Overthinking Is the Deadliest

Brook crossed his hands, fingers tapping slowly and rhythmically against the back of his hand.

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Watching? I wouldn't call it that." Hassen shook his head.

"Your branch has always survived in the Muggle world. To ensure your safety and the safety of the Bones family, I had people check in periodically."

Brook's tapping fingers stopped, and he leaned forward. "So when?"

"Six months ago. The person I sent happened to see you practicing that peculiar magic."

Hassen gestured a rectangle with his hands. "From then on, I started paying attention to you."

Brook's face was expressionless. "Why tell Dumbledore?"

Hassen suddenly laughed. "If my reason doesn't satisfy you, what will you do? Kill me?"

"You shouldn't have let me push your wheelchair earlier." Brook stroked the ring on his finger.

"It seems we both have ways to hold each other hostage."

Brook frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Hassen said, "No rush. Let me finish explaining first."

Brook: (￣⊿￣)╭

Hassen spoke slowly. "I know you. I know you never wanted to be a wizard. So, do you remember the person who walked past you and mentioned Lloyds Bank?"

"What made you so sure I'd go?"

"I wasn't sure. I just gambled. I gambled that you, with the Bones family blood in your veins, wouldn't be able to resist the news of a fortune in gold."

In truth, robbing the bank had already been part of Brook's plan.

Gold, money, jewels—anything that let him enjoy life was the same to him.

It just so happened that the message Hassen's man delivered hit the mark perfectly.

"You gambled right," Brook admitted. "So telling Dumbledore was your way of getting him to pull me into Hogwarts and keep me in the Magical World?"

"Exactly."

"Not worried he'd throw me into Azkaban?"

Hassen chuckled. "Haven't you realized yet? Your unique magic—space-binding spells are useless against it. That means no place can hold you."

Brook felt a surge of irritation, wanting to curse.

He could've slapped himself.

He'd considered before that the Door-Door Fruit's power was different from magic.

But Dumbledore had been so calm back then, and he'd found Brook quickly enough.

That made Brook mistakenly think the Door-Door Fruit's ability could be restricted by magic and easily tracked.

What pissed him off most was that, according to Hassen's logic, He'd basically robbed his own money.

"Go on. If I escaped from Azkaban, I wouldn't stay in the Magical World. That doesn't fit your plan."

"Because I know you, and I know Dumbledore even better," Hassen said confidently.

"He wouldn't do that. Even if he tried to lock you in Azkaban, as a shareholder of Lloyds Bank, I could drop the charges."

Brook clapped slowly. "A beautiful scheme. Meticulous planning, human nature exploited, and a foolproof backup plan."

His smile faded. "Give me one reason not to kill you."

"No need. If you're willing to bear the name of Bones, you can take my life."

Hassen's expression was calm, as if he'd already put life and death aside.

"And if I don't?"

Brook hated being played for a fool more than anything.

Dumbledore had done it, and now Hassen was doing the same.

He wasn't confident enough to go toe-to-toe with Dumbledore yet, but Hassen was a decent target.

"I saved your life. In exchange, you bear the name of Bones. My life is the apology." Hassen laid out his terms.

"Explain."

"You've been poisoned, but not by me," Hassen explained.

"After all, your heart isn't with the Bones family. Changing the name wouldn't change that."

"I believe that. With your intellect, you wouldn't stoop to such a low tactic."

"Have you come into contact with anything unusual at school?"

Quirrell's book.

He wiped his hand over the ring, and the book instantly appeared on the table.

Hassen drew out his wand and touched its tip to the book.

He chanted a song-like incantation that Brook couldn't understand at all.

A faint wisp of black smoke slowly drifted out from the book.

With a light flick of his wand, the black smoke was collected into an empty bottle that had appeared out of nowhere.

"Who gave you this book?"

"Quirinus Quirrell, the Dark Arts professor," Brook replied.

Hassen narrowed his eyes. "Do I need to step in?"

Brook shook his head.

If he had to rely on others for something like this, his rebirth would have been wasted.

"Can you cure this poison?"

"Three Corpse Brain God Potion—it's a slow-acting poison commonly used in Albanian rituals. Taking one antidote pill each month keeps you alive."

"And?"

"This poison was actually invented by our ancestors, originally used to control Albanian priests. So there is a cure that can completely eradicate it."

Brook thought for a moment.

The Bones family was so wealthy that he had wanted to claim it anyway.

Changing his surname was no big deal.

The reason he had insisted was to use it as leverage.

"I can change my surname to Bones, but I won't make it public until I come of age."

"Agreed." Hassen accepted readily.

"And your life?" A hint of amusement flickered in Brook's eyes. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. Work for me."

Hassen burst into laughter, genuinely amused.

If Brook had chosen to make a move, he wouldn't have just sat there waiting to die.

And Brook would never have inherited the Bones family.

The Bones family needed a shrewd, ruthless, steady, and far-sighted head.

Not a hotheaded, reckless lion.

Then Hassen set about curing Brook of the poison.

"Can you keep this pattern on my neck?" Brook asked.

The reason Hassen had noticed Brook was poisoned

was because of a strange, grain-sized pattern on his neck.

And that pattern was the mark of having been infected with the Three Corpse Brain God Potion.

The smile on Hassen's face deepened. "Looks like you want to turn the tables."

"Something like that."

Brook thought of the Philosopher's Stone.

Combined with the fact that he had been poisoned.

Who wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone became obvious.

But coincidentally, he wanted it too.

"I can't keep it, but I can paint an identical one on you," Hassen said.

"Fine."

The detox process wasn't all that complicated.

Take the medicine, then squat in the bathroom for half an hour.

By the time your legs went weak and shaky, the poison would be flushed out.

When Brook came out of the bathroom, Hassen had already prepared the painting tools.

Seeing Hassen standing, Brook couldn't help asking, "Your legs are fine?"

"When did I ever say there was something wrong with my legs?"

Hassen looked at Brook with a smile.

"Then you... forget it, pretend I didn't ask."

It was normal for an old man with mobility issues to use a wheelchair.

But there was another possibility—a calculated deception.

If Brook had actually made a move, he might have been thrown off balance by that trick.