#783

Epilogue - A Retired Old Man (2)  

Time is money.  

Following this maxim, Al skillfully finished washing the dishes and promptly prepared to go out.  

“Are you going to the restaurant again today?”  

“Where else would a wealthy old man like me go?”  

Forrest, who had packed his belongings, responded in kind and stepped outside with Al.  

True to England's characteristic gloomy weather, the sun wasn’t blazing despite it being morning. Instead, the streets were filled with flashy cars.  

Forrest admired the most dazzling vehicle among them.  

“Wow… You’re something else. Is that antique of yours still running?”  

The “antique” referred to none other than the car Al drove.  

Specifically, it was the car Forrest had gifted him when Al inherited the position of mediator.  

Though it was a state-of-the-art and expensive model at the time, nearly twenty years later, it was now a relic, surprising for still being operational.  

Nevertheless, Al stubbornly insisted on spending money to maintain and drive that car.  

“It’s well-maintained and still runs perfectly.”  

“You’re one thrifty guy. For a well-off mediator, why not upgrade? Aren’t you worried about people talking behind your back?”  

“At this age, it’s valued higher than most luxury cars. You could call it a genuine antique. But you’re acting a bit unusual today.”  

Forrest, sitting in the passenger seat after opening the car door, asked back.  

“What do you mean?”  

“You don’t usually comment on my car.”  

“Maybe I just feel like being grumpy today.”  

“Haha, then may I ask one more question?”  

“What is it?”  

“Why did you sit in the passenger seat instead of the backseat today?”  

Al, seated in the driver’s seat, looked over and asked.  

Forrest, who typically sat in the back, was now in the passenger seat.  

Realizing this belatedly, Forrest appeared momentarily puzzled before smirking and replying.  

“I just felt like sitting here today. Is that a problem?”  

“Not at all. Let’s go.”  

***  

Al drove Forrest straight to Forrest’s Restaurant on 30th Street in T District.  

However, instead of taking a direct route, he deliberately took a longer path.  

This was out of consideration for Forrest, who liked to look around, and it was also the reason Al visited him early every morning.  

He needed this much leeway to align with his working hours.  

Today, however, seemed to be an exception.  

“The traffic is heavier today.”  

“Indeed. My apologies.”  

Even though it wasn’t his fault, Al apologized—a lingering habit from the past. Forrest casually dismissed it.  

“Well, this isn’t so bad once in a while.”  

“That’s a relief… Oh, sir, look at that.”  

Al laughed as if he had spotted something amusing and pointed with his finger.  

It was a giant billboard in T District, featuring Child-Fourth striking a pose, pointing directly forward.  

Below it was the following slogan: "The Guardian Angel of Workers protects workers’ rights. Contact us if you need help!"  

The “Children” left behind by Him had read the Red Book, organized workers, and led protests. Eventually, they turned the protests into a weapon and a product.  

What does that mean? They had used the dividends from the redevelopment alliance as seed money to establish a civil organization called “Guardian Angel of Workers,” encouraging workers in Landa to form unions and supporting their protests.  

In return, they collected a membership fee called the “Labor Tithe,” which was one-tenth of workers' salaries, regardless of gender or age.  

“Ah… Terrifying and horrifying…”  

Forrest recalled the time when the Children had created the “Guardian Angel of Workers.”  

Seeing that billboard immediately brought to mind a future where every union in Landa was absorbed by the organization, concentrating tremendous wealth and power—a future that had become a reality.  

Countless workers in Landa were contributing one-tenth of their salaries to the Guardian Angel of Workers, generating higher revenues than most corporations.  

During election seasons, the organization's will even swayed the outcomes.  

As an honorable member of Landa’s affluent class, Forrest felt like he could cry.  

“Hahaha… But isn’t the city now turning to you for help, sir?”  

Al consoled Forrest, who looked bitter.  

Indeed, the “Guardian Angel of Workers” had inadvertently benefited Forrest.  

Whenever the Children caused chaos collectively, the city council sought Forrest, and each time, he made substantial profits and gained influence.  

He acted as a kind of legal advisor or negotiator.  

Even after retirement, his bank balance was growing instead of shrinking.  

“By the way, our restaurant staff also formed a union.”  

“What?!”  

Forrest asked again in astonishment. If he had been drinking water, he might have spit it out through his nose.  

It was no wonder—Forrest Restaurant's employees were all Red People, and Al, the owner, was also a Red Person. Yet, a labor union?  

“You didn’t stop them?”  

“They’re just trying to protect their basic rights. It didn’t seem right to prevent that, especially since we’ve hired more staff.”  

“You’re unfit to be a boss. You should’ve nipped that in the bud. Besides, it’s not like their salaries are low.”  

Indeed, the wages at Forrest Restaurant were fairly decent, especially considering the employees were Red People.  

This was due to Forrest’s policy to preempt any potential betrayal.  

“So, you don’t like unions?”  

“Of course, I don’t. Who would like something as parasitic as cancer cells, holding you back when you’re trying to move forward?”  

“But thanks to unions, workplace safety incidents, exploitation, and even sexual crimes have decreased, haven’t they? Especially issues like child labor.”  

“And productivity and profits have also dropped. Economic growth is slowing. You’re wealthy, too. Try thinking from the perspective of the rich—it’s not a bad thing.”  

Though it was a piece of golden advice, Al only smiled awkwardly.  

Noticing that smile, Forrest elaborated further.  

“Honestly, the thing I hate most about them is that their leaders don’t work but still afford expensive cars and houses.”  

The leaders in question were none other than Child-First, Second, Third, and Fourth.  

“Aren’t they leaders of a civic organization, not owners?”  

“Whatever you call them, they used the membership fees to buy houses in G, H, and I Districts and a fleet of luxury cars.”  

“How do you know that so well?”  

“I helped them purchase those properties. For a commission, of course.”  

“….”  

“Why are you looking at me like that?”  

“It’s nothing… So, is it true they’re playing with money using the membership fees?”  

It was true.  

A portion of the massive monthly membership fees collected by the “Guardian Angel of Workers” was funneled into a lending company called Green Money.  

Green Money was run by Child-Third, who controlled the Puppet Shamus.  

Third lent the funds to Landa’s business owners and reinvested the profits back into Landa’s workers.  

“By reinvestment, you mean…?”  

“They lend money at low interest rates or only ask for the principal back.”  

“Oh, then isn’t that a good thing?”  

“It is. Thanks to that, loan sharks preying on workers have gone bankrupt.”  

“Ah… So that’s why small-scale lenders in Landa have been disappearing lately?”  

Forrest nodded quietly.  

“When small lenders go bankrupt, the financiers backing them also see their profits decline. Normally, this would lead to conflicts…”  

“That’s unlikely, I’d say.”  

Al shook his head. It was a perfectly reasonable reaction.  

Over the years, the Children had decimated riot police, private security forces, and mercenaries like the Pink Men. No one would dare pick a fight unless they wanted a bullet lodged somewhere it shouldn’t be.  

“And with First and Second building connections among politicians, it would be even harder.”  

Al added another observation.  

Child-First and Second, who controlled the Puppet Bathory and Durans, respectively, used the funds from the “Guardian Angel of Workers” to create various elixirs. These were gifted to city council members and high-ranking officials in Landa to solidify their network.  

As a result, the Guardian Angel of Workers had risen as a new organization representing Landa, with dominance in military, financial, social, and political spheres.  

Looking back, it was a rather frightening story.  

Just four Creatures had managed to upend Landa’s ecosystem.  

But considering the one who created them, it wasn’t entirely surprising.  

In any case, while they were discussing this and that, the previously congested road cleared up, allowing Al’s antique car to move forward.  

At that moment, a patrolling police officer blocked their path and signaled them to pull over.  

The reason was fairly obvious.  

“Just a routine check… Oh?”  

The officer, upon seeing Al’s face through the rolled-down window, exclaimed.  

He had recognized Al, the leader of the Red Society and mediator.  

And then he noticed Forrest as well.  

“Good day to you.”  

“Mr. Forrest?”  

The officer immediately recognized Forrest, who regularly met with Landa city council members—or perhaps remembered his significant contributions to the police fundraisers.  

Regardless, Forrest asked the officer,  

“Is there a problem?”  

“Oh, no! None at all… My apologies for the inconvenience.”  

“Thank you. Keep up the good work.”  

The officer bowed apologetically and left.  

Watching the scene, Forrest reflected on how little things seemed to have changed from the past yet were subtly different.  

At the very least, he had received an apology, hadn’t he?  

“Al?”  

“Yes, sir.”  

“Let’s head straight to the restaurant.”  

“Yes, understood!”  

Al answered loudly and drove off.  

***  

The car glided smoothly down the road, quickly arriving at Forrest Restaurant.  

“Whew…”  

As he stepped out of the car, Forrest gazed at the expanded restaurant, feeling a renewed sense of awe.  

Though he saw it every day, it felt strangely fresh today.  

The size and interior had visibly grown and evolved.  

Ding!  

Except for one thing—the bell that chimed when the restaurant door opened remained unchanged, as if frozen in time.  

“Welcome, sir.”  

As Forrest and Al arrived punctually, a red-skinned staff member greeted them as if waiting.  

Other passing staff members also nodded politely, and as Al had mentioned, the number of employees had indeed increased.  

Of course, it was natural, considering the restaurant had grown in size.  

However, it wasn’t just the staff that had increased—the number of customers had also noticeably risen.  

Glances...  

Shifts of attention…  

Quite a few of them turned their gaze toward Forrest.  

To be precise, many of them had come to this restaurant hoping for a chance to converse with him.  

However, Forrest, fully aware of this, paid no mind to anyone and headed straight for his designated seat.  

He was too old and too much of a big shot to respond to every stare.  

“Everything has been set as usual… and your guest has arrived.”  

“Thank you. Al, I’ll take my leave.”  

“Yes, sir… Do you have any plans to go somewhere after this?”  

“Well, I planned to stay here for now.”  

“I see. If you decide to go somewhere or head home, please let me know. I’ll drive you.”  

“Is that necessary?”  

“I just feel like doing so today. Will you allow it?”  

“Well, do as you please.”  

It was a strange remark, but Forrest didn’t think much of it and agreed.  

He didn’t want to waste any mental energy before starting his work.  

With that, Forrest parted ways with Al and followed the staff to his private seat.  

“Good to see you, Forrest.”  

“Good to see you too.”  

There sat a typewriter, fine liquor, and Jane, who, despite the passing years, had retained her youthful appearance.  

***  

Jane.  

Through Edith’s request, Forrest had grown acquainted with her.  

Once an illegitimate child, Jane was now as wealthy as Forrest.  

Having inherited her father’s estate and secured substantial funds from a wealthy, lecherous tycoon, she had amassed a fortune through exceptional investments.  

Rumor even had it that she had made a pact with the spirit of the World Tree.  

How else could her investments be so divinely accurate?  

Whether the rumors were true or not, even Forrest couldn’t say.  

What was certain, however, was that she was one of the wealthiest individuals in Landa, if not the world, and a sharp, almost prophetic investor.  

“Hmm, instead of calling me an investor or a wealthy person, could you refer to me as the representative of the Sisterhood?”  

Jane, who somehow maintained her youthful vibrancy, pouted with the same coyness she had in her maiden days.  

“That’s so unfair. I’ve been doing more social activism than investing lately…”  

“I may have requested this interview, but I’d prefer if you didn’t meddle with my writing.”  

“I’m not meddling; I’m correcting inaccuracies. And how many more interviews are you planning to do? Is that book of yours ever going to be published?”  

Jane inquired about the book’s progress.  

The book she referred to was a collection of anecdotes and conversations about him.  

Originally, it was meant to be written and published as quickly as possible, but Forrest had spent years rewriting, rechecking, and conducting interviews to ensure accuracy.  

“Hmm, hmm…”  

Forrest let out an awkward cough, embarrassed by the fact that the book still hadn’t been completed.  

But he had his reasons.  

Once published, there would be no turning back. Accuracy had to be meticulously ensured.  

A single sentence or word could distort the meaning of the story, and people’s memories could become unreliable over time.  

“That’s why I must revisit everything repeatedly to enhance accuracy.”  

“There should still be a limit to it.”  

“We’re talking about his story… Do you mind?”  

At Forrest’s question, Jane hesitated.  

When he came up in conversation, she reacted like a schoolgirl.  

“Well… it’s not that. It’s just, with your age, Forrest, I’m worried you might pass away before finishing the book.”  

“Haha, don’t worry. I have too much money left to spend to die just yet. Speaking of which, how is your father? I haven’t heard any news of his passing, so I assume he’s still alive? Did I miss something, or is he still kicking?”  

“Unfortunately, it’s the latter. He just refuses to die.”  

Jane shuddered as if disgusted.  

It was true—Edith, that corpulent man, still being alive was indeed unsettling. By common standards, he should have died by now.  

However, Edith’s mortality wasn’t the important issue here. What mattered was that Jane knew of his condition.  

The fact that she could answer so readily meant…  

“You’ve been in contact with him, haven’t you?”  

“…Only occasionally.”  

Jane didn’t deny it.  

She was maintaining a faint connection with her father.  

Perhaps realizing this herself, she added defensively,  

“Don’t misunderstand. I’m only interested in his noble title.”  

That was true. Edith was a noble—a head of a family, no less.  

About twenty years ago, during the great catastrophe in the capital, Edith’s wife, whom he had essentially purchased, along with her family, perished. This tragic event solidified his status as a full-fledged noble.  

From a portly pauper in Landa to a wealthy nouveau riche, and finally to a corpulent noble.  

Jane admitted she was playing the dutiful daughter to secure his title.  

“Sure, let’s go with that.”  

Forrest decided to believe her, though his tone suggested otherwise.  

“You don’t believe me, do you?”  

“No, I do. Look at these eyes filled with trust.”  

Forrest pointed to his eyes, which were brimming with “faith” (or rather, disbelief).  

“You used to be such a gentleman, but now you’ve grown so cynical with age.”  

“Age has its perks.”  

“Ugh… Never mind that. Please sign these.”  

Jane pulled out two sheets of paper from her bag.  

One was a petition to ban child labor, and the other was a petition for women’s suffrage.  

“Women’s… suffrage?!”  

Forrest shouted as soon as he saw the papers.  

“Thoughts like that should probably stay internal, don’t you think?”  

“Apologies. That just caught me off guard. Is there a petition against it? I’d much rather sign that.”  

“…Just sign the one for banning child labor.”  

“I don’t want to deprive children of their freedom to work. Children should have the right to work if they wish. This is a free city, after all.”  

“You know what? I think I don’t like you anymore, Forrest.”  

***  

After a brief yet drawn-out conversation with Jane, Forrest eventually parted ways with her.  

He spent time documenting their exchange, comparing it to past records, and revising his previous drafts based on it.  

Of course, he didn’t forget to thank Jane.  

“Thank you for your help.”  

“I’ll remember that you didn’t help me.”  

“When that petition against suffrage comes out, I’ll be sure to sign it.”  

Jane’s expression was far from pleasant.  

Nevertheless, Forrest returned to his usual routine, working on completing his book.  

Clack, clack, clack. Ding! Clunk!  

Clack, clack, clack. Ding! Clunk!  

Clack, clack, clack. Ding! Clunk!  

The rhythmic sound of the typewriter echoed mechanically.  

“Sir.”  

A staff member approached Forrest and spoke to him.  

“What is it?”  

“The two guests you were expecting have arrived. They’re waiting in the private room.”  

“I see.”  

With a brief response, Forrest slung the “package” he had brought over his shoulder and followed the staff member.  

The private room where the guests were waiting was a hidden space added during the restaurant’s expansion.  

Creak.  

When he entered, two women who, like Jane, seemed untouched by the passage of time, were seated there.  

“It’s been a while, Marie. And Joanna. Thank you for coming.”  

Forrest greeted the two women.