I, the Villain, Want to Save Myself, But the Yandere Heroines Disagree-Chapter 82 - Litte the Sleepwalker (2/3)

Elsewhere, Litte was following Virgil on a debt collection errand.

Normally, this wasn’t something Virgil handled personally. But for Litte’s training, he made an exception and played his role as the “Smiling Demon.”

In a narrow alleyway, a poorly dressed middle-aged man knelt on the ground, trembling as he looked at Virgil, who stood at the entrance, clutching a blade.

“Please, have mercy! I have a family to care for—spare me!” The man pleaded, kowtowing repeatedly.

Standing behind Virgil, Litte felt a pang of sympathy. She wanted to step forward and help the man up, but before she could, Virgil kicked the man into a corner.

With a metallic clatter, a dagger fell from the man’s clothing.

“See that, Litte?” Virgil said, turning to him. “If you show mercy to someone like this, they won’t remember your kindness. Instead, they’ll seize the opportunity to harm you.”

As he spoke, Virgil placed his blade against the man’s neck.

“You think we didn’t look into your background?” Virgil flashed a dangerous smile. “While we don’t advocate violence in debt collection, if you clearly have the money but refuse to repay, don’t blame us for taking something from you.”

“F-fine.” The middle-aged man’s forehead was drenched with sweat as he hurriedly took off a necklace he had been wearing and handed it to Virgil.

“See? Now you won’t have any trouble at all,” Virgil said with a smile, putting away his blade.

After watching the man scurry away in humiliation, Virgil turned to Litte.

At that moment, Litte was still staring blankly at the dagger on the ground.

“Litte, do you understand now?” Virgil began. “Showing mercy to an enemy often means being cruel to yourself.”

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“And when you can’t distinguish between friend and foe, you should be on guard against everyone, treating all as potential enemies. That’s what you must learn to do.”

“Young Master Orson told me that you’re very clever, Litte, but sometimes your inherently kind nature makes it difficult for you to act decisively. That’s why he left you with me for some training.”

“Don’t imagine people to be better than they are, or one day, someone will take advantage of you.”

“Mm.” Litte nodded as she listened.

“Senior Virgil,” she suddenly asked, “how did you meet Orson?”

“Why are you asking that?” Virgil raised an eyebrow, somewhat puzzled.

“I just want to know—is that not okay...”

“It’s not that it’s not okay.” Virgil leaned against the alley wall and began recounting his first encounter with Orson.

—

Eight years ago, in the city of Antica.

In the slums, a blue-haired boy in tattered clothes darted through the narrow alleyways, clutching a luxurious, ornate leather bag in his arms. The sound of coins jingling inside filled him with excitement.

If this job went well, the cut he’d receive should last him for quite some time.

With this thought in mind, the boy ran for several more minutes until he finally reached a hideout for pickpockets.

The leader of the pickpockets was a man with a scar on his face. Seeing the boy run in, he grinned and took the bag from his hands.

After opening it and counting the coins inside, the leader gave the boy a thumbs-up.

“Not bad. You did a great job this time.” As he spoke, he pulled a silver coin from the bag and handed it to the boy. “Here, take this and buy yourself some meat to eat.”

“Boss, isn’t this a bit too little? It feels like there was a lot more money in the bag...” The boy hesitated.

“Oh?” The scar-faced man’s expression darkened. “Are you questioning me? You should be grateful you’re getting anything at all. Didn’t you learn your skills here? We’ve been feeding you all this time, and you should know how to be satisfied!”

“...” The boy lowered his head, preparing to leave. But then, a cold, youthful voice rang out from behind him.

“Can I have my bag back now?”

Everyone turned toward the source of the voice and saw a well-dressed boy with black hair and violet eyes standing at the entrance of the hideout.

“Shit, how did you let someone tail you?!” The scar-faced man shouted at the blue-haired boy, slapping him across the face.

He then turned his attention to the young noble standing at the doorway.

“Hey, rich kid, this isn’t a place for someone like you. That bag is ours now. If you don’t want trouble, you’d better leave.”

“Otherwise, we won’t mind switching from pickpockets to robbers.”

“Oh.” The black-haired boy simply nodded at their threats but made no move to leave.

“I’ll count down,” the boy said, raising his hand. “Three.”

The scar-faced man burst into laughter, as did the other pickpockets in the room.

“Pfft, hahahaha! What a cheeky little brat. I’d like to see what you’re going to do to me.”

“Two.” The boy’s voice remained calm.

“One.”

As the last word left his lips, the boy suddenly appeared in front of the scar-faced man. With a swift punch, he sent the man sprawling to the ground, causing the bag to fall from his hand.

“You little shit!” The man, dazed by the punch, struggled to his feet, shouting orders to his lackeys. “He dared to sucker-punch me! Get him, boys! Teach this brat a lesson!”

With that, the pickpockets in the hideout grabbed whatever they could—wooden planks, chairs—and closed in on the noble boy, their intent clear.

But before they could act, the black-haired boy moved first.

His speed was astonishing, and with each strike, he sent a pickpocket tumbling to the ground.

What should have been a one-sided thrashing turned out to be the exact opposite. The pickpockets, despite their numbers, were no match for the boy and were soon sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain.

The boy calmly picked up the bag and began counting the coins inside.

At this point, the blue-haired boy stepped forward, holding up the silver coin he had been given. He offered it to the black-haired boy.

The black-haired boy nodded in acknowledgment, took the coin, and thanked him before turning to leave.

As he reached the exit, he turned back to face the blue-haired boy.

“You. Come with me.”

—

After hearing the story of how Orson and Virgil first met, Litte covered her mouth in shock.

Her admiration for Orson deepened even more.

“At the time, because I had exposed the pickpocket hideout, I knew they’d hold a grudge and make it impossible for me to stay in that community. So, Young Master Orson offered to take me with him,” Virgil said, his expression turning nostalgic.

“After that, he trained me, gave me access to the best educational resources, and shaped me into who I am today.”

“So... Senior Virgil, the way you are now, was part of Orson’s plan from years ago?”

“Yes.” Virgil nodded. “As the saying goes, ‘A man dies for the one who truly knows him.’ To me, Young Master Orson is both my savior and a wise lord.”

“Young Master Litte,” Virgil suddenly spoke, his voice serious. “If the day ever comes when you and Young Master Orson stand on opposite sides, this blade of mine will point at you without hesitation.”

“Mm.” Litte nodded. “I understand. That’s why I’ll never stand against Orson.”

“I hope so.” Virgil nodded. “Though it might be a bit inappropriate to say this, I hope the person I train for Young Master Orson becomes a loyal companion rather than a self-serving ingrate.”

—

That night, Litte returned home. Orson was lying on his bed, reading a book, seemingly preparing to go to sleep.

“Yo, Litte, you’re back pretty late tonight,” Orson greeted him from his bed. “How was it? Today was your first time out with Virgil, right? See anything interesting?”

“Mm, I learned a lot of new things,” Litte replied with a nod. “Orson, you should’ve let me learn these things sooner.”

“It’s alright. It’s not too late now,” Orson said with a smile. “As long as you’re growing, that’s all that matters.”

“Mm. Thank you, Orson,” Litte said, closing the door behind her and heading to her room.