Chương 6: Machi's Frozen Heart

Their base was made up of three small houses built on a patch of ground they had cleared themselves. No other team lived nearby. Most of Meteor City was buried beneath trash from around the world. If someone wanted a place to live, they had to clear the ground first. Or take a cleared place from someone weaker. From the beginning, Meteor City's purpose had been to let the world dispose of things it did not know how to handle. That included people.

Some residents had offended the wrong people outside and fled here because they had nowhere else to go. Others had simply been abandoned. The only area that could properly be called a residential district belonged to the elders, and even that existed because the council of elders had developed its own structure over generations. When Uvogin's group ate, they built a small fire in front of the houses. Afterward, the scraps went straight onto the nearby garbage heap.

Strangely, the city's stench no longer hit Aren as hard as it had when he first woke. After absorbing the body's memories, his senses seemed to have adjusted back to what this place considered normal. Most residents formed teams. Strength in Meteor City did not only mean fighting ability. It also meant knowing how to survive. A powerful fighter could still die from touching the wrong chemical, breathing the wrong gas, or handling radioactive waste without understanding what it was. Wounds were just as dangerous.

In this polluted environment, a small injury could become an infection if nobody knew how to treat it. Over time, people had naturally gathered into small groups and built places to live together. Nobody slept well beside a rival team. After all, conflict was eternal here. The strong ate. The weak were eaten. Meteor City's rules were that simple. Which meant there was no spare house for Aren. He looked at Uvogin, then at Nobunaga.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Uvogin was huge. Nobunaga looked like the type to sleep beside a sword and kick in his dreams. Machi, at least, kept her space under control. After organizing his words, Aren said calmly, "From a practical standpoint, Machi's room is probably the only one with enough order to share. I'll stay there for now." The reasoning was sound enough that the others accepted it. Uvogin looked at himself and nodded.

"Yeah, my bed probably doesn't have room for you." Machi frowned. Then she remembered that Aren could create food out of nothing and finally agreed.

"If you try anything, I'll kick you out." Growing up in Meteor City had taught her exactly what kind of people existed here. She had relied on her sixth sense more than once to avoid men who looked at children like prey. Without that instinct, she might not have survived this long. That was why she kept her heart frozen. She had seen too much ugliness. During dinner, she had sensed something unusual in Aren's gaze, but it was not the sickening feeling she knew too well. It was warmer than that. His face helped too.

No matter the world, appearance was still an advantage.

"I know, I know." Aren raised both hands to show he meant no harm. Machi studied his face for another moment. Her instincts felt no malice from him, so she turned and headed for her house.

"Come on."

"See you tomorrow," Aren said to Uvogin and Nobunaga before following her. The dishes, of course, were left to Nobunaga. Before Aren joined them, washing up had already been his job. Machi cooked. Uvogin was considered successful if he did not break the bowls.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Nobunaga said, carrying the dishes. Then he looked at Uvogin, who was doing absolutely nothing, and kicked him.

"Help me carry these." Only after entering Machi's house did Aren see how little she owned. A simple cabinet. A mattress. A rough table. One chair. That was everything. Machi ignored him and sat down by the table. She pulled out the thin steel threads hidden in her clothes and began checking them one by one. She had not fought today, but maintaining her weapon was clearly a habit. To her, those threads were the only thing that could protect her. Even if they had not been used, she made sure they were ready.

Since she had no intention of talking, Aren did not force the issue. As a psychologist, he could see that her defenses were extremely high. That kind of vigilance did not form in a day or two. She had likely been guarding herself from the world for as long as she could remember. A few friendly words would not melt that. Too much warmth too quickly would only make her retreat. Time would be the only way to reach her. Aren watched her work under the candlelight.

The steel thread flashed coldly between her fingers, and small cuts marked her young hands. She must have suffered plenty to become this precise. His expression softened despite himself. He did not consider himself a particularly good person. Most of his choices were guided by preference, not morality. But Machi's hard little silence, the way she handled dangerous wire as if it were the only trustworthy thing in the world, made him want to be careful with her.

'There it is again.' Machi felt that strange gaze while checking her threads. Her sixth sense found no malice. If anything, what reached her from Aren was a quiet fondness. She stopped and glanced up. When she looked over, he gave her a warm, restrained smile. Machi did not ask what he was thinking. She simply returned to her work. She did not understand the feeling. But she did not hate it.