What do I do — do I wake up or do I not wake up.
In truth, when Geno had crashed to the ground, he had only lost consciousness for a brief moment before coming right back to himself.
But the situation had gone sideways so fast that he hadn't managed to pull back the Etherealization before the head butler saw it — which meant now, more than ever, he absolutely could not open his eyes.
If they figure out I'm an Ethereal, that's the whole cake ruined!
And so, to prevent exactly that, Geno had no choice but to keep playing dead — suppressing his wounds' natural regeneration the entire time, lest anyone notice something was off.
What followed was, in hindsight, entirely predictable.
"Arnold. Go fetch the flamethrower."
"Yes, Master."
Wait — WAIT. What are you planning to do with that, old man?!
Geno, who had been quietly scheming his way out of this, went completely blank.
A flamethrower? What did he need a flamethrower for — oh. Oh no. Were they going to cremate him?!
"Although young Geno has already passed on, his body has suffered severe Ether Corruption. Since the remains can no longer be preserved intact, it would be best to cremate him to ash — so we might at least keep something of him close."
It really IS a cremation!! QAQ
Old Master Timefield's voice was heavy with grief as he spoke, gently lowering Geno's body back down to the ground. The sorrow written across his face was entirely genuine — not a single note of performance in it.
A person subjected to Ether Corruption inside a Hollow would gradually undergo Etherealization, transforming into an Ethereal. But outside the Hollow, the environment provided no such transformation pathway — the corruption would simply continue spreading, bringing nothing but relentless, worsening agony.
Furthermore, a body in the grip of Ether Corruption would become a new source of infection. Standard protocol to prevent further spread: burn it clean.
Head butler Arnold returned promptly with the flamethrower in hand. It was a military-grade model — maximum output, guaranteed to reduce what remained of Geno to absolutely nothing.
In Arnold's mind, this was the last kindness he could offer.
Fortunately for Geno, he couldn't hear what was going through Arnold's head. If he could, the thanks he'd have forced through his clenched teeth would have sounded downright murderous.
But Geno had no time to dwell on that now. The muzzle of that pitch-black barrel was already swinging toward him, sinful flames primed and ready to pour — and Geno finally, decisively, ran out of patience.
His eyes snapped open.
"I think," he said, looking directly at Arnold, who had his finger hovering over the trigger, "there might still be some room to save me."
The entire scene went dead silent.
---
New Eridu's city center. The Ravenlock family estate.
Hartman Ravenlock was not in a good mood.
Ever since he had taken over as head of the Ravenlock family, the family's standing had been in steady decline — and now they were teetering on the edge of outright expulsion from TOPS.
"Damn it all! Why?! Why does it always fall apart at the last second!"
Hartman glared at the report that had just come through on his tablet, his thoughts a storm of barely-contained fury.
The report detailed what had happened on Geno's end not long ago.
"Useless! The Congregation swore they'd handle it cleanly — and they got wiped out in minutes! Absolute garbage!"
Hartman himself was not without a sharp mind. The moment he'd realized the Timefield young lady was venturing out in the dead of night, he'd suspected it might be a trap.
So he hadn't placed his faith in hired muscle alone. Instead, he had obtained a mysterious compound from the Congregation — something known as Elixir P06 — and administered it to his men.
Apparently, the substance was supposed to elevate a person's combat power to something approximating a Rank Three Ethereal, bordering on Rank Four. But as far as Hartman was concerned, that was nothing but the Congregation blowing its own horn.
What else could explain getting dismantled by some nobody upstart who was barely worth knowing about?
Every piece of intelligence Hartman had gathered painted the same picture: Geno was some green, low-profile kid messing around with video games in New Eridu. A complete nobody.
And that, if anything, made it worse.
"I know that old fossil was just buying himself time with this stunt. But the thought of being compared to some brat like that — even in passing — is enough to make me furious."
CRACK.
The tablet he'd been clutching a moment ago hit the floor and shattered into pieces.
"Go tell the Congregation's rats: if they can't sort this out, the Ravenlock family will be reconsidering our arrangement with them."
"Yes, Master."
The attendant standing nearby bowed stiffly, shaking just enough to show he very much did not want to be the next thing Hartman threw.
Once the attendant had gone, Hartman let the fury drain out of him slowly, turning his mind back to the question of how he might still turn this around.
"Perhaps... there's another path available to me."
His gaze fell on the map of New Eridu spread before him. His eyes traced westward from Weifeidi, drifted east past the Janus district, kept moving — and finally came to rest on a stretch of desolate, uninhabited wasteland.
Then he made a call.
"I can give you what you want. But you will carry out the task I give you."
"No problem. Here's to a pleasant partnership."
Hartman listened to the flippant, breezy voice on the other end of the line, and a thin, contemptuous smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Heh. A pleasant partnership."
---
Back to Geno.
Having narrowly avoided being reduced to fertilizer by head butler Arnold and his military-grade flamethrower, Geno was transferred to the Timefield family's private medical facility for a proper examination.
"Relax. Everyone here is one of ours — there's no need to worry."
Old Master Timefield sat beside the hospital bed, leaning on his cane, his expression the very picture of grandfatherly warmth as he looked at Geno.
Whatever else had happened — Geno being alive was the only thing that mattered.
And the guilt still simmering in the old man's chest quietly swelled to fill every inch of the space that relief had left behind.
"Master, everything has been arranged."
Head butler Arnold entered from outside the ward. He looked at Geno — color already returning to his face — and his own expression softened in a way he rarely permitted himself.
The young lady won't have to grieve after all.
With that thought safely tucked away, Arnold maintained his composure with practiced precision and turned to give his report to Old Master Timefield.
"Master — none of the attackers survived. Additionally, their remains sustained severe damage and can no longer be used to establish their identities. Beyond that..."
Arnold paused. This next part was not good news by any measure.
"What else?"
"Public Security has withdrawn. With two officers dead and several others critically wounded, they've indicated they are no longer willing to involve themselves in the matter between our family and the Ravenlocks."
Old Master Timefield's brow furrowed — then gradually smoothed again.
Public Security was, in name, a government body charged with maintaining public order and protecting citizens. In practice, however, New Eridu's municipal administration and the major industrial factions had never been a clean top-down hierarchy — they were locked in a web of mutual checks, each holding the other back, maintaining a delicate and perpetually uneasy balance.
Public Security pulling out now almost certainly meant the Ravenlock family had worked something behind the scenes. After all, every piece of evidence that could have placed them at the scene had already been erased.
"And that is precisely why I say I detest hyenas above all things. Especially the kind that will throw their own people away the moment it becomes convenient."
That was the full measure of Old Master Timefield's assessment of the Ravenlock family — and he meant every word.
____
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