Chapter 458: What the Numbers Said

Back to my horny world, I went.

"Vicky?" I called, pushing the door with force, expecting to see my sweet little sister sitting at her desk doing the job that should have been mine, but you know I'm a hand-off-the-reigns kind of goddess.

However, Vicky wasn't there.

Strange.

Very, very strange.

Vicky was a creature of routine. She was always there, her desk neat, her coffee mug in the same spot, muttering about numbers and looking at me like I was a particularly troublesome spreadsheet that had achieved sentience.

Her absence was… unnerving.

"VICKY?!" I called again, louder this time, my voice echoing in the vast, empty space. Still nothing.

"Hmm?... why do I feel like she's avoiding me?" I mumbled to myself, my eyes scanning the room for any clues.

My eyes landed on the diary.

Her diary.

Oh, that little, innocent-looking book with the cute, flowery pattern on the cover. The one she thought I didn't know about.

I totally knew about it.

Hehehe... even in the past, Vicky kept a diary.

It was my secret weapon. A treasure trove of blackmail material, a glimpse into the inner workings of my sister's orderly mind, and most importantly, a way to check if she was secretly plotting my demise.

Swiftly, I made my way to her desk.

Okay, maybe I was a bit of a perv, but this was my sister! I had a right to be nosy.

I picked up the diary, the leather cool and smooth under my fingers. My thumb traced the little lock on the side—a flimsy thing I could have picked with a toothpick. But I didn't. That was the rule. I could look, but I couldn't force it. If it was locked, it stayed locked.

So I unlocked it.

Hehe... Don't judge me.

I flipped open to the most recent entry... however.

"Ugh!... It's one of those," I groaned, staring at a page filled with... numbers. Not just numbers, but a chaotic storm of them, covering every inch of the page.

"Damn it, Vicky, you're supposed to write about your feelings, not give me a math headache," I grumbled, squinting at the seemingly random figures.

For some reason, she always had these kinds of diaries.

A diary of numbers.

"Welp... they are probably meaningless," I shrugged and was about to close it when my eyes caught something.

A familiar pattern.

[9 / 12-15-22-5 / 13-25 / 19-9-19-20-5-18]

"I remember this." Even inside the trial where I relived a part of the past, I saw this pattern of numbers multiple times. She wrote it everywhere. In her notebook. On the walls of her room. On her desk. On the bathroom mirror.

I asked her about it, and she said it was part of a code for some vault she was trying to crack. I didn't believe her then, and I certainly didn't believe her now.

This was something else. Something personal. A secret message, maybe?

My hentai brain, for once, was quiet. This felt different. This felt… important.

A puzzle.

And I loved puzzles... the horny ones, at least.

I flipped the page and saw the pattern again.

And again on the next page.

The same sequence, over and over, like a mantra.

What the hell did it mean? What was she trying to tell herself?

"Ugh!... I hate numbers," I groaned, rubbing my temples. "But for some reason... I feel like I need to know."

I closed the diary and was about to put it back when a familiar voice echoed in my mind.

[Morgana, I can tell you what it means.]

Herma.

But this... this was different. Not the usual emotionless, robotic tone, but... softer.

"Don't speak to me, I'm still mad at you," I said out loud to the empty room. "How could you hide something of that importance?!"

[I understand. But this is about your sister. I can help you understand her... if you let me.]

I sighed, my fingers tightening on the diary.

"...Fine."

[Thank you. The sequence... It's a cipher. A simple substitution cipher. Each number corresponds to a letter in the alphabet. 1 is A, 2 is B, and so on.]

My eyes widened as I stared at the page.

"Wait... are you telling me she's been writing in code this whole time?" I asked, a grin spreading across my face.

[Yes. And the message... It's the same every time.]

I opened the diary, and my eyes raced to decode the message, my heart pounding with excitement.

[9 / 12-15-22-5 / 13-25 / 19-9-19-20-5-18]

[I / L-O-V-E / M-Y / S-I-S-T-E-R]

[I LOVE MY SISTER]

"..."

My heart stopped.

All this time... all those numbers... all that secrecy... and this is what she was writing?

A declaration of love?

I felt a lump form in my throat, my hentai brain finally shutting up for good. This wasn't a puzzle to be solved for my own amusement. This was a peek into my sister's soul, a cry for connection that I had been too busy, too self-absorbed to hear.

"..."

I just stood there, staring at the page like it had punched a hole straight through my chest.

"I… love… my… sister."

No jokes.

No teasing comeback.

No horny commentary trying to crawl its way out of my mouth.

Just silence.

"…You idiot," I whispered—to myself, not to Vicky. My fingers trembled as I traced the numbers again, as if they might rearrange themselves into something less… heavy. They didn't. They stayed exactly what they were. Honest. Bare. Unfiltered in the only language she trusted enough to be truthful in.

All those times I thought she was being distant.

All those times I assumed she was judging me, calculating my mistakes, quietly resenting the chaos I dragged into her perfectly ordered world.

She wasn't.

She was loving me.

Quietly. Constantly. In code. And in a world where her love for me was considered a sin.

I let out a shaky laugh that cracked halfway through and turned into something dangerously close to a sob.

"You really are impossible, Vicky… Who the hell writes that on bathroom mirrors like it's a safety mantra?"

[She is your anchor, Morgana, as you're to her.]

I closed the diary gently, placing it exactly where I'd found it. My playful, predatory energy had completely evaporated, replaced by something softer, something warmer. Something that made me want to find my sister and hug her until she complained about wrinkling her shirt.

"Right," I said out loud, opening the diary back. I picked up a pen that was nearby.

I had to tell her in her own language.

I was about to write "I Love You Too, Vicky" in numbers, but then I stopped, closed the diary, and just stared at the ceiling. After a few minutes, I opened it again, preparing to write something else, something a bit more 'Morgana'... but again, I stopped.

[Why hesitate?] Herma's voice echoed softly in my mind. [A response is required for balance.]

"I don't know," I said. "I feel like... if I reply, I'd be stealing her secret. Vicky is using numbers because she knows that I hate them and I won't spend time trying to decode them. It's her safe space... I feel like if I reply, I will be breaking that trust... I will be telling her that I am still watching and reading her diary."

[...]

[Just be honest.] Herma's voice echoed. It sounded... blank? It lacked the usual emotionless, robotic tone, but I couldn't be sure I wasn't hearing things.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

[You just want her to keep writing so you can keep reading.] Herma replied, her tone back to its usual robotic self.

"Fuck off, Herma." I snapped, closing the diary with a sharp thud. "I'm not going to reply."

Herma was right, though. I did want her to keep writing. I wanted to know more, to understand her more. I wanted to be a part of her world, not just an observer.

My hand lingered on the cover, fingers pressing into the soft leather as I could somehow feel her heartbeat through it.

"Tch," I clicked my tongue, running a hand through my hair. "You really know how to corner me, don't you, Vicky?"

I wasn't talking to the room anymore. I was talking to the ghost of my sister's quiet devotion.

Numbers.

Silence.

Love disguised as something safe.

And me—loud, lewd, careless—standing in the middle of it like a bull in a glass cathedral.

So I did what any good sister would do. I went to find her.

It didn't take long.

Vicky was in the main square, discussing something about the World Tree with Arwen and Leaf, her back to me, gesturing at the building that needed to be constructed, her arms waving in precise, calculated motions.

She looked so serious, so in control. The perfect manager, the perfect second-in-command. But now, I knew what was hiding behind that mask.

I didn't call out to her. I simply walked toward her, my footsteps silent on the smooth stone of the city.

Arwen and Leaf spotted me first, their heads turning in unison. Arwen raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smile, while Leaf just gave me a nervous little look.

Vicky, however, remained focused on her task, her mind clearly too busy to notice my approach.

"Vicky," I said, my voice soft.

"!!!" She froze for a half-second—a micro-expression no one else would have caught—before turning to face me, her expression carefully neutral. Her eyes flicked to mine.

"Sis—!"

I cut her off not with a word, but with an action.

I pulled her into a hug.

It wasn't a playful, teasing hug. It wasn't an 'I-want-something' hug. It was a bone-crushing, breath-stealing, 'I'm-not-letting-go-until-you-feel-it' hug.

And of course, I didn't stop there.

"I love you, sister."

"HMMMM!!!!"

My lips found hers.

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