Because I'm Already Yours, Young Master
"I'm telling you, it's true."
The man slammed his empty glass down on the table.
He'd lost count of how many times he'd said it, but the more liquor went down his throat, the louder his voice got.
"I saw the Cleaner with my own two eyes."
The man sitting across from him snorted.
"You saw the Cleaner up close, and all three of you walked away without a scratch?"
"See for yourself how unscratched we are."
The man jerked his chin toward the end of the table. Two of his companions raised their hands — one with his arm in a splint, the other wearing a neck brace.
They looked like hell, but all three of them were alive.
"At first we figured he was just some easy mark," the man said, refilling his glass. "One look and you could tell he wasn't from around here."
"How could you tell?"
"His clothes, for one. Straight-up had that dropped-from-above look. Expensive stuff, too."
"So you tried to shake him down?"
"Wouldn't you have?"
Laughter erupted around the table. Pleased with the reaction, the man leaned forward.
"And then out of nowhere, that woman shows up. She was way down the street, but one blink and she was right in front of us. Next thing I know, all three of us are sprawled out on the pavement."
Someone listening nearby scoffed.
"Three guys took on the Cleaner and lived? You're full of shit."
"That's why the guy matters, I'm telling you."
The man lowered his voice.
"When the Cleaner was about to finish us off again, the guy goes, That's enough. Let them live."
"And?"
"She stopped."
"The Cleaner did?"
"Yeah. Instantly."
Thinking back on it, it still didn't make sense. The Cleaner, of all people, obeying that man who looked like some freeloading house husband.
"And you know what she called him?"
The corner of the man's mouth curled up.
"Young Master."
This time, the reaction was different. Even the ones who'd been writing him off as a drunk sat up and put their glasses down.
"Seriously?"
"Heard it with my own ears."
"The woman who swore she'd never serve under anyone?"
"That's what I'm saying."
That alone was more than enough of a story. Hardly anyone in the Lower Tier didn't know the Cleaner, and talk of her answering to anyone was rarer still.
"This could be worth money," someone muttered.
"What could?"
"The Cleaner's weakness, obviously. The woman who listens to nobody — listens to him."
The man's expression shifted strangely. It had started as nothing more than a boast about surviving an encounter with the Cleaner, but the more he talked, the more it sounded like genuinely sellable information.
"You remember the guy's face?"
"Obviously. Looked young, and that coat of his was the real deal."
The one with the splint set his glass down.
"Hey. That's enough. Don't go running your mouth any more than you have to."
"Why? Scared?"
"How could I not be? We all saw it. How batshit crazy that woman is."
The man scoffed.
"You really think she'd hear about it? In a Lower Tier this big?"
He said it, but the splinted one didn't laugh again. The one in the neck brace caught himself glancing toward the bar entrance for no reason at all.
Only the storyteller was riding high. Every question loosened another memory from his tongue, and after one more drink he was answering even the hazy parts with total confidence.
The guy wasn't really a Young Master at all — just some pretty boy the Cleaner kept around.
She called him that as part of some roleplay, obviously.
Every theory under the sun came spilling out.
The laughter and chatter carried on for a good while after that.
"If all that's actually true."
One of the men who'd been listening with interest leaned in.
"Should we sell it?"
"To who?"
"You think there's only one or two people out there with a grudge against the Cleaner?"
Snickering broke out around the table. Somewhere in that laughter, someone pulled out a terminal and started typing, and listeners at the neighboring tables began leaning in as well.
A long while later, the man staggered up from his seat and drained what was left of his glass in one go.
"Ahh, that hits the spot. Round two, boys! Drinks are on me!"
"On you?"
"About to come into serious money — you think I can't cover one round?"
"You haven't gotten paid yet, dumbass."
"Hey! I'm offering, so quit nitpicking. That idiot'll collect it himself!"
Chairs scraped back noisily. The whole table rose in a clatter, and the two men from the neighboring tables who'd been eavesdropping slipped into the group as naturally as if they'd been invited.
"So where we headed?"
"Anywhere. Somewhere's gotta still be open."
The rowdy crowd spilled out of the bar.
It was late enough that most of the shop shutters had come down, but the alley was still bright. Holographic signs flashed over customerless storefronts, and the mana lines threaded between the buildings spat the occasional blue spark.
"If it actually sells, how much you figure we get?"
"No idea. Probably a lot."
"If it sells, we're going somewhere nicer than tonight."
"Obviously."
From behind the snickering crowd —
Fwoosh—
The air split with a short, sharp crack.
"Huh?"
The man leading the group turned around. One of them was gone.
"Hey, where'd he go?"
Crack—
From the dark end of the alley came the sound of something solid shattering. The laughter cut off mid-beat. Someone took a few steps back and then simply froze.
The man who'd been walking with them moments ago lay crumpled against the base of a wall.
"Shit……"
Hands flew to waistbands and holsters.
Fwoosh—
A black shadow flicked across their vision.
Crack!
The one reaching for his pistol was slammed into the side of a building.
"Wh-what the—!"
"It's the Cleaner!"
That one word scattered them like leaves. The same drunks who'd been staggering along seconds ago shoved each other aside and bolted in every direction.
Some distance back, atop a cargo truck, a woman in a black coat had appeared. Above her head, red mana had taken the shape of ears.
"What the hell is that lunatic doing here—!"
Fwoosh—
Crack!
Another one vanished.
The man's alcohol burned off in an instant. The movement was familiar by now — the woman would vanish from far away, and in the next heartbeat someone would go flying.
"Run!"
He ran too. The more they scattered, the smaller the odds that she'd come for him. Right now, that was the only thought he had room for.
Fwoosh—
Crack.
The sounds behind him kept getting closer.
Fwoosh—
Crack!
There had been a whole crowd when they left the bar. Now only a handful of running footsteps remained.
"Shit, shit, shit……!"
The man rounded a corner. A pile of garbage ahead. He couldn't imagine actually throwing himself into it — but did that matter now? You survive however you can. If he hid there, even the Cleaner wouldn't find him.
Just as he moved to throw himself in —
Fwoosh—
A sound came from directly above his head.
"Ah……"
He looked up. Perched on a battered old sign jutting out from the building's edge stood Narin.
Fwoosh—
She vanished at the same moment.
Fwoosh—
The streetlamp.
Fwoosh—
A vehicle parked at the roadside.
Fwoosh-fwoosh—
The railing up ahead.
Like an orca toying with prey it had already cornered, Narin erased the distance again and again, closing in for no reason other than to hunt.
"Why are you doing this!"
No answer came, of course.
Fwoosh—
Crack!
Instead, the last man fleeing down a side alley dropped. Now there was only him left.
His legs gave out. He made it a few more steps at most before crashing to the ground.
"Wait! Just wait!"
Narin stood a short distance away. The red ears above her head were vivid — and so was the tail trailing long behind her coat.
"He said that was enough back then!"
Narin stopped. The man's face lit up.
"Right? It was the same back then. He said one word and you—"
"That was then."
"What?"
"You didn't even know your place and ran your mouth. You didn't even realize he'd given you a chance."
The man's mouth fell open.
"No, that was just — I'd been drinking a little—"
"Too late."
Crack—
"You're awake, Young Master?"
"Mmmh……"
At the familiar voice, I rubbed my eyes and sat up.
"Your meal and a change of clothes are all prepared."
Once I'd gathered myself, I found that everything I actually needed was laid out. Breakfast was already on the table, and today's clothes sat folded in a neat row.
It's like being back in the old days.
The way she'd readied everything in advance to match my waking hours. The way she stood there waiting for a word of praise.
"Good work. Today's the day I pick up my ID, right?"
"Yes, Young Master."
"Where's the handoff?"
"At a café in the nearby shopping district."
"A café?"
A café meant foot traffic — passersby, people seated all around. For receiving an illegal ID, didn't that seem like a terrible choice of venue?
"Actually, places like that draw the least attention."
"Really."
The darkest spot is right beneath the lamp. Was that what she meant?
"You'll understand when we get there."
I followed Narin into the back of the shopping district. Just as she'd said, the café was utterly ordinary. Even a little past the lunch rush, half the seats were full, and with customers waiting on orders mixed in, nobody seemed to be paying attention to who might be meeting whom.
Narin navigated to a corner seat with practiced ease. A man already waiting there confirmed her arrival, passed a small envelope under the table, and left without a word.
"Please check it."
A moment later, Narin opened the envelope and handed me the card inside. Both the photo and the name were ones I'd never seen before — except for the fact that they were now mine.
"That's it? It's done?"
"Yes. It's fully registered, too."
That was almost anticlimactic. I'd half expected there'd be something worth learning from the process.
"We paid a hefty price for it, after all."
"If you go the cheap route, is it normally more complicated than this?"
"So I've heard. Something like three or four extra steps, I believe."
"Huh. That actually makes sense……"
They'd probably bribed a city government official or the like.
"No way to make a Mid Tier or Upper Tier ID, I suppose?"
"Mid Tier might be possible, with the right method. Upper Tier…… from what I know, that's very difficult."
"Just asking. I know."
Unlike a Lower Tier ID, Mid Tier citizenship couldn't simply be bought. You needed a citizen of that ring to vouch for you, and the vetting covered assets, abilities, and identity besides. Upper Tier was several degrees harsher on top of that.
The corporations liked to advertise that anyone with the talent could climb. In practice, the ones who made it through that gate were vanishingly few. Most people spent their whole lives in the Lower Tier.
Though with someone like Narin, the calculus was different. Any corporation that could poach a fighter of her caliber would fall over itself to sponsor her citizenship.
"That reminds me — why didn't you ever move up to the Mid Tier? No one offered to sponsor you?"
"Plenty did. One offered citizenship and a home on top of it, but it was an exclusive contract."
"Long term?"
"Extremely. So I turned them all down."
"Still, once the term ended, you could have made it to the Upper Tier."
The chance to rise to the Mid Tier was worth that much, especially for someone who'd lived in the Lower Tier her whole life.
Down here, even craning your neck got you nothing resembling a proper sky. Climb to the Mid Tier, though, and you'd catch patches of actual sunlight. And Narin had even lived in the Upper Tier once, back when she could see the sun every day.
Giving up a second chance at that to stay down here couldn't have been an easy call.
"Because I'm already yours, Young Master."
……
Citizenship and a home, no less. If it were me, the very first thing I'd have asked about was the contract term. Being tied down for a few decades in exchange for the Mid Tier would've been worth running the numbers on.
But Narin, it seemed, had never run those numbers at all. Because she was already mine.
I'd never even told her I'd call for her again. For Narin, independence was never the finish line, apparently. That's how she'd held out down here for thirteen years.
The more I learned, the more it sent a faint chill up my spine — but one thing at least was certain. She was on my side.
"They say a bunch of people died last night."
"Word is it was the Cleaner's work."
"Hey, keep it down."
The voices from the next shop over stopped me in my tracks. Two merchants sorting their stock were muttering to each other.
"You know that crowd that came pouring out of the bar?"
"Why'd they get marked?"
"No idea. Word going around is they ran their mouths. Supposedly there were three of them going around bragging they'd met the Cleaner."
Three men bragging about meeting the Cleaner. The ones who'd latched onto my coat and gotten handed their asses by Narin came to mind.
"The ones who died yesterday — was that you?"
"Yes. Including everyone who'd been drinking with the three I spared."
She hadn't just killed the loudmouths; she'd cleaned up everyone who'd heard the story too. Rather than trace how far the information had spread, she'd simply erased every mouth that had taken it in.
"I told you that day that it was enough."
"That day, yes."
It sounded like a play on words, but she wasn't wrong. I had stopped her that day, true. I'd never told her to keep sparing them afterward.
……I just hadn't expected her to interpret it that way.
"Why did you kill them?"
"They were talking."
Apparently they'd been blabbing about what they'd seen over drinks. Given my current position, that was a problem — we still hadn't identified who had sent the person I'd spotted in my sightline that day. Her judgment that any information touching me needed a lid on it, however thin, was one I shared.
It was certainly convenient, having someone who read my intentions and cut away the dangers on her own initiative.
The issue was whether she'd so much as told me afterward. A blade whose swings you couldn't see — and couldn't see having swung — was worse than no blade at all. The risk landed on me either way. At minimum, I needed to know who she was going to kill.
"From now on, when you kill someone over my business, tell me first."
"Yes, Young Master."
She listens well, at least. It's just that she trims away things I never even mentioned.
Deep into the night.
In the alley where Narin had erased the distance again and again the day before, a faint red afterglow still lingered. Over the shattered billboards and crumpled vehicles, dim light refused to die out.
A palm-sized sensor clinging to the alley wall finally reacted, long after the fact.
Bzzt—
A single dead indicator light flickered awake. A thin red glow swept slowly across the wall and the ruined signage.
Readings that had dropped back to zero spiked once more. The sensor re-measured the residual traces.
Beep.
A single short signal went out — somewhere far away.