From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 646: A Question Asked Out of the Blue

Micah quickly washed up with hot water, scrubbing the rain and grime off his skin until his fingers felt numb. The steam fogged the mirror, blurring his reflection, and for a moment he just stood there, hands braced on the sink, breathing slowly. His ankle throbbed relentlessly. When he finally turned off the tap and stepped out, the limp was obvious.

He made his way to the bed and sat down heavily, letting out a long, tired sigh.

Emile was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Is your ankle alright?" he asked, eyes flicking down immediately. "How did you even hurt it?"

Micah grabbed a towel and began drying his hair, rubbing at the damp silver strands without much care. His thoughts were still stuck on Clyde...on the way Clyde hadn’t come back to him, choosing instead to wander into the rain...on everything that still hadn’t been said. They needed to talk. Properly. Micah still did not know why Clyde had behaved like that.

"Hey." Emile pushed himself off the doorframe and walked in. "Why are you ignoring me?"

Micah paused mid-motion and glanced up at him. "I thought you already guessed."

"Huh?" Emile planted his hands on his hips. "How would I guess? I haven’t even seen you all day. What, am I supposed to have some kind of superpower?"

Micah let the towel drop onto his lap and bowed his head. His shoulders slumped, exhaustion finally catching up to him. He really didn’t have the energy for this.

Emile’s brows knit together, irritated. "Fine. Don’t tell me." He exhaled sharply, then softened a little. "But at least tell me what happened between you two. Why was my uncle missing? Did you fight?"

Before Micah could answer, a familiar voice came from the doorway. "Emile."

Emile jolted and spun around. "Uncle."

Clyde stood there, already changed into loose, comfortable clothes. His face was still pale, and there were faint shadows under his eyes, but his posture was steady.

"Give us a moment," Clyde said quietly.

Emile hesitated, glancing between the two of them. Something about the atmosphere felt off... too tense, too heavy. Even though Emile clearly had suspicions, this wasn’t the time to poke at them. He nodded reluctantly. "Alright." Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Clyde moved closer and knelt in front of Micah. Without a word, he reached up and took the towel, draped over Micah’s head, gently rubbing it through the damp hair.

Micah stared at the floor. From where he sat, all he could see was Clyde’s legs and the rise and fall of his chest.

"I met with Noas Lobart," Clyde said calmly.

Micah stiffened. His fingers curled slightly against the mattress, and he held his breath, eyes fixed on the ground.

"What you couldn’t tell me earlier," Clyde continued, his tone even, "was it related to him?"

Micah nodded slowly, still refusing to look up. Inside, he was torn, not knowing how to hint at the system and its host while there was a restriction. Concealing it was not an option anymore.

Meanwhile, Clyde went quiet, lost in thought. His initial plan was to speak about the bizarre phenomenon that had happened, but after seeing how shaken up Micah was, he decided to wait until later.

Tonight, it was already chaotic enough. He still had no solution for how to pacify Darcy if he remembered everything like Silas.

Right. Better to tend to Micah first.

Clyde set the towel aside and shifted his gaze downward. "Your ankle," he said. "We need to change the brace. It’s soaked and dirty."

He reached out to touch it.

Micah winced instinctively, a sharp hiss escaping him.

Clyde immediately looked up, his eyes narrowing with concern. "I asked Dean to call for our family doctor. Try to bear with it for now." He paused. "Sorry.... If it wasn’t because of me..."

"It’s not that bad..." Micah said, biting his bottom lip, jaw tight, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants. "I acted too hastily..."

An awkward silence fell over them before Clyde asked out of the blue. "Was there a reason you hid it from me?" His voice was steady, but the hurt underneath it was unmistakable. "You told me to trust you. But the truth was... You were the one who didn’t trust me."

Micah shook his head quickly. "No. That’s not true." His voice wavered. "In the whole world, you’re the one I trust the most."

Clyde reached out and gently but firmly caught Micah’s chin, lifting his face until their eyes met. "Then why didn’t you tell me about your exes?" he blurted out, the decision to stay silent already forgotten. The hurt and jealousy were eating him from the inside out.

Micah’s pupils shrank. A cold dread spread through his chest. He turned his face away, breaking eye contact.

"Was it guilt?" Clyde pressed, watching every shift in Micah’s expression. "Did you love them so much that you couldn’t tell me?"

"Absolutely not!" Micah snapped, anger flaring through the panic. "I don’t even want to acknowledge that something like that had happened. Don’t put me in the same sentence as them. They disgust me!"

Clyde didn’t flinch. "But you left me bleeding at that warehouse," he said quietly. "You walked out with them. You were afraid of me."

"That wasn’t me!" Micah burst out. "I would never like them! Not even remotely! That was just a puppet, a character trapped in a setting, obeying the plot!" His chest heaved. "Fuck, if it weren’t for losing you and Darcy so unfairly, I might’ve stayed like a lovestruck fool until the end...never waking up, never thinking for myself!"

Clyde cupped Micah’s face, forcing him to slow down. "When was it?"

Micah was breathing unevenly, too wound up to process the question. "What...?" He searched Clyde’s face, and realisation dawned on him. His pupils shook before he whispered, "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes," Clyde said. "I know that in the first life, you didn’t like me." His gaze didn’t waver. "I want to know when your feelings changed."

Micah looked away again. It felt like punishment, as Clyde remembered everything now. Of course, he would be angry. Of course, he would be hurt. Micah clenched his jaw.

"Tell me," Clyde said, lightly pinching Micah’s tense jaw.

Micah finally looked at him. His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. "At the end of the second life," he said softly. "When I took my last breath... I heard your voice calling me. That made me so happy...knowing you had come looking for me. That was when I realised how foolish I’d been not to notice it, missing the chance to be with you."

Clyde studied him closely from the pain in his eyes, the self-blame, to the quiet regret.

Clyde withdrew his hand and stood up.

Micah jolted, alarm flashing across his face. "Clyde..."

Clyde simply patted his head. "I’m worried about your foot," he said gently. "I’ll check if Dr Rogers has arrived."

Micah swallowed everything he wanted to ask, every fear pressing against his chest, and nodded.

Clyde left the room.

Micah covered his face with both hands. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to tell Clyde everything. Why he was afraid Clyde would remember.

The door opened again. Clyde returned with a middle-aged man in tow. The moment Micah saw him, a vague sense of familiarity surfaced.

Dr Rogers crouched down immediately and removed the brace. "What did you do, run a marathon?" he muttered. "Why is it this swollen?"

He glanced at Clyde. "I saw the X-ray from the hospital. Didn’t they tell you to let him rest?"

He scolded both of them thoroughly. "Elevate the foot. Cold compress first, then warm after six hours. No weight on it at all if he wants to walk properly again. Got it?"

Micah nodded repeatedly, like a pecking chicken.

The doctor left after giving further instructions.

Clyde helped Micah lie back and carefully placed two cushions under his ankle. They didn’t speak. Micah just watched him quietly.

A knock broke the silence. "Uncle," Dean said, entering with a tray. "The soup you ordered."

Clyde took it and placed it in front of Micah. "Eat this before taking your meds."

Dean stood there, hesitating, eyes flicking between the two of them.

Micah felt the stare and sighed, picking up the spoon. "If you’re trying to confirm something, you can check the bathroom."

He was tired of Clyde’s nephews tiptoeing around him, not having the courage to ask about him being Asena upfront. What was wrong with them? With this obvious giant clue on his foot, was there a need to even probe?

Dean scratched his cheek, caught red-handed. His eyes darted toward the bathroom, then back.

Clyde said flatly, "How long are you planning to stand there?"

"R-right." Dean flinched and fled the room, too scared to actually look into the bathroom.

Micah resumed his eating. He was famished after the long, nerve-wracking night. After eating a few spoonfuls, he paused. He lifted his gaze. Clyde just stood there, watching him. "You’re not eating?"

Clyde blinked, expression softening. He sat beside him. "If you feed me, I will."

Micah stared at him and said deadpanly. "...I’m the patient."

"It’s your foot, not your hands."

Micah responded by shoving a piece of bread toward Clyde’s mouth. "Here."

Clyde bit into it, eyes full of a smile. He chewed slowly, then frowned. "It’s dry."

With a sigh, Micah scooped up some soup and fed him.

Fine. He could indulge him a little. Clyde was still upset about the past... acting unreasonably when he could’ve just asked Dean for another bowl.