The City Where Gray Rain Falls Chapter 4

Just because of that, he couldn’t tell the old man outright that he didn’t need a job right now, or that it was okay. As a citizen of District 28, he was supposed to be desperate for his share of work. The worry that if he carelessly refused, the fact that he had come from outside might be discovered—that was what silenced Isaac.

“But what you’re looking for will be there. Trust me.”

The old man, however, took the young man’s abrupt silence as a sign of distrust. So, to emphasize that he was telling the truth, he nodded as gravely as he could, then hurried away before anyone else’s eyes could fall on them.

‘What I’m looking for will be there?’

No one here knew what Isaac was trying to find in the first place. So he could have just ignored the old man’s words and headed to his original destination. Yet, the final sentence the old man had uttered with such certainty turned Isaac’s steps toward the square.

Plodding along, he left the old man behind and arrived at the square bulletin board, where dozens of people were already buzzing noisily. The news that had these people, who normally knew only order and obedience even in unreasonable situations, so excited was posted up ahead.

Pushing through the crowd and drawing closer, he saw a notice posted on the board that read:

[Security Bureau Announcement: Notice to citizens of all districts. Planning to form a ‘Crime Prevention Unit,’ recruiting personnel without district restrictions. Interested citizens encouraged to apply. Generous compensation.]

∞ ∞ ∞

The heart of the city, the ‘City Center.’ Among the many buildings rising there, one of the few high-rises that could overlook the city’s entire landscape, the ‘Security Bureau.’

Of course, the building—indifferently square and crudely plastered thick with cement—was closer to a space serving as an observatory or a watcher’s post, rather than something meant for leisurely gazing down at one’s feet. In any case, the top floor of that place held the official residence provided to successive Chiefs of Security.

Now, the owner of that place was Samuel, the newly appointed Chief of Security.

As soon as that fact was announced, the lavish tastes of the predecessors remaining in the residence were all cut out, save for the ceiling mural painted with angels.

Large pieces of furniture—the bed steeped in another’s scent, the wardrobe, the sofa, the armchair—were the first to be removed, followed by the well-worn flowerpots, sculptures, and frames.

The intimate tastes that had boldly occupied every corner of that place were, like their owners, forcibly torn from their spots, destroyed, and, losing their original forms, were thrown into sacks with the dust and carried off somewhere.

All that filled the now-empty space was a spacious antique wooden bed with white curtains on its posts, nightstands on either side, a green velvet sofa placed facing each other before the fireplace, a coffee table to substitute for a dining table, a rough-hewn wardrobe, and a full-length mirror. That was about it.

Perhaps because of that, the noises generated within the room occasionally failed to be filtered out and resonated loudly beyond the door.

“Ahh, right there, good.”

“…”

“Hah, harder.”

Just as all his predecessors had done, the newly appointed Chief, having just risen to the top position, freely enjoyed his private time in his official residence. And without distinguishing between day or night.

Such was the way of power that only a few could possess—autonomy and indolence followed as a reward.

On the bed in the early dawn as the surroundings grew light. The blond man, his entire body laced with scars, was conscious of the sunlight squeezing through the gap in the window, yet thrusting vigorously from behind into the man groaning face-down beneath him.

“Hoo…”

With one hand, he gripped the other’s red hair like the reins of a horse, and with the other, he held the cigarette that had been resting on his lips between his fingers, compulsively tapping the burnt ash into the ashtray at the edge of the bed.

The blond man seemed clearly more at ease than the red-haired man, or as if he couldn’t immerse himself in the act. Yet, still wishing to relieve the desire pooled at his core, he was diligently moving his hips.

“…”

Neither of the two had yet reached climax. Knock, knock. A sudden knock scattered their concentration.

“Ignore it. You’re with me right now.”

As the man who had been pounding as if to crush the inner walls stopped his movements and looked toward the door, the red-haired man who had been moaning flipped his body over at once, entwining his limbs around the other like wisteria, and began to plead.

“Samuel…”

“…”

“We’re seeing each other after a really long time.”

He succeeded in briefly seizing the other’s attention with his coquettish gestures and tone, but failed to change his mind. The gaze looking down on him with such overbearing pressure held no regret for the abruptly interrupted lovemaking, nor even a small craving for the one beneath him.

Samuel stubbed out the cigarette, about a third of it remaining, and without a hint of lingering attachment, got up and immediately walked toward the bathroom.

“I’ll take responsibility, so don’t go.”

The red-haired man, who seemed to possess power even greater than the new Chief who used the entire high and spacious residence, grabbed hold of the other once more.

Looking now, the pleading man’s face had a distinctive radiance. His hair had a luster unseen in ordinary citizens who ate dry bread, and his skin possessed a smoothness that citizens, whose only wash was a cat’s lick due to lack of water, could never have. That alone made his status easy to guess.

The blond man, who had been striding toward his destination without looking back, stopped at the word ‘responsibility,’ and over his shoulder, let out a short, self-mocking laugh.

“If called, I must go. I’m a ‘dog,’ after all.”

“…Samuel!”

“Besides, if I don’t go, your father will be hopping mad.”

After offering the minimal explanation needed for his clinging partner to back off cleanly, Samuel entered the bathroom and turned on the water with a rush. The red-haired man had no choice but to accept that today’s tryst was over.

“Ah, damn it. It was just getting really good!”

As the irritated voice rang out sharply through the entire room, the new Chief’s adjutant threw open the door and burst in, as if he had been waiting. The adjutant approached the bed without hesitation, clicked his heels together, and bowed respectfully.

“I will see you out, Mr. Yoaz.”

The red-haired man, Yoaz, hadn’t a single thread on him, but the adjutant, unconcerned, used the pretext of seeing him out to hurry the guest to leave that space.

“…How heartless.”

There were no exceptions for any guest who visited this room. At least, if they wished to see Samuel again, if they didn’t want to cross him and earn his displeasure. It was best to leave obediently before he finished washing.

“I don’t need to be seen out. …Carry on.”

As if he had no intention of hiding the traces of the intense affair, Yoaz roughly picked up his shirt and trousers strewn on the floor and put them on without even buttoning up, then lightly waved a hand at Samuel’s adjutant and left.

Once the guest had departed, workers carrying cleaning tools rushed in and swiftly restored the room to its original state. The stains of unknown origin splattered on the floor were wiped away, and the damp sheets were replaced with fresh ones in an instant.

Having confirmed that everything was no different from the first day of the appointment, the adjutant brought a perfectly pressed uniform this time, hung it on the rack in front of the bathroom, placed the necessary items on the shelf in order, and only then left the room.

Meanwhile, inside the bathroom, contrary to the bustle outside, a leisurely shower was in full swing.

The blond man stood under the endlessly falling water as if trying to wash away even the sweat, the bodily fluids, the scent and warmth of another, even the very fact that bodies had been mingled.

In the city, there were not many who could use warm water freely, regardless of the season.

Perhaps only from the City Center to Districts 1 through 4 surrounding it on all sides. The rest merely received fuel that could barely boil water on cold days, distributed differentially according to the number attached to the front of their district.

Even if he didn’t want to, he had no choice but to admit it. That this kind of power wasn’t bad. That it was quite decent, and worth enjoying.