Chapter 16- Enslaved
Earth, Saitama Prefecture, business hub | After the Hamatsu district incident.
The heat was unbearable as hot air blew in one's own direction from time to time. The electric fans did nothing but circulate the stifling temperature.
In the distance, sirens, car horns, and keyboard clacking echoed. Occasional clicks of heels, flipping pages, and chatter reverberated within this small world.
It was a serene void, and the only thing missing from it was the melody of singing birds.
Within a business complex, one male employee slowly raised his head. He woke up to see slanted, dead eyes staring right back at him from a dark computer screen.
He sat at his desk, having finished all his paperwork, when he decided to take a quick nap.
However, a pressing matter cut that rest short. He pushed his seat back and stood up to head to the restroom. He opened the door to the well lit, white restroom. And got in.
Noticing one of the stalls was occupied, he proceeded to the farthest available one. He chose not to use the urinals though, preferring privacy for matters this personal.
He loosened his suit and eased himself.Once finished, he tidied himself up to the best of his ability, although this took more time than usual. As he left the stall, he noticed the other stall door remained closed.
'Poor guy must be having a bad day... Been there, man,' he sighed inwardly.
He approached the sink, dispensed some liquid soap that was cool to the touch, and washed his hands. Afterward, he bent closer to the tap to wash his face.
When he looked up, he saw himself in the mirror staring back with slightly baggy eyes, pale skin, and slightly drooping eyelids that gave him a cold, indifferent gaze. Perhaps even a lazy one.
The heat stifled him, so he loosened his collar. He faced the mirror at the sink and further adjusted his clothing before fastening his tie and buttoning his shirt. An irritating, burning itch assaulted his neck.
'Argh, That burns like crazy! What is this? A heat rash?'
He decided to loosen his collar and tie again to see if his suspicions were correct. Once he saw the cause of the itching, he furrowed his brows.
'Tsk, I will just have to endure it some more'
Burrrr.
The sound of a toilet flushing reached his ears. It came from the occupied stall, and a tall, masculine, middle-aged man stepped out.
The employee immediately fastened his tie haphazardly and adjusted his collar, side-eyeing the man through the mirror's reflection.
His face appeared quite handsome for his age, complementing the expensive suit he wore. The man carried a menacing aura that made others naturally bow at his mere presence.
The employee was no exception to this unspoken rule. However, he bowed for an entirely different reason. He recognized this man, just as anyone in his position would.
The employee gave a gentle nod to the reflection of the middle-aged man at the sink. "Thank you.... For–for your hard work, Executive Managing Director."
The domineering managing director washed his hands, giving a brief glance and a curt nod. Within that fleeting look, he noticed the employee's ID badge and recognized his department.
"Hmm. You are in Sales? How are things looking at the branch?"
The sales employee straightened his stance, faced the tall director, and offered a polite bow. "Yes. Thank you for traveling all the way to visit us today. Operations are running smoothly."
The irritating burning sensation momentarily returned, but he simply gritted his teeth.
Bing!
The tall director's cellphone echoed within the restroom. He checked the screen, and his previously stern expression softened. The sales employee's nosiness allowed him a quick glimpse of the screen before he immediately looked away, pretending he saw nothing.
"I see. Keep up the good work," the executive added as he left the restroom.
'Oo Oh, judging from what I saw, that is probably his wife. Or mistress,' the sales employee inwardly concluded.
He sighed with momentary relief. The senior executive did not seem alarmed, meaning the employee was likely quick enough to hide his neck in time. However, a lingering thought caught in his heart.
'I hope he did not see it, otherwise I am doomed!'
The sales employee returned to his workstation and found extra tasks waiting for him. He frowned slightly, sat down, and continued his paperwork.
….
The heat still bared its red-hot fangs, and the electric fans still remained useless. The sales employee could even see his sweat-filled face reflected on his computer monitor.
Despite this, he maintained laser focus on his work, momentarily forgetting the temperature and his cramping fingers. The only thing that managed to grab his attention was the sizzling, pulsating pain around the base of his neck. It intensified today more than usual.
While in deep thought, the section team leader walked over, tapped his shoulder, and spoke quietly. "Yugamu, the HR Director wants to see you in Conference Room B right now."
Yugamu glanced at the team leader. With a quiet nod, he stood up, adjusted his clothes, and walked toward the human resources floor. He knocked three times on the closed door and waited for a response. Hearing an invitation, he opened the door, bowed slightly, and entered.
"Excuse me."
"Please come in. Close the door and take a seat there."The cold, detached director sat behind a glass desk while on a black leather chair.
"Mr. Yugamu Tychi, I apologize for calling you away from your work. Regarding a report we received from the Managing Director today, there is something I need to confirm with you."
The burning sensation grew hotter. He decided to ignore it as he straightened his posture and ignored the pain. "Yes. What is it?"
The indifferent director leaned back in his seat and continued. "Earlier in the restroom, we received a report that you unbuttoned your collar and revealed a tattoo. Our company strictly prohibits tattoos under our employment regulations and compliance policies. Is this true?"
The throbbing pain suddenly increased. Tychi could not focus on the question, gritting his teeth to numb the sensation.
From the director's perspective, however, the heavy silence provided all the answers he needed. It made things simple.
"Mr. Yugamu Tychi, regarding the tattoo spotted earlier and the violation of company work regulations, this contravenes Article 52 of our employment rules. Therefore, as of today, we are issuing your notice of termination."
The director did not even bother looking at Tychi. He delivered the life-changing news as if talking to himself.
"Please wait! I did not show it on purpose! It was extremely hot today, and I only loosened my tie temporarily! I have never made a major mistake at work before. I am deeply remorseful. Is there any way you could please reconsider?"
Poor Tychi's voice pitched slightly higher; he seriously could not believe this was happening.
"We understand your feelings, but our company strictly enforces organized crime exclusion ordinances and internal regulations. The existence of a tattoo itself presents a serious issue that undermines the premises of your employment. This decision will not be reversed. Consider yourself 'lucky' you will still receive payment in lieu of notice."
'How is this happening? They work us to the bone like dogs for spare change, then throw you out once they are done with you! They can all go to hell!'
Tychi held his grievances within his heart, swallowing the words stuck in his throat. In the room, the only person who showed any remorse or emotion was the assistant. She passed the termination documents over to him.
And just like that, Yugamu Tychi just lost the job he and many... considered him lucky to hold.
…
The walk home proved unbearable. The pain kept rising, and his building emotions offered no help. An internal battle raged between physical agony and emotional turmoil, both vigorously fighting for his attention.
He managed to reach his apartment and slid the door open. He took off his suit jacket and shirt until he stood shirtless. The heavy clothing had only added to the discomfort brought by the heat and the throbbing pain tightening at his neck.
Within the living area, the television played loudly. A news broadcast about the recent Hamatsu incident dominated the headlines.
'Huh. The Hamatsu district is right next to Saitama, right? No wonder there were no taxis around.' Tychi's mood soured even further as he let out a heavy sigh.
He picked up a baggy black T-shirt and pulled it on. Walking over to his bedroom, he noticed his wife was not in the main living space.
'The front door was unlocked; perhaps she came home early from work.'
He stopped at the bedroom door. He needed to tell his wife the bad news and figure out how to plan for the future. He hesitated, slowly building up his courage. It was crucial that he told her immediately. He then slid the door open…
A strong scent of oil, sweat, and bodily fluids assaulted his nostrils, but that was not all that caught his attention. He slowly looked down, his pupils shrinking to pinholes.
Pat.
The atmosphere in the small bedroom grew suffocatingly tense, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlight filtering through the rice-paper window screens.
Tychi stood frozen in the doorway, his hand resting heavily on the wooden frame. On the futon, his wife's eyes widened like an owl's, looking as if they would pop out at any moment.
Pat.
He could not tell if she made that contorted expression out of the shock of being caught or the bliss of her actions. A momentary silence stretched as she made no effort to push her lover away or pull up the covers. The twisted expression remained on her face as she bit her plump, red lower lip.
Tychi tried to grip his neck, which hurt intensely, but he instead grabbed his chest. His heart hurt far more. He recognized the naked lover before him. It was the Executive Managing Director he had just seen at work.
The executive did not panic or jump to cover himself. Instead, he slowed his pace, looked up, and rested one broad arm over his knee while turning his head toward the door. Recognizing Tychi from the branch visit earlier that afternoon, a wide, cold grin spread across the older man's face.
Pat.
"Well, well. Look who decided to come home early," the executive mocked in a deep, unbothered tone. He did not stop moving.
"Yugamu, is it not? The lawless, wimpy wannabe."
Tychi's breath caught in his throat. He had a mouth but could not speak. He had legs but could not step forward; he felt firmly anchored to the floorboards. Humiliation, anger, confusion, and spite swelled in his chest. His vision blurred, and his breathing grew heavy.
Pat.
"You know," the executive continued, letting out a short, dry laugh while remaining exactly where he was.
"My first impression of you made me think you were a feeble bootlicker who knew his place..... But how dare you manage to get a wife with... 'this' succulent 'body'."
The executive shifted slightly, pulling Tychi's wife closer without breaking eye contact with her husband. She averted her gaze, staring quietly at the tatami floor. Her face looked unapologetic, or perhaps it was guilt.
"Hehe, look at me, boy... This is how you properly treat a woman!... Look, she does not want me to stop, even in front of you!," the executive teased. His tone dripped with absolute condescension as he continued without interruption.
Pat.
"Ah, Mr. Yugamu. What a lucky man you are! What? Are you not coming closer? What lesson will you learn standing so far away?
Ah, young man, you are quite daring. You had all this beauty to yourself, and now I will show you what it means to be a 'true' man."
Ahahaha.
Tychi stood there in silence, forced to take in every agonizing detail. He saw the sharp contrast between himself and the muscular, imposing corporate superior, the cold detachment of his wife, and his entire life falling apart.
Bam!
Tychi slammed the door shut so hard that he nearly broke his wrist. The throbbing pain assaulted his arm, but it felt like nothing compared to the agony in his heart.
He thought he had something left to cling to, someone to lift his spirits, but this broke him.
'It it's just too much. What am I lacking? Money? Power? Strength?'
At that moment, he wished he possessed enough power and strength to protect what belonged to him. His heart ached with every slow thump.
'Why'?
He bit his tongue and forced his way out of the apartment. It proved much easier to leave than to endure further hurt.
And just like that, Yugamu Tychi lost the beautiful wife that he and many considered him incredibly lucky to have.
…
As he left his house, tears blurred his vision. A passerby would have thought him a drunkard with the way he stumbled.
'Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.'
For some reason, even though it was summer, it began to rain. Tychi could not care less; in truth, he barely noticed the downpour.
He walked on foot for nearly an hour until he reached a local bar and pushed the door open. Tychi pulled at his plain, thin crew-neck T-shirt, which failed to cover the intricate tattoo, and stepped inside.
Completely drenched, his dead, soulless expression scanned the room while dripping wet, dark brown hair clung to his pale face.
The moment he stepped through the door, the atmosphere shifted. Almost everyone turned their heads toward the entrance.
The bartender stopped wiping the counter, locking his eyes directly onto Tychi's neck. The low chatter among the older regulars died instantly. Customers cast quick, uneasy glances toward him, quietly shifting their seats or finishing their drinks early to leave.
"Boss," Tychi muttered, sitting at the far end of the counter. "Just a highball."
The bartender kept his expression flat and avoided eye contact. He poured the drink quickly, set it down without the usual welcoming greeting, and immediately stepped back toward the far corner of the kitchen, keeping a watchful eye on his new customer.
Tychi did not mind this treatment; he simply did not care. Instead, he asked the bartender, "Is Mr. Sakamoto not around today?"
"He got busy and could not make it," the bartender responded with an obvious frown.
"Ah. I see."
Tychi took a couple of sips and headed toward the restroom. After relieving himself, he approached the tap, washed his hands, and bent down to wash his face. When he looked up, a familiar face stared right back at him.
Yugamu Tychi stood in the cramped bar restroom, leaning over the stained porcelain sink. Cold water dripped from his chin as he took a deep breath and gazed into the mirror.
The dim lighting cast sharp shadows across his face, but as he adjusted his stance, the details at the base of his neck came into stark focus.
Across the nape of his neck, a detailed viper stretched horizontally, its dark scales rendered with intense precision.
Just beneath the collar line, two heavy, scaled bands extended downward across his upper back.
They anchored to a central circular crest resting between his shoulder blades, framing a four-lobed clover within a scaled circle.
This tattoo was the source of his pain, the ache that had been gnawing at him all day.
BAM!
With all his might, he punched the glass. As the mirror shattered, warm crimson blood flowed and seeped into the webbed cracks.
"Argh! It is all this damned thing's fault!"
***
Makai, Mnemoscopus' domain.
Within the massive white and obsidian walls of the Whitebone Coliseum, a serene room bloomed with luminous blue flora and fauna. Fatigue, pain, disorder, misery, injury, and sorrow were all but a myth here.
Burning bonsai trees flickered as their green flames danced in every direction without producing smoke. The air felt so clear and fresh that breathing resembled consuming mint leaves. Taking in this pure oxygen caused one's thoughts to become sharper and faster.
Resting on a cushion of air, Kureal lay with his eyes closed, his body, soul, and mind submerged in pure bliss. At the entrance, the golden figure of Mnemoscopus materialized, shifting from an illusion into a corporeal form.
"Still not awake yet, I see," Mnemoscopus softly chuckled.