The carriage rolled gracefully over the bridge that divided the Middle District from the High District, its wheels clattering softly against the cobblestones as it made its way through a maze of elegant streets. Before long, they arrived at their destination. Tristan turned his head to peer through the window, taking in the refined scenery surrounding the café. Then, something struck him—he had passed by this place before, and it certainly hadn't been a café. It was a bakery.
"We passed here before, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't a café?" he said, suspicion laced in his voice.
Synthia responded as she opened the carriage door.
"Café, bakery—there's hardly a difference between the two," she replied nonchalantly, stepping out and extending a graceful hand to assist Amelia as she descended from the carriage.
Amelia accepted the gesture and descended with practiced elegance.
"So, am I right to assume you've eaten here before, Miss Synthia?" Garfield asked as he followed her out.
"Yes, actually," she answered, a dreamy look overtaking her features. "Their pastries are exquisite—so much so, I devoured enough to consume half my monthly salary."
Her face glowed with an expression of sheer ecstasy.
Tristan exited the carriage shortly after Garfield, an unimpressed expression fixed on his face.
"I think you might be exaggerating. Perhaps everything you've eaten before this was just terrible," he remarked, hands buried deep within his coat pockets.
"And what would you know about exquisite food?" Synthia shot back, arching a brow.
Tristan paused, mentally reviewing the meals he'd consumed since arriving in this world. On his second night, he'd eaten spaghetti—mediocre at best. Aside from that, he and Kenway had adhered to the same monotonous meal schedule every day of the week. All things considered, his culinary experiences thus far had been underwhelming.
"Never mind," he muttered, turning his head away.
Garfield laughed—a rich, unrestrained sound that immediately irritated Tristan, prompting him to fling the same question back at him.
"I don't see what you're laughing about. What do you know about exquisite food?"
Garfield's laughter gradually subsided as he wiped a lone tear from his eye.
"Don't ask me. I'm not the one judging someone else's taste," he said, still grinning.
Tristan clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned away, embarrassed. Amelia, unable to resist, joined in the laughter. Seeing Tristan flustered brought an odd sense of joy to both her and Garfield.
The café itself was an elegant structure, measuring approximately 1,219 centimeters in length and 609 centimeters in width. Round tables with four chairs each were arranged neatly, shaded by beige umbrellas that protected customers from the sun. Above the entrance, a white rectangular sign adorned with red roses bore the name Floare Café. Outside, ten tables lined the patio. Inside, semicircular red leather booths hugged each corner, and a sleek counter at the back served as the ordering station.
It was reminiscent of cafés from the lazy man's former world—eerily so.
"I'll go inside and place the order. Is there anything specific you'd like?" Synthia asked.
"I think I'll take a coffee," Tristan said plainly.
"Same here," Garfield added.
Amelia paused in contemplation before agreeing.
"A coffee for me as well."
"Understood," Synthia said with a nod, before walking into the café.
The trio found an empty table and seated themselves. Tristan had passed by the towering structures of the High District before, but this was his first time seeing them so closely. The buildings were exquisitely painted, intricate in their architecture, and altogether breathtaking.
"So," Amelia said, turning to Tristan with a curious expression painted on her face, "are you two friends now?"
Tristan glanced at Garfield beside him. His expression hardened.
"Not even close."
Garfield said nothing, yet his ever-present smile remained. In his eyes, it didn't matter whether Tristan accepted him as a friend. What mattered was that Garfield already saw Tristan as not just a friend—but a brother.
"Then why were you at Tristan's house?" Amelia asked, her gaze shifting to Garfield.
"I simply wanted to visit," he answered. "And I came to ask if you received the letter from the Headmaster."
Tristan's brows furrowed.
"Letter? I haven't received any letter. What did it say?"
"It stated that those who passed the exam and reside in the Lower Districts are invited to live in the Academy dormitories. They'll provide everything we need," Garfield said, pausing briefly to recall more details. "That's as much as I remember. How did you not get a letter?"
Tristan considered the same question. But soon, realization dawned upon him—the answer was painfully obvious. Because of the uninvited guests who had barged into his home that morning, any letter that might have arrived was likely overlooked. He had left his house immediately upon waking.
His gaze fell on Garfield, his expression darkening with anger. Garfield noticed the change but chose not to inquire.
Tristan exhaled slowly, composing himself before posing another question.
"Why are we required to stay in the High District once admitted into the Academy?" he asked, curiosity evident in his voice.
Amelia crossed her legs and folded her hands neatly atop her knee.
"The nobles of the High District feel unsafe when gates are open to residents of the Lower Districts. So, students are asked to reside in the dormitories. It's a way to restrict movement between the High, Middle, and Lower Districts."
"So it's driven by fear, not necessity," Tristan said, tone firm.
"Sadly, yes."
Tristan recalled the offer he'd received after the entrance exam.
"Hey, Amelia—can you ask your brother if his proposal is still open?"
"What propo—?" Amelia began, before the memory returned. Her face flushed crimson as she remembered her brother's invitation for Tristan to live with them.
Tristan and Garfield exchanged concerned looks as they noticed the sudden redness overtaking her complexion.
"Are you all right, Amelia?" Garfield asked, his worry clear.
Amelia quickly replied, avoiding Tristan's gaze.
"I'm fine."
Tristan and Garfield glanced at one another, identical expressions of confusion mirrored on their faces.
At that moment, Synthia returned with the pastries—and like sunlight bursting through heavy clouds, their brilliance dazzled the group, momentarily stealing their breath away.