Summary
The villain, who had lost both his legs, was dark and violently unstable. He hurled the teacup into me. “I told you to get out. Don’t you understand?” Under his murderous glare, I took his palm and wrote on it, stroke by stroke: “I can’t hear.” The System shrieked, “Host, what are you doing?” “If I act even more pitiful than he is, it’ll be easier to win him over.” I looked up at the villain and blinked innocently, then, feigning confusion, continued writing: “I have a heart condition. Could you please not be so mean?” The villain’s hand trembled violently.