The guards at the abandoned factory district didn’t stop Chris as he wagged his tail and moved away. They just watched vacantly before returning to the guardhouse.
In a place where no one was watching, Chris released his Beast Transformation and operated his terminal to send a message.
<Entry via normal route impossible. Will attempt approach through Reeducation Center.>
After waiting briefly, a reply came from Yont.
<Contact Andrea.>
It seemed he’d assigned Chris the abandoned factory district and ordered Andrea to investigate the Reeducation Center.
Chris operated his terminal to contact Andrea. A few minutes later, the summoned terminal displayed Andrea’s hologram.
She was a woman with impressive red curly hair.
[Chris.]
“Andrea, this is Chris.”
Chris nodded in greeting and got straight to the point.
“I plan to infiltrate the Reeducation Center. I request your assistance.”
[Oh, are you joining the Reeducation Center investigation too?]
At Andrea’s cheerful voice, Chris shook his head.
“No. I plan to enter the abandoned factory district through the center. I overheard a conversation between the guards there—it seems they’re transferring personnel from the Reeducation Center to the factory.”
[Got it. Then I’ll tell you a good route to get registered at the Reeducation Center.]
After listening to Andrea’s explanation, Chris moved immediately. From now on, where he needed to go was one of the few ports in the November Continent.
Hiding in the shadows to avoid the patrols, Chris recalled what Andrea had told him earlier.
‘You know that places included in the winter continents, like this November Continent, have a lot of natural resources, right? There’s an organization that sells these to other continents at regular intervals.’
Avoiding people’s gazes, Chris went to the loading dock and checked the port aerial view that Andrea had sent in advance through his terminal.
As he’d seen beforehand, there were several surveillance cameras attached, but there weren’t many, and the models themselves were old, so the range they could monitor was narrow, leaving relatively many blind spots.
‘It’s probably not under Yuri Sobolev’s umbrella, but it’s quite interesting that they’re utilizing this trade bidirectionally. They transport people in the barrels used to move oil. People come in through a port where nothing but goods are supposed to come and go.’
Chris moved carefully. While the abandoned factory district had armed guards, the guards here sat in their posts snoring away. The security was so lax it couldn’t compare to either the abandoned factory district or the dock where airships came and went.
So that organization must have judged they could secretly transport people as well.
The loading dock he’d arrived at was full of barrels.
‘Of course it’s incomparably unpleasant and rough compared to an airship, but find one of those empty barrels, get inside, close the lid, and wait.’
This was the transportation method Andrea had mentioned. It wasn’t difficult to distinguish which ones contained people, which contained oil, and which were completely empty.
First, there was a smell, and he could hear the breathing of someone extremely tense.
Opening the lid of an empty barrel and getting inside, Chris bumped his knee because the metal barrel was narrower than expected.
‘Damn.’
He hadn’t expected the long legs that had been convenient when chasing criminals to become a problem. Fortunately, there was a thud! from one of the other barrels. It seemed like one of the stowaways had made the noise by moving their body in surprise.
Chris hurriedly crammed the rest of his body into the barrel and as quietly as possible covered his head with the lid.
Cold sweat broke out from anxiety.
Inside the barrel was terribly cramped. It was the same even when he curled up his body as much as possible. Dark and damp. Holding his arms and legs, he strained to move as little as possible and make no sound. Cold sweat seemed ready to flow.
He wondered if this was how a herring in a can felt.
If he, who had just entered, was suffocating from this stuffiness, what about the stowaways who had endured barrel life all the way here from other continents?
Then, a deep, majestic horn sound rang out.
‘Then when you hear the horn sound thirteen times at the dock, come outside. The other stowaways are also promised to respond to the same signal, so mix in among them.’
Once.
Twice, three times… and thirteen.
Taking a deep breath, Chris opened the lid and lifted his head.
He could see people who had been in other barrels coming outside. Someone slammed their lid on the ground, someone was on the ground retching and dry heaving, and someone was offering a prayer of thanks to their god.
Several organization members with expressionless faces entered and opened the barrel lids one by one to check inside. The muscles of the arms that easily pulled out those who couldn’t get up because their strength had given out couldn’t have been more threatening.
Three people were pulled out. One grinned vacantly as if drugged, one was endlessly shedding tears, and one kept coughing dryly.
‘The person in charge is different for each loading dock, so if you show the ticket, you can safely get off and blend in. Try to hide your terminal as much as possible. No one in good circumstances would stow away.’
After deactivating his terminal, flipping the band over, and hiding it inside his clothes, Chris held the ‘ticket’ he’d received through an abandoned mailbox in his hand and handed it to the organization member making rounds inside.
The organization member who looked at Chris’s face and frowned slightly snatched the ticket from him before moving on to another person.
‘There are many eyes of other stowaways, but since stowaways pour in from all kinds of continents, no one will question it even if your face is unfamiliar. Unless they gather people who stowed away from the February Continent, January Continent, and December Continent all together and do cross-checking or something. They won’t ask for your identity or name first either.’
The people who handed their tickets to the organization members, like Chris had, staggered in one direction. Chris slipped in among them and moved his steps.
‘Wait for the Reeducation Center side to approach while saying you’re looking for work at the employment office where dock workers gather.’
Even though there were no directional signs and only roads for cars, not people, the stowaways arrived at the employment office. He could see a person with a hat pulled low covering their face, a person sleeping on a bench with their face shielded by a newspaper, and a person pacing in front of the counter gulping down what appeared to be a bottle of alcohol.
Not a single person looked presentable. They wore frayed gloves, unraveled mufflers, coats with worn sleeve ends, faded jeans, and shoes with soles flapping loose.
The atmosphere was rough and irritable.
Everything up to here had gone according to what Andrea had said.
Half the people who had stood in front of the employment office staff handing out numbered tickets left the building on trucks. Half the remaining people didn’t seem to have any intention of looking for work. They were all waiting for something.
Just like Chris.
“They’re here! They came!”
At one person’s words, several of those waiting at the employment office stood up all at once. The faces of those who had been half-doubting were shining with hope.
“Please line up in order.”
The employment office staff member with a stiff tone called them to line up. People lined up in perfect order. Some could be seen straightening their clothes. He could see a man who seemed to have drunk himself crooked retying his tie with trembling hands.
Chris also joined that line.
Two people in suits entered and sat at a makeshift desk. When one opened the briefcase they were carrying and the other stood firmly beside them, the murmuring atmosphere settled.
“We’re from the Reeducation Center.”
Judging that people were sufficiently listening to her words, the woman spoke.
“I think some of you may have heard about the November Continent’s Reeducation Center, but let me briefly explain about our center.”
When she pressed a button on a projector taken from the briefcase, a hologram appeared. It was simple presentation material. Not flashy or well-decorated, but simple and intuitive.
“The Reeducation Center is a place that finds people who need new opportunities and provides those opportunities. After admission, you can choose a field that matches your aptitude and complete vocational training, and you can change fields up to three times.”
Various fields were listed, including baking, construction, and sewing. The overall program seemed focused on technical education. Skills that could be used immediately in practice and could be utilized not only in the November Continent but anywhere.
“During the training period, we provide room and board free of charge, and in return only require that you attend classes diligently. If you remain in the November Continent immediately after completion, we provide settlement support funds. However, if you go to another continent, this does not apply.”
In other words, they wouldn’t hold you back, but if you stayed, there would be benefits. For anyone who didn’t need quick money, these were conditions that couldn’t help but feel attractive.
“Additionally, all these educational costs are not billed separately.”
Even the education fees were free—you could learn skills here and return to where you originally lived, or advance to a more prosperous continent.
Even though Chris knew from what he’d heard that this Reeducation Center was Yuri Sobolev’s creation, he couldn’t feel repulsed by it.
“However, if you enter the Reeducation Center once and then quit the program, you can never return.”
The staff member from the center’s gaze swept over each person in line one by one.
