"This is on me."
Xavier, who was volunteering at the Weathervane, walked over with two desserts and placed them on the table, interrupting the subtle, sincere atmosphere between Victor and Enid.
"Thanks!" Victor's eyes lit up. He unceremoniously took one, instantly forgetting his "financial crisis" from a moment ago.
Xavier smiled and sat down opposite him: "I should be thanking you. Tyler seems really scared of you; he saw you come in from afar and hid in the back kitchen. Thanks to you, being around that jerk makes me very uncomfortable."
"Tyler?" Victor shoved a large spoonful of brownie into his mouth, mumbling the name indistinctly before remembering.
"Ah~ Tyler Galpin, that 'Hidden Edition Chocolate'! I was wondering why I only smelled him but didn't see him."
"What, were you bullied by him?" Victor swallowed the dessert and looked at Xavier curiously. "No way, you're at least a 'Da Vinci'."
Xavier scratched his head awkwardly: "My telekinesis leans more toward prophetic dreams. Combat-wise... I'm weak. If my telekinesis were more like Rowan's psychokinesis, I definitely would have taught him a lesson."
His tone carried a trace of unwillingness and regret.
Victor immediately put on an "I understand you" smile, leaned forward, and lowered his voice as if sharing a secret weapon:
"Teaching someone a lesson doesn't necessarily require powers. Buddy, how much money do you have? I have..."
"No thanks, I don't need firearms." Xavier interrupted him decisively, his face saying thanks but no thanks.
"Oh, fine." Victor wilted instantly like a popped balloon, but then got curious again. "How did you know I was going to sell... uh, recommend self-defense tools to you? Prophetic dream?"
"No," Xavier smiled helplessly and quipped, "I just know a little bit about your 'character'."
After the bombardment on the lake during the Poe Cup, no one in the school didn't know what Victor Black's preferred problem-solving method was.
"Oh, fine!" Victor immediately switched to a heartbroken expression of "you just don't understand art."
"Another guy who misunderstands Mr. Black! Xavier, you are too young. You simply don't understand the ultimate aesthetic and spiritual comfort brought by precise mechanical structures, the cold touch of metal, and that just-right recoil..."
He spread his arms as if embracing an invisible Barrett: "That is a language! A philosophy! A..."
"A behavior that will get you immediately expelled and sent to juvie if discovered by the police," Xavier added calmly, completely ending the topic.
He pointed to the counter: "I... I'd better go back to wiping glasses."
With that, he practically fled the dangerous sales scene.
Victor watched his retreating back, shrugged regretfully, and turned back to Enid with open hands: "See, this is the threshold of art appreciation. Sigh, kindred spirits are hard to find."
Enid giggled, amused by him.
Ding-dong. The doorbell of the Weathervane rang, and the door was pushed open by Wednesday.
She stood at the entrance, the afternoon sun outlining a cold silhouette behind her, completely out of place with the warm, sweet atmosphere inside the cafe.
"Wednesday! Over here!" Victor's eyes lit up. He waved at her happily, his smile bright enough to disperse the chill around her.
Seeing Victor, and Enid smiling blissfully beside him, Wednesday's steps paused almost imperceptibly.
She remembered walking into Dr. Kinbott's clinic almost involuntarily right after leaving Pilgrim World.
---
(Flashback)
"Miss Addams? Today doesn't seem to be a scheduled counseling day."
Dr. Kinbott was somewhat surprised, her gaze subconsciously darting behind Wednesday as if looking for someone.
"Don't worry, Victor didn't follow me," Wednesday said coldly.
Dr. Kinbott visibly relaxed—the pressure that boy put on her was immense. Every session, he could smilingly, without any malice, precisely poke every sore spot of her failed relationships and career.
"How rare," Kinbott remarked. "That boy Victor is almost inseparable from you."
"Just happens we both need counseling," Wednesday's tone could freeze air.
Then, using extremely calm, almost anatomical report terminology, she described to Dr. Kinbott her recent abnormal heart rate, elevated body temperature, and unfamiliar irritability when facing a specific subject.
Dr. Kinbott pondered for a moment and said: "It sounds like, Miss Addams, you might have fallen for someone, or at least developed a significant degree of affection for him. Is it Victor?"
"No." Wednesday's voice was like shards of ice-dipped glass.
"I made a mistake." She turned to leave. "I should not have consulted someone who cannot even clean up the wreckage of her own emotions. This is like asking a blind person to appreciate the symmetrical aesthetics of Gothic architecture."
"Your therapeutic skill," she turned back, glancing at Dr. Kinbott with fatal precision, "is as lamentably short-lived as your romantic relationships."
This comment was as vicious as a scalpel, not only piercing the heart but twisting in old scars.
A muscle on Dr. Kinbott's face twitched. But surprisingly, she didn't show the expected embarrassment or anger.
She just shrugged.
Honestly, after several sessions of Victor's reverse-psychology counseling, her psychological threshold had significantly increased. For example, Victor had analyzed in detail seventeen biological and sociological cowardly instincts behind her ex-boyfriend's cheating...
Compared to that, Wednesday's sharp tongue felt almost gentle.
"Wait," Dr. Kinbott called out suddenly as Wednesday's hand touched the doorknob. She pulled a somewhat dusty book from the top shelf. "Maybe... you can take a look at this? Analysis of Youth Romantic Psychology."
Wednesday looked back at the book as if looking at non-recyclable garbage, frowning in disgust.
"Better than relying on someone like me who can't even clean up her own emotional wreckage, right?" Kinbott mocked herself.
Wednesday stared at the book, as if weighing poison against antidote. Finally, she turned abruptly, walked back in a few steps, practically snatched the book, slapped a ten-dollar bill on the table, and walked out quickly without looking back.
"Uh..." Kinbott held the ten-dollar bill, watching Wednesday's rapidly disappearing figure, and finally just smiled. "Well, five bucks profit."
She shook her head, murmuring: "Victor and Wednesday... those two are simply a perfect match."
(Flashback Ends)
---
"Looks like you skipped work at Pilgrim World?" Victor leaned in curiously, those eyes usually dancing with manic light now filled with inquisitive interest. "So, any discoveries? Got a clue?"
Wednesday subconsciously moved her small bag containing Analysis of Youth Romantic Psychology behind her, avoiding Victor's prying gaze.
She cut straight to the chase, her voice cold: "Do you know where Joseph Crackstone's old meeting house is?"
"Uh, what meeting house?" Victor looked blank, spreading his hands exaggeratedly.
"You know, dear Captain, I'm not a local. For this kind of centuries-old antique base, you have to ask those 'antique' families who have lived here for generations."
"I understand." Getting her answer, Wednesday stopped looking at him and walked straight to the counter.
As she passed Enid, she casually took a small bag from her pocket and placed it on the table in front of her.
"Oh! It's the limited edition Rainbow Swirl Fudge from Pilgrim World!" Enid opened the bag and cheered in surprise. "Wednesday! You actually remembered! Thank you!"
"Is there any for me?" Victor leaned over immediately, looking at Wednesday with sparkling eyes. His hand very naturally reached toward her bulging small bag, trying to see if there were other "goodies" inside.
Wednesday dodged nimbly to the side, simultaneously shooting him a glare cold enough to make Cerberus tuck its tail.
Victor retracted his hand sheepishly, pouting like a large dog whose favorite toy was taken away, and turned to seek comfort from Enid.