'Heh heh heh. When asking for someone else's name, shouldn't you introduce yourself first, Memokeeper…'
The voice in the memory let out a heh-heh-heh laugh—mocking, playful, and sarcastic all at once—sounding extremely uncomfortable to the ear.
"I am a Memokeeper of the Garden of Recollection—Black Swan. It is a pleasure to meet you."
'Oh? So you're from the Garden of Recollection. My name is Constance. Nice to meet you… We were supposed to meet in Penacony and spend an unforgettable period of time together…'
'But unfortunately, that seems impossible now. The star of the festival does not welcome the dahlia… And you… I know what you're looking for…'
At this point, the voice paused slightly, then continued in a mocking tone.
'You want to find [her] secret, right? I can tell you. In return, enjoy the festival properly for me, Memokeeper…'
The voice in the memory gradually faded away. However, Black Swan's brows furrowed even deeper. She did not understand what Constance was plotting. According to the other party's words, she should have already died under that person's blade. So why…
'Ring ring! Ring ring!…'
Just as Black Swan fell into deep thought, the telephone in Acheron's room suddenly began ringing. The repeated ringing echoed through the somewhat empty room, carrying a faint trace of eeriness.
"...…The phone. Shall I answer it?"
At the same time, on the other end of the line—Penacony, reality, Golden Hour…
"Son of a gun! Why isn't that impostor picking up the phone yet? How long has it been?"
Inside the phone booth, Boothill was impatiently dialing the number to Acheron's room. From time to time, he tapped the dial with his index finger, looking thoroughly annoyed.
"Hey! You guy inside, are you done with the call yet? This is a public phone booth. Can you stop hogging it?"
Seeing Boothill monopolizing the street-corner phone booth, the Pepeshi waiting in line outside protested discontentedly. The small figure hopped up and down, yet even so, his height barely reached Boothill's chest.
"Son of a gun! You little shorty, get lost! This lord is in a bad mood right now, so don't provoke me!"
Boothill originally had no intention of responding to the Pepeshi's shouting, but this little shorty was bouncing around far too much and was genuinely irritating him.
"L-Little shorty?"
Hearing Boothill's words, the Pepeshi instantly froze like a broken statue, gradually weathering away.
"You! Are you discriminating against us Pepeshi?!" After a long while, the Pepeshi finally recovered from his petrification and angrily pointed at Boothill, questioning him.
His voice attracted the attention of many more people. Numerous tourists and members of his own race stopped to watch.
The tourists were fine; they mostly watched the conflict between the Pepeshi and Boothill with an attitude of enjoying the show. But for the Pepeshi's fellow kin, it was a different story.
Pepeshi were short, somewhat resembling dwarves—a trait determined by their genes at birth. Because of this, they had been mocked by outsiders many times, and it had become a strict taboo among their race.
Normally, these guys might scheme against each other in private, but once a matter of principle like this arose, the Pepeshi would display unprecedented unity—just like now…
"Huh? What do you little shorties want?"
Boothill, who was still waiting for the phone to be answered, frowned slightly. He saw that several Pepeshi had already gathered outside the phone booth, and the crowd was still growing.
"Apologize!"
Someone suddenly shouted. Immediately after, all the Pepeshi present exploded like a pot of boiling oil, all shouting demands for Boothill to apologize.
The momentum created by these Pepeshi was enormous. During this time, more and more continued to join their ranks. In less than a minute, the crowd had grown from the initial three or four to dozens.
The onlookers who had stopped also became interested. They wanted to see how Boothill would handle this—would he apologize meekly or turn and run?
Hmm… Normally he should apologize, right? At least that was what most people thought, because many Pepeshi had already taken photos of Boothill and were preparing to post them online to let him feel the pressure of public opinion.
However, who was Boothill? He was a wanted criminal with a bounty from the Interastral Peace Corporation. Would he care about so-called public opinion?
"Son of a gun! If I don't teach you brats a lesson, you'll really think I'm easy to bully?!"
'Bang! Bang! Bang!'
Losing all patience with these Pepeshi, Boothill directly pulled out the revolver from his waist and fired three shots at the feet of the Pepeshi in the front row.
In an instant, the entire world fell silent. Whether it was the tourists who had stopped to watch or the Pepeshi denouncing Boothill, everyone was as if a mute button had been pressed. They stood frozen in place without making a sound.
"M-Murder!"
The crowd scattered in panic. Everyone fled in all directions. In less than ten seconds, only Boothill remained at the scene.
"Hahaha, now the whole world is quiet."
...…
Shifting the view back to Acheron's room.
In front of the antique rotary phone, Black Swan hesitated for a moment before ultimately following her heart and stepping forward to answer the call.
The moment Black Swan picked up the receiver and brought it close to her ear, Boothill's extremely impatient voice came from the other end.
"Son of a— You finally picked up! Long time no see, Acheron. Are you enjoying yourself in Penacony?"
'Who is this person? He doesn't seem to be from the Ever-Flame Mansion. Let me listen a bit more…'
Seeing that "Acheron" did not reply, Boothill on the other end continued speaking.