Chapter 4. Noise

  “Officer. Do you smoke?” “Occasionally.” “What brand?” “‘Black Dog.’ It's cheap stuff.” “……I see.”

  Elysia wore a strange expression. The cigarette butt found at the entrance of the abandoned factory yesterday—it was the same brand. But half the low-level civil servants in this city smoked ‘Black Dog.’ She couldn't pinpoint the culprit based on that alone.

  “Understood. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Elysia finally took a step back. She had no more justification to keep probing. Ren and Tom were concluded to be just lucky survivors, or perhaps men too obtuse to have noticed anything.

  “Well then. Keep up the good work.”

  Elysia and the priests exited the office. As soon as the door closed, the heavy air in the room dissipated. Chief Bargo slumped into his chair, as if his legs had given out.

  “Ugh... We lived... I thought I lost ten years of my life.” “Haa... haa... Ren. I swear I almost peed my pants.”

  Tom whined, hanging onto Ren's shoulder. Ren shoved Tom away and returned to his seat.

  ‘We're in the clear.’

  But it was too early to relax. He hadn't missed the way Elysia glanced back one last time on her way out. Ren slightly furrowed his brow.

  “Let's just get back to work.”

  Then again, he was just a lowly patrol cop. What could possibly happen?

  *

  A few days passed.

  After the Saintess's visit swept through like a storm, the 7th Department returned to its boring daily routine. It was exactly as Ren had hoped. The world grew noisy again, and people quickly forgot about the Saintess's miracle in favor of fresh gossip.

  “Hey, Ren. Look over there. Another fight.”

  Tom, sitting in the passenger seat of the patrol car, pointed out the window with his chin.

  District 19, the entrance to the red-light district. Two gang members with heavy cybernetic implants were throwing down in the middle of the street. One had a chainsaw for an arm, and the other was a cyborg with legs that bounced like springs.

  Craaash!

  The chainsaw cleaved a streetlight in half. Sparks flew, and civilians screamed as they scattered.

  “Should we intervene?” Tom asked, fingering the safety of his magic-engineered pistol.

  Ren yawned, sinking deep into the driver's seat.

  “Leave 'em be. It'll be over in five minutes.” “Five minutes? Someone's gonna die at this rate.” “No one's dying. The guy with the chainsaw? His battery is barely holding on. You can hear the motor spinning unevenly. And the spring-leg guy has been leaking hydraulic fluid from his knee joints for a while now.”

  Ren could see it all. The chainsaw's RPM dropping microscopically, the spring cyborg's landing posture growing increasingly unstable—everything was going exactly as he predicted.

  Exactly three minutes later.

  Whirrr—click.

  The chainsaw sputtered and died pathetically. While the panicked gang member shook his saw and spat curses, the spring cyborg attempted a triumphant kick, only to slip on the oily pavement and crash to the ground.

  Exhausted by their own momentum, the two idiots sat there panting.

  “……Whoa. You were right.” Tom's jaw dropped.

  Ren put the car in gear and slowly pulled forward.

  “Go slap the cuffs on them. Perfect for boosting our quota.” “What about you?” “I'll stay in the car. Gotta write the report.”

  Watching Tom excitedly jump out, Ren leaned his seat back. This was how it was done. There was no need to step up and play hero. Read the flow, and just scoop up the credit from a fight with an obvious outcome. That was the survival tactic of a civil servant aiming for a long, uneventful career.

  After his shift, Ren didn't go straight home. He headed to a back alley in the shopping district. A rundown junk shop with a crooked sign that read ‘Gears & Bolts.’

  When he opened the door, the smell of grease and sawdust hit him.

  “Welcome... Oh. It's you.”

  The old man sitting at the counter, examining a circuit board through a magnifying glass, pushed his goggles up to his forehead. Old Man Torque, the owner. The back-alley general store.

  “Did you get what I asked for?” Ren asked curtly.

  The old man clicked his tongue and pulled a newspaper-wrapped item from under the counter.

  “Here it is. Took some effort to track down. It's a discontinued model.”

  Ren unwrapped the newspaper to reveal a clunky vacuum tube amplifier part. It was a component needed to fix the old audio system he had at home. He had been planning to throw the stereo away because the sound quality was garbage, but nostalgia for the analog feel had made him decide to repair it instead.

  “It's in good condition.” “Grade A. But young man, are you really going to spend your life fixing junk like this? With your skills, you could easily get a technical job with the city government.” Old Man Torque said, looking at Ren's hands.

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  He was one of the few who realized Ren's knack for handling machinery was extraordinary. Though, of course, he had no idea those skills were fueled by ‘superpowers.’

  “Technical jobs have too much overtime.” Ren answered flatly, handing over a credit chip. “Plus, I like my current life.” “Hah. A young man without ambition. Kids these days are all dying to make it big and climb up to the upper districts.”

  The upper districts. Sky City.

  The wealthy floating metropolis where the high society, nobles, and heroes lived. The novel's protagonist, Kyle, would eventually ascend there and stand at the center of the world. But to Ren, it was just an exhausting stage.

  “The air is too thin up there. Gives me a headache.” “The air is thin in Sky City? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Ren waved him off dismissively, grabbed his part, and left the shop. The night air was crisp. The giant screens lining the streets were still broadcasting the exploits of the Knights of the Dawn.

  [Sir Kyle von Leonhart successfully reclaims the 3rd Fortress!]

  On the screen, Kyle was smiling brightly. Beside him stood Elysia, radiating holy light. Through the screen, she looked as noble and beautiful as ever. The suspicious glare that had scoured Ren's office a few days ago was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Good job.’

  Ren pulled his hood lower. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow it casts. Hands shoved in his pockets, Ren walked into the shadows where no one's gaze could reach him.

  Tonight, he would fix the stereo and listen to some jazz. That would be a pretty decent end to the day.

  *

  Upon returning home, Ren got straight to work. The old stereo on his desk looked hideous with its casing removed. Cheap speakers he'd scavenged from somewhere and wires were scattered haphazardly.

  To anyone else, it was a pile of garbage that wouldn't even fetch a price at a scrap yard. But Ren saw it differently.

  ‘The structure is simple. Just need to eliminate the noise from the power supply.’

  Ren leaned back deeply in his chair and crossed his arms. He didn't need tools. His eyes shimmered faintly.

  Clack.

  The metal panel of the audio system floated smoothly into the air, lifted by unseen hands. Twelve screws unscrewed simultaneously, lining up in mid-air as if dancing. The years of accumulated dust inside gathered into a single ball by Ren's will and dropped perfectly into the trash can.

  It was a level of precision that would horrify the mages of this world. Normally, Telekinesis specialized in lifting or throwing heavy objects. Manipulating micro-scale parts like this, and multiple at once, required control bordering on the realm of a ‘God.’

  Ren took the newly purchased vacuum tube out of its packaging. Inside the clear glass tube, the filament glowed brightly.

  ‘Go in.’

  The vacuum tube glided through the air and settled perfectly into its socket.

  Click. A crisp sound of engagement.

  The floating panel then lowered back into place, and the screws returned to their holes and tightened themselves. For the parts requiring soldering, he induced frictional heat at the molecular level, fusing them instantly.

  Repair time: 30 seconds.

  With a satisfied expression, Ren flipped the power switch.

  Hummm—.

  With a faint vibration, an orange glow softly ignited within the vacuum tube. It was a warm, heavy light, entirely different from the cold, blue glare of digital technology.

  He pulled out an old LP record from a drawer. In this era, it was an item better suited for a museum.

  Scratch. Hisss.

  Even the harsh noise of the needle dragging across the vinyl sounded sweet to Ren. Soon, a slow jazz piano melody flowed through the speakers. A melancholic, lyrical tune reminiscent of Bill Evans. It was an utter mismatch for the neon-flashing, cyberpunk city night, but that made it a perfect dissonance.

  “Nice.”

  Ren grabbed a beer from the fridge. Naturally, he injected the chill with his own hands again. Cold beer, the warm glow of the vacuum tube, and jazz. Not bad.

  Thump! Thump!

  Until a sound shattered the peace.

  “Hey! Open the door! I know you're in there!”

  It was next door. Room 502. Through the thin plywood wall came shouts and the sound of someone kicking the door. The jazz piano melody was drowned out by the dull thuds. Ren's brow furrowed.

  “I told you I'd rip off your arms and legs if you didn't pay up, didn't I? Huh?”

  Sounded like loan sharks. He had heard the woman living in 502 was a nightclub singer. There were rumors she had fled here due to debt, and it seemed they were true.

  “P-Please, wait! Just give me until the end of this month... Kyaaak!”

  Crash. The sound of something breaking, followed by the woman's scream. Ren paused with his beer can halfway to his mouth.

  He didn't want to get involved. Stuff like this happened dozens of times a day in this apartment complex. Stepping in would only bring annoying consequences. Call the cops? The patrol guys wouldn't bother showing up for a call from the slums.

  However.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  The vibrations shaking the wall caused the vacuum tube amp to skip.

  Scratch. Pop. The beautiful piano solo was cut off.

  ‘……. You cut off the music?’

  Ren's eyes grew cold. He didn't care if the woman next door lived or died, but interrupting his audio session was an unforgivable felony.

  He didn't stand up. He simply turned his head slightly and stared at the wall shared with the apartment next door.

  Beyond the wall. A massive brute had the woman by the collar, while a skinny underling stood behind him. The brute's right leg was a cheap hydraulic prosthetic. A vintage mag-tech dagger hung from the underling's belt.

  Ren took a sip of his beer and twitched a finger.

  ‘Resonate.’

  A microscopic wave he sent out passed through the wall. It delivered a vibration to the brute's prosthetic leg—specifically, to a single bolt supporting the knee joint.

  Vvvvrrrr—.

  An ultra-high-frequency vibration inaudible to the human ear. The bolt began to vibrate violently, its threads mangling as it slowly unscrewed itself. At the same time, Ren lightly nudged the locking mechanism of the dagger sheath on the underling standing behind him.

  The situation next door flipped in an instant.

  “Give me the money! You... Uwaaagh?”

  It happened the moment the brute took a step forward to threaten the woman.

  Thwack! The right prosthetic leg limply disassembled, spewing parts everywhere. The brute lost his balance and pitched forward, face-planting onto the floor.

  “B-Boss?!”

  The startled underling tried to rush forward, only to step on his own dagger, which had slid out of its sheath.

  “Gah!”

  The underling tripped over his own feet and crashed spectacularly onto the brute's back.

  Craaash! Bang! The two heavy men tangled and rolled on the floor. They looked like a pair of struggling cockroaches.

  “W-What the hell is this! What happened to my leg!” “My back! Boss, you're heavy!”

  The loan sharks weren't the only ones bewildered by this sudden self-destruction. The woman, cornered against the wall, stared at them blankly, her eyes wide.

  Ren nonchalantly turned up the volume a notch. The piano melody filled his room once again.

  Next door, cursing about their “rotten luck,” the sound of limping footsteps grew distant. Peace had returned. Ren closed his eyes and focused on the music. The warm glow of the vacuum tube illuminated his expressionless face.

  *

  The next morning.

  As soon as he opened his front door, he ran into the woman from 502. She had dark circles under her eyes, but there were no bruises on her face. She must have been waiting for Ren to come out, as she flinched and bowed her head.

  “Um... hello.”

  Ren gave a curt nod and tried to walk past.

  “Yesterday... um. Did you happen to hear anything from my place?” the woman asked cautiously. “I was listening to music.” Ren's reply was dry. “Ah... I see. Something really strange happened yesterday... The loan sharks suddenly tripped over each other and ran away. It was almost like someone helped me.”

  The woman studied Ren's expression. She seemed to be expecting something, but Ren's face was as solid as a brick.

  “You got lucky.” “……Right? It must have just been luck, right?” “It's an old apartment. The floors are uneven, so it's easy to trip.”

  Leaving those words behind, Ren headed down the stairs. Behind him, he heard the woman softly murmur, “Thank you,” but he didn't stop walking.

  There was no need to assign meaning to it. He had simply cleared away the noise.