On the balcony of a small inn at the edge of Genoa, Hoffa and Miller emerged from the Shadow World. The moment they left, Hoffa, wracked with pain, collapsed against Miller's shoulder, trembling uncontrollably.
Miller looked down at the boy shuddering from agony, his body covered in deep wounds and dripping blood. Unable to bear the sight, he instinctively reached out, wanting to touch Hoffa.
"It hurts..."
Hoffa groaned. "It hurts so much..."
Startled, Miller quickly pulled his hand back, looking at Hoffa in helpless panic.
Hoffa's entire body convulsed in unbearable pain. Nearby pedestrians glanced at him in confusion, as if wondering why this young man's suffering felt so out of place in a city basking in beautiful sunlight.
In the distance, a man in a green beach shirt, hands in his pockets, strolled casually up the stone steps toward Hoffa's location, greeting passersby with a relaxed smile.
Hoffa realized that if he didn't do something, he would be discovered immediately—and more torment would await him.
His gaze shifted to Miller, or rather, the unfamiliar tattooed woman Miller was possessing. Though her body, apart from the short hair, bore little resemblance to Miranda's, Hoffa had no time to be particular. A desperate gamble was his only choice.
"Hold me."
Hoffa whispered.
Miller jolted. "What?"
"Hold me. Hurry." Hoffa urged anxiously.
Miller was utterly baffled. He looked at Hoffa's blood-soaked body and asked, "Are you crazy? Won't that just make you hurt more?"
"I want you to hold me." Hoffa's voice carried a rare longing.
Miller's eyes widened, and as he saw the look in Hoffa's eyes, something clicked.
"Damn it! Don't look at me like that!" Miller snapped in frustration. "I'm not your sister!"
"Please, Miller. Hold me."
Hoffa pleaded.
"Shit!!" Miller cursed. "Even now, you're still trying to take advantage of me?!"
"Miller, if I can't blend into this world, become a part of it, he will find me!" Hoffa's desperation deepened.
Miller glanced into the distance, clenched his teeth, and shut his eyes in frustration. More and more people on the street were beginning to take notice of them. The man in the green shirt seemed to sense something—his pace suddenly quickened.
Taking a deep breath, Miller hesitated for a few seconds before finally reaching out, slowly—agonizingly slowly—wrapping his arms around Hoffa.
The moment he did, Hoffa buried his head in Miller's shoulder, pressing himself against him, panting heavily.
Miller gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, forcing himself to think he was just holding a lump of flesh and blood—just a filthy, wounded stray dog.
Miller's chest was warm. Pressed against it, Hoffa's nerves relaxed ever so slightly. Though they were often at odds, Miller was one of the very few people in this world who neither sought to use him nor wished him harm.
For the first time in a long while, Hoffa felt a small sense of peace. He let go of his usual hardened façade. As his breathing steadied, memories came flooding back. Leaning into Miller's embrace, he murmured,
"Miller, do you remember the battle on the magical tower?"
"Shut up."
Miller's arms remained stiff as he held Hoffa, issuing the command through clenched teeth.
Hoffa shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "Even now, I still remember it. Honestly... when I think about the ridiculous things I shouted at you back then, I feel so embarrassed I can barely face myself. No one really lives in the moment that easily, do they?"
Miller faltered for a second, his tense body relaxing slightly—only to immediately stiffen again.
"Shut up! I told you to shut up! Are you deaf?!"
"But even then, even when I was that foolish, that naive... you still agreed to stop fighting. Why?" Hoffa asked softly.
"Because you're annoying. Irritating." Miller scowled. "I just wanted you to stop bugging me, alright? Who didn't think you were an immature idiot back then?"
As he spoke, more grievances seemed to resurface.
"God, you were unbearable! Second year, when everyone else was hiding, you were the only dumbass running out to cast a shield charm. If someone hadn't helped you, you'd have been dead. Third year, Dumbledore scolded you, and you just jumped into the Black Lake—what the hell was that about?! If I were Aglaea, I wouldn't have saved you either. You deserved to drown.
And don't even get me started on fourth year—you just up and quit school! Do you have any idea how people at Hogwarts looked at me after that? We used to be three people always together, and suddenly, it was just me. I was completely dumbfounded!
And then, at the end of the year, I finally saw you again... and guess what? You were still—ugh, you were so damn annoying!!"
Miller's rant was relentless, as if he had bottled up these grievances for years.
Hoffa remained still, listening as the tide of memories washed over him—memories of reckless, impulsive, and youthful days. With those memories, the pain in his wounds seemed to dull.
After venting his frustrations, Miller shot him a glare. "Your wounds are healing now. Still hurt?"
Hoffa shook his head. "Not as much."
Miller started to pull away, but Hoffa suddenly wrapped his arms around Miller's waist, slowly tightening his embrace.
Miller's eyes widened in shock, his body stiff as a board.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he hissed.
"Hugging you." Hoffa replied.
"Oh, gross! This isn't like you at all—you're not usually this disgusting."
Miller grimaced.
Hoffa buried his head deeper into Miller's shoulder, his gaze sweeping over the balcony railing. In the distance, the man in the green shirt had noticeably slowed his steps.
"Life only gives you moments like this once, Miller," Hoffa murmured.
"There won't be many chances for me to wake up again. There won't be many chances for me to touch you like this.
If this is my only time, let me hold you properly."
Miller closed his eyes irritably. After a long pause, he slowly opened them again, sighed beside Hoffa's ear, and murmured while holding Hoffa's shoulder, "You didn't serve as Minister of Magic for decades in vain, brother-in-law. You would never have said something like this before."
Hoffa no longer looked at the green-clad man searching in the distance. He simply leaned against Miller, gently shaking his head against Miller's neck, and sighed, "I can't remember much about what happened in the dream. Let's not talk about it anymore."
As soon as he finished speaking, Hoffa felt a heavy stomp on his foot. The pain from his still-unhealed wound flared up intensely. He looked up to see Miller's indifferent face. Deep within those eyes, there was an overwhelming sense of unwillingness.
In the distance, the green-clad man made two consecutive leaps, swiftly closing in on Miller and Hoffa.
Hoffa gazed into Miller's eyes, his voice trembling as he whispered, "Miller, I wronged your sister. If there's anyone I owe the most, it's you and your sister. But I had no choice—I had no choice. I have to go back. I swore an oath. This is tearing me apart. Most of the time, I can't even think about it. The moment I do, it feels like I'm being ripped apart. So, I beg you, even if it's just for a second, let me see her one last time. Please?"
Seeing the rare helplessness and hesitation in the young man in his arms, Miller's expression softened. He lifted his foot from Hoffa's and gradually leaned against the balcony railing, gently wrapping an arm around Hoffa's shoulder.
"You don't actually have to feel sorry," Miller said softly. "My sister never stopped you from doing what you wanted. It's just that this path is far too dangerous. As long as you agree to that condition, everything else will be easy to resolve."
Condition?
Hoffa knew exactly what condition Miller was referring to—but he couldn't do it.
Looking at Miller's now-gentle expression, Hoffa felt momentarily dazed. He no longer cared what Miller was saying; his thoughts drifted to Miranda and those long yet peaceful decades.
The very thought sent a sharp pain through his chest. Unable to suppress his emotions any longer, he lifted his head slightly and leaned in toward Miller's face.
Meanwhile, on the street below, passersby averted their gazes. The boy and girl on the small balcony, pressed close together, seemed to blend perfectly into the city's atmosphere. The green-clad man arrived beneath the balcony, frowning in confusion as he scanned the surroundings. He spotted the young pair above but only glanced at them briefly before looking away, completely indifferent.
On the balcony, Hoffa's breath brushed against Miller's face, leaving him momentarily stunned. It was an expression Miller had never seen before. He turned his head away, his face flushing red. But after a brief moment, he turned back, parted his lips, and lowered his head slightly, moving closer to Hoffa's lips.
Their faces were mere millimeters apart. At that moment, the unspoken truth was less than a fraction of a centimeter away from Hoffa.
But just then, Hoffa's eyes flickered as he caught sight of the green-clad man walking away. He let out a breath of relief. His body relaxed, and his face moved away from Miller's.
Miller's eyes widened in surprise as he snapped out of his daze. He grabbed Hoffa's head and buried it against his shoulder—then delivered a heavy punch straight to Hoffa's stomach.
Hoffa doubled over from the blow, spitting out a bitter taste.
Miller didn't hold back. He followed up with three consecutive uppercuts to Hoffa's abdomen.
Each punch was heavier than the last.
Hoffa collapsed onto the ground, coughing uncontrollably as he knelt in pain.
"Miller…" Hoffa coughed. "What are you doing?"
"You've disgraced the genius of magic. I never want to see you again. Disappear from my sight," Miller said coldly.
"I didn't, Miller, I just—"
"Get lost!" Miller cut him off abruptly.
Then, without hesitation, he leaped off the balcony and walked away.
The moment the green-clad man left, Hoffa realized something. He couldn't wait to share it with Miller, so he jumped off the balcony and chased after him.
Seeing Hoffa catching up, Miller quickened his pace without a word, trying to get away from this detestable man.
Hoffa closed the distance in just a few steps and grabbed Miller's arm. "Why are you walking so fast? Without a special method, there's no way out of here!"
Miller shook off Hoffa's hand and kept walking.
"Have you ever thought about why that guy has Salazar Slytherin's face but claims not to know Slytherin?"
"No, never thought about it. Don't care."
Hoffa spoke excitedly, "Back in New York, I realized that those people who bought the Half-Blood King's potion had their consciousnesses fused together, creating that guardian beast of the illusion. But they had no skill, no training in mental power, so their minds instinctively intertwined, resulting in a monster that resembled a nightmare creature!
"But I've seen the true source of dreams. That source was elegant yet terrifying, awe-inspiring yet intricate—something no ordinary creature could replicate! That thing in New York was just a crude, chaotic imitation! It had no control, could only think and fight like a wild beast!!"
"Scram," Miller replied with a single word.
Hoffa continued, "What I'm saying is, this monster is just like that one. But unlike the one in New York, this power is now under someone's control—someone with Salazar Slytherin's bloodline. That's why this creature exhibits extraordinary mental strength and precision. Did you hear what he said? He's not alone. This must be an organization! Any guesses as to whose organization it is?"
"Tom Riddle," Miller said.
"Exactly, exactly!" Hoffa exclaimed. "Riddle must be dreaming of becoming someone like Salazar Slytherin. But since he doesn't recognize me, and even seeing us embracing didn't faze him, there's only one explanation—he's also trapped in the dream world. His mental power has taken control of that nightmare guardian—or perhaps even merged with it."
"Oh, so you're quite smart, huh?" Miller remarked indifferently.
Hoffa said, "I know how to get out of here, Miller. Trust me, if we follow my plan, we can definitely escape."
Miller suddenly halted. He turned around, and this time, instead of telling Hoffa to scram, he sneered ominously, "What did you just say? Say that again."
"I said I have a way to get us out of here. But I need your cooperation."
"My cooperation, huh?"
"Yes."
Miller smiled. "Then you'd better make me happy first."
Hoffa froze. "And how exactly do I do that?"
Miller took a deep breath, then looked around and bellowed at the top of his lungs, "I HATE THIS PLACE!! I NEVER WANT TO STAY HERE AGAIN!! IT'S FILTHY, STUFFY, AND BORING!! YOU PATHETIC DREAMERS!! YOUR MINDS ARE EMPTY!! YOUR LIVES ARE A JOKE!! AND THAT GREEN-CLAD BASTARD—GET OUT HERE AND ENTERTAIN ME!!"
(End of Chapter)
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