Waking up feeling energized is always a delight. Even though it's become almost routine since adjusting to this new youthful body, it continues to bring pleasure. Stretching languidly, I took a moment to tune in to my senses. Nothing unusual stood out except for the fact that I was practically brimming with energy.
I opened my eyes and glanced out the window. Incredible! Judging by the position of the sun, it was already well past noon. That was quite the sleep! In fact, I don't remember having any dreams. I cast a quick look at the clock - almost four PM. Could it be that I slept for over a day? Indeed, nearly twenty-five hours. And surprisingly, not a single muscle felt stiff; my throat was just dry, and I was quite thirsty.
I got out of bed, resisting the urge to spring out, and stood up slowly, continuing to stretch at a leisurely pace. Then, I leaned against the windowsill and began stretching my body. No, exercise would have to wait - first, I needed to quench my thirst. My mouth felt as if a portal to the Sahara had been opened inside. Turning away from the window, I took a few steps and glanced at the monitor.
Oh... What did I... I really screwed up yesterday!
I had sent a search request for "Sid Campeador" from my own computer. How could I make such a blunder?!
Zanh Kiem's words rang in my head - he did warn me. Okay, no time to panic. Yes, I need to clear the browser, but as the saying goes: "it's too late to drink Borjomi when the kidneys are already gone[1]." Maybe nothing catastrophic has occurred. After all, it was just a single query. They don't monitor all of them. My inner voice of paranoia screamed and wailed about disaster, but I pushed it back, determined not to heed its cries. Because it was indeed too late.
Thinking about the number of mistakes I could've made had I given in to my desire to stay... I'll have to express my gratitude to Zanh Kiem later for his warning and insistence that I leave. Especially for the latter, truly.
My mood as I headed to the kitchen wasn't as chipper as when I had just awoken. I downed the first glass of water almost in one gulp. I glanced at the teapot but decided not to bother; I just refilled my glass with warm water, sliced off a wedge of lemon, tossed it into the cup, and returned to my computer.
Clearing the browser history wasn't strictly necessary, but I did it anyway to alleviate some of the anxiety. However, the feeling was not easily shaken off. Especially given the new revelations. Dark adepts in the service of the Inquisition, the name of the secret Ordo, and Abel de Diaz himself being among them was already too much!
The volume of information that was dumped on me yesterday was overwhelming! I can't process it all at once. It will take more than a day to sift through everything and analyze it thoroughly. However, every journey begins with the first step, so I need to organize my thoughts, suppress the panic, and think.
But before diving into this intellectual endeavor, a shower wouldn't hurt. More accurately, it was utterly necessary! After clearing the browser history, I initiated a computer reboot and headed for the bathroom. Upon opening the door, I was almost knocked over by the smell. I'd left my motorcycle suit here upon arriving yesterday, and now it reeked of stale sweat. Moreover, I'd forgotten to remove my other clothes from the washing machine.
My intentions to reflect and analyze were swiftly pushed to the sidelines. First, I unloaded the washing machine and checked the clothes: they seemed fine, so I hung them up to dry. Then I returned to my room and, having stripped the bed, reloaded the machine. But then I found myself sitting on the floor next to the suit, lost in thought. What should I do with it? I couldn't shove it into the washing machine; maybe soaking it in the bathtub would help, but how much? I was about to look up some information online when I thought better of it. No, making the same mistake twice isn't my style. There must be specialized dry cleaning services, but taking my gear there, after it's been seen by thousands of cameras, would be tantamount to broadcasting my identity.
Honestly, I must have spent a good five minutes turning the motorcycle suit over in my hands, even contemplating the idea of disposing of it for good, perhaps at a waste incineration plant. Then I remembered the large quantity of alcohol-soaked wet wipes I had in the house. There were heaps of them: Melanie had an entire box. She presumably needed them for her artwork.
Barely five minutes into cleaning my gear, I felt the urge to switch to something a bit more "enjoyable," such as musing over the de Diaz family. Regardless, I forced myself to persist because if I gave up this chore, the entire apartment would reek, and I might need the motorcycle suit very soon. The latter reason was far more crucial than the former.
An experienced biker would likely have handled the task with ease, but things didn't quite work out that way for me. As the saying goes, diligence and effort can overcome anything, and I eventually managed to clean the suit to a level that satisfied me. By the time I finished, even the bed linens had been washed, though I'd set them on a long cycle.
I hung everything, including the gear, to dry, and finally retreated to the shower.
I was quite lucky, or more precisely, those around me were fortunate yesterday, that the suit had contained most of the odors. Otherwise, the eyes of my fellow car occupants would have been streaming with tears. Especially Mr. Tunk. Given his sensitive shapeshifter nose, how did he manage to stay composed in my vicinity without showing any signs of disgust?
I wonder if he could track me by my scent?
That thought didn't exactly cheer me up. It's common knowledge that shapeshifters possess a far superior sense of smell compared to humans. However, this sensitivity differs vastly based on the nature of their inner Beast. Still, Mr. Rock is of a canine lineage, and he had been quite close. Even beneath the hot stream of the shower, these thoughts generated an icy chill within my chest until I recalled a particular detail. Odor recognition isn't solely about the nose and receptor sensitivity. The portion of the brain responsible for storing the "odor database" in humans isn't as developed in animals. This soothed me somewhat, just slightly, but it did manage to dissipate the cold dread in my chest.
In general, I ought to stop stressing about things beyond my control. It's a futile expenditure of nerves without any meaningful outcome. Although this rationale seemed logical, it didn't ease my concern for some reason. On top of the earlier worries, I had explicitly confessed my soul's otherworldly origin yesterday. Even though the confession was made to the Master of Secrets, the fact remains that I did it.
Hold on. In that situation, I did the right thing. It was absolutely correct! If Rui had died in my arms, would I have forgiven myself? Definitely not. So, it was the right decision. Perhaps this will boomerang back at me, like other good deeds often do, but that's no reason to hold back for fear of potential repercussions. If one lives by such a principle, they risk turning into an individual devoid of moral courage. Was I given a second chance at life just to go that route? More importantly, I certainly don't want to become such a person. If I were to be brutally honest, I was alarmingly close to such an outcome during my initial months in this new world. It took a substantial jolt, the Eshin attack, to knock some sense into me, helping me understand what truly mattered and what didn't. And what does matter? The answer is simple: to be and remain human. Not a hero, not a people's defender, but simply a human - so that when you look in the mirror, you're not filled with disgust, and upon facing death, you're not ashamed of how you lived and what you've done. That said, it's preferable not to encounter death in the near future... Right.
Tossing the towel aside to dry, I critically examined my reflection in the mirror. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but it seemed to me that the daily training was beginning to show results. Izao's physique, while not noticeably muscular, had visibly toned, shifting from the shapeless build of a stereotypical geek to a lean, if slightly gaunt, form. Additionally, I felt as though I had grown a bit during this time. However, the truth of this could be easily verified.
During my first week in this new world, I had measured both my height and weight. So, discarding the towel, I stepped onto the scales in my birthday suit. My weight was consistent, well within the margin of error. Next, I walked over to the doorframe where I'd marked my height and measured myself. To my slight surprise, during the few months I'd spent in this world, Izao's body had grown by one and a half centimeters. Granted, biologically, I'm only seventeen, so it's likely just normal adolescent growth. But still, it was a bit of good news.
No sooner had I slipped into my underwear than a gnawing hunger seized my stomach, almost causing cramps. Considering the circumstances, it was no surprise - how long had it been since I'd eaten? Almost two days. I practically dashed to the fridge, grabbing four eggs, a slim packet of bacon slices, and the remnants of some hard cheese, then beelined for the stove. I began preparing the simplest and quickest breakfast possible, but my stomach twisted with such intensity that the minutes stretched like rubber. Impatience had me practically dancing on the spot. To try and distract myself, I turned on the TV and switched to a news channel.
From past experiences, I don't place much trust in television. Not because all journalists are dishonest — there are honest and respectable ones — but editorial censorship is inevitable. Even where it's officially stated that there is no censorship, it typically exists and is often quite strict. This is especially evident in so-called "free media", where freedom tends to abruptly cease where sponsor interests begin. Consequently, I've always preferred searching for information online, as I believe I've learned to filter out false information and perform cross-analyses. Yet, today, the moment I switched on the TV, I found myself utterly glued to the screen.
The city's news captivated me so intensely that even the persistent hunger that had been tormenting me was momentarily pushed out of my mind.
It was intriguing in itself. As someone who had an insider's understanding of the workings of television, I effortlessly picked up on the nuances of the stories and information being presented. And these nuances painted a rather interesting picture. It seemed that the shapeshifters were not preoccupied with "holding onto their seats," unlike the officials in my world. This meant the news was delivered more bluntly and truthfully. Censorship functioned differently here, allowing journalists to offer more candid stories about city life, of course, unless it involved the clans and their internal disputes.
The officials spoke in their usual empty jargon, but I managed to identify a couple of intriguing elements. These details might not be obvious to the average viewer, but to me, they were striking. The authorities were doing their best to maintain a stance of backing the BKDW. This support wasn't overt or slogan-based but much more nuanced and balanced. The implications, phraseology, and overall presentation of material where the Break Knights were mentioned — all of these news segments instilled a sense of pride in the residents of Wilflaes toward those who protected them from Breakthroughs. The attack was covered in some detail, albeit without specifics, citing the secrecy of the ongoing investigation. Of course, I already knew these facts, but the pitch...
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Novilter was clearly priming the population for conflict with Eshin. This wasn't only in terms of stirring up audience emotions and justifying possible severe responses but also in acknowledging the potential for new terrorist attacks from the clan of assassins. This was done without dramatic slogans or rallying cries, very subtly, slowly laying the groundwork. This detail demonstrated the House on the Hill's seriousness. To propagate such material, one must first understand the consequences of hunting for the hidden clan and secondly, recognize that these "rats" could retaliate against the civilian population. Most importantly, they were not afraid of these potential repercussions. However, they were rational enough to realize that with the support of the populace, this crisis could be handled much more smoothly than with a policy of silence.
It's no coincidence that I remain cautious of the Duke and his team of curators. They're not just figures of authority - they're intelligent, shrewd, and possess, as Mr. Redtliff would put it, "balls of steel." If it's beneficial to Novilter, they won't hesitate to take action - I mustn't forget that.
I was so engrossed in the news that I nearly ruined the scrambled eggs. I ate absentmindedly, my attention fixed on the television screen. While I was busy preventing Maya from spiraling, becoming embroiled in the whirlwind named Zanh Kiem, and sleeping, numerous intriguing events had unfolded in the city. Skirmishes, public disorder, and a silent demonstration near the BKDW building had amassed more than two hundred and fifty thousand participants! However, all of these stories paled in comparison to the wave of discussion centered around the persona of Crixus - his dramatic entrance and public debut.
Our emergence from the Break and the recitation of the oath was being broadcast every five minutes across all channels and dissected by an array of experts, ranging from charlatans to legitimate professors of psychology. Interestingly, I noticed no sensums higher than Contemplators participating in any of the discussions. It was as if the Seers and the Makers had collectively decided to steer clear of this subject. Nevertheless, this was of secondary importance at the moment. I planned to delve deeper into the online discourse later and proceeded to flick through the channels.
Predictably, there was no mention of the Inquisition's visit to the capital, the Palm of Bodhidharma, or the death of Hyungang Tu Chong. Moreover, the plane explosion was portrayed as a technical failure and pilot error.
What surprised me was the unexpected tranquility of the city's crime situation, contrary to my initial predictions. I had anticipated a surge in crime, a reshuffling of spheres of influence, gang wars, and interclan conflicts, but nothing of the sort was reported. Even if properties associated with the 'rats' were being vandalized, the actions seemed oddly frivolous. Had the Castle implemented some stringent measures? I couldn't tell, but this question held little relevance to me at the moment. So, clicking on the remote, I selected a program that covered global affairs.
As expected, the Eshin attack and the revelation of Crixus' identity were the prime topics not only in Novilter. While the reaction to the terrorist attack was more or less consistent across regions, with only the emotional intensity varying from one country to another, heated debates erupted over the new open Break Knight. For instance, Southern Europe and nearly all of the Mediterranean appeared to be tight-lipped about the issue. In contrast, Scandinavia and the Russian principalities openly trolled the Corsican nobility, hinting at their excellent upbringing that prompted their offspring to flee home, with no attempt made to return them to the family fold. Nonetheless, they acknowledged that Crixus' action was commendable. The rest of the world occupied a middle ground between these two extremes.
Naturally, numerous other events had transpired around the world: conflicts, scandals, catastrophes. Yet, these were overshadowed by the two primary topics.
I only took note of a certain buzz surrounding the organization BKDA, a counterpart to BKDW recently launched in Vienna. They had pledged to soon provide comprehensive coverage about the raigs, disclose the ancient castle selected as the Knights' stronghold, among other things. However, complete silence reigned on these matters, piquing the curiosity of journalists the most. It appeared that obtaining official comments on this issue proved elusive.
The scrambled eggs had only momentarily assuaged my hunger. I craved more, but I restrained this urge - I shouldn't overload my stomach straight away. It would be better to wait a couple of hours and then eat a full meal again. Regardless, I couldn't resist the temptation and, while still engrossed in the television, switching back to the local news channel, I brewed some tea.
My reverie was disrupted by the next news broadcast, which started at seventeen forty-five. The large clock displayed on the screen before the program began jolted me. Damn! If my memory of the announced schedule served me right, Halley would be atop the BKDW building in fifteen minutes, and possibly others too. It was imperative for me to glean information about the day's events while I was unconscious.
I hurried over to the dryer - as expected, the motorcycle suit was still damp and reeked of an alcohol solution. That wouldn't do. It was a risk, of course, but I hoped I wouldn't need to venture into the Break today. So, I hastily threw on whatever clothes I could grab, wrapped my head in a long scarf akin to a keffiyeh[2], and transitioned into the Projection state.
Just as I shifted to the Break, the room phone rang as if it had been awaiting that exact moment.
Such inconvenient timing!
What should I do? On one hand, I needed to hurry, but on the other hand, what if the call was important? I glanced at my watch, mentally calculating the distance to Equality Square and plotting the route. I should make it on time, even if I answer the call.
I exited the Break and picked up the phone:
"Hello!" It was a major revelation for me, previously quite unfamiliar with the French language, that this common Russian greeting was actually borrowed from French.
"Where have you been?!! Why aren't you picking up the phone?!" The shrill voice of Melanie Vaillant instantly assailed my ears. Before I could respond, Izao's mother continued, "I've called you five times! Do you know what time it is?!"
Wow, had I been sleeping so soundly that I hadn't heard the phone ring? Given my state the previous day, that was entirely plausible.
"All sorts of crazy things are happening in the city, and you aren't answering your phone!" I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her outcry, "Do you want to give your mother a nervous breakdown?!"
"Mamá-a," I drawl out the last syllable just like Izao would, filling in the ensuing silence.
"What 'mamá-a,' what 'mamá-a,' are you saying?!"
"I'm okay. I'm alive and well. I just exhausted myself and fell asleep. I slept so soundly that I didn't hear any calls."
"Did you sleep till six PM? What were you doing all night?!"
"Mamá-a!"
"I'll take the day off and fly to Wilflaes! And I'll give you a real 'mamá-a'!"
Hey, that's the last thing I need! Absolutely not! If only the "Word" didn't exist! But the sword hasn't disappeared, and I have to be careful with my words.
"Mamá-a..." I hear teeth grinding on the other end of the line in response, which, I admit, brings me some satisfaction. "Today is the twenty-eighth of August."
"So what?!"
"September first is near, and I'll have to move to the university."
"So, you're so overwhelmed that you can't even answer your mother's call?!"
"I didn't say that, mamá-a. I simply said I was too tired."
"Did you get tired because of university preparations? Who did I give birth to? Why is my son so helpless?! That's it! I've decided! I'm quitting and..."
"Mamá-a! No need! You love your new job! Besides, I'll be living in a dormitory on the university campus. And yes, I can manage! Truly, I can."
"When did you learn to lie to your mother? I..." I then realize that whatever I say in response will be pointless, given Melanie's nature.
"Mamá-a, you know what, if you want - come."
"What?" My proposition clearly stunned her.
"Come, I say, if you can't believe your son can be independent..." I respond in a tone heavy with despair and disappointment. "If so, then come..."
There was silence on the other end of the line that lasted for nearly twenty seconds before Melanie Vaillant finally spoke.
"Son, you misunderstood your mother."
The conversation went on for almost another ten minutes, but as a result, she "changed her mind" about coming, and in general, she even cheered me up at the end. That's just the kind of woman she is: always talking about teaching her son to be independent, yet her actions and behaviors always result in the exact opposite. The only reason she decided to move to another country was her profound love for her job.
I hung up the phone as gingerly as if it were a primed detonator. I had dodged a bullet. I had accidentally chosen the right tone and manner of speaking; otherwise, I would have had to... Having a visit from Izao's mother was the final component missing from my "full set" of problems. I shudder to think of the maneuvers I would have to perform if she were beside me. It's good that I picked up the phone after all; otherwise, she might have actually dropped everything and flown over. Sure, now I'm late for the start of the raig meeting, but that's a minor issue in comparison, and it's not critical for me to be at the square exactly at six.
Wrapping a scarf around my face so that only my eyes were visible, I took a glance in the mirror, made some final adjustments, and slipped into the Break.
Despite my urge to rush, I chose the safest path through the city. As a result, I emerged back onto the streets almost two blocks away from my house. Of course, traversing through walls, floors, doors, and dividers was a discomfort, but it was a worthwhile trade-off to soothe my nerves.
There was no point in hiding from the other Break Knights, so I immediately resorted to running on rooftops - it was indeed much quicker. I wasn't the only one jumping over rooftops: I kept noticing other shadowy figures in the distance. I had covered about a third of the distance when I spotted two familiar figures running in the same direction. I waved at them, and they spotted me.
"Coach!" Dobrynya was the first to slow down and approach me. "Sensei." The second was Baenre, who never truly accepted my refusal to become their teacher.
The Padawans likely chose to exercise utmost caution as well, taking a significant detour from their homes; otherwise, our paths wouldn't have intersected in this part of the city.
"Hello to both of you," I nodded in response. "Are you heading to BKDW?" Receiving a confirmation, I continued. "I'm afraid our training will have to be suspended for an undefined period."
"We understand," Baenre responded for both of them.
"However, I haven't forgotten about you two. I've prepared a list of exercises that you'll need to master. Let's get moving - we're already late. I'll explain along the way..."
[1] TLN: Borjomi is a brand of mineral water from Georgia. The intended meaning is that preventive measures are pointless when you've already contracted the illness they're designed to prevent.
[2] TLN: (wiki) a traditional headdress worn by men in parts of the Middle East. It is fashioned from a square scarf and is usually made of cotton.