—A Gaze Underground

  The lights in Gray Archives’ Zero Room 100 suddenly went out.

  Because Gray Archives was an underground organization, when the power died, the darkness became absolute.

  “Again?” Faelan muttered.

  He pulled a light from his pants pocket and shone it over the desk. Elina took a light from her bag and switched it on as well.

  For the Returners living in Gray Archives, a light was essential—everyone carried a hand-crank type that could generate its own power.

  “Lately, the outages have been happening a lot,” Elina murmured.

  “Yeah. Maybe the generator’s getting old… but it’ll come back soon, like always.”

  But even after five minutes, the power still hadn’t returned.

  (I can hear it… What is this?)

  The ringing in his left ear sharpened, and his skin tingled as if pricked by needles. It was close.

  Faelan motioned to Elina—Shh—telling her not to speak.

  He pulled a coin from his pocket and pinched it between his thumb and index finger.

  The coin shot from his fingers and seemed to get swallowed by the darkness of Zero Room 100, where there should have been nothing.

  A dull metallic clink—then the sound of something falling.

  Faelan aimed his light there.

  A small black object lay on the floor.

  “What is that—an insect?” Elina’s face twisted with disgust.

  Without a word, Faelan stood and approached it cautiously, shining the light down.

  “…It looks like a ladybug,” Elina said, keeping her distance.

  “It’s not.”

  “Huh… so it’s some other bug?”

  “It’s not static electricity from an insect.” Faelan’s voice hardened. “—It’s a machine, deliberately wrapped in electricity.”

  Even as its lens was damaged, it still tracked him.

  A chill ran down Faelan’s spine.

  Without thinking, he crushed the ladybug-shaped machine under his foot.

  “What does that mean?” Elina asked timidly.

  Faelan didn’t answer. He pinched another coin between his fingers.

  (The ringing sharpens in my left ear—this angle is fine.)

  He snapped his fingers.

  The coin grazed Elina’s hair and struck the same kind of machine hovering behind her.

  “Elina, step back.”

  Faelan spoke quietly, then fired four, five more shots into the darkness—rapidly, at the ladybug-shaped machines hidden within.

  They fell in pieces, battered and ruined, and went dead on the floor.

  “It almost hit my hair…! What the hell are you doing?!”

  Elina shouted, her voice trembling.

  “Sorry, Elina. That thing was too close. I had to take it out before it could hurt you.”

  Faelan’s face was apologetic.

  “But… I don’t know whose orders these are—”

  The moment Faelan said it, the power returned, and Zero Room 100 looked normal again.

  “Judging by the lenses, they’re probably for reconnaissance.”

  Faelan tried to pick up what he could—two of them.

  But one more—

  Its lens was still fixed on Elina.

  Faelan crushed it without hesitation, then wrapped the remains in cloth.

  The ringing in his ears still wouldn’t stop. Nausea rose in his throat.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “We have to tell the leaders. Let’s go, Elina.”

  He spoke through a grimace—headache flaring from the aftereffects of using his Exceed.

  “Yeah… Today’s just been exhausting, but let’s go.”

  Elina stood—

  And then, near the ventilation shaft’s air-circulation system, something exploded.

  No alarm sounded.

  —Which meant someone had “killed the alarm,” too.

  —Meanwhile, at the Luna Nordics building.

  Maya was in a counseling room on the second floor, receiving counseling from Camilla Lorenz.

  On Luna’s side, no report of abnormalities at Gray Archives had come in yet.

  “How have you been lately?” Camilla asked.

  She brushed back her ash-gray blonde hair and looked at Maya—seated across from her—with smoky-gray eyes.

  “Lately… I’ve been feeling like I’m powerless more often.”

  With Camilla, Maya always tried to speak honestly.

  “Why do you think that is?” Camilla asked with keen interest.

  “We destroyed Lumen Day. We defeated Ezekiel. And then the world…”

  Maya’s right hand trembled. She grabbed it with her left. Even so, her breath caught.

  “I thought… the world would get even a little better. But it feels like it’s only getting worse.”

  Maya’s gaze dropped.

  “I keep thinking… how powerless I am.”

  When she finished, Maya let out a sigh without realizing it.

  “I won’t deny it, and I won’t affirm it,” Camilla said evenly.

  “…How can you stay so calm, Camilla?” Maya raised her face and stared at her. She truly didn’t understand.

  “The world is a collection of other people. Can you change it?”

  “…No,” Maya nodded, sighing.

  “What we can do is choose how we live within it.” Camilla’s eyes sharpened. “How is your trauma?”

  “I still can’t wipe it away. That my body is tainted.” Maya’s voice weakened in a way she never showed in battle or daily life. “With your counseling, I’ve managed not to resort to self-harm, but…”

  “It’s understandable. But you have no fault in this, Maya,” Camilla answered firmly.

  “For you, it may take time before you can overcome it. But whenever you feel weak, keep coming to talk.”

  “Here, you don’t have to be brave.”

  Camilla’s voice softened.

  “…Yes. Thank you.”

  Maya’s eyes grew wet.

  The counseling ended, and Maya left the room.

  It was already night.

  When she idly glanced out the window—

  Maya felt it sharply: the sensation of someone watching her.

  It was a gaze filled with desire—wanting her, wanting to possess her.

  (It’s not Ezekiel’s eyes. It’s something else… something different.)

  (This isn’t about me. —It’s the gaze of an “organization.”)

  Disgust that wouldn’t subside, Maya slammed a palm strike into the wall. A thin crack spread across the concrete.

  “Stop it! Don’t look at me!”

  Maya’s scream echoed through the quiet Luna Nordics building.

  —At the same time, back at Gray Archives.

  The scene shifted—to Gray Archives’ Zero Room 500.

  “Thanks, Fae. Elina too.”

  Isaac Varta—engineer of Gray Archives’ environmental systems and its deputy leader—carefully lifted the ladybug-shaped machine with tweezers. This was his lab.

  Isaac was a strikingly handsome male Returner, appearing about twenty, with short silver hair and silver eyes.

  “I’m glad we managed to capture it. Was that explosion sound earlier okay?” Faelan asked, worried.

  “A foreign object got into the air-circulation system and detonated at the motor section. We haven’t confirmed any footage suggesting human involvement. I replaced the spare parts right away, so we’re fine—for now. But the cause is unknown.”

  Isaac let out a sigh.

  “Still, it’s entirely possible something like this kind of ‘bug’ got in.”

  “Um… we had another outage today too,” Elina asked cautiously. “Haven’t they been happening a lot lately?”

  “Yeah. This one’s cause is unknown too. I’m the one who has to fix it, though.”

  Isaac smiled warmly at Elina.

  “My design philosophy and the bastard who built this thing’s philosophy don’t match at all—I hate it. But your guess is sound, Fae. It’s very possible this is reconnaissance.”

  Isaac looked at them both seriously.

  “For now, keep this to yourselves. Don’t tell the other Returners. Rumors will spread and cause confusion. Understood?”

  Faced with a rare, severe gaze from usually mild Isaac, the two could only nod.

  “Okay. So what do we do now?” Elina asked.

  “I’ll talk with the other two leaders. I don’t think we should take this lightly.”

  Isaac’s voice was heavy.

  After Faelan and Elina left the room, Isaac released a deep sigh.

  In Isaac’s mind, the words surfaced:

  Repairs remaining: 200…

  (Not much time left. For me… and for this place.)

  —At the same time, a mid-sized real estate company in the Eldrant District.

  “Thank you for transferring your property management to our company. In order to increase the asset value of the owner’s properties, we will responsibly handle regular inspection reports, rent collection management, and more.”

  Victoria Sinclair, in a suit, explained everything to a client online.

  Her low, warm voice carried through the office, drawing the attention of other staff.

  “Well done, Ms. Sinclair.” Director Crawford—an elegant, middle-aged woman—approached Victoria with a smile after the call ended. “If you keep meeting our expansion targets this quickly, it boosts everyone’s motivation in the management department. Thank you.”

  “Thank you. It’s only because of your guidance, Director Crawford.”

  Victoria returned a polite smile.

  “Ms. Sinclair, if anyone could do what you do, it wouldn’t be this hard.” Director Crawford spoke slowly, savoring her words with a smile. “It’s like you can read the clients’ hearts—you listen to their worries, make proposals, stay close to them, and absorb everything I teach you until it becomes your own.”

  “I want everyone to learn from that attitude.”

  “Thank you.”

  (It’s because I want to be useful to you, Director Crawford—my mother.)

  Victoria had died of illness at fifteen and been cremated… and afterward, she became a Returner.

  After being declared dead officially, she obtained a different face and a different ID—that was the Victoria she was now.

  And then—

  Three police officers entered through the agency’s front door.

  Their footsteps were in sync—like a military unit.

  Director Crawford’s smile froze, just for an instant.

  “Is Victoria Sinclair here?”

  Their words were polite, but the voice was unmistakably intimidating.

  “We’d like you to come in as a person of interest.”

  As if announcing the beginning of a cold war, rain began to fall outside.

  “Yes. That’s me,” Victoria answered, smiling.

  Even as Director Crawford and the other staff froze, unable to speak, Victoria opened her mouth to reassure them.

  “I’ll cooperate within what I can. Director Crawford, I’ll be back.”

  Still smiling, Victoria followed the officers outside.

  (I can’t cause trouble for Mom. But if they cross the line, I won’t show mercy.)

  In the cold rain, Victoria’s heart burned even colder.

  They put her in the back seat of a patrol car, two officers hemming her in on either side.

  (This patrol car door can’t be opened from the inside…!)

  Victoria realized it, yet maintained her composure.

  “Sorry for the suddenness, Ms. Sinclair.” The officer on her right spoke. “—And thank you for your ‘cooperation.’”

  His tone shifted.

  “You’re connected to Beatrice Rain—the mass murderer.”

  “If you’re a good person, you shouldn’t hide it. It’s your civic duty.”

  In his voice was unmistakable pleasure—and contempt.