The Dream Contract
Someone might curse me inwardly for shaking the long-rooted, solid foundations of Sector 12. No—they definitely would.
But that would be a grave misunderstanding.
Smashing the heads of the few restaurant owners wasn't shaking Sector 12. It was simply carrying out, with perfect fidelity, the law of the strong that governs every slum at a far more fundamental level.
The ingredients used in the cooking were a mess. They lacked even the skill to cover that up. And the taste? Not even a parent could call it food. If the price had at least been cheap, maybe—but no. Their consciences had exploded, and they demanded absurd prices. Leaving that alone would actually have been the behavior more unfitting for the slums. At least, that was how I saw it.
"Hoo. Let's head back."
I'd worked my body as much as I'd eaten, so digestion was going rather well. I turned my steps toward the building that had become mine since yesterday—the one I still hadn't named.
"Miss Vita."
"Yes."
It had been from the exact moment I smashed the second shop owner's head, I think. Her sharp gaze sank heavily, and her attitude grew even more polite.
"Do you think my actions are excessive?"
"Not at all. In fact, it feels refreshing."
I'd asked purely because I wanted to hear her honest thoughts, yet she gave an answer that piqued my interest.
"Reason?"
"They're selling trash that even the mother who birthed them would slap them for, calling it food. And the prices—how conscienceless were they? Even their father would click his tongue and lament."
From the way she didn't seem to care about word choice at all, her mouth had always been the rough sort.
"By ensuring those pieces of trash's parents don't abandon the natural order, I think the Priest should rather be thanked by them."
"Interesting."
If she took it as praise, it could become praise—but more than that, she was simply stating what she felt.
"What do you think, John?"
"Yes. I think the same."
On the contrary, our bodyguard John—who had a high chance of today being his last—was the boring type who was neither particularly good as a bodyguard nor interesting in the slightest. After I ordered him to release the man we'd kidnapped along with Vita out the window, he became a bit more careful, but walking the streets together showed that the frequency of him zoning out was higher than expected. Whether he realized it or not, the thought that since I was a priest it was fine to pay a little less attention had clearly taken root in his subconscious.
Rather, this side is better.
Whether it was an essential survival method for slum residents who hadn't joined an organization, Vita—even with me right beside her—constantly rolled her eyes left and right, always vigilant of the surroundings. Compared to someone staring blankly at a woman across the street whose clothes were rags, no different from being naked, she was a woman who compared favorably, and in a good way.
Back at the building, I moved to the second floor instead of the third.
"John, make sure no one enters from the entrance."
"Understood."
Sensing we wouldn't be seeing each other for long, I chose to send John outside. He himself seemed more comfortable alone out there than with me, and he quickly went downstairs.
I said in front of the second-floor door.
It wasn't as if there were no windows. If someone wanted to, they could invade through a window anytime. Yet our John left me—the one he was supposed to protect—in a place like that and dashed straight down to the first floor.
"Please sit comfortably."
"Ah, yes."
She and I sat on sofas facing each other.
"I plan to ask a few questions. They're necessary for the treatment, so please answer honestly."
"Understood."
Truthfully, even if she lied it wouldn't trouble me. It would only lengthen the treatment period and make her suffer mentally.
Before the questions, I took out the notebook where I'd roughly scribbled the schedule and the fountain pen stuck in my front pocket, holding one in each hand.
"Miss Vita, do you have a dream?"
"A dream...?"
"Yes."
"......"
Vita, who had answered as if ready for any question, furrowed her brow deeply with a serious expression just like when she first faced me after being kidnapped.
"Not a dream... but I think I have a goal."
After long pondering, having reached her own conclusion, Vita raised her head to look at me again and opened her mouth.
"Revenge on the fucking bastards who fed me drugs."
"A bit more specifically."
"Uh, umm..."
Her brow furrowed again.
"Find every last organization member, and if it's a guy with a dick, one shot up the ass. If it's a bitch without one, one to the crotch...?"
"For men, the crotch would hurt more."
"Uh, well, I heard men consider getting their back hole fucked more humiliating."
At her answer with zero filtering, I laughed silently. The people I'd met so far were from the slums yet didn't seem like slum people at all. But from the woman sitting across from me now, a thick slum scent wafted. So I liked her.
"Have you thought about after that?"
"Well..."
"Because it's too unrealistic?"
"......"
Vita nodded, a bit embarrassed.
"Knowing yourself well and accepting reality is important. I don't think it's bad."
Better a realist who only assumed situations within an achievable range, like her, than someone chasing empty ideals.
"But this is just a hypothesis, so try imagining life after revenge once. I'll give you plenty of time."
"Umm..."
I waited calmly. The treatment period depended on what she dreamed.
"Make a decent score... leave this place and spend an ordinary remaining life in a quiet rural town."
"Ordinary, I see. For example?"
"I'd like to tend a small orchard as a hobby."
"Any thoughts on romance or marriage?"
"Not really, but if we hit it off, who knows."
At her answer, I personally added flesh and quickly built a story in the notebook.
"But for an addict, Miss Vita, your condition doesn't look that bad."
"Compared to other addicts, it would look that way. I only take the drug enough so withdrawal symptoms don't appear."
Vita stretched out both fists she had clenched and showed me. Her outstretched hands trembled slightly, unable to stay still.
"Instead of my mind deteriorating, I always have these symptoms."
"They disappear when fully high on the drug, I suppose."
"Yes. But the mind breaks down quickly."
"Nasty."
"...Better the bastards who get horny and try to rape. I think drug dealers should all be caught and thrown as monster food."
Thick veins rose on the backs of the hands she held out. Even that would be sufficiently restrained anger.
Scratch, scratch.
Since I asked no more questions, she closed her mouth, and only the sound of the fountain pen moving naturally filled the room.
This should be enough.
A story with decent form was complete. No need for fine details. The dreamer's own memories would fill in the lacking parts.
"Could you close your eyes for a moment?"
"Understood."
She who had sat quietly like a stone statue for nearly an hour completely covered her face with both hands she had placed neatly on her knees. In that gap, I withdrew money from the Benefit Bank and converted that money into Bishua's contract paper.
"You may open your eyes now."
"......"
I moved the fountain pen over the contract in front of her again. The content was simple.
1. Priest Baek Jinhyuk is Party A; the contractor below is Party B.
2. Party B will dream the dream created by Party A.
3. The period Party B dreams shall not exceed one month.
4. Party B cannot recognize the dream as a dream.
5. While dreaming, Party B forgets everything about Party A.
6. Party A may freely look into Party B's dream to check Party B's condition.
7. If Party B's body escapes addiction, they immediately awaken from the dream.
I held out the second contract, conducted under Verdia's auspices.
"If there are no parts to revise, just sign as is."
I offered the fountain pen. She carefully read the contract, accepted it with care, and signed at the very bottom without any particular questions.
Thus the contract bearing the names Baek Jinhyuk and Vita turned into strangely colored smoke and vanished.
Now the only thing she had to do was one: lie on a comfortable bed and sleep. That was all.
"Please come this way."
I led her, more tense than before, to the bedroom.
"Shall I bring you pajamas?"
"No. No. It's fine."
How much she hated the idea—she spat the refusal three times in a row.
"Since you don't need them, we'll skip that. Then please lie on the bed now."
After glancing around a bit, Vita climbed onto the bed and lay stiff like a dead tree. I sat on the edge of the bed and gently placed my hand on her forehead as she stared blankly at the ceiling with eyes wide open.
"It would be better to fall asleep naturally, but that might take a while, so I'll help you."
"Please..."
She closed her eyes, and I covered them with the hand resting on her forehead.
"Good night, Miss Vita."