The sky was still gray when Kouji returned to the Association.
He didn't rush.
The dirt and dried blood on his jacket weren't dramatic — just silent evidence. The two children had already been retrieved by an emergency team. He'd sent the coordinates in before walking away.
He didn't look back at the battlefield.
Didn't look at the broken wall where the spear still hung.
Didn't look at the blood.
Just walked.
At HQ, the report room was quiet.
Ryo stood behind the desk, arms folded, waiting.
Kouji handed over the mission folder — freshly written, short and to the point.
"Yorihito attempted to attack two civilian minors.
I intervened.
He fled."
Ryo skimmed the page.
He didn't ask for details. But his gaze lifted when he reached the last line.
"You let him escape?"
Kouji's voice was steady. "I let him live."
A pause.
Then Ryo nodded. "Understood."
He didn't ask about the Devil.
Not yet.
But Kouji could feel the tension behind Ryo's eyes.
He was watching everything.
Reading every word, every breath.
And Kouji… didn't care.
For the first time in weeks, his power moved the way he wanted it to.
"You could've killed him, the Devil said, quietly, in the back of his mind."
Kouji: I didn't want to.
"Mercy looks good on you.
You'll need it… for now."
After filing the report, Kouji didn't return to his room right away.
He found himself wandering instead, feet carrying him to the upper balcony near the south glass wall — the one overlooking the city.
Even now, with the sky dark and the streets quiet, the world felt heavier. Not in a crushing way. Just... loaded. Like someone had finally placed the right key into a locked door.
He didn't hear her footsteps.
But he knew it was her before she spoke.
"You're back."
Yumi.
She leaned on the railing beside him, hair loosely, her Association jacket hanging off one shoulder like she hadn't bothered to wear it properly.
Kouji nodded.
"Rough mission?" she asked gently.
He didn't answer.
She didn't press. Just looked at him for a moment.
"You feel different," she said. "Not worse. Just… not quiet anymore."
Kouji's hand twitched at his side.
"I'm still me," he said.
"Didn't say you weren't."
A silence passed.
She glanced at him again. "If you ever want to talk—"
"I know."
More silence.
Then she looked back at the city. "I'll just stand here for a bit."
Kouji didn't stop her.
He didn't leave either.
That night, Yorihito didn't make it far.
He ran — bleeding, dragging his half-broken body through back alleys and unregistered doors.
He made it to a safehouse — stashed under a disused rail station.
The lights flickered above as he crawled onto the floor, muttering half-coherent curses, blood trailing across the tiles.
He reached for the phone on the wall.
But a voice answered before he could speak.
"You weren't supposed to hurt him."
Yorihito froze.
He turned slowly.
The man stood in the shadows — calm, hands in his coat pockets, yellow eyes watching with no visible emotion.
Yorihito choked. "He—he's not normal. He's dangerous. He—"
"I know," The man said softly.
He stepped closer.
"And I told you not to act."
Yorihito tried to move — string formed at his fingertips, weak, unstable.
The man didn't move fast.
He didn't need to.
One gesture — a flick of two fingers.
The string unraveled.
Yorihito's breath caught.
The last thing he saw was the Man stepping forward, hand outstretched —
and the metal beams around the room twisting inward like obedient snakes.
Kouji never heard about the body.
Officially, Yorihito disappeared.
But Ryo didn't look surprised when the file was quietly sealed.
And Kouji didn't ask.
He had other things to think about now.