“Not even eating is allowed?” he added fuel to the fire. “Then maybe I should ask the hospital if, when I was born, they forgot to tell me I was made of iron.”

“Do you always have to be so prickly when you talk?”

He sighed. “Come on, didn’t you know I was prickly the first day you met me?”

What, was he born with a knife?

The woman probably felt she’d brought this on herself. After a moment of silence, she changed the subject. “Did you stay with your grandpa at the police station all night last night?”

“What else? The other side refused to settle privately.”

“No kidding, that’s a professional scammer. Only your grandpa would fall for it,” the woman paused, seeing that he had no intention of commenting on his elders, and circled back, “That girl just now, is this the first time you’ve brought her home, or are you two already—”

“Enough, I told you she’s not, but if you want her to be, then fine, I’m done explaining.” He was at the end of his patience.

The hallway was quiet, the cicadas outside the window shrilling loudly, trying to drown out all discordant sounds. The woman’s voice finally softened a little—

“I don’t care what you do, but you’re about to go abroad, so get all this mess sorted out. Also, when you called me from the police station last night, I was in a meeting at the station that didn’t end until three in the morning. I only found out when the police called me this morning. I didn’t ignore your call on purpose.”

“Mm, I understand.” For once, he was unexpectedly easygoing, not planning to press her on anything, nor did he bother to ask what happened after three. He raked a hand through his hair, sloth-like, and slowly got up from the shoe cabinet. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.”

The woman stopped him: “Wait, change your clothes first and come with me to Professor Grant’s house.”

He almost laughed in exasperation, his back arching wordlessly before he leaned back again. “Why don’t you just sign me up for the national team’s Ironman Decathlon while you’re at it?”

As he said this, Brian Brooks for some reason suddenly glanced back down the hallway, his gaze naturally meeting Ethan Turner’s outside the door. But he didn’t pay much attention, quickly turning away, eyes closed, leaning back as if nothing in the world mattered, shamelessly continuing to resist his mom:

“Mom, I haven’t slept for a whole day. Even if I’m your all-purpose companion, you’d need three shifts to cover it—”

“Brian Brooks! Can’t you be a little more serious?”

Just like her. Ethan Turner had always been mischievous as a child, speaking without a filter. Ms. Grace Hill’s catchphrase was also: Can’t you be a little more serious?

He sighed. “Hey, Mom, don’t get mad. I haven’t even said the really unserious stuff yet. But, have I ever gone against anything you or Dad wanted? In Henry Clark and the others’ words, I’m at least half a mama’s boy. Whether it’s going abroad or repeating a year, whatever makes you happy. I also promise, if I ever get a girlfriend, I’ll get your approval first, okay? Can I go to sleep now?”

“You really don’t know what’s good for you—”

The middle-aged woman’s voice cut off abruptly, because a strange face suddenly appeared in her line of sight.

Ethan Turner probably missed the days of sparring with her mother so much that this kind of lively back-and-forth sounded both entertaining and bittersweet. Ethan Turner was like a rabbit with its ears perked up, slowly stepping down the stairs, clearly “watching the show.”

Brian Brooks leaned his head back, exhaling a long breath, speechless and utterly helpless. “Mom, I’m really tired—”

Before he finished, he noticed his mother’s gaze had drifted from their original line of fire, so he frowned and impatiently turned around.

Fiery clouds rolled across the sky, the setting sun like an artist’s brush, a few strokes painting the narrow hallway in vivid, picturesque warmth.

Their eyes met again, both pairs utterly emotionless, cold to the extreme—like two glasses of foaming ice beer clashing together on a summer day, no one could say which was stronger.

This guy’s features were especially sharp and defined, with a strong sense of aloofness. His eyelids and lips were thin, and when he wasn’t smiling, he gave off a “not easy to fool” kind of cool indifference.

Ethan Turner had a round face, delicate and petite features, and actually looked quite sweet. Her only “flaw” was her eyes—calm and sharp, always carrying a detached chill, so when she stared at people directly, it could seem a bit “ill-intentioned.”

Not easy to fool and ill-intentioned—when those two collided, it was awkward. Whoever spoke first would lose.

“……”

“……”

But in fact, Ethan Turner was hesitating inside, wondering if she should say, Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just heard your mom’s voice and thought of my late mother—

But that didn’t seem quite right.

Then, looking into his eyes, she suddenly remembered what Old Turner used to say: people with honest eyes aren’t too dumb. Whether this guy was honest or not, she didn’t know, but his gaze was certainly direct—definitely not easy to fool, all his cleverness written in his eyes.

Ethan Turner thought maybe she should just sincerely admit defeat and apologize, but before she could open her mouth, he cut her off with a single sentence.