Bonus Episode — The Black Cat’s Observation Journal: The Crunch of Potato Chips and the Immovable Sage

The only sound in the living room was a dry, rhythmic crunching.

Zect was perched in the chair he called his "Throne of Laziness," moving nothing but his fingertips to bring potato chips to his mouth. He hadn’t shifted from that position for a full hour.

(...Honestly, doesn’t he ever get bored? If the people of this world saw him now, they’d think a legendary Sage had fossilized inside his own home.)

I lay sprawled across the stomach of this man—who occasionally took a lazy sip of Cola and let out a satisfied "Hmph"—staring at the ceiling along with him.

"Tama... watching the world run on autopilot is the best. Even without me lifting a finger, the social OS collects taxes, the dam handles the water, and Bartos keeps the peace. Meanwhile, the L-Points just keep rolling in. It's a perfect patch."

"Meow. (...Whenever you start talking about 'perfection,' it’s usually just a justification for slacking off further.)"

His fingertips were coated in potato chip salt.

Yet, even for a man this slovenly, there are moments when he moves with desperate intensity.

(...I remember it well. That night when the Lord’s son was hovering between life and death, consumed by fever.)

This man, who normally finds a single step to be a chore, was different that night.

He turned the entire house upside down, tearing through the back of shelves and ripping open cardboard boxes in the closets. He was wild-eyed, searching frantically for a single "white tablet." I watched his back as he searched, drenched in sweat, forgetting even to grumble.

"Hm? What’s this pile of photos? There’s a message from Elishua, too... 'Could I have another set, please?' ...What does she think I am? I’m not some free image-processing tool."

Despite the cynical remark, his hands were already busy fiddling with settings.

In the end, he was upgrading the camera’s configuration just so Elishua could take better "social-media-ready" photos.

"Mrrp. (... 'It’s a waste of resources,' you say... but that soft spot of yours that can't say no to a favor is your fatal flaw.)"

"Tama, do you want a chip? You can't have any. Too much salt. It’s for your own health, you know."

His hand settled on my head and began to pet me slowly. I wish this time could last forever.

Drinking Cola, munching on chips, and occasionally remembering to fix the world’s bugs remotely. The ultimate shut-in life.

"Yawn... Well. I guess I'll check on the new city to 'kill some time.' I just hope there aren't any more problems."

As he spoke, he finally dragged himself up and moved to the study adjacent to the living room.

He booted up the computer on his desk and began importing drone footage of Felsen. On the screen, carriages moved smoothly through a roundabout, and the spray from a fountain in the park painted a tiny rainbow.

"There might be some congestion starting here. My traffic volume predictions for the carriages were too optimistic. I'll need to push a patch."

The moment he entered the study, his gaze shifted into "work mode." He looked like a completely different person from the man eating chips moments ago, tapping the keyboard and sliding the mouse with terrifying speed.

He calls it "killing time," but the moment he spots a flaw, he’ll skip sleep to find a solution that very same day. The shortest path, absolute certainty, before anyone even notices.

(In the end, he’s still an ex-corporate slave. If he doesn't finish the job perfectly, he can't relax and slack off properly. That clumsiness is just so... him.)

The pale blue light from the screen illuminated his focused profile. He works with absolute intensity so that he can laze around with absolute intensity. That contradictory energy is what is slowly rewriting the rules of this world.

"Alright, that should do it. The specifications are perfect."

Having finished his task, he leaned back deeply into his chair. The sharpness of his work mode vanished, replaced once again by the sleepy face of my usual "human."

"Tama... let’s go to bed. Tomorrow, I’m seriously doing absolutely nothing."

"Prrr. (...Sure you are. Someone will bring you a new problem soon enough anyway. You’d better enjoy your dreams while you can.)"

I quietly followed at his heels as he left the study for the bedroom. A breeze from the new season swayed the curtains of our quiet sanctuary.

The new chaos that will inevitably disturb my human’s "perfect sleep" will surely arrive soon.

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