Cassius genuinely felt like dying at that moment.
Not from the acid that had melted half his back into sizzling ruin, but from sheer, unbearable shame.
He finally understood, truly, painfully understood, what it must feel like to stand in front of himself.
Usually, he was the one who was impossible to reason with, the one who derailed conversations, shamelessly turned every serious moment into absurdity, and left others red in the face while he smiled with unshakable confidence.
But now the tables had turned, and he was the victim.
The girl before him didn't obey the flow of the conversation, didn't give him the reactions he wanted, didn't play into his rhythm at all.
Instead, she trampled all over his script, turned his gallant heroics into the shallow whims of a pervert, and left him, him, looking like a pathetic fool.
