Amidst the cheerful sound of Mahiro's and Kisara's laughter, Enju's small cheeks flushed a deep crimson, like the morning sun rising over Tokyo Bay.
Clinging shyly to Mahiro's sleeve, Enju peeked out from behind him, both embarrassed and comforted by his presence. For Asaka Mibu, watching this scene carried a strange warmth. Though it embarrassed her to remember it now, back then—those moments of laughter, of hiding, of feeling wanted—were her most precious memories.
But such a relaxed and sweet atmosphere never lasted long. It was shattered the moment Rentaro burst into the office.
"Before you die, Satomi… do you have any last words?"
The chilling words came from Tendo Kisara, her arms crossed, one boot tapping the floor with an impatient click-clack. Her voice was cold as ice, her fury palpable.
Rentaro froze, sweat dripping down his cheek. He knew this tone all too well.
Mahiro leaned back in his chair with a sigh. This scene… this had repeated countless times in the past year.
Once again, Rentaro had completed a commission—only to forget to collect payment. And of course, the client, hiding behind the excuse of being a police officer, refused to pay.
Every time, it was Mahiro who had to step in and clean up. And now, unbelievably, it had happened again.
Meanwhile, Aihara Enju was happily perched on the arm of the sofa, playing with Asaka Mibu's hair, completely unconcerned with her partner's crisis.
This wasn't her problem anyway. It was all Rentaro's fault.
And over bean sprouts, of all things. Special offer bean sprouts.
Mahiro rubbed his temple. Seriously… how do these two even survive in the "original story"? Were they blessed by some hunger-resistant ability or what? Legendary Hunger Kings, maybe?
"It's already done, what else can I do?" Rentaro tried to argue weakly.
"You baka! Don't give me that nonsense—atone with your life!!!"
Kisara roared, slamming her fist forward. Rentaro yelped and dodged just in time.
"Oi! Why are you dodging?!" Kisara shouted, her crimson eyes blazing. She slammed her fists against the desk, the wood rattling with each furious impact.
"Sixty times, Satomi! A full sixty times! If I don't teach you a lesson today, you'll never learn!"
"That's impossible! It wasn't that many times!"
"Don't play dumb with me! I've kept records of every single one, you worthless good-for-nothing! If our office relied on you alone, we'd have starved to death long ago, do you get that?!"
Rentaro scrambled as Kisara lunged after him, circling the table in a frantic chase.
"Y-you… your escape speed… is fast…!" Kisara panted, slowing down as she clutched her side. "Why don't you put this much energy into collecting payments, you idiot?!"
Breathless, she staggered back, glaring daggers.
Mahiro cleared his throat. "Let's just… work harder next time, President Kisara."
"Shut it, Mahiro-kun! Don't encourage this baka!" Kisara snapped before rounding on Rentaro again. "And another thing—don't you dare call me Miss Kisara during work! It's President! Get it right, Satomi-kun!"
Flicking her long hair back over her shoulder, she returned to her chair with an irritated "hmph," muttering, "Useless."
Rentaro let out a defeated sigh and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts with a grimace before finally pressing call.
"Don't you want my help this time?" Mahiro asked casually, leaning against the sofa.
"No need," Rentaro muttered. "I always trouble you. This is my mess, so… I'll handle it."
Mahiro raised a brow but said nothing.
On the other end of the line, a voice chuckled. "Huh? Satomi-kun? Honestly, I thought you'd just do the job for free. Let's just consider this a first-time special offer. If something happens next time, I'll be sure to contact you again. Hahaha!"
Rentaro's face paled. "Inspector Tadajima, don't joke like that! I can't face President Kisara if you—"
"What's there to explain? You're still young, right? Your boss is still in high school? Young people shouldn't always chase money. You need to build a network in this business! Anyway, I've got work. I'll hang up now."
"W-wait, Inspector! Please—"
Before he could finish, Mahiro snatched the phone from his hand.
"Oi, Inspector Tadajima, don't hang up yet."
"…And who might you be?"
"My name is Yotsuba Mahiro," he said firmly. "I'm an IFA of Tendo Civil Security Company. My colleague Satomi-kun completed the task as requested. That means you owe us payment. As for your so-called 'network'... sorry, we don't need it. Do you think your network is stronger than Atsuro Kuima's?"
His voice sharpened, his words slicing through the line like a blade.
"I suggest you transfer the payment immediately. Otherwise, Inspector, I'll come collect it myself."
Silence.
Even through the phone, Mahiro could hear the man's breath hitch, like he'd been caught off guard. There was a pause, then the sound of nervous mumbling before the line went dead.
Mahiro handed the phone back to Rentaro with a shrug. "It's done. The transfer will arrive shortly. President Kisara, please check your account."
Kisara's lips curved into a small smile of relief. "Good work, Mahiro. Without you, we'd really be in trouble." Her voice softened briefly before her gaze snapped toward Rentaro, blazing again.
"As for you—this is the last time, Satomi! If you mess up again, I'll sell you upstairs as collateral to the loan sharks! Got it?!"
Rentarō Satomi lowered his head, shoulders slumped in defeat, his voice barely more than a weak whisper.
When Kisara's anger finally simmered down, he cautiously raised his gaze. But his eyes, rather than full of gratitude, lingered on Yotsuba Mahiro with something far more complex—resentment, admiration, envy, all knotted together.
"…Thanks again, Mahiro. You really saved the day."
It was hard to tell whether his words were genuine praise or veiled sarcasm.
Mahiro, however, didn't seem to care. He simply took them at face value and offered a lazy shrug. "It's nothing. With people like this, all you need to do is grab hold of their weak point. That's all. Simple, ne?"
As the saying went, "hit a snake at its seven-inch mark." It was the same with humans. Pinpoint their weakness, and they'd cave instantly.
And Mahiro's rhetoric… it was always the same. Especially that line—"if you don't pay, I'll come collect personally."
That single sentence had become the nightmare of every client who ever thought of skipping out on their payments. Because Mahiro would show up. And when he did, the end result was always the same: the debtor paid up in full, then collapsed to the ground like a beaten dog, barely able to crawl again after three days of recovery.
That was why no one dared to owe Yotsuba Mahiro money. Not once. Not ever.
"…No, I didn't mean that."
Rentarō shook his head firmly. "What I meant was—I never imagined you actually knew Superintendent Kuima. You realize that man used to be Miss Kisara's fiancé, right?"
Mahiro's eyebrow twitched.
"Eh?!"
Superintendent Atsurō Kuima… Kisara's fiancé?!
He really hadn't known that.
But then Kisara had left the Tendō family, and with that her engagement had been automatically dissolved.
Mahiro clicked his tongue. "If you mean Atsurō Kuima… I don't know the guy at all. I just threw his name out there on the spot."
"Huh?!"
This time it was Rentarō's turn to freeze, his jaw hanging open in disbelief. The Tokyo Area Police Superintendent's name… uttered so casually… just as a bluff?
And Mahiro had waved it like a great banner, making it sound as though Kuima himself stood at his back.
But the truth? He had just seen the name scrolling past in the news feed earlier that day.
If the feed had shown Kikunojo Tendō, or even the Holy Son, Mahiro would have dropped those names just as naturally.
"What are you two whispering about?"
Kisara's sharp voice cut in as she approached, her heels tapping softly on the floor. Having confirmed that the payment had been transferred, she rose from her desk and glided over to the sofa.
"Oh, nothing." Mahiro smiled casually, waving it off. "Just chatting with Satomi about today's little request."
Then he shifted his gaze to Rentarō.
"By the way, Satomi—was today's mission dealing with an infected or with an actual Gastrea?"
"It was an infected!"
Before Rentarō could answer, Enju popped up from the side, her little face scrunched in indignation. "It was this uncle we met on the road! He'd been attacked by a Gastrea and then—bam—he turned into this creepy big spider."
Rentarō nodded gravely. "Yes. Just as Enju says, it was an infected. And the factor was… a spider again."
Mahiro's eyes narrowed. "Another spider factor, huh…"
He emphasized the another deliberately. Because this wasn't the first time.
Both the infection source before, and the infected individuals that followed… all spider factors.
It was like poking at a massive spider's nest.
And one thing was certain—this wasn't coincidence. Someone was pulling strings from the shadows. Otherwise, how could a lowly Level 1 Gastrea breach the monoliths and slip into the Tokyo Area?
But if this time the incident had involved an infected person rather than just a wild Gastrea…
"…Satomi. Did you encounter anyone suspicious at the scene?" Mahiro asked in a low tone.
"Suspicious…" Rentarō frowned, recalling carefully. "At the place where the Gastrea was? No. But at the crime scene, yes… someone appeared."
He recounted the memory in detail.
Inside that six-tatami-sized room, Rentarō had met a figure unlike any he had ever seen before: a man towering over 190 centimeters, his limbs freakishly long and thin, his body stretched unnaturally. He wore a burgundy tailcoat lined with fine vertical stripes, a tall top hat perched on his head, and over his face, a masquerade mask that concealed his true features.
That man wasn't an Initiator. Not even an IFA. He was something else entirely—a murderer who boldly declared himself "the one who would destroy the world."
"Not only that…" Rentarō's voice dropped, trembling slightly. "That man was unbelievably strong. Terrifying, even…"
The memory still clung to him, a dark weight on his chest.
Even when Rentarō had landed his strongest blow, shattering the man's neck and twisting it grotesquely out of shape, the stranger had casually snapped it back into place in the next instant, as though it were nothing.
That wasn't strength within human limits. That was something far beyond.
"…I see."
Mahiro leaned back on the sofa, resting his head against the cushion, his fingers drumming thoughtfully.
So the plot was finally beginning to move forward, huh?
Not that he was concerned about the plot itself… What mattered was his timing.
The ring still needed time—more energy before it could be fully charged.
And as for his other plans… it seemed he would need to accelerate everything.
....
Later, after leaving the office, Mahiro headed straight to Gomata Public University Affiliated Hospital. There, in the northern wing, an old acquaintance was waiting.
"Doctor! You here?"
Mahiro's voice echoed along the empty corridor, his footsteps tapping against the polished floor. The building was quiet, unnervingly so.
Behind him, two small figures clung tightly to his coattails. Neither Enju nor Asaka-chan was willing to let go.
Enju's wide crimson eyes darted nervously around, her small hands trembling as she pressed herself against his back. The word fear was practically written across her expression.
Asaka-chan, on the other hand, tried her best to maintain her usual stoic calm. But the subtle shiver in her shoulders betrayed her, showing she was no less afraid.
"M-Mahiro…" Enju's voice quavered. "Maybe we should… just go home, huh? This place gives me the creeps…"
Mahiro glanced back, his tone softening. "What about you, Asaka? Do you want to turn back too?"
"No!" Asaka-chan declared, shaking her head furiously. "I am Mahiro-sama's sword. Even if we step into the underworld itself, I'll follow you. Always."
Her words were stubborn, firm, and noble.
But her body told the truth—her hands clenched so tightly they trembled, her lip caught between her teeth.
Mahiro gave her a faint smile. "Yare yare… You're both hopeless."
He reached down and gently grasped their small hands, squeezing them reassuringly. "Relax. This isn't your first time here. You've met the doctor before. He's a good man. You'll see."
Hearing Mahiro's calm words, Enju bit her lip and nodded. She didn't complain about going home anymore. It wasn't courage alone—rather, it was the quiet reassurance of Mahiro's warm hand guiding hers, pulling her forward through the darkness.
The morgue.
Cold, dry gusts of air seeped out from deep within the corridor, carrying a chill that seemed to whisper of the dead. Both girls instinctively pressed closer to Mahiro, their small hands refusing to let go of his coattails.
But when they finally stepped inside, what greeted them wasn't at all what they had imagined.
There was no suffocating stench of disinfectant or rotting corpses. Instead, the cool air was laced with the crisp scent of minty air freshener. And rather than neat rows of gurneys or sterile lockers of cold steel, the room looked more like the lair of an eccentric hoarder.
Undergarments were scattered over chairs, half-eaten bento boxes stacked precariously on tables, and entire blackboards were crammed full of scribbles—jagged notes in German, Latin, and who-knew-what-else.
It looked less like a morgue and more like… someone's messy apartment.
Mahiro raised an eyebrow. "Figures. Only one person could turn a morgue into… this."
"Doctor? Where are you?"
"Here."
The voice floated from the shadows.
Mahiro turned—and nearly bumped face-first into a corpse. Its hollow sockets stared at him, the skull pale and gleaming beneath the dim light. The bald head still bore marks of peeled flesh, jagged scars that gave the unsettling impression it had been carved open.
"Uwaaaahhh!!"
Enju shrieked, stumbling back, nearly in tears. Asaka-chan's face blanched, her small hand clamping painfully tight around Mahiro's fingers.
And then—
"Boo."
From behind the corpse, a woman in a white lab coat stepped out, her smirk as mischievous as a fox's.
"The man-eating monster hag has appeared!! Mahiro, save meeeeee!!" Enju wailed dramatically, clinging to his leg.
Even Asaka, usually stoic, flinched visibly, her pale cheeks trembling.
The so-called "hag," however, was no hag at all.
She was stunning—a woman in her mid-twenties with skin pale as porcelain, her long dark bangs shadowing half of her sharp eyes. Her presence was strange, almost ghostly, yet there was an undeniable allure in the slender line of her frame.
This was Muroto Sumire, head of the Forensic Medicine Department and one of the foremost Gastrea researchers in the entire world.
Genius, eccentric… and hopeless shut-in.
Mahiro exhaled slowly. "Doctor Sumire… seriously, next time, could you not pull stunts like this? I can handle it, but Enju or Asaka might actually cut you down by reflex."
He set a small takeout bag on the nearby counter.
"Welcome to hell, my dear Mahiro-chan."
Sumire twirled theatrically, her white coat flaring to reveal a tight black skirt beneath, her legs sheathed in silky black stockings. She spread her arms as though greeting an honored guest.
Mahiro ignored the performance with practiced ease.
"What a cold reaction, my darling number two."
She snatched the bag with casual delight, though her face immediately fell when she peeked inside.
"…Convenience store bento again? Why is it always humanity's worst culinary failure? Ugh, the betrayal."
Mahiro sat down with the two girls, who clung to him like protective shadows. "Putting aside the disturbing nickname, why am I number two? Who's number one, then?"
"Obviously Charlie."
She gestured with her chopsticks toward the bald corpse propped up nearby.
"…Wasn't it Susan last time?" Mahiro deadpanned.
"Ah, poor Susan is no longer with us." Sumire sighed melodramatically before grinning. "But corpses, you see, are the best companions. They never argue, never betray, never nag. Only the dead truly understand me."
She shoveled rice into her mouth, chewed loudly, then added as if it were the most natural thing in the world:
"Of course, if my darling number two is willing to become my personal corpse, I'll happily promote you to number one. I'll embalm you perfectly, so your body will never rot."
"NO WAY!!"
The cry wasn't from Mahiro—it was from Enju and Asaka, who leapt in front of him like little guardian lions. They glared up at Sumire with narrowed eyes, their voices sharp with outrage.
Mahiro chuckled and patted their heads gently. "Alright, alright. Don't waste your breath on her. She's just joking, like always."
He looked back at Sumire, his tone turning serious. "I didn't come for jokes. I came for that thing I asked you about. How's the research coming along?"
"Unfeeling as always…"
Sumire pouted dramatically, though she set aside her bento box and began rummaging through the mountain of clutter behind her desk.
Mahiro didn't flinch at her teasing. He'd long since learned not to react to her "love talk."
After a while, Sumire stood up and handed him two syringes. Inside each glimmered fluorescent liquid—one green, one yellow.
"The green one is the gene-enhancement serum you wanted. The yellow one is a suppression inhibitor. Injecting it will completely halt the erosion rate of the Gastrea virus… but only for a month."
Mahiro's brows knitted. "Not a cure?"
Sumire snorted, as though the question was idiotic. "Of course not. Do you think Gastrea virus is that simple? Even with those mysterious eyes of yours, there's no easy solution. If there were, the world wouldn't still be rotting under their shadow."
Then her eyes gleamed, sly and sharp. "But… if you'd let me study your eyes and brain in detail, I might find a path forward."
Mahiro narrowed his gaze. "…You just want to dissect me, don't you?"
Sumire clicked her tongue and smirked. "Tch. Busted."
Enju scowled and stomped her little foot. "Creepy doctor hag! You're not getting anywhere near Mahiro!"
Asaka nodded, her voice unusually forceful. "Over my dead body."
Sumire only laughed, hiding her smile behind her chopsticks.
Mahiro, however, remained calm, slipping the syringes carefully into his coat pocket. "Thanks, Doctor. That's all I needed."
"…So cold, Mahiro-chan. One day, I'll make you call me something sweeter."
"Keep dreaming."