Hogwarts’ John Wick

Chapter 568 568: 568: The New Watson Wick

John had undoubtedly gained the most from this holiday.

While everyone else only had two months of vacation, he had gained at least an extra half year.

Feeling the passage of time through his own body, John made a rough estimate.

"If calculated by time, I should already be eighteen."

But if he did not say it, who would know?

After settling the amusement park's grand opening, John chose a different way to return home for once.

He stepped out of a taxi, frowning as he looked at the cars parked outside his house.

Inside one of them, a pair of sharp eyes stared at John.

John swept his gaze over them and walked straight home.

"So, you're saying the Grove Street Gang was carrying a terrifying weapon to intercept you, only for it to lose control and backfire on them?"

Inside the Wick residence.

Watson turned his eyes away and said, "Yes, that's exactly what happened, Mycroft."

The man named Mycroft was the very image of a British gentleman. From his immaculate attire to his posture and tone, everything about him embodied aristocratic British refinement.

Possessing a brilliant intellect, Mycroft displayed an expression as though his intelligence had been deeply insulted upon hearing that answer.

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft said calmly, "You are an intelligent man, Watson."

"You should know who turned that 'terrorist attack' into 'playing with fire and getting burned' after the blaze alarmed the Cabinet."

His sharp gaze fixed on Watson as Mycroft said, "You nearly destroyed the entire Tower of London."

"It was the Grove Street Gang…" Watson's voice gradually weakened.

Mycroft said impatiently, "Your hotel is about to open. You should be honest with me."

He straightened slightly in his seat, his presence turning oppressive as he said sternly, "Compared to underground gangs, the government is far less willing to see a terrorist carrying around a nuclear bomb."

As a man holding immense power, the aura of authority pressed down heavily.

Watson lowered his head in thought for a moment, his intertwined thumbs finally stopping.

When he looked up again, he seemed to have made a major decision and said seriously, "I'll tell you the truth, Mycroft."

Mycroft smiled faintly and nodded for him to continue.

Watson took a deep breath, wearing an unprecedented level of seriousness.

"It's like this. The Grove Street Gang secretly developed a weapon…"

"Watson!"

Mycroft interrupted him, veins bulging on his forehead. His gaze flicked toward the vase on the table, and for a moment he looked as though he wanted to smash it over Watson's head.

Suppressing the impulse, he threatened coldly, "I need the truth."

Watson wore an innocent expression and said quietly, "What I'm saying is the truth."

"I was working in finance before I got into this line of business. How would I know how to make terrorist weapons?" Watson said sincerely. "Besides, you know my hotel is about to open. To make it lively, I invited a lot of people."

"I don't recall your business growing to this extent," Mycroft sneered, though his eyes remained calm as he scrutinized Watson.

Watson waved his hand with a smile. "Just some small businesses. You know me, I'm in finance. My mind only works in these kinds of ways."

He pointed at his head. "They aren't fools. They know they need to change."

"The power of nations keeps growing. They can't continue acting recklessly like before."

"Without discipline and restraint, they're nothing more than low-level thugs. A new order has to be established to keep this industry under control."

Watson straightened in his seat, his eyes no longer evasive.

"Change. Between black and white, there needs to be gray as a buffer, and now…"

"I'm willing to become that gray."

He chuckled lightly. "Those who refuse to change will only be eliminated. As for those who break the rules, we'll move faster than the police."

"You're trying to change the entire world?" Mycroft said coldly. "Do you really have that kind of capability, Watson?"

This was not about ruling a corner of London. This was about becoming a dark ruler spanning nations.

Mycroft acknowledged the reputation of the "Underground President" in London, but that influence was limited to London alone.

He had intentionally supported a figurehead, a convenient cover.

But Watson seemed to have different ambitions.

"America, the Soviet Union, Japan, Italy, China…"

Watson ignored the question and calmly listed country after country.

When he looked up again, the timid Watson had become the "Underground President." He grinned and said, "There are only twelve seats. Either you crawl beneath the High Table, or you end up on top of it as prey."

"I don't have that kind of ability, Minister," he said with a dark smile, "but profit is the greatest ability of all. A monopolized business never loses money."

Mycroft fell silent.

One Underground President could never accomplish this.

But what if there were twelve?

"You think you're the only one watching me?" Watson said with a smile, counting on his fingers. "The FBI, the GRU, the Federal Intelligence Service, the Directorate-General for External Security…"

"They're all watching me. I'm a transparent man. Everything about me is in their databases, but…" Watson interlocked his fingers beneath his chin and chuckled softly, "without me, the order that was so difficult to establish will collapse."

"Tell me… how many people do you think would die?"

The atmosphere turned terrifyingly silent.

In the nearly frozen room, even the sound of flower petals falling became unusually distinct.

Mycroft looked at Watson. The man he had always believed to be under control had quietly accomplished so much behind his back.

"I remember you not being this clever."

"People change, Mycroft." Watson shrugged. "When I became a child's father and a wife's husband, I learned to carve caution into my heart."

"Women and children can afford carelessness, but men must remain cautious."

Just then, the telephone in the room rang.

Watson glanced at it and gestured for Mycroft to answer.

"It's for you, Minister."

Mycroft's eyes shifted toward it as he reached out and picked up the receiver.

A voice came from the other end. "Mycroft."

He recognized the voice. It belonged to the head of a certain security department.

Mycroft glanced at Watson and said calmly, "About Watson Wick?"

"Yes. We need him, Mycroft."

Click.

Mycroft hung up the phone, straightened his wrinkled waistcoat, then rose to his feet with both hands in his pockets, looking down at Watson from above.

"I must admit, the New World failed because of you." Mycroft extended his hand and sighed. "A splendid game."

Watson stood as well, meeting him at eye level as he shook that hand.

"I gave it everything I had."

"A transparent man will eventually go mad," Mycroft said, giving Watson a deep look. "No secrets, no privacy. Every person you meet outside could be an agent from some nation, with countless eyes watching you."

"That means from this moment onward, you will no longer be able to trust anyone, not even your wife and children."

Mycroft genuinely admired Watson's decisiveness.

This man had done something outrageously bold. He had turned himself into the gray area between black and white, walking the line between both sides, a task more dangerous than pulling teeth from a tiger's mouth.

He had to maintain absolute balance. It was more thrilling than sleeping on a tightrope.

"Was it worth it?" Mycroft asked.

Perhaps handing over that weapon would have allowed Watson to live more comfortably.

But Watson smiled and said, "The hotel opens tomorrow. You should try the shrimp there."

"I will. Hopefully it's delicious enough." Mycroft nodded. "Preferably with less sauce. My belt is getting a little tight."

In this exchange, Mycroft had lost. The current Watson was no longer someone who could be easily controlled.

He suddenly asked, "I don't think I've ever met your son."

At that moment, the door opened.

John walked in.

And met Mycroft face to face.

"Hello," John said with a bright smile. "My name is John Wick."

"I hope you enjoy your meal at the hotel."

The moment Mycroft saw John, he understood that he would never be able to use this son to control Watson.

From this boy, he sensed it immediately.

In the span of a few seconds, his gaze had already thoroughly assessed John.

He came to a conclusion.

A madman.

Mycroft stared at John and said, "You remind me of my younger brother and sister."

"Then your relationship with them must be very good," John replied elegantly and politely. "People of the same kind tend to value one another."

"No. Quite the opposite," Mycroft said.

He looked at Watson and said, "My younger brother would probably like you, Watson."

"Sorry, I'm married," Watson said warily.

Mycroft's face darkened as he walked outside.

He noticed the driver inside the car looking deathly pale.

"That wasn't human, was it?" The MI6 agent gripped the steering wheel tightly.

No one knew what he had experienced during those few short minutes.

Through the car window, Mycroft looked at the boy waving at him and muttered to himself, "I know that feeling too well. The scent of a madman."

Seeing one or two steps ahead of ordinary people made someone a genius.

Seeing eight or nine steps ahead of geniuses made someone a madman.

"Open a new file."

"Name: John Wick. Codename… Zero."

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