As dusk fell over New York, the warm yellow light of the Angel's Gift bar shone through its stained-glass doors.
Damian pushed open the heavy oak door, and a refreshing scent—mint mingled with citrus—wafted out.
"Wow…"
Jessica Campbell exhaled softly. The bar's interior looked as though it had been transplanted straight from medieval Europe: antique oak tables and chairs, vintage oil lamp–style electric fixtures on the walls, and a crystal chandelier overhead casting a soft halo of light.
In the corner, an old-fashioned gramophone played soothing, melodious piano music.
Peter Parker nervously tugged at his shirt collar and stammered,
"It… it feels really high-end—and there are so many people…"
Indeed, though it was still early in the evening, the bar was already seventy percent full, and most of the patrons were young women.
They wore heavy makeup and revealing outfits, gathered in pairs and trios near the bar, occasionally letting out soft laughter.
At that moment, Diluc stood with his back to the door, his red ponytail swaying gently as he worked behind the bar.
He wore a well-tailored black vest, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms.
Jessica Campbell's eyes lit up as she watched him mix drinks. She leaned toward Gwen Stacy and whispered excitedly,
"What do you think? Isn't he handsome and charismatic?!"
Gwen nodded eagerly in agreement.
But Damian was even more animated. The moment he stepped inside, he began pacing like a husky that had just drafted a million-dollar renovation plan.
After circling the room for a bit, his gaze swept over the crowd and settled on the tall, slender figure behind the bar.
Just then, Diluc turned around, his silver cocktail shaker tracing a graceful arc through the air.
"Welcome," he said.
His voice was deep and gentle. Though he hadn't raised it, his words carried clearly to the four newcomers over the ambient noise.
They wove through the crowd and settled into a corner booth.
Diluc had already prepared four drinks: pale blue liquids rimmed with mint leaves, shimmering softly under the warm light.
"Raspberry mint—non-alcoholic specialty. On the house."
He slid the glasses in front of them.
Damian picked up his cup and took a sip. The crisp mint carried a subtle bitterness of rosemary, perfectly balanced by the delicate sweetness of raspberry—an unexpectedly pleasant combination.
When he looked up, Diluc was studying him thoughtfully.
"How does it taste?" Diluc asked.
"Yes," Damian replied. "It's exactly what I expected."
Hearing this, Diluc gave a slight nod, then said, as naturally as if continuing a long-standing conversation:
"It seems you have many questions—just as I do. Let's talk somewhere quieter. Come with me."
Damian followed him up a spiral staircase, the wooden steps creaking softly beneath their feet.
Downstairs, whispers rippled through the crowd:
"Who is that guy? Why's the boss greeting him personally?"
"Are they brothers? Doesn't look like it—they don't even have the same skin tone."
"Could it be… love?"
"Shut up! That's ridiculous!"
Their murmurs faded as the oak door to the second floor clicked shut.
Inside the office, the decor was surprisingly simple: a mahogany desk, two high-backed chairs, and only a decorative silver longsword hanging on the wall.
Outside the window, New York's neon lights shone through the stained glass, casting dappled light and shadow on the carpet.
"Please sit down."
Diluc gestured for Damian to sit in the chair opposite him while he himself stood by the window, his red hair blazing like flames in the colored light.
"Would you like something to drink? Although I'm a bar owner, I also have tea."
Damian placed the backpack on his lap, his fingers unconsciously stroking the high-quality leather, and said,
"Plain water is fine. Are you settling in well here?"
Upon hearing this, Diluc paused almost imperceptibly while pouring the water but quickly resumed his usual movements.
He placed a glass of water in front of Damian, then sat down in a high-backed chair, crossed his hands on the table, and said calmly,
"It's better than I expected; at least the grape varieties here are good."
Damian picked up his water glass, took a sip, and then said with a smile,
"The decor here is quite authentic. When I first came in, I almost thought this was the 'Angel's Share' tavern in Mondstadt."
Upon hearing this, Diluc's gaze dimmed slightly, but his tone remained as cold and hard as ever:
"A fake is a fake. No matter how realistic it is, it's just a poor imitation of the genuine article."
Damian put down his water glass, looked up, and stared directly at Diluc. "And what about you? Are you the real deal—or a fake?"
After these words, the two fell into a brief silence. The faint sound of jazz music drifted from downstairs, mingling strangely with the sirens of police cars on the streets of New York.
Diluc's gaze grew complex and distant. His voice was deep and weathered as he spoke:
"Sometimes I wake up in the early morning and smell the aroma of the Dawn Winery vineyards. But when I open my eyes, I see the New York skyline."
"Sometimes I fall asleep to the glow of neon lights, hearing the hustle and bustle of traffic—only to open my eyes again and see the spire of the Cathedral of the West."
Damian listened quietly without interrupting.
"Maybe both versions of me are real. Or maybe they're both fake."
Diluc concluded ambiguously.
Damian sighed and murmured to himself,
"Alas… I wonder: did Zhou dream he was a butterfly, or did the butterfly dream he was Zhou?"
A burst of applause and laughter suddenly erupted downstairs, pulling the two back to the present.
Damian finished the water in his cup, took out a small cloth bag and a notebook from his backpack, placed them on the table, and said,
"That's all for today. We can chat more when you have time later. This notebook contains some of my general thoughts about this world—might be useful to you."
"My address is written inside. If you have any questions, you can find me there."
He added with emphasis,
"But please note one thing: you can contact me at 2 a.m.—but absolutely not at 6 a.m.! That's my bottom line!"
"As for this bag of dandelion seeds, consider it payment for my drink and those of my three friends tonight."
Diluc picked up the bag, feeling the faint pulsation of the seeds beneath his fingertips, and said with a touch of arrogance,
"I don't recall dandelions being so rare. When did they become this valuable? Even Flora wouldn't dare charge this price."
Damian didn't reply. He simply waved a hand and walked toward the door.
Just as he was about to push it open and leave, Diluc spoke again:
"If there are others from Teyvat who've been summoned to this world like me… tell them the Angel's Share is always ready to welcome fellow travelers
."
Damian turned around and grinned.
"Don't worry—I definitely will! Otherwise, why would I send you out to earn money?"
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