The sun rose over Giggleburg like a bleeding wound. Its light filtered through the city's smoke and ash, staining everything crimson—the streets, the rooftops, even the air itself.
Yoshiya woke to the faint sound of voices. He didn't move at first. The floorboards beneath him were cold, the smell of burnt wood and metal still thick in the air. Through half-closed eyes, he saw Nogare and Zentake sitting across the dying fire, shadows flickering against the cracked walls.
"Big bro is terrible at hiding," Zentake said with a lazy grin, turning a shard of glass between his fingers.
Nogare's reply was soft, almost casual. "Masaboru doesn't need to hide."
Yoshiya's breath caught. Masaboru—the name stirred unease. He had heard whispers before, half-stories and campfire rumors about a man whose power made the sky tremble.
Zentake laughed quietly. "Even Kouki, Iroko, and Mako had trouble restraining him, remember?"
"Kouki's an easy one," Nogare said. "Predictable movements. Too straightforward."
"Maybe. But what about Mako?" Zentake leaned forward, interest sparking in his eyes. "Mako Shirusekai—leader of Orleaf now. Could you handle him?"
Nogare tilted his head slightly. "Could you?"
Zentake thought for a moment, drumming his fingers against the floor. "I can dodge his blasts and beams, sure. But if he's flying, teleporting, raining bombs from the clouds? No chance."
"That's true," Nogare said, nodding slowly. "But that's nothing against Shinjitsu."
Yoshiya's heartbeat quickened. That name again.
"Shinjitsu Jitsuzai," Zentake said, his tone shifting—half-amused, half-wary. "He's evil."
"If he were here with Masaboru," Nogare said, looking toward the window, "this city would fall before noon."
"Well," Zentake said, stretching his arms, "both of them are locked up in Reflynne now. They think the world's a bit safer without those two running loose."
Nogare didn't answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the red horizon, where Giggleburg's towers shimmered like black spears through the haze.
Yoshiya pretended to roll over in his bedroll, feigning sleep until their voices faded. The names lingered in his mind like ghosts—Masaboru, Shinjitsu, Kouki, Iroko, Mako. Each one felt like a thread in a larger web, a history he barely understood.
And yet, somehow, Nogare seemed to know them all.
---
By mid-morning, the mansion smelled of iron and chemicals. The parlor had become a makeshift workshop; broken tables served as workbenches, and shards of mana crystal glowed faintly in the dim light.
Zentake stood in the center, mixing powders with unnerving precision. Black dust and shimmering fragments swirled together inside glass flasks, releasing tiny sparks each time he stirred.
He hummed tunelessly. "We'll need this to make the city remember us."
The mixture hissed—volatile mana gas rising from the open jars. Yoshiya's nose stung; his eyes watered.
Omina stumbled into the room, hand over her mouth. "What is that smell?"
"Progress," Zentake said cheerfully, sealing a flask with wax. "One wrong touch and—" he mimed an explosion with his hands, "—boom."
Nogare stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the process like a teacher overseeing a dangerous lesson. "How many can you make before noon?"
"Enough," Zentake said, grinning. "If the wind's right, this whole district will light up."
Nogare nodded once. "Good. We move by sunset."
He turned to the others. "Zentake—you'll scout ahead and plant the explosives. Stay out of sight."
"Got it, boss."
"Omina," Nogare continued, "you'll guard the caravan. If things turn bad, you protect yourself first."
Omina frowned. "I can protect myself."
"I know," Nogare said. "That's why I'm giving you the this task."
Her glare softened, though she didn't answer.
"Yoshiya," Nogare said last, "you're with me."
Yoshiya nodded. His stomach twisted at the thought. He wasn't sure what following Nogare meant anymore—but he wasn't ready to question him either.
---
The rest of the morning passed in uneasy silence. The red light outside never faded; it only deepened, turning the air thick and hot.
Omina cooked a thin stew from the scraps left in their packs. The aroma was faint but comforting—a fragile reminder of normal days long gone.
Zentake sat nearby, sharpening his daggers while humming that same off-key tune. Each scrape of metal on stone sounded like a whisper of danger.
Nogare ate without a word, sitting near the window. The crimson glow painted his face half in shadow. He didn't blink for a long time, simply staring at the skyline, where a faint shimmer of mana still lingered around the towers.
Yoshiya sat across from him, the spoon in his hand cooling in the stew. "Nogare," he said quietly, "how many people still live here?"
Nogare didn't turn his head. "Enough to notice when it burns."
Zentake chuckled. "That's poetic."
"It's reality," Nogare replied.
Omina sighed and stirred the pot again. "You sound like you've done this before."
Nogare looked at her, eyes unreadable. "You learn quickly when you stop asking who deserves to live."
The room fell silent again. Only the faint bubbling of the stew and the ticking of Zentake's timer filled the air.
When the meal was finished, they packed lightly—rope, oil, the new flasks of mana-infused powder. The smell of ash had settled deep into the walls.
Before stepping out, Nogare paused at the doorway and said, "Soon, Giggleburg will fall."
He didn't say it with pride, or regret. It was a statement of fact, cold and inevitable.
Outside, the red sun continued to bleed across the sky, as if the city itself already knew what was coming.