When Dylan lowered his head instead of answering, Haru didn't get upset. On the contrary, she smiled with satisfaction. Seeing him wrapped in shame, surprise, and fear thrilled her. Even more so when she noticed the glances around them—curious, captivated, amused—each inevitably drawn to her.
The street buzzed with its usual energy, but there was a subtle shift around them. Movements slowed ever so slightly, drawn in by the drama unfolding before them. Far from rattling her, the attention gave her confidence. These bystanders were her shield: if anything went wrong, surely someone was bound to step in.
Fueled by that sense of security, she took a deep breath, planted her feet, and raised her voice before he could even gather his thoughts.
"Why the hesitation, Mr. Dylan? If it's such a simple question, what made you approach me with gifts when we didn't even know each other?"
Her tone carried a clear mockery, but also the thrill of having finally cornered the opponent who had given her so much trouble up to now.
And to her delight, those emotions intensified as soon as he opened his mouth:
"First of all—"
"Yes? First of all, what? What are you going to say first?"
She almost stepped closer to circle him like a cat playing with its prey, but held back. Instead, she jerked her head to the side, letting her hair fall over one shoulder as her eyes pinned him down with disdain.
"Are you thinking of apologizing? Or are you going to beg on your knees so I won't report you? Huh? Huh?"
Her voice rang out high and sharp—just loud enough to draw concerned frowns from those nearby, unsure if they were witnessing a lover's quarrel or something worse.
Then, just as the line between drama and threat began to blur, Dylan lifted his gaze. His expression revealed both weariness and determination.
"First of all, Haru," he said flatly. "Step off the road. You're bothering everyone else."
"…Huh?!"
Unlike her previous provocations, this time her reaction was genuine—an incredulous, high-pitched gasp filled with disbelief and surprise. Every scenario she had imagined collapsed in an instant. Instead of excusing himself as she had expected, he ended up scolding her like a parent lecturing a misbehaving child.
She never saw that coming. But after the shock she had suffered minutes earlier at her front door, she quickly recovered. So, she uncrossed her arms, clenched both fists tightly, and tapped her foot against the pavement before yelling back in frustration.
"I'm not bothering anyone! They're my witnesses! I'm only doing this to make sure I get help if you try anything!"
The certainty in her voice made Dylan raise an eyebrow, repeating what had caught his attention with a hint of bitterness.
"Witnesses, you say?"
Then he shook his head and let out a long sigh. At this point, trying to make sense of Haru's logic seemed like a waste of time.
He brought a hand to his face and pressed the bridge of his nose, hoping it would ease the growing headache. Then he spoke in a lower tone, just enough for her to hear.
"Look, Haru. I think you're misinterpreting a few things. It's true that I lied to you: I'm not a friend of your father. But it wasn't some elaborate plan. I approached you because I thought you were cute. That's all."
"…"
She didn't reply, but stared at him, clearly not believing a single word. Even so, she didn't interrupt. She stood still, waiting.
Meanwhile, Dylan lowered his hand from his face and scratched the back of his neck in discomfort.
"When I saw you, I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't have the courage. I stuck around and overheard you arguing with the shop clerk, and that's when I heard about the things you liked. I thought that if I gave you something related to what you mentioned, maybe I'd win some points with you. But when I realized the age difference between us and how different our interests were, I hesitated… So I gave you what I had bought with a made-up excuse and left. After that, I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
His voice faded into something barely above a whisper as he finished. Haru blinked. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a more analytical look. She was searching for cracks in his story; something didn't sit right.
But the pause didn't last. Her gaze sharpened again; she'd found the inconsistencies she needed.
"I see… If that were true, then I'm the one at fault for pushing you this far. How shameful! I've ruined your image of me—your innocent, pure, platonic love… Although, you know what? That's only if what you say is true. Too bad I don't believe you. Because, in the end—"
"Even so!"
Just as she was about to launch another accusation, Dylan cut her off with a sharp phrase that immediately snuffed out her momentum.
"It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not."
Haru frowned. Anger began to take shape on her face, tightening her jaw, but that rage stalled midway when Dylan continued his speech.
"Whatever my reason for approaching you was, it doesn't make me a criminal who has to endure this public trial on the sidewalk."
"…"
She lowered her gaze, pressing her lips together. As if hitting an invisible wall that wouldn't budge no matter how hard she pushed. The worst part was that she knew he was right. Haru had no proof of his actions—only suspicions and instincts that faded the more he spoke with calm logic.
"And another thing," Dylan added, taking advantage of her silence. "I could stand in court and swear I've committed no crime. You, on the other hand, Haru… can't say the same."
"…What the hell are you talking about?"
Her tone cracked. A curse slipped out, unusual for her. The kind of outburst she only let fly at her console or computer screen when losing drove her mad.
Thus, she was truly angry now, but Dylan didn't flinch. Or maybe he just pretended not to care.
"Do you really think I wouldn't notice someone's been following me for nearly a month?"
Haru's eyes widened instantly. Her pupils trembled, as if a chill had run down her spine. A knot tightened in her throat.
"T-that's impossible," she stammered.
"Is it really that surprising? Haru, people aren't as indifferent or blind as you think. Of course someone would notice a person standing around for hours staring at my house. And even if I don't talk much to my neighbors, it's normal for them to tell me if someone suspicious is lurking nearby."
The truth was, everything Dylan had just said was a complete lie. And he knew that better than anyone. He lived in a part of town forgotten by the city, where nobody wanted to get involved in anyone else's affairs. At most, people exchanged glances filled with apathy; that sense of "community" he described was purely imaginary. It was the kind of neighborhood where pretending to be blind had become a survival tactic for most.
But still, he lied smoothly—because in front of him was a girl who, smart and fiery as she was, didn't yet understand how things worked beyond her safe little bubble.
"Honestly, you should be thanking me for asking them not to call the cops. It would've been a shame to get someone so young sent to jail."
"H-how do you know it was me who hired them? It could've been someone else. The parents of your victims, for example…"
"Victims? You still think I'm some kind of criminal?"
Dylan clicked his tongue, annoyed at her relentless accusations.
"I didn't know at first. But watching your reaction now? It's obvious. And for the record: I don't remember giving you my address. So I suspected of you from the moment you showed up at my door."
"T-that… th-that's…"
She took a step back, her finger trembling in the air as she pointed at him, trying to fire one last rebuttal that never came.
"That's stalking, young Haru. And that's an actual crime."
His words hit like a weight on her shoulders. Slowly, she let her arms fall. Her head dipped. All the energy she had bled away like air from a balloon.
Seeing that he'd finally regained control of the situation, Dylan let out a short, quiet sigh and glanced around. The crowd was still watching. Of course they were. So, with a casual wave, he signaled that it was nothing; that the show was over.
Then, turning back to Haru, he repeated what he'd said before, this time with a lighter tone, as if he hadn't just emotionally wrecked her.
"Anyway… seriously, step off the road. You'll get run over. If you want, we can keep arguing about who's the real criminal on the way back."
Without another word, she obeyed. Her steps —once confident and fierce— were now soft and hesitant.
She followed him in silence, knowing full well this battle was lost.