Satoru Suzuki
5:00 A.M, his alarm blares.
Another Monday, another week begins.
The day starts like any other in his depressingly boring life. He wakes up, goes to the bathroom to do basic hygiene, then goes to the kitchen to eat breakfast.
Breakfast was slightly different today, though. Today he eats bacon-and-eggs-flavored nutrient paste instead of rice-miso-and-natto-flavored ones, as he usually does. But since the former nutrient tube almost reached its expiration date, he decided to eat it all today to not let it go to waste.
As the sticky, gooey paste hit his tongue, he was immediately reminded why he hadn't eaten it in a while. Out of all the flavors that he has eaten, this one is by far the worst. It tastes spoiled and smells like garbage on a hot day. It took all that he had to not spit it out and then throw up.
He is one to firmly believe that food is for nutrients only and taste is pointless as everything becomes shit in the end. His tastebuds though, have limits.
He can tolerate awful-tasting food just fine. The other pastes tasted only marginally better and he has been eating them since his mother passed. This one here, though, tests his tolerance. It tastes like the spoiled version of the stake-flavored one.
Luckily, he only bought one tube for curiosity's sake. And also due to it being on sale for dirt cheap at the time, as if they were giving it away for free.
He wonders why.
Foolish he was to not see the writing on the wall, he was blinded by the bargain, so now he must suffer the consequences of his frugality.
As he swallows clump after clump of the foul paste, each one harder to swallow than the last, he leaves the kitchen and heads for the room at the end of the hallway.
Inside sat the usual sight he sees each morning and each night: a high-class chair with a footrest, a black screen on its stand, and a two-layered wheeled table. On the table were some cables, an empty nanomachine syringe that looked like a seal stamp, and a picture frame of two smiling adults holding a baby.
These are the only valuable things in this house.
Seating himself comfortably on the chair, he reaches for the remote and turns the TV screen on. "…as tension rises between our nation's Third Arcology and China's Second Arcology over the rights to harvest resources in the disputed land between them, experts believe conflicts will happen. Whether widespread armed forces were to be used or not remained to be seen…"
Tuning out the reporter's voice, he continues to eat his breakfast. He never cared about politics, worldwide or national.
So what if war were to break out, it's not like he was expected on the battlefield. The megacorps already have their private militaries for that, they certainly don't need office worker Satoru Suzuki to hold a gun for them.
His purpose isn't to fight, it's to make money for them to fight with. And he is perfectly okay with that. Though, if a new World War were to happen…
On second thoughts, let's not go there.
As he gulped down the last of the paste, trying desperately not to wretch, the part of the news he was waiting for was finally on screen. A lady dressed in a neat suit begins to narrate the weather forecast, "As humidity continues to rise, there will likely be rainfall over the next few days. Citizens are recommended to bring protective clothing when they leave home. Those unlucky enough to be caught in the rain are advised to cover any exposed cybernetic-enhanced parts by any means necessary. Other natural phenomena will also be affected by the increased humidity, such as…"
The weather lady continues to speak, but he no longer pays attention. The only part he needed to hear was over with. So he gets off the chair, turns the TV off, and begins to get ready for work.
Everything is routine by now. Suit, pants, gas mask, goggles. And since there might be some acidic rain in the future, he also brings an umbrella, made with chemical-resistant materials. Not much in terms of protection, but it serves its purpose.
He could buy a full-body protective suit, and he has enough money for it, but buying is one thing, maintaining it is another entirely. And after a few seconds of his intracranial computer implant calculating the estimated cost of owning one, he concluded that it would be too much of a strain on his self-imposed budget.
The neural nano-interface brain implant was the last gift his mother ever gave him.
After she died, her bank account was put under his control, so he used some of that money for the implant so he can go and find work, the rest he put into savings.
Without his mother, he would have starved a long time ago.
Glancing at the clock, 5:56. If he leaves now, he should be at work before 7.
After putting on one of his worn-out pair of shoes, he moves to the door and opens it. The door shrieks that same ear-splitting noise that bid him goodbye in the morning and welcome him home in the evening.
As he locks the door with the three locks, his mind wanders back to the thought of replacing them with an electronic lock, but just like last time and many times before that, he dismisses it.
Sure, it would be more convenient and secure than what he has currently, but it's not like he has anything to steal from.
He lives alone, he wore no jewelry, no expensive watch on his wrist, his shoes were banged up, and his clothes were almost threadbare. He is quite sure to whoever wanted to rob the apartments in this complex, his home would be at the bottom of their list.
Was he being too stingy with his money? He doesn't think so. It's just that the concerns he currently has are not worth wasting his fund. It doesn't matter to him that his bank account is loaded with cash, as he always thinks that it is stupid wasting money on useless things.
Leaving the complex, he passed by some of his neighbors but he didn't bother saying hi, and neither did they. Despite living on the same floor he admits he didn't know their names, and he is sure they didn't know his either. He doesn't have anything against them, he just preferred interacting with people who share the same hobby as him, like his friends in Yggdrasil.
While on his way to work, he couldn't help but feel that something will happen today. Which confuses him. Today isn't any public holiday, and neither are there any special events planned, not in the real world, not in-game either. So why did he get that feeling in his gut?
Trying his best to ignore the feeling, he continues walking his way to the office. Where he would clock in for another day of routine, tedious, mentally exhaustive labor to sustain himself just so he could do it all over again tomorrow. Day after day, week after week until he finally dies. Luckily, he still has Yggdrasil and his comrades to keep him company in the late hours of the day.
Speaking of, he is quite excited to log on today. His guild, Ainz Ooal Gown, has made plans to meet up and challenge a raid together. If the info they bought is correct, the boss will drop a lot of good loot and even some rare material for armor and weapons. And if the info is false and they were led to an ambush, he and Punito Moe have made plenty of contingency for that.
He couldn't wait for his workday to end, hopefully with nothing too bad occurring.
Then it ends like any other standard day, surprisingly enough.
Twelve hours of work has just ended and there is nothing out of the ordinary. He spends the entire time sitting in his cubicle, enticing customers to buy products that they probably don't need, checking deliveries, and enduring his boss's tantrums.
Overall, just any standard work day. Which made the feeling he still has in his gut all the more concerning.
He's on his way back home now. The smog that envelopes this part of town is unnaturally denser around him than it usually is. He couldn't even see two feet ahead of him. Must have been because of the heightened humidity like the weather lady said.
Had he not walked this path for years, he would have easily gotten lost, but he has traveled this way so many times now, he's basically on autopilot between work and home. So hopefully, there's nothing to worry about. But the unease he felt in the morning continues to haunt him.
Why does he keep having that feeling?
Try as hard as he can, he couldn't shake it off. He starts to wonder if there might be something wrong with his bodily implants. Should he have them checked?
Maybe with the equipment he has at home first, he doesn't want to spend time and money in the clinic just to have them tell him he's wasted both.
Speaking of the clinic, hasn't he run out of nanomachines? The syringe was empty the last he saw it.
And hasn't he forgotten to bring it with him to refill?
Great. Now, he has to make the trip home, grab the thing, make another trip to the clinic, then go back home again. It would take a lot of time to make all those trips. It was late enough as it is. He isn't sure he would make it in time to log in on Yggdrasil before everybody else in his guild has already logged off.
Sighing he resigns himself to the fate of not seeing his comrade for the day and possibly misses out on some juicy loot. He couldn't blame anyone for this either. He saw the syringe was empty, how could he not have the thought of bringing it with him?
So this must be why he keeps having that uncomfortable feeling deep down in his guts.
As he lost himself in his thought, he trips over something and falls face-first on the pavement.
On the ground, he looks back to see what it is that he tripped over. What he saw was a body, lying face down on the pavement, clothed in tatters and rags. The body is smaller than he is, but the hair is longer, so it must have been a girl.
Poor thing, to live this long just to die in the street.
A pitiable sight, but that's about it. Living in this day and age already did much to desensitize him to far worse than this.
But what can you do, it has been like this for a long time now. It's best to just go on with his day. He gets up and begins to dust himself off, ready to leave the corpse behind and let the cleaners do their things, he also got things to do himself after all. But then, to his surprise, a soft grunting sound came from the girl.
So she isn't dead, yet.
Still, it's not like it has anything to do with him. He should just go home and mind his own business.
One step. He hesitated.
That is… weird.
He usually doesn't want to do anything with a random body on the streets, so why did the sight of this girl tuck at his heartstring like this? He has seen children far younger rot in the same street, but why was he hesitating now? Was it because she was still alive while the others were not? And why does he feel he needs to do something about it?
But then what it is that he supposes to do?
He could walk away, hoping that he would forget her existence when he woke up tomorrow.
That seems to be the best bet. He and her have nothing to do with each other after all.
Or he could try to do something heroic.
Heroic?
Or stupidity?
It's best to just walk away. This doesn't concern him.
"Saving someone who is in trouble is common sense!"
Sighing, he turns around, the body lying right in front of him now. Is he seriously going to go through with this?
Crouching down, he put a hand on the girl's shoulder and nudge her, quietly he asks, "Hey there, are you okay?".
A soft murmuring was his answer, but it doesn't tell him much. He decides to call out again, "Hey, do you need some help?".
She tried to speak, but all her response was a grunt and a few painful coughs. There must have been something wrong with her lungs or her throat. If he leaves her as intended originally, she wouldn't be dead just yet. He could call her an ambulance and then hopes for the best of luck to her.
Yeah, that idea seems good.
But what will happen to her after that?
If she doesn't have enough money on her, they would abandon her to her fate anyway. But by that point, it's not his problem anymore.
Is it really?
"Saving someone who is in trouble is common sense!"
Sighing, he then scoops her up in his arm, her face now facing him. She looks dirty, her clothes in tatters and marred with ash and soot, and even a few bruises and cuts all over her body. Did she start a fight or something? She should wear a gas mask like him, especially in this smog. But her gas mask is on the ground next to where she was lying.
It is of a much older model and is even more worn out than his. Most importantly though, it's broken. The filters on either side of the mask were scratched, exposing the inner components, which were also badly damaged.
Without a gas mask, her lungs, artificial or otherwise, wouldn't be able to handle the usual toxic air, let alone today's especially dense smog, so dense that it is almost impossible to see anything ahead. Getting lost is a guarantee if she is unfamiliar with this part of town.
But luckily for her, he was here now. He just happens to know the way to the closest clinic like the back of his hand.
Going as fast as he could, on foot. He didn't call an ambulance; they would take too long to arrive due to the smog. It's best if he takes her by himself. Without running. Being hasty in this fog would just invite trouble.
Well, even more troubles than he's already in.
That lead him to the thought of why he was doing all of this. He never did consider himself to be a good person. So why did he go this far?
Let's not have second thoughts right now, when he holds her life in his hands.
It took close to half an hour for him to take her to where she could be fixed up. All that time, he keeps coming up with different scenarios on why the girl has gotten herself into this mess. The worst one that he can come up with is that she has made some enemies. The gas mask looked like it has been cut open and she was bruised and cut all over. She could have messed with someone she shouldn't have and then was beaten up as a warning.
And by helping her, he has put himself on that someone's hit list.
Too late for second thoughts, the entrance to the clinic was right in front of him.
Taking her to the emergency reception, the lady there uncaringly tells him to be quick and to put the girl in one of the machines that lined the reception hall. He has used them many times before but he didn't care enough to learn about their name.
The machine looks like a bed but with a glass dome on top. Patients would be placed inside to be scanned from head to toe for any anomaly within their bodies and the result would then be shown to a doctor to save time and effort on manual scanning.
To his knowledge, the machine doesn't usually take too long for results, so thankfully he doesn't need to wait here all night.
Now that he finally has a chance to catch his breath, he finds a nearby chair to sit down, takes off his gas mask, and takes in a lung full of the clinic air. Unlike the outside where it is hot and polluted, and also very toxic, the air inside is sterile and a little cold. It also smells like bleach and alcohol. But hey, at least it's clean and somewhat refreshing, beats coughing his lungs out that's for sure.
After a few minutes, a doctor comes, takes a look at the diagnostic on the girl's scanner, then turns to him.
"Are you her relative?" The doctor asked.
"Not really. I just found her collapsed on the street." He answered.
The doctor's next reply is like the air within this place, clean, sterile, cold, "After checking the patient's condition, the machine also checks the registries and personal ID within her implants. It usually comes back with a list of people related to the patient and another list of affiliated workplaces. Both are empty. So I hope that you will be able to take over as her contact with the clinic while she's in treatment."
The worst-case scenario begins to blare inside his head. No family and no workplace, too dangerous, too dangerous! Trying to hide his inner panic, he asks the doctor, "What would happen if I don't take responsibility?"
"Then she would be put in Minimal Care, where she will stay until her condition will either turns for the better, which she will be discharged with no fees attached, or it turns worst, which she will be transferred to a national public healthcare facility. In either case, it's no longer yours or this clinic's problem." The doctor responded, still as cold and detached as before.
The answer is simple then. Best to leave now, he has done all that he could, and he doesn't want any more problems than he already has.
But right as he was about to respond, a painful-sounding cough came from her direction, then a few more.
Looking over at her in the scanner. Ash and soot stained the glass above her mouth, her breathing labored, her face paled, and she was sweating black, beady droplets from her forehead, arms, and legs, staining the cushion underneath.
The answer that should have come easy to him was now stuck in his throat. Was he about to make the right choice? What was the right choice even?
And why does seeing her in pain hurt him so?
"Saving someone who is in trou-"
He gets it okay! Stop reminding him! And it's not like leaving her to her fate now would magically erase his involvement in this whole mess.
Sighing outwardly, he agrees to be her contact, which seems to catch the doctor off guard.
"Huh?" Pulling himself out of his bewilderment, the doctor blurts out, "You will?"
After realizing he was being unprofessional, the doctor corrects himself, "I mean, thank you, sir, most would have left her to her fate." He said with a warmer, kinder tone. "So while she's getting the emergency treatment, you will need to fill out the necessary paperwork, the lady at the reception will help you with it. Just give me a second."
Why does he sound so… genuinely grateful?
The doctor then goes to the reception desk, says something to the lady that he didn't quite catch, and beckons him over. After that, the doctor leaves.
Still confused over the sudden change in the doctor's attitude, he goes over as was asked. The lady, while her attitude doesn't change much, was more patient this time. As she guides him on how to best fill each of the spaces on one of the admission terminals, the doctor returns, this time with a few nurses and a stretcher. They take the girl out of the machine and onto a stretcher and then take her to another room at the end of the hall.
The machine, now empty, begins to automatically clean and disinfect itself. It whirrs and buzzes and he could also hear the chemicals being sprayed inside it. By the time it was done, it was spotless. There was no trace of the girl ever being there.
Focusing himself back on the admission forms, he tries his best to put down anything that the lady said was important, but as he doesn't know things such as the girl's name and address, the lady tells him to put his name and address in as a placeholder.
After he's finished filling out everything he could on the terminal, the reception lady tells him to wait until the processing is done and then pay the fee. Which he expected to be a lot according to the times he was unlucky enough to require this place's service.
And… just as he thought, the fee was enormous. And it was just the admission alone. There would also be charges for the room she will be staying in, also for food, medical supplies, other miscellaneous services, and any tests or procedures that might pop up along the way. He going to be spending a lot on this girl.
It was fortunate that he has a small fortune saved up.
Sighing for the nth time today, he places his hand in an alcove on the side of the terminal. Inside, the terminal would scan for a chip at the back of his hand.
The chip acts as both a personal ID and a bank card. He can connect the chip to any bank and create any number of bank accounts he wishes, but he registered only one so he doesn't have to waste money on the fees for multiples.
After it finished scanning the back of his hand, it scans the front for his fingerprints. It also checks his vitals to make sure that he is alive and that the hand was still connected to his person. Basic, boring security procedures.
After everything was verified, only then does the transaction goes through, signaled by a thumbs up and a smiley face on the terminal screen.
It looks stupid.
Now that his part in this mess was over, the lady tells him to wait for the doctor to come back with the detailed examination result before he goes home.
Seeing as there's nothing he can do right now, he decides to send a quick email on his phone to his guildmates to tell them he can't log on tonight. Hopefully, he won't miss out on too much. But considering his luck today, he wouldn't bet on it.
After waiting for some time, the doctor returns and hands him a sheet of paper. "The patient has multiple contusions and abrasions on her torso, arms, and legs, but there's no danger to her health and will be healed in time. Her lung implants, however, were corroded slightly and required to be cleaned and some parts replaced, but her vitals are stable so we can operate on her tonight. She will likely wake up quite soon after the operation. Tomorrow's evening at the latest." The doctor said, smiling.
"Oh! The patient is malnourished and requires a well-planned diet with specific nutrient intake for the next few months. As a result, she will need to come back for regular check-ups. But beyond that, she will be hail and healthy." He added quickly.
That's good news at least.
He gives the doctor a slight bow, thanking him. Despite being quite exhausted with this whole ordeal, formality is still formality.
Now, finally, he can go back to his home, he is very, very tired. He doesn't think he has it in him to play Yggdrasil at the moment. Though, since the nanomachines syringe remained empty, he couldn't even log on to Yggdrasil even if he wanted.
But hey, at least he did a good deed today.
Let's hope it won't come back and bite him in the butt later.
By the time he reached his apartment, it was already close to midnight. Too tired to even eat, he plops onto his bed. Without even showering and changing his clothes, he fell asleep until the next morning.
That night, he dreams of the girl. But she looks different, cleaner this time, wearing a red cloak like the ones in those fantasy anime he watched. Her red eyes stared at him, then she smiled at him a ridiculously radiant smile. All the while Touch Me voice echoes, "Saving someone who is in trouble is common sense!"
He would soon forget about this dream, but right now, for the first time in a long while, he felt whole.