* * *
“With that body, what more do you think you can do? Even with your regenerative ampoules, you can’t fully restore a missing arm.”
“Nothing’s impossible. If there’s a way, I’ll find it. And if I don’t have it—
I’ll take it.”
Without sparing the old man so much as a glance, Roilnia dug through the mess of papers to find a cigarette case, plucked one out, and lit it.
She drew deeply on the filter.
Talking to him any longer was a waste of time.
She had to finish the drug, restore her arm—there was too much to do.
At least this little exchange had stoked the embers inside her a bit more.
If she wanted to call that a profit, then this irritation wasn’t such a bad thing.
So she reframed it: this wasn’t a failure, only a mistake.
An arm lost could be regained.
If what she had wasn’t enough to restore it—then she could graft something else on, or take something better.
That was what made her Roilnia Lanilgraph.
She gathered her emotions neatly, tucking them deep in one corner of her mind.
Like stacking logs to keep the fire burning, she packed it full, using everything else as kindling.
With absolute confidence she would not fail, there was no reason for worry.
Inside her, pride that had been chipped away began to build its walls again.
With her one remaining hand, she removed the cigarette from her lips and blew a cloud of smoke toward the old man on the screen.
Through the haze, her mouth stretched into a long, thin smile.
“So you just shut up and watch. Like you always have.”
The old man was a convenience, nothing more—dispensable even compared to a disposable tool.
The fact that such a throwaway dared to lecture her was intolerable, but just this once, she decided to be generous.
Everything had its priority.
Punishing the old man’s presumption could wait until the end.
Slowly, Roilnia reached out and switched off the screen.
As if swallowed by the dark.
“Roilni—”
The old man stared at the blank, unfeeling screen.
Only the mechanical tone signaled that the connection had ended.
Pressing his temples against the growing throb, his lowered gaze fell upon a framed photograph.
Renato slammed the frame face down.
Roilnia Lanilgraph.
The child born from devouring his daughter.
To Renato Lanylgraf, her birth had been nothing but tragedy.
It wasn’t that he’d never considered raising his granddaughter properly.
But the time he had spent drowning in grief for his lost daughter had been far too long.
By the time he came to his senses and faced his granddaughter, the depth of greed in her eyes—so like his own—told him she had already crossed into a place beyond his reach.
When he realized she could kill without hesitation at the flick of a finger, he chose complete detachment.
As long as it wasn’t too immoral, he made sure she never lacked for what she wanted.
As long as no direct harm came to him, she could do whatever she pleased.
He considered that the best he could do—his final shred of conscience toward a child who looked so much like his daughter, one he couldn’t quite bring himself to cast out.
Though “conscience” was just self-deception.
Renato gave Roilnia money, a place to live, and erased her traces as much as possible within the bounds of legality.
But whenever he erased one thing, another would surface, growing bigger each time.
Somewhere along the way, the line had been crossed—and two years ago, things had reached their peak.
He had gone so far as to fake the death of his own granddaughter to cover it up, yet it had all been useless to her.
And now, even he could no longer claim to be free from responsibility.
That was why he knew he had to stop her before it was too late.
Roilnia had always been a time bomb he could never discard—but that didn’t mean he wanted to see her explode.
He knew better than anyone that even if she achieved her goal, she would never be satisfied.
Her ruin would consume not only others but herself as well.
“…”
Lifting his face from his hand, he was bathed in the blue light of the large aquarium before him.
Inside, a single large fish drifted lazily with the current, its long fins waving, red and blue tail flashing its colors.
Watching the lone creature that monopolized the entire tank, he was suddenly struck by how much it resembled his granddaughter.
A fighting fish.
When placed with others in the same tank, it would attack until only one remained, shredding the beautiful fins of its rivals to rags.
A fish that had to dominate the entire world for itself—it was her, in every way.
“Betta, isn’t it?”
His drifting thoughts were pulled back by a voice like a sudden breeze.
Reflected in the spotless glass of the tank, a woman stood in the doorway.
Smiling gently at the old man’s back, she stepped in without hesitation, setting her clutch on her lap and sitting with composed grace.
“The fish, I mean. Hoho.”
Her words were light, without weight.
Even in the same room, there was a gulf between them as sharp as a change in temperature.
“No one said you could enter.”
“I knocked. Don’t blame the poor butler.”
The woman, Hoaphilen Legius, removed the leather gloves from her hands and placed them on the table.
Turning toward Renato Lanilgraph, she straightened her back.
Her posture was graceful yet carried an undeniable sense of precision, with no hint of carelessness.
“I was under the impression both the Foundation and Central had already released their respective public statements. Was there really a need for you to come here in person?”
Renato’s words were not sharply pointed, but they carried a roundabout displeasure.
With a creak, he rose from his chair.
Officially, the Lanilgraph Foundation had issued a statement expressing condolences for the victims and pledging full support, while Central had released a similar position.
That was why Renato hadn’t responded to Hoaphilen’s suggestion to visit.
If he had come here deliberately, it was nine times out of ten to unsettle him.
“Of course there was. We have… a rather special relationship, don’t we?”
“Special enough to call you an enemy. Seems your meddling has only gotten worse.”
“I just thought I’d complain a little, that’s all. You probably have no idea how long cleaning up this mess will take.”
With a faint smile and a casual shrug, Hoaphilen’s words were, unfortunately, not wrong.
The aftermath of the disaster caused by Roilnia was enormous.
An entire building had collapsed completely, and many were injured or killed.
It was a small mercy that the jamming had prevented the incident from being broadcast in real time.
The whole affair had been wrapped up as the sole act of Irina Sheril, who had gone berserk due to personal grudges.
But no one present here truly believed it had been just her independent action.
“I even stationed members from Division 6 and the deputy director there, just in case—and we still got hit right in the face. Hoho. Anyway, my throat’s dry. How about some tea?”
For someone claiming to be here just to vent, Hoaphilen was astonishingly at ease.
To make matters worse, he was now asking for tea.
With some reluctance, Renato called for the butler and ordered it to be served.
“My condolences for the incident.”
As the freshly brewed black tea and several kinds of cookies were quickly arranged on the table, Renato offered the words.
They were light enough to be insincere, but polite enough not to be dismissive.
Lifting the teacup, Hoaphilen enjoyed the fragrant aroma as he replied with equal weight.
“Of course. To think they’d drag in an ordinary esper from the agency—if I said I wasn’t surprised, I’d be lying. As the director of Eterna Central, my prestige has taken quite a hit.”
“Our Foundation’s losses were hardly small either.”
“Hoho, but your side has plenty of money. On the other hand, public funds are always limited.”
The fruit-scented tea lingered hot at the tip of the nose before fading away.
In contrast to the warmth, his next words were ice cold.
“And you’ve managed to shield your granddaughter again this time. Impressive. Not an easy thing to pull off every single time. If only she appreciated even half the effort her grandfather puts in.”
The words could have easily been mistaken for sarcasm, yet Hoaphilen’s tone was so utterly matter-of-fact it almost sounded like genuine admiration.
Renato quietly studied him, then turned toward the fish tank, following the elegant movements of the bettas flashing their ornate fins.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
For a fleeting moment, his gaze wavered, betraying a hint of unease.
But by the time he blinked slowly, the disturbance was gone, replaced by a firmer look.
At the end of a long breath—like one taken before a resolve—there was perhaps a glimpse of determination.
“Just get to the point. I’m too old for these roundabout conversations.”
From the moment he had entered, Hoaphilen’s attitude had been an unbroken string of inscrutable banter.
If that had all been preamble, then it was about time to get to the real subject—and Renato had decided to open the floor.
* * *
