I had no desire to ask questions, thereby showing them my interest in the topic, so I offered a polite nod and quietly excused myself.

As I stepped outside, the cold air made my body shiver slightly, but I didn’t go back inside for something warm. I had more important things to do.

I took my phone from my pocket and began searching, trying one phrase after another.

At last, I found the article.

Right at the top, there was a large photograph of him.

A close shot. White hair, fox ears, his gaze turned somewhere to the side with a wide smile on his face.

He looked… gorgeous.

I immediately shook my head, trying to banish such thoughts.

Then I started reading.

The article mentioned that he had been appearing in the news quite frequently of late. The first videos of him emerged when the bar burned down, and since then, his name had become closely associated with that incident.

There was a screenshot from a video. Most likely recorded on a phone, judging by the dreadful quality. He stood there holding something in his hands. Even in that blurry image, his posture showed how devastated he had been.

My chest tightened, though I kept scrolling, reading line after line.

The author claimed that he looked too pleasant, like a model chosen for a hybrid marketing campaign. After all, they were not fools. They needed to promote themselves somehow.

And they had chosen a face associated with the bar linked to hybrids.

It went on to say that he had practically become a symbol of the protests, that the whole thing might be an illusion. That it could all be staged.

The entire article seemed steeped in distrust mixed with contempt. Contempt for the bar, for hybrids, and for him.

It made me angry.

I didn’t know why. Perhaps I had been looking in that article for something good, something reassuring, something that hinted he was doing well, since he was a symbol, and that should mean something positive, should it not? Yet I found nothing of the sort.

I scrolled further and further down.

Into the comments.

The deeper I went, the more hatred I was consuming, as though I were descending to the very bottom of humanity.

People were suggesting that the bar should be burned down again before it could be rebuilt.

Others said it was time to throw those damn hybrids out of the city.

Someone mentioned the neutral zone.

Others wrote things I didn’t even want to think about.

Some, especially those without profile pictures and with strange usernames that looked more like bots than real people, wrote that symbols should be dealt with before it was too late.

Disposed of.

In a way that would make sure no one else tried the same thing again.

I had to stop reading it.

Scrolling back, I stopped on the main photo of the article.

It looked… lighter than all the rubbish it had been dragged into.

“Hm. He’s cute.” A playful male voice sounded right by my ear.

I nearly dropped my phone.

“Bloody hell!!”

I turned and saw Michael.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack? How long have you been standing there?”

I locked my phone and quickly slipped it into my pocket.

“Fascinating article, isn’t it?” he said with a sly smile. “And the photo. God, he’s adorable. Makes you want to play with him for a bit. Don’t you think?”

He took a step back, as if he knew he was asking to have his face smashed in.

I drew a slow breath and ran a hand over my face, forcing the tension down.

“Just go, Michael. I’m not in the mood. Save the jokes for another time.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, studying me, picking me apart piece by piece. He knew something was off.

“Oh, come off it. I didn’t say anything that terrible. I only gave my opinion on a popular article. Besides, how could I not have shared my thoughts about the symbol of the protests?”

“Symbol of the protests…” I muttered under my breath. “Do you really think he’s a symbol?”

Michael paused, rubbing at his chin.

“Well… That incident with that bar didn’t go unnoticed... Everyone seems to be talking about him now.”

He shifted his weight, then folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the nearby column.

“A pretty face of a hybrid standing on the ruins of a bar. The bar itself was already associated with hybrids. No wonder people chose him as a symbol.” He said, giving a small shrug.

As I listened to him, my thoughts drifted back to those comments, and my mood turned… strange.

“Do you think… they could harm him?” I asked without turning to him.

Michael hummed, considering.

“Hm… If I wanted to break someone’s spirit, I might try something frightening. Something grand.” He paused. “What is more grand than taking a symbol and tearing it down?”

He let the thought hang for a moment.

“So yes. I think being a symbol of anything can be dangerous.”

I knew he was right.

A sense of worry began to take hold in my chest, a quiet foreboding, as if something terrible were about to happen.