try begging

The man gritted his teeth and held on while he leisurely wrote, even though he wasn't tied down.
Funny kid.
Shouldn't he have shown such obsession in protecting that woman? He fought a belated battle of pride, not wanting to lose any more than he had already lost to him.
Death row inmate.
It was the words Leon had engraved in red blood and black ink on the back of Blanchard's hand.
He closed the cap of his fountain pen and placed it on the file. While Campbell was organizing the photographs and maps scattered on the table into the file, Leon took a long drag of his cigar. Only after regaining some patience did he ask the man.
"Just be polite and honest. What's wrong with you? Your life is over, so you want mine to be over too?"
Blanchard glared at Leon with bloodshot eyes.
"Or are you trying to insist that you still love that woman?"
"No, now I regret loving Grace."
The moment the bastard spat out his arrogant words through his teeth, Leon's patience finally burned out.
Who are you?
I loved Grace. I don't anymore. And I regret it.
The same words echoed over and over in his empty head. His teeth dug into the end of the cigar and a bitter taste spread through his mouth.
You cheeky brat, who are you?
Leon placed the cigars on the edge of the table. As he began to remove the cuffs that held the ends of his sleeves, one by one, and place them neatly on the table, Blanchard's eyes, the same color as the cigars, began to waver.
The cigar, which was hanging precariously on the edge of the sleeves that were neatly folded up on both sides, dropped thick ash to the floor. The color of the ash was the color of his face right now.
"Jimmy... ."
He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, put on his black leather gloves, and picked up his cigar. He took a long drag, and the dying embers flared up again, and the tip of the cigar burned as red as the blood congealing on the back of his hand.
"Have you ever kissed that girl?"
The moment I asked that question with the corners of my eyes arched, the bastard's eyes became sharp with wariness.
Even my brain the size of a walnut would know what would happen if I answered honestly. I even took a defensive stance by removing my hands, which I had been boldly placing on the table.
"...doesn't exist."
"Oh my, who would lie? She said she tried it."
Of course, she never said anything like that.
He bit his lower lip again, just like he did when he was being guided by a boat. It meant that he had kissed that woman.
With those lips, to that woman, no, to my woman.
Boom. The moment he stood up from his seat, the chair fell backwards with a loud noise.
"Hold your head."
Campbell grabbed Blanchard from behind as he tried to dodge the sudden change in air current. Leon grabbed the bastard's jaw with one hand and pushed it upwards to prevent it from opening.
"Ugh! Ugh!"
Soon the cigar was crushed between the bastard's lips.
Even though he had already anticipated the answer, Leon lost his senses. He was floundering in the trap he had set.
Campbell looked away as the stench of burning flesh spread.
Captain Winston became more and more cruel by the day.
In the past, I would pull out my fingernails unless it was something serious. Even if I pulled them out, they would grow back. I had that much self-control.
But now that even that has disappeared, they have no qualms about permanently mutilating the bodies of their captives.
And there was another change. Campbell's gaze was fixed on the captain's face. The ecstasy, the pleasure. That was no longer visible.
It was extremely dangerous.
I just wanted to get that woman away, but I never thought I'd find her again.
"Why isn't there an ashtray in your room? You're not a very welcoming person."
"Haa, uh, ugh... ."
I stuffed the unlit cigar into the man's mouth. When I took my hand away, the man retched, spitting out the horribly crushed tobacco leaves and pieces.
He lifted Blanchard's chin up with his left hand, grabbing it under her chin as she lost another sacred spot.
"Ugh... ."
"James Blanchard Jr."
As soon as he raised his face to eye level, he turned pale. He tried to pull his hands away, but before he could reach them, Campbell grabbed him and tied both his hands behind his back.
"Don't you ever mention that woman's name in this stinking mouth again. Do it one more time and I'll cut out your tongue."
He raised his right hand in front of the bastard's eyes and made a motion of cutting with scissors.
"Vertical."
Blanchard's eyes fluttered. Leon twisted his lips into a smile and tossed the bastard aside.
He slowly lowered his sleeves and buttoned up his cuffs. Blanchard glared at him with more frightened eyes than when he came in, as he looked no different from when he came in with his jacket on. Leon, who was about to leave with a laugh, suddenly stopped.
"Ah, it's the last night of the year. I shouldn't forget to say hello. Unlike you, I'm a polite person."
Leon smiled with the corners of his eyes wide open and gave Blanchard some words of encouragement.
"May next year be a more hopeful year than this one. That vain hope is all you have left."
As soon as he stepped out into the hallway, the smile disappeared from Leon's face. Behind him, Campbell's voice could be faintly heard, instructing the orderly to call a doctor.
Why should we keep a useless kid alive?
It wasn't a thought that I didn't know the reason for. Both the royal family and the military greatly valued the achievement of capturing Blanchard. The information the author had was needed to eliminate the remnants and solve the remaining cases. In other words, the longer the author lived, the more his achievements would grow, which would be a great help to Leon and his family.
But now, everything seemed insignificant to him.
If that woman comes back as soon as he kills that insolent rat, Leon will kill her without a moment's hesitation, disregarding all vested interests of the company.
"under...."
Leon sat alone in the living room of his suite and sighed wearily.
Even with the windows closed and the thick curtains drawn, the noise of the noisy party outside leaked in. Turning on the radio didn't help matters much. The cheerful singing coming from the speakers and the praise heaped on him all sounded like mockery.
Leon folded the letter he had finished reading and put it back in an envelope, then threw it into a box on the corner of the coffee table. Next to it was a pile of envelopes, postcards, receipts, and fake IDs.
He searched and searched again the things he had brought from the woman's boarding house tonight, as he had searched them so many times over the past week that he felt a nagging sense of unease that he might have foolishly missed something.
Just like I missed that woman.
This time, I opened one of the diaries piled up on the other side of the table and read it carefully from the first page. I wanted to find a place that woman could go, a person that she could rely on.
The only income he had so far was that he had an aunt named Florence living in the New World.
This closed-off woman had no human relationships outside of the rebel army, except for that man.
"under...."
This was also wrong. He was looking in the wrong direction now. Feeling that it was just a waste of time, Leon put down his diary.
The problem was that this damn intuition didn't tell me which way was right.
I shouldn't have taken my eyes off you for even a second.
He replayed that day over and over in his head. The moment he first set foot in the center of his base, he had been filled with joy, but now, looking back, he was filled with regret.
He buried his face in his hands. When he closed his eyes, the woman's face appeared before his eyes.
A face that laughs at him.
That fucking rat woman. She really is a rat, and she's been able to break through the encirclement. How many times has this happened?
But resentment soon turned to worry.
One by one, memories flashed before my eyes: the sight of him sobbing on the way to Winsford Station, the sight of him standing blankly on the platform as if he had no place to go, and the sight of his noticeably haggard face at Chesterfield Station.
It was so vivid and painful, as if it were happening right in front of him. If it were really happening at this very moment, he could have made a different choice.
In this cold winter, you must be feeling unwell and your mind must be in disarray. Where on earth are you wandering around in such a state?
That's where you should be.
When I looked up, I saw a bedroom with the door wide open. The bed where I should have been lying with the woman was empty, without a single wrinkle in the sheets. I ended up not opening the champagne.
Closing his eyes again, he let out a groan-like sigh and got up. He picked up his officer's jacket and coat and went out of the suite.

The man gritted his teeth and held on while he leisurely wrote, even though he wasn't tied down.
Funny kid.
Shouldn't he have shown such obsession in protecting that woman? He fought a belated battle of pride, not wanting to lose any more than he had already lost to him.
Death row inmate.
It was the words Leon had engraved in red blood and black ink on the back of Blanchard's hand.
He closed the cap of his fountain pen and placed it on the file. While Campbell was organizing the photographs and maps scattered on the table into the file, Leon took a long drag of his cigar. Only after regaining some patience did he ask the man.
"Just be polite and honest. What's wrong with you? Your life is over, so you want mine to be over too?"
Blanchard glared at Leon with bloodshot eyes.
"Or are you trying to insist that you still love that woman?"
"No, now I regret loving Grace."
The moment the bastard spat out his arrogant words through his teeth, Leon's patience finally burned out.
Who are you?
I loved Grace. I don't anymore. And I regret it.
The same words echoed over and over in his empty head. His teeth dug into the end of the cigar and a bitter taste spread through his mouth.
You cheeky brat, who are you?
Leon placed the cigars on the edge of the table. As he began to remove the cuffs that held the ends of his sleeves, one by one, and place them neatly on the table, Blanchard's eyes, the same color as the cigars, began to waver.
The cigar, which was hanging precariously on the edge of the sleeves that were neatly folded up on both sides, dropped thick ash to the floor. The color of the ash was the color of his face right now.
"Jimmy... ."
He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, put on his black leather gloves, and picked up his cigar. He took a long drag, and the dying embers flared up again, and the tip of the cigar burned as red as the blood congealing on the back of his hand.
"Have you ever kissed that girl?"
The moment I asked that question with the corners of my eyes arched, the bastard's eyes became sharp with wariness.
Even my brain the size of a walnut would know what would happen if I answered honestly. I even took a defensive stance by removing my hands, which I had been boldly placing on the table.
"...doesn't exist."
"Oh my, who would lie? She said she tried it."
Of course, she never said anything like that.
He bit his lower lip again, just like he did when he was being guided by a boat. It meant that he had kissed that woman.
With those lips, to that woman, no, to my woman.
Boom. The moment he stood up from his seat, the chair fell backwards with a loud noise.
"Hold your head."
Campbell grabbed Blanchard from behind as he tried to dodge the sudden change in air current. Leon grabbed the bastard's jaw with one hand and pushed it upwards to prevent it from opening.
"Ugh! Ugh!"
Soon the cigar was crushed between the bastard's lips.
Even though he had already anticipated the answer, Leon lost his senses. He was floundering in the trap he had set.
Campbell looked away as the stench of burning flesh spread.
Captain Winston became more and more cruel by the day.
In the past, I would pull out my fingernails unless it was something serious. Even if I pulled them out, they would grow back. I had that much self-control.
But now that even that has disappeared, they have no qualms about permanently mutilating the bodies of their captives.
And there was another change. Campbell's gaze was fixed on the captain's face. The ecstasy, the pleasure. That was no longer visible.
It was extremely dangerous.
I just wanted to get that woman away, but I never thought I'd find her again.
"Why isn't there an ashtray in your room? You're not a very welcoming person."
"Haa, uh, ugh... ."
I stuffed the unlit cigar into the man's mouth. When I took my hand away, the man retched, spitting out the horribly crushed tobacco leaves and pieces.
He lifted Blanchard's chin up with his left hand, grabbing it under her chin as she lost another sacred spot.
"Ugh... ."
"James Blanchard Jr."
As soon as he raised his face to eye level, he turned pale. He tried to pull his hands away, but before he could reach them, Campbell grabbed him and tied both his hands behind his back.
"Don't you ever mention that woman's name in this stinking mouth again. Do it one more time and I'll cut out your tongue."
He raised his right hand in front of the bastard's eyes and made a motion of cutting with scissors.
"Vertical."
Blanchard's eyes fluttered. Leon twisted his lips into a smile and tossed the bastard aside.
He slowly lowered his sleeves and buttoned up his cuffs. Blanchard glared at him with more frightened eyes than when he came in, as he looked no different from when he came in with his jacket on. Leon, who was about to leave with a laugh, suddenly stopped.
"Ah, it's the last night of the year. I shouldn't forget to say hello. Unlike you, I'm a polite person."
Leon smiled with the corners of his eyes wide open and gave Blanchard some words of encouragement.
"May next year be a more hopeful year than this one. That vain hope is all you have left."
As soon as he stepped out into the hallway, the smile disappeared from Leon's face. Behind him, Campbell's voice could be faintly heard, instructing the orderly to call a doctor.
Why should we keep a useless kid alive?
It wasn't a thought that I didn't know the reason for. Both the royal family and the military greatly valued the achievement of capturing Blanchard. The information the author had was needed to eliminate the remnants and solve the remaining cases. In other words, the longer the author lived, the more his achievements would grow, which would be a great help to Leon and his family.
But now, everything seemed insignificant to him.
If that woman comes back as soon as he kills that insolent rat, Leon will kill her without a moment's hesitation, disregarding all vested interests of the company.
"under...."
Leon sat alone in the living room of his suite and sighed wearily.
Even with the windows closed and the thick curtains drawn, the noise of the noisy party outside leaked in. Turning on the radio didn't help matters much. The cheerful singing coming from the speakers and the praise heaped on him all sounded like mockery.
Leon folded the letter he had finished reading and put it back in an envelope, then threw it into a box on the corner of the coffee table. Next to it was a pile of envelopes, postcards, receipts, and fake IDs.
He searched and searched again the things he had brought from the woman's boarding house tonight, as he had searched them so many times over the past week that he felt a nagging sense of unease that he might have foolishly missed something.
Just like I missed that woman.
This time, I opened one of the diaries piled up on the other side of the table and read it carefully from the first page. I wanted to find a place that woman could go, a person that she could rely on.
The only income he had so far was that he had an aunt named Florence living in the New World.
This closed-off woman had no human relationships outside of the rebel army, except for that man.
"under...."
This was also wrong. He was looking in the wrong direction now. Feeling that it was just a waste of time, Leon put down his diary.
The problem was that this damn intuition didn't tell me which way was right.
I shouldn't have taken my eyes off you for even a second.
He replayed that day over and over in his head. The moment he first set foot in the center of his base, he had been filled with joy, but now, looking back, he was filled with regret.
He buried his face in his hands. When he closed his eyes, the woman's face appeared before his eyes.
A face that laughs at him.
That fucking rat woman. She really is a rat, and she's been able to break through the encirclement. How many times has this happened?
But resentment soon turned to worry.
One by one, memories flashed before my eyes: the sight of him sobbing on the way to Winsford Station, the sight of him standing blankly on the platform as if he had no place to go, and the sight of his noticeably haggard face at Chesterfield Station.
It was so vivid and painful, as if it were happening right in front of him. If it were really happening at this very moment, he could have made a different choice.
In this cold winter, you must be feeling unwell and your mind must be in disarray. Where on earth are you wandering around in such a state?
That's where you should be.
When I looked up, I saw a bedroom with the door wide open. The bed where I should have been lying with the woman was empty, without a single wrinkle in the sheets. I ended up not opening the champagne.
Closing his eyes again, he let out a groan-like sigh and got up. He picked up his officer's jacket and coat and went out of the suite.