The words struck Charlotte like a thunderclap on a clear day.
Filming?
An answer she'd never imagined appeared before her. Charlotte felt utterly panicked.
Just then, Charlotte suddenly rembered a detail she'd overlooked. When Lofan had told the old man to leave quickly, he hadn't prepared a pre-written ssage on the cloak for him.
So all of this was a show for her. From the beginning, Lofan had wanted to use her to take the bla for the serial suicide case. From the beginning, Lofan had chosen to reveal certain truths to the authorities through his own death.
But why?
Why had Lofan chosen such an extre thod?
Why did he have to deceive her...
Though Charlotte had already realized Lofan might have been using her from the beginning, her anger stemd not from the deception, but from his disregard for his own life.
If they had only talked things through properly...
Suddenly Charlotte froze, realizing that despite the endless stream of cris in the Fleuve Cendre, cases escalating to public "trials" at the Opera Epiclese were vanishingly rare.
Fontaine—wasn't it supposed to be the land of justice?
For the first ti, Charlotte sensed the dark underbelly lurking beneath the city's gleaming facade.
It wasn't that she'd never encountered these issues before. Rather, she'd never truly considered them, living as Lofan had described—as soone bathed in sunlight.
Overwhelming grief and helplessness surged through her, nearly crushing Charlotte completely.
"What's wrong, young lady? Are you feeling alright?" The old man noticed Charlotte's unusual deanor and quietly inquired.
"Is it because that young man is sick?"
Upon hearing this, Charlotte initially tried to put on a brave face to reassure him. However, the old man's next words struck her heart like a hamr.
Tears welled up uncontrollably in her eyes. She hastily wiped them away before managing to say, "No, he... he's perfectly fine."
"It's just that he had so business and had to travel far away."
"Oh, I see," the old man nodded, accepting Charlotte's explanation without question.
"He must be your younger brother, then. It's natural for a sister to worry when her brother travels."
"But overprotecting him isn't healthy either. Though I don't have children myself, I know one must face challenges to grow."
"Here, children as young as seven or eight already act like little adults."
"...Right. Thank you for your advice."
Charlotte's mouth was filled with bitterness as she forced out an ugly smile to thank the old man.
The old man didn't think much of it, assuming Charlotte was just overly worried about her younger brother.
"You must really love your younger brother, don't you? That's wonderful. I've been alone since I was about six years old."
The old man sighed, a wistful look in his eyes.
"Yes, I do love my younger brother..."
Charlotte didn't know what kind of emotion she was feeling as she said this. Lofan's face floated in her mind.
"He's an excellent child, though he does like to act on his own sotis."
"Haha, children need to be a bit mischievous to show their vitality."
Charlotte nodded, but suddenly, an image flashed through her mind - Lofan lying on the stage, blood pooling beneath him like a small red lake.
A suffocating tightness gripped her chest again. To ease her pain, Charlotte quickly changed the subject.
"Old man, where can I buy a newspaper around here?"
To prevent the old man from feeling the sa overwhelming guilt she did, Charlotte resolved to negotiate with the newspaper vendors, urging them not to sell the latest issue.
"Haha, girl, how could Fleuve Cendre possibly have newspaper vendors?" the old man chuckled.
"You must understand that most people living here can't read."
"Never mind whether they'd waste food money on newspapers - even if they bought one, they wouldn't be able to read it."
Hearing this explanation, Charlotte froze montarily before hastily asking, "So the content in that newspaper from a few days ago..."
"Uh, I can't understand what's in the newspapers, of course..." the old man replied, scratching his chicken-nest-like hair with a troubled expression. "Was that content important for the play? But that young man didn't ntion anything about it before the performance."
Charlotte fell silent. In her mind, two distinct images of Lofan now coexisted.
One was from their first eting, when he had looked at her with timid yet genuine sincerity, his voice crisp as he cheerfully talked with her.
The other face wore madness and absurdity like a mask, yet every step was calculated with icy precision. To achieve his goals, he'd even gamble with his own life.
Unwittingly, Charlotte had walked into Lofan's trap. Only now was she finally erging.
Though her body had escaped, her heart remained trapped within the web.
If she hadn't encountered that old man from days ago, could she have uncovered this truth at all?
Brother Lofan, which version of you is the real one...?
In truth, Lofan had no plan for Charlotte eting the old man. He couldn't even gauge the indelible impression he'd made on her heart.
At that mont, Lofan was engaged in a cat-and-mouse ga with the Maison Gardiennage guards, trying to secure his thirteenth fortune.
Due to recent incidents, security in Fontaine's upper districts had tightened. Every traveler ascending the heights now faced mandatory baggage checks.
Lofan's prepared cloak was likely useless now. With such thorough security checks, carrying it would probably get him invited for a "cup of tea" with the security guards.
But that wasn't a problem. The cloak had only been ant to make him more conspicuous, to help people quickly connect these jump incidents. Now that wasn't necessary anymore.
Lofan wrote "Won't Cry" on his inner shirt, then casually passed through the security guards' inspection.
He glanced sympathetically at the two guards who'd let him through. They'd probably get their wages docked soon.
Then Lofan leaped from the platform's edge, embracing the sky like a bird yearning for freedom.
Amid the crowd's gasps, this bird crashed.
With a squelch, the pristine white tiles were splattered with tomato red...
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