The Obsessive Male Lead Is Actually Scary
Chapter 26: Into the Wolf’s Den

Chapter 26: Into the Wolf’s Den

We ended up having lunch at a local tavern that catered mostly to travelers and merchants. The air inside was thick with the scent of grilled meat, roasted root vegetables, and freshly baked bread. It wasn’t anything fancy, but the food was hot, hearty, and just what we needed after a morning on our feet. We sat by a corner window where a breeze from the nearby sea drifted in, ruffling the curtains and cooling the sun-warmed room.

After eating, we strolled back into the market. The place was as lively as ever—vendors shouting over one another, children chasing each other between carts, and stalls bursting with goods from every corner of the region. We passed spice merchants with crimson and golden powders piled high, leatherworkers displaying satchels and belts, and weavers selling cloth dyed in every hue under the sun.

I stopped at a small glassmaker’s stall for a moment, drawn in by delicate perfume bottles shaped like tiny sea creatures—octopuses, shells, dolphins. Their smooth, translucent forms shimmered in the light, and I couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

Eventually, though, the constant shouting and foot traffic wore on me.

Since we were staying in a port city, I figured there had to be quieter corners—places where fishermen or sailors went after long voyages to ease their aching muscles and battered spirits. Maybe a simple bathhouse. Maybe a tucked-away sanctuary where the waves could be heard more than the street hawkers.

The sun was beginning to set as we left the market and made our way through the streets.

We wandered toward a quieter part of town, stepping into the alleys that branched off from the main road.

That’s when something—or rather, someone—caught my eye.

’Huh... isn’t that boy...?’

My memories flashed back to that moment in the market—when Alessio, Khan, and I had stepped in to help a boy and his little sister who were being harassed by a group of thugs. The fear in their eyes, the way the girl cried and begged for mercy, trembling as she tugged at the attacker’s sleeve—trying to protect her brother in her own way—it all came rushing back like it had just happened.

"Alessio, that boy..." I murmured, pointing subtly.

"I know," Alessio replied, his tone low. It seemed he’d noticed too.

The boy was a little thinner now, his hair messier than I remembered. He was moving slowly through a group of men, all dressed in rough clothes and worn boots. Before I could say anything else, one of them kicked him hard in the back, forcing him to stumble forward.

"Move it," the man barked.

My blood turned cold.

It was him. The same man—the leader of the thugs from before. I recognized his build, the way he carried himself.

"Black market, huh," Alessio murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing.

"What?!" I gasped without thinking, my voice sharper than it should’ve been.

"Ssh!" Alessio hissed quickly, eyes darting toward the men.

Too late. The leader’s head snapped around, eyes narrowing.

"Hey. You hear that?" he asked.

"Huh? What is it, boss?" the other one said.

"There was a voice over there. Go check it out."

The leader motioned for two of his underlings to investigate.

’Damn it... I didn’t mean to speak so loud!’

I grimaced, a sheen of sweat breaking across my face.

The two thugs exchanged glances, looking vaguely confused.

"You hear anything?"

"Nah. I didn’t hear a thing."

"Yeah, whatever. Let’s check real quick before he throws a fit."

Before the thugs could pinpoint the sound, Alessio gave my arm a sharp tug. We ducked into a side corner, slipping behind a stack of crates and barrels half-hidden beneath a tarp near the edge of a storage shed. From there, we held our breath, backs pressed against the wall as the thugs trudged closer.

The two men stepped past our hiding spot, scanning the area.

"Huh. No one’s here," one of them muttered, scratching his head.

"Guess boss misheard it. Or maybe some brat just shouting over a game."

"Let’s head back."

The tension in my chest finally loosened as their footsteps faded.

’That was so close...’

Even as the tension eased, my eyes locked onto that boy—his small frame disappearing into the alley alongside the group of men, swallowed by the shadows between stone walls and stacked crates.

The way he walked—stumbling slightly, shoulders hunched like he was trying to shrink into himself—was a silent scream for help. I recognized that posture all too well. Fear without resistance.

"Where are they taking him?" I whispered.

Alessio followed my gaze, his expression sharpening.

He didn’t speak right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the alley’s curve, where the last man in the group had just slipped out of sight. Then he tilted his head slightly, listening—to the murmurs of the market, the shuffle of boots on dirt, the distant clatter of hooves somewhere near the docks.

"They’re not heading toward the market’s loading area," he muttered. "That direction leads deeper into the district. Somewhere quieter."

I turned to him. "Do you think it’s...?"

He gave a curt nod. "Probably a black market base. Or a holding point. They wouldn’t risk parading slaves or stolen goods through the main square. That alley likely connects to one of the older quarters."

My stomach twisted. "We should follow them... right?"

Alessio’s gaze met mine for a beat. Then he gave a short nod, his voice low and steady.

"Right. Let’s move."

There was no hesitation in his tone. Just calm resolve, the same way someone might declare they were stepping out to fetch water—except this errand could end in a knife to the ribs if we weren’t careful.

Without another word, Alessio pulled his cloak tighter and slipped into the street, blending with the deepening shadows like dusk itself. I followed a step behind, doing my best to mirror his pace. I kept my expression neutral, eyes forward.

We trailed them at a distance, careful not to draw attention. The alley twisted once, then opened into another narrow lane flanked by old stone buildings—some half-collapsed, others barely standing. The further we went, the fewer people we saw. The laughter of children faded behind us, replaced by the creak of rusted signs swaying in the breeze, and the occasional bark of a stray dog echoing through the empty streets.

The group ahead didn’t seem to notice us. They moved quickly, the boy shoved ahead when he lagged behind. I wanted to run to him, to shout—but Alessio’s hand on my wrist stopped me just as I twitched forward.

"Not yet," he murmured. "We need to see where they’re taking him."

Reluctantly, I nodded.

Around the next bend, they finally stopped—just outside what looked like an old warehouse. Its windows were boarded up. A large, rusted chain hung across the front doors, but it was purely for show. One of the men knocked in a pattern—two quick raps, a pause, then three more. A moment later, the door creaked open, and they slipped inside.

I stared at the warehouse, alert and silent.

’So this is it...’

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