The White Light blinked, startled." M-Mister… who a-are you?" she stammered, placing a hand dramatically over her chest as if her heart were about to explode from delicate shock. "I… I was only trying to help Miss Rosalind… but she… she…" Her voice broke at the exact point where any idiotic protagonist would fall for the act.
She tilted her body at a calculated angle.Her eyelashes trembled.Her supernatural glow rose at least two levels, purely out of indignation.
But nobody was looking at her.
Everyone was staring at Philip, as if a comet had just descended to Earth in human form.
The White Light froze her smile in place, then tried again, raising the intensity of her performance:"I… I forgive her."She turned to Rosalind with a magnanimous, delicate expression—full of that fake altruism typical of people whose self-esteem is the size of a mountain."After all… people who are beneath me sometimes struggle to control their emotions around someone like me…"
Rosalind raised one eyebrow.Philip raised two.
And the entire café made a silent "ooooooh" in the atmosphere.
Sensing the shift, and realizing no one was reacting the way they were supposed to, the White Light went for the final blow:
"M-Mac!" she called, dramatically turning around. "I… I think I hurt my foot… could you maybe…"
She stretched out her hand like a princess begging a knight for rescue.
But Mac didn't seem to hear her. Philip figured the events were simply too much for Mac's tiny brain to process.
Silence fell over the café.Her hand hung in the air.For almost five full seconds.
Five painfully long seconds — long enough for Philip to think:
"Holy shit, this is tragic."
The White Light held the pose, trembling slightly, still trying to salvage the scene—but clearly spiraling into panic.
And that was exactly when Philip decided to strike while she was wobbling.
Her hand was still raised in the air, trembling with an unrequested plea for help.Philip looked directly at her…
…glanced over her the way someone glances at an empty supermarket shelf…
…and simply looked away.
No rush.No acknowledgment.Nothing.
It was the cruelest form of annihilation for someone like her:stealing her spotlight.
"Anyway," Philip said, turning to Rosalind with absolute nonchalance, as if the glowing sociopath wasn't literally begging for attention right behind him, "are you okay? Did someone hurt you? Or were they just trying to annoy you to death?"
Rosalind blinked, surprised.Not just by the question — but because… no one. Ever. Had asked her anything like that.
The White Light's eyes widened, horrified.Her hand still in the air.Her foot still "injured."The silence swallowing her dignity inch by inch.
People around began whispering:
"Charlotte just got ignored by Heir Lloyd…""He really just… ignored her?"
The temperature in the café dropped ten degrees from pure secondhand embarrassment.
Philip went on as if nothing had happened:
"Because, look… I've been here for five minutes and this place already feels like a circus." He adjusted his coat. "At least tell me you had lunch before this horror show started."
Rosalind flushed a little and opened her mouth to respond.
The White Light, in a mix of panic and fury, slowly lowered her hand.Very slowly.The kind of slow people use when they know no one is looking — and it still hurts their pride anyway.
She tried to regain the spotlight, swallowing hard and forcing a small laugh:
"H-haha… you must be new here…" her voice grew sweeter and shakier: "But… don't get me wrong, I would never want to hurt Rosalind or cause her pain. I don't know why she treats me this way…"
Philip looked at her with genuine confusion."Sorry, but… who are you?"
The White Light froze.
Philip's sentence landed on her like a divine punishment.
"E-Excuse me…?" she stuttered, still trying to maintain sweetness, like she could tape her dignity back together.
Philip tilted his head, genuinely puzzled — which hurt far more than any direct insult.
"I asked who you are."He pointed his chin slightly, like someone trying to guess the name of the delivery guy who rang the wrong doorbell."Like… are you an employee here? A local influencer? A student? Or did you just show up for the drama?"
Collective gasps filled the café.Rosalind's eyes widened.Some customers coughed to hide their laughter.
The White Light opened and closed her mouth twice.
"M-me? I'm…" She took a deep breath, trying to regain composure. "Charlotte Summer, Mac's childhood friend."
"Being someone's childhood friend is a title? I didn't know…" Philip tilted his head with mechanical precision.
Several students choked on their coffee.Rosalind coughed to hide a laugh.
Charlotte froze again.Apparently, it had become her new hobby.
And right at that moment — with impeccable timing — Mac finally arrived at the scene.
He blinked, saw Charlotte in a frankly strange posture (at least in Philip's opinion), noticed her expression…and then saw Rosalind laughing.