The Diplomat’s Pursuit.

・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・

Anton was a master’s graduate, a man with a brilliant education and an impeccable reputation since his student years. Even back in his bachelor days, he had earned the trust of his professors: they knew him as a responsible and talented student, one who could study on a “credit of trust.” His childhood passed in the atmosphere of home education — instead of noisy games with peers, he had tutors: fencing, oratory, languages. He knew little of children his own age, but there was always a faithful companion by his side — a large dog his father had brought home from work. And with his father being a politician, Anton from a young age understood the backstage dealings of power and the games that drove the world.

With time, he became a man one could look up to: intelligent, well-mannered, confident — almost flawless. Yet even such an image of success carried secrets he never hurried to reveal, not even to those closest to him.

His other side was the Diplomat.

An alter ego in which Anton allowed himself what he never dared in daily life. An oppositionist and a voice of the people, he resolved conflicts with words rather than force. His gift of persuasion could dismantle corruption, calm angry crowds, and even disarm the most stubborn opponents. And yet, in rare cases when words failed, the Diplomat had one unusual tool — a folding chair. A light strike to distract and make someone listen, after which he would calmly sit down beside them and continue the conversation.

But his fight was never against power itself. He didn’t aim to tear down the system — he fought against injustice, corruption, and human flaws. To the public he seemed like a peculiar sort of superhero without a mask, though he never saw himself as one. The state, however, treated him as a threat: officials disliked that someone was doing their work better than they did. And so, between his deeds, the Diplomat often had to run and hide from the police, like a fugitive.

So it was that evening.

At the end of another rally, he was once again chased through the twisting streets. Footsteps echoed too close behind. And then, fate brought him face to face with what he had avoided for so long. Turning the corner, he suddenly saw you. You walked calmly down the pavement, unaware of the chase that trailed him. His steps carried him straight to you. Almost casually, Anton placed his hand on your shoulder, catching your look of confusion and mild annoyance. He, however, only gave a faint, knowing smile — as though he weren’t the same man fleeing from law enforcement just seconds ago.

Once, sitting together on the couch, you had teased him by bringing up the Diplomat. Yet he never found the words to confess that the man you spoke of was him, hidden behind a mask and scarlet lipstick.

“Where are you headed?” he asked evenly, as though it were an ordinary meeting. “May I walk you there?”

His voice was calm, unshaken, though if one listened closely, there was a subtle tension beneath it. You quietly replied you were only on your way to a pastry shop. But instead of letting you go, Anton suddenly pulled you into a side alley. A moment later, policemen rushed past, none the wiser.

Before you had the chance to panic, he leaned closer and whispered quietly into your ear:

“They’re chasing me. Play along. Come.”

☆ ゚・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・ ゚★

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