Complex Relationships

Leon strode into the Casablanca Continental Hotel, dust clinging to him.

His eye sockets were deep-set, and his coat still bore the creases from his long flight. The old friend walked directly to the private lounge area, his gaze drawn to the scene in the garden.

Matilda was giggling as she rolled on the lawn, two German Shepherds playfully circling her.

"MI6 has completely lost it," Leon said, pulling out a cigarette. "They've deployed a chemical defense unit at the Forest Club, the woods where the Chief Superintendent's son was murdered. Those lunatics claim they're collecting every blood-sucking insect just to find the DNA of a killer codenamed Beta."

Matilda tossed a frisbee into the distance, and the two hounds shot out like arrows from a bow.

Leon's gaze followed them. "There's also a killer codenamed Jackal who took out a German presidential candidate. Now the entire European intelligence system is in chaos. You'd better pray you didn't leave any biological trace in those woods. The Brits are serious this time; they can really extract your DNA from the guts of a damn mosquito."

Beta sank into the leather seat, amber whiskey gently swirling in his hand.

He narrowed his eyes, gazing through the glass at the sunset's afterglow outside. "I've always been cautious."

Ice cubes clinked against the glass, a crisp sound. "While I admit I didn't expect MI6 to go as far as checking mosquito guts, old habits die hard. I took all the necessary precautions."

The bottom of the glass tapped lightly on the coffee table. "After all, those of us who survive in this line of work know that sweat can be more deadly than bullets."

Leon struck a match, the orange flame casting flickering shadows in his deep-set eye sockets.

He took a deep drag, the faint sound of burning tobacco exceptionally clear in the silent reception room. Smoke curled from his fingers, blurring Matilda's figure as she chased the dogs in the garden.

Beta said, "A few days ago, I gave Matilda some practical training. She was responsible for using that angelic face to trick her way in, and I was responsible for—"

He made a trigger-pulling gesture. "Our coordination was perfect. We recovered that mess."

Leon silently exhaled a smoke ring, the grayish-white mist slowly spreading between them.

Beta leaned forward. "You took her to kill drug dealers?"

Leon flicked ash from his cigarette, giving a curt "Mm-hmm."

"What kind of parenting is that?" Beta leaned back in his chair again.

Leon looked up, the tip of his cigarette glowing. "And what kind of 'enlightenment' is that from you?"

Beta coughed violently, waving away the smoke in front of him. "Damn it, can you put out that chimney?"

Leon crushed the half-smoked cigarette into the crystal ashtray, the embers hissing softly.

Beta swirled his glass. "Let her go to school like a normal child."

Leon's jaw moved slightly in response.

Beta looked at Leon. "Can't you say more than a few words? Besides nodding, shaking your head, and pretending to be mute, is it always sarcasm?"

Leon glanced at Beta. "You used to be as economical with words as I am."

Beta said, "After spending so much time with that chatterbox, it's hard not to get infected."

Leon nodded. "She's good." The three words held more warmth than usual.

"Sophia is also quite concerned about her," Beta mentioned casually.

Leon's silence was like a wall.

"She's waiting for you in her office upstairs," Beta added.

Leon's gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the empty wine bottle.

Beta said seriously, "If you don't go up to see her today, you're not leaving this room. The Casablanca Continental Hotel is her territory."

Leon hesitated for a moment, then stood up and strode towards the elevator.

Only after the elevator doors had completely closed did Beta watch them shut, remaining silent for a few seconds before saying, "I was lying."

Beta couldn't figure out the exact entanglement between Leon and Sophia. Ever since he learned that Matilda was an orphan Leon had adopted, Sophia had been subtly inquiring about Leon's whereabouts from time to time.

Now that Leon had finally shown up, how could Beta miss out on the show?

He waited until dinner time.

Beta pushed open the walnut door of the lounge, and the crystal chandelier cast a warm yellow glow on the long dining table.

As the private domain of the Continental Hotel manager, the space exuded understated luxury. Silverware gleamed softly in the candlelight, and Burgundy red wine swirled in the decanter.

Sophia's meticulously arranged dinner party was subtly balanced: Matilda sat on a high-backed chair, swinging her legs; Leon occupied one end of the long table like a sculpture; and Beta deliberately chose a seat where he could observe both of them.

"Please enjoy," Sophia said, clapping her hands lightly, and the waiters filed in.

The smoky aroma of Angus steak mingled with rosemary, the baguette still warm from the oven, and truffle shavings glistened on the organic vegetable salad.

Beta's knife sliced through the medium-rare steak, revealing a pink interior oozing with juice. He feigned concentration on his food, but his peripheral vision continuously scanned the two opposite him. Sophia's expression was unreadable, and Leon's face was its usual stoic mask.

The atmosphere in the room was somewhat too strange.

In contrast, Matilda's eating style was practically performance art. She stabbed the steak fiercely with her silver fork, her hair whipping through the air as she tore at the meat like a little beast. Her napkin had long since slipped to the floor, and sauce had drawn a conspicuous line around her lips.

Beta agilely leaned back as the piece of steak Matilda had torn apart, resembling a rubber band, whizzed past his nose. The steak, coated in black pepper sauce, traced a parabola through the air and landed with a splat on the napkin holder opposite, sauce dripping slowly down the silver.

Matilda froze, holding her empty fork, then offered a guilty, silly smile. "Uh, accidental discharge?"

Her voice grew quieter and quieter, eventually becoming a mere whisper.

Thanks to the little accident Matilda had caused, the strange atmosphere in the room finally dissipated.

Sophia elegantly wiped her mouth with a napkin and said gently, "It's fine, I'll have them prepare another one for you."

Beta took the steak that had flown out from the napkin holder. "What were you guys talking about? First off, I have to admit I played a little joke. I told Leon you were waiting for him."

Leon flatly denied it. "We didn't talk about anything."

Sophia calmly explained, "Leon will attend Helen's funeral on my behalf. As the manager of the Continental Hotel, I can't leave the hotel without authorization."

Beta nodded thoughtfully. "Attend on your behalf? It seems I understand your relationship now."

"This relationship is indeed quite complicated," Beta sighed. "It's a bit messy, but at least it's all within the normal range."

Matilda began to devour the vegetable salad on the table with gusto again.

Although her eating posture wasn't exactly elegant, it was quite appetizing. She crunched on the salad-dressing-coated leaves, much like a rabbit.

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