The City Where Gray Rain Falls Chapter 19

An eerie silence intertwined with seething breaths. Feeling the gazes surrounding him like a net, Lot shouted.

“Everyone get out!”

The belated intruder jumped up, trying to drive out the audience that had been there before him, but no one budged.

“…It’s alright. Everyone, leave us.”

Only after their superior’s order fell did they move their feet. Such loyalty from his subordinates was more than enough to sour Lot’s mood even further.

“Do you think you’ve become something just because you’re sitting in that seat?”

“How could I.”

As Samuel wiped his split lip with his middle finger, red blood spread across the pristine white glove. A few strands of his perfectly set hair slipped down over his eyebrows, doubling his characteristically provocative impression.

“…I thought it was suspicious from the start, the way you stubbornly insisted on holding an inauguration ceremony. Using Party executives as bait?”

Before he could even ask, the reason for the early morning rampage spilled freely from his opponent’s mouth.

“Only a madman would dare!”

Roughly six hours had passed between Samuel’s foster father catching wind of the previous night’s events and storming in. There was no way he had realized it himself, so someone inside must have tipped him off.

“There were no problems whatsoever at the inauguration.”

“What if there had been a spy among the officers! What if an assassination or terror attack had occurred!”

“On the contrary, hasn’t last night’s incident proven that the Public Security Bureau is clean, and that I am handling my duties well?”

Compared to Lot, who stomped his feet, unable to contain his rage, Samuel was composed from start to finish, even wearing a faint smile. As if nothing in the world could drag him into a swamp of anxiety.

“What?”

“If there were a rebel spy inside, as there was during the previous Chief Commissioner’s time, they wouldn’t have missed such an opportunity. Several heads would have already flown.”

It was Lot who had recommended the incompetent previous Chief Commissioner for the position because they were personally close, and while someone who couldn’t even handle his own affairs occupied the Chief Commissioner’s seat, the Public Security Bureau had become a hotbed for rebels. Of course, no one knew that until Samuel stepped in.

“Ugh…!”

At Samuel’s words, devoid of any respect for his foster father, Lot’s face flushed red and blue, but he barely managed to suppress the surging fury. It was because the eyes of his subordinates, gleaming with loyalty to their superior, came to mind.

Because of that, his fist was clenched so tightly that deep nail marks were left on his palm, his arm trembling, but unlike before, no hand flew rashly.

“You orchestrated all this just to show off your achievements?”

Tsk. How dull-witted.

Samuel’s foster father was a man who knew one thing but not the other. He only knew how to tremble in fear of losing his minor seat in the assembly, which he had barely obtained by a stroke of luck, and lacked the vision to see the forest.

“…If you just wait a little, the rebels within the city will reveal their identities on their own. We can root them out completely then, so set your worries aside. Why not enjoy some leisurely free time?”

“You, you…!”

At the remark mocking Lot’s current state—having nothing but a minor seat in the assembly without any decent position—slap. Unable to hold back, Lot struck Samuel’s face with his palm once again.

A thick, alien mark was engraved upon the perfectly sculpted face. Blood flowing from the completely split corner of his mouth trickled down his sharp jawline.

“…Fine. I’ll watch and see if you can indeed root them out. Even if you fail to keep your promise, I will not step forward to save your life.”

Had he ever taken his side before? And even if he did step forward, could he actually save him?

At Lot’s bravado, boasting without knowing his place, a sneer of contempt flickered at the corner of Samuel’s mouth.

Without even saying he was leaving, Lot whirled around and departed the office.

Left alone, Samuel felt a sudden desire to hear the precarious and unfamiliar cries of those crushed underfoot—a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time—and slowly licked his split lip with his tongue.

∞ ∞ ∞

The dense fog that had settled around dawn stretched long over the red carpet, returning it to its original colorless world. The previous night’s banquet, which had encapsulated the city’s prosperity, ended so feebly.

The neighborhood watch members, exhausted from working over a full day and patrolling through the night, returned to their office on the second floor, hoping desperately to catch even a little sleep before the siren sounded.

But what awaited them wasn’t a cot far softer than what they had at home, nor a solid wall to lean their weary heads against, but terrible news that made their legs buckle.

“A, a rebel?”

“What, what do you mean…”

—There are rebels among the neighborhood watch!

This news spread quickly as a few members who had been on duty on other floors the previous night revealed what they had witnessed to their comrades, who had been thinking only of getting some innocent rest.

The story was simple. Two rebels had already been discovered on the spot, and fearing the aftermath, they had taken their own lives right then and there.

Since they had been caught so easily and orders had come down not to mind it and to keep to their posts, those on other floors had no idea such a thing had happened. A few people had been missing, but they’d just assumed they were delayed running some errand.

“The thing is… an order of some kind might come down soon…”

“Th-then what happens to us?”

The faces that had been shadowed by exhaustion from the sleepless night now became walking corpses, drained of all blood.

Putting it another way, the fact that two out of fifty watch members were rebels meant that everyone here could be suspected of being a rebel, and could be subjected to interrogation or torture to weed them out.

Some collapsed to the floor, their legs giving out, while others barely stood, leaning their backs against the wall. It was because the bleak future about to unfold for them painted itself involuntarily in their minds.

“Th-those outsiders, all they ever think about is stealing the city’s wealth! Vermin.”

“Can’t they just live on their own? Why do they have to come into the city and cause this mess. This mess!”

“Just when I thought I’d finally caught a break, those damned bastards. I hope they all die!”

Soon, a torrent of curses poured from people’s mouths in unison, aimed at the rebels who had brought about this predicament.

Not just those gathered there, but the vast majority of citizens genuinely felt that way about the rebels.

Thieves trying to forcibly seize scarce resources without paying any price. Parasites insidiously hiding throughout the city, aiming to usurp and overthrow power.

Antipathy toward the rebels was something any citizen born and raised in the city possessed.

For citizens who considered it an honor to live in the city, they had never once been curious about where the ingredients for the hard bread, indispensable even for a day, were produced. Where the filth they washed away daily went. Where the gas, electricity, coal, and wood that lit the city’s darkness and warmed their homes came from.

Resenting the rebels was a perfectly citizen-like course of action, thinking only of the city, family, and their own safety.

“…Nothing happened on the third floor, right?”

A voice mixed with worry and suspicion reached Isaac and Vincent, who were standing in the corner. In an instant, everyone’s attention was focused on the two, who had been keeping a suspicious silence until now.

As if he had already been singled out as a rebel or a culprit, Vincent patted Isaac’s shoulders, which were rigid with tension, and took half a step forward, blocking the piercing gazes that seemed about to stab them all by himself.

“As if anything would happen. But what should we do? At this rate, we could all be dragged down to the basement…”

Because of that single word, “basement,” uttered by a shabby, middle-aged man, the long-standing anger that had taken various shapes finally assumed the consistent form of fear.