The Villain's Sister - Chapter 24

Tristan carelessly threw down his motorcycle helmet and checked his wounds in the mirror.

Stabbed and grazed all over, there wasn’t a single unscathed spot.

Some wounds were steadily becoming scars, and some old ones were starting to fade.

“Agh.”

The disinfectant stung as it soaked into the wounds.

He squeezed the tube of ointment.

“What the—? It’s empty?”

Did he have any new stock? Come to think of it, he needed to buy new bandages too.

After buying weapons, paying utility bills, and covering living expenses with his meager police salary, there wasn’t even enough left to buy medicine.

Damn it, is this even living?

Muttering to himself, Tristan remembered the pouch Giselle had given him.

Even when he first received it, he thought it felt fairly heavy for something small.

When he unzipped it, all sorts of medicine poured out.

Painkillers, hemostatics, anti-inflammatory drugs, antibiotics, fever reducers, disinfectant, bandages, kinesiology tape, plasters, dressing bandages—pretty much everything was in there.

“Was she planning to open a pharmacy or something? Who carries around this much medicine?”

Even in a lawless place like Mist Island, carrying around a kit like this was rare.

He applied the ointment and stuck on a dressing bandage.

Just in case, he also took an anti-inflammatory pill. Looking at the heavy pouch again, Tristan let out a faint smile.

Next time I see her, I really need to buy her something good.

Thinking that, he crawled into bed for a short nap before work.

***

Raphael had come in at sunrise and was sleeping like the dead, so breakfast was just me and Johan.

The morning news covered the exploits of Black Pistols and Red Shadow from the night before.

— As the central government began to regard heroes engaging in vigilante activities across various cities as potential criminals, Mist Island senator Aaron Ederson voiced his objection, stating that branding vigilantes as criminals was unjust. In response, Mayor Maggie Giomatti—

I changed the channel.

— With the exposure of Joseph O’Connell’s heinous crimes, ministers from various central government offices and lawmakers from Mist Island and nearby cities have been dismissed from their posts.

I changed the channel again.

On Morning Issue, panelists were chattering about the identities of the heroes.

— When Black Pistols first appeared, who would’ve thought motorcycle helmets would come to symbolize sexiness? A hero who wears a leather jacket and rides a bike!

Sure, he’s sexy, but one look at his foul mouth and you’d realize how important good behavior is.

— Maybe he’s a guy who lives half-homeless in a trailer on the outskirts. Living a solitary life, sacrificing himself for the city’s justice.

He enjoyed coffee breaks with his colleagues and visited his mother every weekend. A model citizen.

— Red Shadow must be filthy rich. Look at this photo! That three-piece suit he’s wearing is definitely not off-the-rack. Maybe he became a hero as part of noblesse oblige.

— Technically, he’s an anti-hero. I think he chose vigilante activity as a legitimate outlet for his homicidal urges. There are lots of people with weird kinks in this world.

My gaze naturally drifted to Johan sitting across from me.

When he had collapsed in our yard from his injury, the clothes he was wearing had definitely been high-end.

Noticing my stare as he glumly swallowed his eggs, Johan raised an eyebrow. He was silently asking why I was looking at him like that.

“It’s nothing.”

I just turned off the TV. Morning programs were always trash.

“Does it not taste good?”

“It does.”

“Want some more?”

“I’ve had enough.”

“I’m staying home today.”

“That would be best. You’ve been going out a lot lately.”

If I had as much strength as Raphael, I would have punched someone already.

Swallowing my frustration, I pushed the plate into the sink.

Then I checked the mailbox in the yard.

Inside were newspapers, letters, and a gift box.

There was no sender listed on the wrapping. No sender on the letter either.

It must have been from the stalker…

When I brought the gift box inside, Johan asked, “What is that?”

“Johan, please check this for me. I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“I think it’s from the stalker.”

“A stalker?”

“I have a bad feeling. Please open it for me.”

Johan took the box and unwrapped it.

A box from a luxury handbag brand appeared. I bit my nail as I glanced at it from the corner of my eye.

My heart pounded violently.

That damn stalker wouldn’t send a proper gift. Not that I’d accept it anyway.

“I’m opening it.”

I quickly turned around and shut my eyes. I heard the sound of a cardboard box being opened.

“Ah, is there something inside?”

“You’d best not look.”

“What is it?”

“An animal corpse.”

Click.

Only after the box was closed did I open my eyes.

My heart pounded so hard I gulped down water in big swallows.

“Hoo.”

I took a deep breath and steeled myself.

Still, when I opened the envelope and read the contents, a scream escaped.

I covered my mouth just in time to keep from yelling that early in the morning, but I’d already seen the blood-red paper.

— Meeting with the police? You ungrateful bitch. A whore like you should have been beaten to death by your father back then.

Johan picked up the letter from the floor and read it.

“It’s not ink. It’s blood. So you have a stalker.”

The unspoken words likely meant it was a hassle.

My legs trembled, and I collapsed on the spot.

Johan asked indifferently, “What will you do?”

“Just a moment. Just…”

So shocked, I buried my face between my knees and curled up.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

“Don’t tell Raphael. If we catch the stalker, he’ll bury him in the sea instead of sending him to prison.”

“So you’ll let it go?”

“Of course not. I’ve been tormented for two years already. I’m reporting this to the police.”

“…Are you saying that knowing what your family does for a living?”

“I know. That’s why I’m doing this! There’s no reason I need to rely on illegal underground means like Raphael!”

I pressed my palm against my throbbing forehead.

Only then did I realize I was breathing heavily.

I firmly dabbed the tears leaking from my eyes with a tissue.

I blew my nose and took a deep breath to calm down.

If Raphael would just throw everything away—Death Adder, everything—and run away far with me, it would all be over… but nothing was easy.

“Sorry for yelling. Please hold onto the letter and box. I’ll get ready quickly.”

As I climbed the stairs, every breath felt heavy.

***

“I’ll use a fake name with the police.”

“Giselle Rodriguez?”

I looked at Johan in the driver’s seat. Reading the question in my eyes, he explained, “That policeman said so last time. That your name is Giselle Rodriguez.”

“Ah… that’s right.”

“Are you going to that same policeman?”

“Tristan’s in the organized crime division. This isn’t his department.”

Maybe because my family environment growing up was such a mess, storms easily stirred within me.

Depending on the situation, waves of anxiety came crashing in and out—today must be high tide.

The emotions surging up to my throat left behind the froth of fear.

And also the unfair thought: ‘Why me?’

It’s not like I wanted to be born this way. Why was Andrew my biological father?

Why did I go through all that? Why do I have to receive bloody letters?

I raged against the injustice unfairly distributed across the world.

“How can I help you?”

As I wandered around the police station, a man in uniform asked me.

“I’d like to report something. Actually, it’s a stalk—”

“Giselle?”

At the familiar voice, I turned my head and saw Tristan walking toward me from the end of the hall.

Of all places, in this huge building—why here, why now…