Chapter 161 Chapter 161 (End of Text) I really don’t like myself...
The bomb did not explode.
Elio smiled. His fingers loosened, the Hidden Blade rebounded, and the detached detonator slid free. Elio himself fell back, sprawling on the ground. Ethan was no better. Neither of them was in much better shape. It couldn't be described simply as "a life-or-death struggle"; it could be described as "a beating from the god of death." How else could one explain their injuries?
Ethan clenched his fist loosely and punched Elio on the shoulder. "You saved the world."
Elio laughed, "Come on."
"But seriously," Ethan said, "I'm glad you're here for times like this. I don't know why, but every time I'm like this, I'm always lying on the ground, all alone, waiting for someone to pick me up..."
He heard the roar of a helicopter. Ethan's vision was already blurry. He squinted his eyes and saw a familiar string of English words on the fuselage of the "Squirrel" helicopter flying over.
"Look, Elio," Ethan murmured reassuringly, "we can go home."
Elio didn't answer. Ethan forced himself to turn and saw the assassin lying beside him, his eyes peacefully closed. The helicopter landed on the cliff, the roar of the wind drowning out all other sounds.
…
Elio, who had fallen asleep on the spot, was rushed to a nearby medical camp along with Ethan, and then packed up and taken back to the United States. Elio's consciousness flickered in and out, but seeing the IMF team always nearby, he drifted off to sleep again.
After all, this was all too much for him.
Even American intelligence wouldn't immediately dismiss the assassin who helped them resolve a nuclear crisis. Elio was initially perplexed by his presence in the United States, but soon resigned himself to the warm regards—he truly deserved them—until his injuries had almost healed, and he was catching up on a TV series in his hospital room when there was a knock on his door.
"Come in," Elio said.
The person who came in wasn't a medical professional. Elio sat on the bed, a half-empty bag of chips in his hand, when he saw a short-haired woman walk in with two subordinates. She wore a black trench coat and a white pearl necklace. She pulled one out of her pocket and waved it at the two subordinates, who held high positions. "Stay outside."
Elio looked at the stars on their shoulders, then back at her.
She stepped in and looked at the TV first. "Friends? It's a classic."
Elio said nothing, but picked up another potato chip from the bag and ate it.
"I'm Erica Sloan, Director of the CIA," she said to Elio, putting her hands back in her pockets. "Thank you for saving the world from nuclear contamination."
"You're welcome," Elio said.
Director Sloane tilted her head. Her movement was subtle, but the ring hanging from her ear swung a few times. "Do you mind if I sit here for a while?"
"Go ahead," Elio said as Sloane had already pulled up a chair and sat down. "I guess this is your CIA territory."
"You're welcome," Sloane leaned back and crossed his legs modestly. "It's an honor for us at the CIA to take care of you."
Elio couldn't help laughing.
"Though I doubt you'd want to return here if you had a choice," Sloane shrugged. "Why? I wouldn't like America either. Born in Gotham and wanted by Blüdhaven, it's fine if you have nowhere to go, but it's obvious that the Italians and the British are fond of you, and I can't help but be moved by their hospitality."
Elio grabbed another potato chip and prepared to eat more.
Sloan sighed deeply and casually extended an olive branch. "That's what's been bothering me. I can hardly imagine what kind of offer I could make to impress you. So I've withdrawn the warrant for your arrest and plan to give you a clean slate. Oh, and by the way, if you'd been working normally by this point, with your talent, you'd probably have saved enough to buy a house by now, right? Do you prefer living in the city or the countryside?"
Elio dropped the chips in his hand.
"Would you prefer the city view or the river view?" Sloane waved his hands. "You know, the one you can see through those two French windows when you're half-sitting, half-lying on the sofa in the living room..."
She paused at the perfect moment, giving Elio just enough time to imagine. Elio was indeed imagining the scene, but he quickly pulled himself out of it. Director Sloan smiled as the previously nonchalant assassin straightened up and put the chips aside.
"Thank you for your invitation, Director Sloan," Elio said to her, "but I just want to rest now and don't want to serve any forces."
"Who mentioned anything about service?" Sloan raised an eyebrow.
Elio wondered, "So what are you doing?"
"Thank you," Sloan said, spreading his hands. "By the way, I invite you to be a guest instructor at the CIA."
The fact that they "removed the inexplicable warrant for Elliot Smith only after noticing his individual value" made the Americans seem unreliable, but then again, "What else can you expect?" Mycroft commented. "They're Americans. They don't care if your warrant is real. If it is, they'll probably be even happier."
"If what happened back then happened in England," Elio asked him, "would you Englishmen prove my innocence?"
Mycroft gave his signature smile. "Even if you don't believe me, you should believe my brother."
How hypocritical! Elio thought. But he also smiled. The two CIA guest instructors who had met by chance in the corridor nodded to each other and said goodbye at the corner. When Mycroft walked into the classroom, tapping his long-handled umbrella, Elio also walked into another classroom, looking back at the door number like a newcomer.
"Why aren't you wearing training clothes?" the students in the front row asked him in confusion.
Elio, who was closing the door, smiled. He walked up to the podium and adjusted the microphone. The classroom gradually quieted down. Round, blue, and brown eyes looked over, and the young students' faces, like sunflowers, turned toward the sun behind the microphone.
"My name is Elliot Smith, your instructor for 'Mind Reading and Prediction in Combat,'" the young instructor, with black curly hair and white skin, who almost resembled Julien Sorel, said to them. "Some of you may know me, having taken my other course, 'Advanced Stealth and Infiltration,' or have heard of me. Some of you may not know me, and I'm sorry to tell you that I really don't like introducing myself..."
On the other side of the classroom were tall windows, through which the brilliant Virginia sunshine streamed in. Dogwoods, covered in white bracts, and lush oaks stood outside, growing vigorously and witnessing this beautiful scene with their majestic presence.
In this year, Elio accepted the invitation of the CIA to serve as a guest instructor.
The young and energetic CIA students dug out his resume with great interest. They would always gather around him during breaks, asking curious questions like "Did you really blow up that island?", "How did you escape from the British? I heard MI6 still wants you!", "They said that the only way you could escape pursuit was to jump from a height of 100 meters. Is that true?" and "Isn't the guy sitting at the same table with you Ethan Hunt?!" and so on.
Surrounded by them, Elio could only say in embarrassment that he had no comment - Ethan had told him, "Don't answer any questions that are not related to the class, otherwise you will be stuck!"
But the students' enthusiasm didn't diminish in the slightest. They even started calling him "Oreo" in private, and after a girl accidentally blurted out the nickname when she raised her hand to ask a question, and Elio couldn't help laughing, they dropped their pretense of deference.
Although none of them could avoid being discovered by "Oreo" in that stealth class, they almost all failed.
At the same time, instructors "Oreo" also accepted short-term exchange jobs that might have gone to the British Secret Intelligence Service, just like guest instructor Mycroft Holmes who often flew to the United States for exchanges.
"I thought we in England were the first to extend an olive branch to you," said the great Sherlock Holmes regretfully. "It seems we are still no match for your birthplace. May I ask where we lost?"
Elio smiled but said nothing.
A year later, Willow Walker, now free from the nightmare of that year and possessing a future of freedom, graduated from New York City's Midtown High School. At the ceremony, her brother, Elio, naturally took the family seat and presented her with a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers, yellow roses, and lilies. Willow embraced the flowers and Elio, tears streaming down her face.
Summer arrived, and Elio flew to his Italian estate for vacation. The assassin, who had grown up in an orphanage, feared the cold more than the heat. There, the turquoise sea, the town hued in honey, ochre, and coral pink, and fragrant flowers bloomed on the second-floor terrace, a brilliant and beautiful scene.
The Vongola kept their promise, carefully managing Elio's inherited "trust," never once delaying a payment. The Tenth Vongola occasionally sent him names, meticulously documenting their actions and ensuring their assassination fell within the rules of the Assassin's code. But beyond that, Sawada Tsunayoshi mostly just asked Elio to play games.
He, Simon, and the leader of the Jesso family all seemed to find it difficult to resist the temptation of playing Assassin's Creed online with a real assassin. Elio felt that if he were not an assassin himself, he would probably understand.
In the fall, Elio bundled up in his windbreaker and flew to London. Since it rained year-round, choosing a season didn't matter to him. In the evening, butter-colored leaves danced in the streets as young Chairman Mitchell finished a long day's work. He descended the stairs to find a gold Ferrari waiting; the windows quickly rolled down, and Elio offered a cup of hot chocolate.
"What a coincidence." Elio greeted pretentiously.
That winter, Elio returned to Bludhaven. The Assassins had taken root there, having driven out the Templars. Alvin had purchased a manor far from the city, declaring it "their family's" new base. On Christmas morning, mistletoe stretched from the doorframe, and wreaths of holly, pine, and fir hung on the walls. Elio woke with a yawn and ran to the living room to open his presents.
Arlot and Alvin got up one after another and went downstairs to find food. Galahad got up the latest (Elio didn't dare ask why he was there, although Elio was really puzzled), but he was the most picky.
In the spring, Elio and Willow, wearing scarves, walked hand in hand into Gotham's cemetery.
On a shiny new tombstone, Graham Walker's name and the brief years of his birth and death are written. May he rest in peace.
Willow squatted down and carefully put down the bouquet of lilies in her hand. They stood there in silence for a while, blowing a little white mist of spring from above the scarf.
"Do you think there are souls in this world, Elio?" Willow asked.
"I think so."
"I wonder where Graham would be now," Willow said again.
"Who knows?"
Willow sniffed. Gotham's spring was still too cold. Elio rewrapped the loosened scarf around her, covering most of Willow's face. Willow obediently buried her face in the soft striped scarf, peeking at Elio's expression from between her scattered golden hair.
But she found nothing.
Tears fell from the sky. Elio happened to glance up, and saw a black umbrella just now being held open. They stood in silence for a moment longer beneath it, and then left as quietly as they had come.
"Please don't shed tears at my grave," a gentle female voice sang from somewhere, singing Mary Elizabeth Fry's poem, "I am not there, I do not sleep..."
"I am the bird that keeps circling in the sky,"
"I am the star that shines forever in the night,"
"I am the breeze..."
"I am the snow, shining with diamonds,"
"Please don't cry at my grave. I'm not there. I never died."
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Author's Note: Sharing Hayley Westenra's single "I Am A Thousand Winds"
Haha, that's the end of the article! It lives up to the healing label on the copy! (Stand tall and proud)
I lost a lot but also gained a lot. From now on, it will be a good life. Oreo, touch it (touch it)
Next is the extra chapter. I want to write the Leopold special chapter first (including the love line). No one can stop me... (I'm really holding it back)
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