The Villain's Sister - Chapter 97

Giselle’s mouth was dry as she swallowed some water. Then she spoke slowly.

“It’s dinner time right now.”

It meant she didn’t want to talk about anything uncomfortable.

Johan didn’t ask anything more. He closed his mouth, and Giselle, after picking at her food, went into her room.

In the end, dinner ended very quietly.

***

Since Tristan refused to dye his hair, she bleached hers alone.

Her damp hair had turned a pale brown.

When she came out of the bathroom, Johan was waiting.

“If it’s urgent, you could’ve just knocked.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

Johan’s eyes lingered on her still-wet hair. He studied her brown hair quietly before asking.

“No matter where you go, I want to go with you.”

“If I refuse, you won’t follow me?”

“No.”

He’d never planned to ask for permission in the first place.

As he bent slightly forward, their faces drew closer. His tall frame and broad shoulders cast a heavy shadow over her.

“Wherever it is, I’ll find us a better place than this.”

“It doesn’t mean anything when I’m not giving you anything.”

His cold eyes wavered slightly.

When she leaned closer, she heard the faint sound of him catching his breath.

Because she’d pulled the string tight, the air between them grew taut with tension.

“I want to leave alone.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“It’s fine. I’ve never lived a single day that wasn’t dangerous.”

“Giselle, please don’t say things like that.”

“What? Rejecting you? Or saying there’s never been a day in my life without violence?”

“Both.”

Why is it me who’s hurting, but your eyebrows are the ones that fall?

She wanted to reach out and rub those brows upward with her hand.

To keep herself from doing something stupid, she gripped the towel tightly and said, “I really won’t give you anything. Love, friendship… whatever it is, don’t expect it. You’re an antihero.”

“…It doesn’t matter.”

His voice cracked at the end. She pretended not to notice the emotion in it.

“I’ll just make you give it to me anyway.”

He stepped closer.

His eyes, sharper and deeper in color than hers—cold and blue like the sky after a snowstorm—were burning hot.

If she stood on her toes, their breaths would tangle.

So she stepped back.

Thud.

Her back hit the wall.

“I don’t understand. You used to hate me…. Is it because I’m White Hands? Is there someone you need to heal or something? Is that why you’re seducing me?”

His face twisted as if he’d just heard something vile, and she spoke even more harshly.

“There has to be a reason you want me. Don’t tell me it’s just because you ‘like’ me, purely or whatever.”

“…That’s not a very funny joke.”

“It’s not a joke. I made it clear. I’m never going to like you. So stop.”

As she tried to pass him and return to her room, Johan carefully grabbed her sleeve and held on.

“I hope you’ll forgive the disrespect I showed you. At your brother’s mansion, and on the apartment fire escape… all of it.”

Ah.

This man was painfully sincere.

A man whose soul seemed to carry the chill of winter wind. His desperation was like a small flower blooming in the snow, making her feel monstrous for wanting to crush it.

Then, a muscular arm came between them.

Tristan pushed Giselle behind him.

“Spare me the awkwardness of hearing this crap against my will. The things you’re saying are too much even for me to stomach.”

“….”

The thought that Tristan had overheard made her face burn.

“I already filed for your protection. If you want to settle in another city, I’ll help you.”

“What can you even do, when you’re supposed to be hiding?”

“There’s a lot I can do. That’s exactly why he’s sticking close to you. And you, if you go any further, this turns into stalking. So cut it out.”

Just standing between the two of them was enough to feel the tension. Both were the type who prowled through the city at night.

Johan was sharp as a blade, while Tristan was heavy and grounded.

From the look of it, the exchange of sharp words could turn into a real fight any moment.

As Giselle bit her lip, about to step between them—

“Go inside and rest. I need to have a word with him.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Giselle, please rest.”

Before she could say a word, Johan grabbed Tristan and disappeared.

After watching the fog scatter outside the window, she returned to her room.

“Horrible.”

The brown-haired reflection in the mirror looked disgustingly strange, even to herself.

Annoyed, she flicked the light switch off with a click.

Everything was truly a mess.

***

Johan took Tristan to the apartment rooftop.

It was late, family hours, so no one else was there.

Once Tristan realized where they were, he violently shook off Johan’s grip.

“Now I get why she clung to me so hard at the police station. With a bastard like you around, how terrified must a powerless girl have been?”

“So you think sending her alone to another city is the right call? You know her situation better than anyone.”

“Then find another way. What, are you planning to follow her around like some stalker?”

“Even if that’s what I am, I won’t let her go alone.”

“Then persuade her! Don’t you ever think about respecting her feelings? I know you’re a little unhinged, but you’ve completely lost it.”

Wanting to grab him by the collar, Tristan clenched and unclenched his fists to hold back his anger.

Johan, also trying not to explode, shoved both hands into his pockets.

What he’d shown in front of Giselle had been childish playfulness compared to now.

Their voices were raised, their tone harsh enough that anyone watching might’ve mistaken them for villains instead of heroes.

The sharp tension could easily snap and turn into a fight at any moment.

“…Haa.”

Johan let out a deep, unfitting sigh and closed his eyes.

He could think of dozens of ways to get rid of the man standing before him in an instant, yet here he was, facing him head-on.

If not for Giselle, he would’ve handled it his own way.

Both White Hands and Giselle always demanded patience from him.

And because it was Giselle. Yes, if she asked for patience, he’d endure.

“There’s a stalker.”

“A stalker?”

“Not an ordinary one. A wizard.”

He pressed his palm against his eyes, trying to hold back the irritation rising in him.

He knew the power of the Black Cloak well.

That was why Johan was always on edge, wary of everything in the world.

“Don’t tell me—”

“It’s him. The Black Cloak.”

On the day the Black Cloak gave them a hint about the poison that had struck Giselle, Black Pistols had also been there.

Though he’d been injured by Sunshine at the time, that didn’t mean he hadn’t understood the Black Cloak’s words.

“What’s the extent of the damage?”

“He sent blood-written letters, animal corpses, and even stole her underwear.”

“She didn’t report it?”

“She tried to, but she ran into you and went back.”

“What?”

Tristan recalled the day he’d met Giselle at the police station.

Her pale, shaken face, her evasive manner, and how she’d told him before leaving to come find her if something happened.

“Regardless of how you feel about her, I can’t compromise on her safety. So consider this a warning. Don’t interfere any further.”

“…Does Giselle know?”

“She doesn’t.”

The Black Cloak had stalked Giselle until the very end of the comic’s story.

She’d only realized he was Red Shadow when she fell into a coma and her soul was pulled into another world.

If she saw the ending there, then how could she not know the Black Cloak was the stalker?

‘It doesn’t add up.’

Most likely, she’d known from the start that Red Shadow was approaching her deliberately, aware that both she and Raphael would die in the end, and had chosen to look the other way.

If that’s the case, then how did he, Oscar Jackniper, know about this world’s story?

If the comic was real, then he was Raphael’s brother and right-hand man.

But now, that role belonged to Liam Fabian.

‘…What the hell is this…’

Johan couldn’t stop his expression from hardening.

***

It was a beautiful city. If there was a center of the world, it had to be a place like this.

When it rained, it was beautiful because of the rain. When the weather was good, it was thrilling because it was bright.

At night, the glowing billboards sparkled, and countless tourists came and went.

No one could sense my existence, so it was lonely and hollow, but bearable.

Killing time in the movie theater helped me forget I was alone.

When I got tired of movies, I wandered around the city.

So, it was inevitable that one day, I’d find the comic book sitting on the newsstand.

“Mist Island.”

The name of my hometown, appearing in a world I didn’t know.

My hand stretched out instinctively, passing right through the stand.

Here, I was nothing but an intangible being. No one could see or hear me.

“The building on the cover looks like Gregory Cathedral….”

Would someone buy the comic?

If someone picked up “Mist Island,” I planned to follow them and read over their shoulder.

After about an hour, a boy bought the comic.

I followed him. His home was an ordinary house.

“When you get to your room, you’ll read it right away, right? I’m curious about that comic. Hurry up and read it.”

He didn’t know what I was thinking and just ate spoonfuls of canned beans in the kitchen.

“How long are you going to eat that? Stop already.”

“Is it good? I want to eat too.”

“I can’t remember what roasted duck tastes like. I want a sandwich with turkey, cream, and ham.”

Of course, there was no answer.

The boy didn’t seem to like beans much. He left half of them and went out of the kitchen.

He passed the living room and the hallway where the paint was peeling.

When he reached his room… he took out a spray bottle and sprayed it right at me.

“Oh, oh, don’t come near me! Get lost, y-you devil!”

The boy’s name was Willy.

He was a friend my age who could see ghosts.