Gloved hands adjusted the collar of his suit, and the man pinned a Silentium executive badge to his lapel before reaching for the bar lounge door. The artificial wood-grain door, crafted to mimic real wood’s texture to perfection, was a counterfeit so convincing that those unfamiliar with the genuine article would mistake it for authentic.

  Those ignorant of the truth know no misfortune; those who believe lies to be real find happiness in fakes. When Dick brought young employees to the bar lounge, they marveled at the counterfeit wood, believing it real, exhaling gasps of awe. Thus, Dick concluded, those who mistake lies for truth and live without knowing reality are fortunate in their ignorance.

  This world is steeped in lies. Everyone lies to themselves, claiming happiness, refusing to believe in their own misery. They accept ignorance as no sin, unquestioningly believing all are gifted with wisdom. A collective delusion grips them: everyone is equal, and no one could possibly lament misfortune. Even if they struggle, they assume others share the same burdens, a hollow empathy. They think life’s value lies in merely existing without money, that as long as they’re not dead, they can start over—an optimistic delusion. Supporting each other, living for today, aiming for tomorrow, they embody a warped form of humanity, stripped of its primal fighting spirit… fattened pigs awaiting slaughter. Livestock, perhaps, waiting for death’s harvest.

  But… stepping into the lounge, Dick sat on a stool, lit a cigarette, inhaled its purple smoke, and muttered, “I’m no different.”

  If ignorance excuses missteps, risks taken blindly leave smaller wounds. If you know but conceal critical information until the end, you escape blame from above. As long as Dick skillfully manipulated his pawns and maximized profits, he’d remain Silentium’s General Manager, with no need to yield his seat to fools driven by base desires. Power came with responsibility, and status was shadowed by risk. Understanding this better than anyone, Dick was forced to make optimal choices and deliver perfect results.

  Power was sweet nectar that drew beasts, growing more toxic with each mishandling. It changed people, drove them mad, led to mistakes and ruin. Those who clung to power despite their downfall were disposed of in mysterious accidents, stripped of status, and vanished. Silentium’s General Manager’s chair was a seat of madness, coveted by generations weaving betrayal and schemes, transforming into vampires of desire—Nosferatu of greed.

  Why clutch this empty cathedral? Dick knew, but the desire that once burned in him had dried into a hollow chasm. Looking older than his years, he gulped the glass the bartender offered, staring at the round ice within.

  Hope was nowhere to be found, the feeling of happiness forgotten in his weathered heart. Mechanically pairing with a woman, fathering a child, wearing the mask of husband and father, he felt chained to the prison of daily life. Even suppressing his individuality, his ego’s memories of the past gnawed at him, questioning if this was the right path, flashing the face of a dead friend. As Silentium’s General Manager, never wielding power solely for himself, feared as the bloodless, tearless hound of a vast corporate conglomerate, Dick drank alone, exhaling a deep sigh.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “What’s wrong? Got something troubling you?” the bartender asked.

  “No one’s without troubles, right?” Dick replied.

  “True enough, General Manager Dick. Issues at home?”

  “…My daughter. She won’t listen to me. Keeps throwing tantrums about joining Silentium’s headquarters. She’s banking on my influence. As if someone like that could get into Silentium.”

  Ignorance blinds them to the inner workings, and without eyes to see the truth, they cling to hope. Every year, new recruits—young, eyes gleaming with hope—blindly believe in their shining futures, mere sheep. Pity the young thrown into Silentium’s venomous pit, eyed by predatory beasts. Watching them turn from sheep to predators, even Dick hesitated to let his own daughter, his flesh and blood, enter Silentium.

  “Have you talked to her?” the bartender asked.

  “She doesn’t believe me, swallows my wife’s words whole. Time spent on that fool is worthless. Master, what do you think education is?”

  “Teaching and nurturing, I suppose.”

  “Exactly. Children aren’t born without parents, creatures chasing their parents’ backs and words. Friends and environment shape personality and thought, but parents’ teachings and the child’s ego build the individual. She’s too influenced by her mother, hoarding useless knowledge from her friends. Weak-willed, overly self-conscious. That’s my daughter, Master.”

  They say children can grow without parents, but not in any true sense. Parental guidance profoundly shapes a child, each word woven into their personality. A child is like a mechanical clock in flesh, with parents, friends, and environment as the gears driving it. If the brain, governing intellect, is polluted by useless knowledge, or if repetitive actions devolve into play, the mechanism rusts, becoming laughable junk.

  Only the self can maintain itself, fueled by memories, procuring maintenance oil, polishing parts. No skilled mechanic exists, so one must broaden knowledge and gather the best tools, or the human machine—the ego—crumbles fragilely. Teaching this is a parent’s duty, Dick’s duty.

  Excusing a hectic life or voicing fatigue means nothing to others. Even family is just a collective of strangers, a household a small garden forming a society. Society is cold to others, indulgent to oneself, a pigpen of mixed emotions. No matter how lenient mid-level city society seemed, Dick’s household was a desolate wasteland.

  “Sounds tough, General Manager Dick,” the bartender said.

  “No need for sympathy.”

  “…”

  “Individual responsibility brought this on—my shallow thinking. I’ve no intention of correcting it. So, no sympathy needed, Master. This is just a conversational exchange. No matter what you say, I won’t change my mind. Got it?”

  “…Understood, General Manager Dick.”

  If he were alive, what would he say seeing me now? Call me a damn fool in rage, or laugh me off as an idiot? Could we wash away past conflicts, reminisce about our foolish days together?

  An impossible thought, but if Dick were allowed to harbor unattainable hopes, he’d apologize—not as Silentium’s General Manager, but as a person. To the friend who never despaired despite knowing everything, who held impossible ideals, Dick wanted to offer heartfelt apologies. If permitted, he’d use all his power to support those ideals, protecting the weak, saving the world.

  “Master, the bill—”

  “Hold on, Dick,” a voice interrupted.

  “…”

  “Got an interesting story. Wanna hear it? Payment’s just the cost of a drink—top-shelf stuff.”

  Stopping Dick from paying and leaving, a man in a white coat, red lines flashing across his unified mechanical eyes, grabbed his shoulder. Lighting a worn cigarette with a match, the shady back-alley doctor Chikuan deftly moved his mechanical fingers, flashing a nihilistic grin.