A Hole in the Head
Male, twenty-six years of age. Origin: the Archipelago.
Despite his youth, an artisan of universally acknowledged aesthetic sense and exceptional craftsmanship—his schedule booked solid a full year in advance.
However, unable to rein in his lust, he made advances on the wife of a rising guild officer in Oracle and subsequently fled to the slums.
"Hmm."
The secretary bent to retrieve the personnel evaluation that had slipped to the floor, a faint crease forming between his left brow.
"Something the matter?"
"Looking at this, there's a detail that concerns me somewhat."
"And that would be?"
Benjamin, mid-review of the monthly performance reports from each of his establishments, accepted Fuji Junpei's evaluation as it was passed into his hand.
"The man's skill is genuinely impressive."
"Yes. His skill is."
Benjamin drew a cigar from his coat and set it between his lips. The secretary at his side snipped the tip with practiced ease, produced a lighter, and lit it without a word.
"I see what concerns you."
"I'll make contact in advance, so that no trouble arises."
"Do that. I've heard the reports that Baek Jinhyuk has no intention of leaving Sector 12—but he won't spend the rest of his life cooped up in there either."
The secretary nodded and withdrew. Benjamin drew deeply on the cigar and returned his gaze to the papers.
That conversation had taken place while Baek Jinhyuk was already on the road to Sector 11, Jamie at the wheel.
"Aaaargh!!"
Fuji Junpei howled and swept every object on his desk to the floor in a single furious motion.
"Hah—! Hahh—! H-how many days has it been already?! How many days?!"
Why had he settled in Sector 11?
Others prattled on about materials and supply lines, but that sort of thing was for desperate fools to fetch on their own. The real reason Fuji Junpei had planted himself in Sector 11 was the most famous brothel in the northern slums: the Fairy of the Night. More precisely, he had fallen for its ace courtesan, Olivia, at first sight.
"Damn it all!!"
For the past month, Olivia had refused every single client. Even a VVIP like Fuji Junpei was no exception. Had the Fairy of the Night been some ordinary establishment, the place would have been turned upside down long ago—but no one with a shred of sense had yet found the courage to raise hell in a house under the direct protection of Mad Dog, the rulers of the northern slums.
"It's that priest. It has to be connected to that priest."
After pouring out his rage for some time, Junpei recovered enough of his reason to rake the mess of his bangs back from his forehead and sink into his chair.
"That bastard visits the brothel, and the very next day she stops taking clients. Yes. That priest is the cause. No question."
He had never seen the man's face, never even heard his voice—a complete stranger. Yet the moment Junpei decided Olivia's strike was connected to that unidentified priest, the nameless cleric became his mortal enemy.
Click.
While he was grinding his teeth over the matter, the door opened without a knock.
"……."
"……."
Standing in the doorway was a tall woman whose face he had seen more than once. Her chest was full enough to suit his tastes well enough, but her temperament was closer to a man's than a woman's, and her features were far too androgynous for his interest. Her name was…
"Miss Jamie of Mad Dog, is it not?"
The other fools he could ignore—but Mad Dog required caution. Junpei rose at once, arranging a smile thick with false courtesy.
"I was beginning to lose confidence, wondering whether my hands might no longer be needed this year. But I take it you require them after all?"
"Mad—"
"Pardon the interruption."
A man leaned past Jamie's shoulder, cutting her off mid-word. Baek Jinhyuk stepped forward with the easy, professional smile he offered freely to anyone, and took the space in front of her.
"A pleasure."
"……."
The other man had smiled first and extended his hand, but Junpei wiped the smile from his own mouth before speaking.
"My apologies. In a profession that lives by the hands, I prefer to avoid handshakes whenever possible."
Jamie, who had stepped aside to make room for Jinhyuk, twitched the corner of her eye—barely, almost imperceptibly.
Not that it mattered.
"How careless of me. I should have considered that."
"Not at all. An act born of ignorance is a mistake, not a sin—so long as it wasn't deliberate. It's quite all right."
The cold mask that had settled over Junpei the moment Jinhyuk appeared softened again into a genial smile.
It's him. It has to be him.
He had never seen the man in person. But the priest had become enough of a topic that scraps of description—build, coloring, manner—had circulated freely through the rumor mill.
That same dark hair. Beyond that single point of resemblance, though, almost nothing about him made sense for someone supposedly of Eastern stock. A priest with a physique that lost nothing even beside Jamie, the woman they called Mad Dog's Doberman. A strong jawline. Features so cleanly cut they bordered on perfect. Even his voice—a low, settled baritone that carried weight simply by speaking in an ordinary tone.
Confirmed. It's him without a doubt.
The rosary at his throat was unmistakably the symbol of Verdia, the goddess who governed dreams. Wearing it meant he was her priest.
Men from Han had always been like this. Content to live quietly on their own soil—that would have been enough. And yet, without fail, the exceptional few among them abandoned their homeland and put down roots somewhere new.
"You've come to place a commission, of course?"
"That's right."
"As expected."
Junpei arranged his face into a look of deep regret, entirely at odds with the seething in his gut, and let out a small sigh.
"It is an honor that a priest would come in person to commission work—but regrettably, I am not in a position to accept new commissions at present."
Surprisingly, that much was true. Junpei's schedule really was booked solid for a full year.
"We'll handle that from our end."
Jamie, who had been listening in silence, cut in.
"Miss Jamie. If this is an official commission from Mad Dog, that is another matter entirely."
Junpei looked from Jinhyuk to Jamie and back again.
"Is this an official commission from Mad Dog?"
"Not yet."
"Then I'm afraid that presents a difficulty. You know this as well as I do, Miss Jamie."
In the slums, skilled tradesmen were scarce. Those connected to architecture, scarcer still. For that reason, Junpei had an arrangement: whenever Mad Dog placed a commission, he set every other schedule aside and treated it as absolute priority—and in exchange, he was guaranteed safety and freedom. A pact struck directly with Benjamin, the boss of Mad Dog himself.
"It seems we've put you in an awkward position."
Jinhyuk, still smiling, gave Jamie's shoulder a light pat.
"We'll look elsewh—"
"However!!"
The ease with which the man seemed prepared to walk away was so far from what Junpei had expected that he spoke in a rush.
"However clear one must keep the line between public and private, turning away a fellow Easterner at the door is simply not done."
Jinhyuk did not answer. He only smiled and gave a small nod, as if inviting him to continue.
"In my heart of hearts, I would accept the commission at once. But this is a profession that lives on skill and reputation, you understand."
The commission? Of course he intended to take it.
"So if you would do me the courtesy of joining me in an old tradition of the Archipelago—one that has been handed down for a very long time—I will personally seek the understanding of my existing clients and accept the priest's commission. And when that time comes, I will charge nothing but the cost of materials."
"Quite the extraordinary offer. And what is this tradition?"
"We share a meal of fish that has been fermented for a very long time."
Beside him, Jamie's eyes flared wide—but Junpei, fixed entirely on Jinhyuk, never noticed.
"Very well."
"Haha! As expected of a man from Han—refreshingly decisive! I'll prepare it at once, so if you'll just wait a moment… the room is a bit of a mess, I'm afraid. I hope you'll forgive it."
"Don't give it a second thought. Go ahead."
"Then—just a moment."
Junpei dipped his head slightly and hurried out, descending to the first floor.
"Yoko!!"
"Yes~?"
A woman who had been idly wiping a windowpane stopped what she was doing and came forward.
"Prepare it."
"If you mean… that—? Hah?!"
Yoko's long, narrow eyes flashed open, revealing the light brown irises for the first time.
"B-but the people upstairs are from Mad Dog, aren't they?"
"Shut up! Do I look like an idiot to you? Stop fretting and bring it. Now!"
"Ugh…"
Yoko hesitated for a beat, but the murderous look in Junpei's eyes left her no choice. She went to fetch it.
A short while later she returned carrying two small jars.
"These?"
"Y-yes…"
Junpei took the jar meant for himself in his right hand, and the one intended for Jinhyuk in his left.
"Boss… a-are you really going to do this?"
"You keep your mouth shut and finish the cleaning."
Even Yoko's final attempt to stop him earned only a vicious smile as Junpei headed back upstairs.
You bastard. Let's see if you can keep that composure once you look at what's inside.
Both jars did, in fact, contain fish. The one in his right hand held proper kusaya, fermented by traditional methods. The one in his left held rotten fish—its surface and scent carefully matched to genuine kusaya through convenient magic and spices, and nothing more.
Even so, the head had been removed and the guts thoroughly cleaned; eating it would not kill a man. Whether anyone could actually swallow a bite was another question entirely—and even if they did, timely treatment would leave no lasting harm.
You've lived your whole life in comfort. Allow me to teach you one of the rules of these slums, personally.
And the spectacle the priest was about to make of himself—he would make certain Olivia heard every detail.
Junpei's steps quickened.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Someone rapped at the door of the office. The secretary attending Benjamin approached it quietly.
"What is it?"
"A message from the Doberman."
"Understood."
The secretary glanced back. Benjamin, eyes still on his papers, waved a hand once. At his master's leave, the secretary stepped out—and returned not long after.
Benjamin drew a fresh cigar from his coat, set it between his lips, and looked up.
"Something's happened."
"Yes."
The answer put a slight edge on Benjamin's temper. Jamie—known by the moniker Doberman—was one of the organization's action captains, and the subordinate he had assigned to the young priest he had taken a rare liking to. A call from that subordinate reporting a problem meant, in plain terms, that something had happened to the young man.
Sensing his master's irritation, the secretary hurried on.
"To be precise, the priest is the one who caused the incident."
"Oh?"
Not the one who suffered it—the one who caused it? Irritation flipped to curiosity in an instant.
"That friend of ours is a bit of an odd one, I'll grant you. So what exactly did he do that warranted a call all the way to you?"
"Well…"
The secretary hesitated at the question, then answered with a small sigh.
"He put a hole through Fuji Junpei's skull."