"Victor... you seem a bit different from before."
Enid looked at Victor, her eyes shimmering with curiosity and a trace of imperceptible delight.
"Before, you would occasionally be close to me, but it was always playful or prank-like. A closeness as natural as today... as if it's taken for granted, has never happened."
Victor-White touched his neck subconsciously. Serum rubbed against his fingertips docilely.
He realized: "It's Serum's influence. Different symbiotes have different effects on the host. Riot amplifies the host's dominance and destructive urge."
"While Serum... amplifies the host's elegance significantly, and..."
He paused, a rare, almost shy expression crossing his face, his voice lowering and softening.
"...and affection."
Serum seemed a bit embarrassed, shrinking slightly, its voice even softer:
"If you don't like it... I can temporarily block this part of emotional amplification..."
"No."
Enid shook her head immediately. She reached out, warm fingers firmly holding Victor's hand, blooming a brilliant yet shy smile on her face.
"This is just fine."
She liked this Victor.
Still carrying his unique, unconventional manic charm, but those intimate touches and protective gestures were no longer jokes or pranks.
Instead, they originated from a warmer, more sincere base. This made her feel safe, and even... gave her some sweet flutters.
Serum felt Enid's acceptance. Its pearl-white luster seemed to become even milder and softer.
It gently encircled Victor's neck, as if also immersed in a satisfied and peaceful emotion.
Victor held Enid's hand back, fingertips tapping lightly on the back of her hand.
Those eyes usually dancing with manic or teasing light now held a gentleness even he hadn't noticed.
"Alright~"
He smiled. That smile had less of his usual flamboyance and more genuine warmth.
"Then... let's stay this way."
---
On the other side, Victor-Grey dragged Wednesday by the wrist all the way to Jericho town, finally stopping in front of an oak door inlaid with a raven specimen.
The sign read: Uriah's Heap.
"My dear~"
Victor-Grey's voice carried an unquestionable flamboyance enhanced by Riot. He pushed open the heavy door.
The brass bell on the door let out a dull sound like a death knell.
"I know your philosophy. Color is original sin; black and white are eternal. So, I chose here."
Inside the shop, the light was dim. The air smelled of old parchment, dried herbs, and a faint hint of preservatives.
Various specimens, bones, and antique clothing filled with dark aura were displayed silently, like a tomb of Gothic art.
Victor-Grey led Wednesday to the deepest part of the shop. A gown was worn lonely on a mannequin, as if it had been waiting there for centuries.
It was an extremely retro, dark-style gown.
Layers of black gauze flowed like solidified night mist, constructing a Gothic tiered skirt.
The bodice featured complex and precise pleating, like blooming black roses winding across the chest and neck, seemingly both binding and decoration.
A belt inlaid with dark metal emphasized the sharp waistline. The overall style perfectly merged the elegance of death with wild magnificence.
This gown seized Wednesday's attention instantly.
Her sharp gaze swept over every detail. Finally, those deep pool-like eyes turned to the boy beside her smiling flamboyantly.
This guy... how could he perceive her aesthetic so precisely?
Just then, the shop owner appeared silently beside them, as if condensing from the shadows.
"Aha, it's you."
Her voice was raspy like rubbing silk, her gaze landing on Victor.
"The boy who came for community service last time with that... um... little blonde sun. Got your eye on this 'Whisper of the Night Raven'? Good taste."
Her fingertip pointed to an inconspicuous brass price tag. The number carved on it was enough to give most people a heart attack.
"A Victorian treasure, custom-made for a notorious widow. It has been waiting for an owner worthy of it for a long time."
Wednesday's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Her gaze moved away from the gown, clearly ready to give up.
Victor-Grey, however, revealed an even more arrogant smile.
He snapped his fingers. Then, from his seemingly empty pocket, he pulled out thick stacks of cash, one after another.
The cash was piled casually on the glass counter nearby, as if it were just waste paper.
"Money is never a problem, respected madam."
His tone was light and certain.
"But I also need a suit that can shine alongside this gown. I believe Uriah's Heap will never disappoint its guests, will it?"
"Of course."
She turned and took a suit from a walnut wardrobe carved with mysterious symbols.
It was a retro British dark grey plaid suit with a rounded collar. The slim cut was extremely elegant. Paired with a silk shirt, the overall style was understated yet filled with fatal aristocratic aura—a match made in heaven for the "Whisper of the Night Raven."
Victor-Grey picked up the dark gown and handed it to Wednesday. The smile on his face was bright enough to dispel all gloom in the shop.
"Please, my Queen."
Wednesday looked at him deeply. In the end, she said nothing.
She lifted her head, like accepting a matter-of-course tribute, took the heavy and magnificent dress, and turned to walk into the fitting room hung with black velvet curtains.
---
When Wednesday changed into the gown and lifted the black velvet curtain to walk out, Victor-Grey had already changed into his suit and been waiting for a long time.
That dark grey plaid British suit fit his physique perfectly. The sharp cut outlined the powerful lines of broad shoulders and narrow waist.
The inner silk shirt was pitch black, glowing with a dim luster, blending seamlessly with his current temperament dominated by "Riot" qualities—carrying aggressive tension.
He was no longer the laughing, cursing manic boy, but more like a young tyrant stepping out of the abyss ready to conquer the world—elegant and dangerous.
Almost at the same moment, Victor-Grey saw her too.
Layers of black gauze skirt spread and flowed beneath her feet like the dark night itself. Complex pleats were like thorns and roses winding over pale skin.
The extreme black accentuated her ice-snow-like face and biting temperament, making her look like a queen walking out of a Gothic castle—beautiful, fatal, and unquestionable.
Their gazes collided, both stunned slightly.
The air seemed to freeze. Only the old grandfather clock in the shop ticked dully, counting down for this silent coronation.
The next moment, the corner of Victor-Grey's mouth curled into an arc full of possessiveness.
He strode forward. Without explanation, extremely dominantly, he took Wednesday's hand gloved in black mesh.
His other arm firmly encircled her slender waist bound tight by the gown's belt, pulling the distance between them to a range far beyond social etiquette.
He lowered his head slightly. His dark eyes surged with undisguised appreciation and a nearly wild desire to conquer. His voice was low and magnetic:
"Welcome back to your throne, my Queen."
His action was bold to the extreme, his words even more transgressive.
But strangely, this suit perfectly merged with his temperament, this unrefusable dominance amplified to the extreme by Riot...
Formed a contradictory yet fatal harmony with the cold aura around Wednesday that pushed people thousands of miles away.
As if they were meant to be like this—
He was her blade and scepter; she was his crown and code.
Wednesday didn't push him away immediately.
Her thick eyelashes trembled slightly. Her dark pupils reflected Victor-Grey's currently oppressive figure.
Joy or anger couldn't be seen on her pale face, but those always tightly pursed, sharply lined lips seemed to loosen extremely slightly for an instant.
She just held her head high, accepting his near-oath-like embrace and title, as if all this was a tribute she deserved.
The shadows in the shop seemed to deepen, enveloping the two like a double portrait frozen in eternal darkness—
The Tyrant and his Queen.