Chapter 782: Epilogue: The Retired Old Man (1)
Beep-beep-beep-beep-!
Beep-beep-beep-beep-!
Beep-beep-beep-! Click.
"Ughhh..."
The old man groaned as he was woken by the alarm, slowly opening his eyes.
Just like his eyelids, the dark world around him gradually brightened from pitch black to a faint grayish-blue.
"Hmm..."
Newly awake, the old man groggily checked the time on his clock, which displayed...
[05:30]
Five-thirty in the morning.
An early time to get up.
Especially early for an old man who had plenty of money and time to spare.
The old man was well aware of this and briefly considered going back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come, so he soon gave up and rose from bed.
Part of it was his age, which had shortened his hours of sleep, but there was a bigger reason behind it.
If he had wanted to sleep in, he wouldn’t have set the alarm at this hour to begin with. The reason he was awake now was...
"Habits really are frightening things..."
Habit.
As he acknowledged the power of habit, he lifted his weary body.
This particular habit dated back to his younger days of poverty when he survived on nothing but potatoes for each meal.
During that time, whether he was a restaurant server or a broker, he had developed a habit of waking up early every day in the hope of escaping such a life, a habit he maintained even now, despite no longer needing it.
Even though he didn’t actually want to anymore.
What could he say? Whenever he turned off the alarm and slept in, he felt anxious... or uneasy.
There was no single reason he could pinpoint, but for one reason or another, he simply couldn’t bring himself to turn off the alarm or indulge in sleeping late.
So, almost by compulsion, he had set his alarm to wake him up at five-thirty every morning.
Every day, 365 days a year.
"Haah..."
As he reflected on his remaining days, the old man let out a sigh and got out of bed.
Then, to change his mood, he went over to the window and pulled back the curtains.
Shhh-!
With a crisp sound, the curtains slid open.
Through the window behind the curtains, he could see workers heading out on their morning commute.
"Mmm..."
The old man gave a low, satisfied grunt as he watched the workers stagger through their early-morning routines.
He had to get up early just like them, but unlike the workers forced to head to their jobs, he had the luxury of leisurely watching them from his window, a privilege he relished.
Pouring himself a bit of an expensive liquor from a crystal decanter into a crystal glass, he raised his glass in a small toast, then took a sip to enhance the satisfaction he felt.
Indeed, it was a good decision to stay in the T-District rather than move away, even though he had become one of the wealthiest people in Landa.
"Hmph..."
With a small cough, he brushed off any thoughts of divine retribution, stepped back from the window, and went downstairs to the first floor of his familiar, cozy home. Although not one of Landa's grandiose mansions that symbolized the wealth of its upper class, the house bore the marks of his own life.
There, as he did every morning, he brewed himself coffee and prepared a simple breakfast.
Sizzle...
He could afford to hire a housekeeper, but due to habits from his days as a restaurant server, he still liked to make his own breakfast. It wasn’t much—just fried eggs, grilled sausage, toast, and cooked beans.
Soon, the delicious smell filled the house, and he set his finished meal on the dining table, retrieved the newspaper left by the front door, and began to eat while reading.
Though radio news had become more popular these days, he preferred the quietness of a newspaper in the morning.
"Heh..."
The old man let out an exclamation as soon as he saw the headline on the front page.
[The War Between Pinkman and Fighter Crew Ends! Victory Goes to Fighter Crew!]
The article announced that the war between Fighter Crew and Pinkman, which had started months ago, had ended in Fighter Crew's victory.
Below the headline was a photograph of Joe, gripping the president of Pinkman by the collar in the midst of the ruins.
"What a work of art."
Known as the "Underworld War," this conflict was officially described as a battle for control of the underworld, though those in the know were aware that it was more than that.
It was, in fact, a proxy war between the monarchy and the Central Council.
The Fighter Crew backed by King Albert, and Pinkman, supported by the Central Council.
It was the sort of sensational, secret story that excited any number of idle minds...
Slurp.
But the old man merely took a moment to admire it before returning to his coffee, enjoying the calm of his morning.
Thanks to his encounter with “him” and their shared experiences, even an article like this barely stirred him.
In this peaceful morning silence, as he basked in his solitude...
Ding-dong-!
The doorbell rang.
"Oh."
The sound broke the morning stillness.
Far from annoyed by the noise, the old man rose with a sense of inevitability and went to open the door.
"You're a bit late today, Al."
"My apologies, sir. I went to do a bit of shopping on the way..."
Standing in the open doorway was a man with red skin, apologizing as he held a brown bag full of groceries.
The old man—no, Forest—opened the door wider to welcome him.
"Well then, go on, put them away."
"Yes, sir..."
...
The refrigerator door opened, followed by the sound of groceries being set down.
Al was putting away the items Forest had requested him to buy. Although he had brought quite a lot, he quickly finished organizing everything, as he had done this countless times from his youth to middle age. By now, the task was second nature.
In a way, it was a rather unfortunate situation.
Even though Al had once been just an employee for Forest back when he owned a restaurant, now he had grown independent. He had his own life and no longer needed to come by and help with such menial tasks.
And yet, strangely, there wasn’t a trace of irritation on Al’s face. In fact, he looked rather pleased.
Slurp.
Forest took a sip of his coffee, watching Al with a slight smile.
“You’re a strange one.”
"What do you mean, sir?"
Time had indeed passed; the old Forest’s words, which would once have made Al tense, now merely drew a relaxed, knowing grin.
"Even though I’ve been retired for years, here you are, still doing odd jobs for me with a smile.”
"Haha, considering all that you’ve done for me, this is nothing."
As he laughed, Al finished organizing the brown paper bag, folding it up and slipping it into his pocket before sitting across from Forest.
Forest gazed thoughtfully at Al.
The "kindness" Al had mentioned was the help Forest had extended long ago, taking in Al and other young Red-Skinned who had nowhere to go.
Back when Forest had struck gold during the redevelopment boom along with Kent, he’d opened a restaurant. He had hired Al and many other Red-Skinned workers, providing them not only with wages but a place to stay as well.
At the time, Forest had simply been looking for cheap labor, but looking back, it had been one of the secrets to his longevity as a broker. Competition among brokers was fierce, with rivals constantly trying to poach clients and undercut deals. Forest, however, had been comparatively safe from such threats, thanks to the loyalty of his employees.
It was that loyalty that had allowed him to continue his work until he eventually met “him.”
Even now, though, Forest found himself worried about Al.
A broker was a mediator, standing in the narrow space between light and shadow, but in truth, they belonged closer to the shadows. In the shadows, virtues like honesty and kindness could sometimes turn into shackles.
That wasn’t to say one had to lie or swindle others to survive, but in that line of work, one at least had to know how to use deception to one's advantage.
In short, it wasn’t a job suited for those who were overly straightforward.
"Actually, the reason I come here to do these odd jobs is a bit more strategic."
It was as if Al had read Forest’s mind. Leaning forward conspiratorially, he whispered, hand cupped to his mouth.
"Oh?"
“When people see me coming here every morning, they assume we’re discussing something special."
"..."
"As you know, such misunderstandings can turn into powerful weapons.”
"Hah..."
Forest snorted at Al’s crafty grin.
"Good grief, have all the brokers in Landa become so nervous that they’re afraid of an old man who’s already retired?”
“Technically, calling you fully retired might be a bit of a stretch.”
"Look at you, talking back. Well, I suppose you've been a broker for over twenty years, so you’d have the guts for it by now."
“Consider it my respectful advice, sir. After all, a genuinely retired old man doesn’t typically have visits from Landa’s city council members, the Pater Church, and… the Tracto Church.”
Tap, tap.
Forest tapped the table twice with his fingers, shaking his head.
"Correction. The ones calling themselves ‘chosen’ aren’t even officially a religious group, and that ridiculous name, Tracto Church, isn’t even their formal title."
“It may not be official, but you know as well as I do that it’s essentially decided. The tide has already turned.”
Despite apologetically gesturing, Al’s response didn’t concede Forest’s point in the least.
Forest couldn’t counter him.
As Al had pointed out, it was almost certain that the so-called “Chosen Ones” would formally become a religious group.
This belief had already gained ground in the United Kingdom and was steadily spreading.
After all, considering they had been saved from a demonic invasion and apocalypse by that figure, it was remarkable they hadn’t been officially deified yet. Likely, if Mari hadn’t doggedly upheld his wishes, this might have already happened.
But despite her relentless efforts, the establishment of the Tracto Church in worship of him could not be fully prevented.
Just as a salmon may swim against the current, but cannot alter the flow itself, so too were Mari's efforts ultimately limited.
Moreover, the Pater Church had also begun to embrace him, referring to him as a messiah sent by the divine, or even as the son of God.
"That incident made a big impact."
Al carefully brought up "that incident."
Known as the “Second Miracle,” it had taken place in the heart of the continent.
A holy knight who had lost his divine power had attempted to stop a dark sorcerer from pillaging a village.
Stripped of his holy powers, the knight was no more than a trained soldier, making him an easy target for the dark sorcerer.
Nonetheless, the knight continued to shield the villagers, praying in that figure’s name, and was granted new power, allowing him to ultimately drive the dark sorcerer away.
This new power did not dispel dark magic as the old holy magic did, but it greatly enhanced the knight’s physical abilities.
The Pater Church had started calling this new power “Divine Law,” laying plans to incorporate it as the church’s new foundation.
Inevitably, this meant that the Pater Church was taking steps to elevate him to a status just below God, or even closer.
“Hah…”
Forest took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh as he finished his coffee.
Thinking about those events still tangled up his mind.
Since it had all happened in reality, it wasn’t his place to judge. However, it felt unlike him.
For someone who had shouldered his burdens while rejecting all worship, it didn’t quite fit his character to do something like that... it left Forest feeling uneasy.
Who was he, an ordinary human, to say for certain… but still…
Sensing Forest’s discomfort, Al offered an apology.
“I apologize if I caused you any unease, sir.”
Forest looked over at Al as he apologized.
In that moment, Forest saw a glimpse of the young boy Al had once been, even though he was now a leader among the Red-Skinned community in Landa, a successful broker, restaurant owner, husband, and father to a young son.
“Phew… It was a good idea to stop you from calling me ‘Master’ and have you call me ‘Sir’ instead.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ve grown up—now you know how to use me, and even argue with me.”
“Haha, I hardly deserve such praise.”
“I don’t think there’s any need for you to stop by in the mornings anymore.”
“Oh, please, sir…!”
It seemed Al’s claim about using their morning meetings as leverage wasn’t entirely insincere; his plea was surprisingly genuine.
Amused, the aging Forest became even more mischievous.
"Besides, you don’t really need my help anymore, do you?"
“No, not at all! Actually, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Having humored Forest for many years, Al smoothly pulled some documents out of his bag, presenting a topic that genuinely required Forest’s help, promptly appeasing the cantankerous old man.
Knowing exactly what Al was doing, Forest still offered some unhelpful advice to reassert his own importance, enjoying the playful mischief of old age.
"And so, that’s my take on it. What do you think?”
“It’s an absolutely brilliant idea, sir! Long live the great Forest, hip-hip-hooray!”
"Alright, enough. Any more, and it gets annoying."
“Yes, sir, understood… ha, ha.”
“Hmm? What’s so funny?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. It’s just... you seem a bit more energetic than usual today.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, sir, you polished off your breakfast completely, and you look in good spirits… It’s reassuring to see.”
At Al’s comment, Forest noticed for the first time that he had indeed finished his breakfast. He hadn’t quite realized it; previously, he’d always left a little behind, feeling unsettled.
Though the change was unexpected, he decided to take it as a positive sign.
Though he had no immediate plans, there were a few things on his schedule today, so having some extra energy would certainly be a good thing.
“That’s true... Al.”
“Yes, sir?”
"Time to head out. Do the dishes before you go.”
“Yes, sir!”
Al immediately rose from his seat and began washing the dishes Forest had used for breakfast.
It was a fine morning.