Chapter 3: This Is the Punishment You Must Complete

Compared to Verlaine at this moment, Rimbaud appeared far more composed, never revealing emotions that might betray his inner thoughts.

This was a fundamental requirement for becoming a competent intelligence agent.

He chose not to respond to Verlaine’s visibly fluctuating emotions, merely answering respectfully with “Yes,” before gesturing for the other to set down the test handgun and follow him out.

Outside lay a series of winding underground corridors, with occasional branching paths and tightly sealed metal doors lining the walls.

This was one of DGSS’s secret bases, its above-ground portion a factory abandoned after being bombed by enemy aircraft an ideal cover.

War was raging across Europe, drawing in an increasing number of nations.

After Britain took the lead by deploying powerful Espers in a surprise attack against Germany and gaining the upper hand, governments worldwide began deploying their own Espers to assist in combat, both overtly and covertly.

This was why the government had previously recruited him and was now seeking to train Verlaine.

Rimbaud knocked open a concealed hidden door, leading Verlaine out of the derelict factory. After walking some distance, they finally reached a street where the crowd grew denser.

Despite the ongoing war, the conflict had not yet reached French soil. Shops remained well-stocked, and trade continued as usual.

Rimbaud bought some cabbage, onions, carrots, and pork from one store, then went next door to a bakery for toast and baguettes.

After asking Verlaine what he wanted, he added a few crescent-shaped croissants to the purchase and brought everything to the checkout counter.

Then, Rimbaud also bought a bottle of wine.

He wasn’t actually old enough to purchase alcohol legally, but in these extraordinary times, black markets were ubiquitous. As long as you paid, you received the goods no questions asked.

Even the wine bottle was merely filled in a transparent container, its handwritten label crooked and sloppily attached a typical packaging for goods smuggled into France and repackaged for sale.

Away from work, Rimbaud seemed no different from any ordinary person on the street, like a drop of clear water merging into a river.

Verlaine, carrying the vegetables and bread they had bought, hesitated several times, on the verge of speaking but holding back.

Yet he knew crowded places were unsuitable for such discussions spies, as specialized assets, weren’t exclusive to France; every nation was intensifying efforts to plant informants in others, regardless of whether they were allies or adversaries.

After a long walk, Rimbaud and Verlaine finally returned to their current safe house.

It was modest in size, with an aged exterior wall covered in ivy. Inside, decorations and furniture were sparse, the wallpaper faded and stained with large watermarks and mold.

Judging by the setup, it was even more austere than the average wartime household forced to economize, fitting their cover as orphans relying solely on each other.

Setting the grocery bag down on the wooden table, Verlaine took a silent breath and finally spoke up to explain to Rimbaud.

“In that final test, if the target hadn’t been you, I could have killed anyone.”

Rimbaud could tell Verlaine meant every word.

Just as recorded in that notebook, Verlaine wouldn’t, upon regaining consciousness, use his ability to attack him the way he had with Pan.

Even his acceptance of being taken over by the French government and joining DGSS, as well as accepting him as his partner and mentor, followed the same pattern.

The entire process was as unbelievable as described in the notebook, yet it all unfolded logically and came true.

However, that notebook didn’t cover every detail of his life over the next 12 years.

In that thin booklet, most of the time and events were briefly summarized, like a plot synopsis of a movie.

Rimbaud could have chosen to kill Verlaine at that moment the other’s [Gravity manipulation] was no match for his [Collection of paintings].

But he still remembered the future recorded in that notebook: during the great war, they excellently completed numerous missions together, becoming the top ability agents in the organization.

When those light hazel eyes opened, Rimbaud, having fully regained his calm reasoning, withdrew that subtle killing intent.

For France’s victory in the world war, he couldn’t kill Verlaine prematurely.

Since following the cultivation method recorded in the notebook would lead to the other’s betrayal in four years, then he could now adjust his approach until he gained more thorough… dominance.

Rimbaud took off his trench coat and hung it on the coat rack.

“Are you making excuses to me, Verlaine?”

Then, wearing only his white shirt, he turned around. His golden eyes gazing at Verlaine were extremely calm so calm that the latter instinctively averted his gaze, his expression becoming hesitant.

He had been instructed before going that he must execute any order he received.

“But he ordered me to shoot you…”

Verlaine didn’t answer, merely whispering, “I tried my best to comply.”

“The result of your attempt was using your gravity to control that bullet, making it drop before it could hit me.”

Rimbaud calmly pointed out, “And you didn’t even dare to pull the trigger until I reminded you.”

“I…”

“Besides, I’m fundamentally no different from other test subjects. If you treat test subjects differently during assessments, you might treat targets, hostages, or even terrorists differently during future missions.”

“I wouldn’t! It’s just… they chose you, so I…”

Rimbaud finally let out a soft sigh.

“Do you think DGSS randomly assigns some unfortunate soul to die during every new agent assessment?”

“……”

Verlaine fell silent.

His offensive capability with his ability was indeed high, but having received neither general education nor family upbringing, his reasoning ability might be inferior to a child who attended elementary school for two years.

“Additionally, if you had followed what I taught you earlier and carefully weighed the pistol after receiving it, you would have noticed that the M1935 felt lighter meaning those bullets were blanks, not live rounds,” Rimbaud added impassively.

Even if Verlaine hadn’t used gravity to suppress the fired bullet, nothing would have happened to him.

Instead, it was Verlaine’s own assessment that nearly failed in the final minute due to a major psychological error.

“……”

Verlaine hung his head, strands of pale golden hair seeming to droop dejectedly before his eyes.

Even his remarkable achievement of successfully controlling the bullet’s trajectory with gravity on his first attempt now felt irrelevant.

Verlaine knew he had made several consecutive mistakes particularly the one Rimbaud had repeatedly emphasized to him: 【Abandon all emotions】.

“Paul Verlaine, go sit quietly on the sofa for 30 minutes. This is the punishment you need to complete.”

Rimbaud, who had been closely watching his reaction, spoke again, clearly enunciating his full name.

Verlaine’s body shifted slightly, but he voiced no objection.

He walked to the living room and sat bolt upright on the old, sagging sofa, hands placed neatly on his closed knees, perfectly obedient.

From Rimbaud’s perspective, he could see the pale golden-haired head and part of the tense shoulders, fully compliant with the rules he had previously taught.

Confirming Verlaine showed no resistance or dissatisfaction, Rimbaud picked up the groceries he had just bought and went to the kitchen to prepare a simple meal for them.

Since Verlaine’s punishment was silent sitting, Rimbaud moved quietly and didn’t turn on the radio or television, maintaining a stifling silence in the room.

It felt as if the air itself gradually thickened and solidified over those thirty minutes, like invisible, hardening concrete.

Verlaine remained perfectly still in his upright posture throughout, never uttering a complaint or sound of struggle.

He was earnestly carrying out the punishment Rimbaud had given him.

Rimbaud placed steaming stew on the table, sliced bread for both of them, fetched two transparent glasses, and poured wine into each.

Finally, he glanced at his watch.

“Thirty minutes are up. Come eat.”

Rimbaud spoke gently and saw the tense back suddenly relax as Verlaine pushed himself up from the sofa cushion and walked toward him somewhat slowly.

Maintaining one position for a long time, even just sitting, would make muscles stiff and numb, requiring movement to ease.

When Verlaine sat before his portion of food, Rimbaud didn’t immediately pick up his utensils but posed the question again.

“Next time you face this scenario, will you decide to shoot me?”

Just as recorded in the notebook.

Back then, the bullet aimed at his back didn’t fall to the ground instead, enhanced gravity made it pierce through his arm with terrifying, farewell-like momentum, declaring betrayal and severance.

Verlaine didn’t understand the deeper meaning behind Rimbaud’s question, thinking it was merely about whether he had seriously reflected on the morning’s test.

But he still couldn’t bring himself to say “yes,” so after a longer silence, he somewhat awkwardly raised his light hazel eyes, tentatively meeting Rimbaud’s unwavering gaze.

“Was my move… using gravity to stop the bullet at the end… not acceptable?”

Rimbaud didn’t answer immediately, quietly watching Verlaine for a long moment.

“No,”

he finally said softly, “You did very well. There was no problem.”

Rimbaud raised his wine glass, signaling the confused Verlaine to raise his as well, and they lightly clinked them in the air.

The next words made Verlaine’s eyes brighten.

“This is to congratulate you on passing the test, Paul.”

Otherwise, Mr. Gao wouldn’t have allowed him to take Verlaine out of that observation room.

This expensive smuggled wine was specifically bought for the celebration.

The other person really needs proper training in facial expression management…

Seeing the visible delight on Verlaine’s face, Rimbaud sipped his wine and quietly muttered to himself.

…………

As Rimbaud had anticipated, the liaison officer soon brought the higher-ups’ decision.

Effective immediately, he would be fully responsible for Verlaine’s education and surveillance duties. Acting as both partner and mentor, he was to develop Verlaine into a qualified intelligence operative serving France.

Rimbaud’s next assigned mission was temporarily postponed since the intelligence department was still verifying the authenticity of related materials.

This delay suited Rimbaud perfectly – the training list he’d prepared for Verlaine was too long to fit on a single page. At the very least, he needed to ensure Verlaine showed some improvement before their first mission together.

Though Verlaine was indeed a powerful Artificial singularity, his body was merely cloned from an ordinary human’s flesh and hadn’t undergone any training.

His ability was certainly formidable, but in the world of espionage, relying solely on one’s ability was useless.

Moreover, abilities served as distinct personal signatures – once used, they immediately revealed one’s identity. Unless absolutely necessary, Rimbaud never flaunted his ability during missions.

Verlaine was informed he must adapt to these constraints as well.

But when agreeing, Verlaine never imagined the grueling training hell that awaited him.

Just watching Rimbaud contemplatively examining those pages filled with training items was enough to make Verlaine break into a cold sweat.

Th-this much?

Setting aside the advanced skills and anti-interrogation training scheduled for later phases, the basic regimen alone included physical conditioning, balance training, flexibility and agility drills, observation and reaction speed exercises…

Just randomly selecting two items from the list would leave Verlaine too exhausted to speak by day’s end.

Even during brief rest periods, Rimbaud insisted he keep the radio tuned to news broadcasts.

“Your spoken French is inadequate. Start by mimicking the standard accent from news reports,” Rimbaud displayed particular ruthlessness during training. “Later you’ll need to master various regional and ethnic accents, followed by several foreign languages.”

“…H-how… huff… many exactly?” Verlaine gasped, hands on knees after completing ten sets of 50-meter shuttle runs, his throat tasting metallic with each swallow.

“The more, the better.”

Rimbaud’s gaze lifted from his stopwatch, studying Verlaine momentarily before delivering the soul-crushing answer.

After all, this was a world war – their missions wouldn’t be confined to France alone.

However, Verlaine found some comfort in knowing his first assignment would remain within French borders where only French was required.

“The liaison sent mission instructions. We need to pose as students infiltrating a religious college in Nice to identify the traitor leaking intelligence abroad,” Rimbaud stated calmly, placing two forged identity documents along with mission files on the coffee table.

“Priority is capturing the target alive for transport to Paris. Lethal force is authorized if capture proves impossible.”