BATTER 64

Taking a moment to look closer, he saw that the shape of the eyes and jaw were different. They were a bit rounder, a flatter design. Still, they were similar enough to cause a moment’s confusion.

Baron held his tongue and simply watched the thing. Fortunately, it seemed to recognize him as one of the internal staff. It offered a gentle smile—just like Bijou’s—and gestured toward the interior with its hand.

“The VIPs are currently gathered in the Central Gallery. Security personnel are requested to move immediately to provide concentrated protection for the guests upon arrival.”

To his slight nausea, even the voice resembled his partner’s. He didn’t feel particularly great about having glimpsed the consistent, singular taste of this undersea base’s founder.

Baron gave a curt nod and moved toward the “Central Gallery” as directed. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the undersea passages were designed like a spiderweb. The branching paths connected to several rooms, but they all eventually converged at a single point in the center.

The transparent passage ended beneath an ivory arch. The top of the arch was decorated with a relief mimicking a cathedral’s tympanum. Beneath swirling layered wings—resembling either a fearsome vortex of waves or the lush petals of a chrysanthemum—angels sat in tiers, looking down at visitors with authoritative eyes.

It was a rather intimidating decoration for a gateway through which VIPs would pass. Since there was likely no place for Baron in heaven, he felt a strange sense of repulsion mixed with a dry chuckle. Beneath the arch, which offered nothing welcoming, Baron weighed whether taking his helmet off or keeping it on would be more dangerous. Ultimately, he removed it and passed under the arch.

Inside, clean blues and whites were in elegant harmony. The interior, spread out beneath a rounded, open ceiling and balconies, gave a bright and pleasant impression while allowing a view of the sea through vast floor-to-ceiling windows. However, there didn’t seem to be enough variety in the artwork to truly justify the term “gallery.”

There were only VIPs, dressed in clothes that were neither too ostentatious nor cheap, walking around like fish outside the window. Because the sofas and tables they sat on were white, the image of silver schools of fish wandering through dead coral reefs naturally came to mind.

While they weren’t wearing overtly unique outfits, it was clear who was a guest and who was a server. Instead of museum exhibits, blonde beauties who resembled a certain someone were providing service with bright smiles.

Like fruit from the same branch, every single one of them had the same color hair, the same color eyes, and the same smile. But Bijou was not among them. Were these things clones of Bijou, or was Bijou merely a part of them? There was no way to know.

Baron stood against the wall in a guard-like stance and carefully scanned his surroundings. Every so often, he saw a familiar face. Some were businessmen, some were legal professionals, some were celebrities—literally the kind of people you’d expect to see hosted as VIPs. This meant the faces he didn’t recognize were likely figures of equal importance.

What were the busiest people on Earth doing in an undersea gallery? For a social gathering, the commonalities between the attendees seemed vague.

Wait, no. It’s not like there’s no commonality at all.

Looking closer, ivory flashes appeared occasionally from beneath the VIPs’ sleeves. They were bangles delicately carved with feather motifs. He’d thought it was a dress code, but the designs were all identical, and he couldn’t guess the brand. Judging by this common factor, it was the invitation and identification issued to the VIPs by the host. He had no expectation that it served purely as jewelry.

Baron observed the movements of the VIPs with cautious patience. A middle-aged man with a similar build wearing glasses was caught in his sights. The man, who had been drinking champagne repeatedly, finally stood up. Baron didn’t know exactly where the restroom was, but there weren’t many places a man full of booze would go. Baron quietly followed the man as he strode away.

Sure enough, the man’s destination was the restroom. Upon following him inside, there was one person already there washing his hands. While the man used the urinal, Baron washed his hands at the sink. Once the first person left and the man finished his business, he approached the sink as well.

The sound of water pouring from the faucet was vivid. As the man bowed his head to wash his hands, Baron pulled an injector pen from his pocket. The skin on the back of the man’s bowed neck pulled wide and taut. A needle, like the tip of a pen, plunged into the man’s exposed nape. Pressing the needle, Baron murmured silently, This might sting a bit.

“Wh-What is this?”

The man noticed too late and turned his head, but the neurotoxin—diluted just enough not to be fatal—was already traveling through his veins. Baron’s eyes curved into a gentle arc as he faced the turning man.

“What do you think you’re—mph, mph!”

“Pardon me.”

Baron muffled the struggling man’s mouth and arms, waiting for him to lose consciousness. Then, before he could run into anyone, he dragged him into a stall. As he pinned him over the toilet and waited leisurely, the body that had been thrashing wildly went completely limp.

Baron swapped clothes with the unconscious man. Leaning against the stall wall, he stripped off his shirt and pants, which were filthy from rolling on the floor. Over a chest where scabs had dried along the knife wounds, he donned the fine shirt and jacket in turn. It was a suit with an attractive dark charcoal fabric and sleek, elegant lines.

Utilizing his brazenness to its full extent, he acted as if he were in a department store dressing room rather than a bathroom stall. He smoothed out the wrinkles, slipped the bangle onto his wrist, and leveled his gaze with the unconscious man. Then, he took the silver-rimmed glasses perched on the man’s nose and placed them on his own. Even without looking in a mirror, he could picture his transformed self.

Before leaving the restroom, Baron sat the unconscious man upright and bid him a polite farewell.

“I’ll return these after wearing them clean.”

The idea of roaming the enemy’s base with his bare face after it had already been exposed once was fairly insane, but Baron Lin’s most recent official assignment had been undercover work. Humans see the world through belief. Controlling that belief depends more on hairstyle, clothing, posture, and expression than on the arrangement of facial features. If you can manipulate belief, you can become anything. If you can deceive a human, you can deceive an AI as well.

Baron, now dressed in a formal suit, strode out. With every wide step he took, his appearance shifted slightly.

On the first step, he neatly swept back his disheveled bangs to reveal his forehead. On the second step, he put focus into his languidly drooping eyes. By curling his lower lip inward, the shape of his mouth and jaw changed. Next, he corrected his characteristically loose and unreliable posture and gait into something straight and upright. Finally, when he replaced his weak, mischievous, and flighty smile with a slight, neutral frown, he transformed into an image of sensitive intelligence, accentuated by the thin silver glasses.

A man who looked neither like a detective, a gang member, nor a bodyguard emerged from the hallway and returned to the Central Gallery. Baron went up to the second-floor balcony and looked down. Various similar blonds came and went like ornamental fish in a tank, but the face he was looking for was nowhere to be seen.

Was he meeting separately with the host? Before that, who was the host? Someone not wearing a bangle? At least, there was no such person here right now. Baron withdrew his gaze toward the interior of the terrace.

A familiar silhouette caught the edge of his vision as he shifted his sight. Following a profound sense of déjà vu, Baron reflexively turned his head. Standing there was an African woman, exceptionally long-limbed and thin, drinking champagne. She was a woman with striking eyes that shone black as oil.

He had seen eyes like those before. Even though he quickly averted his gaze, the woman was as sharp as the strange light in her eyes. Her thinly groomed eyebrows arched at an angle. The woman approached him. She spoke first in a tone that was both arrogant and elegant.

“Is something the matter?”

There was no need to say much. A relaxed smile was enough.