Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Prophets (3)
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Edmund Dennis.
A woman from England, forty-five years old. Thanks to her rare and special ability of telekinesis and her wealthy family background, she had walked an elite path, married a good husband, and given birth to a cute little daughter.
She took pride in her origins and firmly believed that one must always live a righteous and perfect life. She thought that if she showed a cultured and elegant demeanor at any time, in any place, the world would respond in kind with its own courtesy.
"Mom!"
"Yes, my darling daughter, back from school? Is there anything you'd like to eat?"
But Dennis's strictness crumbled effortlessly in front of her daughter. When faced with that adorable little being who beamed brightly and kept calling out "Mommy," she felt that sternness and rigidity held no meaning whatsoever.
Dennis could do anything—as long as it was something her daughter liked or something that made her happy.
Because that's what family was all about.
Other people are always so complicated.
Dennis was no exception.
She was a woman who exuded a thorough and strict impression in everything she did, but she was also a woman who dreamed of a warm family life while contentedly watching her daughter grow up strong and healthy. Like so many noble ladies she knew, she longed for the simple happiness of one day, as a white-haired old woman, munching on cookies her own daughter had made.
But in the year her daughter turned eleven, an accident happened. Her daughter, who had gone out to the front gate to greet her father, was struck by a car.
The girl died instantly at the scene. The two perpetrators suffered minor injuries and were arrested on the spot.
The culprits were a fifteen-year-old boy with the ability to ignite fires and his sixteen-year-old older brother, both minors. They had thought that by applying the boy's ignition ability to heat the car's engine, it would propel the vehicle at explosive speeds, so they decided to test it out.
But contrary to their expectations, the engine overheated and spun out of control. In their attempts to stop the car, they swerved wildly before finally crashing into the entrance of Dennis's mansion, bringing the runaway vehicle to a halt.
This incident rocked society at the time and made its way all the way to court.
Dennis took pride in her origins and firmly believed that one must always live a righteous and perfect life. She thought that if she showed a cultured and elegant demeanor at any time, in any place, the world would respond in kind with its own courtesy.
And so, even in the courtroom, she didn't raise her voice once. She demanded just punishment in accordance with legal procedures and insisted on genuine remorse and apologies from them. She believed that was the only way to console her daughter's death, and that just demands would be met with just recompense.
But the court took into account the ability user's immaturity, the lack of intent to kill, and their status as minors, sentencing them to 120 hours of community service.
The perpetrators showed no signs of remorse in the courtroom, goofing around and snickering with each other. The moment the verdict was handed down, they even laughed while looking right at Dennis.
Dennis's mind went blank; she couldn't think of anything and froze in place. It felt like the society she had believed in her whole life was shattering to pieces.
Suppressing her rage, she couldn't believe that everything she had done for her daughter—all the pain she had endured—had been reduced to a paltry 120 hours of community service.
The boys grinning without a shred of guilt, and her husband, head bowed in grief, weeping silently. Dennis could no longer tell who the sinners were or who deserved to suffer.
"Ah, we're sorry."
And in that moment, as the two perpetrators mockingly bowed their heads deeply, Dennis's reason snapped.
She pointed her fingers at the two and sharply twisted her wrists.
The somewhat subdued courtroom turned into pandemonium.
The two boys, the perpetrators, died instantly on the spot. Their bodies vanished without a trace, the courtroom floor was drenched in bright red blood, and chaos erupted as the jury and judges all fled. Dennis was arrested at the scene and sentenced to eight years in prison.
"Dennis. Dennis?"
A photo of a black-haired little girl flashed before her eyes.
Dennis blinked at the sight. For a moment, staring at the photo of the young girl had stirred up old memories—unpleasant ones she could never forget. She quickly shook her head and looked back at the man in the photo, asking,
"Sorry. Who did you say this is?"
"Iwamoto Yoshio."
The man in the fur coat pronounced each syllable deliberately. Dennis tilted her head.
"Is this guy supposed to be that impressive? He just looks like an ordinary man to me."
She squinted and examined Iwamoto Yoshio's photo closely. But no matter how she looked at it, he was just a kindly-looking middle-aged Asian man. He sported a neatly trimmed beard and had a round face, but that was it.
Moreover, his profile made no mention of any abilities, and while his company was fairly large, it was only big by local standards—not on the level of a major corporation.
"Don't let the surface profile fool you. He's already grasped a significant portion of our plans, from the Jericho Tower bombing right up to this current project."
Dennis raised an eyebrow as she reviewed the documents. Even from her perspective, there were several shocking revelations.
"...To call it coincidence, making investments like this through his elementary school daughter's bank account... This definitely seems purposeful. What could a kid that age possibly know?"
The most striking detail was that during the Jericho Tower bombing incident, Iwamoto Yoshio had used his daughter Iwamoto Serika's name to make stock investments and profited personally. It wasn't a massive sum by business standards, but it was more than enough to send a message to someone.
"Exactly. We believe that at that time, Iwamoto Yoshio borrowed his daughter's name to send us a kind of message. He's ruthless enough to use his own daughter as a shield and unpredictable enough to know our plans."
Dennis nodded, but her expression was reluctant. She didn't like surveilling people in the first place, and the idea of this man being cold-blooded enough to use his own daughter as a shield made her skin crawl even more.
"Personally, it doesn't sit right with me. Monitoring a monster like that."
"Not very fitting for a cultured lady, is it?"
The man in the fur coat teased her grumbling. Dennis grimaced at his words and slammed the photo album shut with a snap.
"...I didn't say I wouldn't do it."
Dennis stood up from her seat. After all, she had joined the organization of her own accord, so she had to do as she was told.
"Ah, so you're the young lady from Iwamoto Industry, and that makes you Miss Sally, the research director. Nice to meet you. I'm Edmund Dennis, the inspection officer."
Dennis greeted Sally while stealing a glance at Serika. Though still young, the girl had an elegant appearance with sharp eyes that gave her a peculiar charm. Unthinkingly, Dennis found herself thinking of her own daughter as she gazed at Serika.
Dennis's daughter had also been a captivating child who drew people's attention. It was in a slightly different way from the girl before her now, but Dennis found her daughter even in that one thread of commonality.
"Hello."
When Serika greeted her with bright energy, Dennis's lips twitched involuntarily. Tears suddenly welled up, and she had to steady her breathing. Ever since losing her daughter, she had been weak to children. The sight of girls around her daughter's age smiling brightly or greeting her cheerfully never failed to break her heart and cloud her judgment.
"Ah, President Iwamoto must have raised his child well. Quite polite. Private elementary school graduate, right? I went to private school too, but looks like the schools around here have some quality to them."
So Dennis spoke in an even ruder tone on purpose. After all, this was the daughter of her surveillance target. To hide her crumbling expression, she raised her voice arrogantly and deliberately adopted a slouched posture.
It was heartbreaking to see Serika's flustered face, but it was better than getting entangled.
But that utterly innocent expression kept making tears threaten to spill. The thought of such a child being exploited by evil parents—it wasn't her place to judge others' morality, she knew that, but when it came to children, Dennis struggled to keep her reason.
So Dennis forced herself to move along, making an excuse.
"I'll let it slide today, but now that I'm in charge of factory inspections, I want to make it clear: no outsiders allowed. Especially not kids like this."
By firmly banning entry, she could ensure the child never set foot in the factory again. Then Dennis could carry out her surveillance without issue.
She used an even sterner, more nitpicky tone to push Sally and Serika away, and the moment they were gone, she sniffled and wiped away her tears.
"...God, this is driving me crazy. Why assign a mission like this to me?"
It took quite some time for her to compose herself in the warehouse, using the inspection as a pretext.
In the end, the inspection was just an excuse. Dennis had wasted a ton of time in the warehouse sorting out her emotions.
"Damn it, dragging me all the way out here for surveillance duty. Doesn't the organization have anyone competent?"
Finally composed, Dennis removed her gloves and wiped her face. The needless emotional drain only made her irritation grow. She decided she'd give the one who assigned her this task an earful later.
Glancing sideways to check on the two, she saw Serika coming toward her from the break room.
"...What is it?"
Dennis flinched at her approach and instinctively took a defensive stance. She had been so prickly—why was the girl coming closer?
"...A Prophet. Right?"
And in the next moment, Serika wore an awkward expression whose intent Dennis couldn't fathom and said this.
Dennis was baffled that the word "Prophet" had come from the girl's mouth, and she had no idea what that expression meant, leaving her utterly confused. As her face hardened, Serika blinked in apparent panic. That childlike look made Dennis's tension ease once more.
"...Do you even know what the Prophets are?"
When Dennis asked, Serika scrunched up her face like a sulky child and replied,
"They're the ones who bring salvation to this rotten world's corrupt bunch. I know all about it. I want to help them too."
The awkward expression, the awkward lines. It was like watching someone wear clothes that didn't fit. Dennis's head buzzed.
Iwamoto Yoshio.
That vile man wasn't just using his daughter as a shield—he was turning her into a puppet. Brainwashing an innocent child like this to ingratiate himself with the Prophets and work from the inside. That had to be his scheme.
There was no other way to explain that awkward expression and clumsy acting. It was the kind of thing that could only come from someone trained to spout words they didn't even understand.
"...No, what the hell did that man do to this poor child..."
Dennis considered herself a villain.
But even so, she believed there were lines that must not be crossed.
Dennis steadied her breathing at last, swept back her hair, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to dab her tears, and looked at Serika.
"...Alright, I get it. We'll talk later. Separately."