This land was full of suffering.
Whether you were a high official living above the clouds, or an Oripathy patient scraping by at the very bottom, misery seemed welded to Terra itself—an inseparable bond no one could cut.
Material pain could crush a person into despair. So could the invisible kind—the spiritual, the psychological. Everyone lived in a hell of incomplete understanding, trapped behind walls no one else could see. Everyone wanted the other person to understand them unconditionally, to be perfectly in sync.
But that was exactly what people could not do.
The reason Lateran sankta inspired so many fledgling beliefs among the Liberi was precisely because their halos linked them—because, on this suffering land, that link was a kind of light. Even so, it was only the faintest candle in a storm. Pain and despair still crouched behind the wall of the heart. People still could not say what they truly thought.
Because everyone feared one brutally ordinary truth:
If the person you cherished most—if the faith you clung to—turned out not to be what you wanted it to be… how were you supposed to keep living?
In a world soaked in despair, many people had only one spiritual support left. They could not accept the possibility that it might collapse. So they praised, circled, flattered, and sought a thin strip of comfort and validation—anything to keep that support standing.
Put simply: on Terra, not speaking like a normal human being was, frankly, normal. Everyone did it.
Especially when two bosses had you pinned in between them.
"Ah… um… I mean, I should maintain at least the most basic loyalty… uh… I'm not trying to brush you off…"
"But you are brushing me off."
In a corridor corner, Swire fixed the towering Oni woman with a hostile stare, authority radiating off her like pressure.
Swire looked approachable—friendly, easy to talk to—but in reality her strictness was not inferior to Ch'en's in the slightest. In some respects, she was worse.
Like now.
When Swire glared at the blue-haired Oni who stood there awkwardly, the hallway fell so silent you could have heard a mosquito breathing. No one dared come close. Only Swire's furious voice echoed down the corridor.
"I want one answer," she said sharply. "What are you and that pink-sausage dragon playing at? I told you he's dangerous—at minimum, you wait until I finish my investigation before you start drawing conclusions."
"But you two didn't just cover people's messes. After I delivered my message, the expression on that sausage dragon's face was absolutely wrong. And yet you're hiding it from me."
She stepped in, close enough to make the air feel smaller.
"You're my subordinate too. If you won't betray Ch'en… are you going to betray me instead?"
"Ah… no, that's not what I meant," Hoshiguma said, voice careful. "It's just… how do I put it…"
Hoshiguma realized Swire was past merely irritated. She was fully enraged.
Because Swire was the real thing—a superintendent with convictions, someone who genuinely pursued justice and the city's safety. A seeker of principle, not a collector of status.
Wealth couldn't bribe her. She had walked away from it herself.
Connections didn't bind her either, because she simply did not care about them.
And when you were dealing with someone who wanted nothing but truth and public reason… there actually wasn't much you could do.
Hoshiguma's eyes flicked down the dim corridor. She checked twice—no one looking, no cameras nearby—then slowly raised a single finger.
"This is only a hypothetical."
"…All right. I understand." Swire's tone cooled a fraction. "Go on."
"Hypothetically," Hoshiguma said, choosing each word with visible care, "there's a superintendent working in a fictional city. She works hard, but the crime rate never goes down. Even when she questions offenders, she can't get answers."
"So she keeps trying to find the root of the problem—the key point. But unfortunately, her efforts keep failing. Worse, many investigations become contradictory and meaningless. Some people lie to her face. Some go even further and tell her outright that she shouldn't do this at all—that she shouldn't investigate the things hidden in darkness."
Hoshiguma paused, then continued softly:
"You know this, Inspector Swire. People are sensitive. When something tense or awkward is involved, they'd rather keep living the way things are than face a future where everyone becomes enemies. But there are always a few people who insist on breaking the silence."
She looked at Swire.
"Do you think that kind of action is appropriate? In that situation, can one person take the step forward alone?"
"Impossible," Swire answered instantly.
She didn't even need to think.
"To state your feelings plainly is impossible. You'd only be swallowed by betrayal, hatred, and misunderstanding."
"Oh?" Hoshiguma's finger remained raised, as if marking the premise.
"No one escapes that vortex," Swire said, a cold laugh slipping out—an answer shaped by the world she'd grown up in. "It isn't something people build. It's people themselves."
"Even the Sankta keep their halos close to the chest. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has private thoughts. Someone who can lay everything bare—on Terra, that kind of person basically doesn't exist."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Maybe there are exceptions. But they're rare. Taking that step requires courage that isn't 'ordinary courage.' A person can't force themselves to do it."
Hoshiguma nodded slightly, as if she'd been waiting for exactly that conclusion.
"So," she said, "that fictional superintendent would need someone to push her—just enough—to make her take a step."
"Push that pink-sausage dragon?" Swire blurted before she could stop herself.
How was that iron-hard woman supposed to take a step?
Then Swire froze.
Wait.
Maybe she could. She didn't need softness—she needed a firmer will. A trigger.
Lines and routes began snapping into place in Swire's mind, assembling like a map unfolding.
"Relationships… Lungmen… gangs…" Swire's eyes sharpened. "Hold on. Is she planning to move into the slums?"
"The slums?"
"And the LGD, as it is now—she's going to station the Guard Department there?!"
"Oh, I didn't say that," Hoshiguma said cheerfully, with a broad, harmless grin that did not match the weight of her words. "I'm just raising a hypothetical. I didn't say anything at all."
"Of course." Swire exhaled. Her anger was still there, but now it had direction. "All hypothetical."
Then her expression shifted—something like understanding, reluctant but undeniable.
"So that's why she won't tell me plainly… It's not distrust. It's the same reason."
"I see."
The scattered fragments clicked together. Swire's gaze brightened.
She didn't understand everything—far from it—but she was certain of one thing:
Her nemesis was about to make headlines. And if that was the case, then Swire, of all people, should probably do something too.
"Fine," she murmured. "If that pink-sausage dragon is moving, it means she's noticed there's a problem here—just without evidence."
"Then we should move as well."
She tapped her finger against her own palm, thinking fast.
"Send morning tea to that Li Lin. A little courtesy, a little contact."
She smiled thinly, not warmly.
"Though I almost pity Mr. Li Lin. What comes next… he's going to suffer for it."
Because everything—every spark, every fuse—was going to converge on him.
And yet… Swire suspected that was exactly what he wanted.
A little smoke.
A little fire.
A chance—properly justified—to wipe everything out.
That was the ending a fanatic would chase.
Gang warfare. The LGD moving in. The man getting the blood and conflict he craved. Peace as the final outcome—clean, righteous, and easy to sell.
How pleasant it sounded.
Swire remembered the way that man had looked at her—cold, controlled, trembling as if he were forcing himself to hold back.
In her mind, the entire story was already sketched out with sharp clarity.
But even a near-lunatic like that was still, in the end, just a tool.
Solve it quickly. Smooth the relationship in advance. Keep it manageable.
Several dozen minutes later, the door to the rental unit opened.
Li Lin stood in the cold air, staring blankly at the package sitting outside his door.
"…What is this?"
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