Run Away If You Can

“Cool your head.”
“Ugh…!”
For a split second, a rush of cold air flooded my lungs. My wide-open eyes filled with the night sky. Only then did I realize I was suspended in midair—Nathaniel Miller had released his grip and literally thrown me—but that was all I had time to register.
My body toppled straight into the pool.
3｜
“…Cough, gag, cough!”
I managed to break the surface with a harsh cough. I hadn’t noticed earlier when others swam, but the water was astonishingly deep—I couldn’t touch bottom. Summoning every ounce of strength, I gulped in precious air.
This, bastard…
The curse slipped out. Whatever Nathaniel Miller’s intent, the alcohol was gone. Instinct took over. I flailed toward the nearest edge, clutching it and drawing a shuddering breath. I needed to climb out. I heaved my body upward—but failed. As I let out a disappointed sigh and tilted my head back, the first thing in my sight was a loafer stepping onto the deck beside the pool. The casual shoe gleamed under the moonlight as if it had never known dirt. Not far from its polished toe, a silvery stick’s tip tapped the deck. I followed its long shaft up to the beast’s head carved at the top—mouth agape in a snarl. Next, I noticed the long, delicate hand grasping it.
My ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) eyes traveled the rest of the way upward—knowing full well what awaited.
When our gazes met, I finally froze. His violet eyes, which had stared down at me unmoving, now gleamed with strange light. He spoke at last.
“Well now, Prosecutor.”
Nathaniel Miller’s thick lips curved faintly upward.
“You look exhausted.”
If I’d had the slightest breath to spare, I’d have snapped, Whose fault do you think that is? But unfortunately, I didn’t even have strength for a scathing retort.

Hah… hah…
My breath came ragged, my strength draining. As I clung to the edge, a cool, unfamiliar object contacted my fingers—it was Nathaniel Miller’s cane. Then the unbelievable happened.
The cane’s smooth shaft slid beneath my gripping hand and lifted my fingers one by one.
Almost leisurely, as if he were toying with me.
My hand slipped away with a scream. I scrambled to grab the edge again—but he wasn’t finished. He lifted one finger on my other hand. He stopped, studying me.
“Prosecutor.”
His voice, soft as if singing, called to me. The man who’d surely enjoy watching me sink sank deeper into the water.
“Shall I help you?”
This madman…!
Rage jolted through me with surprising force. Teeth clenched, I reached out and seized the cane that had lifted my fingers.
“…!”
Perhaps caught off guard, Nathaniel reeled, losing his balance. His infirm leg gave way, and he knelt on his strong one, bracing himself with empty hands against the deck. Leaning forward, shock in his eyes as he stared at me—it must have been a novel experience for him. His expression looked dazed as I laughed with malicious satisfaction.
“Try taking this away next.”
I felt triumphant at the sight of Nathaniel Miller’s astonished face. A touch of regret mixed with exhilaration—until, in that instant—
The corner of Nathaniel Miller’s mouth curved wide.
I froze at the slow rise of his grin. A chill ran down my spine. His faint smile recalled one of the cruel nicknames the media had coined for him.
‘White Snake.’
At that moment, I imagined a giant serpent rearing behind Nathaniel Miller.
“Well, what a mistake.”
He let out a regretful exclamation. My vision filled with his large hand opening, and the cane—freed from his grasp—floated outward, the silver beast’s head carving glinting massive in the moonlight.
…What.
Before I could react, I slipped under the water still clutching his cane.
‘Damn it, are you out of your mind? What are you doing?!’
A man’s harsh shout rang out. I cowered behind a wall, terrified, watching them. The raging man spoke to his counterpart, but it only seemed to enrage him further.
In the next moment, the man held a gun—one of the rifles mounted on the wall. Too tall for me to reach, it was his own shotgun.
He raised it to the other man’s head. Without a moment to plead, he pulled the trigger. The thunderous blast made me cover my ears and scream. Moments later, when I dared remove my hands, silence reigned. The hush felt like death. No, it was…
‘Death.’
That was it.
I slowly lifted my eyelids. For a moment, I blinked in confusion. Outside the window floated the distant murmur of peaceful voices. The modestly furnished room bore no sculptures or paintings—only the bed I lay on, a small tea table, and a chest of drawers. It must serve as a spare guest room. Warm sunlight streamed in through the large window, numbing my senses as drowsiness returned. Just as I drifted toward sleep—
“…Ah!”
I bolted upright, gasping.
“Ugh… my head…”
No words came. I groaned, hands clamped to my skull against the brutal hangover. How much had I drunk? Never had I suffered such pain. It felt as if someone were hammering on my brain from above.
“Ugh, ugh…”
Whimpering, I squeezed my head. Blurred, I managed to squint before freezing. I wore nothing. Naked on the bed—no undergarments. My face drained of color as the realization hit.
Then warmth brushed my cheek. Too stunned to react immediately, I turned my eyes to the side—and froze completely. Someone stood there.
Nathaniel Miller, offering me a steaming mug, stood fully dressed in a flawless three-piece suit—contrasting starkly with my naked, ununderclothed state.