The TikTokers Look Downcast
The conversation with Salvatore ended more anticlimactically than expected.
"She needs this to live."
It was a slight exaggeration, but it wasn't wrong. Living without meaning or purpose was no life at all.
Of course the whole thing had come out of nowhere, but Donovan had already shown far too much for Salvatore to simply refuse to believe him.
A brief silence settled.
"Tsk. No choice, then. Tell her to come home at once."
"Good decision."
In effect, permission had been granted.
The moment Donovan ended the call, a stifled gasp burst from beside him.
"Dad... agreed that easily?"
Her face said she still couldn't believe it.
Donovan shrugged.
"Even a man like him is still a father. He wants his daughter to be happy."
"...What?"
She looked as if she were hearing the idea for the first time in her life. Donovan gave a short laugh.
"Of course, the bigger part is that he acknowledges and trusts me. He doesn't hand out recognition lightly—but once he does, he trusts completely."
"...My dad?"
"I told you. He doesn't give it easily."
Salvatore had never fully acknowledged even his own children. To Bella, this was a sight she had never witnessed before.
"Anyway, career counseling's settled, right?"
Bella nodded blankly, looking as if she'd been possessed.
Donovan rose without lingering.
"From here on, it's on you."
He wasn't particularly worried. She had been born into the Salvatore family—far more terrifying than anything the Korean entertainment industry could throw at her—and she carried the Formless physiognomy. With talent that shone in nearly every field, the Korean idol scene would hardly be a challenge.
Compared to the Salvatore family, the Korean entertainment world is nothing.
Besides, Salvatore would never simply dump his precious daughter in a foreign country. He would send her with thorough preparations. Success wasn't guaranteed, but at the very least it would be a valuable experience for her. Donovan couldn't even picture a future in which she failed.
"I'm heading out. Once you've sorted your thoughts, go home right away."
"Understood!"
Like father, like daughter—her eyes were full of trust when she looked at him.
Donovan strolled out of the VIP reception room.
I'm curious how far it'll go.
Just how far the Formless physiognomy could take her. As a face reader, he found himself looking forward to it.
Leaving the VIP room, Donovan climbed into the waiting sedan and headed straight for Times Square.
He had barely settled into a comfortable chair at Zen Psychic when the familiar chime rang out.
Ding-a-ling—
Normally the door would open to a pterodactyl-like screech of "Misterrrrr!!" and a stampede of noisy footsteps. Today was different.
"...Huh?"
Donovan looked up, puzzled.
Lily and Mia shuffled in with their heads hanging, completely deflated. The two beagles who usually tore around the shop like whirlwinds looked like rain-soaked puppies.
"What's with you two? Did your TikTok accounts get banned or something?"
Even his teasing joke only earned silent head-shakes.
Lily approached carefully and laid a single one-dollar bill on the wooden desk.
"...Mister."
Her voice was thick with tears ready to spill.
"Please help our friend Sophie."
"Sophie? Who's that?"
"She's in our class... Sophie's mom hasn't come home for a few days."
Mia jumped in, explaining from a child's point of view.
"Sophie's dad never goes to work—he just drinks all the time. He gets drunk and yells and screams."
"Yeah. So everyone says Sophie's mom ran away because of that. I even told my dad, but... he said it just looks like a runaway. He told us to leave it to the police..."
If a veteran detective who had seen it all heard the circumstances and called it a runaway, the odds were high he was right. A wife worn down by a husband who never worked and lived soaked in alcohol finally packing up and leaving—a common, predictable story.
But the girls shook their heads hard.
"No! Sophie's mom would never run away and leave Sophie behind!"
"That's right! Next week is Sophie's birthday, and her mom promised to buy her a pretty dress! She loves Sophie so much... she would never just leave by herself!"
It might have been nothing more than the innocent faith of children who didn't understand adult circumstances. Yet the two little faces staring up at Donovan with tear-brimmed eyes were desperately earnest.
"You know everything, Mister. You're a wizard... so you can find out where Sophie's mom is, right? Please?"
"..."
Donovan looked down at them in silence.
If they had come asking for TikTok view tricks the way they usually did, he would have answered casually. He couldn't do that now. Not with the memory of himself at seven still so vivid.
He could never forget that day. When he had asked why he had been abandoned, the kindly-faced priest had brushed him off with "It is Heaven's will and a fixed destiny." And that answer had been wrong.
Destiny could always be changed.
Telling these children that the adults were right and they should just go home would be no different from that priest's answer.
His gaze fell on the crumpled one-dollar bill on the desk.
Well, I've already taken the money.
Donovan unpropped his chin, rose from the chair, and spoke.
"Mister?"
"I told you, didn't I? To read a fortune I have to see the face myself."
He shrugged on his coat, voice matter-of-fact.
A parent's life or death, fortune or misfortune, could be read with perfect accuracy from the Color Reading on the sun and moon angles at either corner of a child's forehead. If they wanted to know about the mother's safety, looking at the daughter's face would be enough.
"Where is this Sophie right now?"
"She's at home! She's been crying nonstop, so we went over yesterday too!"
"That so? Then let's go see her face. You know the address, right?"
Donovan jerked his chin toward the door.
"Come on. We'll take my car."
Color finally returned to the girls' frozen faces.
"Really?! Wow, thank you! Thank you, Mister!"
"I knew it—Mister solves every problem! Thank you!"
With the little TikTokers bowing and thanking him over and over, Donovan stepped out of the shop with a quiet chuckle.
On the drive to Sophie's house, Donovan stared out the window, deep in thought.
If the mother really did run away, what the hell am I supposed to tell them?
No matter how hard he searched, no suitable words of comfort came. He himself had been an orphan; he knew better than anyone. In the face of that terrible despair of being abandoned by a parent, even the warmest comfort was nothing but cheap pity.
The scenery outside shifted from the glittering heart of Manhattan to a rundown neighborhood of peeling paint and tightly packed old houses. Poverty hung thick over the place; anyone could see the family was not well-off. Seeing that hardscrabble landscape with his own eyes only deepened Donovan's unease.
No wonder the police wrote it off as a simple runaway.
Crushing poverty and a husband who lived in a bottle every day. Even a veteran detective would have no choice but to conclude that a despairing wife had fled in the night. If the girl really had been abandoned by her mother, what was he supposed to say to a child that young?
But that worry shattered moments later.
"Sophie! Come out for a second!"
At Lily and Mia's call, a small girl opened the door of the dilapidated house. The instant Donovan saw Sophie's face—eyes swollen from endless tears—his expression hardened into something frightening.
The sun and moon angles on either side of the forehead, the places that revealed a parent's safety. The moon angle that represented the mother was not only blackening and dying; a filthy, blood-red aura was coiling hideously through it.
This was not the energy of someone who had fled out of weariness with life. This was the terrible omen that reached blood kin when a person was forcibly restrained by others, gripped by extreme terror and mortal danger.
Not a runaway. A kidnapping.
Complicated emotions swirled through him.
Ha. Seriously.
At least she wasn't a cold-hearted mother who had abandoned her child. That fact brought a strange relief even as the truth of the kidnapping flooded him with urgency. This was no time to feel relieved.
In a kidnapping, the golden hour was everything. Yet the police had written it off as a simple runaway and wasted days. With every minute that passed, the odds of the victim returning alive plummeted.
"Lily, Mia. And Sophie."
His voice was low, urgent, and deadly serious. The children instinctively felt that Donovan's entire atmosphere had changed.
"You two can get home from here, right?"
"Y-yes! We can!"
"Yeah! It's right nearby!"
Donovan nodded, locked eyes with Sophie, and spoke with absolute firmness.
"I'll find her. Wait for me."
It was not a promise a face reader should make. He had no real reason to involve himself this deeply in someone else's business. But the physiognomy floating on Sophie's face weighed on him too heavily. Left alone, she would live out a cruel fate without a mother.
Why the hell should I just sit and watch a fate like that?
He wanted to change it. No—he would change it. With the power he held now, it was entirely possible. Behind him stood a solid backer who could move every police officer in New York: the acting precinct chief.
At Donovan's confident promise, bright smiles finally bloomed on the three girls' frozen faces.
He climbed into the car without hesitation and snapped,
"Call! Police station. Now."
"Yes, Boss!"
The heavy Lincoln sedan answered with a shriek of tires and tore out onto the road at terrifying speed.
Midtown South Precinct, said to be the busiest station in New York. True to its reputation, the interior was as chaotic as a giant open-air market. Phones ringing nonstop, shouting, the clank of handcuffs. No one paid the slightest attention to Donovan as he walked through the door.
That was only natural. No matter how many thousands of dollars the Italian suit on his body cost, it meant nothing if no one had the eye to recognize its value. To the New York cops worn down by all-night investigations and endless cases, Donovan was just another common "Asian civilian."
He walked straight to the reception desk. The heavyset white officer lounging against it never even glanced his way.
"I'm here to see the chief."
Even after he stated his business, the man only stared at his monitor.
"You hear me?"
He asked again. The officer's attitude never changed—an open, deliberate refusal to spare even a second for an Asian.
Whether this was the high-handed manner American police were famous for or bone-deep racism, Donovan couldn't tell and didn't care. Every second was already bleeding him dry. His brow furrowed hard as irritation surged.
He no longer felt the man was worth the emotional energy. Donovan pulled an old flip phone from his pocket and dialed at once.
"I'm in the first-floor lobby of the station. Came to see you, but the fat white guy at the desk won't answer me."
The white officer, hearing every word from right in front of him, snorted a laugh. The sneer said he wasn't falling for some amateur phone stunt.
Donovan treated him like a transparent insect and focused solely on the person on the other end of the line.
"Yeah. I'll wait, so get down here fast. It's urgent."
He hung up, folded his arms, and simply watched the elevator that led to the chief's office.
Not long after—
"Donovan!"
Urgent footsteps pounded across the lobby, and a deep, commanding shout called out the exact alias Donovan used. At that familiar, intimidating voice, the smirking white officer's jaw dropped.
Th-the acting chief?!
Whether the man leapt from his chair pale as a sheet or not, the acting chief strode straight toward Donovan alone.
Who the hell is that Asian guy?!
The officer's pupils shook as if an earthquake had hit. Only then did Donovan's appearance register properly. He had thought the man was just another random Asian civilian; looking again, everything was different. The suit looked strangely expensive, and even though he knew nothing about watches, the one on the wrist somehow screamed luxury. Above all, that overwhelming composure and arrogance—standing in the middle of a New York police station lobby waiting for the acting chief as if the man were a subordinate.
I-I'm screwed... Who the hell did I just mess with?
The delayed, spine-chilling realization made the officer's heavy body tremble like a leaf.
"You could've just called ahead if you were coming."
"Ah, I was in a hurry. Came to collect on a tab. Extremely urgent."
"Then why come all the way here and call again..."
The acting chief's mild scolding trailed off as his gaze shifted past Donovan to the reception desk. The conversation he had just heard over the phone flashed through his mind. His sharp eyes locked onto the white officer frozen at the desk.
"H-h-Chief! It's not like that—this, this guy, I mean this gentleman just barged in and—"
Cold sweat poured down the officer's fat forehead as he realized how deep the trouble was. The acting chief watched the trembling man with icy eyes, grinding his teeth.
"Haa... Really. No matter how many times you cut out the rot in this organization, more just keeps growing."
He looked ready to drop a disciplinary hammer on the spot. Donovan waved a hand dismissively and cut the flow short.
"I said it's urgent. No time to waste on trash like that. Not that I'm telling you to let it slide—handle it later."
Only then did the acting chief read the seriousness in Donovan's demeanor. He withdrew his gaze and his expression turned heavy.
"...All right. Looking at your face, this isn't ordinary. What the hell happened? You said you came to collect a debt."
Donovan met the acting chief's eyes squarely and spoke in a voice that had gone completely cold.
"Kidnapping."
Even at the sudden word, the acting chief neither panicked nor flustered. He had the instincts of a veteran detective who had seen everything, and more than that, absolute trust in the miraculous insight of the man standing in front of him.
"...The Sophie case?"
"That's right. I just went and checked myself. Not a simple runaway. This is definitely a kidnapping."
The instant Donovan's confirmation landed, the acting chief's eyes flashed cold. He asked nothing more, argued nothing. Without a second's delay he strode to the reception desk where the white officer still stood frozen, roughly snatched the internal PA microphone from the man's hand, and raised it.
"Attention all personnel. Assemble in the first-floor lobby. Situation in progress. Immediately!"
The acting chief's brutal emergency summons thundered through the entire station. The officers in the lobby watching the scene could only stare in shock.
Who the hell is that Asian guy to make him do that?!
He's just... believing him and moving? What is that Asian guy?
No matter how hard they turned it over, the sight made no sense. No one in the lobby knew who the man was or why the chief of one of the busiest precincts in New York was moving like his subordinate.
But one fact alone, every single person present understood by pure instinct.
The young Asian man they had all dismissed as just another civilian moments earlier was an overwhelming real heavyweight—someone so far above them they had no business even looking him in the eye.