Chapter 5
Episode 5
"Gamal? That's a strange name," Doyoung said.
The name offered no clues about nationality. But given his red eyes, he must have lived long enough to potentially originate from a now-extinct country.
"Strange?"
Gamal tilted his head at the unfamiliar word. His childlike expression startled Doyoung - this was the same being who'd radiated menace during their fight.
"I meant unusual," Doyoung rephrased.
"Not unusual," Gamal retorted instantly, puffing his cheeks in a display of unexpected defiance.
"Fine. Sorry."
Doyoung conceded without argument. Gamal then inquired casually:
"You?"
Doyoung scrutinized him. Though the face seemed artless, revealing his identity to this potential spy or trap-setter would be reckless.
"Ishmael," he fabricated.
"Name strange."
A vein throbbed in Doyoung's temple. This brat...
"Not your real name," Gamal stated plainly. Masking his shock, Doyoung countered:
"Why would you think that?"
Gamal rummaged through his crossbody bag and produced a familiar item - Doyoung's fractured wristband, clearly damaged in their skirmish.
"Your true name is..." Gamal drew out the words, flipping the band to reveal the partial ID tag. "Soryeong."
The torn band had severed the rest. "Don't lie," Gamal declared triumphantly. "I know everything, Soryeong."
"Ah. Right."
The kid seemed dimmer than expected - likely unaware "Soryeong" meant lieutenant - but this ignorance worked in Doyoung's favor.
"You live here?" Doyoung pivoted.
Gamal nodded.
"Alone?"
"Alone."
The island had appeared uninhabited during Doyoung's earlier reconnaissance.
"Why? You couldn't have been stranded." Any vampire could escape this distance by swimming or raft-building. Gamal remained silent.
When Doyoung's probing gaze persisted, he deflected: "Live here now."
Assuming Gamal didn't comprehend "stranded," Doyoung began explaining:
"Stranded means-"
"Eat."
Gamal shoved a bamboo-woven food basket forward. As Doyoung pressed ("Why stay here alone-"), Gamal insisted:
"Must eat. Healt'hy? Before dark?" His head tilted at the stumbling pronunciation.
He's dodging the question, Doyoung realized. There was motive here. He retreated, correcting:
"Healthy."
"Healthy!" Gamal parroted brightly, his smile transforming him from ethereal ice sculpture to eager puppy. Doyoung blinked.
Why's this endearing? He nearly berated himself for the thought.
The entity before him remained technically a blood-drinker (though modern vampires abstained). Who knew what sustained this one?
Regardless, Gamal's late arrival had left him starving. Priorities first. Doyoung extended his bound arm:
"Untie me for this?"
Gamal shook his head vigorously.
"Can't run with this leg anyway," Doyoung reasoned. "Where would I go?"
"Move...hurt. Stay still."
Doyoung arched an eyebrow. "Last polite request: untie me."
Gamal flinched but maintained stubborn refusal.
"Expect me to eat like this?"
Gamal's eyes lit up. "Feed you?"
Doyoung pressed palms to his forehead.
How did I end up captive to an I♥NY-clad vampire on a deserted island? Had someone warned him thirty hours prior, he'd have laughed it off as absurdity.
Since the mission-site explosion, his luck seemed determined to test misfortune's limits.
Sighing, Doyoung raised his head. Gamal waited attentively.
"Listen carefully."
Gamal focused like a student called to attention.
"You're vampire. I'm human. Clear?"
Nod.
"Don't know how long you've lived here, but you know this terrain. I don't. Follow?"
Nod.
Doyoung gestured to his splinted leg.
"Thanks to your kick, this is my condition."
"Sorry," said Gamal sincerely.
Doyoung shook his head.
"I didn’t ask for an apology. What the hell are you so scared of that you need to tie me up?"
"Uh…"
Gamal fell silent as if genuinely considering the question. Then he abruptly grabbed a bowl and stubbornly thrust forward a flat piece of bread, unleavened like Indian naan. "No."
Doyoung swallowed a curse. He’d nearly been free. "Eat."
Gamal pushed the bread closer. Reluctantly, Doyoung accepted—he was hungry, and his legs needed to heal.
The bread surprised him. "Not bad?"
For Doyoung, a Frenchman with impossibly high standards, this was high praise. If he called it "decent," it could be sold anywhere.
Gamal grinned, making fire gestures with both! Crash!*
The bowl and food scattered noisily. "After everything you’ve done to me, you call me a dog?!" Doyoung roared, straining against his bonds.
Gamal, still sprawled on the floor clutching his jaw, mumbled, "He hit me… with his head…"
When Doyoung kept shouting threats, Gamal suddenly scrambled up and bolted.
"Where the hell do you think you’re going?!" Doyoung yelled after him.
Lying on the ground, Doyoung cataloged what he knew:
Name: Gamal. Species: Vampire. Nationality: Unknown. Age: Unknown. Looks mid-twenties, but red eyes suggest at least 400. Notes: Lives alone on this island (probably).
It wasn’t much. The bastard’s aura blocked deeper insight. He should’ve coaxed him more gently earlier, but his temper had flared.
He felt no guilt for headbutting a "woman." Where exactly did that creature qualify as "vulnerable"? Compared to Gamal, he was the one deserving of pity—his skull still throbbed from the impact.
Truthfully, he couldn’t trust a mysterious vampire, cute face or not.
But none of that mattered now.
"Damn it, what about bathroom breaks?!" he grumbled.
Human biology remained brutally honest, even when kidnapped by vampires. And given his ability to burn 10,000 calories a day when well-fed…
The door flew open. Gamal stood there.
"Need toilet?"
Doyoung gaped. He’d assumed the vampire had left.
"You… were here the whole time?"
"Yeah."
So he’d stormed out like a husband after a fight, sulked outside with nowhere to go, and chain-smoked imaginary cigarettes. His sharp hearing had caught Doyoung’s muttering.
Doyoung lurched upright using his core strength.
The night sky was infuriatingly beautiful. Alphonse Daudet might’ve written The Stars under such a canopy.
When had he last stargazed? During all-nighters at the military academy, gasping for cold air between study sessions? Or during missions, waiting for the signal to attack?
He’d worked relentlessly—studying like a civil exam candidate to become an officer, training his body to special forces levels. All that effort led here: adjusting his pants in a deserted field.
"Done?" Gamal’s voice came through the bushes.
Doyoung rolled his eyes. "Wait."
He limped out to find Gamal holding the rope’s end.
"What’s the rush? Got a hot date?"
