Louis hesitated momentarily, looking at Aboli with a trace of pity, as if he didn't know what to do.
Finally, he said softly, "Alright, you can stay here for now…"
Before Louis could even finish, Aboli threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head in his chest. "Mom, Mom, I love you."
Louis: "…" What the hell was that?!!!!
Honestly, he wasn't that surprised—this was, after all, part of Aboli's setup.
She had a "mom addiction." As long as she felt some warm affection radiating from somewhere—an action, a gesture—that she thought was noble, something she believed a mother would do, that person would instantly become her target.
She would cling to that person, obeying every request like a dutiful and… twisted child.
At first, she might seem completely harmless. But once the other person became used to her obedience and began making excessive demands that no birth mother would make—or if they were frightened and turned cowardly by her abnormal behavior—that was when the scythe of death would fall. That person would no longer be worthy of being her mother.
In the original story, the original Louis, infatuated with Aboli's beauty, ordered her to sleep with him.
What kind of mother would do that?
And, of course, there was no child as twisted as Aboli.
But in Aboli's eyes, the original Louis was no longer fit to be her mother.
One slash to the throat—dead without closing his eyes.
The current Louis, of course, had no such idiotic thoughts about Aboli. Besides, she was only sixteen—doing anything would be downright immoral.
However, that didn't mean he was safe. Once Aboli got bored, she could easily find a thousand reasons to deal with him.
She only needed one.
And right now, Louis was a twenty-year-old male, uninjured but with a "child" who was only four years younger than himself.
Louis took a deep breath, pretending he hadn't heard what Aboli said. He pulled her away, his expression serious. "What did you just say?"
Aboli's eyes welled up with tears, her face looking as if she were about to cry again. Her lips trembled hesitantly. "Mom… Mom, don't you love me?"
Louis silently wondered how high the chance of getting his throat slit would be if he said, "That's right," at this moment.
In the end, he didn't try.
With a serious face, he told her, "No. I'm not your mother—call me 'big brother.'" Then he sighed softly, as if thinking she only called him "Mom" because she was still too frightened.
He reached out, pulled Aboli into his arms again, and gently patted her thin back. In a tender voice, he said, "Don't be afraid. I'll protect you from bad people."
The girl's ears flushed red—whether from excitement or something else, he couldn't tell. She nodded hard and said, "Mom…"
Sensing Louis's scrutinizing gaze, Aboli quickly corrected herself. "Big… big brother, I'm hungry."
Only then did Louis get up and walk over to the fridge.
When he opened it, a neat row of nutrient pouches was lined up inside—the typical food of this era.
Louis was only a fourth-tier citizen, and his income was barely enough to pay the rent for this small apartment and buy the daily nutrient pouch.
Although he thought the taste of the stuff was absolutely terrible—and besides, before coming here he'd been a pampered young master living a life of fine clothes and good food—
There was nothing he could do about it. If he didn't eat, he'd die, and he had no desire to die.
Louis took a strawberry-flavored nutrient pouch and handed it to Aboli.
The original story mentioned that as the leader of a group of psychotic criminals, Aboli had a particular fondness for strawberries—or, more accurately, for any red-colored fruit.
Every time the author described Aboli eating strawberries, it always carried a bloody, gory undertone, as if she weren't eating strawberries at all, but human flesh.
Louis didn't understand what went through Aboli's mind when she ate strawberries, but he catered to her tastes for now.
When Aboli saw the strawberry-flavored nutrient pouch in front of her, her eyes lit up. She glanced at Louis, then took the pouch and began drinking.
The heroine played her part so well that, if Louis didn't know the original storyline, he might have thought Aboli genuinely loved nutrient drinks.
But that wasn't the case—her status in this world was far from low. She'd gone mad and run off to "play" outside.
Truly a case of "the rich causing trouble for the world"—good food, good sleep at home weren't enough; no, she had to run out and start chopping off heads for fun.
Louis could only fall silent at the thought. He then went upstairs and returned with an old blanket, spreading it on the floor.
Under Aboli's questioning gaze, he explained,
"You sleep on the bed, I'll sleep on the floor."
Seeing her expression, the young man seemed to misunderstand it as her feeling bad about inconveniencing him.
He waved a hand. "It's fine. I've got thick skin and plenty of padding; sleeping on the floor is nothing. ,I'll buy a bunk bed in a few days—then we'll both have a bed to sleep on."
Louis smiled slightly, the innate coldness in his face softening, as though ice had melted under spring's warmth, leaving something gentle and comforting.
Aboli's hand, resting by the side of the bed, trembled slightly. "Can't we sleep together, Mom?"
Louis slightly frowned, gently correcting, "Call me 'big brother.' And besides—at your age, you really should be sleeping alone."
Aboli's expression immediately fell, looking utterly dejected. Then, suddenly, she asked, "Then what would it take… for me to sleep with y—big brother?"
Louis waved her off. "Not happening. I don't like sleeping with other people." Then he turned over and shut his eyes.
Sitting on the bed, Aboli kept her gaze lowered toward Louis. Since the young man was no longer looking at her, her eyes roamed over him without restraint, lingering with bold indulgence. She licked the remaining nutrient drink from the corner of her lips, the curve of her mouth lifting. Now brimming with infatuated satisfaction, her gaze contrasted sharply with the drooping, pitiful tone in which she said, "Good night…"
Louis: "…" If the person sleeping next to me weren't you, I might have slept well.
Anyway, for the past week, no matter how anxious or fearful he might have been during the day, Louis had still slept soundly at night.
Not that this was something he could say out loud right now.
The night grew darker. At around two in the morning, the young man's breathing was slow and steady, his cold features softened in sleep—beautiful and serene like a holy statue.
Aboli's gaze lingered on his ripe plum-red lips, her deep and dark eyes brimming with unrestrained excitement.
She lifted a hand, gently brushing her fingers against Louis's face.
Her other hand slipped down between her legs, fingers moving in and out as her thighs clamped tightly together. Her voice was trembling and choked with breathless gasps.
"Mm… Mom… Mom…"
Suddenly, she grabbed Louis's hand and pressed it against her face.
His hand, surprisingly, wasn't much larger than hers.
Aboli nuzzled into his palm, taking in a slow, deep breath. She caught a faint, sweet scent and couldn't help but curl her lips into a smile.
Her eyes rolled back slightly as beads of sweat and hot, damp breath clung to Louis's skin.
In his dream, Louis felt like some dog was gnawing on his hand, licking it until it was soaked through—sticky and unpleasant.
He tried to pull away but found himself shackled, unable to move an inch.
What kind of nightmare was this?
Louis woke with that exact thought, raising a hand to shield his face from the sunlight streaming in.
His body felt heavy, his mind sluggish, and there was a faint ache in his head.
Frowning slightly, he realized that the heaviness wasn't just his own—it was because someone was lying on top of him.
Curled up on him like an octopus, Aboli rested her head on his arm.
Sensing his movement, she stretched languidly and nuzzled into the hollow of his neck, eyes still closed, clinging to him like a needy puppy.
Ha. If Louis believed that, then there'd be something wrong with him.
Knowing Aboli, she'd woken up before him—if not at the exact moment he stirred—
After all, she was a lunatic and a murderous maniac, brimming with excess energy. Sleeping in late was not in her repertoire.
Louis rolled his eyes inwardly, but his voice carried a tired, resigned patience when he spoke.
"Aboli, get up. It's morning."
Aboli pursed her lips, her expression crumpling slightly before she yawned and finally opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was the young man looking down at her, a helpless yet indulgent smile tugging at his lips. His large hand rested warmly and gently on her head, his eyes clear and pure—devoid of any dirty, vile thoughts.
Yes… yes. Only someone like this was worthy of being her mother!
Feeling his hand stroking her hair, she thought back to the night before—how she had held this hand, licked it, and reached her climax just imagining it.
A flush of crimson bloomed on her cheeks, her eyes quivered, and she nearly lost control of her breathing.