L*st and Death

Back when Siron worked as a delivery rider for Curry King, he always wore an open-face helmet that left the front of his face exposed. The average annual temperature in Baggers City exceeded 24°C, and in midsummer it was both humid and climbed up to an average of 30°C. Avoiding heat was more important than safety.

“Ugh, this is so stuffy. I’m gonna die of heatstroke at this rate.”

Siron grumbled, feeling suffocated by the helmet that fully enclosed his head.

“Even if it’s stuffy, you have to wear it. Half-helmets are dangerous.”

“But you wore a half-helmet!”

“If you don’t want to wear protective gear, just take my car and deliver in comfort. I don’t mind.”

Lewis smiled and pointed to the closed garage. Behind the garage door sat his massive G-Class Mercedes-Benz.

“Who the hell does deliveries in a Benz?!”

“We do, now.”

North and south of the Nathan River, which cut across Baggers City, there was not only an extreme wealth gap, but the very character of the city changed. The northern district—where Linhart’s estate was located—had undergone sweeping reconstruction, making it orderly with wide roads and smooth traffic. But the southern side, including Riverland, was a completely different picture.

Remnants of the old city still remained in places, and the maze-like roads made traffic conditions terrible. Still, the area was known for its hidden culinary gems, so delivery demand remained steady.

“You know what makes or breaks delivery? Agility. Easy parking. That’s what lets you actually make a living. If you turn into some narrow one-way alley while delivering food—and it’s a dead end? Yeah, your whole day’s screwed.”

“Bebe, your ranting is really cute.”

The younger man’s noisy antics were getting on Siron’s nerves. He bit down hard on his lower lip and glared at Lewis with his nose scrunched up.

“I’m trying to take this seriously, okay? Call me cute one more time and I’ll knee you in the balls.”

Snapping sharply, Siron yanked down the helmet visor, cutting off his field of vision. His entire body was tightly wrapped in protective gear from head to toe. He wore a jacket and pants with fire-resistant padding to absorb impact, thick gloves made of heavy black leather, and boots that reached his ankles. Around his neck was a cooling scarf to make sure no skin was left exposed.

In contrast, Lewis looked comparatively unprepared. He had on a half-helmet that left his face entirely exposed, and wore no protective gear—just jeans and a white t-shirt.

“It’s way too hot. I can barely breathe.”

“I’ll stick some ice packs in your pockets. Just bear with it. You have to minimize pheromone exposure.”

“I’ve been running around everywhere until now and nothing happened. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can even smell my pheromones. Do I really have to wrap up like this?”

“You never know. Accidents don’t come with warnings. If a bunch of guys in rut start swarming, I won’t be able to protect you.”

Even though Siron whined, Lewis stood firm, refusing to back down. In the end, Siron had no choice but to give in.

He took a deep breath and opened the Fresh Eats delivery app on his phone—the app specifically for freelance riders. It was a whole new world. Ikbal had cut him a lot of slack, but now he regretted not going freelance much sooner.

Siron accepted a delivery request from a restaurant near the house, then climbed onto the motorcycle and started the engine. Lewis got on behind him. As expected, the heavy-set man made the bike dip with his weight. Compared to Lewis’s broad, muscular frame, the motorcycle looked far too small—like he’d stolen a child’s bicycle.

“Ever ridden on the back of a bike before?”

“Nope.”

“Make sure to keep your feet on the pegs. One slip and you’ll get burned.”

“Got it.”

“When we take corners, you have to press your knees into both sides of my hips for balance.”

“Okay.”

“Alright, here we go!”

Siron honked the horn lightly for focus and turned the handlebar, gradually picking up speed. With his entire body armored, he couldn’t feel much wind on his skin—but Lewis, riding behind him, seemed to feel differently.

“Bebe, why do I feel excited?”

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“I said I’m excited! This is already so fun!”

“Seriously?! This isn’t a joyride, you know!”

Lewis’s muscular arms wrapped tightly around Siron’s waist and chest. Siron inhaled sharply at the strength of the hug pressing against his chest. He didn’t say it out loud, but the truth was, he felt the same excitement at returning to delivery work after so long.

It took some time for him to adjust to riding with someone on the back, but after accepting the second delivery call, Siron had fully adapted.

The two of them zipped through various parts of downtown Baggers City. On downhill roads, they accelerated and flew across intersections in a flash. Through narrow alleys, they turned with agility. On uphill stretches, the engine roared at full power like a [N O V E L I G H T] racehorse charging toward a new order.

“There’s no elevator here, so I’ll go up. You take a break.”

Having quickly gotten used to the routine, Lewis opened the top box, pulled out the food, and dashed toward the apartment building before Siron could stop him. The delivery was to the seventh floor of a walk-up building. Siron stood staring blankly at the stairs.

He’s helping way too much... I should at least split the pay, right?

Siron had wanted to keep all the money for himself, but given the heat and how much Lewis was doing, it didn’t feel right.

If I’m gonna split the pay... I better work him harder.

With the mindset of a ruthless boss, Siron opened the app and checked for new delivery calls. One popped up—a café not far from their current location, and the delivery fee was unusually high for the distance. Without even checking the address, Siron accepted it on the spot and took off the moment Lewis got back on the bike.

Their destination was a dessert café in the heart of Baggers City. The building was sleek and modern, its exterior like a glass castle, with a halogen-lit sign that blazed flamboyantly.

Half-collapsed from the heat like wilted bean sprouts, Siron stood under the blast of cold air from the ceiling-mounted A/C near the counter, waiting for the order to be prepared.

He raised the helmet visor to feel the cold air on his face. Just then, a hand tapped his shoulder. Turning around, he saw that Lewis had followed him inside and was pressing something cold to the back of his neck.

“Ah! Cold! What the hell is that?”

“Ice. I asked the staff for some and they gave it to me. You must be overheating. Hold it against your skin. People say the staff here are rude, but they’re not. Super nice, actually.”

That’s probably just because of your face. Watching the café staff sneak glances at Lewis, Siron pressed the ice to the back of his neck and let the coolness soothe him.

The takeout was finally ready. Together, they rushed to move the food—desserts, finger foods, and coffee for thirty people—into to-go bags. Not everything fit in the top box, so some had to be wedged between Siron’s legs, resting on the footboard.

Their destination was a high-rise near the East Baggers Police Station. The underground parking lot was hot and still. They parked and carefully divided the food between them, carrying it in both hands.

Exiting the elevator on the second floor, a woman—probably a staffer—ran toward them in delight. But her eyes passed right over Siron and locked onto Lewis. The moment her gaze landed on him, she let out a sound of unidentifiable awe. Siron took off his helmet, suppressing the petty urge to show off that an Asian man just as beautiful as Lewis stood right here.

“Where would you like us to put this?”

“Huh? Ah... follow me, please.”

They followed her into a seminar room where long tables had been set up. Trays were already arranged, ready to hold the food. It looked like preparations were underway for some kind of catered event.

A banner hung on the wall:

“Missing Persons Campaign RE:Find”

Beneath it was a large digital screen displaying a rotation of faces and information. As Siron stared at the screen, wondering if he might recognize someone, the staffer spoke to him.

“You can place it over here.”

“Ah, sure. Okay.”

As he set down the desserts and drinks, Siron asked casually,

“Is this some kind of missing persons event?”

“Yes. It’s a joint campaign between the State of Helsota and the Helsota Department of Transportation (HDOT). Over the next year, the images will be shown on digital billboards at major traffic hubs. We’ve also made pamphlets. The whole thing was initiated by our Deputy Governor Eric Sinclair.”

As she spoke, Siron kept his eyes on the screen. A face appeared—one he recognized. It was the same person on a missing persons flyer he had seen two days ago at a used motorcycle dealership.

“We have printed flyers too. Want to take one?”

“Mind if I just take a quick look here?”

“Of course.”

Siron accepted the flyer and stood still, examining it with Lewis beside him. Lewis leaned forward to match Siron’s height and carefully looked through each face and name. Siron glanced at Lewis’s profile and asked quietly,

“See anyone?”

Siron hadn’t specified, but Lewis understood exactly what he meant and replied:

“No one.”

It was obvious, of course. Neither Joan Welch nor V3011 were listed on the flyer. They had vanished quietly, like they’d evaporated from the world—so much so that no one even knew they were missing.

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