Chapter 298: Interlude – Humanity Cannot Fall.
Chapter 298: Interlude – Humanity Cannot Fall.
A bathroom tucked away in a corner of the party hall.
Even the bathrooms in expensive places like this aren't just clean; they have a peculiar fragrance. I waited quietly for the signal, occupied by such idle thoughts.
I wished the contact would come immediately, but the touchpad-based phone issued by the Management Bureau showed no sign of ringing.
As the wait stretched on, irritation born of impatience began to mount.
The stiffness of the high-end dress fabric wrapping my body grated on my nerves. The brown dye I’d used to hide my conspicuous silver hair must have been faulty, as it was making my scalp itch. And as for the colored contact lenses hiding my red eyes—I must have dropped one while sneaking in, because a glance in the mirror revealed a pair of mismatched eyes.
Since having both eyes red would be less conspicuous than having two different colors, I dropped the remaining lens into the toilet I was sitting on and flushed.
As I sat there in the silent stall, listening to the roar of the water, I drifted into thought.
Even the sound of a toilet flushing felt like something I hadn't heard in far too long.
Since this body lacked even the most basic biological functions, I truly couldn't tell if I was alive or not. When I brought this concern to a Management Bureau psychiatrist, they suggested that to maintain my humanity, I should eat regular meals even if I didn't need to, and perhaps find a hobby.
But no matter what I ate, it tasted like mud.
Flavors were either overwhelmingly intense or entirely absent, leaving me with nothing but a sense of emptiness. It truly felt as if something that sustained me was being chipped away day by day.
In truth, I used to feel this way in the past whenever I stayed in my transformed state for too long. Back then, however, I had my original body to return to—a way to reclaim what I had lost during those hours.
Now, I didn't even have that.
Realizing how ridiculous it was to be having such deep contemplations over the sound of a flushing toilet, I brushed the thoughts aside with a vague hope that things would work out and began fiddling with the touchpad phone in my hand.
Personally, I didn't much care for these new phones. For one, there’s no tactile feedback with a touchpad; I can’t even tell if I’m typing correctly. They’re so thin and light that I’m constantly worried I’ll snap the thing in half if I grip it too hard.
I also disliked the interface—the sliding gestures and the buttons that only appeared when you touched the bottom. I couldn't find where any of the convenience features were hidden, and every app seemed to have a different way of opening or closing. For some, you had to swipe your finger; for others, you had to pull upward.
In the old days, you just pressed a button and you were done. I don't understand why technology seems to have regressed even though human civilization has been restored.
Wait, is that right?
Technically, technology has advanced since we're using touchpads now. Is it just that there aren't enough veteran engineers left to pass down the old know-how?
Regardless.
I kept fiddling with the incredibly inconvenient touchpad phone, but still, no message came.
I closed my eyes and mentally reviewed today's objective.
The location: a skyscraper in New York City.
The event: a social party for the powerful, held at the very top of that building.
It had only been a few years since the Management Bureau used various Otherworld-based technologies to restore human civilization—which had been half-ruined by severed distribution chains, disconnected communication networks, and the collapse of global energy production.
And yet, people were already acting as if they had forgotten those times.
Of course, that was largely due to the measures taken by the Bureau.
Subtle methods to dilute the fear and despair held by the masses. Widespread emotional mitigation, the blurring of memories, and a touch of systemic control.
That was the true nature of the lights flowing through the city I was looking at now.
It felt a bit strange to be observing it from a bathroom, but what else could I say when such a view was spread right before my eyes?
Sitting on the lid of the toilet, I gazed at the nightscape through the transparent glass window directly in front of me. Looking at it stirred an indescribable emotion within me.
Do rich people have voyeuristic tendencies? Or did they design it this way because they figured no one could see in from over a hundred stories up? Then again, it might be a one-way mirror.
Either way, the feeling was unsettling.
But this emotion wasn't born from the scenery alone. While it included the absurdity of this "public exposure" bathroom design, it was more about the difference in height—looking down at the lights from above.
It felt like a wall.
Even after the world had been turned upside down, those who held power in the past still held it now, maintaining this disparity in height.
Some held power. Some held capital. Some held connections.
These forces still remained to rule the world, continuing even after the restoration of human civilization.
It was inevitable.
We are superhumans, but we are not nation-builders. The elite were the ones who maintained the foundations of society when civilization first sprouted. Even if we ruled by force, what use is a king over ruins?
Of course, none of us actually desired to rule.
That was why the Management Bureau embraced them, despite knowing of their corruption.
Some politicians had led the charge in oppressing the Awakened. Some corporations had committed unspeakable acts against the Awakened in the past. Others were involved with the underworld.
Not every member of the establishment was guilty, but a great many certainly were. Those directly involved had been made to disappear into the darkness through various means, but those indirectly involved—or those just one step removed—were still strutting about in the light.
And the reason I was here today, in this guise, was to filter them out.
Vrrr.
The phone vibrated.
A single word appeared on the touchscreen: "Execution."
Seeing it, I flushed the toilet one more time to avoid suspicion. I sprayed a heavy-duty deodorizer to mask the smell of cigarettes, then quietly stepped out of the empty ladies' room, my mind now a complete blank.
* * *
Even a social party for celebrities isn't anything particularly special. It’s a place with food, alcohol, and conversation. It’s just that the participants are heavyweights, the quality of the food is higher, and the topics of conversation are a bit weightier.
When I first attended such events, I was flustered and didn't know what to do, but now I could leisurely play the role of a child who didn't quite fit in. The food and drinks were tempting, but since eating gave me no real satisfaction anyway, it was within the realm of endurance.
That didn't mean I stayed in one spot, though. Someone might notice and wonder why that kid had been standing there the whole time. I needed to move around aimlessly as if looking for my parents.
Subtly mingling with those who were—at least in appearance—around my age was another part of the acting required for this undercover investigation.
Of course, I hated playing with kids. My preferred method was to join a group of children and then radiate a slight intimidation once we were away from the adults to make them disperse. Listening to children chirp in their high-pitched voices caused me extreme stress, so it was a tactic for the sake of my mental health.
Well, it wasn't like blood and guts were flying everywhere, so I couldn't complain too much.
Anyway, just as I always did, I dispersed the children and began to open my senses, quietly eavesdropping to gather evidence of anyone saying something suspicious.
"...."
I realized one of the children had stayed behind, staring intently at me.
She looked to be about six or seven. Radiating a distinctly East Asian aura, she stood there with her mouth agape, clutching a black metal rod that didn't suit the party at all.
How annoying.
"...The Management Bureau Heroes are looking into my company..."
Suspicious talk was happening right over there; I needed to plant the wiretaps, but this child’s staring was hindering the operation.
I waved my hand at her, signaling for her to go away, but the girl just tilted her head and gripped the metal object tighter, as if she didn't understand.
Dammit. This is why I hate kids. I wish they’d all just run away sensing danger through that childhood instinct, but there are always a few whose curiosity outweighs their fear.
Nothing for it, then.
"What are you staring at?"
I spoke normally, but with a slightly mature vibe—yet not so mature that it gave away I was an adult. If I had to describe it, I sounded like a child pretending to be a grown-up.
The girl smiled brightly and opened her mouth.
"Hi! I'm So-rim! What's your name, Unnie?"
Typical kid—just blurting out her own business without any context. This is why it's so hard to talk to them.
"Me? I'm Annie. What's that in your hand?"
Rather than trying to lecture her into leaving, I immediately moved to divert her attention and kill her interest in me.
I leaned down and tapped the Black Rod in her hand with my right hand. The moment the girl who called herself So-rim looked down at her hands—while her gaze was away from my body—I quickly tapped a specific spot on my dress twice with my left hand.
Click.
A tiny Black Orb dropped from the folds of the dress. The moment it hit the floor, it changed color to blend in with its surroundings and rolled quickly toward the feet of the targets I was eavesdropping on.
I was still listening to them myself, but physical evidence was necessary. Now, their conversation would be recorded as data by a dedicated intelligence team monitoring the device.
And before long, rumors would circulate that certain people had fallen from grace. Purely by coincidence, of course.
I had already planted over twenty of these orbs throughout the party.
Now that the orb was placed and I didn't need to focus on that side anymore, I decided to concentrate on the problem in front of me: getting rid of this kid.
"Oh, this? It's my favorite thing!"
Happy that I’d shown interest in her possession, the girl gave a radiant smile and opened her hands slightly, pushing it forward so I could see it better.
"Let's see, what could it b—...?"
I raised my voice slightly to play along, but the moment I saw what it was, I lost my composure and let out a strange sound.
I couldn't help it.
The object in The Child's hand was a Metal Magazine.
It was empty of bullets, but it was absolutely not the kind of thing a child should be carrying. While I was reeling from the sheer unexpectedness of the situation, she spoke to me.
"You like this too, don't you, Unnie?"
She said it with such a bright, innocent expression.
"...What makes you think that?"
How on earth did this child see that side of me?
"Because you smell like gunpowder! Just like me!"
...Gunpowder?
I don't even use guns. Of course, I live in close proximity to people who do, so the scent might cling to me, but I was using a deodorizer strong enough to mask even the pungent smell of cigarettes. There was no way that scent remained on my body.
And yet, the girl in front of me said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
The confusion in my head only continued to pile up. I didn't know how to respond. Should I just lie to get her to leave?
That thought crossed my mind, but then—
"I love guns! But the other kids say I'm weird... But you're different, right, Unnie? What kind of gun do you like?"
She spoke so brightly that I had a bad feeling that if I denied it, she might start shouting and draw everyone's attention to me.
I mean, of course it's weird...
I swallowed the obvious retort that had risen to my throat.
"The... PTRD-41?"
I just blurted out the name of the gun Meteor used to use. I knew almost nothing about guns, but the names of a few with distinct characteristics had stuck in my memory.
"Ooh... that's a good gun! You like the big ones! Me too!"
She started hopping up and down.
Dammit, this is going to draw even more attention. For now, it might look like a heartwarming scene of children chatting, but what would people think if they actually heard the content of this conversation?
Just as I was agonizing over how to shake this kid off—
"So-rim. Are you talking about guns again? Stop talking about things no one understands and let's go. Your father is looking for you."
A woman who looked exactly like her appeared and pulled her away.
"Eh? No! That Unnie knows!"
So-rim struggled even as she was being hauled away by her mother.
What do I know? I could never understand the bizarre logic of children.
Regardless, perhaps thanks to So-rim's fuss—
"I'm sorry. So-rim says the strangest things."
The woman, presumably So-rim's mother, spoke to me in a refined manner.
"No, it's fine. She's very bright and fun," I replied, playing the role of the mature child that adults tend to like.
"I see. Thank you for playing with her. Well, enjoy the party."
Satisfied, she gave a short wave and led So-rim away into the crowd.
"Bye-bye, Annie Unnie! See you later!"
As she was dragged away, So-rim waved goodbye with the hand holding the magazine. I waved back, but I knew we’d likely never see each other again.
Now that the troublesome child was gone, I took a breath and prepared to regroup with Yellow King, who was disguised as my father.
But then, from the direction So-rim had been taken—
My eyes met a gaze directed straight at me.
He stood there with his mouth hanging open, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. And the moment I saw his face, I felt a wave of despair.
'Why on earth are you here looking like that, Ha-ram?'
If he were in a position to speak, I’m sure those are the words he would have uttered.
Because there was no way.
Neither I nor Hyun-seok could have ever imagined a scene where Park Hyun-seok would be attending this party and we would come face-to-face.
In that moment, I felt like smashing the bright glass window reflecting the city's nightscape and hurling myself down into the flood of lights below.
And yet, we live on.
Alongside humanity.
Even if we have to cover ourselves in hideous filth.