* * *
CRACK–!
A sickening sound rang out as bones and muscles twisted grotesquely and snapped.
The subordinate, who didn’t even have time to scream in his final moments, died with his eyes wide open.
His limp body dropped to the floor like a piece of garbage—discarded without hesitation.
It all happened so fast, it felt unreal—like watching a scene from a depraved snuff film.
That woman, the one who had looked so sorry just moments ago…
If she was an Esper too, there’s no way she didn’t understand what a Guide meant!
“You—you goddamn bitch!!”
“I told you, if I couldn’t do it, I’d rather die. But you weaklings? You’re the real problem. See? A so-called Guide couldn’t even defend himself and ended up like this.”
Her expression, once seemingly remorseful, was wiped clean—now all that remained was pure disdain for the man she had just killed.
Nothing more, nothing less.
“You’ll be judged for this! I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”
Even with his leg twisted and broken, the man clawed his way up using the wall for support.
Blinding rage overtook him, numbing the pain and driving him forward.
The spare bottle of water in his pocket burst open, liquid bubbling up and coiling protectively around him.
“Ooh, a rampage. This is going to get interesting.”
His sclera flushed red, muscles bulging grotesquely as his body transformed.
Losing control in a heartbeat, all that was left in him was the singular desire to kill the woman in front of him.
“I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you!!”
“I like this kind of thing. It’s ugly—but fun to watch. Watching someone weak claw their way toward power—it’s not a bad look.”
The air thickened and burned from the man’s fury.
But the object of his hatred stood relaxed, as though watching someone else’s fight.
Rather than shaken, she even seemed… excited now.
As if something clicked in her mind, Roilnia pulled out a small tin from her pocket, popped something into her mouth, and smiled with a twist in her eyes.
“If you’re going to do it, how about you give it everything you’ve got?”
At her words, the man reset his dislocated leg with his bare hands, staggering forward before lunging at her with all his might.
THUD–!
But where his strike landed, there was only a deep crater in the ground.
No body. Nothing.
Before he could react, his hypersensitive senses caught her presence behind him—but it was too late. A sharp high heel smashed into his face.
“—GHHK!!”
His cheekbone shattered under the heel, a grotesque crunch that caved in half his face.
But even with his eye socket collapsed, the man showed no sign of retreating.
Roilnia calmly dusted off the debris clinging to her heel and continued speaking.
It was a moment that thrilled her to the core—a fated instant that validated her existence.
Her face lit up in ecstasy, her tongue flicking out like a snake’s.
“I’m always curious—just how strong am I?”
∗ ∗ ∗
After returning from Central, Ben found a dented cake box sitting on the kitchen table of the officetel.
These were the salvaged ones—the truly unsalvageable messes, like the squashed shortcake and the split roll cake, had been handed off to Elgran per Haimar’s suggestion.
Elgran had looked utterly dead inside when Ben gave him what was left of the pastries, but maybe the string of events that happened after Ben left made him too tired to complain.
Not that he didn’t want to.
In fact, it took a couple punches from Haimar to shut him up—though “shut up” might be putting it mildly.
At that point, Ben actually started to feel a little bad for him.
Opening the box carefully, Ben glanced down at his left arm, now stabilized in a half-cast.
The scan had shown only a minor hairline fracture, so a couple weeks of immobilization should be enough.
Still, the brace that ran from elbow to wrist was cumbersome enough to make daily tasks a pain.
Times like this, he envied Espers who healed quickly—but not all of them were superhumanly fast, after all.
Still, he was thankful the bone hadn’t broken clean through.
With that in mind, Ben picked up the strawberry cream cake, which had slid to one side but was otherwise intact.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the cake out. I figured since it’s fresh from today, we might as well try it.”
At his words, Haimar’s eyes drifted to the table.
The round strawberry cake had somehow survived the earlier chaos—Ben wasn’t sure how.
“Would you like some?”
Ben sliced a generous piece with a cake knife and handed Haimar a fork.
Instead of replying, Haimar simply took it and stabbed it straight into the cake.
Watching for a moment, Ben followed suit, taking a bite.
The soft, rich cream blended perfectly with the tart strawberry, melting in his mouth.
“Oh wow. No wonder this stuff’s expensive. It’s really good.”
It wasn’t overly sweet, nor did it feel heavy—definitely the kind of refined flavor you’d expect from a famous bakery.
Haimar didn’t say anything, but since he kept eating, Ben figured it wasn’t offensive to his taste.
“I’m not really a fan of cake… but this one’s not bad.”
“Do you have any favorite foods?”
“Not particularly.”
With just one cake between them, the two men quietly ate, the silence not awkward but not exactly comfortable either.
When they were about halfway through, Ben quietly put down his fork.
“I just… wanted to thank you. Things would’ve gone really bad if you hadn’t shown up today.”
His voice was calm, a little embarrassed.
Haimar stared at him for a beat.
Ben had no choice but to read his mood through his face, tone, and vibe—Haima was impossible to predict otherwise.
Finally, Haimar replied.
“You actually believed I’d come?”
“I told you I did.”
Asking for help wasn’t something Ben did often, but looking back, it had been the right call—the only call, really.
And it wasn’t like he had lied; he really had believed Haimar would come.
To that, Haimar didn’t respond.
He didn’t say a word.
Didn’t even touch his cake anymore.
With their half-eaten cake sitting between them and no one saying anything, the awkwardness slowly crept in.
Ben fidgeted with his fork, then finally broke the silence to excuse himself.
“Uh, I’m going to wash up now.”
He didn’t wait for an answer and slipped into the bathroom.
The weight of Haimar’s gaze vanished behind him, and Ben finally felt like he could breathe again.
Seriously, would it hurt the guy to just say “you’re welcome”?
Still, compared to before—when he wouldn’t even acknowledge a mistake—this was a huge improvement.
That thought helped settle Ben’s nerves.
He brushed his teeth and even managed to wash his face with one hand.
But then came the real problem—showering.
And washing his hair.
Showering, he could manage one-handed if he was careful.
But his hair?
After spending the day rolling through dirt and dust, skipping a shampoo just wasn’t an option.
And with one arm out of commission, it was proving to be a real challenge.
Still, Ben wasn’t the type to back down just because something was inconvenient.
It’d be annoying for the next few weeks, sure—but not impossible.
Resolving himself, he stepped into the shower booth, adjusted the lever, and peeled off his shirt.
He’d only taken off his shirt because washing his hair with one hand while still clothed would’ve soaked everything.
But when he opened the shower booth door to toss the shirt outside and turned his body, Ben ended up locking eyes—perfectly—with Haimar, who just happened to be leaning crookedly against the wall, watching him.
“…?”
Did he forget to shut the door properly?
Even if he had, all Haimar had to do was close it and leave.
There was no reason for him to be standing there, arms crossed, watching him like that.
‘There’s no way he’s curious about how I shower… right?’
What the hell is this?
“Can you wash on your own?”
It seemed Haimar’s concern was Ben’s arm.
He pointed to the one still wrapped tightly in bandages, and Ben responded as if it were obvious.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
Sure, having one arm out of commission was inconvenient, but it wasn’t enough to warrant Haimar’s help. In fact, accepting help from that man would be more uncomfortable than doing it alone.
“Hmmm—.”
But Haimar clearly wasn’t satisfied with that answer.
Pretending not to hear, he stepped into the bathroom without hesitation.
“Still, it’s technically my fault your arm got hurt, isn’t it?”
“I’m not a kid. I can manage just fine on my own. You get used to it.”
And since when were you this helpful, anyway?
Even though Haimar wasn’t doing anything but stepping closer, there was a strange pressure in the air that Ben told himself was just his imagination.
Still, contrary to that thought, his body betrayed him, retreating step by step into the shower booth like a tense rabbit scurrying into its burrow.
“You really don’t have to. I’m seriously fine.”
But Haimar ignored Ben’s repeated refusals and closed the distance between them with long strides, stopping right in front of him.
* * *
