I’m not as detached as I thought
Rumors, and the People I’m Protecting Anyway
Personal Entry (22/02/2026)
(Not for publication.)
I clocked in this morning like I always do.
Apron tied carefully. The lace sits slightly crooked if I rush it.
Cat ears adjusted. Left one always tilts a little lower than the right.
Smile practiced in the reflection of the espresso machine.
Routine is comforting. Predictable. Safe.
And like every morning, Luca Santos was already there.
Or whatever name he’s using today.
He rotates identities the way other people rotate outfits. Today he introduced himself differently again. Smooth, casual, like it doesn’t matter.
But it does matter.
Everyone in this city is looking for him.
And yet he works in a cat café, making cookies, performing harmless eccentricity.
I tell myself I don’t want to know him.
He’s trouble. I know it. I feel it.
And still, every morning, there he is. Present. Unbothered. Watching.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s testing how long it will take before I ask the wrong question.
I haven’t.
Yet.
Sutaru clocked in after me. Then Nami. I’m still not familiar with either of them. We exchange polite smiles. Functional teamwork. Nothing deeper.
I only started working here when everything exploded.
When the scandal broke.
When 80% of the staff were taken into custody overnight.
The café felt hollow then. Like someone had pulled the spine out of it.
A vacancy opened.
I knew Riko well enough. I was running low on funds.
Voughn Magazine isn’t profitable yet. Not without help.
And I refuse help.
I refuse my family’s influence.
I refuse to let the Van Voughn name be the reason my publication stands.
I came to Los Santos to prove something.
That I can do this on my own.
That I don’t need protection. Or connections. Or inherited power.
Riko hired me almost instantly. No formal interview. No probing questions.
She trusted me.
I don’t know why that bothers me.
The café was meant to be temporary.
A distraction.
A way to stay afloat while I build Voughn into something real.
It was never supposed to matter.
But it does.
I respect Riko more than I anticipated.
She carries herself like someone who has already survived something.
The regular patrons… they smile when they see me now. They ask about my day. They tell me theirs.
At first, my smiles were mechanical.
Now they aren’t. And I don’t like that.
Attachment complicates leverage.
A Van Voughn does not attach.
We observe. We calculate. We build networks.
We don’t belong.
And yet this place is starting to feel like something dangerously close to belonging.
The police barged in again today.
Claims. Suspicion. Vague accusations of “ties.”
I think I saw the Chief. Maybe.
But my mind was elsewhere.
Blue Unicorn.
The name has been haunting my inbox.
Whispers from strangers. Hints from patrons.
I called him again. The detective.
The one who irritates me more than I let on.
I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything.
He didn’t.
But silence from him is louder than gossip from anyone else.
If he refuses to acknowledge it…
Then it’s something I shouldn’t be touching.
Which means I will.
Vanilla Unicorn’s opening night was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
To Night glowed. Neil Downe played his role perfectly.
The air inside was thick with perfume and strategy.
I couldn’t help watching To Night every time she passed by.
There’s something magnetic about her. Composed. Intentional.
That place is everything it promises to be.
Escape. Indulgence.
A sanctuary for those who just want to breathe.
And yet, it’s crawling with power.
Police. EMS. Detectives. Business owners.
Some there to unwind. Some clearly on duty.
I made a list of everyone who walked through those doors.
Habit. Preparation. Insurance.
I might have missed a few.
But the list is strong enough.If I ever needed it.
I saw Tim there. Always talking. Always performing.
I approached him casually. Asked harmless questions.
Friend or foe?
He answered smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Then I noticed Remi’s shoes peeking out from behind a pillar.
Listening.
Of course he was.
I didn’t stop. I kept pushing.
Tim’s story is rehearsed. Polished from repetition.
Underneath that charm, there’s something buried.
I don’t know what yet.
But I’m patient.
Truth reveals itself if you let someone believe they’ve convinced you.
I asked Omi which detective would be more likely to help me.
He paused.
“The white haired one.”
I almost groaned out loud.
He’s difficult intentionally. Manipulative. Brilliant.
He sees ten moves ahead.
And I hate that I respect that.
I don’t want to talk to him.
But I will.
Lucky sells me information.
He lies. I know he lies.
But I react like he’s offering gold.
I pay him well. Encourage him.
Make him feel significant.
Every lie has a purpose.
Someone wants that version circulating.
That alone is valuable.
When I asked my manager about Blue Unicorn, he was genuinely shocked I even knew the term.
He tried to redirect.
Said it referred to someone else.
Then something about VIP rooms.
He was scrambling.
That’s how I knew he was lying.
I told him my loyalty lies with Riko.
That was true.
And truth is the best manipulation tool.
Then I made a mistake.
I mentioned his street racing.
He froze.
That was the moment he understood.
I am watching more than I say.
He called me dangerous.
I agreed.
But afterward, walking away, I felt something unfamiliar.
Vulnerability.
Because dangerous people attract danger.
A lawyer told me Blue Unicorn was a backroom at Vanilla Unicorn.
I almost laughed. When will they stop lying?
He asked me to promote him.
Maybe I will. Eventually.
I’m pushing too hard. The wrong people will notice.
So I called Remi, not for information, for protection.
Guaranteed protection.
He didn’t offer it.
Instead, the detectives asked me for names.
Names that, once spoken, can never be unsaid.
Names that would expose me. It felt like a test.
Would I betray the café for my own safety?
I don’t even know why I protect this place.
I have no official ties.
But I feel… responsible.
Grateful. Attached.
I hate that.
A Van Voughn has no friends.
Only leverage. Only power.
I was sent here to harden.
To learn you trust no one.
Yet here I am. Protecting people.
Remi asked about Blue Unicorn again.
I gave him one of the false leads I’d collected.
He saw through it immediately.
He wanted a name.
Someone who runs it.
I almost laughed.
Because I don’t think there is anyone running it.
I think it’s smoke.
Or bait.
Or both.
But I told him I’d find out.
And I walked away pretending I was alright being alone.
The next day, Riko took me out.
We bought a bike.
I chose it carefully. Sleek. Fast. Balanced.
We customized it.
The first time I revved the engine, I felt something loosen in my chest.
Freedom.
Or the illusion of it.
Now I don’t need rides.
I don’t need to depend on anyone’s schedule.
If I’m going to chase stories that might get me into trouble…
At least I’ll get there on my own terms.
I don’t know what I’m becoming here.
I came to Los Santos to prove I don’t need anyone.
But I’m starting to care about people.
Riko.
The café.
Even the irritating detectives.
That wasn’t part of the plan.
A Van Voughn is supposed to operate above attachment.
Cold. Strategic. Untouchable.
And yet here I am.
Smiling without meaning to.
Protecting people without obligation.
Calling for protection even though I claim I don’t need it.
Maybe this city isn’t hardening me.
Maybe it’s forcing me to choose what kind of power I actually want.
And that might be more dangerous than any rumor.
— V.
