[593] The Incident of That Day (4)
"Ugh!"
Rukang's eyes widened at the situation that defied all sense.
His comrades, however, quickly grew composed again.
'Yolka…'
Yolka was a good person.
"If you want—"
Yolka guided Rukang's hand toward her chest, but he couldn't bring himself to grope her.
"W-what are you doing? Aren't you ashamed in front of your husband?"
Rukang hastily withdrew his hand and stared, dumbfounded, at Yolka's face.
Seeing her weep with a face that held all the world's sorrow made his mind go blank.
"I am truly sorry."
Yolka was, simply, too good a person.
'Compassion invincible.'
Edgar watched Yolka's retreating figure with a feeling of awe.
If Miro had an inhuman decisiveness to accomplish her aims, Yolka possessed a disturbingly abnormal kindness.
'That's also why we gave our lives to Yolka.'
Because of that, they had willingly entered Istas's upper echelons alongside her.
Rukang, who'd been staring blankly at Yolka, now wore a face of anguish.
"Guilt…."
A voice that sounded like it had reached death itself leaked out.
"I'm sorry. I truly am sorry."
Yolka did not calculate emotions.
"It's okay. It's all my fault. Blame me."
That was why she could embrace every ugliness.
'Absolute sincerity. Could a person exist with not a trace of pretense?'
That was exactly who Yolka was.
Rukang kept saying he was sorry as his breath left him.
On the surface it was a beautiful sight, but the comrades knew the taste of his tears.
They weren't tears of repentance for spitting at Yolka.
'If evil terrorizes by exceeding human courage, then extreme good can terrify as well.'
Rukang had recoiled at the dread radiating from that pure goodness.
"Yolka, here."
Mustang, her friend and comrade, handed her a handkerchief perfumed with cologne.
"Thanks."
Wiping the spit from her face, Yolka pulled her hood down halfway and rose.
"Let's go. We have to find Miro."
Nine, the swordsman, said.
"We just failed to persuade Miro a moment ago. If we meet her again, we'll have no choice but to fight."
"…I can't not try."
Determination settled on Yolka's face.
"But I'll keep persuading her to the end. Miro is my sister."
"…"
The comrades fell silent because, like Yolka, Miro was a person with a clear, unyielding identity.
"Hurry. Before the closed-time curve seals completely."
At that moment the warehouse door burst open and everyone reflexively assumed combat posture.
Their expressions, however, soon went blank, and Mustang, resting a hand on his slim hip, asked, "Who are you?"
Shirone, who had been rushing toward the research association, spotted Yolka's party and stopped as well.
"You people are—"
If they were from Hwaseong, it would have meant being ready to fight.
"We're not enemies."
Fortunately, Yolka stepped forward first to show she bore no hostility.
She was a woman beautiful enough to make Shirone's heart race, but there was an eerie chill behind that beauty.
'She looks kind, but something's off.'
Shirone had met many saints, but she'd never felt like this before.
"Nice to meet you. My name is Yolka."
She was Fermi's mother.
'So this is Yolka.'
Shirone recalled the Anchal's words.
Someone sent to stop Miro, opposed to Gephin leaving after grooming a successor.
'Except for height, she really does resemble Fermi.'
How could two people with the same bent diverge so drastically?
Even that spine-tingling, benevolent smile brought Fermi to mind.
"And who are you?"
"Oh."
Shirone realized she'd taken too long and reached out to take Yolka's hand.
"My name is Shirone."
Yolka tilted her head with interest at the unfamiliar name.
Given their current physical ages, there wasn't much difference between them; Shirone couldn't help feeling a flutter.
'What am I thinking.'
She wasn't friends with Fermi, but she was Fermi's mother.
"All right, Shirone. How did you get in here?"
Only then did Shirone notice that Yolka was still probing the core issue.
She had been so guileless that she'd forgotten the situation.
'Pull yourself together.'
From now on it was a matter for caution.
Now that Heksa knew Shirone's identity, Yolka's group were also enemies who might target his life.
"You're hiding something. It's fine. Won't you tell me?"
'What is this person?'
She smelled similar to Miro.
"You know me, but I don't know you. Maybe you're from the future—if the closed-time curve has opened again."
Even before Shirone could speak, Yolka kept drilling toward the heart of the matter.
Her voice felt like a drill, slowly burrowing into Shirone's mind.
"It's okay. I'm not asking to harm you. If you really are from the future, there's one thing I want to ask."
When Shirone finally met Yolka's gaze, a thrill pierced her heart and she understood one fact.
'I see. This person is beyond the category of human too.'
Yolka asked, "Do I die here?"
Shirone didn't know how long she'd been silent, but she faced the fact that she could not hide it forever.
"Yes."
That much was true.
"There's no record of Yolka's death, but in the future I live in, you simply aren't there."
"I see. In other words, Miro succeeds in the end."
Contrary to expectation, Yolka did not look disappointed.
Shirone wondered how she could be so composed knowing her own death, but for Yolka there was something more important.
"Could you stop it?"
Yolka snapped out of her thoughts.
"Stop what?"
"Ms. Miro will save this world in the future. It won't be a perfect victory, but her judgment was right."
Shirone spoke the truth regardless of Heksa's fate.
While Yolka nodded as if convinced, Mustang's face flushed.
"Hmph, that's only Miro's future. If it were Yolka, she could end the war with Heaven."
Edgar and Nine's eyes held the same thought.
'Gephin is necessary, but even if she leaves, the savior should be Yolka.'
If it were Yolka, she could achieve a grand unification of humanity and fight Heaven with all her might.
She had the makings of a world ruler unlike any in human history.
"All right, Shirone."
Yolka was a good person and did not hate Shirone.
"Still, there must be a special reason you came here. Is this world in danger again?"
It wasn't a precise answer, but Yolka's insight was exceptional as always.
"I can't answer that."
If someone from the future who knew the future took active steps, the upper echelon's affairs would spiral out of control.
"Don't worry. I've already accepted death. Instead, I have a favor to ask. Please take me to Miro."
"To Ms. Miro?"
"Yes. And compare me to Miro. Decide who should remain for the sake of this world."
"But I'm not qualified to decide that."
"No. You came from the future. And if your judgment finds that Miro is more needed than I am…"
Yolka always spoke only her true feelings.
"I will take my own life."
"Yolka! What do you mean!"
Her comrades shouted in unison, but she was resolute.
"I didn't come here without being prepared. Gephin is still needed by us. And Miro is my beloved sister. If Miro becomes the successor, everyone Miro loves will suffer."
That every member of her family except Miro had been quietly slaughtered would, nineteen years later, no longer be a secret.
"So? Can you make a hard decision for this world?"
"I…."
Shirone hesitated.
With Heksa's life in danger, refusing seemed right, but talking to Yolka made Shirone feel as if life itself didn't matter.
'Yolka is sincere.'
Absolute, utter sincerity—no trace of pretense—had the power to move the human heart.
"All right. I'll decide."
Perhaps giving someone the choice was better for Heksa's future.
"Where is Miro?"
"I know."
She would be at the Paranormal Psychoscience Research Association.
No one could say how the incident would twist, but one thing was certain: Miro would go there.
Time: 00:32.
Place: Istas Warehouse No. 71.
"Search every inch! Spread out!"
Under the command of Hwaseong's captain Nickel, units one through four split apart like water.
"Damn it! We're the ones in the most danger!"
Unit One's leader complained.
Though touted as elite, everyone knew Unit One often took the brunt.
"Regroup on the second floor!"
Seven squad members scattered, and Rukang turned west—the sector he was responsible for.
"What the—?"
Just as he left his comrades and moved toward the next warehouse, a figure in a black mask abruptly appeared.
'Enemy?'
Rukang reflexively swung his main weapon, the chain-sickle, and a crackling sound accompanied the figure's instantaneous sidestep.
'A mage. Electricity type. Who is it?'
Their skill was considerable.
Rukang immediately adopted a defensive stance, spinning the chain and angling the sickle diagonally.
"Identify yourself."
'Damn it, what the hell is going on?'
The masked figure's irritation rose.
Fermi had instructed that the warehouse's safe hold , but at some point Istas's layout had begun to change.
'Fighting these people isn't worth it.'
He hadn't heard of the Hwaseong unit before, but from what Fermi had said, they were clearly top-tier operatives in the kingdom.
'Then…'
The masked figure drew a dagger from their waist.
Seeing the silver blade gather electricity, Rukang's eyes flashed.
'An assassin.'
An assassin who used magic.
"Arrogant—"
Rukang wasn't very old either, but he'd never been outmatched in talent since childhood.
Two specialists with sharply defined strengths collided head-on, and cold assaults followed.
The chain-sickle altered its trajectory along natural arcs, and Raiken's lightning turned the warehouse into bursts of light.
In the near-explosive saturation of energy, Raiken's stiletto flew and stuck into the wall.
Rukang pushed Skima's sensory functions to the max and, with a deft movement, seized Raiken's rear.
'It's over.'
A perfectly measured, faultless cut aimed for the nape.
'Impressive skill. But…'
The corner of Raiken's mouth twitched behind the mask.
'Too old-fashioned.'
What should have been an inescapable blow was exactly the kind of thing Raiken had trained against since childhood—the assassin's standard from nineteen years ago.
Without even turning, they ducked, and Rukang's sickle whistled past the back of their head.
'Take this.'
Daggers that reacted to Raiken's current all slid free and surged toward Rukang.
The warehouse shook under exploding lightning, and through the rising smoke Rukang winced as the sting reached his nose.
"Pathetic tricks…."
By the time the smoke cleared, Raiken's figure had vanished.
"Damn it! I'm late for the muster!"
The others would already have searched their assigned zones and reached the second floor.
Rukang did not yet know that those fifteen minutes—bought by his fight with Raiken—would ultimately save his life.