The Villain's Sister - Chapter 110

― As the central army’s deployment is delayed, controversy grows that the government is aiding the escape of underground organizations.

― Sunshine, known as the boss of the major drug cartel Lucky Ginger, has been identified as the initial distributor of the blue gas. The police have announced that the wizard known as the Black Cloak, who helped Sunshine escape prison, is supplying the blue gas….

Tristan nervously bit his lip.

Click—

He turned off the radio and looked at me.

“It’s not likely, but if Raphael escapes from the transport vehicle… make sure you don’t run into Sunshine.”

“Do they have some kind of history?”

In my previous life, Raphael and Oscar killed Sunshine after he discovered that I was White Hands.

Sunshine had tried to merge his chemical knowledge with White Hands’ power to create the perfect drug.

‘Raphael and Oscar believed that White Hands would one day bring a storm over the entire city.’

Politicians, billionaires, the underworld, and citizens alike—

All kinds of people would covet White Hands’ power.

Their tangled greed would create a living hell.

“He knows about my power. He even threatened me at the police station.”

“Was that real?”

“He’s quick on the uptake.”

“It’s because you healed me the day I woke up from that dream, right?”

“That’s part of it, but what really gave it away was healing Raphael.”

“What did that bastard say?”

“He asked me to join hands with him. I refused. Raphael uncovered Fog’s code trying to hide my identity. So if he doesn’t end up in prison, he’ll most likely try to kill Sunshine.”

The last thing I wanted was for Raphael and Tristan to become enemies locked in a deadly fight.

If the two of them clashed, I wouldn’t know who to root for.

“I think Liam Fabian will show up trying to save Raphael. If that bastard gains his freedom… what will you do then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that.” I bit my lip and answered with difficulty, “I don’t think this story was ever meant to have a happy ending.”

Tristan’s eyebrow twitched, and I found that expression strangely amusing.

“You know what kind of world the underground is. It’s a place where moths live.”

Even though we all knew destruction awaited at the end, once we stepped into that world, there was no way out, so we just kept running forward.

Some came chasing pleasure, others survival. In this place, there was no salvation.

“But still, don’t think I’ve given up hope. Didn’t Black City Mix win?”

Leaving Tristan behind as he splashed water on his face again and again, I went looking for Johan.

After showing us to the guest room, he had disappeared without a trace. Not even a strand of hair left behind.

‘He didn’t look like he was in a good mood.’

I searched the hallway for his room, knocking on each door as I passed.

The sky outside the window burned red like it was on fire.

Knock, knock. When I knocked, permission came from inside to come in.

Click.

When I opened the door, the smell of cigarettes poured out.

Johan was smoking by the window.

Bathed in the crimson light of sunset, his back looked unbearably lonely.

He looked as if he might vanish at any moment, and a strange sense of unease welled up in me.

Before I even realized it, my lips had called out to him, as if trying to anchor him to reality.

“Johan.”

When he turned and saw me, his eyes softened.

The smile tugging at his lips was full of quiet warmth.

“You smoke?”

“Not really.”

“Doesn’t look like your first time.”

“It only happens once or twice a year. A bad habit I picked up from lousy comrades back in the army.”

After snuffing out the cigarette in the ashtray, he tilted his head slightly and looked down at me more crookedly than usual.

“What is it?”

“Oh. It’s nothing serious, just about the train ticket.”

“I’ve changed the reservation time. The train leaves tomorrow at 11:15, so if we leave by 11, we’ll make it.”

“Isn’t that a little late?”

“Going early will only draw attention.”

“I see… then we’ll leave at 11.”

“Alright. Is there anywhere in Hellpipe City you’d like to visit?”

His tone was polite—graceful even—and his expression gentle, yet something about it felt off.

It was as if he were wearing a white mask.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Johan’s face crumbled and then quickly composed itself again. It happened so fast that anyone not paying close attention wouldn’t have noticed.

He didn’t look embarrassed because his sadness had been caught, but rather because I’d noticed it.

“When you say things like that, it’s easy to misunderstand. Like you actually care about me.”

“….”

“Is it okay if I misunderstand?”

“No.”

When I shook my head, he smiled bitterly.

I looked around Johan’s room.

Despite the ornate ceiling decorations, the bed and desk were simple.

The only things that weren’t modest were the stacks of books piled up like a library—novels, humanities, history, and more.

Come to think of it, even back at the apartment, he often spent time reading alone.

“Did you read all these?”

“Yes. There wasn’t enough space in the apartment, so I came here sometimes and left the ones I’d finished.”

“I see. There are even books on criminology.”

The moment I spoke, I regretted it.

In the dream, Johan had said he had something he wanted to do, but that he couldn’t—and shouldn’t—do it.

Like a fool, I realized too late what that was.

When I glanced at his face, he confessed as if reading my thoughts.

“Making a living doing something meaningful is a wonderful thing.”

What Johan had wanted to become was a police officer.

But for someone who hunted villains every night, it was a contradictory profession.

He grabbed my shoulders and turned me around so I was facing away from the bookshelf filled with criminology books.

“That’s why sometimes, I envy Tristan Lindbergh. He’s a cop and a man with dreams strong enough to chase his ideals.”

“….”

“But I don’t regret becoming Red Shadow. If I hadn’t worn the mask, I never would’ve found you.”

“Why me….”

White Hands seemed to hold far more meaning for Johan than I could understand.

It was something I could never fully grasp.

No matter how miraculously healed he’d been, White Hands wasn’t worth throwing an entire life away for.

Johan let out a quiet laugh.

The soft sound that rumbled in his throat carried a strange secretive tone.

“Giselle. I hated this house. To be exact, I hated the life that began here. Sometimes living itself felt like a curse.”

Johan’s life—something no comic or past memory could explain—was summarized briefly in that moment.

The kind of pain tucked within those few sentences was one I knew all too well.

“Even so, when I decided to die, I was terrified. I was full of sorrow and despair. And then you appeared.”

“So it’s because I’m White Hands that you like me.”

“For that, I’ve sunk too deep into you.”

His expression softened as he slightly, ever so slightly, closed the distance between us.

In his piercingly blue eyes, I saw my reflection.

The look in Johan’s eyes was so warm it made it hard to breathe—ticklish, shy, and burning hot.

Is love always this warm? If just meeting someone’s gaze could make me this happy, how blissful must real lovers be?

“Why do you like me?”

“I don’t know anymore. But if I had to name a reason… maybe because you made me like the color purple.”

It was such a simple answer, yet somehow it made me laugh. I couldn’t hold it back.

When I smiled wide, his gaze locked on me as if entranced.

His fixed stare made me feel like I was melting.

Then, as if in pain, Johan buried his face in the crook of my neck.

His long arms wrapped around my waist.

He pleaded softly.

“Johan?”

“Please… tell me you want me.”

The desperate plea, almost a groan, caught in my chest.

I wanted to whisper every word he longed to hear.

But I couldn’t say any of them.

All I could do was pat his trembling back and gently stroke his hair.

A faint sound of pain escaped him.

After hesitating again and again, I finally ran my hand through his smooth hair.

As if offering him a comfort I had no right to give.

“I’m sorry. Truly….”

I said I wouldn’t want anything, but that’s impossible.

Even I swore dozens of times that I’d put Raphael behind bars, but once I finally locked him in the underground prison, my blood dried up day by day.

Can a man who’s thrown everything away and the woman who fell in love with such a man ever be happy?

For the woman, guilt would pierce her chest and follow her wherever she went, and for the man, memories of his former life would haunt him from time to time.

Just as Raphael and I must be freed from each other, so too must we grow apart.

So the betrayal that will happen tomorrow is the best choice for both of us.