Author's Note:
I am in a great mood. I received excellent feedback on the previous chapter, so much so that I chose to write another chapter right away.I finished watching Star Trek: Starfleet Academy and did a little research: according to reviews, the best Star Trek series are: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: Voyager, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, Star Trek: Lower Decks.
I continued my immersion into this franchise with Star Trek: Strange New Worlds; there is a huge difference in quality compared to Star Trek: Starfleet Academy.
XXX
Story Arc: Out-of-Town Visitors
Episode 3: A day full of dates and surprises (III)
Chapter 11: Passed or Failed?
Plot: Welt ends up meeting Lola's parents; things take an unexpected turn at the end. On a lesser note, Lady V manages to accomplish her goal.
XXX
POV Narrator
Inside the Robinson Manor, Belfast was guiding Lola and her guest toward the estate's main living room.
The maid walked with measured steps, her back impeccably straight and her chin held high, but her formal posture did not stop her from casting discreet, piercing glances at the man.
'It's obvious he isn't used to luxury; he looks around as if he were in a museum,' Belfast thought, slightly tightening her fingers intertwined in front of her apron. She continued to keep an eye on Welt, studying his every single movement as one would do with a potential threat.
Welt, for his part, walked with a deliberate calm, clutching the boxes of homemade food made that morning in his arms. His eyes, however, kept wandering along the walls and corridors. 'I bought nice, expensive things for my own house and for Warlock, but we are on a different level here. The difference between well-off and rich is massive,' the bookseller reflected, casting his gaze upon fine porcelain vases and original paintings whose individual value far exceeded that of a luxury car. Despite the oppressive opulence, he felt no anxiety at the thought of meeting Lola's parents. After all, he and she were adults; what could parents possibly do?
Lola walked by his side, but her steps were out of place with the surroundings. She was wearing a pair of slippers, her yellow bikini, and a light white bathrobe, with her initials embroidered in gold over her heart. The sporty girl, usually so carefree, quick, and confident at work, appeared rigid. Her shoulders were slightly hunched. She was visibly anxious about the upcoming meeting between her "Teddy Bear" and her parents.
There was a sharp contrast between the two. Welt was an adult, self-sufficient man: he owned his own house and was the head of his own business. He was, to all intents and purposes, his own master and did not have to answer to anyone for his choices or his friendships.
Lola, despite being an adult woman and even two years older than Welt, as well as a successful athlete with international fame, remained a child in some ways. To be sure, she had done wild and reckless things in her life: she had run away with a circus for a year to be an acrobat, she had flown to China to study kung fu from her personal chef's older brother, and she had even gotten herself arrested in Mexico.
Yet, despite that baggage of crazy adventures, Lola still lived in the same house as her parents. She had never worked a single day in an office, nor did she have any idea what a daily routine meant; her only job had always been training and preparing for competitions. She did not know how to cook, her bedroom cyclically turned into a messy dump of extremely high-value items, and she had never paid a tax in her life. She did not even know she owned a private account with the earnings from her sporting success, preferring to casually swipe the credit card connected to her trust fund.
In short, if you found yourself in a life-threatening situation, Lola would turn into Lara Croft or Kim Possible to save you, showing lightning-fast reflexes and iron courage. But her assistance in any other bureaucratic or domestic matter was highly unadvisable. She was a Warrior Princess who had completely skipped lessons of an administrative nature; a spoiled girl, but with a heart of gold, capable of fighting a war on the front lines, but totally incapable of leading a country.
Precisely for this reason, Lola's parents' greatest wish was for her to finally find a good man or a good woman. The title or social background did not matter: the only thing that counted was that they were a good person, capable of loving her and, above all, taking care of her.
XXX
In a short time, the trio reached the living room of Robinson Manor. The room was a true monumental hall, so vast that it could comfortably host a dance party for three entire high school classes — an event that, in fact, had taken place years earlier because of a teenage and completely out-of-control Lola.
Sitting gracefully on an elegant armchair was Patricia Robinson, Lola's mother. Having well passed her fifties, the woman lived in eager anticipation of the day she would finally receive the news that would make her a grandmother. Yet, looking at her, Patricia looked like her daughter's older sister rather than her mother. Her physique defied the signs of time, appearing barely thirty-four years old: she was one meter and sixty centimeters tall, with her gaze illuminated by large blue eyes and her blonde hair gathered in an elegant bun. She had a petite build, thin and athletically in perfect shape, but lacking generous curves; in every way a miniature version of Lola, only shorter and with lighter skin. She wore large glasses with red frames that gave her an intellectual air, a gold necklace that gleamed against a white long-sleeved t-shirt, a long black skirt that flowed down to her ankles, and white flat shoes.
Next to the large window, motionless as a granite statue, stood Walter Robinson, Lola's father. He was fifty-four years old, but his imposing figure barely showed forty. He was a colossus, two meters tall and weighing one hundred kilograms, made almost entirely of steel muscles. Despite his age, Walter still radiated the vigor and power of a thirty-year-old in a perfect state of grace. His slightly tanned skin made his brown eyes and short, slicked-back black hair stand out, streaked with a few gray strands at the temples that gave him an authoritative air. His hands were huge and massive, but a closer look revealed deep calluses and old scars, the indelible marks of a youth spent fighting with fierce vigor. For the occasion, he wore an impeccably tailored red jacket, paired with a spotless white shirt, a black tie, dark trousers, white socks, and polished loafers.
Those marks on his hands were the invisible trophies of the legend of the "Crazy Kangaroo," the nickname Walter had earned during his golden age. It had all started when, at just ten years old, he had been struck by watching Rocky at the cinema. That movie changed his life, pushing him to make a solemn promise to himself: one day he would become the Heavyweight World Champion and, unlike others, he would never know the taste of defeat.
His professional debut took place in 1984, at just eighteen years old. For the next twelve years, Walter literally dominated the heavyweight category, terrifying his opponents with a unique style that combined Rocky's legendary ability to take a punch with an impenetrable defense, akin to a concrete wall. The peak of his glory came in 1991, when he defeated Evander Holyfield and the greatest champions of the era, unifying the crowns and becoming the Undisputed Heavyweight Champion, while simultaneously clutching the three historic belts to his chest: WBA, WBC, and IBF.
At twenty-nine, Walter married Patricia, his lifelong girlfriend. The following year, at thirty, the birth of Lola changed his priorities. After one last, epic match against his historic rival — which ended in a draw that left the audience in suspense — Walter announced his retirement right at the peak of his fame, leaving the ring as an Undisputed and undefeated World Champion. His definitive official record was a true masterpiece of boxing: 51 wins, 45 of which were obtained by lightning KOs, a single draw, and zero defeats.
Instead of squandering his earnings, Walter combined the fortune accumulated over twelve years in the ring with the brains of Patricia, who had graduated with honors in economics, founding a small but solid financial empire. To escape the suffocating siege of the paparazzi, the family then settled in Nightfall City, where they raised their wild daughter. At the beginning of this year, after twenty-four years spent doing charity work and building an impeccable reputation as a patron for young talents, Walter decided to take a step further for the community: to enter the political arena and run for mayor, ready to protect and guide his beloved city with the same strength with which he once dominated the squared circle.
XXX
'Please, let them love my Teddy Bear just as much as I love him. I have absolutely no desire to live in a soap opera,' Lola prayed mentally. She dragged her feet forward toward her parents, weighed down by a visceral tension she hadn't experienced since her high school days.
For her part, Patricia observed the scene without losing her composure. 'Why am I remembering the times when Lola had to show us her school report card?' she wondered, amused. She knew her daughter better than anyone else and could read her every single emotional nuance.
"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad... I want to introduce you to someone important," Lola began in a thin voice, turning to gesture to Welt, inviting him to come forward.
At those words, her mother stood up with calculated elegance, while her father moved with a quick step, his imposing two-meter figure almost blocking out the light from the window. Both had sensed that this was no ordinary courtesy visit.
Once the bookseller had positioned himself by her side, Lola took a deep breath: "Teddy Bear, this is my mother, Patricia, and my father, Walter." Then, turning her head toward her parents with an almost pleading expression, she added: "Mom, Dad, this is my Teddy Bear. Please make sure you get along."
Welt remained motionless for a second. He blinked several times, patently bewildered, his gaze shifting between the two women. "This woman... isn't she your cousin or something?" he finally asked, without filters.
"No, she is my mother," Lola pointed out, barely holding back a smile at the man's reaction.
"You are twenty-four years old and your mother looks thirty, thirty-seven at most," Welt declared, unable to hide his genuine astonishment. "More than your mother, she looks every bit like your older sister."
'Perhaps the toxic waste did more good than harm to this city,' Welt reflected to himself, mentally logging the detail. 'Some inhabitants seem to age at a reduced rate or with a completely unnatural grace. I need to do some investigation into the type of waste buried underground; maybe it comes from a top-secret research laboratory.'
"I get told that often. What can I say? I'm just good at taking care of myself," Patricia commented. A small, radiant smile lit up her face, betraying how much she appreciated that spontaneous compliment.
"One of my employees, Rarity, would kill to find out your beauty secrets," Welt countered, certain that the diva of his business's cosplay and fabric department would pepper Patricia with questions for hours.
"Good morning, boy," Walter thundered. His voice, deep and cavernous, was exactly what one would expect from a one-hundred-kilogram giant.
The patriarch stepped forward, raising his massive right hand to shake the bookseller's, but paused when he noticed that the young man's arms were entirely occupied by the boxes of food.
"One moment, I'll put these down," Welt interjected with absolute calm. He walked over to an elaborate glass table in the center of the room and placed his homemade gifts upon it with measured gestures.
Once his hands were free, Welt turned back to face the former boxer. Walter towered over him from his height of two meters, creating a gap of a full thirty centimeters, and studied him from head to toe.
"Good morning, Mr. Robinson," Welt said. His tone was calm, devoid of submission, as he gripped Lola's father's hand.
The old champion's grip was a calculated vise. Walter tested the grip for a few moments, then commented under his breath: "You have a woman's hand." To the touch, the boy's skin had felt soft and delicate to him, almost identical to his wife's.
Patricia immediately shot a subtle glance of disapproval at her husband. She would not tolerate Walter starting right off the bat with his usual passive-aggressive father routine. Lola, for her part, felt her anxiety vanish for a millisecond, replaced by a flash of suppressed anger at the provocation.
Welt, however, did not lose his composure in the slightest. He held the huge man's gaze and replied with total indifference: "You, Sir, have the hand of someone who has smashed his knuckles with hard labor."
In a way, Walter's judgment was not wrong. Welt had always been closer to his mother, vastly preferring to help her with household chores and meal preparation, while the dirtier, more strenuous tasks had always been the prerogative of his father, who literally had to drag him by force to get a helping hand.
"You are a perceptive boy," Walter commented. A hint of a sly smile appeared on his stern lips as he finally released his grip.
"Despite my nearsightedness, I have an excellent eye for detail," Welt replied, raising a finger to composedly adjust the frame of his glasses.
'One point in favor of my Teddy Bear,' Lola thought, exhaling deeply in an attempt to calm herself.
"You've got guts, boy. Most people think twice before shaking my hand or answering back to me," Walter admitted, having clearly expected a reaction of fear or discomfort.
"I have already met and spent time with very tall people. Besides, Lola and I see each other almost every day, and she is taller than I am," Welt replied. He deliberately omitted the fact that, in his role as Warlock, he was used to facing creatures far more monstrous and frightening than a fifty-year-old man in excellent physical shape.
"Almost every day, seriously?" Patricia asked in a low voice, turning toward her daughter. She was not fully aware of the girl's daily interactions. Lola merely nodded, her face tinged with a very rare and intense shade of embarrassment.
"Plus, you are Lola's father," Welt continued, ignoring the silent exchange between mother and daughter. "It is impossible for you to be a bad man. Even your policies as mayor portray you as a good person."
Walter arched an eyebrow, visibly intrigued. "And pray tell, how does the simple fact that I am Lola's father prove that I am a good man?"
"Lola is like a little sun," Welt began, his voice softening slightly as he described his friend. "She is a sunny girl, overflowing with energy, one of those people who is literally impossible not to notice. She has a heart of gold and a mind that moves at the speed of light."
"Excellent words to describe my daughter," Patricia broke in, smiling openly. Hearing that sincere portrait warmed her heart.
"My Teddy Bear knows me well..." Lola whispered. The warmth of those words made her legs feel like jelly again, but this time from emotion.
"I know next to nothing about sports, and the little I have learned was completely accidental," Welt continued, completing the picture. "But I know that Lola has a splendid athletic career, started ever since she was a child. Talent alone helps, sure, but to get to the levels where she is now requires considerable, constant support. Her radiant personality and her achievements are the clear sign of a loving pair of parents. Parents who protected and supported her all the way to Olympic gold and all those other trophies whose names I don't even remember." Welt was firmly convinced of this: a stricter or more selfish pair of parents would have tried to channel Lola toward a more normal life, perhaps forcing her to study the piano or the violin.
Walter stared at him in silence for a few moments. Then, in a much warmer and friendlier tone, he asked: "What did you say your name was, boy?"
"Welt Blight, Master of the Owl House," he replied. A hint of a proud smile appeared on his face, offering a brief glimpse of the charisma and confidence that belonged to his Warlock side.
'There are moments when my Teddy Bear is simultaneously an adorable nerd and an incredibly cool man,' Lola thought, looking at him with misty eyes and the typical expression of a woman madly in love.
"There is still half an hour left before lunch. Let's sit down and talk for a bit," Patricia proposed, eager to get to know him better.
"Excellent idea, my Dove," Walter agreed, addressing his wife with a tenderness that sharply contrasted with his massive bulk.
The Robinsons took their seats on a sumptuous Italian leather armchair. Lola and Welt settled onto the opposite one, divided only by the large, polished glass table.
"At a glance, I can say that physically you resemble your mother, but in terms of personality, you are all your father," Welt commented toward Lola, noticing how both of them loved to use animal-themed nicknames for their loved ones.
"Other people tell me that often, too," Lola agreed, now completely relaxed.
The head of the family shifted his gaze from Patricia, the love of his life, to linger on Lola, the light of his eyes, and finally on the boy who was proving to be so skilled with words. Walter's irises shifted rapidly, moving from marital sweetness to the stern, hyperprotective gaze of a father.
"Tell me something about yourself, Welt. Do you have a degree?" Walter asked, kicking things off with a seemingly simple question.
"I have a bachelor's degree in Engineering, with a double major in mechanical engineering and computer engineering," Welt replied without hesitation.
"A graduate engineer... now that is a novelty," Patricia commented, raising her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. In the long and varied list of Lola's ex-boyfriends, there had been a parade of guys skilled at tearing down car and motorcycle engines, but none of them had ever attended university. The only ones who possessed a higher education held degrees in law or marketing — people used to working behind a desk, far removed from any activity that might get their hands dirty.
Walter leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "So, do you run a repair shop or a server farm?"
"Neither. Right now I am a bookseller, though I occasionally do some odd jobs as a handyman to make ends meet," Welt replied, offering the truth with total serenity and without the slightest shadow of shame for his trade.
"A bookworm?" Walter asked, arching a bushy eyebrow. He found the whole matter rather baffling: a colossus with that academic background choosing to shut himself inside four walls full of paper.
That rough definition immediately put Lola on edge. Welt noticed it instantly, catching a slight but rhythmic tremor shaking the girl's hands, which were clenched in her lap.
"Are you alright, Lola? It's strange not seeing you smile," Welt asked her with sincere tenderness. He reached out and placed his hand over hers, covering them with a firm, reassuring grip. As if by magic, the trembling stopped at once.
"I feel wonderful now," Lola replied, raising her chin. The warmth of her usual radiant personality seemed to return instantly; it appeared that physical contact with Welt served as the perfect security blanket for the young athlete.
'My daughter is into this boy... I mean, completely head over heels,' Patricia noted to herself. She observed those microscopic details with a mother's clinical eye, aware that she had never seen Lola so vulnerable and devoted to anyone in the past.
"If you need a vitamin or an aspirin, just say the word. I always carry everything with me," Welt added, patting the strap of his messenger bag with a finger. Inside, he kept a small emergency emporium: pocket umbrellas, a Swiss Army knife, supplements, over-the-counter medications, adhesive bandages, and even drawing supplies.
"You are far too thoughtful a boy," Lola whispered, abandoning her rigidity for a moment and resting her head on Welt's shoulder with total confidence.
"Perhaps I should explain myself better," the bookseller resumed, turning back to face his hosts. "I am an engineer. I possess the academic qualifications and the practical skills: I can take a car apart piece by piece, rebuild it from scratch, and make it run twice as well as before." As he said this, his mind flashed to some complex magical-mechanical repairs carried out in his role as Warlock, details that for the time being were better kept to himself.
"But working as an employee engineer didn't make me happy, especially when I had to answer to superiors who knew half as much as I did. I preferred to..." He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the golden ceiling, as if wanting to carefully choose the exact words. "Follow my happiness and do things my own way. I got a house of my own here in Nightfall City, took over an old, bankrupt video rental shop, tore it down, and built my bookstore, the Owl House, from the ground up. I hired the staff, and now I run my own little kingdom just as I please. Frankly, I am happy. And the accounting ledgers say I'm doing quite well."
"A self-made entrepreneur. Impressive," Patricia commented, nodding with visible esteem. "Many young people nowadays prefer to inherit ready-made fortunes or marry someone wealthy rather than build something with their own hands." After all, she and Walter had done exactly the same, joining forces to cement the Robinson name and wealth.
"Welt, you have a woman's delicate hands and the honeyed voice of a lawyer, but inside you harbor a spirit of steel. Just like me!" Walter exclaimed. A wild, slightly crazy smile painted itself on his face, the exact same grin Lola would sport before a competition.
"You've won him over, Teddy Bear," Lola whispered in his ear, with a thrill of pride.
"I understand exactly how you feel, boy," Walter continued, leaping to his feet with the energy of a young kid. "When I was a teenager, my father wanted me to become a plumber like him at all costs. But I told him no. I grabbed a pair of worn-out gloves, stepped into the first ring I found, and started throwing punches." To emphasize the point, the former champion threw himself into a fighting stance, bobbing on his massive legs and throwing two lightning-fast jabs into thin air, the wind whistling beneath the power of his blows.
"She is definitely your father's daughter. You are two incredibly spontaneous people," Welt observed, turning to Lola and seeing how much the girl adored that theatrical side of her parent.
"Mr. Robinson, I am going to set out the Tiramisu that Master Bear brought. I will return shortly with a pitcher of fresh lemonade," Belfast interjected, re-entering the living room with silent steps, breaking the sporting idyll.
"Tiramisu?" Walter repeated, freezing mid-air with his fists still raised.
"Do as you think best, Belfast," Patricia instructed, while with a firm gesture she grabbed her husband's jacket, forcing him back down into the armchair.
"Welt, would you care for a beer, a whiskey, or a drink?" Walter proposed, in an excellent mood and eager to offer hospitality.
The bookseller wrinkled his nose slightly, betraying a subtle grimace of disgust at the mere mention of hard liquor. "No, thank you, Mr. Robinson. I am completely teetotal."
"And what does 'teetotal' mean? Some kind of religious restriction?" the former boxer asked, furrowing his brow at a term he didn't often hear used in his circles.
"Teetotal, definition: one who does not introduce ethanol into their organism, or does so in such rare and meager quantities as to suffer no inebriating effects. In my specific case, I do not drink alcohol of any kind," Welt explained with encyclopedic precision.
"Mom, Dad, today I inspected his fridge and his pantry!" Lola chimed in, her eyes wide with amazement. "He only has water, milk, tea bags, medicinal herbs for boiling, and fresh fruit ready for the juicer. It's incredible how healthy he is!"
"Someone here plans to live well past a hundred!" Walter joked, bursting into a booming laugh that made the crystals in the room vibrate.
"A bit of a Spartan regimen for my taste, but an excellent healthy choice," Patricia admitted, adjusting her red glasses. "Unfortunately, I could never give up a cup of black coffee in the morning, nor refuse a good glass of red wine in the evening." Her fondness for refined pleasures was well known.
"So you don't have any vices, Mr. Bear?" Belfast chimed in, already returning while holding a silver tray in her hands, carrying a pitcher of homemade lemonade and four exquisite crystal glasses.
"My only vices are good books, quality cinema, and delicious food," Welt confessed with a sly smile, not hiding his nature as a fellow foodie.
"Oh, then we appreciate the exact same things, excluding cinema," commented Patricia, who, besides being the economic brains of the house, was also a refined gourmet.
"By any chance, Mrs. Robinson, do you like spiral-shaped savory pastries stuffed with ham and cheese?" Welt asked with a hint of shyness, reaching out to uncover the box he had placed on the glass table. A fragrant scent of warm puff pastry and melted cheese immediately filled the air.
"They have a heavenly aroma," Patricia decreed, sampling the air with expertise.
"And the taste is even better, take my word for it, Mom!" Lola added, licking her lips hungrily.
Within moments, the lemonade was served into the glasses, but even before drinking, the Robinsons lunged at the delicacies baked by Welt.
"Where did you buy these, Welt? They are amazing!" Walter exclaimed, chewing eagerly and already reaching out to grab another.
"The aesthetic presentation falls within classic standards, and the pairing with lemonade is perhaps not the ideal hot tub for the palate," Patricia judged, chewing composedly and analyzing every texture. "However, the aroma and savoriness are excellent. We are not talking about a Michelin-starred chef's masterpiece, but the quality is distinctly superior to the average of many commercial products." Her judgment as a food critic was more than positive.
"I prepared them myself this morning. My mother taught me that one should never show up empty-handed at someone else's house," Welt explained, proud of his upbringing.
"A thousand times better, these, than the classic bouquets of flowers or those vases and clocks that just end up gathering dust!" Walter approved, wiping his fingers with a napkin.
Belfast, remaining standing next to the armchair, coughed slightly to draw attention. "Miss Lola... don't you think it is time to put on something more appropriate for lunch? We are at Robinson Manor, not on a beach in Mexico." The maid would have vastly preferred to see her protégée in a formal dress, especially in the company of a male guest.
Welt couldn't help but notice the bizarre nature of the situation: he had managed to win over the fearsome former world champion and the refined mother, but the housekeeper kept looking at him as if he were an intruder.
"Teddy Bear, hang in there! I'll be back in a minute!" Lola exclaimed. She jumped up from the armchair and bolted forward, her feet in her slippers almost skidding on the polished floor, taking off at a speed worthy of an Olympic sprinter.
"Please, be careful! You could slip or trip!" Welt shouted after her, genuinely worried she might break her neck.
"Don't worry! I could run and do acrobatics in this house even blindfolded!" replied Lola's voice, which was already echoing from the distant hallway.
"I am going to supervise the Young Lady," Belfast sighed, setting off after the girl with a quick pace, aware that help in straightening out her clothes would be indispensable.
"Oh, yes, she did... run blindfolded, I mean," Patricia commented with a bittersweet expression, somewhere between amused and resigned. "No scratches or bruises for her, let's be clear. But I had to repurchase three crystal chandeliers and replace half a dozen dynastic vases. Fortunately, since Lola learned to walk, every single object of value in this house is under lock and key."
"I confess I am very curious," Welt interjected, adjusting his glasses. "What was Lola like as a child? She has told me many of her adventures, but I would love to hear an eyewitness account."
At that request, Patricia's blue eyes lit up. She stood up from her armchair, bypassed the glass table with light steps, and sat down on the sofa, right in the empty space left next to Welt.
"I have waited a lifetime for someone to ask me what Lola was like as a child!" the woman exclaimed, visibly radiant. Until that moment, none of her daughter's old suitors had ever shown the slightest interest in her childhood.
The few who did show attention, usually, were far more interested in courting Patricia than in learning Lola's story... the typical troubles that happen to attractive and wealthy mothers. Wealthy MILFs have unique problems.
XXX
Lola made her return to the living room after about twenty minutes. Now she wore a purple dress with a sporty yet elegant cut, cinched at the waist by a conspicuous yellow sash that stood out on her hips, paired with a pair of small shoes of the same purplish shade.
Behind her advanced Belfast, solemnly carrying four hardcover volumes in her arms: they were the only existing issues of The Adventures of Black Warlock. Each individual volume counted exactly ninety-six pages of pure narrative, which became a round one hundred if one counted the hard cover, the initial dedication, and a final illustration mirroring wiki pages, focusing on a character's technical profile sheet. Lola had had the brilliant idea to show her "Teddy Bear's" works to her parents, determined to prove that Welt was much more than a simple bookseller with a commercial license.
When the girl crossed the threshold, however, she froze in astonishment. Patricia and Walter had literally perched themselves at Welt's sides, squeezing him from both ends of the sofa. All three looked to be in an excellent mood and were conversing with overwhelming animation.
"So in Ip Man 2, the Wing Chun master has to face the British boxing champion, Darren Shahlavi, in the ring?" Walter was asking, leaning forward with wide eyes, totally captivated by the conversation about martial arts movies.
"Darling, please, you can talk to Welt about cinema later," Patricia interrupted him, gently tapping her index finger on her cheek. "Right now I wanted to ask him something else... Welt, how do you like our house?"
"In a single word: big. Immense," Welt replied, raising his gaze toward the ceiling moldings. "Honestly, I don't understand the need for such a monumental structure for a single family unit." Accustomed to the solitude of his three-story Owl House, Welt found that manor disorienting: there was enough space to quarter an entire military division along with a heavy arsenal, armored vehicles included.
"That is an excellent question," Walter chuckled, scratching the back of his neck and turning toward his spouse. "Patricia, why on earth did we buy the biggest mansion in the entire district?"
"We had asked for a home that would guarantee maximum privacy and plenty of space for training," the woman explained, shrugging her shoulders. "The real estate agent showed us this estate, assuring us it was the best on the market, and gave us a bargain price. For some strange reason, the previous owner was in a frantic hurry to empty everything out and leave."
"Hi, Lola. Purple suits you very well," Welt interjected, interrupting the conversation as soon as he noticed the blonde girl with pigtails.
'I have never seen my parents so friendly with a boy I brought home,' Lola thought. A smile so wide and radiant spread across her face that even her pigtails seemed to wag with joy.
"Teddy Bear, you are incredible!" the girl exclaimed. With a feline and uninhibited leap, she literally threw herself into Welt's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him in a steel hug.
"Lola, get up immediately! If you keep this up, you'll break a rib!" Patricia scolded her, jumping slightly in her seat with a tense expression. "I have absolutely no intention of having to call the ambulance again."
"Speaking of which... it's been a while since we crossed paths with the Nurse Joy sisters from the emergency room. I wonder how they are doing," Walter mused aloud. "Did the younger one ever pass the state exam to become a nurse?" Apparently, due to Lola's frequent domestic and sporting accidents, the Robinsons knew the city's paramedics by name, including the details of their private lives.
"You don't need to worry, Mom! I hug Welt this way every time I can, and nothing has ever happened to him," Lola justified herself. She was so happy that even the tips of her hair moved like the tail of a festive puppy. Facing that declaration, Patricia silently clasped her hands and raised her eyes to the heavens, murmuring a prayer of thanksgiving for the boy's miraculous state of health.
Meanwhile, the white-haired maid approached the glass table, setting down the four comic books with a sharp thud.
"What did you two pull off in the garden before I came to call you?" Belfast asked in an inquisitive tone, crossing her arms beneath her chest, hoping to catch some compromising half-truth.
"Lola gave me some practical judo lessons. Then she went for a swim, while I stayed by the poolside," Welt replied. His voice sounded slightly muffled and lower than usual, squished as it was against the athlete's chest.
"Actually, my Teddy Bear made some beautiful portraits! He is an immensely talented artist," Lola added, finally releasing her grip. Welt took the opportunity to open his mouth wide, filling his lungs with oxygen with a deep, liberating sigh.
"Wait a second!" Walter thundered. His voice as a former heavyweight echoed through the room, having picked up a crucial detail. "Did I hear right? My Bone-Crushing Princess... the Black Belt specialized in paralyzing and terrifying opponents on the tatami... gave you a hand-to-hand lesson and it lasted two hours?" Walter stared at him as if he had just had an auditory hallucination.
Patricia, next to him, had completely frozen, instantly turned into a pale stone statue.
"In two hours, I racked up exactly thirty-three defeats," Welt explained with geometric composure, adjusting his glasses. "But on the final assault, I managed to pin her to the mat. Though, to be honest, I'm sure I only pulled it off because she was too exhausted to react."
At those words, Walter went blank too. The living room sank into a deathly silence.
"You... survived two hours of grappling against Miss Lola?" Belfast asked. Her mask of cold efficiency cracked, revealing a voice filled with pure incredulity.
"By the end, I was half dead from exhaustion and covered in bruises, but I am still alive and well," Welt admitted, without showing the slightest wounded male pride in confessing that he had been beaten by a woman.
"I want to see it to believe it," the maid decreed. She took a quick step forward, grabbed the bookseller's wrist with fingers of steel, and abruptly pulled up the sleeves of his tunic. Upon the boy's fair skin emerged an impressive constellation of purplish hematomas and pressure marks.
At the sight of that carnage, Belfast's eyes went wide.
"Belfast! Hands off my Teddy Bear! He is sensitive!" Lola snapped, springing to her feet like a coil and stepping between the two, forcing the housekeeper to take three steps back.
"I am not sensitive," Welt pointed out. He stood up as well, positioning himself shoulder to shoulder next to Lola, crossing his arms with a cute pout.
Patricia opened her mouth twice consecutively without managing to emit any sensible sound. Only on the third attempt, recovering a shred of composure, did she croak: "Please... tell me how you met."
"Well... you see... I... by accident... I mean... my Teddy Bear...", Lola murmured, nervously playing with the strands of her pigtails, suddenly struck by a monumental embarrassment over the way she had crossed paths with the love of her life.
"Lola, can you repeat from the beginning? That didn't make a lick of sense," Belfast interjected. Her protective maid instinct had kicked in, sensing something potentially dramatic.
"The sun had gotten in my eyes... while I was driving... then... Teddy Bear... the park... and the ice cream...", Lola continued, stammering disconnected syllables in the grip of anxiety.
"She ran me over completely while I was taking a walk to get to the park," Welt cut in with absolute casualness, as if he were recalling a mundane anecdote from days gone by.
"I wasn't texting and I wasn't talking on the phone! It really was the sun, it blinded me and I didn't see the red light!" Lola made sure to clarify, finally finding her verbal coordination. "But it ended well! My Teddy Bear and I, after five minutes of total panic, became friends. We sat on a bench and ate ice cream together."
'Not the compromising stain I was hoping to uncover,' Belfast thought, visibly disappointed by the outcome of the confession.
"And since that day, you keep dropping into my shop to drag me into doing whatever crosses your mind," Welt added, shooting the athlete a bittersweet glance that mixed composure and resignation.
Patricia and Walter Robinson remained motionless, frozen in their armchairs. Slowly, however, their eyes began to grow misty, glistening under the living room light.
"Let me get this straight, Welt..." the patriarch began, his deep voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "You were run over by my daughter, you didn't call law enforcement, you didn't demand damages, and you two just limited yourselves to eating ice cream together?" Walter looked a millimeter away from an emotional breakdown.
"Yes. I simply felt like having an ice cream and I didn't want to cause trouble for Lola. After all, I hadn't suffered any serious injuries," Welt replied. He knew perfectly well that his hidden nature had protected him from worse damage.
"Lola... have I ever told you how I met your father?" Patricia asked in a thin voice, slipping off her red glasses with trembling fingers.
"No, Mom, never," the girl confessed, furrowing her brow, confused by that sudden question. She knew the details of their first twenty dates by heart, but the prologue had always eluded her.
"I... accidentally ran him over with my bicycle while he was running in the park to train," the woman confessed, bursting into tears of pure emotion.
"When I saw her, I literally saw stars! Both from the impact and from love at first sight! Then we went to eat a hot dog together!" Walter echoed her, as big tears rolled down his former heavyweight cheeks.
"A rather bizarre coincidence...", Welt commented, starting to take a step back.
But he didn't make it in time to escape. Mr. Robinson sprang to his feet like a fury and, continuing to weep like a baby, wrapped Welt in a titanic hug, lifting the bookseller half a meter off the carpet.
"You can call me Dad!" Walter thundered, increasing the pressure of his biceps out of sheer happiness.
"Like father... like daughter...", Welt managed to whisper, recognizing in that lethal grip the exact same genetics of his stalker number two.
"And you can call me Mom!" Patricia shrieked, joining the group hug and clinging to Welt's back, exponentially increasing the pneumatic pressure on the young man's ribcage.
"You already know what to call me, Teddy Bear!" Lola exclaimed, throwing herself into the pile as well with devastating enthusiasm.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
Crushed under three generations of elite athletes, Welt ran completely out of air. Perhaps he was a step away from cardiac arrest, or perhaps his warlock mind was simply experiencing the side effects of asphyxiation, but for a brief moment, reality distorted. Before his blurry eyes appeared a secret military base lost amidst the ice of Alaska; he clearly distinguished a red-haired girl wearing an immaculately white uniform and, next to her, a mysterious lavender-haired maiden clutching a huge, monumental crossed shield.
'I am the Servant Black Caster. Tell me, are you my Master?'
A mysterious and echoing voice resonated within Welt's mind, which was completely starved of oxygen. Then, darkness.
"Master Bear has just fainted," Belfast stated in a flat tone with a feigned note of worry in her voice, observing the boy's body dangling inertly in the Robinsons' grip.
Let us leave the Robinson Manor at this point, since from here on out things would take a decidedly more ordinary turn: a fainting spell that lasted barely a handful of minutes, an all-in-all peaceful lunch, and a Welt who, miraculously, would manage to cross the estate's gates still alive and well.
XXX
Returning to the Blackwood District.
A homicide detective made his entrance into a small and modest neighborhood coffee shop. Dressed in plain clothes, the man was a thirty-year-old of Hispanic descent, one meter and eighty centimeters tall, with short black hair, deep brown eyes, and features lined with exhaustion.
"Hi, Mom. The usual, please," the detective, named Rodrigo, began, sliding a twenty-dollar bill across the laminate counter with an automatic gesture.
"You look exhausted, Rodrigo. Hard day?" asked Ruth, the owner of the place. The woman, an elderly lady with silvery-gray hair, looked at her son with eyes full of maternal care.
"The precinct is a powder keg these days, you can't even breathe," Rodrigo admitted, running a hand over his face to chase away sleep. "The last shifts have been a non-stop delusion: first that absurd accident with the hot-air balloon, then the attempted heist at the museum, and, just to make sure we didn't miss anything, that mess down at the harbor." Rodrigo shook his head, summarizing the triad of disasters that had brought local security to its knees.
"I won't tell you that the city was an oasis of peace in my day, but shouldn't these collective follies limit themselves to happening once a week?" Ruth asked, placing her hands on her hips.
"In fact, that is supposed to be the frequency," Rodrigo replied with a bitter smile. "The problem is that right now in the holding cell we've got a completely crazy ice cream man, two professional thieves who arrived from Central City, and a string of petty criminals who fled from New York City. Out of all this scum, only the ice cream man is ours; the others are all outsiders." The detective was firmly convinced that the city's unwritten rule — only one major incident per week — was still holding, but the sudden wave of imported crime was upending all plans.
At that exact moment, sitting at one of the dimly lit tables, Vanessa opened her red leather purse with calculated slowness. She extracted a finely decorated perfume bottle and, with a light squeeze, misted the fragrance into the air of the room. A thick, sweetish, and hypnotic aroma spread rapidly, saturating the environment.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to stop. Both Ruth and Rodrigo froze abruptly, their gazes temporarily turning vacant, as if enveloped by a sudden fog.
The femme fatale rose from the table. Moving with a feline and sinuous elegance, almost floating across the coffee shop floor, she directed her stealthy steps toward the homicide detective.
"Ma'am, go to the kitchen immediately and prepare a large espresso for me," Vanessa ordered. Her voice, cold and melodious, possessed the imperious tone of a queen accustomed to seeing her desires turned into instantaneous laws.
The elderly woman merely nodded with a mechanical movement of her head, turning her back to blindly obey the command.
Left alone with the man, Vanessa closed the distance. She glided across the space separating her from Rodrigo and brought her full lips close to his ear, letting her warm breath brush against his skin. "Would you care to do a small favor for me, Mr. Detective?" she asked in a voice that was a concentrate of honey and pure seduction.
"Anything you wish... my Mistress," Rodrigo replied. His expression had turned completely submissive, his eyes wide and glassy, filled with a blind and unnatural adoration.
"A dear friend of mine needs a specific medicine. At the moment he is locked up in one of your cells, the victim of a terrible miscarriage of justice," Vanessa explained. With slender fingers, she extracted a stylized pen from her purse and, with an apparently affectionate gesture, slipped it into the cop's jacket pocket. "Once you have delivered it to him, tell that poor man that he has exactly one hour to show up for the appointment scheduled at the Red House."
Rodrigo jolted. His jaw tightened slightly and his pupils wavered. "I'm... I'm sorry, but I can't do that," he murmured, his voice strained from the effort. "It goes against every internal protocol. But... but I can ask the colleagues to keep a special eye out. I can make sure your friend receives a more than fair trial and all the necessary medical assistance." Although he was heavily influenced by the toxic aroma of the perfume, the detective's training and strong willpower were putting up an unexpected resistance, preventing Vanessa from gaining total control.
'People endowed with an iron will always require a more concentrated dose,' Vanessa reflected, annoyed by that glimmer of lucidity.
Without losing her magnetic smile, she slipped her hand back into her red bag and extracted a sumptuous gold ring, topped by a large and conspicuous ruby. The woman extended her arm and brushed Rodrigo's neck with a sensual caress, slowly moving up until she positioned her hand right behind the detective's nape.
"What were you saying a moment ago, Mr. Detective?" Vanessa whispered a millimeter away from his lips.
At that instant, a tiny, retractable hypodermic needle, invisible to the naked eye, snapped out from the metal base of the ring. The tip penetrated the flesh at the base of the skull with the precision of a scalpel, injecting a potent chemical substance directly into the victim's nervous system. That ring was not a piece of high-fashion jewelry at all, but rather a lethal and discreet tool of coercion, custom-designed for Lady V's trade. The gold band concealed the pressure mechanism: only a forensics expert endowed with formidable eyesight and a magnifying glass could have spotted the microscopic entry point on the skin. Even the gem was a master forgery: a synthetic shell modeled in the shape of a ruby that served as a reservoir for the mental serums of her own creation, capable of bending the target's mind until every defense was shattered.
The effect was immediate. Rodrigo's last resistances were swept away: his eyes definitively lost every spark of warmth, becoming vitrei and dull.
"I am ready to die at your command. I will do whatever you want, my beloved Mistress," the detective declared, his voice monotonous, now reduced to a puppet completely under Lady V's biological control.
The femme fatale flashed a triumphant smile. She grabbed the steaming espresso that Ruth had just placed on the counter without bothering in the least to pay, adjusted a pair of dark sunglasses on her nose, and walked out of the coffee shop with light steps, leaving behind a submissive man and a trail of catastrophic events just set in motion.
XXX
Returning to the Robinson family.
"Belfast will drive Welt back to his house. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to convince him to stay for dinner, or for the night... much less to move in with us," Lola commented, with a note of deep disappointment in her voice and her arms hanging loose.
"Lola, we absolutely must talk," Patricia decreed. Her tone of voice had suddenly turned serious, almost solemn.
The girl swallowed hard, hunching her shoulders. "About the fact that I ran someone over completely with the car and didn't tell you anything?" She hoped with all her heart not to suffer a retroactive punishment for that minor incident from a few months prior.
"That was a sign! The mystical sign I've been waiting for years!" Patricia exclaimed instead, throwing her arms wide. She didn't care in the least about what her daughter had pulled off months ago; to her, only the splendid final result mattered.
"Lola, my princess... I have disapproved of... well, almost... no, let's cross out 'almost': I have disapproved of every single boy you've introduced to us so far. But Welt is the first one I truly like," Walter confessed. As he said it, he visibly exhaled, as if a massive boulder oppressing his heart for years had finally vanished into thin air.
"I ran your father over with a bicycle, you ran Welt over with a car... it seems like a clear and unmistakable sign straight from heaven," Patricia reiterated. She clasped her hands in front of her chest and raised her gaze toward the golden ceiling, as if in an ecstatic prayer.
"Do you think we have to go to church next Sunday?" Walter asked, struck by an immediate mystical presentiment.
"Absolutely, yes. We will light a whole string of votive candles and make a very generous donation to the parish," Patricia instructed, determined to do everything in her power to hold on to the monumental good fortune that had blessed her daughter.
"I don't think it's strictly necessary, but I will do it for you, my Dove," the giant smiled. "In any case, if Welt stayed on his feet after being hit by a car, after two hours of intensive training with Lola, and after getting past my tough-man facade... well, nothing and no one will ever manage to drive him away."
Patricia turned toward her daughter, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. Her blue eyes sought only one certainty: "Lola, look at me. Do you love him?"
"I am firmly convinced that Welt is my Destined Princess," Lola confessed without the slightest hesitation, her eyes shining with an absolute light.
"What?" both parents asked in unison, furrowing their brows with a stamped expression of pure bewilderment.
"In this love story of ours, I am Prince Phillip," Lola explained with impeccable geometric logic, moving her hands through the air. "While my Teddy Bear is a perfect combination of Cinderella and Belle. But in a modern key and, obviously, with gender-reversed roles."
Walter remained silent for three seconds, absorbing the information. Then he slapped one fist into the palm of his other hand: "I understand everything. You are me, and Welt is Patricia."
"Exactly! So, do you love him?" the mother pressed again, hoping to get a straightforward answer for once.
"I love him so much that I want to have seven children with him!" Lola confessed, her cheeks suddenly flushing bright red. "When he speaks to me with his heart in his hand, I feel my legs turn to jelly and my chest feels ready to burst with emotion." To all intents and purposes, she looked like the most in love woman on the entire planet.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you...", Patricia murmured under her breath, casting another nod of gratitude upward. If that was how things stood, she would live long enough to hold a whole brood of grandchildren in her arms.
"When he is near me, I feel like a hormone-driven high school girl all over again," Lola continued at full speed, immediately biting her tongue afterward to avoid going into details too intimate about what she wanted to do to the poor bookseller.
"You have my total approval for the funding of anything you two want to do!" Walter declared, enthusiastic.
"Mine too!" Patricia almost shouted, usually so restrained.
At that point, Lola bit her lower lip and looked away, forced to sharply come back down to earth. As much as it was possible for her, at least. "Well... there's a small detail. My Teddy Bear i-is not my boyfriend yet. For now, he is just a close friend."
Walter arched an eyebrow, visibly confused by modern terminology. "Is that one of those things you young people do nowadays? Now, to say 'boyfriend,' you use the expression 'close friend'?"
"No, Dad. My Teddy Bear and I are not officially together," Lola confessed, frantically fidgeting with her fingers, visibly embarrassed to admit the exquisitely chaste nature of their relationship. "We haven't done anything more than some warm hugs, holding hands, a few kisses on the cheek, and i-it has always been me taking the initiative; my Teddy Bear hasn't kissed me anywhere, not even on the forehead."
Walter widened his eyes, caught by a sudden and terrible worry. "By any chance... does he play for the other team? Or does he have some problem with... impotence?" That indeed would have been an unprecedented disaster: the perfect boy for his princess, and maybe he was incapable of procreating or wasn't interested in women.
"No, don't worry, I checked personally!" Lola replied, flashing a mischievous and slightly wicked smile that made her mother jolt. "He is clearly heterosexual and physically super healthy. Every time I sit in his lap, his body reacts exactly as you'd expect from a man."
Walter let out a very long and noisy sigh of relief, running a hand over his muscular chest.
"Let's recap: no alcohol, no smoking, no wild sex or raunchy things," Patricia summarized, to be absolutely certain she had understood the situation.
"No, nothing at all. Unfortunately," Lola huffed, distinctly unhappy about the last two points on the list.
"Maybe it's a religious matter? Maybe he's one of those old-school good guys who prefer to wait for marriage before consuming? Honestly, I thought that species had gone extinct in the last century," Walter commented, working out a sociological theory on the spot.
"Maybe? Honestly, I just think he's very shy, well-mannered, and prefers to take things slow," Lola reflected, shrugging her shoulders. Then, her eyes lit up with an iron determination: "But if the only way to unlock the situation is to wait for marriage... well, then it means I'll propose to him myself. Tomorrow, if needed!"
Walter jumped to his feet on his chair, galvanized by that spirit of initiative. "Wait a minute! I'm going to the kitchen to get a block of butter so I can slip off my wedding band and give it to you right away for the ring!" He was ready to donate his marriage's gold just to speed things up.
"The two of you need to calm down immediately!" Patricia intervened, standing as the sole voice of reason in Robinson Manor. She grabbed her husband's arm to make him sit back down and shot a stern look at her daughter. "Finally, a proper boy with sound principles has crossed the threshold of this house. We will do nothing to scare him away by organizing a surprise wedding. We will have to wait at least a year... or until Lola gets pregnant, whichever of the two comes first."
Lola sighed, crossing her arms over her purple chest. "This is going to be the longest and most agonizing year of my entire life."
"Can I ask a question?" Walter chimed in, resting his elbows on his knees. "Where was this Welt hiding for the last fourteen years of our lives? We would have saved ourselves a thousand hardships, streams of shouting, and who knows what other tragedies if we had crossed paths with him sooner."
"Somewhere in Europe, I think," Lola answered vaguely.
"He's not American?" the father asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Why, does it make any difference?" the girl countered, raising her chin.
"None at all," Walter confessed in total honesty. "He could be planning the assassination of the President of the United States at this very moment, and I would still welcome him into our home with open arms." Patricia, next to him, nodded vigorously in total agreement.
Then, the patriarch's gaze slid toward the glass coffee table, lingering on the colorful volumes. "Princess, what are those comic books that Belfast laid out there on the table?"
"My Teddy Bear isn't just a brilliant bookseller, Dad. He is also an immensely talented artist," Lola exclaimed, her face lighting up as she began to sing the praises of Welt's debut work.
One thing was certain: from that exact moment, Welt Blight's work as a comic book artist would no longer be a simple commercial activity confined to a local level. Patricia Robinson loved to read, but, more importantly, she loved to invest her money in winning horses.
To be continued...
XXX
Author's Note:
I have finished writing the comical and funny scenes; now we can continue with the action.
Here is a funny thing that happened to me last Sunday: I went to the cinema with my brother, having nothing better to do.
Because of the trailers, the difference in movie titles due to translation, and the movie listed under the new releases section on the cinema's website, I thought I was about to watch Avengers: Doomsday.
But in reality, the cinema was re-screening Avengers: Endgame; you have no idea what kind of face I made when I realized it.
I wasn't able to get my money back, even though less than ten minutes had passed since the start of the movie, but I received a coupon that allows me and a guest to watch a movie of my choice for free, unless it's a premiere.