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1434 Words
This was the first time they had truly witnessed the nature of one of the seven sinners. When they’d overheard the older players whispering about No. 3, they were still unsure whether to believe the rumors. But now, after hearing his words firsthand, it was clear—the cold-blooded reputation was no exaggeration.
Although nothing he said was wrong, the rules of the game couldn’t be changed. In the end, they were just small players, unable to help those outside. But the way he dismissed the novice’s useless pity left a sting.
Beatrix Henry let out a sigh. His dark hand slid from Phedra Henry’s shoulder, slowly trailing down his arm before gently holding his wrist. “Instead of wasting your pity, why not give your heart to me?” he murmured. “The world is so dangerous. How much capital will you use to protect me?”
He bent down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of Phedra Henry’s hand, eyes narrowing with a playful smile. “Bridget got to touch, so can I?”
Phedra Henry replied without hesitation, “I’m not ashamed about my sexuality.”
Beatrix Henry grinned, “He made it obvious in the hall, I’m not blind.”
“I mean…” Phedra Henry said bluntly, “You can mess around if you want, but not here.”
Suddenly, Beatrix Henry felt a sharp pain in his wrist. Reflexively, he tried to pull away, but Phedra Henry moved even faster—dropping to his bare feet and driving his knee into Beatrix Henry’s lower abdomen, sending him reeling back onto the pillow.
Beatrix Henry groaned, clutching his waist. “If you want to buy it, pay a million points.”
Beatrix Henry wiped away his sweat. “Your a*s isn’t worth that much.”
Phedra Henry shrugged, “Then stop thinking about it, Captain.”
He deliberately emphasized the word “captain,” the tone as sweet and innocent as a little bunny, yet full of sarcasm—making Beatrix Henry look away.
No one had ever outright rejected Beatrix Henry before. No one had ever refused that handsome face. Whether out of embarrassment or pain, he just stood leaning against the door, silent for a long while.
When Beatrix Henry’s face finally looked a little better, Phedra Henry spoke: “I have an idea to save them. It’s not guaranteed, and I doubt they’ll believe it either.”
Beatrix Henry didn’t ask for details. “Cooperation?”
Phedra Henry’s eyes lit up, genuinely admiring him: “Exactly. You’re sharp.”
Beatrix Henry exchanged a glance with Ika.
Ika caught the look, then walked over to the landlady sitting in the living room. “I’m hungry. Got anything to eat?”
She looked up. “What do you want?”
Ika answered simply, “Anything.”
Phedra Henry met Beatrix’s eyes. “They can’t get into the safe houses anyway. They don’t have a choice. But if you’re the one proposing the plan, the chance they’ll listen is much higher.”
Beatrix Henry said nothing. He casually tossed a bean from the pantry out the door. “I can’t guarantee if my message will get through.”
A moment later, the frantic banging on the door finally subsided after more than ten minutes.
The house fell strangely silent.
Other than the hosts quietly setting the table in the kitchen, the five players in the living room sat awkwardly, exchanging glances.
Phedra Henry noticed that, ever since entering the house, Ika’s expression had been sour.
Beatrix Henry looked over, lifting his chin at Ika, “What’s with your face?”
Ika sat across from him, eyes squinted shut, visibly uncomfortable—especially his nose, which was wet and red.
Ika grumbled, “Nothing. It’s just me.”
He pressed a hand to his forehead, “Damn. Must be a nasal allergy.”
A nasal allergy? Phedra Henry finally understood why Ika seemed so out of sorts. For a wolf, a keen sense of smell was crucial; now, with his nose out of commission, no wonder he looked so miserable.
Beatrix Henry asked, “Did you check upstairs?”
Phedra Henry nodded, “Yeah.”
Beatrix Henry grabbed his arm, “Take me up to pick a room.”
“Why should I—” Phedra Henry started to protest, but Beatrix wouldn’t let go, so he relented.
As they climbed the stairs, Beatrix turned and asked, “By the way, how do you want to divide the rooms?”
Ika didn’t respond, still brooding silently.
Dante and Baldwin didn’t dare weigh in, automatically following No. 3’s lead. “As you wish.”
Beatrix Henry stopped being polite and headed upstairs.
The house was simple—only one floor, but upstairs had three bedrooms. The narrow hallway ended in a square window.
There were no lamps or candles in the hall; the only illumination came from the silver moonlight pouring through the window. The corridor was crowded with old, unused things—like many elders, the hosts couldn’t bear to throw away anything that might one day come in handy, so the space was packed.
Beatrix Henry nearly tripped over a pile of junk.
Seeing the shaky old floorboards, Phedra Henry instinctively reached out to steady him. It wouldn’t do to make a hole in the floor now.
Beatrix Henry grumbled, “Are the bedrooms any better?”
Phedra Henry just shrugged.
Two bedrooms were next to each other, the other was the hosts’ room. The rooms were tiny—two steps from door to bed, one step to the window, and barely ten steps across the whole space. The air was cold, making Phedra Henry’s nose red, but it didn’t bother him. There was only one bed and not much else.
Beatrix Henry sat on the bed, running his hand over the thin blanket. “You and I will share. Ika and the other two can take the second room.”
Phedra Henry had no objections. Sharing with No. 3 was fine; he’d be more comfortable than the others.
Beatrix turned and gave him a sly look. “Aren’t you worried I’ll try something in the middle of the night?”
Phedra Henry’s face didn’t change. “A million points.”
“At night, it’s just the two of us,” Beatrix teased, raising an eyebrow. “No one would know what happened.”
Phedra Henry retorted, “You forget we’re being live-streamed? The audience would all see. If No. 3 tries anything, I want to see how the viewers react.”
“…” Beatrix gave up. He’d only meant to tease.
[Laughing, No. 3 doesn’t pay up.]
[Sniff—look at Beatrix’s face!]
[Don’t worry, newbie, keep your eyes peeled. Make sure you get paid next time!]
[Mr. Beatrix’s style: skeptical beauty.jpg]
The comment section was full of laughter.
Beatrix Henry didn’t know he was being made fun of. Still clutching his aching belly, he slumped on the bed.
Phedra Henry also sat on the edge to rest.
But Beatrix couldn’t stay still—his broad, heavy frame made the floorboards squeak so much it hurt Phedra’s ears.
After a while, Phedra threw the blanket over Beatrix’s head.
Only then did Beatrix stop moving.
His warm voice came from under the blanket, “Aren’t you going to lie down?”
Phedra Henry didn’t answer.
Beatrix Henry sighed, “Young people are different… I envy you.”
Phedra Henry tilted his head. “There’s not enough room.”
With one at 1.9m and the other at 1.8m, it was a tight squeeze.
Beatrix laughed, “Then why not sleep in my arms?”
Phedra grinned, “Or do you want to lay a blanket on the floor?”
Beatrix shivered, “Don’t. I’m scared of ghosts under the bed.”
Phedra Henry: “…”
They chatted for a while, when suddenly a scream rang out from below.
It was a man’s voice—sounded like either Baldwin or Dante.
Beatrix Henry shot upright just as another terrified scream echoed up the stairs.
When Phedra Henry and Beatrix hurried downstairs, the atmosphere in the living room was strange.
The landlord and his wife were muttering in a language neither recognized. Dante and Baldwin sat frozen, faces pale.
The air was heavy.
And now there was a faint metallic tang—blood.
Beatrix Henry frowned, “Why does it smell like blood?”
Phedra Henry took a seat, patted Baldwin on the shoulder, and said reassuringly, “Stop shaking. Tell me what happened while we were upstairs?”
- Writer
