Oh man… How many times have I sworn off sleeping on these couches? Checked the time—half past one, only got five hours of sleep. Tara left around five-thirty, and I decided not to go home… now I'm paying for it. I need to wash up, which means walking all the way to the restroom… No, better to go to Fantik's place, I'll take a shower there too. Yawning, I finally got up, stretched, got dressed, and headed for the door. Stepping into the empty hall, I looked around. Space and silence. There's a certain charm to the place when it's empty—some kind of calm.
Both Vasyas were sitting at the bar. They lived nearby, so if there was nothing to do, they were usually here.
I waved at them as I passed by.
— Sakurai-san, — the Japanese Vasya called out to me. — There's a note left for you.
"It was great. Next round's on me. Raidon."
Now I was curious what he'd come up with. Man, if only I could get along with the whole class like that—life would be paradise.
Fantik wasn't there. Off scavenging parts again. And the old man somehow makes good money off it too. Though that's probably just a side income—I doubt he's spent his share from that bank job yet.
After taking a shower and changing (I really should update my wardrobe here), I thought about what to do next. Eat first or contact Akemi? Probably call first—it's a trek to the kitchen through the whole building. Picking up the special phone with the secondary SIM that stayed here, I dialed the number:
— Hello, this is the police…
— Greetings, Sakurai-san. — Sounds like Li. — Should I hand the phone to Akemi-san?
— Better do it over video chat—tell her my laptop's already on.
— I'm sorry, Sakurai-san, but that's not possible right now—we're quite far from a computer.
— Is she free at all right now?
— At the moment—yes.
— Then put her on.
There was some rustling and muffled chatter on the other end.
— Hiiiii, Sin-chaaaan! — Yeah, seems like they don't need to keep it quiet over there.
— Same to you. How's the kid?
— What could happen to that little rodent? He's standing here looking for trouble again.
— Heh. Alright, I've got an idea—we should meet.
— Then only in the evening… Let's do it at my place, six o'clock.
The latest trend among guild types was renting an entire floor in some high-rise, preferably a hotel. The more expensive, the better. And Akemi was no different. Reputation was everything. For me, it meant it was easier to reach her unnoticed. A public place with lots of people, where no one paid attention to a random teenager. I could distract everyone's attention, and the guards wouldn't notice anything on the cameras. Hardly anyone even went up to her floor. There were barely any cameras there, and the ones that existed were placed very conveniently—for me. Though from a security standpoint, the whole trend was stupid. But that was their problem—worked in my favor.
— Fine. I'll be there at six.
— Just don't knock out my people this time. I don't want to lose my voice yelling at those freeloaders again.
— At least now you know how inconvenient it is to defend a place like that.
— Yeah, yeah. But thieves at your level—there are only a few in the whole country. And none of them are Veterans. Unless you count the Tabata clan. — For the record, the Tabata aren't thieves in the usual sense, more like ninja—recon is their specialty. — And you only knocked out regular guards.
— I knocked out the ones who were in my way—that's a big difference.
— And I took that into account. Still, don't do it again—just wear a mask and walk in.
— Fine, fine, you win. See you at six.
— See you then.
— Later. — Hanging up, I tossed the phone back on the shelf. Alright, breakfast. A late one.
The kitchen was empty. The girls who worked here would only arrive in the evening. Right now only Aunt Natasha was there—another Russian soul I'd helped settle in Tokyo. There weren't many Russians in Japan, more in Germany, but somehow I kept running into them.
Aunt Natasha had come here looking for her missing husband who'd stopped writing and calling. She scraped together money, borrowed where she could, and came to rescue the man she loved. She was sure that if he wasn't contacting her, something bad had happened.
Well, she found him. He was on a clan military base—as a slave. Some clan girl had wrapped him around her finger and sent him to his death. She wasn't part of any family but wanted to be, so she tried to earn her place using others. In the end, the Russian was collared, she failed, and his wife was left stranded in a foreign country with no money and no job.
I met Aunt Natasha—a beautiful, youthful-looking woman in her mid-forties—when some thugs were throwing her out of a hotel where that girl lived. The despair on her face was unbearable. I couldn't just walk away. I took her to a café, got her talking—which wasn't easy given my age—learned what happened, and brought her to the club under Honda's care. Then I had to figure out how to get her husband out of a clan's hands.
The problem wasn't breaking him out—it was pointless. She was too visible. The clan would track her down, and possibly me too. It needed a legal solution. So I asked old man Kenta for advice. He surprised me—said he knew a lot of people and might negotiate the man's release if he was insignificant enough.
Another warning sign I didn't notice.
The outcome was ugly. Once released, the man ran straight to his mistress—who rejected him. Undeterred, he dumped his wife and tried courting the girl again. Then he caught the attention of the clan's security—and, oddly enough, was accepted into that clan. Probably because the Koyama clan head had taken notice of him, even if no one knew why.
Soon after, the divorce was arranged, and Natasha was left with nothing in a foreign country. That story ended with a month-long depression and a job as head chef at the "Lastochka" club. Now she lives there and tries to ignore Shotgun, who keeps hitting on her. Personally, I think he'll wear her down eventually and finally take that long-awaited vacation.
— Hey, Aunt Natasha. Got anything to eat? — I asked in Russian.
— Good afternoon to you too, — she smiled. — Sit down, I'll whip something up. Light or hearty?
— I just woke up.
— I'll make something Russian then—sound good?
— From your hands—anything.
While finishing my semolina porridge, I nodded at the newspaper she was reading.
— What's in the news?
— Nothing new. Still chewing over that Tokyo museum incident.
— The one where everything was smashed but nothing stolen?
— That's the one. Now they're checking if anything was swapped. Police got new combat robots. New education minister. — "Our" minister, huh. — Another clash with Malaysian pirates.
— Pirates, sure… more like privateers.
— And that's about it. Nothing interesting.
— As always—delicious, — I said, pushing away the empty plate. — Thanks a lot. I should get going… got things to do.
— Go on then. Good luck with your… "things," — she smirked.
Probably thinking something indecent. Heh.
I should head home now. Change, show my face, then hit the shooting range. Yeah, that'll kill time till six.
As I approached the house, Shina was already waiting—probably checked with the clan security when I entered the district. Living here really was a hassle. Can't wait till I'm eighteen. Not that I couldn't rent a place now—the problem wasn't questions. No one would ask anything. They'd just start digging into my "friends." And who knows where that would lead.
Shina was irritated. Shina was boiling. Shina stood there like a wife greeting her drunk husband.
— And where have you been? — Heard that one before. — I came to your house to talk about what happened in the cafeteria, and you weren't there. — Wow. Just walked in, huh? — Not in the evening, not at night, not even in the morning! I sit there like an idiot waiting for you, and you're off wandering somewhere.
— Miss, do you have some kind of problem?
— The one with problems here is you, brat. Serious ones, — she hissed.
— Wait, wait. I'm actually serious, — I said, raising both hands to chest level. — A teenage girl who spends the whole day at home instead of finding a thousand ways to have fun clearly has some issues.
— You… you… Pff… Idiot, — she snapped, then turned around and marched quickly toward her house. At the gate she stopped, turned back, and shouted: — And I've got plenty to do! — before going inside.
"I need to get out of here. She'll calm down, come back, and start nagging me. Change into something inconspicuous and bail," I thought as I went up to my room.
And I almost made it. Changed into dark blue jeans and a gray turtleneck, opened the door—and heard the front door slam. Great, escaping through the window again. Although wait, Shina's not stupid—well, most of the time—so she's probably accounting for the window. Especially since this isn't my first escape. And she slammed the door way too loudly. So screw the window—we're going out through the front gate. Though she knows that I know… Ah, whatever. If anything, I'll fight my way through.
Rushing downstairs, I glanced around. Empty. Good—move, move. Didn't bother locking the door. What's the point, when half the people already have keys? And random strangers in the center of a clan district? Yeah, right. Better hurry before she comes to her senses. And get off the main road—cut through the back streets.
I decided not to go to the shooting range today. Just imagining the crowded subway ride for the sake of killing a couple of hours made me switch routes immediately. Better hang out at the club—it's in the right direction anyway.
On the way to "Lastochka," I kept thinking how annoying it was not having a car. Raidon, even with traffic, at least sits, while I'm stuck standing in packed trains. And let me tell you—things happen in the subway. Probably in every country. A place of "miracles," usually unpleasant ones. Back in my world I got lucky, but here it's one thing after another, and not everything can be solved with force. Honestly, I'd rather those punks had targeted me instead of that old lady—it would've ended faster. So yeah, I need a car. And a driver. No license until eighteen in this country. The real problem is the driver—not the car. I can afford one, but finding someone loyal and discreet I can trust? That's the issue. Maybe save someone from a horrible death? Like right now, someone's getting beaten in that alley. Heh… dreams. If only it were that simple. Still, I should check—it's near the club, and rumors about customers getting attacked wouldn't be good. Besides, ever since one incident in my childhood here, I don't take these situations lightly.
Back then, a bunch of aristocratic brats almost beat me to death. They would have, if not for an old man whose name I never learned—only his nickname: Glass. He grabbed me while running, hid me in a narrow gap between buildings so I wouldn't be seen. But those bastards didn't care who they hit—child, old man, didn't matter. He died a meter away from me, first trying to mislead them, then silently. I didn't even hear him groan. It took me four years to find and kill those brats. All but one. A daimyo's son—last name Saté. Too strong for me at first, then he left for Germany. But he won't stay there forever. If he doesn't come back before I turn eighteen, I'll go to him.
But right now—someone's getting beaten.
At the end of the alley, in a dead end, two grown men were kicking a curled-up figure—too small for an adult. Beating a kid—that's already disgusting. Doing it near my club? That's bold. And I could feel the boy's emotions. Not empathy exactly—that's more of a witch thing—but we share some overlap. I can only sense strong, unfocused emotions. And right now, he wasn't wishing for it to stop. Not even anger. Just… a desperate determination not to cry out. Impressive. At his age, I wouldn't have managed that.
I walked up and knocked the right one out with a strike to the back of the head—concussion guaranteed. The other turned—I shattered his knee with a kick and dropped him with a left hook to the temple. I wasn't going to kill them. Not here. But we'd have a talk later. Whether they survived it would depend on their stamina and Vasya's mood. I wasn't about to waste time on them myself.
With that done, I crouched beside the kid. No critical injuries at first glance. The rest—a doctor would handle. Aunt Natasha would deal with that. I didn't even know where the nearest hospital was, and I might not have time before six.
The boy stirred and lowered his hands from his face.
— Well, well… if it isn't the greatest thief of all time—Sato Kazuki!
I knew the kid. Been trying to pickpocket me for half a year now. First time, I nearly broke his arm—then realized it was too small. Let him off with some mockery and a smack. Second time—more teasing. After that, just a light smack. Guess he got stubborn. He hung around near the club a lot. I made it clear—with a bit of "yaki"—that if I caught him stealing from customers, he'd regret it. So far, only I'd caught him.
— S-Sakurai-san… they were going to rob your customers, — he said, wincing. — I overheard… wanted to tell you… and then…
What a kid. Caring about my club's reputation.
— Alright. Let's get you to the club, then to a hospital. Or call an ambulance.
— No… don't carry me. I can… walk. Home.
Right, he lived nearby.
— Anyone home?
— Yeah… my father.
— And your mother?
— Dead.
Damn. Bad question.
— Let's go to the club first. At least clean you up.
— I said… I can walk…
— Then hold onto me. Or I'll carry you. You'd understand if you saw yourself right now.
So we went—him leaning heavily on me, me ready to catch him. Inside the club, the hall was empty. Great timing. I sat him down and went to find someone—but then remembered my phone.
— Hey, Vasily, — I said in Russian. — Where are you?
— At the club. Kitchen.
— Anyone with you?
— Japanese Vasya's here. Something wrong?
— Nothing big. Just need to talk to someone about behavior. Is Aunt Natasha there?
— Nah, she's in her room.
Strange—she didn't like going out alone.
— Got it. Come to the hall.
Hanging up, I dialed Natasha next.
I was sure the guys wouldn't linger over an extra cup of tea. They, like all the security at "Lastochka," had been hired by me and knew perfectly well that I was a co-owner of the club—and therefore their boss. They also knew it was best to keep that quiet. And even though Akemi had helped me find them, they had nothing to do with her. The guys had no ties to crime at all, though they weren't squeamish either. Damn, when I remember what it took to get them to obey a teenager—that is, me… Considering they're all Warriors… So the lovers of beating up kids are about to have a very bad time.
— Hello again, Sindzi.
Brr. Goosebumps. For some reason, when you see her in person, that deep, mesmerizing voice doesn't hit quite as hard. Though her looks are more than up to par. In short, Honda's advances toward her are perfectly understandable. If she were younger, I'd have started hitting on her myself.
— Hey, Aunt Nat. Are you home?
— Yes, watching TV.
— I've got a favor to ask. Could you come down to the hall and bring the first aid kit? There's a kid here who needs patching up.
— Is it serious? — Judging by the sound, she was already on her feet.
— Nah, Aunt Natasha, if it were serious, I'd have called an ambulance.
— I'm coming.
Hanging up, I returned to Kazuki. He was looking around the hall with curiosity. And I was thinking, watching him.
Sooner or later, one way or another, I'll have to start gathering people around me. I never planned to remain a commoner forever, living next door to the head of the Koyama clan. And even if he doesn't grant me a crest, I'll try to get one elsewhere. Of course, a crest doesn't give many privileges—it hardly gives anything at all. But its holder becomes a free aristocrat, and that's already something. Off the top of my head, I can name at least one undeniable advantage. Free aristocrats—those who have a crest but no lord—can't be forcibly bound into service. Like under Peter the Great: bam—and you're in the army. Just because you were spotted. I'm exaggerating, of course. But the emperor can demand my service the moment I rise high enough. And that's not even considering my status as a Patriarch. Whether I become a super fighter or a super magnate, even if no one touches me—which is what happens to most people—the emperor's will will always hang over me like the sword of Damocles. A free aristocrat, at least formally, is protected from that. This kind of aristocracy isn't much different from ordinary imperial subjects, aside from such minor privileges. But that's enough for me. I don't intend to join a clan either. Because there it's the same submission, and if you look closely, career growth is even more limited than in state service. Though to hell with career growth—I simply can't serve anyone. Oaths given by witchers can't be broken, even in another world. It's against our nature, beyond us. That's the advantage that allows states to use witchers instead of trying to destroy them. After all, we all once were inexperienced novices. And to this day, some oaths still bind me—for example, ones that rule out any kind of military service. Having a crest means I'll have to follow established rules—laws—but the local laws aren't much different from those in my own world. So my immediate goal is a crest. And only then will I start rising, for which I'll need loyal people, not just employees like in my business. No, I'll recruit people from there into my inner circle too, if any are suitable, but you can never have too many loyal people—and truly loyal ones have to be raised, as my unforgettable boss, the Necromancer, used to say. That's not entirely accurate, of course, but the nature of his work didn't allow for a different conclusion. You ask why I need to show off at all and strive for something? Well, how about the simple human desire to be better than those around you? If you stop striving, stop wanting more, stagnation sets in—and then regression. That applies to everything. And considering my presumably long life, that actually scares me a bit. But that stays between us. Do you think that after my personal war against the states of my world and taking those damn oaths I became a model, average family man? Ha! Not even close. I made money hand over fist. Spun as best I could—and I could do a lot. Damn it. Bastards. They took that life away from me. If only I could get to those… those… Alright, calm down, Max. Get a grip. Relax.
Ahem, yeah. People. An inner circle. Those I can rely on in the future. It's never too early to start looking for and gathering them. I've got Fantik, Akemi, Nemoto Taro—if I called, I'm sure he'd follow me despite the danger. There's also the Vasya duo—strong-willed and loyal guys, they can be brought closer too. Shotgun, if you think about it, despite all his honesty and reliability, doesn't fit. Simply because he already has everything and doesn't need anything beyond that. Except maybe Natalia, heh-heh. He just won't want to get involved in anything or change anything. Though you can rely on him regardless. There's probably someone in my company as well, but I hardly interact with those employees, so I barely know anyone there. In the end, it's almost laughably few people, half of whom I still need to draw closer. Though, I have to admit, for my age even that's not bad.
And here I am, looking at this kid and thinking: why not? He's got willpower, he's got the desire to rise higher, loyalty can be cultivated—and judging by what he got beaten for, the beginnings are already there. Intelligence… seems like he's got it. But that's not as important, though desirable. The main thing now is not to turn the club into a daycare. I'm getting carried away. And I shouldn't forget to find out what's going on in his family. You never know.
While I was thinking, the two Vasyas entered the hall. Waving them toward the exit, I addressed the boy:
— I'll step out for a bit. A woman will come here and take care of your bruises. Don't run off—I'll need to talk to you afterward.
— I understand, Sakurai-san, I'll wait.
Nodding, I headed for the exit and, beckoning the guards, went to where the two lay in the alley.
— Grab them and let's go back.
— Are they even alive, boss? — Goro asked.
He was the one who most often called me that. Sometimes by my surname, with "-san."
— Alive. But what's funny is that the one on the left is pretending.
Giving me a sidelong glance, both Vasyas walked toward the bodies.
— Hey, bastard, you gonna walk yourself or should I break your leg too? — Rymov kicked the faker, then turned to me and sniffed. — Not talking.
— You want to carry a body that can walk on its own?
— True enough. If I'm carrying, there better be a reason. Which leg should I break, boss?
And that "boss" of his was clearly for show.
— You can break both, I suppose.
— Wait, don't. I… maybe we can come to an agreement? We didn't do anything to you, no complaints. We didn't even see you, we just got lost, and then… fainted.
— Then get up, fainting boy, we'll take you to the hospital, — said Russian Vasya.
— No, please, we… ow… — Vasya kicked him again. — We'll pay, we have mon… ow.
— I really want to break your legs, but I'm too lazy to carry you. So the choice is yours. You've got three seconds.
Goro sighed—he'd have to carry his one anyway.
— I'll break his legs myself.
— Break your own guy's, this one walks. Right?
— Yes! Yes. I'm getting up.
— And don't even think about running. I like running even less than hauling trash like you, — said a man who jogged every morning.
The thug tried to stand but swayed and collapsed back onto the asphalt. Looks like I overdid the hit.
— Though you can try. Might be entertaining.
— Maybe we should still…
— It's my body, Vasya-chan. I break it if I want to.
— Eh, — Goro sighed again, hoisting "his body" over his shoulder.
That's how the guys amuse themselves. I mean the jokes, not the bone-breaking.
We didn't go through the main entrance—Natalia was there, and she didn't need to see that—so we headed for the service one.
— Anyone else in the kitchen?
— Nah, still empty.
— Then haul them, hamsters, where you usually haul them.
— Sir, maybe we can still work something out? We don't know you, we just ended up here by accident. — I waved for the guys to hurry. — Sir! What for? Have mercy, sir! — the idiot started resisting.
— These most noble gentlemen will explain everything to you and your friend. And if you finally shut up and stop resisting, you'll probably even avoid becoming crippled. That's it, take them.
— Siiir!
What an idiot. Life must've treated him badly if he thinks I need corpses here. Or maybe he's judging by himself. Hopefully the former, but more likely the latter.
Back in the hall, Aunt Natasha was still treating Kazuki's bruises. He hissed and grimaced but didn't try to pull away. As I approached, she threw me a sharp question:
— Who did this?
Kazuki averted his gaze. Figures.
— He fell.
— I'm serious, Sindzi. After something like this, you go to the police. First the hospital, then the police. And this boy is silent like a partisan. Keeps saying he fell.
— And what do you think, Aunt Natasha? — I asked in Russian. — A man can't show weakness and complain, even to such a beautiful woman, — I tried to lighten her tone.
— He's a child!
Didn't work.
— And judging by his behavior and words, not only that.
Turning back to the frozen boy, Natalia asked me again, grumbling now:
— I hope you won't ignore the fact that some thugs are roaming around here?
— He fell, Aunt Natasha.
— Sindzi!
For some reason, outside the Koyama district and school, no one takes me seriously as an adult, I thought gloomily.
— Together with two men passing by.
— Men? Two?! Then we absolutely must—
— Natalia Romanovna, — I cut her off, — I'll deal with this young man's lack of balance myself.
— Hmph. — Same as everyone else. Everyone around me loves to huff. — Then that's it. Now to the hospital. And we need to inform his parents.
That's when the boy stirred nervously.
— I…
— I'll handle that. You gave me your number, so it's fine. Aunt Natasha, his parents are at work right now—could you take him to the hospital? The girls will manage without you for a while, won't they?
— I…
— Fine, I can't just let him go alone. He'll run home straight away—or crawl. Or somewhere else.
— Thanks, Aunt Natasha, — I smiled. — What would we do without you?
— Die of gastritis! Wait five minutes, Kazu-chan? I need to change.
— I…
— What is it, Kazu-chan, afraid to go to the doctor?
— Of course not! What's there to be afraid of?
— So you won't run off?
Glancing at me, he replied:
— I wasn't going to.
— Good. I'll be right back, — Aunt Natasha said and quickly disappeared through the kitchen door.
Kazuki spoke first:
— I owe you, Sakurai-san. You saved my life.
— Owe me? I suppose so. In general. Not your life, but you do. How old are you? Are you in any school club?
— Thirteen. — Middle school. — I'm not.
— Well then, excellent. I actually need an assistant for courier work. The pay won't be much at first…
— I'll do it for free, Sakurai-san!
By the way, I never told him my name. Not now, not before. When did the little hustler find out?
— Only flies… ahem… work for free. — Now here's a problem. Where do I put him? I won't have many tasks for him yet, not until I ease him into things, but I need to keep him close already. Damn, who do I hand him off to? Maybe give him to Fantik? — So, what do you do in life? What do you like? Any hobbies? Tech, cooking, sports?
— I want to become a combat mech pilot!
Now that's a statement! A kid, plain and simple. Though… actually, why not? I won't be able to field six squads of machines like the clans, and I don't need thirty combat robots anyway. But two or three wouldn't hurt my future house. Especially since a house is allowed to own more than one mech—I found that out by accident once.
— Alright then. I can't give you a steady job, and for serious assignments you obviously haven't earned enough trust yet. On the other hand, I might need you at any moment. So listen carefully and remember this. When do you get out of school?
— I can actually—
— "Actually"? Are you even listening to me?
— At three.
Six classes, then. My school had seven. Plus the commute…
— When can you be here?
— By four at the latest.
— Alright, then from four on you'll assist one person. I'll introduce you later. That person deals with various tech, electronics, and things like that. Your job is to listen carefully and do exactly what he says. In his absence—no need for him to wander around with Fantik yet—you'll be at the disposal of the club owner. When do you usually get home?
— Uh… around two at night, sometimes three.
— And when do you sleep? — I can guess when.
— During classes… — he answered gloomily.
— Oh-ho-ho, let's go have a smoke.
— Sindzi, what are you teaching a child?!
— Uh… I mean… Listen carefully, Kazuki: smoking is poison.
— Uh…
— I'll explain that later. Aunt Natasha, one more favor. Could you bring him back here afterward? I need to talk to him. I'll handle things with his family.
— And what's he supposed to do here? Loiter under customers' feet?
— Let him stay in the kitchen. Help you out.
She looked skeptically first at the boy, then at me, and rolled her eyes.
— Fine, — she agreed at last. — But if this "man," — she added with a smirk, — starts bothering my girls, someone's getting the belt. And it won't be him, Sindzi.
— You hear that, Kazuki? A lot depends on you. Don't set me up. And if you do hit on the girls, do it discreetly.
Seeing Natalia and the boy—red as a tomato—off to the entrance, I headed to the basement, to our guests. I still had an hour and a half before heading out, so why not have some fun with these unexpected visitors. Especially since, if handled properly, it helps a "conversation" much more than simple brute force.