4 The Handpicked Task Force (1/2)
”Shorty, lame, stutter-girl,”
”Annoying childish teen.”
”Hag,”
”Immature!”
”Uncharismatic nerd.”
”Why, you—jerk!”
”Now, now . . . isn't this a tad too much? It's like both of you are third graders . . .” says Berthold both to Samuel and Esmeralda. ”I mean, look at your actions, two of you . . .”—Berthold smiles at Ephraim, who smiled back at him lifelessly. It was like he was watching the neighborhood children throw a tantrum, and unleash premature fits—Ephraim couldn't quite infer how he would react to such monstrosity. This was beyond his expertise; he was an archeologist, and a young man buried in books. He wasn't a child-pleaser. He had difficulty dealing with children because he did not have siblings—and his cousins were all older than he was. Staring at the arguing Samuel and Esmeralda looked a lot like how children fought—one with a cocky smirk and one who was fuming with cheeks puffing out.
It was already a matter of time before the president could come storming inside his office—and only to see this kind of thing. Ephraim couldn't quite figure out what to do exactly at situations like this. He was trained to decipher codes, read ancient languages and hieroglyphics; he was accustomed to mines and was adept in examining the minuscule details in a certain object. He was trained to amalgamate pieces of lost puzzles. He learned how to do what adventurers and archaeologists do, like the ones on those movies—he wasn't a guy from a reality show taking care of children.
”Ahem,”
Ephraim soon snapped back from his thoughts and turned around. Standing before the opened door was a smiling Georgian Denmark, the president of the academe. He had a rich smile over his face as he observed the entirety of the space. Samuel and Esmeralda soon stopped bantering, and even Hiroaki turned to pay the president his attention.
”Go-g-good evening, Mr. President!” Esmeralda Sanders was the first one to break the silence. She soon walked towards the direction of the president and shook his hand. He smiled at her, and her green eyes gleamed. ”It's an honor to meet you, Sir!”
”It's an honor to meet you as well, Miss Sanders.” The president flashed a charming smile, and Ephraim was a hundred percent sure the president looked gleaming. He had a white suit and his hair was slicked back neatly. His body had toned, buff muscles and he looked like a retired adventurer celebrating his long-returned journey. The president's blue eyes met that of Ephraim's.
”Hello there, Ephraim.”
”President,” Ephraim nods.
The President examines the whole room, eyeing them one by one. ”I see you're all here.”
”I trust you've all read the files thoroughly?”
”Absolutely,”
”Yes,”
All of them answered in chorus, except Hiroaki who just gave a simple nod.
”Is there any question you'd like to ask?”
Silence.
”I,” Ephraim starts, ”I have a question at mind.”
”What is it, team leader?”
Ephraim nods, ”I was assigned as the team leader, but I only had a biodata which gave me the likes and dislikes, blood type, profession, name, and a picture of the team members.” He says. ”Earlier as I talked to Samuel Albrecht, it seemed like he received a file where even my personal data including my achievements, date of birth, et cetera are stated.”
”Well, of course, I'm the smartest and youngest among all of you,” says Samuel. ”What'd you expect? I had the special—”
”Wait, no, I received that too,” Esmeralda says.
”Whaaaattt?!” Samuel exclaims.
”I also have the leader's detailed biodata,” she says.
”Actually, me too,” Berthold adds. ”Ephraim's biodata is quite detailed for me, too. It's also stated how many languages he speaks, or how tall he is, and what he weighs. I also know his allergies.”
”What?” Samuel frowns. ”I didn't receive a biodata like that.”
”I have the leader's biodata saying how he's afraid of rats, and his interaction with animals . . . like how he's unafraid of anything except rats. . .” Esmeralda states. ”And it's also said on his biodata that he took an elective in zoology, a seminar in animal handling as well.”
”I didn't have anything like that,” Berthold says.
”H-how about this—did you guys have the leader's skills in lock picking? He had the record of fifteen tries before he gets it right. It's one of his weaknesses.”
”Ooh, I didn't have that,”
”Me too.”
”W-wait a second . . .” Ephraim raised his hand halfway. ”I'm not sure I can follow, but why does the team know so much about me?”
The president smiled, ”you're smart, Ephraim Hughes. You do the math. Now is the time to show your capabilities as the team leader. Decipher what had happened.”
Ephraim pressed his lips to a thin line, realizing the team members did eye him with keen interest, waiting for what word he was going to utter.
”The team members got my biodata with corresponding information that befitted their skills and profession. For example, the data concerning my height, weight, and my allergies were given to the doctor because he was the one capable of discerning all things pertaining to health, am I right?”
”Correct,” says the president. ”And what of the irrelevant information such as how long you could lock pick, or how you had a zoology elective?”
”Esmeralda Sanders is a biology major, and I believe telling her my weakness about a certain animal explains a lot already. The zoology elective will make her know that there are things she needn't have to explain to me anymore.”