Chapter 119: Boom!

Chapter 119: Boom!

Miss Bertha looked at Cullen very seriously, her mind already close to believing his words, because his reasons were so detailed.

Cullen looked at Bertha with a calm expression; in truth, he had merely taken the reasons Bertha had just given him, changed the terms of address, and repeated them back to her.

"Thank you for your candor, Mr. Cullen," Bertha said with a smile.

"I must thank you for your candor as well." Cullen picked up his ice water and took a sip. "I believe candor is the foundation of mutual trust. At least as colleagues, it will allow us to get along more comfortably during the coming period."

The art of deception is a psychological gamble between two parties, and the fundamental effort of a "lie" is not to make one's "falsehood" more meticulous and logical, but rather to make the other party willing and actively wanting to believe it.

Clearly, Miss Bertha had arrived with this "established perception," and through her words, she had already revealed what she was willing to believe.

It was equivalent to sticking a piece of paper on her forehead that read:

"Please deceive me according to my requirements!"

Cullen felt that there must be some sort of misunderstanding involved, such as Miss Bertha's prior mention of his attitude toward her yesterday, when the reality was that he had mistaken her for Piaget in disguise.

Of course, there was also another possibility: those who believed in the Light might be somewhat sentimental. For instance, she perceived that he was "harmless" to her, and indeed he bore her no hostility. On this basis, even a "lie" was merely giving both sides a step to walk down.

"I feel that nature is also a very beautiful thing."

As Miss Bertha spoke, she stood up, actively walking over to Cullen and leaning her body closer to him.

"It signifies purity just the same, and is equally synonymous with cleanliness."

Miss Bertha reached out and pressed her hand against Cullen's chest, the tip of her tongue slipping from the corner of her mouth to create a seductive scene.

Her leg pressed forward slightly as well, and she whispered:

"The soundproofing here is excellent, Mr. Cullen. Perhaps you could give me a somewhat deeper treatment?"

Was it because of his purported faith in the Berry Cult?

Cullen knew that one reason the Berry Cult had such a terrible reputation was that historically, many of its followers had committed numerous "scandalous" acts in its name.

Was this a test too?

If Miss Bertha did not look so much like Linda, Cullen would not have minded playing along for the sake of his need to stay hidden.

But the problem was, she looked entirely too much like Linda.

Linda was his friend's wife, and Cullen truly found it difficult to perform any other actions toward this face.

Therefore, recalling his attitude toward Linda yesterday in Piaget's office, Cullen bluntly and directly pushed Bertha away.

Bertha looked somewhat bewildered and asked, "Mr. Cullen, shouldn't you follow the instructions nature gives you?"

Cullen nodded and said, "I always follow the instructions of nature, and I have always kept my chest open to embrace everything about nature, including the natural self."

"Then why did you..."

Bertha pressed close once more. Beneath her collar, if one merely tilted their head slightly, more scenery could be glimpsed.

Yet Cullen pushed her away again, without holding back in the slightest.

"I follow the instructions of nature, and I never conceal the expression of my natural instincts."

"Oh?"

Cullen looked at Bertha and said:

"I am sorry, but you make me feel physically and psychologically uncomfortable."

Cullen spoke the truth, partly because a partial truth makes the best additive for a lie, and partly because the "nature" of the Berry Cult inherently possessed characteristics that were "fringe" and "selfish."

Bertha froze.

Then she immediately withdrew her hand, adjusted her collar, and with sincere earnestness, bowed to Cullen:

"I am sorry, truly very sorry. My actions were far too offensive, please forgive me?"

Cullen shook his head and said, "It is fine."

In his mind, however, he wondered what else she had misunderstood.

"Today's consultation is over. Thank you very much for your assessment," Bertha said.

"You are welcome, though I prefer to encounter some actual patients in the future to realize my professional value."

"There will be some, but that must wait until tomorrow. You can actually leave work now. I will help select them from the medical cases for you and intercept the clients of other doctors, because you enjoy the same tier of treatment as the boss."

"Thank you."

"I am the one who should say thank you. Going forward, I believe we will get along very well. I also have a premonition that this turning point will not only benefit the Light, but also make nature even more pure.

Therefore, the boss is truly fortunate to have both the Light and Nature guarding him together."

"Even without Nature, I would still guard him, because we are friends."

Bertha nodded and said:

"Oh, of course."

Miss Bertha walked out of the office. The moment she closed the door, she first looked toward the boss's office, and in her mind arose the scene from yesterday where the boss had smiled and walked over to embrace Cullen as soon as he entered, as well as the boss's complete disregard for personal gain and his genuinely sincere affection in caring for Cullen.

Whew, so that was how it was.

Immediately after, her gaze fell upon Alfred, who sat drinking coffee in the waiting lounge across the glass window—a meticulously dressed, handsome personal valet.

Whew, it really was so.

Bertha took a deep breath.

In her heart, she said:

"Mr. Cullen is indeed a pure believer of the Berry Cult."

...

Cullen reopened the notebook, picked up his pen, and began to write and sketch upon it.

First, he wrote down Piaget's name, wrote Bertha's name next to Piaget's, then drew a circle around Miss Bertha's name and annotated the Church of Light beside it.

A turning point around Piaget?

What kind of turning point?

In addition, she had also mentioned a photograph in Piaget's office?

Cullen fell into deep thought, but because almost all of his information came from Miss Bertha's verbal account, the clues were too one-sided to provide him with a three-dimensional analysis.

However, he did not intend to dig deep into this information anyway. The remnants of the Church of Light harbored no ill intent toward Piaget and even wanted to protect him.

Cullen's creed was that he would deliberately avoid the vast majority of trouble spots; he would not allow himself to get entangled in a chaotic mess just to satisfy a curiosity that offered no absolute benefit.

Naturally, some troubles were unavoidable, but that was merely a part of life, a completely different concept from actively seeking them out.

Promptly, Cullen tore these few pieces of paper out and placed them in his pocket.

His work for today was finished; he could leave now.

Checking the time, it seemed to have just reached the lunch hour, but from what Bertha implied, there was no work for the afternoon, and he could only wait for tomorrow's appointments.

Fine, time to leave work then.

Piaget would not be moved to tears because he sat at the clinic door waiting to work before dawn, and by the same token, he would not be angry because of his early departure.

Opening the door to his own office, Karen hesitated... the photograph?

Suddenly, he recalled his past interactions with his grandfather back home, and that particular rule—in the Inmales family, doubt never survives the night.

So, why stand here guessing riddles instead of just going to look at the photograph directly?

Instead of heading to the reception area by the clinic entrance to find Alfred, Karen turned and walked toward the boss’s office.

“Mr. Karen?” The secretary at the door stood up to greet him. “The boss is inside.”

“Alright.”

Karen pushed the door straight open. The secretary gasped in surprise at the sight and immediately rushed over from behind her desk, but by then Karen had already stepped into the room. Piaget, sitting behind his desk and speaking on the phone, flashed a smile at the entering Karen, then raised a hand to signal the pursuing secretary to withdraw.

The secretary had no choice but to close the office door.

Piaget pointed toward his receiver; Karen nodded, then walked over to Piaget’s side and began rummaging through his drawers.

Piaget watched Karen with a hint of bewilderment, eventually standing up entirely to yield the space, continuing his phone conversation while giving Karen room to search.

One drawer, two drawers—finally, Karen pulled out the drawer containing the photographs.

Taking the pictures out, Karen flipped through them one by one. Piaget leaned closer, watching Karen’s movements while continuing his call.

Ultimately,

Karen found the one. It pictured Mr. Bede alongside a very young Linda and Piaget, with a café serving as the backdrop.

This had to be it.

“Alright, let’s leave it at that then. Yes, we look forward to further cooperation with you. Thank you.”

Click.

Piaget finally concluded his call and hung up the receiver.

Yet, before Piaget could voice a question, Karen pointed directly at Mr. Bede in the photograph and asked:

“Do you know him?”

“Yes,” Piaget replied. “I met him back when I accompanied Linda to an art exhibition.”

“And then?” Karen asked.

“And then what?” Piaget smiled.

“I am asking you. If you trust me, tell me the truth, because you must know that I would never harm you.”

“A voice in my heart has always told me that here, I can wait for his appearance, and that he can guide me into the world Linda yearned for.”

“A voice in your heart?”

“Or perhaps in my dreams. I keep dreaming of the scene where we drank coffee together back then, and I can perceive that within his communication with Linda, there is a mysterious domain and environment that they both yearned for.

However, what the dream tells me is that he will come before me in a state of utter hysteria.”

“Hysteria?”

Karen blinked.

“Yes, as if he has suffered a tremendous blow, yet also as if he has achieved a grand awakening.”

“Alright, I understand.”

“Karen, so, what exactly are you doing?”

“Caring about you,” Karen answered. “Furthermore, do you possess an obsession regarding him?”

“I don’t know.” Piaget shook his head. “Life is life, and dreams are dreams. I can distinguish clearly between reality and the dream world.”

“That is good then.”

Karen neatly stacked the photographs and returned them to the drawer.

“Is that all?” Piaget asked.

“Work well, live well.” Karen reached out and patted Piaget’s shoulder. “Even though I feel the next sentence is terribly cliché and frequently used in movies, I must say it anyway:

Don't ask about what shouldn't be asked.”

“Hehehe.” Piaget could not help but laugh.

“In addition, I must add one more phrase: don't harbor the curiosity that shouldn't be harbored.”

“Alright, I understand.”

“If you have any more dreams or any further indications, tell me immediately. I will help you...”

“Help me interpret the dream?”

“No, help you with psychological therapy. Linda once gave me a letter, asking me to help look after you. Do you know, Piaget, how difficult it is in this world to have a friend whose door you can immediately knock on when you are short of money, without worrying that he won't lend it to you?”

“Yes, I know. I listen to you, just as I listen to Linda.”

“Mm.”

Karen extended his arms, giving Piaget a brotherly embrace and patting him on the back.

“Boss, these are the documents sent by the 'Wien Military Academy Psychological Observation Association'...” Bertha pushed open the door and walked in just then, but seeing the scene before her, she immediately backed out.

“I feel as though my private secretary has misunderstood something.”

“I feel that your hiring her as your private secretary in the first place is what truly invites misunderstanding.”

“I won't treat her as Linda, but seeing someone who resembles Linda frequently appearing before me is also a kind of happiness. Why shouldn't I face the joy in my own heart directly?”

“Fine, as you wish. I'm off work. Bertha said the earliest patient won't be until tomorrow.”

“I have two unavoidable meetings this afternoon, otherwise I would go sit at your house for a while. Besides, are you really not considering changing houses? I asked someone last night, and the Blue Bridge community is truly far from here.”

“A newly bought house, the mortgage isn't even paid off yet, no money to move.”

Karen said as he walked toward the office door.

Piaget smiled. “Money is not an issue.”

“Don't say such disgusting things.”

Karen glanced back at Piaget, pointing a finger at him.

“Alright, see you tomorrow.”

Stepping out of the office, Miss Bertha stood by the door and smiled at Karen once more. Karen nodded to her and walked straight to the clinic entrance. In the reception area, Alfred immediately approached:

“Boss, have you had lunch?”

“No, I'm off work.”

“Off work already? My, what a wonderful job.”

“Let's go home. You didn't manage to go to that pastry shop last night, did you?”

“No, because I needed to escort Xili home last night.”

“Then wait until we get home, and you can go this afternoon.”

“Very well, Young Master.”

“Thank you for your hard work.”

"Oh, heavens, Young Master, for a man to call visiting a pastry shop hard labor would be an absolute insult to his dignity."

"Indeed, my apologies for the degradation."

"Very good, Young Master," Alfred said with a smile, pressing the elevator button.

Just then, the doors slid open, and a man stepped out holding a young boy by the hand.

"Excuse me, is the Adams Psychological Clinic on this floor?" the man asked.

"Yes, just down the corridor," Karen replied.

"Thank you."

Karen stepped into the carriage, and Alfred selected their destination. As the lift descended, Alfred mused aloud:

"I inquired earlier; the trams shouldn't be too crowded at this hour of the afternoon."

"That is well," Karen nodded.

"If only the family hearse were at our disposal. Then, when I escort you to work in the mornings, you might catch up on your sleep inside," Alfred joked.

Karen let out a soft laugh.

"We should have to select a comfortable coffin, then. A quality casket truly possesses remarkable shock absorption."

Karen recalled when Uncle Mason had transported him home from the hospital in a coffin after his stabbing; lying inside had been remarkably comfortable.

Leaving the building, they made their way to the tram platform, which was lined with snack stalls tended by a crowd whose hair was almost universally dyed purple.

"Are you hungry, Young Master? Shall I fetch you a flatbread?" Alfred offered.

Karen glanced at the approaching tram in the distance. "No, let it be. It is poor manners to dine within a carriage."

"Ah, is that so?" Alfred noted the sentiment silently in his heart.

They purchased their tickets and boarded. The midday crowd was sparse; Karen walked to the very rear, finding an empty bench, while Alfred stood vigilant beside him.

"Won't you sit?" Karen indicated the space beside him.

"No, I have been seated for quite some time. I prefer to stand," Alfred replied.

Karen nodded. He soon realized, however, that everyone around him—in front, behind, and beside—was eating heavily seasoned food. He noticed in particular a young girl who had boarded after them; she seemed to be traveling alone, clutching a bag of potato chips heavily drenched in two large spoonfuls of sauce, one chili and one tomato.

She approached Karen, casting her eyes toward the vacant seat beside the window.

"Big brother, may I sit inside?"

"Of course."

Karen shifted his legs to let her pass.

"Thank you, brother."

The little girl slid into the seat and resumed eating her chips.

Karen tried his best to slow the rhythm of his breathing.

"Would you like one, brother?" The girl lifted a chip with her fingers, heavily coated in tomato sauce, and offered it to him.

"No, thank you," Karen declined with a polite smile.

"Alright." She continued eating on her own.

"Are you traveling alone? Where are your parents?" Karen asked. She looked no more than seven or eight years old.

The public security of York City was neither entirely dreadful nor particularly safe; it was dangerous for a child so young to ride the tram unescorted.

"Oh, I just left my mother’s house. Now I am returning to my father’s."

Lowering her voice, she added, "My stepfather gave me an extra thousand Reals in pocket money just to make me leave earlier."

As she spoke, she nudged her slightly bulging pocket with her elbow.

"You mustn't tell strangers that you carry money in your pocket, do you understand?" Karen cautioned.

"But you aren't a bad person, brother," she replied, as if it were a matter of course.

Well, that made her the second female today to decide he was not a villain.

"And why is that?"

"Because you are so handsome, brother. You could easily earn a living without ever having to do anything bad."

"Heh," Karen chuckled.

At the next stop, two young men with purple hair boarded. Upon their entry, the surrounding passengers immediately cast looks of disdain toward them.

Alfred murmured under his breath, "Young Master, their hair is freshly dyed. There are still traces of pigment on their necks and collars."

"Yes."

The tram rumbled onward.

Suddenly, the two purple-haired youths drew pistols and opened fire indiscriminately upon the passengers.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Amidst the gunfire, the wounded cried out in agony, while the screams of the unhurt rose even louder.

The tram was long, and the shooting had erupted at the far front, yet a stray bullet shattered the window pane directly beside Karen.

"Young Master, duck!"

Shouting the warning, Alfred lunged forward, his eyes gradually flushing crimson as he sought to dominate the two gunmen and eliminate the source of peril.

Karen instantly bent low, his lips moving in a rapid, whispered incantation:

"O great and supreme God of Order, O chains of Order that decree all things; hear my sincere supplication, grant sanctuary to your follower, and protect this heart that longs for Order and this unyielding faith..."

Midway through the prayer,

Karen glanced at the young girl beside him, who was still clutching her bag of chips.

He reached out, pulling her directly into his embrace,

And continued:

"Order—Lesser Aegis of Shadow!"

He did not stop.

"O great and supreme God of Order...

Hear my prayer...

Order—Lesser Ward of Black Feathers!"

For a greater sense of security,

Once more:

"O great and supreme God of Order...

Hear my prayer...

Order—Lesser Gate of the Facing Wall!"

By then, Alfred had already subdued the two gunmen; they stood frozen in place, their gazes entirely vacant.

Alfred turned his head, casting a glance backward; the spot where the young master stood was already heavily enveloped by clusters of pitch-black feathers and barriers.

Whew...

The young master was indeed the young master, forever so decisive and meticulous!

Just as Alfred was preparing to "manipulate" these two fellows into shooting each other face-to-face,

A bundle of dynamite sticks suddenly slipped from a young man's clothes, the fuse long since ignited, and the very instant it struck the ground, the burning spark vanished right into the explosive.

"..." Alfred.

"Boom!!!"