Wednesday was silent for a moment, the quiet of the forest amplified.
She spoke again, her tone carrying a trace of imperceptible awkwardness:
"So, in the plan to return to the academy, does 'princess carry on foot' prioritize higher than 'summoning a taxi'?"
Victor answered loudly:
"Sorry! No money! Venom controls my finances! And he's sleeping like a dead pig right now!"
He paused, as if knowing what she was going to ask, and added:
"The cash on you... hmm, was just enough to buy this top-tier chocolate lava cake."
"Consider it an advance payment for my 'severance package' and 'workplace injury consolation,' Miss Ex-Employer?"
Wednesday pursed her lips tight.
Those words—I'm sorry—were stuck in her throat like a hard stone.
She had never found organizing language so difficult.
"My previous... conduct," she began attempting, her voice lower than usual.
"In that specific context, based on incomplete information and erroneous predictions, the expulsion strategy adopted... regarding its unintended emotional damage consequences, I believe... its appropriateness is open to debate..."
She stumbled through a pile of academic-review-like nonsense, her cheeks warming slightly, simply unable to spit out those three simple words.
Thing listened until its "processor" lagged a beat.
It froze on the cake box, seemingly processing this lengthy encrypted message.
After several seconds, it jumped up as if suddenly realizing the truth, then solemnly knelt on one finger, placed another hand over its "heart," and bowed its head deeply—
An apology pose exaggerated to the extreme.
A very straightforward expression of "I'm sorry."
Victor froze, his steps halting.
He widened his eyes, looking down at Thing in disbelief, then looked at Wednesday, his voice rising even higher, full of dramatic shock:
"Whoa!!! Wait! What did I hear?! In this moment of total deafness, my soul seems to have heard the music of heaven!"
"Did those words really come from the mouth of Miss Wednesday Addams?! Or is this just an improvisation by our dear, artistically inclined little translator?!"
Wednesday glared viciously at Thing. If looks could kill, Thing would have been dismantled into a pile of spare parts already.
Thing shivered in fright, feeling its brown-nosing had backfired spectacularly. It looked left and right aggrievedly, then puffed up and flipped both of them off simultaneously.
Then it patter-patter ran back into Wednesday's small bag, playing dead completely.
Wednesday subconsciously looked up to check Victor's reaction, only to crash right into his smiling eyes.
There was no mockery, no smugness, only a gentle, knowing warmth, as if he had long seen through all her clumsy disguises.
"Alright," he smiled, his voice slowing down a bit, though the volume was still out of control. "I forgive you, Miss De la Muerte."
Some unfamiliar, warm emotion slammed into Wednesday's heart, causing her to lower her head quickly and stare at the chocolate cake box.
"Honestly," Victor continued striding forward, as if talking to himself.
"Those words of yours were really hurtful. Almost smashed my heart, which is pieced together with chocolate and madness."
"If Thing hadn't just 'emotionally' told me—"
"That a certain young lady stands by my bed like a melancholic ghost every night, staring at me with that 'dissecting a frog' focus for over half an hour, I might not have forgiven you so easily."
Wednesday's body stiffened instantly.
He knows.
He knows everything. Including those late-night stares she thought no one knew about.
An unprecedented, intense sense of shame and "social death" instantly crushed Wednesday.
She wished the earth would crack open right now and swallow her and this damn guy holding her who knew everything.
Or at least let the chocolate cake in her arms melt immediately and drown her.
Victor seemed to sense her petrification and chuckled lightly, the vibration transferring to her through his chest.
"Don't worry, I'll keep the secret about the 'Addams-Brand Surveillance Camera.' Also..."
He paused, adding a sentence with a tenderness she had never heard before.
"Thank you."
Wednesday buried her burning face deep into the chocolate cake box.
Victor held Wednesday, feeling the rare, near-rigid silence of the person in his arms, and the smile at the corner of his mouth deepened.
He could clearly feel her burying her face in the box—a clumsy embarrassment trying to hide herself.
It formed a massive contrast with the eternally cold and sharp Wednesday Addams he knew.
This contrast made his heart inexplicably soft, even overriding the inconvenience of deafness and physical exhaustion.
He deliberately adjusted his hold, letting her lean more steadily against his chest, his movements careful, almost cherishing.
Wednesday felt Victor's steady heartbeat transmitting through his chest, vibrating slightly as he walked, and the unquestionable protective strength from his arms.
An unfamiliar, scorching heat spread continuously from her cheeks, burning all the way to the roots of her ears, forming an absurd contrast with her usual cold body temperature.
And her heart, that organ she always considered merely an efficient pump for blood, was currently uncontrollably, forcefully slamming against her ribs.
The rhythm was annoyingly fast, as if frantically tapping out a truth she had been trying to deny and suppress.
Here it comes again.
She groaned silently in her heart.
This uncontrollable physiological reaction... elevated body temperature, arrhythmia, facial capillary dilation... simply like a terrible viral invasion.
She began to analyze this strange wave with rationality almost subconsciously, trying to classify it as some pathological phenomenon.
But another clearer voice calmly overthrew this self-deceptive thought.
When we get back, I must... must carefully study that book "Analysis of Youth Romantic Psychology" again.
She thought somewhat desperately, trying to grasp the last straw of rationality, even if the author of that book seemed like an emotional imbecile to her.
However, the moment this thought surfaced—
All analysis, all denial, all cold barriers collapsed with a crash as Victor unconsciously held her tighter.
The truth split the dark night sky like lightning—clear, sharp, undeniable.
She, Wednesday Addams, was in love.
The object was this... lunatic holding her, ears bleeding yet still giggling, brain half madness and half chocolate, labeled a "failure" by the lab yet braver than anyone.
No romantic moonlight, no elegant confession, not even normal auditory communication.
Only the mess after an explosion, physical pain, the embarrassment of deafness, and an overly sweet chocolate cake.
Absurd, chaotic, and severely lacking in aesthetic beauty.
But... certain.
This conclusion brought no panic. Instead, like a cold stream, it instantly extinguished those scorching emotions that made her helpless, bringing a strange calm.
She finally found the accurate pathological name for all these abnormal symptoms—Victor Black Syndrome.
> When Wednesday diagnosed her tachycardia as "Victor Black Syndrome," she completed the ultimate definition of Gothic romance—
> Love is not an ethereal feeling, but an observable, classifiable, nameable objective fact.
> This is the rationalist's most emotional confession:
> I have verified it using all scientific methods, and the final diagnosis is that I love you.
Her arm, at an angle no one noticed, extremely slightly and tentatively wrapped around his neck in a more secure, and more intimate posture.
Victor's step paused almost imperceptibly, then he walked even more steadily.
Treading through the twilight, step by step toward the flickering lights of the academy, the smile on his lips was more real and bright than any successful prank.