She might be crying

"What's wrong?" Ririko asked Oswald. "Do you want me to keep you company too?"

Oswald stood beside the table, his fingers tightening and loosening around the handle of his umbrella.

"Why didn't you listen to me and leave right from the start?" He was both angry and embarrassed.

Ririko tilted her head, her long black hair slipping off her shoulder.

She was entirely unapologetic. "I was here doing my job. Did I do something wrong?"

Oswald was momentarily speechless.

She really hadn't done anything wrong. Raymond was the one at fault. He had humiliated her with words like "a woman from the gutter" and arrogantly assumed money could buy everything, including her attention and company.

Oswald's gaze swept across the table. When he saw the plate, he finally found a reasonably legitimate excuse to be angry.

"Who gave you permission to help yourself to my food?"

He minded other people touching his food. If someone had added something to his plate, he had every right to complain.

Ririko lowered her eyes to the system. His infatuation value had jumped from 10 to 12.

Seeing how Oswald's sharp tongue hid a soft heart, she pouted, the corners of her eyes reddening slightly as she put on a wounded expression that begged for sympathy.

"I... I've never had caviar before. You don't have to be so mean to me..."

Oswald's brain abruptly froze.

Those words struck right at his childhood memories.

He had been bullied constantly as a child, left with a limp because of it, and driven out of the Cobblepot household by his father. He and his mother had struggled to scrape by in a shabby rented apartment in Gotham's Lower East Side.

Back then, his mother had worked hard to make a living, yet the two of them could barely afford a full meal.

Caviar... By the time he first tasted caviar, he had already clawed his way up to become a feared gang boss. Who knew how much blood had stained his hands, or how much he had paid to get there?

Before that, he hadn't even heard the word "caviar."

To him, "the gutter" meant memories of suffering carved into his bones, memories that could never be worn away.

He had simply forgotten that not everyone could climb out of that pit on their own the way he had.

His lips moved, and he wanted to tell Ririko, "That's not what I meant."

But Ririko had already turned away and walked out with her head held high, leaving only a trace of her fragrance behind.

Raymond's car left the Iceberg Lounge and merged into the traffic in Gotham's Upper East End.

Raymond leaned back in the rear seat with his eyes closed. He wasn't thinking about his confrontation with Penguin or that entire case of cash. He was thinking about the waitress.

Ririko's jet-black hair, that defiant look that made him want to pin her against a wall, and the black beauty mark beside her eye that had lodged itself deep in his heart.

The car turned onto a side road with no streetlights.

New buildings were under construction on either side. With the workers gone for the night, the place was exceptionally quiet.

Suddenly, a figure darted out from the roadside and flashed past the front of the car.

The car braked abruptly.

Raymond's two bodyguards opened their doors and got out to investigate.

Five minutes passed, and Raymond began to feel that something was wrong.

Why hadn't anyone come back?

He pushed open the car door, his leather shoes landing on the damp asphalt.

"Where did you all go? Get back here!"

No matter how loudly he called, neither bodyguard answered.

The headlights were still on, their twin beams piercing the darkness ahead.

He suddenly turned around. Someone stood silhouetted against the headlights.

Raymond couldn't make out the person's face.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked in a low voice.

The stranger's voice was smooth, laced with mocking amusement.

"Who's the person behind you who's working with Arkham? I'll count down from three..."

The stranger held up three fingers.

"Three..."

Raymond's lips trembled. "Guards-"

No one answered.

"Two..."

The stranger slowly folded down one finger.

"I-I'll tell you! He's... Mr. E."

Raymond forced the words out from the depths of his throat.

The stranger tilted his head.

The headlights caught the edges of his red hair and illuminated the blood dripping from the baseball bat in his other hand.

"So it's him... How interesting."

Raymond's legs shook.

"Can I go now?"

The stranger still had one last finger raised.

"Don't rush. I haven't finished counting..."

"But I already told you..." Raymond said.

The stranger suddenly burst into a string of comical laughter.

"I never promised I'd let you go once I finished."

He folded down his last finger.

"One."

The baseball bat came down, and Raymond collapsed like a sack of cement dumped onto the ground.

Jerome crouched down and tilted his head, studying Raymond's face, which no longer bore any resemblance to its original shape.

He slapped his forehead.

"Oh, right. What a memory I've got. I forgot to say something-"

A strange smile curled across his face.

"Some people... can't be bought with money. But some people aren't worth a penny. Like you."

He stood, took the case of cash from the car, and walked away down the dark path.

Oswald couldn't settle down in his office.

The coffee on his desk had gone cold, untouched. The documents lay open, unread.

At last, he summoned Butch.

"How did things go last night?"

Butch's hulking figure stood in front of the desk.

"By the time we found Raymond, his head had already been smashed open. The case of money was gone too."

Oswald frowned deeply.

"How could someone just happen to know he'd made a deal with me?" He immediately spotted the problem.

Butch shook his head.

"Everyone was at the club last night. No one went out."

Oswald's eyes shifted.

"Keep a closer watch," he finally ordered.

Butch nodded.

Oswald shifted in his chair, casually flipped through the ledger, then tried to bring up a trivial question as offhandedly and nonchalantly as possible.

"By the way... how's Ririko doing today?"

Butch's gaze lingered on his face. "She said she's taking the day off."

Oswald's eyebrows nearly shot straight up.

"She's only worked here a few days, and she's already taking time off?"

Butch reported the facts. "She hasn't left her room today. Also, last night she asked if I could help her buy a phone. She wanted the latest Banana 17 Pro Max."

Oswald's pupils instantly widened.

She wanted the latest Banana 17 Pro Max?

"What did you say? Did you buy it?" His voice came out a pitch higher than he had expected.

Butch's voice was flat. "I told her phones are forbidden in the club. Your rule."

Oswald relaxed a little.

Butch really was one hundred percent loyal to him.

"She's angry with me now too," Butch added.

Oswald's expression shifted subtly as a surge of pleasure at someone else's misfortune welled up inside him.

He sent Butch out to attend to his work.

Oswald thought that since Ririko hadn't left her room today, she must be in the dormitory, feeling hurt over his scolding yesterday.

She might even be crying.

He could almost picture the heartbreaking sight of her tears falling onto the bedsheets, drop by drop.

After all, she was only a young girl who had escaped from Arkham and had never even tasted caviar.

At that thought, he picked up his umbrella and stood.

Meanwhile, Ririko sat cross-legged on her bed, a heap of banknotes spread out in front of her.

Dark green, pale purple, and light brown bills covered the light gray bedsheet.

She sorted the bills by denomination, stacking the hundreds in one pile and the fifties in another, while casually stuffing the twenties and tens into her pillowcase.

She hummed a cheerful tune, her eyes curving into crescents.

The rustle of each banknote was the sweetest declaration of love she had ever heard. Every bill was proof that said, "I deserve to be loved."

Suddenly, she heard limping footsteps in the hallway.

Her breath caught. She hastily gathered the money into a pile and stuffed it under her pillow.

She slid off the bed and padded barefoot to the door, pressing her body against it and pricking up her ears.

A good while passed. Why hadn't the bird man knocked yet?

She knew he was standing just outside the door. The guy had actually come to the dormitory to find her. Had he come specifically to lecture her because she'd given herself a day off without permission?