Me, The Sovereign of the World? [Modern Evolution]

Watching the children run about, carefree and full of energy, Benny began to tidy a scattered pile of playing cards on the stone table. With a hint of amusement, he remarked to Zoe Carter, seated beside him, "Remember that little troublemaker who sprayed me with a water gun? We’ve bumped into him before, haven’t we?"

Zoe nodded, a knowing smile crossing her lips. "Oh yes, the one who fancied playing table tennis, wasn’t it?"

Though phrased as a question, her tone carried certainty. Zoe had noticed something peculiar as of late: her memory, once patchy, had sharpened remarkably. Since last night’s strange changes, recalling past events had become almost effortless. Where she used to struggle with even the simplest recollections, her mind now worked with startling clarity.

Like when she’d remembered the contents of the rookie station package in mere moments, Zoe only needed a second to recall the encounter Benny was referring to.

It had happened two months before New Year's Eve. Benny had invited her for a friendly game of table tennis. They had been enjoying themselves, relishing the rare opportunity to use the lone table in the garden, when a young boy, clutching a racket, appeared. "Mind if I join?" he had asked, rather boldly.

The pair quickly realized he was alone—hardly able to play a proper game without a partner. In the end, they agreed to a little contest: Benny and Zoe would compete against each other, and whoever lost would swap out with the boy, letting him have a go. A simple arrangement, really. The three of them enjoyed a light-hearted game until, quite suddenly, the boy burst into tears, demanding to play on his own terms.

Rather than indulge his tantrum, Zoe and Benny had exchanged a glance, the kind of look that said, Enough of this. They walked away from the table, leaving the confused child standing there, racket in hand, his protests trailing after them.

"Yes, that's the one," Benny confirmed, shaking his head. "But it seems the little rascal doesn't remember us."

"And still just as ill-behaved, even after all this time," Zoe mused.

Benny nodded, his good memory serving him well enough to recall the boy’s antics with perfect clarity. They hadn’t seen the child in a while, but it was clear he hadn’t changed a bit.

"You know," Zoe added, "this place is full of elderly folk. Most of the kids here are left in the care of their grandparents. And, well... grandparents do tend to spoil their grandkids."

She was onto something. Many grandparents, having endured difficult years raising their own children, often felt compelled to shower affection on their grandchildren. Some, feeling they hadn’t given enough to their own offspring, sought redemption by lavishing love on the next generation. Others, softened by age, became more lenient, while some simply wanted to forge a bond they hadn't managed with their own children. Regardless, the reasons varied, but the results were often the same: spoiled grandchildren.

"This little troublemaker needs a good bit of discipline," Benny grumbled, sighing deeply. "Keep him home, make him do homework all day."

Hearing this, Zoe’s eyes lit up with a sudden idea. "Speaking of homework," she began, her voice sharp with intent, "the educational materials we ordered have arrived, haven’t they? Give me the hardest set you’ve got, with loads of extra questions."

There was no hesitation in her tone—she and Benny were close friends, after all. Besides, she figured the amount of food this jovial, chubby man had sent her over the past few months more than made up for a slight lack of politeness.

Plus, Benny was far from strapped for cash. He drank expensive wine, dressed in fine gentleman’s attire, and generally lived the high life. These educational materials he’d acquired were clearly part of some fleeting hobby, like how he often dazzled the older residents of the community with his impressive card tricks, purely to pass the time.

"Malicious intent, I see," Benny chuckled, glancing at his phone to check the delivery notice from the rookie station. "Alright then, let’s go pick out the hardest set."

January 19, 2024.

It was just after ten in the morning when Zoe bid Benny farewell, but instead of heading straight home, she wandered through the community, her backpack filled with newly purchased fitness gear and a hefty set of the requested educational materials.

To a casual observer, she might have seemed aimless, pausing here and there or shifting direction at random. But Zoe had a purpose—a rather unusual one.

Unbeknownst to anyone, save perhaps the stray dogs in the area, Zoe was attempting something extraordinary: she was tracking scents.

The phrase “solve the problem at its root” kept running through her mind. If there was an issue with the unruly boy, why not address it directly? And if that required finding him, then so be it.

This wasn’t an ordinary task, though. Zoe wasn’t following any simple trail. She was testing the limits of her newfound, almost absurdly keen sense of smell. When Benny had complained about the boy earlier, the idea had struck her like a bolt of lightning. Why not try to sniff him out?

For most people, such a notion would be laughable. But for Zoe, it seemed perfectly plausible. After all, she’d discovered this peculiar ability only recently—her sense of smell was as sharp as that of a well-trained dog. Why not see how far she could push it?

Yet as she immersed herself in the task, she quickly realized that scent tracking was no simple feat. The wind played tricks, scattering smells in all directions, while the myriad of odors swirling through the community created a confusing maze.

Nevertheless, she pressed on, focusing on the boy’s scent—the faint but distinct aroma of mischief. His presence lingered throughout the neighbourhood, in the residential areas, the gardens, and the play areas.

In fact, she knew more about his recent movements than the boy likely did himself. She could even tell where he’d eaten, played with his water gun, and where he'd, regrettably, relieved himself.

It was intoxicating, this ability to see the world through scents. Everything became clearer, sharper, as if the entire community were laid bare before her. It wasn’t an exaggeration—Zoe felt as though she could reconstruct the boy’s past few days entirely through his scent trail.

But she resisted the temptation to lose herself in this strange new power. After all, she still had a mission.

Zoe followed the trail, noting two distinct sources. One led to the boy, fresh and vibrant, indicating his recent presence. The other was older, but richer, carrying the unmistakable weight of home. She’d found it: the troublemaker’s house.