Curiosity tugged at Bharat as he leaned toward the door’s external scope and peered into the corridor.

  A man stood before his neighbor’s door, pounding on it with relentless force.

  A Black male. Slightly shorter than average height, yet compact with muscle.

  The fact that Bharat could see him without censorship meant only two possibilities.

  First: he was an Omega.

  But his limbs looked intact, his posture confident, and he wore an expensive Chinese-brand hoodie. That possibility could be dismissed.

  Which left the second.

  “Open the door! I’ll break it down if you don’t! You coming out or not?!”

  …Most likely a minor. Not yet twenty.

  Bharat hesitated. Should he feel relieved to see a non-Omega human here? Or troubled that the human in question was clearly an unhinged child? Either way, the courage required for a non-Omega minor to barge into an Omega district was beyond reckless—it bordered on suicidal bravado.

  Judging by the spectacle, if the boy ever received his rank evaluation, he would probably end up dumped into this same sewer of a district.

  Bharat exhaled and checked the clock.

  3:00 PM.

  He had been expelled after his rank evaluation at 8:00 AM.

  Exactly seven hours had passed.

  With another sigh, he opened the shoe cabinet beside the entrance. There were no shoes inside—only a toolbox. After a brief pause, he opened it and picked up a wrench, weighing it in his hand.

  “…If I strike the occipital lobe with this, would it knock him out…?”

  He contemplated the angle for a moment before placing it back.

  Killing a minor under twenty could trigger an investigation tied to their guardian’s rank. Tiresome. If it were an Omega or a Beta, the police would hardly bother. But the boy outside was unmistakably a kid.

  So Bharat opened the door.

  “Hah… Hey! Charlie Kingston! I tracked you down! I know everything! If you don’t open this door right now, I’m calling the police! Do you even know who my dad is? My father is an Alpha-class director at the Southern Suburb Zulu Sports Center! And who the hell does some red-haired pale freak think she is being so—”

  Caleb Lusando extended his arm to knock again—

  —and suddenly felt his wrist seized.

  He turned.

  A short, bespectacled, dark-skinned man in a shirt stood there, gripping his arm.

  “…What? Who the hell are you? You know that bitch? Mind your own business. Trying to look cool in front of a girl, are you? You look like some pathetic creep.”

  Caleb twisted his muscular arm free from Bharat’s grip.

  The man folded his arms and muttered calmly,

  “…How old are you? Quiet down. Is this your house?”

  Caleb blinked in disbelief.

  He was 178 centimeters tall, with a well-built physique. And yet this squat man with glasses was daring to confront him? He stared into the eyes behind the lenses, then scoffed and glanced back at the door.

  “…Get lost. You’re rotting in some filthy basement rental and still talking about rights? What, you call the police every time rats squeak at night for noise complaints?”

  Bharat smacked the back of Caleb’s head with his palm.

  Caleb froze, rubbing the spot before glaring at him and grabbing his collar.

  “You crazy bastard, where do you—”

  Bharat clamped a hand over his mouth.

  As Caleb struggled to shake him off, Bharat shoved his jaw upward harder.

  “Let go? No. You let go. Want to die, you little brat?”

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  Faced with the unyielding resistance, Caleb eventually released his grip.

  Bharat dusted off his clothes and studied him.

  “…Why are you here? You’re obviously not an Omega. Sixteen? Seventeen, at most. Got a problem with the neighbor or something?”

  Caleb stared at him in silence for a moment, then sighed.

  “…What’s it to you? You gonna mock me too?”

  Bharat crossed his arms and leaned against the stair railing, clearly prepared to wait until he got an explanation.

  Confronted with that stubborn composure, Caleb finally gave in.

  “…The woman living here… hacked the port surveillance cameras I was guarding. She came wearing a security uniform, walked right into the CCTV control room, introduced herself as a new recruit, and asked for the handover. I thought she was legit, so I gave her the keys and left. Thanks to that, I’m about to get fired. So I had the hard drive restored at a recovery lab and tracked down the culprit…”

  Bharat stroked his chin as he listened to the minor’s story.

  “…Then report her to the police. Why are you wasting energy here?”

  Caleb fell silent, clutching his head.

  “…My father… got me the job through connections. Minors aren’t even allowed to work there. If I lasted until next year, I’d turn adult and transition officially. But if the police get involved, it’s over. My dad said it was the best job a Beta could ever hope for… I can’t lose it.”

  Bharat rolled his eyes.

  “…Early rank evasion and illegal employment brokerage. Figures. Trying to bypass the CAIT system, huh? That takes nerve. Corrupt officials in Cape Town get executed, you know. A minor working port security? And how exactly did you land that job? Don’t tell me your Alpha-ranked father pulled strings. If this gets exposed, he’s looking at prison at minimum. Father and son—both insane. Gambling with your one life.”

  Caleb’s pride stung, yet he had no rebuttal.

  To those condemned to Omega-level hell, a Beta trying to cling to Alpha-level privilege through nepotism would sound like a provocation—a plea to be hunted down. And that reaction would be inevitable. No matter how unjust Cape Town’s digital caste system was, it had governed society for fifty years. Officials eradicated corruption with ruthless severity. Rank evaluation and occupational assignment were as natural to citizens as conscription medical exams in a militarized state.

  To defy the evaluation everyone else endured—and climb through rank corruption?

  Even Omegas, even some Betas, would feel rage boil at the thought.

  Human nature was simple.

  What one suffered, others must suffer too.

  And what one had escaped, one would refuse to endure at any cost.

  Caleb, in the eyes of many Omegas, would be nothing more than a parasite fattening himself on a system built upon their sacrifice.

  But Bharat was different.

  He did not hate the corruption.

  He saw utility in it.

  “…Step aside. I’ll mediate.”

  Caleb blinked, stunned.

  “…What? You? Why? No—how?”

  Hope flickered in his eyes. He didn’t understand Bharat’s motive, but he understood survival.

  Ignoring further questions, Bharat knocked on the neighbor’s door.

  “…Excuse me. Neighbor? Would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

  Silence.

  Just as disappointment began to settle on Caleb’s face, Bharat turned toward him.

  “…Got any information on the woman who hacked the port?”

  Caleb pulled out a photograph.

  “This is her. Red hair. Freckles. White. Check it.”

  Bharat glanced at the image and smirked.

  “…Ah. That rude woman from earlier.”

  He chuckled softly.

  “I saw her today. Naturally, you’d assume I saw her because she’s my neighbor… but I only received my rank and moved in today. Still, judging by clinical psychology markers, I’d diagnose depressive tendencies. There’s a method to handling people like that. Want to see?”

  Caleb’s eyes lit up as he grabbed Bharat’s hand.

  “R-Really? You can actually help? If you solve this… I’ll grant you anything I can. Anything. Oh—her name’s Charlie.”

  Bharat knocked again and waited before speaking.

  “…Miss Charlie? I’m the person who asked to borrow a light earlier. Someone has come looking for you. Would you mind opening the door for a moment?”

  Silence lingered.

  Bharat smiled faintly and pulled a burner phone from his pocket.

  Using phones was legal in most countries, yet illegal in Cape Town—because they allowed cross-rank communication. Ironically, both the Western bloc and the authoritarian powers backing Cape Town officially condemned neural-interface surveillance and caste division within their own borders. One of the city’s countless contradictions.

  He slid the burner phone under the door of Unit 13.

  Moments later, Charlie’s startled voice emerged from inside.

  Bharat grinned.

  “…Miss Charlie, it’s hard to speak freely with someone shouting outside, isn’t it? Why not start with text?”

  A pause.

  Then the sound of a phone being picked up.

  Fingers tapping across a screen.

  Ding.

  Caleb’s own burner phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, eyes widening.

  “…She… even knew my burner number? Damn it…”

  Bharat rolled his eyes and gestured toward the stairs.

  “Communication’s established. Go. Judging by your look, this isn’t your neighborhood anyway.”

  Caleb stared at him with gratitude, then hurried upstairs. Bharat shrugged and turned to re-enter his unit.

  “…Wait. You don’t have a burner phone either, do you?”

  Caleb stopped midway up the stairs and came back down, pulling out another device and handing it to him.

  “Take it. When your parents or family are higher rank, this is the only way to communicate, right?”

  Bharat stared at the phone, then at Caleb.

  “…My mother is a standard Eve-class citizen, but she spent her life warning against Omegas, Femmes, and Canis using phones. My sister, raised under her protection, developed a sense of privilege and cut off contact with both of us the moment she moved to the Southern Suburbs as a prima donna. Neither of them uses burner phones. And they’ll likely never speak to me again.”

  Caleb fell silent, then pressed the device into his hand anyway.

  “…Then contact me instead. I’ll repay the debt. Oh—guess I never introduced myself. I’m Caleb.”

  He grabbed the phone still connected to Charlie and sprinted upstairs.

  Bharat watched his retreating figure blankly before clicking his tongue.

  “…That brat… obviously a kid, and still talking down to the end.”