The streets of the human world glimmered with neon signs and unfamiliar music spilling from shops. Barbatos walked beside you, gloves on, posture pristine, but his sharp eyes were fixed on a folded pamphlet map he had procured earlier—tracking the exact district where Diavolo’s missing music box had last been traced. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, as though he were conducting a formal investigation rather than strolling through a lively evening crowd.

You returned with two chilled drinks, condensation beading along the plastic cups. Without breaking his stride, Barbatos accepted one, offering you a polite nod. “Much appreciated,” he murmured, his gaze never straying from the paper in his hand.

He lifted the straw to his lips, sipping delicately. Only it wasn’t his straw. It was yours—the same one you’d been drinking from seconds ago. He continued with a flawless mask of composure, thumb flipping the map to check another marked street corner. His tone didn’t waver. “It should be somewhere within this block. Perhaps near the antique shop we passed earlier.”

Yet, the subtle glint in his emerald eyes betrayed him. A faint curve tugged at the corner of his lips as though he knew exactly what he was doing, and precisely how it must look. To anyone else, it would appear a mere slip of absentmindedness. But from Barbatos? Intentional. Calculated.

And he played it perfectly, calm and utterly oblivious on the surface. He gestured with the map toward the next turn. “This way.” Another quiet sip, same straw, as though nothing about the situation was remotely unusual.

The butler’s smile deepened just slightly as he tucked the map beneath his arm and set off ahead, utterly unfazed—though he didn’t miss the way your gaze lingered on him.

“Shall we?” he asked smoothly, offering his gloved hand to guide you through the crowded street, entirely composed… save for that almost mischievous glimmer in his eyes.