Wednesday yanked her hand back as if she'd touched a red-hot branding iron! She gasped violently, cold sweat dotting her forehead, her dark pupils contracting sharply in shock.
The stuffy air of the car wrapped around her again. The hum of the engine and the wind outside rushed back into her ears.
She finally understood.
The hyperactivity, the motormouth, the endless madness and noise... it wasn't his nature.
It was a siren that couldn't be turned off after crawling out of hell.
It was a bone-deep fear of absolute silence and cold.
It was using endless noise to fight against the memory of silent screams and sewn lips.
It was confirming that he was still alive, still able to make a sound, still able to exist loudly and recklessly.
So... beneath that madness lay a soul that had long been crushed and haphazardly glued back together.
Victor, confused by her sudden assault and even more sudden retreat, blinked and instinctively licked his lips where her hand had just been. "Uh... Wednesday? Are you okay? Your hand is freezing..."
Venom slowly extended half his head from Victor's shoulder. For the first time, those massive white eyes held no mockery, no greed. They simply looked at Wednesday deeply and complexly.
His voice seemed to ring directly in her mind, low and calm, stripped of its usual banter:
"Did you see it?"
"Our birth."
Dead silence fell inside the car, leaving only the roar of the engine.
Wednesday looked into Victor's eyes, which still held a trace of confusion and concern. Hidden behind them was the endless ruin of darkness she had just glimpsed.
Her hand unconsciously clenched into a fist, fingernails digging deep into her palm.
The confusion and concern on Victor's face vanished like smoke in the wind after Venom's low words.
He blinked. In those eyes where manic light usually danced, a flash of realization passed, immediately replaced by an incredibly complex expression—
It was a bizarre mix of surprise, amusement, and... deep nostalgia.
"Whoa..." He breathed out the word softly, almost like a sigh. The tone was no longer his usual exaggerated loudness, but a magnetic, thoughtful baritone.
"Interesting ability."
His gaze focused on Wednesday's still-pale face, and the corners of his mouth began to curl upward, bit by bit.
It wasn't a heartless, silly grin anymore. It was a slow, penetrating arc—dangerous and mesmerizing.
"Let me guess," he tilted his head, as if playing an intriguing riddle game. "Psychic vision?"
Wednesday didn't need to answer. Her slight, almost imperceptible tremor said everything.
"Ah..." Victor let out a long, almost groaning sigh. He leaned back against the seat, closed his eyes, and a distinct flush appeared on his face. It wasn't shyness, but the flush of immersion in extreme excitement.
It made his usually overactive face instantly shed all its foolishness, revealing a wicked, startling handsomeness.
"I really miss it..." he murmured, his voice as light as a dream yet drilling clearly into Wednesday's ears. "Those 'good' old days. That Battle Royale game... the aftertaste is still endless."
The tip of his tongue lightly licked his lips, as if savoring the sweet taste of blood and fear from his memories.
In that moment, he didn't radiate loud stupidity, but a cold, powerful aura forged in the deepest darkness.
The aura of a predator.
Wednesday's heart gave a violent, unwarned throb.
It was a strange, uncontrollable pulse, as if something dangerous yet beautiful had suddenly gripped it tight.
She looked at his profile, which seemed suddenly unfamiliar, at that wicked flush, and a strange feeling she couldn't interpret swept through her.
Not fear. Not disgust. But a kind of... dizziness born of intense attraction.
However, this state lasted only a few seconds.
Like flipping a switch.
Victor snapped his eyes open, and that dangerous, charming aura vanished without a trace.
He turned back into the loud, heartless Victor Black.
He stretched dramatically, as if just waking up, and then flashed a huge, goofy grin at Wednesday that stretched to his ears.
"Aiya! So you saw everything?" He slapped his thigh hard, the loud smack making Principal Weems jump slightly in the driver's seat.
"Wasn't it super exciting? Let me tell you, I was awesome back then! One punch! Just one punch! Okay, maybe lots of punches... Venom was so weak back then, soft like expired dark chocolate. If not for me..."
He started chattering again, waving his arms, his voice returning to its usual headache-inducing volume and speed. He described it vividly, as if it weren't a tragic, cruel past, but an exciting video game.
The wickedness and power revealed just a moment ago seemed like a hallucination brought on by Wednesday's psychic ability, or a clumsy improv act.
Wednesday watched him silently. She watched him work hard to wrap himself tightly in silliness and noise again. She watched the heartless light he deliberately maintained in his eyes.
She suddenly felt inexplicably irritable.
Which one was the real him?
The cold boy who went numb on the operating table, finally broke his cage in the most decisive way, fused with a dark symbiote, and smiled as he took his revenge?
Or this idiotic chatterbox in front of her who made her temples throb and whom she wanted to silence with needle and thread?
She couldn't tell.
And what unsettled her more was discovering that she actually... wanted to find out.
Venom silently retracted into Victor, offering no further comment.
The car was left with only Victor's noisy attempts to cover everything up, and Wednesday's deeper, impenetrable silence.
Principal Weems watched it all in the rearview mirror, her silver-grey eyes narrowing slightly. No one knew what the Principal was thinking at that moment.
The car drove on, but the air inside was far more complex than before.
---
Dr. Kinbott's office was located on the edge of the town of Jericho.
It was a two-story building painted a warm yellow, with drooping roses climbing the white picket fence. It looked less like a clinic and more like the living room of a middle-class family trying to mask emptiness with sweetness.
The air was thick with an overly deliberate aromatherapy scent mixed with an undertone of disinfectant, making it hard to breathe.
Principal Weems, acting like a prison guard transporting high-risk inmates, "escorted" Wednesday and Victor to the clinic door. She then leaned against the car like a gatekeeper, her silver eyes locking onto Wednesday, silently declaring: Don't even think about escaping.
The therapy room on the second floor was even more suffocating.
Warm-toned walls, soft carpets, various harmless sandplay toys and small sculptures. Every detail screamed: "Look! I am safe! I am cozy! Come open your heart!"
Wednesday felt her Gothic soul being continuously scorched by this overwhelming, mediocre warmth.
Dr. Valerie Kinbott herself seemed to have grown out of this environment—beige cardigan, gentle smile, eyes trying hard to appear inclusive of everything. She tried to lighten the mood.
"Please sit, Miss Addams, Mr. Black. Relax, this is just a simple conversation."
Her voice was soft as she gestured to two overly plush armchairs in the center of the room. "We can talk about anything. For example... I heard your way of handling the bullying incident at the pool was quite... unique?"
She chose the safest topic to start, trying to pry open Wednesday's shell.
Wednesday sat on the edge of the sofa as if it were an electric chair.
Her black dress formed a sharp contrast with the soft, warm colors surrounding her.
"Unique?" Wednesday's voice was like an ice pick, precisely popping the bubble Dr. Kinbott had created.
"Do you mean efficient? Or do you mean an aesthetic you cannot comprehend? Piranhas are nature's cleaners; I merely accelerated the process. Or perhaps, Dr. Kinbott, you would prefer those maggots continue to breed amidst hypocritical apologies and meaningless suspensions?"
Dr. Kinbott's smile froze for a second, a tiny crack appearing in her professional mask. "I... I meant, perhaps there were more... socialized ways to handle it..."
"Socialized?" Wednesday interrupted, her eyes sweeping over a ceramic angel decoration in the room. "You mean creating more hollow ornaments like that?"
Dr. Kinbott instinctively followed her gaze to the angel statue and seemed to choke on her words.
She decided to temporarily bypass this iceberg and turned her gaze to another target that looked easier to crack.