Chapter 41 Seventeen Days of Working

The day after the system upgrade, I had an in-depth discussion with it and confirmed that I now have relatively free control over switching between different accounts.

Then I came to terms with it.

Since I can't go back to my original body now, I might as well just activate all the other identities I have and start working.

Then I looked down at the other accounts on my hands... well, only two.

Without thinking much, I logged into the Manhasset security company account, since I hadn't been to Manhasset in ages.

I haven't bothered with the bar number yet; I plan to leave it for now.

When I arrived at Manhasset, Miss Louisa looked slightly surprised to see me, but more likely delighted. True to her nature, she smiled shyly: "Hok-kun, it's been a long time."

I'm too lazy to calculate exactly how long it's been, but it just feels like it's been a really long time since we last met.

"Long time no see, Miss Louisa." I nodded to her in greeting, then chatted casually as we went upstairs. "How's the company doing lately?"

She pursed her lips. "It's alright."

I imagine that if Miss Louisa had Montgomery's temper, she would probably be yelling and cursing in this position, saying that I've been away from the company for so many days and I've left her to manage so many things all by myself, and that it's good enough that the turnover is increasing.

But Miss Louisa wouldn't say that, otherwise I probably wouldn't have asked.

When Montgomery saw me, he sneered, "I thought you'd been fired."

"How could that be?" I chuckled. "We haven't even helped our company become one of the top companies in Yokohama yet."

I wasn't annoyed or unhappy because I knew Montgomery didn't mean me any harm; she just sometimes spoke in a somewhat awkward way.

"You really have a mysterious obsession with Yokohama's top spots."

I turned my head and saw John, who was holding a plate of dark purple grapes, still wet with water.

“Of course, isn’t that a normal employee mindset? You probably think so too, John.”

“…I must admit, that’s true.” He handed me the white porcelain bowl, then glanced at Montgomery beside him. “Want some?”

"..." I hesitated. "Bought it?"

Montgomery and I were in the same situation, and we had the same thought. However, unlike my tactful approach, she said directly, "It's not that you look like that, is it?"

“Yes,” John readily admitted under our collective gaze, even adding kindly, “I’ve taken control; it’s seedless.”

Me: "...It's obvious that seedlessness isn't the point, dear John."

“Well, I thought you’d be more at ease without grape seeds.” He shrugged and withdrew his arm.

“We only feel at ease when you're farming,” Montgomery added.

While Mr. Fitzgerald was still at the company, I went to his office.

He was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, and from behind, it looked like he was gazing into the distance. I glanced past his tall figure and saw only the iconic building of the Port Mafia.

“It’s been a long time, Mr. Or.” Francis turned to look at me, the light and shadow meeting at his eyebrows, blurry yet clear. “I heard from Louisa and Montgomery that you haven’t been to the company for a while.”

“Yes,” I said.

I have no doubt that if this were another company, with my attendance rate and current attitude, I would be fired in the next second.

But Manhasset does not.

In our company, everyone is prone to wandering off, and anyone could wander off—me, John, Lovecraft, Mark, Poe, and even Mr. Francis Fitzgerald himself are often absent from the office.

The most conscientious employees were Montgomery and Miss Louisa. However, Montgomery would take time off, while Miss Louisa was practically one of the world's top ten employees, working every single day without fail. It's thanks to her that the security company would have gone under by now.

I heard that before I came, the company had two other core employees, but they went on vacation for their wedding a while ago, and Mark said it would take at least two or three months before they came back.

Then, after that, I came.

"Are you busy lately?" Francis asked me.

“To be honest, yes,” I said, “I’ve been dealing with something really lately that has left me—how should I put it—scratching my head and feeling completely lost.”

"Hahahaha." He suddenly burst into laughter after hearing my description, and I felt slightly embarrassed.

“That’s rare, Mr. Or.” Francis’s lips still held a slight upward curve for a moment. “It’s rare to see you with such a troubled expression.”

I shrugged to indicate my innocence.

"The Port Mafia is having a party recently and they've invited our company. Would you like to go? It'll be a good way to relax."

“?” I frowned. “Mr. Francis, are you sure the Port Mafia party is a suitable occasion to relax?”

"It might not be relaxing for others, but if I attend in your name, you don't have to worry about anything."

In the gradually spreading silence, as always, I took a step back.

I asked, "Is anyone else going?"

I'm also praying that it's Miss Louisa—though I feel the chances are slim given Miss Louisa's level of social anxiety.

“That’s all.” However, Mr. Francis simply waved his hand slightly. “I’ve decided to send you as the representative. After all, you’re the most suitable one among all the people here.”

"...You are indeed a capitalist at heart, Mr. Francis."

Francis Fitzgerald laughed. "I thought you always knew that."

The world is a game for capitalists.

****

I eventually agreed to the job.

Although I call Francis Fitzgerald a capitalist, he was actually a relatively conscientious one.

He gave instructions that "I don't need to worry about anything," so the party should indeed be quite relaxed.

However, my idea only lasted for less than half a day before I began to waver.

Of course, none of this has anything to do with Mr. Fitzgerald; if we really want to talk about it, we have to start with Fyodor.

Lately, I haven't figured out what Fyodor is up to. All I've noticed is that he likes drinking black tea, playing the violin, and listening to Tchaikovsky.

I was puzzled by this and troubled for several days, after which I simply got used to lying down.

Sometimes, Fyodor would be half-squatting, half-sitting on a bench, biting his nails, while I lay next to him, sprawled on a slightly worn-out sofa... playing video games.

I was playing an online game, and although the place was small and dark, the network signal was pretty good, with no frustrating lag.

I'm not a hardcore gamer, so my skills are just average. Once, Fyodor saw me playing and said I was bad, so I let him play my account.

As luck would have it, he ran into the player ranked first on the game's win leaderboard, whose health bar was faster than mine.

I laughed and kindly comforted him, "It's okay, Fyodor. That was the top player in this game—haven't you heard the urban legend about [ ]? They are the pinnacle of all games, creating an unprecedented winning streak, and never losing. Relax, getting instantly killed is normal."

Finally, he walked away expressionlessly, without saying a word.

I almost thought our daily lives would continue like this, and I almost forgot the feeling I once had of being suddenly terrified of him.

Even today, as I stepped out of my room, he turned and glanced at me, then slowly called out to me, "Huo."

"Huh?" At this point, I hadn't realized the seriousness of the problem.

Then Fyodor continued, "We're going to the Port Mafia party in a couple of days."

"?"

At first glance, I was taken aback, wondering why these words sounded so familiar.

Half a second later, I realized—this party seemed to be the same party that Mr. Fitzgerald had told me about.

"Ah...no, I mean, why so suddenly? Is there anything we need to prepare, Fyodor?"

“No need.” He shook his head. “I’ll be ready, you don’t need to worry.”

I asked cautiously, "Is there anything I can do at the party?"

But he shook his head: "Not for now."

"?" I asked, puzzled.

On one hand, I'm wondering if Fyodor trusts me or not; on the other hand, I'm wondering—

"If I don't have to do anything, what's the point of going to the party?"

“Of course,” Fyodor smiled slightly, “because I want you to attend with me.”

"..." I thought this sounded a bit strange, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it, so I simply changed the subject and asked, "Then why are we going to the port mafia party?"

Fyodor replied, "In order to obtain something."

...What is that?

My subconscious wanted to continue asking these questions, but instinctively I felt I should stop, so I stopped.

But Fyodor seemed to know what I was thinking, and he continued on his own: "A file that records the superpowers possessed by all the ability users in the Port Mafia."

As he spoke, our eyes met. His eyes were like the deep night sky, or perhaps they held the rich aroma of fine wine.

I suddenly felt something slowly creeping up my spine, and then I saw Fyodor smile again: "There's nothing wrong with saying that, or..."

In an instant, I was terrified.