Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 261: Third Complacency

"Brother!"

The old man rushed forward, not all that fast, towards him.

Malik remained still as arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

The man chanted that over and over, his voice shaking.

It was like he was trying to squeeze mountains of regret into these useless words.

Malik blinked, arms hanging loose at his sides, eyes staring over the man's shoulder.

This felt… familiar.

A woman... he said those words to, or perhaps something similar.

He remembered the feeling. His chest was too tight, too warm, too heavy.

But despite how it made him feel, his mind couldn't cough up the details.

It just dangled the memory in front of him like bait he couldn't reach.

"Uncle!"

The child's voice cracked, and suddenly, Malik had arms wrapped around his waist, tiny hands clutching his shirt, a wet cheek pressed to his side.

He was crowded. Pressed in. Trapped in the softest, saddest ambush of his life.

Malik just stood there, staring down at them, as calm as a stone in a river.

He wondered, vaguely, why they were doing this.

Why the shaking? Why the crying? Why the apologies?

Did they… wrong him somehow?

It took a while. A long, awkward while. But eventually, the old man and the boy loosened their grips, stepping back just enough to breathe.

Malik tilted his head.

"…So?"

There was no emotion behind his voice, no judgment, just a simple, flat "So?"

The old man flinched, a faint flicker of pain tightening his jaw.

Perhaps it was disappointment, but again, Malik could not tell.

Then, as if steeling himself, he lowered his head.

"I'm Faqir."

He gestured towards the boy.

"And this little one here is my son, Yusuf… We complete your fourth complacency."

Malik's eyes flicked between them while Faqir kept going, head still bowed, words spilling out rough and fast like they'd been dammed up too long:

"I'm sorry, brother. I never knew the decision you had to make… I…"

His hands clenched at his sides.

"My advice, it wasn't… It wasn't meant for something like that. I didn't know what I was forcing you to sacrifice."

Thump.

Malik's heart had beat, and something stirred.

Something sharp twisted in his chest.

Memory.

Once more, pieces fell into place. Faces. Voices. A laugh. The weight of a hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward when everyone knew not his tragedy.

Malik's face trembled.

"Brother…"

His voice cracked, just slightly.

It was just enough to carve a hairline fracture in that mask of ice he wore.

"I'm the one who should be sorry… I… I forgot you…"

His gaze dropped to the floor.

"I promised myself… I promised I'd never forget any of you… But I… I…"

He shook his head, jaw clenched.

"It was so easy. It was so easy to make me forget. Now… now I don't know… I don't even know who I'm missing."

Faqir opened his mouth—but it wasn't he who stepped forward.

It was Yusuf.

The boy slipped close, tiny fingers wrapping around Malik's rough hand.

His grip was warm and small.

"It's fine, Uncle…"

Yusuf whispered.

"We don't blame you."

Malik's breath caught.

Those words didn't soothe him.

Didn't comfort him. Didn't lift any weight off his shoulders.

No, they almost felled him, stabbing him deep, reminding him of a truth.

He could've saved the boy. He could've tried to undo what was done.

But he... he chose not to blink. He chose to sacrifice what could've been saved.

And now the boy was here, using his last breath to tell him he had done nothing wrong. That his choice not to blink was normal.

"..."

Malik stared.

What was he supposed to say to that?

He didn't know, but thankfully, he didn't have to.

Understanding his plight very well, Faqir stepped close again.

"If you ever remember my wife again..."

He ruffled his son's hair, a soft, sad smile curling on his lips.

"Please help her out a little. A few coins. Nothing more."

Malik's throat returned to functioning order.

"I will."

He nodded deeply.

Faqir smiled. Yusuf smiled.

For one long, still heartbeat, it almost felt like a family scene.

Almost.

Blink.

And just like that, they were gone.

The walls faded. The floor dissolved. The air drained of warmth.

Malik stood alone once more.

His fourth complacency was over.

Now came the third.

The world stumbled, and Malik found himself standing by a campfire in the middle of the desert.

Its flames crackled softly, casting long shadows across the sand while smoke drifted into the night sky, and a scent of incredible tea tickled his nose.

Across the fire sat a man, his third complacency.

But not just any man; this one stood out immediately.

Deep purple hair and eyes like shards of violet glass, glittering in the firelight.

He leaned back casually on his hands, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, wearing a grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth like it had been carved there permanently.

Malik stared at him. Long and hard. Silent as a statue.

Was this… someone he knew? Like Faqir and Yusuf before? Or were he and this man even closer? Judging by the pattern, the lower the number… the deeper the bond.

He seemed to have begun distancing himself from those he had grown a connection with as time went by, trying not to get attached, knowing he'd only be hurt in the end.

There was no doubt about it. His past was unraveling backward, peeling back layer after layer, likely until the roots, which were still raw, unprocessed.

"Hey, son…"

The man's voice was light, easygoing.

"…You've grown up."

He pushed himself to his feet, brushing sand off his pants.

"You're much taller than me now… Well, not much of a contest when I'm six feet under, huh~? But I'll take the loss with grace."

Malik's brow twitched upward.

The man… was a character.

He was way too cheerful for someone haunting the afterlife.

Was he always like that? Malik could not tell, but he definitely wanted to.

"…Who are you?"