"How was it? My disguise wasn't bad, right? I said this mask matched the atmosphere perfectly! And the cloak fit surprisingly well."
Bianca and her accomplices were utterly stunned. Eyes wide, mouths gaping, they looked from Victor to the empty corner—their companion who was supposed to be guarding that spot had vanished.
"You... how did you get in here?!" Bianca's voice went high-pitched with shock. "Where is Antonio?!"
Wednesday's cold gaze swept over their stunned faces, her sharp tongue showing no mercy:
"It seems that not only did your amateur kidnapping technique tarnish the word 'kidnapping,' but you were also completely oblivious to your accomplice being swapped out. Your level of incompetence is truly breathtaking."
"Don't worry, don't worry," Victor waved his hand cheerfully, trying to soothe the startled "kidnappers."
"Your friend is sleeping soundly outside. Very safe. The only thing to worry about is that he might catch a cold; I didn't expect the guy to be wearing only a cloak... By the way, everyone, your techniques really need improvement."
He added with a tone of disappointment, like a teacher failing a student:
"I even kindly provided you with hemp rope soaked in sesame oil—sturdier and supposedly harder to struggle out of... and you tied knots worthy of a street magician? I am so disappointed!"
He shook his head and continued:
"You guys really should learn some useful knowledge. Listening to what you were saying just now, what do you do in this so-called elite social club? Rooftop parties? Forest camping? occasional midnight skinny-dipping in the Black Lake...?"
Victor's voice trailed off. He stopped, looked up, and an expression of extreme seriousness and longing appeared on his face.
"Seriously," he looked at Bianca and Xavier with sparkling eyes filled with sincere expectation, "do you guys still need members? How about me? I feel these activities were tailor-made for me!"
Wednesday rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. She grabbed Victor by the collar and unceremoniously dragged him toward the exit of the secret chamber.
Even while being dragged backward, Victor stretched his arms toward Bianca and the others, shouting loudly: "Think about it! Please! I'm great at livening up the atmosphere! I bring snacks! Unlimited top-tier chocolate...!"
His voice was mercilessly dragged away by Wednesday, leaving Bianca and her group staring at each other, frozen in place, trying to process this absurd and dismal ending that was far beyond their comprehension.
---
All the way back, Victor chattered and hiccuped drunkenly, trying to bewitch Wednesday into joining the Nightshades, or at least letting him join.
It wasn't until Wednesday shot him a look cold enough to freeze hell over that Victor slammed on the brakes, knowingly miming zipping his mouth shut—though the zipper quickly "slid open" again in his drunken, goofy grin.
Wednesday dragged Victor back to the dorm. Ignoring her rule about "the sanctity of her bed," she dumped the drunken, giant trouble-magnet onto her large bed covered in black silk sheets.
Thrown onto the soft bed, Victor rolled over lazily, burying his face in the pillow that smelled of cold, faint fragrance, and let out a satisfied sigh:
"Mmm... big bed... ten thousand times more comfortable than my rocky camp cot... like lying on clouds... black clouds..."
Watching Victor roll around brazenly on her impeccably tidy, wrinkle-free bed, Wednesday's fists clenched hard, knuckles making dangerous clicking sounds.
Finally unable to bear it, she pounced onto the bed, her knee pressing precisely into his side, pinning him down firmly.
Victor, blurry-eyed with drink, felt the weight on him and Wednesday's close proximity. Instead of struggling, he giggled foolishly, "Heh heh heh." A deeper, suspicious flush rose on his cheeks, and his eyes wandered:
"Oh my... this position... isn't this a bit inappropriate, Captain... I-I haven't mentally prepared myself yet... is it a bit too fast..."
Wednesday remained expressionless, as if she hadn't heard his nonsense. She pulled out a hemp rope and began deftly binding his wrists.
The flush on Victor's face deepened. He squirmed symbolically, his voice carrying shyness and even more anticipation:
"Uh... actually I don't really like this kind of... my bottom line is... okay, okay," he seemed to suddenly convince himself, closing his eyes as if risking it all, "my bottom line is flexible! Come on! I'm ready!"
Wednesday's face remained stoic, but the veins popping on her temple showed she had been enduring 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, switched it on with a snap, and aimed the blinding white light directly at Victor's face.
"Whoa..." Victor squinted against the harsh light, asking dizzily, "W-What new play is this? Interrogation play? Do I need to give up my bank card password? Though there's probably only enough left for chocolate money..."
Wednesday ignored his drivel and began the cold interrogation:
"First question. How did you know I was there? I am quite certain that when I left the dorm, you were drunk as a puddle of mud."
A flash of extreme clarity passed briefly over Victor's face. He tried to put on a serious expression, but his drunken state made the effort look comical and... inexplicably charming.
"I... I demand... I won't say anything until my lawyer arrives!" He mimicked a line from a bad TV drama, trying to bluff his way through.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, wasting no more words.
She walked straight to Victor's small bed next to the toilet door. With undisguised disgust on her face, she reached deep into his messy quilt and rummaged around—soon pulling out a large bag of colorful, variously packaged chocolates.
Victor's eyes widened instantly, and he began to struggle: "Wait! Stop! What are you doing! Those chocolates are innocent! They are messengers of peace! Symbols of sweetness!"
Bound like a caterpillar, Victor squirmed desperately on the sheets, trying to stop Wednesday's atrocity.
Wednesday methodically tore open the wrapper of a delicately packaged, expensive-looking chocolate bar and repeated calmly: "Ready to talk?"
"I... I will never betray my brother... my informant!" Victor tried hard to look righteous, though being tied up made it unconvincing.
Wednesday smiled. With a flick of her wrist, the chocolate bar drew a beautiful arc and landed precisely in the open toilet bowl.
"NO—!!!" Victor let out a heart-wrenching scream. "That was a Swiss new release! Limited edition flavor! I pulled so many strings to get a box! I haven't even tasted it yet!"
Wednesday was unmoved. She pulled out a huge, rectangular chocolate bar with retro, ornate packaging and gold embossed prints.
Victor squirmed even more violently, almost bouncing off the bed:
"Not that one! Absolutely not! That's the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory 30th Anniversary Golden Ticket Edition! Out of print! There aren't many left in the world! Stop! Please! That is art!"
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, shaking the heavy chocolate bar. "Ready?"
Victor stared at the priceless treasure getting closer to the toilet. His eyes were red, but he gritted his teeth, looking ready to die for his cause: "I... I will absolutely not betray Thing! This is my principle!"
However, as soon as he finished speaking, his own hood suddenly squirmed!
Immediately after, a pale, slender severed hand with obvious stitch lines popped out! With its small index finger and thumb, it fiercely and precisely pinched a piece of flesh on the side of Victor's neck and began to shake madly left and right! The intensity of the movement was filled with obvious anger and condemnation!
"Ow ow ow! Hurts hurts hurts! Let go! Thing! We're on the same side!" Victor squealed in pain.
Wednesday stepped forward and pulled the angry severed hand off Victor's neck.
Thing lay in Wednesday's palm, still indignant, fingers flying to sign a string of complex gestures so fast they blurred.
Wednesday watched calmly, decoding the meaning, and then a cold smirk of realization curled her lips—
Thing was using an extremely rich vocabulary of sign language to curse Victor out thoroughly, creatively, and quite nastily.
Wednesday looked at the cursing Thing in her palm, then looked up at Victor on the bed—tied up, neck red from the pinch, looking guilty.
"So," Wednesday's voice was cold enough to drop ice shards, "my 'informant' was you, Thing. And the one who instructed it, or rather, bribed it to monitor me, was you, Victor Black."
Thing immediately stood on index and middle fingers, making a "walking" gesture, pointed at Victor, and finally rubbed thumb and index finger together rapidly—(He paid!)
Victor tried to defend himself: "Hey! Strictly speaking, it was prepaid labor remuneration! And it was the limited edition nail care set it loves most! Plus a year's supply of honey almond oil! It was a fair trade!"
Thing immediately flipped over, delivering an extremely insulting gesture at Victor.
Wednesday ignored Victor's sophistry and continued questioning Thing: "You saw me solve the riddle and enter the secret chamber. Then you went to notify him?" She pointed at Victor.
Thing nodded, then signed rapidly: (I saw he was super drunk and thought about letting it go. But when he heard your name, he suddenly sat up and yelled something about 'The Captain needs me'.)
Victor tried to interrupt with a cough: "Cough cough! Thing! Lawyer! I need a lawyer!"
Thing ignored him completely, continuing to sign excitedly: (He stumbled all the way to the secret chamber, knocked that guard out, dragged him into a broom closet, and put on his clothes to sneak in! He moved as clumsily as a cat wearing shoes for the first time! Almost got caught a hundred times!)
Wednesday's gaze, like two ice-dipped daggers, slowly moved from the agitated Thing to Victor, who was trying to shrink into the quilt like an ostrich.
"So," her voice was steady but carried the pressure of an impending storm, "not only did you bribe my 'hand' to monitor me, but while intoxicated, and with a stealth level comparable to a disaster, you interfered with and broke into my independent investigation."
Victor tried to squeeze out his most deceptive innocent smile, but the effect was minimal:
"Uh... if I said I went to provide 'logistical support' and 'tactical backup,' would you believe me?"
Wednesday's answer was to dangle the precious Golden Ticket chocolate over the toilet bowl again.
"No! Don't! I'll talk! I confess!" Victor surrendered completely, speaking as fast as a cat with its tail stepped on.
"Venom and I smelled a faint lab-like scent in the woods near Crackstone Crypt before! Although it was very faint and mixed, we definitely weren't wrong!"
He paused, trying to organize his words through the drunkenness:
"I realized those beak-masks weren't targeting me, or at least I was just a side note. Their target should be you. I thought I had to go check! I had to ensure..."
His voice trailed off. The flush on his cheeks seemed to deepen, his eyes dodging hers as he mumbled: "Had to ensure you were okay."
A subtle silence fell over the room.
Thing stopped signing, fingers hovering in mid-air, seemingly savoring this sudden, somewhat candid concern.
Wednesday stared expressionlessly at Victor. The lamp light refracted a cold sheen in her dark pupils, making it impossible to glimpse the thoughts beneath.