By Zephyria 
This time, I openly mocked him. However, Nathaniel remained unfazed, continuing to stare straight ahead and responding with his usual indifference.
“My father played ice hockey for a while in high school. Thanks to that, we learned how to use a stick from an early age.”
What on earth is he talking about now?
“We?”
When I singled out that specific word, he nodded readily.
“Yes, I have many younger siblings.”
I belatedly recalled the fact that there were six children in the Miller family. And also that this man was the eldest son and looked exactly like his father, Ashley Miller. As I remained silent, he added:
“If there is something similar to a stick, it can be utilized for anything.”
The way he spoke, as if he were boasting, made me let out a short, incredulous groan.
“Are you saying you learned how to hit people?”
To my bewildered expression, Nathaniel Miller replied,
“That is also part of the game.”
Hitting with a stick is a foul. You get ejected for that.
However, Nathaniel Miller didn’t seem to care at all. If he thought it was a problem, he wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.
Teaching his sons how to commit assault—it was an unbelievable story, but if it was Ashley Miller, it was entirely plausible.
Ashley Miller.
I had never met him in person, but I had seen his face often through the media. Thinking of that face, which was strikingly similar to Nathaniel Miller’s despite being a blood relative, gave me a strange feeling.
Will this man become like that when he gets older?
It was a very real possibility. Nathaniel Miller didn’t just resemble him in appearance. I knew all too well what Ashley Miller’s reputation had been before his retirement. Satan, the devil, the wicked serpent who tempted Eve and plunged humanity into suffering…
This man shared that exact same reputation. Seeing that, I felt their temperaments were likely quite similar. Moreover, since they shared the same trait, they would understand each other better. Though I couldn’t imagine Ashley Miller teaching his son how to swing an ice hockey stick any more than I could imagine Nathaniel Miller as a child.
Even if that were true, he would need a stick…
Suddenly, the cane he always carried came to mind. No way, what am I thinking? I furrowed my brows.
“I didn’t know you were on such good terms with your father.”
Even to me, the sentence felt completely out of place. Just as a hollow laugh was about to escape me out of sheer absurdity, an unexpected answer came back.
“I wouldn’t say we’re on good terms.”
Nathaniel Miller murmured, his gaze still fixed forward.
“He probably just didn’t want me to be a burden.”
Puzzled by the unexpected remark, I looked at him. His tone was somewhat cynical. I stared intently at Nathaniel Miller’s profile. His face remained as expressionless as it had been since I first saw him, devoid of any discernible emotion. I couldn’t guess a thing from his expression alone. If anything, I began to doubt my own perceptions.
An awkward silence followed. To avoid crossing the line, I suppressed my curiosity and turned my gaze toward the window instead. It wouldn’t be polite to pry further into his private life. We weren’t in a relationship where that would be appropriate.
“You may ask if there is anything you are curious about.”
At the sudden sound of his voice, I looked back at him. Nathaniel Miller continued speaking leisurely, still without looking at me.
“It’s not a common opportunity.”
It was true. Would there ever be another chance for us to sit side-by-side in a car like this and ask about trivial private matters?
Wait, aren’t we not the kind of people who would do that in the first place?
A fundamental question reared its head, but my curiosity was stronger. Perhaps, exhausted at the end of a disastrous day, my instincts were overriding my reason. After all, once today passed, there would be no more meetings like this.
But a succulent piece of meat usually contains poison. There might be another motive behind the man’s proposal. I didn’t want to take the bait so easily.
“I don’t know, is there really a need for us to share such stories?”
I took a step back and withdrew. When I indirectly signaled that I wouldn’t mind going home without saying another word, he gave a short laugh. I thought that would be the end of it, but I was wrong.
“Why did you go to a place like that?”
At the abrupt question, my entire body froze for a moment. Is it this man’s specialty to strike where one is least expecting it? I had forgotten that Nathaniel Miller was a lawyer famous for his skill. This must be how he breaks his opponents in court—by striking the blind spot.
“And you?”
I countered with a question instead of an answer. It was a transparent tactic, but it was the only way to buy time to think. He seemed to see right through my intention, as the corner of his mouth curled slightly. I felt anxious inside, but I played it cool, pretending nothing was wrong. Then, Nathaniel spoke.
“I went to meet a client.”
“You did?”
The question escaped me before I could stop it. It was obviously absurd that he had come to such a place to find a partner, but the claim that he was there to meet a client was equally hard to swallow. However, as if finding my reaction amusing, he glanced at me and asked,
“Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s just…”
I hesitated and murmured softly.
“It doesn’t suit you.”
“Neither do you.”
The response came immediately, as if he had caught my offhand remark. When I turned my head, Nathaniel was looking at me as he continued.
“You don’t suit that piece of trash either.”
His tone was still polite, but his choice of words was not. While I was bewildered by the discrepancy, he turned back to the front and made a proposal.
“How about meeting a more refined man?”
“A man like you, perhaps?”
It was a sarcastic remark, but unexpectedly, Nathaniel laughed out loud. Though it was a short laugh, I was flustered by the unexpected sound of amusement. This man laughs? Really? As I stared at him in a daze, he spoke, his voice still laced with laughter.
“Since there is only one man like me, you’ll have no choice but to meet me.”
Even while saying something so absurd, his manner remained impeccably elegant. Does he use this polite tone to ruthlessly shred people’s lives in court? Feeling an inexplicable irritation, I deliberately picked a fight using harsher language.
“That polite way of speaking doesn’t suit you at all.”
It wasn’t a completely baseless complaint. His habit of using expressions like ‘please,’ ‘would you be so kind as to understand,’ or ‘I am most grateful’ definitely grated on my nerves.
Nathaniel Miller’s gaze shifted toward me. Just as I felt a sudden tension under his steady stare, the corner of his mouth curled, and he spoke.