Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 159: Cycle of Catastrophe (2)

Dragon Raja 3

His name was derived from the ancient Roman military commander Gnaeus Pompeius. According to Gattuso family tradition, only the family’s recognized heir could use the name of a hero from the Roman Republic. The family head inherited the bloodline of a hero, while even the most outstanding brothers remained commoners. So no matter how powerful Frost became, if Pompeii walked into the dining room while Frost was eating, Frost had to stand up and give up the head seat of the long table to his rather eccentric elder brother.

Pompeii landed on the large desk, his white parachute slowly descending behind him like a cloud or the flowing train of a noblewoman’s gown.

He twisted his waist and struck a pose. “Gentlemen, applause! Cheers! Remember, you are talking to the world champion of precision parachuting—Pompeii Gattuso!”

He was an overly handsome man—long golden hair, ocean-blue eyes, a high nose bridge, a manly hint of stubble, wearing rimless glasses, with healthy, tanned skin. The open neckline of his shirt revealed his perfectly shaped chest muscles… It would be hard for any woman not to be moved by his looks. Despite his poor track record in relationships—bad enough to make the Vice Principal feel ashamed—many high-society women still took pride in catching his attention.

“The last time I saw you, you were into horse racing,” Anjou frowned. “When did precision parachuting become your specialty?”

“The Spanish princess I was racing with broke her leg. Continuing to ride with a woman with a broken leg was just too sad for me. Precision parachuting, on the other hand, is a young person’s sport. Young girls like men who do precision parachuting.” Pompeii stepped down from the chair, dragging the parachute behind him.

“Did you come from Rome?” Anjou asked.

“No, no, Bangkok. I flew in from Bangkok. When Frost called me, I was riding an elephant with a Thai princess.” Pompeii waved at Manstein, “Hey, Professor Manstein, right? We’ve spoken before.”

The Gattuso family had never had a good reputation. Since the Middle Ages, they had been known for their domineering ways, running over anyone who stood in their path without a second thought. If a family head had enough manners to greet before running someone over, the family history would note him as a benevolent leader. But Pompeii was actually a pretty easygoing guy, which was unusual for a Gattuso. The family historian would probably write about him as “soft as mud”—too soft to make a difference.

“You must be Professor Schneider. Your mask is so cool—it makes Darth Vader look like trash.” Pompeii shook Schneider’s hand enthusiastically.

After greeting everyone, Pompeii turned and rummaged through the tea cabinet, taking out Anjou’s prized Zhengshan Xiaozhong. Normally, someone messing with another person’s collection like that would be intolerable, but Anjou had to admire Pompeii’s keen sense of smell. There were 120 different kinds of black tea in the cabinet—each from a different region, with varying levels of fermentation—all sealed in unmarked tin cans. Pompeii casually rummaged through them and picked out the best one. This tea came from Wuyi Mountain in China, where the tea trees grew on sheer cliffs, and monkeys were needed to pick the leaves. The tea was smoked with pine needles, and Anjou had kept it for three to five years without drinking it.

The men of the Gattuso family always enjoyed only the finest things—Caesar was indeed very much like his father in that regard.

“Gentlemen, let me have a moment alone with Pompeii,” Anjou said.

“Don’t be so formal. I’m just making tea,” Pompeii said.

“No need, we’ll take our leave.” Schneider and Manstein both stood up.

“Let’s play cards together sometime,” Pompeii called out to Schneider and Manstein as they walked downstairs.

“How long has it been since we last met?” Pompeii brought the brewed tea over to Anjou.

“Ten years? Why aren’t you aging, you old devil?” Anjou sipped the tea—it was incredibly rich.

“As a playboy like me, who just spends time with women, takes yachts out, attends Paris Fashion Week, and takes supermodels skiing in Switzerland, of course, I stay young.” Pompeii took out a cigar and tapped it against his shoe to make the tobacco more compact. “I don’t even smoke much these days—gotta stay healthy.”

“Are you here as the representative of the Gattuso family this time?”

“Of course. When a father loses his son, he gets worried, so I decided to come in person.”

“You, concerned about your son?” Anjou sneered. “You didn’t even attend his parent-teacher meetings, did you? Last time Caesar mentioned you to me, he called you a ‘stallion father’ or something like that, if I recall correctly.”

“I do love my son,” Pompeii said seriously. “Caesar is just in his rebellious phase, but eventually, he’ll know I’m a good father.”

“Caesar’s life and death are uncertain, yet you don’t seem worried,” Anjou observed, looking him in the eyes.

“Worried? Of course, I’m worried, but I’m not going to cause trouble for you, am I? We’re brothers, aren’t we! I came because I was afraid Frost would mess things up. My idiot brother’s mental state is a mess—manic as ever. If he came, he’d probably point a gun at your head.” Pompeii patted Anjou’s shoulder affectionately. “But don’t blame him; our family has a history of mental illness—generations of mania. During Mussolini’s rule, my father served as a member of parliament, shouting for Mussolini’s downfall during meetings, which landed him in prison. Before they could execute him, the Americans came, overthrew Mussolini’s regime, and he was seen as a hero who resisted tyranny. But to be honest, it was just his mental illness acting up. He was always a bit crazy in his later years…”

“Do you really care about your son?”

“Of course I do. Otherwise, why would I have left riding elephants in Thailand?”

“So you flew over ten thousand kilometers just to chat nonsense with me?”

“No, no. I’m just telling you that my brother is a lunatic, so don’t take him too seriously. I know you and he had some disagreements and that he tried to impeach you at the School Board… Hey, brother, you know I personally trust you very much. You’re incredibly capable—no one but you can manage this college properly,” Pompeii said earnestly. “But you also know I’m just a nominal head of the family—my job is to reproduce. To put it bluntly, I’m just a stallion. Frost holds all the real power, so it’s not that I don’t support you—it’s just that I…”

Anjou silently lifted the ashtray. “If you keep talking like this, I’ll get a manic episode too. Want to try?”

“Oh, no, no, no, take it easy. Can’t brothers talk calmly?” Pompeii quickly reached out to take the ashtray from him. “I mainly came to figure out what those bastards in Japan are up to!”

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