Chapter 43: That Look
The bell chimed softly as Caleb stepped inside, mask pulled high and cap tugged low. He kept his grip tight on the bags, trying to look like just another faceless customer.
The shop smelled of lilies and roses, warm and delicate—too clean for the storm boiling in his chest.
At the counter stood a woman. Middle-aged, sharp eyes, her posture stiff as if she owned the air around her. For a moment, she didn’t even glance at him. She reached for a notebook, humming under her breath.
Caleb’s heart froze. He knew that voice. That face. Even under softer lighting, he remembered. The night shifts. The sharp glares whenever he dumped instant noodles on the counter. The disdain in her eyes whenever he paid with coins.
The damn convenience store cashier.
She finally looked up, gaze landing on the masked stranger in coveralls. At first, her brow furrowed, suspicion flashing. Then her eyes narrowed further—like a memory clicking into place.
"...A mask. A cap," she muttered under her breath. Her lips pressed thin, then curved into something between annoyance and recognition."Lucy told me. You’d show up dressed like this."
Caleb’s grip tightened on the bags. His chest thumped, heat climbing up his throat.
So it’s true. Even back then. Even that shitty store wasn’t random.
Her eyes sharpened. No smile, no welcome. Just that same judgment he remembered from years ago."So. You finally crawled out of whatever hole you were in."
Caleb lowered the bags onto the counter with a dull thud, voice low and flat."...You."
The woman’s stare lingered on him for a moment, then she sighed, almost bored. She set the notebook down and folded her arms.
"...Don’t give me that look. This isn’t a reunion drama." Her tone was sharp, dismissive."I only did what Lucy told me. Watched you. Reported when needed. That’s all."
Her eyes flicked over the bags at his feet, then back to his half-hidden face."I don’t care about your grudges, your little tragedies, or whatever the hell you’re planning. I needed money. Lucy paid. Simple as that."
Caleb’s jaw tightened beneath the mask. His mind burned with every memory—every glare, every moment he thought was just her personal hatred.
And now she says it like it was nothing. Just a job.
The woman leaned back slightly, voice flattening even more."Don’t think you’re special. You were work. Nothing more. I don’t give a damn about your mess with Lucy, and I don’t plan to start now."
Her gaze stayed firm, not a hint of warmth behind it. Then, as if remembering something, she spoke again—more clipped this time.
"...Sophia. That’s my real name, in case you ever cared."
Her eyes swept over him—mask pulled high, cap tugged low, heavy bags clutched in his hands. She let out a quiet, irritated breath.
"You look suspicious as hell standing there like that," she said sharply. "If you don’t want the neighbors calling you a thief, go."
Sophia jerked her chin toward the hallway at the back."The back room. Put your things there before anyone sees."
Caleb held her stare for a long, burning second. Then he shifted his grip on the bags, jaw tight beneath the mask, and stepped past her toward the back.
The back room smelled faintly of wood polish and flowers, quieter than the front. Caleb kicked the door shut behind him, dropped the bags onto a worn leather sofa, and finally let himself breathe.
The silence didn’t help.
He sank down, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the ceiling. Every step lately felt the same—eyes on him, strings tied to his wrists, someone pulling them. Lucy. Now this Sophia.
So even that damn convenience store... not random. Not fate. Just another cage.
His teeth ground together beneath the mask.How many years have I been living like a rat in a box, thinking I was invisible—while they were watching every move?
Caleb dug his fingers into his scalp, chest rising and falling. The system’s timer still ticked faintly at the back of his mind, digits counting down, but it wasn’t the only pressure now.
He could feel it—like shadows pressing on him from all sides. Every time he tried to climb up, there was always someone’s gaze waiting.
"...Shit," he muttered under his breath, voice low, almost a growl. "It’s like I’ve never had a single second alone."
The thought didn’t suffocate him. It burned him. A slow, steady fire crawling through his veins.
Caleb leaned back into the sofa, the leather creaking under his weight. His head buzzed with the same thought that had been crawling up his spine since morning—eyes on him, shadows following, strings pulling.
He squeezed his temples and let out a sharp breath."...No. Thinking too much won’t fix shit."
The ticking timer in the corner of his vision glowed red, each second pushing down on him harder. 22 hours, 41 minutes.
His lips curled into a thin grin behind the mask."Mona first. She’ll be the lesson. Proof. One face smiling the way I tell her to smile."
The thought steadied him, turned the fire in his chest into a clean, straight line. No more spiraling. Just the plan.
Caleb exhaled slowly, the grin tugging wider across his lips.
"Yeah... no need to overcomplicate it. Mona doesn’t have to vanish forever."
His eyes narrowed, thoughts spinning sharper, colder.
"A year’s enough. Pull her off the spotlight, make her drop the streams, the posts, all that shit. When the ButtManiac noise finally dies down, nobody will even remember her words about Mom."
He tapped a finger against his knee, the rhythm in sync with the system’s countdown in his mind.
"And if she tries to crawl back..." His chest rose with a low chuckle. "I’ll already have the recordings. Receipts she won’t ever wipe clean."
The idea settled into him like a blade sliding home—clean, efficient. Mona broken off her pedestal for a year, long enough for him to breathe. Long enough for him to move without her shadow screaming into the world.
Sophia walked in, phone already in hand."Can you hypnotize people, Caleb?"
Caleb frowned behind the mask. "That question doesn’t make sense."
Sophia raised the phone and played a CCTV clip.The convenience store. Two days ago. Caleb standing at the counter, sliding a mask forward. No money on the counter. He snapped his fingers.
On the screen, Sophia—behind the register—smiled and bagged the item as if he had paid in full.
Her voice was cold."How about this? You snapped your fingers, and I even remember you paying everything."