Resurrecting the Genius Within

Chapter 450 Joker 

Isabelle fixed her gaze upon the monitor, lips slightly parted as she addressed the figure on the other side. “Joker.” 

Her message rang out with ominous brevity, “You’re next.” 

The technicians efficiently relayed Isabelle’s directive to the enigmatic figure. known as Dark Shadow Chief–Joker, their fingers dancing over the console. 

Joker, you’re next 

Joker, you’re next‘ 

Joker, you’re next‘ 

Joker… 

Isabelle’s voice resonated throughout the vast hall, a subtle warning echoing in the 

air 

Despite the gravity of her words, Joker seemed entranced by a haunting melody emanating from a violin, its notes weaving a spell around him. 

After a contemplative pause, he spoke, his voice tinged with nostalgia, “Her voice, it’s reminiscent of hers.” 

Turning towards the young man by his side, his features sharp with determination, Joker addressed him directly, “If you desire to stay, then stay. There’s no need to return to Death Gate. Join the shadow team and assume Storm Shadow’s role.” 

Jacques answered curtly, “Yes.” 

Joker cautioned, “Hold your celebrations. There are conditions.” 

With Adrian’s vendetta settled and Isabelle resolving a lingering matter, a sense of relief washed over them, lifting the oppressive atmosphere that had lingered for days. 

Yet, despite this respite, Isabelle harbored a lingering animosity within her. 

Later, within the confines of a hotel room, Isabelle reclined on the bed, her head 

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to wash her han 

Originally intending to wash up in the bathroom sink, Isabelle relented to George’s insistence, concerned that straining her injured shoulder might exacerbate the injury 

Though the scar on George’s palm had healed considerably since Isabelle removed the stitches, a reminder of their shared ordeal remained etched in his skin. 

, and out of the blue, belles 

George rolled his sleeves “Let me see your hand.” 

Understanding her unspoken request, George extended his hand towards her. 

Isabelle scrutinized the still–mending cut on his palm, her fingers delicately tracing its edges as she held his hand in hers, inspecting the injury with a gentle touch. 

“It’s healing nicely.” George remarked, his tone tinged with reassurance. 

Isabelle commented, “What a shame.” 

Confused, George inquired, “Huh?” 

Isabelle elaborated, “It will leave a scar.” 

George’s hands, once so graceful, was marked by this imperfection. 

Turning his hand over, Isabelle’s gaze lingered on a small mole adorning the knuckle of his index finger. 

And it’s on the better–looking hand too. 

Isabelle complimented his hands once, but she was soo offhanded with the remark, he didn’t believe it. 

However, he noticed the hint of regret in her tone, and he realised she was being sincere back then. 

“Ah, a scar is nothing compared to the one on your shoulder, and you’re a lady.” George felt for Isabelle every time he thought about her shoulder. 

Not wanting to dampen the newfound lightness in the air, George sought to alleviate the mood, offering. “It’s a trifling thing for a man like me to bear a scar. If 

you fancy my hand, you’re welcome to hold this one more often in the days to come, as he extended his other unblemished hand towards her. 

As his large palm briefly obscured Isabelle’s face, she gently redirected his hand to meet her gaze, a subtle request for his attention. 

Without a word, Isabelle released his hand and closed her eyes, her request clear, “Wash my hair.” 

With a fond smile, George obliged. 

Practice was paying off, and George was definitely improving. 

Out of nowhere, Isabelle asked, “What’s the date today?” 

George paused to think. “The sixteenth.” 

She grew quiet for a moment. 

Then, she declared, “Today’s your birthday.” 

George blinked in surprise before the truth of it sank in, bringing a warmth that spread through him. 

His mind wandered back to when they lived in that small house in the slums. She had once asked about the date back then too. It dawned on him now that she had been pondering his birthday for a while. 

That realization filled him with happiness. 

“Think I’ll get a birthday gift this year? Even if it’s a bit late?” he teased. 

Isabelle’s response was immediate, “Obviously not.” 

George fell silent. 

“All done.” He wrapped her hair in a dry towel, gently cradling her head as he helped her sit up. 

Isabelle perched on the edge of the bed. 

George stood in front of her, carefully drying her hair. 

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Chapter 1st Subm 

Lost in thought, Isabelle was startled when George suddenly said, “Isabelle?” 

She snapped out of her reverie, slowly lifting her eyes to meet his. 

Before she could collect her thoughts, the man’s chilly yet striking visage drew near. He leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a sudden embrace.. 

After a brief surge of passion, he pulled back slightly, regarding her with contentment. “I’ve received my birthday present for this year, and I must say, I’m quite grateful. Thank you,” he stated, a mixture of audacity and politeness. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Isabelle remained silent, her mind racing. 

She had been considering whether to procure a cake, enact some sort of ceremony as thanks for the cake he got her the year prior: 

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