Chapter 10: The task / the one with blue eyes
Time is 11:45 p.m.
Cain rubbed his eyes and typed a quick message to Duckling and Seraph: "Good night."
Almost immediately, the replies came back: [Good night] from both. He smiled faintly and felt a small warmth in his chest. Then he decided to message Znátnyy.
He tapped the phone slowly: "Good night."
The reply appeared instantly, it was dripping with imperious authority, as if issued from a throne rather than a phone: "And who dares decide to sleep before me, a mere peasant? Do you not understand your place?!"
Cain blinked, stared at the screen for a moment, and then let out a quiet sigh. He flipped the phone closed and set it aside. "Some people never change," he muttered.
He moved to the sink to wash the dishes from dinner. The clatter of plates and silverware echoed lightly in his small apartment. Warm water ran over his hands, and for a moment, he let himself relax, the mundane task calming his frayed nerves. But as he scrubbed and rinsed, a heavy weariness pulled at his eyelids.
"That's odd… I already went to sleep earlier, and I know I slept long enough… but maybe I need a bit more— even if it's just an extra hour," he thought, glancing at the clock."Classes start early tomorrow morning."
Once the dishes were done and neatly stacked, Cain wiped his hands on a towel. His legs felt heavy, his body moving slowly. He shuffled to his bed, crawled under the blanket, and let his exhaustion take over.
Within moments, Cain was asleep, the soft rise and fall of his chest the only movement in the quiet apartment.
The next day, Cain woke up slowly. The morning light filtered weakly through the blinds, painting thin stripes across the floor. Today was August 20. As always, he reached for his calendar and marked an X on the day. He grabbed his phone—5:00 a.m.—and checked for any messages, then turned his attention to breakfast.
The salmon head he had cook last night, it boiled lightly as he heated it, filling the kitchen with a strong, fishy aroma. He carefully portioned some for lunch, tucking it into his worn lunchbox, then ate his meal in silence, savoring each bite. Every motion was deliberate, a quiet ritual to prepare himself for the day ahead.
By the time he arrived at school. The current time is 5:45 a.m., it was just as he expected—he was the first to enter the classroom. The room was empty and still, the faint morning light coming through the windows casting soft shadows over the desks and chairs. He walked to his desk and sat down, placing his bag at his feet. Then his thoughts to take over.
"What are those objects really for?" he wondered. "I know they can protect someone in dangerous situations, maybe help gather information… but what kind of task am I supposed to do? How will I even know what to do, and how could I possibly finish it? There are too many questions and no answers."
He rubbed his forehead, feeling a dull ache creeping behind his eyes. "And that note… it said if I die, I'll regress. What does that even mean? Do I really die and start over? Or is it just some strange metaphor?" His fingers drummed lightly against the desk as his anxiety built.
"Ahh… my head hurts. Of all the things I could have been chosen for, this has to be the worst situation imaginable," he muttered under his breath.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, glancing at the empty classroom around him. He thought of the tasks ahead, the mysterious objects, and the strange notes.
Suddenly the classroom door opened. Three imposing figures in perfectly tailored black suits, black sunglasses and polished shoes stepped in first. Their posture was rigid, movements precise—every step measured, every glance alert. One scanned the room silently while the other subtly checked the hallway.
Behind them, a maid entered, immaculate in a pristine uniform that fit her perfectly. Her hair was tied back neatly, and her movements were quiet but efficient, carrying a small leather satchel with care. She moved directly to Eliza, arranging her belongings with almost ritualistic precision, making sure nothing was out of place.
Finally, Eliza stepped inside. Today, her hair was styled in perfect curly twin-tails, each bounce and curl reflecting her meticulous attention to appearance. Cain's stomach sank. "Talk about bad luck this early in the morning," he thought.
Eliza's eyes swept across the room slowly, settling on him. She raised her chin slightly, tilting it "Oh, what do we have here," she began, a faint smirk on her lips. "A normal-looking, rather insignificant little peasant, and yet… here you are, arriving before anyone else. Remarkable, in a very, very ordinary sort of way. Very well, I suppose it is commendable that you understand the value of time." She paused, letting the words hit him, each syllable is deliberate.
"But mark this carefully. When I enter, you will always be second. I do not tolerate anyone stepping before me. Not a single soul. I do not wish for my classroom, my carefully curated space, my sanctuary of order and elegance, to be sullied by your… pedestrian presence before I arrive. Consider yourself warned."
Cain gripped the edge of his desk, forcing his posture straight, trying not to tremble under the weight of her gaze. "Bad luck already..." Cain sighed and said, "Okay, okay, I will."
"What time is it now?" Cain said, as he reached for his phone in his bag to check the time, his finger felt something sticky—a familiar, tacky substance. Then he felt a little paper... a note. When he lifted it, the whole thing was soaked in blood. He pulled it out, snapped a quick picture, ran it through translation, and read it quietly. It's a riddle...
**The One with Blue Eyes**
[The riddle comes: “I have a neck but no head, and I wear a cap but bear no hair. I am often sought at night by those who wish to rest. What number am I?” As the riddle continues, a black carriage draws her in, carrying black dogs within. Her own dog bites her, for the hounds had already chosen a new owner who fed them better. The one with ocean eyes becomes a river, as new falls are carved into the mountains side, while the color of rose flows down their sides. And as she sings her lullaby loudly one final time, she is left by the roadside, displayed beside her proclaimed crimes.]