From Freya Van Daalen's Perspective
Freya really shouldn't have let her little troublemakers watch TV shows.
That was the thought pounding in her head as she watched the scene before her — a perfect mix of amusement and regret.
She remembered reading an article about it weeks before all this began.
The text talked about how television and movies were passive entertainment, and how children — especially between the ages of seven and twelve — tended to imitate the behavior of the characters they saw on screen.
At the time, she laughed.
To Freya, that sounded like one of those overblown magazine-psychologist theories that saw problems in everything.
But now, looking at what was happening in front of her…
she had to admit the article might have had a point.
Because her two kids, Steve and Anna, looked exactly like a pair of detectives in a police drama.
Sitting on either side of her, both with serious expressions and sharp, observant eyes, they stared at Alessio from across the table as if he were a suspect about to confess to a crime.
Between them sat an improvised "notebook," made of crumpled pages stapled together and a pencil broken in half — a tool that Steve proudly called his "evidence log."
Freya crossed her arms and sighed, leaning back in her chair.
The old wooden table creaked with every movement the kids made, as they took turns questioning Alessio with the precision of seasoned investigators.
"So, what's your full name again, Mister Aslan?" asked Anna, her tone so serious she might as well have been drafting a police report.
Alessio, sitting across from them, handled the situation with the same calm he used when facing raid bosses.
He rested his elbows on the table, interlaced his fingers, and answered with easy composure:
"Alessio Leone."
Steve scribbled something on the paper, frowning in concentration.
"Leone… like lion?" he asked, narrowing his eyes, as if he had just uncovered something deeply suspicious.
"Exactly," Alessio replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. "Leone — like the animal."
Anna turned to her brother with a conspiratorial look.
"I knew it had something to do with the cubs' names…"
Freya pressed a hand to her forehead, exhaling in defeat.
She should've stopped this ten minutes ago.
But the problem was that Alessio was handling it too well.
He answered every question as if he were genuinely being interviewed by federal agents — calm, patient, and oddly entertained.
And somehow, even surrounded by two overly curious kids, he didn't lose that natural air of authority.
If anything, it made him seem even more unshakable.
"And what do you do for a living?" Steve continued, without realizing how absurdly formal he sounded. "You know, before becoming a Tower player?"
Alessio blinked, thoughtful for a moment, then replied with the same seriousness the boy had used:
"I used to be… a teacher. Combat tactics and strategy."
Anna's eyes widened.
"Really? Like… in a real school?"
"Something like that," he said with a small grin. "Let's just say it was a bit more dangerous than most schools."
Freya hid her laugh behind her hand.
There was something almost natural about the way Alessio dealt with the children — as if he had trained for it.
He didn't talk down to them, didn't lose patience, didn't simplify his answers.
He spoke to them as he would to adults, and somehow, that worked.
The two of them hung on every word, eyes bright with curiosity.
"And the cubs?" Anna asked, leaning forward across the table. "Will they grow up to be, like… huge?"
"I hope so," Alessio said, raising an eyebrow. "Wouldn't mind having a couple of furry bodyguards around."
Anna giggled, clearly pleased with the answer, while Steve jotted down another note:
"Has lions — potential danger level: high."
Freya sighed again, half exasperated, half amused.
She really should've stopped this interrogation ages ago — but something about the scene made her hesitate.
Alessio looked completely at ease — almost comfortable.
And the children were clearly enchanted by him.
Then came the next question.
"So where do you live, Mister Aslan?" Steve asked, eyes narrowing like a detective chasing down an international lead.
Freya raised her brows in surprise and intervened on instinct.
"Steve!" she said, trying to sound stern — though a small laugh escaped despite her effort. "It's not polite to ask that when you've just met someone."
But before she could end the conversation, Alessio lifted a hand, still smiling beneath the helmet.
"It's fine," he said easily. "I'm from Italy. A city called Palermo."
Anna's eyes widened in awe.
"Italy? Like… pizza, sculptures, and those huge cathedrals?"
"Exactly," Alessio replied, amused. "And I can promise you — the pizza's even better than it looks in pictures."
Steve looked up from his notes, studying him with unnerving seriousness.
"So you're a foreigner," he muttered, connecting imaginary dots. "That explains the accent."
Freya rolled her eyes discreetly.
Oh no, she thought, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. They're not done yet.
And indeed, they weren't.
Anna leaned on the table again, resting her chin on her hands.
"So how did you meet Mom?"
The question was so innocent — so abrupt — that time itself seemed to freeze for a moment.
Freya felt her cheeks flush instantly.
"Anna!" she exclaimed, louder than she meant to. "That's none of your business!"
But it was already too late.
Both kids were staring expectantly at Alessio — and he, of course, looked more amused than flustered.
"Ah, that," he said, scratching his chin beneath the helmet, a quiet smile forming. "Let's just say… it was a rather unusual meeting."
"Unusual how?" Steve pressed, eager.
Freya jumped in immediately, raising her hand like a referee calling a timeout.
"That's enough!" she said firmly, though her smile betrayed her attempt at seriousness. "You two have asked more than enough."
But Steve crossed his arms dramatically, adopting the righteous indignation of a small lawyer.
"Mom, you never bring anyone for us to meet. It's only fair we get to ask questions."
Anna nodded in solidarity, as fiercely determined as her brother.
"Yeah! Auntie said you scare everyone off before they even get here!"
Freya blinked, stunned.
"She what?"
Then the memory hit.
Just minutes earlier — she and Alessio arriving in the city, exhausted and covered in dust — they'd been greeted at the entrance by the two little interrogators and, of course, her sister, who had vanished the second the questions began.
"Coward," Freya muttered internally, clenching her jaw.
She really should have seen this coming.
Now, sitting there between her children's relentless questioning and Alessio's calm, amused presence, she swore to herself that she'd never let this happen again.
Until now, no "friend" had ever made it past her doorstep.
Most men ran the moment they learned she had kids — and honestly, she didn't mind.
But Alessio…
He wasn't the type to run.
He sat there, relaxed, answering the most personal questions in the world with the patience of a saint — as if he had done this a thousand times before.
Freya watched him quietly, her heart beating a little faster than she wanted to admit.
I should've stopped this long ago, she thought, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Definitely should've.
And yet…
she didn't.