"I'm glad you're fine..." Koji's voice echoed in Gil's memory, heavy with something he hadn't fully understood at the time. "But..."
"But what?"
"Catherine seems to be taking it the hardest."
Now Gil stood in that small apartment, mind, body, and soul focused on a single purpose: to tell her about their departure. Yet the words wouldn't come. They lodged in his throat like stones, because speaking felt like shattering something fragile. Something Catherine needed, for whatever reason, to remain intact.
'I've never really thought about it, have I?' The realization settled over him like a cold cloth. 'How she feels about any of this. We treat her like a child, but she's only a year younger than me. And she had to grow up faster than any of us.'
The memories weren't his, but he'd heard enough. The family. The abuse. The constant, grinding cruelty that had pushed her to that final act—the rope, the drop, the silence.
'The only reason I never got mad when she acted like a child,' he understood now, 'was because she never had the luxury of being one.'
But now, when he looked for that childlike wonder—that brightness that had defined her since they met—he couldn't find it.
Catherine stared at her reflection in the blade's exposed steel. A being that didn't exist, not really. She was there, but she wasn't. She'd lost her claim to humanity the moment she'd tied that knot, stepped off that chair, and left her body swinging.
Now she was nothing more than a reflection. The girl who had once inhabited that flesh was gone. What remained was something else—a will, crafted and hardened, refusing to leave this world without acquiring what she'd come for.
"You know," she said suddenly, her voice soft, "I... I like cute things, Gil."
"!"
"I'm in love with cute things." A faint, ghost of a smile touched her lips. "When Mr. Blake introduced me to films, I couldn't sleep. I stayed up all night watching them. And in those films, I saw girls—cute girls. Wearing cute little outfits that made them look like proper ladies."
She paused, the smile fading.
"And I thought... if I liked cute things too, then maybe... I could be a real girl."
"But you are a real girl." The words left Gil's mouth before he could stop them.
"No, Gil." She didn't look at him. "You know that's a lie. And I've been lying to myself this entire time. Thinking I could force you to see me as one." Her grip on the sword tightened. "And honestly? I was going to keep doing that. But then..." A bitter laugh. "How can I, in this situation?"
The silence stretched between them.
"All he left was this." She sheathed the longsword with a sharp, definitive click. "I don't know what he intends for me to do with it. I just wish I could throw it back at him." Her voice cracked. "If he wanted to give it to me, he should have done it himself."
Her hands began to shake.
Violently.
Veins protruded from her knuckles, stark against skin that shouldn't have had veins at all. And as she shook, the building began to tremble—windows rattling in their frames, dust drifting from the ceiling, the floor vibrating beneath Gil's feet.
The apartment was reacting to her anger.
"He didn't even think of saying goodbye..."
She stopped.
Caught herself.
The shaking subsided.
"I feel so bad for myself." Her voice was small now. Broken. "I feel bad that I feel like this. He did this because he cares about us. Because he wants us to be safe."
She finally turned to look at Gil.
"You asked me how I know all this vocabulary. I think you've asked me twice." A weak smile. "It's because I can read minds."
Gil blinked. "Wow. I mean... it makes sense for you to have a technique. You are made of Fragment Energy." He processed this. "It's weird we never even suspected it."
"I can also lift things with my mind. Nothing too big." She placed the longsword on her lap. "I used this power to read Akame's mind. See his thoughts." A pause. "Well, not just his, I guess. I thought it was just... a ghost thing. Something most of us could do."
She shrugged slightly.
"Also, your power seemed way more incredible than mine. So I didn't think mine was useful."
Gil opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I get that," he finally managed. "These things can be really scary. I haven't figured mine out either." He met her eyes. "And I have a feeling we won't see Mr. Akame for a while."
She nodded slowly.
"But he made himself clear, didn't he?" Gil pressed on. "He won't be our babysitter forever. Neither will Mr. Koji. They can't protect us all the time." He scratched the back of his head, searching for words. "And I don't think he would have trusted you with that sword if he didn't have a reason."
He took a breath.
"I don't really know how to explain it, but... I don't think we need him anymore."
"How could you say that?" The hurt in her voice was raw.
"Wait, wait—let me speak first." Gil raised his hands in mock surrender. "What I mean is... we're not supposed to need him. We're like children, right?"
He gestured vaguely, trying to shape the thought.
"First we crawl. Someone carries us everywhere. Then they teach us to walk—holding our hands, leading us slowly. They let go. We fall. They catch us. They do it again." He met her eyes. "Until one day, they let go permanently. We don't need them to carry us anymore. If they do it after we already know how, it's because they want to. Not because we need it."
He spread his hands.
"Someday, they won't be there. We're not children anymore."
Catherine was quiet for a long moment.
"I know." Her voice was barely a whisper. "But I just... I can't accept that. What if I don't want to walk anymore?" Tears glistened in her eyes. "I came out of the womb walking, Gil. And I'm just so... tired of it."
The pain behind those words was unlike anything he'd ever heard. Gil wasn't good with people—he knew that. But he could offer empathy. It was the only thing he had.
She looked away, toward the bed. A purple suitcase sat there, slightly open.
"Mr. Koji took me shopping a week ago." A sad smile. "We got a lot of stuff. But nothing felt important. Akame bought me that suitcase because I said it looked cute." Her voice caught. "And somehow... that cheap bag matters more than everything else combined." A pause. "Don't tell Mr. Koji that, though."
Gil smiled. "I won't."
He stepped closer.
"But you don't have to walk alone. We can do it together."
Catherine looked at him—really looked, as if seeing him for the first time.
"You don't have to console me, Gil." She stood, walking toward the suitcase. "I've already made up my mind about what I need to do."
"Yeah? What's that?" Genuine curiosity in his voice.
She turned.
And with a sly smile forming on her lips—the first real smile he'd seen from her in days—she said:
"That's my secret."
***
BACK AT THE VILLAGE — 10 DAYS PRIOR
(Approximately one day after Akame's capture)
"Okay, people." Blake's voice echoed through the mansion's grand hall, bouncing off walls adorned with bizarre paintings of bald, pale children. "Why don't we all take a break? I think we're in dire need of one."
He stood at the center of the space, surrounded by staircases that forked in multiple directions, chandeliers hanging like frozen chandeliers of tears. The Eugene team had been at this for days—searching every corner, every crevice, every shadow.
And still, no real evidence.
Blake knew someone had been here. Someone had witnessed Akame's awakening. Someone had leaked his revival to the world. But knowing and proving were different beasts entirely.
At least the Eugene team had gotten some... training from the creatures below the house. Hellish doesn't begin to cover it. Blake honestly couldn't fathom how Gil had survived this place the first time.
"Mr. Blake!" Purity's voice cut through his thoughts. She was running toward him, tablet clutched to her chest.
He turned, eyebrows rising. "Oh. Yes, my lovely?"
"Um, it's Joy." She held out the phone. "She's on the other end of the line."
Blake took it, frowning. "What does she want?"
"I don't know. She won't say."
Blake pressed the phone to his ear. "Yes?"
"Blake..." Joy's voice was strained. Tight. "It's Joy."
"Yes, I'm aware. What's up?"
A pause. The kind of pause that precedes bad news.
"It's... Mr. Germain." Another pause, heavier this time. "He's... not too happy."
WHAT COULD THIS BE ABOUT?
NO.138 END