“Oh wow they are so pretty, thank you so much! Would you like to take a picture?” he asked cheerfully to the fan that had just approached with a flower arrangement. The fan nodded enthusiastically after fangirl screaming and immediately skipped towards the driver.

Damn, Atlas said I was famous in China but I never expected it to be this much. He remembered the stern talking he got about being as social as possible to boost numbers and increase team revenue. Must be really important considering he sent her here with me for a couple of days before anyone else makes the trip.

He turned to look at Leah who was just supposed to handle accommodations and make sure fan interactions didn’t go sideways, yet now she was in charge of holding the multiple gifts bags he’d been given for the day. I should get her a sweet treat after making her go through all of this. He smiled uneasily remembering the paparazzi incident. I hope she doesn’t mind this either.

"Tell me. Is heaven really worth all the fuss?"

Blunt, perhaps even a bit crass, but direct and to the point. For a demon to be asking such a question, she was being rather generous.

But it wasn't generosity that drove her, compelling her to ask about something that was far beyond her reach. She was just curious. Curious if any of it was true, that if humans lived their lives piously according to the word of God, heaven would be their eternal reward.

She stared out across the sea, white caps bouncing off the waves as her hounds ran across the beach, circling one another and fleeing from the rising tide. It was a slow day, and even her hellhounds deserved to have a bit of fun, holding her scarf up to her chin as a cold wind blew up against the rocks, hiding her smile like it was her own little secret.

"It's been a long time since I was taught. The priests would teach us right from wrong, and that anything less than God's will would damn you for eternity. The priests were often more corrupt than anyone else... but they were human, so it's to be expected.

"Matsuoka," He greeted the gentle taps of his door with their name. His door was never closed for lunch, so they stood at the threshold. Still, even with the doors open, it was rare for other teachers to come visit. Students, yes, they often hid in his room, but other teachers always came when they needed something--such was the presumption of Klaus now.

--and it was not a somber thought. Klaus didn't come across as a very friendly person. He was rigid. He liked his schedules, he liked his privacy, and his manner of speech could be a little off-putting if you were on the receiving end of an opinion. He made no moves to change that about himself. Thus, Aito's presence was anticipated to be business.

It is strange to be back, though Nunnally is happy about it. She has always loved Paris and its atmosphere. The only thing she regrets is the chill of this season, and the fact that her coat does not offer enough warmth. Yet retracing the streets that once knew her young and full of hope is a pleasure in itself. She sometimes wonders whether the people she knew back then are still here, but she will not try to find them. Nunnally would much prefer they remember the girl she used to be, rather than the woman she has become.

It is getting late, and the air is growing colder. Perhaps a cup of coffee, or better yet, a glass of red wine, would be nice. The moment she enters a random bar, she immediately recognizes the man behind the counter. Cedric Privett. He has not changed at all. Had she been less self-possessed, she might have turned around and left to find another place. But surely he has recognized her too; outwardly, she has not changed much. So why make things more awkward than they already are?

“I didn’t expect to meet you here…” – and especially not in that role, though saying so would already be rude – “…but I suppose I’m in luck. That saves me from having to choose my drink. You always had a taste I could rely on. So… what would you recommend today?”

She tries to sound natural as she takes one of the high stools by the bar. Why does it feel so strange? And why does she suddenly think they never truly broke up at all?   

❝ You have talent, ❞ Atlas says, yet he doesn't seem particularly impressed. His voice falls flat, devoid bravado or enthusiasm. ❝ But your personal reputation is in the gutter. That’s why I’m here. ❞

What he doesn’t say, what Nate almost certainly already knows, is that Atlas didn’t switch clients out of ambition alone. He switched to escape the fallout of sleeping with his previous talent. The rumors haven’t vanished; they hum quietly beneath the surface, a scandal still warm enough to burn. But a new partnership, loud and unexpected, should smother most of it soon enough. After all, no one saw this coming.

An egotistical seasoned racer with a habit of running his mouth, paired with a manager already infamous for being difficult and fresh off his own drama. A match made in hell, and one that left the paddock buzzing with confusion and poorly disguised curiosity.

Sure, Atlas hasn’t worked in motorsport before, but that hardly matters. The machinery is different. The circus is the same. Talent, money, image, he’s managed worse combinations than this.

❝ You want to race? You need sponsors. Teams don’t survive on talent alone, they survive on money. And money comes from people liking you. ❞ His tone is flat, though a spark of irritation and judgment flickers beneath it. A deliberate pause, the silence cutting. ❝ Which means you need to stop acting like an egotistical asshole. ❞

There’s irony there, Atlas is well aware of his own reputation, but he’s never been the one in front of cameras. That was the point. He managed the mess. He didn’t become it.

❝ Your last manager let you get away with a lot of shit. That ends today. ❞ He slides a thick booklet across the table. It lands in front of Nate with weight; training schedules, media appearances, sponsor obligations, brand strategy, damage control.

❝ Starting now, you train. You rest. You show up when I tell you to, you smile when the cameras are on, and you keep your mouth shut unless I say otherwise. ❞ His attention stays glued to the driver before him, his gaze sharp and unyielding. If anyone thought he was here just to let the heat die down, they were wrong. He was here to work.

With a voice that is still calm, still refined and restrained he finishes his lecture. ❝ I tell you to jump, and your only response is 'how high'. Got it? ❞

The first light of dawn spills through the trees, gilding the mist in pale gold. The forest stirs beneath its touch; leaves tremble, dew glitters like scattered stars, and the chill of night retreats, unwillingly, before the coming day.

Atlas moves through it in silence, a shadow treading between worlds. His steps are measured, deliberate, carrying him toward a meadow where wildflowers bloom in untamed profusion — a riot of color reclaiming the earth. He has no reason to linger, yet he is stopped, staring at another.

She stands among the blossoms as though she had grown from them; skin kissed by sunlight, hair a tangle of petals and morning breeze. There’s a stillness to her, the kind belonging only to nature itself, a creature created beside flora and fauna.

His gaze sharpens, curiosity flickering like a spark behind frost. Then, with deliberate mischief, he presses his boot down on a fallen branch. The crack splits the quiet and a startled head lifts.