor.

’Why am I doing this?’

He was perfectly capable of refusing a conversation, he did it when absolutely necessary. Being introverted didn’t mean he was incapable of speaking up, and his usual shy demeanor was, more often than not, something he deliberately employed to make social situations easier to navigate.

A little awkwardness here, a nervous laugh there, and most people would either soften their tone or stop asking questions.

It was a useful technique.

So why wasn’t it working now?

’What is wrong with me?’

Suddenly, something cold pressed against his cheek.

Anthony flinched and turned his head.

Zlatan was looking at him, one finger still hovering beside his face.

"What’s got you so deep in thought?"

Anthony stared at him, then he glanced at the finger.

Then back at his face.

’He poked me... why?’

Anthony cleared his throat.

"I-I was thinking about my studies."

Zlatan’s azure eyes settled on him.

Anthony immediately regretted looking directly into them.

There was something uncomfortable about the way Zlatan watched him. It wasn’t an openly hostile gaze, nor was there anything particularly unusual about his expression. ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

If anything, he looked perfectly friendly.

Zlatan slipped both hands into his pockets, straightening slightly from his relaxed position against the wall.

It was such an effortless movement that Anthony couldn’t help noticing how much attention it attracted from passersby.

The man had the sort of presence that made people look twice without even realizing they were doing so.

"Is that so?" Zlatan asked. "What university are you going to?"

Anthony’s expression stiffened.

He hadn’t needed to mention his studies at all! He’d practically handed Zlatan an invitation to ask more questions.

"Ah, it’s a school you wouldn’t know," Anthony replied quickly.

The lie came out more naturally than he’d expected.

It wasn’t some obscure institution, either. The university he attended was one of the best in the country, possibly the best in his particular field.

Which was exactly why he didn’t want to mention it.

There was no reason to attract more attention than necessary, especially from someone like him, who he spied on.

Anthony offered an awkward smile.

"What about you? Which major did you study?"

Zlatan tilted his head.

"Isn’t it obvious?"

Anthony blinked.

"...What?"

"Guess."

Silence.

Anthony stared at him. Then, very slowly, he felt cold sweat slide down his forehead.

Guessing games?

Of all the possible conversational activities in the world, why did it have to be guessing games?

What was the logic behind them?

How was one supposed to make an accurate assessment when one possessed practically no information about the subject?

Anthony spied on him, but knew almost nothing substantial about him. He knew that he was twenty-two, that he’d apparently graduated from university, and that he gets job here and there for the sake of, allegedly.

None of those facts were useful for determining his major.

He could attempt to infer it from his mannerisms, but that would introduce considerable bias. A person’s appearance was not a reliable indicator of their academic background.

And even if it were, Anthony had no meaningful dataset from which to draw a conclusion.

He cleared his throat.

Zlatan continued watching him.

Anthony looked at his face.

Then his hair.

Then his clothes.

The more he looked, the more pressured he felt to provide an answer.

Why was he feeling pressured in the first place? Zlatan had asked him to guess. He could simply say he didn’t know.

It was the rational response.

So why couldn’t he just say it?

"...F-fashion?"

The moment the word left his mouth, Anthony wanted to slam his head against the wall.

Fashion?

Of all the things he could have said!

He’d simply looked at Zlatan and decided that the man was attractive enough to have studied fashion?

What kind of reasoning was that?

He smiled awkwardly into the silence.

"Ahaha... was I right?"

Zlatan stared at him. Then he covered his mouth and laughed softly.

"No, I didn’t attend fashion school."

Anthony’s smile became increasingly strained.

"I see..."

"I actually majored in cognitive science."

He was so far off that he might as well have guessed marine biology.

No, even that would have been a more defensible answer. At least marine biology had nothing to do with the man’s appearance.

Anthony looked away.

"I... see."

Of course, there was no reason for him to dig his grave any further.

He didn’t need to ask why Zlatan had chosen that major. He didn’t need to ask whether he’d enjoyed his studies, what research he’d conducted, or whether he’d gone on to pursue further education.

There was no obligation to keep a conversation alive simply because the other person was standing beside him.

Anthony was an engineering student. He had enough work to keep him occupied for the next several years.

He could think of at least twelve more productive ways to spend his time.

Thirteen, if he counted recalculating the estimated lifespan of his new calculator.

And yet, he remained there beside Zlatan.

In silence.

Why am I still here?

He glanced toward the corridor, and still no Asher.

He checked the time.

Only a minute had passed since he’d started mentally calculating the waiting period.

That was impossible.

Surely, at least five minutes had gone by.

Anthony looked back at Zlatan.

The man was still leaning against the wall, wearing the exact same pleasant expression.

He hadn’t said a single word.

Not one.

He simply stood there waiting.

Anthony looked away again.

A few seconds later, he peeked at him, and be was still smiling.

Another few seconds passed, and Anthony glanced over again. And, of course, he was still smiling!!

’Does his face not get tired?’

He was being ridiculous.

Anthony pressed his lips together and focused on the shopping bags in his hands.

He wouldn’t look at Zlatan again. He wouldn’t think about him, either.

Instead, he would calculate the approximate distance between the store entrance and the nearest exit, identify the most efficient route, and leave as soon as Asher returned.

That was a perfectly reasonable plan.

He began estimating the distance.

Approximately forty meters to the main corridor, another twenty to the escalator, and...

"Oh."

Anthony looked up.

At a distance, he spotted a familiar figure approaching, his cousin Asher.

Finally!

He had never been so happy to see his cousin in his entire life.

He immediately straightened, adjusting his expression into one of polite composure. He would not run. He would not behave strangely. He would simply thank Zlatan for keeping him company, say goodbye, and leave.

A perfectly ordinary interaction, nothing more really.

Anthony turned toward the man beside him.

"Well, thank you for keeping me company."

He gave Zlatan a courteous smile.

"I should be going now. Goodbye!"

And before Zlatan could respond, Anthony turned around and walked toward Asher.

His pace was perfectly normal.

His expression was composed.

His posture was relaxed.

If anyone had seen him, they would have assumed that he’d simply finished a pleasant conversation with an acquaintance.

Internally, however, he was sighing in relief.

He’d survived, after all.

There had been the fashion incident, but he was willing to classify that as an isolated lapse in judgment.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

As Anthony approached Asher, he wanted to glance over his shoulder one last time, but decided against it... what if he accidentally made eye contact with him?

"This time, I’m doing it."

He stopped walking, his eyes widened slightly. Then, he fully turned back.

The place where Zlatan had been standing was empty.

Anthony stared at the wall, then at the corridor.

Then back at the wall.

There was no sign of him.

He swallowed.

’...Where did he go? And what did he mean by that?’

He’d been standing right there a moment ago.

Anthony was certain of it.

He hadn’t heard footsteps, nor had he noticed the man walking away. He’d only looked away for a few seconds.

And now Zlatan was gone.

Anthony’s mind began searching for possible explanations.

Perhaps Zlatan had left while he was turning away from him those ten seconds. That was the simplest explanation, and therefore the most probable.

But Anthony couldn’t help remembering how quietly the man had appeared in the first place.

He’d approached without making a sound, started a conversation without any apparent reason, and disappeared just as quietly.

It was all perfectly explainable.

Individually.

Together, however...

"Anthony."

Asher’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Anthony turned around.

His cousin was looking at him with narrowed eyes, his expression somewhere between confusion and suspicion.

"What were you doing with that weirdo?"

Anthony blinked.

Then he glanced back toward the empty spot.

"I don’t know."

He adjusted the shopping bags in his hands.

"But..."

His expression grew serious.

"...He definitely followed me."