"Theory confirmed," Wyne thought to herself, her eyes wide as she looked up at the towering figure of Nomoro.
"We're definitely in a novel."
A week ago, when the trio revealed their room numbers via scraps of paper, they had half-jokingly predicted a dramatic scenario where Nomoro, hypothetically Trizha's male roommate, would end up in a heated conflict with her.
Now, facing the reality of Nomoro's silent, intimidating presence and the clear tension he exuded, the joke felt too real.
Wyne's gaze flickered.
She caught Trizha peeking out from the side of the couch, her eyes fixed fearfully on Nomoro while simultaneously darting a desperate look at Wyne.
Then, Trizha glared, her hands moving rapidly and aggressively through the stylized motions of the "Girl Code" hand sign language.
Instead of the expected instruction—a panicked warning or a plea for a rescue—her fingers snapped out a furious declaration:
"You. Idiot. I am. Not. Making. Out. With that. Guy,"
Trizha signed, her movements sharp and exaggerated.
Wyne just stared back, sighing silently.
She was disappointed; she'd mostly expected Trizha to sign for her to perform a distracting maneuver, perhaps even telling her to punch Nomoro in the stomach, mirroring Trizha's earlier tactic.
In response, Wyne flashed a wide, toothy grin.
She placed her hand dramatically over her heart, gave Trizha a mock wave of farewell, and then, with a playful flourish, delivered the middle finger.
It was a clear, sarcastic gesture that translated perfectly: "Sorry, Goodbye. Idiot."
Trizha stared at Wyne in absolute disbelief, silently unleashing a torrent of colorful curses in her mind as Wyne grabbed both of Margaret's shoulders from behind, pulling her friend along.
"Oops, perhaps we entered the wrong room," Wyne said, laying the sarcasm on thick. "Let's go, Margaret—"
"Hold on there for a second."
Wyne and Margaret instantly stopped in their tracks.
Nomoro's voice was deep, demanding, yet surprisingly gentle. The low, resonant sound once again sent a ripple of excitement through Margaret and an acute jolt of fear through Wyne.
"Wh-what is it…?" Wyne stammered, twisting to face him without turning completely.
"You guys… are Trizha's best friends, right?" Nomoro asked, his tone level and neutral.
"Uhm… yeah?" Wyne replied, still wary of his unreadable expression.
"Yes…!" Margaret chimed in, her cheerfulness and eagerness completely bypassing the tension. "We are looking for Trizha. Is she here?" She smiled widely up at Nomoro, her eyes bright with admiration.
Wyne was momentarily weirded out by Margaret's uncharacteristic, bubbly fascination.
"Where did all that cheerfulness come from…" Wyne thought, genuinely thrown off balance.
Nomoro looked at them for a silent, extended moment, his gaze assessing them calmly before he finally responded in a gentle tone:
"...Yes."
He slowly turned his head, his eyes moving toward the couch where Trizha was successfully enacting her role as a highly paranoid throw pillow.
"Trizha, your friends are looking for you," he announced to the furniture.
Trizha instantly launched herself out from behind the couch, her face a mask of disbelief and shock as she whirled on Nomoro.
"How did you know I was hiding here?!" she demanded, pointing a trembling finger at him.
"It's a bit complicated…" Nomoro said, rubbing the back of his head with a slight, almost apologetic movement.
Trizha narrowed her eyes, studying him with intense suspicion. She snatched up her purse from the counter where she'd dropped it, making sure to walk a long, wide arc around Nomoro as she moved toward the main door.
Her eyes never left his face until she was safely out in the hotel corridor.
Once outside, Trizha leaned against the door jamb, letting out a long, dramatic sigh.
"Haaahhh… that was very scary…" she groaned, before starting to walk alongside her friends.
"Not so scary anymore, huh?" Wyne teased, bumping Trizha's shoulder. "Just wait for that one 'scare room' Margaret told us about days ago."
As the trio strolled down the corridor, chatting about random things, a figure passed them in the opposite direction.
It was a man in a black hoodie, his head lowered, moving with a deliberate, almost predator-like smoothness.
The moment he was past them, he stopped, his movement imperceptible to the girls.
He slightly turned his head, his face still largely obscured by the shadow of his hood, but his eyes were unmistakable: they glowed with a faint, malevolent red light, focused intently on the backs of the three girls, especially Trizha.
He slowly grinned—a cruel, thin smile—and began to speak in a low, gravelly whisper.
"...All that exist, will always be protected. And here you are, standing with only two representations…"
He turned forward, ready to continue his walk and execute his plan.
Then, his head snapped up.
He noticed that Nomoro was still standing in the suite doorway, his expression calm, his eyes fixed steadily on the man in black.
The man's malicious grin instantly vanished, replaced by a flicker of irritation and caution.
He muttered under his breath, a barely audible curse.
"...Of course, and there just had to be you, of all people."
He quickly looked down at the carpet, concealing the red glow of his pupils, and continued walking forward, melting into the deep shadows of the distant corridor.
Nomoro watched the man leave for a few seconds longer, his posture relaxed but his eyes intensely focused until the figure was completely out of sight.
Without changing his calm, unreadable expression, he stepped back into the suite and quietly closed the door.
He knew something was wrong about that man. And so, he decided to prepare to make his own leave as well, planning to trail the trio just for one single purpose:
Watch over them.