The sky gradually darkened, and night had already fallen.
Countless streets throughout the city were slowly illuminated by dazzling neon signs.
On a bustling street in the Harlem District.
Inside a French restaurant decorated in an elegant, luxurious style, customers flowed constantly through the establishment.
After entering the restaurant.
The first thing that caught diners' eyes was the clearly meticulous design of the ceiling.
Amid numerous expensive carvings and statues by famous artists.
Crystal-clear chandeliers hung down one after another.
Continuously radiating a captivating, dazzling glow.
Beneath the brilliantly lit ceiling.
Several waiters in black shirts weaved back and forth among the guests like butterflies flitting through flowers.
Their stylish serving motions, along with their handsome faces.
Often drew praise and admiration from the male and female diners.
However, at the edge of the restaurant.
In a quiet corner far from the lively center.
Rorschach sat in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, staring unblinkingly at his aunt, who was wolfing down food at the table.
He sighed helplessly.
Then carefully tried to persuade his aunt, whose table manners were terrifying:
"Aunt, could you slow down? I'm not worried that I can't afford the meal—I'm worried you'll choke to death..."
Before he could finish.
His aunt, who had been hunched over the table tearing apart a lobster, suddenly lifted her slightly rounded chin.
She struggled to open her eyes wide, her face flushed red as she looked at Rorschach.
After much difficulty, she managed to make an indistinct sound through a mouth stuffed full of shrimp meat:
"Mm, this is your filial devotion. I'm just afraid of wasting food."
Hearing his aunt's casual, made-up excuse.
Rorschach, torn between laughter and tears, could not help leaning forward.
His lips parted slightly.
Just as he was about to tease