* * *
“I wasn’t trying to avoid you. It’s just that… I mean…”
In the end, with no room left to escape, Ben had to speak up—but he couldn’t stop his face from heating up.
The warmth rising from his neck was palpable even without needing to see it.
He wanted to avert his gaze while talking, but Haimar’s eyes, locked onto his, made it impossible.
Ben grew even more flustered.
“I was… embarrassed.”
“Again.”
“I said I was embarrassed! Sorry, okay?!”
What a cruel man!
Making him spit out something so mortifying not once, but twice!
“I acted poorly back then, and with… all that stuff going on, I kept thinking about it every time I saw you. It made me feel ashamed, so I avoided you! Happy now?!”
‘I’m doomed. World, please take a look—I’m dying of embarrassment here!’
The heat had risen to his ears and spread all the way to the crown of his head, turning Ben’s whole face a fiery red.
It wouldn’t be out of place if a volcano erupted right from the top of his head.
If he had anywhere to hide, he’d have dashed there without a second thought—but since he’d already started, he figured he might as well get it all out.
“If I offended you, I’m sorry. Please don’t get mad.”
“Mad? Me?”
Haimar tilted his head, as if the words were completely foreign to him.
Ben frowned, his face still flushed.
Realistically, if pushing someone like this wasn’t a sign of being mad, then what was?
Though he couldn’t read Ben’s mind, Haimar picked up the gist of it from his expression and sank into a moment of thought.
Looking back, it was true that Ben’s attitude had been rubbing him the wrong way since the Hermannsen incident.
And when he’d found a man in the trash who looked exactly like Ben, he’d felt an unbearable sense of disgust.
Not to mention, when Ben got punched because of his own mistake, irritation flared in him.
And the fact that he was now purposely making things awkward for Ben—it all pointed in one direction.
If he had to give these emotions a name, maybe Ben wasn’t entirely wrong after all.
“As you said, I guess it could be something like anger.”
Haimar’s deep, swirling gaze settled down to its usual calm as he admitted this so readily.
Watching Ben, tomato-faced and stealing nervous glances, was amusing—and his sincere, straightforward apology was satisfying enough, for now.
“So, the conclusion is… you were just embarrassed.”
“You don’t need to make me say it again.”
“Were you that embarrassed?”
His crescent-moon eyes folded gently, brimming with mischief.
Ben, guilty as charged, couldn’t bring himself to say anything to that unfairly handsome face and instead scowled.
“Do you even know how awful you are?”
“I do. I’m awful.”
Haimar’s flawless platinum blond hair swayed lightly as he let out a low chuckle.
He often wore a smile, but this time, it felt like a genuine one—stripped of any pretense of kindness.
Ben swallowed his words.
As the tension finally eased, the forgotten pain in his arm started to throb again.
It burned and ached, making him realize just how much he’d ignored it until now.
He grimaced once more, just as Haimar’s grip on his chin loosened.
Ben gently clutched his left arm.
“I should head back now. I think I hurt my arm.”
At Ben’s words, Haimar let him go without a word.
As Ben began to walk back toward the spot where the car had been practically abandoned, he suddenly remembered to check on Xenon.
“Did Xenon’s rampage… stop?”
“Honestly, I was thinking of killing him.”
“What?!”
“But I didn’t. I figured you’d throw a fit if I did.”
Normally, it wouldn’t have been out of character for Haimar to kill him.
The fact that he held back was surprising.
Maybe he could be stopped if someone really tried.
Ben, who had only known Haimar from dry reports and records, couldn’t possibly grasp how monumental a change this was for him.
“I’ll take that as things having been resolved.”
“Aren’t you curious how it stopped?”
He was curious, honestly.
But the way Haimar asked—like he was saying, “Ask and you’ll regret it”—made Ben give up on the idea without a second thought.
“…No. I’m sure you handled it just fine.”
“Then I suppose I can finally ask you why you got involved in all this.”
It was a long story—one that needed explaining.
So Ben decided to tell him everything on the drive back while Haimar took the wheel.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Boss! Boss, snap out of it! You gotta get treatment or you’ll die!”
“Goddamn it… Is this what all my struggle was for…?!”
Dragging a broken leg behind him, a man hobbled along with help through a dark alley, the perfect picture of defeat.
Tonight, not even the moon had risen—only thick clouds blanketed the sky.
Not a single star dared to peek through.
All the man wanted now was to get home and rest, but standing in a street without even a single streetlamp, the two figures couldn’t hide their unease.
And then, as if to confirm that dread, an unknown liquid began to spread across the ground.
The underling froze in his steps, face paling.
“B-Boss… it’s blood!”
The narrow alley floor was soaked in a pool of red that seeped around their shoes.
Then came the dull thuds of bodies collapsing—along with the faint, dying breaths of their comrades, who had still been alive just this afternoon.
“Well, I never imagined you’d crawl back like a cripple.”
From the pitch black emerged a woman they knew all too well.
The one clearly responsible for stealing the lives of their men.
Her wine-colored hair, now darkened by shadow and matted with blood, framed a graceful figure that radiated cold arrogance.
She licked her lips, stained with lipstick as red as the blood on her hands, and smiled with wicked delight.
“And I really didn’t expect to catch such a big fish.”
“Roilnia, you cruel bitch! What did you do to my men?!”
Even though the round-bellied man shouted furiously, his words pierced through her like glass shards, Roilnia remained nonchalant, her expression bored.
“Guess that dose wasn’t enough to push them into full berserk mode within 24 hours. Maybe the concentration was too weak. What a shame. But oh well.”
She crossed her arms, paying no mind to her blood-soaked hands or the bloodstained trench coat.
Her voice was full of genuine regret—yet soon her face lit up again, as if an amusing thought had popped into her head.
Clicking her high heels across the ground, she finally looked the man in the eye.
“Are you even listening to me?! I did everything you asked! Today’s mess was because of some unexpected interference!”
“I know. And I really liked that, actually. I got to see a face I’ve been dying to see. Thanks to you all, really—but it’s a shame I didn’t get the data I wanted. You just ended up helping the other side.”
Her voluminous hair bounced against her chest with each step.
The short skirt she wore swayed, emphasizing her smooth thighs, as she stepped around the bodies of the fallen like garbage. She added, almost casually:
“Not that it really matters. But still—it is annoying. Even if I wanted to see him again, he’s someone I hate enough to want to rip apart. Seeing him like that out of nowhere… it made it hard to keep my cool. Ahaha.”
The smile on her lips and the words she threw out were sheer joy, but the eyes staring at her nails—painted the same shade as the red blood staining her hands—weren’t smiling at all.
The atmosphere she exuded was eerie, like a viper on the hunt for prey, and the man couldn’t shake the chill crawling up his spine. He trembled, desperate to cast off the foreboding sensation.
“Y-You bitch! From now on, we’re done! I’ve paid you back plenty!”
“I’ll warn you now—calling me that won’t end well. Only your poor underling will die.”
She was still more than five steps away, yet in a blink—like the space between them had folded in on itself—Roilnia closed the distance and appeared right in front of the man.
“Gah!”
In the instant he couldn’t even look away, Roilnia kicked the pot-bellied man and grabbed the neck of the subordinate who had been supporting him.
With one hand, she hoisted the sturdy man above her head and mercilessly began to squeeze the life out of him.
“G-Guh… Two…mok!”
The man scratched at the delicate woman’s arm with all his might, trying to pry it off.
Saliva dribbled from his lips, and the whites of his eyes rolled back as his face turned a bruised purple from the tightening grip.
But Roilnia looked ready to tear his throat out completely, her nails sharpened like claws.
“W-Wait! He didn’t say a word! If you’re going to kill someone, kill me! I’m his Guide!”
The man, who could barely lift himself due to one useless leg, shouted with desperation—his earlier bravado gone without a trace.
Roilnia responded to his plea, casting her gaze down at him.
His face, filled with worry for his subordinate, was a mess of anxiety and wretchedness.
“Oh my, he’s your Guide?”
Roilnia blinked in surprise, her grip loosening slightly.
She lowered the man just enough to let him breathe again.
“Sorry, I didn’t know. A Guide is so precious to an Esper like us. I was careless.”
Her face—already striking with its sharp features and bold makeup—was now tinged with what seemed like genuine regret.
Seeing that sorrowful expression, the pot-bellied man let out a small sigh of relief and turned his gaze to his subordinate.
Any Esper would know how vital a Guide is—the only one who can help them stabilize and stay in control.
As a fellow psychic, she must understand that too.
He hadn’t planned it, but the fact that he’d inadvertently hit that nerve gave him a flicker of hope.
He loosened the tight fists he’d clenched so hard his nails had dug into his palms.
“—Is that what you thought I’d say?”
* * *
