Chapter 359
He wore a long dark coat, pitch black like a starless night or somber charcoal ash.
The cut was straight and clean, without a single ornament or decorative seam, giving the impression of cold authority and a deliberately constructed emotional distance.
Beneath the coat, the high collar of a dark shirt emerged, its function not for style but to conceal the neck and limit bodily expression, as if this figure always wished to remain "closed off" from the world.
His hands were covered by thin gloves, perhaps made of fine leather or synthetic fabric, a sign that he rarely touched anything directly.
All matters, every command, seemed to be delivered through intermediaries or mere gestures.
His feet were encased in neat, closed shoes, specially designed to make no sound, suitable for standing still for long periods without the need for much movement.
Resting easily against his back was a short-barreled shotgun.
His entire appearance was dominated by monochrome colors—black, gray, dark blue—shades that absorbed light and attention, turning him into a silhouette both authoritative and dangerous.
Yes, there was no doubt anymore.
Theo had completely transformed, both physically and conceptually, into the true Chairman, the leader of the forced retrieval operation of the Bathee family.
The boldest disguise had now begun.
'Perfect.'
Theo's eyelids opened, and his gaze now radiated a different kind of coldness, an authority learned in an instant.
His eyes lowered to his left hand, which had previously held the chairman's head as proof of death.
Now, that hand was empty.
The head had vanished, perhaps dissolved along with the remnants of the chairman's existential concept that he had fully absorbed and replaced, or perhaps erased by RWIA as part of the final cleansing.
There was no trace whatsoever.
What remained was the short-barreled shotgun, now shifted into the grip of his right hand.
The weight and balance of the weapon felt familiar, as though it had been part of him for years.
By reflex, with the natural motion of a seasoned veteran, Theo lifted the weapon and placed it firmly behind his neck, precisely between his shoulders and shoulder blades—a resting position that was alert yet unobtrusive.
At the same time, almost unconsciously, a smile began to carve itself at the corner of his lips.
It was not a smile of relief or happiness, but a thin, cynical smile filled with awareness of the new power he now held.
The smile belonged to the Chairman—a cold expression of someone who wielded absolute control over hundreds of subordinates and a secret operation.
The face of Eshura Birtash had disappeared, replaced by the perfect mask of their enemy, and that cynical smile was an inseparable part of the mask, signifying that the role had begun and there was no turning back.
'A disguise wicked in just the right measure.'
The damp night air after the rain seemed to freeze between the two figures.
Theo, now in the form of the Chairman with his light-absorbing black coat, looked toward Aldraya.
She was no longer the silver-haired ally he knew, but a perfect duplicate of the deputy chairman he had erased from existence.
Every detail, from the neat dark-green academy attire to the simple dark hair tie, was a flawless imitation.
Yet the aura radiating from her was entirely different.
It was not the heat of hostility and volatile vigilance, but a deeper and far more terrifying composure—a calm like a frozen lake in the darkness, unruffled even when stones were cast upon it.
Aldraya's disguised face remained flat, a porcelain mask that reflected no emotion, further reinforcing the rigid, monotonous, and alien impression.
Theo realized that this disguise was not merely about skin and clothing, but about burying identity behind a mask more dangerous than the original.
The dim moonlight slipped through gaps in the clouds, brushing across Theo's new face and reflecting off the short shotgun on his back.
He felt the weight of this new authority cling to Eshura Birtash's skin like a second layer, a character he had to inhabit flawlessly.
His memory of the Chairman's original traits—a cold man, controlled, obsessed with efficiency—now flowed through his instincts.
His movements became more economical, his gaze sharper and more judgmental, each breath released as though calculated.
Before him, Aldraya as the deputy chairman stood like a breathing statue, a silent contrast that emphasized that this mission had entered its noisiest phase within silence.
"Aldraya, return to your original position—near the canteen. Fulfill your duties as deputy chairman."
Theo's breath formed a thin mist in the piercing morning air.
His gloved finger, still carrying the elastic memory of Eshura Birtash's skin, gently touched the lower part of his right brow.
It was not the gesture of the cold and measured Chairman, but a small lingering habit of Theo Vkytor—a narrow crack between the mask and its wearer.
From beneath the black coat that absorbed the gray dawn light, his voice emerged, flat yet heavy with borrowed authority, slicing through the dense silence between them.
He ordered Aldraya to return.
Return to her original position, into the ranks of the Bathee family's forced retrieval unit, and carry out every duty as deputy chairman flawlessly and without error.
His words were neither discussion nor request, but a statement of undeniable fact, exactly as the true Chairman would command.
Within that order lay an unspoken map—an acknowledgment that from here on, they would move separately, each walking along the edge of the same cliff with different masks, maintaining appearances so no one would suspect that the enemy's command center had changed hands.
"Meanwhile, I will order all units to tighten security."
Haaah!
"Raise the alert level. We must remain vigilant in case Erietta intends to attempt an escape at the last moment."
Theo's gaze, now fully merged with the Chairman's character, stared sharply toward the end of the corridor where Aldraya disappeared.
The long shadow of his coat-clad body projected onto the damp wall like a giant figure ready to swallow the entire still-slumbering academy.
When his voice broke the morning silence again, it had lost every nuance of hesitation or personal consideration.
It was clipped, cold, and filled with iron certainty—the distinct voice of a Bathee family field commander, designed to be obeyed without question.
He spoke to the air, as though hundreds of unseen ears extended from behind the walls and darkness, listening to every command he uttered.
His order was clear and simple, yet carried an implicit threat.
Tighten the guard.
Every post, every gap, every access point leading to and from the women's dormitory must be sealed tightly like an iron box.
Every shadowed corner, every fragile-looking window, every narrow ventilation shaft must become an unavoidable zone of surveillance.
The tone of his command implied a formless suspicion, a fear that the family's daughter, Erietta, might attempt something reckless—an escape that would disgrace the entire operation and, of course, the Chairman responsible.
'Everything remains the same… as expected.'
5:50 a.m.
A fragile silence enveloped the women's dormitory corridor before dawn fully conquered the night.
To be continued…