World's Best Protagonist [BL]-Chapter 57: OPLAN: Catch the Abusive Father (3)

[3rd Person’s POV]

The heavy clang of the iron doors echoed through the dimly lit laboratory as they shut behind Diego and Jade, sealing Noir and Norman inside.

The room, lined with cylindrical tubes filled with sedated human subjects, cast an eerie glow against the white walls. The hum of machinery was the only sound at first—until Noir let out a bitter laugh.

"That fucking bastard," Noir spat, his fingers twitching at his sides as his anger flared. His chest heaved, his red eyes burning as he turned toward Norman, his expression twisted into something livid yet eerily composed.

"I should’ve known better than to trust that spineless little shit."

Norman, who had been watching him with mild amusement, merely crossed his arms.

"Tch. Surprising, isn’t it? I didn’t know the great NSA was this clueless when it came to accepting Seeker’s applicants. Bunch of idiots. They didn’t even know whose son they hired."

He let out a scoff and leaned against one of the tubes.

Noir’s eyes narrowed. "Whose son is that freak?"

Norman tilted his head. He grinned. "You’ll get to meet him soon, don’t worry."

Noir stood up. He patted his butt as if the floor of that underground laboratory was dirty despite being spotless. Then, he chuckled. "Not sure about that. Aren’t you going to kill me?"

Norman shrugged his shoulders. "Nope. You’re a Seeker, aren’t you? I’ve seen that feminine face before. One of the elite teams, is it? It means you’ve got some impressive ability there. Killing you will be a waste. So, I’m thinking of putting you in one of these."

He knocked on the glass tubes and continued, "But look on the bright side—at least now you get to join them."

He gestured at the lifeless bodies floating inside their glass prisons.

Noir let out a dry chuckle.

"Is that right?"

He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his pale pink hair before dragging his fingers down his face. His expression darkened.

"I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve slit his damn throat the moment he hesitated." His voice dropped, laced with venom. "But you know what pisses me off even more?"

Norman raised an eyebrow, intrigued but unimpressed. "What?"

Noir slowly tilted his head, his smirk widening into something dangerous. "You."

The word left his mouth like a blade sliding between ribs. Norman tensed slightly, but his smirk didn’t falter.

"You’re the real idiot here, man," Noir continued, taking a slow step forward. In his head, he was constructing more insults to find cracks in that strong mentality, and once he did. It was over.

"And what’s with that hand? It’s disgusting. How do you even wipe your butthole?" Noir’s crimson eyes glowed under the cold fluorescent lights, revealing the laughter in them.

"Aha, I know! Your hands turn to bidet or tissue too, right? Must be convenient when you’re pooping! What does it turn into when you pick your nose? Your mother’s nose picker? Q-tip? Tweezers? Hahahaha! Oh, my God, I can imagine!"

Norman’s jaw twitched. "Watch it," he growled.

Noir grinned, sharp and taunting. "Or do you use a backhoe since your nostrils are as large as a sinkhole? What the fuck!"

His laughter was genuine, and it reverberated through the walls of the tunnel, as though it also found Noir’s jokes funny.

Norman’s patience snapped.

In a flash, his entire body shimmered and faded into nothing. Noir barely had time to dodge as a powerful force barreled toward him, a gust of air signaling movement. He twisted his body just in time, narrowly avoiding the invisible strike aimed at his throat. His laughter died down, but his eyes still held a trace of that funny moment.

Noir focused on his surroundings. Now, he understood why he did not feel the presence of the guy in his field. However, that was only because he didn’t know he could turn invisible. Now that he knew, he could weave his field in a way even a fly won’t escape.

Norman’s ability—Invisibility, won’t work on him. He might not be able to see the guy but within his activated field, Norman’s every movement could be read.

Noir clicked his tongue, stepping back with calculated ease.

"Really? Hiding away now, are we? Shame. I still want to check your amazing hands, eh." His tone was mocking, but his muscles remained tense and his senses sharpened. A gun can be shot from anywhere; therefore, Noir was focused.

A sharp whistle cut through the air—then pain exploded in Noir’s ribs as a solid force slammed into him, sending him skidding across the floor. He coughed, tasting blood, but he didn’t lose his footing. He barely had a second to react before another strike came from behind. Noir ducked, barely avoiding the blade-like appendage that slashed through the air where his head had been.

Norman’s main ability must be Metamorphosis, but Noir concluded that he could only use it on his hands. He smirked. Fighting someone with changing weapons at will was easy peasy for him because of his training with Lexie. freёnovelkiss.com

Noir straightened, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the pain.

"Tsk. Should’ve figured you’d fight like a coward." He tilted his head, observing carefully. Only his eyes can see the crimson thread connected to the octagonal field he created. It moves once step on, indicating his opponent’s location.

"What’s wrong? Scared to let me see that ugly mug of yours?"

Norman didn’t respond, but Noir heard it—the faintest shuffle of movement. A second later, another attack came from his left. Noir anticipated it this time, twisting his body and grabbing at the air. His fingers caught something solid—Norman’s wrist.

With a twisted grin, Noir yanked him forward and slammed a knee into Norman’s stomach. A grunt of pain escaped from thin air, and in the next second, Norman’s invisibility flickered—then shattered completely, revealing his form.

"Gotcha," Noir said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Twice at that."

Norman, despite the pain, glared at him with pure rage, ignoring Noir’s words, unaware of its double meaning. His right hand shifted—flesh contorting and hardening into a jagged, blade-like extension.

Without hesitation, he slashed at Noir’s side. Noir barely managed to dodge, the sharp edge grazing his skin and slicing through the fabric.

"Ah—" Noir let out a small laugh, pressing a hand against the shallow wound. "You got me. But..." His eyes gleamed. "You’re getting predictable."

He raised his hands, fingers twitching like they were playing with an invisible toy. Norman’s brows knotted, he was confused.

Before he could react, Noir pulled one of his strings while grinning like a maniac. He made Norman twist his own arm.

"Argh!" Norman growled and thrashed, finally realizing Noir’s ability.

However, the puppeteer was merciless. His fingers danced gracefully as if playing a harp, while before him was a man breaking every bone in his own body.

"You know," Noir murmured into Norman’s ear. "You should’ve stayed invisible. You might’ve lasted a little longer."

Norman struggled, trying to break free from the control, but Noir’s strength was crushing. His grip on him didn’t falter, even as Norman’s last attempt to move on his own cut his skin. But even that weapon was used against its owner.

"You—!" Norman gasped, his voice choking as he felt the tip of the blade of his hand turn into a dagger slowly piercing his neck. His eyes shook. Fear crept in them, but Noir wasn’t stopping.

"Shhh," Noir whispered, his voice almost gentle. "It’s over. You’ve performed well, my dear puppet. The show’s finished. Curtain’s calling. Let’s take a bow, now, shall we?"

And with a sharp, practiced movement, Norman stabbed his own neck.