Arcadia Chapter 3.4

“I told you I’m not mad.”

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t like you?”

“You won’t betray me, right?”

“Never.”

Van patted the boy’s shoulder and, as always, replied with empty words completely devoid of substance. No, let me correct that. A little bit, just a speck, was sincere.

He had brushed it off to Wayne by saying it was all about the money, but thinking about it carefully… he wasn’t so sure. If money was the only goal, was there a need to suggest a walk to Dia? Was there a need to feel disappointed that he was always looking at books? Was there a need to worry that he wasn’t eating well?

…There wasn’t.

It hurt his pride immensely, but Van had to admit that his fickle heart had tilted slightly toward Dia. They say the bond of raising a child is stronger than the bond of birth. He felt embarrassed by the inner wish that the remaining time would pass slowly.

Returning to his routine, Van fed Dia an early dinner and then handed him a fully charged laptop. When he played a children’s animation about cute animal friends going on an adventure, the boy’s expression changed subtly. Van smiled and pinched his pale cheek.

“I guess you’re too grown up to watch things like this?”

“…No. But I think it would be better if we watched it together.”

Dia, still bothered by the rabbit incident, acted cute while checking Van’s reaction. Van wanted to pretend he didn’t notice and let it slide, but today he had a prior engagement with that damn bastard. He bantered that he was a busy man and it would be a bit difficult, then slipped out of the room. Van ran a hand through his messy hair, thought for a moment, and then headed to the bathroom. It wouldn’t be polite to go without washing up.

After soothing and begging Dia, who had been properly shocked as soon as he announced he was going out, Van received permission to attend the dinner and, with an exhausted look, rang the doorbell of the red brick house. Wayne, who opened the door, scanned Van’s casual appearance, which was hardly appropriate for someone coming to dinner.

Van, who had roughly swept back his still-damp hair with his hands, was wearing sweatpants and slippers and had brought the very same wine that Wayne had gifted him when he moved in. Noticing the gaze on his hand, Van grinned and held up the wine.

“A gift.”

Van swayed the dark red bottle playfully and passed it over. Wayne, who had now been handed a wine bottle after the rabbit, let out a hollow laugh at the back of Van’s head as he brushed past his shoulder and entered, then closed the door.

“What’s with this house?”

Van clicked his tongue as he looked around the interior of the house. He only knew that it had been an empty house; he had never been inside before, so it was both strange and bewildering.

His negative impression began with all the windows being covered by thick curtains. Although there was a line of small windows high up, it didn’t seem like much light would come in because of the curtains. The chandelier installed as lighting was so dim that it felt like his eyesight was deteriorating in real time.

There was hardly any furniture either. In the spacious area that he debated whether to call a living room or not, there was one old dining table, and cutlery was neatly arranged on it, suggesting that the invitation to dinner was genuine. To put it nicely, the atmosphere was peculiar; to be honest, it was like an abandoned house. Or a ghost house where ghosts appeared.

Let’s put the spooky interior aside. Van, who spotted a candlestick with a small, flickering flame standing tall in the center of the table, scoffed. A candlestick. In a world where you could buy all sorts of lighting just by going online, it was quite classic.

“Can I say you’re putting on airs?”

He asked, pointing at the candlestick, and Wayne shrugged and headed to the dark kitchen.

“Didn’t have time to change the lightbulb. Have a seat.”

“Acting busy when you have nothing to do.”

Van pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes widening as he faced the table. Just how grand of a meal had he prepared for there to be so much cutlery? He picked up two forks of different sizes and turned them over, pulling his chair closer. A plaid-printed tablecloth came down to his thighs. Van, who disliked cumbersome things, was about to fold the tablecloth but stopped.

He frowned and unfolded the slightly folded tablecloth again. He lifted the corner and brought it close to the candlestick, and a dark stain caught his eye. The brown stain, which looked like a not-entirely-watery liquid had been splattered, was dried hard. It looked just like a bloodstain.

Van put the tablecloth down and held up the cutlery on the table to the light. It was unlikely that a wandering mercenary would carry around a set of tableware, so he must have bought it new when he moved in, but the forks, knives, spoons, and even the plates all showed signs of use.

If Michel’s side had prepared the house next door from the start, he could understand to some extent, but would there be this much wear and tear from living alone, and for such a short time at that?

He was holding the cutlery on the opposite side up to the light when he spotted Wayne coming out with food and cleanly dropped his hands. Van, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, opened his mouth casually.

“Did you kill someone here?”

“What?”

“The atmosphere is disgustingly gloomy. It’s creepy.”

Wayne shook his head as if he had heard something absurd and placed a plate in front of Van. Van, who had thrown out a vague question that was somewhere between suspicion and nitpicking, saw the food on the plate and laughed in annoyance.

“This is dinner?”

“An appetizer.”

Wayne, who had served a lump that was barely the size of two knuckles, let alone a fist, smiled innocently. Van, who was not entirely inexperienced with course meals, didn’t beat around the bush and gave his direct impression.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“I was trying to set a mood.”

Wayne, who retorted without missing a beat, poured the wine he had been given as a gift and had returned as a gift into a glass. As he watched the wine, as dark red as the bottle, pool in the transparent glass, Van poked the unidentified lump with his fork.

“Trying to get me drunk because you’re not confident?”

“It’s not that I’m not confident.”

“Stop with the games. I’m not drinking.”

Beer, maybe, but wine didn’t really appeal to him. He pushed the wine glass away with the back of his hand and put a heaping spoonful of the lump in his mouth. It tasted like shrimp. It was surprisingly edible, but it was still just a mouthful. Wayne, who had set down the wine bottle, said, “I knew it,” and headed to the kitchen.

As if he had already prepared all the dishes, the man came out with plates tucked under both arms like a skilled waiter. From soup and bread to the main dish and dessert, the table was packed, and now it looked like a satisfying banquet. Even if the food was cooked by a person he didn’t want to share a table with, pride couldn’t overcome hunger.

Van savored the white fish, which he hadn’t eaten since returning to his hometown, filleting it deliciously. Having eaten nothing but instant food, the carefully prepared meal delighted his tongue. Wayne watched Van, who had thrown table manners to the wind and was scooping up fish with a teaspoon, and took a sip of wine. When Van was about halfway through the main course, he spoke first.

“How do you know Michel?”

Wayne, who, like Dia with his poor eating habits, had only eaten a few bites, poked at his salad and asked.

“Do you know what Michel does?”

“Research. A scientist. Research….”

Van, who had answered confidently, soon trailed off and turned his gaze to his plate. He only knew that Michel was a scientist; he didn’t know exactly what he did. It was truly a family with zero interest in each other. Wayne glanced at Van, who was rolling his eyes and looking into the distance, as if he were pathetic, then rested his chin on his hand and began to seriously demolish the salad. He threw out a ridiculous question while tearing the vegetables with the dull tines of his fork.

“Do you think there’s life outside of Earth?”

Van, who was digging into the chocolate cake served for dessert, let out a snort with the fork still in his mouth. A man over thirty talking about aliens. A story that wouldn’t even make a passing dog laugh.

“Aliens? You believe in that stuff? Like a kid?”

“Then what do you think the thing you raised is?”

Van, who had just blurted it out, swept up in the desire to nitpick, was at a loss for words. He hesitated, then took another bite of the surprisingly delicious cake and mumbled.

“Just, well…. How would I know? I don’t.”

He rolled his eyes and feigned ignorance. Suddenly, he remembered his first meeting with Dia, which he had completely forgotten: the small container from which tentacles had sprouted uncontrollably, and the cell within it. His fork slowed. He hadn’t forgotten that Dia wasn’t human, but he had never thought about it deeply. There was no need to, either.

Van rinsed his mouth with water and gestured with his chin as if to say, “Keep talking.” He intended to quietly listen to Wayne’s bullshit for now. Wayne, who had finally torn the salad to shreds, tapped the plate with the tines of his fork and began to speak.

“So what if they’re already on Earth….”

What do you think of that?

Wayne, who finished his question and met his gaze directly, had an unreadable expression. Since he didn’t have a smiling face to begin with, there was no way to know if he was being serious or joking. Van shrugged his shoulders to convey that he didn’t understand the meaning of the question, and Wayne began his story as if he had expected it.

“As you know, a long time ago… a closed research facility was discovered near the Arctic Ocean. It was in a location that would never have been found without coincidence and a bit of luck. And they stole it. The cell.”

Wayne paused his story for a moment, then corrected himself. “Ah. They brought it with them.”

“Under government support, they began research in top secret. For the first five years, there was no news. It was a time when everyone was launching spaceships, so the costs were piling up and public interest was waning. Just when everyone was scared that this might be nothing, the first specimen was born.”

Wayne, who had switched his target from the salad to the fish, revealed the absurd truth while butchering the fish fillet. According to Wayne, the story so far was this.

On this vast land of America, fewer than five superiors knew the truth of that research. And since three of them were dead, the number of people who currently shared the secret was extremely small.

The small research lab, conducted under government lead without a single clue being exposed to the media, attracted massive funding as soon as the first specimen hatched. The researchers, located in an area beyond the surveillance of satellites, taught the human-like beings Earth’s common sense, culture, and language, and tried to find out why they had come here.

Unfortunately, the luck didn’t last long. An accident occurred where part of the research facility exploded just before the fifth specimen was hatched. And it was the most important part, the archives where the documents were stored. Setting aside the despair of the researchers, who had written all their records by hand since it was a top-secret study, they had no choice but to evacuate immediately. With the two cells whose value, if quantified, would be more than enough to buy a country.

“Was it terrorism, or what? Who? Why.”

Van, who had leaned his upper body toward Wayne at some point, asked again with clear interest. The story was so absurd that it felt like he was listening to a movie plot. Since it felt like a complete stranger’s business, Van tried to guess the culprit and narrowed down the likely candidates. Wayne, who glanced at Van, who was clearly imagining something like the KGB, finally smiled playfully and revealed the culprit.

“I told you. They’re already on Earth.”

Van thought hard about Wayne’s answer and then narrowed his eyes. A strange hypothesis emerged.

“So what you’re saying is… before Dia was discovered, a group of, what, aliens had already arrived? And they blew up the research facility?”

“You understand? I didn’t think you would.”

“I’m not that stupid.”

Who does he think I am, a rock? Van shot him an irritated look, drank some lukewarm water, and tried to organize the information he had gotten from Wayne.

Dia is an alien. A precious alien whose value is high enough to buy a country and still have some left over. He already knew about the value of Dia’s existence. However, the fact that more than one group was involved in the job Michel had entrusted to him was unexpected. Mulling over the information Wayne had given him, he found that it was fraught with dangers that were frightening enough to make him shudder. The government, other aliens, an explosion operation…. Van drank the rest of the water to wet his parched mouth and wiped his wet lips.

Let’s set aside the complicated information. Getting scared wouldn’t change anything. Now that he was in deep, dwelling on it would only give him a headache. Alien or not, all he had to do was finish the mission and get the money.

Van, who had come to a cheerful conclusion, was about to clear the empty plates but withdrew his hand. It was Wayne’s house, after all; there was no need to help him clean up.

Wayne, wiping his hands, scanned Van, who was showing signs of leaving. There was no trace of surprise or contemplation, but that was just like him. The impression of the man, whose dry hair had fallen in strands onto his forehead during the meal, was similar to his first impression.

A rather attractive man. His well-proportioned frame with just the right amount of muscle was no different from being skinny by Wayne’s standards, but it harmonized well with his strange impression. His facial features, which made it difficult to guess his age, had a subtly lewd side to them, resembling his utterly frivolous views on relationships. Wayne looked at Van’s slightly drooping eyes and asked in a flat tone.

“Want to stay the night?”

Van, who had placed his crumpled napkin on the table, glanced at Wayne, who was clearing the dishes. He didn’t know why he had to beat around the bush.

“Why not just say it outright?”

“Want to have sex?”

“You’re not my type.”