Transmigrated into a villain, I personally tore apart the shackles of fate.

Chapter 162 Irina Phoenix

"Irina. It's alright, don't worry."

This is a familiar scene; warm sunlight streams into the room through the window...

“But, but…it, it’s broken…” a child’s trembling voice said.

The little boy knelt in front of the broken vase, his nimble hands piecing the pieces back together.

"Don't worry, I'll fix it," he reassured her, his voice a soothing balm for little Irina.

The little boy focused and calmly manipulated his magic, displaying an extraordinary ability.

Little Irina stared wide-eyed in astonishment as magical threads intertwined in the air. The shattered pieces of the vase floated up and were reassembled by an invisible force.

This is a wonderful scene that showcases the little boy's innate talent.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The warm sunlight seemed to flicker, and a woman entered. Her gaze was cold and sharp, her fiery red hair highlighting her serious face. Her yellow eyes were fixed coldly on the little boy and the restored vase.

"What happened?" The woman's voice pierced through the lingering magic in the room.

The little boy hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around. "It's nothing, ma'am. We're just playing here."

However, the woman's keen observation did not miss the traces of magic remaining in the room. Her gaze grew colder as she scrutinized him. "Just playing around?" her tone was tinged with suspicion.

She walked steadily toward the repaired vase, squinting as she carefully examined the magical traces on it. Without a word, she waved her hand toward the vase.

As she moved, the atmosphere in the room changed. A strange power enveloped the repaired vase, and little Irina was shocked to see the magic that had been pieced together begin to crumble.

The vase shattered again, its fragments scattering all over the floor.

Fear immediately washed over her, and little Irina lowered her head. Even as a child, she knew what lying to her mother meant.

The woman's gaze was as cold as a knife, fixed on the broken vase. Her silence intensified the tension in the room. The air grew heavy, suffocating. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice icy.

“What does this mean?” she demanded, her gaze shifting from the vase to the little boy.

Realizing the seriousness of the situation, the little boy met the lady's gaze without hesitation. "I'm sorry, madam, it's my fault. I accidentally knocked over the vase while we were playing."

The woman's gaze remained cold, and after hearing his confession, she coldly replied, "Is that so?" Her tone revealed no emotion.

"Yes," the little boy answered firmly.

“Very good, put your hand out,” the woman said in a commanding tone.

The little boy reached out his hand without hesitation.

call!

A flame erupted from the woman's palm, quickly engulfing the little boy's hand and leaving a burn mark.

"what!"

The little boy gritted his teeth and let out a painful groan. Tears welled up in his eyes as he struggled to endure the pain.

The woman then turned her gaze to little Irina, her face expressionless. "This is the consequence of disobedience."

!! ?

At that moment, Irina's body jolted, and her eyes widened.

"Haa..."

She was pulled back to reality, and the slight swaying of the train slowly replaced the unsettling dream.

"Haa..."

Her breathing gradually calmed down, and as she looked around, the lingering effects of the dream remained in her mind.

'It's that dream again.'

When she looked up, she noticed that Morse was staring at her, his face as expressionless as ever.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Morse asked, his tone calm but tinged with curiosity.

Is it about him?

As a player, Morse knows about Irina; there is one person who plays a very important role in Irina's storyline.

“It’s nothing, just a strange dream,” Irina replied, avoiding his gaze and trying to shake off the unease the dream brought on her.

Morse continued to gaze at her, his expression unreadable. "Dreams sometimes reveal things we don't expect; they are a reflection of our subconscious."

Irina sighed, feeling the unsettling dream still lingering in her mind. "It's just a memory from the past, nothing serious."

“Memory…” Morse’s eyes shifted slightly when she mentioned the word, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on flashed through her mind. “Sometimes it is memory that shapes us.”

Irina gave him a skeptical look. "You sound like a philosopher."

Morse shrugged. "I just enjoy thinking, and if that makes me a philosopher, it's not so bad."

"Heh, say what you will."

Morse leaned back in his seat, his gaze shifting from the scenery outside the window to Irina. "You know, memories always surface when you least expect them. They're like fragments of our past, constantly influencing who we are now."

Irina raised an eyebrow. "You're so knowledgeable about memories?"

Morse's expression remained calm, but Irina noticed a subtle change. "I've been observing; it's my habit. People often reveal information about themselves unintentionally."

Irina felt a surge of annoyance; he spoke as if he knew her perfectly well. "You observed me? Then tell me, what did you see in me?"

Morse's gaze locked onto her eyes. "Do you really want to hear the truth?"

Irina hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded. "Yes."

Morse said calmly, “You are a vibrant, strong-willed woman, but sometimes annoying. Beneath that strong exterior, you hide your vulnerability. You think that by appearing strong, you can escape the things you want to avoid.”

Irina was even angrier; she widened her eyes and clenched her teeth.

'This guy thinks he knows me? First that dream, and now this annoying guy!'

She was enraged again, and this time Irina was no longer going to hold back, like a volcano about to erupt.

"Oh? Really? Mr. Philosopher? Then let's talk about you. You act so cold and sharp because you lost an important family member, right? So now you've become a lone wolf, full of resentment, pretending to be a wise man to observe others."

Morse's expression remained unchanged; he tried to remain calm, but his clenched hands and wide eyes were visible, as if he hadn't expected her to say such a thing.

"Is that why you're always so serious and distant? You want to cut off all relationships to avoid feeling the pain of loss again, right? Observing others is just your way of keeping your distance from others, isn't it, you bastard?"

"..."

These words hung in the air, and for a moment, a heavy silence enveloped them.

Irina stopped and her gaze met Morse's. Only then did she notice the change in his expression and the vulnerability it revealed.

"Wait, that's not what I meant..."

She was about to continue speaking, but stopped when she saw Morse raise his hand.

His eyes, usually cold and resolute, now revealed an unexpected vulnerability. She paused, realizing she didn't know what to say.

After a moment, Morse spoke. His voice was calm, but it carried an emotional fluctuation she had never seen before, as if he were recalling past experiences.

“In some ways, you’re right; loss does change a person. But that doesn’t mean I have the right to act like I know them better than they do.”

Irina swallowed hard, the unintentional accusation weighing heavily on her. She wanted to take back her words, but the fleeting vulnerability in Morse's eyes made her unable to move.

“I’m sorry,” Morse continued, his tone slightly colder than before, returning to its usual indifference. “I shouldn’t have meddled.”

His sudden return to composure only amplified the awkwardness in the air. Irina cleared her throat, trying to find the right words to mend the rift in their conversation.

But she couldn't say anything.

Should she apologize for saying hurtful things?

When she saw Morse revert to his usual indifference, she realized there was no need for an apology, because he didn't expect any.

'Did he lose someone?'

She asked herself.

What did he go through in the past?

Irina looked at him, but his gaze returned to the window, lost in thought.

As Morse gazed out the window, his expression becoming distant, the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks provided a backdrop to their silence. Morse broke the silence first, asking an unexpected question.

"Is Trevor Phillips the one who spread rumors at the college?"

Irina's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events in the conversation. She hadn't expected Morse to connect the clues to Trevor Phillips in such a short time.

She hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Yes, it's Trevor. I had someone investigate, and he's the mastermind behind all those rumors in the academy."

Morse's eyes remained fixed on the scenery outside the window, his eyes slightly narrowed. The discovery stirred some emotion within him, but his expression remained calm.

“Why did you do this?” he asked. “I didn’t ask you to do it.”

Irina took a deep breath and then replied, "I don't like owing people favors, and the money I gave you didn't feel enough to repay what you've done for me. That's why I decided to help you. It's a matter of principle for me."

Morse's eyes flickered. "So, I suppose we have no debts between us?"

“That’s right.” Irina nodded, a subtle understanding passing between them.

"very good."