Raimund wandered the streets for a while.
Before going to launder his credits, he wanted to check once more if there were any good pickpocket targets.
He couldn't go back to Sector 3 Residential District—he'd just robbed there, and the victim was probably looking for him.
So the only places left were Sector 1 or Sector 2 Residential Districts.
Sector 1 was a place where even people out for a casual stroll wore gold and pearls on their bodies. Going there, Raimund would stand out like a stain on a white tablecloth.
So he had no choice but to go to the less flashy Sector 2.
He took the red unmanned tram from Sector 3, then transferred to the purple tram to get to Sector 2 Residential District.
When well-dressed people in coats, quietly trying to escape the cold fog, got off, Raimund hurriedly followed behind them.
With no coat, or even a decent jacket, he quickly scanned his surroundings and grabbed some discarded newspapers from a trash can at the tram stop and a few free magazines nearby.
Spreading out the crumpled papers and carrying the magazines in one arm, he looked somewhat like a newspaper and magazine delivery boy.
He left the main road and headed toward the residential area. Since he hadn't been to Sector 2 much before, he wanted to get a rough idea of the geography before starting his work.
Sector 2 Residential District was completely different from Sector 5. The streets were clean, and though there was some fog, the atmosphere was peaceful and calm.
Streetlights and trees were all well maintained, and no one was causing a ruckus in the middle of the street.
Instead of broken bottles or crushed cans, recycling bins stood in the alleys, and building walls were clean except for some moss.
Two police officers patrolling leisurely approached Raimund.
"Delivering something?"
"Ah, yes. Thank you for your hard work as always."
"Be careful out there."
Raimund stepped aside to avoid bothering them and walked far enough to get out of their sight.
Passing people chatted cheerfully and normally. Their clothes were impeccable, with no seams torn. It was, in a word, a perfectly peaceful and affluent residential district.
The houses lined along the street seemed at least five times larger than the small house in Sector 5 where Olive, Fioni, and Hazel lived.
Small front yards and gardens, shiny black wrought-iron fences, magnificent granite steps, and dark-colored front doors giving a neat impression.
The narrow tall windows on both sides of the door were spotless, sometimes covered with white curtains.
The houses built with irregular patterns of white bricks nestled between red bricks were truly… beautiful. Really.
Raimund didn't regret the modest and shabby house he had won by lottery.
But seeing a row of mansions that could be called mansions compared to his house stirred different feelings.
Raimund grew up in an orphanage in Sector 4. The orphanage's facilities were so poor they could be called the bottom of the barrel.
Thirteen kids crammed into a tiny room, meals consisting of green potatoes and mashed grayish-white artificial protein meat.
The director was always addicted to cheap liquor and headache medicine. He only cleaned up briefly when inspections came.
At other times, he obsessively controlled the kids and ordered incomprehensible tasks with authoritarian pressure.
Those who didn't obey got harsh punishments. It wasn't just corporal punishment; creative punishments like 'cabinet punishment' or 'reflection time' existed
Despite the bad memories, Raimund felt strange whenever he thought of the orphanage.
Angry, but at the same time, wanting to cry.
The director received government subsidies for running the orphanage, so he was obligated to care for the children.
But he did not. Or rather, it's more accurate to say he refused.
The drunk old director habitually spewed verbal abuse at the children.
"You filthy brats. Scum like you are eating away at the shelter. Parentless bastards, you'll all die penniless on the streets. You worthless idiots have not a single credit's worth of value. Got it? Not even one credit's worth of value, fools."
…Thinking about it again made Raimund's mood sink.
He looked up at an unusually elegant house he was passing by.
It was a three-story house. White paint and stone heavily used. Perhaps to absorb as much light as possible despite the low sunlight, the living room curtains were drawn open.
Beyond that, a small figure was visible.
A person with long white hair tied in a single ponytail. They seemed to be talking inside, and as they nodded, someone else turned from a window that had been facing away.
Ah, better not be suspected.
Raimund quickly left that house.
Yeah, there are days like this.
Beaten from the morning, stealing money, exchanging safety for commission that was practically a scam, and then going to an upscale residential district only to ruin his mood.
Raimund lowered his head and adjusted his hat. There was no time to get lost in such thoughts. The more he moved, the better chance he had to keep face in front of his 'family.'
The world was never fair to anyone. For someone like him with nothing, it was only natural to have to hustle with his own feet.
He spent hours waiting for a chance but got nothing.
Where security was a little lax, there was no one around; where there were many people, there was always a cop or two.
If trouble started, the police would intervene, and that was the last thing Raimund wanted.
He realized once again how intensely people in Sector 2 cared about security.
Eventually, having earned nothing, Raimund wandered the park and sighed as he boarded the red tram.
Well, at least he'd been lucky since morning. They say pickpockets only get lucky once a day.
Comforting himself with that thought, Raimund rested his aching legs and watched the small artificial sun inside the dome set.
After arriving at Sector 5, Raimund didn't head straight home.
His target was near the border of the district, close to the barely closed industrial zone at the outermost edge.
Turning behind some almost collapsing ruins, he found a small warehouse door.
He slid the stolen credit stick through the gap in the door.
Thunk.
"Raimund. I want to exchange this."