Capítulo 8: Confrontation
As I enter the Association's headquarters in Serenvale, the lobby feels suffocating, weighed down by the tension of what I've come here to do. The large, looming building is bustling with activity, but people avoid my gaze, sidestepping out of my path. The hum of chatter dies as I approach, and I can feel the eyes on me, judging, wondering why someone from Tsukimichi Guild—why I—was here.
I spot Ren and Doug waiting in the center of the expansive room, both appearing unsettled, though they mask it well. They know something's wrong, and my mood must've broadcasted that loud and clear.
"Where is he?" I growled, venom dripping from my voice, laced with impatience.
They both flinch, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me. Their gazes shift away for a moment, almost as if the weight of my presence is too much to bear.
"He's in the holding cell," Doug said, his voice steadier than his expression betrayed.
"All right, I'll head there immediately." I turned to Ren, thrusting my smartwatch into his hands. "Here's the evidence. Take it to the evidence division. I want it filed by the end of the hour."
"Yes, boss," he said, quickly grabbing the device.
Doug stood straighter when I faced him. "Here are the hairs and nails of the victims," I ordered, handing him a small, sealed container. "Get them identified at the lab. I need answers, and I need them now."
"Yes, boss," they both said in unison, scrambling off as soon as I dismissed them.
Without a moment's hesitation, I made a beeline for the holding cells. The deeper I went into the Association's core, the more people seemed to scatter. Conversations stopped mid-sentence as I passed, some hurriedly clearing out of my way as though I carried a plague. Fear and curiosity flickered in their eyes, but no one dared meet my gaze for long. My presence was more than just disruptive; it was unsettling.
I arrived at the door to the holding cell, the thick air of tension palpable. A guard stood stationed outside, his face set in a blank, emotionless mask. He didn't flinch as I approached, his gaze cold and uninterested.
"State your business," he asked in a monotone, clearly rehearsed.
"I have questions for Dr. Chris. My guild was the one who brought him in," I replied evenly, holding back the frustration that was building inside me.
"Name and guild?"
"Brandon Clover, Tsukimichi Guild."
"Leave your weapons here." He motioned to my spear, his eyes never leaving mine.
With a curt nod, I handed him the spear. "Here you go."
He inspected the weapon carefully, then looked back at me with the same dispassionate expression. "Wear this." He handed me a black metallic bracelet. "Mana absorption bracelet. It's mandatory."
"Thank you for your service," I muttered, fastening the bracelet to my wrist. The moment it clicked in place, I felt a faint drain, like a subtle weight pressing against my mana, restricting it.
The guard's eyes narrowed slightly. "Keep your emotions in check," he warned.
"I'll try," I replied coldly, though the storm brewing inside me was far from calm.
As I stepped into the room, I was immediately confronted by a sterile atmosphere. The harsh lights illuminated a solitary figure sitting in the center of the cell. Dr. Chris. A thick glass wall separated us, the surface spotless, reflecting his haggard image back at him. He sat slouched in his chair, his eyes hollow, void of any hope. His once pristine lab coat now dirtied, hung loosely from his thin frame, a far cry from the commanding figure he once portrayed.
"Hello," I said, my voice sharp, barely masking the fury simmering beneath the surface.
"Hello as well," Chris responded, his voice flat, his eyes drifting up to meet mine with a deadened gaze that only served to fuel my anger further.
I took a slow breath, reining myself in. "I have questions," I started, my tone hard, unrelenting. "Why did you do it?"
"To save humanity," he replied, the words devoid of emotion as if he were reciting a fact, not justifying the atrocities he'd committed.
"You expect me to believe that?" I shot back, my fists clenching.
"The monsters are evolving, becoming stronger, while humanity stagnates. My research would have saved millions of lives, at the cost of a few sacrifices." He spoke with an eerie calmness, like he truly believed in his twisted logic.
My blood boiled. "This bastard," I thought as I slammed my fist against the glass, but it didn't even budge. The impact reverberated through my bones, but it did nothing to quell the rage burning inside me.
"You expect me to believe that bullshit?" I roared, my voice echoing in the room. "You weren't doing it for humanity! You were doing it for your own sick, twisted pleasure. You wanted to play God!"
Chris met my outburst with an icy stare, unflinching. "I answered your question. It's up to you to believe it." His lips twisted into a faint, cruel smile. "Now, it's my turn to ask a question. Who was your informant? Was it, perhaps, the boy you brought to the hospital today?"
I froze. How did he know about the boy? My mind raced, but I forced myself to stay calm, though the brief flicker of surprise might have shown in my eyes.
Chris smirked, sensing my hesitation. "From your reaction, I suppose I'm correct. He's the only suspect, isn't he? You brought him in today, and on the very same day, I'm captured. No one's been suspicious of me for years. So how did he know?"
"What are you going to do to him if it's him?" I asked, my voice low, dangerously controlled.
"Oh, nothing." Chris waved a hand dismissively. "I have no accomplice. I just wanted to know who it was that caused my downfall."
"You expect me to believe that?" I growled.
"As I said, believe what you want. I'm not forcing you," he replied smoothly, the smugness in his tone infuriating.
I had to steer this conversation. If I dwelled too much on the boy, it'd raise more questions I wasn't ready to answer. I straightened up, masking my thoughts behind a cold, calculating look.
"All right," I said with a poker face, my tone shifting. "I'll ask the questions now."
"Of course."
"How did you get your test subjects?"
"Through the Red Well," he answered without hesitation. "Much more efficient that way."
"Do you know where they're located?"
"No."
"When did they last deliver to you?"
"Last month."
My brow furrowed. Last month? That didn't match the boy's story. He should've escaped within the past week if what he told me was true.
"How frequently do they deliver?"
"About twice a month."
"Do they know the password to your lab?"
"What? No. I don't let them anywhere near my house. They deliver the subjects at random locations and notify me."
"How do they notify you?"
"They come get me, wherever I am."
"Do you get to pick or inspect the test subjects beforehand?"
"No."
I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, the anger still bubbling beneath the surface. This wasn't lining up. The boy's story was starting to fall apart.
"That's all," I said coldly, the fury in my voice barely contained. "May you rot in Pandora and die a miserable, painful death."
"Thank you for your kind words," he replied mockingly, watching me as I turned to leave.
The guard met me outside, his blank expression unchanging as I handed him the bracelet and accepted my spear in return.
"Done already?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of surprise.
"Yeah. Bye," I muttered, my mind already racing as I headed back to the hospital.
---
The brat's story isn't adding up, I thought, my pace quickening as I replayed the interrogation in my mind.
Chris wasn't lying during the second half of the interrogation—I was sure of that much. But the first part? That was murkier. Maybe he did believe his research would save humanity. But that doesn't make him any less of a monster.
But it was the boy's story that gnawed at me now. It doesn't make sense.
The Red Well? The most meticulous, cautious organization in existence? No one just overhears them. No one escapes them, not without a fight or being severely wounded. Yet this boy claimed to have done just that. And if Chris received his last delivery over a month ago, then how did the boy manage to escape within this past week? The timeline didn't add up.
And the Bright Dungeon—how did he get in? There are supposed to be guards stationed there at all times. Yet he walked right in without being detected?
Another coincidence. Too many damn coincidences.
And the brat himself? He's too healthy—his skin too clean, his body too well-fed for someone who's supposedly been locked away, isolated, his entire life. The more I think about it, the more the pieces don't fit.
I clenched my teeth, my mind racing as I approached his room. He had my attention now, fully. And I wasn't going to let this go.
I stormed through the hospital halls, each step heavier than the last, as my mind kept working through the puzzle. The brat's story... it's too smooth, too convenient. A perfect victim at the perfect time, with just enough detail to make me—hell, to make anyone—believe him. And yet, it falls apart under scrutiny.
How did he escape the Red Well, an organization so secretive that even the Association barely knows their movements? They don't make mistakes. They don't leave loose ends. And they certainly wouldn't let a child slip through their fingers unscathed. Yet this brat waltzed into a highly secured dungeon, no signs of struggle, no signs of trauma.
My hands balled into fists, knuckles white.
No one is that lucky.
The people I passed noticed the intensity radiating from me. Nurses and doctors who had been bustling down the corridors moments ago were now stepping aside, eyes downcast. A few whispered, but most stayed silent. Fear, curiosity—both danced in their glances as they quickly moved out of my way.
I didn't care. They could stare all they wanted. This was bigger than their concern.
If Chris wasn't lying about the deliveries... then what the hell was the kid hiding?
I could feel the anger rising again, not the same raw fury I'd unleashed on Chris, but a colder, sharper edge. The kid's story was coming apart at the seams, and the more I thought about it, the more suspicious I became.
He's too clean. Too calm. Too… normal for a kid who's supposed to have spent his entire life locked away in hell.
By the time I reached his door, my heart was pounding, not from exhaustion but from the realization that I'd been played. At least, that's how it felt. I wasn't sure of all the details yet, but I was close. I could feel it.
I stopped in front of the room, staring at the closed door. For a second, I considered kicking it open. But no. That's what he'd expect, or worse, what he'd want.
I took a deep breath, letting the rage cool just enough to sharpen my thoughts. If I went in there guns blazing, I'd get nothing. But if I played it right… if I stayed calm… I'd crack him. And then I'd have the truth.
I pushed open the door.
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES 
cassi_godd
cassi_godd Thank you again for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. If you'd like to support, feel free to vote, add the story to your library, comment, or give me some power stones—but it's not necessary. What did you think of the interrogation scene? And how did Brandon's monologue, where he discusses the MC's story, come across? Was the dialogue coherent? Please let me know in the comments if anything seemed off. Take care, and goodbye for now
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