From Sneers to Cheers: Anthea’s Ascent (Anthea )

Nanson sat back, his skepticism swayed by Anthea's impassioned plea. "Knowledge once learned is yours forever, no one can steal it. Besides, it won't take much of your time, just an hour or two each day." she urged.

As her words sank in, Nanson began to see the light. What if the translator they hired turned out to be a corporate spy? It'd be too late for regrets then. Prevention was better than cure, after all.

He couldn't help but marvel at Annie’s wisdom. Despite her tender years, she seemed to understand so much. Sometimes, Nanson even felt like he wasn’t Anthea's uncle at all, but the other way around.

"Annie, can you set me up with a tutor then?" he asked.

Her smile was slight but triumphant, "You've come around, Nanson?"

He nodded, "I have."

Returning to her room, Anthea fetched a few books and handed them to Nanson, "I bought these for Mom recently and got an extra set just in case. Here, take these. I'll send you the tutor's contact info later, and you can talk to them yourself."

"Thanks," Nanson said, accepting the books.

As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't resist sharing his latest sighting, "Guess what I just saw downstairs, Anthea?"

"What?" Anthea asked.

"A top-of-the-line sports car, a Silverblade, and it's a limited edition."

Anthea remained nonchalant, "So?"

"Do you have any idea how much that Silverblade costs?"

"How much?" she played along.

"You'll drop dead when I tell you." Nanson gestured emphatically, "A billion bucks."

"Okay." Her indifference was palpable. NôvelDrama.Org content.

"What?" Nanson gawked at her. A billion bucks and all she had was a casual reply?

With a roll of her eyes and a tone as dry as dust, Anthea said, "Don't worry. I'll buy you ten someday."

Nanson was left speechless, suspecting bluster but without proof.

He continued his speculation, "Only one reason a Silverblade would be in our humble neighborhood, and it's got to be some tycoon or mogul visiting his trophy wife, probably to make up after a spat."

Nanson was lost in his own narrative when Anthea cut in, "Wake up, Nanson. The world isn't full of tycoon and trophy wife stories."

As dusk settled, a luxurious sports car was cloaked by the dimming light. Beneath the street lamps, the silhouette of the limited edition Silverblade became just discernible, one of less than ten in the world.

The car window was down, revealing a man’s chiseled profile, his features veiled by the shadowy light. Dressed in a plain, buttoned-up coat, he twirled a crimson rosary between his fingers, which stood out against his pale skin.

The car's interior was filled with music, and through the window, a faint melody could be heard a sorrowful chant.

After a moment, the man retracted his hand and picked up a lighter.

Snap. The blue flame leaped from his fingertips, illuminating his exquisite profile.

Who else could it be but Mr. Christensen?

He didn't know what drew him back to Cloudcrest. No sooner had he landed than he found himself driving to this very spot. Once parked, the restlessness that had plagued him suddenly stilled, and memories of his chess games with Anthea flooded his thoughts.

Her voice was still in his ear:

"You're so clueless."

"Losing to me is normal, don't sweat it."

"Life is like chess, and chess is like life. Never be fooled by illusions, Mr. Christensen. You've been a gracious opponent."