7 – Cypress Mosaic

The ​two ​left ​the ​bedroom and took ​the ​elevator ​down ​to ​the basement.

Due to their ​structure, ​classic Manhattan townhouses ​built between the ​19th ​and ​early ​20th ​centuries ​made it impossible ​to ​construct ​underground parking. Consequently, ​no matter how wealthy ​an asset ​owner was, ​they had ​to arrange ​for ​separate ​parking outside. Of ​course, since ​none of them were ​people who had to ​drive themselves, they didn’t ​find it ​particularly ​inconvenient.

As was the case with most ​traditional families in Manhattan, ​the ​Lockhart ​family ​estate ​had previously been ​a townhouse.

However, ​Lorenz ​and Joshua’s grandmother ​had ​spent several years buying up ​several surrounding ​townhouses. ​Once she had ​secured ​enough ​land, ​she ​demolished all ​those ​buildings and ​erected the current mansion. Thanks to this, ​the Lockhart estate ​possessed a private ​underground garage—an extremely rare ​luxury.

In the ​garage, a chauffeur ​was ​inspecting the vehicle ​Lorenz would be ​using today.

Lorenz ​looked ​back at ​Margaret, ​who was ​following ​beside him.

“It’s ​a ​four-day ​trip, visit our site[visit our site]but unauthorized copyI ​will ​return as ​quickly ​as ​possible ​as soon as the work is finalized.”

“Please do not worry too much about Mr. Lucas.”

“……”

“He will get better soon.”

Lorenz nodded with a dark expression.

The vehicle carrying him slowly pulled out of the garage.

Lorenz looked up at the window of Lucas’s room, which was opposite the master room his father used to occupy. As always, the mansion looked like a sturdy fortress from the outside, permitting no flaws.

Withdrawing his gaze, he sank deep into his seat. As if the dark tinting of the windows wasn’t enough, he put on sunglasses and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

Before entering Madison Avenue, the chauffeur reported the situation.

“Mr. Lorenz, there is a large event in Long Island today, so traffic is reported to be heavy. We will move by crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Do so.”

He replied in an indifferent tone, as if it didn’t matter, and turned his gaze toward the window.

The Upper East Side was surrounded by the vibrant stillness characteristic of the morning hours. It was the season transitioning from late summer to autumn. The sky visible above the old buildings of Madison Avenue was a clear blue. Bright golden sunlight overflowed through the streets. However, Lorenz remained unmoved by anything before him, like a man who knew nothing of the blessing of light.

He tried to focus solely on the music.

Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5.

It was one of the pieces he used as a sedative to forget his headaches.

A motif that began simply penetrated all movements, obsessively visit our sitechanging form through repetition and visit our siteexpansion. visit our siteThat precise structure and consistent rule gave Lorenz stability.

As they approached Midtown, the volume of traffic increased, and the streets began to grow more crowded. The car turned onto 2nd Avenue. The atmosphere of the buildings and shops became quite different from that of the Upper East Side.

Passing by tall, newly constructed buildings that had undergone redevelopment, the car slowed to a stop at a signal as it headed south. It was in front of an Italian restaurant with emerald-colored awnings and tables and chairs set out on the sidewalk.

A few people were sitting at the outdoor tables, enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Looking like tourists, they had expressions that suggested there was nothing in the world to be rushed for.

However, Lorenz’s face grew darker.

Despite taking medication and trying to focus on the music, the headache showed no sign of improving.

It seemed he would have to take additional headache medicine.

Just as he reached for the Boston bag placed beside him, something outside the car window caught his eye.

A bicycle slowed down and came to a stop right next to Lorenz’s [Read on Read BL Novels]car. It was close [unauthorized copy]enough that if he rolled down the window and reached out, he could unauthorized copyhave grabbed the other person’s wrist.

Lorenz lowered his sunglasses.

Twenty-three? Or twenty-four? Perhaps even younger. Yet, he was a man whose expression seemed mature in some way.

A youthful face to which the word ‘young man’ suited far better than ‘man.’ However, there was none of the restless impulsiveness typical of young men.

The man looked around while waiting for the signal. Then, perhaps because the helmet strap was acting up, he struggled to refasten the buckle. It didn’t seem to be going as planned.

Without even realizing it, Lorenz’s upper body gradually leaned forward.

He rolled the window down about a palm’s width. Through the open gap, the man’s profile was clearly visible. The symphony, having entered the fourth movement, cast off its gloomy tension and transformed into a march of conviction toward victory.

Lorenz murmured as if casting a spell.

“Take it off. Just take it off.”

As if he had heard those words.

Giving up his battle with the buckle, the man finally took off the helmet.

“……”

Bright blonde hair, as if it had absorbed all the sunlight of the street, spilled out from inside the helmet.

Brushing back his slightly sweat-dampened hair, the man hurriedly pushed the helmet into his backpack.

The signal changed. When they started, the bicycle was slightly faster. Lorenz followed the back of the departing man with his eyes. It felt as if the sunlight were a spotlight existing solely to illuminate him.

Before long, the car overtook the bicycle.

Lorenz looked back.

The bicycle disappeared after making a left turn past a large new building.

A remarkably rare beauty. Life won’t be easy for him.

Suddenly, Lorenz’s eyebrow twitched. A passage from a book, long buried under the dust of memory, came to mind.

‘My dear Basil, no matter how I look at it, there is absolutely nothing resembling you in the man in this painting. While you have a sharp, strong face and black hair, this young Adonis looks as if he were molded from ivory and rose petals!’

The Picture of Dorian Gray.

It was a book he had closed after reading only a few pages because it didn’t suit his taste. Yet, that passage came back vividly, as if he had read it just this morning.

An Adonis molded from ivory and rose petals.

If such a person existed in reality, he would look exactly like that.

Lorenz pushed up his shirt sleeve slightly to check his watch.

8:43 AM.

The alley where the man disappeared on his bicycle was definitely East 46th Street.

Considering the time and attire, it was undoubtedly a commute to work.

Exquisitely, the music was coming to an end. As if proclaiming a victory finally seized after a persistent struggle, a grand harmony left a deep lingering resonance in the car.

8:43. East 46th Street.

Lorenz repeated it in his mind as if engraving it into his brain.

And then he suddenly realized.

Without him noticing, the once terrible headache had vanished as if it were a lie.

■

Having finished his afternoon counseling sessions, Elian was writing reports at his desk in the office.

Elian had already passed the NCMHCE, but to finally obtain his license, several thousand hours of practical counseling internship were additionally required. Until then, as a trainee counselor, he could conduct counseling under the supervision of a qualified supervisor. Currently, Elian’s supervisor was the center director, Dr. Morgan.

During this time, Elian had been in charge of a child who had migrated from Indonesia with their parents. It was a child who had shown stress reactions to the sudden, drastic change in environment due to immigration, eventually leading to school refusal.

Over the past two months, the child’s anxiety reactions had noticeably eased.

Today, the child talked to Elian about starting school again. Chattering away about a new friend and a favorite teacher, the child no longer seemed to need the counselor’s intervention. While he would have to watch carefully for the time being, it was no longer at a level to be worried about.

Elian intended to suggest to Dr. Morgan that it would be fine to unauthorized copytake a [stolen content]break from the child’s counseling and simply monitor the situation.

“Elian.”

Elian’s hand stopped at the sound of a voice calling from behind. Turning around, he saw Dr. Morgan’s secretary standing at the office door.

“Michelle, what is it? Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, Elian. Did Ratna’s session end well?”

“Yes, I’m writing the report now.”

“Is that so? The Doctor would like you to stop by the office for a moment.”

“Uh… now? I just finished the session, so the report isn’t complete yet.”

Michelle smiled.

“I don’t think it’s because of the report. Let’s go.”

If it wasn’t because of the report, then what could it be?

Since Dr. Morgan was the type of person who didn’t summon people unless it was absolutely necessary, Elian headed toward the director’s office with curiosity.

1. NCMHCE: National Clinical Mental Health Counseling Examination, required for licensure as a mental health counselor in the US.