Chương 58: CHAPTER 57 – Preparations… Or Perhaps Not

Or Perhaps Not In the full light of morning, a boy was sent flying across the cold, rough floor of the NOIR Association's gymnasium. He tried to rise, but every fibre of his body was working against his own will.

"Well done, truly well done. With that, we have finished the combat trials." A man with white-streaked hair applauded with satisfaction, wiping the sweat from his brow with a dark cloth.

"Calling them beatings might be more accurate…" Lance murmured between coughs. He rose again, immediately seizing the nearest water bottle.

"Come now, you asked me to train you. Managing to land a couple of hits on me without your ability is quite an achievement!" Lautre tried to encourage him, raising both thumbs, only to meet the boy's sour stare.

"Come on, let's talk a bit, and then I will let you get to your final exercise." Lautre smiled, sitting right next to him. Lance shifted over, allowing him to settle in more comfortably. The two remained silent for a few minutes before the boy erupted entirely.

"IF YOU WANT TO TALK, AT LEAST START THE CONVERSATION!" Lance began, shaking Lautre.

"I AM NOT GOOD AT THAT SORT OF THING!" He answered, shaking the boy back almost by instinct.

"DO YOU THINK I'M A GREAT CONVERSATIONALIST EITHER?!" The bickering lasted a few minutes before the two managed to calm down.

"Mr. Clerc… how did you end up at NOIR?" Lance suddenly broke the silence, forcing Lautre to look him directly in the face.

"Now that is quite the pretext for a conversation… I hope you will not be bored, now that you have asked!" He smiled, immediately grabbing something from the bag at his feet. Now, in his hand, gleamed a bluish and green can.

"Is that beer?" Lance asked, clicking his lips in rapid succession. Lautre looked at him with a smile before opening it with his fingers, puncturing it at the base.

"Yes, but it is light, and I cannot be bothered telling stories about myself sober. Want some?" Lance immediately shook his head, and he sighed, pressing his lips to the hole and drinking it in one go.

"Now then… Let us say my story is a bit older than you might imagine." He smiled, tossing the can into the bin.

"I actually thought you were older than Monica and Maliard." He answered, adjusting the bandages on his hands.

"Naturally, though we were found by good old Mr. Noir shortly after those two. I believe the eldest member at the time was actually Bluette." He continued, tapping his fingers on his knees.

"We? You and Mr. Ross were recruited together?" Lance asked, wiping the blood and grime from his face.

"You can bet on it! Good old Edvard and I were in the same platoon during the war!" He smiled, slapping Lance on the shoulder. There was a moment of silence, broken only by Lautre's occasional laughter.

"How did you end up in the war? I doubt it was voluntary." Lance asked, fixing his eyes on him again. The man remained silent, sliding slightly back on the bench.

"No… It was a choice. They made me choose between my death and life in the army. I chose what the young man I was needed at the time." His tone shifted immediately, nearly extinguishing itself. Lance listened in silence, without moving.

"I… Was born well before the war, but my body made my mother and father hate me. Not that it was much of a problem, since I hated them too, for having brought me into the world like this, with fragile bones and dreadful eyesight." A faint laugh escaped his lips.

"So I was abandoned. I spat on my own name and forgot it. Lautre Clerc is just something mangled, but it was still a way to leave everything behind. Those were hard years. Years of wandering and constant beatings, but I was happy to live day by day." Lance's eyes widened, recalling something similar.

"Perhaps you understand what it means to live like that, always searching for something to eat. One day I met a girl, and from then on I began to feel better about myself." Another laugh escaped his throat.

"That woman… What was she like?" Lance asked, curious about that story. Lautre's eyes softened for an instant, forming a strange expression with his slim lips.

"Oh, her… She was an unmatched pain in the ass! Every time I brought her something, she knew it was stolen and scolded me for it. Every attempt I made to win her over always came to nothing, invariably followed by some teasing wink. In short, she knew how to make a desperate teenager like me drool over her." His tone grew steadily brighter, though both of them doubted it was solely due to the small amount of alcohol in his blood.

"But… She was kind, well-mannered, always knew how to make me laugh, and had a beautiful voice. I met her precisely because she was singing to herself while hanging laundry outside a brothel." Lautre raised his gaze to the ceiling before returning it to Lance.

"You really love music, don't you?" The boy asked with a smile.

"Certainly. When the only thing you can do well is listen, you begin to fall in love with every sound. Perhaps that is why I stayed so close to her. My eyesight was perhaps a touch better than it is now, but the thing I remember best is her voice." He pointed to his own ears with his fingers, smiling.

"But I don't understand one thing… What was that need that forced you into the army?" The moment his mind processed that question, Lautre laughed for a moment. He fell silent, staring fixedly ahead of him.

"Hatred. Pure and simple hatred." The atmosphere between the two grew almost glacial. Without noticing, Lance had slowly drawn away from Lautre.

"I hated the war, I hated the military, I hated the bastards who refused to help me. Because of that damned conflict, she and I took different paths, and I ended up killing just to have something to eat. It did not matter whether they were from Termìe, Northest, or even Andimica… With a beam, I killed dozens." Lautre mimed the entire gesture with the same motion as a child swinging a stick, realising Lance's reaction too late.

"Damn it… I am sorry, I said too much." He moved to rise, when suddenly Lance seized his arm.

"It is not your fault. I would bet my own blood that anyone would have done the same in your place!" The boy declared with force, springing upright. The man smiled, flicking his forehead.

"You are far too kind, Lance! You just found out I am a murderer, and you try to justify me? I certainly did not see that coming!" All his laughter drove Lance to move away, exasperated.

"Maybe you are right... I should choose more wisely where to spread my kindness..."

"Sorry, sorry… it is only that you are the best thing that has happened to me in years! I am glad you are here." He immediately closed the distance, ruffling the boy's hair with force.

"In any case… I never actually answered you honestly about why I love music." He released his grip on the boy and headed toward the exit.

"Every time I close these eyes, I feel everything about a person, from their breathing to their tremors. Those faint sensations mix to create something unique and incredible. There is no person alive who does not stop, even for a second, to listen to that melody." The door opened slowly, and he began organising his things.

"Music is the cure for the soul and the mind. Nothing unites medicine and religion better than a good sonata." He smiled behind him, pointing his finger at Lance.

"Find yourself a sound that completes you. An instrument, a song, or the words of a woman. Anything works, so long as it leaves your ears satisfied." Lance fixed on him in astonishment, completely ignoring his continued nods of agreement.

"Ah, before I go… Run a couple of laps around the island with all those weights over there, and don't use your ability." Lautre left the room before Lance could even speak, leaving him alone to load the discs into an old bag. A few hours passed, and now Lautre was seated before the entrance, fiddling with a blue notebook, or something that resembled one. The pages were yellowed, stained with ink and nearly on the verge of falling apart.

"Damn it… I really do not like how that sounds!" He pressed the fountain pen's nib down so hard it left a giant blot of ink across the paper.

"How is it going?" Lucas appeared behind him, setting a steaming cup on the table before him.

"Chamomile? Do I look like an old man to you?! In any case, everything is going badly with this score." He let his notebook fall beside the cup, staring at it with disappointment through his thick, bluish spectacles.

"I was referring to Lance's training… Though it was fairly obvious you had hit a dead end." Lucas answered cheerfully, sitting on the sofa and immediately pulling out his own notebook.

"The boy is in excellent condition. His growth is almost frightening, honestly." Lautre smiled, striking his chest hard with his fist.

"That might be cause I'm the greatest teacher to touch this earth!" He laughed triumphantly, forgetting about the score entirely.

"Monica told me she saw him running… Eight times." The moment Lucas finished speaking, Lautre rose like a puppet, heading toward the first coat hanging on the wall.

"Something happen?" Lucas asked, tilting his head slightly. He shook his head, mechanically beginning to put on the garment.

"I think I need to go stop him…" He answered with a small laugh, approaching the lift. Suddenly the door opened, sending Lautre jumping backward. Before him stood a boy drenched in sweat, bare-chested, his trousers torn. His dark hair was covered in leaves and sleet.

"Good heavens! Are you all right, Lance?" Lucas sprang up immediately, trying to gather something to dry him off, but the boy's constant nods calmed him fairly quickly.

"Might I ask why you are shirtless and covered in snow?" Lautre asked, letting out a sigh as he settled his coat back into place.

"You told me to run around the island. I took off my shirt and started running. I wanted to increase the difficulty, so I cut through the forest. Unfortunately, I lost my bag after I tripped." The boy smiled, brushing off the snow mixed with sweat.

"That still does not explain the bare chest, though…" He murmured, returning to sit with his chamomile.

"Is it not the best way to run? I have always trained like this." He answered, beginning to head toward his room.

"I could not say, Lance… But excellent work with the eight laps." Lautre smiled, fixing the pensive boy, still with leaves in his hair.

"Eight? Was it really eight? Since I was in doubt, I stopped counting around the seventh lap!" Lautre let his mouth drop to the floor, letting the boy head off toward his well-earned morning rest.

"Wait, Lance!" The boy turned, finding Lucas's imposing silhouette before his eyes.

"Do you remember our plan?" He remained staring at the scientist with a vacant expression before a spark set his brain back in motion. Lucas nodded at Lance's reaction, raising his thumb.

"I will go get the ingredients right away!" He smiled, dashing off from both of them. Lucas sighed, polishing his visor with a handkerchief, while Lautre returned to crumpling the sheet of paper out of boredom.

"A hot shower after all that running certainly makes me feel anew." Lance smiled, clutching a thin slip of paper. He cast his eyes over the thin, scribbled lines and nodded. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"It does not look like a difficult recipe, but how do I find the ingredients without getting caught?" He mused for a second, imagining what might happen if Monica discovered him." How sweet of you! Can I help? Come on!" Lance immediately dismissed that idea, continuing to walk with a shudder.

"No, better be cautious…" Lance murmured, hurrying toward the kitchen. The cold corridors, faintly lit by the morning rays, wrapped his walk in a constant sense of unease.

"I already have all the ingredients, but I will need to borrow the gelatine and the cream from the lady in the mess hall." He thought, turning the corner and finding himself directly before the entrance of the enormous dining hall. He passed through the glass doors, and a great murmur of voices began filling his ears. Wherever he looked, he could make out dozens upon dozens of people.

"I keep forgetting NOIR does not only house Metas…" He smiled, greeting a group of men in tank tops, their arms tattooed with the most varied of inscriptions and shapes." I guess that's most people were willingly transformed into Recessives, but It's nice seeing some human folks! Glad that they only work on the island."

"HEYYYY LANCYYYYYY!!" A shout struck him full in the eardrum despite the constant noise in the hall. He turned slowly, smiling at Monica. Beside her was Jeanne, wearing a bluish jumper with extremely thick embroidery.

"Sit here, come on!" She invited, waving her hand as though calling a cat.

"You are here too! It has been a while since we last saw each other!" Incredibly, Lance had failed to notice either Noel or Hoku, quite the feat, given the size of both of them.

"How in the devil are you comfortable in just a shirt? I am freezing!" Hoku joked, wrapped in a scarf, his head covered by a heavy black wool cap.

"I have been training since dawn. I am only now coming to eat." Lance smiled, taking a seat at the table.

"Now I understand why you were running like a madman earlier." Monica joined in, clearly recalling the great cloud of dust Lance had raised on the beach while running. Lance nodded between laughs.

"Why don't you go get something from the counter? It is a shame to be the only one not eating." Noel rose, pointing to the large mess counter on the other side of the room, right next to the windows.

"The waffles are really good…" Jeanne greeted him, lifting a forkful of syrup and whatever else happened to be beneath it. Lance smiled, nodding, and hurried off toward the counter laden with food and drinks. A group of elderly women greeted him almost immediately, smiling with their weathered faces.

"Hello, Lance! What will you have today?" One of the women asked him, leaning on the counter with a wide smile. The boy moved his finger, searching for something beyond the glass.

"If you cannot decide, why not have something sweet? Mornings call for something sugary!" The other exclaimed, pointing to a silver tray with a dark slice covered in whitish icing. Without giving him the chance to speak, the two handed him the plate. The boy took it in silence, never taking his eyes off their thin, sunken little eyes.

"Thank you…" Lance murmured, turning away, when suddenly the reason for his visit resurfaced in his mind.

"I am so sorry… But I actually have an order to place." He murmured, holding the tray in one trembling hand. The two elderly women nodded with a smile. He began listing all the ingredients when suddenly, at the last request, the two exchanged a troubled look.

"Unfortunately, I do not think we can accommodate you on the milk and cream, dear…" Lance put everything else into the bag, slightly unsettled.

"Is it too much?" He asked, embarrassed, glancing around a couple of times and lowering his voice further and further.

"No, no… We do not have enough. The shipment for private orders will not arrive for a few days." One of them answered, setting the complete list of that day's orders on the counter.

"That will never be enough for everyone…" He complained, looking at the meagre contents of the bag compared to his expectations.

"You could always ask Mr. Noel for help." The other added, discreetly pointing her ladle toward his table.

"He does nothing but sneak in here, steal, and place outrageous orders. He is kind and young, but when he does that, he could use a little lesson." The other joked, rolling up her sleeve to reveal her arm.

"Perhaps I can manage it. Thank you both so much for your help!" The boy smiled, shaking both their hands. He turned to head back to his objective when he suddenly turned back to look at them.

"How do you know me so well, if this is the first time we have met?" He asked, confused, taking a bite of the cake on his tray. The two elderly women looked at one another for a moment before laughing.

"Everyone has spoken well of you. Especially that eccentric Mr. Maliard!" The two laughed harder still, waving Lance off as he walked away mechanically, like a little wooden doll. He slowly returned to the table, greeting those present once more. He cast his gaze toward Noel's side, catching sight of a large black bag full of small, rectangular white cartons.

"Was the cake good?" Monica smiled, seeing him return with icing on his lips. Everyone laughed, and Lance instinctively wiped away the mess with his sleeve.

"Jeanne, you are not doing much better!" Hoku joked, pointing to her face, smeared with syrup. She immediately covered her mouth with her napkin, making even Lance smile. Once he had regained his composure, he fixed Noel directly in the eyes.

"Noel… Could you lend me your bag?" He asked, pointing his finger at the mass of dark paper attached to his powerful companion's side. Noel stared at him, stunned, his expression shifting immediately.

"What do you need my breakfast for?" Noel responded, pulling the bag even closer to himself.

"BREAKFAST?! ALL THAT FOOD COULD FEED A FAMILY!" He thought, taking a step back. He cleared his throat, lifting his chin.

"My… Personal Business." He answered with a smile, staring his 'rival' in the eyes.

"If you will not tell me, I cannot be sure it is worth it. You could even be trying to trick me…" He answered, crossing his arms.

"You are talking about Lance Klint! He would not even lie about a coin!" Hoku joked, pointing his finger at Lance and shaking Noel by the shoulders, staring directly into his eyes.

"That may be true, but you never know when the sheep might shed its wool and bare its fangs!" He announced, fixing poor Lance with a sideways glance, left there to doubt his own plan." But sheep do not have fangs, Noel…" Monica thought, picturing a grotesque figure straight out of some horror tale.

"WHAT MATTERS IS THE PRINCIPLE!" He clapped his hands forcefully, bringing the attention back to Lance.

"Noel, I will get you something in the future, but can we not settle this now?" Lance begged, pressing his palms together and bowing forward.

"It would not be manly to accept a compromise like that... Things are won, or things are taken!" He smiled, slamming his left elbow onto the table with force.

"You are not seriously suggesting I win it in an arm-wrestling match?" Noel nodded, extinguishing any hope Lance had for a civil, normal conversation. The boy sighed, sitting down and shaking his opponent's hand, under Hoku's excited commentary.

"Let us see what you have got." Noel murmured, closing his fingers around Lance's hand, rendered tiny by comparison. Hoku snapped his fingers, and suddenly Lance's entire body found itself pushed toward the left. The whole hall watched the contest with curiosity, watching the boy being driven steadily lower.

"Are you even pushing?" Noel joked, putting more and more weight onto Lance's arm. The back of his hand was seconds from touching the cold table when everything stopped.

"You really lack technique, Noel…" Lance murmured, slowly bending his opponent's wrist with force. His arm began to rise, and the table began to shake. Pushing with all his weight, Lance slammed Noel's hand onto the table with a great crash. Everyone stared at the scene, stunned, cheering, and commenting.

"How? What? What in the maiden just happened?!" The defeated man murmured, staring at his own hand with a sense of disappointment. Lance rose immediately, positioning himself behind him.

"You are strong, that's a fact, but if someone bends you at this point, you simply cannot exert any force." Lance smiled, slyly seizing the bag.

"And how do you know that?" Noel asked, turning sharply toward him. Lance slowly slid the milk to his own side, drawing it steadily further away from him.

"When I used to make deliveries, a gentleman put me up during a storm. I learned the hard way that he was an arm-wrestling champion. After two days, I only managed to win once!" He smiled even wider, taking a step back.

"That does not count, though! I want a rematch!" Noel sprang to his feet, but Lance had already vanished, leaving in his place a silhouette of black and white sparks. The entire table laughed the moment they realised the bag had vanished along with the winner.

"Beaten on both fronts… This is total domination!" Hoku joked, slamming his fist on the table more times than necessary. Meanwhile, Lance found himself running at full speed down the corridor, weaving left and right with his hands full of food and drink.

"I certainly had not expected throwing a surprise party alone would be this difficult!" He thought, dodging all the staff who appeared in his path, offering the occasional apology. He kept accelerating until a man dressed in a long, ash-grey woman's nightgown appeared before him. Lance immediately recognised Maverick's face, sleepy and heavy with dark circles.

"Oh, hey, Lance…" He murmured between yawns, sliding aside like a flash of lightning. Lance had no time to cry out before overtaking him without any trouble.

"Why all this rush…" Maverick began following him, without even moving, as though he were being pushed along by something. Lance fixed him with confusion for an instant.

"I need to get to my room right away and start preparations for a party…" He immediately covered his own mouth, losing his focus and beginning to slip.

"Oh, how wonderful, whose is it??? Ah, and by the way, your room is the other way. We are heading toward Lucas's laboratory." He smiled, fixing the tuft of hair on his forehead. Lance fixed him with his mouth open, losing control entirely.

"REALLY?!" He exclaimed, tripping and flying down the corridor, the bags still clutched in his hands. He raised his gaze, finding himself before a large window. Lance watched in horror as his own reflection drew ever closer, until his head made contact with the glass. Maverick stared in astonishment as the wall bent outward, as though it had become soft and elastic at the same time. Lance's body bounced in that strange material, falling back into the corridor.

"You certainly have far too much energy this early in the morning…" A man, dressed in a long lab coat with bluish trim and a mask, appeared at his side.

"Thank goodness you were here, Lucas!" Maverick smiled, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"What brings you here? Your room is on the other side entirely." The scientist asked, helping Lance up from the ground. A faint smell of burning hung around Lucas, but he paid it little attention.

"I was in a hurry and got lost…" Lance murmured, straightening his clothes and gathering his bags.

"Whose party is it?!" Maverick interjected, leaning his full weight against Lucas. The scientist fixed the boy with a curious air, finding only Lance's back before him.

"Jeanne's. She turns nineteen tomorrow." He answered, sliding out of Maverick's grip and returning to Lance's side.

"Oh, how lovely. So Lance is gathering supplies for the party?" He smiled, adjusting his little cap. Both nodded simultaneously, and Maverick smiled, clapping his hands.

"Though 'supplies' seems a bit excessive a term…" Lucas pointed out, gesturing at Lance's bags, which would barely feed the two of them.

"Old military habit, ignore it entirely. In any case, I will keep my mouth shut. Good luck!" He bid farewell, vanishing from their sight at an incredible speed. Lance stared open-mouthed at the corridor, now with only Lucas for company.

"Do not worry about Maverick. He is not a fool." He placed a hand on his shoulder, taking a step forward and seizing his bags.

"Would you mind coming with me? It is something you need to know about as soon as possible." Lucas's tone turned grim this time, despite his relaxed and calm gait.

"Is it something bad?" Lucas didn't answer, simply gesturing to follow him. Lance drew a deep breath and nodded, following the scientist toward his laboratory.