CHAPTER 541: PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT (PART ONE)

Arriving at the Royal Dragon Pavilion, Micah slowed to a stop at the edge of the wide parking lot. The place was nearly empty on Sunday morning, quiet except for the singing birds. Only one car sat there, sticking out like a sore thumb, sleek, black, and far too familiar.

He didn’t need to look twice to know who was inside. His shoulders stiffened, fingers curling loosely at his sides.

He had half a mind to turn back and pretend he didn’t see it when Uncle Lin’s voice cut through his hesitation.

"Don’t bring your relationship problems in front of outsiders," the old man said calmly, though there was a trace of teasing in his tone. "Go on and solve it now. I know it’s his fault, but you still have to give the man enough face not to embarrass him more, especially in front of his friend or a stranger."

Micah turned to him, hesitant, looking at the old man’s eyes. Uncle Lin gave him a reassuring smile. "He has a long way before becoming a perfect partner," Uncle Lin continued, clasping his hands behind his back. "Be patient with him, I mean, if you still want him." He paused, eyes crinkling. "But after all this talk, I am sure that’s not the case. If it were, you wouldn’t care so much."

Micah blinked, then let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his head. "Grandpa Lin, you see through everything, don’t you?"

"Of course, boy. I can read between the lines."

Uncle Lin gave Micah’s shoulder a firm pat. "Now, go on. When you’re done, come inside with him. If you are still not satisfied, just let me know, and I will scold him for you."

Micah nodded as he watched the old man shuffling toward the restaurant doors. When Uncle Lin disappeared inside, Micah turned back sharply and walked toward the car. His face set into a mask of cold indifference.

The car door opened just as he reached it. Clyde got out; his tall frame and broad shoulders came into view. His pale blue eyes flickered with hesitation before he spoke, lips parting, but Micah raised his hand sharply.

"Let’s talk inside the car." His tone was clipped, controlled.

Micah reached for the passenger door and froze.

On the seat lay a bouquet of fresh cream roses, a sweet box, and a small gift box wrapped in silver paper....

Micah’s brows twitched. His lips curved into a thin, mocking smile as he lifted his gaze and met those pale blue eyes. "You’ve gotten better," he said, his voice cool and edged with sarcasm.

Clyde came around the car, his expression unreadable. He reached in, grabbing the flowers and boxes in one arm. "Practice makes perfect," he said simply.

Micah snorted. "Yeah. With how many times you’ve screwed up, of course, you would have learned his to climb out of the pit unscathed." He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Micah," Clyde said quietly, his tone low and rough.

"What?"

"Do you want me to kneel?" Clyde said with a serious face.

"You’ve lost your mind." Micah scoffed, gesturing toward the backseat. "Just put them in the back. We need to talk."

Clyde obeyed silently, placing the gifts in the back before circling back to the driver’s side.

Micah watched him, expression softening despite himself. The man resembled a scolded golden retriever with droopy ears and tail.

With a sigh, Micah slid inside the passenger seat. The faint scent of roses lingered in the car, mixing with the smell of leather and a hint of sandalwood.

Clyde settled behind the wheel, hands resting loose on the steering wheel.

Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.

Micah stretched his legs, shifting in the seat. His foot tapped restlessly against the floor mat before he finally turned his head. "Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t bad enough you did it, you had to drag poor Darcy into it too?"

Clyde pressed his lips together before answering. "You know why."

"Really?" Micah snapped, turning fully toward him. "Again with this overprotectiveness? I told you a hundred times, don’t treat me like a child. Or some fragile thing you have to protect." His voice rose with every word. "You don’t listen! Ahh, this is driving me crazy. It’s like I am talking to a wall! Or are my words just what? A passing fly to you?"

Clyde’s fingers curled slightly around the steering wheel. His throat worked as he swallowed, peeking at the furious young man beside him. He felt conflicted. How could he tell the truth? But lying was also out of the question. Micah would never buy the lie, and he might end up losing his trust, too. He decided to just tell half of the truth instead.

"You know you tend to have panic attacks wherever the baby-switch matter is brought up?" Clyde asked.

Micah’s brows furrowed. "Yeah, so?"

Clyde’s gaze flicked to his lap before returning to Micah. "Recently.... You’ve also had memory loss after that."

Micah blinked, thrown off. "Huh? How does that make any sense?"

"I know it doesn’t," Clyde said softly. "But lately, it’s changed. It’s not just about that anymore." He paused, his expression tightening. "Now it’s about Darcy. Whenever something happens to him, you go into a fit. Then, after you fall asleep, black out or faint, you wake up like nothing happened. I thought this time would be the same."

Micah sat there, his anger slowly draining into confusion. His fingers twitched on his lap, brushing over the seam of his jeans. "You mean... I really don’t remember?" he mumbled.

Clyde gave a small nod, his voice quiet. "You don’t... and you wouldn’t even question filling that gap. It’s as though your mind blocked it completely, not even letting you get curious about it."

Micah exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. Was that true? Had he really lost parts of his memory?

Should he go see a psychiatrist? Had he gotten so messed up that he couldn’t even remember something like that?

Imagine if he ever opened his mouth about this world being a novel, about those four bastards doing all of that shit to Darcy and getting away. Huh! They would lock him up in an instant. Probably put him in some glass room like Dr Hannibal, even keeping his mouth shut, making sure he never spoke again.