Pushing open the establishment's door, I was greeted by the noise of a crowd—far too many people for such a lonely street.
Well damn… this place is packed.
I stepped inside. No one paid me any attention, which only made me slightly less cautious.
At the front counter stood a white-haired woman. She was beautiful—too beautiful. Something about her felt off.
"Welcome," she said with a smile, crimson eyes glinting faintly. "What can I get you today?"
Her gaze lingered on me. "You look unfamiliar. Are you new here?"
"Yeah," I replied, leaning back to avoid her stare. "Just arrived."
I hesitated, then asked, "Do you know a man named Evan?"
That caught her off guard.
"Evan?" She rested her chin on her hand, leaning back as she studied me. I finally let out a quiet breath. "Why would you be looking for him?"
"I need something from him," I answered carefully.
"Hmmm…" Her eyes narrowed, judging whether I was worth trusting. "He comes here every day. One of our VIP customers."
She's really just saying that out loud, huh.
"Do you know where he is now?" I asked.
"Probably in the backstreets," she replied casually. "Looking for supplies."
With that, I waved goodbye and left.
The moment I stepped outside, my stomach twisted.
Did I just see an eyeball floating in one of those bowls…?
I swallowed hard.
This wasn't just a restaurant.
It was a cannibal joint.
No wonder Evan's called 'Gourmet.'
Guy eats anything that moves.
I headed toward the backstreets.
It didn't take long.
In the middle of the road stood a man calmly dissecting a human body with a saw, blood pooling beneath him like spilled paint.
"…What kind of district is this?"
Earlier, I'd seen rats tearing apart a corpse in an alley. Now this guy was doing it out in the open.
"You Evan?"
My voice made him freeze.
He slowly stood and turned around.
An expensive suit, surgical gloves soaked dark with blood, a saw dangling casually from his right hand. Handsome—almost noble-looking. The kind of man you'd expect at a gala, not a slaughterhouse.
"Do I know you, monsieur?" he asked, his French accent unmistakable.
"So you really are Evan." I chuckled, unsheathing Rebellion from my back.
He immediately stepped away.
"I wouldn't call this respectful," he said lightly, lifting a basket filled with human remains. "Interrupting a meal."
"You're not getting away," I growled, lunging forward.
My blade struck—
Clang.
Something solid.
I froze.
Evan had caught Rebellion barehanded.
"Have some manners, monsieur."
He kicked me hard in the chest. I yanked my sword free mid-impact and flipped backward, landing in a crouch.
"Fast," he mused. "Perhaps a strong Fixer?"
Blood began crystallizing around his arm, forming into a jagged sword—its edge shaped like a serrated saw, pulsing faintly.
What the hell…?
Nanni never mentioned anything like this. But a contract was a contract.
I wasn't about to lose my perfect success rate.
I drew Ivory and fired.
Evan dodged, twisting between bullets with inhuman precision. When the chamber clicked empty, he rushed straight at me.
He raised his blade and slammed it down.
I blocked just in time, Rebellion screeching as it met his weapon. With one hand, I reloaded Ivory mid-clash.
Five months of practice after Roland…
Didn't waste a second.
I aimed at Evan's stomach and pulled the trigger, unloading the entire magazine.
"AGHH!"
He screamed as I kicked him away.
His suit was shredded, his torso riddled with bullet wounds, blood pouring freely—
Then it stopped.
The flesh knit itself together, bullets forced out as if rejected.
"…What?" I muttered.
There was no tech. No enhancement. Nothing in the City regenerated like that.
Evan's face twisted.
He was smiling.
"Oh… this feeling," he moaned softly, shuddering. "How long has it been~"
My grip tightened around Rebellion.
Creepy or not, human or not—it didn't matter.
This thing was dead.
I planted my feet, blade ready, eyes locked onto him.
"Come on," I muttered. "Make your move."