Miori and Kisara
***
"Mahiro-kun, the payment's been confirmed! Your share has already been transferred. Thanks to you, we managed to secure another big order! If we can track down that box, we'll practically have financial freedom!"
Kisara's cheerful voice came over the phone, practically bubbling with excitement.
"And so!" she declared proudly, "As President, I've decided that when Satomi-kun returns, we'll have a proper team-building event to celebrate! Drinks, food, fun—the works!"
Yotsuba Mahiro, leaning lazily against the steering wheel, raised an eyebrow and smirked. "That's fine and all, President, but maybe don't pop the champagne too early. Ever heard the saying, plans can change in an instant?"
"B-baka Mahiro-kun! Don't jinx it!" Kisara snapped back, clearly flustered. "This commission is definitely ours!"
Her voice, brimming with energy, carried even through the static of the call. It wasn't hard to understand why she was so giddy.
Most commissions barely reached tens of thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands at best. But this time, they had secured a colossal payout—one hundred million yen upfront, with a potential commission later on worth an unbelievable one billion.
Now that Hiruko Kagetane had been dealt with, and since intelligence confirmed that the Gastrea who had swallowed the Relic Box was only a Level 1, the path ahead seemed clear.
For someone like Tendo Kisara, who had struggled for years, this kind of windfall was enough to make anyone's heart soar.
A notification buzzed on his phone. Mahiro glanced at the screen: [Transfer Received: 10,000,000 yen]
Not bad.
That had been their deal from the start. Unlike Satomi Rentaro, who got a fixed salary, Mahiro's cut was ten percent of every commission he completed.
Ten million wasn't pocket change, but it wasn't his real goal either. He wasn't chasing the money.
He was after Tendo Kisara herself.
With her flowing black hair and sharp kendo skills, Kisara was the perfect picture of a traditional beauty. She hit his type so precisely it almost felt fated.
"I'm honest with myself. I'm after the President's body, not her bank account," Mahiro muttered with a smirk.
Still, he couldn't dwell on such thoughts for long. His Aston Martin purred as he maneuvered it like a fish swimming upstream, going against the traffic as he drove further away from the bustling heart of the Tokyo Area.
The massive monolith looming in the distance grew steadily larger with each passing second, a grim reminder of the invisible line separating prosperity from ruin.
Gradually, the scenery shifted. Towering skyscrapers gave way to decayed ruins. Cracked roads sprouted weeds, and abandoned buildings sagged like corpses.
This was the Outer District, the forsaken shadow of the glittering Tokyo Area.
Mahiro exhaled, his fingers drumming the wheel. "Haaah… this pitiful balance in my account isn't going to last long, huh?"
The image of a certain sly young lady's smile flashed through his mind, and he chuckled bitterly.
As the Aston Martin approached the edge of the monolith, the wreckage gave way to something unexpected: a makeshift city.
Calling it a city might've been generous. At its core, it was just a handful of refurbished buildings surrounded by towering alloy walls, reminiscent of ancient fortress gates.
And up on those walls, several small figures kept watch.
"Oi! It's Big Brother! Open the gate!" "Big Brother's back! Hurry up, open it!" "Quick, quick, Big Brother's here!"
Their joyous cries echoed across the ruined landscape. Down below, children strained their little arms against the heavy gate, slowly pushing it open just wide enough for the Aston Martin to slip inside.
The moment Mahiro parked and stepped out, he was engulfed by a swarm of tiny voices.
"Big Brother!" "Big Brother, you're finally back!" "I missed you sooo much!"
He found himself surrounded by a group of girls ranging from six to ten years old, all chattering at once. They wore mismatched clothing, some ragged, some handmade, but all of them had one thing in common: crimson eyes, gleaming like rubies.
They were the Cursed Children, abandoned by society yet bound together by the infection in their blood.
Mahiro had spent the past year gathering them one by one, pulling them out of the shadows of Tokyo's districts. He had poured nearly all of his savings into this place. And not just money—gold, resources, everything he could spare.
This was their sanctuary. Their fragile "utopia."
"Hehehe~ Mahiro-kun is still as popular with the lolis as ever~"
The teasing voice, refined yet playful, carried that distinct Kansai accent.
Mahiro turned, and his gaze fell on a girl standing beside a sleek black Mercedes-Benz. She stepped forward with elegant grace, her brightly patterned kimono fluttering lightly with her movement.
Her long, wavy black hair shimmered like polished obsidian, and her refined bearing carried the air of a high-class young lady.
Only one person in the Tokyo Area combined such beauty with such presence—Shiba Miori, the only daughter of Shiba Heavy Industries' president.
"Long time no see, Miss Shiba," Mahiro greeted her, gently waving the children away. "What brings you out here today, so far from the city?"
Miori's fan flicked open with a sharp snap. She smiled coyly behind it, eyes sparkling. "Maaah~ You're too formal. Just call me Miori."
She drifted closer with practiced elegance, but Mahiro instinctively took a subtle step back.
It wasn't that he disliked pretty girls—far from it. But he had learned his lesson the hard way after a year of dealing with Miori.
Behind that gorgeous face was a cunning negotiator, sharper than any blade. She wielded her beauty like a weapon, and Mahiro had been on the losing end more than once.
Yet even after Mahiro subtly dodged her advances, Shiba Miori showed no trace of irritation. Instead, she tilted her head, fan resting lightly against her lips, and whispered softly:
"Fufu~ So cold," she purred, though not a hint of offense showed on her face. "I only came because… I missed you, Mahiro-kun~"
Mahiro gave a short chuckle. "Is that so? Then I'm honored. Truly flattered."
"Hey, hey…" Miori's eyes curved like crescent moons as her Kansai lilt curled through her words. "How about that thing I mentioned before, hmm? Why don't you dump Kisara-chan and come with me? I know she only gives you ten percent of every commission. If it's me… I don't mind switching it. Ninety percent for Mahiro-kun, ten for me~ Doesn't that sound much more generous?"
With a sharp snap! she flicked her fan open, covering the lower half of her face. Her eyes, glimmering with mischief, peeked over the edge.
This wasn't the first time Shiba Miori had thrown him an olive branch like this.
And as always, his answer stayed the same.
"Miss Shiba—"
"Mou, call me Miori," she interrupted, feigning a pout.
"…Fine. Miori-san."
Her eyes narrowed playfully.
"…Miori." Mahiro corrected himself at last, shoulders sinking slightly. Only then did he continue: "You know that's impossible."
"Mmm… really, I just don't get it." She tapped the fan against her chin. "What's so good about that Mother Orangutan? You, Satomi-kun, even that stubborn Kisara-chan herself… you all keep clinging to her."
The disdain in her voice was obvious.
In her heart, Kisara was a lifelong rival. No matter how skilled or clever Miori was, she always felt she lost in ways she couldn't explain.
Was it because of those massive… assets?!
Of course not. It was simply Mahiro's preference—his XP leaned toward black-haired kendo beauties. But that wasn't exactly the kind of thing a man could admit out loud.
So, like the sly fox he was, he smoothly changed the subject. "Anyway, Miori. How about we talk business instead? The commission I entrusted to you—how's the progress?"
"It's finished already."
With another brisk snap!, she closed the fan and extended her arm, pointing elegantly toward a set of structures in the distance.
There, nestled beyond the makeshift settlement, stood a series of newly built facilities. Windmills stretched upward, their blades slowly turning under the weak Outer District breeze.
"The wind power station you requested has been completed, Mahiro-kun. Transformers, wiring, everything needed to support it. It isn't a huge installation, but it's more than enough for these children to have light and power."
Mahiro squinted at the sight, his lips curving faintly. "…How much?"
Miori spread her fan open again, hiding her smile. "The transformer equipment's on us. Consider it a bonus. As for the windmills, a modest ten million yen in total. No bargaining~"
Mahiro's eye twitched. "…You're not just targeting the tiny balance in my account, are you?"
"Oh my, what could Mahiro-kun possibly mean? I don't understand~" Miori's voice dripped with faux innocence. "It's not as if I happened to hear that Mahiro-kun defeated Hiruko Kagetane, former IP134, just two days ago and got himself a tidy reward of one hundred million yen~"
"…You literally just said it yourself."
Was she deliberately trying to provoke him? Hard to tell with this woman.
"Fine," he muttered at last. "Ten million. I'll transfer it in a couple of days."
"Not now?" Miori's lashes fluttered innocently, though the corner of her lips twitched upward.
Mahiro groaned. "…Can't I keep it for a few days at least?!"
His sulking expression amused Miori to no end. She broke into genuine laughter, the refined lady's façade melting away as she doubled over slightly.
"Hahaha~ ah, Mahiro-kun, you really are too much."
But gradually, her laughter softened. Her gaze shifted toward the cluster of children playing in the distance, their delighted cheers echoing as the lights flickered on in the settlement.
"Still… you're good to those children," she murmured, almost to herself.
Her words carried no flirtation this time. They felt genuine, touched with something like admiration.
Mahiro shrugged. "Good? I only remember an old saying: When poor, cultivate the self; when prosperous, help the world. I'm just doing what I can within my means."
"Within your means…" Miori echoed quietly. Then she frowned faintly. "And yet, so many of the older generations, those who should've been the protectors, only plunder the weak instead. They bully the cursed girls to feed their own fragile pride."
Her fan lowered as she watched the children laugh under the faint glow of new lights. Somehow, their joy was infectious, tugging even at her merchant's heart.
A smile crept across her lips again. "Indeed, Mahiro-kun… you really are gentle."
Mahiro arched an eyebrow slyly. "Since I'm so gentle, how about giving me a discount?"
"No way~" Miori wagged her fan. "Business is business. Besides, the price I gave you is already at cost. I haven't made a single yen of profit."
Mahiro nearly choked. "Coming from the mouth of Shiba Miori, merchant extraordinaire, that line has zero credibility."
"Ufufu~ believe what you like."
For a moment, silence lingered between them. Then, Miori tilted her head. "By the way, Mahiro-kun… do you actually have a plan for these children? For gathering them like this?"
Mahiro gave her a sharp look. "…And why would you think that?"
Miori smirked behind her fan. "A woman's intuition."
Perhaps deciding it was time to leave, she turned and made her way gracefully toward the waiting Mercedes-Benz. Just as she opened the door, she glanced back over her shoulder, eyes glinting.
"Mahiro-kun~ If there really are tickets to Noah's Ark one day, make sure to save one for me, okay?"
Mahiro frowned. "Noah's Ark? You've got it wrong. This isn't some Ark. This is Arcadia, the Thirty-Ninth District. A home for these kids."
The utopia he had built—however fragile—for the cursed children.
But Miori only smiled faintly, slipping into the car without answering. Whether she'd heard his words or not, he couldn't tell.
One thing was certain though—her intuition was frighteningly sharp.
Because the truth was, Mahiro had no intention of saving the world.
Not anymore.
After everything he'd experienced this past year… he'd come to believe something else entirely.
That a world as twisted and cruel as this… maybe it was better off being destroyed.
....
Soon after Shiba Miori left, Yotsuba Mahiro spent some time patiently showing the children how to use the electricity, reminding them not to overload the circuits, before finally heading out.
Although the day still had plenty of hours left, the task before him was exhausting. Gathering the scattered Cursed Children was no small feat. After all, these kids had been betrayed and abused too many times. Their trust in others had long since withered away.
Driving down a cracked, half-abandoned road, Mahiro turned a corner. A toppled traffic light, twisted beyond repair, lay across the street like a jagged scar. A little further down, the shell of what used to be a gas station stood in ruin, rusting away.
That was when he spotted it.
A police car.
It was parked half-hidden in a corner by the roadside, looking strangely out of place. Mahiro's sharp eyes narrowed. The faint white smoke from its exhaust betrayed the truth—it had only just arrived.
"Tch… how suspicious."
Slamming the brakes, he brought his own car to a halt. Something wasn't right. Why would police be lurking in a place like this, in a dead zone where no ordinary citizens dared to come?
The answer was already clear.
Even before stepping out of the car, Mahiro's ears caught it—sharp, desperate screams echoing from inside the half-finished building nearby.
"Let me go!"
"Shut it, you damn red-eyed brat thief! You're splitting my ears!"
Bang!
A dull thud rang out, followed by silence. Mahiro's expression darkened.
Inside, two men in police uniforms dragged a small girl further into the building. She couldn't have been older than ten. One of them, a gaunt officer with glasses, roughly yanked her arm up and slapped cold handcuffs on her wrist. The other end he locked against a jutting steel rebar, pinning her like a trapped animal.
The girl cried out, struggling desperately, her crimson eyes wide with panic. But no matter how hard she pulled, she couldn't break free. Slowly, her resistance weakened, her movements faltering. Her little shoulders shook. Fear tightened her pale face as she realized she had no way out.
The officers exchanged a glance and smirked. Neither looked anything like law enforcers. The malice radiating from them was that of gutter thugs, not protectors of the people.
One of them casually pulled out his sidearm, checked the bullets, and spun the chamber. His partner did the same, chuckling under his breath.
Their intent was crystal clear.
They weren't here to arrest her. They were here to use her for target practice.
"Oi, let me go first this time." The flat-headed officer licked his lips, raising his pistol.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don't miss again."
He took ten steps back, leveled the muzzle at the girl, and squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The shot rang out like thunder.
But when the smoke cleared, the girl was still standing—untouched. No blood, no wound, nothing.
Her crimson eyes blinked in shock. Even she didn't understand what had just happened.
"Oi, what the hell?!" The bespectacled officer barked out a laugh. "You can't even hit from ten meters? You that lovesick over girls, huh?!"
"Shut up! I just slipped, that's all!" The flat-headed cop snarled, his pride wounded. He stormed a few steps closer, held the gun steady with both hands, and fired again.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three consecutive shots echoed through the ruined building. Dust rattled from the ceiling.
But still—no hits. The bullets disappeared like they'd been swallowed by thin air.
"What the…?"
The bespectacled officer frowned now, suspicion dawning in his eyes. He marched closer, shoved his partner aside, and snapped his wrist up with cold precision.
Bang!
The gunshot split the silence once again. The bespectacled officer's reflexes were sharp—he fired almost the moment his hand was raised.
But, just like before… nothing.
No wounds, no blood, not even a scratch on the girl. It was as if the bullets simply vanished into thin air.
"Tch… what the hell is going on?!"
The man gritted his teeth and moved closer, step by step, his finger twitching impatiently. Each shot echoed through the half-ruined building, sparks flashing as the muzzle flared.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The echoes overlapped—harsh, metallic, and violent. Yet every bullet failed to reach its mark.
Snarling, the officer marched forward until he was standing right in front of the girl, his breath hot and sour with rage. He pressed the cold muzzle against her forehead.
"Damn it, you little brat—are you using some kind of trick?! You think a filthy red-eyed freak like you can cheat your punishment?!"
The girl froze, crimson eyes trembling.
"This time, let's see you dodge it!"
He squeezed the trigger—
Click.
The hollow sound of an empty chamber broke the tension.
"...Out of bullets?!"
The officer's expression twisted. He fumbled through his belt, searching for a spare magazine. That's when a calm, almost lazy voice drifted in from the shadows behind him.
"You two officers sure have a lot of free time… bullying a little girl at this hour."
The man froze.
From the darkened hallway, Yotsuba Mahiro stepped out slowly, his long coat brushing against the dusty floor. His golden eyes glinted faintly under the broken ceiling light as he smiled faintly.
"How about," he said, voice laced with quiet menace, "you try picking on someone your own size, mongrels?"
Before either man could react, Mahiro raised his gun—"Night Demon."
A sharp hum cut through the air.
BOOM!
A spear of shimmering ice erupted like lightning, striking the officer nearest to the girl and pinning him violently to the wall.
He tried to scream, but before a sound could leave his throat—flash!—his head disintegrated into a fine mist of red. The cut was so perfectly smooth, it looked almost surgical.
The faint smell of blood and charred ozone filled the room.
The remaining officer stared, eyes wide, trembling as the truth hit him.
His partner was dead.
"You... you bastard! How dare you attack an officer—"
"Too much talk," Mahiro muttered, pulling the trigger again.
A pulse of cold energy shot from his weapon, activating one of his hybrid magics—Frozen Fire. The bullet burst mid-air, freezing the man's weapon and the flesh of his hand solid in an instant.
"Wha—gahhh!" the man screamed, clutching at the frostbitten mess where his fingers had been fused to the metal.
Mahiro tilted his head, exhaling. "Guess I overdid it… well, it doesn't make much difference."
With a flick of his wrist, his gun's energy chamber began to glow. "Magic Bullet Shooter—activate."
A storm of bullets burst forth like meteor rain.
"Dry Hail Meteors!"
The bullets curved and spun, slicing through the air with deadly precision. They didn't pierce his target outright—instead, each impact shattered bone and muscle with surgical accuracy. Abdomen. Chest. Limbs. Over thirty rounds struck in perfect rhythm, the sound of gunfire forming a relentless percussion of justice.
The officer's body convulsed violently, his scream tearing through the silence before he collapsed like a broken puppet, his blood splattering the dusty floor.
The air stilled.
Only the faint drip of melted frost broke the silence.
The girl, trembling, had shut her eyes tight during the entire assault. Her small hands clenched around the cold rebar, her breathing shallow.
When the screams faded… and no more footsteps came…
She slowly cracked one eye open.
The world was silent again. The two men who'd dragged her here were gone—nothing remained but dust in the wind.
And there, standing on that dust, was a boy who looked like he'd stepped out of a different world.
Bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, Yotsuba Mahiro looked down at her, eyes gentle now, the killing intent already gone.
He knelt, extended a hand to her.
"Hey there," he said with a small, reassuring smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Yotsuba Mahiro, the leader of Arcadia here in the Thirty-Ninth District."
The girl blinked, stunned by the warmth in his tone.
"I wonder," Mahiro added softly, his voice almost playful, "would you be interested in joining Arcadia, little girl?"