Chapter 6: The Religious Academy’s Older Brother x Brother-Complex Younger Brother (Part 2)
It was him…

“You…”

The burly student who had been sent to provoke Moran was about to speak after seeing his attack blocked, but Verlaine, with a cold expression, clenched his fist first and delivered a swift, heavy blow to the bridge of his nose!

“Wow!”

The surrounding students gasped in unison.

“……”

Rimbaud was beginning to feel a headache coming on.

“Oww!”

The burly student didn’t even manage to touch a single strand of Rimbaud’s hair before he let out a miserable cry, stumbling backward. But Verlaine had no intention of letting him off easily.

His character was inherently brother-complex, so it was only natural for him to be protective in this situation.

Verlaine had no interest in hearing any pleas for mercy. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, relentlessly pursuing the other and throwing punch after punch!

Having been previously ordered by Rimbaud not to use his ability unless absolutely necessary, Verlaine refrained from employing gravity. Instead, he kicked the burly student, sending him sprawling backward, then planted a foot on his chest, grabbed his collar, and rained down increasingly heavy blows until the other was crying out for his parents.

It wasn’t until Besan Tobila “hurriedly” arrived and intervened.

“What is going on here? Mr. Musa Kushner, you’ve only been here for a day I forbid you from continuing to assault Mr. Brook Witt!”

She sternly put a stop to the one-sided brawl, especially since Musa was still throwing punches right in front of her.

Musa reluctantly withdrew his hand, stepping away from the already bruised and battered burly student and returning to Moran’s side.

“He was the one who tried to attack my brother first. Everyone here can testify to that.”

Musa’s voice was cold as he calmly explained why he had beaten the other so severely.

In contrast, his brother Moran stood completely unharmed, not even a single fold of his clothing out of place.

“Moran, you tell me.”

After questioning a few students, all of whom had only witnessed Musa beating up the senior student, Besan Tobila sighed helplessly and turned to the more even-tempered older brother.

“What exactly happened?”

“It’s like this,”

Moran clearly and fluently recounted the events to Besan Tobila. “Mr. Witt here mistakenly thought I had a problem with him and wanted to teach me a lesson. But Musa has always been very straightforward and doesn’t like to see me being bullied, so he got into a fight with him.”

“What fight? It was just him beating me up the whole time!”

Brook Witt, clutching his bloodied face, shouted in frustration and grievance as he complained to Besan Tobila. “I didn’t even touch that guy!” He pointed at Moran, his initially feigned dissatisfaction turning into genuine anger.

“You were going to hit Moran first, I saw it!”

Laxin immediately chimed in as a witness.

“That was him…”

“Alright, alright, my children,”

Besan Tobila quieted all the voices. “Let’s all head to class now, hmm? Brook, you need to go see the doctor first to treat your wounds and apply some ointment.”

Brook Witt let out a muffled grunt to show he’d heard.

“As for you, my Musa,”

Besan Tobila turned around after seeing the other off, fixing Verlaine with a deeply disapproving look.

“After classes are over, we need to have a serious talk about your violent behavior.”

Thus, the disturbance came to a temporary halt. Moran, who hadn’t lifted a finger throughout the whole affair, remained unscathed, but Musa, who had nearly beaten someone to severe injury, was ordered to report to Besan Tobila’s office after school that afternoon for behavioral guidance.

Even with Laxin explaining once more that it was merely self-defense, Besan Tobila’s decision remained unchanged.

Rimbaud watched her retreating figure thoughtfully.

Laxin could only mutter indignantly under his breath about the unfairness. How could Musa be blamed when the other party had clearly started the trouble for no reason?

Regardless, Musa, the ultimate brother-con, quickly gained notoriety throughout the academy.

Before the morning was even over, everyone had learned that the newly arrived golden-haired younger brother was not only strikingly beautiful but also ten times fiercer in temperament than his dark-haired older brother.

When his eyes fixed on Brook, it was like a lion poised to hunt.

Verlaine paid no mind to how others might gossip behind his back about being difficult to get along with; his only concern was whether he had jeopardized Rimbaud’s mission.

He hadn’t used his ability, nor the combat skills he’d recently learned relying purely on physical strength, he had effortlessly pummeled the scoundrel who tried to bully Rimbaud.

And… he believed his reaction at that moment hadn’t violated the character setting of Musa Kushner either.

It was that guy’s own fault for being so fragile daring to throw a punch at Rimbaud, so he’d instinctively retaliated…

Verlaine secretly observed Rimbaud for a long time, trying to detect any clues in his expression but the latter’s eyes and brows consistently carried a gentle, slightly worried air, making it impossible to discern what was genuine.

“Musa, do you remember what Uncle told us before we came here?”

He was even softly reminded by Rimbaud in an exceedingly helpless tone, “Avoid conflicts as much as possible. You promised Uncle and me.”

Of course, this wasn’t Rimbaud speaking to him, but to his false identity, Moran.

If it were Rimbaud, he would only calmly and methodically administer punishment until it was fully carried out without compromise.

He would never use such a [I really can’t control you] tone, weakly attempting to persuade him to behave.

“……”

This version of Rimbaud left Verlaine unsure how to react, so he could only turn his face away, pretending to be both disobedient and resentful.

“Sigh.”

Rimbaud let out a melancholic sigh, appearing utterly at a loss with this unruly younger brother.

Laxin, of course, believed wholeheartedly that Moran was worried his brother might face punishment later and had come specifically to comfort him.

“It’s fine, things like this have happened before. Auntie Besan will just give him a private lecture.”

“But Musa definitely won’t listen to her…”

“Ah, haha, true, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Musa is sitting right beside you just have him apologize to Auntie Besan.”

“Musa has always had a mind of his own since he was little. If he believes he’s not in the wrong, he’ll never be willing to back down, no matter what.”

Seated at the desk, Rimbaud propped his head in his hand, his pale golden eyes tinged with melancholy; even the jet-black strands pressed between his pale fingers seemed less orderly, like soft silk wrinkled with imperfections, making one inevitably worry alongside him.

“…………”

Verlaine could only remain silent, pretending to be the “stubborn troublemaker who refuses to admit fault no matter what.”

Even as Musa’s own brother, he couldn’t persuade him, leaving Laxin at a loss for what to do. He could only try his best to comfort Moran, urging him not to take it too hard.

Moran nodded gently as if convinced, every reaction perfectly reasonable.

Yet in reality, he could constantly sense various probing gazes fixed on him some covert, others direct monitoring their every move.

…………

When the final class under the sunset concluded, Musa had to part ways with his brother Moran and head alone to Besan Tobila’s office.

Moran, as usual, gave him a few reminders before going to the cafeteria for dinner first. According to the rationing, each person received a sandwich with lettuce, fruit, and cheese, a bowl of pumpkin and bean stew, and a lightly flavored fish soup.

To others, it seemed Musa couldn’t make it to dinner after being summoned by Besan Tobila, so Moran wrapped his portion of the sandwich in oiled paper and set it aside, carefully finishing the rest of his meal.

Then, after confirming there were no mandatory evening activities, he hurriedly headed toward the dormitory, likely intending to wait for Musa in their room.

Several people also saw him enter the dormitory and close the door, never emerging again.

By now, the sun had vanished beyond the window, and the sky’s light rapidly dimmed, leaving the unlit academy standing isolated in the darkness, surrounded by the forest.

Rimbaud turned on the room’s light, placed the sandwich on the table, and then pushed open the window as if merely wanting to breathe some fresh air and enjoy the view.

Based solely on what he had observed over the past two days, he had keenly sensed that this academy was highly isolated, almost forming its own ecosystem as if deliberately avoiding contact with the outside world.

So, how did they transmit information?

Rimbaud wanted to verify this.

Moreover, during the deliberately targeted probe that morning, their initial target likely wasn’t him but rather Musa, whom they had calculated would be unable to resist taking action.

In other words… besides testing them, they probably had other intentions.

He needed to act quickly.

Rimbaud spread his fingers, and with a turn of his palm, he precisely constructed a cube in his hand far smaller than a six-sided die, its deep red spatial walls so dark they were nearly invisible in the night.

This was one application of his ability, [Collection of paintings], allowing him to isolate a subspace expanded through mental energy from ordinary space, fully under his control.

The expansion area of this subspace was determined by his ability output; it certainly wasn’t limited to such a small size.

In fact, if he exerted his full power, he could easily isolate the entire academy within the subspace, crushing it into ruins or reducing it to ashes without any issue.

Yes, within that subspace constructed by crimson barriers, he was a god acting on whim the entire space could defy the laws of physics, driven solely by his will… and this was not even the full extent of [Collection of paintings]’s capabilities.

However, at a time like this, he had no use for such conspicuous techniques.

After being led to Ponteno’s room last night, Rimbaud had already memorized its exact location and the placement of every object.

For instance, the intricately crafted stained-glass lamp and the long-pile carpet laid directly beneath it.

Although this religious academy was located in a remote area, it surprisingly had sufficient electricity supply no one knew how this was achieved.

But at this moment, it worked to his advantage. After confirming that the room was unlit, Rimbaud waved his hand and sent the lightweight cube floating over. It came to a precise and silent stop at the end of the wire connected to the tungsten filament.

*Pop.*

Following an almost imperceptible burst, shards of glass drifted down alongside sparks that had been ignited earlier in subspace, scattering across the highly flammable carpet.

A corner of the sky was illuminated by the rising flames.