Jamil's lifeless, empty eyes locked onto Ryo, his gaze dull yet filled with an unspoken hostility.
Ryo crossed his arms, smirking as he leaned slightly forward. His tone was dripping with mock concern.
"Hey, Prince, I get it. You must be devastated after what happened in the throne hall. I mean, I basically aired out your dirty little secret in front of your father and the entire royal staff. Must've been humiliating. All that hard work sneaking around at night, keeping up the whole royal son act, only for me to blow it up in your face. Tragic, really."
He tilted his head, letting his words sink in before continuing, voice laced with amusement.
"But tell me, did that really hurt your feelings so badly that your first solution was to blow me up? Along with a whole restaurant? Not to mention all those innocent people just trying to enjoy their evening. You could've just written me a strongly worded letter, you know? Maybe shed a few tears in your royal pillow and moved on with life. But nooo, you had to go full-on Hollywood villain on me."
Jamil said nothing.
He just glared, his expression unchanging—eyes hollow, unmoving, yet somehow filled with an intense desire to punch Ryo in the face.
From the back of the room, Amina watched Ryo's taunt in pure horror.
'What the freaking hell is this idiot doing?!' she thought, her head breaking into a cold sweat.
But Ryo? He was just getting started.
"And let's talk about that whole plaza disaster." He shook his head dramatically. "Honestly, Prince, that was an embarrassing fight. I mean, you and Lina had all this flashy magic, super speed, summoning fire and destruction like some final boss… and me? I was just a regular guy swinging my bat, hoping for the best."
He let out a fake sigh, shaking his head.
"Man, it was so one-sided. Imagine playing a fighting game on easy mode but still needing backup just to handle one detective. Pretty pathetic when you think about it, huh?"
Jamil's eye twitched.
His fingers twitched, his glare sharpening. If he weren't locked up, bruised, and restrained, Ryo was pretty sure he'd already have a fist flying at his face.
Meanwhile, Amina was sitting at the back, her hands gripping her head, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
"I should've just stayed home…" she whimpered internally, regretting every decision that led her to bringing Ryo here.
Then—
Jamil finally spoke.
His voice was rough, sore from injuries and exhaustion, yet laced with irritation.
"When I said 'you'll pay for this,' I was thinking about drop-kicking you in your sleep, threatening you until you pissed yourself, and then personally escorting you to the nearest airport so you could get the hell out of my kingdom on Al-Munira Airlines."
Ryo and Amina froze.
Amina's jaw dropped.
Ryo blinked, processing the last part.
"…Wait." He squinted. "This kingdom has its own commercial airline? But I only saw private jets upon landing"
Jamil groaned.
"Enough of your jokes, dipshit. Get to the point. What do you want?"
Ryo's expression shifted—gone was the smirk, the taunts, the sarcasm. Now, he was all business.
"Alright, Prince. Let's cut to the chase. Are you really part of the Ravens?"
Jamil let out a sharp, bitter sigh, his head dipping slightly.
"This stupid question again, huh?"
Ryo's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Jamil's fingers curled into a fist, his jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding. But still, his voice remained controlled.
"No matter what I say… No matter how obvious the truth should be... None of you are going to believe me anyway."
Ryo remained silent, watching him.
Jamil's breathing grew heavier. His muscles tensed.
Then—
"NOT YOU. NOT THE GUARDS. NOT THE POLICE—"
He slammed his fist against the glass wall, standing up on his one remaining foot, his entire body trembling. His voice cracked as he roared—
"NOT EVEN MY FATHER! NOT EVEN MY MOTHER!"
Ryo took a small step back, stunned.
Amina flinched in her seat, her entire body stiff, eyes wide.
But Jamil wasn't done. His face twisted in rage, in pain—
"NOT EVEN MY DAMN SISTER!!"
With all his strength, he punched the glass again. His chained foot barely held him upright as he pressed his forehead against it from his cage, panting, his breath fogging up the glass surface.
Then, Jamil laughed—but it was broken, hollow, void of any joy.
"No one believes me." His voice cracked. "Everyone keeps telling me to just admit to my crimes."
His laughter faded, becoming strained and real.
"But how?! How the fuck am I supposed to explain myself when I don't even remember what I did?! When I can't even tell you why I was there?! Why I—"
His hands clenched into his hair as his voice wavered—
"How am I supposed to defend myself… when even I don't know what happened?"
His breathing was erratic now. He swallowed hard, his face twisting between frustration and despair.
"And because of that… I'm a monster now." His voice was small, yet shattered. "Not just to my family—"
His fingers trembled.
"But to this entire kingdom."
His words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.
"I've lost everything."
His voice was barely a whisper now.
"My parents have disowned me… My title is gone… My own sister can't even look at me without disgust."
Then suddenly—
He snapped his head around, eyes wild with burning resentment and pain, as he pointed a trembling finger at Amina.
"AND THAT ATTENDANT RIGHT THERE—"
Amina froze.
"SHE'S SITTING AS FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE BECAUSE SHE'S AFRAID OF ME!"
Amina jolted, eyes darting around in panic.
'Uh Oh, Uh Oh, OH SHIT—'
Jamil's voice broke again, his face twisted in agony.
"I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I DID! BUT NOW—NOW I'M FEARED BY EVERYONE!"
He clutched his chest, his breath uneven.
"I'M RUINED… My life is ruined."
His body trembled, and then—
THUD.
His fist crashed against the bed in frustration.
With a trembling hand, he reached down and gripped his severed foot, his fingers pressing into the bandages, his voice with grief.
"AND NOW I'VE EVEN LOST MY DAMN FOOT… MY VERY LIMBS… AT THE HANDS OF MY OWN SISTER—LIKE IT WAS MY PUNISHMENT. LIKE IT WAS KARMA FOR ALL THE HORRIBLE THINGS I SUPPOSEDLY DID—"
His voice cracked even harder.
"Things I don't even fucking remember."
His lips trembled.
"Just… why…?"
His voice was so quiet, so utterly defeated.
The room was painfully still.
Then, in a broken whisper—
"Even the CCTV footage… it's there. It shows me… me... at the marketplace. Wreaking havoc. Attacking you, with Lina by my side."
His fingers dug into his bandages.
"How am I supposed to explain myself… when I don't even know why I was there? When I don't remember anything? When every piece of evidence tells me I did something… something horrible… that I don't recall?"
His body shuddered, his tears dripping onto the bed.
"How…?"
And for the first time—Ryo didn't have an answer.
Jamil wiped his tears roughly, sniffling as he forced himself to steady his breath. "I've had enough of this," he muttered, voice hoarse from his outburst. "I've explained this a thousand times. It's always the same reaction. No one ever believes me." he turned his gaze to Ryo, eyes burning with exhaustion and scorn, "especially you, detective!"
He let out a bitter laugh, sneering, but his eyes were still glossy with unshed tears.
"So what now, Mr. Foreign Detective?" Jamil spat, staring straight at Ryo with an accusing glare. "Are you just gonna walk out of here like everyone else? Not believing a single damn thing I say?"
Jamil's lips trembled, but he forced them into a smirk—mocking, broken.
"Be my guest. The door's right there." He jerked his chin toward the exit. "Go on, shoo, shoo! Or do you need me to throw a stick at the exit to guide you like a damn dog, huh?"
Amina stiffened in her seat, sweat trickling down her temple. 'Oh my god, he's really lost it.'
Ryo, however, remained silent, his arms crossed, his eyes closed.
Amina hesitated, walked up to Ryo, before whispering, "Um… Ryo? Maybe we should just go—"
"Not yet."
Jamil flinched. His breath hitched.
His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "What the hell do you mean by 'not yet'!?"
Ryo exhaled sharply before opening his eyes, locking his gaze on Jamil with unwavering determination.
Jamil froze.
Something about that look—it wasn't pity. It wasn't amusement. It wasn't even skepticism.
It was intent.
Ryo turned on his heel, walking to the back of the room. He grabbed a chair, dragged it forward, and set it down directly across from Jamil—right in front of the glass.
Then he sat. Arms crossed. Back straight. Expression unreadable.
Jamil's mouth hung open slightly, eyes darting between Ryo and the chair. "What… what are you doing?"
Ryo leaned forward slightly. "I can't let that slide after hearing your sobby outbursts and watching you break down like a kid who just got his candy stolen."
Jamil's eye twitched. "Are you mocking me, you damn foreigner!?"
Ryo smirked. "Nah. I'm saying I'm listening."
Jamil's breath caught.
"Tell me everything," Ryo continued. "From the moment you ran out of the throne hall crying, all the way up to now."
Amina gawked at him as she returns to her seat at the back. 'He really has no mercy with his wording…'
Jamil leaned back against his bed, gripping a pillow and resting his head against it. He took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling.
"…Foreigner," he murmured, voice softer now. "Are you sure you want to hear it? No one else did. Not when the evidence against me is so clear."
Ryo didn't hesitate. "I'm all ears."
Jamil sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment before finally speaking.
"It all started… after my parents punished me with their sandals."
He had barely begun when—
"Wait, hold up."
Jamil cracked one eye open, watching as Ryo leaned forward, rubbing his chin in mock concern.
"…You good? Like… your ass? Is it okay? I know sandals leave damage, man."
Jamil's entire face twitched. "WHAT THE FUCK, FOREIGNER!?"
Amina gasped, barely holding in a laugh.
Jamil's eye twitched violently. "Do you want me to continue or do you want to DIE!?"
Ryo raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. My bad. Just making sure you didn't suffer lasting trauma."
Jamil groaned. "SHUT UP AND LISTEN."
And so, he continued.
After his punishment, Jamil stormed out of his room, his backside still stinging from his parents' sandals of destruction. He needed to clear his mind—to breathe—so he headed out to the palace's garden and took a seat at a small round table.
The evening air was cool against his skin. The stars were bright, and the flowers surrounding the small outdoor table swayed in the breeze. It should have been peaceful. But his mind was a storm.
Still, he forced himself to relax, ordering one of the maids to prepare something light—bread, honey, za'atar, and tea. Something simple. Something comforting.
And for a brief moment… it worked.
He ate slowly, savoring the flavors, letting the warmth of the tea calm his nerves. He watched the night sky, lost in thought, thinking about a new plan—one that would deport that damn foreign detective for good.
But then—
He finished his meal and called for someone to clean up.
Lina arrived. The same maid now accused of being part of the Ravens.
She silently cleared the table, bowing respectfully before turning to leave.
Jamil had been facing her. He saw her. He was looking directly at her when—
Darkness.
A hand covered his eyes from behind. His breath caught in his throat. His entire body tensed.
For a moment, he saw nothing. Felt nothing.
Then, as if his eyes were slowly opening again, the darkness faded—
Pain.
A monstrous, unbearable agony exploded in his leg. A shriek tore from his throat before he even understood what was happening.
He saw it.
A water serpent, its glistening fangs sinking into his flesh, its powerful jaws ripping his left foot off.
Blood splattered onto the stone pavement of the marketplace plaza.
"The marketplace? How did I get here?!
His vision blurred from the unbearable pain. Gasping, he clawed at the ground, his fingers scraping helplessly against the blood-stained stone.
Then, in the midst of his pain, he saw her.
Shahira.
His sister stood before him, her face twisted with pure rage, her eyes burning with unstoppable fury.
Jamil's breath shuddered as he stared up at her, his mind still failing to understand what was happening.
"H-Hah...Shahira...?"
She wasn't even listening, took a slow step forward.
He flinched.
Fear.
He had never feared his sister before. But now, in this moment, something deep inside him screamed at him to run.
His body moved before he could think.
Shaking, he crawled forward, dragging himself across the ground. His footless leg left a streak of blood behind him. His whole body trembled. His head was spinning. He had to keep going. Now.
Shahira didn't speak. She didn't shout.
She simply walked toward him—slowly, deliberately, like a predator closing in on its wounded prey.
"N-No—Wait—Shahira, please—!!"
Before he could finish, her foot slammed down on his back, pinning him harshly to the ground.
He tried to get up, but she was too strong.
Then—a sharp impact to the back of his head.
Blackness.
Jamil woke up.
He was strapped down. Thick leather restraints bound his wrists, his right ankle, his torso. His left leg—his footless left leg—was being treated, wrapped in bandages, the wound freshly stitched.
The prison hospital.
He gasped for air, his chest heaving. The room was sterile, cold. The scent of antiseptic filled his nose.
Doctors operated on him with precise, practiced movements, their faces cold and emotionless.
To them, he was nothing but a criminal.
He struggled weakly against the restraints. "STOP—!! IT HURTS—!! PLEASE—!!"
No one listened.
No one cared.
Hours passed in torment.
Then came the guards.
The interrogation was relentless. Over and over, they asked the same questions.
"Why did you attack the marketplace?"
"Who do you work for?"
"How long have you been with the Ravens?"
Jamil could barely breathe. "I—I don't know—I swear—I don't remember!!"
They showed him the footage.
Him.
In the marketplace. Cloaked in black. Fighting Ryo.
Alongside Lina.
Jamil's stomach twisted. His face paled. "No... No, this isn't—!!"
"You were caught on camera, Jamil," one of the guards sneered. "Your excuses are worthless."
They left him alone.
But he wasn't alone for long.
That evening, the door creaked open again.
King Malik and Queen Zafira visited.
Jamil's heart clenched.
His father did not hesitate.
Without warning, he immediately slapped his son hard and fast, sending Jamil's head snapping to the side. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the words that followed.
"You disgrace!" Malik spat. "You are no longer my son!"
Jamil's breath hitched. "F-Father—"
"As of this day, you are hereby stripped of your title as prince and all the honor it once carried."
His mother sobbed silently in the background.
"You have ruined this family," Malik seethed. "You will rot in the underground ward where you belong."
Jamil's body froze.
"No—No, Father, PLEASE, YOU GOT IT ALL WRONG!!"
Jamil reached out desperately, his voice cracking. "WAIT—!!"
Malik shoved his hand away with tears flowing down his face.
"Guards. Take him away."
The door burst open, and five guards rushed in.
"NO!! NO, FATHER, WAIT!!"
But Malik didn't stop. He didn't turn around.
Zafira covered her mouth, tears falling freely as she followed her husband out of the room.
The guards grabbed Jamil, restraining him as he kicked and struggled.
He screamed.
He called out.
But no one listened.
As they dragged him out of the room and down into the underground ward, the taunting voices of the kingdom's worst criminals filled his ears.
By the time they chained him to his bed in his new prison, Jamil could only stare blankly ahead, numb and broken.
He had endured interrogations, accusations, and the weight of his father's final words. He had been abandoned, stripped of everything. Yet, even with all of that—he wasn't prepared for what came next.
The heavy iron door creaked open.
Visitors were frequent. And the only people who had come in the last 48 hours were guards and the police demanding answers he didn't have.
But this time, it was different.
This time, it was her.
Shahira.
The sight of her standing in the doorway sent a chill down his spine.
She didn't speak.
She didn't step inside.
She simply stood there, staring at him.
Jamil felt his breath hitch. His body instinctively tried to push itself back against the cold mattress, as if the distance between them would protect him.
The last time he saw her, she had torn his foot off.
Just thinking about it made his leg ache, a deep pain burning where it used to be. His heart pounded, each beat reminding him of the terror from that night.
He wanted to say something.
To ask why.
To beg for answers, for mercy, for anything that might make sense of this nightmare.
But he couldn't.
Because as he looked at her, she looked at him with nothing but disgust.
Like he was filth. Like he wasn't even worth wasting words on.
Jamil swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Shahira, I—"
She shut the door.
Didn't even let him finish.
Didn't say a single word.
She was gone.
Just like that.
Jamil stared at the door, his mind blank.
Something inside him shattered.
Being cast aside by his father was one thing. Being disowned, stripped of his title, and thrown into prison like common scum was another.
But Shahira…
For her to look at him like that—like a stranger—like a monster—
For her to leave without a single word—
That was the final blow.
Jamil let out a shaky breath.
The walls around him felt like they were closing in.
The weight of it all crushed him, pressing into his chest like an unbearable force.
He was alone.
Utterly, completely alone.
And that was how everything had led up to today.