By mid-August, late summer had set in, and the sun was unleashing one final barrage of blistering heat.
"...Hot."
Even sitting in the shade of a park tree, the sweltering air pressed in on him.
A plain white shirt hung loosely over pale, skinny arms. If he were fat, it might make sense, but Lucas seemed to have a constitution that made him terribly susceptible to heat.
How did I not inherit even one health-boosting gene?
He grumbled inwardly while fanning himself, when Collin came bounding over from afar, still full of energy.
"Woof! Woof!"
"Yeah, you got the ball?"
He stroked the glossy black fur. Well-fed and well-groomed, Collin now exuded an incredibly cute and handsome vibe.
And he's really smart, too.
Collin seemed like one of those so-called 'genius dogs'.
In less than a day, he'd figured out Mrs. Schmidt was the landlady and immediately curbed any behavior she might dislike.
Without anyone teaching him, he'd started bringing the newspaper and milk to the door every morning, delighting her to no end.
Thanks to that, in just a few days, Collin had monopolized the affection of everyone in the boarding house.
But separately from that, he clearly recognized only me as his master, instantly understanding and obeying my commands.
Basic ones like sit, stand, down, stay, quiet—of course. But also fetch this, jump and pull down the laundry caught in the tree, or even catch that bird on the fence—he obeyed without a single mistake.
No, it felt like he understood and reacted to almost anything I said. As if a person were sitting there listening.
It's amazing.
Unless he was some mutant born with impossible intelligence—which was ridiculous—his previous owner must have put in tremendous effort to train him.
Why such a dog had been wandering the streets was a mystery.
"Alright, Collin. One more time? Pretend this ball is Daniel."
"Woof! Woof!"
I flung the ball. Collin took off, using blind spots to stalk and chase it.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Alright, to commemorate gathering safely today without any sacrifices—cheers!"
"Cheers!"
In a dingy corner of the tavern, four or five young people clinked their beer mugs together.
Strangely, the toast before 'cheers!' came out mumbled, barely audible even up close, but since everyone acted naturally with bright expressions, the other patrons paid no mind.
Daniel Hartmann popped a peanut into his mouth and surveyed his comrades around the table.
Some in fine clothes, some in shabby ones, but all their eyes sparkled with star-like intelligence.
"So, let's catch up. Erika, how much of that book I lent you last month have you read?"
"About 30 out of 100 pages. I'll finish the rest next week. Maybe the week after."
"That's pretty fast. It's a tough read. Richard, what about you? You bragged about confessing to that girl you liked."
"Well, it seems it wasn't meant to be. Turns out she was seeing someone else."
"Hahaha! What an idiot. Good thing you listened to me and held off. Pretty girls always have someone."
Daniel clapped and laughed heartily. Richard gave a soft smile.
Their conversation was entirely in code.
"Catching up" meant receiving reports.
The "book lent" was leaflets, and pages read meant how many distributed.
So Erika, in charge of distribution this time, had handled 30 out of 100 made.
She posted them at her university, libraries, parks, etc.—always avoiding peak hours.
If caught by patrols or plainclothes Ossel, they'd vanish without a trace, ending up hanged.
Plus, if a leaflet was found anywhere, people nearby faced grave risks, so they avoided shops with owners, dorms, professors' offices—sticking to maximally public spots.
The work was harder than imagined, and exhaustion hollowed Erika's eyes.
Richard's love story coded for recruitment targets.
Having graduated med school and opened a small clinic, he observed neighbors and patients closely.
Looking for those opposing the Leader's ideology, craving freedom, or seeming safe as comrades.
"Confession" meant revealing his identity.
A dangerous task, always mindful of Ossel's ears.
If the target panicked or he misjudged and it was a Leader fanatic who snitched, Richard's life ended that day.
"Seeing someone else" signaled risks revealed—like past snitching or Ossel relatives—halting recruitment.
"I really thought it was true love this time."
Richard said with feigned bitterness.
"That's too bad."
The tavern owner suddenly appeared, setting down a beer.
"Here, down this and forget her. Plenty of fish in the sea."
Thinking it a simple breakup story, sympathy filled his face. They toasted again.
"By the way, Daniel, you mentioned a girl catching your eye. How's that going?"
As the owner's attention shifted, Oscar cautiously brought it up.
"Oh, that one..."
Daniel pondered, caressing his lukewarm beer mug.
"She wasn't my type at first, but lately she keeps sticking in my mind. When did it start?"
Daniel was certain. Lucas had changed.
Gone secretive.
Hiding his thoughts.
A dissonance beyond simple words.
Really, when had it begun?
His eyes, always lost in daydreams detached from reality, had sunk into melancholy.
Once hazy like he was drugged, now sharp and alert—but behind the quiet gaze, terrifying emotions swirled.
Of course, just fleeting moments. He still praised the Leader. But the uncontrollable passion was gone.
He knew about the theater incident—dragged off by Ossel for torture.
Had that sparked doubt?
He'd almost bought it at first. But reviewing it, his gut said Lucas had changed even before.
And moreover.
Not trauma from the event, but suspicion that Lucas had orchestrated it wouldn't fade.
"But I'm not sure. I'm picky about women."
Baseless suspicion, but worth digging deeper.
Was he really changed? If so, for the better?
Helpful to them or not—that was for Daniel to judge.
"I subtly asked her close friends. Confirmed it—no reason she'd like him."
Daniel had visited places Lucas casually mentioned.
Brothels from his tales of wandering after his parents' death, spun like adventures.
Only deepening contempt for Lucas.
His exes were all whores or barmaids, unanimous: "trash."
Daniel had thought the same until a month ago.
"I think she's too risky. Doesn't suit you."
Cold-faced Erika said.
"But Erika, Daniel said last time he saw an unexpected side. Might be mistaken, but that..."
Richard countered, and cheerful Oscar winked, mouthing silently.
E-mil H-off-mann.
Erika furrowed her brow, unable to argue.
She trusted Daniel's eye. He'd formed the discussion group, uncanny at recruiting comrades.
"Hahaha, everyone's so interested in my love life. Don't worry. I'm not rushing a confession. Next time, deeper talk."
His light tone swept worry across the group momentarily.
"Deeper talk" meant investigating every way possible—even illegal or dangerous.
But no one objected.
Theirs was fairly horizontal, but Daniel was leader, and all had been "deeply talked to" before joining.
Daniel glanced at his pocket watch.
"Time flew. Last round and call it?"
"Sure. Hey, mister! Another round here."
As they shifted to casual chatter, uninhibited...
Bang!
The tavern door flew open violently. A pale-faced boy dashed in.
The lookout member.
"What happened, Georg?"
He bent close and whispered.
"Bro, think there's a rat in here."
"A rat?!"
The nearby owner jumped, scanning around. Comrades paled, trembling.
"Wait, calm down. Calm."
Daniel waved to reassure, but his mind blanked in panic.
Despite past risks, actual crisis was first.
What now?
He froze briefly, took a small breath, steadied his heart, and smiled casually.
"A rat? How filthy. Let's head out? I'll contact for next meet."
Panicked comrades barely nodded, bolting out.
"No! No rats in my place! Believe me!"
Ignoring the owner's desperate cry behind them.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Daniel clutched his head in despair, watching comrades scatter frantically.
"Damn, we're not ready yet."
To avoid suspicion, act like nothing happened.
Suppressing despair, he ducked into a nearby alley. Under a magic-lit streetlamp, he tried to think.
First, flee? Or lure elsewhere...? Who's tailing us? Ossel? Damn, one of us might hang in the square tomorrow.
His head throbbed, when something flitted at vision's edge.
A shadow slipping silently beyond the alley.
Suspicion amplified from a point. Without thinking, he bolted.
His powerful footsteps echoed; the figure ran too. Under cloudy, dim moonlight, an impromptu chase unfolded.
Rounding the corner, Daniel saw.
Messy black hair, twig-thin limbs that might snap.
Gritting teeth, pulling something from his pocket. Cold metal clung to fingers.
"Stop right there, Lucas!"
He bellowed; the slight man slowed.
"Huff, huff, heh..."
Barely run, yet gasping harshly, he turned slowly.
Trembling eye corners, pale face. It was Lucas Redan, as Daniel knew him.
"Huff, cough cough! Ha... Calling someone a rat to their face. No manners."
Daniel steadied his shaking hand, advancing the barrel to his forehead.
"You've been tailing me all this time?"
Muzzle inches away, Lucas smirked bitterly.
"Of course."
The sticky summer night air boiled with rage and despair.
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