Chapter 9
898words
Sunset painted the hallway in cheap orange-soda hues. Having shed that mortifying butler costume, I felt like I'd crawled out of someone else's skin—lighter, more myself again.
"Post-operation debriefing, commencing now."
Kurosawa Rin materialized beside me, watching students dismantle festival booths through the window.
Post-operation debriefing... you really did treat a school festival like a military campaign.
"What's there to debrief?" I replied irritably. "You just systematically demolished three armed operatives with kitchenware while tanking our café's sales in the process."
"Your assessment is factually inaccurate," she countered, her perfect profile deadly serious. "According to final metrics, following the 'special combat demonstration,' customer traffic increased by 37% with revenue exceeding projections by 12%. Conclusion: my actions provided net positive outcomes for class objectives."
...She actually ran analytics on café performance during a combat situation?
I was speechless.
"That's not the primary concern," she pivoted. "Your combat performance evaluation requires an environment free from signal interference. Follow me."
Without waiting for response, she strode toward the stairwell.
Hey, don't order me around like some junior officer! And what "combat performance"? I was basically a terrified mannequin throughout that entire fiasco!
Naturally, I kept these protests safely in my head.
Eventually, I trailed after her to our usual spot—the rooftop.
The sunset-bathed rooftop was silent except for the gentle whisper of wind.
We sat with our backs against the cool wall, a familiar position we'd assumed countless times before.
"Mission report commencing," Rin announced with military formality. "Preliminary interrogation of the three Ouroboros Consortium operatives has been completed."
"That fast?" I asked, surprised. "Your Chronos people handle interrogations too? I figured you'd just zip-tie them and call the cops."
"Standard protocol is superseded when S-class assets are involved, necessitating immediate intelligence extraction," she stated with chilling casualness. "Their confessions confirm they were an advance reconnaissance team tasked with assessing your capabilities and, if feasible, executing 'acquisition or termination.'"
"Acquisition or termination... that's a fancy way of saying kidnap or kill." A chill crawled down my spine.
"Their strategic objective is weaponizing your wide-area telepathic ability to establish a global 'mind-link network,'" Rin continued clinically. "This system would enable worldwide data interception, consciousness manipulation, and targeted psychological elimination. You represent the central processing node required to activate this network."
Central processing node? Me? I can barely remember to update my phone apps!
These people have seriously overestimated my competence.
"Your capabilities significantly exceed your self-assessment," Rin countered, reading my thoughts. "However, this isn't today's primary focus."
"Then what exactly is the point?" I asked, frustrated by her maddening habit of drip-feeding information.
"The critical development," she turned those bottomless eyes directly to mine, "is your demonstrated capacity to convert 'passive reception' into 'active intelligence transmission.' Your three precise warnings increased my combat efficiency by approximately 15%. This represents a significant evolutionary milestone."
She paused, then continued with the gravity of someone announcing a scientific breakthrough: "According to Article 7, Section B of the Chronos Operational Protocols Appendix: When a surveillance subject demonstrates significant, controllable capability evolution benefiting mission parameters, the assigned agent may petition for reclassification from 'Category A: Strict Monitoring' to 'Category B: Collaborative Protection.'"
...What bureaucratic nonsense is this? Does your shadow organization actually have such weirdly specific regulations?!
This sounds like unlocking a new relationship path after maxing out affection points in a dating sim!
"So," I asked, swallowing my sarcastic comments, "what exactly does 'Collaborative Protection' mean?"
"In simplified terms," Rin considered briefly, searching for accessible language, "our relationship transitions from 'unidirectional surveillance' to 'bilateral cooperation.' I am no longer solely your monitor, and you are no longer merely my protection subject. We become... partners."
Partners.
This term felt more... appropriate for our bizarre and hazardous connection than something casual like "friends."
"So what are the perks of this 'partnership'?" I asked sarcastically. "Does my meal plan upgrade from military rations to actual food?"
I expected her typical robotic "request denied" response.
But surprisingly, Rin's eyes showed, for the first time, a flicker of... uncertainty?
"...Regarding nutritional provision modifications, a formal requisition would require submission and approval through proper channels..." she began formally, but with uncharacteristic hesitation. "However... for items such as omelet rolls... perhaps they could be classified under 'partner skill exchange protocol'..."
"Skill exchange?"
"Affirmative." She nodded, composure restored. "I will provide basic combat training, and you will instruct me in... preparing meals that don't trigger sensory overload. This represents equitable value exchange."
The sun had fully disappeared, leaving only a crimson smear across the darkening sky.
I looked at the "human weapon" beside me, using elaborate military jargon to disguise what was essentially "I want to eat normal food," and couldn't help laughing.
"Deal," I said.
Rin's lips curved upward in the barest suggestion of a smile.
It wasn't a natural smile—more like someone following a technical manual on facial expressions—but it contained ten thousand times more authenticity than any practiced customer service smile.
"Well then, partner." She stood and extended her hand. "I anticipate productive collaboration beginning tomorrow."
I took her hand.
It was cool but surprisingly strong.
"Looking forward to it," I replied.
Maybe my quiet, normal life was truly gone forever.
But somehow, the thought of teaching someone who could weaponize dishcloths how to make a proper omelet made me feel...
My future might be far more interesting than I ever imagined.
