For a brief moment, the tension in the air didn't break.
The older officer—Johnny—stood frozen where he was, his hand still hovering near his belt. That single glance from Lucien had unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. It wasn't fear, not exactly… but something close enough that he instinctively pulled his hand back.
Then reality snapped back in.
He had just been intimidated.
By an Asian.
The realization hit his pride harder than anything else, and anger surged up almost instantly, burning away that brief hesitation. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he prepared to reassert control—only to be interrupted.
"Hey… it's getting late," the rookie said casually, his tone deliberately light. "Keep dragging this out and you'll miss dinner."
The words weren't loud, but they landed perfectly.
Johnny paused.
It was an excuse—an obvious one—but it gave him something he needed: a way out.
He clicked his tongue, stepping back as if the entire situation had suddenly become beneath him. "Tch… you're lucky," he muttered, glaring at Lucien. "Let's go."
Lucien didn't resist.
There was no need.
The police station wasn't much different from what Lucien expected.
Dim lighting, scattered paperwork, the low hum of conversation mixed with occasional laughter. The kind of place where authority felt casual—and sometimes careless.
He was left sitting off to the side, hands cuffed, deliberately ignored.
A tactic.
Pressure through isolation.
Johnny leaned against a desk not far away, chatting loudly with colleagues, throwing glances in Lucien's direction every now and then as if expecting a reaction.
He got none.
Lucien simply sat there, calm as ever.
That calmness, more than anything, made people uncomfortable.
After a while, the rookie officer approached, holding two cups of coffee. He hesitated briefly before handing one over.
"Sorry… about all this," he said quietly.
Lucien accepted it without comment.
"Johnny's been here a long time," the rookie continued, lowering his voice slightly. "You know how it is."
Lucien turned his head just enough to look at him properly.
Average height. Quick movements. Eyes that didn't quite match the uniform—too sharp, too observant.
Not the typical officer.
"My name's Carl," the man added with a small smile.
"Lucien."
Carl nodded, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Johnny wasn't paying attention before leaning in slightly.
"We've got a new boss here," he said in a hushed tone. "Not exactly… easy to deal with. Been in a bad mood lately. Clashes with Johnny all the time."
Lucien's lips curved faintly.
"I see."
"If you explain things to him," Carl continued, "there's a good chance he'll take your side. Honestly… he might even be looking for a reason to knock Johnny down a peg."
Interesting.
Lucien said nothing, letting the man continue.
"The report came from a man and a girl," Carl added. "Probably not related. Didn't look alike at all."
Lucien's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Go on."
"The girl claimed you lured her into your shop," Carl said carefully. "Said you showed her… inappropriate things. Tried to touch her."
Lucien didn't react.
Not outwardly.
Inside, however, the conclusion was already clear.
Esther.
"After that, the man came straight to the station," Carl continued. "But his wife called him while he was here. They argued… pretty badly."
Lucien almost smiled.
So Kate wasn't on board.
Good.
"That's why I'm saying—you'll be fine," Carl said with a shrug. "No solid evidence. No physical proof. Just her words."
Lucien tilted his head slightly. "And you're so sure?"
Carl chuckled.
"Because kids lie," he said bluntly. "At that age? I lied all the time—and I was good at it."
Lucien actually let out a quiet laugh at that.
"This one's different, though," Carl added, his expression turning more serious. "The way she talks… the way she looks at her so-called father…"
He paused, frowning.
"It's not normal."
Lucien leaned back slightly, interest growing.
"How so?"
Carl hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
"She's not shy," he said finally. "Not even a little. The way she described everything—it wasn't like a kid. It sounded like… someone much older."
Lucien couldn't help it.
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"I believe you."
Carl looked relieved, about to say something else—
When the atmosphere in the station suddenly shifted.
Voices lowered.
Movements slowed.
Someone important had arrived.
"Good afternoon, Detective."
The greetings came one after another as a man walked in, his presence commanding attention without effort.
Carl straightened immediately.
"Detective," he greeted.
The man nodded briefly before his gaze swept across the room—and stopped.
On Lucien.
For a split second, there was confusion.
Then recognition.
And then—
Rage.
Pure, unfiltered rage.
"Carl," the detective said slowly, his voice already carrying a dangerous edge, "why are you here? Weren't you on patrol?"
"Brought someone in for questioning," Carl replied carefully.
"For what?"
"Alleged misconduct involving a minor… but there's no solid evidence yet—"
"No evidence?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop instantly.
The detective took a step forward, grabbing a file from the table and flipping through it with increasing irritation.
"No evidence—and you brought him in like this?"
Before Carl could respond—
Lucien raised his cuffed hands slightly, a faint smile on his face.
"We meet again, Detective."
That was it.
The final trigger.
The detective's expression darkened completely, veins standing out slightly at his temples as his composure snapped.
"Johnny!" he roared.
The entire station fell silent.
Johnny, who had been laughing moments ago, froze before slowly turning around. The looks on his colleagues' faces—some amused, some sympathetic—sent a chill down his spine.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He walked over quickly, forcing a stiff smile. "Sir?"
The detective pointed at Lucien without even looking at Johnny.
"Explain."
Johnny hesitated. "…We received a report. Thought it might be serious, so—"
"Is there evidence?"
"…No."
"No warrant?"
"…No."
The detective's head tilted slightly.
Then he exploded.
"No evidence, no warrant—and you cuffed him?!" His voice echoed through the station. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Did you leave your brain at home?!"
Johnny flinched as the words hit him one after another, faster than he could process.
"Release him. Now."
"But—"
"No 'but'!" the detective snapped. "Unless you want to pack your things and get out, take those cuffs off right now!"
The authority in his voice left no room for argument.
Johnny's face turned red, but he didn't dare push further. With stiff movements, he stepped forward and unlocked the cuffs.
Click.
Freedom.
Carl stood to the side, completely stunned.
He had never seen the detective lose control like that before. Not even close.
And it was obvious why.
His gaze shifted slowly toward Lucien.
The calm expression.
The faint smile.
The complete lack of concern from start to finish.
A realization hit him.
Hard.
Johnny hadn't just picked the wrong person.
He had just kicked a hornet's nest—and dragged the entire station into it.