Chapter 1
My name was Edward Carter, and I was a freshman in Sterkenland.
Before I came to Sterkenland, I thought my Sterkisch was decent. I had scored high on my high-school Sterkisch exams, and I had also passed the language proficiency test with excellent results. I believed I would at least be fine with everyday communication.
It was only after I arrived that I realized I had been wrong.
I had been terribly wrong.
Sterkenlanders spoke nothing like the crisp, well-enunciated announcers from my listening tests.
They talked fast, slurred their words, and threw in all sorts of slang I'd never heard before.
And as for me, whenever I got nervous, my tongue would twist itself into knots, and the Sterkisch I blurted out was so messed up that even I couldn't make sense of it.
I had already gotten into quite a few embarrassing mishaps in the three months since I had come to Sterkenland.
The most classic one was at a coffee shop. I meant to say "latte," but my tongue slipped and I said "lady" instead.
The barista, a guy in his mid-forties, stared at me for a solid minute. I swear he was about to call the cops.
Another time, I was buying chicken breast at the supermarket. I asked the clerk for chicken breast, but I mixed up the words and said breakfast instead. Looking thoroughly confused, the clerk pointed me toward an entire shelf of breakfast cereals.
After that, I tried to speak as little as possible.
I relied on body language whenever I could. I nodded or shook my head rather than opening my mouth.
I didn't look like a local anyway. For all they knew, I might have been mute.
December in Sterkenland was unbearably cold.
It got dark early. By four in the afternoon, it felt like eight at night back home.
Winds blew in off the river, carrying damp chill that seeped straight into my bones.
That day, there was some traditional festival going on in Norenberg. I wasn't sure what it was, but my roommate insisted I come along, saying, "You've gotta experience the local culture since you're in Sterkenland."
I bundled myself up like a walking marshmallow: a fleece hoodie underneath, a heavy puffer jacket over that, and a scarf wrapped around my neck until only my eyes were showing.
Even so, I still feel cold.
The festival was packed with people.
Sterkenlanders really were tall. Back home, being 5'10" was considered above average, but here, all I could see was the back of the heads in front of me.
The performance area was surrounded by rows of people. I stood on my tiptoes until my ankles were killing me, and I still couldn't see a thing.
"I'm gonna walk around for a bit," I told my roommate, then headed off by myself toward a less crowded area.
The festival stretched along a historic street, with stalls on both sides selling mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, and handmade crafts.
String lights dangled overhead, twinkling and making the whole street feel cozy and inviting.
The Christmas spirit in Sterkenland was off the charts. Laughter and music filled the air, and everywhere smelled like roasted chestnuts and cinnamon.
I pulled my scarf tighter and wandered along at a leisurely pace.
That was when I spotted him.
He was standing by a police booth at the corner, wearing a deep blue uniform with a long black coat over it.
His physique was so unreal that I couldn't help staring. His shoulders were so broad, it was like he could shoulder the sky, and his waist was impossibly narrow. The loose belt on his coat showed off a sharp, clean silhouette.
He was tall, easily 6'3". In the crowd, he stood out like a lone fir tree.
His light blond hair shimmered under the streetlights, and his profile was so chiseled that he looked like a statue.
His eyes were deep-set, his nose straight and high, and his lips were thin, set in a way that gave him a chilly vibe.
His eyes were emerald green. From afar, they looked like two crystal-clear gems.
Holy hell, did all Sterkenlandish cops look like this? He was ridiculously handsome.
I, a guy, was completely mesmerized by another dude. If anyone knew, I'd be kind of embarrassed.
But he was too attractive. His beauty wasn't gender-specific. Anyone walking down the street would have couldn't help but steal a few extra glances at him.
I stood there, hesitating for a couple of seconds.
Then I strode right up to him.
"Excuse me," I blurted out, my voice cracking from nerves.
He turned to look at me.
Up close, he was more stunning.
His green eyes gave me a quick once-over. He showed no expression, but I could tell that he wasn't annoyed.
He shifted slightly, waiting for me to speak.
All the Sterkisch words in my head were lining up to come out, but when they reached my mouth, they all tangled together. "C-can I take a phantom?" I blurted, mixing up "photo" with "phantom" accidentally.
"Ph-phantom," I stammered, making a camera gesture with my hands. "Take a phantom with you."
He tilted his head slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his emerald eyes.
Crap, he didn't get it.