The Art Is Underway

"Gotoh, do you know who those people were?"

His gaze was cold, but his expression was full of amusement.

As if he'd discovered something interesting, Coleman spoke in a low voice.

"Are they from some great family?"

Otherwise, how could they have infiltrated the Zoldyck Family so thoroughly?

At the question, the butler Gotoh's hand paused. He tossed the disinfectant swab into the trash, his tone and expression both bland.

"No, young master. They're just a bunch of nobodies hired by someone."

As he spoke, he took out some gauze and bandaged the stitched-up wound.

He moved very carefully, afraid he might hurt the young master.

Though Gotoh knew this little bit of pain wouldn't hurt the child.

But perhaps it was because of Coleman's white hair.

Or perhaps it was because Coleman was naturally optimistic.

Something about him stirred the tiniest bit of personal affection in this grave, reserved butler.

"As for how they found the cloakroom, it's because this bug got lost."

Gotoh didn't even look up, and his tone didn't change.

But Coleman heard the mockery in his words.

Coleman nodded.

That was normal. The Zoldyck Family estate was so vast that even he sometimes got lost.

What chance did a crawler have, especially on its first visit?

Even knowing the map in advance wouldn't help.

After all, because the people in this house were so destructive, the family "map" was always being updated.

For example, the reception room that had been there just two days ago had now been destroyed by his grandfather after a disagreement with a guest.

The armory on the second basement level had also been completely destroyed because of Illumi's experiments.

And the lawn in the southeast corner of the estate had been obliterated the last time Coleman took Mike out and failed to hold on to the leash.

Coleman suddenly fell silent.

Ah, well.

There was a reason his father cared so much about money.

The Zoldyck Family's sheer destructive power meant even a little prank could cause catastrophic damage.

Without money, even repairing the infrastructure would be a huge problem.

And then there were all the family's daily expenses.

Tsk...

At that thought, Coleman suddenly spoke. "Gotoh, could you get me a list of the intruders? Or a list of their employers would do."

If they could hire Hunters to attack the Zoldycks, they must be rich.

Coleman lowered his eyes, smiling faintly.

If you've got money and nowhere to spend it, let me help you out.

"...Young master, we're assassins."

We're not bandits!

Gotoh pushed up his glasses and silently grumbled.

What are you planning to do with that look on your face, as if you're about to go rob someone?

"Yeah, and why can't assassins get revenge?"

Coleman blinked, feigning innocence.

He hopped down from the chair and bounced around, even twirling in a circle.

Tilting his head, he put on an adorable act.

"I just want them to know that there are consequences for messing with the Zoldyck Family."

His voice, however, was utterly cold, and laced with killing intent.

Like a ferocious beast baring its fangs.

Why did you have to scare Mother?

You even made her angry.

So you deserve to die.

Watching the indignant young master, Gotoh was momentarily at a loss for words.

The Zoldyck Family faced an invasion every three to five days.

Most of the time, the attackers were stopped in the outer grounds. Those clowns never got anywhere near the lady or the head of the family.

But today, the head of the family had hired specialists to perform a prenatal checkup, giving those idiots an opening.

Gotoh silently wondered whether, after this incident, the Zoldyck Family's medical team would gain a new department.

But when it came to revenge, the Zoldyck Family had a dedicated team.

There was no need for the young masters to do such a low-class job.

After straightening his clothes, Gotoh stood up.

"Young master Coleman, you don't need to worry about this. A dedicated team will take care of them."

But Coleman thought this sounded incredibly fun, and very much wanted to take part.

Besides, if they used the methods of an old-established assassin family like theirs, they'd just kill the culprits.

But what about the money?

The damage to their family had cost far more than a few lives could repay.

Besides, how much were those people worth?

"And rather than asking a subordinate, you should ask the head of the family."

Gotoh spoke respectfully.

The information he had wouldn't be the most complete or the most up to date.

He was only responsible for compiling the records. Interrogation and torture were handled by another department.

Technically, the head of the family would have the most complete information.

Coleman thought it over. Gotoh was right.

Then, dejected, he headed outside.

He didn't want to bother his father while he was still in a bad mood.

How annoying. The Zoldyck Family's secrecy policies were such a pain.

Otherwise, why would the butler who handled all the household's affairs have no firsthand information?

He wondered which head of the family had come up with rules that made things so complicated.

Different butlers had to manage different matters.

Then everything was reported back to the head of the family.

He kept grumbling to himself, but Coleman could only run off to get the information from Silva.

Humming a tune, the little boy was carefree.

His white suit fit him perfectly.

The red piping along the edges was just right.

And the black rose on his chest completed the look.

He looked like a little gentleman.

His slightly tousled white hair was held neatly in place with hair gel.

Messy, yet still beautiful.

It added a touch of nobility.

Under the night sky, he looked like a white angel descended to earth.

But when his blood-red eyes swept over the world below,

you suddenly realized the truth.

There was no fallen angel here.

This was a man-eating demon, keeping time to a terrifying beat.

The scarlet expanse of his eyes shimmered like a sea of stars.

Blood-red jewels.

Worth a fortune.

He casually plucked a crimson rose from the garden.

Then he walked on, slow and unhurried.

As if strolling through the garden of his own home.

Like a ghost, he wandered through the estate.

Quietly, leisurely.

Step by step, he made his way indoors.

Without disturbing anyone.

He glanced at the watch on his left wrist.

His brows lifted with a faint smile.

Perfect timing.

He looked up, brimming with anticipation.

Time to paint.