"There's no need to buy clothes. Professor Stern doesn't care about that kind of thing," Samael muttered, practically being dragged down the street.
"I think…" he added, more quietly.
Elizabeth pretended not to hear.
Her expression hovered dangerously close to exasperation as she walked toward an elegant storefront. Samael's complete disregard for his own image irritated her more than it should have.
If she didn't remind him, he would forget to pay the bills.
If she didn't insist, the house would sink into chronic neglect.
If it were up to him, within a few months there would be rats claiming territory in the living room.
And now…
He didn't even have decent clothes.
He was a lost cause.
"What kind of clothes do you prefer?" she asked as they stepped inside the store.
Samael looked around as if assessing an unfamiliar battlefield.
"Anything comfortable."
The answer ca automatically. Empty of enthusiasm.
He clearly did not want to be there.
Elizabeth took a slow breath.
"If you don't choose a style right now, I'll choose for you."
"You can choose. I don't know anything about fashion."
It wasn't false modesty.
Ethan had never cared about his appearance back on Earth. And before that, Samael's clothes had always been chosen by soone else. To him, clothing had always been functional.
Nothing more.
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a brief mont.
Then she took control.
The next two hours were a particularly refined form of torture.
For him.
For her, it was simply necessary.
Shirts were compared. Fabrics examined. Colors rejected.
Samael was turned, pushed into fitting rooms, repositioned, inspected with a critical gaze.
He cooperated.
But with the energy of soone being led to his own execution.
In the end, they reached an acceptable result.
A plain white shirt.
Simple. Clean.
Loose pants with a proper cut.
High-quality white sneakers—with an equally absurd price.
Then ca the hair.
Elizabeth practically shoved him into a nearby salon.
The ends were trimd. The strands aligned.
When it was done, he tied his hair into a low ponytail.
And then he looked at the mirror.
His face remained slightly blurred—that subtle distortion that never completely disappeared. Even so…
He looked different.
Sharper.
More put together.
Closer to the image of an Awakened.
Samael tilted his head slightly.
Before recovering Ethan's mories, he had never cared about his appearance. It was just… his face. Neither handso nor ugly. Just familiar.
But now he had a reference.
Ethan had been normal. Ordinary.
Samael was not.
Even with the faint blur obscuring his identity, it was impossible to ignore: he was genuinely handso.
If his face weren't distorted, he might have beco narcissistic.
With features like that, it would have been difficult not to.
He looked away from the mirror.
He hated mirrors.
Identity was already complicated enough without having to confront it head-on.
"Better," Elizabeth declared, studying the result with restrained approval.
He simply nodded.
After that entire ordeal, hunger struck with force.
They sat down at a nearby café.
Samael imdiately ordered coffee.
Perhaps it was an addiction.
He had never understood how Sunny could dislike that liquid perfection.
If there was sothing in the world that could be described as perfect…
It was coffee.
He brought the cup to his lips with almost indecent satisfaction.
"Thanks," he murmured, softer than he intended.
Elizabeth lifted her eyes from her communicator and simply nodded.
She knew.
She knew he wasn't ungrateful.
She knew he recognized everything she had done for him over the past few months.
There was no need for dramatics.
"Professor Stern is officially no longer a professor," Elizabeth comnted, sliding her fingers across the communicator's screen.
"Really? Why?" he asked, genuinely interested as he took another sip of coffee.
"She was temporary. Our class was the last one."
Samael frowned slightly.
"Strange."
Elizabeth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Probably politics between Legacy Clans. Disputes over authority, influence… that sort of thing."
That made sense.
Nothing in this world was simple when power was involved.
Samael fell silent for a mont.
"Do we need to ask her clan for permission to invite her to the Court?"
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow.
"You're the Legacy. Shouldn't you know?"
He made a faint grimace.
"My clan hasn't been active in years. And I was a child. I don't know how those formalities work."
He bit into the stuffed bread he had ordered.
And closed his eyes for a second.
It was… heavenly.
After poorly prepared snake at in the Dream Realm…
After bland synthetic food…
This was almost transcendental.
In recent months, he had been feeding mostly on synthesized rations—practical, efficient.
Elizabeth hated it.
Whenever she caught him eating that, an argunt would start.
According to her, it wasn't healthy.
According to him, he was an Awakened. None of that made a difference.
He always lost the argunt.
In the end, Elizabeth would cook.
And he had to admit…
She cooked absurdly well.
He only argued out of pride.
He didn't like synthetic food that much.
But he also didn't like admitting she was right.
Samael took another sip of coffee, satisfied.
For a few minutes, the world was simple.
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