Be Careful of the Mentor

The morning after Sunday service.

A thick fog blanketed the streets of Trino City.

Outside a textile factory in the East District, Rick, the foreman, huddled in his coat and impatiently stamped his feet.

"These damned people. Some of them still dare to be late?" He glanced at the battered pocket watch in his hand, whose brass casing had been worn smooth by time.

At this hour, the textile factory workers should have been lining up to enter. The men would be carrying toolboxes, while the women would be holding lunch baskets.

But today, only a few female workers were waiting outside the factory.

The hands moved a little farther around the watch face, and Rick's expression grew even gloomier, as if water might drip from it.

He paced back and forth in front of the entrance, each step landing heavily on the stone stairs, filled with anger.

The street remained deserted. The thick fog blocked his view, leaving him unable to make out what lay ahead.

"Tch, those bastards must have a death wish. They should remember who gave them the chance to get this job. They dare to be this late? Just wait—I'll make them pay!"

He lit a cigarette and took an angry drag. The burning tobacco soothed him a little.

Rick remembered a young female worker who had once been five minutes late. He had docked a week's wages and made her stand in front of all the workers for the entire morning.

Ever since then, everyone at the textile factory had known foreman Rick's rules.

The hands on his pocket watch moved another two ticks, and he began to feel that something was wrong.

Even if they were late, so many people couldn't all be this late at once—and for so long.

The thick fog still hadn't lifted. Sweat began to drip from Rick's forehead. If the workers weren't producing anything, the factory owner wouldn't go easy on him either.

"Where has everyone gone?" He grew even more agitated, the smoke from his mouth mingling with the fog.

Suddenly, he spotted a figure approaching through the mist, moving quickly toward him.

"Those sons of bitches..." he shouted, spitting out curses as he prepared to grab the person and teach him a harsh lesson.

But when he saw what the man was wearing, the cigarette between his lips fell to the ground.

The man approaching looked stern and grave, dressed in the uniform of a municipal Peace Officer.

The Peace Officer spotted Rick standing outside the textile factory. His brow furrowed, and he suddenly stepped forward and grabbed Rick by the collar.

"Who are you, and what's your connection to this textile factory?" he asked through clenched teeth, his voice cold, as if he were restraining his anger.

"Mr. Peace Officer, I—I'm Rick, the foreman in charge here." Rick stammered. Seeing the Peace Officer's furious expression, he had a terrible feeling.

"Foreman?" The Peace Officer's mouth twisted into a grim smile. "You're exactly who I'm looking for!"

"Do you know your factory workers are causing a disturbance outside City Hall?"

The Peace Officer's voice grew even colder, each word striking Rick's heart like a heavy hammer.

"Causing a disturbance?" Rick's expression turned ugly. "They... they wouldn't dare!"

He hurriedly put on a fawning smile and tried to wriggle free of the Peace Officer's grip. He spoke cautiously.

"Officer, please, don't get upset.

"I'll report this to the factory owner right away. I'll head straight to City Hall and bring them back."

His voice was full of fear and flattery, nothing like the vicious foreman he had been a moment earlier.

The Peace Officer snorted again and let go. Rick stumbled backward a few steps before regaining his balance.

"I don't care what you plan to do. Within one minute, you'll come back to City Hall with me and take all your workers away!"

Trembling, Rick ran into the factory as fast as he could. Despair washed over him. He could tell this time the trouble was serious.

"Damn it!" he cursed as he rushed inside. When workers near the entrance tried to ask him what was going on, he kicked them aside.

Deep down, he knew this might be the last time he got to throw his weight around in this factory.

If he couldn't handle this properly, he wouldn't just lose his job. His boss might even drive him out of Trino City.

The same scene was playing out at several other textile factories in the East and South Districts.

A street corner beside City Hall, in the West District.

Little George rubbed his hands together excitedly and took warm loaves of bread and boiled eggs from a box covered with a quilt.

"Here, don't rush. There's enough for every brother. The Holy Spirit Society supports all our brothers and sisters at the bottom of society!"

He quietly handed food to each worker who had come to protest, bringing a little warmth to the cold morning.

He turned to Gais beside him and said, "The fog is wonderful this morning. I was worried we'd be easy to drive away if we gathered around City Hall."

Gais looked distracted and nodded absentmindedly.

Then he realized he had been rude and pulled himself together to reply.

"Don't worry. Even without the fog, City Hall won't have time to deal with us.

"The workers are protesting so passionately that there's no way they can keep order at the scene."

He yawned and pointed toward the brightly lit entrance of City Hall.

Through the fog and lights, a packed crowd could be seen surging in front of the entrance. Municipal Peace Officers held up metal shields and pushed the crowd back.

The protesters' shouts kept coming from that direction:

"...We work more than ten hours a day, yet we can barely afford to fill our stomachs!"

"...The rich live in luxurious mansions and lead extravagant lives! Is that fair?"

"...It's not fair!"

"...We want bread!"

Little George nodded and muttered, "I never thought so many people would take part in the strike!

"Strange. Textile workers earn more than I used to make begging. How can they still barely afford to fill their stomachs?"

Confused, he turned his gaze back to Gais.

"Mr. Gais, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

He noticed that Gais was standing perfectly still, his face as pale as paper.

Gais didn't answer. His eyes stared blankly into the distance, as though his soul had left his body.

His lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

"Mr. Gais?" Little George gently patted him on the shoulder.

Gais suddenly shuddered, as if waking from a nightmare.

His eyes gradually came into focus, but they were still filled with exhaustion and unease.

"Mm... Last night, I somehow activated my Dream Awakener ability.

"So I'm a little mentally exhausted now. It must be a side effect of my Spirituality being depleted."

Little George understood what it felt like to exhaust one's Spirituality, but how could a single dream use it all up?

He watched Gais curiously.

"Mr. Gais, I remember you saying your ability lets you clearly remember the details of your dreams and receive revelations.

"Did you dream about the strike last night?"

Gais smiled, shook his head, then nodded. Looking Little George in the eye, he said:

"Yes and no. I dreamed of Trino City, the same place, the same thick fog, but I was the only one in it.

"I asked the version of myself in the dream whether tomorrow's strike would go smoothly, and whether the Holy Spirit Society could use the opportunity to recruit more followers.

"But he didn't answer. He only gave me an ambiguous warning:

"Be careful of the Mentor."