The Obsessive Male Lead Is Actually Scary
Chapter 30: We Saved a Kid and Maybe Doomed the Rest

Chapter 30: We Saved a Kid and Maybe Doomed the Rest

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"Amira!"

Emir’s voice rang out the moment he stepped into the room. The instant he saw his little sister lying in the bed, he ran to her, eyes already brimming with tears.

"Big brother," Amira called weakly, her voice faint but no longer hollow. Her complexion, while still pale, was visibly better than before. The feverish flush had faded from her cheeks, and though her body still trembled slightly, her breathing was more even.

Emir fell to his knees beside the bed and took her hand in both of his. His shoulders trembled as he bent forward, tears falling freely as he brought her hand to his forehead and held it close.

"I... I thought..." His voice cracked, and the rest of the sentence never came. He just held on tighter.

"For now, I’ve administered the initial treatment," the doctor said calmly, adjusting the strap of his bag as he stood. "Now that I’ve identified her illness, I’ll return tomorrow with the supplies needed to continue her care."

He gathered his tools, then looked over his shoulder at me.

"Thank you for your work," I said softly, offering him a small bow of gratitude.

"I only did my job," the doctor replied, brushing it off with a slight shrug. But then his gaze shifted to Emir, who was still kneeling by the bed. "Though it seems someone else could use a bit of treatment as well."

"Yes. Please take care of his wound too," I said quickly. My eyes softened as I looked at the boy. "He’s been through a lot tonight."

We were all gathered in the room now—Emir and Amira at the bed, the doctor tending to them, and the rest of us scattered in quiet corners. The room buzzed with low voices and quiet motion, the kind of scattered calm that comes after something blows up—literally, in our case.

Who would’ve thought we’d cause such a spectacle back at that warehouse?

Caleb had made it out shortly after us, carrying a few old ledgers and documents he’d lifted from a backroom cabinet—pages lined with shipping codes and item lists, some bearing Count Belmont’s signature seal.

As for Alessio... he’d handled the goods himself, just as he’d intended—securing one or two of each item they planned to transport out, enough to serve as solid evidence of the operation. Among them was a glass vial filled with a purplish-black substance, the same one Count Belmont had handled earlier.

None of us knew what it was. Not yet. But from the way Alessio had looked at it—quiet, focused, a trace of tension in his jaw—it was clear he had his suspicions. And they weren’t good.

But the real surprise?

The explosion.

Just after we’d cleared the warehouse, Alessio had lingered a few extra seconds. I didn’t realize what he’d done until we heard it—the sudden roar of fire, the snap of splintering wood... and then, as if everything inside had been waiting to ignite... boom.

The ground beneath our feet had trembled as a plume of smoke shot up into the sky.

I didn’t even want to ask what he’d used to make that happen.

I just stood there, frozen, staring blankly as the memory played back in my head. Still completely dumbfounded by the fact that, yes, he really did blow up the entire warehouse.

’So that’s what that look on his face meant, huh...’

"Ha... ha." I let out a hollow laugh under my breath.

While the doctor tended to Emir’s injuries, gently cleaning the wound and applying a thick salve to the torn skin, I took a slow glance around the room.

Near the far corner, Alessio, Caleb, and Mateo had huddled together, voices low. I could tell from their tone they were already piecing together next steps. Plans. Investigations. Damage control. The usual.

By the window stood Khan.

His arms were crossed, his broad shoulders framed by the pale moonlight seeping through the curtains. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on the dark cityscape beyond.

I walked over to him slowly, meaning to thank him for his help. But before I could speak, he beat me to it.

"We take down one major den, burn one warehouse, rescue two children... but out there, just a few streets away, there are a dozen more like them. Waiting. Thriving."

His voice was low, almost distant, as though he wasn’t really talking to me at all.

"This kingdom..." He exhaled sharply. "It turns a blind eye to the poor. To the ones who fall through the cracks. The ones who don’t have gold to bribe an official or noble blood to protect them."

I said nothing.

I just stood beside him, watching the faint outlines of buildings beyond the glass. The city felt too quiet now, as if holding its breath after the chaos.

"And the ones who are supposed to lead..." Khan’s voice dropped lower. "They sit in gilded halls, draped in silk, steeped in oud and rosewater. They say they’re protecting the realm—but really, they’re just protecting their image. Their legacy."

He turned slightly toward me then.

He smiled—but not the smug, teasing grin I’d come to associate with him. This one was softer. Sadder. A little distant.

"The Sultan..." he murmured, "and his beloved heirs... they’ve forgotten the people who live under their rule."

For the first time since I’d met him, he didn’t look like the roguish troublemaker who flirted for sport and winked at danger. He looked... tired.

Burdened.

Like someone who had seen far more of the kingdom’s rot than he was willing to say out loud.

I studied his face for a moment, quietly trying to read between the lines.

There was something in his expression—something that flickered behind his eyes, quick and veiled, like a shadow darting behind a curtain.

And just for a heartbeat, I wondered...

’Who are you really, Khan...?’

But I didn’t ask. Maybe I wasn’t ready to know.

So instead, I offered him a quiet, "Thank you."

He turned his gaze back to the window and said nothing more.