Transmigrated: I Became My Nemesis's Woman novel Chapter 81

Chapter 81: I can’t process this

[Flashback]

After the mission in Country X was successfully completed, Sal still wasn’t satisfied.

At first, Raven assumed it was because she had gotten on his nerves throughout the mission. But later, when he dragged her out for drinks, she realized she had been wrong.

She was the reason he was upset.

"Aah..."

Finishing his second bottle of beer, Sal slammed it onto the table and signaled for another.

"Are you planning to go on a drinking spree?" Raven asked, chewing on dried fish as she glanced at him. "Because let me warn you, I am not carrying your drunk self home."

Sal scoffed.

He wasn’t someone who drank without reason. And knowing today wasn’t like any other day, Raven mentally prepared herself for whatever emotional storm was coming.

"I’m not getting drunk," Sal said, clicking his tongue. "This is just a demo."

The moment another bottle was placed in front of him, he grabbed it and gulped it down without hesitation.

Raven looked away with a faint scoff.

This place was one of their safe spots—a place where they could let their guard down, share a drink, and just exist without the weight of missions pressing down on them.

Despite their busy schedules, they always found time like this. Or rather, Sal always made sure they did—even when Raven wasn’t in the mood.

Once he finished the bottle, Sal suddenly began to laugh.

"Why haven’t you asked me why I’m upset?" he asked, turning to look at her.

Though he was only slightly tipsy, the alcohol had already begun to show. His cheeks were flushed, and his usual sharpness had softened.

Raven studied him for a moment before picking up her drink.

"Because it’s nothing new," she said, taking a sip. "You’ve always been a grumpy kid."

She knew that wasn’t entirely true.

Sal rarely let things get to him. And when he did, it never felt like this.

This was different.

They had known each other for a long time. Despite working closely together, neither of them was good at opening up.

Sal tried sometimes.

Raven never did.

Silence settled between them.

Sal let out a quiet chuckle, but the sadness in his eyes remained.

"I like it when you call me Chickpea," he said softly. "It makes me feel... lovable. Even though you act annoyed every time I make you say it."

Ivy’s brows drew together slightly as she looked at him.

He had gone quiet again.

Yes, it had been his idea in the first place. He had insisted she give him a nickname. Back then, she hadn’t put much thought into it and had casually called him Chickpea—mostly because he was oddly scared of them.

But hearing him say this now...

Something in her chest tightened.

Not happiness.

Something heavier.

"But you always sulk when I call you that," Ivy said, her voice softer now. "So how can you say you like it?"

Sal let out a humorless laugh.

"Because I hate the name he gave me," he said, his voice cracking. "I hate that no matter what I do, his blood still runs in my veins."

Raven stilled.

Sal’s eyes welled up, but he didn’t look away.

"It was the name my father gave me. The one my mother loved," he continued. "But no matter how much I tried, I could never accept it."

His hands clenched slightly.

"Because that same man... the one who was supposed to protect us... left us bleeding every time he came home high."

The memory dragged him back. His father—drunk, violent, unpredictable, beating his mother. Beating him,again and again.

No matter how much they tried to resist, it only made things worse.

Until one night his father smashed a bottle against his mother’s head and she collapsed, blood pouring down her face.

And when Sal tried to stop him, the man turned on him too.

He would have died that nigh if his mother hadn’t stepped in.

"Sal... go... call save yourself..." she had screamed.

Like a frightened child, he had nodded and run, barefoot, into the dark streets.

But what could a seven-year-old do? He didn’t even know the way and ran and ran until the streets blurred, until he no longer knew where he was... or how to go back.

And deep inside, he already knew his mother wouldn’t survive.

I will, she thought. Because it was the only name your mother gave you that still feels like love.

[Present]

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