Chapter 18
Chapter 18
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: White Crow Unit ― Georg (1)
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"Get your newspapers! Fresh papers here! The Leader's speech from today is in 'em! Movie reviews too! Buy your paper!"
I'd learned a lot about this world since coming here—things I'd never known or cared about before.
Like the ecosystem of newspaper boys, for instance.
They each had their own assigned territories, set partly by the newspapers but mostly agreed upon among themselves.
Even those kids had their own set of rules.
Georg, the hidden master of the newspaper boys—simultaneously employed by all three major papers—had seized half of District 13 through sheer force of will.
He ran deliveries on foot at dawn, then shouted "Extra! Extra!" on street corners once the sun was up.
I felt sorry for the boy, who never seemed to catch a break, but he always looked so spirited that I left him to it.
"One of each, please."
"Thank you!"
The boy flashed a grin and handed over one copy from each paper. Lately, I didn't meddle in his business; instead, I took a slight detour every morning on my way to work to buy from him.
Georg didn't distrust or antagonize me, but he didn't fully trust me either. Smart kid, just like you'd expect.
So, I decided to buy his papers every day until some opportunity flipped the situation in my favor.
In Oscar's case, it had worked anyway. Showing your face consistently could only help build a relationship—never hurt it.
And the opportunity came sooner than expected.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 'If only he were a mage.'
That was the thought that flitted through Georg's mind the first time he met Lucas Redan.
No matter how hardened life had made him—the boy adults called "old soul"—he was still a kid at heart, idolizing grand archmages with their devastating power.
Even when Lucas boasted about being a civil servant who could really help out.
Personally, he just didn't like civil servants.
His opinion started shifting when he heard how Lucas had uncovered a secret passage into Oscar's factory.
Daniel, who relayed the tale, said Lucas must have a ton of valuable intel at his fingertips.
From that day on, Georg obsessed over one possibility.
Sunup wasn't even a thought as he dashed to the papers at dawn for his daily bundle, pounding the pavement rain or shine to hawk them to passersby.
At some point, Lucas started buying his papers every morning.
Casual as could be, like he'd always done it.
No demands, no long chats.
Probably pretending to be just another customer, but his eyes were utterly indifferent as he took the papers.
Lunchtime was different, though.
One day, as Georg crouched in an alley tallying his morning take and wolfing down bread, a shadow fell over his small frame.
He looked up to see a scrawny guy blocking the sun.
"Took me a while to find you."
Lucas, panting hard, shook sweat from his hair and squatted down beside him.
"Here. I asked Mrs. Schmidt for an extra one."
He thrust out one of those legendary Mrs. Schmidt sandwiches. Georg knew it well—that incredible food.
Georg swallowed his mouthful of bread and peered up at Lucas.
"......Why are you doing this?"
"Talk casual."
"I don't suspect you like Richard or Erika do. Giving me stuff won't change that."
Lucas snorted.
"You don't seriously think I'd buy that, do you?"
Georg hesitated, then took the sandwich. His sweaty hands quickly smudged the white bread, but Lucas didn't seem to care.
"There you go. I'm off."
"You're leaving?"
"Anything else?"
"......No."
Lucas flashed a crooked smile, ruffled his hair, and vanished.
Left alone, Georg stared blankly at the sandwich before taking a bite.
It wasn't tough rye bread. Nor watery, chunkless gruel.
The first proper meal since Erika's last handout.
Salty ham and sweet cabbage sauce clung perfectly to his tongue.
"This is so good—ack!"
Choking mid-gorge, Georg shoved the errant crumbs back in.
It tasted familiar.
"Where've I had this before?"
A cool autumn breeze blew in, drying his sweat.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ World Calendar: September 15, 1896.
The boy's tenth birthday.
Georg remembered everything he saw and heard that day. He knew he'd never forget it, even on his deathbed.
He woke to birdsong, ate breakfast with his mother and little brother.
His heart had pounded with excitement the night before, but with Dad already off at work and Mom treating him like any other day, he felt a pang of disappointment.
He told himself they were just too busy to remember and swallowed his hurt.
After a quiet meal, as he played with his brother, Mom suddenly asked,
"Want to go to your father's office?"
Georg nodded eagerly, overjoyed.
His dad ran a newspaper—started as a reporter, wrote killer stories, climbed to the top.
Georg dreamed of being a reporter like him. Dad had laughed heartily when he said so.
They lived in District 5, the press hub of Lüdelheim; Dad's paper was right off the main drag.
Hand in Mom's, Georg arrived buzzing with joy.
Papers and pens flying everywhere, clacking typewriters, thick ink scent. Downstairs, the presses must've been humming away.
But when they opened the door, the dark office was dead silent.
"Dad......?"
As Georg stepped in cautiously, magic lamps blazed to life.
Bang! Bang!
Toy fireworks burst in brilliant sparks.
"Happy birthday, Georg!"
A chorus erupted from the paper's reporters and staff.
Familiar older brothers and sisters grinned at him; his face split into a massive smile.
"Happy birthday, Georg."
"Dad!"
Dad appeared with a cake piled high with frosting. Overcome with glee, Georg rushed him—and smashed right into it.
Splat!
The airborne cake landed squarely on Dad's head.
Frosting flew everywhere, turning the office into chaos.
"Hahaha! Boss, you look like a snowman!"
The reporters howled; Dad laughed along heartily.
"Still gotta taste it, though."
The pretty secretary sis scraped some frosting off Dad's clothes and offered it to Georg.
The sweetness on his tongue made him burst out laughing.
Dad, Mom, brothers, and sisters showered him with gifts.
Picture books for kids, train models, fountain pens—all thoughtfully chosen.
At just ten, he thought it was the happiest day of his life.
If he'd known then that fate would deny him happiness forever after, he'd have begged them not to take Dad—screw the gifts.
Instead of praying to be a "great reporter."
After the party, Dad suggested heading to the reserved restaurant together.
The older ones joked about bleeding the boss's wallet dry for once and ordered whatever they wanted.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
"Special Police! Come out!"
What followed wasn't something he wanted to remember. Yet every scene stuck in his brain, replaying vividly every night.
A young reporter protesting, beaten mercilessly to the floor.
The secretary sis blocking their path, mocked viciously till she collapsed in shock.
Red liquid splattering over the frosting.
Dad and the staff, handcuffed and dragged away in a line.
Ossel thugs snickering as they kicked him and his brother when they tried to follow, crying.
Mom stifled a scream, hugging her young sons tight.
"It's okay. It'll be fine. They must've misunderstood. Dad'll be back soon, so let's head home first."
Her voice strained for calm, trembling enough for even a child to notice.
Dad never came back.
At school, teachers shunned him. Mom was out pleading connections daily, too busy to tend to him.
He learned later how she'd begged everyone she could reach.
"I sincerely apologize for my husband's false report. But it wasn't intentional—it's a misunderstanding! He's not that kind of man. Please, show mercy!"
She'd vanish for days, return bruised black and blue.
She fought Krüger's underlings relentlessly, stubbornly.
One snowy winter night.
Georg snuck out, racing down deserted streets.
Someone had boarded up the empty paper's door with planks and nails.
He circled to the back window, yanked nails till his hands bled, pried the boards loose.
The office was a wreck.
Ghosts of reporters bustling, relaying news to Dad, danced in his eyes.
He'd clenched his fist back then: "I'll be a righteous reporter too!"
He clenched it now, wiping endless tears.
A crumpled paper with a footprint lay amid the mess.
The last copy left in the paper.
Georg picked it up, scanned the offending article.
Adults called it slander against the Leader; he still couldn't see it.
He folded it carefully, tucked it away, muttering,
"I'll keep it forever. And when Krüger's gone, I'll start a paper with the same name."
He already knew Dad wouldn't be freed.
Heart pounding at getting caught sneaking out, he cracked the front door.
A horrific wail echoed from inside.
Short legs flying, he bolted upstairs. Maids sobbed in the hall.
"Ma'am! Ma'am! Open your eyes!"
He froze at the open door, staring at the surreal scene.
Mom lay on the bed like a still life, emaciated beyond recognition.
In that instant, Georg's heart shattered irreparably. Never to be whole again.
Before nightfall, a civil servant led him from the house.
All he could grab: that treasured paper and Mom's necklace.
Rushed through procedures, he and his little brother were locked in separate orphanages.
Orphanage life was hell.
No beatings, but no love either—from the director or teachers.
Dreary gray buildings, boring classes, tasteless slop.
Ragged beds, cutthroat kids.
After a year of enduring, one night Georg snuck into the director's office, stole his file.
Ripped it to shreds, flushed it. Scaled the wall in one go.
He became a street kid.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "......Um."
On a chillier day now, when Lucas bundled his skinny frame in a coat before heading out.
I handed over the usual sandwich and turned to leave when I felt Georg tug my coat.
I stopped dead, catching my breath.
Huff, puff, huff, puff.
'He finally bit.'
I pressed my lips to stifle a rotten grin.
About two weeks of buying all three papers daily and handing over sandwiches.
Oscar caved in one week—this kid was tough.
But a vital asset worth the effort: a plucky newspaper boy thriving on brutal streets, with those sharp eyes to boot.
"What?"
I turned, feigning nonchalance. Georg bit his lip, bowed his head briefly, then looked up.
Clear, bright eyes, trembling just a bit.
A supremely kind smile must've spread across my face. I ruffled his tousled straw-blond hair.
"Of course. Naturally."