Chương 12: My Neighbor Knows Too Much

The way back took about 25 to 30 minutes. Soren was sitting in carriage 4 of the train, and he used that trip to reflect on the awkward meeting. It was around 18 minutes of drawing up mental scenarios, trying to predict what would happen to him, trying to run through hypothetical panoramas, but in most cases, they always ended badly; in fact, they ended up terribly bad. The train stopped at every station. Outside, on the platforms, Agent-class adventurers were present.

They boasted levels ranging between 11 and 40; these licensed professionals moved with coldness, and intercepted civilians for strict identity checks. In his coat pocket was the copy of the document folded in four. This agreement could easily translate into a leash, with Soren tied up by the government; it was the kind of soft leash, lined with velvet, disguised as mutual benefits, but a controlling leash nonetheless.

He knew this leash was a bureaucratic attempt the government would use to gather information, and also to figure out what he really was. A leash to develop and prepare contingency plans, in case this consultative agreement were to eventually become adversarial. And then, things would get seriously complicated. On the one hand, Soren thought, if he were in the Director's shoes, he would do exactly the same in her position.

For measures had to be taken and one must always keep some surveillance on anomalies that appeared out of nowhere in society.

Late in the morning, that carriage remained almost empty; on the other side of the bench next to the window opposite Soren sat a rather tall man in a suit sleeping with his mouth open, a river of saliva already sliding down the corner of his mouth; further ahead, two women were sitting, discussing the price of supermarket fish in a somewhat frantic tone for someone who was going to have yakisoba for lunch.

Nobody looked at him in that carriage, which was excellent, as it helped him concentrate on the damn leash analogy, because it is also true that it works both ways: if a dog were strong enough and determined to force its way, in reality, it would be the one walking the owner. If the WID knew anything about others like him, then letting himself be detected had not been a mistake, but rather a necessary step.

The obscure Container Program, sealed in the deepest archives of Japan, was a bureaucratic nightmare for that agency, but for Soren, it was a map. If the mysterious containers mentioned in that program were associated with real files, that information held an incalculable value. Status Update Governmental agreement has been detected. Agreement type: Consulting Contract. Agreement status: Active. User's social visibility: Significantly increased. Suppression efficiency percentage: 64% (down 30. 2%).

A new contact has been registered with: Director Tanaka, WID. Relationship: Professional: Tense. Very tense. Crown integration: 8. 2% to 8. 3%. Cause: Response to bureaucratic stress. Note: The entity has entered into a cooperation agreement with a government body. This will not end well for anyone. That carriage without air conditioning didn't help, and now another foolish notification from the System made Soren sweat from the heat.

Well then, the System was already insinuating that trouble was coming, and of course, these comments from the System were becoming more elaborate, with a touch of satisfaction in its tone. That probably had an underlying meaning. Integration increased 0. 1% because of stress?! They must be kidding me. On the way, Soren spotted a 24-hour convenience store. He went in, and immediately noticed that the floor was shiny and well-scrubbed; the store still smelled like yesterday's dashi broth.

He wasted no time and went to the fridge at the back, grabbed a bottle of cold water; the entire transition took 8 seconds, between entering, choosing the product, and heading to the counter. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

When he was already at the counter, Soren thought that if all customers were like that, Yoshida would get through triple the service, MinouseMart could be more profitable, but on the other hand, it could lose its history, but even so, the boss would complain.

At the register was a slightly chubby employee; she was so short that across the counter it was only possible to see her head, her shoulders, and her arms moving quickly as she ran the water through the scanner and handed him his change; the woman didn't look at him a single time. User status: Banal Personal interface note: Probability of the employee recognizing you in a police lineup: 0%. Secondary note: That is perfect. Mission accomplished.

Soren arrived at his apartment at 3: 12 PM, climbed the stairs and entered 4B; he took the bottle of water out of his pocket and placed it in the fridge; the copy remained folded in four, and now flew onto the miserable desk. It was the ideal time to get that energy boost before work; it was then that he grabbed the kettle and started making that instant coffee—always instant in that house—after 800 years his palate was already so ancient that even a cheap flavor tasted like a delicacy to him.

Meanwhile, there was a knock at the door, and with just two steps from the counter to the door, Soren opened it. It was Mrs. Sachiko. She was in the hallway in an apron and slippers; her hands held a tray covered with a kitchen towel. Her face did not deceive; it cast an expression suggesting she knew exactly what time he had arrived home, and that she had only given him time to make that coffee which was of worse quality than those from hospital vending machines.

"Mr. Vonesdar, you've been out," the lady smiled at him.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Sachiko. I was taking care of some personal matters."

"At nine in the morning? So early?" The lady raised her eyebrows.

"That is too early for you, dear. Here, this is for you. I hope you like it." Soren took the tray and pulled the towel off the top.

"Wow, miso soup! It looks so good, Mrs. Sachiko, it smells great!"

"Thank you, dear! Look, yesterday, you seemed tired to me." The lady smoothed her apron with both hands.

"You should eat, you should nourish yourself more. Young people always forget to eat when they have some complications in their lives." Soren didn't answer her immediately, but thought: Young people. In truth, he already had a few centuries under his skin, but from Mrs. Sachiko's point of view, thirty-two probably still qualified him.

"I will eat," Soren promised, with a sincere look into the lady's eyes. The lady stood there, lingering at the doorway to Soren's apartment. Her light gray eyes pierced the depths of his gaze; it was a more intimate look than a woman of her age should have, studying him with an attentive intensity, like someone reading the fine print of a contract or a sewing machine warranty, with the focus of someone playing crossword puzzles in a stationery shop book, challenging only her own stubbornness.

"Dear, did you meet with someone this morning, like, for example, a woman in a dark suit?" Soren's hands squeezed the plastic tray so hard that he even made it crack. His eyes widened at the lady.

"Mrs. Sachiko, how do you know that?"

"You know, dear, I sleep very little." The lady shrugged.

"I have friends who notice certain things, who also have other friends who know other things out there." She smiled at him with that tender smile. However, the smile did not change his astonishment and his caution.

"Government people always want something. Be careful what you give them, dear."

"But, Mrs. Sachiko, this is just something personal. It didn't seem bad at all."

"You know, dear, it always starts with personal matters and then things progress and almost always end in big problems." The lady turned around and began walking slowly to her apartment. When she reached her door, she turned back to him:"Enjoy the soup, it was made with a lot of love, dear. Tell me if you need anything. Seriously, do not hesitate." The lady pulled the door to, leaving a small gap ajar. Soren stood still in the hallway looking at apartment 4A, as if he were looking at it for the first time.

Even the divine smell of the miso soup did not compel him to go inside and devour it; even though he wasn't an engineer, his head wouldn't stop doing mental calculations, because all the results ended up being uncomfortable. Despite all this, he kept doing those calculations. Mrs. Sachiko knew a lot. She knew about the rift, she knew about Tanaka, and now she also had gossipy friends who notice things.

If this was really true, he had to be very careful, because this could reveal a pattern that only Inspector Gadget could decipher. He looked inside his apartment, then at the lady's apartment, and above the door, the 4A plaque was already quite worn; it wouldn't be a bad idea for a birthday present, he mused. On the stairs below were those plants that, instead of looking good, should have been suffocating from being in a hallway with little ventilation and natural light.

The trick had to be in the type of water or the fertilizer the lady gave them. Who is this Mrs. Sachiko? That door did not answer, much less the 4A plaque. Meanwhile, the neighbors from the fifth floor were coming down the stairs, slowly, step by step, leaning on the handrail. An elderly couple, already in their 70s, looked at him and saw a man with a somewhat abnormal look of astonishment; he stood with his mouth open, staring straight ahead with a tray of miso soup in his hands.

"Are you feeling well, sir?" Soren shook his head and finally snapped back to reality.

"Yes, yes, everything is fine, neighbors." He went back inside and went to eat the wonderful soup. In fact, it was truly excellent.