Kenta fell silent, the weight of the hallway pressing in on him.
Bronya didn't move. She simply stared, her silver eyes drilling into him with a quiet, terrifying intensity that felt like a localized gravitational anomaly.
Kenta exhaled a jagged sigh. "Bronya, look, about that..."
"Wait," she interrupted, her voice trembling. "What did you just call me?"
The shock in her eyes was palpable, a cocktail of hurt and disbelief that made Kenta's heart lurch. Right. The name.
His mind flickered back to the ghost of a memory—back when the world was a little warmer and the frost didn't reach quite as deep.
"Little Bronya, how about we skip the drills and go play?" "I haven't finished my history of the Architects, and besides—don't call me that." "Why? It suits you. You're like a tiny, grumpy owl." "It is not cute. Address me formally." "Too stiff. How about... Bronya? Just Bronya." "That's even worse." "Objection overruled. Come on, Bronya, there's a new pastry shop in the commercial district." "...Fine. Do as you like."
Looking at the elegant, sharp-edged woman standing before him, Kenta felt a pang of genuine indignation. What happened to my sweet, stubborn little sister figure? Who broke the timeline and replaced her with this black-hole-gravity girl? Give me back the original model!
"Well... Bronya," Kenta said, watching her shoulders visibly relax at the familiar name. "I've had a lot on my plate the last few years. As for those two girls—they're just friends. Comrades. Platonic associates."
He wasn't lying. Since he'd descended into the Underworld, his life had been a non-stop grind for survival. Romance was a luxury his bank account couldn't afford. If anyone suggested otherwise, Kenta—a man whose dating history was as barren as the Jarilo wastes—was prepared to defend his honor with fire and brimstone.
Bronya remained suspicious. In her world, "friends" didn't typically hold hands with the casual intimacy Xing had displayed, but she knew she didn't have the leverage to cross-examine him. Not yet.
"Why did you leave like that?" she asked, her voice softening. "Without a word. I was... Mother and I were both very worried."
"I see you haven't stopped keeping tabs on my 'living situation,'" Kenta teased, watching a faint rose-tint creep into her cheeks. He let the humor fade into something more serious. "I've been moving between the Upper and Lower Districts. As for the why—I can't tell you. Not because I don't want to, but because you wouldn't believe me. You need to see the Underworld for yourself."
Bronya frowned, her gaze dropping to the floor. Kenta didn't press. He knew words were cheap in Belobog; the truth was buried beneath the snow, and Bronya was still too sheltered by the walls of the Qlipoth Fort to understand the rot at the roots.
The heavy doors behind them groaned open.
"Oh! Kenta, you're still here?" March 7th chirped, her hand still on the brass knob.
Behind her, Xing seemed to hear a silent call to action. She navigated around March with the grace of a professional athlete, elbowing the pink-haired girl aside with zero hesitation.
Xing: Man! Elbow out! March 7th: What can I say?
The gray-haired girl trotted up to Kenta, a small, triumphant curve on her lips. "You didn't have to wait for me all this time, you know," she said, scratching her head with a silly, self-satisfied grin.
Kenta: 6.
"Is the protagonist of this world actually this abstract?" Kenta wondered. If he didn't know better, he'd think this "Galactic Batter" had fallen for him at first sight. But he knew better. He was a local scavenger; they were space-faring legends. It was like a world-renowned surgeon falling for a village hermit who fixes toasters.
If you believe that, kid, delete your webnovel apps immediately.
Bronya, however, didn't share his cynicism. Her right eyelid began to twitch. "Esteemed guest," she said, her voice strained with diplomatic effort, "Kenta was engaged in a private conversation with me. He was not 'waiting' for you."
Any normal person would have withered under Bronya's frosty gaze. Xing just tilted her head, giving Bronya a look that clearly suggested she was speaking an alien language, before turning back to chatter at Kenta like a hyperactive origami bird.
Bronya: (Internal Screaming)
Kenta found himself strangely powerless against Xing's brand of chaos. He reached out, resting a hand on her messy gray hair to steady her. "Alright, settle down," he said, his voice dropping into a gentle, coaxing tone usually reserved for calming a frightened animal. "I have things to do. I can't play tour guide today."
Star narrowed her eyes and leaned into his warm palm, purring internally like a pampered raccoon.
March 7th stared, her jaw dropping. "Wait... since when did they reach the 'head-pat' stage of the relationship?"
Behind them, Dan Heng watched in silence. He looked calm, but inside, a storm of "dead memories" was hitting him with the force of a freight train. That gesture... that tone... it has to be him.
"Alright, I'm out," Kenta announced, sensing the atmospheric pressure in the hallway reaching critical levels. Before anyone could move, he spun on his heel and vaulted through the corridor window into the freezing abyss.
The group stood in stunned silence.
"Um..." March 7th whispered. "Isn't this the fifth floor?"
The Perpetual Mechanical Workshop
Across the city, Lynx Landau sat on a workbench, nursing a steaming mug of milk. Her blue fleece hat lay discarded beside her, and her cheeks were puffed out in a silent, adorable pout.
Behind the counter, Serval Landau was the picture of rock-and-roll elegance—leather mini-skirt, matte black stockings, and a white shirt adorned with metallic pins. She listened to her sister's tale with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"So, let me get this straight," Serval said, leaning on her elbows. "You gave it to him. Again."
Lynx's mouth drooped further. "I didn't want to," she mumbled into her milk. "But he asked me for it."
"And because he asked, you just... handed it over?"
"He was being very insistent..."
"He insisted, so you gave it?"
"..."
Lynx hid her face behind her mug, her silence speaking volumes.