Chapter 212: Unemployed Youth

On the table outside the café, there was a note Kurt had left before leaving, with Byron's contact information and home address.

Next to the note was an iPhone 16 Pro Max, its screen marred by a long crack.

Zoey was leaning over the table, scrolling through the contacts on her phone.

She found Byron's name. They had bumped into each other on the street this morning, causing Zoey's phone to break.

Byron, in a rush to get to the Zaka building, had hurriedly left his contact information, promising to compensate her later.

Zoey didn't really care about the compensation, but she kept the number anyway.

I put the phone on speaker and dialed the number.

It rang several times, almost going to voicemail, when Byron finally picked up.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about this morning."

It seemed he had saved Zoey's number with a note. His voice sounded a bit down, likely because of his work being cut.

"You're still worried about the phone? It's fine, it was my own carelessness too," Zoey said nonchalantly.

"No, really. I should cover the repair costs. It's not something that can be brushed off with a simple 'it's okay,'" Byron insisted, trying to sound earnest despite his low spirits.

Zoey, with her quick temper, especially after the morning's frustration at the Zaka building trying to save Byron's work, was not in the mood for Byron's insistence. She let out a cold laugh.

"Fixing the phone isn't a big deal, but my phone is already broken. I'm using my mentor's spare phone to call you. How do you plan to handle that?"

As soon as she said it, Zoey regretted it.

On the other end, Byron audibly gasped, sounding a bit panicked. Understandably so, as a new phone would be a significant expense, especially for someone like Byron who had just lost his job and was blacklisted in the industry.

"I apologize again for this morning. I didn't realize my carelessness would cause you such a burden. Could you send me your bank account details? I'll transfer the money to you."

"Sure, don't hang up," Zoey said with a smile, seemingly having thought of something. She sent Byron a text.

"Did you get it?"

"Yes, I got it."

A moment later, Byron's voice came back, sounding apologetic.

"I'm really sorry, but your bank account isn't with Vesperia. Transferring the money would incur a lot of extra fees. How about we meet somewhere, and I'll give you the cash in person? I'll cover your travel expenses and treat you to a meal."

I realized that transferring money between international banks could be costly.

Byron, being unemployed, would naturally want to save where he could.

But I was curious how Zoey was so sure Byron would suggest meeting in person.

Byron sent an address, and we agreed to meet in two hours. Then he hung up.

"Is it far?" I asked.

Although the phone was right there, the message was in Vesperian, which I couldn't read.

Zoey checked the location on her phone and glanced at Kurt's note. "It's a bit of a distance, but not too far. The restaurant he chose is near his home, about an hour's drive from here."

"How did you know Byron would suggest meeting in person?" I asked, curious about how Zoey could predict his behavior after such a brief encounter.

Zoey stared at the note for a moment, then replied softly, "People like him tend to think in similar ways. It's not hard to guess."

I understood why Zoey had been upset earlier.

There was no point in saying more. This was something she needed to come to terms with herself.

Or, as Howard would say, even after understanding the nature of love between men and women, one must still bravely embrace it.

Zoey leaned on the table, her head tilted, watching the bustling street.

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the complex scene, the passing cars, perhaps searching for a familiar figure to appear before her. If he did, she might scold him or, rarely, smile.

A young girl's thoughts are like flowers.

They can't be rushed by the wind or beaten by the rain. They bloom at an unexpected moment and then quietly fade away.

Whether it's wonderful or not, only she can feel it.

The suburbs of Emerald City were not as bustling as the city center. The difference in building heights and density was noticeable. Compared to the busy Emerald Mall, the suburbs felt more desolate and quiet.

When the taxi stopped, we saw Byron waving at us from near a bus stop.

He had changed from the white hoodie and jeans he wore that morning to a gray tracksuit and sneakers, running towards us in a hurry.

He greeted us with a deep bow, a common gesture among Vesperians, and apologized sincerely.

When I saw him that morning, despite being in a rush, he had a vibrant energy typical of young people.

But now, just a few hours later, that energy was gone, replaced by a heavy sadness. His eyes were slightly red, as if he had been crying.

As Byron took out the money, I worried Zoey might say something impulsive, so I quickly intervened, speaking gently.

"No rush. Let's find a place to sit first. I'm new to Vesperia and not familiar with the area. I'd like to get to know a comic artist. Would you mind joining us?"

We couldn't take the money. Partly out of sympathy for this young man who had just faced a major setback, and partly because the morning's collision wasn't entirely Byron's fault. Zoey had been busy taking photos and not watching where she was going.

I would cover the meal. I hoped Byron could provide some insights for my case.

Byron hesitated but quickly agreed, seeing Zoey's stern expression. He thanked us repeatedly, saying it should be his treat since we had come all this way.

Just then, a taxi approached. Zoey was about to hail it when Byron suddenly asked us to wait.

He bowed again and hurried over to an elderly man collecting recyclables nearby. After a brief exchange, Byron handed him some money. The man tried to refuse, but Byron insisted.

"Is he a relative of yours?" Zoey asked.

Byron looked surprised and shook his head.

"No, just someone in need. I met him by chance and wanted to help."