On a battlefield, sometimes words can be more effective than fists. In the underworld of subterfuge, blood, and fire, Junko Hanakaze knew that well.
(But it seems useless.)
Her mechanical punches struck the air with empty thuds; Makoto, as before, precisely dodged each one.
"Junko."
Suddenly Flanda's voice cut across the battlefield. As if on cue, Junko, mid-punch, crouched—and several spare anti-armor warheads streaked toward Makoto.
Whoosh—
Three missiles collided midair. The resulting fireball engulfed Makoto's form completely.
Even Junko staggered back several steps from the blast's force.
Bang—
She lunged forward with nitriding-armor–encased fist, blasting the lingering smoke and flames aside with a gust of wind.
Clang—
Again the familiar snap—striking air, not flesh. But this time something was different: the targeted airspace where she'd aimed now lay empty.
"Flanda…"
Junko whirled around and saw Flanda crouched behind her, frozen in fear.
"After all that, it's just like this."
The brilliant firelight reflected in Flanda's blue eyes, laced with disdain.
"No matter how much I train, against Junko's type I'm helpless."
Both powerless and trained in combat technique, Flanda had proven herself—yet here she was, unable to breach Junko's defense.
Haramura Makoto's gun remained raised.
"Flanda…"
Junko—who had placed great hope in her plan—turned to see Makoto standing behind Flanda, pistol pointed at her head.
"Junko…"
Flanda, realizing her life was in someone else's hand, dared not move, calling out her comrade's name in despair.
This sudden, unpredictable reversal stunned everyone present.
"How did you do it?"
Rather than rush to free her comrade, Junko first demanded an explanation from Makoto.
Makoto said nothing, merely nodded toward the streetlamp.
About four or five meters up on the nearby building walls, claw-like scratch marks were visible.
Instantly Junko understood: Makoto had anticipated her escape, fired his grappling hook the moment the smoke rose, and in the blind spot four meters high, swung to Flanda's back in a flash.
"You know, this is dangerous."
"We were getting along just fine—I didn't think you'd point a gun at me."
How had Makoto appeared behind her?
Flanda, forced to kneel with hands clasped behind her head, no longer cared about that. She only prayed for the pistol to leave her skull.
"You're quick to back down."
"But I did appreciate your boldness throwing bombs at me."
Makoto smirked—Junko's reaction had exceeded his expectations. He'd thought such dark agents would carry their fates on their belts, ready to die. He didn't expect a formal member like Junko to crumble so quickly.
"I'll apologize—maybe you'll forgive me?"
Flanda wailed in her most ingratiating voice, fully aware her life hung by Makoto's finger.
Expecting Junko to rescue her? Unlikely—Junko's ability was close-combat only. She could never save her at this range.
"Ha!"
A shot rang out. Flanda's support vanished in an instant as she collapsed to the ground.
"So you planned to capture us and squeeze us for intel?"
Makoto exhaled slowly as Junko resumed her fighting stance, ready for more.
At first, Junko had believed Makoto planned either to threaten with Flanda or kill her outright. But only Flanda had been knocked out—no fatal shot, just an incapacitating blow to the neck.
Therefore only one possibility remained.
"Mm-hmm."
"Perhaps I only wanted to capture you to pressure your boss into leaving me alone."
"After all, your boss is the famous Level 5."
With that, Makoto hoisted Flanda up, tossed her aside without concern for her fragile form.
"If that was your plan, you're dead wrong."
Flanda, still serious, replied:
"Mugino is merciless. Using us as hostages to threaten her is a grave mistake."
"Mugino won't care about our lives if it's impossible to succeed."
"And just now, I sent her our location."
At that, the pistol moved, and Makoto's tone remained as cold as ice.