Merge District, One Year Earlier
The morning arrived with a cold silence, the residue of last night's drizzle still clinging to the rear brick wall of the cafe. The nameless shop in the Merge District was makeshift—not built for aesthetics or lifestyle, but to serve the laborers and factory workers who populated the industrial area. Ren moved across the second floor, a familiar shadow within a spatial matrix he had memorized over two months.
The exhaustion he felt was not physical; it was the mental strain of maintaining high-level paranoia. He stepped across the dusty warehouse floor—every joint and muscle trained to produce zero vibration, zero sound. He was a phantom gliding between the stacks of coffee supply boxes left by the owner, Sid.
Ren had just returned from his nightly reconnaissance, seeking anomalies in the Merge District's surveillance feed. He was at the threshold, about to retreat to his darkest corner, when the absolute silence that had been his companion was abruptly shattered.
A small click sounded from the switch, followed by a sudden burst of halogen light that forced its way into the warehouse, tearing the shadows apart and exposing Ren, frozen in a perfect half-crouch.
In the doorway stood a man—Sid. His posture was unassuming and slight, but his eyes—eyes Ren had studied for two months—now stared with a quiet, intense focus. Sid was not surprised in the least, as if this was the precise moment he had been patiently waiting for. His hand remained on the light switch.
Despite the rigidity of his body, Ren's instinct took over. In that instantaneous silence, his left hand moved almost imperceptibly, ready to draw the thin blade tucked into his harness. His eyes locked onto Sid, analyzing the potential threat in a fraction of a second; at the slightest dangerous movement, Ren knew he would have to kill the man silently before Sid could utter a single cry.
But Sid did not scream. He simply sighed, a gesture that conveyed more weariness than fear.
"You're too clean," Sid's voice was low, breaking the quiet. He wasn't referring to Ren's damp cloak. "For two months, no sound, no dust shifted, no anomaly. But there is a padlock on this storeroom door, which I lock every night myself. And somehow, every morning, I feel the pressure on the hinge mechanism is always slightly different."
Ren slowly rose from his crouch to a stiff, upright stance. For two months, he had fought to maintain his anonymity—a struggle that had just been defeated by the sensitivity of a barista in a Merge District dive.
"You're not screaming," Ren countered, his voice dry, cold, and clipped.
Sid leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his eyes unblinking on Ren's red retinas. "Screaming would only bring the police to a cafe that's already struggling to pay rent. And honestly, having watched the way you entered without leaving a single physical trace, I'm more interested in how you did it than who you are."
Ren paused, assessing Sid. This man saw mechanism, not crime. That was the opening Ren needed.
"I ran away from home," Ren offered, a lie too simple to be challenged.
Sid merely raised an eyebrow, accepting the fabrication without processing it. "As far as I'm concerned, you're a very tidy, invisible tenant. But now that you're visible, I need assurances. You can't stay here indefinitely."
Ren observed Sid's indifference to his lie. He needs me, Ren thought. Given his circumstances, it's certainly financial. Let's see.
"I know," Ren replied. "I can't leave yet; the information I have is incomplete. I have money, but I need your help." Ren produced a thin credit chip. "I need you to procure some logistics for me. An encrypted phone, a few sets of fresh clothes, and cash."
Sid looked at the chip in Ren's hand, then around the cafe's impoverished storage room. Sid offered a small, calculated smile. "You pay, we run the logistics. That's transactional, I get it. But you're also consuming electricity and incurring risk on my head. And for an extended stay, you owe more than just money."
"What do you want?" Ren asked, impatient.
"Dinner," Sid answered casually. "You must be hungry. We'll give you full access to the shower. And you must accept dinner from Ciel. No refusals, or you violate the accommodation's terms and conditions. Deal?"
Ren stared at the quiet outside the window, then back at Sid. He knew Sid was offering him the two things he most desperately needed: Anonymity and accommodation. A debt of obligation whose true value was priceless.
"Deal," Ren whispered, nodding once.
It was a unilateral business agreement based on necessity and perceptiveness, not goodwill. An agreement that, unknowingly, would profoundly affect dozens of orphans in the future.
The next day, Sid returned to the cafe toward dusk, carrying several ordinary-looking shopping bags. Beneath the outer layers of sliced bread, vegetables, and other provisions, were the logistics Ren requested: an encrypted burner phone, a few changes of clothing, and cash in his pocket.
His hand instinctively touched the pocket holding the cash. With this denomination, I'm certain he's no ordinary runaway high school student. I don't have to know who he is, as long as this agreement benefits us, I'll take it, Sid thought internally.
Ren had already transferred a substantial amount of Marble Credit to Sid's account, which Sid used to purchase the items and withdraw the remainder as cash for Ren. The sum was more than Sid could earn from the cafe's income in an entire year, underscoring the high cost of logistics and the risk Sid was absorbing.
In the cramped kitchen, filled with the aroma of cold coffee and pastries, Ciel was cleaning utensils. Fifteen-year-old Ciel had quick eyes and a slender frame; she was a lighter contrast to Sid.
"Isn't that a lot of groceries? Where did you get the money?" Ciel asked, her voice filled with cautious curiosity, her gaze fixed on the shopping bags Sid had put down.
"Part of it belongs to an old friend of mine," Sid replied, opening the fridge. He took out portions of meat and vegetables that were barely enough for two people. "For the next few days, cook three servings for dinner."
Ciel turned, her jaw tightening slightly. "What? The rent is going up again next month, Sid. I know your friends are valuable, but—"
"He paid, Ciel," Sid interrupted, his tone soft but non-negotiable. "Consider this a side project."
Ciel simply sighed, accepting that she wouldn't get a proper answer. However, the curiosity in her eyes remained. As she began preparing the extra portion, she asked again, "Who is he?"
Sid paused, weighing his words. He hadn't even asked the mysterious figure in the warehouse for his name last night. "You'll find out soon enough."
That evening, after the cafe's operating hours ended, the shop returned to its damp silence. Ren had just returned from observing the city. Over these two months, he had formulated the new movement matrix of Rich City. He observed how the large screen billboards shifted from promoting the Marble Kingdom's luxury to propaganda about the new system's efficiency. He saw news on shop TVs displaying new tax algorithms and updated surveillance systems. Changes in the Merge District were slower than the rapidly developing Arena District.
Ren shed all his utilities, storing his assassin gear. His worn cloak he would burn later. After cleaning himself up and changing into the new clothes—a pair of cargo pants and a white t-shirt—he descended to the cafe floor. Although Ren now looked more integrated with the civilian populace, his rigid posture and red eyes still marked him as an anomaly.
Ciel and Sid were already seated at a small wooden table in the corner. Dinner was served: a bowl of warm rice and a steaming dish of spicy, seasoned meat. Three plates, three sets of chopsticks.
Ren sat across from them. He picked up his chopsticks. This was Ren's first shared meal that was not transactional but domestically intimate.
They ate in a long, heavy silence. The sound of chopsticks tapping against the plates felt like explosions in the quiet. Ciel occasionally stole glances at Ren. Ren ate with his left hand, his speed efficient, focused on the function of intake, not enjoyment.
Sid noticed the tension but made no attempt to break it. He simply ate, maintaining a slow and steady rhythm, allowing Ren's secrecy and Ciel's curiosity to clash in the quiet.
Suddenly, the silence fractured. Ren placed his chopsticks sharply on the bowl with an unexpected clack!
"Look," Ren's voice broke the silence with an intonation too formal for the simple dinner setting. "I will inconvenience you for the next few days. I know what you did for me was more than just a pickup service."
Ren looked straight at Sid. "I will repay this debt of obligation. But not now, because what you need is not commensurate with what I currently possess. I promise you, someday, I will fully repay the risk you are taking."
Sid offered a thin smile, his face calm. "I'm just feeding a hungry person and sheltering a wet one. Don't over-dramatize it. Besides, you've already paid for your dinner."
"I still don't understand," Ciel cut in, her expression a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "Why would Sid hide an 'old friend' who is 'like this' from me? You two look like you just met five minutes ago."
Sid was about to answer, perhaps with another lie, but Ren cut him off swiftly.
"Our relationship is a bit complicated," Ren interjected, his voice softening slightly, but his eyes still lacking warmth. "Sid forgot my name, so he didn't introduce me. That's all you need to know." Ren looked straight at both Sid and Ciel, letting the silence of a few seconds weigh heavily on them.
"My name," the pause felt like a stay of execution. "is Ren." Ren knew that by stating his name, he was throwing a small bomb into the room. If this information leaked, there were only two sources.
Ciel looked at Ren, then turned to Sid. Sid merely nodded slightly, his gaze unchanged from Ren. In that look, Sid conveyed a silent message: I understand the risk, Ren. And I accept it.
Seeing that certainty, Ren picked up his chopsticks and resumed eating. He had given them a piece of his only defense: his anonymity. If this information leaked, the debt would be called in, and the price would be absolute.
It was a promise he carved in blood. But to destroy, he needed information, and the sluggish Merge District was giving him nothing. He needed a larger net, a stronger poison. He needed access to the center of power.
Merge District, Third Week of March, 2323
A week passed after Ren had thrown the time bomb of his own name at Sid and Ciel. The area around the cafe still felt calm and safe. However, just like the previous nights, Ren moved to observe the Merge District's condition, studying the new structure and security systems.
That night, Ren was walking alone on a street sector that should have been quite busy. He had observed an anomaly nearby. The main street of the Merge District was too quiet; the patrol units that usually passed by had vanished, and local communication signals felt suppressed. This isn't a glitch. This is quarantine, he thought.
His instincts led him to a single point of anomaly: a bar that was far from luxurious, The Survival Bar. Although it looked dilapidated, the bar had been quarantined and swept clean by the Prime Minister's secret security team hours earlier. Ren knew this was an invitation—or a trap—intended specifically for him.
He made no effort to avoid it. He walked straight toward the dimly lit bar.
The formally collapsed Marble Kingdom had officially evolved, the monarchy abolished, and it was now Rich City under the leadership of a Prime Minister.
Ren saw him: the number-one figure of Rich City sitting casually beneath the dim glow of a bare lightbulb. His dark cashmere suit and silver hair contrasted sharply with the worn vinyl chair he occupied. On the cracked wooden table lay a portable chessboard—an ivory artwork that felt utterly alien in this dreary place.
"Quite a unique invitation, Prime Minister Daniel." Ren didn't approach immediately, still standing near the entrance, looking at the figure he usually saw on video screens or billboards, now real before him.
"But I'm afraid I don't drink alcohol."
Daniel offered a thin smile, but didn't turn around. "I hope you won't call me that again. It feels… too formal."
Ren didn't react, his eyes fixed on Daniel's back, while his senses attempted to detect movement around him. No anomalies or ambush threats. What does he want? Ren analyzed internally.
"Come closer, Ren. I won't force you to drink." Daniel raised his hand, which held a white king chess piece. "Relax a little with your uncle…"
This time, Daniel turned, a mysterious grin spreading across his face.