BATTER 39

“It looks like a laceration deep enough to require surgical sutures. There is internal tissue damage and excessive bleeding. However, you will survive.

I am an excellent military surgeon and your superior officer. An excellent military surgeon takes responsibility for the members of his unit.

Therefore, you will survive, Soldier.”

It was a prophecy. It was like a revelation carved into a stone tablet. At the same time, it was his mother’s old, cold lullaby, promising that he would survive and she would protect him. The thing that intruded upon this metallic memory was Lawrence’s voice announcing the end of the surgery.

— The procedure is complete. Please wait in the waiting room until the transplanted eyeball is fully functional.

The cloth covering his eyes and the fixation devices were removed one by one. Thanks to Harrison pulling the monitor, now switched to mirror mode, right up to his nose, Baron was able to check his appearance immediately. His eyelid and forehead, which had been frayed like old fabric, had healed miraculously.

If he looked closely, he could still find faint contours, but even those would fade with time. Baron sat up and looked deep into his newly transplanted eye. Just as Lawrence had warned, there was a slight difference in the iris color. In a bright place, the left eye would likely cast a lighter glow.

“Not bad, I guess.”

It would take anywhere from a few minutes to an hour to fully adjust to the transplanted eye, but at the very least, there was no sensation of a foreign object when he rolled or blinked his eyes. Baron left the treatment room, feeling grateful for at least that much. Bijou was still keeping watch in a corner of the waiting room in his usual polite posture.

He must have been staring intently at the treatment room exit, because as soon as the door opened, he came scurrying over to stand in front of Baron. The guy peered this way and that at Baron’s face—now with two eyes again—and then flashed a wide smile.

“You look wonderful!”

“Shouldn’t we be the ones receiving the praise, Master Bijou?”

Harrison, standing behind them, poked his head out playfully. Bijou clasped his hands neatly and repeated childish compliments to him, calling him wonderful, thanking him, and saying he was the best. The Asian doctor, whose license status remained a mystery, seemed accustomed to and amused by the situation. Baron caught Harrison as he leaned back into his desk chair and asked.

“How much do I owe you for the treatment? In a neighborhood like this, I imagine you only make a few pennies, if anything.”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding. We don’t accept anything.”

Harrison frowned with his dark eyebrows and waved his hand dismissively. So you’re playing the volunteer, are you? Baron looked back and forth between the ever-smiling Bijou and the doctor. His distrust was plain to see, even reflected on the surface of the artificial eye he’d just had put in.

“Then why be a doctor?”

“Because the people here get sick, too. And since people like you keep showing up, I have to be a doctor; what else is there to do?”

Baron gave a half-hearted nod with a skeptical smile. Somehow, the humans in this neighborhood talked exactly like that stupid tin angel. He could wrap his head around a machine’s sterile logic, but could such goodness really be permitted for a Homo sapien, a species exiled from paradise for the sins of greed and suspicion? There’s no such thing as “truly free” in this world. For all he knew, some scary heavies might be waiting the moment he opened that door to leave.

However, from the moment he passed Harrison’s vision and transplant stability tests and received the maintenance instructions, until he stepped outside the building side-by-side with Bijou, no particular threat appeared. The peace was so remarkably smooth it almost made him shiver. Bijou asked Baron, who was idly rubbing his forearm.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, it’s just giving me the creeps.”

“Are you cold?”

“I’m saying this fairy-tale-perfect kindness is giving me the goddamn creeps.”

Baron narrowed his eyes and looked down at the fairy-tale-perfectly kind android. True to form, the guy offered a fairy-tale-perfectly kind response.

“That’s good to hear!”

Did he even understand what he’d just heard? The guy’s kindness in offering to guide him to a place for treatment had proven to be the truth, but that fact actually made Baron more uncomfortable. The ungrateful Baron Lin took it upon himself to give this nameless underground city the somewhat insulting nickname of “Dodo Village.”

Since the buildings in Dodo Village were essentially clinging to the rock face, balcony-style passages connected them to allow for easy movement. Bijou, who acted like the headman of this Dodo Village, led the way along the narrow path. The village landscape, which looked even sharper and more precise after the surgery, felt even more surreal. Baron spoke up while glancing at the houses, bridges, and rock walls that stretched dozens of meters below.

“Where are we going now?”

“Now that the treatment is over, I plan to provide you with a meal. Regular nutrient intake is essential for all living organisms.”

“Mhm.”

He let out a meaningless hum. Perhaps lunch hour had passed while he was undergoing the transplant surgery, because a plausible aroma began to waft through the air as they crossed the bridge leading to the other side. This time, the place Bijou led him into was a wide house with a low ceiling, looking as if someone had pressed down on the top with their palm.

As he opened the door—so short he had to bow his head to enter—a savory, warm scent rushed out. It was styled after a typical restaurant layout, and from the kitchen, where one could see exactly what was simmering in the pots, drifted the picture-perfect scent of a home.

“Welcome. I heard Master Bijou had returned, and it’s true!”

A gentle voice welcomed them shortly after. The face peeking out from the kitchen appeared to be a middle-aged woman around Baron’s age.

“It’s been a while, Aria! It’s so good to see you again.”

“I couldn’t be happier myself.”

So that woman’s name is Aria. From Harrison to Aria, Baron silently committed the names to memory. Aria, wearing an apron, came out and gave Bijou a tight squeeze. Because of that, she came face-to-face with Baron, who was standing behind him.

“Oh my, you’ve brought someone new again!”

Aria stepped back and clasped her hands. It was a gesture large enough to feel theatrical. There were fine wrinkles around her wide, round eyes, but her face was as round and fair-fleshed as a young girl’s. She was a woman with a pleasant impression, but she felt strangely familiar. Who is she? Where have I met her?

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, Baron gave a light smile with his eyes as a greeting. The kind Aria seated him and headed back to the kitchen. She ladled a generous portion of food from a pot still steaming white and set the plate down in front of Baron.

“There is only one reason Master Bijou would bring someone here. Please, eat. Bon appétit!”

On the wide plate sat a bowl of thick soup and round, grilled meatballs. A glossy sheen rolled beautifully off the meatballs coated in a dark brown sauce. Just as he was about to pick up his spoon, someone called for Bijou from the doorway.

It was a man with sharp green eyes, an old man who looked exactly like a scarecrow with a few handfuls of straw missing. They spoke quietly to each other. If he focused, he could catch the gist of the conversation. He heard mentions of the children on Edge Street and a rescue operation.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know if the teacher had handled the aftermath properly. That half-wit teacher with a soft heart; it wouldn’t be surprising if he’d let the guys who shot at him leave with all their limbs intact. Anyway, since it was equally dangerous for that side now that their address was exposed, perhaps the plan was to bring the teacher and the kids underground as well. If so, things were going to get very noisy.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Please, rest up!”

Bijou left with a short goodbye, led away by the old man. Baron gave a casual wave and used his fork to split one of the nameless meat meatballs in half. The texture was closer to finely ground powder pressed into a ball and grilled rather than minced meat.