Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 57: You’re Handsome

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{Inside The Projection}

Malik took out the keys, his hands still slick with the slavers’ blood.

He unlocked the first cage.

Then the next.

And the next.

When he was done, he tossed them away and turned to the girls inside.

Damn, it was a grim sight.

They were a mess of trembling bodies, their faces streaked with dirt and dried tears.

Their hair hung in tangled mats, some strands sticking to their sweaty foreheads.

Most of them couldn’t have been older than eight or nine, yet to hit puberty.

Skinny as Hell, they clung to each other like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

A shield from whatever nightmare they were in.

The flickering campfire light wasn’t doing them any favors either.

It made the hollow look in their eyes even worse—eyes that had seen way too much shit.

Gone through much, endured too much.

Their clothes were little more than scraps, hanging off their malnourished bodies.

Bruises—fresh and ugly—decorated some of them, while others had scars running deep up their arms and legs, angry against pale and dark skin alike.

Malik didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe too loud, not wanting to scare them any more than they already were.

And in that silence, their quiet murmurs reached him as loud as screams:

"W-Who is he?"

"Another slaver?"

"No… he… he killed them."

"Infighting?"

"He doesn’t look like them."

Others shushed the last one quickly, afraid that her words might provoke him.

Malik didn’t bother reacting to that.

Instead, he crouched low, resting his forearms on his knees.

"You’re safe now."

He smiled at the group, trying to appear less intimidating.

"I’m not here to hurt you. Just… come out."

The girls didn’t move.

Their murmurs only grew more frantic.

"D-Don’t listen to him!"

"It’s a trick. It has to be."

"He’s doing the same thing as them."

"What if he’s not lying?"

"What if he is?"

"I-I-I don’t want to die..."

One girl, clutching her knees to her chest, began to cry silently.

Her shoulders shook, but not a sound escaped her lips.

Malik watched her for a moment, his jaw tightening.

He knew that kind of fear all too well—the kind that rooted itself so deep it suffocated you.

"Look, you can stay in there if you want."

He sighed, leaning closer to the bars, though he made sure not to touch them.

"But I just took out everyone who could hurt you. I promise, no one’s gonna touch you."

Still, no one moved.

The air was thick with their hesitation, their doubt.

"I know you’re scared."

Malik shifted and sat cross-legged.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he thought about what to say next.

"Hell, I’d be scared too. But I’m not one of them. If I was, do you think I’d be talking to you like this even after hearing what you said?"

With that obvious fact, the murmurs died down a bit.

A few of the girls exchanged hesitant glances, their fear battling with curiosity.

One of them, older than the rest—maybe early teens—finally stepped forward.

The little girl had tangled dark hair and a fresh bruise across her cheek.

She didn’t speak, but the way she edged closer to the bars told Malik she was listening.

"You don’t have to trust me."

He locked eyes with her, holding her gaze.

"But trust this: the people who put you in here? They’re gone. Dead. I made sure of it."

The girl hesitated, her fingers twitching as if debating whether to reach for the cage door.

Another girl, a blonde-haired one, tugged at her arm, whispering something too soft for Malik to catch, but the dark-haired girl shook her off.

Slowly, she reached out, her hand shaking as it touched the rusty latch.

The door creaked as she pushed it open, the sound startling some of the others.

They collectively flinched, pulling back into the far corner of the cage.

Quite unlike them, Malik didn’t move, not even an inch.

He waited, letting her take the lead.

The girl stepped out cautiously, her bare feet dragging across the dirt.

Her legs wobbled like she might collapse at any moment, but she eventually managed to keep herself upright, her head held high.

When she was fully out, she looked up at Malik, her eyes filled with something new—something closer to hope.

"They’re really all gone?"

Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

Malik nodded.

"Yeah. They’re gone. You don’t have to worry about them anymore."

The girl turned back to the others, her hand still resting on the cage door.

"It’s okay... I think he’s telling the truth."

Her words broke the tension like a dam bursting.

The rest of the girls began to stir, clinging to each other as they stepped into the open air.

Most still kept their distance from Malik, their gazes darting to him nervously, but the braver ones stood closer, their eyes scanning the camp as if expecting an ambush.

"...Alright. Thank you."

Malik stood slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements.

"If you can walk, help me search this place. Weapons, food, anything useful. If you’re too tired or hurt, find a spot to sit and rest. I’ll take care of the rest."

The girls exchanged uncertain glances, but a few nodded.

The dark-haired girl who’d first stepped out gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile before limping toward one of the tents.

Malik watched her go, then turned to the others.

"You’ll be fine. You’ve got a lot more fight in you than you think."

Some nodded, and others just stared at him, unsure what to do.

One girl, though, stood out.

She was the blonde clinging to the dark-haired girl earlier.

She stepped forward, her blue eyes fixed on Malik with an intensity that made him pause.

"You’re handsome."

***

{Outside The Projection}

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...what the hell..."

"...no way..."

"...that’s—"

"...Lady Safira?!"

"WAIT, WHAT?!"

"Hold up! HOLD UP! That’s how she met the Sultan?!"

"No way! No damn way—she almost got turned into a slave!"

"Yo, someone explain how the fuck that happened!"

"Our Fairy was almost made a slave for God’s sake!"