Chapter Eight: Moving In

Carmine, with his short, blonde hair, groomed beard, and sharp facial features, stood alongside Mela and Kellerman. They all gazed at Viraq with icy expressions, tinged with a hint of disbelief. Only Julia, the youngest of the group, who had not yet come of age and wore her hair tied back, held a trace of sadness beneath her shock.

Receiving no response, Viraq felt no discomfort, for he had already lived through this moment. In this lifetime, he was far from the nervousness he had felt back then; instead, he appeared much more composed.

The clock hanging in the living room ticked away. After an unknown amount of time, Carmine let out an audible snort and stood up. "That will be all."

With that, he left the table first, followed closely by Mela and Kellerman. Julia glanced back at Viraq as she walked away.

Fletcher bowed to Carmine’s retreating back. "I will get him settled in, then."

Once the Thomas family had departed, Fletcher looked toward Viraq. "Let’s go."

The two crossed the living room and ascended to the second floor via a spiral staircase. The corridor on the second floor was lined with countless rooms. Fletcher led Viraq toward one side. "Mr. Carmine’s family all lives on this floor. You are not to wander about without my accompaniment, nor are you to enter any room as you please."

"Understood."

Reaching the end of the corridor, Fletcher opened a door and stepped inside. "This is young master Chris’s room."

Viraq followed him in.

The decor was much like the living room—bright and spacious—with an independent bathroom attached. Exquisite ornaments, carpets, and furniture crafted from expensive wood, including the bed, desk, and walk-in closet, were all eye-catching. However, perhaps due to Chris’s personal tastes, the layout of the bedroom remained relatively simple.

Fletcher walked to the window and drew the curtains. "Everything belonging to young master Chris before his death has been kept in its original place. Even though you are to stay here, you are not to rummage through or disturb anything."

"Understood." Viraq stood in the center of the bedroom, watching Fletcher.

"Continue memorizing the contents of the manual, then get some rest early to recover your energy." Fletcher could tell Viraq was exhausted, having slept only a few hours today, and that his mental state was poor. "I will come to wake you tomorrow morning, and then you will join Mr. Carmine’s family for breakfast."

"Understood."

Fletcher took a long look at Viraq, seemingly still uneasy, but after a few seconds, he stepped out of the room.

Viraq walked to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening until he was certain Fletcher had left. Only then did he exhale deeply and look around the familiar room.

He had lived here for two months previously, but because he had never questioned Fletcher’s narrative—naively believing that Chris had truly died due to his own debauchery—he had always adhered to Fletcher’s warnings and never disturbed anything here.

Today, however, everything was different. He would no longer be a puppet to be manipulated, and the Chris he envisioned now was no longer merely a playboy who knew only how to indulge in pleasure.

Any documents regarding the rebel organization in this room had likely been removed long ago; Carmine would not be foolish enough to leave such important materials in a room now occupied by an outsider. Still, there might be hidden compartments or other undiscovered caches.

If Viraq wanted to understand Chris and his connection to the rebel organization more deeply, he had to uncover more clues.

He did not hold much hope for hidden chambers or secret passages. If they existed, Carmine, as the homeowner, would surely know of them, and if he knew, he would have cleared them out rather than leaving them for Viraq to discover.

After organizing his thoughts, Viraq began to search carefully.

He did not skip the routine spots—drawers, cupboards, beneath the bed—even though he was certain the Carmine family had already checked them. Unfortunately, after searching for over an hour, he had no luck.

That left only three possibilities. First, Chris had hidden things very cleverly, and they would not be found in a short time. Second, all clues had already been collected or erased by Carmine. Third, Chris’s important materials were not kept in his bedroom at all, but elsewhere.

Fortunately, none of these possibilities were dead ends for Viraq.

As for the first, he could search slowly; he had plenty of time.

As for the second, he might as well sneak into Carmine’s study; he would likely find not only Chris’s belongings but also other information worth exploiting.

As for the third, Chris’s other haunts were merely his office and a few places he frequented. Viraq knew of these, and he would have plenty of time to investigate them later.

With this task finished, there was nothing else for the day.

Viraq took a shower in the bathroom, then stared at himself in the mirror—a brand new, third version of himself.

"Viraq. Moster Viraq," he said his own name. "Live a different life."

It was as if he were encouraging himself, making a promise.

After saying this, Viraq stretched, dried himself off, and, filled with excitement, drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The next day, Monday, July 17th.

Although Viraq had woken up early, he remained in bed, feigning sleep while waiting for Fletcher. Before long, Fletcher knocked on the door, but Viraq deliberately did not respond.

After several knocks with no movement, Fletcher chose to push the door open. Seeing Viraq still in bed, he raised his voice. "Young master Chris, it is time for breakfast."

"...Hmm?" Viraq rubbed his eyes and got out of bed, looking dazed.

"What time did you stop reading the manual yesterday?" Fletcher asked, glancing at the booklet by Viraq’s pillow.

"I don't know... I read quite late, and I must have fallen asleep without realizing it," Viraq replied.

Fletcher seemed satisfied, though he added, "I told you to sleep early. You looked like you were in poor spirits yesterday."

"Mr. Fletcher, I assure you, I am in excellent condition," Viraq promised sincerely.

"Very well, hurry up and wash, get dressed, and come downstairs with me." Fletcher did not intend to dwell on what had already happened.

After Viraq had washed and dressed, Fletcher led him to the dining room on the right side of the first floor. Mr. Carmine and the others had not yet arrived. Fletcher explained, "Breakfast is in ten minutes, but since this is your first time, you must arrive early to prepare."

"Understood."

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Chris." Fletcher guided Viraq to a seat.

No sooner had he spoken than two servants entered. After greeting Viraq and Fletcher, they began to set the table.

Once the servants had left, Fletcher said, "When Mr. Carmine and his family arrive, you must greet each of them in turn. Afterward, do not say anything unless you are asked a question."

"Understood." Viraq, now seated, deliberately feigned a sense of apprehension and unease.

Fletcher patted Viraq on the shoulder. "Relax, young master Chris."