Into the Apocalypse: Saving My Favorite Villain-Chapter 87: On The Road

After Cassel’s sharp and aggressive words, Mary stopped talking altogether.

Her lips clamped shut as if someone had stitched them with invisible thread, her shoulders shrinking inward, her gaze fixed anywhere but on Cassel.

Even Cecil—who was usually the most talkative among the leaders—fell nearly silent, the arrogance that always colored his tone seeming to dissolve into the air around him. The lively conversation they had been so invested in moments ago lifted from the room like heat dissipating into cold air.

Only the voices of the other leaders continued, though noticeably subdued, as if they were trying not to provoke the beast sitting among them.

One could easily say that even the two male leaders were bothered by Cassel’s earlier boasting—boasting that was neither empty nor exaggerated—and his completely unfiltered threat of killing them.

They exchanged glances now and then, uncomfortable, stiff, but still managed to speak when required.

Their professionalism forced them to act unfazed, yet the tension in their postures betrayed them.

Even so, they appeared to be competent leaders, people who understood their roles, people who knew when to speak, when to stay quiet, and when to avoid stepping on the tail of a monster.

As for Caroline—the only female leader present, and the one who had mocked me earlier—she was the most relaxed among them.

She crossed her arms casually, leaning back in her seat, smiling like nothing in the world could unsettle her.

That carefree smile of hers dug into my nerves a little, though I tried not to let it show.

She watched Cassel with an amused glint in her eyes, as if she were witnessing an entertaining performance rather than a dangerous confrontation.

After a while, Cassel finished speaking, the meeting wrapped up, and the leaders finally dispersed with hurried goodbyes that pretended to be calm but absolutely were not.

Soon after, everyone returned to their vehicles, preparing to leave the city.

The road ahead was filled with zombies—as usual.

No matter how many times teams went out daily to "clean up" the area around the base—and by "clean up," everyone meant slaughtering zombies and clearing their corpses before they rotted enough to attract more mutated creatures—there was never any real improvement.

Every day, without fail, new hordes surged in to replace the old ones.

It was like trying to drain the ocean with a spoon. No matter how much work the teams put in, no matter how many bodies they dragged away, the city never grew safer. The apocalypse had its own rules.

Life moved, death followed, and the dead were everywhere.

Our cars, however, were nothing like the standard vehicles used by the army. They weren’t just durable—they were monstrous.

Fireproof, shockproof, and reinforced with materials I didn’t even recognize.

Cassel’s resources were limitless; that much was obvious.

Within minutes of moving, our vehicles surged to the front, easily slicing through the zombies that lunged at us with snapping jaws and twisted limbs.

Every impact against the metal made a muffled, wet sound, like rotten fruit exploding under weight.

The others, however—the leaders and their teams—did not have cars capable of withstanding the carnage.

Their vehicles shook violently every time a zombie slammed against them. Some swerved clumsily, the drivers desperately avoiding clusters of corpses.

The sight was almost pitiful compared to Cassel’s unbothered pace.

"Should... should we wait for them?" I finally asked, unable to ignore how far behind they were falling.

They were barely visible in the side mirror—just tiny specks swallowed by the wave of undead.

Cassel lifted his hand and flicked my forehead—hard—saying, "We already agreed on the rendezvous points.

We’ll wait for them at the first rest station.

Where was your mind when I was discussing the arrangements with them, hmm?"

My eyes stung. The flick wasn’t truly painful, but it still hurt, especially since it came so suddenly.

"If you want to talk, then talk. Why do you have to use your hands?" I muttered as I held my forehead, searching for any bump or—God forbid—blood.

When Cassel leaned forward to rub the spot gently, I slapped his hand away instantly.

My cheeks puffed out in irritation, my entire mood shifting into sour annoyance.

But Cassel didn’t care at all. He reached for me again, unfazed by my stubborn resistance.

I kept hitting his hand away—once, twice, five times—until my palms turned red and my arms grew tired.

It felt like hitting stone rather than flesh.

No matter how hard I struck, his expression didn’t even twitch.

I stopped only because I was exhausted, and Cassel took advantage of that immediately.

His fingers returned to my forehead, stroking lightly, massaging the area as if he hadn’t just tormented me minutes earlier.

Then his voice dropped into that dangerously soft, coaxing tone he liked to use on me:

"All right, all right. Isn’t my little darling angry because someone bullied her right in front of me? Don’t be mad."

What? What kind of twisted explanation was that?

I smacked his hand again, this time glaring with all the force I could muster.

"If I were bullied, shouldn’t you go hit them, not me?"

It came out sharp, unforgiving—and entirely justified.

The logic of this man was beyond saving.

Who in their right mind scolds or hits their girlfriend because she was bullied?

Cassel didn’t seem bothered by the accusation in the slightest. His eyes gleamed with smug amusement as he replied, "That’s because you didn’t ask for my help.

You didn’t use me as your shield or call my name to intimidate them."

My jaw nearly dropped.

I stared at the man in front of me—the terrifying, arrogant, unbelievably handsome man—who was now spouting nonsense as if it were the absolute truth.

He didn’t even blink.

No shame, no hesitation, just straight-faced, unshakeable confidence.

Before I could respond, he pulled me into his arms with smooth ease and said, "Your man is the strongest superhuman.

Next time someone tries to bully you, just command me to crush them and break them on the spot.

After that, no one will dare treat you badly ever again."

His tone wavered between teasing and serious, creating a confusing warmth in my chest.

I suspected he was just dodging guilt for flicking me earlier, distracting me with ridiculous words and even more ridiculous promises.

Still... his embrace was warm. Warm enough to soften the irritation buzzing in my veins.

Warm enough to make my anger wobble, then crumble a little. So I let it go—for now.

Perhaps I would take revenge later.

The trip was long—hours and hours of roads choked with corpses, overturned cars, and shattered buildings that once belonged to a thriving world.

Cassel’s men fought relentlessly along the way, cleaving through enormous obstacles, giant mutated monsters, and grotesque animals twisted by the virus.

They had grown incredibly skilled—frighteningly so.

Their movements were sharp, precise, lethal. Power radiated from them in waves with every strike, every slash, every shot of supernatural energy.

For them, this wasn’t exhausting.

It was training.

Cassel insisted they needed more and more practice, pushing them to their limits without a shred of mercy.

They fought until they were dripping with sweat, panting, trembling, yet still standing.

"Boss... why don’t you help them?" I finally asked.

My gaze dropped to the man sprawled across my lap.

Yes—sprawled.

Cassel was currently lying like a giant child stretched over my legs, holding my hand between his fingers and playing with my nails absentmindedly.

Sometimes he traced circles on my skin; sometimes he tapped the tips of my fingers as if thinking deeply about something entirely unrelated.

I couldn’t tell if he was a child in disguise or simply liked acting like one.

Cassel looked up at me, eyes half-lidded, his expression impossibly calm.

"I’m the Boss," he said seriously.

"Why should I tire myself with something my men can do? Besides, I’m stronger than all of them combined. I don’t need any training."

"You... do you not feel even a little embarrassed praising yourself with such a straight face?"

His answer came with a lazy, confident chuckle.

His answer came with a lazy, confident chuckle.

"Why should I be embarrassed when I’m telling the truth? Or... does my darling want to hear something embarrassing? I can fulfill your wishes. I can even do things far more embarrassing—"

I slapped my hand over his mouth before he could finish that sentence.

And thank God I did, because if I hadn’t, this man would have turned the entire car into a furnace of embarrassment strong enough to melt steel.

I feel like Cassel keeps getting worse day after day.

Is it just my imagination?

Why do I feel as if he’s becoming more and more unrestrained with me?

I’ve never seen these traits or behaviors in him before, nor have I ever read about them.

He acts like a child... and like a shameless flirt.

And he’s clingy—so unbelievably clingy.

Is this really the same final boss of the apocalypse?