Chapter 36 Chapter 36 Have you ever considered inviting me? ...

"Listen, we never discussed the assassin," the voice behind him said, "but he showed up there tonight and messed up my plans."

"You said that was your plan," Leopold replied calmly, "Miss Walker."

Behind him, the dripping young girl snorted indignantly. The Templar didn't look back, walking into the room as if he hadn't heard her.

"As I said," Leopold's voice faded, "you hope to accomplish this without getting blood on your hands. It's nearly impossible."

But he emerged with a long towel and handed it to Willow with both hands. Willow glanced at him suspiciously, but Leopold, as if knowing what she was thinking, quickly clarified, "Brand new."

Willow hesitated for a moment, then took the towel and covered herself with it. The dry warmth enveloped her, and the girl's expression softened considerably. "You're a lot like your father, Little Mitchell. In both the good and the bad."

The Templar's fingers paused as he closed the window, but his expression remained unchanged. He pressed a button, and the curtains mechanically closed.

"He brought me up, Miss Walker," Leopold said. "It's natural to be like him. But I suppose you didn't come to me just to chat."

"...that assassin," Willow paused, "I just said it. If we want to continue with our plan, you must find a way to get him out of the way."

The Templar gave an ambiguous response, which didn't sit well with Willow, but when he turned around, his face illuminated by the light, she could easily make out the troubled expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" Willow asked curiously, "Are there any difficulties?"

"That wasn't difficult," Leopold said slowly, thoughtfully. "I just should have gotten him out of the way."

The last time Elio came to see him, Leopold had given him a list of Abstergo's bribed individuals. It wasn't a small list, so according to the Templars' plan, the Assassins should have been investigating each of them individually... Whether Elio's investigation involved threats, bribery, or murder, he shouldn't have been able to handle it all.

"'Should have'?" Willow crossed her arms. "You clearly don't know him well enough, Little Mitchell. He's great at multitasking and time management. Unless you tie him up in your room, there's no way to truly 'get rid of' him."

Leopold looked up at her thoughtfully. "You sound like you know him well."

"All assassins are like this." Willow's expression turned cold. "He's nothing special."

Leopold looked at her for a moment. Willow glared at him with a straight face, then urged him, "Think of a plan, young master. I'm sure he's got his eye on me. If you still need me as an ally, give me some advice."

"...I really can't tie him up in my room," Leopold sighed. "He's not the type to trust others. If I do that, I'll completely lose his trust."

Willow was silent for a moment. "I was just joking," she pointed out. "Do you really think so?"

Eerie silence.

"I'll find a way," Leopold asked nonchalantly. "How's Galahad doing?"

Willow stared at him for a moment. It was obvious she was trying to be inscrutable, but because she was so young, it wasn't very successful.

"He hasn't said anything yet," she said finally. "I'll see what I can do."

Even if it means continuing to kill people. But if you want to gain the trust of Galahad and Mitchell, this is the only way. When she thought of this, the river water that had not yet dried up on Willow's body seemed to become heavy again, pressing on her shoulders and pulling her down.

Under heavy pressure, Willow casually exchanged a few pleasantries with the Templars and walked towards the window. She couldn't stay long.

While she was thinking about how to continue her plan, she walked out of the balcony. At this moment, there was a slight sound behind Willow, like something falling to the ground, or like someone stepping out lightly.

Willow subconsciously thought it was Leopold who had followed her out. She turned around and was about to say something, but her eyes immediately widened.

"You sound like you're having a great time," Elio, who should have been dumped by her, said dimly. "Did you consider inviting me?"

Willow was about to flip over the railing, but Elio had anticipated this and quickly grabbed the girl by the hood of her sweatshirt. The girl stumbled and fell backward, waiting for Elio's opportunity to punch her; the assassin dodged and they exchanged blows in a few seconds, but somehow no one was hurt, only the lounge chairs and glass table on the balcony were harmed.

At the sound of a crash, they paused. The reunited siblings exchanged glances, both hearing the Templar approaching from inside. Without waiting for a word, Elio decisively grabbed Willow and, with his free hand, pulled a grappling gun from his waist and fired it at the roof.

With a whoosh, the curtains slowly opened. Leopold looked out and saw only the overturned glass table and the empty balcony.

Elio and Willow had already moved to the hotel's rooftop garden. As soon as he let go of Willow, she immediately took a few steps back, staring at him warily. But she didn't attack again, only angrily adjusting the hood of her sweatshirt.

"I've been looking for you for a long time, Willow," Elio said. "I've searched every place you've been, killed every doctor who's performed experiments on you, and checked every file that might have your name on it, but I've always missed you..."

He took off his hood, revealing his weary face. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky above Gotham, illuminating the dark circles under the assassin's eyes.

"Come home with me, Willow," Elio said. "It's not too late."

Willow looked at him steadily, her expression changing several times, and finally she laughed.

"Do you think I'm still the same little girl standing at the school gates, waiting for you to pick me up, Elio?" she said. "I've changed. The Templars have changed me from head to toe, from the inside out. I don't see the point in going with you, Assassin, and I have no home left."

With a loud bang, Gotham began to rain.

"As long as you are willing—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Elio!" Willow shouted. "What do you think if I'm willing? This is Gotham! This is life! Look at yourself. You were the first of us to leave Gotham, and now what? Got a diploma? Got a job? Got love? And you still came back in disgrace!"

Elio fell silent. He looked at Willow, saying nothing. Rain streaked across their faces. Willow saw his expression and briefly fell silent. The coolness of the rain pierced her bones, making her suddenly feel deeply sad.

"That's life, brother," she said. "That's the curse of Gotham. We were born criminals, and it won't be any different when we grow up. I believed you when you said knowledge can change your destiny. Graham believed it too. But look at what we're doing now."

A diploma, a job, love. These sound like the essentials of a normal life, yet they remain unattainable. Elio was once so close to them, as if he could reach out and grasp them, leading the "normal" life his childhood self longed for so deeply.

Willow knew this. After discovering that the "Assassin" the Templars feared was Elio, she was surprised to investigate his past. Why did Elio become an Assassin? Why did he choose crime anyway?

That was a genius who came out of an orphanage, someone she could only dream of!

Elio, who once vowed to change his fate, Elio, who once gritted his teeth and said he would never become a criminal, Elio, who once excitedly rushed into the door to tell them that he was accepted, the brother who sent back postcards, holiday gifts and letters, encouraged her to go to school many times, and solved her problems, on this rainy night, the image of the assassin standing in front of her, silent and wet, sadly overlapped.

"…I'm not a criminal," the hybrid figure said patiently, "and neither are you. You must be in some trouble. Tell me, Willow. We can find a solution together."

"What can you do?" Willow cried, "Those Templars—they have a password that can control my actions—as long as they say it, I will no longer be myself! I have to kill! One after another! Never ending!"

Elio approached her and took her cold hands in his. Willow didn't resist his approach and snuggled into his arms. She was still so young, in high school, and her biggest worry was skipping class to eat ice cream and getting caught by the teacher.

"I'll find a way, Willow," Elio hugged her, "I promise you, we will find a way."

It was clear there was something lurking in Willow's head, and whether it was technology or magic, he would find a way to remove it and give her back her rightful freedom.

Even if things go wrong, he could still kill everyone who knew the password.

"Michelle Jr. doesn't know the password," Willow said. "At least, I don't think he does."

The rain continued to patter outside, but they were back in their Gotham apartment. It was small and shabby, but when the lights came on, Elio was sure he saw Willow's eyes light up. She rushed to the bathroom eagerly and came out clean and fluffy. Just like every evening after school, Willow was blow-drying her hair while talking loudly to Elio in the kitchen.

"Is that why you chose to work with him?" Elio said.

"…It was an accident," Willow muttered, "an accident."

Elio cut the vegetables on the cutting board, "Hmm."

Willow was silent for a moment, then turned off the hair dryer. She twirled her hair and tiptoed into the kitchen.

"I was looking into something Mitchell asked me to do," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "He suspected someone in the company was messing around. You know, when I found out about Leopold, I was so happy. I couldn't wait to see Mitchell's expression when he found out. I wanted to run all the way to tell him..."

Elio, who was pouring olive oil into the pan, cooperated, "But you didn't."

"Little Michael bribed me," Willow said frankly. "I changed my mind and thought it would be fun to let him watch the jokes about this father and son, so I didn't report him."

What happened next was a natural progression. As Elio stir-fried vegetables, sprinkling in a handful of Willow's favorite sweetcorn kernels, he pondered the complexities of the situation. Leopold was investigating the company, collaborating with Willow while secretly disobeying Mitchell. Galahad, pretending to be diligent in Gotham, was secretly colluding with the assassins to uncover the artifact's location.

There are already three Templars here.

Add to that Dr. Blackwood, whom Elio had killed previously (the entire island had sunk into the sea, forever enjoying a baby's sleep), Dean Neumann (Elio was sorry that Abstergo Hospital didn't just go bankrupt, but it looked like they were overwhelmed and couldn't hold on), Little Quinn (I heard that Red Hood had kindly taken in the remnants of his gang), and Dr. Kirk (Batman was still researching a cure to turn him back into a human)...

Here are four more Templars.

Simple arithmetic: three plus four equals seven. Mitchell had lost the aid of seven Templars.

So here comes the question.

How many Templars are left around Mitchell? Or, in other words, how many Templars are left who can obey his orders?

Elio couldn't help but laugh. Willow, who was stealing a cherry tomato from her plate, widened her eyes and almost dropped the fruit of victory.

"Are you all right, Elio?" she asked cautiously.

"Nothing," Elio said, suppressing his smile, "I just thought of something happy."

He turned off the stove. Willow helped put dinner on the table, eagerly waiting for him to join her, like a golden retriever wagging its tail.

Elio didn't keep her waiting. He wiped his hands, sat down across from her, and said casually, "Let's talk about Leopold."

"Oh?" Willow said inscrutablely, having just picked up her fork. At least, she was trying to be inscrutable. But when she quietly raised her eyes, trying to observe her brother's expression, she was horrified to find that Elio's expression was truly inscrutable.

"You didn't think I'd forgotten that conversation, did you?" Elio raised an eyebrow. "About your plan. The one that required me to be sent away before it could proceed."

With a loud clatter, Willow's fork made a miserable scream on the plate.