On July 17, 1989, the sun bathed the Wisconsin prairies, a land once revered by the Native Americans, now in its most splendid season.

The air was rich with the scent of milk, heralding a time of importance for some, as they approached life's pivotal midway—college beginnings in August, leaving scant time for the high school graduates to revel in their youthful exuberance.

Alongside farms and down the roads, cars filled with vibrant youths meandered. Hormone-driven boys and girls easily succumbed to romance in this heady season, occasionally facing the unpleasant aftermath of their fervor.

"Merlin! Merlin!"

A black muscle car raced down the road past the farm at 120 mph, skidding to a stylish halt outside. Girls in breezy attire shouted from the car.

"Come hang with us! Stop being a loner! You nerd!"

The driver honked incessantly, startling the dairy cows. Shortly after, a skinny young man in a striped shirt, clutching a wrench, emerged from the garage.

With dark hair, pale gray eyes, and standing at 1.8 meters tall, his face was smeared with grease, suggesting recent mechanical endeavors. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he waved amiably at the clamorous group, shouting back:

"Go ahead, I'm a bit busy."

"Don't be like that, Merlin."

One girl stood up, her sweet voice rising above the jeers:

"Come out and play with us."

The girls' chants suggested Merlin was well-regarded among them, though the boys, not as much. The driver gestured mockingly at Merlin before flooring the accelerator.

"Nerd Merlin! Have fun by yourself!"

With the car's occupants screaming in excitement, it sped away, vanishing from Merlin's view in the blink of an eye.

Merlin shrugged off the mockery and retreated to the garage, where soon after, the sounds of hammering resumed.

This young man, Merlin, wasn't fond of aimless wanderings with his peers.

A boy born into disaster and nightmares, Merlin was more grounded than others his age. Especially after his family, burdened by rumors linked to him, had to relocate from Buffalo County to Madison. Merlin had learned to keep a low profile, avoiding the spotlight.

Some occurrences in his life were indeed hard to explain.

Preferring the company of family over the dolled-up girls, Merlin rather spent his time fixing up the classic 1962 red Chevrolet Corvette in the garage, affectionately named "Lola," as if the car were his girlfriend.

His dad had promised, if Merlin could fix it, the cool car would be his.

For Merlin, no better 18th birthday gift existed than Lola, which he planned to drive to New York for his six-year stint at college, aiming to become a doctor, find love, raise children, and carry on the Riley lineage.

"Merlin! Can you keep the noise down? It's only 9 AM! Can't you let me sleep peacefully, even for just one day?"

As Merlin closed the hood, a complaining voice arose behind him.

Turning, he saw Phil, his brother, in a loose T-shirt and jeans, hair a mess, yawning widely.

Phil, Phillip J. Coulson, was the son of his foster father, James Coulson, three years Merlin's junior, and a high-achieving high school student.

"If you went to bed on time, you'd be up to help me with Lola every bright morning at nine."

Leaning on Lola's hood, Merlin set down his wrench and grabbed a towel to wipe his hands, eyeing Phil until the latter averted his gaze. Then Merlin asked:

"What were you up to last night, coming back after 2 AM?"

The pointed question made Phil turn away, muttering:

"I'm a healthy 15-year-old, I'm handsome, popular, and it's summer break. What do you think I was doing? Haven't you ever been through puberty?"

"Sure I have, but clearly not as 'passionately' as you."

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Merlin stood, approaching Phil with a look of resignation. After a sigh, he handed Phil the towel, advising:

"Wipe off the lipstick from your neck before Mom sees, or she'll have your head."

Phil hurriedly cleaned the kiss marks in the mirror.

Merlin, standing behind, reflected on his brother's image: a typical American teen, slightly shorter than Merlin, with clean features and the same grey eyes. When Phil pursed his lips, an unexpected sternness added to his allure among the giddy girls.

Phil styled his hair into a cool upward quiff, then confidently applied hair gel.

Behind him, Merlin, with the air of a true physician, added:

"Ease up on the hair gel; it increases your chance of balding by 20%. And I'm curious, did you use protection last night? What's her name?"

"Damn it! Stop asking."

Phil glared at his brother, retorting:

"I know more about these things than you do, no need for your advice. And it wasn't Stacy last night; it was Julie, the new girl in Madison, half-Nordic, exotic. She likes me, and I like her, who knows, maybe it'll turn into something real."

"Hold on!"

Merlin interrupted Phil's daydream, rummaging through a pile of letters on the garage table, asking without looking up:

"Julie? Julie Noice? That's her, right?"

"Yeah, how do you know her name?"

Phil's curiosity peaked as Merlin turned, holding three letters. The familiar perfume scent made Phil's face sour.

"Of course, I know her, my foolish brother."

With a wry smile, Merlin placed the letters in Phil's hands, patting his shoulder softly:

"She wrote me three love letters when she first arrived at Madison High, two for Jason, two for Boulder, and countless others for guys I don't even know... across the entire school..."

"Don't tell me you're so naive to believe such a promiscuous girl would fall for you at first sight? You've been making the same mistake since you were thirteen, and you never learn."

Phil stiffened, prompting Merlin to add a note of warning:

"Phil, I don't want to meddle in your teenage life, but you better be more discerning. Dad's a respected gym teacher at school and in the community. Don't tarnish his reputation with your antics... Get the picture?"

"That bitch! That damned..."

Phil tore the letters furiously, resembling a restless young beast. Merlin grabbed his wrist, warning:

"No cursing at home!"

"Clean up, dry your tears, get dressed. We're going out for lunch. It's for my birthday, brother, and you're not skipping it, right?"

Phil nodded silently, eyes red, yet another emotional bruise for the young man.

But such is the mark of American youth, from which none can escape.

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"Cheer up, everyone, today's a day for celebration."

James Coulson emerged, adjusting his tie, winking at his sons:

"Merlin, the principal told me you're invited to speak as an outstanding graduate. You make me proud, unlike Phil, the troublemaker. Speaking of which, are you still fixing up Lola? Need a hand? You've got half a month before college starts, and if you haven't fixed it yet, maybe you need some elder wisdom."

"No need, Dad."

Merlin, now casually dressed, helped his father into the car, assuring him:

"I've replaced Lola's engine, just a few steps left, and your precious car is mine."

"The original engine?"

James' eyes widened, a hint of sternness emerging:

"Where'd you get the money? You didn't do anything you shouldn't have, did you?"

"It's all earned."

Merlin took the driver's seat, igniting the engine smoothly, and as he reversed, he explained to his parents in the mirror:

"I've been interning and working at Rubes' private clinic over the summers. Though I only reached the legal age this year, Rubes paid me extra. Dad, do I look like a bad kid to you?"

"Of course not."

Before James could reply, Merlin's mother, Anna Coulson, stood from the backseat, kissing her son's forehead, saying:

"My little Merlin is the best. But you're leaving, and that breaks my heart."

As Merlin started to respond to his mother's sadness, a figure suddenly appeared in front of the moving car.

Though just a glimpse, Merlin saw it clearly.

A man in a black suit with a mysterious blue cape, wearing a black gentleman's hat.

The brim was so low, his face was indiscernible. He stood there with a cane, smiling as if greeting Merlin.

So vivid was the apparition that Merlin instinctively hit the brakes, jolting the accelerating car, tumbling his unsuspecting mother in the backseat and slamming Phil against the window.

The car was in disarray.

"Damn it!"

Phil, rubbing his reddened forehead, bellowed at Merlin:

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, it's not that! I saw someone in front, wearing a cloak, a hat... I saw it clearly."

Merlin gripped the wheel, his heart racing, his explanation frantic, but Phil turned to see nothing in front of the car.

"You're crazy, Merlin!"

Phil screamed:

"There's nobody there!"

"Phil! Shut up!"

James, seeing his son's genuine panic, recalled the dark rumors from Buffalo County about Merlin's origins.

People said Merlin was cursed, his birth bringing death to his parents, misfortune to those around him.

Due to those vile attacks, the Coulsons had to move to Madison fifteen years ago.

Merlin's expression made James tense as well. He decisively stepped out of the car to search, but found no one, not even footprints.

"There's no one, Merlin. You must've been seeing things."

After a thorough check, James reassured Merlin and his wife, then shouted at the grumbling Phil:

"Phil, you drive. Let your brother rest."

"But I'm only 15, didn't you say that at my age I shouldn't..."

"Shut it! Drive! We're going to be late for lunch."

Under James' stern command, Phil, surprisingly, wasn't upset but eagerly drove away. Growing up on a farm, his driving skills were commendable.

In the midday sun, as the car left the farm for the restaurant, Merlin, now in the passenger seat, saw the figure with the blue cape and hat every time he glanced out the window.

The figure was watching him...

Communicating something beyond words or gestures.

Merlin understood.

Yes, he lied.

He wasn't oblivious to his parents' death or the fire that devastated the Riley family when he was a month old...

He recognized the figure, remembered it clearly from the night his parents died.

Absent for eighteen years, so long Merlin himself thought it a mere phantom memory, but it wasn't.

It wasn't fantasy, but reality.

Do devils or angels truly exist?

No one knows, but today, Merlin knows...

Whatever that being is, whatever it represents...

It... has come for him.