Plundering Everything I Want

Betsy understood what Tristan was referring to, and the realization caused her cheeks to burn with embarrassment. Her face flushed a deep red, but she managed to respond, hoping to shift the conversation away from the awkward subject.

"That's right. It's not really a disease, more like... an addiction."

John, noticing the sudden change in Betsy's behavior and the mischievous gleam in Tristan's eyes—something only men could understand—began to form a suspicion in his mind. His frown deepened with displeasure.

But John still wasn't entirely sure of the situation. As far as he knew, Tristan and Betsy had only met today. Nothing serious could've happened between them so quickly, right?

Yet something about Tristan's knowing smirk unsettled him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but wasn't ready to voice his suspicions either. Instead, he glanced at Betsy, seeking clarification.

"Is that so? What kind of addiction?"

"That—"

Before Betsy could reply, Tristan, clearly enjoying the tension in the air, cut in with a sly grin.

"Ms. Betsy, are you sure it's ethical to discuss your patient's private matters right in front of him?"

Betsy felt a jolt of irritation at his interjection, biting back the curse that almost escaped her lips.

'Patient? When did I agree to that? Wait...I seem to have actually agreed?'

Regardless, as much as she wanted to confront him, a part of her was relieved that Tristan had diverted the conversation.

She didn't want to lie to John, but she also didn't want to offend Tristan, especially after seeing the terrifying strength he possessed. Plus, he knew John's secret and had the cure for cancer in his hands.

"Anyway, my so-called addiction is irrelevant here. Your cancer, however, is the real problem, John. So, what's your decision? Will you take the potion? Think carefully, it might be your last chance."

"Do I even have a choice?" John let out a weary sigh. "You already know the answer. But before I agree, I need to know—what's the catch?"

"What catch? I told you, it's a gift for our first meeting. Don't you believe me?"

"Do you even believe that yourself?"

Tristan chuckled. "Heh, quite the sense of humor you've got. Fine, since you're being direct, I'll cut to the chase... This potion will cure your cancer. Whether you believe it or not, that's up to you. And yes, I'm willing to give it to you, but... I have three conditions."

Upon hearing Tristan mention the conditions, John nodded, visibly relieved but not surprised at all.

The problem wasn't the presence of conditions, but rather their absence.

John didn't believe for a single second that a mysterious man like Tristan—someone so powerful, with connections and knowledge that seemed far beyond his own—commissioned to investigate him would be so impressed by his crimes that he would not only not arrest him but also give him such a precious thing for free. 

"So, what are the conditions?"

"Before we get to that, tell me something. When were you planning your next... game?"

"Tomorrow."

Tristan nodded, his suspicions about the Reincarnators were confirmed.

"Alright. Go ahead and conduct the game as originally planned, but change the end result. I want every participant dead."

"No problem."

John replied without hesitation. Compared to his own life, the fate of a few strangers meant nothing. Their deaths were inconsequential.

Tristan's smile widened.

"Second condition: I want you to help me get Amanda. I only need your cooperation—I'll handle the rest. This will work in her favor, too, since the process will be... much less painful for her with your help."

The underlying meaning in Tristan's words was clear. Whether or not John liked it, he was going to take Amanda. But with John's cooperation, Amanda wouldn't need to suffer from being forced into submission.

John thought it over briefly, but his decision was clear.

He had no emotional attachment to Amanda. She was just a tool—useful but ultimately disposable. If Tristan wanted her, John saw no reason to resist. In fact, helping would spare her unnecessary pain, and it was a simple favor in exchange for his own life.

"…Alright," John agreed calmly. It was an easy decision.

With no internal conflict, John asked about the third condition.

"So, what's the last one?"

This time, however, Tristan didn't answer directly. Instead, he grabbed the potion vial from the table and slid it over to John.

"Before I tell you the last condition," Tristan said smoothly, "how about we cure your cancer first?"

"…."

The room fell into a tense silence.

John stared at the potion, realizing that once he took it, there was no going back.

No, there had never been a choice in the first place.

His life was at stake, and he simply couldn't go back.

Even if he could though, he understood that a man like Tristan, holding this much knowledge and leverage, wasn't the type to let someone walk away. Not after everything that had been laid bare.

This was an open conspiracy. Still, John wasn't particularly against it. Nothing mattered more to him than his own survival.

Tristan, undoubtedly aware of this, had intentionally pushed him into a corner. John could sense it. The potion was given in advance to strip away any lingering thoughts of resistance about the final condition. Or perhaps it wasn't about coercing him at all... but someone else.

Suddenly, his gaze couldn't help but shift towards Betsy, and he recalled Tristan's earlier words, his meaningful look, and Betsy's flustered expression.

Instantly, everything clicked into place in his mind.

Tristan's goal wasn't just about him. Maybe this was about both him and Betsy. The realization made his head spin, and in a flash of clarity, John pieced it together without Tristan needing to say a word.

Sometimes, when dealing with intelligent men, words are unnecessary.

Nonetheless, understanding the implication of the matter left John feeling conflicted, but things had already reached this point, and he couldn't refuse. Not that he wanted to refuse anyway after having suffered from cancer and living a life of pain and hopelessness.

In front of his own life, what was his ex-wife? Just some lingering feelings.

Without a second thought, John took the vial from Tristan, uncorked it, and downed the potion in one swift gulp.

The liquid felt cool as it slid down his throat, but the sensation quickly changed. A scorching heat erupted in his gut, spreading through every inch of his body like wildfire. His breath caught in his chest, and then it hit—intense, searing pain, as if sharp blades were ripping through his insides.

"Aahh—!"

The agony was unbearable. His muscles locked up, his body stiffened, and his eyes screwed shut. A deep, primal groan tore from his throat as the sensation engulfed him, relentless and all-consuming.

"John!" Betsy cried out in fear. She instinctively rushed toward him to help.

But before she could reach him, Tristan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Wait. Trust the process."

As he spoke, his hands became dishonest and slid down Betsy's body, exploring her parts. Betsy's breath hitched, her mind torn between the tingling pleasure, the need to ensure John's safety, and the desire to escape, leaving her paralyzed in Tristan's grasp.

Meanwhile, John's body convulsed as the heat intensified, and his skin flushed as though his bones were being scorched from the inside out. And then, just as quickly as the pain had started, it began to ebb away.

His breathing came in shallow, irregular gasps as he collapsed to his knees, trembling.

Moments later, the pain vanished completely. His chest heaved as he slowly pushed himself up from the floor, panting heavily. The oppressive weight that had haunted him for years lifted, bit by bit.

He could feel it in every movement, every breath—his body had been reborn. He straightened his back, feeling rejuvenated, though his hair remained stark white.

Sweat poured from his body, mixing with the black, foul-smelling tar-like substance that oozed from his pores. His clothes clung to his damp body, but a wide, wild grin stretched across his face.

The calm, controlled exterior he had maintained for so long shattered in an instant. He threw his head back and let out a crazed, triumphant laugh.

"Hahaha…"

His laughter filled with disbelief, triumph, and sheer elation echoed in the room.

"I'm cured!"

John shouted, but then suddenly felt silent as his eyes locked onto Betsy, who was still held tightly in Tristan's arms.

Betsy struggled in Tristan's arms, her face flushed with panic, feeling John's gaze on her. But Tristan's grip tightened, ignoring her efforts to pull away.

His attention was entirely on John, as a sly smirk appeared on his lips.

"Congratulations, John," Tristan said meaningfully, completely ignoring Betsy's struggles. "Now, about that third condition..."

He leaned in closer to Betsy, his breath hot against her ear.

"How about you ask Ms. Betsy here to help me deal with my addiction... sex addiction?"

A devilish grin spread across Tristan's face, and his eyes gleamed with a twisted, almost psychopathic, and predatory pleasure.