Ignis spotted Emile painting on the outer wall from afar, with Nicole and Nekomata gathered nearby to spectate. He sighed, rolled his sore shoulders a little, and headed toward the trio.
It was already close to evening. Even though they were standing in the shadow cast by the wall, the heat still hadn't let up. Honestly, ever since moving into this house, even Anby had commented that Nicole had become more sensitive to the heat than before. Their previous place didn't have anything as luxurious as an industrial central air conditioning unit—just a pitiful little unit—and Nicole had always been reluctant to turn it on anyway. Most of the time, they'd escape the heat by loitering in nearby convenience stores or malls.
Now, though, the utilities for this house were all paid by the landlord, who hadn't charged them a single credit in rent. Even after that earlier unpleasant incident that caused property damage, it had been the landlord who footed the repair bill. As a result, Nicole now kept the air conditioning running nonstop, indulging in a taste of luxury.
The flip side of that was that the owner of the Cunning Hares had started leaving the house far less often. Unless there was work to do or some unavoidable social obligation, she thoroughly enjoyed wearing loungewear and rotting on the sofa like a potato. A few days ago, Ignis had even heard a shrill scream coming from the bathroom—and then, at mealtime, she'd deliberately started eating smaller portions.
After that, she'd blamed Ignis, saying his cooking was too good and that it made her eat too much and gain weight. Ignis had wanted to argue back, but, well—when the boss shifts blame, it's hardly a matter of principle. If anything, it was praise disguised as criticism, so he silently accepted it.
She probably cared quite a bit about the portrait little Emile was making for her. It was unlikely to be about her figure, though. This design leaned heavily into street-graffiti aesthetics—exaggerated, slightly abstract, and highly stylized. Aside from core identifying traits, everything was pushed toward expression. Any weight gain would be completely unnoticeable.
Nekomata's ears were sharp. Ignis saw them twitch from far away before she turned around and waved energetically at him. This cat really was something—lately, she'd been practically glued to Nicole, following her everywhere. It might have been an attempt to secure a raise, but it was obvious that Nicole had been brushing her hair more often. Yes—this little alley cat had been fully domesticated into a house cat.
Nekomata's movement caught Nicole's attention as well. The Cunning Hares' boss turned around and spotted Ignis. Unlike her cat, she didn't wave—she simply nodded from afar, then beckoned him over.
Seeing that, Ignis had no choice but to drive his aching muscles into motion and quicken his pace toward them.
"What's with that exhausted look?" Nicole asked, eyeing her adopted son. "Didn't you go to the Blacksmiths' Association today? How did you end up this tired?"
After helping Markus get his revenge, that blue-haired slick back had admitted he didn't have enough liquid cash on hand, so he'd paid Ignis another way. Through a friend who was an art collector, he'd commissioned Ignis—by name—via the Blacksmiths' Association to forge a blade. An outrageously expensive one.
That way, after the association took its commission and withheld the taxes, what Ignis received was perfectly clean money.
He could have turned in some crude, perfunctory piece and called it a day—but his craftsman's soul wouldn't allow it. Instead, he went all out: triple-twisted Damascus steel, relief carvings along the blade, a horn handle with engraved patterns and gemstone inlays. A brutal masterpiece—one that would stand up to scrutiny from anyone.
Still, that amount of work was nothing to a master smith. The real reason he looked so worn out was Gotthardt.
The old veteran had messaged him earlier that day, asking to meet. So, after delivering the order, Ignis had gone over to White Paper Heavy Industries.
He'd assumed the old man just wanted to hear another story, and had even been thinking about where he'd left off last time. Instead, Gotthardt wanted to train him.
And the training involved fighting a Dreadnought.
Me? Flesh-and-blood versus a Dreadnought? Are you f-ing serious?
Ignis had been dumbstruck, internally wondering whether he'd somehow offended the old veteran and was now being punished. But Gotthardt hadn't been joking at all—the power claw had come straight for him.
This wasn't the careful, measured sparring of before. That speed was absolutely lethal. Ignis felt his blood run cold.
And yet—he had to admit—the body blessed by Khorne was terrifyingly strong. Even though he couldn't do any real damage to the Leviathan Dreadnought, he'd managed to rely on his psychic shield and agile footwork to dodge and weave, somehow emerging without injury.
Several times, he'd narrowly slipped past the razor-sharp edges of the siege claw—but he really hadn't been hurt. And even though he could tell Gotthardt was holding back, treating it as training, the fact remained: if the old veteran hadn't restrained himself, Ignis would have been crushed flat in a single grab.
Are all Imperial Fists trained like this? What kind of monsters were the Space Marines back in the 30K era?
The sensation of that massive siege claw flashing past his head and sides hadn't even faded yet. When Nicole asked him about it, the soreness in his muscles became even more pronounced.
"The old man trained me," Ignis said, exhaling heavily. "Live combat style. I feel like every muscle in my body is screaming…"
"Wait—you're saying that giant mech trained with you using live combat?" Nicole stared at him, stunned. Flesh versus mech? Had that old veteran been watching too much tokusatsu lately? Even in those shows, you didn't usually see people fighting giant robots barehanded—at the very least, it was supposed to be evenly matched.
"Yeah." Ignis nodded firmly. "I'm honestly lucky to still be alive."
"Has he gone crazy from being stuck in that mech for too long…?" Nicole frowned.
Logically speaking, the Leviathan Dreadnought's reactor had already been removed, and Ignis regularly used psychic energy to examine and treat Gotthardt's body. The old veteran's condition had been improving—there shouldn't have been any mental breakdown caused by prolonged suffering.
But then again, considering Gotthardt's solemn tone and resolute actions… Ignis couldn't help but wonder—
Emperor above! I swear I haven't fallen to Chaos! All of this was Khorne being pushy with his blessings! My loyalty is beyond doubt! If it comes to it, I'll build you a little shrine at home, set up an altar, offer fruit every day, pork head on holidays, maybe a couple bottles of sweet potato liquor—
"Don't worry. It really was just training," Ignis said with a sigh. He didn't want his friends clashing over something like this.
"Well then, how about I give you a massage tonight?" Nekomata chimed in, sidling closer. "I learned some new techniques recently. Old Duyi over at Lumina Square taught me."
"Oh? Then I'm very much looking forward to it," Ignis replied. His mood lifted immediately.
Good cat. Very lovable.
"Mr. Ignis," Emile finally spoke up after the two women finished. "It's been a long time."
Indeed, nearly a month had passed since they'd last met. So much had happened that Ignis hadn't even had time to check in on his young artist friend.
"You look good. Much healthier," Ignis said, crouching down and patting Emile on the shoulder.
"Yes!" The boy puffed out his chest. "I gave the payment to my mother, and the pressure at home is a lot lighter now. My father's been smiling more lately, too—and he doesn't interfere with my drawing as much anymore."
"Is that so? Then congratulations," Ignis said with a broad grin, flashing his white teeth. "Earning your family's approval isn't easy."
"That's all thanks to your help," Emile said shyly. "Otherwise…"
His gratitude was genuine. If Ignis hadn't saved him at the bus stop—and hadn't been willing to understand him and help him—his talent would never have been discovered. The best possible outcome would've been following his father into some factory, letting the roar of machines grind his gifts into dust.
That was life: mercilessly crushing countless talents. Only a lucky few ever got the chance to develop their abilities and walk the path of their dreams.
"So, how do the two subjects feel about their portraits?" Ignis stood up, turning his attention to the mural.
"I'm obviously satisfied," Nicole declared smugly, chin raised. "Who do you think I am? I'm Nicole Demara of the Cunning Hares. Even if it's just street graffiti, I aim for perfection."
It was clear she was extremely pleased.
Emile's design suited her perfectly. In the painting, Nicole sat atop her treasure chest, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across her chest. Her expression looked lazy at first glance, but sharp calculation hid in her eyes. She yawned, displaying her colorful nails—yet through the gaps between her fingers, she watched her target closely. Even as a painting, her demeanor was uncanny, as if she were staring straight at you. She played the role of a frivolous, easily deceived beauty, while secretly evaluating your worth and figuring out how to extract the maximum profit.
The street-art style looked rough, but under Emile's hand, Nicole Demara came alive. Beneath the exaggerated expressions lay the sharp mind she tried—and failed—to conceal.
Nekomata's portrait leaned even harder into feline elements. The dark-skinned catgirl had oversized eyes that emphasized her catlike nature. Her low, crouched pose resembled a threatened cat arching its back. The short blades she wielded—crafted by Ignis himself—stood out sharply in the graffiti style, their knuckle-guards resembling iron claws. Her expression was vivid, identical to the combat stance Ignis had seen before, as if she might leap out of the wall at any moment. Her twin tails were lively, with simple motion lines conveying their movement. The whole piece captured the instant a cat pounces on its prey—brimming with energy.
Compared to Billy striking a Starlight Knight pose nearby, and Anby standing solemnly, Emile's skill had clearly improved again. The rate of his progress was astonishing.
"It's truly amazing," Ignis said at last. He couldn't find words strong enough—genius? Unparalleled talent? For the first time, he felt language itself was inadequate.
"Right? I told you he's incredible," Nekomata said happily. Being painted—and painted this well—was something she'd never dreamed of as a stray thief cat. She was over the moon.
Emile, flustered by the praise, kept rubbing his nose, his face red.
"Mr. Ignis, do you have any requests for your own pose?" he asked quickly. "Golden Week is coming up, and my family might go on vacation. I can use that time to think about the composition."
His eyes sparkled. He'd deliberately saved Ignis for last—he wanted to give his benefactor his very best work.
Seeing that expression, Ignis began to think. He'd used dual power fists before, but now he'd switched to a shield and thunder hammer. Posing would require some thought—you couldn't have the shield blocking half the body. He needed to showcase his traits, and ideally leave a strong impression on potential clients—or enemies.
For once, the Salamander had no good ideas. All he could do was be honest. "Not yet. I might need some time to think about it—or maybe we can figure it out together sometime?"
"Okay!" Emile agreed instantly, eyes shining. "If possible, I'm free tonight. Exams start tomorrow, before Golden Week break."
"Then you should focus on your exams first," Ignis said. "Weren't you planning to apply for university? Your academic scores count too—so, do your best."
"Ah…" Emile visibly tensed. Clearly, that was his weak point.
"Then how about staying for dinner tonight?" Ignis offered again. The Cunning Hares were already quite familiar with him.
"No, no," the boy waved frantically. "My mom's already cooked at home. Look—my dad's here to pick me up."
Following Emile's gesture, Ignis spotted Fritz Volt across the street. The middle-aged man met Ignis's gaze—then immediately turned away.
His clothes looked far more expensive than before. Ignis clearly remembered Emile saying his father had been fired from the factory and hadn't found work yet.
So where did the money for those clothes come from…?
Watching Emile pack up his painting tools, Ignis sighed. "The night market here has been doing pretty well lately. Vesmir's planning to start a food management company to organize things. If your father wants to run a stall, I can offer some technical help. And if funding's needed, that's not a problem either."
"I'll tell him," Emile said with a smile. He no longer looked like the sorrowful child Ignis had first met.
He ran off cheerfully, paintbrushes clinking in his chair, toward his father, chattering away.
Ignis watched them disappear into the dark mouth of the alley. With Emile's talent, it wouldn't take long for that family to leave this place behind and live a more respectable life.
Still, the look in Fritz Volt's eyes—just before the shadows swallowed him—left Ignis deeply uneasy. Considering that Ignis had nearly killed him and sent him to the Public Security Bureau, it was understandable if the man harbored resentment.
"Let's go, ladies," Ignis said, turning back toward the house. "It's hot out here. Nekomata—don't you dare lie to me. You promised a massage."
"Of course, nya!" Nekomata slipped under Ignis's arm and into the house. "What's for dinner tonight? Fish? Or crab?"
"Both," Ignis replied, watching Nicole yawn as she ambled inside. "Boss Nicole approved the budget recently—eat to your heart's content."
"Yay! Nicole, you're the best! I love you the most!" Nekomata spun around and pounced into Nicole's arms, rubbing against her enthusiastically.
"Don't cling to me, it's so hot!" Nicole complained, though she didn't actually push the cat away.
Let this peaceful daily life last a little longer, Ignis thought as he closed the door.
===BREAK===
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