Overthinking Is the Deadliest

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

"When did you start watching me?"

"Watching you? I would never watch you." Hassen shook his head.

"Your branch has always lived in the Muggle world. To ensure your safety, and the safety of the Bones family, I sent people to check on you regularly."

Brook's tapping fingers stopped. He leaned forward. "So when?"

"Half a year ago. The person I sent happened to see you practicing that unusual magic."

Hassen gestured a square with his hands. "That was when I started paying attention to you."

Brook remained expressionless. "Why did you tell Dumbledore?"

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

"You shouldn't have let me push your wheelchair just now." Brook stroked the ring on his hand.

"It seems we both have ways to keep each other in check now."

Brook frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

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

Brook: (￣⊿￣)╭

Hassen slowly said, "I understand you. I knew you didn't want to become a wizard. So, do you remember the person who passed by you and mentioned Lloyds Bank?"

"Why were you so sure I would go?"

"I wasn't. I was merely taking a gamble. I gambled that, as someone with the bloodline of the Bones family, you wouldn't be able to resist upon hearing about a massive amount of gold."

In truth, robbing a bank had already been part of Brook's plans.

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

All Hassen's man had done was deliver information that happened to be exactly what he wanted.

"You won that bet," Brook admitted. "So you told Dumbledore because you wanted him to bring me into Hogwarts and keep me in the Magical World?"

"That's right."

"Weren't you worried he'd send me to Azkaban?"

Hassen smiled instead. "Haven't you realized it yet? With your unique magic, spatial confinement spells are completely useless. In other words, no matter where it is, no place can hold you."

Brook immediately felt the urge to curse.

He wanted nothing more than to slap himself across the face.

He had indeed considered that the Door-Door Fruit's power differed from magic.

But Dumbledore had acted so calm at the time, and had found him so quickly afterward.

That had led him to believe the Door-Door Fruit's power could be restricted by magic and that he could be tracked easily.

What annoyed him most was Hassen's implication.

It sounded like he had robbed his own money.

"Continue. If I escaped from Azkaban, I wouldn't remain in the Magical World either. That doesn't fit your expectations."

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

"He wouldn't do that. Even if he truly intended to send you to Azkaban, as a shareholder of Lloyds Bank, I could have the charge withdrawn."

Brook applauded. "What a beautiful scheme. Thorough planning, manipulation of human nature, and a foolproof backup plan."

The smile vanished from his face. "Give me a reason not to kill you."

"You don't need one. As long as you're willing to bear the Bones name, you may take my life."

Hassen looked calm, as though he had long since cast life and death aside.

"What if I refuse?"

What Brook hated most was being played for a fool.

Dumbledore had done it, and so had Hassen before him.

He was not yet confident enough to test himself against Dumbledore, but Hassen was a fine target.

"I'll save your life in exchange for you taking the Bones name. My life will serve as an apology," Hassen offered.

"Explain."

"You've been poisoned, but I wasn't the one who did it," Hassen explained.

"After all, your heart isn't with the Bones family. Changing your name would be pointless."

"I believe that. With your intelligence, you wouldn't use such a crude method."

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

Quirrell's book.

He brushed the ring, and the book instantly appeared on the table.

Hassen took out his wand and placed its tip against the book.

He muttered an incantation that Brook could not understand at all, something like a song.

A faint stream of black smoke slowly drifted out of the book.

With a light flick of his wand, he collected the black smoke into an empty bottle he had conjured.

"Who gave you this book?"

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

Hassen narrowed his eyes. "Want me to handle him?"

Brook shook his head.

If he had to leave even this sort of matter to someone else, then his rebirth would have been for nothing.

"Can you cure this poison?"

"Three Corpse Brain God Potion. It's a slow-acting poison commonly used by Albanian priests. Taking one antidote pill every month will keep you alive."

"And?"

"This poison was invented by our ancestors. It was originally used to control Albanian priests, so there is an antidote that can eradicate it completely."

Brook pondered for a moment.

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

Changing his surname was no great matter.

The reason he had insisted was that he wanted to use it as a bargaining chip.

"I can change my surname to Bersted, but it must wait until I come of age before it is made public."

"Fine." Hassen agreed readily.

"As for your life..." A trace of amusement flashed through Brook's eyes. "You have a good head. Work for me."

Hassen burst into laughter, laughing with genuine delight.

If Brook had truly chosen to strike, Hassen would never have waited helplessly for death.

And Brook would have lost the chance to inherit the Bones family forever.

What Bersted needed was a shrewd, wise, ruthless, decisive, steady, and farsighted family head.

Not a lion who acted on impulse and rushed ahead recklessly.

Hassen then began treating Brook's poison.

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

It turned out that Hassen had recognized Brook's poisoning because of a strange pattern on his neck, no larger than a grain of rice.

That pattern was proof that Three Corpse Brain God Potion had been planted in him.

The smile on Hassen's face widened. "It seems you intend to beat them at their own game."

"Something like that."

Brook thought of the Philosopher's Stone.

Combined with the fact that he had been poisoned,

it was obvious who wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone.

But coincidentally, he wanted the Philosopher's Stone too.

"It can't be preserved, but I can draw an identical one for you," Hassen said.

"Fine."

The detoxification process was actually not complicated.

He took the medicine, then squatted in the bathroom for half an hour.

By the time his legs had gone weak, the poison had been completely expelled.

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

Seeing Hassen standing there, Brook could not help asking, "Your legs are fine?"

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

Hassen looked at Brook with a smiling expression.

"Then you... Forget it. Pretend I never asked."

It was normal enough for an old man with inconvenient legs to use a wheelchair.

But there was another possibility: a deliberate trap laid for someone unsuspecting.

If Brook had truly attacked, that move might have thrown him completely into disarray.