Chapter 7: The Religious Academy’s Older Brother x Brother-Complex Younger Brother (3) Exposure…

Rimbaud closed the window and quietly awaited the coming chaos.

An accidental fire was the perfect test it would force people to reveal their most precious possessions.

Even he was no exception.

Rimbaud glanced at the sandwich on the table, the dinner he had specifically left for Verlaine.

If Verlaine hadn’t been summoned by Besan Tobila, he wouldn’t have taken action so soon, risking exposure.

Under the faintly flickering warm yellow light, his pale golden eyes grew distant, as if a swaying, hazy flame had fallen into them, rising and falling restlessly in the dark waves, unable to calm.

Had he truly not been affected at all by the emotions described in that journal?

“Just a little,” Verlaine spoke.

He stood about a meter in front of Besan Tobila’s desk, expressionless.

“A little? My dear Musa, you nearly broke Buluke’s nose and knocked out three or four of his teeth. The doctor said his injuries require hospital stitches.”

Besan Tobila’s plump hands were crossed on the desk, a strange smile playing on her lips that Verlaine couldn’t decipher.

“I told you, he threw the first punch.”

Though he couldn’t understand the meaning behind this fat woman’s smile, the malice radiating from her was too obvious, making Verlaine recoil, his tone growing impatient.

Observing his reaction, Besan Tobila finally sighed.

“Really now,” she said, “Didn’t your brother advise you? Let me ask you again I want you to sincerely apologize to me and to Buluke, not reiterate that you did nothing wrong.”

This time, Verlaine didn’t even offer a single word in response, merely staring at her coldly.

The room’s soft lighting enveloped Verlaine’s beautiful, flawlessly golden hair, while the interplay of light and shadow meticulously outlined his exquisite, striking features, so perfect he seemed like a Nordic deity descended from legend.

Many children had come and gone from this academy, but Besan Tobila had never seen anyone as exceptionally handsome as the Kushneier Brothers.

Too beautiful it only bred greedier thoughts in her heart.

Yet, the personalities of these two brothers were worlds apart.

“So rude, Musa. You’re truly crude and reckless. Buluke is your new family now.”

Besan Tobila shook her head, “After hearing about today’s incident, Ponteno also instructed me to educate you properly. You can’t always be this impolite.”

At this, Verlaine finally reacted he furrowed his brows, showing clear disgust.

“You still refuse to handwrite an apology letter?”

Besan Tobila confirmed one last time.

“No.”

Verlaine replied indifferently.

Without another word, Besan Tobila pulled open the drawer to her right, retrieving an ordinary-looking alarm clock and placing it on the desk.

The clock was quite peculiar its face had no numbers, only a slender hand currently pointing to the 12 o’clock position.

Grasping the clock with one hand, she twisted the back several times as if winding it, then finally pressed a button on its top.

The needle immediately began moving forward one notch at a time, emitting a mechanical beeping sound.

Verlaine furrowed his brow, not understanding what she was doing.

“You probably never knew another kind of power exists in this world so rare yet so powerful, hehehe… This is a Timer, my dear Musa. While the needle is moving, anything I say will come true as long as it follows logical principles.”

Besan Tobila even specifically explained its function, hoping to see the pretty boy who always remained indifferent to her words show a surprised reaction. But

She didn’t get to see more, because urgent shouts came from nearby, more pressing than anything happening at the moment.

“Aunt Besan, Ponteno’s room is on fire!”

What?!

Besan Tobila was shocked. Immediately setting everything else aside, she first ordered Verlaine, “Get out, and forget all memories of what happened after you entered my office, Musa Kushner!”

“…Yes.”

In her frantic state, she failed to notice the fleeting ripple of black gravitational force brimming with killing intent that flashed beside Verlaine’s hand. Only after his retreating figure disappeared beyond the door did she hurriedly stash the Timer back in her drawer and rush out to organize firefighting efforts.

After leaving her office, Verlaine showed no signs of confusion or amnesia. Instead, he returned to the dormitory at full speed.

Rimbaud was leaning by the window waiting for him.

Hearing movement at the door, those golden eyes which had been observing the busy crowd downstairs shifted their gaze to Verlaine. They carefully scanned him from head to toe, confirming he bore no injuries.

“Is she still alive?”

Rimbaud, who understood Verlaine’s psychology perfectly, asked impassively.

Verlaine hesitated before answering, “She’s alive.” He first addressed Rimbaud’s question before sharing his discovery. “She has a Timer it seems to be an ability that can control people for a limited time.”

“From your description, it should be an Ability Weapon,” Rimbaud pondered. “Apart from Espers, the military research department has recruited many ability technicians specifically to weaponize abilities so ordinary soldiers can use them too.”

“Such things exist?” Verlaine instinctively responded, but when he met those calmly watching golden eyes, he suddenly remembered

He himself was also an Ability Weapon.

“Probably requires the target’s true name to take effect. Her amnesia command didn’t work on me.”

After a pause, Verlaine averted his gaze from Rimbaud and concluded, “Could she be the target we’re looking for?”That’s a possibility,” Rimbaud pondered for a long moment. “Following this line of reasoning, large sums of money shouldn’t be transferred to the academy but rather traded privately. We still need more evidence.”

Using Ability Weapons to command students for intelligence transmission might be a feasible approach, but many doubts remain.

Still, this counted as a discovery. The “suspected Esper” mentioned in the intelligence likely referred to Besan Tobila’s Ability Weapon of unknown origin.

Various chaotic shouts continued to echo from outside, but inside their room, it was so quiet Verlaine could almost hear the sizzling of the lightbulb overhead.

He waited for a moment. Seeing that Rimbaud, who had turned back to gaze out the window, seemed completely absorbed and showed no intention of continuing the conversation, he decided to lie down on the bed for a while.

Besan Tobila hadn’t left him any time for dinner, and Verlaine, still in his growing years, was now desperately hungry. Yet, there were no shops nearby where he could buy food.

Enduring until tomorrow morning would be fine it wasn’t really a problem.

When he was being controlled by Pan, he had even survived on nutrient solutions.

“There are sandwiches on the table. Go eat.”

He suddenly heard Rimbaud speak again, his tone as flat as ever, yet seemingly tinged with a touch of Moran’s gentleness.

“…Alright.”

Verlaine replied, feeling as if his heart had been lightly tapped by a small hammer.