Chapter 334: A Supposed Normal Day

Balzac poured a glass full of water and drank it in a single, desperate gulp. He grabbed the pitcher, refilled the glass until it spilled slightly over the rim, and gulped it down again. Still unsatisfied, he lifted the entire glass pitcher and drank the rest of the water straight from the spout.

He slammed the empty pitcher down onto the coffee table and leaned back into the armchair.

He rested his head against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. He took a long, shuddering breath, rubbed his hands forcefully over his face, and finally opened his eyes, looking through the gaps in his fingers at Johan and Elara.

"You guys really should not have told me any of that," Balzac muttered, his lazy drawl completely replaced by a tone of exhaustion. "Now, I feel like I have just gotten myself involved in an incredibly messy curse."

Johan leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly. "You mentioned earlier that you used to be a High Priest and an Inquisitor in the Holy Empire, Professor. What was your purpose there, and why did you leave such a prestigious position to teach at a streaming academy?"

Balzac let out a dry chuckle. "The Holy Empire is a political cesspool disguised as divine will. My purpose was to root out heresy, but I quickly realized the biggest heretics were the ones wearing the golden crowns and the papal veils. I left because I got tired of executing innocent people to protect guilty politicians."

He shrugged his shoulders and added, "The academy offered me a place to sleep and a steady paycheck without the moral compromises. Well, I feel like I have skipped many important things in between, but that’s the gist of it."

Elara shifted anxiously on the sofa. "Professor... how is Solomon performing at the academy? Is he safe?"

Balzac raised a brow, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. "You two really are his parents. After everything you just told me about his origins and the danger surrounding him, your primary concern is still just his academic performance and his safety."

"He is our son," Johan responded fiercely, without a single second of hesitation. "Absolutely nothing else matters to us."

Balzac nodded slowly, respecting the unwavering parental devotion. "Solomon has been doing some incredibly reckless things since he enrolled. He constantly throws himself into life-or-death situations, fights boss monsters he has no business fighting, and openly provokes high-ranking officials. But given the history you just shared with me... his suicidal drive finally makes perfect sense."

Just then, the front door slammed open. Solomon came rushing into the living room, completely out of breath. He saw Balzac sitting calmly across from his parents and immediately panicked.

"What happened?!" Solomon asked frantically. He glared at Balzac, then looked at his parents. "Did he say something wrong?"

Elara smiled gently and shook her head. "No, Solomon. The Professor was just telling us that you have been causing a lot of trouble at the academy."

Solomon glared daggers at the messy-haired man. He turned back to his parents, offering a nervous, strained chuckle. "He is just joking! It is nothing like that! I am a model student!"

Balzac groaned and pushed himself up from the armchair. He stretched his arms and walked past Solomon. "I have some business I need to finish in the city. I will be back later." The professor slipped out the front door, leaving the house without another word.

Solomon looked at his parents, smiling nervously. "I am going to take a bath. Mom, can you please heat up the leftover food for me?"

"I will put it on the stove to warm up," Elara agreed, grabbing her purse. "But your father and I have to leave for the diner right now. You should go let Jasmine know, and tell her to keep an eye on the oven so the food does not burn."

Solomon recalled how harshly he had yelled at Jasmine earlier that morning. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I yelled at her earlier so she must be sulking, so could you please let her know yourself, Mom. I am just going to go straight to the bathroom."

He hurried upstairs, took a long, hot shower, and scrubbed the lingering tension from the police precinct off his skin. When he came back downstairs, he found his heated food waiting perfectly on the dining table. He glanced around the living room and the kitchen, expecting Jasmine to be watching TV or reading, but she was nowhere to be seen.

’She must have gone back up to her room,’ Solomon assumed.

He quickly inhaled the leftover food, washed his plate, and walked upstairs to his sister’s bedroom. He knocked softly on the wood before pushing the door open.

Jasmine was curled up tightly into a ball on her bed, facing the wall. Barbaros was sleeping peacefully on the floor near her desk. The dog simply opened one eye when Solomon entered, gave a soft huff, and immediately went back to sleep.

Solomon walked over and sat on the edge of the mattress. "I am sorry for yelling at you earlier."

"Go away," Jasmine mumbled into her pillow. "I do not want to talk to you."

"That man standing on the porch was a bad guy," Solomon explained gently. "He was a stranger to you. You should not be talking to strangers like that. Whenever an unknown person rings the doorbell, you should always check the peephole first to see who it is. If it is someone we do not know, you should never open the door. It is incredibly risky. They could do anything to harm you."

Jasmine sulked, pulling the blankets tighter around her shoulders. "I already know all of that. But since you were home, I wasn’t scared. I knew you would protect me."

"That is not a valid reason or a good excuse," Solomon countered softly. "You need to learn how to act safely regardless of who is in the house. You are all grown up now, Jas. You have to be smart."

Solomon waited for a few seconds, hoping for a response or a sign that she understood. When she remained completely silent, he sighed, stood up, and prepared to leave the room.

Just as his hand touched the doorknob, Jasmine spoke up.

"What happened to my clothes?" Jasmine asked, sitting up and glaring at him. "A bunch of my outfits are missing from my wardrobe."

Solomon instantly engaged his flawless acting skills. He played completely dumb, offering a confused frown. "I have no idea what you are talking about. Maybe they are just in the laundry downstairs? Or maybe Mom gave them away to a charity drive like she always does?"

"I just did the laundry yesterday!" Jasmine argued, crossing her arms. "And they were brand new clothes! I only wore them like five times! Mom would never just give them away without asking me!"

"There is no need to worry about it," Solomon deflected quickly, offering a bright smile. "I will take you shopping later today. You can buy as many brand new clothes as you want. My treat."

Jasmine’s furious glare vanished instantly. Her eyes lit up with pure excitement. "Really?! Anything I want?!"

"Anything you want," Solomon promised.

He quickly left the room before she could ask any more questions about the missing clothes, retreating safely to his own bedroom.

Solomon collapsed onto his bed and pulled out his laptop. He spent the next hour mindlessly scrolling through social media, checking the local news networks, and doomscrolling through various Awakened forums to pass the time.

Suddenly, he stopped scrolling.

He stared at a random, breaking news post uploaded just three minutes ago. The article featured a high-resolution photograph of the exact presiding judge who had overseen the rigged trial for the District Seven dungeon tragedy three years ago.

The bold, flashing headline read: [BREAKING: SUPREME COURT JUDGE FOUND DEAD IN HIS PRIVATE ESTATE]ℴℴ𝘮