Chapter 28 Part 2

“Yes… that’s it.” The middle-aged man sensed the yellow-robed figure before him was the decision-maker. He eyed Hastur cautiously—only to be blocked by the white mask. “So… will you take the job?”

Hastur was more than willing. Leaving aside the refreshed system task, the ‘Sunken Connacht’ due for handover at the banquet alone would compel him to crash the event, invited or not.

The only issue: “The Wishing Well might not make it. It has financial reports to file.”

Nasir choked out a strangled sound beside him.

After a deep breath, he rubbed his face. “Please. Just please don’t use ‘financial reports’ to trap a legendary mercenary behind a computer desk. I’ll figure something out, okay?”

“Forget the financial reports. I’ll make sure the Tax Officer leaves you alone.”

Hastur refused flatly. “No. Not ‘leave alone’—just ‘come later.'”

Joking aside! As a two-month veteran player, how could Hastur miss that [1] at the end of the sudden quest?

Clearly, this was the start of a series. He could farm Freedom Points off that Tax Officer repeatedly!

Nasir’s expression screamed “are you insane?” But professional restraint as a legendary fixer held his tongue. After another deep breath, he smiled.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

“Once this deal closes, the Tax Officer shows up whenever you want.”

Hastur eyed Nasir appraisingly, upgrading him mentally from “quest-giving NPC” to “pretty useful NPC.” “When does the banquet start?”

“Seven this evening.” The middle-aged man’s tension visibly eased.

With his nerves relaxed, the feast on the table tempted him anew. He swallowed hard, barely resisting the urge to chow down before business concluded.

“Nasir will pick you up early. Here’s a photo of the Second Young Master.”

The middle-aged man whipped out a Polaroid from his pocket and dove into the food with gusto.

Nasir whistled at the photo. “Handsome kid.”

“—Please, gentlemen, don’t let anything go wrong tomorrow night. I don’t want to see this work of God dangling from a cake.”

~~~

They left empty-handed but returned laden with gains.

Back at the Orphanage, Hastur assigned Adolf and his daughter two adjacent dorms on the second floor, directly across from Huslu’s.

Huslu’s adoption papers were sorted. He slotted Dustin, Finnian, and Huslu into the same room, admiring the Building Interface’s increasingly cramped, warped avatars with deep satisfaction.

The bored trainees crowded around to gawk and help with luggage. Dustin pulled Hastur aside to a corner.

“About those financial reports… have you considered asking G8273 for help?”

“?” Hastur hadn’t. Who turns to an enemy in a pinch? “I made a deal with him—no further contact. Live and let live from here on.”

“???” Dustin’s eyes widened. “When did you agree to that?! How did things sour again?”

“Previous cycle, maybe…” Hastur brushed it off vaguely, then eyed Dustin curiously. “We agreed no more attacks, polite respect henceforth. Isn’t that improving relations?”

“What previous cycle… ‘Polite respect’ doesn’t mean that.”

Dustin felt a headache coming on and tried to press further when Finnian wandered up, yawning, beer bottle in hand already cracked open. “Hold up. Don’t crash yet. We’ve got an unexpected gig tomorrow night…”

Reliable Dustin recounted everything that had happened after Finnian left for the kitchen. “…Long story short, tomorrow night, you—”

“I’m not going.” Finnian cut him off abruptly.

Hastur noticed that Finnian’s mood had soured the moment he heard about the Vincent father and son. Clearly, there was bad blood between them. “There might be a big scene tonight. If someone takes advantage of the chaos to do something, maybe no one will even notice.”

He was hinting that Finnian could fish in troubled waters and stir up some trouble.

But Finnian merely lifted his eyelids in disgust. “Not going.”

He took a swig of beer. “If I show up with you guys, you’ll be the first ones thrown out of the banquet. It might even be worse for you.”

He walked into the room and waved over his shoulder without looking back. “Good luck, but watch out for that father-son pair killing the donkey once it’s done grinding the mill.”

The door slammed shut with a thud, leaving Hastur and the others to exchange glances or sink into thought.

A moment later, Dustin stared at the tightly closed door. “…Did he forget I live here now too?”

~~~

Hastur’s luck held out. There was no overtime on the day of the banquet.

At five in the afternoon, he clocked out right on time, returned to his nest, slipped on his helmet, and logged into the game.

【November 23rd · 5:20 p.m. · Phoenix District · Orphanage】

The system respawned him directly at the orphanage entrance.

Dustin was crouched by the steps, meticulously checking his handgun and ammunition. Adolf sat on the step beside him, staring blankly at Introduction to Accounting in bewilderment.

That was the expression people wore when confronted with an incomprehensible tome. Hastur recognized it instantly.

“…You’re no good with math and sciences, are you?”

“Sciences?” Adolf looked up in confusion, fully displaying his own level of illiteracy. “…I never went to high school. I joined the army straightaway. My scores in the army were pretty good.”

Hastur felt the cultural shock from a true intellectual wasteland. “You can at least read the words in this book, right?”

“…” Adolf opened his mouth, then silently closed it. Even Dustin slowed his movements in sympathetic silence.

Hastur pressed on. “…At least entering files into the computer shouldn’t be a pro—”

“I don’t like electronic devices.” Adolf delivered another heavy blow in his flat, deadpan tone.

“It’s true,” Dustin added quietly, twisting the knife. “This morning, I saw Adolf doing one-finger Zen at the front desk. Later, Little Alpha couldn’t take it anymore and shoved him aside to input the reports herself… But that’s weird, Adolf. You can’t even read all the words in the book, so who actually did the reports you ‘entered’ during the day?”

“…” Adolf’s head drooped even lower, his massive frame curling into a posture of deep shame.

Hastur couldn’t help but recall last night’s “financial form fiasco.” “…Don’t tell me Alpha did them for you?”

Adolf looked like he was about to drown himself in shame.

Fortunately, a luxury hovercar pulled up in front of them with a sharp tailspin. Nasir stuck his head out the window. “Hurry up and get in. Tonight’s banquet is on High Pei Street—are you really planning to show up dressed like that?”

Nasir’s gaze swept over Adolf’s beige high-neck sweater, Hastur’s yellow robe, and Dustin’s plaid shirt, his expression one of utter defeat. “Good thing I planned ahead—hop in. There are suits for you in the back seat. Fingers crossed they fit.”

~~~

To be clear, Hastur had never changed his clothes since his birth.

His yellow robe wasn’t composed of mere physical matter; it was practically an extension of his very spirit, swaying at his whim.

But thanks to the wonders of holographic gaming! Today, Hastur could finally experience wearing something else!

Following the game’s prompts, he stowed the suit Nasir had prepared in his inventory. Then he selected 【Change Appearance】 and hit confirm.

“Wow! Dean?!” Dustin jolted at the sudden appearance of a second 1.9-meter figure beside him, nearly tumbling into the other one’s arms.

But ever reliable, he frantically covered before Nasir could glance back. “Dean, you… should wear suits more often! Look, that yellow robe makes you seem so much shorter normally?”

Did it? He could soar higher than the Military District Command Tower when he flew.

Fortunately, Hastur kept that low-EQ remark to himself and instead curiously examined his new look.

The appearance overlay masked some of his racial traits—the tentacles beneath his robe had become legs, and elegant white gloves now encased a pair of slender, jointed hands.

He seemed to have a human face now, but its features felt utterly ordinary, like the model of some insignificant roadside NPC in a game.

Non-human qualities still seeped through in the details—

His finger joints were just a touch too elongated, evoking scythe blades; the proportions of his long legs and torso were impossible on a real human body, more akin to how Western games depicted divine, mighty deities.

These elements combined into an eerie disharmony that made viewers avert their eyes after the first glance, instinctively compelled to keep their distance.

The journey to the banquet felt interminable as a result, but Nasir’s car was fast enough. They scarcely had time to take in the passing scenery before the hovercar pulled up at the hotel entrance.

Nasir would never admit he’d floored the accelerator the whole way. “Everyone out. We’re going in through the main entrance—wow, so many people here today?”

Mindful of Nasir’s pragmatic nature, Hastur kindly asked the NPCs—who were all fumbling awkwardly as they exited—”Should I switch back to my original skin… er, my usual robe?”

“…No!” Nasir replied with stubborn determination. “Why would you? You look perfectly proper this way. Very handsome, even.”

He said this without so much as glancing at the person he’d called “very handsome.” Nasir couldn’t fathom his own reaction. Could it be that this orphanage dean had once been a legendary mercenary, carrying an aura that intimidated others?

Ever the man of science, Nasir hunted for a rational explanation, steadying himself as he briefed his three temporary bodyguards.

“See the one in the white suit over there? That’s a company executive.”

“Those with the red pocket squares on their chests—they’re from Wings of Michael Medical Company.”

“And that one! Oh! The Chief Commissioner from the Police Station himself, escorting the handover of ‘Sunken Connacht’?”

He let his voice rise—deliberately so—sounding excited and enthusiastic, drawing a sharp glance from the Chief Commissioner.

The Chief Commissioner had intended to speak with Nasir, the legendary middleman who came off more like a politician. But his eyes flicked to the new face beside him. “—Dustin. What are you doing here?”

Mindful of Dustin’s promotion scheme, Hastur gave him a subtle shove in the small of the back toward the Chief Commissioner, instantly reducing their bodyguard squad to two.

Nasir didn’t mind losing Dustin either way. “See those two at the entrance, wearing purple brooches? That’s Old Vincent and his eldest son.”

As he led the bodyguards toward the main doors, Nasir scanned left and right. “—Odd. Where’s the Second Young Master?”

At the entrance, Little Hank Vincent—who had been greeting guests alongside his father—turned his head at just the right moment. His eyes locked onto the two towering 1.9-meter figures standing out in the crowd (Hastur was even two centimeters taller than Adolf). He strode forward—

Well, Hastur’s presence rooted Little Hank to the spot for several seconds. But in the end, he overcame the inexplicable shiver crawling up his spine and hurried over to Nasir. “Why are you so late? These two the bodyguards you found?”

He referred to “these two,” but his gaze weirdly and involuntarily skirted right past Hastur.

It wasn’t embarrassing in the least—every guest nearby was doing the exact same thing, creating a vast empty bubble around Hastur that shifted with his every movement.

Adolf’s gaze toward Hastur now held a mix of admiration and envy, as if he wished he had that essential loner passive skill too.

Nasir rubbed his nose bridge. “Yeah, but where’s the Second Young Master?”

“—He’s missing.” Little Hank leaned in close, voice dropping. “He arrived at the hotel with me. I only stepped away for a moment to greet guests with Father, and poof—he vanished from his room.”

Hastur was tempted to ask if someone had already made their move, but he considered the nature of tonight’s banquet—

To Lancer Vincent, what did it represent? Proof that, to his father, a missile and saving face mattered more than his son’s life.

No doubt the Second Young Master had pulled this vanishing act as a protest, unwilling to play along with the facade of familial harmony.

Little Hank continued in a rush. “But I had my people check the surveillance. He’s holed up in a room at the far end of the second-floor hallway right now.”

—As expected.

Hastur said little, entering through the main doors alongside his equally taciturn new employee.

Little Hank returned to greeting guests, and the ever-sociable Nasir had no intention of sticking with the two-man bodyguard duo—mainly on account of Hastur.

The pair climbed to the second floor and made their way to the end of the corridor. They had just raised a hand to knock when a door farther back burst open, slamming against the wall.

“‘Sunken Connacht’ was a weapon Cornelius created while he was working at Wings of Michael! It belongs to us by right!” An irate man with a red pocket square pinned to his chest stormed out. “Your company wasn’t even involved back then!”

“Oh,” the woman in the white suit said, arms crossed as she sneered at him. “So which company was it that got kicked to the curb by Cornelius later on for trying to steal the patent? Yours, wasn’t it?”

“I even owe you thanks. If you hadn’t been so shortsighted and incompetent, Cornelius—this golden goose—wouldn’t have fallen into our laps.”

The company representative in the white suit cast a disdainful glance at the man, whose face had turned beet red.

“Allow me to remind you, friend. Cornelius was our company’s employee before he vanished, and he still is—even now, in his missing state.”

“‘Sunken Connacht’ rightfully belongs to—who?!”

It was only then that they belatedly noticed there were other people in the corridor.

Hastur immediately raised his hand, eager to knock on the door before he went from spectator to unwilling performer. But the door in front of him suddenly swung open.

A pair of hands seized his wrist with ferocious strength and yanked him inside the room.

Bang!

The door slammed shut behind him.

The room was shrouded in total darkness, without so much as a glimmer of light.

Hastur found himself pinned against the door, his eyes locked on the only source of illumination in the gloom: a pair of glowing green eyes. “…”

The two of them spoke almost simultaneously:

G8273: “Why are you here?”

Hastur: “Didn’t we agree to live and let live?”

Out in the corridor.

Adolf stood alone, facing the two company representatives. “…………”