"How was it? My disguise wasn't bad, right? I told you this mask fits the atmosphere! And the cloak fits surprisingly well."
Bianca and her accomplices were completely stunned, eyes wide and mouths agape. They looked at Victor, then at the empty corner—their companion, who was supposed to be guarding there, was nowhere to be found.
"You... why are you here?!" Bianca's voice turned shrill with shock. "Where's Antonio?!"
Wednesday's cold gaze swept over their startled faces, her sharp tongue showing no mercy:
"It seems that not only has your clumsy kidnapping technique brought shame to the word 'kidnapping,' but you didn't even notice when your accomplice was swapped out. Your professional standards are breathtakingly low."
"Don't worry, don't worry," Victor said with a grin, waving his hands in an attempt to soothe the startled 'kidnappers.'
"Your friend is sleeping soundly outside; he's perfectly safe. The only Thing to worry about is that he might catch a cold. I didn't expect that guy to be wearing nothing but a cloak under there... Speaking of which, everyone, your techniques really do need some refinement."
He even added, in a tone of disappointment as if they were students failing to meet expectations:
"I even went through the trouble of kindly providing you with hemp rope soaked in sesame oil—sturdier and supposedly harder to struggle against... and yet you tied a knot that's only at the level of a street magician? I'm so disappointed!"
He shook his head and continued:
"You really should learn some useful knowledge. Listen to what you've been saying—what have you even been doing in this so-called elite social club? Rooftop parties? Forest camping? Occasional midnight skinny-dipping in the Black Lake...?"
As Victor spoke, his voice gradually grew lower. He stopped, looked up, and an extremely serious, yearning expression appeared on his face.
"Seriously," he looked at Bianca and Xavier, his eyes bright and full of sincere expectation, "are you guys still looking for members? What do you think of me? I feel like these activities were practically tailor-made for me!"
Wednesday rolled her eyes massively, having reached her limit. She grabbed Victor by the collar and unceremoniously began dragging him out of the secret room.
Even as he was being dragged backward, Victor still tried to reach out toward Bianca and the others, shouting loudly, "Think about it! Please! I'm great at livening up the atmosphere! I'll bring snacks! I have plenty of top-tier chocolate...!"
His voice was eventually cut off as Wednesday ruthlessly dragged him away from the scene, leaving Bianca and her group staring at each other, standing in place as they processed this absurd and pathetic conclusion that far exceeded their understanding.
All the way back, Victor continued to chatter incessantly while hiccuping, trying to entice Wednesday into joining the Nightshades, or at least letting him join.
It wasn't until Wednesday shot him a look as cold as a blade, enough to freeze hell over, that Victor slammed on the brakes. He knowingly made a zipping motion across his mouth, though that 'zipper' quickly'slid open' again amidst his drunken giggles.
Wednesday dragged Victor back to the dorm. At this point, she couldn't care less about the rule that 'her bed was sacrosanct'; she simply tossed the drunken, oversized nuisance onto her large bed covered in black silk sheets.
Victor, thrown onto the soft bed, rolled over lazily and buried his face in the pillow that carried a cold, faint fragrance, letting out a sigh of satisfaction:
"Mmm... such a comfortable bed... ten thousand times better than my own uncomfortable makeshift cot... like lying on a cloud... a black cloud..."
Watching Victor roll and rub around shamelessly on her impeccably neat bed—which shouldn't have a single wrinkle—Wednesday's fists clenched tight, her knuckles letting out a dangerous 'crack.'
Finally losing her patience, she lunged onto the bed, pinning him down firmly with her knee pressed precisely against his waist.
Victor, his eyes hazy with drink, felt the weight on him and saw Wednesday in close proximity. Instead of struggling, he let out a silly 'hehehe' laugh, a deeper, suspicious flush creeping up his cheeks as his gaze wandered: "
Oh my... this position... this isn't very appropriate, Captain... I-I'm not mentally prepared yet... isn't this a bit too fast..."
Wednesday remained expressionless, as if she hadn't heard his nonsense. She produced a hemp rope and began nimbly binding his wrists.
The flush on Victor's face deepened. He gave a symbolic squirm, his voice carrying a hint of bashfulness and even more expectation:
"Uh... actually, I'm not really into this... my bottom line is... alright, alright," he seemed to suddenly convince himself, closing his eyes as if throwing caution to the wind, "my bottom line is flexible! Come on! I'm ready!"
Wednesday still showed no emotion, but the bulging vein on her forehead indicated she had been holding back for a long time and was on the verge of exploding.
After quickly and professionally binding Victor, Wednesday jumped off the bed, grabbed the high-intensity desk lamp from her desk, and clicked it on. The blinding white light was aimed directly at Victor's face.
"Oh-ho..." Victor squinted against the bright light, asking dizzily, "Wh-what's this new game? Interrogation play? Do you need me to hand over my bank card PIN? Though there's probably only enough left for chocolate..."
Wednesday ignored his nonsense and began the cold interrogation:
"First question. How did you know I was there? I'm quite certain that when I left the dorm, you were as drunk as a heap of useless mud."
A brief flash of clarity crossed Victor's face. He tried to put on a serious expression, but unfortunately, his drunken state made the effort look both ridiculous and... strangely alluring.
"I... I demand... I won't say anything until my lawyer arrives!" He imitated a line from a bad TV show, trying to bluff his way through.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, wasting no more words.
She walked straight to Victor's bed, which was right next to the bathroom door. With a look of undisguised disgust, she reached deep into his messy blankets and rummaged around—soon, she pulled out a large bag of various brightly colored chocolates.
Victor's eyes instantly widened, and he began to struggle: "Wait! Stop! What are you doing! Those chocolates are innocent! They are messengers of peace! Symbols of sweetness!"
Victor, bound like a caterpillar, wiggled desperately on the sheets, trying to stop Wednesday's atrocity.
Wednesday slowly tore open the wrapper of an exquisitely packaged, expensive-looking chocolate and calmly repeated: "Ready to talk?"
"I... I will not betray my brother... my informant!" Victor tried to put on a face of righteous integrity, though his bound state lacked any conviction.
Wednesday smiled. With a flick of her wrist, the chocolate traced a graceful arc and landed precisely in the open toilet.
"No—!" Victor let out a heart-wrenching scream. "That was a new Swiss release! Limited edition flavor! I pulled so many strings to get a box! I haven't even tasted it yet!"
Unmoved, Wednesday pulled a large, rectangular chocolate bar with vintage, ornate packaging from the bag. It even had a luxurious gold embossed print on it.
Victor writhed even more violently, nearly bouncing off the bed:
"Not that one! Absolutely not! That's the 'Charlie's Chocolate Factory' 30th Anniversary Commemorative Golden Ticket Chocolate! It's out of print! There are hardly any left in the world! Stop! Please! That's a work of art!"
Wednesday raised an eyebrow and dangled the heavy chocolate: "Decided yet?"
Victor watched that peerless treasure get closer and closer to the toilet. His eyes turned red, but he still gritted his teeth with an expression of martyrdom: "I... I will never sell out Thing! That's my principle!"
However, as soon as he spoke, there was a sudden squirming inside his hood!
Immediately after, a pale, slender severed hand with obvious stitches burst out. Using its tiny index finger and thumb, it fiercely and precisely pinched a piece of flesh on the side of Victor's neck and began to shake wildly from side to side! The movement was intense, filled with obvious anger and condemnation!
"Ow, ow, ow! It hurts! Let go! Thing! We're on the same side!" Victor squealed in pain.
Wednesday stepped forward and plucked the angry severed hand from Victor's neck.
Thing lay in Wednesday's palm, still unable to contain its rage. Its five fingers rapidly signed a series of complex gestures, moving so fast they almost left afterimages.
Wednesday watched calmly, interpreting the meaning of those gestures. Then, a cold look of realization curled the corner of her mouth—
Thing was using an extremely rich vocabulary of sign language to heartily and creatively curse Victor out with quite foul language.
Wednesday looked at the seemingly swearing Thing gesturing angrily in her palm, then looked up at Victor, who was bound on the bed with a red pinch mark on his neck and a guilty expression.
"So," Wednesday's voice was cold enough to drop icicles, "my 'informant' was you, Thing. And the one who instructed it, or rather, bribed it to spy on me, was you, Victor Black."
Thing immediately stood up its index and middle fingers, making a 'walking' gesture, then pointed at Victor, and finally rubbed its thumb and index finger together rapidly—(He paid!)
Victor tried to defend himself: "Hey! Strictly speaking, it was an advance on labor compensation! And that was its favorite limited edition nail care set! Plus a year's supply of honey almond oil! It was a fair trade!"
Thing immediately flipped the back of its hand and made an extremely insulting gesture toward Victor.
Wednesday ignored Victor's excuses and continued questioning Thing: "You saw me solve the puzzle and enter the secret room. Then you went to notify him?" She pointed at Victor.
Thing nodded, then signed a rapid explanation: (I saw he was heavily drunk and was going to forget it. But he suddenly sat up when he heard your name, shouting something about 'The Captain needs me.')
Victor tried to interrupt with a cough: "Cough, cough! Thing! Lawyer! I need a lawyer!"
Thing ignored him entirely and continued gesturing excitedly: (He stumbled to the secret room, knocked out the guard, dragged him away to a broom closet, changed into the clothes, and snuck in! He was as clumsy as a cat wearing shoes for the first time! He almost got exposed a hundred times!)
Wednesday's gaze, like two daggers dipped in ice, slowly moved from the excitedly gesturing Thing to Victor, who was trying to shrink into the blankets like an ostrich.
"So," her voice was steady but carried the pressure of an impending storm, "not only did you bribe my 'hand' to spy on me, but you also interfered with and intruded upon my ongoing independent investigation while in a drunken state with a disastrous level of stealth."
Victor tried to squeeze out his most deceptive, innocent smile, but it had little effect:
"Uh... if I said I went to provide 'logistical support' and 'tactical coordination,' would you believe me?"
Wednesday's response was to once again dangle that precious Golden Ticket chocolate over the toilet.
"No! Don't! I'll talk! I confess!" Victor surrendered completely, speaking as fast as a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"Venom and I smelled a faint, lab-like scent at the Crackstone Crypt in the woods before! Although it was very faint and mixed, there's absolutely no mistake!"
He paused, trying to organize his words through the drunkenness:
"I realized those bird-beak masks weren't targeting me—or rather, I was just incidental. Their target should be you. I thought I had to go check! I had to make sure..."
His voice trailed off, the flush on his cheeks seemingly deepening. His eyes darted away as he muttered, "Make sure you were okay."
A brief, subtle silence fell over the room.
Thing also stopped gesturing, its fingers suspended in mid-air as if savoring this sudden, somewhat blunt concern.
Wednesday watched Victor expressionlessly, the light from the desk lamp reflecting a cold sheen in her dark pupils, making it impossible to glimpse the thoughts beneath.