Chapter 252: The Mysterious Man in the Black Trench Coat

Usagi gently set down the bowl, nodded slightly at the woman, and spoke in a soft tone, "Thank you for your hospitality."

The woman smiled warmly, patting Usagi's hand with a kind expression. "Don't mention it. A woman's most important duty is to take care of her health. You look far too frail—you're probably anemic, aren't you? You should have more red dates and goji berry soup. That'll help you recover."

Usagi lowered her gaze, her eyes flickering as if something had touched her heart. A faintly lonely smile curled at her lips as she murmured, "I was born with this constitution… no amount of food will change it. Besides…" She hesitated, recalling something, then added in a low voice, "I don't really have time for that kind of thing."

The woman frowned slightly but said nothing, only sighing. "Life isn't easy these days, but we have to push through. No worries, you can rest here tonight. I'll make you some soup—women should take care of themselves."

Usagi watched her bustling about in silence for a moment before nodding gently. "Then I'll be in your care."

Satisfied, the woman smiled and turned to continue her work, leaving Usagi and Hayato alone inside the tent.

Hayato leaned lazily against the side of the tent, his gaze sweeping over the children playing outside. The corners of his lips curved into a sinister smirk, a glint of bloodlust flashing in his eyes. He muttered under his breath, "So damn noisy… I'd love to make them shut up forever—"

Before he could finish, Usagi reached out and yanked his hair, pulling him off balance.

"Ow—!" Hayato yelped, instinctively raising a hand to shield his head. "What the hell, woman?!"

Usagi's cold gaze locked onto him, filled with warning. "I'm telling you right now—don't cause trouble. You hear me? This isn't the place for your games or your killing."

Hayato clutched his aching scalp, grumbling, "Yeah, yeah, I got it—now let go already!"

She released him without another word, turning away without a second glance.

Hayato rubbed his head, staring at Usagi's back with an odd expression before muttering to himself, "Damn, you've got one hell of a temper… but I kinda like it."

Outside the tent, the evening breeze carried a hint of coolness, and the distant sky was painted crimson by the setting sun. The ruins around them, bathed in its glow, held a desolate beauty.

Usagi lifted her gaze toward the horizon, her expression distant, lost in thought. Behind her, Hayato, restless as ever, glanced around with a flicker of mischief in his eyes, clearly plotting something.

Midnight

Lying on the crude bedding, Usagi found herself unable to sleep. Her mind was restless, swirling with complex thoughts. Staring at the faint shadows cast on the tent's ceiling, she kept asking herself—why had Akari sent them to Gabrielle? Why hadn't he shown himself yet? Had something happened to him? The unanswered questions tangled in her heart like a spider's web, making it impossible to find peace.

At the entrance of the tent, Hayato crouched with his back to her, his body slightly hunched forward like a predator ready to pounce. His lips curled into a strange smile, his gaze dark and unreadable, filled with a dangerous glint.

Unable to bear it anymore, Usagi sighed and spoke up with a trace of exasperation, "Hayato, can you stop crouching like that? You look creepy as hell."

At her words, Hayato slowly turned his head, his deep-set eyes gleaming in the darkness, his eerie smile unchanged. He grinned, his voice lighthearted as if he were joking, "Relax. Just sleep. Anyone who dares to lay a hand on you—I'll kill them."

Usagi frowned slightly but let out a small sigh. She turned over, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders. "Just behave yourself, okay?" she mumbled.

She closed her eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. Hayato's words carried a certain protectiveness, yet the cold killing intent laced within them sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn't help but wonder—just where did this man's limits lie?

Meanwhile

Beneath the ruins of Sonia, across the moonlit grasslands, a bizarre scene was unfolding.

A lanky figure dashed wildly across the field, moving with erratic, reckless energy. He was clad in a black trench coat, his form appearing almost spectral under the moonlight. A pair of sunglasses obscured his eyes, making it impossible to discern his gaze, but his grin was nothing short of manic—radiating pure, unhinged glee.

"Yes… yes… there's no mistake! Hahaha!" His voice, high-pitched and delirious, echoed through the silent night, brimming with an eerie excitement.

Suddenly, he halted, arms shooting outward like an enormous bird stretching its wings. His entire body trembled violently, then, out of nowhere, he started flapping his "wings" like a deranged chicken.

"Cluck, cluck—!" He let out an inhuman cry, his movements exaggerated and absurd. Yet, instead of appearing comical, the sheer bizarreness of the display sent a deep, unsettling chill into the air.

Then, without warning, he bolted forward again—his speed unnaturally fast, like a startled ostrich dashing through the night.

His direction?

Undoubtedly—toward Gabrielle.