The Villain's Sister - Chapter 41

Raphael sliced into a steak still tinged with blood.

A late lunch at 3 p.m. was quite satisfying.

It was relatively quiet since lunchtime had passed, and the chef cooked exactly to his taste.

“You seem to be in a good mood.”

“Liam, did I look that way to you?”

“Yes. Is it because the police have begun seriously tracking the Blue Gas after yesterday’s terror attack?”

“That’s good news too. If we can’t get the producer under us, the best course is to push it into the bread. Big Bear will probably lay low for a while.”

“Then we can finish moving next week and invite Miss Giselle.”

“Right. I’ll need to wrap things up by then.”

The move wasn’t a simple matter.

Everything from funds to names had to be perfectly laundered so no one—not the police nor Big Bear—could trace them. There were many things to consider like location and security.

“Deva contacted me this morning. She seems to be doing well.”

“So that’s why you’re in a good mood.”

Raphael shrugged and shoved a large piece of steak into his mouth.

The sunlight was bright, the air was fresh. The music in the restaurant was gentle, and it seemed his sister had cooled off.

“It’s a good start to the day.”

Just then, the door burst open and Johan entered.

Liam, who had his back to the door, shot up and reached for the gun at his waist.

Raphael waved him off.

Judging by Johan’s disheveled face, something had definitely happened to Deva.

That call must have been because of it too.

“I told you to stay close to Deva and report in by phone.”

Just slightly, Johan’s breathing was rough.

He wasn’t sweating or panting, so it didn’t seem like he had rushed there because something had happened.

Yet he looked as if something had happened and he was excited about it… Liam thought Johan resembled a hunting dog that had escaped the field and its master.

Raphael narrowed his eyes and put down his fork and knife.

The bright mood from a moment ago flipped.

Thud.

He roughly threw down the napkin he had used to wipe his mouth.

With eyes blazing, Raphael looked like a warrior ready to draw his sword and jump into battle.

“Speak. What is she hiding?”

“She was at the scene of the department store terror attack yesterday. I evacuated her safely. She’s now at the hotel. Room 2310, Warren Hotel.”

Liam gulped loudly. His face turned pale, and he stood up and left the room.

Having served as Raphael’s right-hand man for a long time, he knew exactly what Raphael would do once the conversation ended.

“So the civilian who clashed with the perpetrators on the first floor was you.”

Since the media had been raving about a righteous civilian who helped the hostages escape, Raphael could guess what had happened.

So that’s why she called this morning—because of yesterday’s incident.

A vein bulged on Raphael’s forehead.

He barely swallowed his rage, but his breath still came rough.

“What do you want? Say it. Anything.”

“The access code to the informant Fog.”

“You can ask the guy three questions. Once your turn is up, even if you get another code or go through another person, you won’t get any answers. Each person gets only one chance. Also, questions that overlap with previous users won’t work. Oh, and Fog doesn’t remember the questions or the answers, so keep that in mind.”

Raphael wrote the code on a napkin next to him and tossed it over, then immediately stood and pulled on his jacket.

As he passed Johan, he paused and said, “If you ever need me again, come find me. I don’t turn down useful guys like you.”

***

A year and six months ago, a brief rumor circulated in the underground world of Mist Island.

“They say there’s an esper in this city who can heal anything.”

News of the psychic spread unpredictably across the city.

“He appeared to a homeless man whose bones were shattered in a car accident last night.”

“He dropped by the children’s ward a week ago and healed a child who had been paralyzed from an accident before fleeing.”

“Heard he completely healed a worker who was expected to die after suffering full-body burns in the warehouse fire a month ago.”

One day it was a hospital, another a homeless shelter, and another a pub.

There was no pattern to speak of.

Some who had been ill sought out those who had been healed and asked about the esper.

“I couldn’t see his face. But just one thing.”

Some testified it was a man in his thirties, others claimed it was a teenage girl.

Despite the inconsistent testimonies, they all said the same thing.

“His hands were white.”

So the people of the underground called him White Hands.

It was the perfect nickname for a being whose age, gender, and identity were completely unknown.

And Red Shadow was the most shocked by White Hands’ appearance.

“Hey.”

At his appearance, Black Pistols jumped and raised their gun.

He had been crouching under a streetlamp, checking the roster of a newly formed underground organization.

“Ack! Damn it, give a warning before showing up!”

“Heard the rumors about White Hands?”

“Oh, that. Yeah. It’s been crazy lately. Why, are you interested too?”

“I need detailed information.”

“Got nothing to tell you. You’d need someone who actually knows White Hands. Even those who say they met him never saw the face.”

Since the testimonies about his age and gender varied, they had to keep observing White Hands’ movements.

Black Pistols looked Red Shadow up and down.

Didn’t seem injured. Was it a sick family member? Or a hidden wound?

“Is it serious?”

“A personal matter.”

“Personal… weird to hear that from you.”

Both Black Pistols and Red Shadow kept their private lives secret.

They never pried into each other’s business.

What mattered to them was citizens’ safety and stopping villains, not what the other did during the day.

And Red Shadow was unsociable, antisocial, and inhuman.

He was even called a villain hunter by villains themselves, so for him to say “a personal matter” was unexpected enough to make Black Pistols worry for the first time.

“You’re not sick, right?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then it’s fine. If I get info on White Hands, I’ll share it… oh.” Black Pistols stood up and said, “Why not look for Fog?”

“Thought he died in a gang war years ago.”

“Heard Raphael’s trying to get his code behind the scenes. No point spending money and manpower for someone already dead.”

Lucky Ginger was scouring the city to find White Hands, and Two Star had put a 1.5 billion raphens bounty on him.

The underground world had its eyes on White Hands.

Red Shadow let out an unconscious groan at the way things were going.

***

At the hospital back then, there were 13 patients with poor eyesight.

Among them, the only teenager was Maya Cox.

But Maya Cox was an only child, and the girl who treated him said she had an older brother.

He checked to see if Maya Cox had grown up with a cousin or a neighbor boy, but found no such person.

So he always had doubts.

That maybe Maya Cox wasn’t his fairy godmother.

‘If Maya Cox isn’t the girl…’

He had to find White Hands and confirm it as soon as possible.

But even if he met White Hands, he had no way to confirm it.

Too much time had passed. He didn’t know the girl’s face, and had forgotten her voice.

Still, he wanted to confirm the truth.

If they weren’t the same person, he wanted to protect White Hands for helping the weak. If they were…

“Please spare me! I really worked hard. I’ve never done anything wrong. I’m not some villain’s minion. I just ran a normal factory to survive, please…!”

Red Shadow looked around and asked the man kneeling before him, “Did White Hands visit your daughter who left to study abroad last month?”