Things are… the same. It’s like I said, nothing ever really changes here. But how about you? Tell me about the second floor!

  I was hoping for mysteries and adventure, but all I’m getting are a bunch of knuckleheads. Everyone is obsessed with training. Obsessed! Can you imagine wanting to torture yourself like that every day?

  Aren’t they just working hard to secure their future? If they make it to Coral, they wouldn’t just make a lot more pearls, but also live a lot longer, wouldn’t they? They’d become harder to kill, immune to most diseases… That seems like a powerful motivator.

  That would explain their motivation, I guess, but why are they all so stupid? It’s like all the weightlifting somehow grew their muscles while shrinking their brain. The Belt has a pretty low floor for how dumb people get, but this is on another level.

  I suppose we’ll find out soon, won’t we? You’ll have to start working out too, if you want to keep your promise. If you start growing dumber, I’ll be the first to let you know.

  I’m still hoping to avoid that, actually.

  Really? How?

  By finding a shortcut! Something about all of this just doesn’t add up. I don’t believe that training like an idiot is the only way to reach Coral. That’s what I hope, at least.

  Ohh, so then there is a mystery! What kind of shortcuts do you think might be possible? Do you have any leads?

  …Not really. I approached this sect, which is also full of knuckleheads by the way, and they want me to gather a bunch of valuable herbs for them. I figured their sect head might know some secrets, but after seeing how dumb their members are, I’m having second thoughts.

  Gathering herbs is a great idea! Going for a little adventure out in nature could be exactly what you need. You can bring me along and describe everything. It’ll be fun!

  Good point! At least that way I can scope out some new plants. I also need to start looking for my brother, but he’s been up here for a year already, so a few more days won’t make a difference.

  What are you going to do if the sect elder is a dead end?

  Honestly, I have no clue. Before I came up here, I said I was going to do things my way. Committing to training like that would feel like… giving up, I guess? Training like a madman is not my way at all, it’s more… well, Nika’s way, I guess. But at the same time, I can’t break my promise to you! And I want to come up to free you as soon as possible. So, yeah. I don't know. I really have to find that shortcut.

  ***

  Matteo kept staring at the three sealed compartments, even though he didn’t truly believe it would affect the outcome. Still, he had been staring at them all the way through the first test, and it was important to keep conditions identical. Even something that you thought was insignificant might influence the outcome of the experiment.

  As soon as the timer ran out, he flexed his tendrils of Ki in a series of complicated motions that, after years of practice, had become as easy as breathing. Three metal figures stepped forward at once, reaching down with jerky movements to close three appendages around the lock and open the compartments.

  Each of the three sealed glass boxes contained an air clock - a time-keeping device that would slowly fill up with ambient air aura over time. While the rightmost box had only the air clock, the other two contained something else as well: the remains of a small Reijuu in various states of decay.

  While his metal servants placed the air clocks on his desk, a fine piece of charcoal scratched busily over a scroll as Matteo diligently noted his findings.

  Sample #1: Cloudbelly Jellyfish remains, killed ten minutes before start of test

  Sample #2: Cloudbelly Jellyfish remains, killed twelve hours before start of test

  Sample #3: Test sample. Air clock only

  The results of the second test are fully consistent with the first: the air clock placed with sample #2 fills at nine tenths the rate of sample #1.

  Only minor deviations were observed, which can be explained by equally minor changes in timing. The Cloudbelly Jellyfish were caught from the same pond and measured to be nearly exactly the same size and weight. The first test was done with same-sized individuals of a different species.

  These measurements remain inconsistent with both visual observations as well as the testimonies of air cultivators, who report considerably diminished volumes of aura after only an hour of decay. Reports of similar experiments conducted on the Basement indicate different decay rates as reported by cultivators, but similar rates as measured by the air clocks.

  Matteo frowned after writing that last sentence, muttering to himself, “I should really get down there and test it for myself. Can’t trust the reported data, not when it’s this important.” He was nervously tapping the piece of charcoal against his lips, until he realized with a curse what he was doing and wiped the soot off with a handkerchief before finishing his report.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  In conclusion, the observations confirm that we must adjust our existing beliefs, formulate new hypotheses and establish new experiments to confirm said hypotheses. At present, it is this author’s opinion that following options must be considered:

  

  
• Due to some mechanism we do not understand, an air clock put into a closed system with a decaying Reijuu corpse will behave differently than expected


  

  

  
• A decaying Reijuu corpse has some unknown effect on ambient air aura, possibly drawing it in to create a zone of higher concentration


  

  He paused, leaning back in his chair with a sigh as he looked at the three metal figures standing motionless in front of his desk. Marvelous though this new method of research may be, it did force him to consider some uncomfortable thoughts.

  “Three,” he said quietly to the golems, “everything we think we know about the nature of this world is false.” The golems didn’t answer. They never did.

  The sound of heavy footsteps outside the door had him hurriedly moving his Ki through their metal limbs again, directing his puppets to clean up the Reijuu corpses and put away his notes.

  The door swung open without a knock and a tall man in a well-cut outfit of red and black cloth, complete with a black bowler hat stepped through. As always, his smile was pleasant but his eyes were hard.

  “Luciano,” Matteo said without the slightest bit of enthusiasm, “another surprise visit. How lovely. What are we at, eight this month? Nine?”

  The man’s grin widened a fraction as he opened his arms magnanimously. “For my best researcher? I’ve got all the time in the world!” He then took a leisurely stroll around the room, running a finger over one of the metal figures and pausing to look at the three sealed compartments. He sniffed the air.

  “Smells a bit fishy in here. Been running your little experiments on the side again? Didn’t think you were the type to risk racking up new debt right when you’re so close to paying off the old one.” He turned his head to flash a nasty grin at Matteo. “I suppose old habits die hard, eh?”

  Matteo grimaced at the mention of his debt, adjusting his glasses nervously. “I assure you, the cost came out of my own pocket and none of these experiments have a negative impact on-”

  Luciano laughed as he cut him off with a nonchalant wave of the hand. “I don’t care about any of that. Have you finished adjusting the recipe yet?”

  He nodded, sliding open a drawer to take out a scroll. “Even more potent than the last one, as requested. The major difference is in the distillation process of the Iboga Poppy, of which you will only need about five percent more per pill.”

  Luciano picked up the scroll and looked at it like it was his favorite pet. “Good, good, we have at least that much extra. Everything will soon be in place to ramp up production.”

  Matteo frowned. “Ramping up production? We still don’t have the results back from the final round of tests. As I said before, and outlined extensively in my many reports, the side-effects are nothing to scoff at.”

  Luciano sighed as he tucked the scroll away and walked lazily around the three metallic figures. “Why is it that you researchers always feel the need to step outside of your area of expertise? A few successful experiments, far too many boring reports and then, all of a sudden, you get these crazy ideas in your head.” He leveled a hard stare at Matteo. “Like telling me what I should or shouldn’t scoff at.”

  He grimaced, taking his spectacles off to rub at the glass with a handkerchief, though his vision had been perfectly clear.

  “It’s called deontology. It’s a matter of right and wrong. To do research without bothering with deontology can lead to… well, bad things. I’d be more worried if a researcher failed to express their concerns.”

  “Rules,” Luciano spat. “They’re just more rules, Matteo. You'd do better to forget about them. They’re not made to help the likes of you and me. They’re meant to keep us down. They want us to be small and helpless, to stay poor all our lives. Don’t you see that?”

  There was fire in his eyes now as he stared at Matteo, clenching his hand into a fist. “You know what type of person blindly follows rules?”

  Matteo winced as a flood of foreign Controller Ki shoved his own out of the metal golems. The middle figure exploded with sudden violence, arms swinging faster than he’d thought possible. The room was filled with the clanging of metal on metal as it battered the unmoving puppet next to it until it fell down to one knee.

  “Victims,” Luciano hissed. “And I decided long ago never again to be a victim.” The golem moved forward until it loomed threateningly over Matteo, who still remained seated. “How about you? Are you a victim, Matteo?”

  He sat there in silence, calmly waiting for the man to come to his senses. There were many things he could have pointed out. That these particular rules were not made just by and for nobles, but to protect everyone. That Luciano, in fact, made his people follow all kinds of rules, or how else would he be running this organization? Just the fact that there were guards in this complex not only to keep people out, but to keep people in, was enough to show that the man wasn’t shy to use rules. He was being hypocritical.

  But those arguments would fall on deaf ears. The best thing to do was to remain calm. To wait and sit things out, just like he’d been doing for most of the past year. It was almost over. His debt was close to being cleared.

  “No,” Luciano finally continued, a smile creeping back onto his face. “No, you’re not a victim, are you? You won’t follow those noble rules like a slave. You’re a good little researcher with a bright future ahead of him. Soon, you’ll be free to pursue your inane experiments again.”

  He withdrew his Ki from the metal golem, leaving it to stand lifelessly in front of Matteo.

  “Just keep that in mind, in case these thoughts of deontology start creeping back into your head. Don’t be stupid. Don’t destroy your future. The rules are not there to help you.”

  Then, Luciano walked out as quickly as he’d come in. Matteo stared at the open door for a few minutes, then let out a sigh as he went to close it. They had all kinds of names for a guy like Luciano back in the Belt.

  “Asshole,” he muttered to himself.

  But then what did that make him, if he was just going to sit it out and follow the man’s advice? Deontology was important, but he had been clear in his reports. All side effects had been clearly outlined. He’d even given verbal warnings, despite knowing he’d get chewed out. Was the rest of it still his responsibility?

  All he really wanted was to get back to his own experiments. There were far more important things to learn about this world than which pill did best at pushing people beyond their limits. He was basically trapped here, anyway. What more could he possibly be expected to do?

  He kneeled down and channeled his Ki, making the beaten-down puppet push itself up, flexing its metal tendons so that it sat up straight, looking at him with its featureless face.

  “There’s nothing more I can do. I’ve done my duty. Right?”

  He looked pleadingly at the puppet, but one of the strikes must have torn a few threads of the metal tendon, because it suddenly snapped and the puppet folded limply over onto itself.

  Matteo’s own head drooped forward as well, letting out another sigh as he looked down at his hands. What was he going to do?