Year 1930 November New York

The lapis lazuli sky could be described as ''. The bright morning sun shone down on the entire city.

The red and yellow brick buildings were like colors painted onto the streets. However, they never imparted a feeling of confinement to those walking on the streets.

On the other hand, the cars, which were growing in popularity in recent years, added to pedestrians' sense of claustrophobia.

It was the era of the . Although every period developed its own fashions and trends, this country had to choose an "alcohol-free society".

But the end result was to raise the allure of alcohol, and even people who had never drank alcohol started to enter the black market for it... That is to say, the introduction of the new law had the ironic effect of increasing the number of 'criminals'.

Grape juice would be put before the door of general stores, and a sign would be placed in front of the barrel of grape juice. On the sign, the following warning would be written:

"This will ferment into wine if left out for too long. Please use before it goes bad."

This "grape juice" sold like hotcakes. In short, this was the kind of era it was.

The golden era of the was past, and only last year America was struck by the Great Depression. Even the streets packed with red-roofed houses seemed to have lost their vivid color.

But lurking in darkness of streets were the 'leading stars' of the era, who fought off the Depression and maintained power. Commonly referred to as the 'Mafia', they had strong footholds in the trade of illicitly-produced alcohol.

That was to say, the government's policy of 'Prohibition' actually provided the perfect breeding ground for these enemies of law.

As the bosses of Mafia, and together created countless 'legends'- the 1930s was that kind of era.

Their legends always began in the back alleys.

"Charity, charity please!"

The emergency exit of a bank, the space between densely-packed apartments, the garbage area at the back of restaurants... Simply put, as long as it was a narrow, dark alleyway, anywhere was OK. It had nothing to do the volume of pedestrian traffic. And of course, the seasons or time of day didn't matter too.

"You just have to donate a little of your spare change to save this poor man's life."

From behind a hat shop came the beggar's plea. And everything began from this, from the sound in the alleyway.

Every time someone passed through the alley, the shabby middle-aged man would chase them, fervently begging "charity please". When the passers-by reached the exit to the main street, he would give up and return to his original position... to repeat the same routine over and over again.

"The Lord is always watching over you, and your charity will be rewarded by the Lord..."

"I want to ask--"

This cycle of repetitive begging was cut off abruptly.

The one speaking to the beggar was a man... or perhaps it would be better to describe him as a 'youngster'. He halted his skipping steps and tilted his head back to look at the heavily-bearded beggar.

"Why is it you use the name of God so lightly when begging?"

The youngster's tone and manner did not match his youthful appearance. The beggar's face clouded over with confusion at the sudden question.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you a devout Christian? Have you ever attended a Sunday mass? Before you became unemployed, had you ever donated to the church? Can you tell me the difference between Catholics and Protestants? If you can say 'yes' to all the above, then you shouldn't be using God's name to beg in such a place. Right now you should be helping the sisters at church with charity work, or searching hard for a job to feed your family. If not, then you should hate the Lord for leaving you where you are now and become a Satanist."

The beggar, pressured into silence by the youngster's tone of voice and his relentless questioning, responded by shouting the moment the youngster stopped for breath.

"As if! Then what happened to the donations to the church? Those bastards at the top only worship the Lord only in name, when in reality they're enjoying the thousands and billions of 'donations' that should belong to us, the poor!"

"You've never cared about anyone but yourself, have you...? Of course God will abandon guys like you who only think about themselves. The majority of people are on the streets because of the Depression. But if that's the case, those standing on the streets holding large protest signs saying "We want work" are more deserving of life than you are."

The beggar wanted to retort but couldn't think of anything better to say. And still the youngster rambled on about his own philosophy, heedless of the beggar.

"But come to think of it, being a beggar requires skill. Among those who beg as a way of living, there are guys who still beg at crossroads in rags, even if they have money. Then there are some who break their own arms and teeth to 'play the role'. Those beggars attract more pity than those truly in need. Compared to them, you are still an amateur."

Having said all that, the youngster rolled his eyes and pulled out his leather wallet from his breast pocket.

"Huh?"

The beggar was baffled. From his words from just now, it didn't seem likely he would be receiving alms from him. So why was the youngster taking out his wallet?

"-If it was the usual me, I wouldn't care about a beggar as unprofessional as you are..."

A number of coins were taken from the wallet. But the beggar's eyes were drawn to the thick wad of bills in the wallet. At a time of depression like this, it shouldn't be possible for so much money to be in the hands of such a youngster. No, even an employed adult wouldn't have this much money... The wad of bills compressed as the wallet closed.

"Today's a very memorable day for me, so I'm in a very good mood. You're lucky to meet me today, now take this money."

A few moments passed; the beggar's face became gleeful by degrees.

"Ooh, ooooh, thank you so much, young sir! I will never forget your kindness for the rest of my life."

"Nah... it's all right to forget it so just accept it."

The youngster urged the beggar to take those few coins from his open palm.

"Aaah, the Lord will definitely bless you with good fortune."

"Like I said, you're just lucky I'm in a good mood, so stop treating me like some saint..."

"Aah, yes! I have some flowers which were freshly picked this morning. As thanks for your kindness, I'll give them to you. Please accept them."

Speaking quickly, the beggar still did not take the money but instead started rummaging in the filthy bag he was holding.

"They're probably withered by now."

"No, no, the Lord will ensure that they will blossom because of your generosity."

A happy expression still twisting his face, the beggar inspected the contents of the bag. Then...

"What a big red, red flower...!"

It was destroyed in an instant.

The pitiful paper bag tore a little, then was violently ripped apart.

From the tattered remains of the bag emerged a gleaming 'boy' knife.

"-------!"

The bearded beggar seemed to be squawking something. But he seemed very, very delighted.

Just as the excited, strange sounds stopped...

...it morphed into an agonized and startled cry.

"----G-gaaaaaa g-ga g- gua......aa!"

Just before the tip of the blade touched his abdomen, the youngster grabbed the wrist of the hand brandishing the knife. At the same time, he lightly swayed to one side. The knife sliced air as it passed under his arm. In the blink of the eye, the youngster grabbed both hands of the beggar and mercilessly twisted them to the beggar's back.

All this happened in less than the time than it took for the beggar's strange shout to turn into a wretched cry.

"Down you go."

The youngster pushed him back, slowly applying his body weight.

There was the sound of a knife hitting the floor, but the youngster didn't seem to care in the slightest.

Some kind of creaking sound could be heard clearly, coming from the beggar's wrist.

But even this sound was drowned by the beggar's miserable cry.

"Arg.... Aaaaaaa-aa g-ga u-uua s-stostostostostosto- s-sto- s-stop iiiiiit!"

When he was certain the beggar was writhing in agony, the youngster viciously shoved the beggar into the shade of the red-bricked wall. The beggar immediately fell to his knees with a heavy thud. There, he slowly crumpled to the ground and rolled around, groaning.

After a glance at the state of the beggar, he bent down to pick up coins that had fallen because of the short scuffle.

Then, when he was sure the beggar had stopped moving,

"Hey... get up."

The youngster firmly grasped the beggar's wrist and hauled up this man who was double his size. Then he propped him up against the red-bricked wall.

"Crossing someone as faithless as me was a very big mistake... Sorry, but I'm not so nice as to let you quietly stab me to death."

The beggar rested his shoulder against the wall and silently listened to the youngster's mockery; meanwhile his eyes darted around rapidly. He was thinking about how he could escape from this kind of situation.

"Want to escape? You're really hasty."

The youngster placed the coins he picked up into the center of his own palm and held them before the beggar.

"Didn't I say so before? Think of it as your good fortune..."

As the youngster spoke, he clenched his fist tightly around the coins on his palm.

"... Accept this gratefully with your whole heart."

This time, he didn't raise his fist as high, but the punch that followed was powerful enough to knock out the beggar's front teeth.

"~~~~~~~~!"

Hit by the youngster, the back of the beggar's head slammed hard against the wall. This, together with the pain in his front teeth, caused the beggar to let out a wail------- which faded... and, his back scraped down the wall... and he sprawled unceremoniously onto the floor.

This time the beggar completely lost consciousness, and so he didn't thrash around like before.

The youngster slowly loosened his clenched fist. The coins fell one by one, showering onto the man's face covered by blood from his nose and mouth. By chance, a few dropped into the beggar's open mouth. Some coins that had struck the ground made crisp, metallic sounds, filling the alleyway with the feel of decay.

"... hm?"

The youngster looked at his surroundings closer, and saw that not too far away was that knife. It looked common; it was just something without much value.

Should I dump it in the river...?

The youngster bent down again briefly to ensure the beggar had already passed out. But after thinking it over, the youngster decided take the knife to be on the safe side.

Just as the youngster was about to reach out to take the gleaming knife, someone called his name.

"Firo Prochainezo. Don't move your hand."

The hand, almost about to touch the knife, stopped in mid-air, and the youngster----- Firo Prochainezo looked in the direction where the voice came from... towards exit of the alley... where light spilled in from the avenue.

Standing in the back light was a silhouette of a young man. The young man in his early to mid-twenties was wearing a brown suit, and on top of that a knee-length black coat.

"You're such a pain... quit touching the evidence as you like..."

This young man gave Firo a look of disgust while donning a white glove and slowly lifting up the knife.

"Edward... What's this about?"

"That should be 'Mr. Edward', right? Learn to address those above you as 'Mr.' or 'Ms.'...... boy. Of course, you can also call me ' Edward'."

This man wearing the black coat... Edward Noah, Inspector of the police force. The corners of his mouth turned up in a faint, arrogant smile as he silently lifted his right hand.

Then, a large number of men appeared from behind him... The broken bag, the scattered coins, the unconscious idiot- they began 'collecting' everything one by one. As for Firo, he was ignored completely. All of them, taller than Firo by a head, literally acted as though "nothing was there".

"Oy oy, guys, take care you don't run over that brat."

Pretending they didn't hear their superior's boring joke, the men continued their work in silence.

"... Hmph, what a boring lot."

"Let's get this straight, Ed-... Mister Edward. Do you take me for some idiot?"

Firo, who had remained silent up to this point, opened his mouth and asked quietly.

The majority of items had been taken away, and those hard-working men were nowhere to be seen. The only evidence of the earlier incident was just small bloodstains left by that beggar.

Edward responded to Firo's question without even glancing at him, let alone turning his face to answer.

"You're right, you can't possibly be an idiot. Just some trash, a tick crawling on the streets."

"Stop evading the question..."

Displeasure started to color Firo's words. A hint of a derisive smile crept over Edward's face as he lit a rolled cigarette and lazily leaned against the red-bricked wall.

"Ahh, don't make such a scary face... It's just that the man you knocked out just now... he's a criminal we've been watching for a while."

"What?"

"He's a murderer. Using tactics like he did against you- he pretended to be a beggar in a small alleyway and targeted kind gentlemen and gentle ladies... If he saw enough cash worth the risk when looking into people's wallets, he'd use the knife hidden in a paper bag and attack! ... Just like that. Although we only learned about the bag just now."

"Why'd you leave something like this alone?"

"Even with witnesses' testimonies, that isn't enough to prove he's guilty. So in the end we had to quickly use some officers as bait to catch him in the act."

Edward drew deeply from the cigarette.

"So you had me appear here."

"Well yeah. Speaking frankly, if it was anyone other than you, we would let them pass and ensure their safety."

"... You were planning to watch only from the sidelines from the very beginning, weren't you? Your hobbies sure are honorable. So watching the instant of life-or-death is like watching boxing match? ... It would be even better if those guys had popcorn, yeah?"

"That's exactly why we're overlooking your excessive self-defense."

"... My tears of gratitude won't stop flowing."

"Nonetheless, I personally still think it's better if you'd been stabbed to death. ... I don't quite see how you were able to dodge it."

"If you see a beggar in such a desolate place, of course you'll be wary. And that blatantly fishy bag... Thankfully it wasn't a gun in there."

"Oh? So you'd have been fine if we left you alone?"

Edward asked this as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"That's exactly my sentiments today. If by chance it was just some beggar, then you'd let me give money to that guy... Say, why charge in like that?"

"Didn't I say so before? The criminal doesn't target anyone other than folks with wallets stuffed with money. So that's why he only attacks if the money covers the risk of killing and running in broad daylight. That's why he couldn't believe some kid under twenty has so much money, right?"

It was clear Edward knew full well he was mocking Firo.

"... Are you planning to investigate whether I'm evading taxes or stealing?"

Firo's eyes started glittering sharply.

"Ha! You're joking! As if it's necessary take such a roundabout way to investigate some small fry like you! Even if you were the head of your organization, it's so weak and small you'd just end up swallowed up by other organizations around you! It's survived until this day because you're so low on the food chain that no one thinks you guys are even worth the time and effort!"

"-I'll take what you just said as an insult."

Firo said just this one sentence shortly.

Just as the boy was thinking about how to beat up this bastard, his name was called again. But in contrast to Edward's tone, it was gentle and pleasant.

"So you were here, Firo."

Exactly where Edward had appeared- there, at the intersection with the main street- stood a tall gentleman wearing glasses. Bathed in the light from the main street, his chestnut hair flashed gold. On first glance, this man looked almost the same age as Edward, but this man had a mysterious air that made it impossible to guess his age.

"Didn't we say to meet in the hat store? I was worried because you didn't come, then I heard your voice coming from outside."

A smile of surprised delight appeared on the man's face.

But the moment he saw that smiling face, Edward's rather arrogant smile was wiped away.

"You're..."

"Mr. Maiza! Ah... sorry, I got into a spot of trouble..."

Firo's attitude was completely different from when he was speaking to the inspector. He hastily fixed his collar and even straightened his back from the slouch it had been in all along.

On the other hand, Edward was grinding the cigarette butt against the wall with a dour expression.

"Maiza Avaro... My, my, I never thought I'd meet the 'conta è oro' of the Martillo Family in such a place..."

Unlike Edward, whose voice had an undercurrent of nervousness, Maiza greeted him in response with a blank smile.

"Um-... Aah, you must be the Inspector Edward. You seem to be in a good mood today."

Although this extremely sarcastic greeting was directed at a man who was clearly in a foul mood, the smile on his face kept Edward from feeling the sting in his words.

"... Hmph... As expected, you're better than that boy. At least you know how to greet others properly."

"No, not at all. This may be the last time we will be able to address you as 'Inspector'."

"...?"

"Starting from next week, you will be 'Special Agent' Edward, am I right?"

Hearing these words, Edward's eyes widened in astonishment and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly several times before he could answer.

"What... did you say?"

"Oh my, is my news wrong? Well, it is just a rumor going around the streets."

Edward glared. It was true that he was about to start fieldwork with the Bureau of Investigation next week (renamed five years later as the Federal Bureau of Investigation... the FBI). He hadn't even told his lover or colleagues. Then how... how did some stranger who was least likely to know about this get hold of the information?

The young inspector vowed to find the source of the information leak, while directing all his irritation at Firo with a disgruntled look.

"...At the very least, Firo, hear me out on this. No matter who you give alms to now, it'll still be seen as hypocrisy. Quit this kind of pointless stuff and disappear from this city, unless you've decided you're ready for prison."

Firo was a little taken aback by the sudden lecture, but a moment later he replied irritably,

"You know what? I'm my own boss, and those who accept my charity are all the same to me. Whose business is it whether I'm a hypocrite or not?"

"You think everyone's happy getting your hard-earned dirty money?"

"... So you're saying donating to public funds or charity organizations is a better system, aren't you. No one checks who's donating or what kind of money it is."

Firo didn't deny the accusation of 'dirty money'.

"But then, I don't normally make donations."

"That again... Haven't you learned anything today?"

Edward was asking this question when Maiza cut in.

"Firo, we need to hurry... May we, Inspector?"

"... Ah, yeah..."

"Ah... sorry, Mr. Maiza. I've made you wait."

As the young inspector watched the backs of the two departing people, he thought:

A capable youngster in the organization together with one of the senior executives. What a special day.

As though a sudden thought occurred to him, Edward shouted to the youngster's back,

"Firo, you can't possibly..."

Firo's footsteps stopped. His back was facing him... he still faced the street.

"... It can't be... the executive?... You're being promoted? You, a mere ?"

Edward wrinkled his brow as he asked suspiciously.

He had also lived in this city for a long time. Firo was a very talented member of the 'organization'- this Edward acknowledged- but he seemed too young to be promoted to become an executive. He was still one and a half years from twenty years of age, and just his appearance made him look like a 'youngster' 3-4 years younger than his actual age. At such a tender age in the other side of society... No, even in normal society, he wouldn't even be considered a candidate for one of the executive seats in any organization.

But Edward had heard that there were special ceremonies for becoming an executive. They would meet up with a senior executive they didn't normally see inside the hat shop... The "special day": on this day, the promoted person must go to a hat or clothing store. Edward knew all too well that he couldn't do anything despite knowing the rules of the organization, but he was at least able to distinguish the executives within the organization.

"Hey... Is it really true?"

Firo didn't reply, but neither did he confirm or deny it. Silently, he resumed walking.

Edward took this response as a silent yes. He exploded with the kind of laughter one gave when hearing ghost stories, then, as though he had to confirm something, spoke again,

"It's true? You're really becoming an executive? You are? A baby-face like you? You gotta be kidding! Hey, hey ... Hurry up and give me some sort of response, this isn't something to joke about. Then, I dunno, is your organization really this short of people?"

The two people ignored him as they departed. Edward had expected this, and smiled as he said,

"It's because you've got a girly face, right... Just how many executives did you sleep with to rise so high?"

The two's footsteps quietly came to a halt.

Debating if he should scare him a little, Firo shifted his attention towards the dagger at his waist.

"Inspector."

But the first to turn was Maiza.

Beaming, Maiza said tonelessly to the inspector,

"We could take what you said as an insult."

Edward's smile stiffened, and even his derisive words froze on his tongue.

Maiza still had that harmless smile on his face, and his speech hadn't changed at all from before.

But the poor inspector could feel the killer intent pouring from him.

I'll be killed.

One more word about the 'organization' or Firo and he'd be killed by the man before his eyes. The iciness in his voice only served to confirm this.

If there was one thing that made him feel that way, it was the man's eyes. His eyes' depth seemed to hold something that was beyond his understanding... something that gave him the chills.

Edward snapped his jaw shut, feeling cold sweat breaking out all over his body. Maiza placed his hand on Firo's shoulder and continued,

"... Certainly, we may be an organization that will just be swallowed up..."

A moment of silence passed.

"But it'd be best if you don't offer us false pity ..."

So the damn bastard was eavesdropping on us after all.

Edward thought that, but didn't have the guts to stay it aloud. He could feel the sweat slowly trickling down his back.

Giving the scowling Firo two pats to the shoulder, Maiza set off towards the main street as though nothing had happened. As though drawn along, Firo also headed to the main street.

"... Remember this... Mark my words... Even if you killed me, I still won't accept the existence of Mafia like you... Because one day... I'll get rid of you all... For sure!"

From behind the two came the ragged voice of the inspector, who sounded like he had finally managed to force the words past his constricted throat.

"Ah- We are not 'Mafia'."

Without even looking back, Maiza gave a light wave of his hand as he answered.

Firo continued with one more line, then the two disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the streets.

"We are----- 'Camorra'."

In the alleyway Maiza and Firo just left, the inspector's fists shook violently.

"Um... Inspector, we should return to the station."

One of the police officers who had been collecting evidence earlier walked over.

"... Where did you go just now?"

"Ah... Er... We were all waiting in the car for you. But you never came, so..."

"Bullshit! You were so scared of that conta è oro, you didn't dare come over just now!"

"Of-, of course not..."

The officer's face turned pale, proof that the inspector's words had hit the mark.

"You call yourselves the police? What's our duty? It's to protect the nation's laws and safety of the people! What'd happen if we get scared when threatened by those two guys?"

Edward kicked the wall over and over again with his new leather shoes.

These words were directed at himself as much as at the policeman. This only infuriated Edward more.

"Maiza Avara... Firo Prochainezo... I've never been able to stand you guys. I'll definitely destroy you with these own hands someday!"

To calm down the angered inspector, the idiotic policeman pitched in with an inappropriate joke.

"Those lines sound just like something out of Mafia novels."

Edward swung his ruined shoe mercilessly at his companion's shin.

"He said he'll get rid of us."

"Oh my, how scary, how scary. These types of people are really bull-headed. Ah well, it's precisely because the police are so bull-headed that they are worth trusting."

Firo and Maiza exchanged looks then smiled faintly.

"What'll the world come to if we trust the police?"

The two people, who emerged from the alleyway, passed between Little Italy and Chinatown and headed towards the Manhattan Bridge. They had met at that shop to buy a hat, but after the 'messing about' just now, they decided to go to another store.

"Since we've already here, I know a good shop nearby."

Because of Maiza's one sentence, the two had to walk for more than an hour.

"Musicals are quite something... The 'Good Witch' in the Wizard of Oz, what was her everyday life like?"

This Maiza person was really a man who was 'not the slightest bit like a Camorra'.

Never quarreling, never getting angry, always smiling and speaking courteously to everyone, he didn't seem to possess any of the necessary qualities of an inhabitant of the underworld. If one met him on the streets, it'd feel like he was hiding his true self from the world while issuing orders to his organization's meetings and underlings.

When comparing the Camorra and the Mafia, people generally thought 'the Camorra are more violent'. But Maiza seemed completely oblivious to this disreputable side of the Cammora.

Maiza had served the longest in the organization as someone in charge of paperwork and sums, and was appointed the 'conta è oro', but even before he became part of the executive board he was well-known in the 'organization' for his strangeness. Or at least, that was what Firo always thought.

At the lower ranks of the organization, there were even some who scornfully called Maiza 'mental' or 'the '. Firo didn't dislike Maiza so he always tried to think of ways to protect him, but his behavior didn't lend much strength to his words.

"Aah, you should be able to see it better. That's the shop I'm somewhat acquainted with."

At the center of the road from which the Manhattan Bridge could be seen was a well-established hat shop.

When they entered the elderly shopkeeper only gave them a cursory glance; he didn't even bother with any sort of welcome. Even though it was a shop on a main street, there was nothing appealing about it. But when one saw the racks full of hats, one realized that, actually, this was quite a good shop. Although this shop specialized in hats and belts, Firo couldn't help but wow at the sheer richness of selection.

"Amazing..."

The wall was covered with hats that hung from it. No, rather, because the hats completely obscured the wall, it made one wonder: was there really a wall behind the hats? The hats didn't just cover the walls, but they also filled the shelves of the shop; belts were draped around the counter like wallpaper.

"It doesn't matter when you come, you'll always be surprised... I said that I'd choose a hat suitable for you, so... My apologies, it may take a while. Is that all right?"

"Of course. Take your time."

Maiza lightly nodded his head, then headed straight into the mountain of hats.

In a normal Camorra organization, when someone was promoted to become a 'Camorrista' executive they wouldn't know about it until the night of the 'inauguration ceremony'. But the Camorra family Firo and Maiza belonged to had a different custom. The person in question would be notified a day in advance, and on the day of the 'ceremony', they would go together with a chosen executive to a hat store. Furthermore, that chosen executive would choose the most suitable hat for his colleague who would rise to the same rank that night.

But there wasn't any special meaning to this practice. It was just that Don Molsa Martillo gave every member a hat in the beginning, when establishing a family in New York, and it became a practice; that was all.

As such, Firo, who was about to become an executive, treated the hat selection as an important part of the 'ceremony', and so waited a little anxiously for his own hat.

However, when he saw Maiza and the hat, he completely forgot about the incident with the annoying inspector. Now Firo's heart was filled with the anticipation and nervousness about tonight's ceremony.

"This one isn't bad."

A hat was placed on Firo's head.

It was a pearl-green fedora. When shone on by the sunlight from the door, the soft, reflected glow was green. This matched the youngster's light complexion like a perfect work of art. When the youngster spun around and the light couldn't reach the hat, the color instantly changed to a dark green... contrasting strongly with his pale face and making a lasting impression on the viewer.

"This is... fantastic, Mr. Maiza! It's perfect!"

The 'conta è oro' knew his behavior was not exaggerated- the youngster was just very happy. The reflection in the shop mirror could easily be mistaken for another person. This made the youngster want to obtain another coat of a similar color. It was a little... No, it didn't matter even if this made him very eye-catching.

The youngster looking himself in the mirror gave a truly sincere, happy smile. This expression made it difficult to imagine that this was the very same person as the earlier youngster who had mocked the beggar and mercilessly punched him in his face.

The last time Maiza saw this expression was when the Don granted him permission to join the family.

When it was time for Maiza to pay the shopkeeper still hadn't say anything; he just silently put the hat into a bag and charged according to the price tag. Even when Maiza made some polite chitchat about the weather, the shopkeeper just wordlessly spared him one glance.

But these two didn't mind, chatting instead about what to do after the ceremony tonight, such as what was there to eat, getting a bottle of wine from a " on the way back, and other similar topics, then walking out of the shop door.

At this moment, another man and woman entered.

The man seemed taller than Mazia, tall enough to almost touch the door frame. The woman on the other hand was a little shorter than Firo, wearing heavily bejeweled bracelets on both her wrists and quite a few silver rings on her fingers.

The clothing this pair wore was striking. The man wore a black tuxedo with no tie and held a black leather case. The woman wore a black one-piece dress, also of a similar style, with red leather belts around her waist and wrists. At the time it was rare to see women dressed in that manner, so it gave her a feel of the witch from a musical.

The most important thing was that a remarkable, two-person team had popped up in this terrible world.

"Oops, my apologies."

Because his shoulder hit them, Maiza apologized immediately.

"Hey, hey, be careful."

"Be careful!"

The woman following hot on the heels of the man parroted the same sentence.

There wasn't any more to the incident, but Firo stared at the duo who seemed like they were plucked straight from Broadway and thought,

These two people are both in their twenties... But in a recession like this, just which wealthy family did this young master and missus come from?

Firo pondered this as he stowed away his money safely and walked out of the store together with Maiza.

Within the store Firo and Maiza left, the man in the tuxedo, Isaac Dian, spoke quietly to the elegant woman beside him, Miria Harvent.

"Listen, Miria... I just wanted to say again, we mustn't do anything to stand out."

"Understood. Keep a low profile, if we keep a low profile then it'll be okay, right?"

"That's right. If you understand then it's great."

Making chatter that was very fishy compared to their attire, the two surveyed the wall buried in hats. The man held a large travel suitcase in his left hand, but they didn't seem like they were going to travel.

"Amazing! Choose quickly."

"We can buy whatever we want!"

"Feels like you can conquer the entire world with just a hat."

As he sprouted these bewildering analogies, the strange man picked out a hat he liked and started spinning it on his finger, making whirling sounds.

"What kind of hat should I choose?"

Miria inquired.

"We-ell, it's better to choose a plainer one... No wait, better to choose a shocking one to confuse people?"

As the two ventured into the depths of the store, they found more and more varieties of hats.

It could be said every possible kind of hat was there. Even though it was winter, there were straw-woven hats, and also the feathered Indian headdress, and even the tall, cylindrical black hats of the British Royal Guard.

"... Is it really okay to sell this?"

Isaac held in his hand a helmet, which was part of the uniform of the New York police. While Miria had obtained an American military helmet, which, when she put on her own head, gave her the strange feeling of merging with it.

"Oh wow, this is really amazing."

An especially eye-catching hat sat on the highest shelf in the store. It was made out of cloth-wrapped metal, and was decorated with gold wires all over. And the part of the forehead area gleamed gold.

"What's this? Not a boomerang, right?"

"It can't be a dagger or something, right? Won't it hurt?"

They were actually talking about a hat decorated with something that looked like a v-shaped knife.

Below this eccentric hat was a slip of paper, on which "JAPAN" was written.

"Aaaaaa-h... Can it be the crown of Japan's king?"

"I must be. Otherwise why would it be so bright and shiny?"

In the shelf below this crown was the famous cloth mask of the Mysterious Thief, so it wasn't placed together with any of the other hats, strange or otherwise.

"... Isn't this a bit over the top?"

"Maybe it isn't suitable for us robbers."

Miria smiled at Isaac and accidentally said something shocking.

"Oh well, it doesn't matter, let's just buy it all."

Isaac wasn't phased by what Miria said. So in the end, Isaac went to the register holding a black top hat, a lady's lace hat, as well as the Japanese crown and the strange wooden mask picked only moments ago. Clatter clatter- an astonishing quantity of goods crashed down before the aged shopkeeper's eyes.

Even then the shopkeeper didn't say a word. He just scanned the goods with his eyes, then wrote down the individual prices of the goods and the total on a piece of paper.

On the piece of paper was an astounding number that was the equivalent of two month's wage of a bank worker. Isaac immediately took out a large amount of cash from the black briefcase, and casually handed it to the shopkeeper after a quick count.

A minute later, dozens of excess bills and the remaining change returned to Isaac's hand.

"Grandpa, forget everything about our visit to your shop! Okay?"

"Forget it!"

A duo who were excessively talkative. Their dress and speech were also eccentric, so under certain circumstances others may very well have reported them to the police. But there just simply wasn't anything wrong with their appearance- they were just a little bizarre, that was all.

"If you should report to the police... we'll... we'll what?"

The self-confessed criminal turned to Miria, who was by his side, for help.

"Um--, how about giving him a beating? If we still haven't decided on what to do."

"I see. How's that, old man! If you dare report us to the police... we'll beat you up!"

"Beat you up!"

This was a terrible threat. In many ways.

Hearing duo's strange threat, the shopkeeper just shot them a look.

The man and woman immediately shut their mouths, picked their paid items from the register and quickly left the store.

The shopkeeper picked up the newspaper again, and after a while, completely forgot everything about the customers who had come in today.

"Huff huff huff... S-... S-s-s-s-sscaryyy."

"Scaryyy."

The two people who fled from the hat shop sprinted into a nearby alley.

"Damn... That old man must be quite strong. With just a look I... Just what- no- he almost made me wet my pants... u-um... finally we escaped... no... I suppose we were chased out by that old man...???"

"We were chased out."

"Yeah, just like that... With one look of an eye he chased us out... But of course, if we were to fight with him we would definitely win. But you see, the opponent is also very powerful, so I couldn't allow the possibility of my Miria getting hurt."

"Really?" Miria asked happily.

"Yeah, of course! Ever since we started robbing a year ago, from San Francisco to New Jersey, we've robbed eighty-seven places. Just when have I ever exposed you to danger?"

"Eight-seven times?"

"..."

"..."

"You see! It's not even one hundred times yet!"

"It's true! Amazing!"

This awed exclamation was sincere. They were always like this- they had no sense of danger whatsoever, which meant they had encountered danger quite a few times without even knowing it.

"That's right! We're gonna do one big job in New York, then we'll go to some place like Miami to enjoy leisurely days. This way the word danger will become a foreign word to us!"

"A foreign word to us!"

"We will buy a big house, then build a huge swimming pool, and swim there day and night."

"It gets cold at night."

"It's okay, we will use over ten stoves, so this way even the swimming pool will become warm."

"Over ten! That's so amazing- even the Arabian kings don't do this kind of stuff."

It's true that the desert at night was icy-cold... but still, the people who said these things seemed to have severe brain damage.

"And we can build a railroad in the garden. This way, we can take the train everyday from home to the gate."

"Uwah, but then the train tickets will be very expensive."

"Good point. Right, we won't have the railroad."

"But that's still very amazing. Can we really become such wealthy people?"

"Of course. Together with Miria I can even become the President of America! We are the Kings of America, the Kings! Aah, the king, the queen, or even a joker, we can become anything!"

A man becoming a queen was rather difficult to imagine in reality.

"Even though I don't really understand, it still sounds amazing!"

The two were immersed in their own fantasies, humming jazz tunes. This alleyway was like the duo's stage as they danced hand in hand. The lover pair dreamed about their future-

And then a car hit them.

<==>

"-Did they die?"

From the back of the car came an old man's voice.

"No... although we were driving very quickly... Ah, they moved. Maybe they fell because they lost their balance."

The answer from the driver's seat was from a young woman's voice.

"Then let's hurry."

"Yes."

As if nothing had happened, the car picked up speed as it pulled out of the scene. Only when the car was about to drive onto the main street did that man in the back finally speak again.

"... Be careful. Why did you hit someone?"

"My apologies, I originally intended to avoid them, but they suddenly danced out into the center of the road... Braking then was already too late."

The man in the back was silent for a while. He was thinking the woman on the driver's seat had yet to lie to him until now.

"... Danced out?"

"Yes, the man was wearing a black suit and the woman black formal dress... almost like they were dancers rehearsing something."

"... This place is rather far from Broadway."

"And... the man was still holding a hat in his right hand... a Japanese samurai helmet."

The man raised an eyebrow at that.

"... In recent times, the youngsters have been really hard to understand..."

There was no response from the driver's seat.

"Hm... Even long ago I couldn't understand the thoughts of those youngsters."

The man slowly closed his eyes as he talked to himself.

"That's right... From two hundred years ago... it started when that youngster lost his senses. I will never believe in young people again."

"... When compared to you, Master Quates, the whole world is younger."

The sound came from the driver's seat. Although he was interrupted, Szilard didn't seem displeased and answered.

"Of course, that's why I don't trust anyone."

After this, a deep silence descended on the car.

This large, black car driven by a woman stopped at the southern building of the .

The Empire State building, which was expected to be finished next year, could be seen from their location. Although it wasn't complete, it already exuded a stately sense of prestige as it overlooked the entire street.

The female driver hurried to get off the car first, then opened the backseat door. The back of the car was very spacious- a rare model at the time.

Szilard Quates was in a bad mood as he descended from the car, deepening the folds on his already heavily-creased face. The rays from late autumn sun filtered through between the buildings, and shone directly onto the old man's face.

"... Blinding."

The female driver immediately opened an umbrella. Across the whole of the five meters between the car and the entrance of the building, she shaded the old man from the sun as she moved with him.

When they arrived at the door, the driver used her free hand to insert the key into the lock of the door. Szilard hadn't even looked at her from when the driver opened the door until now.

There was nothing inside the building, just the bare layout of the rooms. There wasn't a shred of life in the building. However, it wasn't abandoned either. There was no soot on the floor; the walls and lights were very new, as though renovations had only just been completed yesterday.

Szilard walked to the empty space by the side of the stairs, and tapped his foot a few times on the floor.

After some seconds, the light above the stairs lit up. Szilard tapped his foot again to confirm.

The floorboard in front of him lifted up, and from within emerged an old man's head.

"Well, well, isn't it Master Quates, it's been a while since we've last met!"

"It's only been twenty years. That's not really a long time."

"Hahaha... your perspective of time is different from ours."

"Time is always the same. It just differs in how it is perceived, that's all."

With this greeting, the two old men and the young woman walked down the stairs.

Szilard and this old man's footsteps were so light, it was difficult to believe they were both elderly people. Then, a group of people appeared in front of them.

"Ooh, Master Quates."

"It's great to see you in such good health."

"You look well..."

"Your existence is truly an amazing miracle to mankind."

The dozen or so men didn't seem at all surprised by the fact that Quates's appearance hadn't changed in the past twenty years.

The men's ages varied, but the youngest looked like they were already forty years old. In fact... there were even three men who looked like they were around ninety.

Szilard, surrounded by a group of old men, looked around, then said lazily,

"Looks like Barnes and Stagen aren't around."

The old men looked down. The man who guided Szilard reported sorrowfully,

"Master Barnes is currently in the 'distillation room'... Master Stagen... passed away last year."

"I see."

Szilard's voice didn't have any emotion.

"It can't be helped, dying of old age... if he had persisted for another year, then he would have been able to celebrate this day with us..."

Szilard asserted. The others didn't object.

They knew it was near impossible for themselves to die from accidents or illnesses.

"In the past, without the complete wine, I wasn't able to grant you immortal life... Although you won't die a sudden death, you can't help but fear aging to death. But that will end today."

There were some small cheers, which echoed around the underground room.

"... But, there appear to be some problems."

In an instant, the cheering died down to give way to solemn silence.

"Is true the brewer is dead?"

After Szilard's words, the caretaker reported speedily,

"Y-yes... Yesterday, a robber stabbed him to death..."

"Who was the criminal?"

At this point, a forty-year-old man stepped forward to continue the 'report' by the caretaker.

"Master Szilard. The criminal has already been captured in a trap by the police, and was arrested not long ago. I heard he pretended to be a beggar to carry out his robberies... He doesn't seem to belong to any one organization, but was just a vagrant drug addict."

"...A coincidence, huh... If that's true... then we don't know even his name. We should have originally included that brewer into our group... Even though it's just a half-complete product, if he had drunk it then he wouldn't have died when he encountered that robber."

As though realizing something, Szilard tsked.

"It is as you said, Master Szilard... That person is just a boring man who only knows recipes and alchemy. Letting him into your group is a bit..."

The old caretaker ventured nervously,

"Really... perhaps that's the case."

You old folks haven't changed at all. While in Szilard's heart he ridiculed the surrounding people, his mouth just went along and agreed.

"... Another brewer can always be found. The question is the 'complete product'. Can Barnes guarantee he can complete the thing I want?"

"Yes, with a leftover of three dozen bottles."

"Is he all right on his own?"

"Since the place is a granary in public records, no one other than rats will enter, so there's no need for you to worry... And all non-members will be followed by bodyguards, because if they learn about the wine there'll be great trouble..."

You need only go yourselves. In any case, you dislike shouldering the important responsibilities. Although he continued his silent criticism with loathing, Szilard nodded his head anyway and requested the female driver behind him,

"Ennis, go pick up the wine and Barnes with your car."

"Yes."

The female driver named Ennis bowed respectfully to Szilard and the other men. With only the car keys in her hand, she started climbing the stars. From behind came another order from Szilard.

"Oh, and if Barnes dares to touch a single drop of my wine... don't hesitate- kill him. On the other hand, if he dares to waste my wine, likewise, kill him."

"... Understood."

Cold sweat started pouring down the old men's backs.

The people within this room would never die from injuries or sicknesses. Even if they fell into searing magma, as long as they didn't die of old age they could still regenerate.

But... there were also exceptions, when they could be easily 'killed'.

Those capable of this feat were the two people before them.

But, in contrast, they could never kill these two people.

This was a terror from which there was no escape.

The fear of aging would be overcome with the 'complete product' coming today. But then the terror before their eyes would never end.

If they didn't want to see the stroke of 'Death''s scythe, they had to pledge loyalty to the old man before their eyes.

Life without end. In other words, eternity.

As long as they did not die, they couldn't escape from the fear of death.

This was a contradictory vicious circle.

"That's why, use the oil like this... apply it to the leather glove. Then, bring the match close..."

On a road in , a skinny man's right hand was engulfed in a blue flame.

"Oy, stoppit! Your hand will be burned off!"

The one who said this was a round, fat man, who watched anxiously from one side.

"Didn't I say before, s'alright... See, I just need to press my hand against the wall."

The skinny man pressed his hand against the wall and, because the oxygen supply was cut off, the fire extinguished instantly.

"See?"

"Ooh... That's really amazing."

As members of the Martillo family, "Ghost" Randy and "Meatball" Pezzo were busy preparing for tonight's celebrations.

Because they bought too much oil, the two had opened a bottle and were gleefully playing a dangerous game.

"Aah, there's still lots left... it'd be okay if we didn' open bottles freely."

"But what'd we needta buy next?"

"Good point... We'll get some fruits fer dessert."

Where was the closest fruit store? Just as Randy was musing over that, Pezzo opened another bottle of oil.

"Oy Pezzo, what're you doin'?"

"Nothing, I just wanna play that burning-hand game again. Y'see, this can be highlight of tonight's show, right?"

"Idiot! Why'd you open a new bottl'? There's still plenty left in this one!"

"Ah s'alright. Since we've still got so much left anyway."

Crammed in the paper bag Pezzo was cradling were over ten canisters of oil. And, perhaps as part of the store's service, there were also quite a number of can openers inside.

"I really can't stand it. I mean, forget th' oil, what's with all these can openers... It's all 'cause you bought too much, Randy."

"Can't do nothing 'bout it. The more you buy the cheaper it gets. After all, with the economy so bad it's best t' buy much as you can, while you can."

"Geez... If not f' me you'd have spent all our cash on oil."

Pezzo laughed, and pulled out an oil canister from his own bag.

"Randy, gimme a light. I can't with this paper bag in my hand."

"Can't be helped..."

Randy struck a match. As there was still a residue of oil left on his own gloves, he kept the match as far away as possible from his hands the instant the match caught fire.

"Watch."

Just as Randy was about to hand over the match to his companion, he noticed something he had overlooked earlier.

This guy's glove, is it made out of cloth--!?

But it was already too late. The moment the match touched Pezzo's huge glove it was engulfed in flames, making a 'gougou' sound as it burned furiously.

"Woah, this won't burn through, right?

Seeing a fiercer flame than expected, Pezzo panicked and pressed his hand against the wall.

Although this extinguished the flames around his palm, other areas that didn't touch the wall were still enveloped in blue flames.

"Hey! Didn't you say that'd extinguish it!?"

"Aaaaah--! You idiot! There's oil on th' back o' your hand too!"

As soon as Pezzo's hand left the wall, the extinguished areas resumed burning.

Pezzo hurriedly flapped his hand, but the flames showed no sign of extinguishing. A lot of oil had seeped into the cloth, so Pezzo's hand became like a huge candle's wick. The paper bag was thrown aside, and oil from the opened canisters splashed against the woodwork of the white wall.

"Ouch! 'S hot!"

"Calm down! Quick, take off your glove!"

As per Randy's instructions, Pezzo tore off the glove in panic and waved his hand around frantically.

Besides some small blisters on the back of his hand, there wasn't any serious injury.

"Aaah... Thought I was a goner there..."

"Man... sorry I nearly roasted your hand."

"Not at all."

"Haha..."

The two gave a sigh of relief, and were about to pick up the fallen canisters...

They froze.

The discarded glove had landed right into a puddle of oil... What burned was not just the oil, but also the side of the wooden building. The only difference was that the blue flames had turned red.

Randy quickly surveyed the surroundings, confirming that there was no one else around.

Pezzo swept up the paper bag that, by pure chance, hadn't caught on fire, and stuffed the oil canisters back in.

In perfect synchronization, the two-man combo exchanged silent looks...

-- They nodded furiously at the same time, then fled the scene like the wind.

<==>

Finally, finally, my greatest wish was about to become reality...

Eternal life. When I heard of similar things in myths and fairy tales, I had always snorted contemptuously and dismissed them as the same old stories. But now that I thought about it, it was what I thought of myself then... at that time, I ridiculed myself shallowly for fantasizing impossible things.

But the sight of this 'reality' made me elated, however ridiculous it seemed.

Lying on the table was a small, white rat. And within its body was the dream I was pursuing.

This species of rat was a 'seed' for experiments, created using Master Szilard's alchemy. It had an alarming reproductive ability, but only possessed a lifespan of seven days.

However, the one before my eyes had already lived for fifteen days, and it had stopped growing the third day after it drank the concocted 'wine'. If it had drunk the 'incomplete product', then the rat would not only grow, but also 'age' until it died. So in this sense, the wine I concocted should be the 'complete product'.

The hammer was swung down savagely. A piercing shrill sounded, and at the same time crimson splashed over the table.

I silently watched the splattered remains of the rat. No matter how many times I had watched this, the wait for the instant the miracle occurs always felt interminably long. If one knew the miracle existed, then every extra second always felt like a waste.

Although in reality only tenths of seconds had passed in silence, but to me, they felt like hours... No, I had been waiting for this day for decades.

As though sentient, the scattered drops of blood on the table began to move one by one. Even the blood that had seeped into the woodwork of the table crept out, like bugs drawn to sunlight. If this didn't count as a miracle, then what did?

The army of blood began to head towards its destination... to where the hammer fell- the coagulated mass that was the dead rat.

This scene gave one the mistaken feeling of time flowing backwards. No, time was reversing for the 'death' of the rat on this table.

To be able to alter the flow of time was truly a miracle, an act that could only be performed by God or demons. I too have finally waited till this day.

That's right... if such a miracle had occurred to the Master by my side, then he was already part of this 'miracle' 200 years earlier.

Twenty years ago, it was he, Master Szilard, who drew me, a simple real estate agent at the time, into becoming a 'member'.

At the time I was somewhat famous in the world of real estate, but now that I think back on it, it was a boring label. Such a common label was only a prop needed in preparation for achieving this miracle.

When I met first Master Szilard through an old friend, a Congressman (obviously a member), I didn't believe a single word they said. That was, until Master Szilard cut off his own finger.

The scene of Master Szilard's regeneration before my eyes reignited my dream of obtaining immortality.

And on that day, I obtained the 'Wine of Immortality'. Although this was called an 'incomplete product' by Master Szilard, it also granted me an indestructible body. However, there was an exception, and that was death through old age. When comparing that and the 'complete product' that could overcome this weakness, what I drank was indeed an 'incomplete product'.

At the time, I, who had drunk the 'incomplete product', was ordered by Master Szilard to recruit a brewer for making the 'completed wine' and to manage related matters. I questioned the decision to make someone as unfamiliar with alchemy as I the manager, and Master Szilard responded that, if he were to let a skilled alchemist to take over, he would not be able to trust such a person. Although I still don't understand the Master's words, as long as it was Master's Szilard who said them, they shouldn't be wrong.

For the next 30 years, I repeated the same routine daily- issuing orders to the brewer, testing the 'wine' on the rats- everyday was as thus. Because there was poison in the ingredients of the recipe, there was no need to worry about the clueless brewer secretly trying the experimental product. And the truth was that the lab rats that didn't drink the completed wine would die immediately... Just as the rats that drank the 'incomplete product' quietly waited for old age to catch up. No matter which it was, the ending was always the same.

Although the work was painstaking, it was at least tolerable- what made the work most trying was that damnable prohibition act. Although it was a pointless law made by a bunch of useless guys, it posed a significant problem. Just as the word 'wine' in the experimental product's name suggests, this medicine needed to be disguised as alcohol. But with the damnable prohibition act, we couldn't openly operate a large-scale brewery, or purchase large quantities of one of the ingredients, alcohol; everything became incredibly difficult.

But now, all that pain was but sweet memory. It seemed changing the brewer every once in a while was a brilliant plan. Of course, once everything of use has been extracted from a brewer, they would die from a convenient accident.

The current brewer who completed the product- perhaps because he had still some value left after producing the product, or because Master Szilard still had some other plans in mind for him- was granted, for the moment, his life as a reward.

I never thought of him as someone who cared about money, but I heard he lost not only his money but also his life when he encountered a robber.

Ah well, he was just that kind of person.

It didn't matter anymore, as I was already grasping the fruit of our work in my hands. All that was left was to show it to Master Szilard.

The fully restored rat started struggling from the pain of the large iron pins binding its paws. What a lucky rat. To receive the power of 'eternity' one step earlier than even me.

A little jealous, I raised the hammer again.

The piercing shrill persisted. At this moment, coming from the ceiling of the basement... which was to say, from the floorboards of the surface, came a knocking sound. Aah, this was the code between us 'members'. I quickly pressed a switch, which meant the light on the ground floor should be on.

After a while, there was another knocking sound on the floorboards.

Aah, had Master Szilard has finally come? If he saw the three dozen bottles of the completed product, I really didn't know what he would say. Then afterwards, I could finally be freed from the fear of 'dying of old age'.

Heart pounding with anticipation, I climbed stairs and slowly opened the floorboards.

Immediately, I felt a wave of hot air rush over my face as I emerged from below the floorboards.

What was this?

Seeing the source of knocking noise shocked me.

By the wall, the collapsed sections of the shelves made the knocking sound as they hit the ground one by one.

And the other side of the room was painted a brilliant red by the fire in here.

Why. Why was it always now? Why did it have to be now of all times that a fire started!

There was nothing on the floor that was flammable!

The wine... I must take the wine out... I hurriedly descended the stars, and lifted up the crate of the 'complete product'... I couldn't! It was too heavy, it was impossible for one person to carry them all out on their own!

Although I had obtained immortal flesh, there was no change to my strength.

Just a little... Just that little bit more and I could complete my own, unique evolution... The evolved me was precisely thus... A tiny, insignificant speck who couldn't even lift 36 bottles of wine!

--aa --- someone-- someone come-- someone --!

"Ah... Can you come here for a second, Mr. Maiza?"

Hearing Firo's shout from the outside, Maiza peeked out of the fruit store.

"What is the matter... ah!"

Above the roofs of the houses, just across the road from the store, rose a column of gray smoke. The distance between the store and that place wasn't far. It looked like they were only two streets apart.

"I'll go take a look."

"Aah, it's best if you don't stir up trouble. If by any chance the police come..."

Held in Firo's hand was the illegally-produced wine just bought from the black market. Although they were mixed in with other goods in the box, if the police... especially Edward, discovered it, then the result would be unthinkable.

"Don't worry. I won't do anything silly."

Firo didn't look the slightest bit concerned, and sauntered in the direction of the incident while waving at Maiza.

"Aah, aah, this aspect of yours needs to be changed after the 'ceremony'..."

Maiza gave a faint, bitter smile, even as he headed towards the incident.

<==>

"How can this be..."

Ennis got out of the car, and when she saw the dense smoke billowing into the sky, she almost though she had gone the wrong way. But now she wished she really had been mistaken.

Unfortunately, the tragic reality was that the sign on two-story building burning before her eyes read "Barnes Company Granary". The cool expression when she was facing those old men was gone. She never thought something this serious would happen.

"Just what happened... How is Master Barnes...?"

The young driver pushed aside the spectators to stand in front of the crowd. Although all the people were irritated by the driver's actions, their attention was immediately drawn back to the fire, so no one stopped her or even complained.

The collapse of inner structure of the building could be clearly seen from the outside. Even from a distance, it was obvious quite a few places on the ground floor have caved in. However, if the 'complete product' was kept in the basement as usual, even if she were to rush inside now... it wasn't possible to retrieve the product.

Utter despair. How was she supposed to report to Master Szilard? Even if she wasn't the slightest bit responsible for what had happened, her heart could not be heavier. Master Szilard definitely won't be angry, but it was certain he would show his displeasure. And furthermore, those old men were certain to despair many more times than she did, making her heart ache.

"...-iss, miss!"

When she felt the hand on her shoulder, Ennis came out of her reverie.

Standing before her eyes was a youth, around the same age as her or a little younger.

"Are you all right? Your face is pale..."

Ennis understood that this youth with mature speech was concerned about her.

Was she really so shaken she revealed her feelings so openly? Ennis hurriedly sorted out her emotions and answered as though there nothing special was going on,

"Ah... No, nothing's the matter... Thank you for your concern."

With that, she turned to push through the crowds and squeezed out.

Perhaps Barnes escaped. When she thought of that she felt compelled to search the surrounding streets, and so she quickly picked an alleyway and disappeared within.

What a cold reply, but if that was how she responded there was nothing he could do about it.

When Firo arrived at the scene of the fire, there was a large, black car parked to one side.

He was surprised to see that the person emerging from the driver's seat was a woman. And this woman... from her appearance she looked only one or two years older, or maybe even around the same age as him. Not only was her behavior unusual, her clothing stood out. Although she was a woman, she wore a full black suit and a pair of sturdy army or police boots on her feet. From just her attire one could never tell she was a woman, but perhaps because the material was thin, even if she wore a suit it didn't make her seem stiff. With her overly short hair, she could be said to be an unusual specimen among women... But combining all the peculiarities of dress and looks gave her a sense of allure.

This kind of counter-trend appearance held a certain appeal to the youth.

And he felt that her reaction to this fire was a little extreme- shoving aside the crowd, clearly distressed, and not giving him a chance to get close.

Standing where the true extent of fire could be seen clearly... was this woman standing before the crowd, despairing... No, it would be more accurate to say she had a kind of mournful look as she stood there, stunned.

Unable to take it any longer, the youth couldn't help but also push through the crowds to greet the woman, but he never thought he would receive that kind of answer. The youth watched the leaving woman a little regretfully...

Huh...? She's not going towards the car...?

The car that woman was driving was already washed under by a new wave of spectators. But she didn't bother checking the state of it and headed straight for an alley in another direction.

So something was wrong after all. Firo was a little interested in the situation, and he also wanted to talk to the woman from just now. In truth, it was more likely 'love at first sight' for Firo.

In Firo's mind, his interest between the fire and the woman was clearly tipped towards the latter. So he too began to wade against the tide of the crowd.

<==>

"That's strange... She turned right at this junction just now..."

New York's roads were as complex as a web. Although the roads were laid out in a very orderly manner, the sheer number of them made it easy to get lost, even with such a simple structure.

Firo had originally wanted to follow the woman, but at some point he was already lost in the maze of the city. To Firo, a resident of this city in the first place, the way home, the wide streets and narrow alleys, the black market for liquor... all of it was deeply ingrained in his mind. But Firo simply had no way knowing the movement of people within the city.

Furthermore, this area should be the territory of the 'Gandor Family'.

The Gandor Family was one of the countless Mafia organizations within New York, operating on a similar scale and controlling about the same amount of territory as the Martillo Family. But the three Gandor brothers governing this group were infamous for their ruthlessness and fighting skills, while their underlings were easily moved to violence at the slightest disagreement.

"Oh man... That girl better not have been kidnapped by those guys."

The frustration and worry in Firo's heart wasn't without reason. It would not be unusual for those guys to pull off something like this.

If it's the real Gandors then it's still alright. But the regular hoodlums who aren't under the direct control of the brothers won't hold back

As Firo surveyed his surroundings, a man's shout came from not too far away. Since he had no leads anyway, Firo's curiosity led him to head in the direction where the sound came from.

Around the bend of the alley, he saw quite a few figures moving around. Four young people were surrounding an old man, shouting something.

Firo slowly approached those people, listening to them speak. And it seemed like none of them had noticed Firo's appearance yet.

"...You still won't apologize, you old shithead?"

"Cut the crap...! You were the ones who tripped me!"

At the old man's furious shout, one of the men swung his foot savagely at his foreleg.

The old man let out a painful cry, his body curling up into a ball.

"Bullshit, old man! When we asked you so nicely, 'Your crate looks heavy, want some help?', do you remember what you said, you bastard?"

Another man, not the one who previously kicked the old man, kicked the old man's agonized face.

"Didn't you say something like 'Get lost, you scum' then? Duncha think that's a bit much?"

Another kick, this time to the other side of his face. There shouldn't be any more sensation of pain- this attack was more of a psychological nature.

"Thanks to your rudeness, I accidentally stuck out my leg... and because you stumbled my shoes got dirty. Not to mention the ticks on your body have all jumped onto me. I'm gonna itch to death, so what d'you think we should do?"

"What nonsense are you talking about..."

"We didn't ask for yer opinion!"

The old man's leg was kicked again by the man who seemed like the leader.

The intense pain made the old man realize that it was better to apologize honestly and quickly give these people some money.

Right now, his fighting skills weren't enough to deal with this trash. Furthermore, he still had a mission he needed to complete.

"Ah, I understand. I was wrong. If it's money you want..."

The leader curled his thumb and index finger into the shape of a golf ball and grabbed the old man's throat. But even if the old man wanted to beg he couldn't speak- just breathing became a difficult task.

"We didn't ask for your opinion, how many times do we gotta repeat ourselves before you understand?"

Because the old man was suffering too much, the crate he was hugging seemed on the verge of falling. He desperately tried to breathe, concentrating his entire being on holding onto the crate.

"...What's this... Old man, you care so much about this box?"

One of the men reached out to touch the box. Somehow, the old man found enough energy to break free from the man's death grip, protect the precious crate, and to try to escape from the scene.

But unfortunately, he was tripped again.

The fallen old man was kicked and stepped on mercilessly on both sides. Then, he was turned over by a man's foot.

"That box is gonna be ours. So just agree to that, hm?"

Resting his foot on the old man's stomach, the leader bent down and nudged the crate.

At this moment, the old man seemed to want to protest. He raised his head to say something, but was viciously stomped back to the ground by a man by his side.

The old man felt his brain being violently jolted and passed out instantly.

"Now then... what's this. Wine?"

The leader opened the box and found two dark-green bottles. This type of bottle was rare, and the liquid sloshing around inside was definitely not aqueous. The reason why he was certain it was not water was because of the viscosity in the liquid's movement.

If what was inside was really wine, then why did this old man fight so hard? Maybe because it was high-quality wine? As the leader pondered over this, he finally noticed Firo, who had been watching from the sidelines all along.

"... What, boy? Watcha lookin' at?"

For a moment, Firo wasn't sure what to do at being found out.

Firo personally felt that the entire situation was as those hoodlums said: that this old man deserved it. Although these guys were a little excessive, when he thought about what he did to the robber this morning it amounted to more or less the same thing. However, there was a big difference between wanting to injure and wanting to kill, and Firo didn't want be compared with these people.

"Oh, nothing... being called 'low-life scum' first thing by some old guy- of course anybody would get angry, but since these guys are robbers they should at least be prepared to be marked by the police... Or perhaps they are confident that, after they finish dealing with this old man, they can clean up the crime scene?... Maybe I'm thinking too much."

Confronted by a youth who spoke unexpectedly like an adult, the men exchanged disbelieving looks.

Then the leader among them spoken, displeasure written all over his face.

"... Hey, brat, speak more respectfully to those older than you- didn't your mama teach you that? Or was your mama busy all night getting customers off the streets, so she couldn't feed you milk?"

Although he was cracking a vulgar joke, there was no laughter in the leader's eyes.

This was the second time he had been lectured about speaking courteously. Firo thought this, and gave a sigh with a bored expression. Never mind the police, even this guy was chiding him.

"... I may be a brat who isn't even twenty, but what about you? From what you say and what you do, you don't seem much older than I."

The group of guys quietened down. It seemed as though he had angered them, but at the same time that didn't seem to be the case.

"... You, you're not from around here, are you?"

"I'm a New Yorker, like you. I'm a picciotto of the Martillo family, Firo."

Firo introduced himself as modestly as he could- that was the minimal level of politeness afforded.

"Martillo huh? Never heard of it before... What about you guys?"

The other men smiled mockingly, shaking their heads.

"... Ha! Should be a small group then... or perhaps just a bunch of school kids playing make-believe?"

"... I think our organization should be around the same size as your superiors', the Gandor Family."

Firo originally thought those guys would retort, but they didn't even seem angry.

"Huh? Who'd you just say we're underlings of...?"

Could it be these guys really had nothing to do with the Gandor Family? In that case, he was paying these guys far too much respect... Firo thought that as he waited for an answer.

"You actually lumped us together with the rabble? We ain't managed by anyone. Having to form those so-called families is just proof of your weakness, isn't it? I mean, we've always operated in this area, but the Gandors didn't even dare to complain."

Aah, so that was what it was. Finally Firo understood.

What they were really saying was that they were just a bunch of hoodlums. It wasn't that they were unwilling to join an organization, but rather they weren't even qualified to join.

"Really. Well, enough of that. Just disappear."

On hearing Firo's words, the men's expressions didn't change.

"... What did you say?"

"I said, enough. Although there're a bunch of things I'd like to ask, it's obvious you won't tell me anyway. If that's the case then I should've asked more casually. Wasting my time on guys like you really ticks me off, but ah well, I won't beat you up- just quickly disappear. Have I made myself clear?"

That was all said in one breath.

Having said that, Firo strode forward. At this moment, one of the men walked up to him quickly.

"You brat, who d'you think you are!"

The man grabbed Firo's collar and pulled him close to his face.

The youth gave a light sigh, then used this as an opportunity to start his counterattack.

His left hand shot out towards his opponent's throat. Because the man's right hand was currently grasping Firo's collar, he couldn't immediately stop his attack.

Firo's left hand was now right before the man's face, and that throat... Just below the man's Adam's apple, he used his thumb and index finger to lock onto the man's throat tightly.

"------------------!"

The man's throat couldn't sound a cry of pain. He let go of Firo's collar, both hands covering his own throat shakily.

"You guys gave that old man this treatment just now, right?"

"Damn it!"

From Firo's side came another man.

Firo merely gently tilted back his torso, seizing this opportunity to grab the opponent's left hand. That man hurriedly raised his right hand and swung it at Firo. However, the unnatural posture meant this punch didn't have any speed or power. In the end, his right fist was also delivered straight into Firo's hand.

Both hands were caught by Firo. If he didn't free himself from this sticky situation, then it'd be dangerous for the man. So he lifted his leg and stomped downwards. Although it was a good tactic, but... it was too late.

In that instant, Firo used the man's hands to pull him forward, towards Firo's back. The man's arms crossed at his elbows and folded together at Firo's left shoulder.

Then, maintaining this pose, Firo adjusted his center of gravity slightly and bent over forcefully in one go. The overlapping wrists on his shoulder gave out a creaking 'mishi mishi' sound. Unable to take the pain, all thoughts of fighting back were forgotten.

Just like that, the man's legs left the ground, and in the midst of all that was happening, the world turned over.

A split second later, the man's lower back... no, rather, his entire body was consumed by pain.

"Oooh... How did it turn out like this... I'm getting a little impressed at myself."

Compared to the man in agony, it was Firo, responsible for sending that man flying, who was astonished. This technique was something that Japanese person within the organization had taught him long ago, but to execute an upper-hand throw so beautifully like today was a first for him.

"Ugh... aaaah..."

Seeing their groaning comrades on the ground, the two remaining hoodlums couldn't help but suck in a chilly breath. If all four people had attacked together, then taking care of the brat would've been a breeze. They never imagined that now, not only were they unable to hit the youth, but he would be standing next to the old man, unscathed.

This brat wasn't someone to be messed with. The leader began to evaluate the youth before him in a new light.

At this moment, the other man had already pulled out a knife, pointing it at Firo.

"... aah, you're even took out a knife..."

Although Firo looked scared on the surface, he was actually feeling very light-hearted.

Firo slipped into the midst of the hoodlum gang with ease, raising both hands as he said,

"Oy oy... there shouldn't be need to pull out a knife for such a small quarrel, right?"

"Shut up! Not begging for mercy until now..."

As he said that, the man wielding the knife stabbed it at Firo. Firo jumped up and delivered an accurate kick to the man's wrist holding the knife. As expected, the knife fell to the ground with a clatter. It bounced off the ground and was kicked far away by Firo.

"Ah..."

The man couldn't help but watch the knife.

Then, in the lower corner of his eye, there seemed to be something rushing at him.

By the time he realized it was Firo's fist, it was too late. His nose received a heavy blow just as his lower abdomen was savagely kicked by Firo, and he fell to the ground.

"And? What're you planning to do now?"

Firo turned his head to regard the leader. The leader reached into his inner pocket impassively.

"From now on, I should be qualified to play make-believe at school, right?"

Firo returned the insult received earlier. The leader ignored what Firo said, and walked straight towards the first man who had grabbed Firo's chest. Although the man had already stood up, he was still massaging his own throat painfully. After saying a few words to every man Firo had taken down, the leader lent them his shoulder and hauled them up one by one.

These men gave Firo one last, hateful glance, then fled, defeated. Left behind were Firo and the still unconscious old man.

<==>

"Hey, gramps, gramps!... Are you all right?"

Feeling the hard blows to his cheeks, Barnes finally woke up.

He quickly sat up. No pain. The internal bleeding and broken bones had been completely 'restored'.

Before him was a man who looked younger than the group just now. He was kneeling on the ground, staring him curiously. And--- the crate was still cradled in his hands.

When Barnes confirmed it was there, he breathed a sigh of relief... then, he gave Firo a startled look.

Did this youth saved him? He couldn't believe that a young child was capable of chasing those guys away, but as long as the crate was all right all was good. Barnes was a little worried about the contents of the crate and, on peeking inside, he found the wine bottles still intact. The wine inside was also very safe.

"Is this more important than you? The stuff inside the box."

Firo asked with considerable interest. So Barnes quickly covered the crate and hugged the crate tighter.

"Shu- shut up! This has nothing to do with you guys! Do you also want my wine? If it's money then I'll give you any amount you want! So just leave!"

"Hey, hey, what's this attitude of yours towards your savior...? Now I finally understand how those guys felt."

Although Firo wrinkled his brow when he spoke, he didn't look all that angry.

"Oh yes, old man. Did you see a girl wearing a black suit just now?"

At the sudden bewildering question, Barnes' thoughts became a little chaotic. A girl wearing a suit, shouldn't it be someone from a theater...? But when he thought about it a little more carefully, Barnes suddenly remembered one such person.

Master Szilard's driver...

Because he needed to communicate with Master Szilard, he had had contact with Ennis quite a few times. She was the only person other than Master Szilard capable of killing him.

"No... Dunno anything."

"I see... Oh well, sorry for bothering you."

After Firo said that, he left immediately without anymore thoughts about the old man.

Watching the youth's back, Barnes pondered. Why did this youth want to find Master Szilard's female driver?

Barnes was too preoccupied with this matter, and so neglected another important matter. Which was why did Firo not get angry over his overly brusque words.

If he had taken note of this matter, he wouldn't need to say it himself... Even the fates of Firo and the others would change dramatically.

But sadly, Barnes would never notice it.

Fate began peacefully steering its own spiraling path.

Now, Barnes was walking along a quiet alleyway, alone.

Things would be less problematic if he headed back to the main road, but he didn't have time for that. He needed to get to the building Master Szilard was waiting at as soon as possible... After he obtained immortality, he could take good care of those discourteous hoodlums, like getting them into a car accident or something similar.

But would he really be able to obtain immortality? Although the fire was unexpected, he was only able to preserve two bottles of the 'complete product', so he may be killed by Master Szilard. No. Perhaps he really would be killed. But there he could do nothing about it. After all, he wasn't able to complete the mission assigned by Master Szilard.

But, if he really were to---

This almost extinguished hope spurred Barnes' feet to take larger strides.

Don't think anymore, just get to the destination.

But cold fate always toyed around with mankind. Barnes didn't know that a merciless fate was approaching him from behind.

The back of Barnes' collar was grabbed and he was yanked back by someone.

When Barnes was forced to turn his head, a voice full of fury came from his front.

"So it's just you left, you old shitbag."

Standing before Barnes were the four hoodlums he imagined dying in a car accident.

"It's best you let us drink up this wine."

Barnes, who had passed out from the pain of having both arms and legs broken, was tossed into a garbage area by that group of hoodlums.

When Ennis arrived, his broken arms and legs hadn't yet recovered.

<==>

Not too far from this garbage area was a jazz hall. In the basement of the jazz hall was the headquarters of the Gandor Family.

Along with this background music, a dozen men were drinking wine, laughing, shouting- all these sounds mixed to give an indescribable feel to this place.

From just the looks one could tell the people there weren't of the friendly sort. These men were sat scattered around this cramped store, doing whatever they liked.

Yet in such a rowdy place was a pool of silence.

Seated around the central, round table were four men, who were surrounded by a dozen standing men, watching the scene at the table. They seemed to be playing poker.

Of the four men around the table, three seemed very light-hearted, almost like they enjoyed this ambiance. But the remaining person looked a little strange, as though he was very nervous.

This man shakily opened his mouth to say,

"Th... Tha- that-... That is really r-rare... For all three bosses to all have jokers in their hands..."

George, in charge of managing the group's finances, said the above, while secretly scrutinizing the other three 'brothers'' expressions.

"..."

Sitting on his left was the boss of the Gandor Family and oldest of the three brothers, Keith Gandor, who was a man of few words. In the five years since Keith joined the organization, he had yet to see Keith open his mouth to say something.

"Shut up, George! When playing poker you're supposed to be silent!"

Sitting opposite him and sprouting nonsense was the second-in-command in the organization, Berga Gandor. Although only the second in the organization, he was easily the strongest out of all the brothers, larger than the boss by two sizes. And his personality was a volatile one and easily angered.

"Ah, ah, Berga-bro, calm down... people say that if you get angry, Lady Luck will run away... Sorry about that, George..."

Sitting on the right and speaking at a leisurely pace was the third in the organization and youngest of the three, Luck Gandor. Although he was only around twenty, his calculative and social skills were outstanding, and as such he was often entrusted with important tasks.

Luck always wore a faint smile and always spoke politely, regardless of whether he was speaking to underlings or older seniors. This type of person in this country could be said to be rarity. But George knew in his heart that Luck's smile was just a movement of his lips, and that in reality his eyes always gave off a cold light.

"Ah... no... thanks..."

Unable to articulate anything more than simple syllables, George could only lower his head and silently arrange the cards in his hand.

If he had a dispute with them over the issue of respect, he believed many terrible things would happen in the rest of his days. So, after weighing the two options, George could only grit his teeth and pretend to be busy with reorganizing the poker cards.

"Oh yes, oh yes! I just remembered something interesting!"

When everyone had sorted out their own cards, Berga, having shut George up, exclaimed loudly.

"It's about that guy, Dobby. He says you shouldn't gamble with money all the time, so playing this every once in a while is quite good!"

Having said that, he carelessly took out a black case and dumped it onto the table.

It was a revolver.

The oldest and the youngest brothers silently stared at their own cards without any response whatsoever.

"Uh... um... Mr. Berga?"

"This is the so-called Russian roulette!"

On hearing that, George felt as though the world had darkened before his eyes.

"Eh... about that... you're kidding right... someone could die?"

"No problem! Just choose correctly and no one dies."

"How can you joke around like this..."

George looked to Luck for help, but he didn't respond at all.

"Then... Let's shuffle the cards together."

George's shaking became more intense. If the cards were shuffled that way, he was certain that he was the one who would have the gun pointed at his temple.

It seemed the only way out was to sneakily change the cards. At the very least, George had a little confidence in this. As a precaution, he had hidden a pack of cards in his sleeve. If he used it, then perhaps he could at least put together the same suit.

Although a little nervous about cheating right in front of his bosses, George reasoned it was much better than letting the gun point at his own head.

George lifted his head to watch his opponents' movements... and in that moment his body froze, becoming as stiff as ice.

The stares.

Dozens of cold eyes were fixed on George's hand.

Keith, Berge, Luck, the spectators surrounding them- even the guys who never approached the table had stopped what they were doing and were staring at George's hand.

The only sound that broke the absolute silence of the basement was the jazz music that came through the ceiling sporadically. But the intermittent silence only added to George's terror.

Perhaps because the terror was too much, George even forgot to tremble. Even the flow of time in the surroundings became strange. George felt like he was going to go insane and, to keep his wits clear, forced his throat to articulate words.

"......... Ga...... ah......... no......... wh-... wha-wh-what's the matter...... why's everyone... Is there s-s-s-something wr-wr-wr-wrong w-with my h-h-handdddddd?"

Trying not to shake, he finally managed to force out his words. Everyone stared at the pitiful George, then unexpectedly Berga replied coolly,

"...hm? Oh, no... weren't you gonna cheat? Everyone's watching with their eyes wide open. Don't mind us."

George's heart skipped a beat.

Can it be, can it be, the cat got out of the bag? No, that isn't possible. It shouldn't be possible.

George desperately put on a bland expression. If he hadn't been so panicked, he might have seen what he didn't notice at the time.

"Ha... haha... don't be silly, Mr. Berga... how could I cheat... right, Mr. Luck?"

Luck's mouth curved upwards as he spoke, his eyes still filled with amusement.

"If it were you, who lined your pockets with the organization's money for the past two years..."

This time, George was truly scared to the point where he couldn't move at all.

It's out! It's out! It's out it's out it's out out out I'll be killed I'll be killed I'll be killed-!

George wanted to say something, but his mouth could only chatter and he couldn't even breathe. The cold sweat that broke out on his back seemed to be a manifestation of his own terror.

"Do you think our eyes are there just for show? Then again, to not have discovered it in the two years, maybe they are just decorations after all..."

George's lip trembled violently as Luck stared coldly at him, continuing tonelessly.

"... I heard that recently, there've been some druggies wandering around our area... I suspected that it may be related to one of our people, so I investigated."

If small groups like Gandor or Martillo were involved in narcotics, other groups might see them as incompetent and regard them to be an enemy. Furthermore, proving that their own organization was not related to these goods washed away suspicions of merchants paying protection money.

"... But in the middle of the investigation I noticed something completely unrelated to drugs... George... those books you hold... some of the losses have been a little excessive... unimaginable, really... And I also heard about some other matters... what comes after this, you understand, right, George? With your intelligence..."

George had long stopped taking in anything that was said. His vacant eyes gazed sightlessly into empty space.

"... In the end, the druggie was caught by the police this morning and they understand that this has nothing to do with us... Are you listening, Mr. George?"

George's ears didn't register any sound. Sweat, pouring like rain, reflected the state of George's heart.

Realizing that this was just a waste of time, Luck laid out his cards on the table.

"Ace, five cards."

Then Berga used his hand to knock his own cards.

"Gah! I've lost I've lost! King, five cards!"

Last, Keith quietly showed his hand.

"..."

Five jokers were quietly laid onto the table.

"Big brother won it all."

"We can never win against Keith."

Faced with such obvious trickery, the three people along the table burst out laughing- haha haha haha. George alone didn't laugh.

There were seven jokers on the table. The Grim Reapers drawn on these cards were grinning at George.

When the men's laughter quietened down, Luck said lightly,

"Mr. George, hurry up and show us your cards..."

As though hypnotized by Luck, cards drifted down from George's stiff hand. Two of them were covered, so Luck flipped them over... Anyone could tell that the five cards put together gave a 'rubbish hand'.

"So... Everyone still remembers the rules we just said, right, George?"

Berga threw the gun placed at the centre of the table to George. Bullets... six of them. The cartridge was full.

"Now, Russian roulette. A game of roulette with a 100% chance of winning? You will have to suffer at least one shot."

Faced with his impending death, George calmed down instead.

Why did he have to die? Everything he did, it was just using money of those useless people on himself. He did it for survival and even then... He simply couldn't understand why he had to be killed by idiots who didn't even know how to earn money. He should at least be given a chance to live.

There was no regret or soul-searching in George's heart, only disgust for the fate he reaped.

Then, George stared at the revolver on the table without saying a word. Then, he looked up again at the surrounding people. No one had taken out any guns or knives yet.

Are you laughing at me? That's why I said, these guys are all idiots.

George slowly reached out for the gun, then slowly brought the gun to his own temple-

"-----------!"

George suddenly pointed the muzzle forward and pulled the trigger. In his eyes was the eldest of the three brothers.

The trigger, once... twice... three times four five six times...

Ga-chik

Ga-chi- ga-chik

Ga-chi- ga-chi- ga-chik

No gunfire flared from the muzzle.

In the silent basement, there was only the metallic sound of the trigger striking flint. This sound melded together with the music coming from the ceiling to become a marvelous ensemble, reverberating in George's ear.

"... It's such a pity, George."

Luck said very sorrowfully. It was rare to see his emotions shaken, his eyes full of hurt.

"Look closely... The cartridge is completely empty..."

Berga's face was expressionless as he stated the startling fact.

Facing George, who stood stunned and uncomprehendingly at his original position, Luck gave his verdict.

"... You know, George, we... We are very thankful for all the work you've done until now. So, we three came to a decision after a little discussion. If you came to an understanding and pulled the trigger at yourself, then we wouldn't say anything and just chase you out of the organization. If you cried and begged for mercy, we would beat you half to death then chase you out of the organization. If you persisted in pretending to be confused, we would cut off your tongue then chase you out of the organization. Looks like... you chose the worst of the lot. This is truly regrettable."

Luck finished speaking, shook his head and didn't say anything more.

George truly despaired this time, regretting wholeheartedly what he had done. He should have at least cried and begged for mercy.

But of course it wasn't too late to do so now. But just as George opened his mouth to say something-

A huge shoe flew straight into his open mouth.

In the blink of the eye, Berga had jumped onto the table, and, like a kid kicking a ball, swung his foot savagely at George's face.

"... Don't upset my l'il bro and big brother anymore."

Frowning, Berga stared down with contempt at the traitor who had fallen onto the floor. Next to Berga's head, the large, hanging light bulb swung violently to and fro.

A few teeth had been sent flying from George's mouth; the whites of his eyes were rolled back, showing through the slits of his eyes. It was clear George had completely lost consciousness.

On seeing this, some of the spectators watching the poker game started moving. They picked up George's body, stuffed it into a prepared gunnysack, and, just like that, George was lifted by two people... who climbed the stairs leading up to the surface.

Then, the sack was placed in a car and left the city, wobbling to and fro as the car drove towards the sea.

Although he had temporarily lost his consciousness, George would probably never open his eyes again.

The man who knew George's fate spoke quietly with his so-far unused voice.

"... he's a real fool..."

The only people who heard Keith's soft mumble were the two younger brothers by his side.

A few minutes after the gunnysack was sent off, one of the members of the organization came down from the jazz hall.

"Mr. Luck... Dallas and his crew want to see you."

Dallas... who's that? A few connected names and faces emerged in Luck's mind.

He finally remembered those incompetent hoodlums who frequented his territory.

"All right. Take their weapons first."

A short while later, the worn and weary crew of four entered.

From just seeing them in that sorry state, Luck already knew that 'aah, they've lost a fight'. And with that, Luck could more or less guess what they were here for.

"--- so, that brat called Firo, just-"

"I must decline."

Luck interrupted in the middle of the other man's speech, clearly refusing their request. Although that man was about the same age as himself, Luck still chose to reply politely.

"For what possible reason do you think we should be obliged to help you?"

"That... no... that's... because he's an outsider messing around on your territory!"

"You aren't our members, so you don't have to worry about our 'affairs'. Of course, if you had made some donations to us in the past, then you could feel free to talk to us and we'd definitely do everything we could to help you."

This was the truth. This kind of small organization existed solely on the trust (and sometimes also on the fear) of the citizens who paid the protection money.

"... If you put it that way, we've spent money on your wine in the black market."

"And in exchange you got the wine, didn't you. Isn't that a fair trade?"

"In that case, how about this, Mr. Luck... If you help us, we'll join your organization... This isn't a joke."

These words sapped Luck of all energy. Why did these people think so highly about themselves? And it was a group who had been given a beating by one person!

Feeling that further dialog was just a waste of time, Luck decided to clarify matters.

"You know, Mr. Dallas... Have you ever considered why we allowed your outrageous behavior on our territory? You can't honestly think we ignore your antics because we're afraid of you? Frankly speaking, we never invited you guys simply because there wasn't any use for you. At most you can serve as cannon fodder in a gunfight with the police. We certainly can't give cannon fodder work. Moreover, we permitted your behavior because-"

Luck rested for a breath.

"-Because you attract the police's attention. While the police are busy investigating your activities, their surveillance on us relaxes considerably."

Although this wasn't what he actually thought, he felt it was better to say it in this manner. Letting these guys into the organization would only draw attention from the police and become a stumbling block in the organization's development- that much was true.

After hearing Luck's words, the four flushed red. To be able to gain influence among the ranks of Mafia wasn't something that should be looked down on. It looked like they really couldn't take him lightly.

"... Oy... That was really over the top. D'you know what we're capable of?"

"At the very least I know you were beaten black and blue by a youth who was younger than you. That was what you told to me a little while ago, unless I am much mistaken?"

"You--!"

The leader, Dallas, didn't think of stopping his angered comrades. Perhaps he just wanted the others to understand his bearing and influence, so maintaining the minimal level of manners was still effective.

"Ughraaa!"

His comrade who had just stood up let out a pained cry and fell onto the floor. Looking around, he saw Berga standing to one side with his fist clenched.

"Brother Berga."

"Luck... What's with these rude guys?"

After thinking for a while, the younger brother said,

"Dunno them."

"I see, people we don't know. Then that's trespassing."

"Almost got killed by them."

"Really? Then my action just now is considered self-defense."

Hearing Berga's knuckles cracking, the remaining three people shot up instantly.

"That's it, if you are able to take down Brother Berga, then I'll acknowledge your strength, Mr. Dallas."

Unlike Firo, Berga, who was in a foul mood, didn't stop attacking once the enemy once they were down. The guy who had fallen just now had his face stomped on quite a few times by Berga.

Three minutes later... they left in a worse state than before... that's to say, the worn-out and battered foursome fled the office in a panic.

In the basement from which the four were chased, Luck realized they left something behind.

"What's this crate...? Wine?"

Inside the wooden box were two bottles of wine. Did it belong to those guys just now? If so then it didn't matter whether they were thrown away or drunk, but otherwise it posed a big problem.

When everyone was gathered together tomorrow, he would ask whose it was.

Luck set the crate on the safe, and the brothers made preparations to leave.

The spiral of fate revolved tranquilly.

<==>

When I opened my eyes, I saw Master.

Master Szilard. My Master, and also the person I adored and respected the most.

Taking in the surroundings, I found it to be a very familiar place. Yes, this was indeed close to the Grand Central Station... the 'members'' clubhouse.

"Ennis... why didn't you kill him?"

Master Szilard didn't even spare me a glance, and reproved the people-shy female driver standing at by the entrance to the clubhouse.

"Yes... because I felt that it wouldn't be too late to kill him after finding out what happened."

At the door behind Master Szilard stood the group of elderly members. Everyone looked as though they had all taken a big blow. Some were crying despite their old age. Others stared at me with hate-filled eyes. Sadness or disgust, I still felt their behavior was rather too excessive for people their age.

Aah, that must be it- everyone must be mourning the fact that I wasn't able to protect the 'complete product'. The Congressman with less than a year left in his tenure was already wailing.

"Hm... Don't speak of such petty things again! ... You should be able to kill anyone without hesitation, unless you're unwilling to because you know him? Saying some nonsense like finding out what happened..."

Master Szilard's hand was already stretched before my face.

Aah, as I thought, I was going to be killed.

But it couldn't be helped. After all, I didn't complete Master's mission.

My last hope of survival, those two bottles of the completed product- I never thought they'd be taken by those scum in the end. But being killed personally by Master Szilard was also an unsurpassable honor in its own right.

"Finding out what happened and such... You achieve that by just doing this..."

Master Szilard's palm rested on my head.

Then all my memories were immediately snatched away. Whatever was asked, I replied in 'whole'. I felt all the blood rushing to my head. Not just blood. From the tips of my feet, muscles began to dry up. I felt the withered muscle shattering, slowly being absorbed into my body. Aah, my feet were already gone.

Memories... I could feel my memories being sucked away... Aah, now I thought about it, I was becoming a part of Master Szilard. Another way of putting it is that I have obtained immortality. But if I really gained immortality, what did I want to do?

Aah, my abdomen had also disappeared. Quickly, I must remember quickly. But, why is my stomach gone? Aah, Master Szilard is before me. Ah, that was right, I am currently being punished by Master Szilard. But why did I have to be punished? Aah, that was right, because I didn't complete my mission. But, what was this mission? I already couldn't recall. That was right, I needed to think of something.

Aah, that was right, I remember, I remember all of it.

I wanted the power of immortality.

I wanted to become a hero, like in myths and legends.

Because I wanted to protect this country.

No, that was not right, not this country.

It was Mother, because I wanted to help Mother. Mother was beaten everyday by that stubborn guy...

Who was that guy? Couldn't remember. Only recalled that he died in a car accident.

That guy died in the car accident. together with mother.

what's a mother? can't remember

what's remembering

ah-

a-

- - Barnes' narration gradually goes from kanji to hiragana in the scene in which he is eaten.

It was a strange sight.

When Master Szilard placed his palm on Barnes' forehead, Barnes immediately dried up.

No, drying up wasn't an accurate description. Rather, the tissues lost moisture and shattered, and the shattered pieces of meat were sucked in like by a vacuum... if one had to describe it in a sentence.

'Devoured by the right hand'.

This kind of description was very appropriate.

Starting from his feet, bit by bit, Barnes' body disappeared from this world.

The last to remain was the head, and even as it shattered... like a vacuum machine, it disappeared into Master Szilard's right hand.

The old men around the room turned white at the same time. Even the sounds of crying stopped. These men, who possessed prestige and fame outside of this room, were now reduced to just a bunch of old people- they were frightened by what had just happened before their eyes.

"Now, everyone."

The one to break the silence was the very same person who created this terror, Szilard.

"I've read Barnes' memories, and till the very end he still... Yes, even as he was killed by me, he was still revered me, swearing loyalty to me... Truly impressive! I hope everyone will follow Barnes' example."

Evidence of his words were the pile of clothing and shoes that had fallen onto the floorboards.

This speech was a cold joke that simply wouldn't make anyone laugh- Szilard said it very seriously, so of course no one laughed.

"And everyone should rejoice. Barnes rescued two bottles of the 'complete product' from the scene of the fire."

After a moment of silence, this group of old people erupted with a celebratory cheer... the room, initially filled with despair and terror, was, in an instant, brimming with joy.

"But it seems they have been taken."

The joy on all their faces immediately vanished.

"But the location they were taken and the faces of the people who took them, I know. If we are fortunate then we can get it back."

Cheers sounded again amongst the old men. To them, letting go of this opportunity would mean they would have to truly face death. To Szilard, who had already obtained immortality, not being able to recover the completed product was just a matter of a longer wait, but this was really a matter of life and death for these aging men.

Standing apart from the excited old men, Szilard pondered other matters.

Even if the 'complete product' was finished, he wouldn't give it to these old men who no longer had any value. If it was someone loyal like Barnes he would consider bestowing it upon them, but unfortunately Barnes was already dead, and killed by his own hands no less.

What I want is not the money or prestige coveted by the common people, but complete loyalty... and knowledge. Only that. With the dawn of the 'complete product'... these garbage have no other uses. They're just ingredients which can increase my knowledge, that's all... Hm. Although it's some useless knowledge, I still like the taste of brain fluid.

While Szilard let this loyal group of 'tools' research the 'complete product', he was engaged in other aspects of research.

It was research on his own 'flesh'. In this process, Szilard came to understand some very important issues... No, he didn't possess full understanding, or at least it hadn't left the 'theoretical' stage yet.

First, the mystery behind the regeneration of flesh... After drinking the wine the person is already dead... No, it's not right to say they died... To put it more accurately, their status of life has changed...

Through various experiments, Szilard postulated that, in the end, it was likely that his indestructible flesh had become an 'aggregate community of organisms'. Even if his own flesh was scattered far apart, those scattered pieces of flesh would still regroup to form the original body...

And on a cellular level, what about... every member?... no, every atom has been 'given life'.

In the past he had also burned an alchemist who wanted to eat him, but the smoke generated didn't drift away with the wind; rather, it rolled back to surround the alchemist and disappeared at the same time as the fire and the regeneration. Even smoke had its own regenerative awareness- this was far beyond the scope of physics.

Since the discovery of the electron in 1897 by the English researcher, Thomson, and the discovery of the nucleus by his disciple Rutherford... mankind began to gain understanding about these sub-atomic particles.

Following their footsteps, it's possible for the discovery of a new type of particle in three years' time... In any case, how far down can this 'living' substance be broken down into?... But then again, perhaps in a hundred years' time, those scientists living in normal society would still be unable to grasp the meaning of 'immortality'... While I continually experience the laws surpassing today's science... Though I've always doubted whether science can explain the power to summon demons.

And it could be that this kind of wine was not a catalyst to advance science, but a way of 'summoning' the laws of another world into this one? Although he had eaten some colleagues who were leading researchers in this field and conducted research on his own 'complete product', but... seeing this time's success in producing the 'complete product' really made him feel he had hit the bull's eye.

The other matters he researched were this community-body's reasons for 'eating' and 'living by one's true name'. These atoms with awareness of immortality had between them a strong attractive force. That was to say, eating was merging with another sentient being through the right hand. Just like in the world of bees, one hive did not need two queens. Awareness could only exist in one body.

Then the other question about using a false name... ordinary people could easily live under a false name. But if immortals wanted to do that, the moment they signed a false name on a document...

... Why can't I use a false name...? Of course, the demon said it was a 'contract of the mind', but... it seems more like a command coming from every cell in the body. Not from the head, but the feeling of pulses coming directly from the 'shocks' from the body... I'm afraid every atom in every cell exhibits this strong desire... to merge with others of the same kind... So it'd definitely not allow an immortal to hide their real identity...

But those who drank the 'incomplete product' and naively thought they had obtained immortality could live under a false name.

Perhaps that's because the particles think that, because they're a different species from those people, it is not worth merging, so they're just bait... Hee hee hee... this really is a system with a strict hierarchy.

But where did the mass of the people he ate go? There were still many things he didn't understand. Szilard felt frustrated that his knowledge was still incomplete.

If he knew how to brew the 'complete product', then at least he would be one step closer to his goal of knowledge.

But that guy's younger brother knew only half of the recipe.

He came to New York today precisely for the sake of eating that man who knew the full recipe... But in the end it was to no avail. Ah well, he just needed to obtain the 'complete product', then he could analyze the composition of the product.

The order didn't matter. As long as he was able to obtain the 'complete product' and the 'Knowledge'.

Sooner or later I will obtain the complete Knowledge and, at that time, loyalty and wealth will follow... For this goal, I first need to obtain the 'complete product' of the wine of immortality.

All there is to know about the wine of immortality and summoning the demon.

These two pieces of knowledge... the one with these two pieces of knowledge I know not of is that enviable young man...

Where are you hiding?

"And Ennis. There seems to be a man looking for you."

Ennis was a little puzzled by her master's words. She didn't understand what her master was talking about.

"That's right... I can share my knowledge with you... I shall tell you now."

Before he finished his words, Szilard had already placed his left hand on Ennis' head. The old men watched at everything that was happening with wide eyes, while Ennis accepted it silently. After a few moments, a few faces surfaced in the sea of her mind.

The hoodlum foursome. Ennis knew these were the four guys who had taken the 'complete product'. Then the face that emerged: the man who was asking for her. Who was it? Although she felt she had met this man somewhere before, Ennis couldn't remember anything about him.

"... No matter what, bring those four hoodlums back."

"Yes."

Watching Ennis leave the house again, Szilard felt a little worried.

Could the fellow looking for Ennis be a former acquaintance?

No, that wasn't possible. No one should know about Ennis. He had already 'eaten' all the people who knew Ennis's real face. The alchemists who knew Ennis were no longer around either. And even if someone were to attack Ennis unknowingly, it wasn't of any loss to him. In the past, someone mistook Ennis for a normal human being, and accidentally got himself 'eaten' by Szilard.

... It probably started from that time. He still clearly remembered Ennis's hesitation at punishing a comrade. It seemed she had obtained a little too much knowledge.

Ah, never mind. It didn't matter. If she got in the way then he would just eat her.

Killing her was much easier than 'eating' other people.

Ennis' figure disappeared through the exit in the ceiling.

Szilard closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned up in a faint smile.

<==>

"Yes... I am Inspector Edward Noah."　

Even when saluting, Edward was more imposing than the bureau chief opposite him.

Standing before Edward were two special agents, both members of the 'Bureau of Investigation'. Officially their rank was not higher than the bureau chief, but since he was going to start work with the Bureau from next week, needless to say, the two before him were his seniors. Because he had been aware of this for a long time, the two people were many times more radiant than the bureau chief.

"Ah--... Thank you for your hard work. Eh--... I'm Bill Sullivan. And this is..."

"Donald Brown."

The man to the side reported, interrupting the lanky man's speech. This man was very muscular, and just his fist was larger than Edward's.

He had heard about the situation earlier from his superiors. These two people came here in pursuit of criminals responsible for a string of robberies that occurred across the whole of America. Edward was to cooperate as a local officer.

"Ah--... Looks like you've already heard from your superiors, but I still want to go through it again. Eh---... Please look at this photo first..."

In truth, Edward had only heard his superior say a few words about the 'serial robber-thief suspects', so the details of the case could only be learned from these two special agents.

Edward looked at the photo in his hand. On it were a man and a woman wrapped completely from head to toe in bandages. He could tell it was a woman because she wore a wedding dress outside the bandages. And the other had to be a man, because other than bandages he wore nothing. Their entire body except for their eyes and mouths were bound tightly by bandages, so there shouldn't be any other moral problems.

"......"

Edward was silent for a few seconds.

Was this the Bureau's idea of a joke?

Seeing Edward's confused expression, Bill smiled wryly as he explained.

"Eh--... How should I put it? Yes--... We once wondered, are these really the criminals we're pursuing? But this is definitely material from the precious photo collection of a news reporter. The two seemed very anxious when the photo was taken. Ah--... Right, how to say this..."

Unable to take his colleague's terrible stutter any longer, Donald continued for him.

"After these guys got photographed they did some robbing business. By the time the police arrived on the scene, the only things left in the alley were their discarded bandages and the wedding dress. Witnesses all said that they only saw 'bandages'. There's practically no useful information."

So that was it was all about- Edward finally understood. Wearing on extravagant costumes during their operations, then changing afterwards. This way, the chances of escaping were very high. Naturally, this unusual method of attention-seeking camouflage was highly successful.

"Besides this, they have at times worn a black mask and a cape, a silk hat and a crutch- in short extremely unique appearances. They've repeatedly committed over eighty cases of robberies and burglaries in this manner."

"Um... why haven't they been caught yet?"

Although Edward knew asking this was rude, he couldn't resist.

"Eh--... how should I put it... Although the victims did suffer losses... they weren't worth investigation by the Bureau... Eh--... In the beginning it was just watches and clocks. Other things were like chocolates, candies... it was only when they stole the door of the main entrance of a museum that they started with things that could be said to hold some value."

Edward couldn't help but feel disheartened. The Bureau would actually search the whole of America for these eccentric criminals.

"But the case that occurred in New Jersey last month was problematic. The entire inheritance of a local wealthy family, the Genoards, was stolen by them.

This was the first time Edward had heard of this.

"... If that was true, then why didn't the newspapers report it?"

"Because the Genoards stopped the news from being released. They said it was shameful to the entire family."

What fools. It was because of these people that so many criminals had escaped from the law. Edward was extremely agitated, but on second thought, he realized that not publishing news in the papers wasn't anything unusual, so he calmed down after a while.

"These incidents didn't stir up any ruckus in the past, so of course they were dropped."

"Aah, that's due to the recent popularity with 'Scarface' and Luciano."

Scarface. Alphonse Capone most famous nickname.

"Ah--... Scarface huh... He came to New York at the peak of his career... That was thirty years ago... Although on recalculation it's been thirty-one years now. When this Brooklyn-born man was still young, he had already become the 'Public Enemy No. 1' and the big boss... Yeah well, he can be said to be one of the few people in American history to create miracles."

"Let's quit talking about that guy."

It was true that Capone reached the top of the criminal organization at a very tender age. In a sense, not only did he possess talent, he was also hardworking. But Edward refused to acknowledge the abilities and hard work of criminals.

"Mm--... But then again, our government seems to have never acknowledged the fact that 'Mafia exist' in this country... Even Capone is just thought to be 'a simple hoodlum'... Man, ultimately it's us subordinates who have to work our asses off. Ah--... what a pain."

"Bill... Enough chitchat. If those upper-ranks noticed you, your life could easily be ruined."

On hearing his colleague disparage his own superiors, Donald gave a bitter smile as he chided him.

"Oh--... Scary, scary, our superiors are scarier than Capone..."

After a brief smile, Donald's face turned solemn again and he turned to Edward to say,

"Well, that Capone's enemies isn't just us. Those New York Mafia also can't wait to get rid of Capone... That guy's killed too many people."

That was also truth. The few large Mafia in New York were incensed by Capone's behavior. They even assassinated Johnny Torrio, the leader of the stabilizing force in the criminal society... Capone was a man who fought with America and the Mafia at the same time.

Suddenly, Firo's face appeared in Edward's mind. The man who decided to become an executive at a tender age. Was he the same? Was that guy a man who would thrive in the underworld like Capone?

No, he would definitely not allow this situation to pass. Before it happened, he would definitely throw that guy into prison. The Martillo family also had to be destroyed. Yes, he was very young... Precisely for that reason, things could still be changed.

Until then, he would definitely devote all his energy in cooperating with the Bureau.

"------ah-... It's best if we continued talking about the robbers..."

Edward was pulled back to reality. His opponent now was neither a big boss like Capone, nor a small organization like the Martillo. Rather, it was these two strange robbers wrapped from head to toe in bandages.

Edward exhaled, his heart becoming heavier.

<=>

"Hooo. At least it doesn't hurt anymore."

Rubbing the bruise on his arm, Isaac let out a sigh of relief.

"It doesn't hurt anymore."

Although she wasn't experiencing the same pain as Isaac was, Miria still parroted his words.

After the collision with the car, miraculously, the robber duo was all right. They hugged their masks and helmets as they walked through the streets towards Broadway. When pedestrians passing by saw them, they thought they were actors performing in musicals and so not a single person was alarmed by their attire.

"Next time I see that cowardly vehicle, I'll teach it a good lesson!"

"Teach it a good lesson, yup!"

"I'll hit it!"

"Won't your break your hand?"

Miria suddenly asked a serious question. But Isaac wasn't put off.

"Then... I'll hit the driver!"

"How will you get him out of the car?"

"Then... I'll spit on his car!"

"Wow, that's a perfect plan!"

After that, the two entered an empty alley, and began discussing their next 'plan'.

"Well then... Our vacation is about to come to an end."

"That's right!"

"Thinking back, it's been a long time... In the beginning, we were just thieves of time!"

"When we stole the clocks and watches."

"Our biggest heist should be that one... When we stole a museum."

"But in the end it proved to be impossible, right?"

"So, to prevent others from entering... we stole the entrance!"

"That door should be our heaviest collection!"

It seemed no one could stop these two from chatting. Whether their crazy talk was something they were born with or some kind of trance to escape from reality, it was not something an outsider could discern.

"But sometimes we're the bad guys, like stealing little kid's source of nutrition!"

"Stealing the chocolate, right? Those poor kids in those places will definitely starve to death! How pitiful!"

But one would feel sorrier for this duo. When they were young, could they only eat chocolate?... It was kind of depressing.

"But, reflecting on our actions, we've decided to start doing good things from now on... Like most recently, with that."

"With that!"

"Stealing the inheritance of a wealthy family!"

"Thanks to us, there'll be no fighting over the inheritance!"

"We sure have protected one family's peaceful harmony."

"They must be happy now."

It seemed they never dreamed that it would land them with something as large as a Bureau investigation. Or perhaps they never knew there existed an organization called the Bureau of Investigation in the first place.

"That's right! Doing good things makes people feel good, so let's do something good for our last job!"

"How so?"

"We'll steal the Mafia's black money!"

It was a joke taken too far, but luckily there were no passers-by nearby.

"Amaziiiing! Isaac, that's just like !"

"Momotaro--?"

"That's a Chinese legend. It's about a ''''-wielding[8] guy and his underlings stormed an ogre hideout, and stole all the evil ogres' treasures!"

Although Miria said a lot of things wrong, the clueless Isaac accepted it all.

"I see, I see, like a dark hero!"

"Isaac, you're so cool!"

"We shall forever remember those children who died and live a good life."

In their minds, even the act of stealing chocolate made them proud.

"So cool!"

Just as they continued their idiotic dialog, the four hoodlums from before came from behind them.

Isaac and Miria ducked to one side of the passageway, but the uncaring four hoodlums seemed to have no intention of giving way.

"Oy oy, be careful!"

"Be careful!"

Thus, the turning of the spiral of fate was changed once more.

Dallas Genoard was in a very foul mood.

To start off, there was a burglary at the old man's home in New Jersey last month.

When his grandfather died, he left behind a large inheritance.

His mother had passed away long ago, so there were only three other people remaining in the family- one older brother, a younger sister and a father.

Originally he planned to kill his father then push the blame onto his older brother.

This way, the part of the inheritance that would originally go to his father would be transferred to his name. As for his younger sister, he only had to say a few casual words to get his hands on the inheritance that originally belonged to her.

This plan was perfect. But with what had happened, he was in no mood to savor the thought of this superb plan anymore; although if he were to really put it into action, then it'd be a crime through and through.

On the night he returned home with the intention of executing this plan, the house was the victim of a robbery.

By the time he discovered this, all the servants had been tied up, and inside the safe... the cash, the will and the jewels and the like- everything had been taken away. Until then, none of the security had noticed anything happening.

It appeared this gang of thieves was extremely intelligent. The witnesses' testimonies of 'the criminal was a Caucasian Indian' and the paper strip in the safe saying 'We've taken the source of your misfortune' were always on Dallas' mind, even to this very day.

In the end, unable to implement that perfect plan and without any inheritance, he returned to New York, depressed.

Managing the estates took up a lot of time, and he never had much interest with that piece of cheap, rural land in the first place... If he couldn't catch those criminals to get the money back, then surely it wasn't worth taking the risk for just that piece of land?

Rather than worrying about things there, why not return to his own city to do what he wanted to do? To make a deal with his underlings and mug people on the streets, though any money they obtained would be spent by him very quickly.

Then, in the days spent venting his frustration, the old man and... that Firo appeared.

--- That damn brat!

Whenever Dallas thought of the face of the brat much younger than him, he ground his teeth in anger.

--- How could we get beaten so badly by just one brat!?

Although it didn't sit well with him, the reality was the four of them together had been done in by one brat.

--- If we had more people... No, if we had a gun...

For someone like him with neither, he needed to think of ways to obtain one of the two. Initially he had thought that, with his reputation, he only needed to say a word to one of the other organizations to control them, but it seemed to be another very big misconception.

In the end, he found himself back on the streets with a bruised body.

--- These low-lives. That brat or the Gandor Family- I'll destroy them sooner or later!

Frustrated, Dallas stalked forward, oblivious to his surroundings. But then again, he normally never cared much about what was around him.

His wrist seemed to have hit something.

Ignoring this, he continued walking forward.

Someone seemed to be shouting something behind him.

Turning, he saw a man and woman in very unusual attire complaining to him.

Dallas started venting his anger on the guy and that woman decided to retaliate.

Neither were aware that this was a crime.

Ennis had located the four targets, but she wasn't sure whether she should take action.

If it were only the four of them then there wouldn't be a problem, but two of the people present weren't included in her targets.

And she seemed to recall seeing these two somewhere before.

When Ennis saw that Japanese helmet in the man's hands, the memory came back very clearly.

These two were the love couple she had hit today while driving.

And for these two to be together with her four targets...

"You bastard!"

One of the hoodlums was pummeling the man in the couple. This tall man had no skill whatsoever, taking a solid punch from his opponent before falling to the ground with a thud- The three men immediately came up to stomp on him, stomp on him, stomp on him-------

"Hyaaa, Isaac----!"

The woman of the couple was restrained in an embrace by the remaining man, her hands behind her back.

It was clear these two were not friends with the four men. But not just that- if this continued it was possible they would be killed.

Ennis quickly scanned the surrounding area. It seemed there was no one else passing through here. Then again, if someone really did report to the police and got those four arrested, it would be a headache for Ennis.

But if she revealed herself, it was very likely she would be remembered by the couple.

After some hesitation, Ennis ended up choosing to step into the alleyway.

An arm's length away. The man embracing Miria noticed her approach.

"... Who're you, sis? You're dressed really strangely..."

His voice trailed off half-way through.

The woman executed a beautiful whirlwind kick in midair, straight towards the man's temple.

When Szilard bestowed various types of 'knowledge' into her, he had also transferred knowledge on combat techniques. This not only allowed her brain to remember the techniques, but every other part of her body also gained an 'understanding'.

Like how her balance was perfect when delivering the whirlwind kick just now, as though the result of thousands of times of practice. It was highly likely that in transmitting his 'knowledge' to her, Szilard also passed on various horse riding, dancing and related types of skills at the same time.

"... What the? Bitch!"

Her foot stopped in mid-air, just as the other three men turned to look in her direction. The man she had kicked was sprawled on the ground, unmoving. The released woman ran towards her lover .

Wordlessly, Ennis slowly walked towards Dallas and his crew and launched a fierce punch at the closest man's solar plexus. Then she bent down a little and delivered another powerful blow to the center of the man's torso.

Almost like he was wrapped up by Ennis, the man's body curled up into a ball. Having dealt with the first man, Ennis maintained her speed and rushed towards the next man. Her leg swept out a sliding arc and hooked out the man's foot.

The man, dizzied by the woman's sudden attack, lost his balance to the attack to his feet. Unable to support his body's weight, he involuntarily plumped his bottom onto the ground.

Just as the man thought of standing up, his chin was met with a kick from a woman's shoe. The man's head flung back, but for some reason stopped just before it hit the ground. So the woman's foot attacked a second time. The blow sent the man's skull colliding with the ground with a heavy thunk.

Dallas stared in utter disbelief at everything that passed before his very eyes. The scene that occurred during the day resurfaced in his mind again.

Within less than twenty seconds, all three of his comrades were lying unconscious on the ground.

"... This time... This time it's a woman...!"

Today was a really shitty day. Dallas was thinking, he truly had no chance of victory against this woman before him. His knife had been taken away at the Gandor hideout. But he couldn't possible win with one anyway.

"I un... I understand. We'll let go of these guys. So please let us off!"

Although this was a very shameful line for one of the hoodlum crew to say, the woman didn't seem at all inclined to let them go.

"No, I have business with you."

"Wha...? Ah..., gah...!"

Suddenly, thrust into Dallas' solar plexus was Ennis's fist. In the instant Ennis had ducked down, Dallas thought she had disappeared. With the astonishingly quick strike, Dallas fainted without any last thoughts.

"......"

She surveyed the surroundings silently. All four men were passed out. The couple should have already...

"Amazing! You took care of them by yourself!"

"Amazing!"

... actually didn't run away.

"Thank you, sis! I never thought you would help strangers like us!"

"Thank you!"

At the continuous shower of the duo's thanks, Ennis really wanted to back away to maintain her composure. Because of the guilt from the earlier incident with the car, it was very difficult for her to tell them not to thank her for her aid.

"See, isn't she a hero!?"

"But she's a girl."

"Aah, that's right, that's right... heroine!"

Their way of talking was strange, but they seemed quite happy. Ennis on the other hand was bemused. Then again, this was the first time she had been thanked by someone else since she was created by Szilard.

"Sis, you're our savior! How can we repay you?"

"What do you want us to do!?"

Although they said all that, Ennis was instead lost as to what to do. Would be better to refuse at this point in time? What was appropriate when asking others to do something? This was all 'knowledge' Ennis was not equipped with.

Ennis thought for a while, then tentatively said,

"Um... I want to carry these four people into my car... Can you please help me?"

One person went into the front seat next to the driver, then the unconscious three in the back seat, and the door was closed.

"Yaaaay, we should be done, right?"

"Done, yup!"

"Um... I must really thank you."

"What're you saying! If you say that then we haven't fully repaid you!"

"Then you should give us do something again! Isaac is really powerful!"

The three had been taking a break since carrying the four unconscious men into the car. Ennis had been... thinking about how to 'process' these four. At the same time the couple was pondering the matter of stealing the Mafia's money. Both sides, unaware of each other's thoughts, chatted openly in this idle manner.

"Yes, yes... it was this kind of car that knocked us down and fled like a coward afterwards!"

"That's right!"

"The next time we see this rotten car, we must scratch a few marks on its side with a coin!"

"What about the saliva?"

"Of course we must spit on it!"

If with just this she could repay the deed of fleeing from the crime, then it didn't matter how many times they did it. But while Ennis thought that, there was no way she could say it out loud.

"Oh yes, Sis. What're you planning to do with these four?"

"What're you planning to do?"

"Eh..."

Obviously she couldn't tell them the truth. So Ennis immediately came up with a lie.

"Um... I'm planning to hand them to the police."

Only once the words had left her mouth did Ennis realize she said the wrong thing. Since the police station was nearby, it was highly likely these two victims would come along.

"I see... Then, sorry, we'll have to part here."

"Part here, right?"

"?"

"Just from what happened ... we will be arrested by the police."

"Arrested, yup."

Ennis looked closely at the two before her eyes. They couldn't possibly be criminals, so they had to have run away from home.

"Um... What on earth did you two do?"

"That's right... What was the worst thing that we did?"

"Ummmm... That should be when we killed a lot of children."

Ennis thought they were joking. Children who would starve to death because chocolates were stolen were just a product of their theatrical thinking. If it was a joke then let it be. Or perhaps these two were a joke themselves.

"So we've decided to do something good to repent for our past misdoings."

Maybe Isaac had read too many novels when he was little- his words and actions were always mimicking the plot in those books. Stealing children's chocolates just because 'I want to be a baddie' was a really exaggerated way of thinking.

"Because we did bad things, so this time we must do good things."

Miria was very serious when she said this. But it seemed they thought of 'good things' as stealing inheritances, robbing Mafia of their money and so on. The difference between these acts and 'bad things' was just paper-thin.

"Ah... I see... You two are really strong."

"Eh? Ah, yes, I'm strong!"

"Strong, yeah!"

"Compared to you... I'm useless. I don't dare to face my own crimes..."

Why was she saying such things to people she met for the first time? Ah, perhaps she was afraid... that if she let go of this opportunity, there wouldn't be a second chance to let herself talk like this.

Ennis thought that, but in the end she still wasn't able to say it out loud. Because if she said it, these two people before her would also become involved in her own terrible fate. This may mean death for the two of them.

"What's wrong, big sis? What've you done?"

"I'm a bad guy's friend!"

Friend. Ah, if this is true then it'd be all right. But it's too late. I've committed far too many crimes. Ennis felt a little sad.

When she was created by Szilard, the 'knowledge' she was given was everything Szilard knew about languages, fighting, cooking, driving and so on... All this was the minimal amount of everyday knowledge needed to take care of Szilard's life. And the faces and names she needed to find. There was a young man called Maiza Avaro, as well as alchemists who were past colleagues of Szilard.

Szilard didn't teach Ennis a single thing about ethics or religion. Besides law, driving and money transactions, he didn't teach anything else.

And, most importantly. Szilard taught her the fact that he could easily kill her. Because, when creating her, he had also planted the fear of death deep in Ennis's heart.

She was forbidden to read or even to listen to the radio that was invented after her birth.

Ennis's fate changed when she ate the man who was threatening Szilard's life. That was when she was fighting with the alchemist... As a last resort against alchemists who possessed the same 'immortality' as Szilard and herself, Szilard taught Ennis how to 'eat'. Using one's right hand to absorb the entirety of one's opponent.

The first time she ate someone, Ennis learned very many things. Things she never knew before, little by little, began to filter into her own mind. In that instant, her world was broadened.

She only needed to think a little with that knowledge to fully understand the evil of the things she did and the terror Szilard presented.

But, to this day, what could she do? Even if she felt guilty, those who died could not be revived.

And... if she let Szilard learn of this, the next one to vanish would be herself.

That Szilard was that type of man was something she understood very well.

To eat him first was impossible. Ennis knew this better than anyone else. Long before she ate her opponent, she would have already been done in.

When Ennis learned of the 'eating' between the alchemists, Szilard had once asked her,

"Ah... How is it? Obtaining new knowledge, how do you feel?"

"Yes... There are some things I simply cannot understand."

Ennis could only answer in that manner.

"... Hey, big sis!"

"Big sis!"

Ennis, who suddenly pulled herself out of her reverie, saw the man and woman staring at her worriedly.

"... ah..."

"Are you all right? You looked like you were in a daze."

"In a daze, yup!"

"No... Sorry, I'm fine..."

"Ah, right, about that. We don't know what you did, but you see, didn't you just rescue us? So, the thing about karma, karma."

"That's right. No matter how many bad things bad guys do, he only needs to do one good thing and people will think 'actually, he's still a good guy'. The world is like that! Isn't Capone the same? He killed a lot of people, illegally made alcohol, was a total evil bastard, but because he also did good things, he is very popular now. He has his own residence in Miami, and is good friends with . And now he even has a very beautiful wife!"

But for a saint, one evil deed was enough for others to condemn them as worse than the devil. If 'the world' was used as a standard for judging people, then all that Miria said may be right. But then again, Capone ended up going to the shortly after to serve his sentence.

"So, you've also helped us, just like that. Didn't you do something that you can be proud of? You'll definitely be popular, you'll live in shockingly expensive places, become friends with boxers and then become lovers with a handsome guy!"

"That's right, that's right, karma, everyone's karma. If you still can't let go of matters, then the more good things you do the better! This is karma!"

Ennis was baffled by all she heard, but she could sense they were benefactors who were desperately trying to cheer her on. Because she understood this, Ennis felt more uncomfortable.

"Thank you... I need to go now."

Ennis forced a smile, and turned to slip into the driver's seat.

"Ah, yes... That's right... Ah-... I'm, I'm Isaac Dian."

"Um, I'm Miria Harvent!"

At that moment, Ennis didn't understand what they were saying. When she realized they were saying their names, she hurriedly burned them into her memory. Isaac and Miria.

"Ah... I'm... Ennis. No surname... Just Ennis."

"Really, no surname. That's really strange."

"I'll remember it. Ennis, Ennis, Ennis, right?"

She gave a wave to the duo who were grinning like kids, and she switched on the engine.

In the rear mirror, she watched the two figures become smaller and smaller.

They seemed to be shouting something. Ennis listened.

"See yah--!"

"See yah soon--!"

Hearing this, Ennis thought.

She really wanted to meet them again too. Although it was difficult, but if it was possible she would like to see them again.

Though their meeting was brief, she wanted to see them many more times.

When she thought that, Ennis gave a faint... smile. Not a fake smile, but one that came from the depths of her heart.

To smile naturally. This was another first for Ennis.

When she realized that, Ennis silently started to cry.

Twenty minutes later... In Szilard's basement, the four young men were sitting on the ground.

Their hands had been tied to their backs, and, like in a three-legged race, their feet were tied to each other's.

The four woke up one by one, then started cussing and swearing at the surrounding old men. When Dallas opened his eyes at last, the three, already awake, reined back the flow of expletives.

"... Whaz this? What's going on?"

"Well... This is... Dallas, these guys ain't said a thing from the very start, man."

Hearing his comrade's words, Dallas started surveying his surroundings. In the corner of the house sat a circle of old men wearing high-quality suits, watching them from afar. In such an evil place, there was nothing else especially noteworthy other than the old people sitting around that round table.

"And, Dallas... While we were sleeping, that woman seems t'have injected us with sumthin..."

One of his comrades said uneasily. Perhaps because of the piercing pain, he had woken up and probably saw his comrades being injected. When he heard about the injections, a strong wave of trepidation welled up in Dallas's heart. Exactly what strange substance had been injected into his body?

"How do you feel? ... No, my apologies. We didn't ask before taking you here."

Just as Dallas and his cohorts were shaking and breaking out in cold sweat at their surroundings, a voice suddenly came from behind. Twisting their torsos, they saw an old man wearing a dark brown suit standing behind them. From his aura they could tell he was the pillar of this group of old men.

"From the looks of those three, you should be their leader, am I right?"

"... Who're you, geezer? What're you gonna do with us?"

"Hm? I'm Szilard. I'm planning to inquire about certain matters before I let you die a quick, painless death. Are you satisfied now?"

As the old man spoke, he reached out his hand towards the man next to Dallas.

"What'd you want, bastard!? Wanna kill me? Do it if you can..."

With the old man's hand on his hand, the man wanted to turn to curse those old guys... but he couldn't move.

"Ah, of course I shall do it."

As he replied slowly, Szilard started to 'eat'.

This had to be a bad dream.

Before Dallas's eyes, his comrade vanished, just like that. From his feet, his body slowly disappeared like a blanket being rolled up. First, the shoes fell to the floor with a clatter. Then, his ankles, tied to Dallas's own ankles, also began to make a scrunching sound. The brown trousers too began to slowly deflate from the ankles, just like a leaking balloon.

"Hey... James..."

I thought this guy is James? Huh? Is our relationship so bad that I'm not even sure of his name?

This overwhelming sight had made Dallas's memories a little chaotic.

"Wait a sec... Hey! Wait! Hey! James can't disappear!"

Although vocally he wanted to stop Szilard's actions, his body refused to move the slightest bit in that situation.

Before he had even finished his sentence... the crew of four had become three. The empty space next to Dallas seemed to suck in icy gusts of air.

"... Hm. Another person who didn't live a proper life..."

Finished the business of eating, Szilard slowly savored the 'knowledge'.

"Ooh... The wine is... Don't know if it's safe..."

Hearing that, the old men in the room started stirring uneasily.

"Well then, let me ask you... ... Dallas Genoard."

Calmly turning to Dallas, Szilard bent down and spoke softly to his ear.

"Don't you want to make a deal?"

Dallas didn't understand what was being said.

"... Looks like you're still in the state of shock. Then we'll continue this later."

Szilard stood up, shaking his head, then turned around.

"And, that guy's name wasn't James, was it?"

With that, Szilard and the other old people disappeared into another room.

There were now only three people left in this room. One of the men staring blankly into space started crying.

"Dallas... the one who disappeared just now was Scott... James... is me."

There was no response to that, and there was only the sound of silence between the three.

"Ennis... Outsiders have witnessed your fight."

Szilard posed the question. In the 'knowledge' he had assimilated from Scott, Ennis appeared while they were attacking a couple.

"Yes... If I observed the situation for any longer, it may attract more spectators."

Ennis promptly uttered a lie.

"How did you deal with those two people?"

"Those two left the scene immediately. When I returned I confirmed that no one was following me."

"I see... Then there should be no problem, right?"

"Yes."

Szilard's face was expressionless as he issued Ennis his next order.

"Hm... The 'complete product' seems to be in the hideout of the Gandor Mafia. If we were to negotiate, we may have to provide information, which would be bad. Threaten those three... No, give them a reward, and let them help us take it back. Understand?"

"Yes... But we just killed their friend... can we really persuade them?"

"Don't worry about that... From the memories I have just 'eaten'... I know those guys value their own interests over friendship and its ilk. If we give them money and their lives, they should be more than happy to work for us."

Szilard tapped his temple lightly, smiling faintly.

"Then again, if they learned that they had gained invulnerability to bodily damage, they would be so moved that they'll forget about what happened their friend... In other words, that's the kind of people they are. There is no problem."

"... Yes."

Ennis gave a mechanical bow and left the room swiftly.

The old men who had just witnessed this scene started shouting together angrily.

"Master Szilard!"

"As... As I thought, what was injected earlier... was the incomplete product..."

"Why give those low-life trash...!"

"Shut up."

"..."

A glance from Szilard and, unbelievably, silence was restored.

"Don't worry. It is because of possible conflict with the Mafia. This is purely for the sake of creating some tools. When they're useless, I'll immediately 'eat' them... Unless, you believe you have the strength to win a scuffle against a gang? If that's the case, then please, go ahead."

The old men had nothing to say to that.