By all accounts, the world isn't made up of black or white —I mean wrong or right, everything is mixed.
Honestly, it was quite unwise of me to segregate black as wrong and the latter as right, though it may not be entirely my fault. It's a common misconception to assume so, all around the world —oversimplification is what people all around the earth love after all.
So let me correct myself —my point wasn't something to deal with colors but about the subtleties of correctness and wrongness!
There's evil in goodness and evilness in good, they both cannot exist without the existence of each other. It's contradictory, I know, but they make up the ecosystem of morality.
Nothing good is done while lacking deceitful intentions and nothing wrong is done without maintaining a set of principles. However, anything beyond these two isn't human-like.
I mean the extreme of either good or bad goes beyond the attributes of human nature —good's extreme is angelic and bad's extreme is devilish, neither of which is what we can call human.
Ultimately, the spectrum of human morality is gently mixed and can't be violently separated.
Malice does its best to survive so love can prevail because if there's no malice there'd be no concept of benevolence.
Take me for example —Johan described my hair as silver but that was only partially true. It was, but a mix of both light black and shining silver hair, therefore not purely silver. To make matters simpler, if I were given an animal to describe my hair color, it'd be a little bit similar to a black-winged kite, but not completely I warn you. There could be another person in this charmingly large world who could be a better fit for the title than me.
"Hey, that's off-topic, I was seriously listening to your philosophical musings, so please speak only related to the matter in discussion." Johan interrupted.
Hmm, saying 'Johan interrupted' or 'Johan said' is getting too monotonous now as he's directly sending messages to my head —so, enough with the dialogue tags.
Also, just so you know, I felt there was ambiguousness in Johan's description of mine, so I'd to correct it.
I dislike people apprehending me in a different way than what I expect them to do after all.
Moreover, I had no idea that people were barging into my thoughts without asking and listening to them. Attaining permission is super important.
Anyway, what I'm trying to get across is that if neither good nor bad existed, the world would be plain as crap. It would be so dull that even my life could be called Interstellar compared to it.
"Huh, that's it? Kinda obvious, don't you think?"
"Johan, everyone isn't open-minded like us, you know? Sometimes the obvious has to be stated, or people would start calling us controversial."
"...Hmm, I couldn't care less about people. Also, what do you mean by controversial —what are we in, some kind of a political cartoon?"
"Well... no. Nonetheless, what do you think we should choose? The stairs again or the escalator?"
While we remained positioned right in front of the mall, Frosty Appetite, we now had the freedom to make choices —a stark contrast to the past when I was denied any such liberty.
"You're the one who needs to choose not me; I'm going to float—so I don't want to be a part of your indecisive decisions."
"Let's go with the stairs then. Mentally, I'm pretty drained, but physically I feel absolutely fine."
"That's your decision? Seems stupid—but as expected of the ex-world's-best-basketball-player-aspirant and two times junior karate champion."
"Hmph, what I showed you was just the tip of the iceberg of my stamina, I will now show you my true athletic side!"
"I see... Do your best not to melt and run out of water then."
"Wait, humans melt?"
"Of course, they do, especially when they're icebergs."
"..."
Without replying, I ascended the stairs once again, while possessing precise knowledge of the number of stairs to climb. Aligning my stamina accordingly, I swiftly reached the top without a trace of exhaustion.
From here on, our destination was clear —Rude Café, the so-plain-it's-attractive café that was settled on the second floor of the gigantic —nay, ridiculously tall mall.
It looked perfect for people like me who wanted to escape, after all.
"Rude Café it is, huh?"
"Yes, of course, Johan."
He emanated an air of disinterest. It was probably because of the vibes of normalcy it gave off, I suppose. Young guys like him do appear to like more flashy kinds of stuff...
However, personally, I am attracted to more of plain places where there's a scarcity of human beings.
This time around, I rode the escalator once again—and Johan continued to float, yet he didn't fly off on his own accord. Good boy.
It took around a minute or so to reach the second floor, but unlike before it felt like time flew by much faster. I guess second-hand experiences are usually done in a hurry.
Surprisingly, I couldn't locate the exact location of the café itself—it wasn't common for my memories to play tricks on me. It was unquestionably a case that arose once in a blue moon.
"I'd like to scrutinize the indispensable amount of rudeness those guys of Rude Café possess."
"Indeed, as you must. If they turn out to be ruder than you, even just to some degree—you'd lose the significance of being the rude guy of this story."
"Ack —"
"Ah, it's there!" I point the café out. The position of the café has shifted a little further from the escalators—but I guess measuring the distance from different perspectives gives you different answers.
"Something doesn't feel right, I have a bad feeling about this, I don't want to go in there."
"It's too late to fall into an identity crisis at this point, Johan. Let's go!"
I was pretty excited to see the insides of the cafe—and the reason was reasonably simple, 'cause it had gone all in for the flashiness and rudeness and not all out like all other cafés and shops or so I thought.
No, that wasn't the case. They had neither gone all in nor all out, it was simply plain from the outside and within too. What more it had to offer aside from the old-fashioned chairs and delinquent-looking waiters was no customers. Not even a single one. Though its lack of customers was a plus point, actually.
Moreover, the lack of any over-the-top designs was excellent at being rude, despite being somewhat different from what I'd expected.
"Hey, look who we got here! A gloomy miss with a face that seemed like she'd make a separate new account on Twitter just to bully herself and play as the victim!"
Whoa! Way too specific and I definitely wouldn't do that.
It was an extremely rude profile that erupted as it gazed at me. Perhaps, now I understand why this café had no customers.
"What are ya looking at? Take a seat and order whatever ya want!" The rude waiter continued. He was oddly persuasive despite insulting me at first look. Oh, now I get it—he was in character!
It was the theme! No wonder there were no customers in this out-of-place themed café in this mall based on ice-creams.
"Ah, I guess I should help out a customerless café." I retorted with a minimum amount of rudeness. I too wanted to play along with the theme after all.
He didn't reply promptly—perhaps he hadn't expected my sharp tongue.
I knew it, these guys weren't well-trained in being rude consistently, they were just automated dolls who had little to no adaptability or resilience toward sudden developments.
I took the centermost table as sitting either near the exit or near the counter would just seem not rude enough. There already was a menu placed on my table so I didn't have the chance to interrupt the waiters' jobless job yet.
Looking at the menu surprised me a bit — why, you ask? Because there were no ridiculously long names on the menu like every other café that had managed to fall into my years through the chit-chats of my classmates, the menu only consisted of ridiculous names that I'd never come across before.
"DIY Hot Chocolate and Shut Up Latte? Like, what are we supposed to do, make our own coffee and shut our mouths? This place is super immersive in its themes of rudeness and not making sense." Shared Johan who took a seat right beside me.
"That's right but it still fails in being uninteresting. Anyway, since you, a VISION, can't eat food I'll order for myself."
"...Not that I care."
I hoped he had taken a seat right in front of me, making it effortless to gaze at his face as tantalize him, but he seemed indifferent to that idea as well.
Well, it wasn't like he could pull the chair and sit on it all by himself, so sitting near me wasn't totally illogical.
Anyway, trying to catch the waiter's attention, I rang the call bell placed on my table—which I thought was extremely unnecessary for such a small café but it was probably a part of the setup, of being rude.
"I was almost going to remind ya it's not a library and you're allowed to speak. Welp, now it won't be necessary. So? What does your good-for-nothing mouth demand?"
A different but tall waiter (not more than me) attends our table. His snarky attitude fits well with the perfect delinquent attire and a harsh face, he also looked barely any older than me —possibly this could be his part-time job.
He also appeared the rudest out of all the three waiters in this café and also the most efficient one, I think. I mean they have to send their best one after their instant initial defeat.
Moreover, his hair had a striking similarity to that of mine so much that he deserved the title "The Black-Winged Kite" much more than I did. He also looked a bit too similar to me, so much so that I doubt that he couldn't see VISIONs.
Anyway, it was time to order with rudeness.
"A 'Badass Hot Chocolate' and two 'made of sand, witches' are what we demand."
The 'we' here wasn't addressing me and Johan, but I referred to myself as the English royalty.
"...Huh, quite an obedient customer, ain't ya? Vermin all day have been avoiding callin' it with the hard-thought names, I think I like ya guts."
Hard thought my ass —you couldn't call a mix of random words hard thought. Wait, no, generally every name and every sentence is a mix of random words and letters, I suppose.
"What guts? I am no brave person."
"Ya got the guts of standing out, and I won't let ya downplay that!"
"Hmm, well I'd love to eat my food before any more chit-chats if you like that."
"You bet, I'll feed you the tastiest poison-lickin' good food!"
"ASAP, please," I emphasized. I simply couldn't maintain a prolonged conversation no matter what, it was too exhausting for the likes of me.
However, rude or not, his voice was persuasive and calmed my nerves —nope, he just removed the nerves from my hands, so that I couldn't feel the nervousness anymore.
"...Hmm, so a Badass Hot Chocolate and two made of sand, witches, and you, paler than Plaster of Paris guy? Not eating shit?" The long waiter pointed at the center of the table and said.
"Nah, I'm good— wait, why you're able to look at me!?" Johan shouted and breached the first rule of not communicating through anything other than telepathy.
A red flag, a death flag, and a flag of danger arose. He wasn't the rudeness I was expecting here—the rudeness of possessing the ability to see VISIONs.
My foreshadowing became reality. He indeed knew about VISIONs and could properly see them.
Oh no, this cannot be happening! This mustn't be allowed.
He probably looked at the wall and said those ridiculously rude things, right? I mean the wall was probably made out of Plaster of Paris, what a stupid joke, haha.
"Huh, where are ya looking at girl? It's a fact I'm joking by pretending there's a ghost on your face—wasn't this what ya wanted when you looked at the signboard of this café? So, don't get really paler than Plaster of Paris and enjoy the experience, ya know?" The waiter confronted me kindly, breaking the mystery behind the sudden developments.
Still, breaking out of character was a mistake —he could have been a bit ruder when he said that—these waiters seriously didn't have adaptability in their skill set.
"Oh, of course. I'm just getting bored of your ever-the-same rudeness that I zoned out," I said, rolling my eyes. I watched as the waiter took his leave, striding towards the door at the back of the cafe, seemingly unfazed by my not-so-firm riposte. My deception wasn't very well done this time.
Phew, I am saved.
"That scared the living shit out of me, not gonna lie. Unknown souls never said me 'bout such existences who could see VISIONs aside from you after all."
"Unknown souls should have talked to me rather than talking to a useless guy who could not even maintain a basic rule of not shutting your mouth."
"Well, it could not be helped."
"It could have been helped! He never pointed at you when he spoke, it was clearly your fault to fall for such a trap."
"..."
"Not replying anymore, huh? Coward."
Johan just stared at me after that—talk about embarrassing.
Still, his joke was quite specific—not just his, but the other waiter from before too. Perhaps they were some sort of psychopaths or just a psychic.
Though, for me, the latter seems more likely as there are really some supernaturals here.
One psychopath is a handful, I couldn't deal with three more disrupting my thoughts.
"Ay, what are you doing here, all alone? I thought you loved spending holidays in that house of yours which could be even called Antilia."
A superbly familiar voice echoed in the unfamiliar walls. It was, yes, the one and only—Pilo. The fifth psychopath.
Why the hell was this café suddenly turning into a hotspot for the most random people on this earth?
"I'd have loved to but I had to attend something very important," I said as I turned back.
My allegations turned out to be correct, the owner of the voice who was guilty of interrupting my date was Pilo—but the appearance I'd expected turned out to be something way different from my fantasy.
Her fashion sense was about as unpredictable as the lottery numbers. Once again, she flaunted that same unforeseeable ensemble —a plain black flared georgette midi dress, something so plain that I wouldn't have suspected Pilo having it in her arsenal. But it would be rude of me to say it wasn't elegant, far from it—she looked like she deserved the title "The Dark Maiden".
"...Hmm, is that something to do with treating me to three ice creams or something else related to getting beaten to death for not fulfilling a promise?" Pilo asked something that related to a nostalgic promise, which I think I first heard yesterday (or rather the day before).
Her funeralistic attire fits perfectly to the grave temperament she had held onto today —as expected of the drama club leader, the girl of a thousand faces. It looked like she'd come here to kill certain someone.
"Yeah, the former is true. I'd come all this way just for you, just to treat you to your petty ice creams."
"Very well, then, be ready to burn all the cash you got in that purse that could be called larger than a lighthouse!"
Um... the café isn't that expensive to burn all the cash in my purse for what the prices were displayed on the menu.
Well, that may be fine in its own way as I didn't want to be dragged around finding another expensive store. Also, don't mistake me for a stingy person, I'm willing to pay but I'm just too lazy to do it.
"Sure, order all you want!" I retaliated in a lukewarm tone.
Pilo took the seat right in front of me, where Johan was initially supposed to sit, and started scanning through the menu.
Weirdly, just when I felt the absence of some distinctive crude remarks in this already rude café, Johan was nowhere to be found.
"—Rei, let's run away from here. Now!" Johan barged into my thoughts as he flung out from the door which was right behind the counter as if he was kicked out.
That was the place I think they made the food or did something other than that —something malicious, perhaps.
"Let me drink the hot chocolate I ordered first!" I shrugged at Johan.
"Well, if you don't want to shrug your shoulders ever again, remain here. Your poison-lickin' good food is coming out good, I must say. Especially the poison part."
"Figuratively or literally?"
"Literally! It's more of a sleeping pill than a poison, though in the end you're gonna sleep—the difference is just you'd sleep for a lot less time. They're an evil organization who wants to capture and experiment on people who see things, VISIONs should be precise."
"Wait, what—"
"Petty details later, run away for now. Take Pilo too, or do you lack the amount of closeness to save her?"
"Of course not! Also, I refuse to believe the organization's aim to be that insignificantly trivial."
"Whatever you think, but run away!"
Hmm, I should perhaps overlook the breaching of the second rule as it was, considering the results, helpful this time. Perhaps, I must plan properly the next time, if my life remains that is.
"Oh, we've another person joining us? Should've said that earlier!"
The black-winged kite waiter came back faster than I'd anticipated—had he smelt the brewing of an escape plan, already? No way, not even Johan could do that! I've to escape right away.
"...Um, actually we are leaving," I replied—to which the waiter raised an eyebrow, no, actually both eyebrows. Was he already suspecting me?
"No, we aren't... You want to die?" Asked Pilo enchanted deep in her character. This is not the time to joke, Pilo.
"This is not the time to joke, Pilo," I approached her with a quick, hushed utterance.
"Evil or not, ya hafta pay us for the already done food we made with incredible malice and love!" Or so announced the rude waiter, his and this café's evilness.
This wasn't the theme of the café but despite my thinking, they really turned out to be the antagonists of this story.
Evil, wicked, villainous. I refused to believe such a two-dimensional aspect but my life was in danger. And not just mine, but Pilo's too who had heard the villainous-announcement.
I'm done for. No, we're done for if we don't escape.
"Ruuuuuun nowwww!" Yelled Johan whose words echoed all over my brain.
It was impossible to maintain my composure—and it wasn't because I couldn't, rather Johan's words gave a fake alarm to my nervous system, causing an adrenaline rush.
I twisted my body to a one-eighty just to see two of the waiters protecting my back, just to kidnap me. How audaciously stupid.
"..."
So, the exit was just a hop, skip, and two small tables away. But hey, trying to escape through that with Pilo? And, honestly, that wasn't even a part of the problem.
Let's not even mention running in this maxi skirt. Seriously, who knew being a fashion statement would become such a big hurdle?
Anyway, I would have to do it —despite the implications or restrictions.
My individuality and Pilo's life were on the line after all.
"Run through them!" Uttered Johan.
Yes, running through was the only option —that was the most anticlimactic yet the most efficient escape method.
Pilo had also become completely cooperative by remaining silent, so it wouldn't be a problem despite her being a deadweight.
Oh, yeah — this was part of our escape drill, which we'd gone through countless times —in middle school, elementary school, and even before that.
The thing was that she'd remain silent and I'd save her like the princess of her dreams, or so she said a little more than a million times.
Though I couldn't certainly 'princess carry' her, at this moment —I could assuredly drag her around by her hand for the escape.
So, I grabbed her by hand, without even looking back at her as it was unnecessary. After all, I could feel her soft hands, I'd etched it into the brains of my fingers (that's a lie).
I simply didn't have time to spare.
"Braze for impact!" I muttered harshly, addressing Pilo.
"Braze for impact?" Questioned one of the waiters who was guarding the exit. Hmm, they have good hearing skills for nobodies —as expected of waiters, rude on top of that.
I'm quite sure that they haven't conducted a comprehensive investigation on me. Otherwise, they wouldn't have dispatched such riff-raffs to apprehend the athlete.
Ignoring them, I took a huge leap grabbing Pilo's hand, knowing it must be painful for her—but she had to deal with it.
I dashed through them with sheer force over to the opposite corner of the second floor, finding a spot where it seemed like there weren't any people around, just to lay low and not make a scene—seriously, I'd completely despise it if I ended up doing that again.
Also, those two bodyguards, I mean, waiters who tried to stop us with their best acted like nothing more than a flimsy paper wall, though the story could have vastly steered off in a different direction if the "Black-Winged Kite" guy had been there.
He looked pretty sturdy I must say but not enough to stop me all by himself. Only if they had displayed a hint of cooperation and coordination like us, this story would have reached its conclusion right there.
What-ifs aside, we were swiftly able to escape. Me, Johan, and the Black-Winged Kite guy!?
After creating a massive distance between us and the café, and reaching a certain unusual point in the mall where there were almost no people, I found myself out-and-out shocked. I had made a blunder —but not large enough to make things unfavorable, I guess.
I had left Pilo all alone in that devious café... True, but we had a hostage in our possession. I ended up capturing the enemy, so a hostage exchange certainly wouldn't be off the table for discussion.
Well, I suppose I could exclude the 'saving part' from my immediate to-do list. Pilo seems perfectly capable of stalling the situation at the café for a while... She's aptly skilled and equipped to perform that sort of thing.
(Maybe I should give her a call sometime later.)
First comes information extortion—a blind attack is as good as jumping in a fire pit at the end of the day. Ultimately, I'll need to extract every bit of information from this POW I've unintentionally captured.
Nevertheless, I am astonished at the fact that I had mistaken a beautiful goth girl (at least for today) for a handsome waiter. My carelessness was certainly in the composition, but it wasn't the only element present in the song. Something was wrong, something was different, something was unconventional.
I looked again at the captured prisoner of war to find out exactly why.
"Ah—"
Yes, my voice went through premature death this time again. Why, you ask?
It was because, in a flash of a careful assessment, I understood why I confused this waiter's delicate hands with Pilo's.
Nope, it wasn't because the waiter was a body-transforming alien who could change its hand's anatomy as it pleases—rather the waiter was a waitress. No, it'd be impolite to call the waiter a waitress, because she was in disguise, she was cosplaying.
A woman cosplaying as a waiter and not a waitress.
Why was I so sure of it? Because the cosplay had partially leaked out its presence. It was an alluring cosplay I agree, but it wasn't successful in containing the lavishing hairs of the waiter in disguise—they had probably burst out when we ran at a high very high speed.
"Don't ya dare stare at me for too long or you'll fall in love!" She exclaimed. Her height too was artificial as she'd worn heels, which had gone unnoticed by me.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't fall in love with anyone except for myself."
Bold of the waiter in disguise to assume that the most mysteriously beautiful-looking girl in a ten-mile radius (myself obviously) would fall in love for a sudden revelation of a surprise.
"Quite a narcissistic girl, ain't you? When I took over ya case and read the reports on ya, I couldn't believe this level of narcissism existed around this corner of the world, but you're proving me wrong with every sentence ya say."
The waiter's rudeness still sustains despite being displaced from the rude café and captured as a POW.
"Reports!? What am I—a target of an underground super-intelligent and devious organization?"
"Yeah, ya assuredly are." The captured waiter announced with a devious smile. How scary!
I still hadn't released her from my clutches. I was catching her hand firmly so that she couldn't run away but her creepy cold smile almost made me leave her out of my possession.
"A-Anyway, it's self-love and not narcissism."
"What are ya... Some kind of a self-proclaimed psychiatrist? Don't go on label yo'self as a self-lover, ya know? Disgusts me, to be honest!"
No one has called me disgusting to my face in the last sixteen years—she was certainly a waiter from the Rude Café.
Moreover, insulting me of all people isn't a good choice.
"Definitely not... I can say from experience." Muttered Johan.
Why are we back to a non-telepathic communication basis? Seriously, why? I can't differentiate my delusions and real-life interactions anymore if we do that.
"Come now, I am not your delusion and you know that pretty well, right?" Said Johan once more with a resistant tone.
"I'd certainly disagree. There's no clear-cut distinction between narcissism and self-love—they're nothing more than a string of consonants and vowels." I replied firmly addressing the waiter and ignoring Johan's retort. "Especially, when you're isolated in the depths of the society where everything except normal is rejected. You should've read reports of me, haven't you —you should know it very well then."
"Aha, that's a matter of discussion I won't like to indulge in! That stuff's pretty confidential, ya know? But ya may be right to some extent, mostly 'bout the isolation part."
"So, why does your organization know about VISIONs?"
Her face responded with a momentary grim expression — grimmer than Pilo's outfit. But as you'd expect from such a rude waiter, she quickly reverted her character back to the usual.
"We don't know 'bout them, we just control them —even without being able to look at them. That's only reserved for ya." The waiter announced trying to be a bit emotional, you could say.
So, I could let their organization survive. Hmm... Turned out to be quite anticlimactic.
"W-What were you gonna do if they possessed the ability to see VISIONs, see us?" Interrupted Johan.
"What else... Exterminate them, of course. Only I deserve to look at them, Johan! I'd go through an identity crisis just like how you did a few minutes ago." I shot back telepathically.
Our conversation had become speech-to-telepathy and vice versa. It felt as if I were drowning in a muddle, but it was nothing compared to the situation we found ourselves in—it was more like a predicament of confusion.
"Seriously identity crisis? What about controlling us? We VISIONs aren't really thrilled about being bullied or manipulated too."
"Those puny things could be taken care of in the after story..."
"Don't act like we're gonna have a sequel!"
"...So? How do you not know them and still control them? That's a kind of contradiction that even I wouldn't make!" I asked the waiter in confinement, ignoring Johan's ridiculous statement, once again.
"Yes, it's ya—or more specifically yer diaries. Our lackeys broke into yer house a bunch of times and took copies of them, every single page. We also took into consideration yer mental health of those particular days, trying to decode any possible hidden messages."
"..."
What kind of nonsensical organization steals the high schooler's private information like that?
"Don't worry, we only let the female staff into yer room."
"At that point, you might as well have set up your headquarters in my room instead."
"Haha, ya say some interesting stuff. We may even consider doing that!"
"Please don't... I may use unethical means to stop any further invasion of privacy."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" The waiter uncontrollably burst out laughing— she wasn't trying to draw attention, but it was a genuine laugh aimed at me.
I feel like having déjà vu—probably some sort of trauma that's buried deep had a resemblance to this.
"W-Who are you supposed to be anyway?" Interrupting her laughter, I asked a question on a topic I was quite curious about. It was only more than fair to ask a person who'd stolen your entire life's data their name.
"Me... I'm not supposed to reveal it right now but fine." Puffing her chest, she announced. "I am nothing but the leader of Sixty-One, Grey —the surname's a secret."
No one wanted to know it anyway. But how generic, I could have predicted that name from a mile away. Presumably, her parents were of the straightforward type—or they just couldn't think of anything except 'Grey'.
"...Sixty-One? That's more interesting than your identity, tell me more about it."
"Huh, no? Why must I? I've got a much higher position than ya."
"Not now... You're nothing but a prisoner of war—you're under my constraints so you're liable to speak. Or the grip will only get stronger—which I guess would be too much for a sixteen-year-old."
"H-How did ya know!? No way in hell it was a random shot in the air!"
"I've got the superpower to guess people's age just by catching their hands. It's a special secret."
"B-But there was nothing of such sort written in your diaries."
"Of course, I do not write down things which I would never forget—because it's stupid."
Her eyes expanded in disbelief, so much that they almost seemed to pop out. Oh, how the tables have turned.
"...I thought a person like ya would write down all the fortunes and misfortunes — wording out frustrations as a tool to escape from the world."
That's not a healthy line of thought when dealing with me, yet it's accurate. I have done that, and still am, and I can't say for the future.
But not everything... Not everything really.
"I see, then, continue speaking please." My grip tightened, attempting to force out information and whatever an organization led by a girl of the same age was trying to do.
"Ouch! Don't do that, will ya? I'll speak, I'll—Just loosen the grip."
"..."
Without giving a reply, I simply stared at her eyes which reeked of guilt and begged mercy. For a moment, I noticed a drop of water in the ever-so-confident waiter's eyes, but she quickly countered with a firm response.
"Okay, alright... So, our organization was built by my parents more than a decade ago, with its foundation centered around Rei Sturluson—as you know, is you—and the disruptions in earth's magnetic fields which were instigated by VISIONs." Her voice maintained its usual mix of friendliness and rudeness, but such an unanticipated announcement wasn't something I had trusted she would say—far from it. An organization based on me? You gotta be joking, right?
"That sore expression calls for a detailed explanation, am I right? So, listen with great attention, to the sixteen solemn years of Rei—and the weight it holds for our organization. You too Johan, after all, even if I can't see you right now, our organization is responsible for your death after all."
The evil organization was finally making its secrets accessible to the public...Why wouldn't I hear with the greatest attention? They had killed my date and my privacy too.
"I am all ears, speak leaving no stones unturned!"