Chapter 2: My Expectation for You Is Success

“…………”

Compared to Verlaine’s previous swift compliance with commands, this time he spent a long while yet still couldn’t lift that handgun. It was as if it had suddenly become extremely heavy, impossible to move even if he exhausted all his ability.

Both inside and outside the observation room was completely silent, with no one speaking.

Yet this authoritative silence subtly transformed into a wordless, impatient urging.

Verlaine pressed his lips together, averting his gaze from Rimbaud, his entire body visibly shaken and resistant the muzzle of the handgun remained pointed only at the ground, swaying with slight tremors.

The white light projected from the ceiling was quite gentle, but when it fell upon his pale golden hair, it grew dim and feeble, as if drowning in icy seawater.

“Countdown, one minute.”

The broadcast dutifully reminded Verlaine of his final time limit, accompanied by static electrical noise.

Verlaine clenched his teeth, still making no movement; Rimbaud, observing his reaction, maintained a calm expression but sighed inwardly.

“……”

Another ten seconds passed before Verlaine finally spoke, his voice suppressed.

“I can’t do it.”

When 【Pan】 created him, aside from cultivating a body capable of withstanding that extraordinary power, they also implanted vast amounts of intelligence about anti-government network groups into the experimental subject’s mind.

Therefore, even though Verlaine’s previous sober time as Black No. 12】 hadn’t been long, he could now awkwardly retrieve those French vocabulary, slowly piecing together a simple yet clear response.

“Comply with the command, Bao Luo.”

This time, it wasn’t the psychologist from the other end of the broadcast, but Rimbaud who spoke calmly. “Have you forgotten? You don’t have the right to refuse now.”

Verlaine’s fingers gripping the gun handle spas-med tightly for a moment before he finally turned back his hazel eyes to meet Rimbaud’s gaze.

“…Before coming,” his tone almost carrying obvious accusation, “you only told me that following their requirements would let me pass.”Perhaps a hint of grievance could be detected, but Rimbaud wasn’t currently engaged in a mission close to the target.” Thus, he had no intention of discussing this discovery further at this moment.

“Mm, that’s right.” He merely reminded the other calmly, “You still have thirty-five seconds.”

“……”

Verlaine lowered his head again, making it impossible for Rimbaud to see his expression; but judging from his overall state, his resistance seemed to have intensified further, even the tips of his golden bangs beginning to tremble slightly.

Mr. Gao’s speculation was indeed quite accurate the previous interference tests had no effect on Verlaine not because his emotions were overly stable, but because he simply didn’t care about those matters.

Once it touched upon what he truly cared about, Verlaine’s reaction was like a pot of water suddenly boiling over, unable to withstand even the slightest probing.

Verlaine, having never received common sense education, couldn’t even use logical thinking to make reasonable deductions this was merely a test. As an elite of DGSS’s combat department, how could Rimbaud possibly be allowed to be wasted in such absurd mutual destruction?

“That child Rimbaud’s influence on him can actually be this significant? According to the mission report I received, he should have only been in contact with Rimbaud for two weeks.”

Mr. Gao clasped his hands behind his back, somewhat surprised by this outcome. “Pan controlled him for much longer than two weeks.”

The psychologist hesitated for a moment before carefully responding, “Perhaps… it’s similar to imprinting behavior?”

“But that would be imprinting on Pan,” Mr. Gao chuckled. “Yet he showed no hesitation when killing Pan. I assumed he wouldn’t hesitate to kill unfamiliar test subjects either, which is why I decided to send Rimbaud as replacement.”

“Even I didn’t expect he would resist executing orders.”

In reality, the handgun was only loaded with a few training blanks, completely harmless – just as the goal of this test was merely to confirm whether he possessed the resolve to kill.

For a new organization member who had never handled a firearm before, this required considerable determination to accomplish.

It meant that at the moment he pulled the trigger, regardless of whether the target actually died, he had already mentally sentenced them to death.

Since Verlaine had performed exceptionally well in previous tests and was originally rescued from an anti-government organization, the psychologist had thought this round would be just a formality. No one expected an incident would occur when Rimbaud took the field.

Perhaps this was the test content those high-ranking officials truly wanted to see?

Faced with this command, Verlaine could have responded in many ways, but evasion would earn him the worst evaluation.

Rimbaud understood this too, which was why he had no choice but to offer a subtle reminder when Verlaine showed resistance to the command for the second time.

“Don’t be willful, Bao Luo.”

He lowered his voice, speaking with official detachment. “Have you forgotten how you obtained your name?”

Of course Verlaine hadn’t forgotten.

【Paul Verlaine】 was actually the other’s real name.

Just as the other’s code name 【Arthur Rimbaud】 was actually the prototype’s name recorded in Pan’s experiment logs.

And he was merely an “artificial supernatural entity” labeled with the numerical sequence 12, one of the fortunate successful experiments.

“Ability” was a supernatural power existing in this world, awakening only among a fortunate few. Its effects varied from person to person, with identical ability types being extremely rare.

But these randomly awakened abilities could, in exceptionally rare circumstances, trigger an extreme phenomenon.

For instance, when an Esper used an “ability that enhances touched targets’ abilities” on themselves, their own ability would enter an infinite enhancement loop. This would continue until their body burst from overflowing energy, completely losing control.

Consequently, the space around the Esper would distort and collapse, transforming into a terrifying gravity vortex capable of instantly devouring all mass within the area.

This phenomenon occurred worldwide at a frequency of once every few decades, referred to as “singularity.””

In ancient times when scientific research remained primitive, it would be called “deity” or “magical beast.”

He, 【Black No. 12】, was Pan’s research product aimed at making “singularities” controllable by humans – a breathing humanoid weapon possessing immense power.

An anomaly that should not exist in this world.

Verlaine tightened his grip on the gun, almost tasting the metallic tang of blood from where his teeth had pierced his lips.

He hated Pan.

That guy was a fanatical researcher obsessed with abilities, and a complete madman through and through. When he first opened his eyes, Pan stared at him with a bizarre, chilling gaze, every syllable uttered dripping with a greed and ecstasy that disgusted him.

Most of the time, he was merely kept by Pan in a culture dish filled with nutrient solution, his mind dazed and muddled. His blurred vision contained only swaying dark blue ripples, perhaps accompanied by occasional human shadows.

But even when Pan took him out of the culture dish, his treatment wasn’t much better.

Pan had created a special device capable of completely seizing his will, turning him into a marionette to be manipulated at will.

According to Pan, his consciousness was nothing more than a randomly input personality program, designed solely to deceive the “singularity” into mistaking this body for a human.

His existence was false, and Pan had no need for him at all what Pan needed was only the power “housed” within his body.

So, he gave Pan a gift in return.

The moment he broke free from the brainwashing device and barely regained consciousness, he used that power to kill Pan.

Along with all the equipment and devices the latter cherished so deeply, everything was devoured by that power.

In that moment, for the first time since his creation, he felt “happy.”

He didn’t attack any enemies other than Pan, allowing himself to fall unconscious.

After that, whatever happened didn’t matter life or death made no difference.

Thinking this, he was surprised to actively open his eyes with self-awareness once again. In the dim light of an oil lamp, amid the sound of rain tapping against bricks and tiles, and the musty, damp smell, he gazed into another pair of gentle, calm golden eyes.

Like the sun he had once glimpsed through a narrow crack.

After a moment of stunned silence, he retrieved a word from the vast, forcibly implanted knowledge and asked the black-haired youth who had taken him from the base about his identity.

I am… your everything.

His everything…?

The answer far exceeded his expectations, leaving him silent for a long time before he spoke again.

Like Pan…?

To view his power as private property, to disregard the will inherent in this body itself, and to never look at him with such an expression

This kind of gaze… one that focused solely on him, and nothing else.

Hearing his follow-up question, those golden eyes, steeped in sunlight, seemed to darken slightly, as if tinged with an indescribable, obscure shadow but in the end, the other gave only a simple reply.

More than that.

The day after this exchange, the other returned from outside and gave him a name: Paul Verlaine.

I am an intelligence officer belonging to France’s Special Forces Command, here to eliminate anti-government forces… yes, the very secret cellar where Pan was hiding, the one you blew up yesterday.

Rimbaud, who had also changed his name to match his prototype, briefly introduced himself while handing him a set of new clothes he had bought on the way.

Only then did he take off the tattered cloth that only test subjects wore and change into normal clothing.

The higher-ups have decided your fate either join the Special Operations Directorate to serve the French government, or fail the assessment and be disposed of as a hazardous uncontrolled entity.

As Rimbaud spoke the latter half, he felt that unfamiliar, complex gaze fall upon him again, like an invisible ruler taking measurements.

But you’ve already given me a name, he paused, then added, a code name.

Correct.

Those words spoken by Rimbaud, accompanied by the rustling of wind through leaves outside, seemed to still echo in his ears.

So my expectation for you is success.

As the memories receded like an ebbing tide, attention returned to the cold, pale observation room. Verlaine abruptly looked up at Rimbaud.

This was a test where only his failure meant death.

In other words…

In the final ten seconds, Verlaine finally raised the gun gripped in his right hand, aiming steadfastly at Rimbaud.

Then his index finger pulled the trigger. A dark ripple flashed as the bullet instantly left the barrel with a gunshot, streaking toward Rimbaud

Clang.

The bullet never reached its maximum range, plummeting straight down as if forcibly diverted by some suddenly applied pressure. It hit the ground, rolling with a series of light clicks until it bumped against Rimbaud’s shoe tip before stopping.

The countdown reached zero.

Verlaine lowered the muzzle again, breathing heavily, fine beads of sweat glistening at his temples.

Merely deciding to fire that shot seemed to have drained all his strength.

Rimbaud glanced down at the bullet near his feet, understanding it resulted from Verlaine preemptively applying gravitational influence to the projectile.

Though Verlaine was fundamentally a humanoid singularity, when not activated by command formulae and acting autonomously, his ability manifested as freely manipulating the gravity of touched objects .

Thus, he achieved both firing at Rimbaud and ensuring no harm came to him.

But Verlaine had been so tense when shooting was it because this was his first attempt using gravity this way?

“Rimbaud, I didn’t…”

Seeing Rimbaud remain silent, Verlaine pressed his lips together, wanting to say something before the voice from the speakers resumed

“Test concluded. Verlaine, you may return with Rimbaud now.”

This time, the interruption came not from the previous commanding voice, but a completely unfamiliar middle-aged male tone, gentle yet firm.

Yet this ambiguous statement that didn’t declare the test’s outcome offered Verlaine no reassurance.

His gaze instinctively sought those sun-gold eyes, as if trying to capture even a flicker of approval or disapproval in the other’s expression.

Had he failed the assessment? Would he be disposed of…

Would he die?