Chapter 51: Washing Away Humiliation

“Is that enough?! Is that enough?!” Fletcher had never been humiliated like this before, especially not by someone he despised from the bottom of his heart—a lowly inferior.

What a cowardly bully, afraid of the strong and preying on the weak.

Virak thought to himself.

He was curious why, in his past life, he was always suppressed by people like this, unable to lift his head and losing even the most basic dignity as a human being. That psychological shadow had lingered until today, when it was finally broken.

“Is that enough?” Virak released his grip, repeating Fletcher’s words but questioning himself at the same time.

He had torn his relationship with Fletcher apart recklessly; at this point, was humiliating himself once enough? Could it outweigh those agonizing days and nights?

Not nearly.

“Kneel down,” Virak said coldly.

“You... what did you say?!” Fletcher was stunned that Virak would push his luck so far. “Impossible! Even if I die, I will never kneel before a lowly inferior like you!”

“Is that so?” Virak turned and took a small knife from the drawer, pressing it lightly against his own cheek. He sat down leisurely, speaking deliberately. “Fletcher, you’ve been hiding your mental illness all along. Tonight, after working through the night, old symptoms flared up. In a fit of anger, you stabbed me, making it impossible for me to focus on reviewing the materials, which ultimately exposed us in front of Elizabeth and triggered a crisis for the Thomas family...”

Fletcher snarled, “Do you really think Mr. Carmine would believe your story?”

“I can’t be sure,” Virak said indifferently. “But even if Mr. Carmine doesn’t believe me and finds out it was me, I’m still useful to them. They can’t do anything to me anytime soon. But if they learn you have a mental illness, they won’t hesitate to dismiss you. You must know that I’m the only one in the world who can impersonate Chris. There are plenty who can be excellent butlers.”

“Who exactly are you?!” Fletcher felt a flicker of fear.

How could someone who had lived all his life in the slums of a border town possess such meticulous cunning? Was all his previous behavior just an act? What had he done while pretending to be timid and enduring their contempt?

“I can be Most Virak, or I can be Thomas Chris,” Virak said with interest, studying Fletcher’s expression. “Does that matter much to you? All you need to do now is kneel until I finish recording this information, then leave as if nothing happened.”

“Do you think I’ll pretend nothing happened?” Fletcher squinted his eyes and asked.

Virak knew there was no turning back after making this decision, nor did he ever intend to: “Suit yourself. But I won’t act as if nothing happened.”

Hearing this, Fletcher was both shocked and furious, even feeling wronged. From his perspective, he had been decent to Virak, aside from today and the last time when he had hit him over the stolen Carmine files, he had never done anything to truly anger Virak.

---

Now, after humiliating him, Virak was saying he wouldn’t forget—it was simply outrageous.

But Virak knew everything.

Even if he could let go of the grudges from his past life, the death of Dumps this time around was something he could never forgive.

Kneeling was nothing. He had spent countless nights contemplating how to kill Fletcher. Compared to that, kneeling was child’s play.

“Do I need to count down from three?” Virak asked.

Fletcher’s eyes were bloodshot as he stared fiercely at Virak, hesitating to kneel. He was used to being above others; kneeling was harder than death to him.

“Three.” Virak showed no mercy and no intention to relent.

“Virak, this benefits neither of us,” Fletcher decided to yield. “I promise I won’t insult you again. We can be peaceful—”

“Two.” Virak interrupted him.

That promise came too late.

“We can coexist peacefully! After the Thomas family’s crisis passes, you can take a generous reward and leave!” Fletcher hurried his words.

“One.”

“Thud!”

Fletcher collapsed to his knees, unable to face Virak. He lowered his head, trying to ignore everything around him.

Virak watched silently for a moment, then stood and went to the bathroom to wash the footprints off his face.

The cool water splashed on his face, mingling with tears that trickled down his cheeks and into the sink. Virak pursed his lips, expressionless as he scrubbed away the humiliation that threatened to be etched into his very being.

Lazerin—a place both loved and hated. It was prosperous, a place no one could resist longing for. It was complex, turning Virak into a child, cruelly shattering his understanding and reshaping his worldview.

It was a painful process.

---

Fortunately, Virak never thought to change the world, nor did he dwell on whether the world would change him.

Leaving the bathroom, Virak resumed his usual unapproachable demeanor. He coldly looked down at the kneeling Fletcher and sat down to review the documents.

Fletcher’s excellence was undeniable. He had worked through the night to uncover every detail about Elizabeth and then added the information Carmine obtained from Colin, finishing the compilation in record time.

If it weren’t for his mental illness, Virak would have no way to control him.

Fletcher had lived with the Thomas family for decades and was thoroughly integrated here. But to Carmine, he was essentially dispensable. If there was any threat to their family’s safety, they would ruthlessly discard this old butler.

While he looked down on Virak, Carmine had never regarded Fletcher as a real person.

Perhaps this was the most tragic aspect of the era.

Two hours later, Virak had fully absorbed the information. He looked at Fletcher again, who was too old to hold himself up and had collapsed onto the floor.

“Get up. I’ve memorized everything.”

Fletcher strained his arms, trembling as he forced himself upright.

Virak stepped forward and helped him up. “Sit down and rest for a while.”

With Virak’s support, Fletcher shuffled to the sofa, the humiliation intensifying. Virak’s merciless demand to kneel, followed by gentle assistance to rise, treated him like a dog to be summoned and dismissed at will. The ease with which Virak shifted between cruelty and kindness terrified him even more.

“Do you want to check the details?” Virak asked, sitting opposite Fletcher.

“Do I really need to check with someone as inscrutable as you?” Fletcher glared at Virak venomously.

“Then forget it.” Virak knew Elizabeth far better than Fletcher, so this was merely a formality; he was too lazy to waste words with Fletcher.

Rubbing his aching, weak legs, Fletcher said, “You’d better not mess up tonight...”

“Don’t worry.” Virak poured a glass of water and pushed it toward Fletcher. “If I mess up, you’ll be the first to die.”