SCORCHING:

Unconsciously biting on his lower lip, Ezra awaited further texts from Louis, his gaze fixed on his silent phone. When none came, he sighed and reluctantly pocketed the device. The hand cradling his drink hovered absentmindedly, the glass teetering dangerously, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. Maximillian, ever watchful, swiftly intervened, snatching the glass away before any liquid could escape, and chided,

"You're going to turn my floor into a mess. Watch yourself, Ashton."

"I can't possibly soil a floor you've already walked on, Carlisle."

"You're trembling like a frightened pup, yet you still find the strength to argue."

"Well, my disdain for you surpasses even fear itself. Deal with it."

Ezra, though apprehensive, found a strange comfort in the banter. Maximillian grating on his nerves this way was a distraction he welcomed reluctantly. Something clicked in Ezra's mind, and he wanted to inquire if Maximillian had done it deliberately, but he held back. Why bother? Hope for someone like him was a dangerous game. Instead, he redirected his thoughts, focusing on a more pressing matter.

"Who told you to drink from that? That's my drink."

Attempting to reclaim his property, Ezra's hand fell short as Maximillian turned away, swiftly finishing the contents. He then resumed his poised demeanor, meeting Ezra's gaze with indifference.

"You can have it back. Here, let me open my mouth."

"Ew. No. Stop acting like a child. Your desperate attempts to make me hate you are making you look pathetic. Why are you even here anyway? I was sure you'd skip the party. Don't get me wrong; that was a pleasant delusion on my part."

Maximillian almost chuckled, a faint smile playing on his lips as he observed Ezra's annoyed gaze fixed upon him, as if Maximillain were the embodiment of all things negative. They were cute, oddly soft in their shade of grey, even in their current irritation. Back in the day, Maximillian would openly praise them, expressing unabashed adoration. But that was a different time, a time he couldn't revisit.

Turning his face away, he adopted a casual tone, "You were searching for me? Can't say I'm honored. It's a bit uncomfortable, actually."

"Wow. Never knew you were so delusional and conceited. Let me ask you, when you dread the possibility of staining your eyes with an unpleasant sight, don't you unconsciously consider it and brainstorm ways to avoid it? Besides, you're dodging the question so blatantly. I'm curious to know what could have dragged a jerk like you to this event."

"I forced him to come," came a mature and elegant voice. Minerva approached Ezra with a pleasant smile. Ezra instantly stood upright. While he harbored no fondness for Maximillian, that sentiment didn't extend to most of his family. Minerva, for example, was someone he deeply respected.

Minerva cast a disapproving look at Maximillian. "Stop bothering our guest. Have some shame."

Maximillian's cold demeanor softened somewhat in the presence of his sister. Minerva commanded not only respect but also an unconscious sense of trust and goodwill. Naturally, Maximillian trusted her a great deal. "I will take my leave then."

"No, don't leave. I just wanted you to be more courteous. I actually have something to tell the two of you," Minerva interjected.

She then turned to Ezra, and her smile softened considerably. "How have you been, Ezra? It has been a long time, has it not? I have tried reaching out to you, but our schedules never align. I suppose higher studies demand more attention. I'm glad I got to meet you today. Asking the chairman to send Celeste that letter proved to be the correct action."

Ezra felt a pang of guilt hearing Minerva's words. It wasn't that he never had time to meet her; he just lacked the courage. The fear of her unveiling the reason behind Maximillian's painful breakup loomed large. If he discovered he unknowingly played a role in the heartbreaking and cold decision, it would shatter him. So, like a coward, he avoided her.

Yet, it seemed Minerva hadn't given up on him. She went the extra mile, extending an invitation to Celeste in hopes Ezra might join. As she greeted him, Ezra couldn't help but feel a mix of guilt and gratitude.

"Miss Minerva, it's a pleasure. I'm sorry I never reached out to you."

Minerva scanned him up and down before taking Ezra's hand, expressing genuine happiness, "You look good, Ezra. Lovely. It seems like things have gotten better for you."

Ezra managed a smile, even though recent events had taken a toll. "You look better, though. It doesn't at all look like you're a mother of a seven-year-old. How is Vivian doing?"

"Oh, she's turned into a little monster these days. Always getting herself into one trouble after another. She mentions you from time to time, you know."

Ezra's laughter, though tinged with awkwardness, mirrored the unease that lingered beneath the surface. Minerva, however, responded with a gentle understanding smile. Her gaze shifted between Maximillian and Ezra, and with a soft tone, she broached a request, "Can I ask for a favor from you, Ezra?"

Perplexed but willing, Ezra nodded, not wanting to disappoint her directly, "Of course. If it's within my capabilities."

Minerva held his hand delicately, her words carefully chosen, "I came across numerous features showcasing your and Celeste's ventures as amateur models in magazines. Your style resonated with me, and I believe it aligns perfectly with the concept shoot for our company's latest venture. Would you consider modeling for it?"

Ezra, taken aback, expressed his reservations, "But Miss Minerva, I've heard that your new game has garnered substantial funding and high expectations. I'm just an amateur model who does this part-time. Wouldn't it be more fitting to hire someone more renowned for better publicity?"

Minerva shook her head with conviction, "I've considered it thoroughly, and I genuinely believe that you're the perfect fit. I'd even like you to feature in the ad."

"Are... Are you really sure?"

The magnitude of the project and Minerva's belief in him left Ezra feeling overwhelmed. He wanted to accept the opportunity; it promised significant compensation and the chance to rely less on his aunt's generosity. In comparison, his reluctance to meet with Minerva seemed trivial. He resolved to maintain a respectful distance between them.

"If you're fine with me, I'd be ever so grateful," he replied, accepting the opportunity with gratitude.

Minerva's delight radiated as she absorbed Ezra's commitment, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "You promise, right? No take-backs?"

Ezra's response was unwavering, "Of course."

Maximillian, growing impatient, interjected, "Why am I here, sister? Why do I have to listen to all this? You said you had something to say."

Minerva shot him an unimpressed look, her patience wearing thin, "What? You couldn't figure it out? Why would I allow you to endure this conversation if I didn't intend for you to join Ezra for the shoot?"

The revelation left both Max and Ezra startled. Ezra, in a split second, regretted his earlier promise, but he couldn't retract his words now. On the other hand, Maximillian, in a clear display of rejection, clutched Minerva's shoulder and protested, "No, sister. What made you think I would accept your request?"

Minerva's expression remained firm, her tone cutting through Max's defiance, "Accept my request? I'm afraid you're mistaken, Max. You have no choice in the matter. I consider this as you repaying me for helping cover your actions when you ran away in the middle of the discussion regarding our companys' collaboration with the chairman of J.S three days ago. And to God knows where. You even wore one of his shoes in your haste. I can't believe you, Max. What possessed you to behave that way, especially when that man made the effort to visit our house?"

Three days prior marked the pivotal meeting where they had engaged in discussions about the other world. Ezra shot Maximillian a subtle, judgmental glance before turning his weary eyes away, sighing in exhaustion. How had Ezra harbored the notion that everything would unfold perfectly, free from any hitches? It was a fleeting, optimistic delusion now shattered.

After delivering her ultimatum to Maximillian, who wore a disbelieving gaze, Minerva handed Ezra her business card, smiled at him tenderly, and gracefully departed, leaving the two men to grapple with the abrupt turn of events.

As Ezra turned towards Maximillian, wanting to tell him to f**k off already and leave him in peace, his vision blurred unexpectedly. When clarity returned, he found himself standing in front of the familiar wooden cram school building from his initial arrival in this world. This time, however, everything appeared meticulously organized and spotless, with no traces of damage to the building whatsoever.

As Ezra stood there, a young girl raced past him, laughter trailing behind her. She extended an invitation for him to join her, her arm outstretched. He recognized her instantly – Micaela Wintour. Above her head loomed a window, dictating her actions. The subtitle shifted, now reading: [Chapter 10]

Ezra moved to take her hand, ready to engage in the playful moment, but his attention was abruptly seized by the sudden voice of another young girl. The tone resembled the slight huskiness that Alicia had, and the urgency in her words was undeniable,

"I saw the building on fire! I really saw it! Believe me!"

As those words echoed, Ezra witnessed the scene transform. The building caught fire, yet Micaela stood there, continuing to smile at him. However, within those seemingly carefree eyes, Ezra detected a profound fear. These emotions didn't align with the Micaela of the story; they belonged to the real Micaela Wintour, the girl portraying the character.

Ezra felt an overwhelming urge to reach out to the girl, her figure slowly consumed by the encroaching flames. However, he found himself immobilized, unable to control his character's actions. Micaela, now enveloped in the fiery embrace, bid him farewell with a sweet voice and a contorted but seemingly happy smile. Yet, the tears that flowed unabated betrayed the facade of joy, painting a tragic contradiction.

Ezra's character screamed and howled, desperately attempting to reach the girl, but his efforts were futile. The emotional distress was palpable as he witnessed the heartbreaking spectacle. Amidst the turmoil, a desperate cry emerged from the girl's lips.

"Help me, mister! It burns!"

Before Ezra could react, she seamlessly reverted to her role, waving at him with enthusiasm and urging him not to worry about her. Tears streamed down her face, and her eyes reddened, a painful juxtaposition to the forced cheerfulness. Ezra even noticed blood trickling down her eyes as the simulated flames consumed her form.

Desperation surged within Ezra, an intense yearning compelling him to rush towards the dying girl. Veins bulged on his neck as he strained against an invisible force, a futile attempt to break free from the shackles that bound him. Despite the slightest quiver of movement in his arm, he remained seated—a captive audience to the heart-wrenching spectacle of an innocent girl burning away before his eyes.

The girl endured visible pain and agony, yet the relentless demands of her role compelled her to maintain a haunting smile through the torment. Ezra found himself unable to divert his gaze from this harrowing sight, the vivid representation of suffering etched into his consciousness. He longed to close his eyes, to escape from the scene unfolding before him, but his character was frozen in an unyielding, unblinking gaze.

As the flames continued their cruel dance around the girl, Ezra's struggle against the invisible constraints mirrored the intensity of his emotional turmoil. Each attempt to move felt like an echo of his helplessness, the unfolding tragedy a cruel reminder of his inability to intervene in the scripted fate of the girl before him.

Tears trickled down Ezra's face, an uncertain blend of whether they belonged to his character or himself. His heart raced, pounding against his chest, and a suffocating sensation gripped him, even as the flames and fumes seemed to avoid him, as if he were protected by an unseen barrier. All he could do was silently wish for the girl's swift release from the torturous nightmare.

In a moment of overwhelming despair, Ezra's character closed his eyes tightly, attempting to block out the disturbing sounds around him. Slowly, the unsettling cacophony faded, replaced by an incoherent voice calling for him to wake up.

"Ezra! Ezra, wake up! It's a nightmare."

Opening his eyes, he found himself in the familiar setting of the clubroom, his head buried in his crossed arms. Ezra raised his head, scanning the room, then mumbled to himself in realization.

"Oh. I'm in the clubroom."

Penelope, who had been watching him with concern, chimed in, "That's right. You only wanted to have a nap, but you really fell into the misfortune of a nightmare. Look at you."

She reached for a handkerchief from her purse on the table, gently wiping away Ezra's tears as she shook her head in sympathy.

"That nightmare even caused a tough nut like you to break down. Good thing the others aren't here yet, or they would definitely make fun of you."

Penelope observed Ezra closely and offered a reassuring smile.

"You really are one tough nut. Your tears are already gone. Just like that. Poof."

Ezra's character, still in a dazed state, looked at Penelope before shaking his head in exhaustion.

"I'm embarrassed that someone saw me cry. But at least it was you, so I can trust you not to babble about this to anyone. Besides, apart from Carlos or Eloise, none of the others would make fun of me. And those two's opinions don't mean much. They are chill people and would not bother me too much."

Rubbing his face and taking in a deep breath, Ezra composed himself before calmly addressing Penelope, "Is it very obvious now that I cried?"

Penelope shook her head reassuringly, "Apart from your red nose, it isn't obvious at all. But you can just tell the others that your nose turned red because you had pressed it too hard into your crossed arms while taking a nap."

Ezra's character chuckled, a stark contrast to the thick and constant tears that covered his face without pause. These tears belonged to the real Ezra, immersed in the most traumatized and suffocating mood at the moment.