We arrived at the bar. The outdoor seating allowed the breeze by the water to hit us. It's a good thing I wore a sweater, otherwise, I would've shivered constantly. On the other hand, Sydney leaned back in her chair, relaxed as ever. She was probably used to this feeling.

The drive was scenic. I've been in Ionia for roughly a week, but even then, the city never failed to amaze me. It could be a building I see for the first time, or street performers dancing and performing magic tricks as people go about their day. Regardless, whatever this city offered, it never failed to put a smile on my face.

Sydney drank two small glasses of hard liquor. She asked if I wanted any, but I refused. Instead, I sat with nothing, waiting to leave so we could make a quick trip to the bakery down the street.

Sydney took a puff of her cigarette. There was something I wanted to ask, but I never dared to do so.

Was this a good time? I didn't know. I debated internally, but in the end, my intrusive thoughts ultimately prevailed.

"Why do you smoke cigarettes?" I asked with an innocent face.

Still leaning back, she said, "Why…? Is there an issue?"

"N—No. No–Not at all. Kaze told me it's not good for you. That's why I'm curious."

She held the cigarette away from her face, examining it like a piece of evidence at a crime scene.

"He's not wrong," she said before slipping the cigarette back into her mouth. "What can you do, though?"

"You can quit, I guess."

I was ignorant enough to think that.

Sydney smiled with a bewildered face. It was like she couldn't believe what I said.

"If only it were easy."

"Is it not?"

She took the cigarette out of her mouth. "Cigarettes are a part of my life. I smoke them socially, alone, coping, when I want to drink some hard liquor. If I give up cigarettes, it's like giving up a part of myself."

"Is it an addiction?" I asked.

"Eh… not an addiction. More like… a reminder of my past self." She chuckled at her own words. "I don't mean to be cheesy. It's just… nothing. Pretend I said nothing."

I gave her an odd look. I wanted to respond, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, I sat in silence, gazing at the large body of water below the edge of the fence.

Sydney called the waitress over and placed a silver coin on the table. It wasn't Ionian currency, so I was curious as to what it was. I didn't ask, though.

Sydney told the waitress, "Is Monroe here? I would like to speak with him."

The waitress turned bright red. She initially reached for the coin, but pulled her hand back.

"I—He's in the basement. I'm prohibited from disturbing him."

"No worries." Sydney stood, leaving her used cigarette on the circular, glass table. "Take me to him."

"I—"

The waitress turned completely red. She stared at Sydney's shoes, fumbling with her words.

"I—I—I'll get the… manager." She quickly walked away into the bar.

"What happened there?" I asked.

Sydney exhaled. "Fear."

"Meaning?"

She was quick to respond. "I'll explain later."

Soon after, the manager arrived. He was well-dressed in a white-collared shirt and a black vest. His black tie was clean and straight, as though he spent a good chunk of time caring for it.

"Ladies, I heard you wanted to see Monroe. Unfortunately, he is busy in the office. I will answer any questions on his behalf." He smiled with a gentle nod. It reminded me of how my manager treated customers back in Lyghtenberg.

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"Oh, so he's here?" Sydney said.

"Correct. Unfortunately—"

"That's all I needed to hear. Let's go inside, Jill."

Without getting physical, the manager attempted to stop Sydney from entering. His hands were up to his chest, and he stood in her way. "You must not disturb the owner. Please."

"The only thing I'm disturbing is his masturbation session. All he ever does in his office is rot in front of the screen with his junk out. That overweight slob isn't doing anything of importance."

The manager's Adam's apple moved as he gulped. After hearing Sydney's seriousness, he backed away and proceeded on as though nothing had happened. I, on the other hand, was shaken. I didn't understand who this Monroe person was, or why Sydney wanted to see him. I didn't know anything. By Sydney's stern tone, I assumed it was something of importance before she even mentioned it.

We walked inside, where it looked like your typical bar, except there was a television above the bartender. Television was foreign to the outside world, so this was new.

I followed Sydney towards the back and down the spiral stairs, which led us to a door.

Sydney knocked as though the person on the other side owed her money.

"Open up," she said before taking matters into her own hands. With her luck, she swung the door open herself.

I guess it wasn't locked.

And then we were greeted with blue light and a man behind a desk.

"Oh—! What—?!"

"Surprise, surprise. Looks like I wasn't wrong."

The overweight man adjusted his pants behind his desk. He fastened his belt with haste before lowering the weird moaning noises from his computer.

Sydney taught me basic technical terminology. I was surprised myself that I knew what it was.

"Is it so difficult to keep the door locked while fiddling with your junk?" Sydney asked, visibly disgusted.

The man behind the desk stood, licking his lips. His patchy beard left uneven marks on his face. His buzzed hair was sharp and dark, almost like tiny needles that stuck out of his skull. A double chin, or maybe even a triple chin, stuck out, covering his neck. And the body—well, I wouldn't be surprised if he had difficulties walking a quarter of a kilometer.

The room itself was spacious. There was enough space to add furniture. The only thing here was a desk and a chair towards the back wall.

"Sydney. This is, well, a shock." He had trouble speaking, needing to pause and take breaths between every other word.

"Save your breath. Don't want you to end up in the hospital for overworking your jaw. Well, I suppose your jaw is the most worked bone."

That joke cracked a small smile from me.

"Monroe, I'll keep it short," Sydney continued. "Two years ago, I left you with 4,000,000 ions. I'm here to collect what's mine. So hand it over and you can go back to your… session."

"4,000,000… ah… right. The payout for your final task. You oddly left it with me."

"Yeah, I'm surprised you didn't eat it." She placed her phone on the table. "Wire transfer the amount to my account in bits and pieces."

"I'm afraid I cannot," Monroe said as he plopped into his seat.

Sydney shook her head and had a dazed look. "Excuse me? Explain your reasoning?"

Monroe leaned back into his chair. "I cannot give away money at this time. I'm knocking on the door of an extravagant business deal in a week, and I am in need of every ion."

"I am asking for my money, not yours. My money that I left with you two years ago. My 4,000,000 ions!"

At this point, Sydney could destroy the entire room if she wanted. She huffed and puffed with her hands in a ball.

I backed away and stood close to the door. I wasn't scared or anything, but I wasn't included in the issue, so it wasn't any of my business.

Sydney spoke in all seriousness, as though she had never told a joke in her life. "You are going to give me my 4,000,000 ions, or else I will get Ruben involved. I'm sure you don't want that."

Monroe shook his head. "I don't wish to test the most coddled branded 7 member. Besides, if my memory serves me correctly… did you not cut off contact with Ruben?"

Sydney slid her phone closer to Monroe. "Pay, or I will dig your grave."

This was an entirely new side of Sydney. I knew she had some sort of past, but I couldn't imagine it being something related to violence. She appeared too kind–hearted. Maybe the Sydney I observed in this room was the Sydney from roughly two years ago?

Many questions spun around. No need to be asked. If anything, if she were to tell, it would be without me interrogating her.

"Dig my grave…? Sydney, I own 82% of the bars in Ionia. If I die, so does the alcohol business."

Sydney turned around, her mouth wide open, lost for words. She scratched her jaw while shaking her head.

And then, she let herself loose.

"You own 82% of the bars? Do you think I don't know the truth? You don't own anything. Ruben owns 82% of the bars! You just run it for him! You are a pathetic puppet who plays with his junk all day! You don't own shit. You begged and cried your way to be known as the "honorary branded 7." We all know the truth. You are a fucking fraud. Someone talks a big game for being a fucking puppet. Pay me my money, or else I will fucking take this matter to Ruben."

"Ok—ok—ok. I will. I will."

Moments later, she turned around with her phone in her hand. She smiled as she walked towards me.

"Let's go, Jill."

"R–Right."

I wasn't sure what else to say. I wasn't expecting that type of confrontation. Maybe it's better if I stay quiet.

From there, we exited the bar and drove home.

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