Chapter 10: Religious Academy’s Older Brother x Brother-Con Little Brother (End) He Is…

In her numerous past experiences using the [Timer], Besan Tobila had never encountered an accident like today’s.

She would always erase the memories of those involved, making them carry out her commands in complete ignorance while mistakenly believing it was their “own will.”

But this formidable power that had never failed her was now held in the hands of the blond youth.

The other party had even broken her hand without the slightest hesitation the moment the [Timer] was taken out!

What’s wrong with this guy? Even typical thugs or villains wouldn’t suddenly attack without saying a word… Could it be that he knows how this thing works, so he struck preemptively?!

Besan Tobila’s eyes showed terror. The excruciating pain muddled her thoughts, yet simultaneously served as an alarm forcing her to stay conscious.

“You… you are…”

She tried to speak and probe, but saw that Musa Kushner’s usually cold, beautiful face actually revealed a faint, contemptuous smile.

“Is this how it’s used?”

The other party spoke in an unhurried tone, raising the object in his palm as if needing to examine it in the light, rotating it between his fingers until its front faced Besan Tobila’s wide-opened eyes.

He really knows how to activate it…!

Besan Tobila endured the pain from her broken arm, stumbling forward to snatch the [Timer] back with her other hand

At that moment, she glimpsed a pair of eyes resembling a deity looking down from above, devoid of joy or sorrow, coldly lifting from behind pale golden hair to cast a judgment that made her feel as if she had fallen into an icy abyss.

“Ah!!”

She let out a piercing cry of pain. Before her brain could process what had happened, her nerves were once again submerged in intense, sharp agony, making it impossible to endure any longer.

The similarly fractured broken leg served as the clearest reminder to Besan Tobila this youth before her possessed terrifying abilities far beyond ordinary humans, just like a,

“M-monster,”

She said in a trembling voice accompanied by tears, “You’re a demon…”

“Too noisy.”

Verlaine, withdrawing his hand, used just one word to successfully make Besan Tobila fall silent in terror, no longer daring to attempt retrieving the [Timer].

She watched helplessly as Verlaine used his other hand to twist its winding mechanism and press the switch.

As for why the other party knew the steps to activate it, Besan Tobila no longer had the energy to contemplate.

“Besan Tobila, answer my next question.”

Verlaine’s speech was unhurried, his expression strikingly similar to how Rimbaud usually gave him training instructions.

But Besan Tobila only felt fear gradually eating away at her heart, like a venomous snake slowly climbing up her throat until it tightly choked every struggling breath.

” Then, jump off the rooftop.”

…………

The performance was once again successfully completed. Vichis Prin took off the outer robe whose collar was somewhat choking his neck and let out a long sigh.

He actually didn’t really want to take risks at such a critical moment, but unfortunately, the choice was no longer in his hands.

The banquet in the hall might take a while longer to conclude, but Vichis Prin considered himself merely an ordinary musician with no need to linger there, as it would only draw unnecessary attention.

However, Ponteno had far more experience than he did. Since she saw no issue with it, Vichis Prin naturally wouldn’t raise any objections.

After all, even the government had sent people to conduct thorough inspections before. Rumor had it they later planted spies, but Ponteno discovered them in time and expelled them… Hmph, if they couldn’t find anything during an open investigation, what good would covert methods do?

Vichis Prin stretched his shoulders and opened the door to his room, effortlessly flicking the light switch as he entered.

*Click.*

The darkness in the space was completely dispelled, but what was revealed was not the comforting warmth of a cozy bedroom. Instead, a black-haired youth, who had just withdrawn his gaze from the scenery outside the window, turned to look at him calmly.

Vichis Prin recalled that this young man had an exceptionally beautiful singing voice perhaps even the finest in the entire academy. He was Musa’s older brother… Moran, if he remembered correctly.

“Moran, right? Shouldn’t you be assisting in the main hall at this hour? What brings you to my room?”

After all, he was just a sixteen-year-old boy. Even though a sense of foreboding rose in Vichis Prin’s heart, he tried hard to convince himself to stay calm.

He even attempted to lighten the mood with a small joke.

“The Choir is full even if you approach me privately, I can’t make an exception.”

Compared to his notoriously ill-tempered younger brother, Vichis Prin remembered that the older brother had a much gentler disposition. He was even quite popular among the girls, enjoying high regard…

Vichis Prin had occasionally seen this Moran Kushner in the courtyard or corridors, almost always accompanied by his younger brother, a soft smile on his face as he spoke to him in gentle tones.

But the Moran Kushner before him now… was deeply unsettling.

His gaze was intensely cold.

So cold that even though the ceiling light should have been bright, it cast deep shadows over his eye sockets, making his beautiful, light golden irises appear as if stained by ink slowly seeping from the night transforming into an oppressive, almost metallic dark gold.

He didn’t utter a single word, causing the briefly restored ease in the air to freeze over once more, slowly sinking into a chilling, suffocating silence.

This sudden, abnormal confrontation was more effective than any interrogation.

A cold sweat trickled slowly down Vichis Prin’s cheek. The immense psychological pressure made it extremely difficult for him to control his expression, and the fine muscles of his face had begun to tremble slightly.

*It’s fine, stay calm, don’t panic. There are no flaws in what I’ve done…*

“Vichis Prin.”

At that moment, Moran Kushner suddenly spoke, enunciating the name in a tone that brooked no argument calm yet forceful.

Hearing his name, Vichis Prin flinched instinctively before forcing himself to appear composed. He could hardly believe that the other had done nothing yet had already frightened him to this extent.

“What exactly…”

“You’ve covered your tracks quite skillfully,”

the black-haired youth continued coolly. “How did you come up with this method to pass on intelligence?”

Vichis Prin was about to deny it when he noticed the other party’s hands, which had been held behind their back all along, move forward, clutching a stack of papers covered in horizontal lines no, those were not meaningless lines, but transcribed piano sheet music.

This was the reason why the path of the intelligence leak could not be traced:

It was not conveyed through text but transmitted via melodies. Even if countless people heard the music, only those who truly understood its value would take the effort to transcribe, decode, and then interpret it.

That was why Vichis Prin had to continuously compose new hymns and could not retain even a single sheet of paper with the musical notation.

In that accidental fire, he truly did not need to salvage any valuable items because the genuinely critical intelligence could not be stored with him in any form.

“…………”

Vichis Prin was left speechless. It took him a long while to weakly ask, “How do you have this…”

“Not only you understand music theory and the piano, Vichis Prin.”

Rimbaud replied calmly, “And unfortunately, my brother’s memory is not bad either.”

“Hah… He sings off-key, yet his ears are sharp?” Vichis Prin let out a self-mocking laugh and offered no further resistance.

“That was only because he had no prior exposure to music. In terms of talent and perseverance in learning, he is uniquely exceptional.”

Rimbaud first corrected Vichis Prin’s statement before continuing to ask.

“I have already contacted the Second Bureau. Someone will come to take you away soon. Before that, you need to tell me: What is the source of the large sums of money in the academy’s accounts, and where did Besan Tobila obtain her Ability Weapon?”

“No comment, my dear.”

Facing imminent death, Vichis Prin’s attitude relaxed instead. He shrugged and smiled under Rimbaud’s furrowed gaze.

“You see, in these chaotic times of war, everyone has their own little secrets, big or small. Everyone is seeking different opportunities so am I, and so are they.”

The government might freely interrogate an ordinary civilian, but it could not lay a hand on the reputable Ponteno. Her high-society connections were too extensive; an arrest without solid evidence would instantly stir public outrage.

Rimbaud, however, merely pondered for a moment before slowly uttering a single phrase.

“Cross-border human trafficking.”

While the importance of the intelligence was crucial, Vichis Prin’s words precisely indicated that Ponteno was not his accomplice in betraying the nation.

Or rather, they were mutually beneficial allies.

Ponteno earned vast sums through her filthy business, while the foreign intelligence agents in contact with Vichis Prin took the opportunity to embed their people among her entourage to record the piano melodies.

Besan Tobila was most likely Ponteno’s assistant, helping her keep those children compliant… In other words, if they could find a way to extract information from Besan Tobila and secure her testimony…

The moment this thought surfaced in Rimbaud’s mind, he knew it could no longer be realized.

Bang!

Besan Tobila’s body slammed heavily onto the ground, blood flowing over the hard stone pavement and slowly seeping into the soil between the cracks.

Her expression showed no fear or terror it seemed she had willingly and proactively ended her own life.

One after another, screams pierced the night sky.

In the crowd that surged forward layer upon layer, there were no figures of Rimbaud and Verlaine.

The next day, their Uncle Edmund arrived by car at the entrance of Sitoon Religious Academy, claiming “he had found a good family for these two children and there was no need to trouble the academy further,” before taking them away.

Rimbaud had already contacted the security personnel waiting nearby the previous night, instructing them to take Vichis Prin away and transport him to Paris for further investigation and interrogation.

According to preliminary findings, the counter-espionage department under the French Second Bureau suspected there were foreign spies within the government, and this was an opportune moment to uncover them.

As for another crime related to this Religious Academy, it could no longer be investigated as thoroughly as Vichis Prin’s case.

On the second day after Besan Tobila’s death, Ponteno was found to have committed suicide in her room, completely cutting off the clues.

Even if the flow of funds could be traced, no one could prove their illegal origin anymore on the surface, they had always been classified as charitable donations.

Nevertheless, the primary mission had been successfully completed, and Rimbaud and Verlaine could finally return to the safe house in Paris.

Throughout the journey, Rimbaud showed no obvious emotional fluctuations, as if the false persona belonging to Moran Kushner had been completely stripped away from him, leaving only the absolute rationality and calmness of Rimbaud.

Verlaine, however, was somewhat uneasy, occasionally stealing glances at Rimbaud in what he thought was a discreet manner, as if to confirm whether the other was angry.

But Rimbaud’s expression remained too placid for Verlaine to discern, leaving him trapped in a silent torment of thought.

“I memorized everything Besan Tobila said,” he blurted out uncontrollably after stepping through the doorway. “I can serve as a witness. They even intended to use me…”

“It’s useless,” Rimbaud replied softly. “This matter involves too wide a scope. Those in power have plenty of ways to silence you.”

Moreover, the destination of the vast wealth accumulated by Ponteno remained unknown to this day.

Still, it was good news that the academy was now fully under government control.

Verlaine looked at Rimbaud with confusion, seemingly unable to comprehend why some would ignore the truth even when it was spoken aloud.

“Is that Ability Weapon gone now?”

Rimbaud understood Verlaine’s puzzlement but didn’t explain it clearly to this “artificial god” who had only awakened a few months ago. Instead, he asked another question.

“Yes, it disappeared right when Ponteno died,” Verlaine nodded.

“That means it wasn’t an Ability Weapon, but rather Ponteno’s own ability.”

Rimbaud sat on the sofa, analyzing out of habit. “Perhaps Besan Tobila was the first person she hypnotized.”

This was merely speculation; unfortunately, there was no way to determine the conditions for activating her ability now.

The other issue was…

Rimbaud lifted his head from his thoughts, casting a calm gaze toward Verlaine, who still stood in the living room.

The other seemed to know what was coming next, showing no expression of resistance on his face.

“Now,” Rimbaud spoke plainly.

“Let’s summarize how many mistakes you made during this mission, Bao Luo.”