Scarlett Johansson didn't immediately step into the center of the crowd.
Instead, she lingered at the edge, observing.
It was instinct.
In her world, rushing into situations blindly was how people got trapped—socially, professionally, sometimes even permanently. So she watched first. Listened. Measured.
And what she saw was… unexpected.
"Excuse me," she said quietly, leaning slightly toward a patrol officer beside her. "What's going on here?"
The officer didn't even look at her.
"Can't you tell? It's an appraisal," he replied casually, eyes glued to the center like he was watching a live show.
Scarlett followed his gaze again.
"In simple terms," the officer added, "that old guy claims this white kid broke his treasure. Now the kid called someone to check the value."
"And that someone is…?"
The officer tilted his chin slightly toward the center.
"Lucien. From that antique shop nearby."
Scarlett's eyes sharpened slightly.
So… this was him.
The scene itself was almost theatrical.
At the center stood an elderly Asian man, his thin frame trembling—not from weakness, but from fury. His face was flushed red, veins bulging along his neck as he clutched a jade statue in one hand like it was his last line of defense.
Opposite him sat a young man.
Relaxed.
Unbothered.
Almost… amused.
Lucien.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand resting loosely on the table, the other holding a teacup as if he were in a quiet café instead of the middle of a heated dispute inside a police station.
The contrast between them was so sharp it almost felt deliberate.
The old man looked ready to explode.
Lucien looked like he was waiting for it.
"Let me tell you!" the old man barked, voice cracking under pressure. "If you don't understand something, don't talk nonsense! This is a cultural relic of the Republic of Korea! Do you even understand what that means?!"
Lucien raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Korean?" he echoed, almost thoughtfully.
Then, with perfect timing—
"Then it's even less valuable."
A pause.
A heartbeat.
And just like that—
The old man's face twitched.
"Your country has existed for, what, forty or fifty years?" Lucien continued calmly. "What kind of 'cultural relic' is only a few decades old?"
A few officers nearby snorted.
The old man nearly choked.
"You—!"
He started swearing immediately, but before he could escalate, a detective grabbed his shoulder firmly.
"This is a police station. Watch your mouth."
That single interruption forced the old man to swallow his rage—barely.
He took a breath, adjusted his posture, and switched tactics.
"Fine," he said stiffly. "Let me educate you."
And just like that, his tone shifted—from rage to forced authority.
"This jade Buddha originates from ancient China," he began, voice regaining confidence. "During a flourishing era of Buddhism, nobles were buried with such statues. This piece came from that time and eventually entered Korea."
Scarlett listened quietly.
It sounded rehearsed.
Too rehearsed.
Another officer nearby couldn't help but scoff.
"If it's Chinese, how did it suddenly become Korean property?"
The old man didn't hesitate.
"Treasures belong to those with virtue," he said coldly. "Whoever possesses them owns them. Didn't Britain collect artifacts from all over the world?"
That answer didn't earn respect.
It earned silence.
And not the good kind.
Even Scarlett noticed the shift—people weren't just skeptical anymore. They were judging.
But the old man didn't care.
He turned back to Lucien, eyes sharp.
"You're in the antique business. You should understand value. Now I'll give you one last chance—look carefully and tell me how much this is worth."
There was pressure in his tone now.
Subtle.
But clear.
Scarlett caught it instantly.
So did everyone else.
And Lucien?
He didn't even blink.
He placed his teacup down gently.
Tapped the statue once with his finger.
And said—
"Worthless."
A beat.
"Brand new."
Scarlett almost laughed.
Not because it was funny—
But because of how precise it was.
The timing.
The tone.
The delivery.
It wasn't random.
It was controlled.
Every time the old man tried to stabilize himself, Lucien nudged him right back to the edge.
Not too much.
Not too little.
Just enough.
Like adjusting heat under a boiling pot.
No wonder the title formed naturally in her mind—
He wasn't arguing.
He was regulating emotion.
"Are you sure?" the old man demanded, voice shaking again.
"Yes," Lucien replied calmly. "Completely new."
"Think carefully before you speak!"
"No need."
A pause.
Then, almost helpfully—
"It's undeniably new."
The crowd reacted immediately—some chuckling, others shaking their heads.
The old man's restraint finally cracked.
"You little bastard!" he roared. "You're talking nonsense! Did that white kid bribe you to lie?!"
That… was the wrong move.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The officers' expressions hardened.
"You're accusing us of corruption?" one detective asked coldly.
The old man froze.
He realized his mistake—but too late.
His tone dropped immediately.
"Hmph… I'm just saying he must explain himself."
Lucien didn't react to any of that.
Instead, he leaned forward slightly.
And for the first time—
His tone changed.
Not playful anymore.
Precise.
Sharp.
"You said this jade Guanyin comes from a peak Buddhist era," he began. "That would place it in the Northern and Southern Dynasties. Roughly 420 to 581 AD."
The old man stiffened.
"Now tell me," Lucien continued, "when was Goryeo founded?"
Silence.
The old man didn't answer.
Lucien smiled faintly.
"918 AD," he said. "So how did something from 500 AD end up in a country that didn't exist for another 400 years?"
A ripple passed through the crowd.
The old man's lips moved—but no words came out.
"I misremembered," he said quickly. "It's from the Tang Dynasty."
Lucien chuckled softly.
"The carving style says otherwise."
He picked up the statue, turning it slightly under the light.
"Relief carving of this quality didn't exist in the Tang Dynasty. And this color contrast technique—while it began earlier—only became popular during the Ming and Qing periods."
He looked up.
"That's a gap of over 400 years."
Then—
"Did Tang artisans invent time travel?"
Laughter broke out.
Even Scarlett couldn't stop the small smile forming on her lips.
The old man panicked.
He reached for the statue instinctively—
But Lucien slapped his hand away.
Not hard.
But firm.
"Relax," Lucien said, eyes suddenly cold. "I'm not done."
That single look—
Silenced him completely.
Lucien turned on a flashlight and held it against the jade.
Light passed through it.
Too clean.
Too perfect.
"Natural jade always has internal structure," he said. "Irregularities. Texture."
He tilted the piece slightly.
"This?"
A pause.
"Looks like glass."
Silence.
Then—
"You can find this at a street stall," Lucien added casually. "And you're asking for three million?"
The old man's face drained of color.
Desperate, he pulled out a certificate.
Lucien didn't even read it.
He took it—
Glanced once—
And dropped it on the floor.
"Third-rate certificate from a third-rate agency," he said flatly. "You can buy these for money."
Then, finally—
He leaned back again.
Calm returned.
"Trying to scam inside a police station," he added. "Bold."
That was the breaking point.
The old man's legs gave out.
He collapsed.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just… defeated.
The officers moved immediately.
"Get him up."
"Take him in."
Within seconds, he was dragged away.
And just like that—
The entire scene ended.
Scarlett remained where she was.
Watching.
Thinking.
Evaluating.
Lucien had never raised his voice.
Never lost control.
Never rushed.
And yet—
He dismantled the man completely.
Step by step.
Layer by layer.
Not just proving him wrong—
But breaking his confidence, his story, and his credibility all at once.
That wasn't luck.
That was precision.
Scarlett's gaze lingered on him a moment longer.
This man…
Was dangerous.
Not because of power.
But because of control.
And for the first time since this entire nightmare began—
She felt something different.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
But—
Possibility.