Chapter 5: The Seminary Older Brother x Brother-Complex Younger Brother (Part 1)

Sitting in the passenger seat, Besan Tobila remained unaware that she had narrowly escaped death multiple times during this journey.

As the trip entered its latter half, Moran covered her mouth to yawn, just the right amount of fatigue to prompt Besan Tobila to end the conversation.

“Look at me!” She lightly tapped her forehead with her hand. “I completely forgot you’ve been on the train for most of the day! Dear Moran, my child, close your eyes and rest for a while. It’ll still be some time before we arrive.”

“Thank you very much, Aunt Besan.”

Rimbaud first offered her an apologetic smile before turning to quietly ask Musa to move closer, so he could rest his head on his shoulder.

From what Besan Tobila observed in the rearview mirror, the usually aloof Musa was remarkably obedient to his older brother. Though his gaze remained fixed outside the window, he still shifted his position and straightened his back as instructed, providing stable support when Moran leaned against him.

Compared to Moran who could sleep soundly in the car, Musa appeared much more vigilant. Despite his pale complexion and visible fatigue and discomfort in his expression, he persisted in staying alert.

This, along with earlier conversations, aligned with the information previously gathered through reconnaissance.

The seminary had recently been infiltrated by a “Flying Squirrel” that kept digging tunnels everywhere. Fortunately, Ponteno had discovered it in time, preventing any successful breaches.

At this critical juncture, extra caution was necessary in everything they did.

Besan Tobila’s wariness eased slightly as she glanced sideways to signal the driver to abandon any “tricks” and focus on driving.

Though that blond-haired child was rather uncooperative… once they reached their destination, she had plenty of methods to deal with him.

Moran rested with closed eyes, appearing to sleep deeply until the car came to a stop. Jolted by the momentum, he opened his golden eyes with unmistakable confusion and drowsiness.

Besan Tobila was kindly holding the car door open for them. Seeing Rimbaud awake, she joked with a smile, “I was just about to have Labu carry you inside to rest.”

“My apologies, I slept too soundly.”

Rimbaud responded with an embarrassed smile, picking up the travel bag at his feet and bending to exit the car.

Noticing only Rimbaud carried the slightly worn travel bag while Verlaine had empty hands, Besan Tobila inquired, “Is this all the luggage you brought?”

“Yes, just some changes of clothes for Musa and myself.”

Rimbaud nodded slightly. “Uncle said this place is fully equipped – we don’t need to bring anything to live comfortably here.”

“Oh, of course, your uncle is absolutely right.”

Besan Tobila immediately flashed him a sweet smile while gesturing for the driver to come help with the luggage.

“Labu, please help Moran take the luggage to their room. I need to bring them to see Ponteno. She insisted on waiting however late it took to see the poor brothers arrive safely with her own eyes before she could sleep peacefully.”

The simple-faced Labu responded “Yes” and moved to take Rimbaud’s bag.

“Thank you for Madame Ponteno’s concern. Really, it’s nothing – Musa and I have traveled together on vacation before.”

Without hesitation, Rimbaud handed his luggage directly to the driver, watching as the latter entered a massive building through a side door a structure composed of square spires, arched domes, and sloping roofs.

It was tightly encircled by a dense forest, its dark exterior rendering it nearly invisible in the night, with only a few windows emitting faint glimmers of light.

Rimbaud guessed those lights came from kerosene lamps or fireplace flames rather than more modern electric lighting.

They were now walking inside the enormous building. Through the corridor windows, moonlight revealed a neat and tidy courtyard enclosed by walls and structures, where planted sweetgum trees grew lush and vigorous.

The academy comprised several buildings designated for different functions. Besan Tobila simply stated he would give them a proper introduction tomorrow and led them directly to the dormitory building. They climbed five floors up until they stood before the room at the farthest end of the top floor.

Besan Tobila motioned for Rimbaud and the others to stay behind him, then gently knocked three times on the door.

“Madame Ponteno, we’ve successfully retrieved the Kushneier Brothers.”

Upon hearing a “Come in” from inside, Besan Tobila turned the doorknob and ushered Rimbaud and Verlaine into the understated yet luxurious bedroom.

The layout was comprehensive: upon entering, there was a carpet, a coffee table, a sofa, and a television. Two wicker rocking chairs sat by the window, and a walnut bookshelf covering half the wall reflected a warm, gentle glow under the lit lamps.

To the right was a half-open door, which Rimbaud assumed led to the actual sleeping quarters.

Seated in one of the wicker chairs was Madame Ponteno, the person they needed to be wary of.

An orange-red shawl with gemstone tassels draped over her shoulders, her temples streaked with white hair. Her lead-gray eyes, though soft as they gazed at them, made one’s heart instinctively shrink for a moment as if she could see straight through to their very souls.

“Oh?” she said with a smile. “So these are Moran and Musa? Just as Edmeng described well-behaved and lovely.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

Moran displayed just the right amount of restraint as he greeted her.

Standing beside him, Verlaine kept a cold expression but was forcibly pressed down by Moran’s hand, forcing a reluctant bow.

Madame Ponteno chuckled lightly and briefly inquired if they had faced any difficulties during their journey or had any special needs. Rimbaud answered each question earnestly and flawlessly.

Apparently finding no issues, Madame Ponteno concluded by instructing Besan to take good care of them, finally allowing Rimbaud and Verlaine to rest.

Their dormitory was on the third floor a modest double room equipped with two beds, two small desks and chairs, and a double-door cabinet, accompanied by a small washroom.

The handbag taken by the driver had reappeared, placed on one of the wooden desks.

After finally dealing with Besan Tobila, who had escorted them there, Rimbaud quickly scanned the room and went to close the window tightly.

Verlaine followed him into the dormitory, closing the door behind him and locking it.

“Any findings?” he asked Rimbaud softly.

Rimbaud opened the luggage and, as expected, found traces of the clothes having been rummaged through he had indeed only packed some clothing and daily necessities, leaving the other party with nothing suspicious to find.

Those documents had long been destroyed by Rimbaud under the pretext of using the restroom right after getting off the train.

How cautious these people are.

Are they just following orders? Or do they all understand they’re transmitting intelligence and willingly act as accomplices?

Rimbaud wasn’t entirely sure, but his mission directive required capturing the ringleader alive whenever possible. Arresting a few underlings would only alert the enemy.

“Nothing for now, let’s sleep first.”

Putting away his clothes in the cabinet, Rimbaud spoke in an extremely soft voice, “We’ll continue observing tomorrow.”

He hadn’t encountered enough people tonight to identify any suspects.

Ponteno remained the prime suspect, though it might not necessarily be her as the academy director, she had already undergone thorough investigation by the Security Bureau.

According to Intelligence Division reports, aside from suspicious fund movements in her accounts, they hadn’t even been able to determine how the intelligence leaks were occurring.

“You performed very well today, keep it up.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Rimbaud first praised Verlaine gently for tonight’s performance, not missing the subtle flicker of pleasure in the other’s eyes.

“After we return, you may claim a reward from me,” he continued.

“Anything?”

Verlaine thought for a moment before asking quietly.

Rimbaud nodded lightly, “As long as it’s within my power.”

“Good, you said it yourself.”

With Rimbaud’s promise, Verlaine became quite pleased.

Since this was enemy territory after all, they couldn’t talk for too long. After briefly washing up, they each went to bed.

At dawn the next day, Besan Tobila came knocking.

“Good morning, Aunt Besan… we accidentally overslept.”

Only when she knocked a second time did Moran come to open the door, still wearing pajamas, speaking slowly while appearing utterly exhausted.

Behind him, Musa remained in bed, most of his head buried under a slightly yellowed white quilt, clearly unwilling to get up.

Outside the window, the rising sun had just cleared the horizon.

“Don’t worry, you just spent all day on the train yesterday of course you’re exhausted.”

Besan Tobila smiled kindly, but her tone brooked no argument.

“I’m sorry, my children, but morning prayers are mandatory. We need to cleanse our souls before the divine at the start of each day.”

As she spoke, she gently patted Moran’s shoulder, urging him to hurry.

“Go on now, wake your brother too. Many family members are looking forward to meeting you.”

After the brothers took some time to wash up, Aunt Besan led them to the prayer hall.

According to documents Rimbaud had obtained in advance, although named an academy, Sitoon Religious Academy had begun taking in many homeless orphans after the war started, providing them shelter, food, and clothing.

Meanwhile, the academy actively organized or participated in high-society charity banquets, promoting the cruelty of war and the innocence of children often receiving generous donations from kind-hearted philanthropists.

When previously questioned by the Security Bureau, Ponteno had claimed all the large flagged fund transfers originated from these sources.

To the curious students they passed along the way, Moran following behind Aunt Besan appeared restrained, showing only a mixture of nervousness and anticipation, no different from any other newcomer.

But in reality, his mind remained extremely calm, ready to handle any unexpected situation at any moment.

Musa, who followed closely beside Moran, also wore a cold expression, a trace of impatience flickering between his brows this was entirely in character for him, almost like he was playing himself.

On their way to the prayer hall, Besan Tobila briefly introduced the layout of the academy’s interior:

That building is for teaching, that’s the nave for worship, that’s the hall for confession, that’s the storage room… and so on.

“Don’t worry if you can’t remember it all right now you’ll get familiar with it after staying here for a while.”

At the end of her introduction, she kindly added this for Moran.

“Alright, Aunt Besan.”

Moran nodded obediently, not revealing that he had already memorized the entire layout during her brief explanation.

As a religious academy, all teaching activities revolved around religious content, and the chapel, serving the function of prayer, naturally held the utmost importance.

The chapel had one main door and two side doors. The main door was only opened on a few special occasions each year, allowing the “Lord unseen by mortals” to enter through it. The two smaller side doors were the ones ordinary people like them could use.

Currently, only the left side door was open several youths around their age were also entering through it, casting curious glances their way.

But as soon as they noticed that these two newcomers were being escorted by Besan Tobila, those looks instantly took on a subtle nuance and were quickly withdrawn.

It seemed that within this academy, Besan Tobila was a highly authoritative figure.

Once inside the chapel, the crowd noticeably thickened, and the number of inquisitive stares increased abruptly.

Rimbaud was actually quite sensitive to such gazes, but at the moment, he simply pretended not to notice and instead took the opportunity to observe the interior of the building.

Iron-carved flying buttresses bore the weight, allowing the ceiling to be constructed high and spacious. Walls composed of semi-arched rib vaults were filled with intricate murals, complemented by a massive stained-glass rose window and a row of pointed-arch glass windows below. The light streaming indoors rendered the entire space solemn and awe-inspiring.

Unlike his reserved and obedient older brother Moran, the younger brother Musa had a much more volatile temperament and reactions. He unapologetically glared back at all the blatant, prying stares.

Besan Tobila observed all of this carefully out of the corner of her eye, but she said nothing. Instead, she shook the bell in her hand, signaling everyone to stand in order.

She then led them up to the lectern.

“Let us welcome our new family members, the Kushneier Brothers Moran Kushneier and Musa Kushneier! Welcome to this family blessed by the Lord! This is a moment worth celebrating, children!”

“Welcome! Welcome to you! May the Lord bestow His grace, protecting you from all illness and misfortune from this day forward!”

Countless eyes converged on Rimbaud and Verlaine as everyone spoke in unison, chanting the words in a melodic tone, repeating them three times.

After this segment concluded, Besan Tobila added a few more polite remarks before finally allowing Rimbaud and Verlaine to return to the crowd below, marking the official start of the morning prayer proceedings.

Afterwards, they sat at several arranged long tables to eat breakfast during which they received two schedules marked with their respective names. These contained numerous general education courses, historical and theoretical studies of the Celestial Faith, as well as various rituals and scripture mastery classes.

There was even an etiquette course, with each item clearly indicating which classroom to attend.

“What’s this question mark?” Verlaine pointed at a Wednesday afternoon class slot. The grid contained no text, only a question mark.

Rimbaud glanced at his own schedule it also showed a question mark. “Not sure.”

“Oh, that’s the rehearsal session exclusively for choir members. The question mark means you haven’t undergone the monthly selection yet. Those who pass will stay, while those who fail will be assigned alternative courses.”

A unfamiliar brown-haired head leaned over from beside them, quickly scanning Verlaine’s schedule with envious eyes.

“You have such a packed schedule, and all theoretical courses too. How fortunate.”

This was a slightly younger boy with tanned skin, who appeared lively and talkative the type who could easily win a Master’s favor and effortlessly build rapport with peers.

But Verlaine disliked how close he was standing, discreetly shifting closer to Rimbaud.

Rimbaud’s eyes flickered, noticing Verlaine’s attempt at subtle movement but choosing not to comment.

“Are there practical courses as well?” he politely inquired of the sociable boy.

“Of course,” the brown-haired boy nodded, thumb pointing at himself. “I even have farming class! Well, it’s basically weeding and watering vegetable plots. There are also needlework and artisan classes all useful skills for making a living later.”

Rimbaud seemed skeptical, reviewing his schedule again. “Why don’t we have any?”

“Not sure either. Everyone’s schedule is different maybe because you’re new?” The brown-haired boy stroked his chin. “Or perhaps because you’re both pretty and look delicate, unlike people suited for manual labor. Hmm, I recall Aoli also has etiquette classes…”

Were special courses assigned based on appearance? Or had Aoli’s relatives also donated large sums to the academy?

“Is she in the choir then?” Since they shared the same first class, Rimbaud walked with the boy along the side corridor while gradually extracting information.

“Ah, that’s what I find strange too I’ve heard Aoli sing, and I can guarantee her voice is better than most choir members. But for some reason, Master Weixisi didn’t select her.”

While the brown-haired boy was earnestly assuring Rimbaud in the long enclosed corridor, someone suddenly bumped into his shoulder.

“Well, if it isn’t Black Foot Laxin! Trying to chat people up? The class gap is too wide better not humiliate yourself. Just some sincere advice from me aren’t you going to thank me?”

The person who bumped into the brown-haired boy initiated the greeting with a laugh, standing even taller than Rimbaud and his companion with a notably burly build.

“None of your concern,” the brown-haired boy Laxin frowned. “I haven’t even demanded an apology from you, yet you’re the one making noise. Step aside, we need to get to class.”

“Class?”

The big guy narrowed his eyes, scanning the three of them before finally locking onto the only black-haired one Rimbaud.

Then he suddenly confronted Rimbaud, “Hey, what’s with that look? You seem unhappy to see me! Got a problem with me?!”

“…Huh?” Rimbaud, caught off guard, replied in confusion, “I don’t…”

“Don’t? Trying to deny it?”

The big guy took another step toward him, aggressive and loud enough to draw the attention of half the hallway.

“Hey, he already said he doesn’t!”

Laxin tried to squeeze between them to mediate but was easily shoved aside by the big guy’s raised hand, leaving only the seemingly frail Rimbaud standing before him.

Verlaine also moved to step forward, but Rimbaud signaled him with a gesture to stay where he was and not move.

“I truly have no issue with you. This is a misunderstanding,”

Rimbaud explained very politely, his words carrying a gentle, patient tone. “If I’ve done anything to upset you, I apologize.”

The other’s baseless provocation was completely unreasonable, and Rimbaud had no intention of arguing it out. He immediately chose to step back.

“You think a simple ‘misunderstanding’ will smooth things over? I’m not that easy to deal with!”

Instead, the big guy grew angrier, sneering coldly as he raised his fist, about to swing at Rimbaud

Aiming for the hardest part, the cheekbone, rather than critical areas like the jaw, nose, or eyes. Rimbaud, with his extensive combat experience, quickly judged that the enemy had no real intention of harming him.

Or rather, had been ordered not to cause him any actual injury.

This was a test from the Academy.

And at this moment, a young man from an ordinary family, carefully sheltered by his parents before their passing, would only be unfamiliar with such violence, his body stiff and unable to react in time.

It seemed that the exposure of his colleague from the intelligence department last time had made the Academy quite vigilant, even going so far as to deliberately stage this scene in an attempt to uncover his weaknesses.

Rimbaud chose to stand still, allowing the punch to come closer and closer

But the expected pain never landed on his face.

That punch was firmly blocked by Verlaine, who extended his forearm to intercept it.