Chapter 119: Commotion
"She’s not that bad," Grayson said, though his tone carried less conviction than the words.
"Yeah, but you won’t call me either if nothing is amiss." Thiago shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You’d better visit home after this. Sort things out with your mother before she decides to show up here instead."
The threat was real enough to make Grayson grimace. His mother was known to have a tendency to appear without warning, usually with impulsive plans and strong opinions about his lifestyle choices.
"I have work," Grayson tried.
"That won’t work." Thiago had a firm and serious expression on his face. "If you won’t go to them, they’ll come to you. Trust me, it’s better to control the situation before it gets out of hand. Visit on your terms."
Grayson rubbed his temples, feeling a headache building. "Got it."
Thiago lingered at the door, his expression softening slightly. "Eason, about the memory loss. I want to run more tests. This isn’t normal, and the fact that it coincides with improvement in your poisoning symptoms bothers me."
"Later," Grayson said. "After we deal with the research lab."
"There’s always something to deal with," Thiago muttered, but he didn’t push. "I’ll send you my schedule. Block out time, or I’ll have Elara do it for you."
...
Today was the day. He was going back to work.
Neville stared blankly at the ceiling, his limbs refusing to move. His body felt heavy.
I don’t want to work.
The thought came, again and again, like a stubborn echo that refused to die out. If he had his way, he would stay here forever—hidden beneath the sheets, far away from people, deadlines, responsibilities, and pretend the outside world didn’t exist.
But reality always smacks you in the face when you least expect it.
Shelly appeared before him with an overly cheerful voice.
[Host! It’s morning! It’s time to work! Why aren’t you getting up yet?]
Shelly cheerfully said as she bounced like an overexcited puppy.
"What are you, my alarm clock?" he muttered, voice still hoarse from sleep.
She blinked at him, [Host, I’m your guide, not some cheap alarm clock you can snooze at will.]
"Then stop acting like one," Neville mumbled as he rolled onto his side, tugging the blanket over his head.
[Host! Don’t go back to sleep!] Her voice became whiny. [You have thirty-two unread pending workload, two meeting reminders, and a work notification marked "urgent"! Do you want me to read them out loud—]
"No." His voice was muffled under the blanket. "Go away."
[Fine. Host can lie around for five more minutes. After that, you really need to get up.] Shelly declared, seemingly acting like his mom.
Neville ran a hand down his face, suppressing the curse trying to crawl out of his throat. He forced himself to stand, his body moving on sheer autopilot.
He shuffled toward the bathroom, his bare feet making sad slapping sounds against the cold floor. It had that kind of chill that woke you up, whether you liked it or not. The mirror over the sink reflected his haggard face, messy hair, and a general aura of please don’t talk to me.
Neville brushed his teeth in peace, and memories flashed before his eyes. After blowing his anger and feelings to the mecha combat for an entire day, he managed to gain some balance. Although it didn’t solve everything, it made him feel better in the meantime.
This is fine, he told himself.
But clearly, nothing was fine.
Neville pressed the temperature all the way to cold. The first blast of icy water hit him like punishment, but he didn’t flinch. The shock chased away the lingering drowsiness, clearing his mind in a way caffeine couldn’t.
By the time he stepped out, he felt almost human again—almost.
He still had time before his shift, so he went to make breakfast. Cooking was really calming. No matter how chaotic life got, he could always rely on the quiet rhythm of chopping, boiling, and stirring.
[Host, you’re really cooking?] Shelly floated above the stove, watching with blatant curiosity. [I thought you’d be too tired to do some.]
"I’m in a bad mood, not on a hunger strike." He was in a bad mood but that didn’t mean it should affect his work, both of his work.
[Noted. I’ll mark today as a minor improvement in mental stability.]
He shot her a look, but she only floated away to avoid him.
When he was done eating, he packed his things, Grayson’s food, and stepped out of the dormitory. The air outside was crisp, the sky pale with early morning light.
Neville walked toward Maxwell Corporation begrudgingly, each step feeling like a march toward his doom. Shelly would be floating beside him, rambling about news or irrelevant trivia just to fill the silence.
But after checking his account balance earlier, he had decided not to have Shelly around. Having Shelly active outside costs a lot; he didn’t have more to spare.
Besides, he didn’t want her chatter to distract him today. Not to mention, he didn’t know what might happen at the company today.
Since he started working on his proposal after winning, he already anticipated something would definitely happen—sooner or later.
Keep your head down, he told himself. And prepare for action.
The familiar building of the Maxwell Headquarters came into view, its glass gleaming in the morning light.
Neville’s steps slowed as he drew closer, dread settling over his shoulders.
Don’t act like a kid. It’s just another day.
But then there was the noise.
At first, it was a low murmur, like a hum of multiple voices. Then it grew louder. And louder. The rumble grew into a roar.
He turned the corner and froze.
A sea of people had gathered outside the main entrance. Employees, guards, and bystanders all clustered together, voices overlapping in a chaotic roar.
"What the hell..." Neville muttered.
Who in their right mind would cause a commotion here?
