"So in the end, was it your boring pride that drove you to make this decision?"
Flanda stood fully, one hand pressing down on her beret, her gaze locked onto Haramura Makoto like a falcon zeroing in on its prey. Her tone dripped with contempt.
To her, life alone mattered above all else. If preserving one's life demanded any action, she would do it. Thus, she could not understand Makoto's choice.
"Pride?" Makoto stood calmly, without other emotion but a coldness that could freeze the soul. "It wasn't that."
"It was simply unnecessary—nothing more. I appreciate your offer, but I trust my subordinates. I can't treat them as disposable pawns."
"And anyway, as I said, the dark side of this city—espers—aren't worthy of fawning over."
No sooner had he spoken than Flanda, with a magician's flourish, pulled a white, handle-like remote from beneath her skirt.
"A remote-detonated bomb," she announced. "I set charges all around this room as I entered. You didn't think I'd walk unprepared into an enemy stronghold, did you?"
"Now let me take Freyja and go."
Flanda's thumb pressed the red button on the remote, her grip unwavering. A tiny device in such a delicate girl's hand posed a lethal threat to Makoto.
Makoto watched her impassively. After several seconds, a smile curved his lips.
"You know, I'm very cautious. From the start, I knew Leo's position was a thorn in many eyes. So I safeguard where I must."
Like before, he reached into his pocket—this time for his own remote control.
Flanda sensed something was wrong—her battlefield-honed instincts flared. She couldn't just sit there. In battle, one must decide at the right moment.
She pressed her button!
"Noise dampeners on every floor," Makoto said. "You can't detonate them."
Her face, once so cold, now twisted with disbelief as she pressed again.
But there was no detonation, no explosion.
"So," Makoto asked, "what else can you use to threaten me?"
(Anger…)
Flanda ground her teeth so hard they clacked, and she flung the remote to the ground as if it were trash.
"So you think you've won?"
Her vaunting defiance should have sounded imposing, but in her childlike voice it came off almost comical—fierce but undercut by her youth.
With that, Flanda once again produced a cylindrical, heavy object from under her skirt, topped with a mushroom-shaped warhead.
"A portable anti-armor missile? Really?"
Makoto recognized it at once by sight: Academy City–grade, powerful enough to blow open an armored vehicle.
"Damn!"
He cursed instinctively—he had never imagined Freyja's sister would be a bomb fanatic. Yet his reflexes were instant: as he spoke, muzzle flashes bloomed beside him.
"Bang—"
"Boom—"
Amid the explosions, the missile's rear jets ignited.
"Clang—"
In an instant, the warhead in Flanda's hand transformed into a miniature missile. Like a flaming meteor it streaked along an irregular arc, shattering Makoto's office window before detonating outside.
A fierce blast wind roared back in reverse, knocking over the cabinet behind Makoto.
"You actually used a gun to alter the missile's trajectory? Impossible."
The orange warhead crumpled and fell at Flanda's feet. Flanda's brow twitched in shock. This portable anti-armor warhead was a special unit issue, built with the city's latest tech—no one would dare imagine a mere pistol bullet could redirect it.
Was any of this reasonable?
"And when did you even draw that gun? Why didn't I see you move?"
"Was the muzzle flash blocking your view?"
Sweat drenched Flanda from head to toe—she felt gripped by an invisible pressure, fully encased.
This was how she reacted when utterly overpowered in battle.
"So then, the missile earlier was to send a message?"
"But its trajectory was wrong."
Pointing his gun at Flanda, Makoto questioned her. He realized something had been amiss. He had assumed she intended to directly kill him with the missile, so he had aimed at its incoming path.
By his estimate, his bullet would strike the warhead's center, causing it to lift upward, punch through the roof, or blast the ceiling.
After all, on the top floor, even if the roof blew out, it wouldn't harm other floors.
But the missile initially flew out the window behind him, not toward him. Without his bullet's interference, it would have exited through the window beside Flanda.
"Ah, maybe that's it?"
"Click—"