"What is going on in there? Why does it look like something's hiding behind you?"
Souta Tamadate hesitated at the threshold. The room was too dark — his instincts told him something was wrong, and the sight of Yahiro Samukawa sitting alone on the floor of this pitch-black space didn't help. He'd watched enough horror movies; his brain immediately started imagining all kinds of horror-movie scenes. Every element was there: a remote rural location, a deceptively grand house, a moonless night. The atmosphere was pure dread.
"You don't have much time," Inori murmured, barely audible, choking back laughter. "Call him in. Think of it as your initiation gift for joining Funeral Parlor."
Inori felt a new plan taking shape — one that could solve both problems at once, and even recreate a certain iconic scene in the process.
Samukawa still hadn't answered. In a life-or-death situation, staying calm was almost impossible. He had to decide right now whether to trust Inori — or shout for help and let Souta come rushing in, the two of them together maybe able to overpower her. Was that even possible?
But what would he get out of that?
A plastic friendship?
"I'll spare your life. And the two of you aren't exactly close anyway, are you? On top of that — I'll provide Jun's vaccine. Free of charge. Now call him in."
"Hey! Samukawa… why won't you answer? Why haven't you turned the light on? Don't tell me you actually ran into a ghost…"
Souta's fear ratcheted up another notch when Samukawa still didn't respond to him.
"Come on, do it," Inori pressed, keeping her voice low. "Look — he's already spooked, he won't even step inside~"
Samukawa was still breathing hard, still giving no reply.
"...Do you want to die?"
"If I call him in — will you really give me a way out? And actually treat Jun?"
"Heh~" A quiet laugh. "Yes. I keep my promises. This is a transaction — give and take."
Yahiro Samukawa finally let the last of his resistance go. He drew a slow breath, and opened his mouth.
"...I'm fine, Souta!"
Inori had never for a second believed Samukawa would flip on her at this critical moment — announce "but I refuse" like some dramatic last stand. Right now there was no one but Inori who could get him out of this. He had one path left.
"I was chasing a cockroach and twisted my ankle. Can you come help? The light in here is broken, and my foot really hurts — I can't stand up."
"...Phew, you scared me."
"Though seriously, what kind of person sprains their ankle catching a bug? That's so not like you."
Souta hadn't fully dropped his guard, but he wasn't a child — a little darkness wasn't going to keep him frozen in the doorway. He made a few jabs at Samukawa's expense and, using the light from the hallway outside, stepped into the room.
"Wait — there's something behind you… I-Inori? Inori-san?"
As he got closer, he finally saw the shape behind Samukawa. It was Inori.
Before he could even begin to process what that meant, she was already moving — crossing the distance between them at a speed that seemed to outrun time itself. The silver-white light of the Void blazed and filled the room. The pressure on Samukawa's shoulders vanished, but he didn't move; he just sat on the floor and watched.
Souta cried out twice from the pain and then went limp. Inori looked at what was now in her hand — a compact, rounded object that looked like a camera — and let out a slow exhale. Finally. She'd managed to draw it out.
"Gai. I have the item. Heading to your position now."
She opened a comm channel without bothering to look back at Souta.
"Good. We'll be waiting at the rendezvous point."
Two brief exchanges, and Inori turned to leave. Before she did, one more thing occurred to her.
"Well done, Samukawa-kun. You're one of us now."
"Don't forget what you promised!"
Samukawa's hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat; he looked like something pulled from the ocean. He hauled himself upright with difficulty and stared at the yukata-clad girl, a complicated look in his eyes.
"Carry him back."
"You're not killing him?" Samukawa sounded genuinely surprised.
"If I kill him the Void disappears too."
Inori gave the weapon in her hand a light shake, then turned and walked toward her room. She couldn't exactly go into a combat operation wearing wooden sandals and a yukata.
This was a genuine deployment — Stand and user operating in tandem. She needed to stay completely focused. For exactly that reason, Inori had pre-emptively knocked back an energy drink, because if her concentration slipped and the wrong character delivered the wrong line at the wrong moment — say, King Crimson suddenly going soft and saccharine in that unmistakably feminine lilt — getting exposed over something that embarrassing was simply not something Inori could accept.
That was a hypothetical, of course. A worst-case scenario.
...
...
Strictly speaking, "Diavolo" didn't need to show up in person.
But Inori wanted to take custody of the Origin Stone the moment it was in hand. Gai Tsutsugami had agreed in principle, but she didn't fully trust that — if something unexpected came up, she wanted to be there herself. So she'd brought him along.
The torii shrine they'd spotted during the day was the hidden base on Ōshima. The Origin Stone sealed inside was protected by some of the most advanced cryptographic mechanisms in the world. Even Tsugumi — who was among the best hackers alive — had hit a complete wall against it. That was precisely why Souta Tamadate's Void had been necessary.
Inori changed into a strapless bra and layered a clean white midriff bandeau over it, then pulled her Funeral Parlor jacket on top. She usually avoided showing this much skin because she ran cold — but the temperature here was high, and running in anything heavier meant soaking through with sweat.
"Everyone!"
She stepped forward from King Crimson's side and called out to the assembled group.
"Inori-san… Souta — is he okay?"
Shu Ouma was on the roster for tonight's operation. He saw Inori arrive and, as always, his first concern was his best friend.
"He's asleep. Don't worry."
Shu visibly relaxed.
Inori watched him and felt something tighten in her chest. He was just too good. If he ever found out how viciously Souta had turned on him, she wondered how he'd take it.
"Gai — this person, is that Diavolo?"
Ayase Shinomiya rolled her wheelchair forward a few feet and leaned toward Gai Tsutsugami, keeping her voice low.
"I didn't expect you to get personally involved."
Gai didn't answer Ayase's question. He only narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on the man standing just behind Inori — the figure who had nearly merged with the surrounding dark.
"The seeds you plant shouldn't always be left for others to harvest."
King Crimson received Inori's inward signal and replied at once, giving a dry laugh.
"I have no objections. But can you keep up with our pace? A man who schemes from the shadows — those rusty bones of yours had better not slow us down."
Gai seemed to have spent enough time around Inori to have picked up her brand of sharp-edged sarcasm. But seeing that self-satisfied look of his, Inori knew exactly how to handle it.
She arranged her face into a portrait of anxious distress and stepped forward, taking King Crimson's large hand in both of hers. The difference in their builds was dramatic — she needed both hands to cradle one of its hands.
"Diavolo-san, let me take care of this part. Please, stay here and rest."
That gentle, pliant voice. Those helpless, imploring eyes. Gai's expression pinched as if something had stabbed him; Shu frowned and looked away, deeply unsettled. Neither of them could reconcile the image of this bold, electric girl behaving like a docile kitten in this man's presence.
She could feel King Crimson's large hand trembling faintly against her palms.
— Stop shaking. If you blow this cover, so help me—
"It's fine."
Properly scolded by its user, King Crimson had no choice but to hold the line. It glanced down at Inori, withdrew its hand, cleared its throat, and spoke with flat composure.
"Compared to my years running the Italian mob, this is child's play."
"The nerve of you! You think we're amateurs?"
Argo couldn't let that pass.
The assembled members — aside from the strategist Quadrant and the hulking Daun — were teenagers, sixteen or seventeen years old. Diavolo's words landed as naked mockery.
"Stand down."
Gai raised a hand, signaling everyone to hold.
"The operation begins shortly. Stop wasting time."
— Whatever. You won't be so smug much longer, Diavolo.