What the fuck?
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Mangé spewed. A nasty, slightly annoyed scowl present on his face as he stared straight at me.
I looked down at the tag once more. Reading it again. Then, again, I looked up at Mangé. This time, it felt as though the scowl on his face was a fake one.
"Girolo Fashion? Are you kidding me, Mangé?" Surprisingly, my voice came out low. I wondered why. It lacked any atom of astonishment or surprise.
Girolo Fashion.
The name rolled off my tongue easily, like it was something that I had said over and over and over again. Like it was a name — like 'Mangé' — that I had called for over a long period of time, until I got tired of calling it.
Accompanying the aching familiarity that pulsed from the very mention of the name was an odd feeling that streamed through my brain, enhancing the 'familiarity.'
What exactly was this odd, very odd feeling?
I think there was and still is a name for it. For the feeling.
Deja Vu.
Girolo Fashion…
Girolo.. where the hell have I heard the name before? It feels– No, I know I've definitely heard of that name before.
I shook my head, shaking off the thoughts as I shrugged.
No use thinking about it now, is there?
"It would certainly be easier for me to just not give you the information at all than to lie to you. I've told you, the Cyclo Gang's backer is Girolo Fashion." Mangé said matter-of-factly, shrugging as he spoke.
I nodded. "Right. But a Fashion company? I expected some large, shady spiffian underground syndicate or something. One with a brooding, dark name that seeped out spite just from uttering it." I replied with a light tone, proceeding to wear my coat.
"Oh, they are a 'shady syndicate', alright. Just not a shady spiffian syndicate. And, many people fear their name." Mangé declared.
I sat down on my chair, grabbing the already-filled glass of whiskey that lay on the counter as I stared at Mangé with an overtly curious expression.
"So, they are a human company?" It was a rhetorical question that I just needed to ask out loud, even though I had already gotten my answer from Mangé's words. "I don't know why I find that hard to believe."
"Maybe it's because the mindset has already taken root in your brain." He replied, taking a small sip of his whiskey.
"What do you mean? What mindset?"
"You know, the 'Humans are the victims' mindset." He replied. "It's a disgusting mindset, really. Other humans paint our race as the graceful, innocent ones who were suddenly invaded by the spiffs. But I won't be so surprised if it turns out that humans were the ones who brought those spiffs here with their own hands."
I did not speak, nor did I reply to him. Because, at that moment, it felt like the right thing to do.
So I just calmly stared at Mangé, whose gaze was, as before, focused on his reflection in the glass of whiskey.
It seemed like every single word he spoke was uttered with keen intent.
"You're surprised that some humans, part of the supposed slave races, are part of the reasons why the backland is a dejected mess, huh? That they're causing the pain of their own race." As he said this, he tapped the glass of whiskey with his index finger, and I was sure the liquid content rippled, along with his reflection cast on its surface. "I know this must be your reaction. Because I once had that mindset myself. That was, of course, until I realized that the Spiffian King and his people weren't the only ones who turned the world into what it is today..."
"It's the system." He completed. "The system that consists of power-hungry humans and even more power-hungry spiffs. It's a system that needs to be changed. And oh, I'm not the catalyst for that change. And I'm not going to be the one who brings about the change. I just can't. It's not meant for me. It's not something I can do. But the thing that I can do is to bring change in my own way, in my own world. In the backlands."
So that's his goal. Amazing. He isn't… scared of saying it out loud, it isn't overwhelming to him.
I must say, I am impressed. I have a goal, but merely speaking of that goal is a problem for me. It scares me.
Haha. Now I'm certainly certain about Mangé's intent.
But I have my own goal. One that feels like it was forced on me, but is still mine nevertheless. And to achieve that goal, I have to find out more about this so-called 'backer.'
"Aren't you going to say something? You're just gonna let me drown in the silence?" Mangé's voice cut through my stream of thoughts.
My eyes snapped, finding the expectant look on his face.
Tch.
That look he had on his face made me want to betray his expectation, whatever it was.
But I wasn't that much of an asshole.
Yeah.
I wasn't.
"Are you done with your monologue?"
Okay, maybe I was that much of an asshole. But I couldn't be blamed. It was just so satisfying seeing his face go from, 'praise me, praise my righteous goals' to a twisted, annoyed yet silent sneer that yelled, 'I'll shoot you one day.'
It felt really good.
"Damned fucking sunovabit…"
His voice was hushed, flowing under his breath, but my ears were perked up, and I perfectly heard the curses he muttered just fine.
"Hm?" I hummed.
He let out a dejected sigh, rubbing his temple as he said, "They're a Fashion company at the front, but they're also part of…" He paused. "You know what? You're the one who so badly needs this information, not me. So here's the thing. We plan the raid, go for it, regain my key, and while we're there, obtain information about the Orned backer too. And then, when we're back, I'll give you the information you want. Not just about Girolo, but about the entire world, because I know you've never been outside the backlands. Sounds good?"
Shit. I hate it when he uses his head. I guess I teased him a bit too much.
Then slowly, and with a low voice, I muttered, "Fine. So, what's the plan?"