Chapter 64 : Chapter 64
Chapter 64 : Ryan: Honest
This was not Cosette’s usual light knock on the door, nor the polite three taps a servant used when delivering meals.
This knock was heavy and urgent.
It sounded like someone striking the door with their knuckles—BANG, BANG, BANG. Each blow landed like a hammer against wood, echoing dully through the quiet morning corridor.
Ryan’s fingers froze.
Cosette also lifted her head from the corner of the kitchen. She set down the piece of dry bread she had been cutting and hurried to the door. But she did not open it immediately. Instead, she turned and looked at Ryan, silently asking for instruction.
The knocking came again.
Even heavier. Even more urgent.
“Ryan Velt!” a man’s voice shouted from outside, hoarse and rough. “Open the door! Disciplinary Committee!”
The Disciplinary Committee.
Those three words felt like a bucket of ice water poured from above.
Ryan set down his charcoal pencil and stood.
He walked to the door and motioned for Cosette to step back.
The brown-haired girl bit her lower lip but obeyed, retreating to the desk, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her apron.
Ryan took a slow breath and grasped the doorknob.
The metal handle felt cold.
He turned it. The click of the lock releasing sounded unusually loud in the quiet room.
The door opened.
Three people stood outside.
At the front was a tall middle-aged man wearing the dark-blue uniform of the Disciplinary Committee. The silver star on his shoulder insignia glinted coldly in the morning light.
He had a square, stern face. A neatly trimmed beard framed his chin. His eyes were a murky gray, like dusty glass marbles.
Behind him stood two younger committee members—a man and a woman—both wearing the same uniforms and carrying serious expressions.
The male member held a clipboard.
The female member carried a dark tool bag slung across her shoulder.
Ryan recognized that kind of bag. It usually contained various detection instruments and evidence collection tools.
“Ryan Velt?” the middle-aged man asked. His voice was the same rough tone he had used when knocking.
“Yes.”
“I am Graham, leader of the Third Investigation Team of the Disciplinary Committee.”
The man displayed his identification. Inside a dark leather holder was a silver badge and photograph.
“We have several questions regarding yesterday’s potion class incident that require your cooperation for further investigation.”
His tone was formal.
But there was no room for negotiation in his words.
Ryan’s gaze moved past his shoulder and into the corridor.
Morning light slanted in from the window at the far end, casting long twisted shadows across the stone floor.
There was no one else there.
“Now?” Ryan asked.
“Now,” Graham replied with a nod. “Please come with us. The questioning must take place in a separate location outside your dormitory.”
He paused before adding,
“This is standard procedure. All students involved will undergo a second round of detailed questioning.”
Standard procedure.
Ryan looked into the man’s gray eyes.
There was no emotion in them. Only bureaucratic indifference.
He glanced at the two younger committee members.
The male officer tapped the edge of his clipboard unconsciously.
The female officer was scanning the room behind Ryan, as though evaluating the interior.
“Do I need to bring anything?” Ryan asked.
“Nothing,” Graham replied. “It is only questioning. If everything goes smoothly, it should take about an hour.”
He said it casually.
But Ryan noticed that the female officer’s tool bag looked rather full. It did not appear to contain only pens and paper.
“Master…” Cosette called softly from behind him, her voice thick with worry.
Ryan did not turn around.
He nodded to Graham.
“All right.”
He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
In the final moment before the door shut, he glanced back.
Cosette stood beside the desk, her dark-brown eyes wide with fear she could not hide.
Her fingers clenched tightly around her apron, the knuckles pale.
Then the door closed.
The air in the corridor felt colder than inside the room.
Graham stepped aside, motioning for Ryan to walk ahead. The two younger officers followed behind him on either side.
The four sets of footsteps echoed through the empty corridor.
Heavy.
Orderly.
Like some formal procession escorting a prisoner.
They descended the stairs and passed through the dormitory lobby.
The dormitory manager sat behind the counter. When he saw them, he froze briefly before lowering his head and pretending to organize documents, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
They exited the dormitory building.
The cold morning wind struck their faces.
The sky remained gloomy. The clouds hung even lower now, as though they might collapse.
The training field stood empty. A few flags fluttered weakly in the wind.
Graham led Ryan toward the western side of the academy.
That was where the Disciplinary Committee’s office building stood.
A dull gray three-story structure with narrow windows that resembled prison watch slits.
Halfway there, Graham suddenly spoke.
His voice was low.
“Student Velt.”
Ryan turned his head slightly.
The man’s gray eyes were fixed on him.
Something seemed to turn slowly within them.
“I have reviewed yesterday’s questioning record,” Graham said. “Your answers were very cautious.”
Ryan did not respond.
“Caution is good,” Graham continued. “But in certain situations, excessive caution can attract unnecessary attention.”
His gaze shifted toward the gray building ahead.
“There will be a senior committee adviser present during the questioning,” he said quietly.
“They will ask questions. You answer them.”
He lowered his voice even further.
“But remember—only state facts. Do not speculate. Do not make associations. And most importantly… do not mention anyone or anything unrelated to the incident.”
The final sentence came almost as a whisper.
After speaking, Graham immediately resumed his official demeanor, as if the entire exchange had never happened.
He quickened his pace toward the committee building.
The corridor swallowed all warmth.
Inside, the Disciplinary Committee office was even colder than its exterior suggested.
Gray-green paint peeled from the walls in patches. Mold stains crept through the shadows.
Dust.
Old paper.
Cheap ink.
The smells mixed together and settled heavily in the air.
Graham pushed open a door at the end of the third-floor corridor.
The door hinge shrieked dryly.
The room was not large. A rectangular space.
A dark wooden table stood across the center.
Three people sat behind it.
At the center sat a middle-aged woman wearing glasses. Her gray hair was tied into a tight bun at the back of her head.
Behind the lenses, her eyes resembled two polished stones.
To her left sat a bald man flipping through a stack of documents.
To her right sat a younger female committee member tapping her fingers against the table edge unconsciously.
Across from them stood a single chair.
“Sit.”
The woman with glasses spoke.
Her voice was flat and emotionless.
Ryan walked to the chair.
The wooden legs scraped against the stone floor with a short, harsh sound as he pulled it out.
As he sat down, his peripheral vision swept across the corner of the room.
Two people stood there.
They wore the uniforms of Disciplinary Committee officers, their caps pulled low.
But one of them had a familiar stance.
The habit of slightly leaning forward on the right shoulder.
And…
Ryan withdrew his gaze.
His hands rested steadily on his knees.