Back to the Past Breaking the Love Spell1-100

Novel Catalog

Kade had a notorious reputation for frequently getting caught surfing the internet and always using Carlisle as his cover. This had, unsurprisingly, earned Carlisle the disapproval of Kade’s mother, Hayley. The last time their paths crossed, it nearly escalated into a full-blown confrontation between Hayley and Hilda. Tensions had run high, and Carlisle could still recall the heated exchange in vivid detail.
“Okay, Carl. I promise, no more betraying you,” Kade muttered, draping his arm over Carlisle’s shoulders as they approached the internet cafe. Carlisle didn’t respond, his thoughts far from the casual promise.
The familiar scent of athlete’s foot, stale cigarettes, and microwaved meals greeted them as they stepped inside. For regulars at the internet cafe, the odors were a part of the place’s charm—or at least, that’s what they told themselves. The cafe spanned two floors, each filled with more than thirty large computers. The first floor was teeming with activity, as groups of elementary and high school students occupied almost every available machine.
In this era, smartphones were still a distant dream, and cell phones were only just starting to become widespread. Computers, on the other hand, were a rare novelty, and computer games had become a beloved pastime for the youth.
“Boss, is there any space upstairs?” Carlisle asked, pulling a few ten-dollar bills from his pocket.
The cafe owner, a thin man with a cigarette hanging from his lips, gave them a cursory glance. “How many do you need?”
“Three,” Carlisle replied, looking around the crowded space. He’d already planned ahead and set aside a spot for Sean.
“We’ve got two upstairs. One downstairs will be free in about ten minutes.”
“Great, three for the whole night,” Carlisle said, nodding.
“That’ll be 50 bucks,” the owner announced.
Carlisle blinked in surprise. “The price went up?”
Normally, the internet here cost a dollar per hour, and even for an entire night, it shouldn’t exceed six dollars. But this—this was ridiculous. It was 8:00 PM now, and three computers for just four hours shouldn’t come close to fifty dollars.
The owner, clearly not bothered by Carlisle’s confusion, shrugged. “Take it or leave it. Summer vacation’s busy, and there are only two internet cafes in town.”
Carlisle frowned but handed over the money, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing. “Kade, grab three cans of Coke.”
The owner took the money, giving Carlisle back four dollars in change. Kade, with a sly grin, pocketed the change but then looked at Carlisle with a hint of pleading in his eyes. “Carl, can you lend me these four bucks? I wanna grab a pack of smokes.”
Carlisle didn’t hesitate in his refusal. “Smoking’s bad for you. You should stop.”
Kade’s face contorted for a brief moment, but he shrugged it off, turning to head toward his computer. “Whatever. Stubborn as always.” He handed Carlisle the two cans of Coke before heading to his station.
As Carlisle settled in, he heard the door curtain swish behind him. Sean walked in, slightly out of breath from his run.
“Boss, are there any computers left?” Sean asked, his gaze flicking toward the owner who barely acknowledged him.
The owner mumbled a quick “No” but didn’t seem interested in elaborating. Carlisle, however, smiled and motioned toward the stairs. “I’ve already got the computers set up. Come on, let’s go.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Damn, you’re here early.”
“I had nothing else to do after dinner, so I came ahead,” Carlisle replied casually.
They made their way upstairs together. The second floor was cramped, with a low ceiling and the unmistakable heat of too many bodies packed into a small space. Despite four fans whirring at full speed, the air felt thick and stifling, almost like a sauna.
The two computers weren’t next to each other, but Sean kindly offered the cleaner one to Carlisle. The moment the computers powered up, Carlisle instinctively clicked on the penguin icon on his desktop—an MSN messenger icon.
As he logged in, the familiar ping of an incoming message echoed from his screen. The message was from “Goldfish Memory”—Christine’s MSN handle.
“Carlisle, are you free tomorrow? I want to treat you to a meal!”
Carlisle stared at the screen for a moment before quickly typing his response: “Sorry, I’m busy tomorrow.”
He knew what Christine was really trying to do. She wanted to thank him for saving her from a difficult situation earlier, but he couldn’t let that happen—not yet. He needed to stay focused, not just on his own future, but on the paths of those around him.
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