After briefly explaining the situation to the volunteer event's organizer, Benjamin left that sunlit beach with an expressionless face.
The result of the test had been set in stone.
That "Viola" was very likely a True Person.
Benjamin was quite confident in his judgment.
He did not consider himself a pervert. He could not possibly fabricate, out of thin air, Viola's unique mode of "pleasure," one that fed upon the suffering of others.
Among the more than two million fallen wizards, freaks like Senior Viola, who had woven vile tastes into their souls and put them into practice, were likely as rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns—impossible to replicate.
Thus, judging purely from the "uniqueness" and "completeness" of her behavioral logic, the chances that Viola was the real person were extremely high.
And more conclusive evidence came from that final punch.
Benjamin had confirmed long ago that although their supernatural powers had been suppressed, they were still using their own bodies.
After living in this world for a long time, the body would remember new habits and conditioned reflexes, such as operating the light screen.
But likewise, the battle instincts forged through countless trials and hardships in the past had not been completely extinguished.
That much could be seen from the fact that he could still execute exquisite fighting techniques.
The punch he threw—its speed, angle, and explosive force—far exceeded the limits of an ordinary person's reaction.
And Viola's nearly instinctive, lightning-fast dodge was absolutely not something an ordinary office worker or community volunteer could possess.
That was combat awareness carved into the bones, an imprint left behind after being tempered by life and death.
"Confirmed. At least Senior Viola is a True Person." Then the other familiar faces were "most likely the same."
The question followed: "What should