"But I still don't think that person is a psychologist," The Vault said. "Xavier Daniels only learned those things after he was already chosen as a specific target. What about before that? How did the other party know he was that kind of person?"

Julian Grant saw her frowning in deep thought and gently pulled her by the arm. "Let's go home first."

Chapter 81: Accident

On the way back, The Vault was lost in thought the whole time, tilting her head to look at the shadows of trees outside the window, not saying a word.

Julian Grant knew she was sorting out her thoughts, so he didn't disturb her.

He had originally planned to take The Vault to Trident Corp for dinner, but just as they were about to reach the nearby street, The Vault suddenly put her hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Grant."

Julian Grant: "Hmm?"

The Vault said, "Let me treat you to dinner."

Julian Grant said speechlessly, "...How many times are you going to use the same trick?"

"I'm serious," The Vault said. "I can make braised pork, braised carp, braise anything that's normal. Of course, you can also trust my learning ability and order freely."

Julian Grant was skeptical. "You want to cook?"

"Yes," The Vault said earnestly. "I haven't thanked you yet for always looking out for me."

A change of heart.

The world must be turning upside down.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity, Julian Grant quickly changed direction and said bluntly, "Then let's go to the supermarket first."

·

Maybe Julian Grant had really been under The Vault's thumb for too long, to the point of having unrealistic expectations. He bought a whole cart of fresh vegetables, carefully selected, and brought them back to the car, stuffing it full.

The Vault thought that the final destination for this batch of groceries would be Julian Grant taking them to the company to distribute as benefits, otherwise they would just rot pitifully in the fridge. But Julian Grant didn't care, happily carried them into the house.

The Vault said she needed to work alone, because she didn't like being pointed at while working; it would only limit her creativity and affect her performance.

Julian Grant understood, so after preparing everything she needed, he leisurely went to the living room to watch TV.

The Vault organized the things on the cutting board, picked up the kitchen knife, and started dealing with the hen in front of her.

The knives in Julian Grant's house were very sharp; the blade slid right into the meat, even chicken bones could be chopped through. She gripped the handle and cut along its frame.

She actually didn't like cooking; this unfamiliar task always took up too much of her time, while instant food tasted too bland. Between money and takeout, she often had to compromise.

After meeting Logan Carter, Logan Carter would cook for her. Even if he didn't have time to come over, he would stew food in advance and seal it in the fridge for her, which led to her home being stacked with a cabinet full of lunch boxes.

However, the process of cooking slowed down her pace of life and sparked a lot of ideas. Just like how many people get inspiration in the bathroom, she would come to the kitchen whenever she was confused.

Who exactly is that person?

He had done so many things, interacted with so many people, he must have left some clues. In this era, it's impossible for someone to completely erase all traces of their activities.

Yet, the clues he left behind were like illusions in a mirror or moonlight on water—just when you think you can grasp them, they turn into shadows at a touch.

He was not only familiar with Xavier Daniels, Ruby Donovan, and others, but also with The Vault. He had been observing her behavior and targeting her before she even realized it.

He might have thought about approaching The Vault, but because she was too withdrawn, he couldn't find an effective way. So he settled for the next best thing and had someone else draw The Vault into the game.

Before Logan Carter came to find her. When she went to teach at University A. Or even earlier.

This realization made The Vault's skin crawl, as if a pair of eyes were watching her every move from a dark corner. It was a creepy feeling, sending chills down her back.

He used social media to contact Xavier Daniels, and his grasp of people's psychology was meticulous. He guided Xavier Daniels step by step, mixing his own ideas among various neutral viewpoints. He was good at teaching, often needed to attend meetings, conduct experiments...

The Vault's pupils trembled, her gaze unfocused on the faucet in front of her.

·

Julian Grant kept his ears open, occasionally checking on The Vault's progress. At first, there were normal chopping sounds from the kitchen, but later, it became completely silent.

Julian Grant understood her habit of thinking, but as time dragged on, he couldn't help but worry. He turned up the TV volume, picked up an empty glass, and quietly walked over to check.

When Julian Grant reached the dining room entrance, he tried to look inside casually, but as soon as he glanced over, he saw The Vault standing stiffly in front of the cutting board, pressing her right hand against the base of her left thumb, motionless like a statue.

The kitchen knife had been tossed aside, and dark red blood was flowing from between her fingers, already staining a patch of the cutting board red, yet she wasn't doing anything about it.

"The Vault!"

Julian Grant was scared out of his wits, shouted, and rushed over, grabbing her hand and pulling a clean towel from the hanging rack to press on the wound.

"What are you doing!" Julian Grant said angrily. "Are you stupid? Doesn't it hurt?"

He felt her hand trembling unnaturally, her fingertips icy cold. Blood was smeared from her palm to her forearm, yet she seemed completely unaware.

The Vault opened her mouth, murmuring softly, "I know now, I know why I had that strange feeling—because it's so familiar..."

She started speaking faster and faster, almost without pause.

"With enough knowledge reserves, with a respected social status. Even when instilling values, it's easy for people to accept and not suspect; in their profession, they can encounter all kinds of observation targets from vastly different family backgrounds; even without paying, they can have legitimate reasons to interact with them long-term; even the subjects themselves might not realize they're being controlled..."

She took a deep breath, suddenly enlightened.

"It's a teacher, he must be a professor," The Vault said. "With the excuse of social observation experiments, he can legitimately interact with people of all ages and observe their behavior patterns; with enough social authority, he can assist the police as an expert and participate in internal investigations; he knows many friends within the system and can get a lot of unpublished information from them; he's familiar with people in education and knows where to find 'problem students.'"

Julian Grant pressed the towel to her wound and carefully rinsed the blood from her arm with water.

The Vault said, "A senior psychology professor with many years of teaching experience, his students are everywhere. He can get samples from his students. So whatever target he wants, he can find it. He doesn't have to go anywhere—plenty of people are his eyes and ears."

She got excited and tried to pull her hand away.

Julian Grant tightened his grip, grabbing her wrist, and said angrily, "The Vault!"

The Vault caught her breath, looked at Julian Grant, then slowly lowered her gaze to her own hand, finally realizing her situation.

Seeing her innocent expression, Julian Grant felt helpless, and could only sigh in the end. "Be more careful."

The Vault said sheepishly, "...Thank you."

Julian Grant said with restraint, "Come with me to clean up the wound."

This time, The Vault didn't resist and let him lead her to the living room.

Julian Grant took out his medical kit from the cabinet and gave her a simple treatment.

The cut was a bit deep, running from the base of her thumb to her palm, and The Vault hadn't even noticed how she got hurt. But the wound wasn't large, and the knife was sharp, so it didn't look too gruesome.

Whether it was Julian Grant's palm being too hot or the pain from the wound, The Vault's left hand felt burning, her sense of touch more sensitive than usual. By the time Julian Grant finished bandaging her, her hand was almost numb.

Julian Grant packed up the supplies and said seriously, "I'll call a doctor to come over and see if the wound needs stitches. If it hurts, you can have a drink."

As long as The Vault had any sense, she wouldn't admit to being in pain. So she shook her head.

Julian Grant closed the kit, and after holding back, still couldn't help but scold her: "How can you be so careless? Even if you're thinking, you can't ignore your own safety."

The Vault said regretfully, "Yeah, I just realized that too."

Julian Grant: "..."

The Vault apologized, "I'll treat you to dinner next time. Reality just won't allow it today."

"Please don't!" Julian Grant was still shaken and refused immediately. After so many times, he suspected The Vault was doing it on purpose. This woman was really ruthless when it came to him.

"Every time you say 'treat,' nothing good happens. Let's just forget it. I still prefer the cafeteria at Trident."

Julian Grant gave up completely. Letting The Vault cook was like defying fate—it came at a price.

The Vault felt this was a matter of her integrity and insisted, "Next time for sure!"