I walked the path home, rolling two ping-pong-ball-sized spheres in my right palm, careful not to let them click against each other.
Perhaps because it was past noon, the day laborers had mostly vanished, leaving the street feeling strangely deserted.
──In this city, "quiet" just meant the time of day when the scent of death was thinnest.
In the end, I hadn't been able to get my hands on the natural tart I’d been craving.
Instead, I’d picked up a Small EMP Grenade from a Junk Shop. Despite being small enough to fit in my palm, the thing was top-shelf gear, capable of neutralizing electronics within a ten-meter radius. The price had been reasonable, and it wasn't a bad insurance policy for emergencies.
Come to think of it, I wondered if a sport like "ping-pong" even existed in this city...
The only thing I’d seen at the bars was a ridiculous sports race where modified freaks hit each other with prosthetic limbs instead of rackets. It was really just a pretext for gambling.
"Well, maybe I'll check it out if I’m ever in the mood," I muttered, turning a corner.
My familiar home-cum-workshop, complete with its heavy metal shutter, came into view—or at least, it should have.
But standing in front of it was an incongruous figure.
It was a woman. She was dressed in clothes far too fine for a place like this.
She occasionally gave the shutter a timid knock, whispering something to herself. Between knocks, she glanced around nervously.
"I’m surprised she made it this far in one piece," I remarked under my breath.
In the Free Autonomous District, looking like that made you a prime target. Being kidnapped would have been a stroke of luck; if she’d run into the wrong crowd, a "Dismantling Show" would have started right there on the pavement.
The only reason she was still standing was likely because the locals assumed she was associated with me and stayed away.
Not that I had any idea who she was.
Still, leaving her there would have left a bad taste in my mouth. I decided to call out to her.
"Hey. What do you want?"
At the sound of my voice, the woman’s shoulders gave a violent jolt. She spun around, and a dainty scream pierced the air.
"Hy-Hyaaa!"
She collapsed into a heap, clutching her head with both hands.
"Good grief..." A sigh escaped me.
Seriously, how did she manage to navigate the city crowds to get here? It was nothing short of a miracle.
"Don't go crouching in the middle of the street like that. So, what is it? You got business with the Repairman?"
I addressed the trembling woman while pulling the key from my pocket. The metal shutter let out a harsh, clattering rasp as I slid it up, sending a cloud of dust into the air that tickled my nose. I unlocked the inner door next.
"If you have business, get inside. If not, get lost."
When I spoke again, the woman flinched and snapped her head up. Her mouth worked as she searched for words, hesitating, before she ultimately fell back into a stunned silence.
...But above her head, a Speech Bubble told the real story.
Is this him? The "Repairman"? Oh, what should I do... I came all this way, but... Is he going to kill me?!
Give me a break. Do I really look that dangerous? I mean, I suppose I couldn't entirely deny it.
"Looks like you don't have business after all. See ya."
The moment I spat the words and moved to close the door—
"Wa-Wait! S-sorry! I do! I have business!"
Her voice was desperate as she lunged toward me. I caught the faint, elegant scent of high-end perfume. It wasn't overbearing; it was a natural, sophisticated fragrance she clearly used every day.
"Fine, fine, I get it. I’ll at least hear you out. Just back off a little."
I waved her back to give myself some space and invited her inside.
I shed my jacket and hung it on the wall, then set the junk Small EMP Grenade I’d been fidgeting with onto my work desk with a heavy thud. I sank into my chair, the air suspension hissing as it settled under my weight.
I gestured toward the single-seater guest sofa, and the woman sat down with visible trepidation.
I took the opportunity to observe her properly.
She wore a casquette hat pulled low, and while her outfit was expensive, she’d opted for a pants style. She was clearly at least somewhat aware of how out of place she was.
Her skin was flawless, without a single blemish, as were her hands. The silver hair peeking from beneath her hat had a lustrous sheen that caught the light, gleaming like polished metal. Her makeup was light and natural—none of the gaudiness typical of the women in the nightlife trade.
Her lips were pressed tight, and her teeth, visible during her earlier panic, were perfectly straight.
She was an Upper District girl through and through. A lady from a good family.
What the hell was someone like that doing here alone?
I clicked my tongue internally. Well, whatever. I said I’d listen.
"So... what’s the job?"
I reached into the small fridge under my desk and pulled out two bottles of water. I set one on the desk and tossed the other toward her. She scrambled to catch it with clumsy, unpracticed hands, letting out a long sigh of relief once she finally secured it.
Yeah, she definitely didn't belong in this world.
"W-Water... thank you very much."
She gave a timid thanks, popped the tab, and took a small sip. Once she’d moistened her throat, her breathing seemed to steady. Keeping her gaze lowered, she began to speak, her words coming out in slow, hesitant fragments.
"...It's about my younger sister. She was born with a weak constitution. She underwent gene therapy, but she was still left with severe disabilities..."
I listened with my arms crossed. It was a common enough story, though in this part of the city, such children usually "disappeared" shortly after birth. The fact that the girl was even alive was a luxury only the Upper District could afford.
"Eventually, we started replacing her failing organs with prosthetics. Now... half of her body is mechanical, but she was still able to live a normal life."
Tears began to well in the corners of her eyes. She stopped to take a deep breath.
"But one day... we installed an Update Chip for her treatment, and her body suddenly went haywire. We managed to save her life by forcing the chip out, but... her body is in tatters now. All the doctors and technicians I know told me... they told me it couldn't be fixed."
Her voice broke at the end, and she began to sob quietly. She gripped the water bottle so hard the plastic crunched and dented.
The chip I’d just delivered... Cordeaux had mentioned it was "surplus from the Upper District."
I had a bad feeling about this.
The woman wiped her eyes and looked up at me.
"Then... I heard a rumor that the Repairman here could fix anything. So—please! My sister... please save Cecily!"
She clutched her hands together as if praying, her eyes searching mine. The tears caught in her silver hair, making her look painfully fragile.
"By the way," I asked, "do you still have that chip?"
She shook her head.
"No... I wanted to use it as evidence to find the cause and file a lawsuit. But it vanished... I must have lost it during the chaos of her treatment. There were so many people coming and going."
As if remembering something, she fumbled through her pocket and pulled out a terminal.
"Wait... I have an image of the chip from when it was removed. I recorded it along with my sister's condition, hoping it might be useful..."
She held the screen out to me.
There, on the display, was a festering, distorted, scorched-black chip.
It was the spitting image of the one I’d just handed over to Cordeaux—exactly as it had looked before I fixed it.