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"Ah, the world has truly changed. Time waits for no man."
Back in the town of Jericho, Vic stood on a familiar street corner, heaving a dramatic, pretentious sigh.
He swept his arm through the air in an exaggerated arc, as if embracing the land he had been away from for merely two months.
Enid tugged at the hem of his shirt, amused but exasperated:
"Vic, we were just gone for summer break. You're being way too dramatic."
"Hey, let's go to the Weathervane and get something to eat. I miss their chocolate brownies."
Vic instantly dropped the theatrical pose, his eyes lighting up as he proposed a much more practical idea.
He remembered the café's chocolate brownies—rich, dense, and always dusted with a thin layer of powdered sugar.
"Great idea!"
Enid immediately hugged Vic's arm happily, her eyes shining with anticipation.
Wednesday nodded slightly, her cool voice lacking much fluctuation.
"I hope their coffee beans will meet my standards."
Her fastidiousness regarding coffee was no less rigorous than her approach to dark magic grimoires.
The three of them pushed open the familiar glass door of the Weathervane. The vintage copper bell chimed with a crisp ding-a-ling.
The shop was filled with the mellow aroma of freshly ground coffee and the warm, sweet scent of pastries. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled shadows on the wooden floor.
However, Vic's gaze was instantly drawn to two unexpected figures in a corner booth.
It was Principal Larissa Weems and Sheriff Donovan Galpin.
Principal Weems maintained her usual educator's dignity, though her brow was slightly furrowed.
Opposite her, Sheriff Galpin looked exceptionally anxious. His fingers drummed unconsciously on the table, and his face was written with exhaustion and worry.
"Please, Larissa, help me this one time. I at least need to know if she..."
Donovan's voice held a trace of pleading, weighed down by anxiety.
"Vic?"
Principal Weems noticed the commotion at the door first, cutting Donovan off.
Donovan looked up at the sound. Seeing Vic's group, a complex expression crossed his face—like he was seeing a savior, yet simultaneously feeling even more awkward.
"Aunt Larissa, Sheriff Galpin, what are you chatting about?"
Vic walked over with a smile, greeting them naturally, trying to dispel the unusual tension in the air.
"Vic, I think Tyler's..."
Donovan seemed to grab at a lifeline. He tried to speak, but Principal Weems slammed her hand on the table, interrupting him sharply.
"Donovan!"
Larissa's voice carried unquestionable authority.
"You cannot involve the students in this!"
Her gaze was sharp, clearly maintaining a boundary.
"Oh, sorry. Right. Yes."
Donovan looked like he'd been doused with a bucket of ice water. He wiped his face dejectedly, his shoulders slumping, instantly looking several years older.
He forced a smile, trying to change the subject. "How was your summer break? I hope you didn't cause any trouble."
Principal Weems seized the chance to soften the atmosphere, elegantly waving a hand to order drinks for the trio—
Vic's favorite chocolate milkshake, a honey citron tea for Enid, and for Wednesday, a single-origin pour-over, black, no sugar, no milk.
Slurping his cold milkshake, Vic began to recount their experience on the luxury cruise ship with animated gestures and a disjointed narrative:
The Kraken, the wonders of Atlantis, and the eerie warmth of Hotel Transylvania.
He skillfully omitted the talismans, the demons, and the overly dangerous details, packaging the story as a fantasy-filled summer camp adventure.
"My heavens," Principal Weems exclaimed after listening, her eyes twinkling with amazement. "Your experiences could practically be made into a movie."
At this point, Donovan finally couldn't hold back. He leaned forward, his eyes fixed tight on Vic, his voice filled with suppressed longing and unease:
"Vic, how is my son? Did he come back with you?"
Mentioning Tyler seemed to inject a faint light into his tired eyes—the instinctive concern of a father.
Vic paused mid-slurp. His eyes drifted, and he answered vaguely:
"Uh, he's good. He's helping out at my uncle's hotel right now. And he got a... girlfriend."
He said the last word with extra lightness, trying to gloss over it.
"A girlfriend?"
Donovan's eyes lit up instantly. The gloom on his face was swept away, replaced by a genuine smile of relief.
"Oh, my son is definitely at that age! How old is she?"
His tone was relaxed, as if he were already imagining a bright future of his son settling down.
Vic swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the milkshake was a bit choking.
Avoiding Donovan's expectant gaze, he stared at the wood grain on the table, his voice dropping lower:
"It's fine, it's fine, just a little older... You know what they say, older women know how to take care of you, it's great..."
He tried to use a casual tone to dissolve the "minor" age gap.
But halfway through, he realized something was wrong and stopped abruptly.
Older than who?
Donovan was already in his fifties!
"Wait!"
The smile froze on Donovan's face. His voice carried an imperceptible tremor. "Older... than who?"
Vic looked up, revealing an even more awkward smile, laced with sympathy, confirming Donovan's worst fear.
Donovan felt a wave of dizziness. A vision floated before his eyes: his rebellious son holding a "mature" woman, sweetly calling her "babe."
My son's taste... since when did it become so... unique and heavy? He wailed internally.
But he still held onto a sliver of luck. What if she's well-preserved? What if she still has charm?
He forced himself to ask, clutching the last spark of hope in his eyes:
"Exactly... how much older?"
This question stumped Vic.
He frowned and actually started counting on his fingers, muttering to himself:
"Miss Siren said she was born in eighteen-something, right? This is 2025... subtract..."
Watching Vic actually need to use his fingers to calculate, Donovan's brain buzzed. The spark of luck in his heart was thoroughly extinguished.
This age gap... is it big enough to require arithmetic?
This isn't just "a little" anymore, is it?!
After a good while, Vic finally completed the complex mathematical operation.
He looked up, wearing the expression of someone announcing a major scientific discovery, and gave the answer with certainty:
"Got it! She's about a hundred and thirty-something years older~"
?!!!
The number struck Donovan's skull like a bolt of lightning.
His eyes bulged round, his mouth opening and closing but making no sound.
One hundred and thirty-something years older?!
That means she's older than his grandmother?!
"Gah!"
Donovan let out a short, weird gasp. He clutched his heart violently, his face turning pale as a sheet. His body went stiff, and he fell backward into the booth, slamming heavily against the seat back. His eyes rolled back, as if all his strength and hope had been instantly drained away.
"Donovan!"
Principal Weems exclaimed, quickly standing up to check on him.
Vic and Enid jumped in fright, Enid nervously grabbing Vic's arm.
Wednesday, however, raised an eyebrow. She took a calm sip of her coffee and commented:
"His psychological endurance requires improvement."
The café fell into brief chaos, with only Vic whispering a defensive mumble:
"Actually... Miss Siren looks pretty young, and... Tyler really seems happy..."