Chapter 6
Episode 6
Gamal asked loudly.
“Done?”
Doyoung rolled his eyes.
“Wait.”
He limped out of the bushes. Gamal stood holding the end of the rope tied to Doyoung. He said,
“Got plans with someone? Why the hurry?”
“Takes long.”
“Must I literally say ‘I took a shit’ with my own mouth?”
As a man who valued etiquette, he’d never normally speak this way—but today, he deliberately chose crude bluntness. Yet Gamal tilted her head.
“Shit? What’s shit?”
When learning a language, one usually picked up curses first. Whoever taught her French was a mystery.
“It’s like this situation,” Doyoung said. Gamal tilted her head again.
“Why ‘this situation’?”
Doyoung felt a headache brewing. Whether slightly slow or endlessly curious, Gamal asked more questions than a toddler discovering “why.”
“You think this is some ‘flowers-in-hair tap-dance’ situation?”
Gamal strained to parse his words before finally furrowing her brow.
“Major’s words… hard.”
Doyoung waved her off and hobbled past using his branch crutch. Gamal hurried after. Upon reaching the beach, she headed straight for the log cabin until Doyoung yanked the rope.
“Hold on. Gotta wash hands.”
He strode toward the shore as if he held the leash. Gamal hesitated, glancing back at the cabin, but the tug forced her along.
Doyoung pretended to rinse his hands while studying the stars. Even during his earlier… business, he’d confirmed they were mid-Pacific.
Where was Legion taking me?
The trajectory had been toward America.
Is that bastard CEO in North America?
The rope jerked. Gamal stood awkwardly.
“Wash… how long?”
Doyoung feigned climbing ashore before defiantly plopping onto the sand.
“Let’s sit. It’s suffocating.”
“But…”
Gamal mumbled uncertainly. Doyoung dismissed her.
“I’ve said it—can’t run with this leg. Even healthy, you’d outpace me.”
“Major was fast. At first.”
“That was exploiting an opening.”
When Doyoung showed no sign of moving, Gamal reluctantly sat beside him. Most captors would enforce their will through threats, but Gamal seemed… untalented in that regard.
Whoosh…
Waves rolled in.
Doyoung studied Gamal’s still profile. He’d seen many vampires, but none with beauty so unreal—softer than Olivia Hussey or Isabelle Adjani in their primes, yet otherworldly. Fitting for a non-human.
Her lush black hair cascaded past her waist, silken despite lacking nutrients at the tips, flowing over her softly curved frame like a flower shaped like a human.
His gaze lowered.
Her attire, however, was a catastrophe.
The “I ♥ NY” shirt hung in tatters, more hole than fabric. Her skirt resembled rags haphazardly tied with string. Necklaces of shells and carved animal bones clattered like shamanic regalia. The crowning horror was her crossbody bag—thickly stitched with torn cloth and crude needles.
“Where’d you get that shirt?”
Gamal glanced down.
“Washed ashore.”
“How’d you know how to wear it?”
She scowled.
“Not stupid.”
True. Her mixed Western-Eastern features suggested she wasn’t born here. Any native tribe would’ve looked… more tribal.
Doyoung gazed at the island’s distant curve.
“What do you eat here?”
No humans meant no viable food. Animal blood was foul, useless for vampires.
Gamal fumbled open her bag.
“Eat flowers.”
Doyoung stared. Inside were crimson blooms—the source of Flos, the synthetic substitute vampires now consumed instead of blood.
“Raw flowers aren’t nutritious enough. This works?”
“Eat lots.”
“Ah. Sure.”
Doyoung sighed. If gorging sufficed, the Flos crisis wouldn’t have happened. Arguing was pointless.
“Where do these grow?”
She pointed at the mountain.
“There. Many.”
Odd—they thrived in cold climates, yet this was subtropical. But dwelling on mysteries wasted energy. Focus on the immediate: she wasn’t fattening him to eat him. Relief seeped in.
Silence fell. Nothing more to glean today.
“Let’s go.”
Doyoung tried rising, then sank back. Standing unaided from flat ground was impossible.
Huuuh—
As he exhaled, Gamal tentatively asked:
“Carry you?”
“Touch me and you die.”
Expressionless, he struggled upright—a battle of pride over practicality.
Gamal extended her hand.
"I'll help you."
His eyes were pleading, as if he was the one asking for help.
Doyoung reluctantly took his hand. Gamal effortlessly pulled him up. Despite being a muscular man standing 184 cm tall, Doyoung felt oddly light as he was yanked upright.
Gamal supported him. Though it didn’t seem difficult—like handling a child—Gamal was taller, and when Doyoung looked down, he could see the hollow of his collarbone.
Doyoung glared at the sky and muttered roughly,
“Men. All brawn and no brain.”
Facing a vampire whose pretty face might hide who-knows-what intentions… Even if this one drank flowers instead of blood, you could never tell what went through their minds.
“Huh?”
Gamal asked, confused.
“Nothing.”
At Doyoung’s reply, Gamal looked puzzled but didn’t press further. He helped Doyoung inside the log cabin and to his seat. It had been so long since Doyoung felt this physically helpless that the discomfort was magnified.
“Well, sleep.”
Gamal turned to leave. Doyoung frowned.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside.”
“Where do you sleep?”
Maybe there was another place—Doyoung tested the waters with his question. Gamal pointed at the cabin floor.
“Here. But Captain’s here.”
“So?”
Gamal pointed at himself, then outside.
“Sleep outside.”
Doyoung furrowed his brow. Even if this guy wasn’t exactly “frail”…
“Then it looks like I’m kicking you out.”
Gamal looked utterly lost. Annoyed, Doyoung cut to the chase.
“Where would you even go? Just sleep here.”
Gamal seemed even more startled.
“I’m a vampire.”
“So what? Gonna drink my blood?”
Gamal shook his head vehemently, as if the idea was unthinkable.
“Flowers. Don’t drink blood.”
“Then what’s the problem? Afraid I’ll attack you?”
A sarcastic jab—as if he could do anything in his state, legs useless and arms bound. Even if he kicked Gamal out and slept alone, if Gamal wanted to harm him, no bunker would make a difference.
But Gamal tilted his head.
“Attack me? Why would you?”
Doyoung’s head hurt. Whether it was a language barrier or sheer denseness, this idiot vampire had exhausted him enough for one day.
“Sleeping,” Doyoung declared, turning to face the wall.
Gamal hesitated briefly before settling on the other side of a pillar.
Lying symmetrically with their backs to each other around the pillar, Gamal glanced back. Doyoung seemed genuinely asleep.
Gamal whispered,
“Sleep well, Captain.”
“Sleep,” Doyoung grunted, and drifted off.
Gamal stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come; he lay listlessly until suddenly, the rhythmic breathing of someone deep in slumber reached him.
Baffled, Gamal turned to Doyoung.
“Really asleep?”
No answer. Just the steady rise and fall of his back. He really was sleeping. A human, beside a vampire.
Gamal knew humans and vampires coexisted nowadays—vampires called “Luas,” living on flower extracts instead of blood. But vampires were still vampires. They drank human blood.
“Strange human,” Gamal murmured, watching Doyoung’s back before turning to the ceiling again. The stillness made Doyoung’s breathing louder.
Finally, Gamal closed his eyes. It had been so long since he’d fallen asleep to someone else’s breaths.
Doyoung opened his eyes. The familiar interior of the log cabin greeted him.
So it wasn’t a dream.
He sighed—then froze. Something warm pressed against his back.
Turning, Doyoung jolted. Gamal was clinging to him, sound asleep.
Doyoung bolted upright.
“What the—?”
