Want a Crisp Too, Brother?

Little John's fear was not an act; he was genuinely terrified. He had already sensed a terrifying power slowly gathering in this office. Though it had not yet taken physical shape, it was inevitably about to happen. His original intention had merely been to play a joke on Karen, one that seemed very amusing to him. It was like children roughhousing, where one raises a water gun and squirts the other's clothes, laughing merrily—only for the other party, in the very next moment, to pull out a real gun and aim it right at him. The dark muzzle was already pressed against his forehead. Although he had displayed a maturity far beyond his years in their previous conversation, how many people, even among actual adults, could remain calm in the face of such a direct threat of death? His formidable perception granted him an exceptionally clear premonition. He dropped instinctively to his knees before Karen and raised both hands. "Dr. Karen, I was wrong! I repent, I was really wrong! Please, I beg you, I beg you!" However arrogant he had been earlier, he was equally frantic now. Stripped entirely of any reserve, nothing was left but the instinct for survival. In truth, the incantation Karen had been reciting silently in his mind was the "Spear of Punishment." At this stage, it was the only offensive spell in Karen's repertoire. It could be hurled into the distance to trigger an explosion. Of course, the explosion was only one of its destructive effects. In the area where Karen used to practice the Spear of Punishment, even after the servants of Allen Manor brought fresh soil to lay new turf, the circle remained completely unfit for vegetation to grow. It was solely because Karen held such high status at Allen Manor that the Allen family allowed and tolerated a "bald patch" marring their otherwise evergreen grounds. Perhaps what Little John truly feared was not even the explosion itself. Though getting blasted would certainly kill him—just as being shot in a vital spot with a single bullet would kill him— on the perceptual plane, whatever else was bound to the Spear of Punishment was the root cause that triggered genuine terror across his cerebral cortex. At this moment, Karen, seated behind the desk in his white coat, looked to the boy like an Inquisitor passing judgment upon him. The dreadful menace continued to intensify. Little John pressed his hands together toward Karen at once: "Please, I beg you, spare me, spare me! I know I was wrong, really, I know I was wrong..." Karen ceased his silent recitation. Interrupting the spell sent a tearing agony through his brain, and this tearing sensation provoked a wave of spasms through the muscles across his body, forcing Karen to bow his head and grit his teeth. It took a long while before he overcame the intense discomfort and raised his head once more. Sensing that the terrifying aura of death had dissipated, Little John slumped onto the floor. His finely styled red hair was now thoroughly drenched in cold sweat, plastered flat against his scalp. His mouth hung open as he seemed still to be digesting the lingering horror. "Sit properly," Karen said. Little John's legs were weak, causing him to fail several times as he tried to scramble to his feet. Yet he dared not disobey Karen's command, so he flopped repeatedly like a "mermaid" that had just washed ashore. Finally, grabbing hold of the chair with his hands, he managed to steady himself and climbed back onto the seat. Gathering his courage, he turned around and sat facing Karen. With hands resting on his knees and head bowed, he dared only glance at Karen through the thinnest slit of his vision. Karen reached out. Little John had already drunk his iced water, so he could only pick up the black tea. He took one sip, two sips, three... until it was entirely drained. In Little John's eyes, Karen was using this "slow motion" to subject him to prolonged mental pressure and torment. In reality, both of them—on either side of the desk—were feeling miserable. When Karen realized he was experiencing the same sensations Little John described, he could not be certain whether it was psychological suggestion or whether some invisible entity was truly clinging to him. To be safe, he could only draw his sword. After all, while he accepted that accidents could happen to him, he refused to let himself suffer an accident without knowing why. The only problem was that Karen had not intended to open with his most powerful spell right away; rather, it was because... he had no basic attacks whatsoever. It really would be far more convenient to keep a handgun in his desk drawer. Unfortunately, he could not make that request directly to Piaget. Even the closest of employers would hardly understand, let alone permit, a physician under his employ to keep a gun on hand while seeing patients. What on earth would you be planning to do? He would have to find a way to get one himself. He wondered if Alaye had any connections in that area. "Raise your head." Little John obediently raised his head, even forcing himself to display the innocent smile appropriate for a child of his age. Karen recalled what Little John had said earlier: *"She is indeed my mother, but my mother is dead."* After a brief pause, Karen spoke: "Your mother doesn't exist at all." "Yes..." There was no invisible woman who had brought water to feed him earlier, nor had any woman been sitting on his lap. Little John's mother did not exist at all; everything was an illusion manufactured by Little John himself. Yet unlike schizophrenia or "seeing ghosts," as the "creator," he was fully aware that his mother did not exist. He had simply used reverse psychology to "construct" her. Namely, he made everyone around him believe his mother was still there, letting them perceive traces of her presence, and then, through their reactions, achieved the sensation that, *Oh, my mother is still here.* He was not deceiving himself; he was deceiving others to cultivate the atmosphere he desired. That explained why his father, Mr. Tardel, had rushed to bring him to the clinic two days in a row, arriving so much earlier than the scheduled appointment today. That was likely the reason. Little John had probably used "his mother" quite frequently to interact with his father. Perhaps the one who truly needed medical attention was not Little John, but Mr. Tardel, who had been tormented half to death by his son lately. "Why did you do it?" "There was no deep reason, and I wouldn't dare lie to you. I just thought... it was fun." Karen rested his elbows on the desk, interlaced his fingers, and looked at Little John. "You have the ability to manifest perceptions into reality? No, it's mastery of a 'force'—telekinesis?" "I haven't heard the terms you're using before, but I have a feeling your description and understanding are correct." "How did you obtain this power?" "I began feeling it during the year after my mother died. Only this year did it start becoming easier and easier to control." "Are you religious?" Karen asked. "Father sometimes takes me to the monastery, but I know he only goes there to meet his mistress." Which meant his household was not religious. If not religion, could it be a family faith system? That seemed unlikely as well. If it were a family faith system, Tardel would not be completely oblivious to his son's abilities. Even if Little John's mother had cuckolded Mr. Tardel and conceived the child of a man with a family faith system, without undergoing a "bloodline test," Little John would not have self-awakened. Although Karen could not entirely rule out the existence of "aberrations" capable of self-awakening without a bloodline test, both religious faith systems and family faith systems involved "faith." They would not manifest like Little John, who did it purely for fun. Thus, only one explanation remained: Little John was... contaminated. He had already become an aberrant demon. "When you use your power, does any part of your body feel unusual?" Little John pointed to his chest, over his heart. "Does this count? Every time I use my power, it beats very fast. Extremely fast." His heart? Karen could not be sure. If Purr, Kevin, or Alfred were here, they would likely deduce far more clues from Little John's situation than he could. No matter how much theoretical knowledge he crammed, experience and breadth of perspective could not be built up in a short time. Silence fell over the office. Little John dared not make any reckless moves, sitting obediently. Karen himself did not know what to say now. He possessed neither the capability nor the authority to make arrangements for Little John. "Actually, you're not an exception in this world." "Before meeting you, I thought I was. Now, I do realize I'm not." "Do you know what consequences you'll face if you keep indulging your ability, playing around with it so playfully? "You'll draw the attention of certain people—or rather, certain groups and factions. "If the source of your ability is indeed your heart, as you say, then your heart will be the very material they find most interesting." Little John swallowed hard. Karen had a premonition that Little John's special ability was probably on par with Alfred's Succubus Eye in terms of grade. And Alfred's Succubus Eye was something even Rasma wanted to collect. If not for Diss's sake, Alfred would have been wearing a one-eyed patch long ago. The world was just that pragmatic. Even the corpses of priests could be recycled as materials, let alone "aberrant demons" hopping about in society without even knowing how to conceal themselves. No, he did not even realize he had turned into an aberrant demon. "Your words have shattered my pride," Little John said. "It turns out I was just a fool wriggling inside the pigpen fence, showing off the fat on my body." "That's an apt metaphor. Doesn't your family own a textile mill? Have you invested in a pig farm as well?" "I read quite a lot of books," Little John said. "Though certainly not as many as you." "Conceal your ability well if you wish to live freely for a long time." "What about you? Aren't you interested in my heart?" Little John asked. Karen picked up his teacup, took a sip, and gave no answer. "Why... aren't you answering?" "I was merely following your train of thought, considering how I would use your heart if it were given to me." Little John smiled. "I can feel that your answer is very sincere. Even though you truly intended to kill me just now, which ought to feel contradictory, it seems very natural coming from you." "You're very gifted. Even without that special ability, you're still very clever and have a promising future ahead. So, cherish it." Karen did not ask why he had made his "mother" behave that way toward him. In fact, the answer had already been given: because his mother did not exist at all. Earlier, the boy had simply been "toying" with him, seeking a certain pleasure from his reaction. He was different from Judia. Judia suffered from genuine obsession, whereas he was more like a child holding a blade, thinking it made him look imposing while having no idea what kind of trouble that blade would bring him. "Thank you." Karen glanced up at the wall clock. "Your session time is up." "May I come see you again?" Little John asked. "Book an appointment." "Alright." Little John rose from the chair and opened the office door. His father, Mr. Tardel, immediately walked over. Little John burst into tears and threw himself into his father's arms. "Daddy, Mama is really gone. She's truly left me. I don't have a mama anymore, I don't have a mama anymore..." "My boy, you still have me. You still have me." Father and son embraced, weeping together. Because it happened right outside the office, the scene drew numerous glances. For a psychiatric consultation to achieve such a visible result was like breaking into a heavy sweat after catching a cold—extremely evident. "Thank you, Doctor. I'd like to book another appointment. When could we next..." "Mr. Tardel, you can discuss that with the reception desk. We'll arrange a time for you," Bertha said with a smile as she walked over. "Alright, alright." Mr. Tardel took his son's hand, preparing to leave. Little John wiped his tears while turning to wave at Karen. "Goodbye, Doctor Brother!" Karen waved back at him. Bertha closed the office door and said with a smile, "Do you know, the physician who saw him yesterday ended up curled into a ball by the desk leg as they talked. He couldn't even come to work today." "The child is quite rich in inner emotion; it easily affects others," Karen replied vaguely. He worried that saying anything too specific might make Bertha view the boy as promising material and attempt to recruit him into her faith. That would be true madness. Even converting to another orthodox church would be infinitely better than joining the Church of Light, where one became a "remnant" the moment one entered. Bertha did not press further regarding Little John. Instead, she produced a thick envelope and set it on Karen's desk. "The boss asked me to withdraw this for you. It will be deducted from this month's salary." "Thank you." Karen accepted the envelope. It contained the money for the car and, well, his living expenses. "The boss treats you so well, and you're truly good to him too," Bertha said with a touch of envy. "We're friends." "Yes, a truly enviable friendship." Bertha looked at Karen's face, and the boss's demeanor while working surfaced in her mind once more. As a woman, she felt a pang of regret akin to a man watching two beautiful lesbians... What an extravagant waste. Karen had no idea what was running through Bertha's head, never having anticipated that this "remnant" of the Church of Light possessed such a rich inner life. "May I leave for the day now?" "Of course. Your appointments for today are finished." "Alright." Karen took off his coat and gathered his things. "See you tomorrow, Bertha." "That depends on whether you have appointments tomorrow. Rest assured, though, your rates are very steep." "Alright." Karen left the office. Rather than greeting Piaget, he headed straight out of the clinic. Passing through the waiting lounge, he slowed his pace slightly, noticing a group of female security guards lined up for a briefing. He recalled Alfred mentioning that while sitting there, a female security guard had paced back and forth in front of him, repeatedly sweeping low-level detection spells over him. Turning back, he glanced at the plaque at the clinic's entrance. So Piaget's clinic had largely become a branch for the remnants of the Church of Light? Stepping into the elevator, he could see the Curtis Building across the street through the window. That had been the venue for the gathering summoned by the crow's message. It really was convenient. Operating here by day, holding clandestine gatherings across the street by night. Hmm? Wait a moment. He worked by day in a den of Church of Light remnants and slept by night in a house left behind by a former remnant—especially when the former owner had actively sought to "chat" with him last night. What did that make him? Shaking his head, Karen rode the elevator down to the ground floor. Just as he stepped out of the building, he encountered a tall girl of eighteen or nineteen wearing leather boots. She was walking along while eating from a large bag of potato crisps cradled in her arms. Two generous dollops of sauce inside the bag were particularly conspicuous. The people of Wien truly had a special passion for sauces; to them, any food was merely an accessory for dipping sauce. Karen stood by the curb, preparing to hail a cab home. If all went well, he would be able to drive his own car to work or the hospital tomorrow. The tall girl stopped beside Karen, also waiting for a taxi. Her perfume smelled pleasant, carrying a warm scent, for she was in the prime of her youth, at her most vibrant and energetic. A taxi pulled up to the curb, and the driver asked, "Sir, Miss, are you together?" Karen shook his head and stepped back half a pace, gesturing for the girl to take the cab first. "Thank you." The girl thanked Karen, slid into the taxi, and leaned forward to give the driver her destination. As the taxi started moving forward, she suddenly poked her head out the window, pinching a crisp between her fingers, and called out to Karen with a grin: "Want a crisp too, brother?"