Bursting out of the City Hall dining area and into the open-air parking lot, Dr. Akagi [Mei], seething with anger, got into the sedan arranged by City Hall.
As her guard, Kaspar [Michael] naturally moved to follow, but was intercepted by Michael [Official Michael], who was burdened with a stack of canned goods.
His subordinates and aides, who had followed close behind, took the cans from him.
Shaking out his hands, he looked at the impatient Kaspar [Michael] and asked somewhat nervously, "Um... Mr. Kaspar... forgive my asking, but do you and Dr. Akagi have any specific requirements for your accommodations?"
"Hm?" Kaspar [Michael] raised his eyebrows incredulously. "You haven't arranged accommodations for us yet?"
"No, no, no, no!" Michael [Official Michael] held his hands up defensively, shaking his head along with them.
"Your lodgings were selected long ago—there's a recuperation area specifically designated for Fire Moth warriors in the western coastal district of Third New Heaven City. Several villas there are already fully furnished. Although it's a bit far, the scenery is excellent, and villas offer more convenience. I just wanted to ask if you two have any special requests, like needing specific items placed in the rooms."
"Not really." Kaspar [Michael]'s expression relaxed. Feigning ignorance, he asked, "Why go somewhere so far? Aren't there any hotels or similar places in the city?"
Perhaps because the question was so incredibly basic, Michael [Official Michael] stood stunned for a full ten seconds before answering through gritted teeth, "You two might not be aware, but everything operates under a strict rationing system now. Hotels haven't existed for a long time!"
"Oh? Why is that?"
Michael [Official Michael] stared at Kaspar [Michael]'s face for a long moment. He knew it was somewhat rude, but this person's inexplicable insistence on probing basic matters aside, the questions themselves were so simple that Michael [Official Michael] momentarily didn't know how to explain.
No, it wasn't that he didn't know how to explain, but rather that the questions reeked of feigned ignorance, forcing Michael [Official Michael] to suspect a deeper meaning he was too dull to grasp.
"Don't overthink it." This seemed to be the phrase Kaspar [Michael] had already repeated twice that afternoon. Now he said it again. Was it just a verbal tic, or a reminder heavy with implication?
"Ahem, Dr. Akagi and I belong to Poisonous Cocoon. We haven't had much contact with the outside world for a long time, so naturally, our understanding of it is limited."
"Oh! Oh!" While the explanation felt a bit flimsy, it was at least plausible.
Besides...
Michael [Official Michael] gritted his teeth, telling himself internally—*"Just this once!"*
He glanced around. His subordinates had already tactfully moved away, forming a circular human wall around the car with a radius of several dozen meters.
Still uneasy, he leaned close to Kaspar [Michael]'s ear. "Mr. Kaspar, think about it, what are hotels for?"
"Eating, sleeping."
"Right! Yes! Exactly! But whether you plan to eat or sleep in a hotel, you need two essential things—time and money!"
"Oh?"
"Currency has long become worthless paper—it actually depreciated to the point where it's cheaper than toilet paper, so people would rather use banknotes to wipe themselves! The hard currency in the market now is food like various canned goods and biscuits, along with ration tickets exchangeable for supplies. But these are things ordinary people would rather hoard than spend... Yes, that's right, we've regressed to a barter economy society!"
"As far as I know, various real estate mortgage certificates, gemstones, and precious metals like real gold and silver still hold some value." Kaspar [Michael]'s statement wasn't unfounded.
Otherwise, Eden wouldn't still be wealthy; her real estate aside, those gems and precious metals weren't only desired by Pardofelis. By selling these assets, Eden's personal wealth had funded several of Mobius's and Vill-V's projects.
After all, everyone knew gold couldn't be eaten, yet everyone also knew to hoard gold in chaotic times.
When gold prices plummeted, some couldn't resist buying, not to mention these precious metals had real industrial demand—many special alloys and equipment manufacturing required gold and silver.
But...
"Mr. Kaspar, do you think ordinary people possess these things?"
"..."
"And time? Even under the latest regulations allowing corresponding supplies to exempt people from labor, anyone can see this rule targets the wealthy who receive C-grade supplies or higher. The vast majority, who rely on labor for D-grade supplies, work at least twelve hours a day. Previously, they had almost no holidays. After this regulation, they get one day off a week. Do you think they'd rather spend that time sleeping at home or playing games, or go stay in a hotel?"
Having rattled this off in a rapid-fire burst, Michael [Official Michael] felt flushed, his face predictably red.
Kaspar [Michael], standing opposite him, lowered his head, staring at his shoes without a word.
Only then did the emotion known as delayed fear spread through Michael [Official Michael]'s heart. He began frantically searching his memory, recalling if he had spoken too loudly just now, if anyone might have overheard.
As for why he said those things, why he dared to say them, he could only attribute it to a momentary lapse of reason.
"Is that so..." Kaspar [Michael] shook his head, patted his shoulder, and said earnestly, "Don't overthink it. Let's go. It's getting late. Dr. Akagi has been waiting for us so long, she must be getting impatient."
Michael [Official Michael] didn't register the rest of the words. His mind was now completely filled with "Don't overthink it."
If he remembered correctly, this was the fourth time "Kaspar" had repeated this phrase in just a few short hours.
A certain writer once said, "If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off." [Translator Note: Referring to Chekhov's Gun principle.]
Although this is a technique from fiction—in reality, even if a gun appears, it doesn't necessarily have to fire, otherwise the world would be chaos, with people drawing guns and shooting everywhere, a scene surely more exciting than any fireworks show—this was just a forced analogy.
Its true meaning should be—things are strongly interconnected; no event, no object, no word appears without reason.
Whatever appears before you, whether reasonable or not, must hold some significance, depending only on whether you can discover it.
So, what meaning did this phrase, "Don't overthink it," constantly repeated by the man before him, actually hold?
Once this question arose in his mind, it took deep root, impossible to ignore, let alone uproot and dispel.
Lost in this daze, he didn't know what he did next. He only knew that when his thoughts returned to normal, the sound of crashing waves constantly washed against his eardrums.
It was pitch black outside, the sea completely invisible. After careful observation, he realized the car had stopped in front of an impressive villa from which not a single ray of light escaped.
A tap on his shoulder made him realize he was squeezed into the back seat of the sedan with the two Commissioners.
Turning his head, "Kaspar"'s scarred face was hidden in the dim light and shadow, only his unusually bright eyes relentlessly reflecting the faint light.
"It's late. We won't trouble you further. We can rest on our own. You shouldn't overthink it either."
"Don't overthink it, don't overthink it, don't overthink it, don't overthink it..."
This simple phrase, as if imbued with some magic, began to loop endlessly in his mind, rendering him truly stunned.
He sat frozen in the car, watching as the two Commissioners declined help from the others, walked into the villa, and closed the main gate.
"..."
"City Official? Are you alright?" The perpetually silent driver, also in the car, spoke up. His body was ramrod straight, but his gaze brazenly assessed Michael [Official Michael] through the rearview mirror.
"City Official, you don't look well. Should I inform City Hall to prepare some medicine?"
"No need!" Michael [Official Michael] jolted violently. Being tall, his head hit the car roof directly. He expected it to hurt, but it was surprisingly minor, not even a sensation that could be called pain. After all, unlike a house ceiling, the car's headliner was padded thickly underneath.
"Let's go. Back to City Hall first." He tried to make his voice sound as normal as possible, then curled into the corner of the back seat, covering his face with his hands as if to hide from all light.
"City Official? Are you really alright?"
"I'm fine, just my old headache acting up. Mmm, you know, an old ailment from years ago, medicine doesn't help."
"Then, the usual? Arrange for a couple of girls to give you a massage?"
"..."
Though this was a routine so familiar it couldn't be more familiar, Michael [Official Michael] felt a sudden surge of disgust.
No, it wasn't sudden, nor was it the first time he'd felt this disgust.
He knew clearly, understood perfectly, that this disgust had always existed in his heart—an inevitable rift formed by the conflict between a normal person's values and his own actions.
It was just that the gratification from satisfying those desires had previously been too powerful, the shadow cast by their immense forms completely concealing that tiny rift, so much so that he only noticed it today.
But why did he notice it today? Why specifically today?
After slowly reversing, the driver gently turned the steering wheel. The tires traced a perfect arc on the ground as the car turned around and drove away from the villa.
Bright lights flickered on inside the villa, illuminating the road ahead slightly. Michael [Official Michael] couldn't help but look out the window.
The rough stone pavement seemed coated with a layer of varnish, the halo of light shimmering like a dancing candle flame, constantly changing shape.
But why was the ground...?
Only then did he belatedly notice the "white nets" swirling before the window.
More accurately, in the pitch-black night, illuminated by the bright lights of the villa behind them, were threads of rain, constantly intertwining and weaving together.
"When did it start raining?"
"Hm? City Official, you didn't know? It was already raining when we left City Hall."
"Oh." Michael [Official Michael] didn't dwell on it, continuing to watch the rain threads scattered by the wind, then gathered together again.
It was amusing, really. These raindrops were so helpless in mid-air, swept away to distant places by the slightest insignificant breeze.
Just like a life adrift.
But no matter what, the rain's final fate was inevitably to hit the ground, shatter into pieces, its remains seeping through the cracks in the stone into the soil below, beginning the next cycle—a destiny the rain couldn't change.
This falling process was involuntary, but whether drifting with the current or struggling against it, the final result remained the same.
Wait a minute!
He felt a flash of light explode in his mind, followed immediately by a needle-prickling pain spreading across his scalp.
His body curled tighter, hands clutching his head, fingers digging deep into his fluffy golden hair as if sinking into black mire, desperately searching, trying to retrieve something critically important.
The driver glanced at the rearview mirror and asked with concern again, "City Official, are you alright?"
"I... I'm fine..." Michael [Official Michael] had finally pinpointed the problem.
"It was raining when we left City Hall?"
"Yes!"
"It was raining when we got into the car?"
"Uh... it should have... yes?"
"Was it really raining?" Michael [Official Michael] kept questioning, making even the driver doubt his own memory.
However, after searching his memory, he nodded again. "Sir, I am absolutely, positively certain it started raining as we walked out of City Hall."
"Mmm... Did you see me talking to Mr. Kaspar outside the car?"
"No, it was raining outside, how could you possibly talk to him out there, Sir? You both got into the car right away. Though we were surprised at the time that you didn't take the other prepared car, nor the front passenger seat, but squeezed into the back with the two Commissioners..."
"We didn't talk in the car either?"
"No."
Michael [Official Michael] asked no more questions, offered no response, simply shrank further into the darkness.
He understood. Everything became clear.
In his memory, it wasn't raining when they got into the car, and he had stood outside talking with "Kaspar" for quite some time—this was indeed a memory rooted in his mind, undeniably real.
But in the driver's memory, it had been raining from the start, and he'd had no conversation with "Kaspar," simply getting straight into the car.
Why, at the same time and place, did different people retain completely opposite memories?
The answer was obvious—
He had long heard that the Fire Moth had numerous psychic-Sensitive type MANTIS. Reugel had also mentioned before that while such psychic abilities were largely ineffective against mindless Honkai Beasts, they were terrifyingly effective against humans, capable of altering someone's thoughts without them ever knowing.
So, if psychic MANTIS were so effective against humans, how could Poisonous Cocoon—an organization specifically established to deal with humans—not have psychic MANTIS?
"Heh..." He should have thought of this sooner.
But... whose consciousness had been interfered with? His own, or everyone else's?
Had "Kaspar" been speaking directly to his mind, or was their conversation real, with psychic powers used to shield it from others?
There seemed little point in dwelling on it.
Because whether that exchange happened in reality or purely in his mind, it had undeniably occurred.
"Don't overthink it, don't overthink it, don't overthink it, don't overthink it..."
That damned incantation, somehow rekindled, began its incessant chatter by his ear again.
Yet, he felt no urge to resist, because the more someone whispered it, the less he could control his thoughts from tracing back along the thread of memory.
Yes, the golden hair, the green eyes—he was indeed from the von Liechtenstein family.
But being illegitimate, he had lived in the slums for as long as he could remember, never knowing his father or mother. He was abandoned at birth, left with nothing but a blanket.
Memories of those difficult days were now blurry. He only remembered being adopted by an old man. Around the age of eight, he caught the eye of a wealthy person and was taken away from the slums.
He retained fragments of this moment: a young man talking to the old man who had adopted him, a van parked right outside their shack, its side door wide open, revealing the bottomless darkness within.
He heard his "adoptive father" arguing with the man, but instantly beaming with joy when the other produced a wad of cash.
Then he was put into the van.
But that vehicle wasn't heading towards an easier life; it was heading towards hell.
An eight-year-old child bought by someone—what else could he be used for? Especially since he was undeniably cute.
Because of his golden hair and green eyes, he was deliberately packaged and marketed as a von Liechtenstein boy, forced to learn many aristocratic manners to make the performance convincing.
And even more ironically, after being passed around for several years, this "fake identity" led him to an opportunity to serve a master from the actual von Liechtenstein family.
Through this, he was brought into the von Liechtenstein household, becoming that master's exclusive personal attendant.
He thought that compared to his previous suffering, this life would at least be easier.
At least he wouldn't worry about food and clothing; at least he only had to serve one person.
Besides, although his status was low and his work sordid, perhaps because of his good looks, the other servants—whether uncles, aunts, older brothers, or sisters—were all quite nice to him.
But then the most unbearable thing happened—as he grew older, he began to realize with dawning horror that he was looking more and more like his master, eventually reaching a point where almost all the servants could see the resemblance.
At first, his father refused to believe it, until he took him for a paternity test, thinking, "What's the harm, anyway?"
The answer was obvious, but this still wasn't the end of the suffering—when he returned home, he found that all the servants who knew him had been "dismissed." By then, he was nearing adulthood and wasn't entirely ignorant of the family's ways. How could he not understand the truth behind the so-called "dismissal"?
"..."
Even though nearly twenty years had passed, recalling these events still made his breathing unsteady.
So, when, a year ago, through the maneuvering of his guilt-ridden father (and admittedly due to his own competence), he successfully became a City Official, and returned home with complex feelings to share the good news as per custom, only to find the once luxurious family hall transformed into a pool of blood, the main elders of the family massacred, stepping over blue forget-me-nots soaked in blood...
It was less sorrow and more a sense of relief.
But what had this past ultimately brought him?
This was a question he used to ponder every night, but had now forgotten for nearly a decade.
He couldn't claim to have truly experienced the lowest rungs of society; after all, he only stayed in the slums until age eight. Although life afterward was sordid, at least he didn't lack food or clothing.
If he could, he would rather be purely wicked like his colleagues, instead of his current state—embezzling supplies only to donate half out of conscience, constantly suffering internal torment, and being cursed by others for trying to have it both ways [being hypocritical].
Right, "Kaspar" had seen all this past, hadn't he?
Michael [Official Michael] finally understood why he subconsciously averted his gaze whenever their eyes were about to meet.
Because the other's gaze, carrying psychic power, could see right through him completely. All his past, all his struggles, all his pretenses were laid bare before him.
And precisely because "Kaspar" saw those hidden things within him, he had repeatedly tempted him into saying things his colleagues would consider betrayal.
Even though it was merely the truth known to everyone.
Forget it...
Those words...
Since they were already spoken...
Michael [Official Michael] sat up straight, reaching for the grab handle on the car roof. "Turn around."
"Uh? Sir, what did you say?"
"Turn around!"