Why Am I The Villain?! Reincarnated in My Favorite Novel-Chapter 35: Gray Just Wanted a Quiet Day (Spoiler: He Didn’t Get One) 1

The sun had barely begun to dip behind a veil of gray clouds when Libel reached the abandoned warehouse. The place reeked of rust and rancid oil, a stench that clung to the nostrils. The corrugated metal walls, once painted industrial gray, were now streaked with rust and half-faded graffiti. Broken windows let in a pallid light, casting jagged shadows across the debris-littered floor—splintered crates, twisted pipes, and a few old punctured tires abandoned in a corner.

Libel hadn’t bothered to sneak in—what was the point? She could already hear their rough voices echoing inside: laughter laced with curses and the metallic clatter of weapons being handled carelessly.

She paused for a moment at the main entrance, a heavy slab of rusted metal hanging on creaking hinges. With a single kick, she sent it slamming against the wall in a deafening crash. The silence that followed was almost comical, as if time itself had frozen under the weight of her presence. A dozen men spun around in unison, their faces shifting from shock to suspicion in a blink. Some wore grimy jackets, others sweat-stained shirts; all looked like they hadn’t seen a razor or a shower in days. Crates filled with weapons and dubious goods were stacked around them, some already pried open to reveal poorly maintained pistols and packages wrapped in black plastic.

"Hey, boys," Libel drawled, her voice almost melodic as she stepped inside. "Came to talk business. Y’know, the kind where you end up workin’ for me... or not."

A burly man with a scar slashed across his cheek reacted first. He set down his beer bottle and grabbed a pistol from the table, leveling it at her with a shaky hand. "Who the hell are you?" he growled, squinting. "Ain’t nobody invited you." 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Libel tilted her head, her smile widening. "Oh, me? Just a friend offering you a chance to join a more... structured organization. ’Dark Hand’ ring any bells?"

A nervous murmur rippled through the group. Some exchanged glances, fingers tightening on their weapons. Dark Hand wasn’t an unfamiliar name in these circles.

"Piss off," spat another—a lanky man with greasy hair—as he drew a knife and twirled it with misplaced confidence. "We don’t work for nobody."

Libel sighed theatrically, crossing her arms. "Y’know, I was hopin’ you’d say that. Makes things way more fun."

Before they could react, she lunged. The scarred man fired, but she dodged fluidly, the bullet whizzing past to bury itself in a crate behind her. In a flash, she was on him, wrenching his wrist until a sharp crack echoed through the warehouse. He screamed, dropping the gun, but Libel wasn’t done. A knee to his gut sent him crashing into a stack of crates that collapsed in a cacophony of splintered wood and twisted metal.

The others sprang into action, but it was too late. The lanky man slashed at her with his knife, but she caught his arm mid-swing, twisted it, and hurled him face-first into a metal wall. A dull thud followed as he slid to the floor, dazed. A third man, either braver or stupider, charged with an iron pipe. Libel sidestepped, snatched the pipe mid-swing, and rammed it into his ribs. He crumpled, gasping for air.

The warehouse dissolved into organized chaos. The traffickers’ shouts mingled with the clatter of overturned furniture and weapons hitting the floor. Libel laughed—a hoarse, feral sound that seemed to amplify her enemies’ panic. She grabbed a man by his collar, lifted him like he weighed nothing, and threw him into a rickety table that shattered under his weight. Another tried to bolt for a side door, but she caught him in two strides, slamming him down with an arm lock that ripped a shriek from his throat.

"That all you’ve got?" she taunted, swiping sweat from her brow as she scanned the room. "Expected better from you lot."

The survivors—those still conscious—backed away, weapons trembling in their hands. One, a man with a bruised face and torn shirt, rasped, "You’re insane... What d’you even want from us?"

Libel strode toward him, her smile fading into something colder. "What I want? For you to learn your place. Join Dark Hand, follow our rules, and live. Or I keep having fun ’til there’s nothin’ left of you to recruit. Your call."

The man swallowed, glancing at the bodies scattered around him. He opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp creak cut him off—the groan of the main door, followed by steady footsteps on the dusty floor. Libel turned, narrowing her eyes as a familiar figure stepped into view.

Gray entered the warehouse with practiced nonchalance, his dark coat fluttering slightly. His wavy brown hair framed a face etched with weariness, hands buried in his pockets. He paused near the door, leaning casually against the metal frame as his gaze swept the scene—overturned crates, discarded weapons, men groaning on the floor. None of it seemed to faze him.

"Libel," he said finally, his calm voice slicing through the tension. "Looks like you’ve been... busy."

Libel tilted her head, her eyes glinting. "Gray! Finally here to spice up my day?" she quipped, releasing the man she’d been gripping. He slumped to the floor with a grunt.

Gray took a few steps forward. "Here to stop you from turning this into a slaughterhouse," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Corwin said you needed a chaperone."

Libel barked a laugh, wiping blood from her cheek—not hers, of course. "A chaperone? Me? These idiots were two seconds from surrendering before you showed."

Gray glanced at the carnage, his expression caught between exasperation and dry amusement. "Looks more like they were two seconds from flatlining. We want recruits, not corpses."

Libel crossed her arms, her smirk fading slightly. "They resisted. I just... streamlined negotiations."

"By shattering jaws?" Gray shot back, his tone clipped but not angry.

She shrugged. "Worked, didn’t it? They’re not resistin’ now."

Gray sighed, rubbing his temples. "Let’s wrap this up clean. Give ’em the terms, get ’em in line, and leave. I’m not spending my day cleaning up your mess."

Libel stared at him, then grinned. "Fine, boss. But admit it—you’re having a little fun too."

Gray ignored her, turning to the survivors. "Who’s in charge here?" he asked, his voice carrying quiet authority.

The bruised man near the toppled crates raised a trembling hand. "M-me... I’m their boss."

Gray crouched to meet his gaze, his tone steady but unyielding. "Listen close. You’ve got two choices: join us, follow our rules, and live. Or keep playin’ hero, and she"—he jerked a thumb at Libel, who cracked her knuckles with a predator’s smile—"finishes the job. What’ll it be?"

The man gulped, shooting a terrified glance at Libel. "W-we’ll join."

Gray stood, satisfied. "Smart move." To Libel, he added, "See? No need to break everything."

She rolled her eyes. "You’re soft, Gray. But whatever..."

Gray turned away, shoulders slouched with exhaustion. He headed for the exit, glancing at the darkening sky through the shattered doorway. The clouds, already thick and gray, had turned leaden—a storm was inevitable.

"Done here," he muttered, more to himself. "Headin’ back. Had enough babysitting for one day." He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and trudged outside.

But the moment he stepped out, the first raindrops fell—fat and heavy, slamming into the dusty ground. Within seconds, the downpour intensified, hammering the warehouse’s rusted roof with metallic fury. Gray froze, staring at the deluge with a mix of annoyance and resignation. Water streamed through his hair, plastering strands to his forehead, his coat growing damp.

Behind him, Libel’s raspy laugh cut through the rain. She stepped out, arms crossed, rain sliding off her face like it was nothing. "Look at you! Soaked like a stray. Gonna melt?"

Gray turned slowly, eyes narrowed against the rain. "Hilarious, Libel. Ever thought of stand-up comedy?" he deadpanned. He took another step, as if considering braving the storm, then paused, glaring at the sky.

Libel smirked, wiping a drop from her cheek—probably blood, not rain. "C’mon, stick around. Gonna leave without seein’ me wrap this up? Thought you were here to supervise." She nodded toward the warehouse.