IT was early Sunday morning and Luca had risen along with the day.
The young sportsman had thought to work out very early before it’d be time for church.
It was a day he would normally just wake, freshen up, then leave for church.
But he’d barely slept through the night. He was lead-heavy with bothers about his brother.
Young Luca had always known what to do. He’d known that he would do sports while he was a kid. So he didn’t proceed to college after high school.
As a sportsman, he was a disciplined chap. So when he watched his big brother do well in academics, he’d thought of what he could ace, too, aside badminton.
So he’d read and thought himself logical reasoning, an aspect of philosophy.
Yes, Luca had always got things well planned. Life itself was a game for him. A game where he didn’t just move his players, but moved his opponents too.
Life was like badminton to the sportsman. Still it wasn’t one where he leapt around to save his side of the court. It was one where he drove the game.
It didn’t matter who served at the start, Luca had a way of countering, then driving the flow.
He’d slow down the pace at will and be the one to race it. He’d play a bait to lure his opponent into hitting back hard.
He’d provoke the other side to smash the birdie back.
Yes, the opponents often fell for his bait, thinking they made the move first. But no, it was Luca’s shot.
So he’d just only counter the smash that he started. He’d win good points while catching his rival unaware.
Life was like that to Luca. It was all badminton, nothing more.
Now the dude had always read Cannon through. Enough to be bothered that Marcuz and they crossed paths.
And even when he hadn’t gone there to school, he still didn’t want anything with them.
So, the dude had only watched his brother, as the Cannon issue happened. And he’d simply stood at a distance to counsel.
But then Luca wasn’t himself now. For he was watching his only family go through a dangerous risk.
He wanted to fight back. He wanted to join Marcuz. Yet he’d spent the best part of the night thinking, and he couldn’t find a way.
So he chose to sweat out the whole stress. For he woke so early in the morning and worked out.
He worked out so much that he was out of breath.
◘◘◘
Luca’s hands trembled as he talked. Then he clamped them together to stop the tremor.
He looked away from his listener. Then he finished his words, sighing aloud.
“I really don’t know this time, Uncle VC!”
Vincent Macaulay had come to pay the Lópezes a visit. It was early evening that Sunday. And he’d chosen to go to them when Marcuz phoned him.
He’d got an appointment around that side of town. So he preferred to stop by on his way there.
Yet before he arrived, Marcuz had gone out for walk. And he didn’t meet him.
The 23-year-old had wanted so much to clear his head. So he’d taken a very long walk away from home. He hadn’t thought the man might arrive sooner.
Still, Luca was home to host their guest. So he welcomed the older man.
Now Luca hadn’t been someone who sought people’s advice. He’d always got his life sorted.
But then, when the Cannon case weighed too big on the boy, especially because it involved Marcuz—
And then, when Vincent went there to help, it dawned on him that he’d got relative.
That he’d got an uncle to lean on.
So, he just uncorked his bottled-up emotions and poured them down, the cares and all.
“I’ve done various calculations and predictions. And I’ve been right on many, and only wrong on a few.
“I have studied people like games, so things don’t meet me in surprise. I always saw things coming.
“I thought I could beat Cannon, too. They looked like a giant with several weak points. And it looked like we could beat them.
“But Cannon just have a way of holding someone in their palm! And it’s just so frustrating!”
So, he’d sighed a heavy one when he dropped his last words.
“I used to know what to do at each time. But I don’t know anymore!
“I really don’t know this time, Uncle VC!”
A stream of tear glistened in the boy’s face, as he raised his bowed head to brush it off.
He’d seen math and logic toss anybody like game pieces on a chess board...
Then he’d met the end of reason in a short time.
It was a frustrating thing. A frustrating roadblock.
Macaulay wanted to speak now. He’d got a lot to tell the young kid.
But before he could get to talk, the door opened from outside. And it was Marcuz.
He’d just returned from his walk.
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