SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 178: The Truth You Asked For

The cabin was quiet. Not the kind of silence that felt like peace—no, this was the sharp-edged quiet that came after a truth had been promised but not yet delivered.

Elliot sat across from me now. His posture was straighter than usual, like he was bracing for something. The sun had dipped below the horizon outside the window, casting long shadows across the train walls. Our world had turned a deep, flickering amber, caught between the artificial light inside and the fading gold beyond the glass.

I let the silence stretch for a while longer.

Not to be dramatic.

Just to gather the right words.

Then, finally, I spoke.

"I'm going to tell you everything, Elliot."

His eyes met mine. They were steady and focused. A little afraid, but not enough to look away.

"My name is Reynard Vale."

He blinked once, slow. The name didn't hit him—yet. But the sound of it hung heavy in the air.

"You might not recognize it," I continued. "But there is a chance you heard it before. Maybe in a file you read, maybe whispered between people who were likely government officials."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "I don't think I've heard it."

"Maybe that's for the better," I said gently. "I'm also Mr. Jester."

The gears in his head were turning now. He stared at me, eyes widening fraction by fraction.

"And Mr. Fox."

His lips parted. He didn't speak.

"And Mr. Dust."

A sharp intake of breath.

"And Mr. Angel. And pretty much every single member of the Masked Syndicate."

Silence. Utter, jaw-slack, breathless silence.

He sat back like I'd just hit him. "That's... no. That's not possible. Mr. Angel was—he was a genius. An astronaut beyond what anyone could've imagined. I mean he was the one who came back from Mars after the crash—"

"—landing yes. I was the one who came back."

"But that's—Mr. Fox was a firefighter, Mr. Dust was a detective Jester is... you're Jester. But you're telling me all of them—"

"Are me," I said.

He ran a hand through his hair, blinking fast. His mind was fighting itself. "That doesn't make any sense. You'd have to be—how do you even—how does one person...?"

I let him spiral.

Because even Mark couldn't understand how I had this many jobs.

Elliot looked up, eyes searching. "You're telling me you created the entire Masked Syndicate... and you were the only one in it?"

"Yes."

"How? How did nobody figure it out?"

"They saw what they wanted to see," I said simply. "And I gave them masks to wear. The world was willing to believe in a syndicate of masterminds, but not a single man wearing many faces."

He stood, pacing now. His hands moved like they were trying to pull answers out of the air. "You... you saved an entire district as Mr. Fox. I read the reports. There were witnesses—"

"I was there," I said. "I made the evacuation routes myself. I bled there. I just wore a different coat."

Elliot looked at me like he didn't recognize the man sitting across from him anymore.

And in a way, he didn't.

That was the point.

"Why... why go through all that trouble?" he asked finally.

"The truth is simple," I said. "It's not like I can simply reveal that I have multiple jobs, can I?"

He sat down again, slower this time. His voice dropped a bit.

"When you were Mr. Angel, you talked about the existence of a World President."

"Yes." I didn't let him finish. "I'm also a candidate for such an existence."

That landed like a strike to the chest.

Elliot's eyes snapped to me. "You're telling me the World President is real?"

"Yes, he is."

I looked him in the eye. "In fact, the current World President knows who I am and of my identity. And he's scared."

Elliot's throat bobbed. "Why?"

"Because half the governments are backing me," I said. "And the other half are loyal to him. We're headed for something... permanent. And he knows I've been building a foundation that could unseat him."

A long pause.

Then, softly: "Is that why you came back injured? You got attacked by government officials?"

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I nodded.

"That wasn't random," I said. "They were part of something called the Cain Protocol."

Elliot frowned. "I've never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have. It's classified. A psychological trigger system. Installed in certain agents—sometimes without their consent. When they see me, or hear certain cues, they attack. No fear. No hesitation."

His face drained of color.

"...Is that why Anika attacked you? Back in the 'abandoned criminal hideout'?"

"Yes," I said. "It wasn't her fault. The trigger ran deep. Though it's rather obvious now that that was a ministry building and not a criminal hideout isn't it?"

Elliot turned his head slightly toward the cabin door, like he was seeing her in a different light. "And she still came with us?"

"She chose to," I said. "On the condition that she wears a blindfold as to not attack me."

He let out a slow, shaking breath. "How many others are like her?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Too many. The Protocol was designed to make me look like a threat. So people wouldn't rally behind me. At the minimum, 50, but by now there is probably more."

He didn't speak for a while.

He just stared at the table between us like it had betrayed him.

I gave him time. The truth needed time to land.

He finally broke the silence with a question I didn't expect.

"Why tell me now?"

"Because I trust you," I said.

He looked up sharply.

"And because it's not like I can continue keeping up the lie and even Anika wanted you to know. If I'm going to keep moving forward, I need the people around me to understand what they're walking into."

He looked like he wanted to say something—then bit it back.

So I gave him more.

"There's one more thing."

He blinked.

"I'm looking for someone," I said. "Her name is Evelyn."

His brows lifted slightly. "Yeah, you mentioned her before. Isn't that the name of the A-Rank evaluator from back home?"

"Yes, it is. She is my informant you could say. She used to work for the World President, but after they found out about my existence, she joined my side."

"She was captured?"

"Kidnapped. Around a day before our meeting at the airport. My team said that she was likely in a country that didn't support me."

"And now?"

"Now I know where she is," I said. "Two stops east in a ministry building. I'll get her back, no matter what's waiting."

Elliot nodded slowly. "She matters to you."

"She does."

I meant that in more ways than I could explain.

He rubbed the side of his face, clearly overwhelmed. "This is... a lot."

"I know."

"I thought I was traveling with a jester who happened to be in the Masked Syndicate," he said with a laugh that didn't sound like one. "Turns out I was following a jester, firefighter, detective, a presidential candidate and more all in one."

"That's fair."

"And you're what—thirty?"

"Thirty-eight."

"Jesus."

We sat in the stillness that followed that number.

The lights buzzed softly above. The metal of the train groaned under the shifting weight of the night. Somewhere in the distance, an announcement echoed through the speaker system, but neither of us listened to it.

Elliot leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I thought Mr. Angel was the kind of person I wanted to become," he said quietly.

"I hope he still is," I said. "Nothing about him has changed you could say."

Elliot didn't move for a long time.

And when he finally did, he looked at me—not with fear, or awe, or skepticism.

But with something deeper.

Conviction trying to be born.

I stood, slowly, and walked over to the edge of the cabin.

The stars were beginning to come out.

"I won't force you to stay," I said, turning to face him again. "You've seen the worst now. You know the risks. The weight."

He rose to his feet too, eyes on mine.

"So I'll ask you only once."

I took a breath.

"Do you still want to travel with me?"