"They are inside." The driver said expressionlessly as he slowed the car in front of a café in the city center, with pedestrians constantly coming and going.
Ryan's eyes shone brightly as he read the sign above the door.
"Manhattan Café." Ryan chuckled softly. "Even though we're not in New York, much less in America… it's a bit bold to have a name like that—I like it."
Ryan opened the door, stepping onto the sidewalk, drawing a few glances. Then he looked the structure up and down once more while trying to suppress the urge to pull the folder from his suit jacket to check a few details again… However, he was certain he had already read the name "Manhattan Café"… several times…
Even though his mind remained stuck on the contents of that folder, he couldn't help but admire the crystal-clear glass windows and the atmosphere that was simultaneously luxurious and comfortable. He could easily imagine that a place like this would be popular among the elite, politicians, and military officers. It certainly seemed like that kind of place.
However, at this moment the place was empty, invoking an air of exclusivity that didn't seem accidental. Only two people were seated at a central table, dressed similarly to Ryan, while a single barista with a rigid expression was completely at their disposal, making the presence of a waiter—or any other staff such as cashiers or cleaners—disposable.
A bell rang as Ryan pushed the door open, drawing the attention of those around him. They quickly judged him from head to toe—Suddenly, an anomalous oppressive aura emaneted from each of them that, and like Medusa, it seemed to turn to stone anyone who dared enter their domain— paralyzing them with fear and terror beyond what the common mind could comprehend.
Their glimmering eyes were screaming.
Mortals should retreat.
'So this is how they're going to test me?'
Ryan felt like he had run into an impenetrable wall while being eaten alive by countless serpents. But that wasn't the end.
The pressure on Ryan's shoulders, which would already cause many to wildly tremble with nervousness or even faint instantly, only increased more and more, he was even beginning to suffocate, making even breathing a conscious labor—yet he didn't mind.
They would need more than that.
He merely adjusted his tie out of reflex while making his way toward the table. With a wide smile on his face—Making them exchange glances with each other, impressed.
"Ryan, it's a pleasure to see you again." Alex, the rebellious-looking young man who had invited him at the funeral, stood up to greet him with a warm expression — a hint of malice glimmering in the depths of his iris.
"The pleasure is mine." Ryan extended his hand as usual, not thinking much about the matter. Believing he had already passed the test, since he felt the oppressive aura receding. However…
Alex grabbed Ryan's hand quickly—then, in a rushed motion, pulled him toward himself, trying to slam him onto the table with a smile that hovered somewhere between mischievous and sadistic. His hand constantly attempted to assume a posture reminiscent of a king before a servant kissing his hand, demanding submission.
Ryan's eyes widened.
The sudden shift in attitude, combined with the herculean strength in Alex's arm, could have knocked down even the strongest bodybuilder. Yet this wasn't about strength, but attention and focus. Whoever is caught off guard must submit and accept being oppressed.
Ryan was surprised, his mind failing to keep up with the sudden change of pace—but his body reacted instantly with instincts as sharp as a razor. Meanwhile, his mind quickly returned to the right place, refusing to panic or despair. Immediately he pulled his hand back with such a firm grip, that for a moment shocked Alex, his eyes widening and goosebumps rising on his skin, thinking he had grabbed a bear instead of a teenager.
'So we are still playing games? In this case… time to payback!'
In a single movement, Ryan pulled his hand back and placed it at the center of the table, before beginning to subdue Alex in the same way Alex had tried with him—trying to position his hand above Alex's.
Ryan was smaller and certainly less muscular, but even so, he gave his all to extract every ounce of strength from every fiber of his being. Cold sweat trickled down his face as Alex began to be dragged, his body slowly bending, almost kneeling—The shock and sudden attack of his opponent gaining the upper hand.
But soon he too returned to the game, gritting his teeth and extracting the maximum from himself to stay in the game. Thick sweat trickled down his face.
Finally, they reached an impasse.
Sparks flew between them just as wide smiles appeared on both their faces—as if they recognized the person standing before them.
"You truly have a firm grip."
Alex commented, finally stepping back with a nod.
"Likewise," Ryan said and sighed deeply in relief, he was exhausted. Then he turned to the second person at the table—a middle-aged man with a serious appearance, who at that moment behaved in an automatic, cold manner, as if he barely cared about Ryan's presence — The complete opposite from Alex.
"I'm Rudeus. Call me Rud." He shook Ryan's hand with a firm grip, but so briefly it barely felt real. Ryan simply nodded before pulling out the chair and sitting down, the barista already approaching them.
"What would you like to drink?" the barista asked.
"An espresso without sugar for me, John," Rudeus spoke first. "And please bring me a newspaper and a pen. Don't worry whether it's current or not, as long as nobody has done the crossword."
John, the barista, nodded and turned his gaze to Alex, who had been waiting impatiently for Rudeus to finish his order, his hand moving across the table like the fingers of a pianist.
"A caffe latte, with colorful sprinkles on top, lots of foam, and plenty of sugar," Alex said quickly. Rud glanced at him from the corner of his eye… then clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. Alex narrowed his eyes and stared at him.
"Is there a problem, Rudeus?" he said loudly.
"None…" Rudeus replied while staring vaguely at the ceiling. "I just think you drink coffee like a bitch. Maybe next time you'll show up in a dress and heels?"
"Haaa?!" Alex slammed the table, veins pulsing and eyes almost popping out of their sockets. "I must have gone deaf! Repeat! What did you fucking said?!"
Rudeus simply exhaled and ignored him with a sarcastic smile looking at the ceiling.
A thousand curses rose up Alex's throat as his fists nearly spoke for themselves. He was ready to retaliate and escalate the conflict—however, John coughed, drawing his attention, and Alex quickly turned toward him.
"What do you fucking want—" Alex began, before suddenly regaining his senses under the intense stare of the simple barista. He then coughed and adjusted his chair. "Sorry, I lost myself for a moment. I promise it won't happen again… but it's his fault, he started it." John said nothing, simply turning to Ryan with the same questioning look as before.
"A cappuccino with sugar."
The barista nodded and went to the counter, where he grabbed an old newspaper and a pen. He then returned to the table and handed them to Rudeus, who eagerly received the items with a wide smile on his face — his only real reaction up to that point.
"Thank you, John!"
The barista simply nodded and went to prepare the coffee.
Finally, with the greetings finished and the coffee on its way, it was time to get to the main subject. Ryan focused on the men in front of him—or rather, on Alex, since Rudeus seemed to have switched on his "I don't give a damn" mode, his presence analogous to that of a plant.
Alex coughed, returning Ryan's attention.
"I imagine this must be difficult for you," he said with a downcast expression, on the verge of tears, remembering Ryan's father. "As I said before, it's a shame to lose someone like him—for all of us. But as his son, I'm sure you're the one who feels it most and will miss him the most…"
Silence settled between them, and then stretched on for a few moments as Ryan watched intently without any visible emotion. Waiting for a phrase that never left Alex's lips — but he soon became impatient and dissatisfied.
"Cut it out," Ryan said rudely, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
For a moment, Alex raised his gaze and an eyebrow, paying close attention to his reaction. Alex didn't know what to expect from this moment, but it certainly wasn't this.
"Sorry… I don't understand," Alex said, genuinely confused.
"I said, cut it out," Ryan repeated with a frown, serious and with a slight mix of anger and disappointment. "Just tell me where he is."
"Where he is? Who?" Alex leaned back in his chair. Suddenly, Rudeus lifted his gaze over the top of the newspaper so subtly it was almost imperceptible — but clearly interested.
"My father. Where is he?" Ryan said, making Alex's eyes widen—but then he sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut with deep regret.
"I see…" he said. "You think he's still alive… it's hard to accept, I know. But we need to move on—"
Ryan cut him off mid-sentence.
"Tell me, Alex, there are only two possibilities here," Ryan said resting his face against his fist, growing angrier by the moment. "The first is that you're a damn good liar, worthy of becoming the next president. The second is that you've been deceived."
Alex raised his eyebrows, glancing briefly at Rudeus, who remained focused on Ryan's words — Alex suddenly began to take the conversation seriously, his expression becoming cold and rigid as steel.
"My father is indeed alive."