Chương 364: 158.Rift 1

I pulled out my terminal. The screen lit up. The name on the caller ID was like a cold needle, jabbing cleanly at the nerve that had already had enough for today. Heinrich von Steiner. Great. This meal's mortality rate just went up. I couldn't even be bothered with an "excuse me." I switched the terminal to private mode, made sure the speaker was completely dead, and only then answered.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was low, carrying an accent so thick it felt deliberately unimproved, every word scraped out like it had been dragged across steel.

"Hoshino. Shimo." …I hate the way he reads a person's name like a case number.

"This is Dr. Heinrich von Steiner. Do you have a moment?" I looked at the lunch on the table, at Jess across from me who'd already raised her head, then at Maki beside her — silent, but she'd clearly clocked the change on my face. I answered without thinking:"No. What do you want?" The second the words left my mouth, Jess and Maki both stopped, exactly as expected. It was an absurd picture. Jess, fork dangling, like she'd just caught a whiff of gossip.

Maki, spoon set down, watching with the stillness of a prosecutor waiting for the suspect to finish digging his own grave. And me, taking a mad scientist's call at a lunch table. If anyone looked over at us right now, they'd probably assume I was receiving a ransom demand, a kidnapping threat, or the Federation's version of hell-grade after-sales service. Steiner clearly didn't care whether I was free, or how much my tone sounded like someone talking to a debt-collection agency.

"Your body. It's grown, hasn't it?" I went silent for a second. Not out of shame. … Okay. At least not entirely out of shame. More like someone had taken a screwdriver and, out of nowhere, tapped the fresh shell I'd just fitted, then calmly announced: "Mm. I know this part." I gripped the terminal, nearly cracking the phone case. Fuck. If I didn't know you, I'd genuinely think you were a creep. The premium kind, too — one who wears a lab coat and sincerely believes he's just doing academic observation.

I lowered my voice, keeping it inside the range of "I have not yet lost it at the dinner table."

"You know about this?"

"Of course." Steiner answered with total conviction, as if nothing in the world were more natural.

"I am an excellent scientist." …Anyone else said that, I'd have already hung up. The worst thing about hearing it from Steiner wasn't the arrogance. It was that he sometimes genuinely had the skill to make arguing with him feel like a waste of time. He didn't keep bantering. His tone shifted, clipped like he was reading off coordinates.

"Tomorrow, ten in the morning. Joint Operations Command." Click. He hung up. Clean, no lingering, not even a "copy?" — as if this call existed only to jam an order into my head and walk away, without the slightest concern for whether that kind of thing belonged anywhere near a meal. I stared at the darkened screen. My takeaway was very simple. Great. Steiner, same as ever. Efficiency supremacist, holding an almost scientific hostility toward normal human socializing. I set the terminal down slowly.

The table was quiet. Jess wasn't talking. Maki wasn't talking either. Which was worse. Because if Jess had run her mouth right away, I could at least hold the surface together by snapping at her. If Maki had asked right away, I could stall by acting annoyed. But when both of them went quiet, the table developed a bad kind of blankness — as if everyone had silently agreed you'd better offer an explanation yourself, or watch the air curdle. Sure enough, Maki spoke first.

"Who?" She was looking at me, tone very even. Not a demand. But the thing about Maki's type is they don't need to demand. She just leaves the question sitting there, and the whole scene grows a pressure of "you'd better not be making things up." I looked at the water glass on the table, my mind running a quick lap. I couldn't say— The Federal Central Research Institute is running human experiments on me.

Never mind how wrong that sentence is for a lunch table; the instant "human experiments" landed, the meal would be over, straight into strategic-grade cold silence. Especially with Maki here. If I spilled that out as-is right now, the results would be roughly the same as throwing a flare into a fryer: bright. Very bright. And the scene would definitely not head in a peaceful direction. So I started making things up.

"It's the check-up." I set the terminal face-down on the table, keeping my tone deliberately loose, pretending this was the most boring possible trivia of an ordinary life.

"Booked a while back. Forgot about it." After saying it, I wanted to hold three seconds of silence for that story. Terrible. Genuinely terrible. A lie like this wouldn't pass the sincerity bar even on a convenience-store clerk with the forgot-my-membership-card routine — let alone Maki. Jess was the first to make that "do you think I'm dead?" face.

"What kind of check-up makes you open with 'no, what do you want'?"

"Efficient communication." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Sounds more like you owe him money."

"Then the quality of people you normally deal with is really low."

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment for now." I drank some ice water, trying to wash Steiner's "your body's grown, hasn't it" down with it. It didn't work. Because that sentence wasn't sound. It was more like a chemical residue that clings to a nerve. Once it's on, it keeps dragging up everything this morning's clothes, pants, and shoes had taken turns teaching me — the shoulder line, the chest, the waist, the legs, and the self in the mirror that could no longer keep pretending to be the old version.

Steiner wasn't flirting. That, I knew clearly. Steiner's understanding of flirting was roughly an artillery piece's understanding of flower arrangement — both technically register as "human activities," but obviously not the kind he'd ever take part in. Which was exactly why it was worse. Because if a sleazy old man had said it, I could bite back with full justification. But from Steiner, it was just a cold, flat confirmation. He knew. And possibly — he knew before I did. That feeling was genuinely foul.

While I was still trying to swallow the irritation back down, Maki added another quiet cut.

"What time tomorrow?" …Damn. I looked up at her. The way Maki asked questions had always been insidious. She didn't argue with you over "is that true." She didn't waste time walking you through checking a clearly leaky excuse. She cut straight to the time, because time is the one thing that can't act. I was silent half a second. Answered anyway.

"Ten." Jess jumped right in, the fun of watching drama creeping back into her voice.

"Wow. What kind of check-up looks this much like a court summons, complete with a mandated ten-a. m. slot? What's next — fast, bring ID, and make a will on the side?"

"Jess. Can you keep at least a shred of basic decency where people are eating?"

"I am. I haven't even openly guessed you're hiding some Federation secret yet, right?"

"You just said it."

"Oh. Slip."

"You are a walking slip." The corner of Maki's mouth moved. Just barely. Just one twitch. But I saw it. This woman was really overdoing it today. Having been a menace from the crooked shop to the main store, and from the main store to the lunch table — now, even when I took a call with ill omens written all over it, she still had the spare capacity to sit there with that look of nearly finding my stubborn mouth amusing. … Annoying. And more than annoying. Distracting.

I don't like being distracted at times like this. Because the moment you're distracted, you start letting things slip. And today, I'd already let things slip too many times. Just then, the waiter happened to arrive with the food — which, in some way, saved me. He set the plates down one by one, smooth motions, professional face, as if he hadn't noticed this table's "that call really shouldn't be recorded" vibe. Steam rose. The fried-goods aroma hit Jess's side first. My main course landed in front of me.

Maki's portion was set down neatly at her elbow. I nearly applauded this waiter. Not for the food. Because he'd managed to drag the table from "the Federal Institute might be coming to arrest someone" back to "lunch still needs to be eaten" — the fundamentals of human civilization. The second Jess got her fried goods, she entered cease-fire-with-a-running-mouth mode.

"Rule first: no appetite-killing topics during meals." I picked up my fork without looking at her.

"Then you'd better not speak at all today."

"Wow, Hoshino. Fresh set of everything, and even your insults got sharper."

"This has nothing to do with the clothes."

"It does. Once the look locks in, the sharp tongue auto-upgrades into style."

"Then keeping quiet can upgrade into a virtue. Want to try it?"

"No. I prefer being social noise." That one was honestly admirable. I looked down, cutting into my meal, trying to pull my focus back to the plate. Failed. Because the string of text was still turning in my head. Tomorrow, ten a. m. Joint Operations Command. Steiner didn't call for no reason. He certainly wouldn't call to check whether I was eating well, sleeping well, finally fitting into my clothes, or whether my pants had stopped mutinying. That old man's interest in the human body was never lyrical.

It was structural, data-driven, and almost certainly with a report attached. At that thought, the plate of lunch in front of me suddenly looked innocent. It only wanted to be eaten normally, and instead it was being forced to share the psychic contamination of Federation and science with me.

"Anyway," Jess said between bites, her tone deliberately light, but her eyes kept sliding my way, "that man with the heavy accent. Who is he?" I glared up at her.

"Are your ears military-grade? I went private mode."

"Your face was enough." Jess spread her hands.

"You looked like you were on the phone with somebody who disarms bombs."

"He's more the type to dismantle people, actually. Not bombs." The words were out before I could stop them. Jess's eyes lit up instantly.

"Oh——" I scrambled to patch it.

"I mean. Dismantles reports. The kind that does research."

"Mm-hm."

"Don't mm-hm me."

"Nothing. I just think that amendment reads about the same as no amendment." I wanted to stab my fork into her fried goods and declare a requisition. Then, finally, Maki spoke.

"It's not a check-up." Not a question. A Maki-style declarative sentence. I turned to look at her. Maki was cutting into her meal, head down, unhurried movements, low voice, not even deliberately looking at me. But precisely that weightless tone was the kind that made things sound like settled verdicts.

"If it were just a check-up, Hoshino wouldn't have reacted like that." … Damn. Here we go again. This woman was truly skilled at pulling conclusions straight out of the places I thought I'd hidden things. I'm not afraid of being misunderstood. What I fear most is being seen through. Especially by Maki. Because when anyone else sees through you, it's just annoying. When Maki sees through you, she goes ahead and finishes thinking the next step for you. That isn't annoyance. That's structural collapse.

Jess jumped in immediately.

"So it's the professional-kind-of-trouble type?"

"Your classification skills are amazing." I said, deadpan.

"Too bad they're all spent on suicidal cases."

"Thanks. Still refining." I couldn't be bothered to answer her, so I just ate. Two bites in, Maki dropped a line in the most ordinary tone:"I'll go with you tomorrow." I nearly choked on my food.

"No need." I answered too fast. Fast as if someone had put a fire under me. Jess's head whipped between me and Maki, eyes bright as if she'd just been handed front-row tickets.

"Wow, there it is. Lunch-special power showdown."

"Jess, shut up." Maki and I said it almost in unison. The table paused a beat. Jess slowly set down her fork, wearing a very satisfied, very punchable smile.

"Okay, today was worth it." I wanted to dump her whole plate of fried goods down her collar. Maki ignored Jess, finally turning her gaze to me.

"If it were just a check-up, whether I come or not wouldn't matter." Maki said.

"Hoshino reacted this strongly. That means it isn't." I gripped my fork, almost bending the metal. Great. Case closed. And the guilty party is me. The worst part — she hadn't even tried hard. She just took my "no need" like a present wrapped terribly and unwrapped it in one second, seeing perfectly well that what was inside wasn't a check-up notice. I wanted to argue. But I knew arguing now would just look guiltier. So I leaned back in my chair, voice annoyed.

"Even if it isn't one, that doesn't mean I'm going to my death tomorrow."

"I didn't say you were."

"Your face says exactly that."

"Hoshino. You're overthinking." Hearing those words from Maki, they were pure lack of persuasion. Because her specialty was pre-booking the worst-case version of everything. She isn't pessimistic. She's an institutional survivor. Anything that entered her field of vision got automatically simulated in her head first: one accident, two knock-on effects, three cleanup costs — and only then did she present the calmest-looking road. Which was exactly why I wanted her along even less. Not because I was scared. … Okay.

At least not entirely because I was scared. Because the moment Maki gets involved, the matter stops being "I got summoned by Steiner." It becomes "Maki is there too." And anything Maki stands inside automatically upgrades from a personal nuisance into a structural problem. I did not need that upgrade right now. So I cut another piece of meat, pretending this could be chewed up along with the food.

"No need." I repeated, quieter.

"I'll go alone." Maki didn't answer right away. She just looked at me. That kind of quiet was genuinely annoying. Like she wasn't pushing you, just waiting for you to realize on your own that your stubborn mouth had zero credibility right now. Jess looked between me and Maki, and for once didn't barge in immediately. She could probably tell that another wisecrack now might send more than fried goods flying — possibly including the fork in my hand.

Finally, Maki said, mildly:"If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to yet." My hand paused. Jess went quiet for half a second too. That line was flat. Flat in a way that wasn't comfort and wasn't concession. More like an escape route placed on the table. She wasn't forcing me to come clean now, but she hadn't dropped it either — she just drew the line in a very Maki way. You don't have to say it now. That doesn't mean the matter is closed. That kind of handling was annoying. Because it was too decorous.

So decorous I couldn't even find a spot to bristle. I stared at the neatly cut thing on my plate, and my throat suddenly went dry.

"… I know." Quiet. Like it had slipped out by accident. Jess blinked across from me and wisely didn't follow up. Maki didn't dig any further either. The table went quiet again, leaving only the soft click of dishes and the everyday noise that didn't belong to us — and therefore felt especially safe. But I knew very well. The meal was still being eaten, but its taste had already changed. Not because of the food. Because tomorrow, ten a. m.

, Joint Operations Command, and Steiner's cold "your body's grown, hasn't it" had already wedged into this noon like a thin needle. Small. But enough to tell you this little pocket of calm was only borrowed. And the part I hated most was this— I knew it, and yet, for one second, I genuinely wanted to finish this meal properly. As if finishing it would make tomorrow come later. Too bad reality isn't that polite.

It only ever calls on time — right when you've just broken in new shoes, just carried in fresh clothes, just been made to look like a normal person by other people's efforts, even just had a moment at lunch where you thought maybe today could count as ordinary — to remind you: Don't get too pleased.