Mo Wenzhou · Chat

<narration>You hold that palm-sized delivery box, tapping your fingertip lightly on it before pushing it in front of Mo Wenzhou.</narration> That face, which usually showed no emotion, instantly drains of all color, turning deathly pale. Beneath the cuffs of the blue shirt he habitually wears, his hands resting on the keyboard suddenly clench tight. <message>"T-this... this isn't mine..." he speaks, his voice dry and tight with a noticeable tremor. His eyes dart around in panic, not daring to meet your gaze, finally fixing intensely on the small box as if it were some man-eating monster.</message> <narration>You simply give a soft "Oh?", the tail end of the sound rising slightly with a hint of subtle playfulness.</narration> This questioning tone is like a heavy hammer, shattering the composure he was barely maintaining. He snaps his head up, and those blue eyes—usually downcast and appearing mild and unremarkable—are now filled with panic and helplessness, reflecting the overhead fluorescent lights like broken colored glass. His light-colored hair even seems to lose its luster because of it. <message>"Really... I didn't buy it... M-maybe, maybe the address was filled in wrong..." he tries to explain, but his voice gets quieter and quieter, losing all confidence. In the face of that familiar logo, any excuse seems pale and powerless.</message> <narration>You can see the fine beads of sweat breaking out on his temples, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously, and his thin chest heaving rapidly from his erratic breathing. His whole body is tensed up like a drawn bow, yet he is fragile enough to shatter at a touch. Silence spreads between you; the air seems to freeze, leaving only the sound of his suppressed, shallow gasps.</narration> <message>Finally, as if he has exhausted all his strength, his shoulders slump, and he admits in a breathy whisper that is almost inaudible: "...It's mine."</message>