When I Finished Playing the Terminally-Ill Villainous Omega C22

Chapter 22

Relying solely on the lamp light seeping through the narrow gap of the door, his features still stood out with striking clarity, shadows cast in sharp relief. Each time the eyes hidden beneath his lids shifted, the lashes that curved slightly upward fluttered faintly. His nose, rising and falling with languid breaths, was sharp yet straight, and his lips were firmly closed.

Before my regression, I had been too desperate simply to survive. I never had the leisure to truly look at his face. When we met again after coming back to life, I was staring at someone who would eventually kill me—hardly a situation where one could afford to admire appearances.

Whenever our eyes met, my heart would crash downward with a thud, and my gaze would plunge along with it—how could I ever have taken in his features properly? In that sense, today was the first time I had really examined his face in detail.

“…He really is handsome.”

No wonder he was the protagonist.

I finally understood why people said that looking at a beautiful face could make a whole day disappear. I was so absorbed that I lost track of time—when, faintly, I heard a soft sss sound, like something brushing through the air.

I was just about to brush it off as a draft slipping through the door when—

Whoosh!

A sudden presence stirred behind me.

I whipped my head around. In that instant, something slapped past my face.

“U—ugh!”

Startled out of my skin, I fell flat on my backside, sprawling backward. I rubbed my cheek, still tingling with a cold sensation, eyes wide as I frantically scanned the room. Then I saw it—a black shadow racing up across Locke’s face.

I clapped a hand over my mouth just in time to stop myself from screaming.

It was definitely a bug. With wings, and moving at that speed—it was the kind that made your skin crawl just thinking about it…!

That thing was the one creature I never, ever wanted to encounter.

‘L-let’s pretend I didn’t see it.’

I forced a blank expression and lifted the basket from the floor as I stood. But if I was going to feed him, I’d have to wake him—and if he shifted the wrong way while waking up…

A crushed one was two hundred times worse than a living one.

“I’m losing my mind.”

After hopping in place for a moment, I finally hugged the basket to my left arm, leaned my upper body far back, and stretched my right arm out as far as it would go. Hoping the thing would flee on its own, I lightly poked at Locke’s hair and collar with my fingertips.

A quiet eugh… slipped out every few seconds. I poked him several times with no reaction, then grabbed the hem of his robe and shook it lightly. I told myself it must’ve run away already—but since I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, doubt kept creeping in.

Deciding this was the last try, I gently lifted a lock of his black hair.

That was when I saw it.

Between his earlobe and cheek, a black shape bulged faintly.

Found it!

“Huh?”

Looking closer, it wasn’t shaped like an insect at all. The head and tail were unmistakably serpentine—but it also had tiny legs and wings. What on earth is that? I was just about to lift my head to check whether it was clinging to the ceiling—

Thunk!

Locke’s eyes flew open. In a split second, he seized my shoulder and yanked me toward him.

“W—whoa!”

Dragged off balance, my leg caught on the edge of the bed, and I pitched forward—landing squarely on top of his torso.

“…Honestly, Young Master. Every time I let my guard down, you do something like this.”

Those blazing golden eyes bored straight into mine as he spoke with a faint smile. The way our bodies overlapped was visually… questionable, so I hurried to push myself up.

“This is a misunderstanding! That wasn’t—!”

His hand pressed firmly against my waist, making it impossible to rise. Losing my balance again, I collapsed back down with a thump, and his broad, solid palm hovered near where my blouse met my trousers.

I stiffened reflexively.

“What—seeing you scheme like that, does this mean it’s time for another kiss?”

My face heated instantly at his words. I scrambled upright again, and thankfully this time he loosened his grip, letting me stand. I rolled one aching shoulder and muttered,

“Don’t say such ridiculous things.”

“Then what? Was another spider trying to bite me?”

“This one was different.”

“You really are consistent, Young Master.”

“I’m serious! I really saw it. It wasn’t a bug—it looked like a winged snake. But… can snakes even have wings?”

Locke blinked slowly, then narrowed his eyes and murmured, “…I suppose I need to be scolded,” before whispering in a low, even voice.

“Me? Why? What did I do wrong?”

As I protested, shivering with indignation, the sharpness in his gaze softened.

“Ah, just talking to myself. I meant I should scold myself—for suspecting the Young Master’s pure intentions so indecently. And as you know, winged snakes do not exist. It would be more believable if you said a dragon appeared.”

That’s even more fantastical, isn’t it?

“Then… a monster? Maybe one that clung to us when we escaped that day?”

Locke swept his gaze slowly around the cell.

“Given the conditions down here, there are certainly many insects. What you saw was likely one of them.”

“It had wings.”

“Many insects do.”

“And a tail.”

“Then perhaps it was two of them stuck together in the middle of mating.”

“Ugh, don’t say such horrible things. Now I really don’t want to stay here.”

“I never asked you to.”

“So cold, to someone who brought you food because they were worried.”

In truth, the explanation about winged insects mating sounded more plausible than a winged snake. I had only seen a shadow, not a clear form, so doubt lingered.

Accepting Locke’s reasoning, I sat down beside him and opened the basket.

I asked whether he could cut the steak—said I could do it nicely for him if he wanted—but he naturally took the knife and fork from me. It was summer, and the brief brush of his cool body heat felt unexpectedly pleasant.

I sat quietly, watching his straight fingers as he neatly sliced the lamb. It was hard to believe he had once been a beggar wandering the marketplace—his grip on the cutlery was precise, following proper etiquette.

The utensils moved smoothly, like flowing water, and he never scraped the plate even once while cutting the meat. Honestly, he was more elegant than most nobles.

I lifted my head and looked at his face.

His changed mannerisms. His overly refined table etiquette. Those occasional glimmers in his eyes—echoes of a former time. Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind: what if he, like me, was living his second—or third—life? What if he already knew everything, merely pretending ignorance while watching my desperate struggle to survive?

A chill crept over my entire body, raising goosebumps. My heart shrank, and my breathing grew shallow.

‘No. That can’t be.’

If he had regressed, he would know he was of imperial blood. And knowing that, there was no way he would quietly endure abuse from Cassian and me while remaining in a count’s household. Even more so, someone accustomed to imperial life would never content himself with scraps of food and threadbare clothes. If anything, it would be far more advantageous to start a rebellion immediately, seize the throne, and crush House Hestian under overwhelming power.

Even if he had endured it all for the sake of revenge—would it make sense for him to calmly cut steak for the very person he meant to destroy?

I’d been through too many absurd situations lately. My imagination must be running wild. The “Locke regression theory” ended here.

Still, just in case, I decided to test the waters with a single question.

“You’re really good with table manners. Where did you learn?”

“I often watched the Count and Lady Cecil dine from a distance.”

He answered calmly. Learning by observing nobles from birth made sense.

“You pick things up fast, huh? You must be really smart.”

“The Young Master is simply rather slow.”

“Why do you always have to say things like that—hey!”

A perfectly cooked piece of meat slipped into my mouth mid-complaint. The neatly cut fibers brushed my tongue. I shot him a look while chewing diligently. Juices burst forth, filling my mouth with rich flavor, followed by a faint aroma of spices—I couldn’t help but exclaim.

“It’s really good! You should eat too!”

I speared another piece with a different fork and held it up to his lips, urging him on.

After hesitating briefly, he opened his mouth and quietly accepted the bite. Even that simple motion carried a certain grace.

He chewed a few times, then gave a small nod. Seeing the satisfied look on his face, something warm and soft spread through my chest.

“Good, right?”

“Marianne is a skilled cook.”

“Oh—and I kept my promise, you know. I said I’d be back before Cassian.”

Locke merely nodded, showing no particular emotion. That’s it? After everything I went through… As the person who had done all the running around, I suddenly felt a wave of grievance and couldn’t help but start bragging.

“I rode a horse with this sick body just to keep that promise! Howard scolded me so badly! Do you know how much running around I did to prove your innocence? If I told you the whole story, you’d be crying from how moved you’d be!”

At that, Locke let out a short laugh.

It was the first time—a genuine smile born not of mockery, but of true amusement. In that moment, it struck me how precious this was: this quiet peace, facing a Locke who was whole, alive, and held no malice toward me.

My throat tightened. I lowered my head and, without another word, focused on chewing my meat.