Chapter 196
"Militech!? Are you out of your mind!?"
Crash!
Benedict couldn’t contain his rage and slamd the desk. He struck it so hard that one of the desk’s legs cracked.
"The heir brought in Militech!? Not anyone else, them!?"
On the monitor in front of him was a video showing an aerial armored vehicle gliding through the air, dodging incoming shells.
Its logo had been scrubbed off, perhaps to obscure the manufacturer, but there was only one company capable of making sothing of that caliber—Militech.
And then, there was Vladimir.
Right before the transmission cut out, when Aaron had swung open the armored vehicle’s door, the image had captured Vladimir Kharitonov—the forr chairman of the Militech Foundation.
Benedict rembered hearing that Vladimir had gained the ability to handle Lv.5 Arcane Modules soti last year.
That unidentified energy force field which blocked most of their attacks must’ve been the power of Vladimir’s Ga Changer.
"Shit… goddamn it…!"
Even handling Aaron Stingray alone would be nearly impossible. But now, a high-level Adaptee had joined the fray? It was beyond troubling—it was downright hopeless.
"Why the hell…!?"
Why had those two tead up?
Everyone in the industry knew that ‘Aaron Stingray’ and ‘Vladimir Kharitonov’ were mortal enemies.
Back in their school days, people would joke, "The next corporate war will start because of those two." That’s how incompatible they were—like oil and water.
So why were the two suddenly teaming up now, coming to tighten a noose around his neck? Benedict couldn’t understand it. No—he didn’t need to understand it. There was no ti to worry about such things now.
“Damn it! When will the system be back online!?”
At so point, the external defense system had been completely and forcibly shut down. The exact cause was still unknown.
They could only assu Aaron had done sothing—but beyond that, they knew nothing.
Thanks to that, Benedict was completely blind to what was happening outside. He didn’t know whether Aaron’s team had been shot down by the defenses, or if they had broken through.
“Restoration will be completed in ten seconds.”
“Have you identified the cause?”
“It’s a virus we’ve never seen before.”
“What kind of stupid—…”
His carefully developed Anti-Wizard programs and vaccines had been breached—completely—in just three seconds?
The sheer absurdity of it made Benedict let out a hollow laugh. As he did, the system ca back online.
“Restoration complete. Replaying the cara feed now.”
Beep—
The external cara feed resud.
Benedict silently hoped to see the armored vehicle Aaron had been riding in, crashed and engulfed in flas. But the next image completely shattered that hope.
“Damn it…”
The northwest outer wall of the research facility—
There was a massive hole blown into it.
Judging by the size, the vehicle had slamd right into it.
In other words, the enemy had already breached the interior.
Realizing that, Benedict staggered. Then he collapsed into his chair and buried his face in both hands.
His android secretary called out to him in a worried voice.
“…Mr. Benedict?”
“No. I’m still fine.”
It wasn’t the worst-case scenario just yet.
That’s right—he had accounted for the possibility of Aaron Stingray breaking through the defense line and infiltrating the lab. Of course, the best outco would’ve been preventing that entirely—but now that they had broken through, there was no point in clinging to that.
“Miyu.”
[Yes, Mr. Benedict.]
AI Miyu responded to Benedict’s call.
She, too, seed aware that the situation wasn’t good. Her expression was dark. To her, Benedict gave an order.
“Show what you can do.”
It was the beginning of Plan B.
This place is Paradise.
Everyone is happy. Everyone is equal.
In the past hundred years, not once has a fight broken out in this place known as “Honeycomb.” That’s entirely thanks to the perfect system crafted by Lord Stingray.
The system here surpasses monarchy, serfdom, capitalism, communism, socialism, and parliantary systems… It is superior to any societal structure that has ever existed in history.
It’s so perfect, in fact, that we never bothered to give it a na.
To na sothing is to define its existence, like polishing a pane of glass until it shines. But sotis, it’s no different from throwing salty mud on a clean sheet of tal.
Still, if we had to na this system… we called it “Huxleism.” But even that silly term fails to capture its true greatness, so it’s best not to use it.
“Almighty Lord Stingray, thank you for granting another safe and peaceful day.”
Here, everyone is free and equal. I, Linda Beta, offer my morning prayers each day to Drake Stingray, the founder of this city.
Morning prayers aren’t mandatory, but most Alpha citizens in Honeycomb likely do them. Ever since childhood, they’ve been taught through subliminal education during sleep in socialization institutions that it’s the “polite” thing to do.
After that, I fill my stomach with the breakfast served by the robotic waiter. The nu consists of chicken breast with 80% synthetic protein, GMO corn, celery, squash, and carrot salad, oatal porridge, and artificial milk. It’s a very healthy diet.
The calories are precisely 668 Kcal, as required by my DNA. Lunch is about 150 Kcal less, while dinner is 200 Kcal more. Of course, the caloric intake and nu are adjusted depending on my health and mood.
After the al, I, a Beta-class citizen, go to work at the Socialization Center and begin administrative duties.
Today, there are 213 children turning sixteen and becoming “adults.” All of them are Alpha-class. Since they are one rank above , I must always treat them with respect, even if they are younger.
My job is to complete their socialization process and dispatch them appropriately to their designated workplaces.
The task of physically transporting them by vehicle is handled by the Gamma class. Even the Gammas must treat the Alphas with utmost respect. As they should.
Alpha as Alpha.
Beta as Beta.
Gamma as Gamma.
The system Lord Stingray created allows us to know exactly what kind of person a child will beco from the very mont the egg and sperm form a fertilized egg. According to that, the child is classified into Alpha, Beta, or Gamma and sent to a separate artificial incubation center.
In the incubators, babies of each class go through growth processes tailored to their class.
Alpha-class infants receive ample nutrients and are stimulated with special electromagnetic waves to accelerate growth, ensuring their brain and physique develop to the fullest.
Beta-class receive slightly fewer resources compared to Alphas. As a result, they generally have lower IQs and smaller physiques. It’s a asure to make them instinctively look up to Alphas.
Gamma-class embryos are injected with small amounts of drugs to delay developnt. They are small and have low IQs, but they gain incredible focus and patience, making them perfect for repetitive tasks.
Huh? That sounds unfair?
I understand what that ans, but I’ve never felt such immoral emotions. On the contrary, I’m proud. I love my role and my class, and I am content.
Those Alpha-class children will go on to take on responsibilities far beyond what soone like could ever handle.
They will be assigned to roles that match their talents. For example, researching chemical ratios in the incubators, commanding the military, or drafting laws.
If I were to take on such tasks, I’d ruin everything within a single day from the sheer pressure.
I don’t want to feel that kind of burden. I find comfort and purpose in just sitting here at this desk, in front of this computer, doing what I need to do each day.
There was apparently a ti in the past when this system was considered unfair. But I firmly believe that was born from ignorance.
Would you like an example?
A long ti ago… back when Drake Stingray founded this city, an error occurred during the fertilized egg processing in an artificial incubator, and a Gamma-class child was born with the physique and intelligence of an Alpha.
He lived until the age of sixteen believing he was Alpha. Naturally, his job assignnt also placed him where an Alpha should go.
What do you think happened?
A disaster.
Countless Beta and Gamma-class people working under him were injured or killed. If the other Alphas hadn’t acted quickly, the entire Honeycomb City could’ve collapsed.
And even so, that false Alpha who caused it never admitted his mistake. In the end, he was demoted to the lowest rank, beneath Gamma—the Zeta class—and died miserably in a detention facility.
Do you understand?
People must live according to their station.
A king should live as a king, a noble as a noble, and a commoner as a commoner—for the system to remain stable. But what differentiates our Huxleism from primitive monarchies is that everyone is evaluated according to their innate abilities.
An Alpha can be born to a Gamma. And a Gamma can be born to an Alpha. The system is fair to all and dedicates itself to maintaining a perfect world where everyone can be happy.
That way, our society can continue to develop in a stable state. It’s only natural that those who are more capable bear more responsibility and wield more power.
So then...
"How are you doing your job!?"
"I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry."
Even when an Alpha-class superior wearing an armband on his left arm throws a wad of papers at my face, slaps , hurls cruel words at , or even steps on —I feel nothing.
"I’m sorry. I’m sorry."
Beta is the pillar that supports Alpha.
The higher you stand, the more winds you must endure and the more you sway. By silently enduring their ‘punishnts,’ I enable them to make better decisions and build a better world.
"I’m sorry. I’ll do better next ti."
And so, after bowing my head over and over again, I get off work at 4 p.m. After a fulfilling day, I’m allowed free ti in the Beta-class district until 10 p.m.
Around quitting ti, another Beta-class colleague asks if I want to hang out.
“Linda, do you have ti today?”
“…Huh? Ah, no. I’m tired today.”
“I see. Then get so good rest.”
“Yes, thank you.”
After work, I head straight back to my apartnt. Using the self-treatnt robot in the living room, I heal my swollen cheek from being struck by my superior and wait for dinner.
The nu is cultured at steak with a soft-boiled egg, and GMO asparagus with carrot garnish. It’s a bit more generous than usual today.
I skillfully slice it with my fork and knife, putting a piece into my mouth. The food tailored for Beta-class tastes like a heavenly dish—just chewing with my molars makes feel happy.
Thanks to that, I am happy.
I am happy.
Truly happy.
“I’m happy.”
Giving thanks for such a blissful life—
I lie down on my bed.
And the next day, I wake up feeling good, and live another happy day just like yesterday. And the day after that. And the next. And the next.
And the next. And the next. And the next.
Every day, every day, every day, every day, every day, every day.
Without missing a single day, I am happy.
But one evening,
Suddenly, a man stord into my room.
“W-Who are you?”
“My na?”
My peace was utterly shattered.
“They call Vladimir.”
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