Ch.154Request Log #014 – How to Face Hatred (2)

I took the gun holster out of my pocket and secured it properly around my waist. Now that I had the excuse of working as a bodyguard, I wouldn’t attract suspicious glances.

When I opened the door to the hospital room again, my client who had been waiting outside hurried in. He noticed my gun now proudly displayed outside my pocket.

“Did you arrange for the detective to be here, Mr. Ranshore? That’s somewhat reassuring, I suppose. Someone like you could just report this to the police and be done with it. They might not listen to us, but they’d surely listen to someone like you. I don’t understand why you’re just trying to protect yourself instead.”

People from the Gremory family weren’t common. They were even less common among the poor. A poor and kind person was as rare as a beautiful blonde with blue eyes.

For wealthy people to be kind, they simply needed to choose kindness. They had no reason to experience hardship. But for a poor person to be kind, they had to iron out the many creases left in their lives.

Only then could they barely become as kind as privileged people who had lived without doing any real work. Was there any need to make such an effort? There wasn’t, which is why poor and kind people were truly remarkable.

The teacher shook his head with that expression of imparting wisdom again. He winced as if even that small movement caused him pain.

“To solve a problem, you don’t just trim the branches—you need to pull out the roots. Even if I call the police right now, they’ll only arrest the thugs who assaulted me, but that won’t end the dispute between the factory owner and all of you. I’m grateful you hired such an excellent person, but one person alone can’t fight the factory owner. So, we need to hold out a little longer.”

I could do it. There was no need to be more capable than what the client imagined. The pay would be the same either way.

Even as he spoke, Mr. Ranshore’s throat seemed parched. With a pained expression, he coughed a few times and barely managed to extend his finger toward the water bottle placed beside him.

“Would you mind giving me some water, Ken? My throat is burning, somehow…”

At the respected teacher’s request, the client filled a glass to the brim with water, and Mr. Ranshore drank it all. Even that wasn’t enough, as he drank another full glass before finally calming down.

Once calm, he took the client’s hand as the man approached. Due to his plaster cast, he couldn’t grip tightly.

“So, Ken, please convey my message to the others. It’s fine to grieve, but don’t give in when the factory owner mocks you by asking where your teacher, your rallying point, has gone. After all, even those who sat and wept by the rivers of Babylon could be saved if they didn’t forget Zion. I need to rest a bit more…”

A devout God-President believer and labor activist. How stereotypical. The biblical reference was a bit odd, but I didn’t pay much attention to it.

“Yes, I understand! I’ll, um, be going now. And please take good care of him, detective!”

I stared blankly at the client who bowed deeply before leaving. I didn’t feel particularly uneasy. Mr. Ranshore was from the Gremory family and seemed to be exerting a somewhat positive influence.

Still, I didn’t trust him. When I first met Selkie, I thought she was from the Gremory family too, but she wasn’t. Since I hadn’t seen Selkie since immersing myself in water, I decided to reserve judgment for now.

One shouldn’t rely on intuition when it isn’t necessary, playing at being a shaman. For a detective taking on a case, understanding the client and the objective takes priority over knowing the enemies.

Deception from enemies is easily spotted, but deception from those initially classified as allies isn’t as obvious. It’s always the hired detective who ends up in trouble.

The hospital room door closed again. While I could have remained silent until midnight, Mr. Ranshore seemed to need company and struck up a conversation.

“When Ken came in, it felt like there were only two people in the room. Are you always so quiet?”

There was no reason to avoid conversation. I needed to talk to understand him better anyway.

“I can keep my mouth shut all day if necessary. I’m a trained professional, after all.”

Mr. Ranshore let out a small laugh. He appeared to be at least twenty years older than me, but he didn’t seem to mind my casual speech. In fact, he was the one who told me to speak comfortably.

“Then you can relax for now. And feel free to ask anything if you have questions.”

Besides asking if the nurse was attractive or what those thugs were like, I didn’t have much I wanted to know. There wasn’t much need to know more anyway.

Still, it was better to say something than maintain an awkward silence. I chose a question that might elicit a lengthy response.

“Why do you live in New York? You seem like someone who would fit better in the San Francisco Emperor’s Territory.”

He chuckled again before wheezing in pain. Yet he still managed to smile.

“You’re such a New Yorker. And ‘San Francisco Emperor’s Territory’? People like me aren’t needed in places that are already happy. Just as Mr. Husband can’t live in such places, neither can I. The streets of New York suit me better.”

He’s deliberately drawing parallels. Why? All I’d learned from our conversation so far were our differences. The only thing we had in common was that our first name was Michael.

I continued the conversation without showing my suspicions. While doubting the client was beyond a detective’s responsibility and duty, accurately understanding the target was a virtue.

“I felt something similar when I went to Pennsylvania recently. ‘Oh, this is quite a nice neighborhood to live in. So… I should absolutely never move here.’ That’s what I thought.”

“Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania… Ah, right. Where the Gremory Chocolate Company is located? I would have felt the opposite. ‘Oh, this is quite a nice neighborhood to live in. What could I bring from here to New York?’ That’s what I would have thought.”

I sneered instead of answering. It was a waste of time to seriously respond to such textbook statements.

“That’s quite cliché.”

“They say the world is changed by people who hope for such clichéd happy endings.”

Yet he had just told my client that he would maintain the status quo. Was I just nitpicking, or was this something suspicious? I reserved judgment.

It seemed appropriate to change the subject. When talking about the future and ideals, words tended to flow more easily.

“So, what kind of education did you receive to be acquainted with a doctor at this hospital? That doesn’t seem common.”

The smell of ozone began to spread around him. Mana gathered at Mr. Ranshore’s fingertips, and for a moment, there was a discharge that left a dense afterimage in my vision.

“If I were a bit more particular, I would have asked you to call me Dr. Ranshore. I have a doctorate in Mana Dynamics. I researched quite profitable things like circuit shortening using mana… but I didn’t make much money. I didn’t manage my patents properly.”

It was like the technology in that reporter’s camera. Not just a college graduate, but a full-fledged doctor. I understood even less why he was living in a slum.

As he spoke naturally, he briefly turned his gaze to the small window on the door. He whispered, almost inaudibly:

“Ah, I’d appreciate if you didn’t go around telling people I’m an elf who uses electrical magic. Given the times…”

At that moment, the door opened without even a knock. A rather thin, tall human in a neat navy suit walked in without permission, accompanied by an orc.

The factory owner, I presumed. He was the only one who would be afraid to meet an elf who was already beaten to a pulp. He glanced briefly at me before looking down at Mr. Ranshore.

“What’s happened here, Ranshore? Who did this? Who dared touch my friend and the friend of my workers? Oh, how… sad. I could cry. Are you alright?”

Mr. Ranshore’s expression showed uncharacteristic displeasure and bewilderment. He knew who had sent the thugs. He had every right to be angry at the factory owner’s pretense.

Mr. Ranshore turned his head to look me in the eye, and I immediately placed my hand on my holster. He nodded briefly, tucking in his chin. It meant to be ready. If he wanted me to shoot, he would say so.

He stared at the factory owner, his lips moving slightly as if considering many things to say. Then he whispered:

“You seem to be barely holding back tears, Mr. Wilfred. I thought you might shed tears of distress seeing that I’m not dead, but to come here and put on such an act is really…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. It wasn’t something Mr. Ranshore could easily say out loud. Finally, instead of saying “hateful,” he gestured to me with his chin. I drew my gun and aimed it at the factory owner.

“It’s good you brought someone. Otherwise, I might have suffocated with a pillow within three minutes. You came to kill me, but I’ll show mercy. Leave.”

The factory owner’s bodyguard tried to draw his weapon, but the thin factory owner himself stopped him. Turning his head, he looked at me with a familiar gaze and said:

“Show mercy? Do you think this detective nobody would actually shoot in a hospital? These types always prioritize self-preservation…”

He cut off his words. I had to be respectful to my client and maintain at least minimal courtesy toward the target of the investigation, but that was the extent of my kindness.

“Is it impossible? Hospitals are places that save lives. Well, I’d be killing two to save one, but it’s still saving someone.”

I returned his mockery. As he turned away from me, I continued:

“Don’t expect me to be this kind next time, Ranshore. Is it ‘This?’ Or ‘Wait and see, Ranshore’? Either way, it’s as clichéd as the doctor lying there.”

Dr. Ranshore, who until now had only smiled at good deeds and moderate jokes, laughed with an expression of satisfaction at my words. As if embarrassed by his laughter, he covered his chin with his hand and turned his head.

The factory owner stormed out of the room in a rage. At the very least, Mr. Ranshore hadn’t suffocated to death with a pillow, so I had done enough work to earn my 20 dollars today.

The door slammed shut, and Mr. Ranshore looked at me with a somewhat worried expression. When confined to bed and unable to do anything, people easily become anxious.

“I wonder if we’ve completely turned the factory owner against us… Ah, could I have some water? My throat is burning again, even though I only spoke briefly.”

I poured him a full glass of water, just as the client had done. A dog that has bitten someone is already too late to be tamed.

“You mean you haven’t considered the person who put you in that condition an enemy until now? What, do you dream of becoming a martyr?”

As he gulped down the water while listening to me, his hand trembled slightly as he held out the glass again. Last time, two glasses were enough, but this time it didn’t seem to be. I filled it again.

After drinking the lukewarm water until his stomach was full to bursting, Mr. Ranshore shook his head again.

“It’s not that, but I thought there might still be a way to talk things through. I thought if I explained that I wasn’t planning to instigate a strike, we might be able to improve the situation somehow…”

His hand nervously gripped and released the water glass. From his expression, he seemed to be getting angry, but his words still sounded like those of a reporter with nothing but flowers in his head.

“One way or another, the factory owner would have sent someone here. So it’s better to make things clear from the start. Don’t you think?”

Only then did he nod. It wasn’t reluctant—”finally” would be a more fitting description than “barely.” This nod seemed like the most honest reaction I’d seen here.

As if he didn’t want to discuss this further, he changed the subject. Since we were just passing time, it didn’t matter much.

“Since you’re the detective who came to protect me, let me tell you… I never incited neighbors and regulars like Ken. I’m not an agitator, I’m a technician.”

A meaningless statement. When someone begins to see another person as a thorn in their side, there are rarely logical reasons or evidence.

My job was to protect Mr. Ranshore, not to follow his words. Since I needed to create some time, I naturally continued the conversation.

“So, about those neighbors and regulars. Can you ask them to be here after work hours? The factory owner just said it himself—who would shoot in a hospital? That means, by the factory owner’s standards, shooting in a hospital is unthinkable. It’s the most extreme thing he can imagine.”

I meant that he wouldn’t send thugs in here to shoot at people guarding the hospital room. So there was no need for me to sit inside.

Mr. Ranshore responded somewhat skeptically:

“Then what will you do during that time? If you’re planning to harm the factory owner, I must object.”

“Change clothes, sleep… have dinner or something. It would be wise to leave the morning to evening hours to me, when your neighbors can’t be here.”

Of course, I wouldn’t spend the time so ordinarily. This teacher character seemed unaccustomed to disliking others and would surely talk about dialogue and showing mercy. If that was the case, it was better to handle things without his knowledge. The factory workers wouldn’t mind as long as I didn’t act inhumanely.

Just as shooting in a hospital was unimaginably extreme for the factory owner, hating others and seeking revenge was unimaginably extreme for Mr. Ranshore.

There was no need to change that. It would just make the detective’s job a bit more tiring. Mr. Ranshore very lightly believed my excuse that I wouldn’t be working during that time.

“Ah, yes, that makes sense. Even though you’re working as a bodyguard, you certainly need shifts. That much is obvious.”

If the client and neighbors could gather 300 dollars, they could probably gather another 50 dollars for handling things discreetly. That thought gave me comfort and motivation to act.