She felt it.
The echoes lingering in this place.
The unwavering hope of those who had waited, who had never given up on someone's return.
These were people who couldn't bear to see abandoned children suffer.
People who used their wealth to build a home for the lost.
They had met, bonded over shared ideals, and founded an orphanage together on the town's outskirts.
At first, it was hard.
They were kind but inexperienced, facing endless troubles—greedy townsfolk exploiting their goodwill, daily hardships piling up.
Some gave up and left.
But others persevered, refusing to let the children end up on the streets again.
And then—
A bright little girl arrived.
She learned faster than the other children.
She noticed the adults' hidden exhaustion and tried to ease their burden, even becoming a leader among the kids.
The adults adored her.
They knew she deserved more than this crumbling orphanage.
So when a scholarship opened up—
They gave it to her.
This was before the tragedy.
Before everything shattered.
These memories… these emotions…
Kaguya, still in her husky form, stepped into the room.
Her perception wasn't as sharp as Takakai's or Miko's, but after two dungeons, she could sense the remnants here—warm yet sorrowful.
What she didn't know was:
This room held the orphanage's final traces.
After Sato's experiments, the researchers had dumped the remains here, sealed it, and forgotten it.
The girl who later destroyed everything had searched these ruins in vain.
All clues had been purposely erased.
"Woof?"
Outside, Hayasaka—now more dog than human—whined impatiently.
She didn't understand why Kaguya was lingering.
Her degrading mind screamed to find Takakai, but fragmented loyalty kept her waiting.
CRASH—!
Kaguya leaped onto the table, toppling it.
The figures vanished, their memories absorbed.
But something remained.
A faded black-and-white photo.
In it:
Adults forcing smiles despite exhaustion.
Children making faces or mimicking grown-ups.
But one child's image was blurred, as if erased.
Was it a camera defect?
Or… someone who never made it back?
Kaguya tried to pick it up with her paws, failed, then gently gripped it in her teeth.
She didn't know what this meant, but its importance was undeniable.
Takakai will understand.
"GRR—WOOF!"
Hayasaka's warning snarl echoed.
Kaguya froze.
[Hurt… so hurt…]
Dark red droplets fell from the ceiling.
A monster emerged—a stitched-together mass of flesh and organs, oozing yellow fat, limbs crudely reattached.
Skulls missing tops, faces peeled off, moaning in unison.
[Uncle… it hurts… stop…]
Kaguya bolted, but the creature blocked their path, its wails mixing with the whir of unseen drills and saws.
Dead end.
Yet—
The monster hesitated.
Like the headless soldiers, its rules targeted humans, leaving it confused by dogs.
"Grr… arf!"
Hayasaka bared her teeth, shielding Kaguya.
Kaguya glanced back—other horrors now filled the hallway.
No retreat.
The creature reached for them—
—when suddenly—
[Red dragonflies in the sunset~]
A soft, off-key lullaby began.
One of the heads—a woman's, eyes gouged out—was singing.
[Tell me, childhood friend~]
The monster's movements slowed.
The other heads yawned, fat solidifying, wounds ceasing to bleed.
[Where did we meet that day~?]
Kaguya's vision blurred—a half-forgotten memory surfacing.
Mother… humming this… holding me…
A lullaby.
[Red dragonflies in the sunset~]
More heads joined in, children's voices blending with adults'.
[Perched on a bamboo pole~]
The monster stillened, breathing evenly, as if asleep.
For a moment, Kaguya saw it—
—children tucked in bed, caretakers smiling down.
Even in this hell, some warmth remained.
"Woof!"
Hayasaka sprang onto the monster's back, scrambling over it.
Kaguya followed, photo clutched tight, as they ventured deeper into the glitching abyss.