The Backstreets were a web of countless roads—like blood vessels in a body—threading between the City's Nests.
Those who lacked the qualifications to live inside a Nest had no choice but to survive here. Compared to the order of the Nest, the Backstreets were brutally harsh: rat packs moving in groups, gangs with their own "styles," offices that offered every kind of business under the sun, and—most importantly—the ordinary people who made up the City's real majority.
Still, no matter how ugly it got, the Backstreets remained under the Head's "line of sight."
At the edge of the Backstreets, within the cluster of buildings closest to L Nest, Anna watched the Sweepers retreat like a tide down the street.
She knew it meant deep night was over.
A new day had arrived.
She lifted her eyes to the massive pillar of light rising from the Nest—the Tree of Light shining like a second sky—and felt a strange calm settle inside her.
But she also knew she couldn't stare much longer.
Food reserves in the room were running low. She still had to wake her companions before the rats stirred, so they could raid empty houses while the streets were quiet.
Reluctantly, Anna tore her gaze away from the light—
—and then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of two oddly placed figures near the Nest's boundary.
A man and a woman.
To be precise, the woman drew her attention like a hook. Under the Tree's radiance, her beautiful long hair seemed to glow—clean, bright, almost unreal.
It was strange.
Every time Anna tried to look away from the woman to get a proper read on the man beside her, her thoughts would "stutter" once—like her mind briefly lagged.
And when she snapped back, her gaze would be on the woman again.
Even more unsettling: when Anna tried to recall that stutter, her memory insisted she'd already recalled it.
As if the gap had been papered over.
For that bizarre phenomenon alone, Anna decided she could spare a little time to watch what these unusual Nest people were trying to do.
The silver-haired woman produced something from somewhere—something like a tissue—and placed it on the ground.
In the blink of an eye, a table and chair appeared where that "tissue" had been.
Then she said something to the man, who still seemed to be searching for something.
The two of them sat down facing the Backstreets.
Anna rubbed her sore eyes and kept watching.
A neon sign projection flickered to life above the table—bright enough to cut through the gloom.
When she finally made out the characters on it, her entire body jolted.
She spun and ran back inside, shouting as she went, calling her companions awake.
Meanwhile, sitting under that flashing neon like a cheap barbershop ad buried in an alley, Zhou Zhuang felt something like electricity crawl through his body.
Back when Angela told him everything was "already set up," his first reaction had been disbelief. He'd been trailing her the whole way and hadn't seen her pull out anything at all.
Then he turned around—
—and there it was: a complete set of table and chairs, just… there, beside her.
Zhou Zhuang stared at Angela from head to toe.
"Where did you pull that from?"
"That is not important, Manager," Angela replied serenely. "For your work, the company will provide maximum convenience."
"…Fine." Zhou Zhuang sat down, rubbed his chin, and eyed the table's clean surface. "But shouldn't we hang some kind of promotional slogan? I remember when I'd just graduated, companies came to campus to recruit—cough—talent—and they'd always have thick pamphlets."
"No need," Angela said. "In L Nest, the name 'Lobotomy' is the best pamphlet."
Then her lips curved into a faint smile.
"Of course, Manager, if you truly wish to make a promotional slogan, please press the button on your left."
Zhou Zhuang looked to his left.
A large, unmistakably red button sat there, practically screaming PRESS ME.
"This one?" Zhou Zhuang pointed at it.
He didn't even wait for an answer.
His loyal little hand pressed it without hesitation.
Beep… beep… beep… da.
A voice began broadcasting all around them:
"Successful elites! Peak residences! Exotic courtyards! Overlooking spirit-water scenery…"
Then it escalated.
"Easy and safe, superior benefits! A comfortable work environment! Medical staff on duty 24 hours to ease your worries! Department Heads will always care about employee safety! Stable promotion pathways! Free access to watch a girl idol group! Many cute little animals in the workplace to relieve your stress! What are you waiting for—join Lobotomy Corporation now and realize your value!"
Zhou Zhuang listened to the "grass-growing" advertisement swirling around them, deadpan.
"With this much concentrated nonsense… where do I even start?"
"Manager," Angela said calmly, "these are the best slogans your subconscious believes in. They are composed from what you have seen and heard, then stitched together by your mind."
"So my brain thinks goofy ads recruit better employees, huh."
"At least the results are obvious, aren't they?" Angela said.
Zhou Zhuang finally noticed: people were already gathering around them, drawn by the commotion.
More and more.
Soon, the crowd packed in so tightly he was nearly sealed off. They stared at the neon slogan overhead and began whispering to one another.
Then a voice rose from the crowd.
"Um… excuse me. Are you really people from Lobotomy Corporation?"
The whispers stopped with eerie synchronization.
Everyone waited for Zhou Zhuang's answer.
Zhou Zhuang silently gave the questioner a mental thumbs-up. He took a breath, composed himself, and spoke.
"Yes. That's right. We are senior staff from Lobotomy Corporation. I am—"
He caught himself mid-word and adjusted smoothly.
"—the head of Human Resources. Zhou Zhuang. And beside me is my secretary, Angela."
"We're here because headquarters is expanding. We are severely understaffed after the previous recruitment."
"And this time, recruitment does not require status, nor does it require ability."
He held up a finger, adding with the solemnity of a man selling a miracle drug:
"Of course, having ability is best. It will determine your starting position within the company."
The crowd erupted into louder agitation.
Angela—seeing her Manager finish his speech—immediately threw in the finishing push while the iron was hot.
"Those who wish to apply, please come here to receive an onboarding brochure and a pen. Fill in your personal strengths."
People began lining up, taking papers from Angela, scattering to corners to write.
Time passed.
Soon, some were done, stepping forward with their "resumes" ready to submit.
"Wait!"
A shout rang out from the distance, cutting across the collection process.
Zhou Zhuang looked up.
A young man in expensive clothing strode toward them with the kind of swagger that screamed I'm trouble.
Here it comes, Zhou Zhuang thought. The melodrama.
The newcomer stopped in front of him and scanned the crowd like it belonged to him.
"You may call me Jin Shiyong," he said, smiling faintly. "This HR Manager… I may call you that, yes?"
"Call me whatever you want."
"Then allow me to ask," Jin Shiyong continued, tone smooth, "why are you recruiting at a time like this?"
Murmurs rose again. Some in the crowd—those with more knowledge—recognized him.
"I remember him—he's the second young master of the XD Consortium!"
"The City-wide chain department store one?"
"More than that. They also manufacture and sell vehicles. The car you ride might've come from their dealership."
"Damn… big name."
"But he's challenging Manager Zhou…"
"Let's watch. Maybe something's off."
Zhou Zhuang bounced the question back without blinking.
"'A time like this?' What are you trying to say?"
Jin Shiyong smiled like he'd been waiting for the line.
"Everyone knows Lobotomy Corporation's last recruitment was when it first became a Wing."
"And that was the first time… and the last."
"Ten years later, a golden light appears at Lobotomy's headquarters. On the third day after that light appears—today—you proclaim yourself the HR Manager and recruit here."
"Normally, you'd recruit at an examination village. Yet you appear at the border between L Nest and the Backstreets."
"And you claim you don't require ability."
He sighed theatrically.
"Manager… if you're going to fabricate a story, at least fabricate a better one."
He leaned in slightly, voice sharpening.
"Let me guess. You intend to sell these people to Backstreet 23, don't you? I hear Nest people are popular 'ingredients' for certain chefs."
The words hit the crowd like a spark in dry grass.
People's faces changed.
Their suspicion curdled into anger.
Zhou Zhuang, however, didn't react at all.
To the crowd, that looked like being struck speechless—like a liar caught on the sore spot.
The temperature rose. Voices grew rough.
Zhou Zhuang watched the anger building like a wave and then spoke calmly, almost bored:
"If that's what you think, then do as you please. If you don't want to join, you can take back the resumes you handed me."
"Fuck your paper!" a middle-aged man cursed.
Someone who'd been writing crumpled their brochure into a ball and threw it onto the ground—then stomped it a few times for emphasis.
"Yeah! You're trying to scam us, you bastard! Sell us to Backstreet 23! If this young master hadn't exposed you, your stupid plan would've worked!"
The crowd began cracking knuckles. The vibe shifted toward violence—toward a full-on beatdown.
"Enough, everyone," Jin Shiyong said, waving a hand.
He sounded like the kind of person who enjoyed being seen as "reasonable."
"There's no need to hit anyone. You haven't actually lost anything."
"And based on what they've done… the real Lobotomy Corporation would send Fixers to clean up, wouldn't they?"
He smiled pleasantly.
"Just disperse."
The crowd hesitated, then stopped. In the City, once fists flew, it rarely stayed "small."
So they left—quickly, the same way they'd come.
Zhou Zhuang watched them go, let out a slow breath, and began cleaning up the mess with Angela.
Then he looked at Jin Shiyong, who was still standing there, and frowned.
"What, you still want to watch the show? It's over. Be careful—I'll sell you to Backstreet 23."
Jin Shiyong's smile widened.
"How could I? Manager Zhou… please, give me an application form."
Zhou Zhuang blinked.
"…You want to apply?"
"Yes, Manager."
"Then why the hell did you tell them we were fake?"
Jin Shiyong lifted his shoulders as if it were nothing.
"Well… to reduce your workload. They were mostly trash anyway. Better to get a few with value than a pile with none, right?"
Zhou Zhuang nodded instinctively—then caught himself.
"No, wait. I was recruiting for headcount. But whatever. One is better than none."
He waved at Angela. "Give him a form."
At that moment, a girl who'd been watching from the side stepped forward once the situation calmed, followed by two companions. She held out three already-completed applications.
"Um… Manager. Our forms are finished. We'd like to submit them."
Zhou Zhuang accepted them with a glance.
"Mm. Anna, Lien, and Siv."
He nodded as if reading names off a list he'd always known.
"Okay. No problem. Once this young master finishes his form, the mission's basically done."
He looked toward Angela briefly, as if seeking confirmation.
Anna frowned, confused.
"Manager… you don't need to review our applications?"
"No need," Zhou Zhuang said simply.
"You're already members of Lobotomy Corporation."
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