Chapter 12: Probing – Is This Thought Strange?

“……”

Rimbaud’s expression remained steady as usual, not immediately answering Mr. Gao’s question.

He understood perfectly well what Mr. Gao – or rather, the powerful Masters behind him – intended.

They didn’t need Verlaine to operate in his current “human form capable of independent thought,” but preferred to control him freely like Pan had done before, treating him merely as a powerful Ability Weapon confiscated by the authorities.

However, according to information previously uncovered by the DGSS intelligence department, complete control over Verlaine required two conditions – a generator capable of producing a special metallic powder, and a command phrase that could strip away his personality seal.

The generator was used to make him inhale the special metallic powder, while the command phrase could release the monster deeply hidden within his true form.

Now, that metallic powder generator had been completely destroyed when he defeated Pan, who was controlling Black No. 12 at the time.

As for that command phrase that could strip away the personality seal and release the monster…

It was recorded in an operational guide about how to create and utilize artificial abilities. After Pan’s death, Rimbaud had found it in the laboratory ruins, with the title “The Secret of the Gentle Forest” written on the title page.

Due to some unspeakable psychology, Rimbaud hadn’t immediately submitted it to the intelligence department, but instead took the opportunity to read and decipher it alone before returning.

Yes, all its contents were encrypted, but for Rimbaud who had received training, it wasn’t too difficult.

He spent several days, repeatedly trying various decryption approaches and methods, finally succeeding in interpreting the entire document before returning to Paris with Verlaine.

After reading all the contents, Rimbaud tore out the last six pages – those containing the most crucial information.

The government must not obtain the contents of the final chapter.

That was what he thought at the time.

Otherwise, if the government learned how to completely strip away the personality seal named “Verlaine” and awaken the true “Beast Guivre” sleeping within his body…

Verlaine would most likely be treated as a disposable high-destructive consumable weapon, directly deployed to enemy nations to create large-scale, indiscriminate destructive catastrophes, thereby securing ultimate victory in the war.

Worse still, while that artificial calamity crushed enemy cities, it would also cause millions, even tens of millions of civilian casualties, and the government wouldn’t care at all about their sacrifice.

Rimbaud indeed fought for France’s victory, but he didn’t want to fight merely for the French government’s victory.

Pan was both a genius and a madman – he had actually managed to explore the limits of abilities, creating a calamity capable of destroying the world, then sealing it within a human body, and writing the method to release it in “The Secret of the Gentle Forest.”

All he could do was tear up the portion containing this information, then lie straight-faced to his superior.

“Yes,”

Rimbaud replied calmly, “When I found this manuscript in Pan’s laboratory, it was already incomplete as you see.”

Mr. Gao leaned on the desk with both hands, staring at him for a long time.

Rimbaud maintained eye contact with him the entire time, showing no signs of guilt, evasion, or pressure, as if he had merely stated an ordinary, objective fact.

After a long pause, it was still Mr. Gao who broke into a smile first “You truly are talented, Rimbaud,” he began. “When I was your age, I only thought about feeding a couple more pigeons in the square.”

“At your age back then, France wasn’t at war… sir.”

Rimbaud replied softly.

“Indeed, war always changes many things, very, very many.”

Mr. Gao shook his head with a sigh before steering the conversation back on track. “Since you’re so certain, I’ll report truthfully to the Second Bureau’s superiors. It should keep them quiet for a while.”

“If my memory serves me correctly, Paul Verlaine is already a formal employee of the Special Combat Forces Bureau under the French Second Bureau.”

Unlike Mr. Gao’s smooth acceptance of Rimbaud’s response, the latter slightly furrowed his brows, clearly displeased that higher-ups were once again setting their sights on Verlaine.

Such euphemistic wording could also be interpreted as Rimbaud making a gentle yet firm protest.

Since he’s already a formally hired special agent of the French government, how could they still treat him as an Ability Weapon?

“Forgive me, just consider it part of the procedure.”

Mr. Gao’s gaze softened as well. “You know I’m on your side, my dear child, Rimbaud. Back when DGSS was being established, some opposed wasting Esper combat power here instead of deploying it in the war.”

If abilities weren’t inherently divided into offensive and non-offensive types, and if other countries hadn’t started deploying Esper agents, the establishment of DGSS might not have proceeded so smoothly.

Therefore, Verlaine now a DGSS agent would no longer be used as an Ability Weapon. This was Mr. Gao’s guarantee to Rimbaud.

The fact that he had personally come to question him today already demonstrated his stance.

Understanding the implied meaning, Rimbaud nodded. “My apologies.”

“Finally appreciating an old man’s well-intentioned efforts?”

Mr. Gao teased with a laugh before turning serious. “However, since Verlaine was created in violation of fundamental ethical principles, he must undergo psychological evaluations by specialists after each mission. He cannot refuse.”

A successful experimental product cloned from a prototype even according to experimental records, his seemingly normal personality was simulated through programming who knows what problems might arise in the future.

“…”

Rimbaud fell silent, instinctively reluctant to agree.

“Rimbaud?” His superior voiced the question.

“…Alright,”

he spoke, then added after a brief pause, “but I must accompany him throughout the entire process.”

Regardless of whether the him in the notebooks had ever accompanied Verlaine to these sessions, the present Rimbaud couldn’t accept changes occurring beyond his sight specifically, any changes in Verlaine, whether physical or psychological.

He needed to grasp every detail to accurately assess Verlaine’s condition and prevent that betrayal four years later.

This was Rimbaud’s habit as a special agent when completing missions, now applied to Verlaine.

“I’ll inform them.”

Mr. Gao smiled, casting a meaningful glance at Rimbaud before agreeing to the request.

“Then let’s discuss the details and requirements of your mission now,” he continued.

…………

At the entrance of the abandoned factory.

Verlaine sat on a low stool, watching the shadow under the eaves gradually widen.

With no timekeeping device at hand, he could only mentally calculate whether the half-hour had passed.

He wondered what Rimbaud and that Mr. Gao were doing, taking so long to return.

Verlaine’s mind wandered, recalling how Rimbaud had promised him at the academy that if he consistently performed well in missions, he would receive a reward.

Back then, he had been full of confidence, thinking such requirements were nothing special.

But now, he felt uncertain about whether he could actually obtain “that reward.”

After all, on the very night they returned to Paris, Rimbaud had calmly and professionally listed every single mistake he made during the mission.

…Irrefutable.

Standing in the living room, he hung his head and listened to the detailed analysis of all his errors in a thoroughly dejected state.

He expected to hear harsh criticism and scolding, but Rimbaud maintained a gentle and composed tone throughout, his golden eyes showing no trace of blame.

This attitude of Rimbaud’s might give those unfamiliar with him the illusion that 【Rimbaud must be easy to talk to】.

But Verlaine now understood perfectly well Rimbaud’s strict standards for him and wasn’t surprised when he heard the subsequent punishment – delivered with clear articulation and flat tone, accepting no objections.

This was a clear 【command】 from Rimbaud.

If anyone else had treated him this way – like that fat woman – Verlaine wouldn’t have given them even a single word before disgust would have driven him to kill her.

But when facing Rimbaud, he found himself becoming conflicted.

Perhaps it was because he loved the way Rimbaud looked at him – with eyes like beautiful pale gold, reminiscent of the sun, making even someone called a monster feel human and worthy of having his own name.

Therefore, he wanted Rimbaud’s approval, wanted Rimbaud to know he could live up to the meaning of the name 【Paul Verlaine】, wanted to hear “well done” after completing every training session or punishment.

Was it strange to think this way?

Verlaine didn’t know.

He had been out of the laboratory for too short a time to have accumulated rich social experience and knowledge, let alone ponder such philosophical questions of self-awareness.

But regardless…

Verlaine thought somewhat dejectedly.

He still wanted to receive the reward Rimbaud had previously promised.

” Bao Luo.”

Snapped out of his reverie by the call, Verlaine reflexively responded and looked toward Rimbaud, who had appeared beside him unnoticed.

Compared to before he left, the only differences were the document folder in his hand and the fact that he was now wearing Verlaine’s jacket.

Even the zipper had been meticulously pulled all the way up, the raised collar covering part of his chin.

He seemed quite afraid of the cold.

Come to think of it, Rimbaud usually preferred wearing thicker clothes at home too, with the fireplace always blazing brightly, even as summer approached.

“The underground base was too cold, so I put it on.”

Noticing Verlaine’s puzzled gaze on the coat, Rimbaud offered only a brief explanation before switching back to his detached instructor mode.

“Time’s up. Begin upper body strength training thirty sets. Pay attention to my count.”

“Yes.”

The rigorous one-on-one training session didn’t conclude until the sun had fully set, but Verlaine’s tasks for the day didn’t end there.

While Rimbaud would head to the kitchen to prepare dinner, Verlaine needed to first wash off the sweat and grime in the bathroom. Afterward, he would sit in the living room, turn on the specially modified radio, tune it to a foreign broadcast channel, and practice foreign languages.

This also gave his thoroughly exhausted body time to recover.

He was currently studying English and German, taking care not to mix up the vocabulary and grammar.

Since the war in Europe primarily involved France, Germany, and Britain and most Vespers originated from these three countries Rimbaud insisted that he quickly master the other two languages.

Verlaine listened with intense focus. The broadcast, crackling with static, filled the modest space, accompanied by the occasional snap and pop of firewood burning in the fireplace.

Before long, the warm, hearty aroma of stew began to drift from the kitchen, and he could faintly hear Rimbaud muttering to himself about having under salted the dish.

In that moment, Verlaine felt an unexpected surge of contentment.

For this utterly ordinary, peaceful, and tranquil slice of life.

That sense of fulfillment peaked when he took his seat at the dining table.

Verlaine stared in surprise at the small box placed beside his plate neatly square, tied with an elegant red ribbon.

“What’s this…?”

“A reward.”

Seated across from him, Rimbaud propped his head on one hand, the corner of his lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“Since there were a few mistakes, you’ve lost the privilege of choosing the content. But overall, your first mission was fairly well done.”