Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 203: Trust

***

{Outside The Projection}

Like most of the crowd, Safira's mouth was slightly open, but no words came out.

She had none to speak.

In the war, she had fought beside Malik, bled beside him.

She had seen him at his worst and his most terrifying, but never—never—had she thought about what it actually felt like for him.

Not once had she stopped to wonder what was running through his head.

But now? Watching this scene unfold?

She finally saw it.

The way the world seemed to close in around him.

Safira had never recognized it for what it was.

Now she did.

And she despised it.

Arguably, more than she ever despised that dream of his.

"…Shit."

It was Duban who spoke first, running both hands down his face.

They grabbed at it hard, fingers going white.

There was no sugarcoating it.

He looked like he'd just come out of a nightmare.

"That's what he felt?"

His voice was barely above a whisper.

It was rare to see him at a loss for words, but there it was.

He wasn't even trying to hide his despair.

"I…"

Safira inhaled sharply, rubbing her arms.

"I didn't know."

"None of us did."

Duban's jaw clenched.

"We thought—we thought he was just thinking about the job. But that? That was—"

"Weight."

A voice cut in, and the two turned.

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It was Layla, shaking her head.

"If it is as you believe, come judgment day, he'll answer first for these tens of thousands."

The murmurs started.

"He really didn't want to be part of it."

"But he was."

"…And because he was, the whole war shifted."

People muttered among themselves, stating the obvious, deep in thought.

The energy that had been so lively before, so eager to watch the meeting and the subsequent drama unfold, had turned cold.

Things became real again.

A familiar, scarred man exhaled sharply.

"Most of us, when we go to war, we don't think about that. We think about the fight. About the victory. About getting out alive. But him?"

He shook his head.

"He saw the end before it even began. All of it... Guess that's just how a Sultan thinks."

Indeed.

Malik had always thought like a Sultan, but this? This was the clearest proof of it.

He showed himself a surprisingly kind leader, a compassionate one... a good one.

Safira didn't know what to do with this knowledge. This understanding that had been forced upon her, that had cracked open something inside her chest she hadn't even known was locked up tight. And now that it was open, now that she saw it for what it was, she couldn't unsee it.

Every word he said to her could now be seen in a different light.

This... this context had changed it all.

Again, until now, she had never truly thought about what it meant for him.

Back then, she had just assumed. Assumed he would take it all in stride. That he would walk through Hell, straight to the lowest of lows, and just accept it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it was expected of him. Like he had no choice.

Even after suspecting him to be Malik, she hadn't let herself dwell on it. Hadn't really let herself remember. The man he used to be. The kind man who had saved her from a life of ruin.

She had forgotten.

"Tch..."

A loud scoff cut through her thoughts.

"He made his choice."

It came from Zafar.

"Don't act like he's some tragic figure. He accepted the money, didn't he?"

Exacerbated by his complete regression into a BUFFOON, Duban turned to him, blue eyes flashing.

"You! You think it was that simple?!"

"I think he knew what he was doing."

The "hero" shrugged and glanced at his yes men, whose recent return had given him a slight boost of retarded arrogance. Enough to showcase his stupidity at full force. And, to make things worse, since they were no longer a drunken mess, they were able to join the monkey carriage:

"He could've said no!"

"The Villain didn't even ask your father to change his mind!"

"This whole act is just for him to blame someone else."

"That's right! He just doesn't want to feel guilty!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

...What?

Duban, as well as all the others listening in, grew confused.

Did these lot watch something different than everyone else?

How could they be so wrong?

Could humans actually be that dumb?

What they claimed was the literal opposite of what Malik was doing.

"Oh, yeah?"

Duban took a step forward.

"And what would've happened if he did?"

Zafar and his lackeys held their ground but didn't answer.

It seemed that they knew the result even if they acted like they didn't.

"Exactly."

Duban sneered.

"The Sultan knew damn well that saying pause wouldn't have stopped the charge. My father was ready. The only thing it would've done was delay it until someone else came along. Someone worse. Someone who didn't care at all."

Zafar clicked his tongue.

"That's a lot of assumptions."

"No, that's the truth..."

Safira piped up, though barely.

"You really think Nasir couldn't have found another Jinn to do his dirty work?"

"Exactly, BOY."

Azeem nodded with a smirk.

"And you saw how they reacted when Nasir said the words. They weren't just happy. They were celebrating. Because they knew they could finally go all out. If it hadn't been him, it certainly would've been someone else. Malik knew that. He always does. And that's why he made sure it was him. Because if the job had to be done, then at least he could do it right. Make sure there were no loose ends. No mistakes. No one left standing who'd crawl back for revenge. It's just how he thinks. He doesn't take risks he can't control."

Azeem leaned back, his palms pressing down against the marble as he let the words settle for a moment.

"That's the funny part, though. He assumed the enemy would come after him if he dipped, which means—whether he realizes it or not—he never actually believed Nasir could do the job properly. And this is despite all that so-called respect he claims to have for him. Deep down, Malik's got faith in one person and one person only—himself. He might not say it out loud, but that confidence is there, always. He trusts himself more than anyone else, and everyone else? Well... let's just say they rank a little lower on the list."

The second he shut his mouth, the silence hit hard.

Those who were staring at the man quickly glanced away, suddenly very interested in the walls, the floor, the air—anything but him.

Because yeah, they all knew he was a Malik fanatic, but this?

This was a whole new level.

Even Roya and Noor just stared at him like he had sprouted a second head.

The way he broke Malik down, the way he analyzed him, was... unsettling.

He had done it much better than they ever could.

It wasn't just admiration or love—it was obsession.

A feeling that Safira was really familiar with.

Yet, she didn't seem to notice that.

Her mind had ignored everything outside the projection.

She kept hearing the echoes of their cheers, the slamming of fists on the table, the roars of approval. And in the middle of it, Malik. Silent. Still. A single drop of oil in an ocean of fire.

She had thought she knew him.

She had thought she understood.

But she hadn't.

Not at all.