Chapter 61: 0.1: An Ominous Prelude, ’his’ story

Chapter 61: 0.1: An Ominous Prelude, 'his' story

~Year 2001, South Aristotel, Crystal falls: Mindful Balance Counseling Office.

An opulent room—the white marble floor radiated elegance. Adorning the walls were coats of pure white.

Nestled in the left corner of the room was a wooden shelf, filled to the brim with books. Books of different topics.

Office table was at the far end of the room, arranged with stress balls, fidget toys, miniature figurines, and a zen garden.

Atop the table was a book, titled 'The Power of Your Subconscious Mind.'

At this place, Dr. Oliver Hawthorne—the experienced criminal psychologist, found himself facing against a barrage of complains...of sort, from an elderly gentleman, who, accompanied by his grandson, sought solace in the consultant's office.

Judging the old man's atire, Hawthorne assumed that he was a simple country bumpkin.

Throughout the session, the old man kept blabbering about his grandson, who apparently had a tendency to keep to himself. Other than living his days, head burried inside books, the young kid barely interacted with anyone.

But Dr.Oliver Hawthorne wasn't really able to see anything problematic with the boy.

'What could possibly be so 'concerning' about the kid?' The thought crossed Oliver's mind.

Kids tend to be different at young age, a common knowledge. And this kid looked fairly normal. There was nothing special about him.

Aside from one striking attribute, that is the boy's captivating light-hazel bluish eyes, there was nothing special him.

But no...wait. Upon closer observation, it was clear that the boy had many other stunning features—beauty features that is.

From his ordinary dark hair, which somehow was very...unique?, to his overall appearance. He was undoubtedly blessed with the most striking physical traits a human can possibly have.

"If he sees a book once, he remembers every page, down to the tiniest details." The oldman gestured at his grandson.

Dr. Hawthorne frowned, his skepticism grew along with his deepening frown.

'Remembers every detail just by looking at a book?' Updated from novelbIn.(c)om

Surely the old man had to be ejecting bull's part, or so Dr. Hawthorne thought.

According to the claims, the boy learned to speak in fifteen different languages, despite being only ten years old.

Oliver, of course dismissed it—that had to be pure bullshit. So he decided to put the boy's alleged abilities to the test.

He reached for the book that lay on his table and handed it to the young prodigy.

"If only I had my own mechanical workshop..." I exhaled my desire, my eyes fixed at the assortment of disassembled mechanical components spread across my table.

"But I cannot buy a workshop", I mummbled to myself.

Due to the complex web of CU agencies: the home inspectors, title companies, sellers, real estate agents, lenders, and financial institutions, I can't directly buy a huge plot of land, much less a workshop.

Reason: I donot have a background.

Sure, I could hire a middleman to handle all the tedious work for me, but finding someone trustworthy is impossibl-, 'No wait!' A sudden realization struck me.

A particular side character popped in my mind. "Yes. He is a good choice."

But, would need to visit the Dyrne Alley for it.

Dyrne Alley, a place that could be described as a fusion of an underground world and black market.

But that could wait for a little later.

What I need right now was an immediate solution.

"Nano, I need your help."

[Affirmative!]

[Activating parallel processing...]

Nano's mechanical voice rang in my head.

My palm made contact to the computer screen, and glowing blue dots materialized, forming lines from my shoulder to my palm.

In that second, my view changed, and I found myself in a world of interconnected networks, surrounded by digital constructs, bits of data, and streams of 1's and 0's floating around me.

In a fraction of a second, an avalanche of information of St. Sebastin flooded my mind.

CCTV footage, classified files, details of central union buildings, names of people, contact numbers, and addresses, all raced through my consciousness.

It felt like time slowed down, or perhaps my brain accelerated to an extraordinary speed. It was difficult to tell. But most likely it was the later.

And then, like a beacon of hope, a small mechanical industry popped up in my field of information.

Its name: SMV Aviation Pvt Ltd.

"Zetsu!"

Creating a fake believable online alias on the spot I contacted the owner of SMV Aviation.