Paradis Island.
On a gently rolling, scenic hill.
Roger stood before a low, simple grave, looking at the words carved into the stone.
[Grave of Roger's Old Friend — Pieck Finger]
"I didn't write that you were a Marleyan, mainly because I'm afraid people inside the Walls would vandalize your grave," Roger muttered to himself. "If I say you were my friend, at least that might give you a bit of protection…"
When he finished, he laid the bouquet he'd picked at the foot of the hill down in front of the tombstone. Roger reached out and brushed his fingers over the characters for "Pieck," and the memories of the past rose in his mind.
A breeze stirred.
Roger turned to look into the distance, where the Survey Corps and the Scorpio Corps were once again marching off to war, then slowly straightened up.
Forgetting old memories was like tossing a cherished diary into a campfire—once it was burned, you could boldly say it never existed, that you never knew any of it.
As for Pieck, the one thing Roger remembered most clearly was the warmth that had lingered on his hand.
Slowly cooling.
Slowly fading.
His chest filled with a dull pain until it felt hard to breathe.
A short while later, Roger pulled himself together and left the graveyard.
He still had more important things to do; he couldn't stay trapped in the past.
"I've been waiting three days now, Kaneki. Why haven't those people come looking for me yet?"
Roger suddenly asked.
[Who knows. Maybe there's some deeper plot at work.]
"A plot…"
Roger turned the word over in his mind, falling into thought.
What kind of plot would it be?
Thinking as he walked, Roger headed back toward his home.
As commander of the Scorpio Corps and savior of the people inside the Walls, Roger should have enjoyed privileges others could only dream of.
Whether it was food, clothing, housing, or anything else, he ought to have lived very differently from everyone else.
But he hadn't done that.
Even though the people of the Walls treated him like a god and held him in deep, unshakable reverence, Roger still never used that for his own gain.
It wasn't about being incorruptible, or noble—Roger just preferred to keep a low profile.
He didn't want people constantly barging in on where he lived.
So he'd chosen a very secluded place for his residence.
In his day-to-day life, if he needed anything, he just told Tours.
Tours might be a big, hulking guy, ferocious as a raging mammoth in battle, the type to roar in a Titan's face without the slightest fear—
But in everyday life, he was like a frugal, diligent "househusband."
Not only could he cook all kinds of dishes, he also kept Roger's place neat and tidy.
He helped Roger wash his clothes until they were perfectly clean, and every night before bed, he made sure the blankets were laid out just right.
At first, Roger was speechless.
It wasn't as if he didn't know how to do these chores.
And even if he didn't have time, he could always hire a maid.
But one morning, he'd woken up to find he'd come down with a slight cold, and that night, when he went to bed, Tours had brought him a cup of hot water and cold medicine.
Sipping the hot water, Roger gave in.
Tours really was the meticulous one.
His care was thorough to the point of leaving nothing to be desired. It made teaching him the art of stealth feel like it hadn't been a waste at all.
Tours had once said he'd had a very cute little sister. Back then, the two of them had lived in the underground, relying on each other to survive—living on scraps from other people's tables, begging everywhere they went.
Later, he joined Red Eye's organization, and that delayed his care of his still-swaddled baby sister. Because of that, she died of hunger and cold.
Back then, he had thought that if he could just win the boss's favor and earn a big pile of money, he would be able to live happily with his sister.
Then, even if the Military Police caught him and he died, it wouldn't matter.
As long as his sister could live a good life.
But he'd thought too simply.
He'd been too naive.
He hadn't expected Red Eye to look down on him for being "stupid," to decide he was unfit for anything big, and shove him into nothing but the dirtiest, pettiest pickpocketing jobs.
In the end, his lack of experience got him arrested by the Military Police.
Red Eye never bailed out any of his pickpockets. As far as he was concerned, those scrawny kids could stay caught—he'd just find replacements. No need to waste money to get them out.
Tours was held for two weeks.
No matter how he begged in his cell, not a single person went to check on the baby sister he'd left behind.
So when he was released, it was no surprise that she had starved to death.
Someone had heard the little girl crying herself hoarse before she died, crying from hunger. Tours had confronted that person, demanding why they hadn't helped, and been treated like he was crazy.
"Why would I help her?
"What's that got to do with us?"
That was what they said.
Tours looped a rope around that man's neck.
The others who saw it screamed and scattered in panic.
"H-Help! Help me!"
The man shouted in despair.
No one stayed.
"When you die, what's that got to do with them?"
Tours smiled—a smile that made people's skin crawl.
"Beg me, and I'll save you," he added.
The man was confused, but he still begged Tours at the top of his lungs.
Tours did let him go, and then stared at him with a flat expression.
"I don't understand much," he said. "But I know that good deeds bring good in return, and evil deeds bring evil.
"If you'd believed me and saved my sister, I would have repaid you for the rest of my life. But you let a baby starve to death, couldn't even spare her a single mouthful of food.
"How can people live in this world only ever thinking of themselves…"
He picked up his sister's tiny corpse and used all the money he had to bury her in the cemetery.
Right after that, he was charged with attempted murder and thrown back into detention.
The day Roger took over Red Eye's organization was the very same day Tours' sentence ended and he was released.
He was still dazed and hollow, waiting—waiting for the new boss to hand him another garbage job.
But to his shock, the first thing Roger did after taking over was rob Kamen's casino—something Tours had never even dared to dream of doing.
From that moment on, he felt sure that following this new boss would lead to a much grander future.
And later, things really did turn out just as he'd hoped.
—"Boss, having you as my boss is honestly the best thing that's ever happened to me!"
Tours had once said that, trembling with excitement.
He trusted Roger completely.
That was why Roger, in turn, could feel at ease with him.
"When I get the chance, I should take Tours to see the continent outside the Walls," Roger thought. "If it's that big idiot, he'd probably be so happy he wouldn't sleep a wink for days."
With that thought in mind, Roger arrived back at his room.
The door was slightly ajar. Someone was inside.
Probably Tours cleaning again, Roger thought with a helpless sigh.
He'd deliberately cleaned this place top to bottom several times before he left.
"What's there to clean in this dump, Tou—"
His heart suddenly plummeted.
The scene before him hit Roger like a thunderclap.
Tours had been stabbed to death and left sprawled on the floor.
His lower jaw had been carved away, his throat slashed into a ruin of exposed flesh.
Both his shins had been stomped until they were grotesquely bent, no longer capable of walking or even standing.
He lay there on the floor, clutching a blood-smeared alarm clock tightly in his arms, his eyes staring blankly at the ground.
"Tours?!"
Roger gasped and rushed forward.
But at that very moment, the skin on Tours' face suddenly shattered—gunpowder stung the air—
And somewhere, someone pressed their thumb down.
BOOM!!!!
With a deafening explosion, Tours' corpse became a human bomb, and in an instant, the blast turned the entire room into a pile of rubble!!
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