ʕ•̫•ʔ---How I Got My Dad to Confess (Without Torture, I Swear)

The dim light flickered overhead, making the shadows on the cold steel walls jitter and stretch like restless ghosts. The air smelled of damp stone and old parchment—like a place built to hold secrets, maybe even bury them.

Through the reinforced viewing window, I watched my father. He sat eerily still, his expression a perfect mask of indifference, as if he hadn't just tried to kill his own son.

Honestly, I didn't even know MECCP had an interrogation room. The restraints binding his hands looked deceptively simple—just a thick, rune-threaded band around his wrists. But I'd seen those before. No amount of struggling would break them.

I should get a pair for safety reasons.

Despite everything, he looked… unbothered. No panic. No remorse. Not even the faintest flicker of guilt for attempting murder. His own son—this gullible, ridiculously good-looking son of his.