So what if I am just a mob in a novel : I will get what I want

Ragith's breathing grew shallow as the memories of those sleepless nights came rushing back—every missed step, every desperate shout into the darkness, every moment of silence that felt like a knife twisting in his chest. He had pushed himself past his limits, fueled by the fear of arriving too late.

He ran through every possible scenario in his mind during those lonely hours. Would he find Mo Tang injured? Dead? And Rishitha—what if she was the reason Mo Tang never came back?

The thought had consumed him then, and it still haunted him now.

When he had finally stumbled upon them—Mo Tang alive, smiling faintly despite her exhaustion—he had felt an overwhelming surge of relief. It was almost suffocating, the way his knees buckled under the weight of it.

But then his eyes had landed on Rishitha, standing beside her, seemingly unscathed despite the trials they must have faced.

It had felt like a betrayal.

How dare she stand there, unbroken, when Mo Tang had risked everything?

And yet, a small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind: She saved her.

It was a fact he couldn't ignore, no matter how much he wanted to. Rishitha had brought Mo Tang back to him, alive and relatively unharmed. But instead of gratitude, he felt resentment.

Resentment toward Rishitha for putting them in danger in the first place. Resentment toward himself for not being there when Mo Tang needed him most.

Ragith opened his eyes, staring up at the canopy of trees above. He couldn't deny that Rishitha was an enigma. Her calm demeanor in the face of chaos, her cryptic words, and her refusal to share what she was truly thinking—it all grated on him.

And yet, when he looked closer, he saw the cracks beneath her composed exterior. The way her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was looking. The haunted look in her eyes when she stared into the distance for too long.

She was fighting her own battles—battles she refused to share with anyone.

But that didn't make it easier to trust her.

For Ragith, trust was irrelevant. What mattered was Mo Tang. His sister was his world, and he would do anything to keep her safe.

Even if it meant working with someone he didn't trust.

Even if it meant following Rishitha into danger.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "I won't let anything happen to her," he muttered under his breath, the words a vow to himself. "Not again."

Ragith's thoughts shifted to the boy who had joined their group—Erin.

At first, he had dismissed him as just another liability, a child too young to be thrust into the chaos of this world. But Erin had proven himself surprisingly capable, his sharp eyes and quick thinking saving them more than once.

There was something about him—something Ragith couldn't quite place. A quiet strength, an untapped potential simmering just beneath the surface.

Ragith had seen glimpses of it during their travels. The way Erin watched the others, his expression far too calculating for someone his age. The way he carried himself, as if he bore a weight far greater than any ten-year-old should.

He's different, Ragith thought, though he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on their faces. Mo Tang sat across from him, her expression calm but determined. Erin was to her left, poking at the fire with a stick, his gaze distant. And then there was Rishitha, sitting a little apart from the group, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the flames.

Ragith broke the silence first, his voice gruff. "So, what's the plan?"

Rishitha didn't look up. "We keep moving. There's still a long way to go before we're out of danger."

Her words were practical, but Ragith could hear the exhaustion beneath them.

"And what happens when we run into more danger?" he pressed, his tone sharper than he intended. "What's your plan then?"

Rishitha finally looked at him, her expression unreadable. "We survive."

Ragith scoffed, leaning back against the log he was sitting on. "That's not a plan. That's a gamble."

"And yet, we're still here," Mo Tang interjected, her voice calm but firm. "Thanks to her."

Ragith's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue.

Erin glanced between them, his expression thoughtful. "You don't trust her," he said, his voice quiet but certain.

Ragith's gaze snapped to him. "What are you getting at?"

Erin shrugged, poking at the fire again. "I'm just saying—it's obvious. But trust doesn't matter. What matters is getting through this alive."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths.

Rishitha's lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. "The kid's got a point."

Ragith said nothing, his gaze shifting back to the fire.

As the conversation died down, Ragith couldn't shake the feeling that they were standing on the edge of something far greater than themselves.

He still didn't trust Rishitha. He still hated the way she carried herself, as if she knew something they didn't.

But he couldn't deny that she had gotten them this far.

For now, that would have to be enough.

The forest was alive with faint rustling sounds, whispers of wind threading through the leaves, and the distant hoots of nocturnal creatures. Yet, to Ragith, it felt suffocatingly silent. The fire before him crackled softly, its warmth doing little to ease the cold knot of turmoil buried deep in his chest.

His gaze lingered on the group—on Mo Tang, her calm resolve like an anchor in his chaotic world; on Erin, whose sharp, calculating eyes were unsettling in a child so young; and on Rishitha, the one who unsettled him most of all.

He hated her.

But the weight of that hatred was heavier than he could bear.

Ragith had always been the protector. After their parents' death, Mo Tang had clung to him, a frightened child in a crumbling world. She was his responsibility, his purpose, the reason he fought to stay standing when the weight of loss threatened to crush him.

Every scar on his body, every sleepless night, every risk he'd taken—it had all been for her.

And yet, when he'd found her after days of frantic searching, she wasn't clinging to him. She wasn't relying on him. She was standing beside her.

Rishitha.

The woman who had dragged Mo Tang into danger.

The woman who had saved her life.

The woman who now sat a little apart from the fire, her face half-hidden in shadow, her expression distant.

Ragith's fists clenched at the memory of finding them in the forest. Relief had flooded him when he saw Mo Tang alive, but it had been immediately overshadowed by anger. Rishitha should have been the one to suffer, to carry the burden of their mistakes.

But she hadn't.

And that infuriated him.

He hated how calm she always seemed, as though the chaos around them was nothing more than an inconvenience. He hated the way Mo Tang looked at her, with trust and quiet admiration.

But most of all, he hated the gnawing guilt that came with knowing she had done something he hadn't—she had saved Mo Tang.

The truth was, Ragith didn't hate Rishitha as much as he hated himself.

He hated that he hadn't been there when Mo Tang needed him. He hated that his sister had been forced to rely on someone else, someone who didn't share their bond, their history.

Am I not enough?

The thought tore at him, leaving raw wounds that refused to heal.

He leaned back against the log, staring up at the stars barely visible through the dense canopy. The heavens seemed vast and indifferent, a stark reminder of how small and powerless he truly was.

There was something about her that didn't sit right. She was hiding something—he was sure of it. Her cryptic words, her occasional faraway looks, the way she seemed to shoulder a burden far heavier than any of them could imagine.

But what was she hiding?

And why did Mo Tang trust her so easily?

His sister wasn't naïve. She wasn't the type to blindly follow someone without reason. Yet, she had defended Rishitha, stood by her side without hesitation.

What am I missing?

Ragith's jaw tightened as his gaze flickered to Rishitha again. She was staring into the fire, her expression unreadable, her hands resting loosely on her knees. She looked weary, as though she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

And maybe she was.

Mo Tang had always been strong, but there was a vulnerability to her that only Ragith had ever truly seen. She hid it well behind her calm demeanor and sharp mind, but he knew her better than anyone.

Which was why her unwavering trust in Rishitha was so hard to understand.

"Why?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible even to himself. "Why her?"

But he knew Mo Tang wouldn't give him an answer. She didn't need to. Her actions spoke louder than words.

And then there was Erin.

The boy was an enigma in his own right, far too perceptive for his age. Ragith had noticed the way Erin watched the group, his gaze sharp and calculating, as though he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see.

There was something unsettling about him. Something that didn't quite fit.

Ragith couldn't decide if Erin was a blessing or a liability.

But the boy's words earlier had struck a chord.

"Trust doesn't matter. What matters is getting through this alive."

Erin had spoken with a wisdom that belied his years, and Ragith couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the boy than met the eye.

The fire crackled softly, the warmth spreading through the makeshift shelter they had built together. It wasn't much—just a temporary reprieve from the dangers lurking in the forest—but it was enough for now.

Rishitha sat a little apart from the group, her gaze fixed on the flames. Mo Tang was beside her, leaning against a log, her expression calm but thoughtful. Erin was curled up nearby, pretending to sleep but clearly still alert.

And Ragith sat on the edge of the group, his thoughts churning like a storm-tossed sea.

He didn't trust Rishitha. He didn't trust the boy.

But for Mo Tang's sake, he would endure it.

Ragith's eyes lingered on his sister, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the fire. She looked tired but unbroken, her spirit as strong as ever.

And in that moment, he made a silent vow.

No matter what it took, no matter how much he had to sacrifice, he would protect her.

Even if it meant following Rishitha.

Even if it meant trusting the untrustworthy.

Because Mo Tang was all he had left.

And he would not lose her.