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Law had always believed that the medical school library was his last sanctuary. Here, there were only the sounds of pages turning, keyboard clicks, and occasionally hushed discussions. The air was filled with a mix of paper, ink, and disinfectant-a reassuring, orderly scent. He loved this smell, just as he loved the precision of the operating room and the accuracy of the laboratory.
Until Shanks invaded this sanctuary.
It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon. Law was buried in a pile of literature on the latest research into neurodegenerative diseases. He sat in his usual spot by the window-a base he had occupied shortly after enrolling-with plenty of light, away from the main traffic, and directly facing the air conditioning vent for a stable temperature. He wore noise-canceling headphones, the world reduced to background white noise and the dense text before his eyes.
Then, that familiar commotion began.
It started with the heavy oak library door being pushed open not so gently, followed by faint gasps and whispers, the disturbance spreading rapidly towards his area.
Law frowned, looked up from his literature, and removed one earpiece. Then he saw that red figure who should have been in some high-end conference room downtown at this very moment.
Shanks stood there. Not in his usual casual wear, but in a tailored dark gray suit, casually draped with a sharp cashmere coat, no tie, shirt collar slightly open. He had clearly just escaped from some formal occasion, his hair neater than usual, yet a few unruly red strands still fell across his forehead. He carried not a briefcase, but a somewhat rustic wicker picnic basket that clashed with the surrounding elite atmosphere. From under the basket lid, the warm aroma of baked goods subtly emerged.
His gaze swept across the reading area like radar, and the moment it precisely locked onto Law, those red eyes instantly lit up, the corner of his mouth lifting into a brilliant, undisguisedly joyful smile.
"LAW——!"
That call echoed through the entire silent library. At least three bookshelves away, a dozing student jumped up, startled directly from his chair; an elderly professor with thick glasses dropped his pen with a clatter onto an open ancient text; the librarian looked up in shock, clearly startled.
For a moment, Law's mind went blank. He instinctively wanted to bury his head back in his book and pretend he didn't exist. But it was too late.
"Found you!"
The next few seconds, in Law's perception, stretched infinitely, filled with absurd details.
He watched Shanks, like a large dog spotting its target, bypass obstacles without hesitation-including a stunned junior student hugging a thick copy of Gray's Anatomy-kicked an empty chair that screeched piercingly against the floor, and charged towards him at astonishing speed.
He saw the expressions of the students around him-shock, curiosity, barely suppressed laughter. Penguin, sitting across from him, had his mouth wide open; Shachi, diagonally behind him, had already raised his phone, the screen suspiciously aimed in this direction; further away, several younger students covered their mouths, their shoulders shaking suspiciously.
He saw the librarian stand up, seemingly wanting to intervene, but ultimately just shook her head and sat back down, as if resigned.
Then, Shanks was right in front of him.
Law looked at him. Shanks's nose was slightly reddened from the cold outside air and his hurried arrival, and fine snowflakes still clung to his suit shoulders. He protected that box as if it were a rare treasure.
"The quarterly report finished early!" Shanks's voice was slightly breathless from running, but his excitement was undeniable. He completely ignored the library's silence rules, and seemed oblivious to being the center of attention in the entire area.
Law opened his mouth, wanting to say this was a library, wanting to tell him to lower his voice, wanting to point out that many people were watching. But all the words caught in his throat because of Shanks's next sentence:
"I slipped out! Baked a red velvet cake this morning before leaving, and it just hit its optimal tasting window! I thought you'd be in the library and definitely haven't had afternoon tea!" As he spoke, he opened the cake box.
A rich, warm sweetness instantly spread-the slight bitterness of cocoa, the richness of cream, and a faint hint of vanilla. Inside the box lay a quarter of a red velvet cake, carefully wrapped in oil paper, its vibrant red color especially tempting under the library's pale lights. The cake was topped with a thick layer of cream cheese frosting, sprinkled with crushed roasted walnuts, and a small silver fork was thoughtfully placed beside it.
Law stared at the cake. This was definitely not a product from some outside dessert shop. Its color was that deep ruby red he knew well; the texture of the frosting looked thick and dense, with slightly irregular handmade marks at the edges that Shanks could never quite control-it was homemade.
Then he looked up at Shanks's eyes, sparkling with expectation. Those red eyes held only the pure joy of sharing, without any self-awareness of breaking library rules, without any embarrassment at being watched. In Shanks's world, at this moment, there was only "I made something delicious and I want to share it first with the person I love most."
An extremely complex emotion exploded in Law's heart. There was embarrassment-he could almost feel every gaze like a spotlight on him. There was helplessness-Shanks was always like this, regardless of occasion or rules, doing whatever he wanted. But beneath the embarrassment and helplessness, there was a deeper realization that made the tips of his ears burn-this man, no matter how expensive the suit he wore, no matter how formal the occasion he came from, as long as he thought Law might like something, would immediately abandon all pretense and rules, charging over like a child eager to share candy.
"Shanks," Law finally found his voice, trying to maintain calm, "this is a library. And you..." he glanced at the other's valuable suit.
"I know!" Shanks said matter-of-factly, gently placing the cake beside Law's spread-out literature, his movement carrying a strange tenderness, "So I had the driver wait at the intersection, ran over myself, didn't let my assistant follow. The paper bag is insulated, won't get your books wet. Cake tastes best fresh, you should try it!"
"You... baked it this morning?" Law's voice was a little dry. He knew Shanks had been repeatedly experimenting with red velvet cake recipes lately, wanting to create a "perfect flavor surpassing all of Sham's data models."
"Yes!" Shanks nodded vigorously, his eyes incredibly bright, "Fifth recipe attempt! Adjusted the sugar-oil ratio, used that high-quality cocoa powder you mentioned last time, and added a bit of freshly grated nutmeg for depth! Try it quick, I think this one really succeeded!" He pushed the small silver fork into Law's hand, looking at him with eager expectation.
A few suppressed laughs came from nearby. Law saw Penguin had already buried his head in his arms, shoulders shaking violently. Shachi's phone lens was still steadily aimed in this direction.
Law sighed. He knew that if he didn't eat this cake, Shanks would keep looking at him with those puppy-like, wet, expectant eyes until he gave in, or until the librarian kicked them both out.
He resigned himself, picking up the cake. Shanks immediately blossomed into a huge smile, as if what Law had just accepted wasn't a slice of cake, but a medal.
"Try it quick!" Shanks urged, pulling over an empty chair and sitting beside Law, resting his chin on his hands, staring at him without blinking.
Under the silent witness of at least twenty phones, Law cut a small piece of cake and put it in his mouth.
The moist, dense cake melted on his tongue. The cocoa aroma was rich and pure, the sweetness perfectly balanced, and the warm hint of nutmeg cleverly balanced the richness of the cream. The cream cheese frosting was smooth with a slight tang, carrying a rich milky flavor, merging perfectly with the cake's taste.
This was indeed the best red velvet cake he had ever tasted.
"How is it?" Shanks held his breath, leaning slightly forward, his invisible tail seemingly already wagging into a blur.
Law nodded, swallowing the cake. "Good."
Just two words, yet Shanks's face instantly exploded into a smile, as if he had received the most precious reward in the world. He suddenly leaned in and hugged Law tightly-not a gentle embrace, but one full of strength, almost lifting Law off his chair.
"Great! I knew it! If Law says it's good, then it's definitely good!" Shanks's voice sounded in Law's ear, warm breath brushing past his ear.
Law froze. He still held the remaining large piece of cake in his hand, his body tightly held by Shanks, his cheek pressed against the other's slightly cool red hair and the fabric of his coat still carrying the chill of the outdoors. He could smell the faint sweet cake aroma on Shanks, the smell of flour, and that unique, sunshine-like warmth that belonged only to Shanks.
The whispers and suppressed laughter around them grew more noticeable. Law even heard someone quietly say, "Quick, film it!"
The embarrassment reached its peak. But strangely, within this extreme embarrassment, Law felt an almost absurd sense of peace. Shanks's embrace was tight, real, filled with unaffected joy. This joy was so infectious that Law found his tense shoulders slowly relaxing.
He raised the hand not holding the cake, hesitated for a moment, then gently patted Shanks's back.
"Okay," he said quietly, his voice carrying an indulgence he himself didn't notice, "the cake is really good. But now you should go. I still need to study."
Shanks finally released him, but still wore that silly, happy smile on his face. "Alright! Take your time eating it then! I'll head off now! See you tonight!" Shanks straightened up, his smile carrying a hint of mischievous triumph and pure joy. He waved at Law, then winked at the librarian who had already given up on maintaining composure, turned, and walked away with light steps.
He left just as he had arrived-in a whirlwind, oblivious to the stares around him, only flashing that brilliant smile at the librarian with the complex expression, waving, and then rushing out of the library doors.
The oak door slowly closed behind him with a heavy thud.
The library returned to silence. But this silence was different from before, filled with a subtle, suppressed energy. Law could feel countless gazes still on him-curious, amused, kind.
He took a deep breath, looking down at the remaining cake in his hand. Then, in front of everyone, he slowly finished it.
The taste really was excellent.
He put his noise-canceling headphones back on, trying to return to the world of literature. But ten minutes later, when Penguin across from him finally couldn't help it and turned his phone screen towards him, Law knew that his library sanctuary would probably never be the same again.
A few days after the library incident, Law thought that had been the limit of Shanks's spontaneity. He had even relaxed slightly after Shanks promised to "be more mindful of the occasion next time."
However, he had clearly underestimated Shanks's drive and... creativity.
This time, Shanks had even upgraded his script.
In the afternoon, Law was participating in an intercollegiate neurobiology seminar. The meeting was held in the medical school's largest lecture hall. Seated in the audience were professors, researchers, and outstanding student representatives from both his own and other colleges. On stage, several authorities in the field were engaged in an in-depth discussion on a cutting-edge topic, the atmosphere serious and focused.
Law sat in a seat by the aisle in the mid-rear rows, listening attentively to the presentations, occasionally jotting down key points on his tablet. He wore a crisp light gray shirt and dark pants, with his medical school white coat over them, his expression focused-the picture of an outstanding young scholar.
During the mid-conference tea break, the host announced a twenty-minute intermission. Everyone stood up, stretching their limbs, chatting quietly, or heading towards the long table by the door where coffee and simple refreshments were laid out.
Law didn't move. He was quickly flipping through an abstract of a paper that had just come to mind as relevant. The lecture hall gradually filled with relaxed conversation.
Then, that heavy lecture hall door was pushed open again.
The figure that walked in this time made the already noisy hall fall silent by several degrees.
Figarland Shanks .
He wore an impeccably tailored navy blue suit, the cut perfectly accentuating his tall, straight figure. A dark red tie was fastened at the collar of his white shirt, exquisite platinum cufflinks showing at his sleeves. His red hair was neatly combed, his face carrying a calm, appropriate smile-the standard expression of the "CEO of the Figarland Group." Behind him followed two equally well-dressed assistants, carrying folders and tablets.
Their appearance itself wasn't strange-the Figarland Group had multiple collaborative projects with the medical school, and it wasn't uncommon for senior executives to attend conferences or inspections. What was strange was the timing, and what Shanks was carrying.
It wasn't a briefcase.
It was a multi-tiered, portable insulated lunch box. Pure black, simple design, but clearly expensive. At this moment, he held it steadily like a ordinary document case, creating an absurd contrast with his serious, elite aura.
The moment he entered the lecture hall, Shanks's gaze precisely crossed the large room and landed on Law. The sharpness and professionalism in that look instantly melted, replaced by the familiar, smiling warmth. He nodded almost imperceptibly in Law's direction, then said in a voice loud enough for those nearby to hear, addressing an associate dean of the medical school who happened to approach him:
"Dean, apologies for the interruption. I just finished a meeting nearby and recalled some new ideas regarding the neurotrophic factor collaborative project details that Trafalgar and I discussed earlier. I wanted to briefly communicate with him while the ideas are fresh. Hope I'm not being too abrupt."
The reason was impeccable, watertight. The associate dean, though feeling a subtle unease at a CEO personally carrying a lunch box to discuss details, could only nod repeatedly in the face of Shanks's flawless smile and demeanor: "Of course, of course! Mr. Figarland's dedication to research is our honor! Trafalgar is right over there!"
Shanks thanked him, then, carrying that lunch box completely out of place in the setting, walked steadily through the crowd towards Law under the curious, surprised, or amused gazes of all the attendees.
The moment Law saw Shanks enter, he spotted him. When he clearly saw the lunch box in his hand, Law felt all the blood in his body rush to his head, the tips of his ears instantly burning. He could almost guess what was inside.
This guy... had actually found his way here. In the school's most serious academic lecture hall, in front of so many professors and peers.
Shanks reached Law and stopped. He placed the lunch box on the empty seat beside Law, his movement light and skillful. Then, he turned to Law, his expression switching to focused business discussion mode, but deep in those red eyes danced a mischievous, triumphant light.
"Mr. Trafalgar," his voice was steady, "regarding the optimization plan for the NGF delivery system we mentioned last time, I've obtained some new data and ideas that might be relevant to your current research." He gestured towards the lunch box, "By the way, a chef friend of mine has developed a new red velvet cake recipe. It reportedly maintains the texture while significantly reducing sugar content, better aligned with health concepts. I thought, as a professional, Trafalgar might be able to help evaluate it, to see if it's suitable for introduction into our group's health food line? Of course, this is completely incidental; the main thing is still to discuss the project."
This speech packaged the private act of giving cake as seeking professional advice for the group's health food business. It gave Law an out, achieved his goal, and left no room for fault-finding. A CEO caring about his business, seeking expert advice on the side-how reasonable.
The expressions of those eavesdropping nearby became quite a spectacle. Some looked suddenly enlightened, others were skeptical, but most were struggling to suppress their smiles, their eyes darting between Law's slightly reddened ears and the black lunch box.
Law looked at Shanks's face, speaking seriously while completely fabricating, and his fingers tightened on the edge of his tablet. He knew that if he refused now, or showed any abnormality, it would instead seem strange. Shanks had already paved the way.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to respond with an equally calm, professional tone: "Mr. Figarland is too kind. I am indeed very interested in the NGF optimization plan. As for the cake..." he glanced at the lunch box, "if it's for healthy food development, I can provide some basic sensory evaluation."
"Excellent." Shanks's smile deepened. He gestured towards the lunch box, "Then, shall we find a quiet place to briefly chat? And also have Trafalgar evaluate the cake? It's best tasted fresh to get the most authentic feedback."
Law could feel all eyes in the lecture hall focused here. He stood up, his movements slightly stiff. "Alright. This way, please." He gestured towards a small lounge accessible through the side door of the lecture hall.
Shanks picked up the lunch box, nodded politely at the professors and students around him, and followed Law towards the lounge. His two assistants remained behind, naturally engaging the associate dean and others in conversation, clearly providing cover.
The moment the lounge door closed, a barely suppressed commotion of mixed laughter and exclamations could be heard from outside.
Inside, Law immediately turned and glared at Shanks, his amber eyes clearly asking "Have you lost your mind?"
But Shanks had already set down the lunch box, the elite disguise instantly falling away, replaced by the brilliant, childishly proud smile Law knew so well. He eagerly opened the insulated compartment of the lunch box and carefully brought out an exquisite white porcelain plate.
On the plate was a perfectly cut slice of red velvet cake. The color was that authentic deep red, topped with a thick layer of cream cheese frosting, decorated around the edges with fresh raspberries and edible gold leaf. The presentation was so professional it rivaled any high-end dessert shop.
"Look! The final perfect version!" Shanks presented the cake to Law like an offering, his eyes incredibly bright, "Seventh recipe attempt! The cocoa concentration, the acidity balance, the sweetness of the frosting... Beckman and Sham both gave it high scores! But I most wanted you to taste it! Today's seminar is important, you definitely haven't had time to eat properly, this will replenish your energy perfectly!"
Law looked at his excitement, almost wagging an invisible tail, and looked at the cake, almost a work of art. The annoyance he had felt about the inappropriate timing suddenly dissipated. It was replaced by a deep helplessness, and a trace of... indescribable softness.
This man could wear expensive suits, charm effortlessly at serious academic conferences, and strategize collaborative projects worth millions. But in his heart, the achievement he most wanted to share, the one he couldn't wait to show off, was a small, homemade red velvet cake.
"Shanks," Law said, a little exasperated, "this is an academic seminar."
"I know!" Shanks said matter-of-factly, "So I said it was business! Health food development consultation, so proper!" He picked up the small fork he had prepared, cut the most perfect corner, and brought it to Law's lips, "Quick, try it!"
The aroma of the cake was right there. Law looked at Shanks's expectant eyes, and thought of the buzz probably still brewing outside. Finally, he lowered his head and, guided by Shanks's hand, ate the cake.
The texture was light and moist. The rich aroma of the cocoa and the slight tang were balanced perfectly. The cream cheese frosting was smooth and rich without being cloying. It was indeed even better than the version he had tasted in the library.
"How is it?" Shanks held his breath.
Law savored it carefully, then evaluated objectively: "The lemon juice proportion in the frosting increased by about 0.5%? The acidity is clearer, better at cutting the richness. The cocoa powder is a finer grind, the texture more delicate. The overall balance... has reached professional standard."
This was almost the highest praise Law could give. Shanks's face instantly exploded into a smile, brighter than all the lights in the lecture hall combined. He hugged Law just like before, with such force Law almost choked on the cake he hadn't yet swallowed.
"Great! Law says it's reached professional standard!" His voice buzzed in Law's ear, full of immense satisfaction, "All those failures were worth it! Next time I'll make it for Mr.Sengoku and Rosi, they'll love it too!"
Law was held immobile, his cheek pressed against the fine fabric of Shanks's suit, able to smell the faint cedar cologne and the warm, sweet aroma of baking that clung to him. This embrace lasted several seconds, until Law helplessly patted his back.
"Alright. There are people outside."
Shanks finally released him, but his eyes were still bright. "Then eat it quickly! I'll clean up and go as soon as you're done, won't hold up your meeting!" He watched Law like a dragon guarding its treasure, his gaze eager.
Under Shanks's affectionate stare, Law ate the fairly large slice of cake as quickly as he could. Shanks efficiently packed up the box and utensils, his movements swift and professional.
Before leaving the lounge, Shanks straightened his tie and expression again, morphing back into the composed CEO.
He again thanked Law for his valuable professional opinion, then, carrying the empty lunch box, made a graceful exit under the meaningful gazes of the crowd.
Law, with the lingering taste of red velvet cake in his mouth and a heart full of complex emotions, returned to his seat. He could feel the glances around him growing even more intense.
The seminar continued. But Law found it hard to fully concentrate anymore. The wonderful flavor of the cake seemed to linger on his tongue, and the unique scent of Shanks-a mix of elite professionalism and homely warmth-seemed to cling to his senses.
After the seminar ended, Law returned to the apartment in the evening, his mind full of complex thoughts and the lingering sweetness on his tongue.
The moment he pushed open the door, warmth and the familiar aroma of stew greeted him, instantly dispelling the winter evening's chill. The light in the entryway was a warm yellow, two pairs of slippers neatly placed in their familiar spots-Shanks's pair in a bright color, and his own simple gray ones.
"Law, you're back!" Shanks's voice came from the kitchen, carrying his usual cheerfulness. He poked his head out, wearing that ridiculous cartoon whale apron. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat of the stove, a few strands of red hair rebelliously falling across his forehead-a completely different person from the suited elite in the library and lecture hall.
"Yeah." Law responded, hanging up his coat. He could hear the steady rhythm of Shamrock typing in the study.
"How was the seminar?" Shanks asked as he turned back to the stove, carefully stirring the stew pot. The rich aroma spread with his movements.
Law walked to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the frame, watching his busy back. "Not bad." He paused, then added, "Except for that 'health food development consultation' segment."
Shanks's shoulders visibly shook, a muffled laugh escaping him. "So... was the consultation result satisfactory, Dr. Law?"
Law looked at his slightly reddened ears, didn't answer, just walked over and took the ladle from his hand. "Don't burn it."
"Won't burn, I was watching it." Shanks said, but obediently gave up his spot, instead wrapping his arms around Law from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder like a large koala. "Shammy said the carrots need to be tender enough to pierce easily with chopsticks... are they about there?"
Law used the ladle to check the carrots in the pot; they were indeed soft. "Ready." He turned off the heat.
"Then let's eat!" Shanks released him, turned to get the bowls and chopsticks, his movements light.
Shamrock also emerged from the study at that moment. He had already changed into home clothes, still holding his tablet, but clearly finished with work.
"Good evening, Law." Shamrock greeted calmly, his gaze lingering on Law's face for a moment, as if conducting some routine status scan. "Seminar go well?"
"Yeah." Law replied briefly. With Shamrock, he didn't have to worry about being questioned about the embarrassing cake ambush details-although Sham certainly knew, he would only silently observe in his data-oriented way, not tease.
The three of them brought the stew, rice, and simple stir-fried vegetables to the table. Under the warm yellow light, the food steamed, the scene ordinary and warm.
Shanks filled Law's bowl with stew, then habitually placed a few of the most tender, tendon-rich pieces of meat into it. "Eat up, must have been exhausting today."
Law looked at the piled-up food in his bowl, wanted to say it was too much, but met Shanks's bright, urging eyes and swallowed the words. He silently began to eat.
Shamrock ate elegantly, but not slowly. He tasted the stew and nodded: "Good heat control. The beef fibers are ideally softened. The soup consistency is right."
Shanks immediately beamed like a student praised by his teacher, his eyes curving: "Right! I specially simmered it an extra half hour!"
"The sweetness of the carrots is fully released," Shamrock evaluated objectively, "pairs well with the slight acidity of the red wine."
Law quietly ate his meal, listening to the brothers' conversation. Shamrock's feedback was always specific and subtle, without much emotion, yet it could make Shanks happy for ages over a small improvement. This dynamic had seemed a bit strange to Law at first, but now he found it... quite harmonious.
"Oh, right, Law," Shanks suddenly remembered something, "a lot of people on the forum are guessing what you were thinking in the library and lecture hall. Some say you were pretending to be helpless but secretly happy, some say you were socially dead but the cake was delicious..." His tone carried curiosity and teasing.
Law's chopsticks paused momentarily, the tips of his ears warming. "...Boring."
"I find it pretty interesting," Shanks laughed, biting his chopsticks, "They've given me all sorts of nicknames too, suit-wearing brute, pure love warrior, nuclear-grade feeder..."
"EAT!!" Law shoved a piece of beef into his mouth, trying to shut him up.
Shanks, caught off guard, could only obediently chew, but his eyes were still laughing, clearly enjoying himself.
Shamrock adjusted his glasses and calmly joined the conversation: "Based on sentiment analysis of relevant forum posts, the most frequent keywords are positive, envious, blessings, and funny. Negative words are almost negligible." He looked at Law, "Overall, the external public opinion environment towards your relationship shows high acceptance and appreciation."
Law: "..." Sometimes Sham's way of analyzing everything with data was even harder to handle than Shanks's direct teasing.
"See, I told you everyone's friendly!" Shanks said proudly, swallowing the beef.
"But excessive attention could also bring unwanted disturbance." Shamrock added, his tone still steady, "Suggest appropriately controlling the frequency of similar high-profile actions to maintain personal space comfort."
"I know, Shammy." Shanks waved his hand, "I'll be more mindful of the occasion next time... well, try my best." The last two words were said without much confidence.
Law glanced at him but said nothing. He thought, this guy's try my best probably meant depending on my mood.
Dinner wound down with casual chatter. Law helped clear the dishes, Shanks wiped the table.
Once the kitchen was cleaned up, Shanks hugged Law from behind while he was washing his hands, burying his face in his neck and taking a deep breath. "Law."
"Hm?"
"Really not mad about today?" Shanks's voice was muffled.
Law turned off the water, dried his hands with a towel, and turned to face him. "No." He looked at Shanks's eyes so close, those red eyes clear and bright under the kitchen light, reflecting his own image, and holding a hint of barely noticeable caution.
"Really?" Shanks pressed, but tightened his arms.
"Really." Law raised his hand and used his fingertips to brush away that rebellious strand of red hair from his forehead. "The cake was delicious. Just..." he paused, "next time don't pick places like that."
"Okay." Shanks immediately agreed, his smile becoming bright again. "How about at home? When I develop new flavors, I'll make them for you first."
"...Fine."
Shanks contentedly rubbed his cheek against Law's, then, as if remembering something, his eyes lit up: "Oh right! Shammy said a lot of people on the forum want the red velvet cake recipe. Should we actually share a simplified version? Just list the basic ingredients and key steps, not the exact proportions?"
Law remembered their discussion at dinner. "Whatever you want."
"Then it's settled!" Shanks released him, excitedly rubbing his hands together, "I'll organize it tomorrow! How about calling it 'Family Warm Edition Red Velvet Cake Tips'? With my finished product photos..."
He was already planning, his expression as serious as if plotting some major business project. Law watched him, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly.
Shanks noticed his expression, his eyes lighting up: "Law, you smiled!"
Law immediately suppressed it: "No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did! I saw you smile just now!" Shanks leaned in, insisting on looking at his face.
"Get away!" Law pushed his face away.
Shamrock leaned against the study doorframe, quietly watching them, a flicker of an extremely faint smile in his eyes. But he said nothing.