CHAPTER 177: FALSE TESTIMONY?

Almost an hour later, the interrogation was finally ready to begin.

The atmosphere inside the police headquarters had shifted into something far more formal, as if the very temperature of the room adjusted itself to match the pressure that weighed within.

The pale gray walls reflected the cold glare of the fluorescent lights, while the faint, monotonous hum of the ceiling fan filled the air — a constant, droning sound that carried a chill not just to the skin, but to the nerves themselves.

The scent of aged paper and old records mingled faintly with the sterile fragrance of antiseptic, giving the place an impression that was both immaculate and unnervingly tense.

This time, the case involving a student wasn’t a trivial matter of school discipline, nor something that could be settled with standard procedures.

It was a case that entangled the names of high-ranking elites — one that demanded special and delicate handling.

Two sons from the wealthiest families in Makazhar — the heirs of Darius Norvalien and Kugo Karagara — were found half-dead, victims of an alleged assault.

And the primary suspect behind it all was none other than a single student: Al.

The investigation was held in a private interrogation room, the kind usually reserved for politically sensitive cases or classified affairs — not for a mere student brawl.

Rows of cold metal chairs were neatly aligned, and a modest table sat at the center, its surface gleaming under the harsh white light — smooth, polished, and cold to the touch.

Al sat there, leaning lazily against the chair’s backrest, his expression one of distant boredom. His fingers moved idly — sometimes resting still, sometimes playing with each other in quiet rhythm.

Beside him sat Sebastian, casually relaxed yet emanating an air of refined composure. His posture carried the elegance of a man who observed rather than participated, detached yet undeniably in control.

Across the table, Principal, Lefon, Kugo, and Darius had already taken their seats earlier.

Their faces were stiff, trying to maintain calm and dignity, but their eyes betrayed a storm of emotions — unease, fury, and a flicker of vengeance, all hidden behind a mask of civility.

The witnesses had also arrived and were called in one by one — including several of the Norvalien family’s bodyguards, who claimed to have seen Al ’attacking,’ a forest warden, and even a passerby who happened to capture a photo of the scene.

Each gave their testimony in turn. On the surface, everything sounded flawless, the sequence of events tightly woven — almost too perfect.

And then came the turn of the Norvalien bodyguards.

Al knew for certain — they had not even been present when he confronted Rudi and Jogo.

Every word that spilled from the guards’ mouths carried confidence, yet every detail they provided only made the story more absurd — contradictions piling upon contradictions, creating more questions than answers.

According to them, the incident began when Rudi was returning home that night after attending a private tutoring session in preparation for the national exams, coincidentally accompanied by Jogo.

On their way back, they encountered a large fallen branch blocking the road — right at the spot conveniently outside the range of the CCTV cameras.

When they stepped out of the car to move it aside, a masked man ambushed them out of nowhere. They claimed they were knocked unconscious in seconds, and the attacker dragged both Rudi and Jogo’s bodies into the forest.

It sounded strangely coherent, almost believable — yet the lack of physical evidence left the police no choice but to label it as a story requiring further investigation.

The middle-aged officer in charge of the interrogation leaned forward slightly, his tone calm but laced with skepticism.

"You said there were four of you in the vehicle — two bodyguards, one of whom was the driver, and the two students, Rudi and Jogo," he recited slowly.

"And you’re telling me that one single assailant managed to take all four of you down at once?"

His brow furrowed.

"Doesn’t that sound a little implausible to you?"

The two bodyguards nodded stiffly.

"He... he must’ve used something," one of them stammered, trying to sound composed though his voice trembled. "We don’t know what exactly — maybe poison?"

The other followed, his tone hoarse.

"Our consciousness just... faded. Everything went dark. Then he attacked..."

The officer scribbled notes down methodically, though his face revealed little.

For now, this was merely an initial examination — there wasn’t much he could do yet other than record their statements and prepare the data for a deeper investigation later.

Sebastian raised one eyebrow, leaning back against the cold steel chair with his arms folded across his chest.

His expression was flat — detached, indifferent — like someone watching a group of children performing an amateur play rather than a serious interrogation.

"Pardon me, Officer. Gentlemen," he spoke smoothly, his tone calm yet commanding. "May I say a few words?"

The officer gave a brief nod, gesturing for him to continue.

Sebastian inclined his head politely in return before beginning his quiet but piercing argument.

"As far as I’m aware," he began, voice steady and composed,

"The student named Jogo is a young martial artist who has trained for years. With his internal energy refined to that degree, it would be nearly impossible for him to be taken down so easily." he said.

"And Rudi isn’t even close friends with him," he continued calmly. "And these bodyguards, I believe they’re supposed to be professionals — yet they claim they were effortlessly taken down by a single teenager?"

A faint pause followed before he concluded coldly,

"Their testimonies are riddled with flaws. It’s full of holes, and frankly, it sounds absurd."

The officer gave a small nod of agreement, expression thoughtful. The only point of uncertainty he had was whether Rudi and Jogo were truly close friends — everything else Sebastian said made sense.

The two bodyguards stiffened. Their eyes darted toward the elite fathers, who returned their gaze with sharp, warning looks — silent commands to make the fabricated story sound as convincing as possible.

Their shoulders slumped slightly. Resigned, they started again.

"I-It was because we were poisoned," one stammered, forcing confidence through trembling lips. "We lost consciousness almost immediately... we don’t know what kind of poison it was, but it paralyzed us instantly."

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed slightly, the chill in them slicing through the men’s lies like a blade of glass.

"If it was truly a strong poison," he countered softly, "then there should have been aftereffects. Yet you both look perfectly healthy — hardly like men who have been poisoned."

Their uneasy eyes met each other. Their mouths opened, then closed again, searching for a line that might hold their story together — but every word that came out only made it weaker.

"I-It’s been several days since then," one of them blurted out at last, his voice quivering. "The effects of the toxin... are long gone. Besides, we can channel our internal energy. It helps us regenerate faster."

Sebastian’s lips curved into a faint, cold smile — one that contrasted sharply with the warmth he usually wore when facing his students at HIHS.

"That only makes it stranger," he replied in a voice quiet but laced with mockery. "Why did you only come forward now, after several days, and without a single medical report to prove you were ever poisoned?"

He leaned forward slightly, tone sharpening.

"And now you use that excuse here? Doesn’t it sound like you’re trying to hide something?"

No one spoke. Silence thickened, the weight of it pressing down on the air. Both bodyguards fidgeted, their composure unraveling by the second.

Al watched the farce unfold with detached amusement, releasing a quiet sigh. He looked utterly uninterested now, his patience thinning by the minute.

His gaze drifted lazily to the wall clock. It was only half past one — barely an hour since he’d left school — and already, he was bored out of his mind.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and steady, yet every word cut through the tension like a blade.

"They wouldn’t have reported anything if I hadn’t done it first." His tone was calm, but every word carried quiet contempt.

"Maybe it’s because their precious reputation. Or maybe... they just needed more time to polish their little story—who knows?"

A pause. Then his lips curved faintly upward.

"Elites really do love framing anyone they think beneath them. It’s pathetic."

His words stabbed the air like daggers, aimed straight at the parents and witnesses.

Darius’ jaw tensed, his lips trembling with restrained fury — but he said nothing. There was a flicker of unease in his eyes, realizing his men were about to make a grave mistake.

Kugo and Lefon remained composed, though their gazes held a quiet confidence — as if they still had something powerful to play, a hidden piece on the board that made them feel secure despite Al’s jab.

Sebastian straightened slightly, his posture firm and commanding. His eyes swept across the principal the elite fathers, and the witnesses alike — sharp, penetrating, impossible to look away from.

"Student Al has a point," he said coolly. "He was the one who reported the incident, not the supposed victims. And aside from testimonies filled with inconsistencies, there’s not a shred of solid evidence."

The officer’s expression shifted subtly — leaning, perhaps, a little in Al’s favor.

That shift, however, didn’t go unnoticed. The principal’s face tightened, displeasure flashing in his eyes at Sebastian’s interference — especially since the man had clearly taken Al’s side.

"Mr. Sebastian," the principal said sharply, his tone clipped, "I hope you can remain neutral. Rudi and Jogo are also your students — not just Al. Don’t be too quick to defend him."

He continued, voice rising slightly.

"The evidence and witnesses are right here before us. And those boys are seriously injured — they might not even be able to take the national exams because of this incident. Please, Mr. Sebastian, don’t make this harder."

Lefon interjected before Sebastian could respond, his voice smooth but arrogant.

"As for why we didn’t report this immediately — you probably wouldn’t understand. This is how elites operate. This isn’t about time, it’s about reputation and the safety of our children!"

His tone sharpened, gaze piercing.

"I respect you because you represent the Alasia Foundation, but at the end of the day, you’re merely a teacher. You have no authority in this matter — and no right to question it!"

Sebastian exhaled softly, shoulders relaxing as he reclined in his chair once more.

"Precisely because I am a teacher," he said quietly, "I have every reason to stand here — to act as a guardian for my students."

"I’m not defending anyone blindly," he continued, voice low and steady. "But after witnessing what you tried to do to this boy earlier in the principal’s office... how could I possibly stay silent?"

The reminder made Kugo’s expression twist with irritation. His jaw clenched; his composure cracked.

He slammed his fist lightly on the table, his face flushed red.

"Are you challenging us now? You’re supposed to be a teacher — not someone who goes against the parents of your students!"

Sebastian smiled faintly, but the curve of his lips was cold, dangerous.

"I never intended for this to escalate," he replied in an icy tone. "But if you insist on throwing such rude words... I’m not sure how much longer I can keep quiet."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a chilling calm.

"Don’t tell me you’re trying to provoke me into filing an official report about what happened in that office earlier."

The subtle threat landed like a knife.

The principal and the three elite fathers stiffened simultaneously, their eyes flickering with alarm. None of them dared speak further — they knew too well that they couldn’t afford to push Sebastian any harder.

Tension thickened, heavy and suffocating. The air itself seemed to constrict. The witnesses kept their heads down, unwilling to draw attention.

The headmaster’s lips trembled faintly; his breath caught in his throat. The three elite fathers exchanged uneasy glances, their faces red with anger — and frustration.

Sebastian seemed ready to continue, his gaze sharp as a blade. But before a single word could leave his lips, the door to the interrogation room swung open abruptly.

Heavy footsteps echoed inside, accompanied by the distinct aroma of strong black coffee — bold and bitter — cutting through the dense air with an authority impossible to ignore.

A man in a brown suit stepped in, a silver badge gleaming on his chest.

Instantly, the faces of the elite fathers shifted — from frustration and anxiety to relief and quiet triumph. The moment they saw him, it was as if their long-awaited savior had arrived.

The man gave them a subtle, knowing wink as he entered.

He was the Chief of Police of Makazhar City — a figure of considerable influence, powerful enough to sway the outcome of the entire case.

His strides were firm and deliberate, his gaze sharp, his very presence radiating dominance and authority. At that moment, he was the absolute power in that room.

Al’s eyes lazily followed the man, his expression unchanging — half bored, half curious. He could already tell what was coming.

So this is their trump card, he thought with a faint smirk. Hmph... let’s see how they plan to play it.

The police chief opened the large folder in his hand, his eyes scanning the room before landing squarely on one figure — his gaze filled with undisguised disdain.

That gaze was directed at Al.

Without wasting a single breath, he began to speak — brief, formal, and to the point — announcing a decision that made several people in the room gasp audibly.

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