The next day, Alphard was getting ready to head out. As he carefully adjusted his top hat, his uncle Alexi broke the silence, his voice measured:
"Alphard, I need to ask you for a favor."
"Sure, uncle. What can I help with?"
"Well... I lost my wallet, and I don't have the money to travel to Viremont. Do you think you could lend me something?" Alexi asked, letting out a faintly embarrassed laugh.
"Back to Viremont again? How long will you be gone this time?"
"I don't know for certain... maybe a couple of months."
Without hesitating, Alphard reached into his pocket, pulled out around eighty francs, and placed them directly into his uncle's palm. Alexi stared at the sum in disbelief; he could hardly process his nephew handing over that kind of fortune as if it were nothing.
"This is almost a lower-middle-class salary!" he exclaimed, baffled. "Where on earth did you get this much money?"
"Don't worry about it, uncle. Since I deliver papers through the upper-middle-class districts, I get pretty good tips and the occasional extra payment. Nothing shady about it."
Alexi swallowed hard, seriously beginning to believe his nephew was turning into quite the successful young man.
At the loan, Alexi assured his nephew he'd pay back every last cent. Still, Alphard turned to him with a faint smile.
"There's no need, uncle. It's the least I can do after everything you've done for us. Besides, it's not like I'll drop dead if you come back without the money."
Alexi let out a small, moved laugh.
"Thank you, Alphard. Please tell Helena I love her very much, and that I'll miss her."
Alphard nodded and watched his uncle leave. Left alone, he remembered he had no pending work obligations with Noctis for the moment, so he decided to take care of something he'd been putting off: having coffee with Marcel.
He grabbed paper and pen and wrote out a letter proposing they meet at the Plaza of Heroes, from where they'd walk together to their usual café. After sealing the note, he hurried down the stairs and out into the street in search of a delivery boy.
As if fate itself had stepped in, he ran into one almost immediately on the sidewalk.
"Do you know Marcel Rossi, or where the Rossi residence is?" Alphard asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Take this to him. There'll be ten cents waiting for you when you get back, plus extra if you're quick about it."
"Understood, sir!"
The boy shot off like a bullet on his bicycle. Alphard smiled to himself and, raising his eyebrows in mild astonishment, murmured,
"Not even I could pedal that fast."
A couple of minutes later, the delivery boy was already back, out of breath but wearing a satisfied grin.
"Sir, I delivered the letter," he announced, catching his breath.
"Here — your ten cents, plus another ten as a tip for the speed."
"Thank you so much, sir! May the Goddess bless you."
"Yeah, likewise..." Alphard murmured with mild indifference as he tucked the rest of his change back into his pocket.
Alphard didn't linger. He headed home, put on his black coat, grabbed his cane, and set off straight for the plaza.
As he walked, a cool breeze accompanied him beneath a mild sun; it wasn't too hot, just a comforting warmth, while the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air and pulled a faint smile from him.
Arriving, he settled onto a wooden bench to take in the view, recalling the first time he'd sat there — the very day he'd woken up after the cathedral incident.
He pulled out the small book he'd bought that same day and took the moment to check the time on his pocket watch.
"Barely noon. He shouldn't get here until two," he murmured to himself.
He tucked the watch away and studied the cover he remembered so well. The author signed as Fyodor Morozov, though Alphard had no idea exactly which country he was from.
The name sounds Russian, he mused.
Opening the pages, he sank into a simple but gripping story:
The king has become a clown; a sorrowful clown who no longer performs tricks at feasts, focused entirely now on escaping his own misery. He was a sovereign who, despite possessing everything, felt utterly empty. In the end, all that remained was a memory, buried beneath the whitest, coldest snow...
Absorbed in the lines, he checked his pocket watch again and noticed the time had slipped away: it was already 1:45 p.m.
"He shouldn't be long now," he whispered to himself.
Alphard walked over to the book vendor's stall, the same one he'd bought from before.
Remembering how he'd had to haggle to get that first volume, he felt a quiet satisfaction: now he had the means to buy without needing to bargain down to the last cent.
He also recalled that the man was one of Antonie's own employees, tasked with selling papers and books, though he had no connection at all to Noctis's hidden network.
"Good afternoon. How much for a book?"
"Afternoon... wait, I know you. You're the bread kid. You've changed a lot," the vendor said, teasing. "Still paying with bread, or are you using coins now?"
"Maybe... I'll leave that up to you. And how have things been going for you?"
The vendor gave a thumbs-up and, right after, pointed his small cane toward the counter.
"Got these on offer. One franc each."
"I'll take that one," Alphard said, pointing.
The merchant handed him a standard edition. Its pages unfolded a narrative packed with dragons and monsters; though in this world, none of it was invention — it was all recorded as true history.
If this is what counts as a description of reality, then what on earth would count as fantasy? Alphard wondered, weighing the book in his hands.
Alphard pulled out a one-franc bill and handed it to the merchant. He thanked him politely, leaving the man visibly stunned at how easily he'd paid.
Turning back toward his bench, he spotted Marcel in the distance, standing and scanning the area. Alphard walked toward him with a firm, confident stride, closing the distance until his figure became clear and Marcel noticed him.
"Hey, Marcel. How are you?"
"Hey, Alphard. Doing fine... What's brought on this sudden meeting?"
"Sorry for the short notice, but remember we still owed each other that coffee to catch up."
Marcel nodded silently. The two of them walked together toward their usual spot, leaving behind the imposing statue in the plaza Alphard had already studied once before.
I don't feel like a stranger here anymore, after all, he thought.
Arriving at the café, they settled into a pair of handwoven, two-tone wicker chairs. Alphard sat up straight, fixed his eyes on the garçon, and raised a finger with distinguished ease to catch his attention.
"Would you like coffee, or something to eat?" he asked, turning to his companion.
"Coffee's fine, thank you."
The waiter took their order and hurried off toward the counter. As they waited, Marcel's attention landed on the book in Alphard's hands.
"You into stories based on real events?"
"I like reading about other people's experiences... just in case I ever run into a dragon myself," Alphard answered with a subtle irony.
"Well, you should know the descendants of dragons have had a pretty rough time of it, despite how important they are to our history."
"That's true," Alphard nodded, using the remark as a chance to mentally file away that piece of the world's genealogy.
Though the mood wasn't exactly uncomfortable, Marcel's demeanor still carried a distant, cool edge, out of step with the closeness they usually shared as best friends.
Alphard picked up on it quickly and, without dancing around it, decided to address the matter about Helena that had bothered Marcel before.
"Marcel, I'm sorry for dragging you into a lie. I know my sister knows you, knows you're a good person, but she tends to get worked up easily. Still... I still don't fully get why you went along with that story the way you did."
Marcel studied Alphard closely, stroking his chin slowly. His gaze wandered toward the plaza for a moment before settling back on his friend's eyes.
"You're my friend. Even if you've been keeping a lot to yourself lately, I get that she genuinely panics whenever you or your uncle just vanish out of nowhere. Don't worry about it."
At that moment, the garçon reappeared, carrying a tray with steaming cups, setting them down on the table before withdrawing. Etched into the little dish beside them was the price of the bill: twenty-two cents.
"Huh, didn't realize coffee had gone up two cents. Not exactly a huge difference, though."
"It's the general trend," Marcel explained. "Most people don't realize it, but these beans come from Victoria. The businessmen would rather not pay local farmers fairly; they buy up the harvest from Victorian growers for next to nothing, then sell it here as if it were our own."
I remember having a delicious coffee back on Earth, when I traveled to Fusagasugá, in Colombia. It doesn't quite compare to this Victorian coffee, though this isn't bad either... still, I miss that flavor. If I ever make it back to Earth, I'll go back to that place.
After a few sips of his cup, Alphard told Marcel he was currently working at a print shop. It wasn't his ideal job, but it let him save up, with an eye toward something better, or even trying his luck seeking opportunities in Victoria.
Marcel listened closely and quickly offered an alternative: working alongside him at Armstrong Mechanical Works.
Still, Alphard politely declined for the time being, promising that if he ever genuinely needed the position, he wouldn't hesitate to seek him out.
The mood at the table settled back into harmony; between shared laughs, Marcel let go of any lingering resentment entirely. For Alphard, it turned into a peaceful afternoon that laid the groundwork for an increasingly solid friendship. After finishing off the last drops of coffee, the two of them left the café and dove back into the bustle of the avenue, amid the steady trot of horse-drawn carriages rolling by.
"Want me to walk you home?" Marcel offered.
"Don't see why not."
They walked at an easy, steady pace, trading everyday confidences along the way.
Marcel admitted that, while his current job gave him stability, it wasn't something he was passionate about; still, he preferred not to sit idle, and much like Alphard, he was saving up with the goal of eventually moving to Victoria to work at the main headquarters of Armstrong Mechanical Works, run by his father.
Arriving at the Quinn residence, an idea struck Alphard. He knocked on the door with three firm raps and waited for Helena to come answer.
When the door swung open, the girl greeted her brother with a radiant smile, but the moment she spotted Marcel standing beside him, her expression froze instantly.
"Helena, you need to apologize," Alphard said, cutting straight to the point.
"Why should I have to do that?" she shot back, haughty.
"He told me you were incredibly rude the last time you two spoke."
"I'm not apologizing."
Helena crossed her arms over her chest, puffed out her cheeks, and looked away, stubborn.
Marcel, visibly uncomfortable at the rejection, lowered his eyes and prepared to say his goodbyes to avoid escalating the confrontation further; but Alphard held him back and fixed his sister with an unyielding stare.
"If you don't apologize, not only will I stop teaching you my language, I'll stay upset with you for a very long time."
The threat worked. Helena gritted her teeth and gave in, grudgingly.
"I'm sorry, Marcel. But I'm warning you — if you ever do that again, you can forget about me and my brother both."
"Understood," Marcel answered, offering a small, respectful nod.
Helena spun around and marched into the house. Alphard said his goodbyes to Marcel with a firm handshake, thanking him for the company and for the mature gesture.