Chapter 13: Reward – He Liked This Gift

Not bad at all.

When Verlaine confirmed that Rimbaud’s words were praising his first mission performance rather than mishearing or something else his expression noticeably shifted.

On that originally exhausted and expressionless face, the intense weariness and drowsiness were gradually erased, revealing increasingly bright anticipation and joy.

However, he still remembered Rimbaud’s previous requirement to “practice emotional control and not reveal true inner feelings,” so he remained very restrained, not allowing himself to show overly undignified happiness.

“So, this is the 【gift】 for me?”

Verlaine picked up the heavy small box, repeating the word he had learned every inflection of the syllables pronounced with extreme clarity.

This was the first gift he had received… perhaps that bottle of wine counted too? The sweet delight only attainable after tasting sourness and spiciness, much like his brief life since being born as 【Black No. 12】.

But now he was Paul Verlaine he really liked this name, proof that he was no longer brainwashed or controlled, that he had become “human.”

Perhaps humans naturally desire to integrate into groups and gain acceptance, even experimental subjects like him who first opened their eyes in cultivation dishes were no exception.

“Yes,”

Rimbaud affirmed Verlaine’s inquiry, thoughtfully adding, “You can open it now, or take it back to your room later.”

Although for most French people, not opening gifts immediately is considered rude… Verlaine’s mind hadn’t yet been filled with such socially conditioned “common sense,” and Rimbaud didn’t intend to strictly enforce these details either.

After all, his progress in the skills and physical training required of an agent had been remarkably fast. The high-intensity repetitive mechanical training had quickly worn away the greenness and unfamiliarity of a novice, allowing this raw gem to gradually refract dazzling brilliance.

“I’ll open it now.”

Compared to the somewhat distracted Rimbaud, Verlaine slowly exhaled, the corners of his lips ultimately lifting into a quite cheerful smile.

He carefully admired it for a while longer before undoing the delicate curled-end bow and removing the pretty floral-printed paper wrapping.

When Verlaine first picked up this palm-sized gift, he could feel its considerable weight; but only when he actually opened the box did he discover inside a bronze-colored… ornament?

It had a heavy copper base carved with intricate acanthus leaf patterns that somehow made it appear visually light and graceful, as if countless leaves and flowers twined around growing, ultimately framing the delicate cross standing at the center and the little boy embracing the cross with his head resting against the horizontal beam.

Upon closer inspection, one could see him sleeping deeply with closed eyes, yet the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, as if immersed in a peaceful and happy dream.

Verlaine held the statue of the cross-embracing boy in his palm, staring at it for a long while before looking up to ask Rimbaud.

“This is…”

Rimbaud detected his unfinished confusion. “A music box.”

“Music box…?”

Verlaine bit down on this slightly elongated pronunciation, repeating it slowly but clearly, as if he were learning for the first time that such an object existed in the world.

In truth, this was indeed Verlaine’s first encounter with a music box.

Though in appearance, Verlaine and Rimbaud seemed around the same age and both possessed commendable looks, if one were to calculate his age based on the time he had truly engaged with the world, it would likely amount to less than half a year.

During his time at the 【May Revolution】base, 【Pan】had never cared whether he possessed “self-awareness.”

Or, to be more precise, 【Pan】only regarded the thoughts of 【Black No. 12】as a personality simulated through programming like an artificial intelligence that would search for the most relevant response when a question was input. It might appear to be a rational human with thought, but could it truly be considered human?

No. It would only rigidly arrange words according to the programs humans had instilled in it, transforming vast streams of digital signals of 0s and 1s into language comprehensible to humans, ultimately producing a response that merely seemed to align with human linguistic logic.

This personality simulation program, personally coded by 【Pan】, naturally dismissed any “self-awareness” that arose within 【Black No. 12】, attributing it solely to the success of the simulated personality program.

This was also the source of Verlaine’s occasional melancholy during breaks from training and missions.

【Pan】never avoided the subject. During the days when Verlaine was forced onto the examination table for various tests, 【Pan】would happily work while elaborating in detail about his “great achievement.”

Was he truly just a detonator device for a singularity, a non-human entity devoid of genuine intellect, an artificial intelligence program successfully implanted into a human body one that even deceived abilities into mistaking him for a human with a soul?

Late at night, lying in bed, Verlaine would toss and turn, tormented by these thoughts.

Fortunately, Rimbaud’s training was so grueling that such self-doubt never lasted long. Physical exhaustion would swiftly pull him into sleep and upon waking, another day of training awaited.

In short, he had been too exhausted recently to sink into prolonged emotional lows at night and question his own existence.

Moreover, Rimbaud always maintained a strict, educational attitude toward him… never broaching related topics.

It was as if he were merely an ordinary person who had been neglected by his parents for years and was now cramming elementary knowledge nothing out of the ordinary.

Added to that, Rimbaud was inherently a secretive agent who rarely revealed his true thoughts.

Even the recent safe house where they were staying was filled with items and stylistic elements he couldn’t distinguish as disguises, genuine articles, or simply personal preferences.

But at this moment, Verlaine was genuinely happy.

Because the music box he held in his hands, regardless of the considerations behind it, was undoubtedly something Rimbaud had thoughtfully chosen and decided to give him as a reward.

What it contained was the complete embodiment of “self-awareness” a powerful affirmation of his existence.

Perhaps humans are willing to communicate with artificial intelligence, spending considerable time and effort to improve and train it until it can handle basic tedious tasks for them…

But surely humans wouldn’t carefully select gifts for artificial intelligence?

“Well, simply put, it’s a mechanical device that 【puts music in a box】.”

Rimbaud could clearly see how delighted Verlaine was at this moment, but he had no intention of scolding him for failing to manage his expressions properly, nor for completely forgetting his instruction to “suppress genuine emotions as much as possible.”

After all, he was this happy.

Rimbaud thought.

Then, he continued teaching Verlaine how to open the miniature panel mechanism on the back of the base and turn the small winding key hidden inside several times.

When Verlaine released his fingers from the key, the interlocking gears began to rotate, driving the metal cylinder installed within the base to spin along. The raised pins sequentially plucked the metal comb teeth, producing clear, harmonious tapping sounds that formed a smooth and melodious tune.

The little boy holding a cross on the base also slowly rotated along with it no longer lost in sweet dreams, yet joyful to awaken to the pleasant piano melody.

Verlaine listened intently for a long time, until the winding key’s rotations were exhausted, the melody stopped, and the little boy sank back into slumber.

Dinner had cooled somewhat, but Rimbaud merely rested his chin on his interlaced hands, quietly watching Verlaine without urging him.

Only after confirming that the music box wouldn’t produce any more music did Verlaine finally withdraw his attention from it; his beautiful light falcon-colored eyes blinked slightly, meeting Rimbaud’s unwavering gaze.

“What is this piece of music called?” after a pause, he added softly, “I really like it.”

Although Rimbaud had repeatedly emphasized not to casually reveal his true thoughts, Verlaine never managed to fully comply.

For instance, at this moment, he felt delighted about receiving this precious gift and couldn’t help expressing it to Rimbaud.

“It doesn’t have a name,”

Rimbaud replied, “It’s something I composed while transcribing the piano scores you recited to me before. After returning, I found time to test it on a piano at a nearby secondhand shop. It sounded decent, so I had it customized into a music box.”

He described it rather casually, making no mention of why he suddenly wanted to create a melody or how much effort it took to contact a master craftsman who handcrafts music boxes at such short notice.

“But…”

Rimbaud, leaning on his elbow, tilted his head slightly and pondered seriously.

“If I must give this 27-second melody a name… 【Ode to the Day of Birth】? I’m not very good at naming things.”

Compared to his strictness during training, Rimbaud’s tone remained gentle and calm throughout, yet it left Verlaine completely stunned.

【A song of praise for your birth】.

The all-copper material made the music box feel cold and hard to the touch, but now it seemed to burn like flames in a fireplace, rapidly heating up until it transformed into a warm, melting sun pooling in his palm, dripping thickly between his fingers.

Along with his beating heart, uncontrollably so.

Only after those few seconds of silence did Verlaine speak again, though he didn’t continue discussing the topic of “naming.”

“Is playing the piano also one of the compulsory courses for agents?”

He merely asked this.

“Of course not,”

At that moment, the smile in Rimbaud’s eyes faded to near imperceptibility, as if even the artificial warm light overhead could no longer penetrate those shallow golden hues gradually dimming.

“This was something I could do before becoming an agent.”