The Villain's Sister - Chapter 85

Play with me?

Red Shadow, with me?

“What?”

Did he eat something strange outside?

Worried, I looked at him closely. He removed his mask, becoming Johan again, and gave an excuse.

“You looked gloomy. You seemed stifled and bored, so I thought…”

Honestly, it was too strange, too unfamiliar.

I subtly pulled my body back.

They say people do things they never did before they die… but Red Shadow wasn’t the type to die peacefully.

He was more likely to die from a bomb or gunshot, so I needed to keep a safe distance.

“I play fine on my own, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Then why are you awake at this hour instead of sleeping?”

“You checked if I was asleep before leaving, didn’t you? Why? Are you a pervert? Did you peek into my room or something? I’d better lock my door from now on.”

“…It used to be my room, and I don’t need to open the door to know. You’re so noisy that if you’re awake, the everyday sounds keep going.”

Was that his way of saying I was too restless?

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “You’re like a grandpa, you know? It’s either newspaper, radio, or chess. I thought your dream was to be my great-great-grandfather.”

Johan’s eyebrow twitched.

The dawn atmosphere had made me oddly subdued, but thanks to him, even the faint sleepiness left.

I was hungry, so I dipped the piece of baguette I was eating into milk.

The more the baguette soaked up the milk, the more it looked like something a baby chewed and spit out.

Maybe that’s why heat suddenly flared up in my head.

“Why don’t you bring something tasty?”

“I did.”

“Baguette isn’t tasty. Pizza, jelly, ice cream! There are so many delicious things! If I came to your house instead of a hotel, you should at least buy me ice cream. You’re not some grandma banning me from eating candy because it rots my teeth.”

Logically, if the woman you like is living under the same roof, you should bring out delicious things to win her over. What is this?

“You know I like junk food! Sweet and salty, sweet and salty! Cater to me!”

Johan looked at me and let out a short laugh, lowering his head as his shoulders shook.

He covered his face with one hand, but I could still hear the small laughs slipping out.

With laughter in his voice, he said, “I’ll buy some when the sun comes up tomorrow.”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Alright. I won’t.”

He said he wouldn’t, but he was still laughing.

I was right. He’d lost his mind.

So this was what he meant about laughing more often?

This kind of laughter I could do without.

I put down the tasteless baguette milk and went to sit on the sofa.

I patted the seat next to me. “You said you’d play with me. Come here.”

“What should we do?”

“If this were my house, I’d at least do my nails.”

Johan went pale.

He started to approach, but then subtly stepped back.

“There’s no TV, no games, so all that’s left is chatting, right?”

“That’s fine.”

When he sat beside me, the sofa dipped.

Johan still carried the scent of the city air.

There was a faintly cool temperature and the strange freshness unique to the night air.

I had only been cooped up for a week, yet the scent of outside made me want to go out even more.

“Pizza, donuts, ice cream. What else do you want to eat?”

“Use your sense and buy whatever. But you don’t like that kind of food, do you?”

“No. When I was on the frontlines, I always craved proper meals. So even after coming back, I don’t reach for that kind of food.”

“You’re honest.”

“Maybe I just want to close the distance between us.”

His calm voice tickled my ears.

Those sharp, high-saturation blue eyes that once felt cold seemed warm now. Was it because of the gentle smile I could see? Or was it the sincerity he showed?

The contrast between his sharp gaze and the soft light in his eyes left me with a strange feeling.

‘I need to leave…’

Sometimes he seemed gloomy, sometimes coy, sometimes fierce, sometimes kind.

Tainted by time, yet oddly innocent.

I didn’t know what kind of man the one beside me really was.

So I was curious.

What expression would he make if I touched his face? What did he do during the day without his mask?

And how would he express love?

How different was the Johan I met in my past life from the one I met this time? I wanted to know everything about him.

“I may not like those foods, but if I eat them with you, I think they’ll taste good.”

Like popping candy bursting into golden sparks, like a meteor shower falling from the sky.

My fingers itched, so I pressed down on the cushion I was hugging.

I wanted to laugh brightly, to make a silly face, but instead I wanted to hide my face with both hands.

“My hatred could never be directed at you.”

The one you love now, is it White Hands, or Giselle Moltke?

In this life, what is the temperature of your love? What color is it?

If we both had the same feelings, what kind of love would we have?

And right now, is the feeling I have for you directed toward the man who ate tangerine ice cream with me, or toward the one who saved me from countless attacks?

The more I thought about it, the more my curiosity grew. I wanted to ignore it, fearing that swelling curiosity would turn into thorns and pierce me.

‘If only we had met in another world, in another relationship.’

Maybe a little curiosity was alright.

“Are you nervous right now?”

Was the great Johan’s stomach tied in knots like mine, too?

Was his palm sweating because he didn’t know what to do?

Johan carefully took my hand and placed it over his chest.

His face looked arrogantly calm as always, but the pulse under my palm was racing as much as mine.

He, too, had popping candy bursting inside him.

He gave a small shrug, and I laughed as if I might cry.

***

From my perspective, it was absurd, but on Mist Island, it was something that could happen.

— Organized Crime Division officer in a romantic relationship with Death Adder’s sister!

Beneath the headline was a large photo.

It showed me at Tristan’s ex-girlfriend’s wedding, affectionately linking arms with him.

— …Daniel Humphrey, culture reporter at Daily Issue and the groom that day, reported that Giselle Moltke flaunted her wealth and belittled the value of labor with her remarks.

— Tristan Lindbergh, officer of the Organized Crime Division and Giselle Moltke’s lover, is known as a talent who achieved rapid promotion through numerous contributions. However, doubts remain whether Lindbergh’s achievements were pure ability or the result of collusion with criminals…

“Are they insane!”

Seeing the article, I screamed.

This was absolutely ridiculous.

“That bastard shoots his mouth off first, then when he’s treated the same way, he gives an interview like this? And Tristan is such a passionate officer!”

Bang!

I slammed the paper down, making the table shake.

While I fumed, Johan pressed his forehead hard with a face that looked ready to burn down the newspaper company immediately.

He looked very, very displeased.

“An impossible thing has happened. Lovers, they say… ha!”

“How did they even get this photo? And outside, I was using a different surname… If it weren’t Tristan, I’d want to sue.”

Johan frowned, staring at my picture in the paper.

“…Was this the outfit you bought for the wedding?”

“What?”

“This dress.”

“Yes. Doesn’t it go well with the accessories? I put some effort in that day because of Tristan. The reaction was crazy. Everyone was staring at me.”

Pleased at having gotten a small revenge on Emma and Daniel, I straightened my shoulders.

“Looks that are wasted, it’s good they were useful at least like this.”

“If your looks were truly wasted, I wouldn’t be this displeased about the photo.”

Was he always this blunt, and just treated me curtly because I was Raphael’s sister?

Nothing Johan said felt familiar anymore.

My face started to burn, so I hurried to change the subject.

“Tristan must be in trouble now. Is there anything I can do for him? He works so hard for the city…”

“It’s best to stay quiet.”

“You’re not saying that because you’re annoyed that Black Pistols is trying to catch Red Shadow, right?”

“I don’t feel fond of him, but I evaluate him positively.”

Getting involved in this matter would only backfire.

He wasn’t wrong.

Turning on the radio, the news came on.

— …A police spokesperson drew a line, stating that Giselle Moltke approached the officer to extract information, and thanks to Tristan Lindbergh quickly realizing this, no damage was done…

“…Now I’m the witch, and Tristan’s the idiot.”

It was true I had approached him with the intent to use him. Being called a witch was fine.

But Tristan wasn’t an idiot.

I couldn’t stand watching a man who devoted himself to the city being made out to be a fool.

“Before this strange image sticks, I have to clear it up myself.”

“What do you want to do?”

— The city council expressed concern that Death Adder’s approach to the police was an attempt by the crime organization to flaunt its power.

In the photo, Tristan’s face was blotted out with black ink.

At least my face alone was shown.

“I’ll sue.”