A Thrilling Guide Life Chapter 2

The entrance to Zone 4 was so packed with reporters and every kind of vehicle that there was hardly any space to set foot.

Officially, it belonged to Zone 3, but the area right up against the entrance of Zone 4 was commonly called “Zone 3.5.”

It was literally an empty wasteland.

From the Zone 3 boundary—where identity checks were required—to this spot took about ten minutes by car, and the entire stretch in between was nothing but barren land like this.

Only drivers and brokers who ferried people in and out of Zone 4, along with their vehicles, ever passed through here.

Accident response teams made up of police, paramedics, and Responders were also arriving one after another and entering Zone 4.

It was genuinely unprecedented for this much public authority to be poured into Zone 4.

The government had never once officially acknowledged it, but every citizen knew.

Zone 4 was the place even the government had given up on.

A place they didn’t even consider part of the land they were supposed to manage; a place completely excluded from every social system.

It was a lawless zone.

A place where law, ethics, morality, and common sense did not apply, and every kind of pleasure and crime was generously tolerated.

There was even a half-serious, well-grounded joke that thanks to Zone 4, the crime rates in Zones 1, 2, and 3 had dropped dramatically.

Things that would land you in prison if done in Zones 1–3 were completely free of legal consequences once you stepped into Zone 4—so of course the numbers went down.

A filthy, stinking, hideous, horrific garbage dump filled with waste—that was exactly how the place was treated.

Yet for the people who actually lived and had roots in Zone 4, it was also a place they must never carelessly leave.

Like prisoners inside a prison.

Amid the chaos in front of Zone 4, Ivan’s complexion was turning visibly paler in real time.

Of course, only Simon seemed to notice; to everyone else, he just looked like a model-like man standing there radiating a fierce, intimidating aura.

The eyes of the swarm of reporters tenaciously followed Ivan wherever he went. Camera flashes went off without pause.

Because Ivan rarely appeared in public, the reporters seized the moment and madly pressed their camera shutters. 

No matter the angle or lighting, that stunning subject was guaranteed to produce satisfying shots.

Of course, his heterochromia—those odd eyes that were the one slight flaw in his otherwise perfect appearance—was bound to become a topic of discussion again after so long.

“Is it true that Sergei Esper went on a rampage here? Are the wave analysis results reliable?!”

“Mr. Freud! What is Moribel’s official position on this?!”

“Why didn’t you actively search for Sergei Esper during the time he was missing? If you had, couldn’t this incident have been prevented?!”

“Please give us specific details about the compensation plan for damages in Zone 4!”

The questions the reporters hurled became arrows, piercing Ivan one after another.

Even though Simon had already explained the details of the accident on the way here, Ivan couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth to them. He didn’t want to.

As the representative of a company, the proper attitude would have been to remain unflinching in the face of near-accusatory questions, show no irritation, and calmly and objectively brief the current situation.

But Ivan found it nearly impossible to maintain his composure.

In his heart, he wanted to scream at them to shut up, to get the hell out of his sight.

“…We will soon release an official statement from Moribel containing our position. We kindly ask that you refrain from spreading unconfirmed speculative reports.”

Scraping together the last scraps of his patience, Ivan gave a short reply, then moved forward as Simon guided him.

He paused briefly in front of the massive gate leading into Zone 4. 

An infrared beam scanned his iris and passed over his eyes. 

Moments later—

Beep-beep!

A loud confirmation tone rang out right beside his ear.

The noise was so sudden and explosive—like someone had set off fireworks next to his head—that Ivan flinched quite noticeably.

Once she became aware of the sound, she realized that the noise of countless people passing through the gate was relentlessly pounding her ears without a moment’s pause.

Yet no one else seemed to pay any attention to it. To her alone, it sounded like the world itself was collapsing.

A cold bead of sweat trickled down her cheek and along her jaw.

Ivan slowly lifted his head and looked up at the enormous, thick wall that stretched endlessly in both directions from the massive gate.

They said it was built with the special material used when constructing guiding rooms.

Even craning her neck until it hurt, she couldn’t see the top. Far above, shielding devices were installed so no one could ever sneak out undetected.

It was, quite literally, a perfectly sealed space.

This wall that divided reality from hell existed only in this place.

People living in Districts 1, 2, and 3 could enter whenever they wanted, indulge their desires to the fullest, and leave whenever they pleased.

But those in District 4 could never escape—not until the day they died—unless they met the required criteria.

That was perhaps only natural. The sharp beep! The sound just now was proof that the government had verified an approved identity.

People from District 4 couldn’t leave until they had saved up at least the minimum amount required to register an identity.

No matter how dirty or horrific the methods they used to earn that money.

“Sir, breathe slowly.”

The moment they entered District 4, Simon led Ivan to a shadowy spot a little distance from the entrance and gently shook his shoulders.

Only then did Ivan let out a long, shuddering breath, as though he had been holding it the entire time.

“It’s okay now. Did you let your parents know?”

“When Lady Ashlyn heard the news, she collapsed immediately… and Nikolai is staying by her side…”

His father’s decision to choose his wife over his dead son was entirely predictable. 

There was nothing to feel hurt or resentful about.

After the death of their imprinted Guide, his parents had neither properly held onto Sergei as he wandered in grief, nor had they felt the need to. 

What could one possibly expect from them? 

Even if his mother regained her senses, the outcome wouldn’t change.

“As parents, we believe we have done more than enough for you.”

Those were the last words his father spoke on the day he retired. His mother simply nodded beside him.

More than enough…

Ivan understood instantly that the phrase referred to the ten-plus years they had spent searching for every possible method to “fix” their defective child.

His parents had always been that kind of people.

They seemed to believe that parental love and affection were concepts that only existed in books—that fulfilling their parental duties was sufficient.

They had raised him in abundance, without lacking anything material, so in their minds they had done their job completely. 

Emotional aspects were never even considered.

In that respect, they were no different from everyone else who praised Sergei as a hero, the S-class Esper.

In a way, perhaps Ivan should even feel grateful to his parents—because they treated their two sons, one hailed as a hero and the other branded as defective, without discrimination.

What had he replied to his father back then?

He clearly remembered the relieved, almost liberated expression on his father’s face as though a heavy burden had been lifted—but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall the words he himself had said.

Probably something like “Thank you.”

“I understand. It just means I have to handle everything myself in the end. Nothing new about that.”

Seeing the pity spreading across Simon’s face, Ivan gave a faint smile.

“…I’ll escort you.”

As if Simon had already made arrangements, a stranger in shabby clothing quietly approached from somewhere.

His pupils were excessively dilated, and his hands never stayed still for even a moment—clear signs of drug addiction.

Yet despite his unkempt appearance, he answered the endless stream of questions from the accident investigation team with practiced ease, then led Ivan and Simon toward the crash site.

It was a horrific scene.

It was said to be a residential area quite far from the streets of pleasure and entertainment—a place where people were at least trying to live “properly.”

People who didn’t get involved in crime, didn’t act as brokers connecting those who wanted to commit crimes, didn’t buy or sell drugs, and instead earned money honestly through nothing but their own labor.

Even if they someday saved up the target amount and moved to District 3, they wanted to be able to live there without a shred of shame.

The man’s lips twisted as he continued his explanation.

As though he found them utterly pathetic.

“Where are the survivors?”

At Simon’s question, the man pointed toward the far end of the residential area—now collapsed and scorched black.

The cause of the devastation was Sergei’s rampage.

If an S-class Esper had truly gone out of control, it wouldn’t have been just this residential zone; most of District 4 would have become a disaster site.

The fact that it was “only” this bad was because the rampage hadn’t been triggered by an Esper overusing his powers without receiving proper guiding.

Instead, it had happened because a crude synthetic drug had tangled up his wave pattern.

What exactly was imprinting, anyway?

And just how powerful of an emotion was love supposed to be?

To Ivan, his older brother had once shone brilliantly, dazzlingly heroic—yet after Gloria’s death, he had let go of everything, broken down completely, and now met this shabby, empty end.

For some reason, Ivan thought that even in the moment his body burst apart, Sergei must have felt incredibly happy.

Too cowardly to take his own life outright, he had spent his days running away from reality in the most pathetic way possible—only to meet this wretched death.

If you’re going to die like that, at least die alone.

Why did you have to drag innocent people down with you?

If only he had exploded in the middle of a bunch of drug addicts and washed-up Espers clinging to past glory while committing crimes—then Ivan might have actually praised him and said his final moment was pretty decent.

Ivan bit down hard on his lip, forcibly swallowing the rage he felt toward the brother who had remained ugly and selfish until the very last second.