Lust Meter System: Conquering Beauties-Chapter 107: I’m Not Crazy 2

He leaned back in his chair, his voice casual but deliberate. "Do you have back pain?"

Grace froze mid-reach. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide with surprise. Her hand was still extended toward the drawer, suspended in the air.

"How..." She blinked several times, pulling her hand back slowly. "How did you know?"

Time stopped again. The world went quiet.

**[Option 1: "I know a thing or two about back pain. I can help if you want." +15 Lust Points]**

**[Option 2: "Just a lucky guess." +5 Lust Points]**

Liam shrugged, keeping his tone light and confident. "I know a thing or two about back pain." He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, "I can help if you want."

Grace stared at him, her expression caught between skepticism and something that looked like desperate hope. She let out a short, almost bitter laugh.

"I appreciate the offer, but..." She shook her head, tucking that same strand of hair behind her ear again. "I’ve tried a lot of things. Seen a lot of people. Chiropractors, physical therapists, massage therapists." Her voice dropped slightly. "Nothing really changes it. The pain always comes back."

Time froze once more.

**[Option 1: "I can. I promise. That’s the only way I’ll be able to accept your apology if you accept my help." +20 Lust Points]**

**[Option 2: "If that’s the case, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull it off either." +0 Lust Points]**

Liam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His voice was steady, almost challenging. "I can fix it. I promise." He held her gaze, not breaking eye contact. "But that’s the only way I’ll accept your apology. If you let me help."

Grace’s mouth opened slightly, like she wanted to argue, but no words came out. She just stood there, staring at him with that same uncertain expression.

Then, slowly, she let out a breath and shook her head with a small, disbelieving smile.

"You’re serious?"

"Completely," Liam said, his tone unwavering.

Grace studied his face for a long moment, as if trying to figure out whether he was messing with her or not. Finally, she pulled out her phone and unlocked it.

"Alright." She handed it to him, her voice quiet but resigned. "Put your number in."

Liam took the phone, his fingers moving quickly as he typed in his contact information. Before handing it back, he sent himself a quick text.

When Grace got her phone back, she glanced at the screen and saw the message.

**Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Liam. Looking forward to fixing that back pain.**

Her eyebrows shot up, and she looked at him with an expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"Did you just text yourself from my phone?"

Liam stood up slowly, adjusting his hoodie with a casual shrug. "Just making sure you have my number." He grinned slightly. "And making it easier for you to reach out when you’re ready."

Grace shook her head, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She looked down at her phone again, then back at him.

"I’ll definitely reach out," she said quietly.

Before Liam could respond, a commotion erupted near the front of the station.

"Why aren’t you doing anything?!"

The voice was young, strained with emotion and frustration. It cut through the ambient noise of the station like a knife.

Both Liam and Grace turned toward the sound.

A teenage boy stood near the front desk, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old.

He was thin, wearing a faded hoodie and jeans that looked too big for him. His face was flushed, his eyes red and swollen from crying.

Two officers stood in front of him, their postures tense but controlled.

One of them was the detective from earlier, Mark. The other was an older officer with graying hair and a tired expression.

"We’re doing everything we can," Mark said, his voice calm but firm. "I understand you’re upset, but—"

"Upset?" the boy interrupted, his voice cracking. "My brother is dead! He’s dead and you’re not doing anything about it!"

The older officer held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Son, we have multiple investigations ongoing. We’re working on it."

"Working on it?" The boy’s voice rose higher. "It just happened last night! And you haven’t told me anything!"

Mark exchanged a glance with the older officer before turning back to the boy. "Your brother was involved with a gang. You know that, right?"

The boy’s jaw clenched. "So what? That means he deserved to die? That’s why you’re not doing anything?"

"No one said that," the older officer said carefully. "We care about every case, regardless of—"

"Then why won’t you believe me?" the boy cut in, his voice desperate now. "I told you what I saw! The man who killed him wasn’t normal!"

Mark’s expression tightened. His patience was clearly wearing thin.

"We asked you what you saw," Mark said, his voice sharper now. "And you told us you saw a man standing over your brother’s body, and then you didn’t see him anymore. That’s it. That’s all you gave us." He spread his hands in frustration. "How are we supposed to work with that? What do you expect us to do?"

The boy’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find the words.

"Look kid, people don’t just disappear," Mark said flatly. "Maybe it was dark. Maybe you were in shock. Maybe you didn’t see clearly. But we can’t build a case on ’he disappeared.’"

The boy’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I know what I saw."

"Then give us something we can use," Mark said. "A description. A direction he went. Something."

The boy stared at him, his face crumpling slightly.

The older officer stepped forward, his tone gentler now. "Son, I think it’s best if you go home. Get some rest. If you remember anything else, you can come back and tell us. But right now..." He gestured toward the door. "There’s nothing more we can do here tonight."

The boy stood there for a moment longer, his chest heaving with barely controlled emotion.

Then he turned and stormed toward the exit, his footsteps heavy on the linoleum floor.

The station went quiet again. The officers dispersed slowly, returning to their desks and conversations.

Liam watched the entire exchange intently, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Grace noticed. She glanced at him, then back at the door where the boy had left.

"I should go," Liam said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Grace blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Of course."

She walked him to the front entrance, her footsteps soft on the linoleum floor. When they reached the glass doors, she stopped and crossed her arms loosely over her chest.

"Thanks," she said quietly. "For understanding."

Liam nodded once, then pushed through the doors without another word.

Grace stood there in the doorway, watching as he walked down the steps and out onto the street.

---

The sun hung lower in the sky, still bright but softening as the afternoon stretched toward evening.

Shadows were growing longer across the pavement, and while the air had lost some of its midday warmth, it still held onto the day’s heat.

The city sounds hadn’t quite shifted yet—there was still plenty of activity, but with a subtle change in rhythm as people began thinking about wrapping up their day.

Liam walked with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the area.

He found the boy about half a block away, sitting on a bench near a bus stop.

His head was down, his elbows resting on his knees, and his shoulders were shaking slightly.

Liam walked over and sat down beside him without saying anything.

The boy looked up, startled. His eyes were red and swollen, his face streaked with tears he’d tried to wipe away.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, his voice hoarse.

"Just someone who heard everything you said back there," Liam said.

The boy wiped his face with the back of his hand and looked away. "Great. Another person who thinks I’m crazy."

"I didn’t say that," Liam replied.

The boy didn’t respond. He just sat there, staring at the ground.

Liam leaned back against the bench, giving the boy space. "I’m not here to judge you or tell you what you saw wasn’t real. I’m just here to listen if you want to talk."

The boy’s shoulders tensed slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away.

After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice quieter now. "My brother is a good guy"

He continued "We don’t have anyone else. It was just me and my brother. Now it’s just me."

He paused, his hands gripping the edge of the bench tightly.

"Our parents died when I was nine. Car accident. After that, it was just us." He let out a shaky breath.

"My brother dropped out of school to work. He wanted to go back eventually, get his diploma, maybe more. But he couldn’t. Not when we had bills to pay and taking care of me." His voice cracked slightly.

"But he didn’t want the same for me. He told me I had to stay in school, had to finish, had to make something of myself."

Liam listened in silence.

"He joined a gang because that was the only way we could survive," the boy continued. "Minimum wage jobs weren’t enough. Not for both of us. Not for rent and food and keeping me in school." He wiped his eyes roughly. "He hated being in that life. He told me all the time he hated it. But what else was he supposed to do?"

The boy’s voice grew fiercer, more defensive. "He was a good person. I don’t care what anyone says. He made sure I ate every day. Made sure I had clothes that fit. Made sure I didn’t miss school." He looked up at Liam, his eyes red and filled with pain. "He shouldn’t have died like that. Not like some animal in an alley."

Liam’s jaw tightened. He waited a moment before speaking. "You mentioned back at the station that you saw the killer. That you saw what happened to your brother."

The boy hesitated. His hands started trembling, and he looked down at them like he didn’t recognize them as his own.

"Yeah," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I saw him."

"You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to," Liam said quietly.

The boy shook his head. "No. I... I need to tell someone who’ll actually listen." He took a shaky breath. "My brother didn’t come home that night. He always came home. Always. Even if it was late, even if it was three in the morning, he came home."

He swallowed hard. "But that night... he didn’t. I waited for hours. I kept calling his phone but it just kept ringing. So I went looking for him. I knew where he was supposed to be. One of their usual spots."

His voice dropped even lower. "When I got there... I saw him. My brother. He was on the ground. And there was someone standing over him."

Liam stayed silent, letting the boy continue at his own pace.

"It was dark," the boy said. "I couldn’t see his face clearly—he was wearing a cap pulled low and some kind of coat, but I couldn’t tell what color. Everything just looked like shadows." His voice wavered.

"But I saw him. He was just... standing there. Looking down at my brother’s body like it was nothing."

The boy’s hands clenched into fists.

"And he was holding something in his right hand. Something big and round. I couldn’t tell what it was because of the dark, but I saw it." He swallowed hard. "And then... he moved. So fast. One second he was there, and the next second he was just gone. Like he vanished into thin air."

The boy looked up at Liam, his eyes desperate for someone to believe him. "I know how it sounds. I know. But I’m not crazy. I know what I saw."

Liam nodded slowly. "I believe you."

The boy’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t expected that response.

His face crumpled then, and the tears he’d been trying to hold back finally broke through. His shoulders shook as he buried his face in his hands, sobbing quietly.

Liam didn’t say anything. He just reached over and pulled the boy into a hug.

The boy didn’t resist. He just let himself break down completely, crying into Liam’s shoulder while Liam held him steady.

They stayed like that for a while.

The sounds of the city faded into background noise as the boy cried for his brother, for everything he’d lost, for the life that had been ripped away from both of them.

Eventually, the sobs slowed. The boy pulled back, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Don’t be," Liam said.

The boy took a deep, shuddering breath and stood up slowly. His legs were unsteady, but he managed to keep himself upright.

"I should go," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Where?" Liam asked.

"Home." The boy’s voice was hollow. "Not that it matters anymore."

"Wait," Liam said, pulling out his phone. "What’s your number?"

The boy hesitated, looking confused, but rattled off his number anyway. Liam saved it in his contacts.

"I’m Liam, by the way," he said.

"Tim," the boy said quietly.

Liam nodded.

Tim started to walk away, then stopped and looked back at Liam one more time.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For listening. For believing me."

Liam nodded.

Tim turned and disappeared down the street, his figure growing smaller until he was swallowed by the fading light.

Liam stayed on the bench for a while longer, staring at the spot where the boy had been.

’So X is really that dangerous.’

He pulled out his phone and saw a text from Grace.

*Grace~ This is Grace. I’ll let you know when I’m free.*

Liam stared at the message for a moment, then slipped the phone back into his pocket.

His stomach growled loudly, breaking the somber silence.

He sighed "Time to get that hotdog."