Chunks of shattered stone lay scattered like broken teeth. Workers hauled splintered beams aside while members of the church formed lines, passing rubble from hand to hand.
Tanaka lowered a slab of cracked masonry onto the growing pile and wiped his brow.
"Alright," he muttered, flexing his fingers. "This area's cleared."
Melty, standing nearby, blinked at the size of the stones he'd just moved. "You're far stronger than you look, James."
A faint ripple of Yin mana shimmered around his hand, barely visible, like heat distortion. The technique was subtle but precise. By reducing his own mass, he made himself lighter. By extending that manipulation outward, he thinned the weight of whatever he touched.
Melty offered a grateful smile. "Thank you for helping out."
"It must feel great," she added, studying him, "to speak normally like this."
Tanaka instinctively reached up and brushed his fingers against the mask resting against his face.
"Well," he said, voice steady and unstrained, "it's thanks to this new enchanted mask that knight provided."
His previous one had been lost in the chaos. He had planned to replace it himself, but Tristan had appeared the very next day with this one, an intricately crafted magical item woven with perception-distorting enchantments.
Not unlike the robe Emilia used.
Convenient.
"Anyway," Tanaka continued, lowering his hand, "there's no need to thank me. This is mostly my fault…"
The words left him quieter than before.
Melty immediately puffed her cheeks in frustration."I told you to stop saying that! What happened to the church wasn't your fault!"
Tanaka's smile returned, soft, practiced.
"Haha… thank you."
He didn't argue.
Then, a sudden chill crept up his spine.
His shoulders stiffened.
Someone was staring.
He didn't need to turn to know who.
Across the courtyard, Tristan carried an enormous boulder on his shoulder. There was no shimmer of mana around him.
Just raw, monstrous strength.
And yet, despite the weight resting against him, Tristan's sharp gaze remained fixed squarely on Tanaka.
Tanaka sighed under his breath."…He's still suspicious of me."
Even with the curse binding him, making it literally impossible for him to commit evil, Tristan shadowed him relentlessly.
Tanaka dusted off his hands and turned back to Melty.
"Can you tell that angry cat I'm heading back to the pub?" he muttered. "I promised Garitch-San I'd help him. It's tough for that old man to handle everything alone."
His days had divided cleanly since the collapse.
Mornings were for rubble, rebuilding what had fallen.
Evenings were for the pub.
Melty gave him an exasperated look. "It's a bit rude to call him a cat."
A faint smirk tugged at Tanaka's lips as he glanced once more toward Tristan, whose glare had not softened in the slightest.
"But… thank you again for coming to help," she added more softly.
Tanaka gave a small wave as he turned away.
___
____
_____
The streets of Banan were slowly returning to life.
Vendors had reopened their stalls and children darted between adults, careful to avoid the carts hauling debris toward the outskirts of the city.
Tanaka walked at an unhurried pace, hands tucked into his sleeves.
"Hey, Jay!"
He flinched.
That voice.
Slowly, already regretting it, he turned.
A woman in an immaculate white kimono stood a short distance away, sunlight catching in the silky folds of the fabric. The garment was wrapped right over left, secured with a lime-green obi that gleamed softly like polished jade. Her long hair flowed freely down her back, moving as if stirred by a breeze no one else could feel.
The Great Spirit, Zarestia, lifted her hand and waved brightly.
For the past several days, Tanaka had done his absolute best to avoid her.
And yet...
She kept appearing.
Around corners.
On rooftops.
Behind lamp posts.
It was deeply unsettling.
Even more insane was the fact that she could still recognize him through the enchanted mask, a magical item specifically designed to distort perception and muddle recognition.
And yet she looked directly at him.
Every time.
As she jogged toward him, far too graceful for it to be called running, Tanaka glanced around quickly to ensure no one was listening.
"I told you not to call me that nickname," he muttered sharply. "It sends shivers down my spine."
A red-haired nun.
Sonia.
She used to call him that.
Before he killed her.
Even now, the memory left something crawling under his skin.
Zarestia tilted her head, amused.
"Then would you prefer I call you by your real name? Stri—"
"Augh! Stop!" Tanaka hissed, cutting her off before the rest could leave her lips. He stepped closer, lowering his voice urgently. "Anything but that!"
She was doing this on purpose.
There was no other explanation.
Why was she so allergic to calling someone by their full name like a normal person?
They resumed walking toward the pub, Zarestia drifting beside him rather than truly stepping. People moved around her unconsciously, never quite colliding.
"Listen," Tanaka said quietly as the wooden sign of the pub came into view. "When I go inside, don't talk to me in front of Garitch."
Zarestia blinked. "Who?"
"The old man who runs the pub."
"And?"
"He doesn't know I can speak."
She stared at him.
"…Why?"
"Because until recently, I couldn't," Tanaka replied flatly. "The new magic makes it possible, yes. But if I suddenly start chatting in front of someone who's known me as mute for months, that raises questions."
Zarestia hummed thoughtfully.
"That does sound complicated for no reason."
"It is complicated."
He pushed open the pub door.
The familiar scent of ale, wood polish, and something fried welcomed him inside.
Tanaka immediately reached into his sleeve for parchment. The mask's enchantment interfered slightly with people's ability to recognize him clearly; usually he had to draw attention first before they fully registered who he was.
He prepared a note that read:
I'm back.
But before he could even lift it...
Garitch vaulted over the counter.
"James! Thank god you're back!"
Tanaka froze.
Under the mask, his eyes widened.
Garitch grabbed him by the shoulders as if confirming he was physically real.
Then the old man's gaze shifted to the woman beside him.
He blinked once.
Twice.
His brows rose.
"Seriously," Garitch said, giving Tanaka a knowing look, "every time you show up, it's with a new beauty. You're going to earn the wrath of every single man in this district."
Tanaka hurriedly began scribbling another note.
But Garitch waved him off.
"You know what? Good for you!" the old man declared with a hearty laugh. "Youth should be wasted properly!"
He slapped Tanaka twice on the shoulder.
"Anyway, watch the pub for me. I've got an important card game to attend."
Tanaka stiffened.
Important.
Of course.
With another firm pat, Garitch added, "Keep an eye on things, alright? You're a reliable one. See you later!"
And just like that, the old man grabbed his coat and hurried out the door with suspicious urgency.
The pub fell quiet.
Tanaka stood there for a long moment.
Then he slowly turned his masked face toward Zarestia.
"…Is this thing even working?" he asked under his breath.
Zarestia smiled serenely.
"Yes. It's working."
That made no sense.
It was understandable if powerful individuals could pierce the enchantment through sheer strength or refined mana control.
But Garitch?
That crazy old geezer had bulldozed through advanced magical distortion purely through his desire to gamble.
Tanaka exhaled deeply.
"…Unbelievable."
He walked behind the counter and tied the apron around his waist, taking his usual position.
He began wiping down the counter, then reached for a row of cloudy glass cups, polishing them one by one until they caught the lantern light.
Across from him, Zarestia simply… sat.
Not on a stool.
On the counter itself.
Her white kimono pooled around her like spilled moonlight, lime-green obi bright against the darker wood.
They sat in silence for a while.
Tanaka wiped.
Zarestia watched.
Finally, she spoke.
"So from what I've observed…" she began thoughtfully, resting her chin in her palm. "In summary, you are a pushover."
Tanaka didn't look up.
"…Is that all you concluded after that long silence?"
"It's part of it," she replied lightly. "You let that little girl scold you. You let the knight glare at you. You accept blame for things that aren't yours."
She gestured vaguely toward the window.
"And you were cleaning rubble this morning."
Tanaka paused mid-wipe.
"…Are you a stalker?" he asked flatly. "How do you always know where I am?"
She shook her head, lifting her wrist.
"It's because of this bracelet. For some reason, I can see a trail that leads me to you."
Tanaka frowned and leaned closer, peering at the delicate band wrapped around her wrist.
"Huh? How does that even work?"
"I don't know," she said defensively. "That's why I said 'for some reason.' It's been like this since the day I met you."
He kept staring at it longer than necessary.
When he finally looked up, he noticed she was staring at him now, eyes sharp with curiosity.
He straightened immediately.
"…What do you want anyway?"
"My light ball," she replied without hesitation. "When are you giving it back?"
Tanaka let out a long sigh and resumed wiping the glass.
"Listen carefully. No matter how many times you ask, the answer is the same. I don't have it. I don't know where it is."
She blinked.
"…What do you mean? You told me you knew who took it."
Silence.
Tanaka's gaze drifted to the side.
The cloth continued moving in slow, deliberate circles.
Zarestia stared.
He ignored her.
She slid off the counter and leaned across it instead, folding her arms, bringing her face closer to his.
Still staring.
Tanaka adjusted another glass.
The silence thickened.
Her face inched closer.
Closer.
Until their foreheads were nearly touching.
Tanaka snapped, stepping back sharply.
"Okay! Let me think for a second!"
Zarestia smoothly shifted, now crouching fully on the counter like a cat.
"What is there to think about?" she demanded. "I want it back."
Tanaka ran a hand through his hair beneath the mask, buying time.
Then, carefully...
"Do you really need that thing back?"
"Yes."
"No hesitation?"
"Yes."
"Doesn't it make you…?" he pressed. "Bloodthirsty?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"You," she said slowly, "how do you know that?"
Tanaka didn't answer immediately.
"You're the stalker," she accused.
"Yes," she continued bluntly. "The light ball amplifies my desire to kill."
There was no shame in her voice.
Only fact.
"But it's an irreplaceable gift," she added quietly. "Priceless. I cannot abandon it. No matter what it does to me."
Tanaka fell silent.
He had been stalling for this ever since he came to Kararagi.
But this conversation was inevitable.
"Listen," she said, leaning forward again, voice lower now. "I know what you're worried about. But once I retrieve it, I'll return to the forest. My home. As long as no one intrudes…"
Her lips curved faintly.
"I won't kill anyone."
The pub lanterns flickered softly.
Still no response.
"Hey, Jay."
Nothing.
Her expression darkened slightly.
"Stop ignoring me," she warned lightly. "Or I'll kill you even without my light ball."
Tanaka stood perfectly still.
His posture didn't shift.
His breathing didn't change.
Even the cloth in his hand had frozen mid-motion.
Zarestia's eyes sharpened.
"…Jay?"
Something was off...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The space around Tanaka shifted.
Sound vanished first.
Then color bled outward, stretching thin like wet paint dragged across glass.
The pub fractured without shattering, lantern light dissolving into pale streaks, wooden beams thinning into lines, the scent of ale and smoke evaporating into nothing.
And then...
Blue.
An endless blue sky unfolded overhead.
White clouds drifted lazily across it, casting slow-moving shadows over rolling hills of impossibly vivid green. The grass swayed in a wind that felt artificial, rhythmic, like a looped animation.
"Back to the Windows XP background, huh?" Tanaka muttered dryly.
Here he was again.
The Castle of Solitude.
It was a virtual space but he always wondered if this place actually existed in the real world.
He stood alone at the base of a gentle hill, hands still positioned as if holding the frozen cloth.
Tanaka exhaled.
"…You could at least send an invitation next time."
His gaze lifted toward the crest of the hill.
There, beneath a solitary white parasol that had no visible source of support, sat a man in immaculate robes. The fabric looked ancient in design, yet untouched by time, not a wrinkle, not a speck of dust.
White hair cascaded down his neck.
He sat with regal indifference, one leg crossed over the other, posture effortless.
His icy blue eyes were already fixed on Tanaka.
Cepheus.
The air around him felt colder, though the sun above shone warmly.
A silence stretched between them before the white-haired man finally spoke.
"What exactly are you trying to do?"
Tanaka slipped his hands into his sleeves, adopting a casual stance.
"I'm not following," he replied flatly. "And can you stop summoning me here without warning? I was in the middle of something."
"Zarestia," Cepheus said, unmoved. "What exactly are you stalling for?"
Tanaka tilted his head slightly.
"What do you mean?"
Cepheus's gaze sharpened a fraction.
"Stop playing dumb."
The wind moved across the hills in slow waves.
Tanaka didn't answer.
Didn't blink.
Cepheus continued, his voice calm, almost bored.
"Why haven't you killed her yet?"
The question hung in the air, Tanaka's expression didn't change.
But something behind his eyes did.