The Villain's Sister - Chapter 24

Tristan tossed his motorcycle helmet aside and stood in front of the mirror to check his wounds.

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

Some were steadily turning into scars, while older ones were fading.

“Ugh.”

The antiseptic stung as he poured it over the wound.

He squeezed the tube of ointment.

“What the— it’s empty?”

Did he have a new one? Come to think of it, he needed new bandages too.

After spending his meager police salary on weapons, utilities, and living expenses, there was barely anything left for medicine.

Damn it, is this even a life?

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

Even when he received it, he had noticed the considerable weight inside.

He unzipped it, and a variety of medicines spilled out.

Painkillers, hemostatics, anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, fever reducers, antiseptics, bandages, muscle tape, plasters, dressing strips… it had almost everything.

“Planning to open a pharmacy or something? Why so many meds?”

Even in lawless Mist Island, it wasn’t common to carry around this much in a bag.

He applied the ointment and placed a dressing strip on the wound.

Just in case, he also took an anti-inflammatory pill. Tristan looked at the heavy pouch and let out a small chuckle.

Next time I see her, I really ought to buy her something delicious.

With that thought, he crawled into bed for a quick nap before work.

***

Raphael had returned around dawn and was sleeping like the dead, so breakfast was just me and Johan.

The morning news was reporting last night’s activity involving the Black Pistols and Red Shadow.

— After the central government labeled vigilante heroes as potential criminals in every city, Mist Island senator Aaron Ederson argued that branding vigilantes as lawbreakers was unjust. In response, Mayor Maggie Giomatti…

I changed the channel.

— Following the exposure of Joseph O’Connell’s heinous crimes, several ministers from the central government and lawmakers from Mist Island and nearby cities were dismissed from office.

I changed the channel again.

On “Morning Issue,” the panelists were chattering about the heroes’ identities.

— When Black Pistols first appeared, who would’ve thought motorcycle helmets would come to represent sexiness? A hero in a leather jacket riding a motorcycle!

Sexy, sure—but if they saw his thug-like tongue, they’d realize just how much behavior matters.

— He might be some guy half-homeless in a suburban trailer. Living a lonely life, yet dedicating himself to justice in the city.

He was the kind of guy who had coffee breaks with coworkers and visited his mother every weekend—a model citizen.

— Red Shadow must be very wealthy. Look at this photo! The three-piece suit he’s wearing isn’t some off-the-rack item. Maybe he’s doing hero work as part of noblesse oblige.

— Technically, he’s an antihero. I think he chose vigilante work as an outlet for his homicidal urges. There are plenty of people with strange kinks out there.

My gaze instinctively shifted to Johan sitting across from me.

The clothes he wore when he collapsed in our yard from his injuries were indeed high-end.

Johan, who was eating his eggs with a weary expression, noticed my stare and raised an eyebrow. It meant: Why are you looking at me like that?

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

I just turned off the TV. Morning shows were always garbage.

“Does it taste bad?”

“No.”

“Want more, then?”

“I’ve had enough.”

“I’m staying home today.”

“You should. You’ve been going out a lot lately.”

If I had Raphael’s strength, I would’ve punched someone long ago.

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

Then I went out to check the mailbox in the yard.

There were newspapers, letters, and a gift box in the mailbox.

The wrapping paper didn’t have a sender. Neither did the letter.

It looked like something from the stalker…

As I brought the box inside, Johan asked, “What’s that?”

“Johan. Check this for me. I can’t do it.”

“What is it?”

“I think it’s from the stalker.”

“The stalker?”

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

Johan took the box and unwrapped it.

It was a designer handbag brand box. I glanced at it sideways while biting my nails.

My heart was pounding.

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

“I’ll open it.”

I quickly closed my eyes and turned around. I heard the sound of the box being opened.

“Ah, there’s something inside.”

“It’s better if you don’t look.”

“What is it?”

“An animal carcass.”

Click.

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

My heart thudded as I gulped down water.

“Hoo.”

After a deep breath, I braced myself.

Still, when I opened the envelope to check its contents, a scream slipped out.

I covered my mouth to stop myself from shrieking in the morning, but I’d already seen the bloody paper.

— Meeting with the police, you ungrateful bitch. A whore like you should’ve been beaten to death by your father back then.

Johan picked up the letter that had fallen to the floor and read it.

“It’s not ink, it’s blood. And now there’s a stalker.”

The words he didn’t say were probably because it was bothersome.

My legs trembled, and I sank to the floor.

Johan asked indifferently, “What will you do?”

“Just a moment. Just…”

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

My heartbeat pounded violently in my ears.

“Don’t tell Raphael. If we catch the stalker, I’ll bury them in the ocean, not prison.”

“So you’re just going to bury this?”

“I have to catch them. It’s already been two years. I’ll report it to the police.”

“…Do you know what your family does for a living?”

“I do. That’s why I’m doing this! I don’t need to resort to illegal and underground stuff like Raphael!”

I pressed my throbbing forehead with the palm of my hand.

Only then did I realize I was breathing heavily.

I pressed tissue against the tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

I blew my nose and took deep breaths to calm myself.

If Raphael gave up Death Adder and everything else to run far away with me, it would all end… but nothing is ever easy.

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

As I climbed the stairs, my breath felt heavy.

***

“I’ll use an alias with the police.”

“Giselle Rodriguez?”

I looked at Johan’s profile as he drove, and he explained, having noticed my question.

“That police officer said it last time. That your name was Giselle Rodriguez.”

“Ah… that’s right.”

“Are you going to him?”

“Tristan’s with the Organized Crime Division, this isn’t his department.”

Maybe because of a chaotic upbringing, storms stir easily within me.

So depending on the situation, waves of anxiety wash in and out repeatedly, and today must be high tide.

The emotions rising to my throat leave the froth of fear.

At the same time, I feel an injustice—why me?

It’s not like I wanted to be born this way. Why did Andrew have to be my biological father, why did I have to go through all that, and why must I now receive a letter written in blood… I’m furious at the unfairness that’s equally distributed to everyone in this world.

“How can I help you?”

When I arrived at the police station and looked around, a man in uniform asked.

“I’m here to report something. It’s about a sto—”

“Giselle?”

At the familiar voice, I turned my head and saw Tristan walking down the hallway.

Of all places, in this huge building…