From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL) Chapter 756: Panda, Raccoon, and a Very Suspicious Night

Clyde rested his hand lightly upon Micah’s shoulder, his fingers pressing down just enough to make his presence known. His gaze lingered on Micah’s face for a brief mont before he spoke, his tone calm and asured.

"I need to head out for a eting," Clyde said, his voice low but clear. "Breakfast should be here soon."

As he spoke, he lifted his wrist and glanced at his watch, the faint ticking almost audible in the quiet room. His brows furrowed ever so slightly, as though calculating ti down to the minute.

"I will return around lunch," he continued, shifting his attention back to Micah. His eyes narrowed just a fraction, a subtle reminder of sothing unspoken yet very much expected. "You did not forget our promise, right?"

Micah, however, was far from present in that mont.

His thoughts were still tangled, circling endlessly around Darcy’s exhausted appearance, replaying every possibility with increasing intensity. There was sothing deeply unsettling about the way Darcy had looked, completely drained, as though sleep had abandoned him entirely.

What could possibly have caused that if it was not related to him?

Had sothing happened with Ilyas? Had there been an argunt? Or worse... had sothing gone terribly wrong that Darcy was trying to conceal?

The more Micah thought about it, the more scenarios began to form, each more ridiculous or concerning than the last.

So when Clyde spoke, Micah did not truly hear him. Instead, he simply nodded absently, his response automatic and devoid of real attention.

"Okay, okay... just go," he muttered, waving his hand in a careless, dismissive motion, as though shooing away an inconvenience rather than addressing his boyfriend.

The gesture was casual.

Clyde remained still for a mont, his hand lingering where it was before he slowly withdrew it. Internally, he let out a quiet sigh. So that was how it was. Micah had already lost interest. That quickly.

Clyde’s gaze shifted toward Darcy, who sat not far away, looking like a walking embodint of exhaustion and misery. His expression darkened almost imperceptibly.

Right. Whenever Darcy entered the picture, Clyde seed to fade into the background.

It was not the first ti. And under normal circumstances, it would have been enough to provoke genuine irritation.

If Clyde had not lived through countless iterations of this sa life, if he had not observed the patterns over and over again with ticulous clarity, he might have misunderstood the situation entirely.

He might have believed that Micah harboured romantic feelings for Darcy. The way Micah gravitated toward him. The way his attention shifted so completely. The way he seed to prioritise him without hesitation.

Anyone else would have drawn the wrong conclusion. But Clyde knew better. Painfully so.

Micah’s interest in Darcy was not romantic. It never had been. It was sothing far more complicated, and far more frustrating.

A protective instinct. A sense of responsibility. Sothing akin to a... brother complex.

Clyde’s expression stiffened slightly. "Damn it," he thought inwardly, his irritation sharpening.

He could not even compete with that.

If Darcy had been a genuine romantic rival, Clyde would have had a clear path forward. He could have confronted him, challenged him, and eliminated the threat decisively.

But this? This was untouchable. How was he supposed to fight against sothing that was not even romantic? It was absurd.

In fact, Clyde almost preferred the idea of Darcy being a love rival. At least then, he would have justification, no, motivation, to deal with him properly. To remove him from the equation entirely.

His gaze drifted back to Micah. The young man had already moved. Without hesitation, without a second glance in Clyde’s direction, Micah had walked straight toward Darcy, his attention fully captured.

He was speaking now, his voice animated, filled with concern and curiosity as he began questioning Darcy relentlessly.

Clyde stood there for a mont longer. Watching. Waiting. Surely... At the very least, Micah would...

Nothing. No glance back. No acknowledgnt. Not even a simple farewell. No hug. No kiss. Nothing at all.

Clyde’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"...Not even a goodbye kiss?" he thought, a trace of disbelief slipping into his otherwise controlled deanour.

He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head faintly as though dismissing his own expectations.

How ridiculous. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.

anwhile, entirely unaware of the emotional turmoil he had just caused, Micah had already settled himself beside Darcy.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed intently on the other man’s face, scrutinising every detail as though attempting to uncover a hidden truth.

"Co on," Micah began, his tone insistent and laced with curiosity. "Tell . What were you two doing last night?"

Darcy did not respond imdiately.

Micah leaned in closer. "Did you argue?" he continued, his imagination already running ahead of him. "Or did you start lecturing him, and he finally snapped and put you in your place?"

His eyes lit up slightly, clearly entertained by his own speculation. "Seriously, what happened?" he pressed. "You look absolutely terrible. Especially your dark circles! You looked like a sleep-deprived panda."

He paused, leaning back slightly as though reconsidering. "...Actually, no," he added thoughtfully. "I cannot imagine him doing anything to you. He is far too gentle for that. He did not even bla for what happened."

Micah crossed his arms, nodding to himself as he reached his conclusion. "So if anything happened," he said confidently, "it was definitely your fault."

Darcy closed his eyes for a brief mont. His fingers moved to his temples, pressing lightly as though attempting to ease the headache that was steadily building.

"I already told you," he said, his voice flat with exhaustion. "I just could not sleep in a new place."

Micah narrowed his eyes. For a second, he said nothing. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. "Oh?" he said lightly. "Is that so?"

Before Darcy could react, Micah pushed himself up to his feet.

"In that case," he continued casually, "I will just go and ask Ilyas directly."

He had barely taken a step before Darcy reached out and grabbed his wrist firmly.

"He is the patient," Darcy said sharply. "Let him rest."

Micah stopped. Then, slowly, he turned his head back toward Darcy, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Are you sure that is all?" he asked, his tone laced with teasing suspicion. "Or are you hiding sothing?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief. "You know," he continued, tilting his head slightly, "you are not that hard to read."

Darcy stiffened slightly.

Micah leaned in again, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. "You never care about what people think," he said. "But last night... You were completely shaken in front of Patric Harper."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a thing for him?"

Darcy choked. Actually choked. He coughed violently, nearly sputtering as he shot Micah a sharp glare. "No way!" he snapped.

Micah burst into laughter imdiately, clearly delighted by the reaction. However, the amusent did not last long. His expression gradually shifted, the teasing fading into sothing more serious. "...You were not blaming yourself for what happened to Ilyas, were you?" he asked.

Darcy paused. Then he shook his head.

But Micah did not stop there. "Honestly," he continued, his voice steady now, "what happened last night was not your fault."

He leaned back slightly, his gaze distant for a mont as he recalled the events.

"You heard what the stalker said," he went on. "He had been communicating with Ilyas online for a long ti. There was no way you could have known."

His tone hardened slightly. "No matter how closely you were watching him, you would have been blindsided." Micah let out a quiet, frustrated breath. "Damn it... he even managed to disappear right under my nose."

Darcy’s hands clenched slightly. "I know," he said quietly. "I was just... disappointed in myself for missing sothing so obvious."

Micah shook his head imdiately. "You should be proud of yourself," he said firmly. "If it were not for you, Ilyas might have ended up the sa way again." His expression darkened. "I knew what would happen," he added, his voice lowering. "And I still allowed his advertisent to go public." He let out a bitter laugh. "If anyone is to bla, it is ."

Darcy did not hesitate. He flicked Micah’s forehead sharply."Stop that," he said.

Micah blinked, startled.

"Seriously," Darcy continued, his tone firm despite his exhaustion. "Do not start blaming yourself again. It’s freaking out. With your track record, I might even get hives thinking sothing like before would happen again."

Micah rubbed his forehead, wincing slightly. He scratched his cheek, his expression turning sheepish. He knew Darcy was referring to how he’d switched places with him out of guilt. "...Alright," he muttered.

For a mont, silence settled between them.

Then, Micah leaned forward again. And just like that, the seriousness vanished. A teasing smile spread across his face. "So," he said, his voice light once more, "is there sothing else that kept you awake?"

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "If it were just a simple argunt, you would have told already," he continued. "So what was it? What could possibly have affected you this much?"

He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "You could not sleep at all, right?"

Darcy stared at him. Really stared at him. This was the sa person who had cried in his arms the previous night. The sa person who had been overwheld with guilt and emotion.

And now... Now he was sitting here, grinning, thoroughly enjoying himself at Darcy’s expense. It was... unbelievable.

It was hard to believe this was the sa Micah who had cared so deeply, the one who had sacrificed so much for him. Yet he could effortlessly slip into this teasing, almost rciless side.

Darcy exhaled slowly. "...Fine," he said at last. "I’ll tell you."

Micah imdiately leaned closer, his interest fully captured.

"But," Darcy added, narrowing his eyes, "you have to promise sothing."

Micah nodded eagerly. "Anything."

"You are not to let Ilyas find out about it," Darcy said.

Micah leaned in even further, practically glowing with anticipation. "Of course," he said quickly. "I promise."

His eyes sparkled as though he were about to hear the most fascinating secret imaginable.

Darcy’s eyelid twitched. "...He was hungry," Darcy said flatly.

Micah blinked. "What?"

Darcy continued, his tone utterly deadpan. "His stomach growled. Loudly. In the middle of our conversation."

Micah stared.

"And I laughed," Darcy added.

Micah’s expression shifted into disbelief.

"He got embarrassed," Darcy went on. "And I felt so bad about it that I could not sleep."

Silence. A long, heavy silence.

Micah’s mouth slowly fell open. "...That is it?" he asked.

Darcy looked at him calmly. "That is it."

Micah leaned back, his face filled with exaggerated shock. "What does that have to do with you looking like a raccoon?" he demanded.

Darcy shot him a look. So from Panda, he had downgraded to a raccoon?

Darcy closed his eyes briefly. "I already told you the reason," he said evenly. "You were the one insisting it had to be sothing else."

Micah slumped back dramatically, as though all the energy had been drained from him. "Tsk," he muttered. "And here I was, expecting sothing interesting."

He shook his head in disappointnt. "I keep telling you," he added, "you are getting aner every day. If you continue like this, you will grow old and end up completely alone."

Darcy did not respond. But inwardly... He felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

Finally. Micah had lost interest. He exhaled quietly, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

Because no matter what... He could never allow Micah to discover the truth. Not about what had really happened. Not about what he had done to Ilyas.

Never.