Inside the office, the only sound was the *tick-tock, tick-tock* of the wall clock.
Cicero curled up in the armchair, a cup of steaming black tea in his hand. His gaze drifted aimlessly as he tried to blend into the furniture.
His usual trench coat had been tossed onto the coat rack. Now, he wore a loose white shirt with the collar open, revealing his pale collarbones.
If this man didn’t open his mouth, he actually looked quite respectable.
Unfortunately.
*Thwack!*
A sharp sound shattered the dead silence of the room.
Vivian slammed a piece of parchment down hard in front of Cicero.
“Care to explain?”
Vivian leaned forward, her pretty little face wearing a sinister expression that screamed “Resistance is futile, and confession won’t get you mercy.”
Cicero took a sip of his tea. He didn’t look at the paper. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the relief carvings on the ceiling.
“Explain what?” he asked, his tone flat and laced with a hint of innocence. “If you’re referring to the tea being a bit weak, then I apologize. After all, tea has become increasingly perfunctory since the time of Louis XVI.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit.”
Vivian reached out and spun the parchment around so it faced Cicero directly.
Cicero finally deigned to shift his gaze from the ceiling to the paper.
In the portrait, a man’s eyes were as cold as a blade, set against a background of burning flames and a collapsing cathedral.
The line of text at the top was still clearly visible: **[Extremely Dangerous: Heretic “Levi”]**
“First,” he said, holding up one finger. “Those Church artists don’t have many hobbies. They love to pick random vagrants to use as models. It’s only natural that there might be a resemblance. It’s called having a common face.”
“You’re saying the streets of Paris are full of dead-fish eyes and facial paralysis?”
“That is melancholy,” Cicero corrected. “It is a deep temperament that only surfaces when one is contemplating the ultimate fate of humanity.”
“Secondly,” Cicero calmly raised a second finger. “Look at the date on this. Five years ago, I was in Brittany planting potatoes. How would I have time to go around burning down cathedrals?”
“Planting potatoes? Didn’t you say last time that you were a traveling bard? And on the way back, you said you were a lion tamer in a circus?”
Cicero’s expression didn’t change. “Life is hard. You can never have too many skills.”
“Are you going to tell me the truth or not?” Vivian pulled a handful of melon seeds from her pocket.
Cicero sighed, wearing an expression that said “young people these days are so difficult to please.”
He stood up and walked to the window. With his back to Vivian, he gave her a seemingly lonely silhouette.
“Some things are not as simple as they seem.”
His voice dropped, heavy with the exhaustion of someone who had seen too much of the world.
“There are many coincidences in this world. It is like two parallel iron rails that occasionally collide because the foundation has sunk. The man on this wanted poster… perhaps he shares a spiritual resonance with me, but he is not the ‘me’ standing here right now.”
Vivian tossed a melon seed shell into the trash can and stepped up behind Cicero.
She picked up the wanted poster and shoved it right next to Cicero’s face.
“Come on, look in the mirror yourself.” Vivian pointed at the reflection in the window glass.
Cicero was forced to look at himself in the glass alongside the portrait.
*Tsk, tsk, tsk.*
Vivian shook her head and made a pitying sound, as if she were inspecting a rotten cabbage at the market.
“Boss, to be honest, I stared at this portrait for a long time, and I suddenly noticed a blind spot.”
“What blind spot?”
Vivian pointed at the man in the portrait, her voice full of disappointment.
“Look at this guy’s jawline, and then look at his posture.”
At that point, her tone shifted, and her finger ruthlessly jabbed toward the real-life Cicero.
“Then look at you.”
“After staying up late these past few days, your dark circles rival a giant panda’s. And this hair… it looks like a bird’s nest.”
Vivian sighed and slapped the wanted poster back onto the table.
“This is basically fraud! If the police tried to catch someone using this poster, they probably wouldn’t even recognize you if you stood right in front of them. They’d think you were just some vagrant who had just crawled out of the sewers.”
“…”
Cicero froze.
He had prepared a whole stomach full of excuses regarding theological debates, historical nihilism, and identity politics.
In the end, this girl had been quiet for so long just so she could insult his looks?
Cicero looked at his somewhat haggard reflection in the glass, the corner of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.
“Fraud?” Cicero turned around and crossed his arms, looking at Vivian with a helpless gaze. “Am I really that pathetic in your eyes?”
“Well, not entirely. After all, you’re a relatively good-looking vagrant. You could still fool some young girls.”
Cicero shook his head and walked to the table, his fingers gently stroking the tattered parchment.
As his fingertips brushed the priest’s face in the portrait, his gaze became complicated.
“This artist really did have some skill,” Cicero whispered. “He drew me as I imagined myself to be.”
“So you admit it?” Vivian arched an eyebrow.
“I have no choice.” Cicero spread his hands and pointed at his face. “After all, there aren’t many people who can be this handsome.”
“Narcissist,” Vivian rolled her eyes.
“That truly was another life, Vivian.”
He looked at the wanted poster, his tone carrying a mix of nostalgia and mockery.
” ‘Levi’ believed there was absolute justice in this world, and that light could purify all sin. He lived a very tiring life.”
Cicero stretched.
“But Cicero is different.”
He pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket and shook out a cigarette, putting it in his mouth without lighting it.
“Cicero is just an ordinary person who wants to make money while having a little fun. He doesn’t want to judge anyone, and he doesn’t want to be judged by anyone.”
Having said that, he looked at Vivian, a gentle light flickering in his eyes.
“Therefore, the man drawn on that paper is already dead.”
“The one sitting in front of you now is simply your boss.”
“Do you understand? My Miss Assistant.”
Vivian stared at him for a moment.
Outside the window, the rain had stopped at some point. A faint beam of sunlight pierced through the glass, landing exactly on the wanted poster and blurring the cold face of the priest.
“Boss, I’m hungry,” Vivian said suddenly.
“I’m hungry too.” Cicero lit his cigarette, using the smoke to stave off his hunger.
“Then go cook!”
“Why me?” Cicero protested. “You’re the assistant. Shouldn’t you be the one preparing dinner for me?”
“Huh?” Vivian looked at him as if he were being unreasonable. “I don’t know how to cook. If you make me do it, I’ll just throw the beef into some water, boil it, and give it to you.”
Cicero imagined the scene, and his stomach lurched.
“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll do it. I’ll do it, alright?”
Cicero stood up in resignation, rolling up his sleeves as he walked toward the cramped kitchen.
“I must have owed you several million francs in a past life.”
“Isn’t that perfect then?” Vivian smiled like a little fox behind him. “You can spend this life slowly paying me back with interest.”
The sound of clattering pots and pans came from the kitchen, followed by the rhythmic *tock, tock, tock* of a knife on a chopping board.
Vivian leaned back on the sofa, listening to those familiar sounds. The unease in her heart had completely dissipated.
Even if her boss was an unemployed priest on the Church’s blacklist, and even if she herself… was a “beautiful girl” whose body was becoming increasingly strange.
Vivian looked down at her palm.
It was fair and slender, yet filled with endless strength.
“By the way…”
Cicero’s voice suddenly drifted out from the kitchen, accompanied by the *sizzle* of onions hitting the pan.
“Vivian, when you tasted that water earlier, did you really only taste rust?”
“Huh? Yeah. Why? Was I supposed to taste Bordeaux?”
“It’s nothing.”
Cicero’s voice sounded a bit muffled through the door as if he were contemplating something.
“I just think your taste buds… are quite special. If there’s a chance in the future, maybe I’ll take you to taste some even weirder things.”
“… Boss, I’m your assistant, not your laboratory rat!”
***
Night fell, and the office lights flickered on, casting a warm yellow glow through the window and onto the damp street.
The night in Paris had only just begun.
On the other side of the city, at the bottom of the Seine River where dark red water churned, something was slowly opening its eyes in the silt.
Of course, Vivian, who was currently fighting Cicero for the last piece of beef, knew nothing of this.
“Let go! That’s mine!”
“That’s tendon! You can’t chew it!”
“I don’t care! I love tendon!”