Putato stuffed Mika's written address into his pocket. He would visit that Grip Workshop tomorrow to investigate the neighborhood watch and the Smiling Faces.
Dragging his exhausted body, Putato returned to the bulding and crashed instantly, losing consciousness the second his face hit the sofa.
...
Morning.
Putato woke again and saw Katae standing idly by the door. Based on their routine, the boy should have prepared a bowl of hot soup by now.
Rubbing his eyes, Putato remembered the pot of mysterious meat stew in the fridge—he needed to toss that out later.
"Katae, why are you standing there like a statue?"
Putato approached and noticed Katae was trembling. The boy was staring in shock at a pure white card shoved under the door crack, looking as if his soul had been snatched away.
Supporting Katae, Putato frowned and guided him to the sofa before picking up the card.
The symbol on it made Putato's pupils shrink. His heart hammered in alarm. It was unmistakably the Ring's emblem.
What was happening? Had the Ring discovered he was Grey Howl?!
Putato scanned the back. The recipient wasn't him; it was Olivia. The suspicion in his mind didn't fade—it grew sharper.
It was an invitation to an art exhibition, signed by Wym. It sounded like a man's name.
Faced with this mess, Putato moved to call Olivia, then froze.
Although the building was nominally his, and he had sheltered those children, he didn't actually know which room Olivia occupied. He had to go next door and ask Mo for help.
"Honestly, you better add an errand fee to my bill."
Putato, gripping the invitation, sat back down next to Katae. He looked at the dazed boy and asked.
"This is for Olivia, isn't it? Why are you so shaken?"
"I'm not shaken. It's not for me, after all."
"Do you know this Wym? Or were you involved with the Ring?"
Katae lowered his head, shrinking like a cornered bird. After a long silence, he whispered.
"Back then, Oaks was taken as a test subject. I used my last bit of money to buy her location from the Syndicate."
People in The City really would sell the very rope used to hang them.
"That place wasn't a lab; it was an art gallery. I heard it's a creative base for the Ring."
"I didn't dare go inside. I don't know what happened. Oaks was too terrified to talk about it after she was released."
"The name on that gallery's plaque was Wym."
Putato pressed him, feeling a dark premonition about Olivia's safety.
"Wait, why does an art gallery need human test subjects?"
The Ring was a twisted Syndicate. They chased art, but their "art" was as gruesome as the cooking in Backstreet 23.
Their bizarre masterpieces were incomprehensible to outsiders, yet they fetched insane prices among the elite.
"It must be for painting. Oaks said she was later invited to see the 'optimized results' because witnessing it is part of the exhibition."
"Oaks and the others said they were let go only because Wym got tired of using them for nail polish pigments. She needed a fresh batch."
At that moment, Olivia ran down excitedly, thrilled that Putato wanted to see her. But seeing the Ring symbol in his hand, her face turned ghost-white.
She stood at the door, hands behind her back, looking lost.
"Sweetie, can you tell me about this experiment?"
"I can!"
Putato reached out to comfort her, but the girl puffed out her chest bravely. Even with tears in her eyes, she forced herself to speak.
"At first, it was like surgery. That felt like nothing. Then they took blood for tests. Those ladies in hats would poke holes wherever they liked to drain the colors."
"But Big Brother Putato, don't worry. We heal fast. No scars, and we've actually gotten much stronger."
DAMN IT!
These psychotic artists could always sink to a new low. Who knew what side effects that surgery had? Draining blood like that was a slow execution.
Putato shoved the invite into his pocket. This wouldn't end here.
The exhibition opened in three days. He had to eliminate this problem—or the person behind it.
He couldn't risk coming home one day to find Wym short on paint and simply reclaiming Olivia. You couldn't reason with the Ring.
"Alright, for the next few days, you stay in my room. If anything happens, find Katae."
"Really?"
Olivia looked ecstatic. Putato wanted to pat her cheek to reassure her, but his hands were too scarred and rough.
I'll get some leather gloves later. My hands need to stay tough for work anyway.
Putato changed quickly and headed out.
...
Grip Workshop.
The exterior was draped in various hilts, resembling a Sword Tomb.
Putato pushed through the pile of hilts and found no chairs inside. Instead, wooden hilts were mounted on the walls. A dozen people sat casually on them, talking with the owner.
"Those bastards are insane. Killing people in the streets like we don't exist."
"Instead of buying better gear. Let them harass someone else."
"Exactly, it's cheaper than hiring an Office."
"Hey! Shut that nonsense up. If even one person here takes leave, I'll eat every hilt in this shop. Anyone who asks for time off is getting fired."
The group sighed, cursing their brutal working conditions.
"I have an idea."
Putato leaned against the counter, facing the group.
Although their coats were different, the neighborhood watch emblem on their sleeves let Putato know their identities.
"Kid, this isn't your place to talk."
They merely glanced at Putato and turned away, urging the owner to quickly deliver their orders.
Putato first adjusted the concealed weapons on his body, which were wrapped with the Workshop Mindcord under his jacket. Then he set a prescript for himself to convince them.
He had tested the effect of the Unfettered talent on his way home last night. As long as he made a precise prescript, the concealed weapons Putato threw would likely hit their intended target by coincidence.
This feeling was similar to a temporary surge in luck, but the more conditions the prescript had, the smaller the boost, and it couldn't change reality.
For example, if he said he found a million currency, he would only encounter a vending machine malfunctioning and spitting money at him. If he wanted to paint an abstract picture, even if he just rubbed white paper on the ground, it would have ninety percent of Van Gogh's Starry Night's artistic merit.
Adjusting his clothes wasn't Putato's goal, but rather inadvertently displaying The Index's mark. This immediately drew everyone's attention back.
"This person, uh, how should I address you?"
"You can call me Vanda, a Fixer. I just heard you mention encountering Smiling Faces?"
Putato put away the invitation letter, then casually gestured with his bandaged chin, showing great interest.
The neighborhood watch members exchanged glances. Finally, a man with a red baseball cap sat down next to Putato. He spoke with caution and suspicion.
"Bro, do you have any ideas? First off, we don't have the money to hire an Office to eliminate Smiling Faces, otherwise we wouldn't be wasting time here."
"I understand. It's a cost issue, right?"
"However, you don't actually need to eliminate Smiling Faces. You just need to make them immediately find their next target, instead of lingering in this part of The Backstreets."
A Workshop employee pushed over a weapon cart, filled with blades and other weapons. They looked exquisite, but that was it. To use them against Smiling Faces was simply wishful thinking.
Red Hat waved his hand for someone to inspect the goods, then glanced at Putato.
"Easy to say, old man. Are we supposed to tell them that people in other Backstreets are better to cut, and even offer a heart and liver as a gift? They'll just light a cigarette and then chop you to death."
"You don't know, those masked guys are like devils. That day, from upstairs, I saw them attacking a hospital, laughing and talking while carrying away many whole pieces of meat in a refrigerated truck."
"I guess these bastards will attack other public facilities next, and before they leave, they might even sweep through the building. What the hell!"
This is too aggressive, Putato felt their brutality was a step above Stray Dogs.
"It is indeed very difficult to deal with, but I heard there's a Ring member nearby who's opening a solo exhibition. All those artworks are living people. Perhaps Smiling Faces would be interested in that?"
"That's too absurd. Even if it's true, who's going to persuade those guys who kill without batting an eye? Go over dressed as a stuffed animal?"
Red Hat was clearly losing patience with Putato; after all, his suggestion was completely whimsical.
"Don't rush. I have a friend in Smiling Faces. As long as you're willing to cooperate, this might not be so difficult."
The neighborhood watch members immediately became restless, all looking at Putato.
Being physically strong isn't an advantage in this disaster brought by Smiling Faces. After all, Syndicates prefer to grab strong bodies, which is why they're so nervous.
"Is that true?"
"Can't you just give me a commission? Are you afraid I'll trick you? I just want to see if I can conveniently pick up some business."
Putato's plan was to figure out a way to make Smiling Faces attack Wym's solo exhibition. Even before officially joining, he was thinking about how to make these potential superiors generate surplus value.
Red Hat and the others discussed it and felt that paying a small amount of money to get Vanda to redirect Smiling Faces was completely acceptable.
"It's possible, but I still need to see if you have the capability. Placing a commission requires an upfront deposit."
"I'm not trying to make things difficult for you. As long as you tell us the next time Smiling Faces makes a move, so that the neighbors have some confidence and are willing to chip in, we'll be willing to give you a commission."
"No problem."
Putato exchanged contact information with them. He watched them load weapons into the car trunk, then stood up and left.
[Putato: Yixin, is there some big event happening in Backstreet 23?]
[Pangolin: Waaah, I didn't want to tell you, but our cooking competition is about to start! You absolutely must not rush to participate before the Lifes Menu is complete. A true chef must be responsible for his own cooking!]
This girl is still worried about having me all to herself. What cooking competition? He wouldn't go even if invited.
The moment he thought of the non-human scene at the competition, Putato's stomach churned, but he still suppressed his disgust and continued to press.
[Putato: Are you commissioning other Syndicates for supplies? I found out Smiling Faces has been very active recently, so I came to ask you.]
[Pangolin: A true chef, of course, meticulously selects his own ingredients. However, some people's cooking styles genuinely require a large quantity, so contacting Smiling Faces is also very normal. Recently, high-grade meat hasn't been easy to acquire.]
[Putato: I heard their knife skills are very good. They can cut meat with transparent emotional tendencies. Can you introduce me so I can learn a bit?]
[Pangolin: That's too much trouble. Just come straight to my place. I'll teach you hand-in-hand. Don't worry about delaying my competition. I wanted to hug you even before.]
Putato's eyes twitched. This wasn't a job for a human pillow. In the middle of the night, he'd probably become Yixin's whetstone.
[Putato: And I want to learn about Smiling Faces' smoke. In any case, this is also a part of the Lifes Menu.]
[Pangolin: You're getting more and more delicious-smelling. I can't take it.]
Calm down!
Putato hastily typed to persuade, but bumped into a man head-on. His communicator immediately tumbled to the ground.
The man, distraught, completely ignored Putato. Instead, he pleaded with the Messenger wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
"This, how can this be completed? You want me to go back to the gun shop and eat a gun!"
"Won't I die if I shoot myself in the head?!"
Putato picked up his communicator and immediately spotted the familiar Messenger. She was still distributing prescripts nearby.
"Normally speaking, that is indeed the case."
"Then you still want me to do that? I won't die for such a ridiculous thing! Get lost!"
The desperate man, at some unknown moment, held a small knife in his hand and suddenly stabbed the Messenger.
Putato thought, This is not good, and reached out to pull him.
WHOOSH!
However, a thin sword pierced his neck like lightning, making him fall in disbelief.
The Messenger gently pushed up her gold-rimmed glasses, shrugging somewhat helplessly at Putato.
"If he had feigned agreement and dealt with me first, he wouldn't be dead right now. Gambling with your life isn't this way."
"What a coincidence, Putato. Have you eaten the cake already?"
Putato stiffly nodded, then looked down at the man's corpse.
"You don't seem to think the prescript is correct?"
"Does it matter if it's correct? As long as I'm alive, that's good. At least it's better than dying here like him."
"Then why did you become a Messenger? I heard that internally, to advance, you first need to be chosen by a prescript and then voluntarily become a Proselyte."
Faced with this sudden tragedy, Putato could only drag the man's corpse into a trash can. At least it could be buried in garbage rather than being eaten warm by rats.
"Because I lost a bet. Don't look at me like this, I used to be a gambling master. I lost to the prescript, so of course, I have to accept the consequences."
He's a gambler too.
Putato had no desire to communicate with this person. He simply couldn't comprehend her line of thinking.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
A huge hound knocked over a trash can and burst out of the dark alley. It opened its maw and lunged at the Messenger, who flexibly dodged.
"To Perose, please bite off your own tongue and swallow it this afternoon."
Why are all these prescripts about eating? Is The City very hungry recently?
And beasts don't understand prescripts.
Putato refocused his attention on his communicator, continuing his arduous communication with Yixin.
[Pangolin: Alright, alright, but you must learn knife skills in the Syndicate? I'll contact Smiling Faces later and place an order. You just need to show up. You can say the rest yourself.]
[Putato: No need for an order. Anyway, you don't need this kind of low-quality stuff. Don't waste food.]
[Pangolin: You truly are a chef with unique pursuits. I love that about you!]
Just as Putato breathed a sigh of relief, Parui called.
What does this Stray Dogs comrade want from me?