Bailonz Street 13-Chapter 206: Side Story

Chapter 206: The Plot (3)

My body was pushed backward. There was a thud!

The bullet must have hit the bulletproof vest squarely. The impact seemed to have burst the blood pack. I could feel blood gradually soaking my clothes. The pain hammering my ribs made me slump against the crushed car body. Blood mixed with oil began pooling on the ground. I wasn’t trying to play dead, but the tremendous pain actually drained all strength from my body. To think it hurt this much even with a bulletproof vest. How much would it hurt to actually get shot?

Ignoring Jonathan and Ian running toward us, the man aimed his gun at the bleeding Liam again. Looking closely, blood was still gushing from Liam’s side. I couldn’t tell if it was from the burst blood pack or if he was actually injured.

Liam spat out the blood pooled in his mouth while gasping for breath. He grinned.

“Aren’t you being too bold?”

The dead-fish-eyed man responded by firing two shots without a word. One hit Liam’s leg, the other his ribs. Though it must have hurt far worse than a burn, Liam merely winced slightly without even a groan.

The successive gunshots sent people fleeing from their cars, and in an instant, there wasn’t a single person left in the area.

The man’s gun muzzle pressed against Liam’s forehead. His finger gradually tightened on the trigger.

Though watching all this, my body, dulled by shock, wouldn’t move easily. All I could do was draw out my magic like a thread and hold that trigger from being pulled.

When the trigger wouldn’t budge, the man turned his head. His face showed he was almost certain someone was interfering. Those emotionless eyes fixed on me. A chill ran down my spine. I flinched but couldn’t give up. From here on, it was purely a battle of strength. One moment of carelessness and everything would go wrong.

The man stopped trying to shoot Liam and turned his gun toward me. He clearly planned to take me out first, then shoot Liam. I held my head high and glared at him without backing down. Go ahead and shoot if you dare. Let’s fight, and whoever runs out of strength first dies.

What felt like an eternity passed without even a blink.

A gunshot rang out.

When I turned my head, I saw Jonathan Osmond panting. In the distance, I could see the wrecked SUV. He seemed to have run from there to help me. Ian, wearing a baseball cap pulled low, was also beside him.

Jonathan’s bullet had gone through the man’s head. The pistol dropped from the man’s hand. His body fell slowly, like a dried-out log. Jonathan kicked the fallen gun far away before rushing to me.

“Sis!”

“I’m fine.”

I mumbled. I was fine. Just extremely tired and my body hurt terribly. This kind of thing would be better after a good night’s sleep.

Jonathan moved me far from the car that was leaking oil. Seeing how efficiently he handled things, he was definitely my brother.

Anyway, around this time my consciousness started growing distant. As the tension released and adrenaline subsided, the pain seemed to grow uncontrollably. The skin under the bulletproof vest throbbed. I kept thinking my ribs must be broken.

Before long, the ambulance Saint-Germain had arranged arrived. Through my blurry vision, I could see paramedics running toward us with their equipment. They were horrified at the sight of the pooled blood and our condition. It must have been a gruesome scene to shock them even though they’d been forewarned.

Police cars also began arriving through the roads that were still open. They couldn’t ignore gunshots in the heart of the city. People must have seen Jonathan fire the gun—what would happen now?

“…Do you have a gun license?”

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I asked through my hazy consciousness.

“What?”

Jonathan asked back, seemingly flustered.

“You just killed someone… whether it was self-defense or not, this isn’t the 19th century anymore.”

“You’re worried about me at a time like this?”

“Of course…!”

Whether it was Jane’s influence, or perhaps the brief bond between Jonathan and me, Jonathan was like a real brother to me. It must be the same for him. Weren’t we proving that even people without a drop of shared blood could become family?

I turned my gaze to Liam Moore.

Blood gushed from his leg and side where the bullets had passed through with each breath he took. Ian was applying pressure to Liam’s wounds. People wouldn’t have noticed, but I could clearly sense the faint flow of magic.

When I could see with my own eyes that the blood flowing like an open tap was diminishing, I felt relieved enough to pass out.

Through my fading consciousness, I heard Jonathan cry out, “Oh!”

* * *

The moment I opened my eyes, I saw Pierre Saint-Germain’s face. I nearly died of a heart attack right after regaining consciousness.

Why was this bastard peering at an unconscious person’s face? He was even lifting my eyelids!

“Aaaaah!”

When I jumped up in shock, the machines started beeping in response. I suppose it’s not common for bedridden patients to jump like this. The ward nurses rushed in to check my condition urgently. I shook my head to get Saint-Germain’s hand off and shouted:

“Ah, why are you suddenly with my eyes…!”

“So you’re alive.”

Alive? That dry comment almost sounded like he’d been hoping I’d die.

“I just passed out. It’s not like I came back from the grave. Why were you even checking my eyes?”

“Your brother kept asking ‘Is my sister really alive?’ so I had to check.”

Saint-Germain answered calmly, with his thumb pointed toward Jonathan. Jonathan approached my bedside, blushing awkwardly.

As the shock wore off, my ribs started aching dully. Wondering why it hurt so much, I learned they were cracked. Saint-Germain, who had somehow obtained my medical records, said in an affected kind voice:

“Be thankful the bulletproof vest meant you only got cracked ribs. The small cuts and scrapes on your face and limbs should heal in a few days, so don’t worry about those. Better leave the dressing on your face alone. It’ll scar if you remove it.”

Is there such an unkind and half-hearted doctor in the world? I should write an online review calling him a quack.

But I didn’t complain further and turned my attention to Jonathan. It definitely wasn’t because Saint-Germain was holding my IV drip. Or because he was inserting some injection there. …I just didn’t dare ask. If I asked “What medicine is that?” I might not see tomorrow’s sun.

When our eyes met, Jonathan flashed a bright smile. He had a waterproof bandage on his forehead, and his arm was already in a cast with a sling around his neck. Alarmed, I carefully asked:

“…Is it broken?”

“That’s what happens when cars crash. Especially when the other vehicle is a refrigerated truck.”

Who talks about a broken arm so breezily, like it’s nothing? By this point, I’d completely lost the will to deal with these two lunatics. So I just muttered dejectedly:

“Right…. I’m just glad you’re okay…”

Anyway, family is family—Jonathan knew what I was most curious about without me having to ask. He immediately told me news about Liam Moore.

In the process, I learned that I’d woken up after exactly one day, and that Liam’s surgery had been successful. I also heard that Liam had safely come out of anesthesia and was now sleeping under the effects of painkillers. I was told he’d needed a blood transfusion since he’d actually lost a lot of blood from the gunshots.

Jonathan helped me get up. Wobbling, I got out of bed and left the room leaning on him.

Liam’s room was right next to mine, with the blinds drawn tight so you couldn’t see in from outside. There were people guarding the door, but something about them felt artificial, making me frown. Saint-Germain laughed.

“Sharp as ever.”

Right, these were Saint-Germain’s trademark automatons. I still don’t understand how they work. It’s almost pitiful how people don’t notice these things walking around London. Do the hospital staff know? That these aren’t just ordinary security guards?

“Why bring these things even to the hospital…”

“People are easily replaced.”

Saint-Germain answered my uneasy muttering nonchalantly.

Liam was sleeping deeply with his eyes tightly shut, not even stirring. He looked quite healthy for someone who’d been shot. The scratches on his gaunt cheeks had already scabbed over. The good prognosis seemed accurate. He’d probably recover quickly if he got proper rest after this was all over.

If he’d been awake, we could have talked, but it couldn’t be helped. I quietly watched the sleeping Liam and stroked his head.

“The attacker?”

Jonathan answered.

“He had no prior criminal record. The police can’t understand why a first-time offender would do something like this.”

“What ordinary person would ram people with a refrigerated truck and then shoot them too? Yeah, it is surprising.”

“I heard he was unclaimed and will be buried in a potter’s field.”

I nodded quietly.

Anyway, the first phase of our plan to gather the executives had succeeded, so it was time to move on to the next step.