When I made a dumbfounded expression and acted like a fool, Django tilted his head and asked.
“…Huh? Do you know something about me?”
“…No, not at all.”
I quickly straightened my face and shook my head, just in case he caught on.
Then, I glanced around Django.
The primary target of this mission wasn’t Django, but Josephine, William’s daughter.
But right now, Josephine wasn’t anywhere near Django.
‘Why is he alone? Did they split up for a moment…?’
I ran through various scenarios in my head and then let out a silent laugh.
‘Seriously, how did I run into him while going out to eat? Does this even make sense?’
If I had known this would happen, I wouldn’t have risked threatening the South Brotherhood.
‘Should I be happy about this or not…?’
Feeling a sense of emptiness, I observed Django.
He had a pistol tucked in his waist, probably for self-defense, but it looked sloppy.
His hands were rough, likely from farm work, but there were no calluses from frequent gun use.
This guy, who looked sloppier than any outlaw, had a bounty of $10,000 on his head.
Was William, who hired me, a fool, or did Django have something hidden?
Either way, I wasn’t the type to let prey slip away.
*Swish.*
I offered a handshake, and Django smiled and took my hand.
I smiled back at him…
“Gotcha.”
“…Huh?”
“No, I mean, nice to meet you. Call me Noah. You said you’d treat me to a meal? There’s a place I frequent nearby. How about it?”
I tightly gripped Django’s outstretched hand.
Since it didn’t seem like Josephine was with him right now, I planned to act friendly and take him down later.
“Oh, sure. Shall we go then?”
“Yeah, let’s.”
Completely unaware, Django nodded cheerfully at my suggestion to go to the usual spot.
‘I feel bad for Emma.’
It seemed like this trip to San Francisco would end much sooner than expected.
***
After losing Noah, who had fled to the Saint Michel Slum, Billy had only one option.
To keep an eye on Emma, Noah’s companion.
No matter where Noah was or where he went, he would eventually return to Emma.
So, Billy sighed and asked Emma.
“…Miss Emma, right? It seems we’ll have to wait until Noah returns. Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”
Of course, Billy wasn’t just here to be a guide.
But what could he do now that Noah had run away?
Billy decided to show Emma around the city, since it was her first time in San Francisco.
“Ah… there is one place I’d like to go…”
“Sure, where is it? Let’s go together.”
When Billy first saw Emma, what stood out more than her beauty was her stone-like, expressionless face.
But now, Emma spoke like an innocent girl about where she wanted to go.
And the place she wanted to visit so badly was…
“…Are you sure you want to go here?”
“Yes, I’ve always wanted to come here.”
“…But there’s really nothing special about this place.”
…It was just an ordinary café.
Not particularly famous or crowded… just a regular café on the corner.
Emma said she wanted to go to a café, any café.
Hearing that, Billy couldn’t help but feel a bit puzzled.
In San Francisco, there were one or two cafés on every street.
‘Is there some hidden agenda? Is she trying to keep me occupied for her master?’
Billy looked at Emma with a suspicious gaze.
Having lived her whole life in Justice Town, where there wasn’t even a library, Emma couldn’t understand Billy’s confusion.
But Emma genuinely just wanted to visit a café.
“People come here to drink coffee… and chat leisurely… Cafés are such fascinating places.”
Emma inhaled the scent of coffee as she stepped inside.
Then, like someone touring an art gallery, she looked around…
*Swish.*
She quietly found a seat and sat down.
*Smirk.*
At that moment, a small but genuine smile appeared on Emma’s face.
Seeing that, Billy finally let go of his suspicions.
‘She’s… genuinely happy to be at a café.’
How rural must she have come from for her icy face to melt over a simple café?
Feeling a bit dumbfounded, Billy sat down and asked Emma.
“Is this your first time at a café? Where on earth did you live that you’re this excited about a café?”
Where do you live? Where are you from?
It was a very common question, even among strangers.
But…
“…….”
Emma met Billy’s gaze but didn’t answer.
She had caught onto Billy’s attempt to subtly ask about Noah’s whereabouts.
‘She’s sharp.’
Realizing Emma wasn’t an easy opponent, Billy smiled and ordered coffee.
As he sipped the coffee brought by the waiter, he casually said,
“I’m just an aide. You don’t need to be so guarded.”
“Billy, you’re the aide to the mayor who runs this huge city. Meanwhile, I’m just the secretary of a bounty hunter. You don’t need to be wary of me.”
“…Just a bounty hunter. Pfft…”
Billy couldn’t help but laugh at Emma’s words.
“Just a bounty hunter… Are you serious?”
“……?”
“How much do you know about your master?”
Noah… or rather, Kid, being called just a bounty hunter?
The South Brotherhood gang members would’ve laughed their heads off at that.
“How much do I know about the boss…?”
Emma pondered the question about Noah and decided to answer honestly this time.
“Honestly, I don’t know much.”
As she answered, Emma recalled the Noah she knew.
The Noah who lazed around drinking at the Deaf Man’s Tavern.
The Noah who rudely talked back to anyone, whether it was the sheriff or the village chief.
The Noah who acted like a childish brat.
But…
“…There’s one thing I do know.”
Noah was the one who brought Emma to San Francisco.
He was the one who stirred waves in her otherwise calm life.
He was the one who brought a smile to her stone-like face.
“The boss isn’t a bad person.”
Noah never shot at civilians who weren’t outlaws.
He never used his power to bully or exploit the weak.
To Emma, Noah might have been a brat, but he wasn’t a villain.
But…
“…What? He’s not a bad person? Ahaha!”
Billy burst out laughing at her words.
“Ahahaha—!”
“…….”
And it wasn’t an ordinary laugh.
It was a strange laugh, mixed with emotion… almost like crying while smiling.
*Thud.*
After laughing incomprehensibly, Billy suddenly turned serious.
“…You know nothing about him.”
“…….”
“…Kid. That man, in San Francisco…”
…Kid?
Noah had strictly warned Emma never to mention the nickname “Kid.”
But Billy had brought it up first.
…It was clear that Billy knew something about Noah’s past.
Noah settled in Justice Town three years ago. Emma only knows about Noah’s three years but is unaware of the other 20. “…What was the Boss’s past like?” she wonders. Curious, Emma unconsciously leans forward on the table, listening intently to Billy. But then, *thud*. “Ah…!” she exclaims. Perhaps leaning too far, her leg slips out. *Sliiiide*. Another customer steps on Emma’s hem and slips… *thump, splatter*. The table shifts slightly, and coffee spills on Emma’s sleeve. “Ah, sorry,” the customer apologizes. “No, it’s fine,” Emma replies. It was just a minor incident, and Emma might have been partly at fault. More interested in hearing about Noah, Emma waves it off, signaling it’s okay. But when the customer lifts their head and meets Emma’s eyes… “Oh no, your sleeve is all stained.” “…!!” “I’m sorry, I’ll compensate you.” What a coincidence. Emma immediately recognizes the well-bred lady in front of her. The reason Emma came to San Francisco with Noah was right before her eyes.
**
At <Uncle Paul's Fried Chicken>, the moment I stepped into my regular spot, the rich aroma of frying oil hit me. I walked in with a cheerful smile. Django, following behind, asked, “Ah… your regular spot is a fried chicken place?” “Why? Don’t you like chicken?” “No, it’s not that… It’s just a bit unexpected for a white guy, I guess.” Despite his words, Django didn’t seem displeased. In fact, he looked somewhat happy. I took it as a good sign and went inside. “Hey, Paul!” “Huh? Who’s this! Noah? I thought you were dead!” As I entered, Paul, the owner, rubbed his eyes and rushed toward me. “Haha, I’m so happy I could jump.” I waved at him, laughing… “You son of a b*tch-!” “What, what’s this…!” *Whoosh-!* He swung a frying pan at me, and I almost died from the intense welcome. Both Django and I were stunned. “Paul! What’s wrong? What did I do?!” “What do you mean, you little punk? Don’t you know what you did wrong?!” Paul, as if he’d been waiting, pulled out a ledger from the counter. “You b*stard! You owe over $30 in unpaid tabs, and you just disappeared?” “Ah… right.” Money was tight, and even when I lived in San Francisco, I saved every penny. …Even when I had money, I often ran tabs. ‘Damn, I should’ve gone somewhere else.’ Caught off guard, I decided to play dumb. “…Hey, Paul! Are you sure you’re not overcharging me? How can a food tab go over $30? Without solid proof, I can’t pay…” “You’ve eaten dozens of chickens for free. It’s all written here with dates.” “…You’re one meticulous b*stard.” Indeed, Paul’s ledger meticulously recorded every chicken I’d eaten. Cornered, I clicked my tongue and pulled out the $40 I’d stolen from the thugs earlier. “Here’s $40. Keep the change as interest for the delay.” “…Why were you eating on credit when you had this much money?” “Why? Free chicken tastes better. Now that I’ve paid, fry me a chicken. Let’s see what a $40 chicken tastes like.” Finally, Paul smirked and headed to the kitchen. “You haven’t changed a bit in three years. Wait a bit, I’ll fry it up quick.” After catching up with Paul, I sat down comfortably. Django looked at me curiously. “…Noah, do you always get along so easily with Black people, even though you’re white?” “…Huh? Ah…” Come to think of it, Django was from the South and had worked under a strict white boss. Even outside of that, it was a time when most whites didn’t treat Black people as equals. As for me… I was originally Asian and came from the 21st century, so I didn’t care about that. “What does skin color matter? What’s more important is the value of the person.” “……” When I casually answered… “Is… that so?” Django looked dazed for a moment, then smiled brightly. “There are people like you in San Francisco. I’m glad I came here.” “Huh? Oh, yeah.” Django seemed to have misunderstood me. What mattered to me was how much money was on that NPC’s head. Whether it was a white outlaw or a Black outlaw, skin color didn’t matter—what mattered was the bounty I could get for killing or capturing them. In that sense, Django, though not an outlaw, was worth a whopping $10,000… a very precious person to me. “Since I paid $40, I’ll treat you to dinner here, Django. Eat as much as you want.” “Ah… you don’t have to… Thank you, I’ll eat well.” “Let’s chat while we wait for the chicken. You don’t seem to have been in San Francisco long… Did you come alone?” I casually asked while pretending to grab a napkin. Of course, I didn’t expect Django to give me a straight answer. He was a fugitive, after all. If he had any sense, he’d be wary of a stranger like me… “No, I’m not alone. I came with someone I’d give everything for.” “……” …If you’re on the run, at least be wary of strangers, you idiot. Even though I was here to capture him, I felt frustrated by his naivety. “She was the young lady of the farm I worked on.” Meanwhile, oblivious to my frustration, Django started pouring out his story. ‘If I kill this guy, I get $10,000? …Really?’ Outlaws with bounties over $10,000 were rare even in the Wild West. When William offered $10,000, I thought there was something hidden about Django. But… “Was the farm you worked on a tobacco farm?” “Yes, that’s right! How did you know?” “…Just a hunch.” “You have good instincts, Noah!” “…Still clueless, huh?” “Huh?” “Never mind. Continue your story.” Seeing how naive—almost foolish—Django was, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of emptiness. Did this golden opportunity come to me just as I was about to go home? This job was the easiest I’d had in my 17 years, considering the payout.
