While my senior was mulling over the answer, the former client went into the kitchen. I could hear the pleasant sound of a knife cutting real ingredients, not synthetic food substitutes. My mouth watered.

Soon what I had been anticipating appeared: a sandwich with thin bread containing real meat, not cultured meat, and real vegetables, not chlorella synthetics. No wonder this place wasn’t doing good business—the rain must be the only reason.

Though I had worked for a major corporation, being in the security team meant I never had the chance to appreciate good food. Both my senior, who had been forced into nothing but restraint at Hollowood Creek, and I devoured the sandwiches in an instant.

It was almost suspicious how our former client could sell food with so few synthetic ingredients at this price, even though he had said it jokingly. After quickly finishing lunch, I looked toward the counter and asked.

“Oh right, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘former client.’ Let me know so I can bring more people to your shop.”

The man looked up from wiping the counter. He answered as if my question was trivial.

“Not many people in this neighborhood know my name. Just call me Günter. My daughters are all married, so you won’t need my family name anyway.”

“Even if they weren’t married, I think I’d be too old to marry them, Mr. Günter. Anyway, which real estate agency did you use when you moved in here? I’m looking for a place to stay… I’ve only ever lived in dormitories my whole life.”

As far as I knew, no one was newer to this city than Günter. If I wanted recent information, he seemed like the person to ask. After thinking briefly, Günter answered dryly.

“Isn’t finding commercial space and housing completely different? You do good work, but you’re far from being a grown-up. Looking for anything specific? I’ll help you out.”

“Somewhere around here would be nice… just needs to be reasonably clean. My paycheck comes in two weeks, so I could move in about three weeks from now. I’ve built up a solid performance record in my first month, so I should have enough for a deposit. I’ve also made some good money taking private jobs here and there.”

Part of that money was the 1,200 credits I received for handling Günter’s request, which was partly why I asked him. The reward for seeking opportunity was greater than I had expected.

If I worked without regard for my life, I could probably earn my annual Belwether salary in half a year, but the question was whether there would be work. We were like bedbugs, clinging to the city’s unease to survive.

“How about… the apartment attached to this commercial building? It’s designed for singles and quite decent. The deposit and advance payment together would be at most 6,000 credits, and the monthly rent is only 1,000 credits. I live there comfortably by myself, and it would be a proper place for you to live while working as a mercenary, not just a temporary residence. You can’t keep living in temporary housing forever, can you?”

He gestured lightly toward the upper part of the building. Then he pulled up a hologram screen showing the interior layout.

One bedroom just big enough for a desk and bed, a small living room connected to a kitchen with a washing machine, a usable balcony, and a reasonably clean bathroom.

It looked decent enough, but what struck me most was how similar the interior layout was to the employee quarters at Belwether. For an apartment without competitive advantages, there could be no better selling point than “enjoy facilities on par with Belwether employee housing.”

The money I needed was about 6,000 credits. To move in comfortably, I should have around 9,000 set aside. As long as there were people to kill, work wouldn’t dry up—people don’t become kind overnight.

What I’d earned this month alone should be enough. I was already making so much more as a mercenary than at Belwether that it seemed almost too good to be true. At least one problem was solved.

“That doesn’t sound bad. Could I get your contact information for when I have the money? Looking at the structure, I’m wondering… is it from Belwether’s administrative division?”

“Of course. Belwether Los Angeles branch, Administrative Division, Housing Management Department. Since you’re an employee of a Belwether partner company, your loan terms should be quite favorable.”

If it was through Belwether, things would be much smoother. I could get Stefanet’s help with document verification. I thought I’d shed my rookie status after working at Belwether for six months, but apparently not.

Once I had a place, I’d need to contact the Shepherd to get the personal server with Chance installed, and my electricity bills would start to be horrific from that month on. I might end up with more things to worry about.

Still, the feeling of having one less worry was stronger. Seeing my expression visibly relax in real-time, Günter tapped the counter twice and said:

“Don’t forget. I’m helping you because you were an excellent sheepdog. Not many mercenaries handle a morning request by morning. I hope you continue to be such an efficient mercenary, Metzgerhund.”

“That’s very Belwether-like of you to say. Of course. Call me anytime you have a job. Wednesdays and Thursdays would be better…”

I felt a cold gaze on my back and turned around slightly. My senior was looking at me with another dissatisfied expression. I thought it better to change my words.

“I guess even I need one day off a week. If you call me on weekday mornings or Thursdays, I’ll be more likely to take the job.”

Günter burst into laughter. It was a hearty laugh that suggested he was thoroughly amused.

“You’re kept on a tight leash, huh?”

It wasn’t that kind of relationship. As much as I accommodated my senior, there were plenty of times when she followed my lead. In fact, the latter was more common. I awkwardly laughed it off.

But then, through the sound of rain, I heard human voices. Someone was shouting. As the rain had lessened somewhat, I turned my gaze to the window where I could now see more clearly.

Three muscular men with cybernetic implants—mechanical parts visible from their temples down to their eyes—were dragging a pure human man in his fifties or sixties. I focused on their voices.

“Come on, Mr. Ishimura. Are we asking for something difficult? We’re registered as a mercenary company too, so we just need you to go to the Belwether headquarters and say ‘I’m a dissatisfied shareholder, but after thinking about it, I support the merger.’ Then we’ll give you your cut from what we get paid. What’s wrong with free money?”

The pure human being dragged by a metal-framed arm seemed to have no strength to resist them.

I drew my pistol from my waist. This was inefficient—an abuse of requests dispatched to quickly arrest dissatisfied shareholders. My teeth clenched. The pure human man desperately cried out:

“No, no, I’ve already sent in my approval for the merger, so taking me there won’t do any good. Besides, I only had a few shares as part of my diversified investments, so it’s not even that important…”

“That’s why we’re saying let’s go see what happens! Do you think Belwether cares about the life of one person like you? Want to end up in an android disposal bin?”

I put on my raincoat. I didn’t want blood splatter on me. The sensation of being covered in their filthy blood would surely be terrible. As I opened the restaurant door and went out, I said:

“Senior, please designate an operation zone. Classify it as standard peacekeeping operations. I’m asking for a favor.”

My senior also drew her pistol from her waist. She placed her hand on her temple to request an operation zone designation, then walked out with me into the rain-soaked alley. Those thugs shouted again:

“You’re putting up one hell of a fight. What do you lose by coming with us? You’ll just get a few warnings from Belwether and that’s it! No one would care if someone like you died right here…”

Since they were dragging the pure human, it was easy to aim. I released the safety, lined up my sights on the shoulder line, and pulled the trigger. I deliberately avoided aiming at the one who was speaking.

As notification arrived that we had entered the operation zone, one of the thugs had his collarbone pierced by a bullet. His hand rose to his chest before he was shot in the head and collapsed sideways.

My senior also willingly pulled her trigger. The muffled sound of her small-caliber pistol with a silencer echoed like the rain, and another one who hadn’t been speaking fell.

Only the one holding the pure human elder and spouting nonsense remained. After asking my senior to lower her gun, I lightly stepped on the asphalt and ran forward. It wasn’t slippery. The rainwater didn’t obstruct my vision.

The echoing gunshots, the notification that the area had been designated as a mercenary company operation zone, and the sight of two… disgustingly self-proclaimed “colleagues” lying fallen—I caught the thug who was trying to escape.

I grabbed the back of his head and applied light pressure. The display attached to his temple shattered, and blood began to flow along the imprint of my fingers. The rain would wash it away soon.

“What about you?”

“W-what?”

“If you die here and get thrown into an organic waste disposal bin…”

He tried to strike me with his metal prosthetic hand. The sound of the servo motor was so loud that anyone within ten meters could have heard him putting force into the prosthetic. I easily caught the wrist of the approaching hand.

I twisted it. I pulled it. As the neural connection wires broke, the thug let out an unpleasant scream. I dampened it. The Post-Human Type IV body automatically dampens unpleasant noises.

I completely ripped off the prosthetic arm and threw it aside. Now all that remained below his right shoulder was phantom pain and the crackling of severed wires.

“Would anyone care if you died here and were thrown into an organic waste disposal bin?”

After saying that, I threw him aside. He rolled several times, then tried to get up by pressing against the ground with his now non-existent right arm, only to roll on the ground. I drew my pistol. He covered his face with his left arm.

“N-no one would care! But, please, spare my…”

I pulled the trigger. The lead bullet cleanly pierced his palm and lodged in his forehead, cutting his words short. No matter how abruptly his words were cut off, it seemed impolite not to answer, so I did.

“No. I have no intention of doing that.”

I took off my raincoat and gave it to the pure human elder who was trembling without even wearing a raincoat. It smelled a bit of gunpowder and had some burn marks from contact with wires, but it would be good enough to keep off the rain.

He nodded without being able to say anything after putting on the raincoat I handed him. His clothes were a mess from being dragged on the asphalt ground, and he was bleeding a little from his hands—the result of being grabbed by crude metal prosthetics.

I left him alone for a moment to let the shock of the successive gunshots and the fact that three people had just died very simply before his eyes fade into the background. I took out my waterproof phone and called the cleanup team.

My senior soon approached and crouched in front of the elder. She looked at him with concern, but after a moment, she sighed.

“He’s just shocked. He has some wounds on his hands, but at this level, just applying some ointment and bandages should be enough… Belwether’s cleanup team will be here soon, so come this way.”

Although it would have been easier for me to support him, my senior personally helped the pure human to Günter’s shop. Günter allowed us to bring him in, but out of courtesy, I bought at least a bottle of water.

After calming down with a bottle of water, the pure human began to bow and hold our hands in gratitude. It felt strange to receive thanks for doing what seemed only natural.

After resting briefly, he hurried home like he was escaping, and I never got my raincoat back. Not that it mattered much.

Günter, who had been watching the situation through the window, burst into hearty laughter again.

“You’re like a blacksmith with a good hammer. When you see something that needs to be struck, you strike it cleanly. I’m glad to see I didn’t take a liking to you for nothing, Metzgerhund.”

“I’m more grateful that you didn’t say anything about us turning your shop floor into a puddle. If you have a dry mop, I’ll clean up before leaving. It’s because of our work, after all.”

Günter raised just one finger and wiggled it. His expression remained satisfied with a smile, and I could now see that even his teeth were all implants. He might be older than I thought.

“Since you offered, I won’t make you do it. There’s no need to teach responsibility to a young person who already has it. Go on in. Since it was discretionary work, you’ll need to report to your boss.”

He seemed to know more about the mercenary business than I expected. I had to go back and report. Though Günter lent me an umbrella, it didn’t change the fact that I was already soaked.

As we walked back to the company, my senior sidled up next to me and said, trying to appear casual, or at least making an effort to appear casual:

“More laundry to do. You know rain-soaked clothes start to smell if you don’t wash them quickly, right?”

“I know. Want to watch the washing machine spin again?”

That was a lie. Far from watching the washing machine spin, we didn’t even realize the laundry was done until 10 minutes after completion, when the screen flashed telling us to collect our laundry.

Still, it was quite an ordinary place. An unmanned laundromat in a poor location where no one came when it was pouring rain or too early. The CCTV didn’t record audio either, so it was a good place to talk.

After returning to the office, reporting to the boss, and changing clothes, I headed to the laundromat. Not many people would look for an unmanned laundromat on a main street on such a rainy day.

I threw in the laundry, selected hot water wash, paid the fee, and the washing machine started spinning. I sat down on the makeshift chair facing the machine. As if it were now natural, I felt my senior’s head next to mine.

“It’s inexplicably comfortable here. Is it because we can hear the rain outside? And not the kind of rain that stinks badly, but rain that’s a bit better than the slightly less stinky downpour? Though it was nice even on days without rain.”

Rambling words are evidence of comfort. I had decided not to touch her head on the day she ran away. But I thought leaning back a little would be fine, so I leaned back slightly and answered.

I didn’t think too much about it. This wasn’t a conversation where answers mattered. Even reason sometimes has to make way for something as trivial as atmosphere.

“Maybe it’s because everything gets done here without us having to do anything? The washing machine spins on its own, and since there’s nothing to do during the hour-long wash, we have to talk a lot while waiting for the laundry. We can make excuses too… Right? Will you miss this when you move to a place with its own washing machine?”

I heard my senior laugh softly. The head leaning against mine bobbed slightly. She seemed to want to say that she wouldn’t miss something like that.

“Not at all. It’ll still be most convenient to wash blood-stained clothes here during work. And that place doesn’t have a dryer, so I’ll still come here quite often. Above all…”

She didn’t finish her sentence and let out a small giggle. This place was comfortable because we could exchange such idle talk. We had unconsciously decided that when we first came here.

And somehow, we had both decided in our hearts that this was a comfortable place where we could talk nonsense and then, when needed, have serious conversations.

“Above all what?”

“Pfft, never mind. It was a stupid thing to say. Above all… I could breach the door of any cheap apartment in this neighborhood. That’s what I was going to say. Silly, right?”

After we both laughed, I nodded. I decided to answer a bit mischievously.

“Yes, it is silly.”

Since she had obviously expected me to deny it, the tip of her prosthetic finger poked my side. She shuddered at the neural feedback from her prosthetic.

She seemed to have completely forgotten she was wearing a Post-Human Type IV. After a moment, she sighed as she ran her hand through her hair.

“You can call me silly again, but don’t really mean it this time. I think I’d be truly embarrassed. Ah, yes. I’m changing the subject, but… what happens when I get used to these things? To having someone who listens to what I say. Yeah.”

“Then… you get used to it. To having someone who listens to what you say, senior.”

It was a clear answer. It was my simple and clear answer that my senior always found exasperating, and this time too, she made a “huh” sound as if she couldn’t believe it.

“Always so simple. Actually, it seems simple to me too. Your shoulder is just the right height to lean on, and your Belwether-like aspects are intuitive and easy to communicate with. I also like how you present the answers I tried so hard not to see as if they were obvious. Full of good points.”

I briefly felt her nuzzling against my shoulder as if trying to find a more comfortable position. Having found a completely comfortable posture, my senior continued.

“Honestly, I’m being selfish. I’m resting here instead of being where I should be. It’s only until next Wednesday. I promised to show you. After that, I don’t know. I know how I’ll react, but I don’t know how you will.”

“What are you planning to show me next Wednesday?”

The silence lasted about seventeen seconds. For someone who usually gave almost immediate answers, seventeen seconds indicated a very heavy topic.

“The house where the leader of Hollowood Creek lived, and the grave where that man is buried. Yes, I’m going to show you the person I killed, Arthur.”