I Have a Task Log

Colin pulled himself together and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"My boss would like to invite you to dinner, esteemed sir." The burly man gave a slight nod, his tone surprisingly polite. He then lifted his gaze toward the other side of the boulevard.

Colin followed his gaze. Across the street was a high-end restaurant, and on its second-floor terrace, a man in a charcoal-gray suit was waving at them.

’What a busy day.’

Colin glanced at the City Guard standing watch not far away, then at the bustling boulevard. Only then did he say to the burly man, "All right. Take me over."

Following the burly man to the terrace, Colin surveyed his surroundings.

Aside from the man who had just waved, there were no other customers on the terrace.

In several corners of the terrace stood men dressed identically to the burly man. They were all likely bodyguards.

He had to admit, the restaurant’s decor was quite impressive. The floors were polished marble, and the tables and chairs looked to be made of high-quality materials. Even someone who knew nothing about such things could tell this establishment hadn’t been cheap to build.

Colin followed the man to the dining table.

"Colin, correct?" the man who had waved said, looking at him.

Colin quickly sized him up.

The man had deathly pale skin, deep-set eyes, and a large, aquiline nose. His lips were so thin they were almost invisible. At first glance, he resembled an old eagle.

’He must be from the North.’

As he thought this, Colin replied, "I am."

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Karen Sote, and I am the owner of this restaurant." The man, Karen Sote, took a hot towel from a bodyguard and wiped his hands, then extended his right hand to his guest.

Colin reached out and shook his hand.

Then, without a change in expression, he walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from him.

He asked, "What is this about, specifically?"

"What are your tastes? You strike me as someone from Moran. I must say, the olive oil in our restaurant is quite authentic. You can truly taste the bright sunshine of the Moran coast," Karen said with a smooth flourish.

His tone was confident and unhurried; he was clearly a well-educated man.

’If this really is an invitation from some gang, then this Karen fellow is probably a sort of consigliere.’

’So why is this guy inviting me to dinner?’

’He probably just wants to feel me out,’ Colin immediately concluded.

The thought annoyed him.

Forcing himself to remain calm, Colin considered the situation. From all the signs, things in Thousand Masts City were undoubtedly complex.

It wasn’t a good idea to play the neutral party right now, especially when he wasn’t particularly strong. He could easily be made an example of by the various factions.

So, he had to take a clear stance now.

Colin spoke up. "Dinner won’t be necessary. I’m on an urgent mission at the moment, so we can’t talk for too long, sir."

"Is that so? Forgive me. The reason I invited you to dinner is that I’ve heard you mentioned by people on the street—a formidable character who fought his way out of the slums on his own."

As Karen spoke, a waitress approached and placed a plate of beef, still streaked with blood, in front of him. Just by looking, Colin guessed the meat was rare at best.

"Pardon me, may I...?" Karen gestured toward the beef before him with his eyes.

After Colin nodded, Karen smiled, picked up his knife and fork, and began to cut the beef. "Ah, thank you for your understanding. I’m positively famished. Considering the time constraints, I’ll get straight to the point.

"Based on the composition of your team, I’ve taken the liberty of judging you to be a no-nonsense pragmatist. Unfortunately, the Thousand Masts City of today doesn’t afford pragmatists like you sufficient respect."

With that, Karen put a piece of beef in his mouth and chewed heartily.

He closed his eyes and sighed in satisfaction before continuing, "Similarly, we too are a group of pragmatists. I personally believe that Thousand Masts City has yet to realize its full commercial potential."

Colin frowned. "Commercial potential?"

"Yes. Stardust, Black Lily Dew, Blood Honey... and many other promising goods waiting to be discovered. Regrettably, under the current laws, these items can only circulate on a small scale.

"Imagine if the legal restrictions on these things were completely lifted. Everyone in Thousand Masts City could freely choose the goods they wish to enjoy. And how much would we, the sellers, earn each day? In a single day, we could bring in tens of thousands of Gold Coins."

Karen held up his index finger. "With such enormous profits at stake, others will inevitably try to steal the wealth of this commercial empire. And that is when you and your team will take the stage."

"I don’t think I’d be of much use in that regard."

"No, no, no. You lack a clear understanding of your own future," Karen continued. "Besides the teams from the initial ranking, only four teams have advanced so far. And yours is one of them.

"What’s more—forgive me—a few months ago, you were just another resident of the slums. We see a bright future for you. I doubt you’ll find many gangs in all of Thousand Masts City with our kind of investment spirit, Colin."

Listening to the man’s long-winded pitch, Colin was inexplicably reminded of the things he had seen in Mist Harbor.

He felt a wave of weariness and visceral revulsion.

"...What are your thoughts on all this? Perhaps you could give me your price directly."

"When I chat with my friends, they say I’m an arrogant person," Colin replied, changing the subject completely. "I think that’s true, though I’d use a different word: ’confident.’"

Karen gestured to the side with his eyes.

Immediately, a bodyguard came over and poured a glass of crimson wine for both him and Colin.

"I don’t believe I’ll remain a small-time player forever. That’s why I don’t drink to excess, smoke, or frequent certain little shops in the Southern District. I spend my time training and practicing instead, and I advise my friends to do the same."

Colin said tactfully, "So far, the decisions I’ve made have essentially been my own. I hope that fifty or seventy years from now, when I’m lying on my deathbed, I can look back and genuinely believe that the choices I made were the ones I truly wanted."

As he finished speaking, a long silence fell over the restaurant terrace.