The rest of Jett's school day was spent engrossing himself in the contents of Alfonse's combat class.
Despite potentially being an adversary, Alfonse Mathurin was versed in combat at an elite level.
Jett quickly adapted his pointers and tips. He had meaningfully refined his technique, even in such a short amount of time.
Everything was easier at the start. There was no doubt that this rapid pace would eventually halt. The holes in his wild but experienced technique were glaring and easy to identify.
Alfonse himself was always cordial, showing few signs of betraying his word.
The seeds of doubt planted in Jett's mind regarding his combat instructor were all planted by another:
Raphael.
Hindsight only emphasized Jett's judgment.
But then doubt betrayed him.
Niko still wasn't entirely clear. Jett had been getting similar strange vibes from him as well.
As for how information could be passed out for either target, Jett couldn't say.
He had mostly confirmed that no information had been passed out via the letters.
The only other way to find out would be to spy on the targets himself at all times, especially during the night.
For Niko, Jett practically had been spying on him the entire time.
However, there were still many hours of the day when Jett did not have a watchful eye on his roommate.
Which was why Jett hadn't entirely ruled him out. But each passing moment seemed to absolve his suspicion of Niko, despite the odd premonitions Jett had been getting recently.
But spying against a heavily guarded member of royalty like Raphael was very risky.
Not to mention Raphael's strength. It potentially outmatched Jett's own.
If Sarah's rumors were to be believed, Raphael was a master-level Acolyte, bordering Stalwart.
That certainly outmatched Jett, who was around the intermediate to expert level of Acolyte.
But these colloquial divisions of Soul Stages weren't as ultimate as they seemed.
Realistically, there wasn't that large of a difference between each substage.
Especially with the nobility. Their skill had been catered to by tutors and textbooks. Their combat experience came from easy kills and maimed beasts.
They lacked the edge, compensated with wealth.
…
In the dead of night, Jett donned his cloak once more, quietly sneaking out of the dorm and into the cover of night.
It wasn't long before he arrived at the base of the rendezvous oak tree.
Valeria was lying on the ground next to the tree, seemingly asleep.
As Jett approached, he prepared a wicked shin kick.
"Don't you dare… I'm awake," Valeria said, slowly rising to her feet.
"Letter," Jett drowsily announced, handing over the letter.
"What's it about?"
"Two students went missing, Storm Wardens are likely in on an investigation, and I need to know."
"Look, Jett," Valeria sighed. "I really can't keep doing this. For my sanity, I need you to finish this up."
"I'll try."
***
The next two days were uneventful. Just more classes for Jett.
Raphael seemed to lay low, or at the very least, was not nearly as enthusiastic about interacting with Jett as he had shown.
'Almost like he's just one big ball of lies.'
When Jett applied pressure to Raphael, he backed away.
This didn't feel like a conceding type of retreat.
It was closer to a snake rearing its head and preparing to strike.
Jett needed to grab the snake by the neck before it could strike.
He had to make a proactive move.
Though now it was finally time to respond to his opponent's move.
…
At night, Jett snuck out to receive the return letter from Maros.
Rather than bringing the letter back to his dorm and returning to bed, Jett opened the letter immediately.
He lit a match that pierced the encompassing darkness.
The match flame allowed him to see the letter's contents.
…It chilled him to the core.
Disgusting. A vile image.
Jett felt disbelief, his hand in a slight tremble.
It was a gory bloodbath, unlike anything Jett had experienced.
More so since the Jett knew the two involved.
In the image were the corpses of Irina and Sarah.
Above them…
'WORD OF MOUTH'
Written in blood.
Their deaths were unnecessarily grotesque and loathsome.
"Lemme see…?" Valeria asked as she snatched the image from Jett's hand.
Valeria's face quickly scrunched in repulsion.
"Monstrous. You know who did this?" she asked.
Jett took the image back, sliding it into the pocket of his cloak.
"I do."
Now it was Jett's turn.
A big sigh of relief.
He no longer had to doubt himself, and for that, he sincerely thanked Raphael.
***
Quite frankly, Jett was sick and tired of the charades.
He had no intention of participating in Raphael's game of cat and mouse.
The murders, the hidden messages, the toying.
It was an invitation to a one-sided pleasure contest.
There was no doubt that Raphael got his vile kicks from this ordeal.
But that right there was the answer. It was exactly what Jett needed.
Jett now understood his opponent's motivation
It was an odd combination of a relentless pursuit of power and inhuman hedonism.
He wanted to prove to Augustine Mathurin that he was worthy of standing by her side during the bout for the crown.
In reality, he could continue to indulge in his family's wealth and resources to strengthen himself.
But that would prove nothing to his sister. Jett believed that a stubborn determination to prove his self-worth without the help of others was what drove Raphael to pursue power.
This was all in combination with an out-of-touch psyche, one which was fostered from a young age.
It was the unlimited power that nobility felt.
There was no one to challenge his wanton murder spree. He managed to get away with it every single time without fail.
The murders brought up in the newspaper were certainly Raphael's as well.
Murder was a path for him to cultivate his own power while also satisfying his ego.
And it was all neatly tied with a bow with him spying for the Divine Crusaders.
If he could get away with murder this easily, getting away with spying would be even easier.
Why spy and betray his kingdom?
Because he never had any loyalty for Strata.
Narcissism. His own growth took precedence. Spying would expedite his growth, with the Divine Crusaders giving him anything he could ever want in exchange for information.
But when the thrill of killing and spying became too mundane, too easy for his liking, he set his sights on Jett.
Why toy with Jett?
Because Jett saw Raphael for what he truly was.
A sad being, trapped in fear. Fear of being insignificant.
They were much alike in that way.
Or the small boy from Shacktown was, at the very least.
…
'It's my turn now.'
And it would be the final move of this tacit contest.