Ch.4001 Investigation Record – The Golden Age of Jazz (1)

The jazz music echoes through the streets, workers start their day with energetic steps, and police officers fly in two lines across the sky, watching over people in the name of the God-President… just another ordinary New York scene.

Watching this city from the streets is better than from atop skyscrapers. We could see farther from high places, but down here, we can hear sounds, smell scents, and become part of the city.

Is that why I chose the life of a journalist?

Yes, that must be why. People don’t particularly like journalists who dig up not only the truths they want to see but also those they don’t want to face. Still, without us, people would only see what others want them to see. Someone has to be their eyes.

The taxi I took—feeling bad about calling my lawyer out in the morning and not wanting to make her drive too—arrives at our destination.

The lizard-man taxi driver with a flexible neck sticks his head out the window to look around, then flicks his tongue briefly.

“This seems to be the address you gave me. Should I drop you off here?”

A distant relative I can’t remember when I last saw is hosting a party. Apparently, not only social celebrities but also several angels are expected to attend. If I’m lucky, I might even see the God-President.

Still, work comes first. I needed to cover a story about a twenty-year-old entrepreneur who opened a factory with two Industrial Spirits. I double-check the factory address against the one in front of me.

“Ah, yes! This is the place. Thank you for bringing us here safely. Paulina, let’s get out!”

How much tip should I give? Since giving too much might be considered rude, I calculate carefully before handing it over.

I hop out into the city scenery I’d been happily observing during the ride. The pulsating daily rhythm of the city makes me dream of tomorrow. People always say I’m something of a dreamer anyway.

But someone was waiting beside the car when I got out. The next passenger, perhaps?

Dark brown hair, black eyes, and a somewhat fierce expression… He seemed dangerous, but he didn’t even glance properly in my direction, appearing only interested in the taxi. I smile, feeling a bit relieved.

“Oh, are you taking this taxi? Paulina, another passenger is waiting.”

His gaze scans me up and down. I hope he doesn’t think I’m strange.

Paulina, who had been cramped inside the taxi, finally manages to squeeze out.

Paulina, being half-human and half-ogre, was quite tall and large. Though her face was completely human.

Most people would be startled seeing a lawyer wearing chain mail under her suit and carrying a large shield on her arm, but the man waiting for our taxi barely acknowledged Paulina’s apology before getting into the taxi.

As the taxi leaves, I suppress the urge to take a picture of it departing.

“Paulina, what do you think that person does?”

“He was quite good-looking.”

This is the only kind of answer I get when I ask Paulina. I was about to say something else, but she continues as if she already knew what I was going to ask.

“He’s probably not someone you want to get close to. I noticed as I was getting out of the taxi—he was carrying a gun under his coat, though he hid it well. But judging by his neat appearance, he’s likely a detective.”

Detective, detective… Aren’t detectives good people to be around? The detectives I’ve read about in books help the police.

Still, Paulina was rarely wrong. Our relationship was more like friends than employer and employee, so I had no reason not to trust her when she was looking out for me.

“If Paulina says so! This is where we’re doing the interview today, right?”

I open the factory door and enter. Since it wasn’t operating yet, there was no unpleasant smell, and two Industrial Spirits, without a speck of grease on them, were leaning back and lying down.

I stare at the sleeping Industrial Spirits and raise my camera.

Though I couldn’t use these images in the article, I had to capture moments that couldn’t be photographed any other time.

Every moment contains a story. No moment is more or less important than another in the stories they hold. And all these stories are volatile.

Before they evaporate, they must be captured in photographs and written down. That’s the duty of someone holding a camera.

Still, cameras were difficult devices. A mechanical camera would be easier. These compact cameras, which replaced some components with magical operations to make them smaller, required effort with every shot.

I channel mana from my fingertips into the camera. Pure energy flows through the circuits, and reality begins to imprint itself on the film. It becomes a photograph. Today feels like a good day for taking pictures.

Seeing me photographing the sleeping Industrial Spirits, the factory manager hurriedly comes down from his office.

He was a young ogre. Quite large in build, but that actually made his suit look neat and fitting.

A smooth, hairless face, pointed ears sticking up at the back, a bald head… and protruding fangs. According to Paulina, among ogres, such features made one look trustworthy.

Seeing his nervous face, Paulina approaches first and offers friendly words.

“It always makes me happy to see a fellow countryman succeed. Don’t be so nervous.”

The ogre realizes that Paulina is at eye level with him only after she mentions being a fellow countryman, and he extends his hand. Paulina’s hands were quite large, but they looked small compared to the ogre’s.

“I didn’t recognize you as mixed-blood at first glance. Whew, I’ve somehow managed to make money and run machines well, and I thought placing an advertorial might help me make a name in the industry… but I’m worried. I’m not good with words.”

I approach the ogre, who’s almost 2 feet taller than me, and extend my hand. Paulina’s hand looked small in his, but mine looked like fingers growing from his fingers.

“If it’s about words, I’m here for that. Will we do the interview here?”

He waves his large hand. Ogres were makers. After their cannibalistic customs disappeared long ago, they became chefs who traveled the world relying on their enormous bodies.

And they showed that their talents didn’t end with cooking. They were also skilled with machines and good at coming up with ideas. So much so that they didn’t need to speak.

Still, they never abandoned their chef’s heart. Food is essential in ogre hospitality.

“Oh, of course not. I’ve prepared upstairs, so let’s go up together.”

Squeezed between Paulina and the ogre, I felt like a child. I wish elves were a bit taller. My tree-dwelling kin evolved to have smaller bodies suited to their lifestyle.

I follow the stairs up to the office floor. The aroma of a feast already fills the air. Mostly meat smells, but there’s also a subtle fragrance of vegetables with their flavors properly enhanced.

Soon, his office door opens. Ogre offices had a unique layout. There were ordinary items like desks and nameplates, but instead of a low coffee table, there was a long banquet table.

It was filled with food. About one meal’s worth for an ogre… but enough to feed an elf for three days.

Still, he seemed to have considered that the journalist was an elf. Usually, even a little too much spice in food made it torturous just to smell, but this feast wasn’t that bad.

“Is the smell alright? I heard the journalist was an elf, so I tried to be careful when preparing it…”

“You made it yourself?! I never expected that… Well, shall we talk while we eat?”

Fortunately, I had learned from Paulina yesterday how to receive ogre hospitality. The more you eat, the more respectful you are, she said. I hadn’t eaten breakfast today, so I should be able to manage somewhat.

I scoop a handful of salad onto my plate, and the ogre nods with satisfaction before speaking.

“Ah, I learned a lot from demons. Honestly, most entrepreneurs are demons. I’ve heard there’s much to learn from goblins too… but honestly, it’s hard to tell if their know-how is legal or illegal.”

Demons are actually quite straightforward. They’re a race that rejoices in the fact that they operate within rules.

It wasn’t a bad start, but there could be better words. There were already plenty of demon entrepreneurs, and people were hoping for non-demon entrepreneurs to emerge.

Moreover, considering how nervous the ogre had been from the first meeting, he probably prepared the most exemplary answer in advance.

At this rate, maybe I could call myself a detective too! It was a rather proud moment.

“Ah, I’m sure they were very helpful… but that sounds like a prepared statement, doesn’t it?”

The ogre hesitates for a moment before finally nodding.

“Ah… it seems everyone prepares such statements. Actually, I started almost haphazardly. I didn’t even know there was a standard contract for Industrial Spirits, so I wrote the contract myself, and so on.”

Is that why he has two Industrial Spirits? The standard contract offered the minimum conditions as long as it didn’t break the law. I almost fell for it too. If it weren’t for Paulina.

After that, the ogre didn’t lie.

He showed his rather rough but honest business story and his youthful ambition to add his grip strength if an invisible hand pulls us toward the future.

Well… more than anything else, despite talking while eating everything, he didn’t look the least bit full! This was several times more fascinating than him being a young, ambitious entrepreneur.

Anyway, I should write a good article for this ogre with all my effort. Perhaps… people would be more interested in this than the common story of an entrepreneur who entered the industry by learning from demons.

Finally, we got up from the banquet table and went down to the factory floor. In a few days, this place would be full of workers and brimming with vitality. I imagine it for a moment.

After waking the Industrial Spirits, I capture the image of them pushing their machine-like heads toward him like puppies, only to be stopped, along with a panoramic view of the factory.

The story of this young entrepreneur will tell us that the Jazz Golden Age isn’t aging at all. Definitely!

“Well, I think I’ve gathered enough for the article… I’ll send it to you before publishing, so please read it and call me afterward. Understood?”

With these words, we said goodbye. After eating some salad, a bit of meat dish… and picking at a few desserts, I was already full. What if I can’t eat anything at the party?

I took another taxi with Paulina and returned to the newspaper office. Golden Age Press—honestly, I chose this company because of its name… It was a big company, but everyone was nice.

After a slight nod to the editor-in-chief, who was watering a small potted plant today as well, I head to my desk.

Honestly, if I hadn’t worked here, I would have been doing something ten times more old-fashioned, so I could endure having just one small desk as my space. No, not endure. I should be grateful for even this.

Soon Paulina follows me in. Our newspaper wasn’t big enough to have a legal team, nor could it afford to hire a lawyer, so my personal lawyer, Paulina, was helping the company.

She raises her shield-bearing hand to check her wristwatch. There should still be some time before the party.

“Let’s leave at closing time today. Every day you say, ‘I think I can write something better than this,’ and end up going home late at night… You remember we have to go to the party, right?”

“Yes, of course! I’ll finish the draft and leave properly at closing time, so don’t worry.”

Usually, I enjoyed sitting here even at night when everyone else had gone home, trimming the article bit by bit to make it more readable, but at least today, I wouldn’t do that.

The office key was usually at my desk since I left last, but today I properly hung it on the key rack.

Finishing the draft didn’t take that long. Benjamin Harris, who wrote America’s first newspaper, said the purpose of a newspaper was to tell the truth. How long could it take to write the truth in a presentable way?

Paulina, who had been anxious that I might keep sitting here, sighs when she sees me opening the file drawer.

“If we leave now, you’ll barely have time to stop by home and change. You’re not going like that, are you?”

My disheveled hair wouldn’t stay down no matter how much I tried to press it. They say it’s because I always live in dreams, making my hair look like I just woke up, but come on. As if! How sharp is my gaze!

“No, I’m going like this. What’s wrong with a journalist dressing like a journalist? Right?”

“No, but it’s a party venue… Never mind. No one’s going to say anything to you anyway, so let’s go, Rosalie.”

“Just because my grandparents were French doesn’t mean I’m still French. Not Rosalie, call me Rose!”

I catch a taxi with Paulina. Every time I see Paulina cramming herself into the taxi… I think maybe I should have brought a car.

It was meant to be considerate, but clumsy consideration seems to have clumsy effects. I should think more before acting next time…

The taxi driver was a human who seemed displeased about taking a large passenger like Paulina. The way he clicked his tongue, as if she might have some negative effect on his car, wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“I should charge extra for this, you know? I didn’t expect such a passenger… So, where to?”

I give him the name of a building in the bustling area that had its rooftop renovated as a party venue. The moment he hears the name, the taxi driver’s attitude flips like a coin. He becomes extremely friendly.

“Ah, I see. I understand a bit why you’re traveling with such a large bodyguard. I’ll get you there quickly!”

Does going to a good building make someone good and great? I loved this New York, but sometimes, very occasionally, I had to admit that this city had its dark sides too.

No, it’s probably nothing. The dark sides were few, and the shining aspects were many. I had never forgotten the elven proverb to look at the good side in difficult times.

Soon we arrive at the building where the party is being held. These beautiful 20th-century Towers of Babel. The seemingly endless concrete buildings were incredibly majestic.

Just as we’re about to enter the party venue, a sharp wind sound rings from the sky, and an angel with golden wings spread outside his trench coat flies down and lands in front of us.

Fiery eyes, a beautiful face, curly golden hair, and the coat that has now become a trademark of angels. He was even holding a submachine gun, suggesting he was guarding the party venue.

“Fear not, for I mean no harm. However, journalists are not allowed to enter this building today. A party is scheduled, and the host has requested police presence.”

Paulina, who had been shielding me since the angel descended, steps forward and presents the invitation from her pocket.

“We are invited guests. The party host is also a relative, so I don’t see why you should stop us.”

As if to indicate she wouldn’t let us be stopped without reason, Paulina taps her shield with the back of her hand a couple of times. Ah, lawyers are most impressive when they stand up like this. I wanted to capture it in a photo.

After checking the invitation, the angel folds his golden wings that had been spread wide to block the surroundings. He returns the invitation and turns his body to let us in.

“In that case.”

I’m glad we could enter without any trouble. After giving a brief nod to the angel officer, I step into the party venue.

“Thank you! Have a good day! Though it’s almost over.”

Paulina seems frustrated by my behavior. She shakes her head.

“You should be angry if you’re interrogated by an armed police officer without reason, Rose. Why are you thanking him and entering?”

“But we got in without any problems, right? That’s all that matters! Anyway, let’s go! I need to take a few shots before it starts!”

Leaving behind Paulina, who shakes her head as if giving up, I get into the elevator that goes up to the building’s rooftop where the party will be held. Somehow, today felt like a good day.