Chapter Seventeen: Hello Teacher, Everything the Teacher Says Is Right

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By this point, Elijah had finally calmed down completely.

There was simply no reasoning with someone whose logic was internally consistent. No matter how absurd it sounded to everyone else, a person trapped inside a closed loop of logic would believe that what he saw was the truth.

In the end, Elijah calmly asked where Ophelia was.

Gale frowned and said stiffly, “I told you, she’ll be fine. That mutant named Miles Morales is incredibly capable, and he has a good personality too. He’ll definitely protect her. I deliberately arranged for the two of them to be together… Why do you never ask where I went when I disappeared?”

Elijah countered, “When were you ever kidnapped by your sister?”

Gale: “…”

How was that even the same thing?!

He nearly choked on his own breath, his face flushing again as he lowered his head dispiritedly and stopped looking at Elijah. Elijah ignored him. After asking for the address where Ophelia had last been trapped, he planned to ask Superman for help finding her. The sooner they located her, the better—he was thoroughly sick of this mess involving the Mafia, quantum mechanics, theology, and unconventional dimensional studies.

As for Gale, Elijah planned to lock him in the bathroom for the time being. He had yet to decide what to do with him afterward; for now, it could count as temporary confinement.

If no further accidents occurred over the next little while, life would return to normal.

The work of a costumed vigilante was exciting and stimulating, but it did not put food on the table. Elijah preferred a stable, orderly routine that, to an outsider, might look almost monotonous. Only then could he keep his feet on the ground and retain the real sensation that he was still alive.

The Justice League had long since stopped needing new recruits.

The Sinestro Corps was little more than a pyramid scheme.

For a man like Elijah, who had seen nearly every kind of life, the proper way to support a family was to find some sucker of a company willing to hire him, then earn a clean, steady salary.

**

The next day was a workday.

Elijah woke somewhat later than usual. When he pushed open the bathroom door, he saw that Gale—whether he had woken early or had not slept at all—was leaning his head back against the chair, staring expressionlessly at the ceiling.

At the sound of the door opening, he said without moving, “Good morning, Father.”

Elijah: “…Good morning.”

His adopted son occasionally displayed a remarkable awareness of how to behave like someone’s child.

While brushing his teeth, Elijah watched Gale through the mirror’s reflection. After a while, he heard the young man say in a tone filled with confusion and a desire for knowledge, “Father, I have a question I cannot understand.”

Elijah swept his hair back and wiped his face. “What is it?”

“Early this morning, I learned that the editorial department plans to release the first issue of a new character’s solo series next month. They’ve already printed promotional advertisements at the end of this month’s other serialized comics.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow.

Had this joke still not run its course after an entire night?

“The new character’s surname is Esposito.”

At that, Gale paused. Visible bewilderment caused him to sulk, while embarrassment and emptiness also crept into his expression.

He continued:

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“His full name is Elijah Esposito.”

Elijah stopped brushing his teeth. “…?”

Wait. Weren’t you the one who was supposed to use the Quantum Zeno Effect to fight quantum entanglement?

Gale had already been tied to the chair for several hours. Combined with the dampness that had seeped into the bathroom, this had left the ends of his black hair completely wet. They now clung limply to his skin, making his blue eyes look even larger and rounder and giving him the appearance of someone who had suffered a devastating blow and was utterly pitiful.

Yet Elijah found it difficult to feel sorry for him. He merely followed up, “And you? What role did you get?”

“The villain from the first few volumes,” Gale replied. “The editorial department is discussing whether to make me a recurring villain. They think my age and my relationship with the protagonist, Elijah Esposito, are somewhat inappropriate.”

“That isn’t what you said yesterday,” Elijah pointed out. “You said you could only vaguely observe what was happening inside it. Now you’re implying that a group of indescribable entities are arguing over your character setting.”

“I dreamed it, Father.”

Gale’s eyes were vacant. “After you left last night, I couldn’t resist observing the editorial department’s feedback. Then I had a nightmare, and in the dream, the scene I just described to you appeared.”

Elijah could not tell whether he was telling the truth.

Their conversations had always carried this hazy, indistinct quality. The tactful way of putting it was that there was only a fine line between genius and madness. The less tactful version was that when someone said things that were stupid in exactly the right way, it became impossible to tell whether he was genuinely stupid or merely pretending to be.

There was another problem: no matter how outrageous Gale’s words were, he always looked utterly serious. Once someone was sincere enough, sincerity itself began to look false.

Elijah could hardly seize his adopted son by the collar and ask, Are you actually an idiot?

That would be too hurtful. It would be better to beat him directly.

He asked, “What else did you dream about?”

Gale answered, “The editorial department predicted the new series’ sales. If sales are good, the comic will continue for a long time. If sales are poor, it may be canceled after the first story is finished.”

Elijah was silent for a moment. “That’s good?”

“No!” Gale struggled desperately for once, but could not break free. He lowered his head and stared wide-eyed at Elijah. “Unless our universe encounters a crisis that no one can resolve, and the editorial department decides to overturn and rewrite everyone’s fate, this is our—my only chance. Father, Dad, I love you. Will you find a way to improve the sales of your solo series?”

Elijah remained unmoved. “In fact, I’m going to apply for a job at a pizza shop on the corner today.”

And if the “sales” Gale was talking about were the kind Elijah understood, rather than some quantum-mechanical concept, then the readers certainly would not want to watch the protagonist of a comic sell pizza.

Gale did not care what job Elijah took. But seeing his cold attitude, he immediately began trembling with rage. He kicked the floor tile with a stony expression. One kick did not vent his anger, so he kicked it twice more. On the final kick, he accidentally struck the hollowed-out cavity where a member of the Yellow Lantern Corps had chiseled out a place for a lantern. His foot landed at precisely the wrong angle, and the recoil sent him falling backward.

After making sure Gale would not suffer a concussion, Elijah simply let him go.

Gale’s back slammed solidly into the bathtub.

He made no attempt to sit up. Remaining in that position, he shouted, “You don’t love me at all! You’ve hated me from the very beginning! No matter what I want to do, I never get your support. No matter what I accomplish, I never receive a reward! In your eyes, I’m nothing but a burden you picked up off the street! You might as well have let me die in that trash can!”

“…”

Elijah was genuinely startled by the sudden outburst and almost began to question himself. But after thinking about it for a moment, he decided something was wrong with the accusation.

When you say your father doesn’t support you, shouldn’t you first consider what you’ve done?

Assuming the editorial department’s existence was real, who in their right mind would inherit the Mafia just to become the protagonist?

Your old man’s refusal to support you only proves that his head is working properly!

But the initial shock had been too strong. Elijah could not control his reaction; he leaned forward, showing a trace of surprise and the faintest hint of self-doubt.

Gale noticed it from the corner of his eye. A bitter feeling rose in his heart, but instead of quieting down, he shouted even harder.

“For more than ten years, you’ve never cared whether I lived or died! You worry that the little girl you just picked up might run into danger outside, but when I was her age, I could stay out all night and you wouldn’t even ask where I’d been!”

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The accusations poured out in a seamless torrent, like a waterfall plunging three thousand feet. Before anyone else had even reacted, Gale had already finished!

Elijah’s brain throbbed painfully.

The last time he had felt this way was the last time… when Ophelia had cried in front of him. He had no idea whether Gale’s words were true. In any case, whether they were true or not had nothing to do with the Elijah of the present. But when someone pointed at you and called you irresponsible, you had to show some kind of reaction.

Elijah was just about to speak when the phone in his trouser pocket began to vibrate.

Some time ago, while searching for a respectable civilian job, he had sent out applications everywhere and left his phone number on every résumé. To avoid missing an interview call, Elijah never put his phone on silent.

He instinctively pulled it out and glanced at the screen. The number was completely unfamiliar.

The good news was that the institution’s name appeared above the digits:

Garfield High School.

Elijah had long since passed the age of attending high school, and given his résumé, it was unlikely that he would be hired to teach at one. Ophelia was still too young for high school.

So, in this complicated and varied household of three, only one person could possibly have any connection to a high school.

Elijah gave Gale a long, deep look.

Gale’s shouting faltered, and a sudden prickling sensation crawled over his scalp.

He knew Elijah disliked answering the phone. More precisely, his adoptive father hated any situation that required too much talking and mutual probing with strangers. Telephone conversations were even worse than face-to-face exchanges: without lip movements, body language, or facial expressions to assist them, communication was less efficient.

As far as Elijah was concerned, if a call could be avoided, he would usually avoid it.

But this time, after hesitating briefly and glancing at Gale, he actually raised the phone and pressed it to his ear.

Gale’s heart began pounding violently. He pricked up his ears and heard a young man’s voice emerge from the speaker.

“Hello. I’m Jefferson Pierce, a teacher at Garfield High School in Suicide Slum. Am I speaking with Mr. Gale Esposito’s guardian? You see, your son hasn’t attended school for the past two weeks. Were you aware of that as his parent—”

Gale: “…”

Every hair on his forearms stood on end. He no longer dared to lie there pretending nothing was wrong. Watching Elijah’s expression closely, he began struggling with extreme caution.

But the Book of Destiny had only one guardian and one bound contractor. No one else could possibly control it. The harder Gale struggled, the more unbreakable the “ropes” around him appeared.

As he watched Elijah listen silently to the teacher from Garfield High School, an ominous storm gathering around him, Gale grew increasingly frantic. He clenched his teeth, sweating tiny beads from the tip of his nose.

Suddenly, an eye emerged from the ceiling directly opposite the bathtub and stared at him curiously.

The scene sounded frightening.

But the eye was not three-dimensional, fleshy, and real. It was merely a simple drawing outlined with two or three strokes. That greatly diminished the terror within it.

Gale stopped twisting and struggling. Holding his breath, he stared back at the eye.

The upper and lower lids of the sketched eye closed and blinked silently. Gale blinked as well, his anxious blue eyes reddened from strain.

The sketched eye then moved closer.

It slid laterally along the boundary where the ceiling met the wall, effortlessly passing from one plane to another perpendicular to it and changing direction as it went. Finally, it descended beside Gale. The outer lines of the eye seemed to compress inward, creating the impression of a two-dimensional creature attempting to pass through a three-dimensional plane.

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