019. Luck

He wanted her to ask the questions—to be the one to break the silence. Because truthfully, he was curious too.

Not just about her, but about what exactly she had seen during that split second when the vortex had nearly struck.

They arrived at the cafeteria a few minutes later, the buzz of conversations and clatter of trays filling the air around them. That was when she finally released his hand, allowing him to move freely on his own.

Still, she didn't leave everything to chance—without asking, she guided them to a spot of her choosing, her hand briefly brushing his back as she led the way toward an empty table she seemed to have already marked in her mind.

"Can I at least get something to eat while we have this conversation?" he begged, his stomach already growling loudly for him to hear.

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyebrows arched in silent judgment. Then, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a sharp sigh that made her frustration clear, she pushed back her chair and stood up from her seat, the motion brisk and deliberate.

"What do you want to eat?"

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes flicking over her expression as he quietly weighed his options, mentally sorting through his judgments so he could settle on the perfect combination of food that suited his mood.

Then, with a swift yet deliberate motion, he finally responded to her question, his voice steady and sure.

"I would like a salad, with a rice dish and some eggs on it. Fried eggs to be precise," he answered.

She stared at him with that eerie, lingering look—like his choice of food had personally offended her.

There was a flicker of something between disgust and disbelief in her eyes, but she didn't say a word. Instead, without so much as a comment, she turned on her heel and made her way toward the cafeteria dish desk, her silence doing all the talking.

'Did I say something wrong?' he thought as he watched her walk away.

After a few minutes, she returned, balancing both trays with practiced ease—his dish on one, and hers on another, more refined platter.

It was immediately obvious which belonged to her. Her meal looked almost artfully prepared, the colors vibrant, the portions balanced with elegance.

Compared to his, hers was clearly the superior delicacy, a quiet reminder of her status—refined, elevated, unmistakably royal.

"Your choice of food baffles me," she finally commented, after holding it in for so long.

He chuckled as he grabbed his tray from her hands. "It shouldn't surprise you, been eating stuff like this most of my life."

She didn't utter a single word as she handed it to him. With a calm, almost detached grace, she set her tray platter down on the table and eased into her seat, pulling her chair forward in a slow, relaxed motion that suggested she was perfectly at ease.

Once seated, she took a moment to neatly arrange her utensils, aligning them with quiet precision.

Then, without so much as glancing in his direction, she lifted the cover of her dish with a soft clink, unveiling the carefully prepared meal beneath.

"I'm guessing you already know why I'm here," she began, picking up her chopsticks to eat her pasta.

"I have a vague idea, but I'd rather hear you say it yourself," he said casually, his tone laced with mild amusement as he lifted the cover of his dish.

The steam rose, revealing something entirely different from what he'd ordered—an unfamiliar meal, neatly arranged, and clearly not a mistake made by accident.

He didn't react with surprise. Instead, he cast a quick glance her way and smirked, catching the faintest trace of satisfaction in her posture.

'Must be my lucky day,' he thought, suppressing a chuckle as he picked up his fork.

"So it's simple," she began, her voice calm but edged with quiet certainty. "We both know something happened that day."

She paused just long enough to pluck a single strand of pasta with her chopsticks, twirling it with practiced ease before continuing.

"I can't recall all of it… not clearly. But something definitely changed when that vortex was about to smash into us. Something real happened in that moment."

He leaned back slightly, letting his shoulders loosen as he started eating too, deliberately casual. Fork in hand, he scooped up a bite of the macaroni—still pretending not to catch the weight behind her words.

"Enlighten me," he said through a smirk, slurping the macaroni into his mouth with an almost mocking lack of urgency, as if her statement had been nothing more than small talk.

"You know what I'm talking about!" she muttered, her voice low but sharp with urgency. The sudden thud of her fist hitting the table made nearby chatter dip for a second.

"You did something right before I passed out," she pressed on, leaning in slightly.

"It was like... like a black hole or something. It came from you, from your palms. And it didn't just block the vortex—it absorbed it."

She shook her head once, as if still trying to convince herself it had really happened. "I couldn't believe what I was seeing, I still can't."

He continued eating his meal, still pretending as though what she was saying didn't make any sense to him.

"That's not possible. You were probably seeing that in that moment of shock. Don't overthink it, it's just luck that saved us that day," he murmured, trying to convince her to believe him.

"No, there's no way I was seeing things. I'm certain I recall what I saw clearly, and it's something I haven't seen before. It felt dangerously powerful."

"Tell me, what was that?! I won't reveal it to anyone, but I need to know what saved me so I can reward the owner diligently."

"Like I said, it's just luck—nothing else," he said again.

She leaned in closer, then whispered, "If you don't tell me, everyone will know what I saw… and you know they won't take it lightly."