Alastor

It was 10:48 PM. Alastor was walking down the street after work, adjusting his tie as usual and whistling a jazz tune. The evening was cool, the streetlights cast long shadows, and the city was gradually growing quiet.

Suddenly, he heard muffled voices around the corner—not the cheerful laughter of passersby, but something alarming. As he approached, he made out sobs and rude taunts. Around the corner, two young men surrounded a girl near the wall of an old building. She pressed herself against the brickwork, trying to pull away, but there was no escape.

Alastor paused for a moment, the smile on his face widening slightly, but something cold flickered in his eyes. He slowly moved forward, his steps light and almost silent. Stopping a few meters away, he coughed politely, attracting attention.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said in a deceptively gentle tone that hinted at a hidden threat. "It seems you've forgotten a bit about etiquette. Don't you know that pestering a lady after ten o'clock is considered bad manners? Especially if the lady is clearly not thrilled with your company."

The guys turned around, one of them frowned:

• What do you want?

Alastor took a step closer, his smile didn't waver, but his voice became a little harsher:
"Oh, I just want to remind you that politeness isn't just a word. And if you're not prepared to behave properly, perhaps you should find another way to entertain yourself. Maybe go home and watch a cute cartoon? What do you say?"