Charlotte's brows shot up in surprise when she heard this.
"So you've been left out," she remarked, her tone more factual than sarcastic.
"Geniuses are always misunderstood," Russell shrugged.
"That word doesn't describe you," Charlotte replied mercilessly.
"But of course, if the party's only attendees are you and those fools, I wouldn't necessarily refuse to go," she added.
She went on, "That idiot doesn't even realize his father is in the political opposition to Mycroft, yet he tries to use Mycroft's name to threaten me."
She must be talking about Timmy Roy.
"Who?"
Charlotte picked up her teacup.
"Minister Ethan Roy's son. He inherited his father's stupidity completely. In Parliament, his father's greatest pleasure is just voting against every bill Mycroft supports, no matter what it is. Yet here his son tries to threaten me with my own brother's name. I honestly don't know what he's thinking..." She yawned with boredom.
"Anyway, the Saturday night icebreaker party is open to whoever wishes to attend."
"Alright," Russell shrugged, exerting no more pressure.
Whether or not Charlotte attended didn't really matter to him.
Once out of her room, Russell went back to his room, changed out of his clothes for something more ordinary—a baseball cap, an oil-stained jacket, and faded jeans.
He glanced at the clock, realized it was about time, and then headed out to catch the nearest tram.
The tram wound through the city at dusk. Russell leaned against the window, watching the scenery slip by, even as a customized map kept playing through his mind: jewels in the master bedroom safe, bribe records in the study's secret room, scandalous photos stashed beneath the guest bed.
This minister's private life was far more transparent than his foolish son's.
Tonight, Russell's main goal was recon: survey the grounds, understand the layout, plan an escape route—prepare so that Saturday night's visit would go as smoothly as if the whole thing were a rehearsed play.
The tram stopped just past Hyde Park. Russell got off and melted into the busy crowds, blending in like a drop of water into the sea. He pulled his cap down, hands in pockets, playing the part of a casual pedestrian as he made his way towards the wealthy district marked on his mental map.
The Roy House stood at the corner of a quiet street, a typical three-story Victorian structure with a neatly kept little front yard. Russell sauntered by slowly, continuing to observe and gather information.
[Scouting C+ activated]
Number of guards, their routes, shift times, blind spots...
From outside, the security actually seemed weaker than he'd expected. Perhaps Ethan Roy, being a minister, couldn't imagine some fool would try to target him; or maybe, as far as he was concerned, even if someone did, all they'd lose would be a bit of trivial money or property—not enough to really hurt. The things that could really destroy him, he was confident no one would ever find.
Looking at the mansion layout and the valuables' hiding places, Russell had to admit Roy's confidence was not entirely unfounded. Still, it wasn't perfect.
Sitting on a bench across the street, Russell pulled out the afternoon's newspaper—ostensibly to read it, but in reality tracking the second-floor windows of the mansion.
"Hmm... The east-facing terrace on the second floor is the easiest entry," he muttered to himself, like a student double-checking answers before handing in homework. "A three-minute window during the guard shift—plenty of time to pick the lock and get inside."
He ran through the entire plan once more in his mind. Just as he was about to leave, a luxurious coach rolled to a stop at the nearby street corner and then pulled up to Roy's mansion.
The carriage door opened, and a familiar figure stepped out.
Golden curls dazzling in the twilight, a tailored suit, and an air of smug self-importance—Timmy Roy.
Russell frowned slightly. Instinctively, he lifted the newspaper to obscure his face, debating whether he should leave right now, or wait for Roy Jr. to go inside first.
But Timmy Roy seemed unusually alert today—probably because Russell had riled him up so much at school, he was on high alert toward everyone and everything. Scanning his surroundings as he got out of the carriage, his eyes happened to lock onto the figure sitting across the street, reading a newspaper a little too conspicuously.
Timmy frowned. That figure looked... familiar. He squinted, trying to get a better look. They were around 100 meters apart and light was dim, but a man in a baseball cap, slumped in his seat—that had to be the same country bumpkin he'd detested earlier.
No mistake. That annoying guy was definitely Russell Watson!
What the hell is he doing here?!
A thousand suspicions flashed through Timmy's mind at once.
Tailgating me? Plotting something? Or—did he find out my father's profession and come up with another scheme?
Whatever the case, Timmy was extremely displeased.
How dare that country bumpkin spy on my house?!
…
[Timmy Roy is outraged by your spying actions. Malice level +30.]
Is that guy's eyesight really that good?
Upon seeing the notification, Russell cursed under his breath, quickly folded up his paper, stood, and tried to blend into the crowd to escape.
"Stop right there!" Timmy Roy's voice rang out from across the street, rough and commanding. He didn't even enter his house—instead, he strode belligerently toward Russell. His guards followed immediately, forming a subtle pincer on him.
There's no way to escape now.
Items like Fog Bomb and Grappling Hook flashed through his mind, but the noise they'd make was unacceptable for this situation.
Russell's brow furrowed a little, then relaxed.
[Malice Points -250. Item purchase successful.]
With a faint popping sound, two objects abruptly appeared in Russell's palm within his pocket. Calmly, he slipped on one of them over his face, waiting for Timmy and his men to approach.
"I told you to stop right there!"
Timmy placed a hand very rudely on Russell's shoulder.
"Russell Watson, you—who the heck are you?"
…