Chapter 19: The Turing Test and Homegrown Malandragem

  ?Julius Vermilion’s office didn't smell of blood or sweat like the rest of the manor. It smelled of old paper, candle wax, and a silent arrogance that was far more dangerous than Eduard’s screaming.

  ?Ren stood there, bare feet on the expensive carpet, feeling the pulse of the runic collar on his neck. He had been brought in by soldiers like a high-risk prisoner, even though he was only six and looked like a twig. Julius sat behind a black oak desk, surrounded by anatomy tomes and runic flow scrolls.

  ?"The 'Law of Flow Dilation', Ren..." Julius began, without taking his eyes off a diagram he had drawn himself. "I’ve searched every record in the Imperial library. I’ve looked through the treatises of Odyssia and even the footnotes of Dresden mages. Curious, isn't it? I haven't found a single mention of that term."

  ?"Holy shit, the nerd is dedicated," Ren thought, feeling a drop of cold sweat slide down his back. His sergeant’s instinct screamed: Tactical ambush. Retreat and camouflage.

  ?"Young Master Julius is a brilliant scholar," Ren replied, keeping his voice submissive but steady. "Technical terms change between lineages. What my father called Dilation, others might call Channel Saturation. It’s a matter of logistical semantics, not divergent theory."

  ?Julius looked up. His eyes were cold, searching for a chink in Ren’s armor.

  ?"And the Hyperbolic Spiral? You said it optimizes internal space. But mathematically, the pressure on the filament walls should double. Why didn't my brother’s arm explode on the first punch, but rather on the hundredth?"

  ?Ren felt that "knot in the stomach" he used to get whenever a Colonel caught an irregularity in the barracks' inventory. "If I stutter now, I'm toast."

  ?"Because Young Master Eduard is..." Ren paused dramatically, feigning forced admiration, "...a prodigy. His body compensated for the theoretical flaw for weeks. The technique is experimental, Master Julius. I never said it was perfect. I am just a child trying to remember what I overheard in the hallways of Eritineos. If there was an error, it was my failing memory, not an intent to harm."

  ?Julius held his gaze for ten long seconds. He wanted to believe Ren was a malevolent genius, but the idea that a six-year-old kid could plan such complex biological sabotage seemed... absurd. Julius decided Ren was merely a useful, albeit "defective," tool.

  ?"I see. You are a transmitter of fragmented knowledge. You know the formula, but you don't understand the chemistry," Julius said with a tone of superiority that made Ren want to sweep his legs. "You may leave. But know that from now on, I will personally review every 'comma' of what you teach us. Go."

  ?Ren bowed and left. As soon as the heavy door closed and he began to be escorted back to the dungeon, the prodigy mask fell off.

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  ?"Dammit, Keinji! You’re so stupid!" he began to berate himself internally. "Flow Dilation? Seriously? You invented a name for blood pressure medication and thought Junior Sherlock Holmes wouldn't check? If he were a bit more 'malandro', I’d be hanging by my big toe right now. What a recruit-level blunder, man!"

  ?He felt like the worst spy in human history. An amateur. An intern at the ABIN (Brazilian Intelligence Agency).

  ?But as he passed a corridor leading to the winter garden, the scent of jasmine hit him, and a silly, warm memory rescued him from the abyss of self-criticism.

  ?Flashback: The Porcelain Vase Crisis (4 years ago)

  ?Ren was two years old. He was in Iris’s lap while she talked to Arthur about border tactics. Erina, who at the time was just a small apprentice servant at the Valerius manor, was polishing a blue porcelain vase that had been a family heirloom for five generations.

  ?Clang!

  ?The vase shattered into a thousand pieces. Erina turned white as a ghost, ready to be whipped or worse.

  ?Arthur looked at the scene with the severity of a Marquess. Iris sighed. But little Ren, with a full diaper and the audacity of a "corner-bar malandro," crawled over to the shards, looked at his father, and pointed to the family dog—a massive mastiff sleeping two meters away.

  ?"Woof woof... bwoke," said baby Ren, with the straightest face in the world.

  ?The dog hadn't even budged. It was physically impossible for him to have knocked over the vase without waking up. Arthur looked at the baby, looked at the dog, and then at the trembling Erina.

  ?"Arthur..." Iris began to laugh, a crystalline laugh that disarmed all tension. "He’s trying to 'manage the crisis'. He knows Erina is in trouble and created a convenient culprit."

  ?Arthur let out a dry laugh and shook his head.

  ?"He’s a terrible liar, Iris. But he has the heart of a negotiator. Erina, clean this up and say the dog tripped. But if Ren tries to sell you a wooden horse saying it’s a unicorn in a few years, don't believe him."

  ?The Now: Hallways of the Vermilion Manor

  ?Ren gave a slight smirk, feeling a discreet tear threaten the corner of his eye.

  ?"I haven't changed at all. I’m still blaming the dog for breaking the vase."

  ?He realized his mistake with Julius wasn't a lack of technique, but an excess of confidence. He needed to go back to being the "baby pointing at the dog." He needed to be more human, more flawed, less "Sergeant."

  ?Meanwhile, in the office, Julius spoke with Marth, who had entered right after Ren left.

  ?"Well, Julius? What is the little Valerius hiding?" the Duke asked.

  ?"Nothing we should fear, Father," Julius replied, closing the anatomy book. "He is intelligent, yes. But he is disorganized. He gave us a powerful but incomplete technique. Eduard’s mistake was excessive zeal in a body that isn't ready yet. I will filter Ren’s knowledge. I will extract what’s useful and discard the refuse. He is just a torn encyclopedia."

  ?Marth nodded.

  ?"Use him until the last page is read. After that, he will have no more use."

  ?Ren, descending the stairs into the darkness of the cell, felt a chill. He had escaped by the skin of his teeth. Starting tomorrow, he would no longer be the perfect instructor. He would be the "hardworking and confused" instructor. He would learn to fail on purpose so that Julius would feel superior while correcting him.

  ?"The strategy now is total pretense," Ren thought, lying down on the dirty hay next to George. "If they think I’m a torn encyclopedia, I’ll make damn sure the pages they read are the ones leading straight off a cliff."

  ?He closed his eyes. The pain from the collar was still there, but his acidic Brazilian humor kept him sane. He had won the interrogation. And somehow, the "woof woof" from the past still protected him.