Heine thought to himself.
It's not like it's a guillotine or anything.
Having just mentally prepared himself and was about to follow, Heine looked at the Silver-haired man's retreating back, which showed no lingering attachment, once again experienced the feeling of being speechless.
Heine: ……
He quickly followed, his expression somewhat helpless, yet his clear and gentle gaze held no hint of complaint, merely asking in a teasing, half-serious manner, "Can't you wait for me a little?"
Gin looked bewildered. "Don't you know which way to go?"
Heine was speechless for a moment.
Gin added a finishing blow: "Or is it just that you walk too slowly and can't keep up?"
The other party's expression was so sincere that it didn't seem like intentional provocation at all; instead, it felt more like a sincere inquiry. After carefully observing Gin and reaching this conclusion, Heine silently pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling quite stifled.
However, due to this unexpected turn of events, the vigilance and resentment in his heart had lessened considerably.
The blonde-haired man stared at Gin for several seconds before suddenly asking, "Aren't you curious about why I'm going to Italy?"
After all, the Black Organization hasn't had any related missions lately.
Gin gave him a cold glance and said piercingly, "Will you tell?"
Heine remained silent for a few seconds, then closed his eyes and said calmly, "No."
“Then isn't that enough?” Gin said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “To waste time trying to fish for intelligence that I might not even care about?”
His gaze was calm and mocking, yet his tone carried a hint of indisputable arrogance and confidence.
Am I really that free?
Heine was momentarily speechless.
She turned her head to look at Gin's cold profile—her silver hair flowing like moonlight, her resolute, well-defined jawline, her slightly aloof lips.
The latter felt a slight discomfort at being scrutinized; he frowned and gave Heine a suspicious glance before continuing to walk forward with decisive strides.
Heine did not move.
He stayed where he was, his gaze slightly unfocused as he lost himself in thought.
A few seconds later, the blonde-haired man raised his hand to cover his eyes, a curve appearing at the corner of his mouth that looked like a bitter smile, yet also like true Shiran.
As time flies, his laughter grew even louder.
And it grew even more boisterous.
..
Fifth Story
The decision to run away from home was not that difficult to make—at least for Heine, it certainly was.
On the contrary, wanting to escape his father's control and leave was actually not an easy thing—until many years later, Heine also felt that his ability to leave was a matter of luck.
—Or perhaps it was a moment of negligence from his father, or perhaps he had been intentionally let go.
But regardless, Heine finally got what he wanted.
He went through a period of time that could be described as "wandering."
During that period, he suffered quite a bit—after all, he was raised by two adoptive mothers when he was a child and was later taken in by his father; although the training was somewhat difficult, at least he was provided with food and clothing.
He began to learn how to make money, how to spend it, how to increase his income while reducing his expenses, how to support himself through meticulous budgeting. He experienced various minor scams: some tricked him, while others were so simple that he saw through them at a glance. Of course, he had even once managed to pull off a small scam of his own.
Whether it was because that man's bloodline was too deeply rooted, or perhaps because the education he received since childhood was not exactly "normal," combined with the self-defense skills and firearms techniques trained by top professionals in the industry, he gradually came into contact with certain "dark sides."
The "dark side" that exists in every nation.
Then, the figure of his Father appeared in his life once again.
It is just as we said before: a man who now exists as an Italian Mafia Godfather, of course has his ways of "finding" a son who ran away from home in his youth.
The young Heine cut the video, his blue eyes filled with obscure emotions.
..
Second Night
The encounter at the airport felt like a dream.
Gin did not make much of a display regarding this, he did not even inform Sheila, so Heine naturally acted as if nothing had happened.
He looked at the documents he had received from his father, momentarily at a loss for words.
But then..
Since they have chosen to make Aurora their target.. they have made themselves his enemy.
Even though Sister is not as well-behaved as she used to be, even though Sister has begun to hide things from me, even though Sister seems a bit willful..
Although Sister seems to have grown up, grown enough that she no longer needs my protection.
But she is still my sister.
No one is allowed to touch her.
Heine thought, his gaze turning somewhat cold and sharp.
But—
Sheila's abnormality was clearly not solely due to the B. W. Organization.
Recalling how the Black-haired girl had softly uttered those unsettling words a while ago, Heine felt a faint ache in his heart—if it hadn't been for that incident, he wouldn't have become suspicious, nor would he have discovered the connection between Sheila and Italy, certainly wouldn't have chosen to go to his father.
But.. what on earth happened to her?
The black-haired girl smiled at him, his gaze as gentle as ever and his expression as beautiful as ever, as if nothing at all had changed.
She wouldn't say it—because she didn't want him to worry, she chose to bear it all alone.
Just like the Scotland incident, he had chosen to shoulder it for his alone at the beginning, too.
But thinking about it, Heine thought bitterly: as a Brother, he seemed to have never done anything for his Sister.
Since their reunion, it has always been her Sister who took the initiative to protect her, so as not to make him worry.
So he curled his lips slightly, asking with a gentle tone tinged with the usual hint of worry, "Your cold, has it not recovered yet?"
Sheila blinked and shook his head. "Not yet, but it should be soon."
Hein handed her the pill and warm water, his tone slightly firm, "Drink it quickly."
Seeing Sheila's brow furrow and his lips twitch for a moment, Heine felt a faint sense of amusement in his heart.
Forget it.
Since you don't want me to know.. then I'll just pretend I don't know.
..
Time flowed away bit by bit, just like that.
Everything seemed to have changed little, yet some things seemed to be constantly changing.
Perhaps it was because they were kindred spirits, or perhaps it was simply because of their shared loneliness, but his relationship with Gin had grown increasingly close.
Specifically, the other party could shamelessly come to his home to mooch meals and stay overnight without even a word of greeting, remaining calm and composed even under Sheila's gaze, which shifted from horror to bewilderment and finally to something ambiguous.
He was noncommittal about this.
He thought it was quite amusing.. truly.
Especially when Sister and Gin were secretly collaborating on something while keeping him in the dark, seeing Sheila's strange expressions made it even more fun for him.
Until one day, after receiving a certain mission, Gin wore an expression that could only be described as.. "indescribable."
Heine blinked, rubbing his temples, which were aching from staying up all night: "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Gin replied without even blinking, then he laughed—it was a laugh that was interested, but it only made Heine feel a chill down his spine.
How about—" Gin tilted her head slightly, tossing the paper mission aside, her gaze fixed on him with a half-smile, her tone wanton. "How about we set the location for this deal at the amusement park?
Heine: ……
Heine remained silent for a long while, then revealed an awkward yet polite smile, expressing his stance on the matter:
As long as you're happy.
Really, Boss, as long as you're happy.
Chapter 129 Wuthering Heights?? Side Story (Part 1) She finally closed..
“I love the land beneath her feet, the air above her head, every single thing she has ever touched, every single word she has ever spoken. I love all his expressions, every single movement, his entire being, his everything.”
He is my Master, my god, my faith, my everything.
Those were the words he said to his younger brother back then.
He didn't know how crazy he had been back then, nor did he know what his brother's contracting pupils meant when facing him.
Because he did not care about that.
The ancient castle far away in Russia was left unattended, after many years, it had become overgrown with weeds. The once vibrant flowers, lush grass, verdant trees could not withstand the passage of time; they had long since turned into withered plants, their dead branches and leaves emitting a lingering deathly aura that entangled the Tourist, joining the boundless, endless chill in the air to form the thorny vines that besieged the Sleeping Beauty.
Incessantly entangling.
Sleeping Beauty has already been taken away from the castle.
Thus, nothing and no one within the castle held any value in existence.
Do the souls of those who died unjustly and those who were buried with them still remain? Do they wander through the castle day and night, eternally, unable to rest? Do they harbor hatred for the one who killed them?
And would they, perhaps, feel guilt for the death of the 'Little Princess'?
It doesn't matter, he thought.
The idiots who couldn't defeat him while he was alive were even less to be feared now that he was dead.
But why was the Little Princess killed by those idiots?
Oh—they wailed that it wasn't true, that she had died because of an illness that could not be cured.