Meanwhile, Letta and Mazawa find themselves only moments away from the terrorists on the second level.
They squeeze through yet another hole in a fireproof wall, when the first voices reach their ears.
"Plan," Letta whispers, pressing his back against the wall beside the opening.
His eyes flick toward Mazawa—who's doing his best not to step into the blood pooling beneath them, lifting his legs awkwardly like a stork.
"What are you—" Letta begins, but before he can finish, a calm, almost soothing voice cuts through their comms.
"Commander Minuett, Hero rank. I'll be taking command from here."
The tone would have been almost sleep-inducing—if not for the adrenaline still surging through their veins.
Letta and Mazawa exchange a glance, as if silently checking whether they both just heard the same thing.
"Elite Soldier Letta, Hunter rank," Letta responds in a hushed tone. "We're on the second level. We have visual contact with the terrorists."
His whisper trails off just as a heavy metallic crash echoes somewhere deeper below.
He instantly realizes the terrorists are still moving—and would've stepped through the next opening already if the new commander hadn't interrupted him.
"Ah, good. Glad to finally reach someone," Minuett's voice replies—still calm, though painfully slow, at least in Letta's opinion.
He drums his fingers impatiently against the wall.
"A brief summary from my end," Minuett continues. "We're dealing with the terrorist group Flowermoon. They seem to have formed only recently. However, they aren't ordinary insurgents—it's a mixed group. Humans and Wunder."
Letta swallows—not from the information itself, but from the sudden explosion that follows, the vibration strong enough to be felt even here.
"Well, now that that's settled," Minuett goes on, only to pause right before reaching the crucial part.
"Understood," Letta cuts him off, already stepping one foot through the hole.
"I'm engaging on Level Two."
"Ah—wait," the commander interjects again.
"What now? We don't exactly have time to waste down here! If we stay any long—"
"Minuett!"
A new voice bursts through the channel—female, bright, and annoyingly youthful.
Letta freezes mid-sentence, jaw tightening, before shooting an irritated glare toward Mazawa, who can only shrug in response.
"Ah, yes, right. I was just—" Minuett begins to explain, but he doesn't get far.
"Mi! Nu! Ett! The troops are in position! We're moving in now! I'm splitting them into two units — Alpha and Beta. Alpha takes point, Beta follows as rear guard. We're just waiting for your go-ahead!"
Once again, the unknown voice cuts in — loud, energetic, and clearly uninterested in protocol. Letta is about two seconds away from cutting the connection entirely.
"Uh, yes. That would be Maya — my student," Minuett clarifies, audibly sighing.
"Good! Forward unit Alpha is advancing! And my name's Maya la Vivouche! Got it?!" she replies proudly.
"Vivouche?"
Letta freezes. Out of nowhere, his earlier impatience just… evaporates. He climbs through the hole, another explosion echoing down the corridor as his fists tighten. A chorus of gunfire follows soon after — shrill and chaotic — yet he doesn't let it shake him. Not the screams, not the detonations, not the sound of running feet.
"To summarize," Minuett continues, still completely composed. "Among the attackers, there should be Wunder. We suspect them to be located on the lower floors. Therefore, please proceed immediately to levels four and five. That will be all."
Minuett's calm is almost unnerving — as though nothing in the world could disturb it. Of course, he's human, so that's impossible… but still. Letta accepts the order in silence.
"And yes! I'm the la Vivouche! Maya la Vivo—"
The voice cuts off abruptly, like someone had just severed the transmission.
Not that it matters. They have their orders. And the orchestra of gunfire in the background has already faded, leaving only guesses as to what went down there.
"That name seems to have thrown you off quite a bit," Mazawa remarks, eyeing Letta's bowed head.
"We're going deeper," Letta replies flatly, changing the subject as he turns toward Elevator No. 4 behind them.
"Not even a protest. Just like a good little servant," Mazawa teases, though he still follows his partner.
"What do you think's gonna happen to the civilians?" he adds — but the shriek of metal from the elevator doors cuts their conversation short.
They descend further, same as before, this time stopping on the fourth floor, right in front of a sealed door.
No elevator car. No footing. Nothing but open shaft below.
"And now what?!" Mazawa yells down as Letta dangles there.
For a moment, he seems to think — then decides to climb lower, since no better option comes to mind. At least until a sound rips through the shaft — the screech of twisting metal and the skid of tires on concrete, that's how anyone would describe it.
And like a bomb, the glassy sphere behind him doesn't look. Letta spots it just in time, catches the glint from the corner of his eye — and jumps.
The explosion tears apart the metal casing of the shaft. The shockwave would've flung Letta to his death — if he hadn't grabbed onto Mazawa's leg at the last second.
"Ah—hey! Watch it down there!" Mazawa yells, gripping the edge and wobbling dangerously as his partner's weight drags him from side to side.
It's a wonder neither of them falls, while the shattered metal crashes into the depths below with a deafening clang.
"We're being expected," Letta murmured, studying the mangled elevator doors — the metal twisted beyond recognition.
"Then get off my damn leg already!" Mazawa barked, as a chill draft swept up through the shaft.
Letta frowned at the thin layer of frost clinging to the door's remains. Then, planting his feet against the shaft's wall, he used Mazawa's leg like a rope, swinging himself across the gap and landing gracefully on the fourth floor.
"Waaait for meeee!" Mazawa shouted — losing his grip in the process. He plummeted downward, barely catching the edge of the same floor at the last possible moment.
The ground trembled as his bulky body slammed into the wall. Not that Letta seemed to care. Not even a flicker of concern. He was frozen — no, awestruck — by the scene unfolding before him.
An icy landscape stretched out across the corridor.
Snowflakes drifted from the ceiling, where water should've been spraying from the sprinklers.
The floor was covered in a thick white layer — snow, meters deep, solid enough to walk on but soft enough to crunch with every step. The sound of cracking snow echoed off the icicles hanging from the walls.
At first, he was speechless. Then the cold hit him. A shiver ran through his body just as Mazawa finally caught up.
"Well, if that's not a Wunder, I don't know what is," Mazawa muttered, scanning the frozen scene. He spat a mouthful of blood, which froze midair before it even hit the ground.
"Brrr," he rattled through chattering teeth, bouncing in place to stay warm.
"I ha-ha-hate the cold," he grumbled — but Letta wasn't listening.
Because the real focus wasn't the frost.
She wasn't normal. Not even by Wunder standards.
Eyes closed, chin lifted, she seemed to savor the storm. Her right hand pulled the zipper of a pale blue winter jacket all the way up before tugging idly at her short denim shorts — a ridiculous contrast to the freezing air. Then she slipped the sunglasses from her forehead, brushing her short blond hair, whose ends shimmered faintly blue.
"Well, looks like we've found our Wunder," Letta said, drawing his sharp, angular sapphire blade from its sheath.
"Y-you th-think so? She looks p-pretty n-normal to me," Mazawa shot back sarcastically, though his frost-coated beard made every word painful.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," came a deep, feminine voice — smooth, yet oddly detached.
The strangely dressed figure swapped her sunglasses for a black-and-white mask shaped like an orca's face — at least in color, though the five jagged points on its forehead made it look even stranger.
"I was just… lost in thought," she continued — haltingly, deliberately.
And smiling. As if this entire encounter were just some casual game.
Letta ignored her tone, trudging two deliberate steps forward through the snow.
"Ah, ah, ah!"
Her voice stopped him cold — just as two icicles shot from the ground, stabbing into the floor in front of his boots, perfectly synchronized with her words.
"Not so fast," she said, tightening the elastic strap of her mask behind her head.
"After all, you don't want to get impaled, do you?"
A scornful hiss escapes Letta as he tracks the figure's movements; she taps the orca-mask a few times like she's checking how firmly it's fastened.
"All good, fits!" she finishes, throwing the two elite soldiers a pair of thumbs up.
A wildly inappropriate gesture—just like her whole attitude. But Letta doesn't care; he barrels past the two icicles and charges at his opponent.
Somewhat heavy but hardly slow, he stomps through the snow, lunges with his sword, misses, and follows with a hail of strikes.
No success.
She dodges, slips away, ducks — all with the widest grin on her face.
Even when his movements speed up, when he tries to confuse her with a feint, even when he halts to bait her, he gets nowhere.
He comes close, the blade even closer, it grazes the pale blue jacket and slices it — but not her. She collapses into a heap of snow, and something taps his shoulder.
Instantly Letta turns, instinctively swings again — but there is nothing there. If there ever was. The whole thing feels surreal, until he hears the voice behind him and turns back.
"Ohhh, he's gotten quite cute," she coos.
She stands there whole again, no snow, nothing. She studies him, though her gaze drifts slightly — Letta notices that immediately.
"On your head. She built you a little snowman," Mazawa interjects in a deadpan tone, stepping through the snow beside him.
Letta pats his helmet; a tiny snow figure made of even tinier balls crumbles into itself.
"Looks like you're having fun," Mazawa calls, and the figure tilts its head.
"Aren't you? A fight should be fun. Why else bang heads together?" she replies cheerfully, her fingers twitching as if she can hardly wait. The remark even draws a short chuckle from Letta.
"Fun? A fight?" he asks, then rushes her again. Blind and yet precise, but still missing — she ducks his thrust, leans away from a side-slash and catches the tip of the sword between her fingertips.
"You know… what I find fun?" Letta grinds out, forcing his strength against her fingers.
"Torture. And… I will torture you… for as long as — for as long as" —
He trails off, hand dipping into his pocket like he's reaching for something.
"For as long… until you… smile."
His opponent watches the movement intently, neither interrupting his monologue nor defending herself. Until Letta finally flinches and abruptly pulls his hand from his pocket.
Instantly, his adversary collapses into snow, while the blade slices through the air again and he makes a throwing motion with his hand. Nothing is thrown — there was never anything there. Not in his hand, not in his pocket.
For a brief moment, he comes to a calm. A moment to breathe, one might say. One could, if it weren't for the sudden pain. Or the blood on his right shoulder. Or his wide-open eyes as he feels the bloody tip of an icicle next to his face.
"Torture, hm?" murmurs his opponent.
Motionless.
Behind him.
At the same time, Mazawa jumps at the figure, causing her to dissolve again, and he lands with a crash in the snow.
"A really…" the voice continues, while more icicles aim at Letta.
He immediately leaps forward into the snow, sinking in instantly.
"Funny word!" the figure finishes, just as the ice above their heads shatters together.
"Pfft… pah… yuck," Mazawa spits the icy mass from his mouth and carefully pushes himself up onto his arms.
"But still not my thing!" the figure adds, leaning over Letta.
"That's why I reject…"
She seems extremely talkative—or perhaps addicted to talking—because she doesn't want to stop. But Letta has had enough; he pushes himself out of the snow and headbutts her chin. His opponent staggers back a few steps, which Letta uses to strike again.
But his weapon is blocked. By an icicle.
One that in his opponent's hand feels like a sword, the two tips braced against each other.
"Worlds separate us, little one. Even with your cute tricks," she murmurs, speaking as she vanishes with the icicle, causing Letta to stagger forward.
"But let me still demonstrate," she adds, slowly and carefully pulling the icicle from his right shoulder.
Deliberately, torturously.
Letta grits his teeth as tears fill his eyes and he spins abruptly. His follow-up strike misses. The tip grazes his neck — visible and clear. His opponent lowers her face and replies:
"Let me demonstrate."
With a headbutt.
"A headbutt."
The spikes of her mask immediately pierce through his jacket, then his clothing, finally digging under his collarbones into his skin.
Blood begins to drip, tinting the snow, spikes, and clothing a reddish hue, while Letta merely swallows, flinches, and breathes — in deeply, then out.
Instantly, Mazawa reacts and grabs their opponent with a firm grip around her neck, but she crumbles again—into snow, into nothing. Only to reappear behind them.
Letta spits blood, flinches, thrusts his sword into the snow, and reaches under his jacket into a pocket. Almost simultaneously, he pulls out a small box, shakes oval tablets into his hand, and swallows them.
"You know," the voice begins again, prompting Mazawa to step protectively in front of his partner.
"I don't know a lot," he instinctively interrupts the figure.
"But I do know that I'm dragging you to prison myself."
His words are clear, deliberate, and brave. Yet all they elicit from their opponent is a simple laugh.
"Ahahaha, really cute. But you know, what I wanted to say is this—you need to know one thing. Everything you've seen so far, I copied from a little boy I once met. The disappearing and copying of my opponents. Even the headbutt. He was quite something for his age."
The figure points at Letta, who trembles as he grips his sword and focuses his gaze again.
"And now?" asks Mazawa.
"Well, good question. Ah, I got it!"
The figure raises a finger and then points to the ground.
"Now I'll show you another neat trick!"
At her words, the snow shakes in far too many places until the first spheres rise, gradually growing, taking shape, and finally replicating their opponent exactly. Copies of the original, barely distinguishable from her.
"Let's see how you handle them!"
Her words are a clear signal to start as the creatures take their first steps, crouch down, and prepare to leap.
"M-m-my hands are c-c-cold… m-my a-arms are f-freezing and I c-c-can't really m-move," stammers Letta in between.
"I-it w-would r-really b-be n-nice if you… finally… joined in," he adds.
He tightens his grip, shakes the frost off his jacket, and steps forward, ready to face all the copies. Determined.
Yet he's surprised when Mazawa responds.
"Uh… maybe… just maybe and not seriously at all… but maybe I had my weapon being upgraded and it's not finished yet, so I don't have one right now, and that's why maybe I also can't conjure one."
He grins, running a hand over the back of his head, as if this were a comedy show.
"Y-y-your… k-ki-kidding," Letta says.
There's little energy in Letta's voice, yet Mazawa can practically feel his anger. But they have bigger problems at the moment—plenty of them—as the copies charge, closing the distance and swinging the shards of ice in their hands.
And that's all there was.
Because they vanish.
They crumble into snow — out of nowhere, completely and utterly gone.
Mazawa and Letta stare in confusion but get their answer quickly when, a few meters away, they spot a new figure.
Wrapped in black and white light, the newcomer grabs the Orca mask and hurls her into the outer wall. Before either of them can even blink, she's already on her again — tossing three duffel bags into the air, slamming her opponent against the wall once more, catching the bags midair, and landing another hit.
Right in the face. Right on the chin.
The first splash of blood follows, then shards of ice burst from the ground — all of which shatter against the black light surrounding the newcomer.
Moments later, the Orca-masked woman dives to the side, fleeing — terrified, or at least her movements make it look that way. And who could blame her, as the three duffel bags suddenly coil around her neck, yanking her back and cutting her escape short.
With a single pull, she's dragged back — then seized again, this time by the throat. Lifted into the air, strangled, until spit drips from beneath the mask. Until even the last twitch leaves her body. Until she's dropped.
And left kneeling.
Mazawa and Letta can't believe their eyes — especially not when the new figure bursts through the nearest elevator and disappears down the shaft, wrapped in that same black-and-white light. Uninterested.
In them.
Or in finishing the job.
"What kind of monsters…" Mazawa mutters, finally managing a few steady breaths.
But Letta can't follow suit. He braces his sword, steps forward toward their lifeless opponent. Mazawa follows — or rather, he follows the trail of blood his partner leaves behind — until both stand over the bowed head of the Orca.
"Why are you here…" murmurs the figure. Letta's grip immediately tightens around his sword.
But she doesn't move. She just repeats herself — like in a trance, almost catatonic.
"Why are you here… why are you here… why are you here… why are you here…"
Over and over again.
"Why are you here…"
No name. Just those same words.
With a quick slash, Letta cuts through the elastic band of the mask. It falls into the melting snow — and behind it, they see wide-open eyes and a smile.
A mad smile.
One that stares right back at them.
Letta raises his blade again, ready to end it — but Mazawa grabs his arm and holds him back.
"Don't, Letta. She's done. She can't hurt us anymore," he says, and his partner reluctantly lowers the weapon.
Mazawa nods in thanks, then pulls a rope from one of his jacket pockets.
"N-no weapon but… but a damn rope?" grumbles Letta, visibly annoyed yet letting out a sigh.
"Whatever… j-just… get on with it."
He stammers past the elevator the stranger just strode through.
"What are you doing!?" Mazawa calls out as he finishes the last knot and leaves their disfigured foe behind.
But Letta doesn't answer; he simply leaps onto the metal bulkhead and climbs down.
"Sigh… you really are impossible to work with," Mazawa mutters, then follows him. Less reluctantly now that the shaft grows noticeably warmer by the meter.
One last jump and they land on the floor, clamber over the edge and reach the fifth level.
A construction site.
No sooner have they stepped through the ruined elevator doors than they spot wheelbarrows piled with earth, rubble where digging is still underway, and support pillars — some provisional, some finished. They take a quick look around the darkness, the absolute opposite of the snow-covered level above. Then they hear footsteps — maybe a voice — but the sounds cut off before the two can learn the source.
Letta points a finger at Mazawa as if to send him ahead, but Mazawa just tilts his head like he understands nothing. Letta sighs, abandons the plan and moves forward himself, only to stagger after a few steps.
"You okay?" Mazawa asks at once, whispering but loud enough to be heard.
"You could…" Letta tries to protest, but fresh blood fills his mouth and he stops.
"The painkillers are kicking in. They're not miracles," Mazawa explains, circling the nearest pillar and coming to a halt. Abruptly.
He has found the source of the noise — the target of their raid. A young woman on her knees, nose still bleeding. She doesn't look dangerous at first glance: a white blouse knotted at the waist, loose black trousers too big for her, a sun hat — torn, though. And there is a pink sheen in her eyes.
That pink glow sits there like an eruption, along with a coiled rage, when she notices the two elite soldiers. She smiles — melancholic, almost tearful, but somehow friendly, with sudden flashes in her eyes. A flaring aura. A rising bloodlust.
Letta brings it to an end: he draws his angular sword and presses the tip under the captive's chin.
"She was probably the cause of the explosion," Letta says quietly.
"How do you know that?" Mazawa asks, pulling another rope from an inner pocket.
"Seriously…," his partner starts to get angry again, but the blood he coughs up stops him, just like before, like it has all the time since he got hurt.
So he falls silent and explains.
"The co-color. The ball that exploded. It was pink. Just like her eyes. And the other one had light blue eyes."
Mazawa pauses for a moment after tightening the knot and securing the last wonder.
"When did you—" he wants to ask, but the bound woman cuts their cheerful exchange off.
"That was the first trick," she murmurs, first to the floor and then looking at Letta, a wide grin on her face.
"And the second will follow aside!"
The two jump and scan their surroundings for several seconds. Nothing stirs. Not even a pebble.
"The Flower Moon will show itself again. And when it does… then you will all die."
"Crazy," Mazawa concludes and slaps her to shut her up.
"Well… if you s-say so," Letta accepts, but keeps his gaze fixed on the fading pink in her eyes.
"And then you will too… And then you will too… No matter why you were here, you will too… Shaaaa—"
One last blow from Mazawa finally silences her as her chin collapses unconscious onto her chest.
"Hey! What was that for! She was about to say something important…!" Letta protests. Too much—blood spurts from his throat, nose, shoulder and collarbones and he collapses.
"Well. That's on you now," Mazawa grins into his friend's pale face.
"You little fountain."
A final joke to close their mission. Though the day itself, is far from over.
I run down the corridor at a fast pace. Each step sends water splashing as the puddles merge into a small lake. I carry the wife of the couple on my back; in front of me the family, the schoolgirl and the two brutes are running. We reach the end and see another gray double door.
"That's the way in!" I decide instantly and kick the door once.
No use.
"Damn. We can't get through like this. I'd have to—" I mutter, when the father of the family steps up beside me and kicks too.
"Together!" he shouts in a deep voice, and I nod in response.
So we kick. Repeatedly. Relentlessly. With battle cries, without. Swinging, then not. Like sustained fire, then pausing. Until the door finally opens a crack and with one last kick we get inside.
"DIE!" we shout in unison — we probably got a little carried away.
But it works. And that's all that matters right now. Even when frightened faces meet us.
"Made it."
We pant, collapse and grin. While the seven others present watch us — still skeptical, but growing more familiar by the second. After all, we hardly look professional. Or like anything at all.
That's why "Wait and drink tea," becomes my motto as I prop the wife of the couple against the wall and push myself up to stretch my back.
Something totally normal.
And yet I jump.
Even though we should be safe here.
Even though Shato has already taken care of things.
Even though these are facts. Facts are facts.
Because, despite everything, the door of the last elevator suddenly bursts open.
My eyes snap to the corner, to the very last point of the hall. Elevator number eight.
Bundled in layers of clothing and a rain jacket on top, the first terrorists step inside. Armed with handguns, their footsteps send waves through the water while their grins and lust for murder could not be wider.
The waves reach me too.
My hunched posture, trembling fingers, frozen face. I still can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. The situation feels hopeless. A first spark lights up in my eyes. I'm moments from deciding — from protecting all these people, from trading my life for theirs.
But only moments. My inability to speak holds me back. Long enough for the fire-protection door to melt, leaving a nearly perfect hole — right in the spray of the sprinklers, between us chilled passengers.
Long enough for a figure to leap through the hole in the gate and sprint past us. Long enough for her fingers to skim the water until she stops in front of the terrorists and I catch my first clear look.
Long enough for a wall of fire to virtually grow out of the floor behind her fingers and block the view of the remaining passengers. Despite the rain, despite the lake under our feet. Despite the cold.
Long enough for me to imprint her appearance in my mind: her height — she barely reaches my chest — her tiny ears with red braids hanging over them; the red scarf that suddenly fits; the hum of a song I don't know; and those unnatural red eyes. That glow stands out even more now.
I know this girl. I saw her on the marble path when we arrived. And yet my mind drifts. Because despite the spectacle, despite the wall of fire and despite her presence, the terrorists are still there. Even if they have changed their target. Their weapons now aim at this red-haired girl, around whom a shimmer of the same color gathers. A shimmer that catches every bullet.
Like a wall.
Or a barrier.
I want to jump up and help her, to protect them all. But I stop. I mustn't reveal my identity. I mustn't show myself. I mustn't…
"Do it."
My eyes widen as the mother's gentle hand taps my shoulder.
"You can do that too, right? Otherwise you wouldn't have gotten my daughter…"
She falters, waits, so I turn and look her in the eyes. She looks shocked, desperate, as if she almost gave up. And then not quite. She swallows and looks down a bit, because I'm smaller than she is. But that doesn't matter now.
"That's why you kept protecting us the whole time. When those noises kept happening and you kept pushing us out of the way."
I remember. That was on the way here. I thought I'd done it as quietly as possible. But that doesn't matter now—especially when I hear two guns being fired.
And I realize. Even though she came to save us, she can't stop them all by herself.
"Please."
The mother exhales, flinches and begs. She pleads for help. I would have done the next thing anyway. I couldn't let you die—not humans, not Wunders. I don't have these powers for anything else. No, this violet sparkle. This flickering sheen. This flame. I have all of it to protect. To protect you all.
Two gunshots ring out. Right beside us. The mother looks up, but I'm gone. Then her eyes move to her husband, her son, her daughter.
They are all bathed in a faint violet shimmer. Barely noticeable, and yet it's there. So her gaze shifts. To me. To the flickering violet aura that surrounds my whole body. And to the bullets on the floor and the terrorists' guns, which split into two parts as my two blades slice through them.
"I'm a Wunder."
I stress the words, because I want everyone to understand. Because it matters to me. And because it sounds cool.
"A Wunder that protects!"
No sooner have I spoken than I blast both terrorists across the hall, back toward the elevator, where the other girl has already taken out two more with both hands. On her own.
My legs shimmer instantly; I execute a lightning-fast jump and in the same breath slam the next two terrorists into the wall.
"Not bad," the girl interrupts her humming and wipes some blood from her red mask that looks strikingly similar to mine.
A dragon mask — only red.
For a moment, I freeze, since the design was supposed to be one of a kind. Then again, it doesn't really matter right now. Because we've got more important things to do. Like going deeper. Because I have to protect. I have to save more. I have to save them all…
"Stop."
I stop.
"I'll take care of the rest myself."
I look at her, confused.
"You had a mission, didn't you?"
How does she know?
"And you wouldn't want to disappoint him."
She walks past me as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. As if she hadn't just done something extraordinary.
"Who… are you?" I ask instinctively, just before she jumps into the depths of the shaft.
"Lu," she replies shortly.
"Lu Redhaline."
It didn't sound like a lie — but not quite like the whole truth either. As my aura fades. As the sparkle disappears from my eyes. As I hear one last impact. And finally, even her wall of fire vanishes.
I can't make sense of it, let alone find an answer. So I turn around and look for reassurance. A reassurance I find in the mother's smile as she embraces her family through tears.
Because I saved them. I did the right thing.
I'm a hero.
Still, the arriving APH soldiers kind of steal my spotlight.
"Don't move!" they shout — but no one even seems like they will.
After all, the fight is over. There's no reason to anymore. So I exhale and let myself fall into the water.
"Hey! Kid! Stay with us!"
Those were the last words I heard.
"Ah, it's fine — I'll take care of him."
Those were the second-to-last ones.
Confusing, I know. But I wanted to separate them. Because Shato's voice was so much more comforting than any medic's.
Soothing enough to fall asleep to.
"What a day," sighs Mazawa, his gaze fixed on the afternoon sun glinting off the sign above the shopping tunnel.
"Makes you really excited for the next mission, doesn't it?"
He smiles — but his partner can't return it.
Partly because of his wounds, partly because he simply seems to have his reasons. Even as his gaze drifts along the flashing blue lights dancing between the statues, until it stops on the bulky frame of a man in a gray suit.
"Elite soldiers!" the man shouts, adjusting his glasses.
"I will now deliver the report!"
He's clearly one of the loud types — at least, Letta has to cover his ears as the man rambles on.
"Richard la Deluna, head of the shopping tunnel's security division, died at the scene of heart failure."
The man brushes two blond locks from his eyebrows and tucks them behind his ears.
"In total, 253 civilians were killed. Another 58 people were successfully protected."
Letta looks down. The numbers don't quite match what he'd hoped his abilities could achieve.
"From the Flower Moon, 24 attackers were killed, as well as 4 others disguised as security staff. Additionally, we captured 4 terrorists and successfully transported the 2 Wunder you secured."
Letta sighs — and Mazawa reaches out to ruffle his hair.
"Don't take it so hard," he says with a soft smile, but Letta pushes his hand away.
"It was classified as a five-star threat, alongside a four-star threat. The results will, of course, be taken into account for your promotion."
"See?" Mazawa tries again.
"We did everything right."
"Ahem."
The reporter clears his throat.
"That concludes the report. We will now clear the area and ask that you also vacate the premises as soon as possible."
He bows — a bit unusual, but whatever.
Because it was over. Finally. Mazawa seems to realize that too.
"Come on, don't look so down. You can't save everyone. But we still gave it our all."
Mazawa crouches beside Letta, smiling gently — something his partner still can't return.
"We never stood a chance."
Letta's first words draw only a shrug from Mazawa.
"And we were saved by a Wunder. We were saved by that scum… argh."
He slams his fist into the soft grass, then gets up, brushes over his bandages, shakes his head, and walks away — leaving Mazawa to simply watch him go.
"Little perfectionist. The odds were against us. The enemy was a five-star monster. You should be grateful to even be alive."
Mazawa stands as well, casting one last look toward the sky.
"Not many could have said the same."
Then he, too, turns to leave, trailing after his partner — until the sun reaches the end of the horizon.
And finally disappears completely.