The Villain's Sister - Chapter 92

It was time to start packing.

Tap, tap.

I shoved my T-shirts into the bag, whether they wrinkled or not. That was when Johan appeared in the middle of his room.

“Shit! What’s wrong with the door? Why sneak in like a damn thief?”

Johan tilted his head slightly, dodging the sock Tristan threw.

He looked around the messy room and closed his eyes for a moment.

“How’s your body?”

“Perfect, except for the scar across my abs.”

“I arranged the documents to say you’re receiving treatment in Paradise Hill City.”

The day he was injured, Johan had shown up only when Raphael was being arrested by the police.

Because Giselle used her power, his wound healed cleanly, which could’ve drawn suspicion, but that day she only healed him enough to keep him alive so he’d be transported to the hospital.

After the bullet was removed and surgery was done, Tristan fully recovered thanks to Johan’s help and Giselle’s visit.

To hide attention, they faked his transfer to a famous hospital in Paradise Hill City, known for its skill, under the pretense that his condition was critical.

“Tch. If my team comes to visit, I’m done for.”

“They won’t have the energy for that. I heard the department’s in chaos with the internal investigation.”

“Ah, well.”

Thanks to Giselle’s blunt exposé about how the police had concealed evidence, the entire department faced massive public outrage, even from the central government.

She’d filed for protection, but the only person she cared about was Tristan, so she exposed everything without hesitation.

“I think Giselle wanted to make me some kind of symbol of justice or something, but that plan failed.”

A corrupt officer, a man buried in dishonor forced into silence for his own safety, and the righteous figure chosen by the family of a betraying villain.

It had all the dramatic appeal that would catch the public’s attention.

But she’d overlooked one thing.

“With that face, of course she’s the one who gets all the attention. Who’d look at me? It’s a world where even actors who can’t act get famous just for being pretty.”

Tristan was handsome enough himself, but Giselle’s looks were on another level.

Raphael, the second-in-command of Death Adder, and his sister.

Rumors of being Anti-Venom’s lover, her years of fighting for justice, and the dramatic tale of trying to imprison her only family.

Because of all that, every outlet—from magazines to newspapers—dug into her past.

They published her childhood medical records and interviews with her old classmates, until the police had to ask them to refrain for her safety.

But of course, money-hungry media wouldn’t listen.

In the end, Giselle became one of the most famous people in the city.

“Is she okay, though? She didn’t seem well that day….”

The mental breakdown she’d shown before Raphael’s arrest.

Even while writhing in pain, he’d been terrified that Giselle might crumble into dust like sand.

For Raphael, it must have been worse.

He’d been shaking, holding onto Giselle, forgetting even to run away.

“She’s doing better now that she’s focused on making life hell for the police. Thanks to you, actually.”

“Haa. I guess I’ll have to go apologize in person. Let’s go.”

Tristan ruffled his hair and grabbed his bag.

Despite his words, Johan didn’t move.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

He only stared blankly at the old TV sitting in the small apartment.

“What? Is there a camera in it or something? What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s old.”

“My mood’s already ruined seeing your face this morning, so don’t start.”

“…I see. After what you’ve seen in that place, I suppose this feels suffocating.”

“Still can’t listen to people, whether it’s day or night, huh.”

Johan grabbed Tristan’s shoulder, and fog rose around them. In that instant, Tristan realized he’d forgotten his socks.

By the time he arrived at an unfamiliar house, he was about to ask Johan to go back for them, but then he looked around the interior and rubbed his eyes.

“Why?”

“Is this your house?”

“It is.”

“And the three of us are supposed to squeeze in this tiny place together?”

“What’s the problem?”

“The problem is I’ll have to see your damn face every time I turn my head.”

“I’d say it’s still better than living in your studio with no living room.”

Tristan, half-listening, tossed his bag into the corner of the living room and said whatever came to mind.

“Hey. You’re broke, yet you’ve been running around every night? Should’ve just gotten a job.”

“I can live fine without—”

“Is this all the furniture you have here? No dumbbells or anything?”

“None.”

“…Fine. I’ll just treat it as a boring vacation.”

He looked bothered as he rubbed his face, but Johan didn’t care or want to care about Tristan, so he ignored him.

“Anyway, where’s Giselle? She’s got company and won’t even come out?”

“She’s locked herself in her room. Seems tired. Leave her be.”

What the hell’s wrong with him, showing me that kind of face?

Seeing the faintly downcast look on Johan’s face, Tristan frowned, feeling nauseous.

He’d thought his stomach could handle anything after dealing with countless criminals, but apparently not enough.

Tristan knocked on the door and called out loudly, “Hey. I’m here. Come say hi.”

Knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock!

“Hey! I said I’m here!”

Knock, knock! Knock, knock, knock! Bang!

Sensing something strange, Tristan twisted the locked doorknob with force.

Crack.

The handle broke off weakly.

A pillow flew straight at his face.

Catching it midair, he greeted Giselle, who was weakly sitting up in the dark.

“It’s already late morning. Get up.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“It’s still morning. I’m going back to sleep.”

Striding over, Tristan pulled her up by force.

His dimly lit face was hidden in the darkness, but Giselle’s state was all too clear.

She looked even thinner than she had a few days ago.

“Get up. Lying there makes it worse.”

Without hesitation, Tristan grabbed her and forced her into a chair at the table.

Johan, watching with concern from behind, handed her a glass of water.

Dark circles, hollow cheeks, lifeless eyes.

Damn it…. Even without Raphael’s death, there was still a problem.

You can’t let yourself look like this.

“I just went to bed late.”

He knew that was an excuse.

He bit his lip but forced a bright tone.

“Late-night movie? Oh, so you had a TV in your room? That’s good.”

“TV? There’s no such thing here. This house is cut off from the modern world. All we’ve got are newspapers and a radio, so brace yourself.”

“What?”

Tristan looked genuinely horrified.

“Welcome to the Middle Ages.”

“…Hey, Shadow. Do you even know what games are on these days?”

There was no answer, and Tristan’s head throbbed as his heart pounded.

“The Mist Island Immers versus Black City Mix finals are coming up.”

“…What’s that?”

“Basketball! Professional basketball!”

“This isn’t a resort. You’re here for work.”

“I’m on medical leave. What work? So what do you two do all day locked up here?”

“I read.”

“I bother Johan.”

Tristan’s leg bounced restlessly. His stare at Johan was intense.

“It’s been twenty-three years since Mist Island Immers made it to the finals.”

“So what?”

“Let’s bring the TV from my place. I forgot my socks anyway.”

“…Fine.”

With a sigh, Johan got up, told Giselle not to skip a meal, and grabbed Tristan.

When the two vanished into the fog, Giselle slumped weakly over the table.

Then.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong-ding-dong.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong.

Ding-dong-ding-dong—

The doorbell rang like crazy.