Chapter 24 Part 1

A glint of cunning flickered in Finnian’s expression. “As long as the Dean agrees, arranging a meeting is just part of the employee’s job.”

He glanced casually at his phone. “It’s probably too late tonight. What time can you get up tomorrow? And—you really don’t plan to get yourself a dorm room? Just soaking in Lake Hali to sleep every day?”

“?” Hastur only then realized that whenever he logged off, his character model didn’t simply vanish. In the eyes of the NPCs, he was merely soaking in Lake Hali to sleep.

—The in-game version of him lived more like a true eldritch god than the real one.

Hastur, who had evolved away his need for sleep just to keep playing, glanced at the anti-addiction prompt. “If it’s early, five p.m. If late…”

No overworked office drone could predict, before dragging themselves to work in the morning, just how late they’d be stuck with overtime that day.

Hastur—whose “hatred of work” had ticked up another 10% today—turned to Dustin. Before logging off for work, he made sure to fulfill his fatherly duties.

“Ithaqua says he wants to pursue criminal investigation in the future. If you have time down the line, could you offer a few related courses at the school?”

This wasn’t just tiger parenting. Boosting the faculty was also one of the ways to upgrade the school’s level.

After holding back for a full month, Hastur had finally made his move on that long-coveted pool of untapped teaching talent!

Dustin had no clue that a pair of muddy yellow eyes had been secretly spying on him for ages. “Ithaqua’s interested in criminal investigation? Of course! But I can’t commit to a fixed schedule. Maybe we could do it as irregular public lectures?”

As Hastur watched the school’s level finally break through, he found a sliver of meager comfort at last. His tentacles slowly unfurled in satisfaction.

~~~

Territorial instinct was an innate drive in all animals.

Just as humans used doors and locks to bar outsiders from their personal space, wolf packs would slaughter any intruders—even their own kind.

And so, shortly after Hastur returned to his workstation, his satisfaction over the “school upgrade, now producing two points a day” was swiftly overtaken by a fresh wave of anxiety.

Finnian planned to invite G8273 into the Orphanage.

They had agreed on a later time, but what if G8273 showed up early?

What if G8273 discovered that the “Hastur” soaking in Lake Hali was nothing but an empty shell—and, with Hastur away from the Lair, seized the chance to do something nefarious?

Non-humans had no sense of honor. Hastur couldn’t trust G8273 the way he trusted Dustin.

In the midst of the mission, this anxiety led him to snap two load-bearing beams and the tail rotor off a helicopter. In the end, the entire squad crawled out of the wreckage in disarray. The captain stared and stared at the helicopter’s severed tail.

“…Hastur, are you feeling off today? Is it the Nesting Desire?”

This mission paired Hastur with the action squad from the neighboring department. On their first collaboration, the captain’s question came with some hesitation, as if he worried it might come across as rude.

Hastur started to deny it, but then remembered the slacker students he’d dragged out the night before—one, two, three, four. “—Yeah, a bit.”

How could fretting over his Lair being invaded by an outsider not count as part of Nesting Desire?

In that moment of inspiration, the non-human intuitively mastered the essential life skill known as “playing sick for a day off.” “It might affect the follow-up missions.”

The captain glanced sympathetically at Hastur’s tentacles, which writhed more than usual (Hastur had no idea how to fake being sick, but his advantage lay in the fact that humans had no clue what non-human illness even looked like).

“I should give you the day off, Hastur, but today’s workload is stacked too high. I can only guarantee you clock out on time. As for overtime… don’t worry about it.”

Time off was out of the question. They’d just survived a high-altitude crash landing and clawed their way out of the rubble—yet they still had to radio the Company for a new chopper and press on with the job.

For any office drone, though, confirmation of no overtime tonight was a massive stroke of luck. Hastur couldn’t help giving this plain-looking captain a few extra glances. “…Thanks.”

Promising not to worry about overtime—wasn’t that just code for picking up Hastur’s slack? For the first time, he felt what it was like to have actual colleague concern.

Half an hour later, they boarded the replacement chopper dispatched by the Company. Hastur closed his eyes to meditate for a moment, only to sense his colleagues drawing near. “?”

When he opened his eyes, he met the cautious gaze of one team member extending a pack of sandwich cookies. “You hungry? I heard—cough—you go for sweets when you order at the cafeteria.”

The others chimed in one after another.

“I’ve got some sandwich soft candies here. They’re for low blood sugar.”

“There are a few bottles of that energizing fizzy salt water on the plane. Want one?”

“I brought cards. Need a distraction? We could play 21.”

Suddenly surrounded by his colleagues, Hastur found a sunflower-shaped cushion propped behind him two seconds later. An air-conditioned blanket draped over his tentacles, while his surroundings filled with little snacks scavenged from pockets and obscure plane corners. “…?”

Wait. What was happening?

If he could peek at the new squad’s group chat, he’d see that just seconds earlier, his new teammates had been whispering:

【I’ve heard the rumors about the “Uncrowned King of H District.” I always figured Hastur was some “perfect monster” cooked up by the Research Center—no mistakes, zero humanity. But he crawled out from under a chopper all dusty and beat-up? And he thanked me!】

【The Internal Newsletter says he’s never slipped up on the job. The Company dumps every nightmare task on him, so ever since he left the Research Center and started fieldwork, it’s overtime nearly every day…】

【What? That’s worse than a bottom-rung drone! Even a machine would wear down from that. No wonder he messed up today.】

【I kinda feel bad for him… Is that normal? Hey, we’re all huddled up, but he’s off alone in the corner. Shouldn’t we, y’know, do something?】

【The Internal Newsletter mentioned he hit the Company cafeteria yesterday and likes sweets. I’ve got snacks—wanna try feeding him?】

In the corner of the plane, the non-human—who couldn’t fathom this human enthusiasm for “feeding”—warily leaked traces of Mental Pollution. It sealed him off airtight from the suspiciously eager humans.

A few seconds later, the squad chat lit up again:

【I’d bet anything he’s just shy.】

【Even if it’s not shyness, that whole “impatiently withdrawing into himself” vibe? Kinda cute. Orders said to get chummy with Hastur—I wasn’t thrilled at first, but now… How long’s this joint op gonna last? Think I can nail the feeding before it ends?】

【New item for tonight’s action plan! Sneak into the Research Center, pull Hastur’s experimental files, and dig up his eating habits and preferences!】

Inside his barrier, Hastur shivered with a sudden, inexplicable chill.

~~~

Even if he grew seven more brains, Hastur would never comprehend certain humans’ bizarre moe points and kinks.

In any case, the moment quitting time hit, he bid a swift farewell to his overly enthusiastic new squadmates (honestly, he’d never encountered this breed of employee at the Company before—he was starting to doubt that “neighboring department action team” line). The instant he returned to the Lair, he logged into the game.

【November 3rd · 5:12 p.m. · Phoenix District · Orphanage】

Facts proved that Hastur’s decision to play weak had been the right call.

Orange-red sunset glow climbed over the windowsill. Peering past the Orphanage’s drafty, broken panes, Hastur spotted a familiar eerie green silhouette standing beyond the front-yard gate. Finnian blocked the entrance, saying something.

“…If memory serves, we set this for eleven p.m. Why not wander the area? Come back when it’s closer to time.”

G8273 clearly had no intention of playing along, though he didn’t lash out at the human directly. “That counts as ‘setting it’?”

Hastur floated out at once to back up his employee. “Here to make trouble? Quit flashing those eyes. Even without my power shielding him, casually invading a human’s Brain Core isn’t exactly polite.”

Before G8273 could raise an eyebrow and ask when Hastur had started caring about human politeness, Hastur beat him to the punch with a puzzled question of his own.

“How did you two even get in touch? Did Finnian explain the purpose of the invitation? Why’d you agree to come?”

G8273 looked like he’d spotted something amusing. He opened his mouth to reply.

Finnian spun around and threw an arm over Hastur’s shoulders. “That’s not important. What matters are the bodies in the basement—and fixing that damn antique Computer.”

With his question so neatly deflected, pressing further would make Hastur seem like he wasn’t focused on the job. For now, he let Finnian steer him toward the antique Computer, which still sat out by the front door.

“Didn’t have time yesterday to ask about that ‘Endless Golden Fertile Soil’ scrawled on the wall. What’s the story there?”

It might trigger an Easter Egg Quest—who knew? Asking couldn’t hurt.

Finnian hauled an extension cord out from the garage he’d built for his precious motorcycle. “It’s your classic buried-treasure yarn.”

“Out in the Desert Wasteland, there’s this quicksand pit loaded with gold.”

“Some folks figure it’s the remnants of some ancient golden city. Others say it dates back to the Final War, when a gold-bar transport truck got blown to hell.”

“The special weapons turned whole swaths of land into desert, and the gold truck sank right into the quicksand.”

Finnian connected the docking board’s socket to the antique computer’s plug. He shrugged at G8273, his face showing an encouraging expression that said it probably wouldn’t work and now it was up to him.

“Every year, hordes of pioneers drive their jeeps into the wasteland deserts, dreaming of hauling out some treasure that could make them rich overnight.”

“But in reality, what do the ones who make it back bring with them? Loot scavenged from their dead buddies or wallets pried from their enemies.”

G8273 circled the antique computer once, his optical pupils flickering a few times. “Twelve years ago.”

“What?” Hastur’s eyes locked onto G8273, his gaze tracking every movement.

G8273 came to a leisurely stop and crossed his arms as he looked at Hastur. “‘Endless Golden Fertile Soil’ first started circulating online twelve years ago. Long after the Final War.”

“So the ‘gold transport truck’ theory is probably bunk.”

“Wait,” Finnian said thoughtfully. “There are piles of bionic human remains in the basement, but the company was supposed to have destroyed all bionic humans fifteen years ago after the Existence War, citing them as a ‘threat to humanity’…”

Hastur quickly pieced together the timeline.

“If that’s the case, then the bionic humans and people down in the basement hid in the shelter fifteen years ago. Probably to avoid being scrapped by the company.”

“They must have holed up there for at least three years, which is why they could scrawl that message on the wall three years before the Golden Fertile Land legend first popped up online.”

“But why write that stuff?” Finnian wondered. “They couldn’t go out treasure-hunting anyway. Why bother writing the name of the legend on the wall in blood?”

No one had an answer for that. Hastur turned his gaze to the antique computer.

“Maybe that human who insisted on dying right in front of the computer left some records inside it?”

“…”

There was a moment of silence outside the door.

Of the three “people” present, one was an eldritch god with zero aptitude for science, the other a rank-and-file hacker who could only sigh over mismatched connectors. It was obvious who Hastur was pointing at.

G8273 watched him with a half-smile. “You should know the same threat doesn’t work every time.”

Hastur saw himself as the upright protagonist in this little game of theirs, while G8273 was the one constantly obstructing his quest for the truth. “What threat? I’m just making a perfectly reasonable request for help.”

“Since you showed up, it means you’ve already agreed to lend a hand. Stalling now—are you holding out for some kind of reward?”

G8273 let out a mock gasp of surprise. “Oh? And what reward might that be?”