The air at the table had been thick, heavy with the silent fallout of a near-argument. Henrik, leaning back, had his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the washrooms. Martin, meanwhile, stared determinedly at the last remaining bread roll, his jaw tight. They had been debating the merits of a recent financial decision—a debate that quickly spiraled into accusations rooted in exhaustion and mutual annoyance—when the washroom door clicked.
The tension snapped the moment Jasmin reappeared. She walked with an easy stride, radiating a casual disinterest that made their preceding squabble suddenly feel ridiculous. Both men straightened instantly, falling into a strained, unnatural silence.
"There's your order that you told me," Martin reminded her, pointing toward the newly arrived platter dominating the center of the table: a hefty steak and a mountainous pile of BBQ ribs.
"Oh yeah, sorry. I was like in a restroom for a while," Jasmin said, pulling up her chair. She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "While I was waiting, I just heard some mentions. Jannis was a familiar name to me."
Henrik frowned slightly, relieved the focus was off their argument but confused by the subject change. "Jannis? And what was his last name?"
"Maybe Schubert. It's a little bit common to me, I guess, but that's fine," she shrugged, already settling in. "Anyway, he doesn't know me anymore."
"I don't either know him, but Janina never mentioned him, so you only know about him," Martin said quickly, dismissively. He didn't want the conversation to veer into the complicated territory of mutual acquaintances. "I also don't mind about him by the way. How was your day?"
"Fine, as usual. It's like I have a normal day and it didn't change."
"That's great, if you feel fine. That's what I wanted to hear from you," Martin replied, forcing a lightness into his tone. "I'm glad you feel better."
"You don't have to be concerned much, but anyway, thanks."
Jasmin didn't waste another second on conversation. She attacked the meal with startling speed, cutting large chunks of steak, loading them with ribs, and consuming the whole mouthful with gusto. Martin and Henrik exchanged a wide-eyed glance but quickly looked away, concentrating on their own plates, unsure how to react to her intense focus.
Then, she reached for the newly delivered bottle of red wine, uncorked it with deliberate force, and proceeded to drink directly from the neck until a shocking portion of the bottle was gone.
"Whoah, wait—can you drink that whole bottle?" Henrik asked, genuinely alarmed and feeling suddenly worried about his own beverage options. "But what am I going to drink?"
"Oh, then I don't know if you're going to complain about that," Jasmin replied, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, completely unbothered.
Henrik sighed, shaking his head. "Ugh... but never mind. It's just, I don't know how to react or something. I've never encountered a girl who would drink a whole bottle of wine and just eat a whole mouth with food like that."
"Does that sound weird to you?"
Martin quickly intervened, his voice soft. "No, you're not weird, Jasmin. I don't mind that either. You're just different to me." He watched her intently as she moved onto the dessert—a large bowl of ice cream—her intensity never waning. Martin struggled to hide the warmth in his chest; he was hopelessly, utterly in love with her distinct lack of inhibition.
Miles away, Walter decided the afternoon was perfect for an impromptu visit. He held a delicate bouquet of purple freesia behind his back as he knocked on Judith's door. When she opened it, she gasped in delighted surprise as he presented them.
"Aww... how sweet, Walter," Judith murmured, her eyes shining, confirming Walter's success.
"I know that we still can't find a job, but I won't forget that we have to spend a lot of happy moments," Walter explained, his sweet smile earnest. "The search isn't important if we prioritize our time together."
"I know, Walter, it's just I can't believe we still haven't found anything."
"It's fine. May I also come over?"
"Sure, no problem."
She let him into the house, and they settled in the living room just as Rafella, Judith's sister, entered.
"Oh hey, Walter! It's good to see you again," Rafella said, smiling. "Here just to tell me this is for Judith?"
"Yes, it's because of her. And I hope I could have dinner with her tonight," Walter said, his voice dropping slightly with excitement. "Just to let you know, we're dating, and because of that, I'm too excited to tell this over to her dad."
Rafella clapped her hands softly. "Oh gosh, that would be a great idea! I'm also looking forward to you telling her dad."
"Great. And is her dad working?"
"Yes, he's the manager of the grocery store that he's still handling."
"So, how was Alody there?" Walter asked, shifting gears slightly.
"I think she feels great. She always tells me that she dreams of going somewhere else in Germany and is madly interested in our country's culture," Rafella chuckled. "She was so happy when I gave her a Kinder Joy."
"What! Seriously?"
"Yes, she told me that she wanted to buy that since she was in high school. She's very friendly and too nice. She's the employee who never complains, even though she's mostly handling goods and stocking shelves."
"Oh, come on, why did you give her a job like that?" Judith asked, suddenly worried.
"She told me she wants to do it full-time and it's okay for her. But she once mentioned that she wants to do a short writing course, and that's why she wants to earn money now."
"I think it's great that I know, but I was just expecting that she should have a better job. Maybe she would feel bad soon when she realizes she was only working as a shelf stocker."
"That would be fine for her; I always used to talk to Alody if she was satisfied or not," Rafella assured her.
The chime of the bell still echoed through the hall as Sidel approached her locker. The scent of old textbooks and floor polish hung in the air, a familiar aroma of adolescence. As she twisted the dial, a slip of paper caught her eye, tucked carefully into the vent. Someone had already been there.
Curiosity piqued, she pulled out the folded note. The handwriting was neat, a little flowery for a boy, but unmistakably Marvin's. Her eyes skimmed the words: "I still hope that we could meet later on to my house; I am look forward to have a study buddy like you." A flush warmed Sidel's cheeks. Marvin. The thought of him, quiet and intelligent, wanting to study with her, left her feeling surprisingly flattered. She tucked the note into her history textbook, a small, secret smile playing on her lips.
A minute later, the illusion of solitude was shattered by a confident stride and a familiar voice. Christoph. He arrived with the effortless magnetism he seemed to possess, a casual charm that made him a magnet for attention. Sidel, however, was rarely impressed.
"Oh hi," Sidel said, her confident smile not quite reaching her eyes. She leaned against her locker, crossing her arms. "I wonder that you're the new student here... and please, I hope Sarah would attend school now." She knew perfectly well who Christoph was, and for whom he was often mistaken, but a little playful misdirection never hurt.
Christoph laughed, a sound that always struck Sidel as just a touch too polished. "No, not new, Sidel. I just heard that you're the smartest one here at school. You had a grade of 1.1 overall last year, and I was like, so amazed. Many students here are admiring you so much." He paused, letting the compliment hang.
Sidel raised an eyebrow, unmoved. "Hmm... yes, and which reminds me that Anja also brags that you're the one who was interested in Chemistry, that's why you're in Science club, right?" She remembered Anja's passing mention, a detail she'd barely registered at the time.
"Yes, but too bad that my good friend was in Art club, that recently opened in school, and I know that he always likes art as well. But me, I like doing some experiments, and I hope that you could join me there." His gaze was direct, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
"No, I'm in drama club already." Sidel stated, her tone final.
Christoph's smile didn't falter, though a flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. "Oh, and that's just nice if you are there. And it's okay to me, it's really fine to me."
Sidel pushed herself off the locker, narrowing her eyes. "I know what you're trying to do, Mr. Right."
His casual demeanor cracked. "What do you mean by that?"
"I know that you like me, but I know that you're just trying to do something, just to get my taste from you, and I could say that would be impossible to happen." She watched him, a hint of disdain in her gaze, and turned to retrieve her books, leaving Christoph standing there, his polished facade finally a little ruffled.
Martel arrived at the designated meeting spot, expecting to see Sidel. Instead, she found Christoph, a fellow student who was new to their school. A confident smile played on her lips as she approached him. "Hey man, what should I call you? Chris or what?... The new student, and I can't believe you already want to find some girls," she teased.
Christoph turned, his expression shifting from neutral to serious. "Oh, really? And what do you want now?"
Martel's smile faltered slightly, but she pressed on. "I know you don't believe me, but I can't get hold of Sarah. She's not responding to calls or texts, and I can't find anything about her online. Do you know where she might be?"
"I've only been here a few days as a new student," Christoph replied, his tone flat. "So, no, I don't know where she is."
"Then why were you acting so formal with Sidel earlier?" Martel probed, her voice taking on a challenging edge. "I want to remind you that you can't flirt with her."
"You can't just instruct me what to do!" Christoph retorted, his voice rising.
Sidel, who had been observing the exchange, stepped between them. "Hey-hey! Are you going to start arguing because of me?" To Christoph, she added, "I didn't want to argue with him, Sidel. I think it just turns out he was getting high-blood again. Did you already check him to the doctor?"
"Ugh, you don't have to joke him for that," Sidel chided, though a hint of amusement flickered in her eyes.
"Anyway," Martel cut in, her usual energy returning, "we're not going to stand here like we're in a staring contest. Besides, we have to go now!" She pulled Christoph along, steering him towards the classroom. As they walked away, Anja, who had been about to leave, approached them.
"Oh, hi," Anja said, her face etched with concern. "I was just about to leave, but I was looking for you, Martel. I have some bad news."
"What kind of bad news is that?" Martel asked, her curiosity piqued.
"It's bad news for Sarah," Anja said, her voice low. "Someone told me she's been missing for three days. My friend just told me about it."
Martel's eyes widened. "What? How can you be so sure?"
"I'm sure because I also saw it in a newspaper article," Anja explained, reaching into her bag. "You should check it out." She handed Martel a folded newspaper.
As Martel unfolded it and read the headline and the accompanying article, a cold dread washed over her.
Sarah Wortener is Missing
10th-grade student Sarah Wortener has been reported missing. An intruder raided her home, and her uncle was injured. Police suspect a kidnapping. Reports confirm this could be a kidnapping incident.
The words swam before Martel's eyes. This was more serious than she had imagined. "Oh gosh, we have to find Sarah now!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with worry.
"Oh, please," Sidel interjected, her usual pragmatism taking over. "We can't even do that. We don't know where she was taken."
"But are we going to let Sarah be taken? We can't allow that!" Martel argued, her voice gaining strength. "She's still our friend, our fellow member in the drama club, and we need her."
"But we can't save her like this," Sidel countered, her brow furrowed. "We have no idea how to save her. Maybe they had guns when they kidnapped Sarah."
"Oh, but maybe we could just help Sarah there," Anja suggested softly. "I mean, maybe she was taken far away."
"What do you mean, Anja?" Martel asked, her hope reignited. "Do you already know where Sarah was taken?"
"One of her relatives saw where she was taken," Anja revealed. "I think she was taken to Zurich. Her younger cousin told me that, so there's a chance we could save her."
"Wait! Are you out of your mind?" Sidel exclaimed. "We can't just help Sarah without asking for help from the police."
"Sidel, the police are too useless," Martel said, siding with Anja. "We could just help find Sarah together. Think of us like young detectives now."
"Wow, like little Sherlock Holmes?" Christoph scoffed lightly.
"Yes, like we're going to be like him," Martel beamed, exhilarated by the idea. "Sherlock and Nancy Drew... a nice pair of detectives."
"Fine," Sidel conceded, a reluctant smile touching her lips. "But I don't know how to make an excuse to my mother. I guess I'll tell her we're having a school trip to Zurich."
"Oh, that's a good idea!" Martel agreed. "And I think Marvin would help us."
"No, Martel," Sidel said quickly. "I don't want to get him involved in this incident. If he tells his dad, my mom will find out."
"Don't worry, I'll tell him he has to keep a secret," Martel assured her. "I know he'll understand."
"Hmm, but did you see where he went?" Christoph asked, looking around as if expecting to see Marvin.
"He just came home early," Martel mused. "Maybe he wanted to surprise you or something. I don't know. We'll ask him when he gets back." The thought of their friend, absent at this critical juncture, hung in the air, a silent question mark in their budding investigation to find Sarah.
The wicker basket, heavy with plums and crisp green apples, felt suddenly insignificant in Marvin's grip. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, attempting to summon the courage necessary for the formal request he was about to make. He wasn't merely asking to date Sidel; he was asking for the dignity of courting her—a distinction that mattered immensely to him. He needed to make a strong impression on her mother, Jasmin.
He knocked, took one last steadying breath, and waited.
The door flew inward, and Marvin's careful composure evaporated in a rush of sheer, panicked shock.
Jasmin stood in the doorway, entirely, undeniably naked.
Marvin let out a choked sound—a high-pitched yelp that was utterly undignified—and immediately slammed the fruit basket against his chest, shielding his eyes with his free hand, turning his head sharply toward the wall.
"What's wrong now??" Jasmin asked, completely unbothered, her tone suggesting he was the one being theatrical.
"I—I was supposedly going to ask, but I was just a bit distracted," Marvin stammered, his voice tight.
"What? Are you in love with me??.."
"No! No, that's not what I meant at all," Marvin insisted, desperately trying to find a socially appropriate footing in the chasm of awkwardness. "I'm here to tell you something. I've been very close with Sidel, I just want to let you know that."
A cynical smile touched her lips. "Oh, and I think that you know what I really want to say. Did you just make out with Sidel??"
"No, not yet, and we're not really into that," Marvin replied, swallowing hard. The urgency of his mission fought with his need for basic visual decency. "And I would like to tell you first that, maybe this is rude to say, but could you wear some clothes or a towel??"
Jasmin shrugged. "No problem, just stay in the living room."
She waved a hand dismissively, turning her back. Marvin kept his eyes strictly fixed on the ceiling as he navigated past her, finding the sofa and sinking onto it with a speed born of terror. He heard her retreating steps and finally allowed himself a shaky breath.
When she returned a moment later, she wore a thick terrycloth robe, slightly stained near the hem. She was carrying a plate piled high with slices of whole wheat bread, pickles, and a large bottle of ketchup.
Marvin tried to appear formal, offering a tight, pained smile.
"What are you trying to tell me? Don't tell me you had sex already, do you??" she challenged, immediately uncorking the ketchup.
"No, I'm not going to tell you about that. It's about... Sidel and I. I would like to tell you that I want to be with her, so I came to ask your permission."
"From stealing her underwear??"
"No, from courting Sidel, Aunt Jasmin."
Jasmin paused her application of ketchup to a pickle, holding the dripping condiment in the air. "Oh, and why does she need a man who could be flirted with??"
"Excuse me, are you not allowing me to court her??" Marvin asked, feeling the first stirrings of genuine frustration.
"What is the meaning of that?"
"You know the term of courtship, Aunt Jasmin. A man's courting of a woman; seeking the affections of a woman."
"Ah, really. So you want to have attention with her."
"No, but more than that, I want to be with her. I love your daughter."
Jasmin suddenly threw her head back and laughed—a loud, barking sound that made Marvin tense up, convinced he had just ruined everything. He remained serious, refusing to flinch, until her laughter abruptly stopped. She then proceeded to rub a smeared pickle directly across her cheek, painting a stripe of bright red ketchup onto her skin. Marvin felt a chill run down his spine, realizing she wasn't just eccentric; she seemed genuinely unstable.
"You're in love with Sidel?"
"Yes, I do. That's what I am trying to tell you. Maybe now you finally understand."
"Ugh. What can I else say? And I don't think she could be in love with you, well, she never tells me."
"But we're too serious to each other, and I can promise you one thing: I will always take care of her. And that's why I am asking this permission, because this is the right thing to do. So that you know how much I love your daughter."
"How much serious are you??"
"I would want to prove to you that I can show you I will love her."
"Fine. And how can you prove that to me?"
"That I always do to love her, and that's why I'm asking permission from you."
"Okay, fine. And you can do that if you prove me. But now I don't think that you're doing it like you're in a rush or what."
"No, I'm not. I was always Sidel's good friend, and I think that we are meant to be each other."
"Ugh-huh, no more drama please, boy. What's your name again?"
"I'm Marvin Spitze."
"Spitze? Are you Henrik's son??"
"I am. And how did you know about my father's name?"
Jasmin dramatically licked the ketchup off her finger. "Well, I met him once. And you see that name is already familiar to me. He was Janina's first love, duh!"
"Oh, I see. And maybe I should go now. I was so happy that you finally approve this and this won't be a problem to me now."
As he rose, she offered him the large, sticky bottle of ketchup instead of a handshake. He took it mechanically, placing it next to the untouched fruit basket on the sofa, and hurried out the door.
Once the door was shut, Marvin sagged against the cool exterior wall, breathing in the fresh air like a drowning man. He had succeeded, but the victory felt hollowed out by the sheer strangeness of the encounter.
He pulled out his phone, ready to message Sidel, but saw an unread message from Martel.
Text from Martel: Marv, please come over to my place. I have very bad news, and I wonder why you didn't tell me where you went.
The relief instantly curdled into anxiety. He called Martel immediately.
"Martel?"
—Yeah, that's me. Why did you call me?
"I just went to Sidel's place, and I could tell you that her mom was extremely weird. Like, weird childish, and I don't know what to say."
—I told you that you would find her truly weird. I know that because she has Schizophrenia; that's why she looks weird and insane. Her mother was the talk of the town in school.
Marvin rubbed his forehead. "Right. And what's the bad news, Martel?"
—You see, I just found out. Anja told me that Sarah is missing. And the kidnappers were taking her to Zurich. Some of her relatives witnessed it.
"What? We should go and tell the police then!"
—No! No! We shouldn't tell that to the police now. It's obvious that they can't do anything to save Sarah like this. We have to save her.
"Martel, are you out of your mind? What can we do there? I told you that the only thing we can do is to tell the police about this."
—No, that would be useless. I see that you don't want to help me. That means me, Sidel, and Anja are going to rescue Sarah then.
"Wait, what?! And come on, you can't involve them in this."
—Well, don't blame me for that. That's the only way we could find her, and we are going to save her. Remember, we are also her friends, and I don't want to sit and do nothing for her.
"Oh, fine. Then I want to help you then. I am willing too."
—Good, Marvin. Because of that, me and Sidel, we have a plan. We should pretend that we had a school trip in Zurich, and I know that they would believe us.
"I hope so. Anyway, can I meet you at your house?"
—Yes, sure, because I'm there with Sidel and Anja.
"Okay. Call you later."
Marvin hung up, already turning back down the street. The basket of fruit and the agonizing permission he had just secured—permission for a calm, respectable courtship—were instantly forgotten. He had a kidnapping to solve and a cover story to laminate. Zurich was a long way from the surreal horror show of Jasmin's living room.
The muted glow of a late afternoon sun barely pierced the drawn blinds in Jasmin's apartment, casting long, distorted shadows across the sparsely furnished room. She was sprawled on a worn leather armchair, a half-empty mug of cold coffee resting on the precarious armrest, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular. The silence, thick and almost palpable, was abruptly broken by a series of precise, rhythmic knocks at her door.
Jasmin didn't stir, not immediately. Only when the knocks repeated, sharper this time, did she let out a low, weary sigh. "It's open, Martin," she called out, her voice flat, devoid of any genuine invitation.
The door swung inward, revealing Martin's lean frame. He carried himself with an easy confidence, a stark contrast to Jasmin's current lassitude. His eyes, usually bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm, held a glint of serious news. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, surveying the familiar, almost austere space.
"What is that you want to share with me?" Jasmin asked, her voice still an even monotone, her eyes not quite meeting his. She seemed determinedly disengaged, as if any spark of excitement would be an unwelcome intrusion.
Martin cleared his throat, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag slung across his chest. He moved to stand before her, hands tucked into his pockets. "This is about a client you have, or rather, one you're about to have. I think someone wants to talk to you directly, and since I was handling your account – and you told me you don't know how to handle it yourself – I thought I'd bring you up to speed."
Jasmin finally pushed herself upright, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. "Ugh... And who was it?"
"Some guy named Wenzel," Martin continued, his gaze searching hers, trying to gauge her interest. "From what I gather, he wants to hire another bodyguard. And he wants to talk to you now. Like, right now."
As if on cue, a sharp, insistent vibration rattled on the small coffee table beside Jasmin. Her phone. She glanced at it, a number she didn't recognize flashing on the screen, then shot a pointed look at Martin. He merely shrugged, a silent invitation for her to answer. She picked it up, her movements still slow, deliberate.
"Hoppe," she answered, her voice clipped, professional yet still tinged with that familiar indifference.
"–Is this Jasmin Hoppe?" a male voice, urgent and slightly breathless, came through the receiver.
"Who else you think I am?" Jasmin retorted, a hint of her usual bluntness finally breaking through.
"–Because I really need you, you know, and Florentin offered me about you, that you're different than the other bodyguards. So maybe I would not feel guilty to hire you, and this is about I am giving you an offer."
Jasmin's eyebrows arched slightly. Florentin was a notoriously shrewd but respected figure in their network, and her recommendation carried significant weight. "Like what? You think I want a salary raise?" she challenged, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
"–Maybe like that, but this is David Wenzel, and I feel unsafe in my place. And I hope that someone could protect my daughter, even in school, and I hope you understand that I need a bodyguard who can fully protect my family." The man's voice, though eager, held a genuine note of fear.
Something in Wenzel's plea, the vulnerability underlying his words, finally pricked through Jasmin's jaded exterior. Her posture straightened. "Oh, don't worry, I can do that. I told you that Florentin would suggest that too. Perhaps she really liked when I performed the test." Her voice had gained a new edge, a professional pride emerging.
"–Sure, and I hope that you could see me there at my place. I would tell you that I recently moved to Zurich, and so I would love to hire you as my personal bodyguard, too. Is that sound okay to you?"
Zurich. The name itself seemed to electrify the air around her. Her eyes, which moments ago had been distant and bored, now gleamed with keen interest. "Yes, that would be so okay. I told you that I can come there. Just, what do you want? That I can come there the next day or the day after tomorrow?"
"–Can you come tomorrow? And I prefer that I need you tomorrow, and that would be nice."
"Yes, and I can come there tomorrow. And besides... I can look forward to meet you there, so meet you there tomorrow. Bye."
"–Bye."
The call ended. Jasmin lowered the phone, a wide, uncharacteristic grin splitting her face. The indifferent mask had completely shattered, replaced by an almost childlike exuberance. She leaped from the armchair, practically vibrating with energy. "I am going to Zurich, baby!" she exclaimed, spinning around to face a surprised Martin.
He stared, dumbfounded for a moment, then his concern kicked in. "What? And you don't know that place. You can't just leave!"
"Don't ever convince me, Martin. And I love to go there! Besides, that's my job, that I work as a bodyguard now, and there's nothing wrong if I need to meet that Wenzel guy, by the way." Her eyes were alight with an adventure she hadn't realized she craved.
"Oh, I see, but I'm just so concerned for you," he responded, stepping closer, his expression softening. "And besides, I'm just worried about you because bodyguarding is the most dangerous job you're having now."
Jasmin scoffed. "But being a criminal is the most dangerous job you could have. Mostly you are being so popular having with your own mug shot photos, then all of the people are turning mean to you. Also, the worst part is when you get some things that supposedly not, then sometimes you have to kill them for good." She spoke with a brutal, almost detached understanding of the underworld, a world Martin knew far too well from his past.
"That's why I want you to be careful, Jasmin. Probably you could kill them when someone bothered from your thoughts, then it would be a big problem for us." His voice was low, serious, a quiet warning. He knew the volatile edge beneath her calm exterior, the quick, decisive violence she was capable of.
"Only from me, not you," she shot back, a flicker of protectiveness in her own eyes, though she'd never admit it.
"But I still do care for you, and whatever you do in Zurich, I will be there," Martin insisted, his resolve hardening. "And I am also coming with you in Zurich."
Jasmin stopped, her excited bounce deflating slightly. "You don't have to do that, but you are going to do nothing there, because you're not working or anything."
A slow, knowing smile spread across Martin's face. "I'm working as a photographer. And that's why I want to come with you."
"What photographer jobs do?" she asked, genuinely curious, though a part of her suspected his true motives.
"You have to take pictures, in any places, nature, and people," he explained, his smile widening. "So maybe we are both working there now."
Jasmin rolled her eyes, but a fond smirk tugged at her lips. "Hmm... I knew that you always do something so we could be always together there."
"I always do," he affirmed, taking a step closer. The air between them, once charged with professional ambition, now hummed with their unspoken history, their complex, intertwined lives. He started to lean in, his gaze fixed on hers, a gentle hand reaching out towards her cheek, his fingers brushing the air.
But Jasmin, ever independent, ever deflecting overt affection, swiftly brought her own hand up, gently pushing his down. She turned abruptly, heading towards her bedroom, the sudden excitement of Zurich still pulling at her. Yet, even as she walked away, Martin knew. He would go to Zurich. He would follow her, proving not just with words, but with his presence, how much he loved her. Regardless of her cool exterior, he understood the silent language of her heart, and he knew she understood his.