Resurrecting the Genius Within

Beborrects the Keith Within 

Chapter 446 Ominous 

At this rate, I’m going to raise a hunk for the woman I like. The mere thought of that filled him with so much rage, he wanted to crush the boy. 

I just set myself up for a rockier path to romance. 

That kid might be scrawny, but he’s not bad looking, clean, knows how to make the ladies happy, and he’s straightforward. 

Though she knew what he was thinking, Isabelle asked, “What do you mean he’ll be raring to go?” 

He’s jealous of that little boy? Wow, he’s petty. 

The jealous George said, “You’re smart. You know what I’m trying to say.” 

Isabelle mentioned, “He said he wanted to bring you a chocolate cake when he went out to play this afternoon.” 

George replied, “I have no craving for his cake. And are you sure he’s not bringing two for you?” 

Isabelle remarked, “That little rascal lacks affection. If you agree, he should be eager to call you dad.” 

George smiled, his words carrying a subtle suggestion, “If you’re willing to make up for his lack of maternal love, I can accept it.” 

Considering Isabelle’s youth, he couldn’t simply ask her to be a mother to the child. It would be inappropriate. 

George added, “We can easily arrange where he goes next.” 

Isabelle stayed quiet, but subtly revealed a small knife under the blanket by extending her hand slightly. 

Seeing the glint of the knife, George fell silent, mesmerized by Isabelle’s fair face, and thought to himself, She’s so cute. 

Teased and sincere, he said, “I have a request.” 

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Isabelle looked at him. her face inscrutable. 

George leaned in, his words trailing with a sense of cautious anticipation. “You might not see it my way, but… His lips brushed Isabelle’s cheek in a fleeting kiss, a gesture laden with silent resolve. “I’m ready to shoulder it all.” 

Since the night his lips had grazed her neck in a tender moment, George harbored the awareness that intimacy would evade them for a while. He steeled himself for the prospect of being overlooked, resigned to the idea. 

But then, an unexpected proclamation of affection shattered his equilibrium, leaving him unsettled and disquieted for days. Suddenly, his once familiar paramour became the catalyst for a tumult of emotions, stirring his heart and compelling him to seek solace, even at the peril of his own well–being. 

Isabelle said, “You’re not one to fear death.” 

For the first time, George felt a surge of audacity coursing through him. “Not at all.” His gaze met hers, a calm confidence radiating from his demeanor as he awaited her verdict, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips, hinting at an unspoken challenge. 

But Isabelle’s response was evasive. She averted her gaze, feigning disinterest as her attention drifted to the shattered window, her voice trailing off. “That rascal still hasn’t returned.” 

George’s smile gradually faded as he spoke, his tone resolute. “I’ll go look for him.” 

Isabelle chimed in without hesitation. “I’ll come with you.” 

With cautious movements, Isabelle managed to rise from the bed, mindful of her injury. As long as she avoided aggravating the wound, she could manage some mobility. 

George lent a helping hand, assisting her as she slipped into her shoes. 

Together, they extinguished the lights, plunging the room into darkness, and set out into the night. 

Leading the way, George walked a few paces ahead, ensuring Isabelle’s safe passage through the dimness. 

Beneath the cloak of darkness, two figures traversed the quiet streets of the slum, 

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then footsteps echoing softly against the pavernetit. 

Meanwhile, outside their humble abode, another figure emerged into the night. 

The sprawing expanse of the slum stretched out before them as George guided them toward the market. Yet, as they neared the outskirts, their search yielded no sign of the elusive ligure they sought. 

A sense of unease settled between them, palpable in the air. 

Isabelle pivoted, casting a glance to her right. 

Their gazes locked in the darkness, a silent exchange conveying mutual understanding. 

Toward the eastern edge of the slum loomed a sprawling garbage heap, a favored haunt of the local children. 

Over time, the refuse there had been thoroughly sifted through by the youngsters with the missing boy often spending his days amidst the discarded heaps. 

Even from a distance, the pungent odor assaulted their senses. 

Adjacent to the landfill stood a dilapidated structure, its walls collapsed in disrepair. 

Among the ruins, one house remained relatively intact, though its roof and a portion of its wall were absent. 

George led Isabelle toward this feeble shelter, a meager refuge against the biting wind. As they drew closer, a solitary shoe, incongruous against the backdrop of debris, lay abandoned at the entrance. 

It was 

the boy’s prized possession, a token of his adventures in the refuse heap, proudly displayed to Isabelle during their encounters. 

George hesitated, a ripple of apprehension coursing through him. 

Isabelle let go of his hand and strode ahead, prompting George to hasten his step to keep pace. 

Within the dilapidated confines of the house, the floor was strewn with debris ar mud. remnants of the collapsed roof. In one corner. relatively untouched, lav a 

takeshin bed crafted from a humble cardboard sheet, the refuge of the missing boy in recent days. 

Beside this crude bedding, the child lay motionless on the grimy floor, one shoe still clinging to his foot. 

Beneath the overpowering scent of refuse hung the faint tang of blood. 

Clutched tightly in the boy’s small hands were two chocolate cookies, one 

intended for George. 

Isabelle moved with purpose, closing the distance in swift strides, then knelt down beside the child, reaching out to assess his condition. With a practiced touch, she sought his pulse, but found none. ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

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