The light shyly seeped through the modern window, as if hesitant to wake the sleeping plants lined up with precise regularity. If you tried to measure the distance between the plants, you wouldn't find an inch more or less.
The same precision extended to the desk—pens stood upright like buildings, and papers resembled playgrounds. The perfect geometry, coupled with the tranquility floating in the room, was something soothing to the nerves.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and in stepped the Scum with a face as expressionless as a statue. Who else would have such an excessively organized room?
Let me clarify one thing: there is no Scum in this story other than null. Well, let's get back to the topic.
The moment he entered, he walked straight toward the flowers.
Suddenly, the statue-like face shifted, forming a complex terrain of emotions. He grabbed one of the plants and crushed it against the floor. And as if that wasn't enough, he moved from one plant to another, leaving them all in the same pitiful state. When he was done, his focus shifted to the desk. With a single sweeping motion, like a hurricane, the immaculate geometry was obliterated. The tranquil room now resembled a city ravaged by an apocalypse.
A natural response, given that I had sent him back to his desk empty-handed and humiliated. I had even toyed with the investigative office and tarnished his reputation, making them look like children before the entire kingdom.
At least, that's what I hoped he would do.
But he had a self-control so strong that, instead of the chaos I envisioned, he simply approached one of the plants, picked up a glass, and began watering it, his expression unchanged.
I can't forget when one of the instructors asked him about emotions, and his response was:
"If I let my emotions out even once, they may never return."
I can't explain how every girl who heard him turned their eyes into big, gleaming hearts.
Knock, knock.
"Come in."
His voice betrayed no hint of trembling or anger, yet you could sense that something wasn't quite right. A staff member entered, visibly nervous.
"Sir, the Chief requests a meeting with you."
"I'm coming."
Finally, he stopped, placed the glass down, and left the room, heading toward the Chief's office without realizing that, lost in thought, he had overwatered the plant.
On his way down the corridor, you could see men in suits greeting him, and the moment he passed, they started gossiping.
Naturally, none of their whispers escaped his sharp hearing.
"I can't believe the Deputy Chief lost to him."
"Were we overestimating his abilities?"
"I told you he wasn't cut out for this kind of task."
"Don't talk nonsense. No one really knows the nature of the mission."
"I don't know, but the only thing I'm certain of is that wrecking the office wasn't part of the plan."
He continued walking, hearing his colleagues ridicule him. How could they not, now that they finally had a chance to pounce on him?
To reach this position, he had to dig pits for them, flatter their superiors, and sometimes even make their missions blow up in their faces. Many were fired because of him—or worse, met untimely ends. The moment they got the chance, they were ready to tear him apart.
He had achieved so much, earning him the rank of the second most powerful man in the Investigative office. All they could do now was gossip, waiting for the moment he'd fall so they could feast on his downfall.
Knock, knock.
"Come in."
The voice was rough and aged, with a grittiness that felt like dust being thrown in your face just from hearing it.
He entered and bowed his head respectfully to the old man seated behind the desk.
"Mr. Chief."
Reclining lazily, with his head resting against the back of his chair as though it were a pillow, and his eyes shut from sheer indifference, the man raised a single finger as a form of acknowledgment.
That arrogance, that haughtiness—it was blown away in an instant. Now, he stood before his superior like a soaked kitten, hands clasped together as he waited for the old man to speak.
"You will appear in a press conference to clarify that this was a conspiracy by the kingdom's enemies to dismantle our unity."
"As you command, sir."
I was amazed he didn't argue. Not out of a sensible acceptance of defeat, but because of his rationality.
What's done is done, and what must be done must be done—resistance would yield nothing.
The old man opened his eyes, adjusted his posture, and looked directly at him. There was no anger in his gaze, though perhaps a hint of disappointment.
"Sit."
Seconds passed, yet null didn't comply with the command.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
He finally sat, lowering his gaze to the floor.
"What happened?"
"I'll submit a report to the Chief."
"Put your report in your drawer after you write it. I'm asking you what happened."
"It doesn't fit, sir."
"Why?"
He took his time responding, as if carefully considering what to say. Yet no matter how long he waited, no words came out of his mouth.
"He's unsuitable."
"Unsuitable, or you don't want him to be suitable?"
The old man's retort left him flustered. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't find a fitting or convincing response. It seemed I had short-circuited his brain.
"What's going on with you?"
"Nothing, sir."
The old man took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on null.
"From the moment you received his file—from the moment you read his name—you've been acting differently."
Once again, null found himself unable to respond, prompting the old man's eyes to narrow as a bone-chilling sound escaped his throat.
"Could it be that you had a prior connection with him?"
"No."
Unlike his earlier, delayed responses, this denial came swiftly, causing the old man's features to relax slightly.
"Then stop your daydreaming and answer my questions properly."
This time, he forced himself to meet the old man's eyes, trying to clear his head.
"He's clever and ruthless. He doesn't seem to have a problem doing anything, no matter how vile or disgraceful."
"Who said we want someone stupid or highly moral?"
"He's unpredictable by nature. He'll only cause problems."
"Because you couldn't anticipate his actions—is that your excuse?"
Finally, the statue-like face showed a flicker of struggle. He was genuinely trying to come up with something to argue with.
"Undisciplined, with a rebellious nature."
The old man could no longer bear it. He raised his voice, shaking the entire desk.
"Don't speak as if you don't know what he's going to be tasked with!"
As if that wasn't enough, he slammed the file on the desk.
Boom.
Null picked up the file. The more he read, the harder it became for him to contain his anger.
"They requested weapon licensing paperwork. Their weapons weren't licensed."
"I want all the licenses in his possession by tomorrow morning. Do you understand me?"
He closed the file and stood up from his chair.
"At your command, sir."
"It's not a shame to lose. The shame is letting the loss consume you. Do you understand me?"
"Of course, sir. May I be excused?"
After receiving permission, he moved toward the door but suddenly stopped and turned back.
"In the investigative file, it was mentioned that he has more than one wife."
As he spoke, the old man leaned back into his relaxed position on the chair.
"So what?"
"If possible, could we…"
He hesitated, clearly unsure whether to proceed, but he pushed forward nonetheless.
"Could we request His Majesty to…"
Before he could finish, the mere mention of "His Majesty" made the old man jolt out of his chair, his eyebrows knitting together to create a web of wrinkles that made his face look even uglier.
"Have you lost your mind or what?"
Null quickly bowed to absorb his anger.
"I'm sorry. It was just a suggestion."
The old man raised his voice even further.
"The file is presented to His Majesty twice: the first time was when we got the green light, and the second will be when His Majesty makes the decision!"
Null kept apologizing with his cold expression intact.
"Sorry. Sorry."
"What is the purpose of your existence? Have you lost your mind? Do you want His Majesty to do your work for you?"
The old man continued throwing his fiery words at him. Apparently, these outbursts had become a common occurrence. Null didn't even bother waiting for him to calm down.
He left the room, still muttering apologies, and even after he was gone, the old man's shouting followed him down the hall. Unfazed, he returned to his own room.
Of course, I hear some smart alecks asking, How do you know all this when you weren't even there?
My answer: shut fuck up.
Who am I? The one who knows everything. Obviously, I'd know. From my name, idiot. Anyway.
After that Scum appeared on TV and dropped the bombshell on my head, I asked Hank about my wives. But he didn't know anything. I ordered him to dig into the documents, but it was useless.
What makes it stranger is that their identities and number are not disclosed. In fact, they're protected by the protection Law.
This means that even if I personally requested the government for information, they'd refuse—not because they don't want to help, but because they don't know either.
If I wanted to find out, the King himself would have to order the court to command the Chief of the Treasury of Information to unlock the vault and dive into the records to retrieve my data.
Yes, all that complexity just to break the protection Law.
That's how obsessed the kingdom is with preserving personal information.
Boom.
I slapped the file onto my desk, seething with anger.
"I can't believe I can't find out the simplest thing about myself."
I looked at Hank, standing in front of me.
"Is there any way to find out anything?"
"Sir, the only two entities authorized to override the protection Law are the King and the court. There is a way, but it could cause problems."
I interrupted him, too irritated to hear him out.
"Just say it."
"Inform the court that you're experiencing a type of memory loss. After that, they will—"
"No."
No hesitation. If anyone found out, I'd lose control over everything.
The protection Law is designed to protect your personal data, preventing any party, no matter who they are, from accessing or sharing it—except the court, and only for logical reasons like high treason.
The King, on the other hand, can access any information he wants, whenever he wants, without explanation. And no one complains about it.
The court may not disclose to the public the reasons behind my request to access my information, but that doesn't mean they wouldn't announce that they granted me permission. And that alone would be enough to spark rumors.
I mean, why would someone request access to their personal information? Did they lose their memory?
I sat down and lit a cigarette. It's better to burn tobacco than to burn my nerves—though, of course, my health is weeping in the corner.
"What about Amy's identity?"
"It'll be ready in about ten minutes, sir."
"Good,very good."
I stood, a cigar in my mouth, a smirk spreading across my face.
"Let's go visit the lovely Amy and ask about her well-being. Does she need anything? Is she grateful for her stay here?"
Without delay, Hank and I headed to the underground prison. A few steps, and we reached her cell.
Waiting for me at the cell door were Azaria and Dexter.
I quickly glanced at beautiful Amy.
Damn it!
Where is she?
Who's this?
***********my turn***********
Author: "Emiric my Dear, I have important information for you."
Emiric: "What?"
Author: "I know who your wives are, haha."
Emiric: "It's okay. You're like a brother to me. You're not a stranger, man."
Author: "I'm now your brother? So take this."
Emiric: "Give it to me."
Author: "The King can know your wives unlike you. I mean, what kind of husband are you?"
Emiric: "The rich and mysterious kind, obviously. Next question?"
Author: "Oh, so mysterious you don't even know your own family? That's a whole new level."
Emiric: "Better mysterious than nosy, don't you think? Speaking of which, why are you so curious about my wives?"
Author: "Curious? Nah, I just enjoy watching you squirm. It's like my daily cardio."
Emiric: "Well, congratulations. You're clearly in top shape. Now, fuck off."
Author: "On the subject of 'fuck,' you've got wives and haven't done anything about it yet. "
Emiric: "Get to the point son of a bitch.""
Author: "Brotherhood fades quickly, alright, let's get to the point, your wives could be anywhere. Maybe in the kingdom. Maybe not. Maybe they're plotting a secret tea party to overthrow you."
Emiric: "Tea parties are dangerous; I'll alert the guards."
Author: "Ha! Imagine if the King attends. He probably knows their favorite flavors."
Emiric: "Oh, I'm sure he does. And he'll probably send me a list with recommendations just to rub it in."
Author: "You should ask him for tips on being a husband. Clearly, you need them."
Emiric: "Thanks, brother. When I do, I'll be sure to mention how much you idolize him."
Author: "Idolize? Me? I just appreciate efficient monarchy."
Emiric: "And I appreciate efficient silence. Shall we test it now?"
Author: "Oof, someone's touchy. Fine, fine. I'll drop it… for now."