In the dim basement, the alchemist's eerie laughter echoed beside a huge cauldron where unearthly matter simmered. Seeing the horror was already beyond saving, Angoulême sighed and was about to head upstairs and leave—only for Victor to stop her this time.
"Don't rush off. Stay and chat with me."
"You won't get distracted and blow something up?"
"What I'm making this time is actually very simple. If anything, with you here, I can watch a real person and make it more precise. It's just clothing—no special forces, no precision machining. There's basically no chance of it failing and exploding."
Since the alchemy apprentice sounded so certain, Angoulême pulled over a chair and sat beside the cauldron to observe. She might not have any talent for it, but that didn't stop her from being curious about the "impossible."
"Captain, you're so sure… have you blown things up before?"
"Of course. Back in Bell Town, when I first started doing alchemy, explosions happened all the time. Bang—there goes the roof. Half the house ends up black with soot."
"Were you hurt?" The girl looked startled.
Victor kept stirring the cauldron. "No. When Unfathomable Alchemy goes out of control, the blast protects the alchemist themself. At worst you end up covered in ash. You won't get injured. The ones in danger are everyone who isn't the alchemist—they just take it the way they take it."
"Then the explosion must be really powerful, right?"
"Not necessarily. That depends on how much mental force you put in. The more you pour in, the stronger the blast."
"I see…"
"No need to hide it—you really want to know what I'm mixing, don't you?" Victor glanced at the girl, who quietly nodded. He continued, unhurried: "It started with a commission I heard about somewhere this afternoon. The client wants us to disguise ourselves as drunks. If we see other drunks harassing women who are alone—and if those drunks are Salamandra thugs—we're supposed to walk up and beat them down. But we can't kill anyone. At most, we're allowed to break bones."
"Did you take it? What's the pay?" If the reward was fair, Angoulême felt the job sounded… workable.
"No. I refused on the spot." Victor smiled and shook his head. "Because I'm not going to do it the way she asked."
The stirring rod in his hand kept turning. "That commission reminded me of someone who used to bring me a lot of happiness. He used to patrol the streets and beat bad people until their bones broke. And suddenly I realized… I can play his role, as long as I use Unfathomable Alchemy to make his signature outfit.
"Did you know? Just imagining myself dressed up as him and going out to hit people makes me happy."
From Angoulême's perspective, the captain's smile was becoming progressively unhinged.
"Then I thought about the past. When my grandmother taught me alchemy, I asked her what the secret was to becoming a master. She told me: thinking too much is useless. Do what you want to do. Be happy.
"Back then I didn't press her—I thought she was joking. But now I finally get it… doing what you truly want to do, blending what you truly want to blend—this constant 'self-fulfillment' and the 'joy' that comes with it… that's the road to mastery.
"For example, my grandmother's 'self-fulfillment' was helping others. Seeing people smile in satisfaction made her happy, which strengthened her mind, which let her craft even better work, which let her take on harder commissions.
"Keep that positive loop going, and in only a few years, she went from alchemy apprentice, skipped right past the ordinary 'master' stage, and reached the level of being unstoppable."
Hearing that, Angoulême almost laughed. Unstoppable in just a few years? That was a little too ridiculous. She figured the captain was exaggerating—kids always think their elders are the strongest. That was normal. So she said nothing and just listened.
"Or my third aunt—her 'self-fulfillment' was traveling. She grew up in the mountains, so she desperately wanted to see the world outside. As long as she could travel, she was happy.
"So after she left the mountains, she wandered for one year and went from beginner to alchemy master. Then she traveled for a few more years, and she too ended up with strength close to 'unstoppable.'
"She and my grandmother were both freak exceptions that completely defied common sense."
Staring into the cauldron's pitch-black, pungent brew, Victor's eyes turned gentle, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Thinking back on those two, I realized I might've gone down the wrong path. I've been studying knowledge like crazy, digging through references like crazy… and in the process, I lost the joy I had back in Bell Town when I did alchemy. Lately I've mostly been doing it to complete missions, and almost never for 'happiness.'
"So now, Angoulême… do you understand what I mean?"
"You mean… you're doing something that makes you really happy right now?"
"Yes. I'm very, very happy. Just thinking about what I'm about to do makes it feel interesting. And because I'm happy, something that already doesn't cost much mentally—'making clothes'—now takes so little it's basically nothing. And once we finish the whole thing, that 'self-fulfillment' will feed back into real satisfaction, and genuinely make the mind stronger."
"Then congratulations, Captain! That's wonderful!"
"And congratulations to you too—since there isn't a second one, you're currently my cutest member, Angoulême. Believe me: if you keep growing, in ten years at most, you'll have a captain you can rely on—someone truly unstoppable."
Angoulême patted her cheeks. Sure enough, people east of Zerrikania loved bragging and saying stupid things. Every other sentence was "unstoppable," "the best in the world"—or maybe their vocabulary for "impressive" was just too limited, so that was all they had.
…
Two hours later, she discovered her initial bad feeling had been completely accurate.
Seven-colored light flared. The captain pulled two sets of bizarre leather outfits from the cauldron and told her to change into one behind the screen. But that thing was barely wearable by any human being.
So when Angoulême firmly refused, the instruction upgraded into an order: she had to put it on.
Left with no choice, she cooperated. She wasn't a shy girl, but this outfit was absurdly tight. The various soft pads that bulged in thoroughly unscientific places were unlike anything she'd ever seen. When she finished dressing and stepped out, she honestly felt even more embarrassed than if she were naked.
The captain, too, changed behind the other screen into his own tight leather suit—pure black, cinched so hard that his muscles stood out in sharp blocks. He also wore a cape. Unlike her fully enclosed animal-shaped hood, his mask had two pointed "horns" on top and only exposed his mouth, the rest an indistinct shape.
Victor looked her up and down for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. Angoulême, from this moment on, your codename is Catwoman. Remember it. Tonight, we're going into the streets of Vizima to wage war against evil. There's only one thing you need to watch: we follow a 'no killing' rule. You may only use fists, feet, or tools to beat them until bones break—but you may not take their lives."
Faced with the captain's absurd orders, the team member gave up struggling and silently accepted.
Watching the boy briskly lay out batons, ropes, throwing darts, and other non-lethal gear, it was obvious his mind was made up. He was going to satisfy his personal joy of "putting on weird clothes and going out to beat people up."
All she could do was ask, "If my codename is Catwoman… then Vic, does that make you—Catman?"
It was painfully clear Victor had been waiting for that question for a long time.
He snapped his cape with a flourish and said in a low, magnetic voice, "No. I am—Batman."
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