Baccano! - Volume 13 - Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

ENTRANCE AND EXIT MEET ON THE BLOOD SABBATH

The gunslinger was certainly not “lone.”

They were far away now, but he had a wife and son he loved.

He’d considered getting out of this bloody line of work and living happily with his family—but on the other hand, he was hesitant. He’d already killed too many.

I have no right to be happy like everyone else. But I do want that happiness for my wife and son.

The man who thought these contradictory things really had killed too many people. Half of them had been in self-defense or retaliation against those who’d violated things he held dear.

The other half had been repaying the debt he owed his boss, whether that meant fulfilling orders or serving to protect.

The bullets he fired went exactly where he aimed them, almost uncannily so, and he was as feared as a man-eating shark closing in on the scent of blood.

But at first, he’d been the sort of anachronistic gunslinger who turns up in any rough area.

Angelo now was a “hound” with too much skill, but long ago, he’d been nothing special, and death could have found him at any time.

He hadn’t survived this long due to any special ability. He’d gotten as strong as he was because he’d been lucky enough to survive this far.

Back when he was a kid on the streets, if the police had chosen his alley to “clean,” he’d never even have picked up a gun.

In his first gunfight, if his opponent hadn’t tripped on a friend’s dead body, that man might have become as skilled as Angelo was by now. What had made him strong wasn’t innate talent or a special supernatural ability, but experience.

Deadly fights called for more deadly fights, bullets called for more bullets, revenge called for more revenge.

And after so many days in this unconventional routine, he’d gone through more bullets than soldiers who stood on the front line of a war. During a lull in the carnage, an accidental sort of holiday, he’d managed to find a wife and have a child. It would be fair to call it a miracle.

Believing he didn’t deserve happiness, Angelo had turned down a woman he was genuinely in love with—but she had been far more aggressive than he’d anticipated.

No matter how it had happened, Angelo had ended up with a wife and child, had gained a permanent address in Spain—the woman’s home country—and currently spent his days working as a sort of bodyguard in South America.

And then the Mask Makers had turned up.

A few days before the Entrance left port—

“Heya, Mr. Angelo. How’s it going?”

Angelo stood with the restaurant at his back, now in flames after the truck had crashed into it, and listened to the crude voice that issued from his two-way radio.

“There’s no problem. I accomplished the initial objective.”

“You mean the one about chasing ’em out of the restaurant?” said the demolition expert. “Ah, wait, the boss wants to talk to ya. Hee-hee!” After the coarse laugh, there was a brief pause.

Breaking the silence, a voice issued from the radio—the voice of a thoroughly frightened, anxious little girl, full of despair.

“Oh…ngh…um…Angelo… Wh-what happened?”

“The enemy got away. There’s nothing for you to worry about, boss.”

The individual who’d employed the gunman and self-proclaimed hound should have been the boss of a drug cartel that ran this area. And it had been, until the other day.

A mole in their group had betrayed them, and the boss had died in a firefight with another organization. Angelo had driven off all their enemies, but the boss had been shot in the back. The informant was probably responsible, from the looks of it, but they still hadn’t figured out who it was.

The boss’s only blood relation was his daughter, who’d just turned twelve, and the rest of the cartel was currently squabbling over who would become her guardian, the virtual leader.

It was likely that, once they’d sorted out the new hierarchy, they wouldn’t need the boss’s daughter anymore. But the boss had made his dying wish clear to Angelo: “Take care of my girl.”

Of all the orders he could have left me with…

At first, he’d considered taking the girl and heading back home to Spain. His wife had hit the roof when he’d told her he was going back to South America to find work, but she’d probably cooled down by now.

However, if he brought the boss’s daughter home with him now, she’d probably hurl a carving knife at him before he could clear up the misunderstanding. He made a point of not killing women—especially if the woman in question was his beloved wife. He wouldn’t be able to fight back at all.

And with the way she handles a carving knife, if I don’t fight to kill, she’ll kill me.

There was no point in going home if he had to flee the moment he got there. The safest option would be to ignore his boss’s order and go back to Spain by himself, but—

I can’t just abandon her.

To him, his obligation to his boss was as rock-solid as his own principles.

His boss had accepted his rule not to kill women or children and given him a place to belong.

That boss’s daughter—his new boss now—asked him a question over the radio in a flustered voice.

“What about you, Angelo? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“What about…everyone else…?”

“That’s not a problem you need to concern yourself with, boss.”

That was a lie.

Her subordinates’ deaths—and especially the loss of almost all the cartel’s surviving key members—was a problem any boss would have to be concerned about.

Even so, Angelo was treating her as a little girl right now.

She gulped at his calm response, but before long, she went on, as if she was desperately bearing up under something.

“What happened…to the people who attacked us?”

“I ran them off. I’m about to go after them—”

“Wait, please… It’s all right; that’s enough! I can’t put you in any more danger, Angelo…”

“…”

How naïve can you get? he thought, but on the other hand, he knew she was genuinely worried for his safety—and he gave a sigh. She could take it as either rejection or acceptance of what she wanted.

“I can’t put you in danger, either, boss. Don’t worry. I’m just going to persuade them, so that they’ll never even consider laying a finger on you again.”

The girl started to say something else—but a man’s coarse voice took her place on the other end of the radio.

“Geh-ha-ha-ha! Damn. Brave lil’ thing, ain’t she?! She found out her dad was the boss of a drug cartel the day he died, they made her the new boss the day before yesterday, and then a band of hitmen came to kill her right off the bat! If that’s how it’s gonna be, maybe she already wants to die, deep down.”

“If you don’t want your teeth and tongue all shot out, shut your mouth.” Angelo was furious at the man cackling away over the radio, not caring that the boss was right next to him—but he focused on what to do next.

The timing is worrisome… Don’t they know our boss is currently a girl named Carnea?

Or are they planning to kill her anyway?

He had to find that out, or he’d never get anywhere.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“You want me to go check into ’em, right? Just you leave it to me. I’ll demolish all their secrets for you, right down to how many moles they have on their asses.”

The demolition guy.

Obviously, his specialty was demolition work, but he was also an information broker on the side.

He apparently wasn’t as good as the American Daily Days newspaper network, but in Angelo’s opinion, this man gathered information at a speed beyond comprehension.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t you worry, boss. That mutt says he’ll take care of all your enemies for you.”

“…Don’t say anything uncalled-for.”

From the radio, Angelo could hear the girl’s voice behind the demolition guy’s, but he pretended he couldn’t.

I expect she’ll hate me for this, but there’s no way around it. Once I get that information, I’ll leave the boss somewhere I can trust—Pietro’s tavern, maybe—and then the demolition guy and I will go after their organization.

Time passed, bringing him to the present.

As Angelo had planned, he and the demolition guy had cornered the Mask Makers on the ship—but he’d made several miscalculations.

One was that he’d assumed the Mask Makers were on vacation, when in fact they’d brought weapons onto the cruise ship. The second was that due to a series of unhappy coincidences, a gunfight had broken out. Third, the demolition guy had wired the ship with bombs.

And the final miscalculation was—

“I’m so glad… I’m so glad you’re okay, Angelo!”

“Why…?”

Angelo’s eyes widened behind his sunglasses when he saw the girl in front of him.

“Why are you here, boss?!” he yelled.

“H-hey… Then she’s the one you were talking about yesterday?” Firo asked, wide-eyed.

“That’s right.” Angelo nodded quietly. “The organization I work for… Well, the executives are all dead now, too, and we don’t have even three official members left, but…”

Angelo sighed and looked at the girl. She had lowered her head and gone silent, and he smiled at her, more gently than one might expect from him.

“Anyway, this kid is our boss—Carnea Kaufman.”

The luxury cruise ship Entrance

Around the time all hell was breaking out on the Exit, the passengers on its sister ship, Entrance, were experiencing confusion in both major and minor ways.

Firo had been helping a South American gunslinger ferret out a group of hitmen known as the Mask Makers.

He’d been prepared for a certain degree of rough work, but he certainly hadn’t expected to get dragged into a gunfight in front of a crowd of ordinary passengers. To make matters worse, the man’s boss had inexplicably stowed away on the ship and turned up inside a shark animatronic, and Firo was currently trying to figure out how a young man on his honeymoon was supposed to react to something like that.

Thinking back on it now, he’d had a hunch there’d be trouble.

Even if the joy of his honeymoon had dulled his instincts, Firo Prochainezo had had an intense feeling that something, somewhere, was wrong. It first hit—when he initially saw Angelo, probably.

The moment he’d spotted a gunman, a man from the dark side of society, Firo had instinctively known.

Oh. This ship is in trouble. If someone like that is on board, that’s enough to be sure. You don’t need any other reason.

He’d desperately tried to deny it, though.

This was his honeymoon trip, a time to celebrate. It was also his first family trip, and he hadn’t wanted to wreck it.

In the end, however, his wish had been thoroughly denied.

“…Wow. How does that work?”

Let’s go back to the first night of the voyage.

When he found himself at gunpoint in Angelo’s room, Firo had tried to take the other man’s gun. Although he’d initially tried talking, he’d decided stopping him by force would be quicker.

He’d been confident he could do it. Before Angelo could squeeze the trigger, Firo would grab the gun and keep the slide from operating.

Firo had based his call on the card shuffling he’d seen a little while earlier in the casino, and he’d been sure he could win this bet.

…But he hadn’t.

Oh, great. So he was hiding what he could do during the card business, huh?

In simple terms, that was all it had been.

And as a result—several muffled gunshots accurately nailed Firo in both shoulders and legs.

His upper body arched back dramatically, and his costume glasses fell to the floor. Both Firo and the chair fell over right on top of them. There was a damp-sounding krntch, and the lenses shattered.

“I told you not to move.” Angelo shook his head quietly, his face expressionless. “…No, I’m sorry. I didn’t actually say it, did I? You should have been able to tell, though.”

Angelo was about to shift into interrogation mode when he noticed something strange.

The blood pouring from Firo’s body was being sucked back into it. The droplets wriggled as if they had a life of their own, streaming up into him like a swarm of red insects returning to their nest.

“That…doesn’t look like a magic trick.”

A normal person might be expected to panic at the sight, but Angelo only frowned dubiously and asked Firo a question.

“So, uh…what are you?”

“Gahk! …Dammit! …You’re the second person this year who didn’t react. Wai— …Ghk… Now do you feel like…listening to me?”

Through his coughing fit, Firo grinned fearlessly.

Angelo took a moment to think before he spoke. “I intended to listen to you all along. You just made a sudden grab for my gun, so I ended up shooting you.”

“…Aw, come on. That makes it sound like I got shot for nothing. Anyway, as long as you understand I’m not with that group of Mask Makers. They’re normal humans, after all.”

“I don’t consider this proof positive of that, but…I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

Angelo pointed his gun at the floor without letting his guard down in the slightest.

Damn, do I look like a loser. I really am rusty…

Firo’s wounds were very nearly closed. He dropped down heavily onto the sofa, then spoke with a wry smile. “Before we talk, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

“I’m actually on my honeymoon. I’m here with my wife and, uh…this kid who’s kinda like my little brother, and, um… Could you maybe…tell ’em I got shot at the end of a really badass fight?”

“…”

There was a marked lack of concern in the request, and Angelo stayed silent for a while, but—

“Thing is, I can’t exactly hide the bullet holes, so, uh… You know what I mean. My clothes won’t regenerate.”

—finally realizing Firo was serious, Angelo sighed, then offered a mirthless smile.

“…All right. I don’t know whether you’re a human or a vampire, but for now, I’ll trust you.”

“Great, thanks.”

Firo’s genuine happiness threw Angelo off, but he apologized to the mysterious life-form in front of him anyway.

“Consider it my apology for shooting you by mistake. I will tell your family you were a daring, skilled warrior.”

…And now back to the present.

As they kept a wary eye on the situation outside, the individuals who were taking shelter in the café compared notes on their respective predicaments.

The group consisted of Firo and Ennis, plus Angelo and the girl who was his boss.

A boy in the gear costume that technically belonged to Charon was dithering between the two groups, but they’d determined he wasn’t a threat and decided to ignore him.

“You said the boss you were working for was a kid who only entered the underworld a few days ago, but…I really didn’t think… Uh, I didn’t think she was literally a child.” Firo sounded a little exasperated.

“Yes,” Angelo replied, his expression hard. “I didn’t think there was any need to mention it. Never mind that; boss, what on earth are you doing here?” he asked the girl, and Firo noticed the cold sweat on his face.

Huh? Firo thought, watching him. Somehow, he looks a lot more flustered now than he did when he saw me regenerate. He decided to keep his mouth shut, though, and watch their reunion play out.

Angelo had sounded both furious and bewildered.

The girl he’d introduced as Carnea looked at him with tears in her eyes, perhaps tears of relief. “Well, I… I was…a-afraid that you and other people would get hurt even more, because of me…” She didn’t sound anything like the boss of a drug cartel, but she’d been forcibly installed in that position before she was mentally prepared. It had only been a few days, and it was questionable whether she even understood what her father’s organization actually was.

Knowing the girl’s circumstances, Firo judged that she was genuinely worried about Angelo’s safety. Plus, they’d known each other for ages, he guessed. Maybe Angelo was a sort of big brother or father figure to her.

“Don’t be foolish. What are you doing on this ship?!”

“I stowed away.”

“Now that was foolish! How did you find out about the cruise?! How did you even get to the U.S.?”

“Um… The demolisher guy took care of all the details… He said if I was here, you wouldn’t start a firefight on the ship.” Carnea sounded flustered.

When he heard her mention the demolition guy, Angelo looked ready to pop a blood vessel.

“That slimy son of a bitch.”

Angelo’s cold, expressionless fury intimidated not only Carnea but Firo and Ennis, too. Meanwhile, the mystery boy in the gear costume took a step backward with a small shriek.

When he heard the sound, Firo swiveled around to face him, keeping a wary ear out for gunshots from outside.

“By the way, I’ve been wondering…

“Who are you anyway?”

In a shipboard corridor

“No! …Noooo…aaah…aAAAaaaAAAaaaaAAaAAaah!”

In a corner of a deserted corridor, a girl crouched, hugging her head.

She wore Gothic Lolita–style clothes in yellow and black, and tears spilled over the unhealthy-looking dark circles beneath her eyes as she wailed, gasping for breath.

“AaAAAAAAaaaah! AAAAaah…AAAAaaAaaAaAAAaaaaaAaaaaah!”

Her wails went unheard.

Right now, every inch of the Entrance was filled with screams.

Gunshots everywhere.

Lifeboats destroyed.

Seajackers taking total control.

Most of the passengers had lost hope, and many of them were crying even harder than the girl.

The reasons behind their tears might be different, but none of the passengers on this ship had time to listen to the girl’s screams.

And so…

…the first person to speak to the crying girl was—

“What are you doing, Illness?”

“Aaaaah…ah… Aaah…hic…ngh! …Ah! …L-Liiife…”

The girl who’d been addressed as “Illness” looked toward the man who’d appeared in front of her, hastily choking back her tears.

It wasn’t a passenger, but it was someone she knew.

This man had boarded the ship after it set sail, bringing a whole store of weapons on board with him. In fact, he was the cause of the current situation. He sighed behind the mask of his full-body black combat suit.

“What are you crying about?” he said dispassionately. “This is hardly the time. Hurry up—fetch your equipment and come help us, would you?”

This man was the weapon the Mask Makers called Life. His combat suit was ripped in places, showing he’d been involved in a battle earlier.

“Ah, aaaah, Life, I—I…”

Shivering violently, Illness looked at the cell phone she’d hurled to the floor a moment ago.

The call had ended already. On the phone’s miraculously unbroken screen, there was a photo she’d set as her standby image just the day before.

The photo showed her and a redheaded child star standing in front of the shark animatronic.

“Oh… Oh, that’s…right… I have to…go save…Claudia…”

Tottering, Illness picked up the cell phone.

Life sighed. “I don’t know who this ‘Claudia’ is, but save us first, please?”

“No… I don’t…want to, okay? I mean, look, you said I only had a job if the police or somebody like that showed up. So I—”

“Illness.”

“…”

There was no emotion in the way Life said her name, but it held a pressure that brooked no argument.

Falling silent, Illness gripped her cell phone and quietly took a few deep breaths.

From behind her, Life’s words slid into her ears.

“If you don’t wish to help us, you’re under no obligation. Your ties to us will simply be severed. Do your best to live on your own.”

“…”

“Oh…will you go back to that religious group I hear you belonged to, long ago? Ah, I beg your pardon. They’re all dead, aren’t they? Your parents included. Exterminated by our company, if I recall.” Although Life spoke quietly, his words held an irrefutable power.

They forcibly dragged Illness’s mind from the brink of confusion and back into reason.

At the same time, the voices she’d heard on the phone a moment ago rose in her heart, then turned into unshakable terror coiling around it.

That can’t be.

It can’t be, but…

Behind Illness, Life was still speaking, but his words didn’t reach her now.

She’d retaken her sense of reason, and she clung to it desperately to deny that phone call.

It’s a lie.

It’s a lie, it’s a lie, it’s a lie, it’s a lie, it’s a lie.

I can’t have heard that prayer.

As she quietly calmed her breathing, Illness struggled to write off the phone call as a sort of daydream.

Illness had once belonged to a religious organization, though not by choice. Her parents and their comrades had buried her past under pure despair, but the Mask Makers had wiped out those lunatics. Hadn’t they?

If the prayer they’d used had been coming from her cell phone, it must have been some sort of illusion.

Believing this, she squeezed the phone—but its history informed her, quite clearly, that she’d received a call from a withheld number. As she gazed at the screen, with its immutable proof that that call hadn’t been her ears playing tricks, Illness’s difficulty breathing returned.

What do I do?

No, I don’t want to go back there. Anywhere but there.

That fairy tale in the woods is over. It can’t happen again.

The girl’s entire body was trembling, and she mentally shook her head.

I don’t want them to chase me out. I can’t survive out there.

No, it’s okay. It could be worse. I don’t wanna die, but it could still be worse.

It’s just… It’s just…

“…Go back.”

“? What was that?”

Realizing Illness had murmured something, Life stopped lecturing her and listened.

“I don’t want…to go back there… I don’t want to go baaack!”

“…”

“Please… I’m begging you, please, please don’t! Don’t abandon me! I’ll be a Mask Maker forever! I’ll be Illness forever!”

Her trauma was clearly severe; as the girl pleaded, she looked as if she might burst into tears again.

Life didn’t have the authority to make that call, but at this point, the girl probably would have screamed the same thing no matter who she was talking to, whether it was the president or the company’s lowest flunky.

As she cried and pleaded, Life heaved a deep sigh behind his mask, then responded as impassively as ever. “Just go to your cabin, get your equipment together, and then go to the bridge. Get your orders from the people there. I’m off to pinpoint the location of the bombs.”

“…Bombs?” Illness sounded puzzled, and Life heaved one final sigh.

“It looks as though someone outside our group has wired this ship with a large number of explosives.” He gripped the battered shoulder of his combat suit and murmured to himself, sounding a little annoyed.

“I was nearly blown away myself a moment ago.”

The bridge of the Entrance

“What’s going on…? Dammit!”

The Mask Makers who’d taken over the bridge were all looking at one another anxiously. Not that they could see their companions’ worry behind their masks.

In a way, the report they’d received from Aging, who was over on the Exit, had been more of a shock than their own situation.

“What did she mean, ‘wiped out’?” one of them complained, grinding his teeth. “Zombies and Jasons? She’s screwing with us!”

Beside him, the ring of unease was beginning to spread among the captain and crew members as well.

The situation on this ship was also out of control, but the enemy was still just one enigmatic gunslinger, another thought. The mention of an explosion was concerning, but Life had probably detonated a grenade by mistake or something.

Then he realized somebody was hailing him from the two-way radio at his waist.

“Hello? It’s me.”

“Still doesn’t tell me who you are. Ain’t you supposed to give your name first time you talk to a guy?”

“…? What is this? Who the hell are you?”

“Hmm. I dunno how to answer that. Should I be honest and tell you? See, I just borrowed this radio from one of your buddies who’s lying on the ground over here.”

At the very least, he wasn’t a comrade.

As they heard the crude cackling on the other side of the radio, tension ran through the Mask Makers.

“Well, you can call me the demolition guy. If you wanna know who I am… Let’s see. Didja like the present I sent to that restaurant you ate at a little while back?”

“…Present?”

“I tell ya, that was a lotta work, turning a truck into a radio-controlled car with a bomb attachment. Geh-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Those words brought two things to mind: the job they’d bungled before boarding the ship and the tragedy that had occurred during their mission to take out the boss of a South American drug cartel.

In that appalling incident, Death and a few of their people had been killed by a mysterious gunslinger, and immediately afterward, the truck-bomb that had plowed into the restaurant had taken a few more lives.

“You bastard… Are you that gunman’s friend?”

“Not to him, sad to say! In fact, I got so lonely I wanted to make friends with you guys! Even got a little present for ya!”

“A present…?”

“Yessirree! See, that show you put on a bit ago, with the exploding lifeboats—got me right here! I can’t just sit around on my ass after you showed me such a great time! I’d lose my good name as a wrecker!”

The Mask Makers wondered what his “good name as a wrecker” and the show had to do with each other, but they stayed silent, listening to the voice on the radio.

“So I says to myself, ‘Okay! I gotta blow up the ship now.’”

“…Huh?”

Wondering whether this man was soft in the head, the Mask Maker went ahead and asked:

“The hell’s wrong with you? There’s only one group occupying this boat, and that’s—”

But he didn’t get to finish the sentence.

The windows on the bridge overlooked the forward deck, and on the deserted bow of the ship—there was a bright flash, followed by an explosion.

“Wha…?!”

The roar echoed over the ocean, and the bridge windows rattled, eloquently conveying the intensity of the blast.

“Why, you… What the hell did you do?!”

It probably wouldn’t affect the ship’s ability to sail, but a look at the damage to the bow made it patently clear just how powerful that bomb had been.

The Mask Makers gulped, while the captain and staff gazed at the smoke rising outside with clueless shock.

“What the…? Hey, don’t tell me you’re on the—”

“Bingo,” the demolition guy interrupted before Mask Maker could finish his hate-filled question.

“I think there’s probably about a hundred of ’em, all different strengths. These babies run the gamut, and some of ’em have enough punch to sink the whole damn ship, if I feel so inclined.”

“What do you think you’re doing…?”

“I ain’t doin’ anything. You’re the ones who set off that explosion, and you’ll set off the rest, too.”

“What?”

The Mask Maker frowned while the demolition guy’s voice rose with glee.

“Man, oh man, I’m so glad you made that little show; I really owe ya. Now no matter what happens on this ship, it’s aaaaaall gonna be on you! Oh yeah, that’s right: You’ve got something set up in the ducts, don’tcha? See, I was thinking I’d rig up bombs in there, but the space was already taken. I was kinda sad, but I forgive you.”

“Why, you…”

“I dunno what you’re trying to pull here, but I’m a big fan. Y’know, I’m pretty sure we can be friends; whaddaya say? Either way, what I’m getting at is, we’ve each got the other’s life in our hot lil’ hands. And your side’s gonna end up drawing all the Old Maids. Geh-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

As he listened to the voice on the other end of the receiver, one of the Mask Makers thought:

This guy means it.

He’s not like that gunslinger.

He…genuinely enjoys this situation.

If he had to, this individual wouldn’t hesitate to activate those bombs.

…Even if he didn’t have to.

He didn’t seem like a professional, the way the gunslinger did; he was the type who had fun when he worked. And as far as they could tell, he wouldn’t care if the ship sank right now, even though he was on it.

And I thought we were pretty out there…

As the Mask Maker entertained a rather masochistic thought, the man who had left the bounds of reason far behind cackled with laughter.

“Well, I won’t come grill you in person. Have fun with the gunslinger.”

“…”

The situation was about as bad as it could get.

They knew what the gunslinger looked like, so they could maybe manage him, but the demolition guy hadn’t shown his face at all during the restaurant fiasco, either. As a matter of fact, this was the first they’d even heard of his existence.

And they realized he’d just given them the same threat they’d used on the captain.

The Mask Makers all ground their teeth and swore under their breath. Maybe he’d heard them.

The man’s voice came over the radio again, sounding even more entertained.

“There’s a saying all over the world: ‘It’s not where you go, it’s who you travel with.’ Well, if you don’t wanna join me on my trip to the afterlife, let’s be careful not to set each other off.

“Well, that’s all from me! Enjoy the cruise! Bon fucking voyage!”

On board the Exit

The organization SAMPLE behaved more like a vicious virus than a religious group.

There were various theories regarding their place of origin, including rumors that they had “broken out” all over early modern Europe during the height of the witch hunts.

That said, they had acquired the name SAMPLE only recently, and the group had previously had—and lost—a variety of other names. They had been born from a tributary and had generated more.

Perhaps there were other active organizations that shared their roots but operated under different names.

However, SAMPLE didn’t have a large-scale network of churches; they were practically viruses from the same strain that had developed in their own unique ways.

They were a cult whose ideas were socially dangerous, but they weren’t a monolithic organization. They were more like grains of sand scattered all over the globe.

Whether or not they had horizontal connections, parts of their characteristics and doctrine varied by region.

Despite that—there were several unchanging doctrines they had in common.

“God does not exist.”

That was the foundation of their faith.

God did not exist, and there was no superhuman power setting an arbitrary destiny for the world. Fate was influenced only by coincidence.

After death came oblivion, to both saints and sinners.

By itself, that was a principle held by many respectable ideological groups. What caused those around them to view them as heretical was that their doctrine took this further.

“God does not exist. Meaning—we can just create one and shape it as we will.”

What they wanted was a steadfast relief, or perhaps a foundation for their beliefs. Even those who followed no religion found their own morals and principles in the communities of their families, regions, or countries.

And so they attempted to build that foundation from scratch.

Pain is what makes us human.

How had they reached that understanding? The doctrine didn’t say.

However, they sought a substitute for God, something that would shoulder all their pain for them.

The sect was constantly researching an elixir that would erase all pain and suffering from within them, leading them to euphoria. For several hundred years now, they had been studying various ways of doing away with pain, using plants, animals, minerals, gases, and surgical procedures.

And so that they could remain human even after they had rid themselves of pain—they prepared gods.

If they reduced the pain they themselves bore, someone else had to shoulder it in their stead. Even if everyone continued to decrease their pain, each individual’s experience would always be different. These differences became their own form of psychological distress, a seed of anxiety and frustration.

They denied God, and yet they needed one for that very reason.

In their sacred book, whose number of pages grew by the day, the reason was set down plainly:

“So that we may erase the pain from our hearts, make from a human a god to whom we may pray and offer thanks.”

In other words—this was all for their own happiness.

And what they sought to reach that happiness was an extremely human scapegoat.

“A substitute who will take on utter misery and pain, experiencing our suffering for us.”

That was both the scapegoat they sought—and the god they prayed to.

The ones who became these “sacrificial gods” were required to suffer from the time they were born. They had to suffer and live.

Did they suffer more than children who starved to death because of a famine before even knowing hope existed? That was probably a matter of individual perspective.

But despite their continued survival, there was ultimately no hope for the sacrificial gods.

They could tell themselves there was hope as long as they were alive—so to crush that hope, too, they were all fated to be killed at the age of ten.

In those ten years, they were given nothing but pain.

These children weren’t hated, far from it; people prayed to them with gratitude and reverence.

They weren’t informed of the concept of suicide, and if they somehow learned about it, they weren’t permitted to carry it out. They were expendable gods who simply spent their existence in constant pain.

The believers did their best not to leave wounds on the arms and legs. For the most part, the pain was inflicted on the torso and internally. They avoided those visible areas so the believers would feel that the one suffering was just like them, the sort of person you could find anywhere.

A perfectly ordinary child was experiencing agony far greater than theirs.

It was like intentionally setting down a turtle to join a race between tigers and lions. The system introduced an extreme example to minimize the differences between the normal members and help them feel content.

In a way, it might have been similar to the class systems that sometimes appear in the political systems and religions of the world—but what they were doing contained neither political significance nor “the will of God.”

After all—their “god” was the one at the very bottom of the pit.

“And so, our happiness lies quite simply in the thorough investigation of human desire.”

Rewind time slightly, to shortly before Rookie was under pursuit.

The bridge had been transformed into a hell of screams.

The white flooring had been stained reddish brown with oxidized blood, and the corpses of men in masks and the crew members who’d been on the bridge lay in a vast pool of it.

And among the corpses and gore—

—one man was impassively explaining their group. Against the surrounding blood, his red-and-black lab coat was camouflage.

As Bride spoke to the man in front of him, he wore a gentle smile that seemed to reflect the vast sky.

“Why do trivial disputes persist in this world? Why do humans always choose the weak to abuse, regardless of age or sex? Why do we discriminate? The ethics classes conducted by nations and the majority of religions all condemn it, and yet…”

“…”

The man forced to stand in front of him wore a mask.

At this point, he was the only Mask Maker on the bridge who was still breathing. His badly wounded arms hung limply at his sides, and blood dripped from his fingertips.

“The reason is simple: Humans find utter delight in looking down on others. We deny it, but we wouldn’t keep doing it if we didn’t enjoy it. After all, no one forces us to.”

“…”

“We don’t condemn that human instinct. Abandoning ourselves to desire is our goal and our path to happiness.”

“So, what, you do nothing and want to be rewarded for it? With a creed like that, no wonder you all turned out as pigs.” Despite the pain in his arms, the surviving Mask Maker spat on the ground after his sarcastic retort.

But Bride accepted the insult with a smile.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we’re aiming for, provided they are happy pigs who merely grow fat without being slaughtered. I hope it becomes a world where no one eats those pigs.”

“…If the world ends up the way you people want, humanity’s done for.”

“Most likely. People who only pursue pleasure, who have forgotten how to work through pain with effort, will eventually forget how to live and will be destroyed.”

Still smiling, Bride seemed to condemn the religion of his own followers. A moment later, with a sharp click, he took a step forward and removed his glasses.

“And so will we…but so what?”

“…”

“Do you remember what I told you? We don’t believe in God or nirvana or heaven or hell, and we don’t have the moral compasses fostered by national, regional, or familial communities. You mustn’t forget that basic premise.”

Click.

Bride took another step, circling around to the Mask Maker’s side.

“If people still have the drive to leave descendants behind, then we won’t condemn that desire. However, if they begin to feel that even that doesn’t matter, then there’s no need to force the human race to continue. Naturally, some people will want to keep the human race going, to leave everlasting proof that they lived, so I’m not sure how that will play out in the future. It doesn’t truly matter either way.”

Click.

Another step.

Bride was now diagonally behind the man. “We do not condemn human desire,” he murmured, more to himself, “unless it is for the happiness of our divine scapegoats.”

Click.

Click.

Plish.

Stepping into the pool of blood on the floor, Bride took another look around.

All was silent. The dark sky was visible beyond the window, and inside, the fluorescent lights illuminated the red pool of blood. Bride looked at his mute believers, sensing something pleasant in the way the absence of sound struck his ears.

They gripped the guns the Mask Makers had held a few moments before, pointing them at the lone survivor. They had quietly faded into the background of this scene, but every one of them wore a euphoric smile.

“Buncha creepy bastards…”

“Now, then. Who is your leader, and what is your objective? I would greatly appreciate it if you’d tell us.”

“…No way in hell.”

The Mask Maker had been planning to take the man in front of him hostage if he spotted even half a chance, but this guy wasn’t open for a second, even though he was just talking.

He was a strange man.

He was simply walking slowly and talking, and yet he provoked an uneasy sense of pressure in the other man, like a sword suspended over his head.

Despite his fear of this man who was doing nothing openly threatening, the Mask Maker was still thinking up lies he could tell if he was questioned—or tortured—after this, in an attempt to get out of it, but—

“Oh, that’s right. Recently, we’ve been transitioning to inflicting pain without wounding even the stomach or back.”

“…?”

“Electrocution is only the beginning. From what I hear, a stun gun directly over a kidney sends shock and pain coursing through the entire body.” Murmuring indifferently, Bride gave a quiet sigh and returned to stand right in front of the man. “Ordinarily, shouting into a megaphone pressed against your ear would be effective, but we don’t have time for that right now, so we’ll offer agony to you in the form of direct pain.”

“Go ahead and try, you piece of shit,” the man snarled, but Bride ignored him.

Instead, he reclaimed a case a nearby believer had been holding for him—and took out a single syringe.

“Rejoice. You will become an object of worship for us, if only for a moment. Let us hear magnificent screams, if you would. I wouldn’t call us sadists, but…perhaps the most straightforward way to phrase it is that we’ll be able to smile and think, Oh, I’m glad that isn’t me.”

“You perverted freaks…,” the man muttered—

—just as Bride drove the needle into his neck.

“Gah!” The man gave a little yelp.

Bride had ignored the blood vessels and simply injected a tiny bit of the liquid into the man’s subcutaneous tissue.

The next moment, the Mask Maker was convinced that his neck had exploded.

“AAaaaakakakakaaah! Aaaaah! Ah!”

With a scream as if an electrical current had run through him, he arched backward, then flipped and rolled around like a shrimp hauled out of the water, flailing with so much force that his spine seemed liable to snap.

As a matter of fact, nothing had happened.

There was just one small needle mark on his neck. No explosion—not even any blood, really.

Nothing but pain.

Pain.

Pain.

The contradiction of an overwhelming, acute shot of pain that refused to stop.

It was like the shock of a box cutter carving out a nonexistent wound but through his entire body; the pain that raced through him and the screams it drew from his cells recolored his existence.

Agony.

Agony.

Agony.

There was nothing in his mind but the excruciating convulsions.

Piercing

Throbbing

Twinging

Grating

Stinging

Burning

Ripping

Grinding

Tingling

Splitting

Pain summoned more pain, until those descriptions blurred into nothing.

By now, adjectives alone weren’t enough to describe the pain, and the man’s brain was forcing him to see images.

Countless bugs swarming out from under his skin, excreting magma that burned and rotted his body away.

“ !  !!!”

Imagining his skin both rotting and erupting in flames simultaneously, the man screamed inarticulately, rolling around in the gore until he was covered in it.

Bride watched the man writhe, splashing in the pool of blood, with a look of undisguised delight on his face. “Oh, I’m so very glad that wasn’t me. I offer my thanks to you.”

His smile seemed to forgive everything, and his eyes were full of devotion and genuine, sincere gratitude.

The surrounding believers, guns at the ready, were all smiling warmly, offering silent prayers of thanks to the writhing man.

It was an abnormal sight to most, but not to them.

Clinging to his sanity by sheer force of will, the struggling man shouted desperately, “AAAAaaah! AAaaaah! AaaAAAAaaAh! You bastard…! What the…what the hell did you…?!”

“Oh, don’t worry. It isn’t poison or any other toxic substance.” Bride gazed at the syringe, still partially full, and gently answered, “It’s just…salt water.”

“Ung— Ung— Ungwaah! Ah! Ah! What did! You! Sa— Gwuh…!”

“The saline concentration is three percent. It’s significantly higher than sanitary saline solution, but it is only salt water. That’s all. From what I hear, about two percent is the limit according to experiments about inflicting pain through medical means. Humans are so fascinating, aren’t they? Our bodies are made of water and sodium, but simply inject a slightly stronger saline solution into the skin, and the brain starts screaming,” he explained matter-of-factly, like a teacher explaining something to a student. “All right, now that the lecture is over, we’ll start the Q and A… Although I’ll be the one asking the questions.”

“ ! ~~~~AaAAaaAAh!”

As the man continued to scream—Bride calmly asked him a question.

Calmly, ever so calmly.

“Your objective, and the identity of your leader… That’s all you need to tell me.”

“I see… This boy, hmm? I don’t believe he was making it up.”

Bride was reading a section of the cruise pamphlet for passengers that had been on a shelf on the bridge. He smiled.

The photo on that page showed a boy magician with striking pale-blond hair.

“Still, I never expected there would someone besides ourselves after the immortals.”

Facing the writhing man, Bride quietly closed his eyes.

“Viralesque is on the other ship. Does he know about this, I wonder…? Even if the only target on the Entrance is Czeslaw Meyer, leaving Viralesque to handle the task alone may have been reckless.”

Heaving a small sigh, Bride stepped forward with a click. The man at his feet was beginning to black out.

Numerous injection marks dotted his body, and one could assume that the same explosion of pain as before had burst inside him again for each mark.

“Though you are not one of the faithful, I wish you no pain.”

As he spoke, Bride slowly lifted one foot—

—and stomped down through the man’s neck with the force of a pile driver.

Grunk.

It was the sound of something being dislocated, and the thrashing man fell still, his eyes still rolled back into his skull.

Like the other believers, Bride had stomped down with inhuman strength, enough to dislocate the bones in the man’s neck, splitting his cervical vertebrae and blood vessels.

He drew a sign in front of his chest with a finger—though it wasn’t the cross—and expressed his sincere gratitude to the man who had been freed from his suffering.

“Even this nonbeliever became a temporary ‘god’ for us.”

Spreading his arms to the ring of followers around him, Bride gave his passionate cry.

“Give thanks. Dread the agony that did not befall us. Give thanks to the god who took it upon himself!”

Tears spilled from his eyes.

Bride wept and wept, as a religious man who had witnessed a miracle.

As if those tears were contagious, the surrounding believers also began to cry—

—but as they wept, they smiled.

They smiled with joy, true joy.

They smiled like a family that had welcomed the new year in safety, like a community in perfect harmony with one another as they shed their tears.

A fluid with a saline concentration of 0.9 percent…

Drop by drop, drop by drop.

The Mask Maker hadn’t so much broken under torture as much as relinquished the information from his addled brain, but a few minutes after he gave his testimony, Rookie became a wanted man on the Exit.

At present, Rookie had a reassuring ally with him in the form of Aging, but that did nothing to change the fact that he was at an overwhelming disadvantage.

After all, he didn’t know how many enemies he was dealing with, and if any of them weren’t in those red-and-black clothes, he wouldn’t have a way of telling who they were.

“The rocking seems to have gotten worse.”

“I dunno what they’re after, but I think they’ve sped us up.”

“Dammit… What are they trying to do here?”

After cautiously leaving their hiding place, Rookie and Aging raced down the corridor.

They’d looked around the storeroom for anything useful, but unsurprisingly, other than the submachine gun the attacker had carried, they hadn’t found any battle gear. Rookie had tried to give the gun to Aging, but—

“As long as I’ve got this, I’m good,” she’d said, taking only a hook and cable used for loading cargo. “You can use that gun, can’t you, President?”

Rookie’s eyes had gone round when he saw the bundle of cable; it had to weigh forty-five pounds all by itself. He’d asked what she was going to use it for, but she just blew him off with a nonsensical answer. “Oh, could be a weapon; could be anything at all. Every lady and gentleman should at least know how to handle their ropes a little, don’tcha know?”

While they raced down the corridor, Rookie asked her a question with the gun in his hand.

“…If we go to your room, Aging, your weapons will be there, right?”

“Yep. I don’t think there’s anything you’ll be able to use, though… Although I would get a kick outta watching that Gurkha knife handle a little twig like you, I s’pose.”

“…”

The complete lack of concern in Aging’s comment made Rookie want to tear his hair out, but under the circumstances, she was also the person he could depend on the most. For now, they had to get her weapons, then either hide or barricade themselves in a room somewhere.

“I know this isn’t the first time I’ve asked, but…who in the world are those people?”

“Search me. I kicked over a bunch of ’em when I was on my way to save you—even broke a few necks—but they still got right back up.”

“…”

“The last time I heard from some of ours, they were screaming about it. ‘They aren’t just zombies, dammit! We’ve got some Jasons and Freddies, too!’ Does that meant we’ve got other folks who don’t die on this boat, on top of the immortals? If that ain’t a kick, I dunno what is! Ain’t that right, President?!”

It was something straight out of fiction, a story depressing even to hear. But Aging wasn’t an idiot; she wouldn’t tell lies in a situation like this. Her story was probably true, and Rookie’s gloom deepened.

Aging cackled. “Well, I was unarmed anyway, and I didn’t have time to fool around with a buncha boring zombies, so I hustled over here.”

“Come to think of it, why are you dressed so lightly? Even if you were away from your cabin, don’t you need more than just a T-shirt?”

“Well, up until a minute ago, I was having this beauty treatment thingy done; figured I’d give it a try. And hey, one of the targets was right in the next room. You know, the silver-haired gal,” Aging responded easily, and the president frowned.

“A beauty treatment?”

“Yeah. What’s the matter? You’re staring. Does my squeaky-clean, silky-smooth skin get your fires burning?”

“…Obviously not,” the president snapped, looking away as he ran down the corridor.

Aging laughed, keeping pace with him. “Gah-ha! You’re no fun. If any minute could be your last, sex ain’t a bad way to spend it.”

“I just don’t want it to be with you, Aging.”

“Oho. Don’t go forgetting that your life’s pretty much in my hands, President.” The woman flashed him a toothy grin. There wasn’t a trace of anger in her words; she was simply having fun teasing the boy. “And hey, lookit that! Speak of the devil—we’ve got company!”

There were five or six men and women standing farther down the corridor to Aging’s cabin.

The group seemed to have noticed them, and they raised their guns to take aim.

“W-waaaaaaaagh!”

A yell left Rookie’s mouth as he stopped, leveled his submachine gun, and cut loose. The anxiety was clear in his voice, but his body moved on reflex.

He put his left foot forward and pressed the butt of the gun against his right shoulder, twisting his body halfway around.

He wasn’t calm enough to take aim. Pressing his face against the stock, he shifted his weight forward and squeezed the trigger all the way back.

There was a burst of noise, and the vibration shuddered through him, pushing back his upper body and raising the sight.

“Ghk…”

Fighting the gun back down, he tried to see where the bullets had struck and adjust his aim, but the wave of bullets had already caught the men and women at the front of the red-and-black group. Blood was gushing from several of them.

“…!”

I killed them.

The boy understood this in a flash, and the wave of nausea this time was several times stronger than usual.

He hadn’t had time to brace himself.

He hadn’t had time to learn what sort of people the others were. He’d simply killed them.

How much weight did that fact hold—or not hold—for him? He didn’t have a spare moment to figure it out. The powerful urge to be sick just swept over him, robbing him of the ability to think.

I killed them.

I killed them. They’re dead and gone because of me.

No, it was self-defense…

But the boy wasn’t even given the time to make excuses for himself.

After the volley of bullets, the red-and-black group—

—slowly turned to face him, smiling, as though nothing had happened.

“…Wha…?”

Several of them had fallen.

They’d taken direct hits from machine-gun bullets, after all. It was as if tiny bombs had exploded inside their flesh, rather than passing clear through it, and the ones who’d taken shots to the knees probably wouldn’t be getting up.

And yet… And yet—the people in red and black grasped the hems of their companions’ clothes and stood up.

Smiling.

Smiling—

“What…is this?”

If the others really had been zombies, they wouldn’t have been smiling. Zombies were emotionless corpses; that was why people fought them as zombies in the first place.

And yet—these people were smiling. Proof that they had emotions.

They slowly got to their feet and began turning to face him.

When Rookie saw that, his heart stopped for a moment—

—and in the next instant he came to his senses with a jolt, berating himself.

What…am I?

The enemy…got back up, and…

Did I feel relief before I felt fear?

No!

Gritting his teeth, Rookie turned the muzzle of his gun on the bloodstained group and their eerie smiles.

Beside him, Aging exhaled and put a hand to her chin. “How ’bout that. President, you handled that gun pretty well for an amateur. Have you been practicing on the sly?” she asked him casually.

“I learned from Death!” Rookie snapped back at her. “Dammit… What the hell are they?! If I shoot them in the head, then…”

He was about to strafe with the gun again, but Aging grabbed his hands with the speed of a hunting raptor, yanking them up.

“So. By the way, President.”

“?!”

“We’re gonna take a lil’ ride on a virtual roller coaster!”

“…Wha—?”

The next instant, Rookie rose lightly into the air, and Aging hugged his slight frame to her.

“What are you d—?!”

“Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll bite your tongue!” Aging opened her mouth wide, sucked in a rapid lungful of air—and then launched herself off the floor.

In that instant, Rookie felt like the ship itself had given a massive shudder. He felt the impact all around him, and the scene around him seemed to warp.

He felt weightless, and gravity fell away from the world around him.

Rookie felt a series of thuds while sights flashed by with dizzying speed. Then, a few seconds later, his view stabilized.

An inky darkness spread out below him, and the light from the moon glinted off the waves in the infinite expanse.

Huh?!

Before he could scream, the boy realized where they’d gone when they left the corridor, and how—

—in a few seconds, he and Aging had leaped from the boat, soaring out over the ocean.

“Gweh-ha-ha-ha-ha! Havin’ fun, Rookie?!”

Aging laughed in genuine delight, while the boy locked in her arms muttered tersely:

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Meanwhile In the kitchen of the Exit

Vast as the ship was, it was still a closed world out on the ocean.

The chaos that had erupted in multiple locations rapidly spread through the vessel.

The kitchen was an enormous one, several times more spacious than a top-class restaurant in a major metropolis. Several dozen cooks had been preparing the many pig and cow carcasses that hung from the ceiling, hard-pressed to keep up with preparations for the party that night. Now they were hard-pressed by the emergencies breaking out all over the ship.

At first, they’d heard only gunshots, but pandemonium soon followed—and the way the ship was rocking made it clear that they had accelerated.

Some of the cooks had stopped what they were doing and gone to check on the situation outside, while others had kept working in spite of it all. However, the scouts soon returned with news of a firefight outside, and at that, the panic reached the kitchen as well.

They’d started by contacting the bridge, but they weren’t able to get through either on the internal phone lines or by radio.

Realizing conditions on the ship were obviously not normal, the cooks had been discussing what they should do next, when—

“Coming through.” Another anomaly appeared in the door to the kitchen. “Let me just say this: Something peculiar appears to be happening on this ship, and so…”

As he spoke, the man took a look around. His skin was dark, and he was wearing an odd mask. His clothes appeared to be some sort of ethnic outfit as well; he might have fit in on the stage in the party room, but here in the kitchen, he didn’t look so much out of place as downright frightening.

“My apologies, but I am borrowing this.” The masked man picked up an enormous, thick-bladed meat cleaver that was used to cut hunks of meat—bone and all—from the hanging carcasses. It was easily over a foot long.

With the blade in his hand, the masked man headed back outside as though nothing had happened.

“H-hey!” the head cook called.

The rest of them sent him warning glares, then crouched down in the shadows of the kitchen.

The masked man stopped at the voice, cocking his head as if he was mildly troubled.

“Hrm. Let me just say this: Ordinarily, I could not bring myself to use a cooking utensil as a weapon, even for purposes of self-defense. However, this is an emergency. The tools to which I am accustomed are easiest to use.” The voice behind the mask was filled with an imposing dignity, one that didn’t exactly match the head tilt. “Let me just say this: Should your knife end up in unreturnable condition, I will compensate you for it. And so…I expect to be forgiven.”

After his extremely arrogant apology, the man left the kitchen, while the head cook failed to find a reply. Once the man was completely out of sight, the cook heaved a big sigh and began to mutter.

“…We’re changing tonight’s menu. We’ll focus on vegetables and fish.”

He’d guessed at the sort of tragedy that was about to occur on the ship.

“No guarantees, but…I have a hunch that a lot of people won’t be eating meat for a while after this.”

In a certain semi-suite cabin

“…I feel curiously uneasy…”

Denkurou had muttered to himself several minutes ago now.

Elmer had already powered down his game, while Denkurou had shut off the DVD and TV, gone over to the window, and begun concentrating on the sounds from outside.

He’d noticed the first gunshots out there shortly after Nile had left the room.

Come to think of it, Nile might already have noticed something by then.

Thinking he should have questioned him in more detail, Denkurou had been trying to figure out what was happening outside.

“Hmm… I’m concerned about Sylvie. Those occasional sounds we’ve been hearing do seem to be gunshots.”

“You’re right; let’s go pick her up. I bet Nile’s probably fine, even if he’s smack in the middle of the gunfight, but…”

“True. Nile would not die so easily, even were he not immortal.”

“In that case, I’ll go hunt down Nile, and you go to the beauty clinic and pick up Sylvie, Denkurou,” Elmer said casually.

Denkurou started to say something, but before he could—

“Show Sylvie how cool you are once in a while,” Elmer continued

“Wha…?!” Denkurou reacted with clear consternation.

“It’s fine; just do it.”

“Elmer! This is no time for jests…,” Denkurou protested, red-faced.

As if to block out his voice—

—the TV he’d shut off abruptly came to life, and the screen turned blue.

At the same time, a strange-sounding voice came over the ship’s PA system.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies and gentlemen. We are the Mask Makers…and we have occupied this vessel.”

That voice reached every corner of the Exit equally, from the storerooms to the bathrooms.

“At present, this ship is sailing toward the Entrance at more than full speed; in fact, one could say it’s out of control. One could say our objective is to connect exit and entrance—so I expect you’ll take my meaning.”

As Celice ran down a corridor, the realization hit her: Whatever the Mask Makers were, this voice didn’t belong to one of them.

“It’s him…!”

It was the leader of the religious group known as SAMPLE. It was Bride.

“I believe you’ve already noticed the unusual circumstances…but we are also lurking in your midst. Perhaps your neighbor will suddenly don a mask and turn a gun on you. We are planning to crash this ship into the Entrance, after all, so it is safe to assume we won’t trouble ourselves over the lives of one or two individuals. And my apologies, but the captain is already dead.”

When Nile heard the impassive announcement to the rest of the ship, his eyes narrowed behind his mask.

At the moment, he was an enigmatic masked man gripping an enormous meat cleaver. He gave a disgruntled sigh and muttered, “The Mask Makers…?”

Then, mentally reflecting on his own appearance—

“Let me just say this: Is it possible I will be mistaken for one of them?” He patted the mask over his face. “Well? What do you think, scum?”

The men Nile was speaking to were lying on the ground in front of him.

They were all wearing red-and-black clothes, and each had been holding a gun, but—

—Nile had meticulously dislocated the joints in their arms and legs, which made moving difficult for them.

The group had suddenly attacked Nile in the nearly deserted shopping mall, possibly because a gunfight or something of the sort had broken out there a little earlier.

“Be that as it may, are you amateurs? I did not even need to use the blade,” Nile muttered disinterestedly, gazing at the meat cleaver.

Nevertheless, even as they struggled, the injured men kept on smiling.

“…What an unsettling lot you are. Although, I suppose Elmer would be delighted if he saw you.”

Thinking of his smile-junkie cabinmate, Nile smiled wryly and went back to listening to the announcement.

However, just a moment later—

—what appeared on the mall’s informational monitors wiped that smile right off his face.

“That said, we certainly aren’t hedonistic killers. We occupied this ship with a clear objective in mind. If that objective is achieved, I promise you that you will all be returned safely to land.”

As he spoke, an image was uploaded onto every single monitor on the ship through the emergency communication circuits—several surreptitiously taken photographs.

“We are searching for these individuals. They may appear human, but they are not. Our collision with the Entrance should occur in about fifteen hours if we continue at our current speed—but if you help us to apprehend them before then, we will guarantee the safety of the ship.”

There were four photos on the screen.

One was of a man wearing some sort of ethnic mask.

One showed a beautiful silver-haired woman.

One was of an Asian with short hair.

And the last one was of a young man, who was, of course, smiling artlessly.

In a certain semi-suite cabin

“Elmer.”

As he looked at their photographs on the TV, Denkurou’s eyebrows drew together.

“…Does this strike you as Huey’s doing?” he asked tersely.

Unusually, Elmer’s smile vanished. “Hmm…,” he said, pausing in thought for a few seconds before he responded. “No… I’m not sure why, but I know this isn’t him. I bet Huey would laugh at me for sounding so sure when I don’t have a solid reason. By itself, the name ‘Mask Makers’ makes it sound like it could be him, but… No, it’s not. If anything, it’s—”

As he was about to make some sort of deduction, the voice of the self-proclaimed Mask Maker echoed from the speakers again.

“We wear masks. We ask you to fear your neighbors and view those around you with suspicion. I imagine you won’t be able to truly trust that anyone is your ally, but we have provided you with a guide. As far as you are concerned, the four in those photographs are undoubtedly your prey. They are the enemies you can distinguish from the rest!”

“Um… Holing up in the cabin might be a majorly bad idea at this point.” Elmer’s typical smile returned as he picked up his nearby cell phone. “Under the circumstances, I don’t suppose we could get everyone on the ship to band together and overthrow the terrorists, do you?”

Denkurou was already over by the door, listening intently to the outside. Having determined that all was clear for the moment, he opened the door.

“Let us go, Elmer,” he said firmly. “We’ll rendezvous with Sylvie first.” Denkurou’s aura coiled around him like a razor-sharp air current. That pressure might have petrified a normal person, but Elmer kept right on smiling as they stepped out into the corridor together.

“Right… I’ve got an objective of my own now, Denkurou.”

“…”

“I’d like to make the people on this ship smile somehow.”

If his comment had ended there, he would have sounded like a hero. But when he continued, Denkurou was reminded that this man, Elmer C. Albatross, was truly mad.

“Everybody, if possible. Both the innocent passengers and the group calling themselves the Mask Makers.”

“…”

Elmer was smiling the whole time, and Denkurou didn’t press him to elaborate. As they made their way down the corridor, he asked about something that had been on his mind for a little while.

“By the by… That name, the Mask Makers. You responded as if it was familiar to you…”

“Hmm? Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Elmer sounded indifferent, but he ducked his head in mild embarrassment.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s the same group, but… Both Huey and I were members of a criminal society called the Mask Makers, way back when.”

“Wha—…?” Denkurou gulped.

Beside him, Elmer put a hand to his chin, thinking as he ran.

“Hmm… Come to think of it, I never officially quit, so…‘were’ may not be accurate.

“Maybe I still am a Mask Maker.”

A few minutes ago…

“AaaaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

A bare second after he’d realized he was floating in midair at a height of several dozen feet…

…Rookie finally started screaming, and the submachine gun he’d been holding slipped out of his hands. The metal fell rapidly, sending up a small spray of water from the ocean’s surface a few moments later—although he had more important things to worry about than watching it fall.

It was like gravity was working in the wrong direction—and Rookie realized he was sliding through the air.

Holding him in one arm, Aging had sprinted away, kicked down a nearby door, and made a near-perfect beeline for the outside of the ship—and when the ocean appeared beyond a nearby window, she’d used her other hand to catch the hook and cable on the sill.

…And had then leaped right through it.

The results were simple.

Hanging by the side of the ship, Aging let the wire go taut, then launched herself off the ship’s hull.

First, she swung toward the stern—and as she swung forward again, she used the momentum to race across the side.

Adjusting the length of the cable as she went, Aging seemed to scuttle across the wall like a spider or lizard, gravity be damned.

She ran.

Dashed.

Sprinted.

Raced.

Flew.

If they had seen her running over the wall faster than a minor sprinter, the word ninja would have popped into most people’s minds.

Pressed against her side, Rookie could only feel the wind rushing past, with no time to process his situation. And then—

“…Yep, this should be it!” Aging crowed.

That was when he realized he could see the floor beneath him again, although he didn’t know how it got there.

“…AaaAAAAaaaah, AAAAAaaaaah!” A sound that was neither a sigh nor a true scream escaped him as he realized he was still alive. “Wh—… Where are…?”

“Uh-huh, I was right! This is my cabin!”

“?!”

With her stunned employer in her arms, Aging opened the door that led into the room, cackling away.

“H-hey, hurry up and put me down!” Rookie urged, flushing red once he’d calmed down enough to take stock of his situation.

“Hmm? Oh, hey, sorry ’bout that. You’re just so light, I didn’t even realize I was still holding you. Gah-ha!” Laughing, Aging lowered Rookie to the balcony.

The transportation boxes the Mask Makers used during jobs were in the cabin, making it clear that this was indeed her room.

“…I can’t believe this.”

“Huh? Wah-ha-ha, nope, President, don’t you start thinkin’ like that. I don’t blame ya; we’re in a real pickle to be sure, but you just vowed you’d carry out our objective, remember? What’s the point of gettin’ cold feet now, huh?!”

Aging laughed with her gentle lecture.

“Don’t be stupid!” he snapped. “What I can’t believe is the ridiculous way you got to this room!”

“Hmm? Ridiculous? What’s ridiculous? Did you hit your head? We just got back to the room by running over the outside of the ship, that’s all.”

“…Sorry. Enough.”

He pressed his hand against his head, but they had reached a temporary hiding place, and that fact was huge. Right now, he had to come up with a strategy going forward.

However, just as he sank down onto the sofa—

—a blue screen appeared on the TV monitor, and he heard the announcement by a self-styled “Mask Maker” explaining that the ship had been occupied.

“…”

The instant the voice in the broadcast introduced itself as a Mask Maker, the boy’s mind went blank for a moment.

It can’t be.

I did give permission for an open takeover under certain circumstances, but…

Then he realized he didn’t recognize the voice at all, that whoever this was wasn’t one of them, and the blankness turned into despair.

It’s a lie.

Who… Who is this?

And then—when unfamiliar photos of the immortals appeared on the screen, confusion joined his despair.

Why?

Why… Why is someone else, someone besides us…after the immortals…?

Once he’d heard the broadcast all the way through, Rookie’s reaction was silence.

In the middle of a situation where it felt as if his time had completely stopped—

—the cell phone Aging wore on her hip buzzed, and she snatched it up. “Yeah. Speaking,” she answered in her characteristically unusual way.

The call was apparently from a Mask Maker on the Entrance, and Rookie’s petrified body twitched.

“Oh yeah? That’s great! I tell ya, you folks wouldn’t believe the party we’re having over here!”

“Yep, the president’s hanging in there, just barely! Everybody else is dead!”

“The only ones left alive are me and the president! How’s that for a situation? What a blast, huh?”

He could hear an anxious, frustrated voice on the other end of the line.

“That wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun. Maybe it’s ’cause Death bought the farm a little while back and he’s pulling the rest of us into the grave after him! Gwah-ha-ha-ha!”

He had no idea what sort of conversation they were having. But when he saw Aging laughing as she relayed the dire situation they were in—strangely, he didn’t feel irritated.

Why is it, I wonder? She looks like she’s having so much fun, even though our comrades are dead. I should be furious with her for that, and yet…

Aging’s smile wasn’t a vain attempt to make him feel better. It was based in deep-rooted confidence, and despite his dismay, he was naturally reassured by it. —A feeling he quickly rejected.

“Okay, I’ll be in touch. The plan’s all shot to hell anyway. You make your own calls over there and do what you can do.”

With that, Aging hung up.

Quietly getting to his feet, the president spoke. “…What’s going on over there?”

“Sounds like the gunslinger who killed Death came after them and turned it into a party, Wild West–style.”

“…”

On learning of this additional chaos, the boy’s heart nearly collapsed under the pressure again. He’d felt the same way upon learning Death had fallen—betrayed, not only by his plan but by the very world he’d believed in.

If things had been going well on this ship, he would have been able to calmly think of a way to handle the situation—but right now, the shocks wouldn’t let up.

He thought about what he should say for a while, and he finally settled on:

“You think a gunfight is a party…?” It was all he could come up with. Maybe his mind was searching for a way to avoid reality.

“Hmm? Gah-ha! You’ve got a point there! Given all the trouble gunfights cause for other folks, only a real scumbag would enjoy it. Huh, now does that mean you should be feelin’ blue during a shootout, or should you be more like a machine?”

“Just shut up for a minute…,” Luchino muttered as he pieced together the situation in his mind. As if he was talking to himself, a complaint slipped out.

“…The Mask Makers have been…defiled.”

“Huh?”

“Some random group is using our name, and they’ve turned us into simple terrorists.”

“What are you talking about? What they just said over the PA is stuff we were planning to do all along, if we had to. We already did, over on the Entrance.” Still grinning, Aging sounded a little exasperated, but the boy quietly shook his head.

“No, it’s not the same… I was prepared to fall from the beginning, and we Mask Makers have always been open to anything, murder included.”

“Which means none of it matters, right?”

“But if we fall, it should be by my hand…by ours! Some group we don’t even know is using the Mask Maker name as a piece in their game, and I won’t stand for it!”

“Ohhh, I see. Can’t say I don’t get where you’re coming from,” Aging agreed, unusually for her, but Rookie glared back.

“You get where I’m coming from, huh? You think you understand? Enlighten me, then; what exactly do you ‘get’ about this? All you do is treat bloodshed like your personal entertainment, while my destiny has been set since I was born… What do you ‘get’ about the Mask Makers? What do you know about the will that was passed down to me?” Rookie shouted even as he plunged into self-loathing.

He knew it, too. The one who really wanted to condemn the Mask Makers was him, but he was lashing out at Aging, his current savior, his heart’s final refuge.

What the hell’s wrong with me…? I’m so disgusted with myself! What do I…? What am I trying to do?

And as if she’d read his mind, Aging said, “Hmm. Sounds like you know a lot about the Mask Makers that I don’t, President.” Her smile had vanished, and her face was serious.

Please don’t say it. I know already.

“Can you explain what that is, exactly?”

I know. I know I don’t get anything, either. I don’t know what the Mask Makers are to me, and I don’t know what I want to do with them.

He was nearly in tears, but he shoved that emotion into the back of his throat and out of sight. He was about to yell at Aging to shut up—

—but she was smiling again. She wasn’t hiding anything behind that smile; it was as if she’d forgiven him for everything. Or maybe she just wasn’t thinking anything at all.

She finished what she’d been saying earlier. “Sheesh, kiddo… No need to beat yourself up before you even understand what’s what, y’know.”

Aging’s expression was both the smile of a kid who’d come home covered in mud and the smile of the chagrined mother who let him come back inside anyway. She ruffled Rookie’s hair until it was a great big mess.

“You don’t hafta understand it all; it’ll work out in the end. First off, think about solvin’ the problems in front of ya! That’s about all you have to do to enjoy life! Gwah-ha-ha!”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?” Rookie shook his head in confusion.

He really had no idea what her words were intended to accomplish. Still, they gave him strength—and the boy cleared his heart of all complaints.

“…I’m sorry, Aging. For now, let’s think about what to do.”

Shaking his head with resignation, Rookie took another look at the situation.

“If I had…some sort of weapon, too…”

The recent memory of strafing the red-and-black group with the machine gun instantly made him feel sick again—but he kept it under control and looked into the box that sat in Aging’s room.

The lid on the box had been left open. Inside was a Gurkha knife more than a yard long and a minigun that had been modified into a deformed shape.

Naturally, he’d never be able to use either one properly.

Rookie peeked into the recesses of the box for some sort of gun, and something glinted in the dark.

“Oh, I clean forgot.”

Aging smacked her hands together as if something suddenly came to mind, then she reached a long arm into the box and retrieved the gleaming object.

“That’s…”

“It’s a favorite of yours, right, President? I hung on to it, just in case.”

With that remark, she handed him—

—a single stiletto in an ornamented sheath.

As he accepted it, the boy quietly reexamined his own reason for existing.

Drawing his ancestor’s knife from its sheath, he renewed his resolution.

That’s right. I can’t die. I can’t let them put an end to the Mask Makers.

No matter how far we fall, no matter how dirty our hands get with grime and blood.

Not until I take revenge on the man who is both my ancestor and my ancestor’s enemy…Huey Laforet.

Quietly returning the knife to its sheath, the boy murmured, and the determination in his eyes was different from before.

“Let’s move, Aging.

“Even if I have to sacrifice every pawn I have, you included, I won’t let the Mask Makers end here.”

In a certain suite on the Entrance

What am I supposed to do now?

Bobby was sitting deep in an unbelievably soft sofa, his hands clasped in front of the Gear’s mask.

In the end, he’d decided to stay in the costume and lie. “I’m Charon’s stuntman,” he’d told them, but—

“Why’s a stuntman need another stuntman?”

—he’d been busted in one second flat.

Still, Carnea had covered for him: “He saved me when those people in masks were chasing me!” Plus, there just wasn’t time for a full interrogation, and so—

“Let’s go to our cabin for now. It’s not safe here.”

—he’d ended up getting escorted to this suite.

Of all the lousy— Getting revenge on the Martillos is why I got on this boat in the first place! What am I doing letting one of them hide me?!

While the boy sat still and stunned over in a corner of the room, Firo, Ennis, and Angelo were discussing what they should do next. Carnea had collapsed onto one of the beds as soon as they arrived, probably exhausted.

Well, at least they forgot about asking me nosy questions.

“…And…means…should look for Czes first…”

As he listened to their conversation, he realized “Czes” was Firo’s apparent little brother, and then he remembered something important with a start.

Come to think of it, I totally forgot, but…

…I hope Tall and the guys are all right.

In a shipboard corridor

“We took the long way around, but we’ll be at my cabin shortly,” Czes murmured calmly, making his way forward with some caution.

The stowaways—Tall, Troy, and Humpty—were right behind him.

“Man. Bobby better be okay, the jackass.”

“He’s always had the devil’s luck, so I imagine things will work out for him somehow. More importantly, we should be worried about the ship itself.”

“Gggghhh, I’m hungryyy.”

As they followed after him, the three of them muttered among themselves, while Czes kept his senses sharp.

He’d tried to make straight for Firo’s cabin, but then a masked group with guns had come through the corridor. A short while later, the lifeboats had exploded.

That was partially why he’d taken paths that were as deserted as possible and attempted to get to the room in a roundabout way, but there was no guarantee that getting there would help them at all.

Dammit. I had a bad feeling about this, but I never expected it to pan out. Czes gritted his teeth. I knew it. I really have no luck with traveling.

Remembering the tragedy on the Advena Avis and the terror on the Flying Pussyfoot, Czes kept on walking quietly, but then—

—he heard the clatter of something being dislodged, and immediately afterward, a black shadow leaped down into the corridor from a vent high on the wall.

“…Huh?”

“…”

They landed right in front of Czes.

The man, clad from head to toe in a black combat suit, had jumped down from the vent as if it was nothing. He glanced Czes’s way, but his face was hidden behind a high-tech mask and goggles that made it impossible to gauge anything about him as a person.

However—from his presence here and his combat gear, it seemed safe to assume he was one of the terrorists.

“…”

It was eerie, facing down something as unusual as a silent terrorist dressed for war.

For a few moments, the man gazed at him, silently—

—and then, without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger on the large gun he held.

Rat-tat-tat-tat. Dry, percussive noises ricocheted around the corridor, and black bullets bit into the floor beside Czes’s group.

“…”

“Eeeeeeep!”

The stowaways took to their heels, screaming.

Czes hesitated, not sure what to do, until he realized the man had missed on purpose to chase them off. He faked a scream of his own and ran after the boys.

Well, at least they’re not bad enough to kill children indiscriminately.

With that new little bit of knowledge, Czes grinned to himself as he ran down the stairs.

Lucky for me they’re soft.

Still… That guy seemed more surprised than I would have expected…

On the bridge of the Entrance

“I tell you, that was a shock: children just milling around as if everything were perfectly normal. And after we issued our threats, too… Did it have no effect at all?”

As Life complained from his radio, one of the Mask Makers yelled back in irritation.

“Shaddup! We’ve got bigger stuff to worry about over here! Leave the brats alone!”

“What’s the matter? I heard there was trouble on the other ship, but…”

“Dammit… We confirmed it on the ship’s GPS radar. The Exit’s barreling right for us. I dunno how fast, exactly, but I bet it’s over thirty miles an hour, easy,” the Mask Maker muttered, tense and frustrated. He ground his teeth as sweat broke out over his face, but his lips twisted in a grin. “…Who’d have thought we’d be the ones finding out what it feels like to have a boat plow into us, instead of the other way around?”

The bound captain spoke up with anxiety on his face. “The engines on these ships are special made. If you don’t consider the comfort of the passengers, they’re among the fastest cruise ships in the world… I don’t understand the situation, but if you want to avoid a collision, I’d give up on this seajack immediately, contact the maritime police, and turn yourselves in.”

“…You’ve got an excellent point, my friend, and I hate it.”

As the Mask Maker struggled to decide whether he was stressed out or having fun, the door of the bridge opened. Illness peeked in from behind it, now in her combat gear.

“…”

She was a sickly-seeming girl dressed in a full-body black combat suit, with goggles over her face. She was generally always complaining, but now, her mouth was set in a hard line, and she wasn’t saying a word.

“Hey, Illness. You finally showed up, huh?”

“…What should I do?” she asked in a monotone. Her attitude was so commendable that she hardly seemed like Illness at all, and the Mask Makers exchanged looks. But now wasn’t the time to question it; they just got right to the point and passed along her orders.

“Your job is simple. About as simple as having a trained chimpanzee dance a waltz.” They gave the order indifferently and succinctly—for them anyway. “Stop that gunslinger. We don’t care if he’s dead or alive; kill him, use your feminine wiles, whatever. Let’s hope the guy likes little girls. Anyway, apparently we’ve got other stuff to deal with.”

“What do you mean?”

Illness knew nothing about the situation, and she cocked her head quietly.

Gritting their teeth a little, the Mask Makers filled her in on the present circumstances. “From what we hear, the president’s life is in danger.”

“Huh…? Luchino?”

“Although I think that goes for everyone else in the company, too.”

The Mask Maker suddenly fell to thinking, then slowly turned to face the bound captain.

“Now, then… We have to meet up with the president ASAP…and you said something pretty interesting a minute ago.

“As long as we don’t care if the ride’s comfortable…this thing can go faster. Right?”

In a shipboard corridor

“Hmm?”

Firo had left the room to go look for Czes, but he stopped in his tracks as he sensed something amiss.

“It almost feels like the ship’s rolling more.”

He concentrated on the feeling, trying to tell for sure, and it really did seem as if the ship had sped up a bit in the past few minutes. In fact, if he was right, it was still speeding up even now.

“…Hey, whoa, what’s going on?”

Firo felt a flicker of unease, but he decided that finding Czes came first. He curled his hands into loose fists and wordlessly began to run through the ship.

In a storeroom somewhere

Even on this hopeless voyage, with bullets flying every which way and all the lifeboats destroyed, Charon Walken’s expression was calm.

The young stuntman’s mind was serenity itself—but he did understand the crisis the ship was currently in.

A mysterious group had been pursuing a boy and girl in the storeroom, and he’d hidden them. That was all well and good, but immediately afterward, the director and staff had appeared and had taken the boy in the costume and the shark (with the girl inside) away with them. If he created a scene and switched with them onstage, the mystery group would probably spot them and nab them immediately.

In that case, the best move would be to explain the situation to Claudia and the director after the show.

With that in mind, the boy had been watching the event from the shadows, but then a gunfight had broken out, and then came the explosions.

Due to a combination of factors, the entire boat had become the venue for a new event that wouldn’t be ending anytime soon.

“…Claudia.”

Since his sister had promptly evacuated, he decided there was no need to worry about her for now, and he’d already seen Firo take the mysterious boy and girl away.

Charon hid for a while, watching the situation on the ship, but after the announcement that all the lifeboats had been destroyed, he quietly set off to look for his sister.

He was crossing the battlefield aboard the ship, where one wrong step would mean death, but he walked just the way he did when filming a movie. He was always prepared to die even during ordinary filming sessions; for him, that first step was business as usual.

In the movie theater

A new audience had arrived in the theater, but the next movie showed no sign of beginning.

Director John Drox looked around at his staff and at Claudia, and the excitement in his large frame was clear.

“Now, then! We’ve evacuated here for starters, but what do you suppose we should do?! The most important thing, and that’s capturing everything on film! Keep those cameras rolling, people! Don’t let your focus slip, either! Unless you’re me or the cameraman, channel all your energy into getting home alive; no need to act!”

Huh? So I have to keep filming even if it kills me?

The cameraman shook his head defeatedly, but he didn’t complain out loud. A cameraman’s voice should never touch his film, he believed; in a sense, his conviction was as abnormal as the director’s was.

“Hmm… I can’t help being a little indiscreet; I’m terrified and just so excited! Ideally, this seajacking will get its happily ever after before anyone dies, and we’ll have the whole thing on film…! That’s the hope anyway. What do you think, Claudia?” he asked her suddenly.

The redheaded girl shook her head and sighed with chagrin.

“I think you’re totally nuts, Director. Is the footage all you can think about in a situation like this?” Then she threw out her chest and beamed. “I like that proposal, though! Especially the part about nobody dying!” Her smile was powerful and dauntless, even in the face of these dire straits.

The director responded to her with a thumbs-up and a loud “Good!”

Oh man. This is headed south.

The other staff members heaved a collective sigh, then started to think about what they’d need to do to survive this.

That said, they didn’t know who or how big the armed group was, so there wasn’t much to do. The thought made them give another, heavier sigh, and then—

—the door opened, and several newcomers entered the movie theater.

“Excuse us. Please let us take shelter in here… Oh!”

The boy at the head of the group scanned the crowd inside, noticed the man with a movie camera, and froze up.

“S-sorry to intrude—”

Seemingly frightened, the boy automatically spun on his heel to leave, when—

“Don’t you run away from me!”

—the red-haired girl landed a vigorous flying cross chop directly on the back of his head.

“Yaugh!”

Czes toppled over, and the young Hollywood star straddled him with a triumphant smile.

“Honestly! Why do you bolt every time you see me?! You’ve got all kinds of experience for a kid, so you’re gonna be a huge help! Now then, Czes…”

As he gazed back at her with despair, the red-haired girl smiled breezily.

“…let’s think up a way to take over this ship!”

A few hours later The bridge of the Exit

“That’s strange.”

The gorilla-esque man, the chief mate, and a few others had been left in charge of the bridge, and they were examining the position of the ship on the radar. Specifically, how it had changed.

This ship had accelerated, just as they’d planned.

However—the Entrance seemed to be far closer to them than it should have been.

“Do you suppose…they’ve sped up as well?”

If this kept up, they’d collide before noon the following day, not that evening.

Realizing this, the gorilla-faced man radioed one of his female comrades in the communications room.

“It’s me. It appears we’ll be making contact ahead of schedule. We need the boat that’s picking us up six hours early. Also…” Scowling slightly, he issued an order. “…have them bring plenty of medical supplies and equipment.”

The man was looking at the monitor for the security cameras on the ship.

“It seems we aren’t the only monsters here.”

The lowest level of the Exit A cargo bay

Rookie and Aging had reached a storeroom loaded with non-event-related cargo.

Hiding in the shadows, Rookie kept an eye on their surroundings, while Aging quietly listened for an opportunity to strike back.

She’d been silent for a while, but then her eyes suddenly widened, and the corners of her lips rose with excitement.

“Well, I’ll be…”

“What is it, Aging?”

“Sounds like somebody on this ship can go toe-to-toe with these guys.”

The movie theater on the Exit

While the theater on the Entrance had become a shelter of sorts, the one on the Exit was now a battlefield. By the stage, a group in red and black was doing a deadly dance with one masked man.

His mask was nothing like the Mask Makers’, and the fanatical believers of SAMPLE were aware that this was not one of the faithful.

The man’s meat cleaver flashed, and his enemy’s hand flew through the air before he could open fire. His blood splashed onto his red-and-black clothes, covering the victim in well-camouflaged spots.

Meanwhile, the masked man took a step back from the other group, jumping up onto the stage in one bound and shaking his head.

“Let me just say this… If you get that treated promptly, you will live. Immortal I may be, but when you turn a gun on me, I can no longer afford to… Hmm?” Nile broke off, looking at the man whose hand he’d just severed.

The man had picked up the gun in his opposite hand and was aiming it at him, still smiling. He seemed at utter peace.

“…I see. I thought you might have been passengers who heard that broadcast and came after us out of fear for your lives…but it appears you are not. Likewise, those red-and-black garments are not the current fashion.”

Their smiles reminded him vaguely of Elmer. Nile frowned behind his mask and thought of spitting on the ground.

“…Let me just say this: I do not condemn your smiles, but they do make me sick.”

Before he had finished speaking, a wave of bullets assailed him; as smoothly as a surfer, Nile slipped to the side.

“I do not condemn them…but let me say this once more! They make me sick!”

Then Nile plunged into the storm.

He leaped toward the center of the group and let his violent instincts take control, heedless of the bullets sinking into him.

Naturally, he’d taken the meat cleaver with him…

Meanwhile The shipboard mall In front of the fountain

“You seem to be a different group from the previous one… Allow me to inquire: Why do you pursue me?” Denkurou quietly asked the people surrounding him.

Nile’s intimidating aura pinned people down, but Denkurou’s was a subtle pressure that seemed to well up from the depths of the earth. His soft question seemed like the harbinger of an earthquake.

The group responded with silence.

The movie theater wasn’t far, and Denkurou had begun to hear shots from powerful-sounding guns.

Is that Nile?

While Denkurou and Elmer searched for Sylvie, they’d been separated during an attack by a group in red-and-black clothes.

However—the people hemming in Denkurou now weren’t wearing red and black. They were ordinary passengers, and the proof was in their obvious fear, panic, and despair.

At last, one of them replied to Denkurou.

“Sh-shut up. It’s not our fault we’re on the same ship as you people; why do we have to deal with this?!”

“I don’t feel great about it, but j-just let us capture you. Please.”

“I—I dunno who you people are, but they won’t crash the ship if you come quietly.”

Although there was no ill will in what they said, they were making excuses for themselves.

As far as they were concerned, Denkurou and his companions were no more than a mysterious bounty. The broadcast had said they weren’t human, but there was probably no one who believed that.

“…Do you imagine those seajackers would honor such a promise?”

“Ngh…”

That the passengers in front of Denkurou didn’t turn into a mob and jump him was solely because his quiet intimidation was covering over their emotions with fear.

“Hmm. I understand that you are desperate to protect your families and personal safety. Were I traveling on my own, I would not be averse to letting myself be apprehended without a struggle. However…” As he gravely wondered to himself what this was all about, he spoke to the passengers surrounding him at a slight distance. “However, for your sake, I cannot allow you to apprehend me now.”

“Wh-what?”

As the passengers looked at one another, Denkurou realized the gunshots from the movie theater had stopped. He exhaled quietly. “After all, should you apprehend me—there will be no one able to stop my companion.” He looked over toward the theater, and soon, someone appeared there. Their clothes were a mixture of red, black, and white; one might have initially thought they were one of the seajackers.

In any case, the fabric had originally been a light color, and the pattern on it was the result of multiple layers of blood spray.

It was a masked man, covered in the blood of his victims. In his hand was an enormous meat cleaver.

This time, the passengers panicked. Screaming, they fell over one another in their haste to escape to their cabins.

“Nile…”

“Let me just say this: I have not laid a finger on ordinary passengers. I do know better than that.”

“But…”

“…I am only a little irritated, you see.” Nile gave the cleaver a few good shakes, flicking blood onto the floor, then asked Denkurou a question. “Those expressions of theirs… You have noticed it as well, haven’t you, Denkurou?”

“…I have.”

“The ignorance of pain, the utter heartfelt bliss while they retain their reason—it is almost the same as the drug that was rampant in that town three hundred years ago.”

However Denkurou had interpreted those words, he drew a quiet breath, then mentioned another alchemist. “But Begg is…”

“I am aware… And in fact, that product was an inferior one that he had declared a failure. The townspeople reproduced it without permission. Even so—do you believe this is merely coincidence? Is this a trap set by Huey after all?”

“No. When it came to that drug, Huey was also not… Hmm?” Denkurou looked and saw a woman slowly shuffling toward them.

When he saw she was wearing red and black, Nile sprang into motion with no hesitation.

“So there was another one, was there? On the battlefield, I show no mercy even to women.”

“Ah…” The woman began to murmur something, but Nile swung his blade down.

Immediately before the blow struck, his arm stopped.

Denkurou had circled around Nile before he even noticed and caught his arm in the nick of time. “Calm yourself. Are you so drunk on blood?”

“…”

“This lady’s garments may be the same, but her eyes are not.”

Unlike the group in red and black, the woman’s expression was full of fear and panic and despair.

Finally realizing Nile’s blade had nearly struck her down, she sank to her knees right where she was.

“Ah, aaaaah…”

Standing between Nile and the frightened woman, Denkurou quietly extended a handkerchief to her.

“My apologies. It seems my companion temporarily lost his better judgment. If you don’t mind, madam, could you explain why you are wearing those clothes?”

Meanwhile, Nile put a hand to his mask, embarrassed—

—and after a few seconds, he lopped off his own hand with the knife.

“Let me just say this: Forgive me. I will go cool my head and my blood for a while.” The spray had turned cold in the air, but it soon returned to Nile’s body.

As she witnessed that incredibly bizarre phenomenon, the woman briefly flinched—

—but she was not overwhelmed, and it wasn’t long before she pulled herself together and spoke.

“Um… Your companion… The silver-haired woman…”

“Hmm? You mean Sylvie? How do you know of her, madam?”

There were several things he wanted to ask, but the woman was on the verge of passing out.

Judging they should return to the cabin temporarily, Denkurou began to pick the woman up, and so he heard what she said clearly.

“They’re…after…her… If we don’t…hurry…then they’ll… He’ll—”

When he heard that, Denkurou hesitated for a few seconds. Then he bit his lip and broke into a run with the woman in his arms.

…He had to believe in the possibility that Sylvie had returned to their cabin.

Meanwhile In a certain semi-suite cabin

“Maybe I really should go outside…”

When Sylvie finally made it back to the cabin, Elmer and Denkurou were already gone. Her cell phone wasn’t working, and the entire ship was swarming with enemies.

“I wonder… Is Huey behind this?”

Under the circumstances, it was fair to say the whole vessel was against her. Sylvie thought for a while, trying to decide whether it was better to leave the room or stay, but—

“Good evening.”

—a voice from behind her brought her train of thought to a halt.

“Who’s there?!” When Sylvie hastily turned around—she saw a bespectacled man in a red-and-black lab coat.

“May I say it’s a pleasure to meet you? My name is Bride.”

“…Oh. I see. Mr. Bride… And? What did you need? This isn’t your cabin, you know.”

Maybe he was a passenger from the next cabin over who was attempting to capture Sylvie to save himself. The idea crossed her mind, but she rejected it instantly.

There was something clearly wrong about the man standing in front of her.

“…How did you get into this room?”

“I let myself in a moment ago, while you were out. I have a master key.”

She remembered the time on the Advena Avis, long ago, when Szilard had put his right hand on her head. She sensed the same danger around this man.

“I’ll ask you again, then: What do you want?”

The man responded matter-of-factly. “I’ve come to confess to my bride, of course.”

“…Huh?”

Her brain and her body stalled at the exact same time. Quietly, she tried to ask a question of her own, but the man interrupted her.

“It’ll be brief. And once I get that out of the way…I’d like you to marry me. I like you. I have ever since I saw you in that photo. I feel no love for you, but I do like you. No matter what, I want you to marry me—and to loathe me. And then I want you to curse this world.”

“What are you talking about?”

Nothing he was saying made any sense.

Assuming the man was joking, Sylvie decided to respond with a joke of her own and see what he’d do.

“…Unfortunately, I’ve got a previous engagement.”

However—at the man’s next words, her heart truly froze.

“Oh, you mean Gretto?”

“ ?!”

As Sylvie’s mind froze—a puff of gas struck her in the face in that moment of vulnerability.

As her consciousness dimmed rapidly, she heard the man’s voice:

“So sleeping potions and the like are indeed effective on immortals as well.”

And then—her mind was swallowed up by total darkness.

“I see. It’s just as it was written in the scriptures… I’m glad they’ve been proven correct.”

One hour later

In an event storeroom on the Entrance

Charon was running through the ship without making a sound, searching for his sister.

His presence was nearly undetectable as he looked for her and the movie crew; perhaps his great-grandmother had taught him stealth techniques that he had then honed for his work as stuntman.

It really was darkest under the candlestick, as they say; the idea that the star might be taking refuge in the movie theater still hadn’t occurred to him.

Wishing he’d brought his cell phone, he’d checked their room and the area around the event venue, but he hadn’t found a trace of her yet. Not only that but, eerily, the ship seemed nearly deserted.

This was probably because the passengers were hiding in their cabins, and the staff was taking shelter in the kitchen and similar areas. After all, they didn’t even know how many criminals there were.

As Charon ran soundlessly through the event storeroom, he heard a voice somewhere in the distance.

At first, he thought whoever it was was talking to themselves, but apparently, they were on the phone with someone.

Nearly undetectable, the boy crept closer—and heard what was being said.

He would soon be spotted after eavesdropping—

—and Charon Walken would be in the most danger of anyone on the Entrance.

In the Entrance shopping mall

While the sky behind the boat was a little lighter than before, those on the ship had lost all sense of time, and the majority of the passengers had holed up quietly in their cabins.

Meanwhile, a dark shape walked through the sparsely lit shopping mall.

Even in the gloom, the odd gunslinger was wearing sunglasses. He stopped in front of the fountain on the lowest level—and smoothly drew his gun, aiming directly to the side.

“I wouldn’t,” he said to the person dangling in his line of fire.

The girl had dropped to hang upside down from the second floor for no particular reason, and she cocked her head in confusion. “…How’d you know?”

“Instinct,” the gunslinger replied flatly.

Illness’s mouth curved into a dissatisfied line. She tilted her head, seeming a bit troubled. “You don’t kill women or children, though, right?”

“Yeah, well.”

“Then, if I shoot now, you’ll die, won’t you?”

With a submachine gun in her hands, the girl looked at the gunman through her night vision goggles and snickered.

However, Angelo didn’t seem the least bit anxious and even gave her a small smile in return. “If I was unlucky, I guess that could happen.”

“…Hey, why don’t you shoot women and children?”

“When I was a kid, I lived on the streets.” The man answered the girl’s question with unexpected frankness. “The folks in town swept the alleys with machine guns once. Called it ‘cleaning’ or something like that. Man, woman, child, they didn’t care; they didn’t even look at our faces. When they got to the alley where I was hanging out all by myself—they happened to run out of bullets, so they called it a day and went home. That’s why I’m still here.”

“Why did they kill those kids?”

“Like I said, it was cleaning. To be accurate, the ones who did it were policemen who’d been hired by the people. I’m pretty sure it was because we spoiled the view.”

The incident had to have been traumatic, but the man spoke about it indifferently. Had he grown that jaded, or did it no longer matter to him now as an event from the past? Or was he relating the event so calmly precisely because it had rooted itself firmly in his heart?

“My resolve not to kill women or kids is my act of protest against them… Actually, it’s nothing so admirable. It’s just pride and my self-respect as a gunman.”

“Don’t you ever want to get revenge?”

“Already did.”

“Huh?!” the girl yelped, and Angelo went on, his voice going colder.

“Would you believe me if I told you that twenty years later, the town was wiped off the map when almost everyone except women and children was dead? Well, there were a lot of us who stole and killed, too, so I suppose the violence was mutual, but…I ended that cycle of revenge by force… If I said that, would you buy it?”

“Don’t… Don’t tell me that stuff. Just don’t.”

The next thing she knew, the gun Illness held was trembling slightly. Whether or not Angelo had noticed that, he didn’t even look her way. He only continued, with his gun trained on her:

“I don’t intend to boast about my misfortune. I’m sure you’ve experienced your share. It doesn’t matter to me which of us has been through more. Some are born into this world and die before they taste their first drop of water, while others are blessed with family and food and a place to sleep and are still unhappy. Plus, happiness and unhappiness aren’t the reasons behind strength, and they aren’t what let you survive a fight to the death.”

“…”

“What’s important is the fact that you and I both have guns, and we’re both where we are now. That’s all.”

That’s…right.

Between one moment and the next, her hands stopped shaking. At Angelo’s words, she’d found her resolve. Instead of answering him, she began to squeeze the trigger, but—

—a voice came out of the darkness and curbed her actions.

“Um… Excuse me. You don’t kill children, right? I’m a child, so please don’t shoot.”

The shape that materialized from the shadows was…

“I can’t believe this… There’s really something wrong with Claudia, sending a kid out on recon. The staff, too, since they didn’t stop her. I guess stars really do have the movie industry under their thumb.”

The boy grumbling to himself with both hands raised was the boy she’d just made friends with on the ship.

“C-Czes!” Illness screamed as she saw him step out from the direction of the movie theater. “Y-you’re in danger! That guy’s a super-duper strong gunman…”

“Hold it. You’re…Czes?”

The man spoke over Illness, and for a moment, Czes stiffened—but when Angelo continued, all that tension dissolved in a rush.

“Are you maybe…Firo’s little brother, Czes?”

Meanwhile, Firo was running around the ship looking for Czes.

Geez, where could he have gone? And who was he going around with yesterday anyway?

“Hmm…?”

Just when he was completely out of ideas and was starting to think about temporarily heading back to the room—

—he heard a gunshot from somewhere fairly close by.

That sound… It’s the same gun that masked special-ops bastard was using!

As Firo raced down the corridor toward the noise—

—he spotted a boy charging toward him, running across the wall.

“Ch-Charon?! H-hey, stop!”

“…Hide,” his friend’s great-grandson said as he passed him.

Charon was traveling down the hall in a completely nonsensical manner, launching himself off the ceiling and the doorknobs along the walls. It was something Claire used to do, but only under certain circumstances.

That always meant some guy with a machine gun was trying to kill him—

A moment later, there was a thunderous noise from the depths of the corridor, along with a spray of bullets.

“Dwaaah?!”

Firo immediately launched himself off the floor, evading by a hair… Although that was due to luck more than anything.

“Dammit! You again?!”

Firo glared down the corridor, his eyes focused on a man dressed like an operative from a special-forces unit and holding an assault rifle.

The other man seemed to have registered his presence as well. Whoa, is he gonna make another sweep? Firo wondered, but…

…for some reason, the man in the mask and goggles turned and disappeared back down the corridor.

“? What was that about?”

“…Are you okay?” Charon asked from behind him, and Firo slowly straightened up.

“Yeah. Why the hell was he after you?”

“…”

The boy shrugged to say he had no idea.

Firo sighed quietly. “Anyway, what exactly are you doing? Where’s Claudia?”

“I’m…looking for her now.”

Baffled, Firo was about to say Are you kidding? when the cell phone in his jacket rang. The display told him it was Angelo; apparently, it was possible to call other phones on the ship now.

“Ah, hang on a sec, it’s from a friend… Hello? …Yeah. Yeah… What? Seriously?” After a brief conversation, Firo ended the call and murmured with relief. “They found Claudia and the crew. He says Czes is with him now.”

Just then he saw a slight change in Charon’s robotic expression.

“What’s up? You’re glad Claudia’s safe, too, huh?” Firo commented, and Charon’s face went blank again.

Firo gave a resigned sigh, but—

Face still expressionless, Charon murmured in a small voice.

“…Of course.”

Firo broke into a broad grin.

Two hours later

The shipboard ride center on the Exit

The amusement center was the size of a modest theme park and held rows of children’s attractions. The carefully maintained ride equipment even included electric go-karts.

Rookie and Aging were making their way through the park. Near the entrance to the ride center, they could see several children standing in a tight group.

“What are children doing in here?” Rookie started to approach them, but Aging stopped him with a whisper from behind.

“Hold up, President. Look closer.”

“Huh…?”

Rookie strained his eyes—and then he noticed.

Almost all the children were wearing red-and-black clothes.

“Wha…?”

When he looked again, he spotted the boy who’d approached him at the immigration gate before departure, along with his little sister.

Wh…why…? But they… They were normal kids.

They all seemed to be holding knives. Rookie wanted to believe that the blades were toys.

“So they’re finally breaking out the kiddies, huh? Guess the enemy’s runnin’ low on people.”

Even now, Aging seemed to be enjoying herself, and Rookie glared at her. Holding his breath, he hid behind one of the rides. Aging followed suit and hunkered down as much as her huge frame would let her.

“And?” she asked Rookie. “What do we do?”

“…About what?”

“C’mon, you know what I mean. Is it okay to kill those kids if they come at us?”

“…—!”

A shudder ran through Rookie again.

“I mean, you can find child soldiers everywhere on battlefields, and if Death were here, he might’ve already finished them off by now…before they even noticed he was there. I ain’t a pro like him, though. I don’t care what we do. It’s your call, President.” She was yawning as she spoke, but to Rookie the words sounded like a test.

Sudden conflict welled up inside him.

As the president of the Mask Makers, should he kill in this situation? But the Mask Maker had been born as a savior to abused children.

“So then…could a professional mercenary kill them as if it were nothing?”

“Hmm? That’s a weird question. It’s different for everybody, obviously. You get some comic-book types who can kill without blinking and write it off as business, and you get some types who can’t. Well, you see those in comic books, too. Anyway, that’s all it is. The point is, what do you want to do?”

“Let’s go with not killing them, then.”

Huh?

The answer hadn’t been his.

Aging’s eyes had gone wide, unusually for her, and she was looking at the person who had spoken.

The one who’d answered the question for Rookie was—

—their ultimate target, Elmer C. Albatross himself.

“Ah, I could tell you were having trouble deciding, so I tossed in my two cents. That’s all.”

“…”

When had he appeared? What was he doing here in the first place?

“Why…are you here?”

“Oh, sorry; did I startle you?”

Elmer was beaming, but he was keeping his voice thoughtfully low.

“I was looking for you. I figured you were the current leader of the Mask Makers,” he said, still smiling, as if it wasn’t a ridiculous thing to say.

“ !”

Rookie was speechless. This was just too much.

Meanwhile, Aging seemed impressed. She smiled and asked Elmer a question of her own. “Hoh-hoh. What gave you that idea?”

“Well, I mean… You know, there was that broadcast where the seajackers identified themselves as the Mask Makers. Plus, those people in red and black seem to be their friends, and…when I see them, it reminds me of the effects of a drug that was all over the place in Lotto Valentino way back when. And then there you were, a kid from the same town who looks a little like Monica. Put it all together, and anybody could guess.”

“Then why’d you come out to meet us?”

“I was gonna tell you I’d turn myself in without a fight, so let’s all smile and not crash the ship and have a party instead—but I guess it’s more complicated than that, huh?”

With a breezy smile in an attempt to reassure Rookie, Elmer completely failed to read the mood.

“Well, I want to see you smile the way you did when you were doing magic tricks, so I’ll do my best. Ask for anything.

“I’m still a member of the Mask Makers, technically, and that makes you my boss.”

A few hours later On the event stage, out on deck

Out on the ocean, the sun had come all the way up.

“…What is this, exactly?”

On waking, Sylvie discovered she was now wearing a wedding dress. One with an extremely tacky red-and-black color scheme.

“Ah, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

The man who’d introduced himself as Bride back in the cabin was standing in front of her, and the stage was surrounded by a group of several dozen in red and black. She also saw several bound, blindfolded children in pure-white clothes.

Instantly understanding the situation, Sylvie sighed. “I’m surprised. I never thought I’d be taken hostage two years in a row.”

“Oh, is that right? Well, well. I envy the one who took you hostage last year.”

“By the way…who told you about Gretto? Was it Huey?” Despite her circumstances, Sylvie kept talking without a trace of fear. She’d already been through what was, for her, the worst that could happen. She’d even accepted the possibility of being eaten, and she simply said what she had to so she could learn what she needed to know.

She had also assumed Huey was backing this group and that letter of his really had been a trap, but—

“Huey? Who is that?” Bride looked genuinely mystified, and Sylvie frowned.

“Then who did you hear about him from?”

“Oh, let’s just say I have comrades everywhere. For example—on the Advena Avis. Such a tragedy you suffered there.”

“…I’m changing my question. What are you people?”

“Very well. Let me explain from the beginning.” As he spoke, Bride quietly raised his hand—and the blindfolded, manacled children began to recite in a near scream the song that had been engraved in their minds.

That was enough to convince Sylvie:

No matter what this group was, she and they were probably never going to get along.

A few minutes later, having finished a meticulous explanation of the group’s religion, Bride casually reached for the syringes on the lectern—and jabbed them into his own neck.

He gave a strangled scream, and then he started acting even more psychotic than he had a moment ago.

“Now then, O great and eternal one who will be my wife: Do you understand why I am marrying you?”

“Basically, you’ve erased all sense of pain, while I will suffer at your hands for eternity. As perfect yin-yang complements, we’ll reach the pinnacle of humanity or some childish nonsense like that.”

“The nuances are more complex—but if you boil it down to the bare essentials, then yes, that’s correct.” Despite her obvious condescension, Bride accepted her summary with a nonchalant smile. It was as if his group was immune to everything, even scorn. “That said, if you insist, I do have another in mind to be my bride. Although, if your immortal life continues, and our doctrine continues to exist, I suspect you will become a candidate again in due time… Alas.”

“For someone who’s planning to marry me, you don’t seem particularly invested in this.” Sylvie was still participating in the conversation, but she’d given up on being listened to.

She’d managed to communicate well enough to have a discussion with her captor the previous year, but this group’s thoughts were formed on a totally different wavelength.

Raising her head as if she’d given up—Sylvie froze again, but for a different reason. “Hang on a second…”

I remember that announcement yesterday… Didn’t they say this was supposed to happen this evening?

The sun was still on its way up the sky, and there were two hours or so left before noon.

…And yet she saw it.

From up on the outdoor stage, the view was truly beautiful, especially looking out onto the endless horizon.

And that was why—

—the enormous white shape directly in front of this ship, far in the distance, made for such an unsettling image to everyone who saw it.

“The time is at hand… It appears our counterpart accelerated as well.”

“…Your group won’t get out of this unscathed, either.”

“Probably not… Well then, shall we go inside? It would be troublesome if we were flung off into the ocean,” Bride impassively replied. Both he and those around him looked truly tranquil—and happy.

That was exactly why Sylvie felt such strong aversion to them.

It was as if she were looking at corrupted copies of Elmer.

And then—the fated hour arrived.

From a bird’s-eye view, it looked like a lunar eclipse.

Two gargantuan masses—one white, the other black—slowly approached each other.

As if they’d exchanged signals beforehand, both decelerated—

—yet didn’t stop.

Slowly slowly slowly slowly slowly…

Until at last, the moment came.

It was so smooth, one might have expected the two ships to overlap like a real eclipse…

And they slowly…

…elegantly…

…smoothly approached each other like two lovers…

And finally—they overlapped.

…But of course, that wasn’t actually possible.

A low and heavy yet ear-piercing screech echoed over the ocean.

Both ships had slowed to a near stop, but the impact groaned through the vessels as if it meant to destroy them.

The ships hadn’t collided head-on. They’d made contact near the bows, where their left sides had struck. It was like a car scraping against a guardrail; instead of crushing each other, they tore at each other.

A chorus of screams went up from the survivors inside the ships.

Naturally, the cabins experienced the powerful shudders as well, and the passengers taking cover on the deck rolled across the slanting floors like pill bugs.

Even so, the damage had admittedly been kept to a minimum.

The enormous ships tilted away from each other in the water. The angle was nowhere near great enough to let them capsize, but the edges of the ships that had made contact with each other separated by more than twenty yards.

About thirty seconds passed.

Then they swung back toward each other—and the ships’ hulls scraped together again.

The vessels repeated the cycle—leaning apart, then colliding again—ten times or so, with each cycle less severe than the last.

Finally, about five minutes after the collision, the rocking stopped.

According to his plan, the Entrance should have exploded, and the members of SAMPLE should have flooded in from the Exit and executed a massacre—

But in reality, by the time those five minutes were up, it was all over.

“…All right, everyone. Once the ships have come to a complete stop, bring the sacrificial gods here. They are our objective.”

Even as they hung on through the shock of the collision, the members of SAMPLE seemed lost in utter bliss.

Strangely, while she rode out the impact, Sylvie was wondering how on earth they were keeping the drug in their system for it to be so consistently effective.

The floor of the bridge was spattered with blood, and corpse fragments (as far as she could tell) lay here and there, but none of the men and women around her seemed bothered by the situation.

Beside Sylvie, Bride kept speaking calmly, not even flinching when the ship tilted. “As on this ship, members of a group calling themselves the Mask Makers appear to be on the other ship. Once again, we shall grant them a quick and painless—”

However—he broke off partway through his sentence.

Instead of finishing, he asked a peculiar question.

“A…shark?”

He had moved from the deck to the bridge, and there he saw—

—a giant shark flying toward them through the air from the Entrance.

The enormous shark slid onto the deck as if it had jumped, writhing, out of the ocean.

Although they didn’t scream, the people on the bridge, as well as the hundred or so believers who’d been waiting in the corridor that led to the deck, felt their hearts freeze for a moment. Soon after the shark arrived, two figures leaped over the edge of the ships rocking toward each other and away.

One was a baby-faced immortal. The other was a man in black with a pistol in each hand.

Despite the extreme tilting of the deck, the man in black ran with no hesitation—

He clearly believed words were no longer necessary as he shot at the red-and-black group waiting near the door to the deck, taking out their legs one after another. As they crumpled and fell, their companions behind them identified the man in black as an enemy.

Without thinking twice, the group in the rear tried to come forward.

However, before they could—

—several bright flashes arced from the upper reaches of the Entrance with trails of smoke behind them.

The next instant—the missiles from the rocket launcher touched down, and each powerful explosion sent a dozen people flying.

The men operating that rocket launcher were having a chat as they loaded the next round.

“Well… Can’t say I was expecting this.”

“Guess stars really do live in another world.”

One of the men had a notebook with Charon’s autograph in his breast pocket.

The other had Charon’s autograph on the mask he wore.

A few hours earlier, Illness had appeared and told the confused Mask Makers on the bridge something odd: “I brought new hostages.”

They’d started to complain and chase her away (“You think we need more hostages?! Hurry up and take out that gunslinger!”), but when they saw the boy and girl behind her, their attitude changed drastically.

The young Hollywood star and self-styled hostage hadn’t seemed particularly concerned. “Illness told me what’s going on. Your leader is in trouble over on the other boat, isn’t he? So let’s work together for a little while!”

The suggestion seemed to be completely outside the realm of common sense.

They weren’t sure about the idea at first, but after she shared what she had learned from Charon and after seeing what the immortal hostage Firo could do in a fight, the Mask Makers had agreed to a temporary partnership.

“…Y’know, I didn’t think the gunman would be in on it, too.”

“He’d better not be planning to shoot the boss once he gets onto the other ship.”

“Nah… There’s no way.”

“What makes you so sure?”

The man with the autographed mask answered as he took aim.

“They say our hotshot gunslinger is the old-fashioned type. He doesn’t kill women or kids.”

As the second explosion from the rocket launcher went off, something strange was occurring on the Exit.

The bridge received word that immortals had appeared in both the communications and engine rooms and had begun to beat back the occupying members of SAMPLE little by little.

In the communications room, a man drenched in the blood of his victims had one hand around the neck of the female secretary who had been occupying it.

“Let me just say this,” he murmured. “Because my head is now cool, you have escaped with your life.”

Gazing at the half-dead believers who lay around them, Nile lowered the unconscious woman to the floor.

“…This is tiresome.”

As he watched the flesh she had torn from his side stitching back together, he murmured to himself quietly:

“I suppose I will look forward to fighting that titaness once we are no longer working together.”

At the same time, in the engine room—a sharp-eyed Asian man was muttering to himself.

“For goodness’ sake. Elmer is as strict a taskmaster as ever.” Unlike in the communications room, the believers were all unconscious but miraculously unharmed. As he tied them up, Denkurou quietly shook his head. “No… I was unable to declare that I would go rescue Sylvie, so perhaps it is only that I still lack experience.”

He drew in a deep breath, then tied up the last believer, as though to distract himself from unnecessary thoughts.

“Still, what does Elmer plan to do? I wonder… After we are done fighting as allies, does he intend to stir up trouble with the real Mask Makers?”

As for the bottom line, it was really very simple.

They’d teamed up. That was all it was.

It had been possible to make phone calls from one ship to the other all along, so the members of SAMPLE had anticipated that the Mask Makers would attack when the ships connected.

However—Bride and his followers hadn’t imagined that all the other involved parties might collude with them.

Unfortunately for them, right as Elmer and Rookie made contact, Aging had gotten a call from the Entrance.

As a result, the details of what was happening on the Entrance and the Exit became common knowledge on both ships—and everyone had decided that doing something about the group in red clothes came first.

And then—one man stepped boldly onto the bridge.

With a gentle smile, he looked around at Bride and the group of twenty or so in red.

“Um, hello. Is that what I should say?”

“Elmer!”

After his carefree entrance, the immortal spotted Sylvie, who was handcuffed in a chair.

“Hi there, Sylvie. You okay? I don’t wanna stop you if you’ve discovered a new hobby, but if that’s what’s going on, I wish you’d smile.”

He cracked a light joke—but when Sylvie’s expression shifted into a very angry smile, he decided to look elsewhere.

Although this state of affairs put Bride at a clear disadvantage, he still wore that euphoric smile. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he said quietly, “boy who was once a sacrificial god.”

When he heard those words, Elmer’s eyes narrowed softly. Then, without letting his smile slip…

“Ah… I had a feeling it might be you all.”

“In that case, I trust you understand our objective as well?”

“I understand, but I don’t approve. Sylvie’s a good friend of mine, and…” Reading the other man’s intentions, Elmer slowly let his eyes travel to the corner of the room where the blindfolded speaker-children stood, and he smiled quietly. “…besides, I’d like to see those kids smile. So, do you think you could call it quits?”

“…What an odd request.”

“Well, I mean, you already look happy. Even if it is the drugs. So…what more could you want?” There was a certain sort of conviction behind Elmer’s question, but Bride answered it impassively.

“…Relief.”

“…?”

“We want relief. That is what the scriptures say.”

“…”

“We need a relief to underpin our happiness, to serve as an index by which we can know our bliss is true, to satisfy us that we are fortunate as humans. Without it, our happiness is counterfeit, nothing but drunken escapism.”

At the man’s unreasonable reply, Elmer gave a little sigh. A hint of melancholy crept into his smile.

“Three hundred years ago, the people of my hometown said the same thing when they killed kids.”

“…”

“I guess a few centuries isn’t enough for people to change.” As he remembered bygone days, Elmer smiled again. “Well, maybe I became an immortal because I knew that.”

His smile was vaguely sad. It was almost as if he meant it as a farewell to Bride and the others.

“Then what are you going to do? What can you do all by yourself?”

“…Nothing, at least not today. I could wish you happiness, but you’re happy already.”

“?”

“You really are; I can tell. You could die here and now, and I bet the drug would keep you happy to the end. Even if you die after this, I’ll assume you’ve found your own kind of happiness, so…I won’t say anything. No…”

After thinking a bit, Elmer corrected his last comment.

“I…can’t say anything.”

Then—

—the bridge window shattered, and an enormous figure dropped in from above it.

“Gwah-ha-ha! Sounds complicated! Ya done?”

The woman was armored with sheer muscle, and she showed her teeth in a smile even breezier than Elmer’s. Then—

—still smiling, with no hesitation, she strafed the room with her minigun—

—but the bullets were just a deterrent, and she descended on the bridge, Gurkha knife in hand.

The deck of the Exit

While the gunslinger took his offensive into the ship’s interior, Firo had stayed on the deck to finish off the remaining enemies by himself.

He’d heard them described as “zombies” over the phone, and they were as tough as you might expect.

He didn’t have a weapon, not even a knife, but he was steadily wearing them down. However, when the people in red and black kept getting back up as if they didn’t feel the pain, Firo switched to knocking them out individually.

He aimed directly at their chins or temples, delivering the shock to their brains so that they instantly lost consciousness.

That way, pain was irrelevant. Plus, if you ignored their zombielike persistence, abnormal agility, and tremendous strength, they were practically amateurs.

That was why Firo had managed to put up a good fight despite being outnumbered, but—

—when the hundred or so who had still been inside the ship came out, he quietly shook his head.

“Dammit… I really can’t take on a hundred by myself, huh? If I at least had my knife…”

Even as he spoke, the red-and-black group had begun to spread out over the deck in front of him.

Some of them held submachine guns and rocket launchers.

Even for an immortal, this was a rock and a hard place. He was breaking out in a cold sweat, but even so—Firo smiled, then gently raised a hand into the sky.

And at his signal—

—the mouth of the shark animatronic that had landed on the deck began spewing a colorless gas.

The next instant—

—as soon as they breathed it in, the people in red started to flop and roll around like shrimp hauled out of the water.

From their faces, they didn’t seem to be in pain, but they were showing obvious signs of physical distress, coughing and breathing with difficulty.

Covering his mouth and heading downwind, Firo frowned at the potency of the gas.

That’s some nasty stuff. Those Mask Maker assholes brought this onto the ship?

Even if they were currently allies, Firo made a mental note never to let his guard down around them, then turned to face the group in red again.

These guys are after…immortals. Maiza’s friends.

When he’d heard what was going on, he’d pictured their faces. Not from his own memory, naturally; they were in the memories of the alchemists Szilard had eaten, and of Szilard himself.

It’s so strange.

Firo had chosen to play decoy for the sake of people he’d never met yet knew very well.

“Why would you do that, when it gets you nothing? Even if you can’t die, that’s not a reason on its own. In fact, that only means you would experience the pain of death without the relief. You can’t want to put yourself through that.”

Angelo had made that remark right before they began, but Firo had only answered with an awkward smile.

“Well, if you wanna know what I’m getting out of this—it’s for myself, more than anyone. It’s something I kinda always wanted to do. Show off a little in front of my family. Stupid, I know.”

Remembering what he’d said, Firo flushed and shook his head.

That was reason enough for him to fight—and he would fight the whole world if he had to. Maybe he wanted to prove it to them—or at least to Ennis.

To show her the best of the man she’d married.

While Firo was putting his soul on the line for his current family—

—the boy who’d gambled his life for the sake of a long-gone ancestor quietly stood in the path of a man.

“Hmm…?” Bride had made a narrow escape from the bridge, but then the blond boy had confronted him. “You’re…Luchino?”

“Yes. I suppose I should say it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I see. Good-bye, then,” Bride murmured and tried to slip past Luchino.

“…Would you wait a minute?”

“What is it? I have no business with you,” he said without emotion. There was no displeasure in his words; it was only a simple statement.

That said, even under these circumstances—the man’s smile looked happy.

He made Luchino sick to his stomach. “I’d like to ask you something,” Luchino said in a strangled rasp. “…I don’t know who you and your people are, but there is one thing I’m interested in… What…is your goal? What did you hope to achieve by killing my people?”

“It’s simple,” Bride answered matter-of-factly, slowing to a stop. “You were killed by our desire. That’s all.”

“Desire, hmm? …You and I have that in common, then.”

“For all living creatures, appetite is instinct. When mountain ascetics wish to renounce all desire, it’s nothing more than another form of des—”

As he was speaking, the ships’ hulls scraped together again with a shuddering impact.

In an instant, Luchino closed the distance between them and ran the stiletto he’d been hiding into Bride’s side. He didn’t hesitate—and for once, he didn’t even feel like throwing up.

This man had defiled his companions’ lives and dragged the Mask Maker name through the mud. He couldn’t let these crimes go unpunished.

However—

“Excuse me. You’re in my way.”

As if the weapon that had impaled him side to back wasn’t even worth mentioning, the man swept Luchino aside. He was dreadfully strong, and Luchino was dashed to the ground easily.

“…Any more than that will hurt, you know.”

He smiled, but his eyes weren’t even seeing the boy. Taking one quiet step forward, Bride said something that might or might not have had any significance.

“In any case—with regard to both our thoughts and our actions, you and I have so little in common it’s frightening. I don’t have your resolve, and you don’t have my faith. While resolve and faith may seem like two different things, they’re both sides of the same coin; it’s the vector that’s different. Meaning you and I can do nothing but pass each other by, I suppose.”

He didn’t even bother to look at Luchino…

…and that was why he couldn’t figure out how the trick was done.

“Right… Me too… I wasn’t planning to talk with you in the first place.”

“…?”

“I already know we have nothing in common. A conversation between us is impossible. I’ve known the whole time! Yes, the president of the Mask Makers realized it the moment your people killed subordinates I cared about! …As for Luchino… As for the magician Rookie, I was just—”

Luchino’s lips twisted in a grin, and he huffed a tiny laugh.

“I was just—waiting for the perfect moment.”

“…?”

Wondering what he meant, Bride began to turn around, and in that instant—

—a massive force suddenly pulled at him, powerful enough to rip him apart, and he dropped helplessly to the deck.

He’d completely failed to notice, but Luchino’s stab with the stiletto hadn’t been trying to inflict lethal damage. He had used that moment to wind around Bride the sturdy fiber he used to “levitate” during his magic shows.

The end of that fiber—was attached to the Entrance’s edge, which was rocking toward them and away like a pendulum.

“Ngh…ghk…”

Still on the ground, Bride was dragged away helplessly.

The boy didn’t watch. He just walked away.

“If he’d been afraid of the pain of getting stabbed…maybe he would have been saved.”

Bride slid rapidly over the deck and right over the edge.

By a stroke of luck, the Entrance and Exit chose that instant to rock back toward each other again, and gravity pulled him down between the ships, toward the ocean.

“Ghk…”

He managed to grab the lowest part of the railing, but his hands were slick with sweat, and he couldn’t support his weight the way he wanted to.

It was only a matter of time before he fell—until someone caught his hands.

The one who’d stopped him before he could plunge into the ocean was…

“Lucotte?”

…the woman Bride had brought with him as his temporary wife.

Celice had already stripped off her red-and-black dress and thrown it away, and all she was wearing above the waist was her bra. She was holding Bride’s hands firmly, supporting his weight.

“You’re lighter than I thought you’d be… Let me tell you something. And I’m not speaking to the crazy cult leader; I’m talking to the crazy man who took me as his wife.”

As she held him over the railing, the light had fully returned to her eyes.

“Listen. People get hurt and suffer pain, and that pain makes them stronger. You want to know why I have it together right now? It’s because of you and your little followers.”

“…”

After that sarcastic jeer—Celice smiled quietly.

“And this is for the crazy cult leader.”

She smiled with genuine, heartfelt satisfaction.

“Die weak and die numb, you fucking son of a bitch.”

Right after she spoke, the hull of the Entrance rocked back toward them again.

Both ships were floating at the same height, and the other vessel bore down with a force fit to crush anyone who might be hanging on to the outer edge of this one—

—and Celice didn’t let go until right before the collision.

In the end, Celice never did get to hear Bride scream. However…

…the spray of blood, the crunch of the impact, and the man’s severed arms flying across the deck were enough for her.

The sight spread among the group in red-and-black clothes in an instant—

—and the fanatics abruptly began to withdraw. It was such a swift, unerring retreat that there wasn’t even time to wonder, Where to?

As if they were a single life-form, the believers of SAMPLE vanished like the receding tide.

The deck and the bridge were now completely deserted except for the corpses, while Firo and the gunslinger racked their brains about whether what they’d just seen had actually happened.

But the gruesome corpses littering the bridge and the shark animatronic, which was still emitting a faint stream of gas out on deck, told them that the senseless killing had been a fact.

…Hopeless and sickening…

“…It’s quiet now.”

Still holding her gun, Illness murmured with a sigh of relief.

She was on the bridge of the Entrance, and behind her were the children at the center of this incident: Czes, who was keeping a wary eye on the situation outside; Claudia and Charon; Bobby (who was still wearing the Gear suit, for some reason) and his friends; and Carnea, who was hiding behind them.

Naturally, the captain and crew were also present and were busy checking the instruments, but they seemed to have their hands full trying to recover and maintain the crashed ship’s systems.

“I-it’s over…? Is it safe now, or what?”

Bobby very nearly sank to the floor, but he managed to stop himself when he sensed Carnea’s eyes on him.

“Um… It’s thanks to you, Bobby!”

“No, uh, I didn’t…do anything…”

“Truer words were never spoken. All you did was retrieve the gas from the ship’s vents.”

“And we’re the ones who did most of the retrieving anyway.”

“I’m hungryyy.”

Bobby was discouraged by the comments from his friends, and Carnea comforted him.

As she watched this happy-looking scene, Illness quietly remembered the boys who had once come to save her and lost their lives in the attempt.

If they had saved me…would we have been like these children?

She was about to heave a little sigh, but that was when Claudia hugged her, beaming.

“Thank you, Illness! We’re safe, and it’s all because of you!”

“O-oh, no… No, I didn’t— I mean, you’re the one who organized everything, Claudia…”

The direct praise made Illness blush, and she wasn’t sure what to say.

Czes’s tense voice cut her off before she could go further.

“Huh? Something’s coming this— What the heck?! Humans can’t move like—”

The next instant—there was a crash. The sturdy glass on the bridge shattered to smithereens, and an enormous figure flew in from outside the ship.

Aging?! …No!

This one was even bulkier than the giant Illness knew.

“How fortunate… I just happened to spot you on the bridge over here,” the huge gorilla-faced man said to Czes. “Well. Now that our leader has passed beyond the veil, we must at least acquire a new sacrificial god.” He took a look around the bridge—and suddenly, his eyes stopped on Illness.

“Hmm? You wretch… I mean, young lady… Are you Illness? Why are you here?”

“Huh…?”

“What a stroke of luck, to obtain two gods…” It was an odd thing to say as the gorilla-faced man took out his handgun, right in front of Illness. “We don’t need the rest.”

He turned the muzzle on Claudia, who was standing next to Illness, and in that moment—

—several people sprang into action.

Illness shoved Claudia away, shielding her from the gun with her body.

At the same time, Czes slid in front of her. The bullet passed cleanly through his shoulder, but it wasn’t going nearly as fast when it sank into the flesh of Illness’s side.

“Ghk…ah…!” Illness gave an inarticulate scream.

The next instant, the boy in the Gear costume ran up. “WAAAAaaaaaaAAAaaugh!”

Bobby was not thinking of any plan or his chances of success. There were only two things in his mind: what Claudia had said to him—“As long as you’re wearing that suit—make sure you act like a real hero from start to finish”—and the question of who he wanted to become a hero for. The answer was the girl who was standing right behind him.

He’d simply moved as his emotions dictated—but he played his role magnificently.

The simple yet vital role of distracting the man, only for a moment.

As the gorilla-faced man involuntarily turned the gun toward Bobby, Charon’s toes cut in smoothly from the side to land a solid hit on his hand.

“Gmph!”

The gorilla fumbled the gun and began swinging his arms around as if he believed his bare hands would still be enough—but then a red liquid hit him right in the eyes.

Illness had gotten in close to him and used the blood streaming from her side to blind him.

The next moment, her hands still smeared with her own blood, Illness set her finger on the trigger—

—and a volley from the submachine gun ripped the gorilla’s upper body apart.

A few seconds later—Illness collapsed into Claudia’s arms and smiled quietly up at her. She wondered—had she managed to risk her life for another, as those boys had once done for her?

“Say…Claudia? I’m not weird, am I…? I’m not—ill or anything like it, am I?”

“Nope, you’re not weird at all. I don’t care if anyone says otherwise. I’ve said it’s true.”

“Ah-ha-ha… Why…? I really was a terrorist… Why are you so…nice to me, Claudia…?”

Illness was smiling weakly.

As she stanched her bleeding, Claudia gave her an encouraging smile in return. “I’m… It’s not that the world accepts me,” she said firmly. “I’m the one who accepts the world. That’s what I think.”

“…?”

“And so…I’d never betray the world I accepted. Because, I mean, I’ve already accepted it. It can betray me as much as it wants, but as for me—I’ll keep loving my world forever. That’s all there is to it.”

What Claudia said made no sense at all, and Illness gazed at her for a while—but she was just happy Claudia was smiling at her. Illness returned that smile as she drifted off to sleep.

“Thank…you.”

With Illness still in her arms, Claudia shouted, “We’re taking her to the infirmary!” With that, she and Charon carried her off.

As he watched them go, Czes was relieved that Illness’s wound wasn’t a fatal one.

“Come to think of it… That gorilla… From what he said, it sounded like he was after me…”

As he spoke, Czes turned toward the man’s body. Then he froze.

He was looking at where the gorilla-faced man had been standing—but there was no corpse.

He wasn’t dead…?! And…he got away?

Did Czes notice as he asked himself what had happened?

The gorilla’s blood had sprayed all over the room when Illness shot him—but it had all vanished as well.

Thirty minutes later

All was quiet on the ship.

The ordinary passengers didn’t seem to have recovered from the shock of the collision yet, and they were still in their cabins.

Just one, a man who appeared to be Japanese, had jumped from the Exit to the Entrance, screaming “Hiroko!”—but nobody had gone to the trouble of stopping him.

At present, the ship that had arrived to pick up the Mask Makers had come up alongside the Entrance. On board, a smiling Rookie was thanking Life.

“Excellent work, Life. It’s a shame we weren’t able to retrieve Illness, but I’m truly glad you came back to us.”

“…I’m not unscathed, either, mind you. And I’m the only one who wasn’t informed of the maneuver following the collision, so I’d like to report an issue with our chain of communication, if I may,” Life said, shaking his head wearily.

Rookie smiled at him quietly, then slowly walked up behind him. “I see. Then let me show you a magic trick to cheer you up.”

“What’s this about, all of a sudden? Don’t bother; it will keep until we’re back—”

“No… It’s already begun.”

And the next instant—

Clink.

“…Huh?”

Rookie’s empty hands now held a pair of handcuffs—and Life’s hands, which had been dangling behind the chair, were restrained in the blink of an eye.

“Excuse me? …Is this some kind of joke?”

“Oh, there’s just something I’d like to check,” he said as someone poked his head in from outside the cabin.

“!”

A gunslinger in black.

The man should have been the Mask Makers’ enemy under any circumstances. When he appeared, Life looked around the room, but…none of them—not Rookie, nor Aging, nor his surviving companions from the Entrance—seemed to have any questions about the gunman’s presence. They were quietly watching the situation unfold.

“Wait a minute, what is this?”

Flustered, Life struggled, flailing his arms and legs. The gunslinger—Angelo—took a step closer to Life. With no hesitation, he ripped the goggles off his face.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“Don’t be so cold. It’s not like we don’t know each other,” the gunman muttered quietly, and his expression was vaguely sad beneath his sunglasses. “Right, demolition guy?”

More silence.

An unbearable hush hung over the ship—and the next instant, a coarse chuckle escaped Life’s lips to drive it away.

“Hya-ha… Hya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Damn! The kid, huh…? It was that little shit Charon, wasn’t it?”

The one who responded wasn’t the gunslinger, but the Mask Maker who had Charon’s autograph on his mask.

“…Yeah. Well, I mean, when he said he’d heard you do that ‘Hya-ha, hya-ha’ laugh while talking to a ‘Mr. Angelo’… Makes it pretty clear how you got those guns to the gunslinger, too.”

“Well, shit. I really shoulda whipped out the bombs and whatever else it took to get rid of him! Yeah, that’s right! I put Mr. Angelo’s guns in with the Mask Makers’ weapons! You think I could’ve gotten them in this easy otherwise?! Hya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

There was no trace of Life in the demolition guy’s demeanor.

The gunslinger lowered his eyes. He must have had a million questions he wanted to ask, but instead, he asked just one. “Was it you…who shot our former boss…in the back?”

“I’m gonna let you figure that one out on your own.”

Angelo ground his teeth at the casual bluff, but—

—soon, his expression went surprisingly calm—and he started toward the door that connected to the Entrance.

“I’ll let you take care of him. After he coughs up his objective, do whatever you want with him.”

“Are you sure?”

“A minute ago, the boss ordered me not to kill anybody else. She was crying—” The gunman seemed to have a weight lifted off his shoulders as he quietly put the room behind him. “And I don’t kill women or children. I have no more business with you.”

The only ones left were the Mask Makers, whose eyes were as cold as ice…

…and a man who had once been Life, and now had no identity at all.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t look so scary— Gweeh!”

Rookie slammed a kick into his solar plexus, and Life (or the demolition guy) writhed on the floor.

As he looked down at the man, the boy quietly spoke.

“Now, then… All right. If we’re going to talk about what’s brought us to this point, it’s necessary to mentally switch gears.”

And—the boy put on his mask.

A mask without emotion that would enable him to dispose of his treacherous companion.

In the end, was the mask there to hide the boy’s own tearful expression or to keep him from seeing what was in front of him? Even he didn’t know. He only continued to wear it.

As if he was hoping that mask would become his true face.

On the deck of the Entrance, everything had begun to settle down.

Firo lay spread-eagle on his back, gazing at the plumes of smoke rising here and there, while Czes sat next to him.

“Hey, Czes,” he said.

“What is it, Firo?”

“You think…I did everything I needed to for our family?”

He was apparently asking about that reckless battle he’d fought a moment ago.

Czes shook his head with exasperation and looked coldly down at him. “…Don’t you think making us worry about you means you failed?”

“Ouch.” Exhausted, Firo covered his face with his hands while Czes went on impassively.

“And what does that mean to you anyway? What do you think you have to do? Protect me and Ennis and be a badass?”

“…I dunno. What do you think, Czes? What does it mean to you?”

“I think…just coming home and spending time with us is enough.” As he spoke, Czes’s eyes shifted toward the entrance to the ship.

Firo raised his head slightly and saw Ennis running toward them.

“All right. This third wheel is going to make himself scarce.”

“H-hey! Czes!”

Looking back and forth between the departing Czes and the incoming Ennis, Firo thought about what he should say.

Dammit, what are you supposed to say at times like this?! Wait, is Ennis mad? Should I apologize? No, but… Oh, right, I can just tell her I love her… N-n-n-no, no way, I can’t! That mushy stuff’s so embarrassing! But I do like her an awful lot, so… Aaaaah!

Inside his heart, the words he wanted to say to Ennis welled up, spilled over, and disappeared.

Realizing he was worrying in earnest about what to tell Ennis, as she came closer—

“…We’re on our honeymoon, so maybe she’ll let me get away with just a kiss?”

—vaguely, Firo understood that he was happy.