Wonderful Insane World-Chapter 165: What He Didn’t Say

Maggie pushed off the wall with a slow movement. Her eyes, ringed with shadows of fatigue, locked onto Dylan with an intensity that clashed with how slumped she’d been minutes earlier. She didn’t cross her arms again. She let them hang at her sides, heavy, as if carrying the weight of everything he’d just dropped on them.

"A group." Her voice was rough, worn down by lack of sleep and too much tension. "A group you’ve just informed is in the sights of a guy who knows everything about us. A group you’re gently suggesting should leap into the wolf’s mouth because the wolf’s promising gold-flavored kibble." She shook her head, a tiny motion. "Did you forget the part where you said ’no,’ Dylan? Or have you already signed in your head?"

Élisa, still lying on her side, her chin resting in her hand, was watching Dylan. Not Maggie—Dylan. Her golden eyes no longer gleamed with childish curiosity but with something sharper, almost feral. "He’s been following us since the beginning?" she asked softly. Not scared. Just surprised. Like someone being told the air they breathe is being tracked. "Like a ghost? Or... a dog?" She scrunched her nose, puzzled. "Why hasn’t he shown himself?"

Dylan didn’t answer Maggie right away. He held Élisa’s gaze. "I’d say more like a landlord, Sweetheart," he said, his tone neutral—but the word dropped with a chilling weight. "Watching his livestock before deciding whether to pen them up... or butcher them."

Then he turned to Maggie. "Say no? To a guy who probably has enough dirt to get us hanged by tomorrow morning? Let’s say I chose to act like I found the idea... tempting. To buy time. And information." He tapped the sack by his feet again. "The gold-flavored kibble? It’s already here. An advance. Before we’ve even said yes."

Maggie let out a dry, humorless snort. "The condemned’s deposit. How thoughtful." She stepped forward, dragging her feet, and crouched near the sack without touching it, as if it might bite. "And during your charming little negotiation, did you ask why they didn’t just snatch us up when we arrived? What’s with the theatrics?"

"Because we made ourselves invisible, Maggie!" Élisa burst out, suddenly propping herself up on one elbow, eyes lighting up. "Like mice! Or cockroaches! We made ourselves too small, too ugly, too nothing for them to care at first!" She saw Maggie’s look and added, less sure, "... That’s what Dylan figured, right?"

Dylan smirked half-heartedly. "Something like that. Gael hinted that our... low profile made us interesting. Strangers showing up without making waves, but with a certain... potential."

He gestured vaguely to Élisa, then Maggie. "They want to see what we’re really capable of. If we’re worth the investment before they offer—or force us—to wear their colors. The job offer is the test. Accepting means playing their game. Refusing..." He let the sentence hang, heavy with implication.

"Means signing our own death sentence," Maggie finished coldly. She stood, her joints cracking softly. Her eyes flicked from the sack back to Dylan. "So we don’t have a choice. On the surface." Then, suddenly, she plunged her hand into the sack.

Dylan didn’t flinch. She pulled out a thick leather pouch, heavy and poorly tied. Gold coins spilled over the edge, gleaming faintly in the candlelight. She weighed it, her face unreadable. "The advance. How much?"

"Enough to house and feed us comfortably for a month. Without lifting a finger." Dylan watched her fingers tighten on the pouch. "It’s supposed to prove their goodwill."

Maggie gave a short, bitter laugh. She tossed the pouch onto the bed, near Élisa’s legs. The gold clinked softly. "And the other option? Besides becoming ass-kissers or corpses?"

Élisa picked up the pouch, intrigued, turning it in her hands like some exotic toy. "We could leave," she suggested, looking up at Dylan. "Right now. With the gold. Become ghosts for real?"

Dylan slowly shook his head. "The city’s sealed, Élisa. Not officially. But Gael controls the gates. And even in the sewers, I felt watched. The whole city—even the slums—is his territory, I’d bet my hand on it. We’re rats in a maze where he owns every exit." He took a breath. "Running means playing hide-and-seek with a hunter who knows the terrain by heart. And probably has dogs."

A silence fell, denser than the ones before. The candle’s crackle felt unnaturally loud. Maggie rubbed her temples, eyes closed. Élisa let the coins slide from one hand to the other, their steady clinking like a ticking clock.

"So," murmured Maggie without opening her eyes, "we play. We say yes. We become Martissant’s nice little mercenaries." She opened her eyes, fatigue cutting through Dylan. "And while we’re playing the game, we look for the crack. The thing that lets us slip through their fingers. Or twist their arm instead. That’s your real plan, isn’t it, Dylan? The one you didn’t say out loud?"

Dylan wasn’t smiling anymore. His face had gone cold, focused. "I won’t deny I’ve thought about it. But we also have to accept one thing: we’re alone, they’re many... and they’re prepared for exactly this kind of situation."

Maggie nodded slowly, without a word, then stood up fully. Her silhouette cut through the dim light, blurred, worn—but upright. She didn’t respond with enthusiasm, nor anger. Just that raw clarity that no longer tries to fight the walls—only to understand their thickness.

"Then we’ll have to be better than them... let’s say, a bit craftier."

She glanced at Élisa, who flicked a coin between her fingers before letting it bounce softly on the bed. The gold fell with a muted sound. Élisa’s eyes were still on Dylan. And this time, they were eerily calm.

"I’m ready to play," she said without fire. No fervor, no fear. Just... a pulled-tight kind of resolve, like a bowstring waiting.

Dylan dropped his gaze to the floor, staring blankly for a few seconds.

"I liked it better when you two were mocking me."

Élisa shrugged. Maggie sighed.

"That’ll come back. Don’t worry." She turned away, grabbed a chair from the corner, dragged it to the center with a low scrape. She dropped into it, legs apart, elbows on her thighs. "But for now, we need to know what we’re walking into. You dropped a name, a war, and a proposal on us... we need to dig, Dylan. If we’re selling our souls, I’d at least like to know which devil we’re selling to."

Dylan nodded. "I’ll go back to see Gael. Officially to seal the deal. Unofficially, to learn more about the war. And what they really want from us."

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