CHAPTER V 5—1 Atsushi was all alone outside the iron mill covered in fog. Both Akutagawa and Kyouka had left him behind. Akutagawa had pelted him with insults while Kyouka expressed her concern, but regardless, they both went on ahead without him. Only Atsushi remained stagnant. Unlike the other two, there were no signs of his skill returning. The wounds left by the tiger still stung as blood trickled down his arms. What is it that I’m missing? A strong wind suddenly gusted by the moment Atsushi lowered his head, but when he curiously looked up to see what it was, he gasped. There, amid the fog, stood a familiar white door—sturdy, majestic, divine. The wind was coming from that door, which was eating away at Atsushi deep down. “Do not open that door!” “…!” Atsushi heard a familiar reprimanding voice from behind and jumped. He timidly turned around to find the orphanage director haughtily looking down at him. Perhaps Atsushi was dreaming again. Perhaps it was an illusion. Regardless, just seeing the man made Atsushi’s heart heavy with despair. How hurt the director’s malicious words made him. How lonely they made him feel. How many hardships had he faced because of him. Atsushi couldn’t contain his resentment. If it wasn’t for him…, he thought. The director’s commanding voice was exactly as it was when Atsushi was in the orphanage, and it bore a hole in his mind. “But no matter. You don’t have the power to open it now even if you wanted to… You still lack determination.” “You don’t know a single thing about me!” Atsushi wanted to scream. He used to be terrified about standing up for himself, but he wasn’t the same boy from the orphanage anymore. The child starving for a place to belong no longer existed. The wind grew stronger, sapping Atsushi’s strength as if to prevent him from so much as standing. Even the director was seemingly trying to hold him back as well. “You have finally lost the tiger’s power. Say your good-byes and move on with your life… Oh, don’t worry. Nobody expects anything from you.” He’s probably right. After all, neither Akutagawa nor Kyouka had asked him to go with them. To tell the truth, Atsushi was deadweight. He was terribly injured, and he couldn’t even use his skill. But…, Atsushi thought. He wasn’t about to let the director tell him what to do anymore. “…I won’t listen to you.” He turned his hate into anger and his anger into strength, then took a step forward. Even though he felt as though the gale was going to blow him away—even though his wounds still hurt, Atsushi didn’t stop. He was going to crawl to the door if he had to. Every step he took brought him farther out of the director’s control. I’m not afraid of him anymore…! Atsushi planted a hand on the door with unwavering determination. He heard the director’s grating voice call out to him, “There’s no going back once you learn the truth.” “…?!” Atsushi was suddenly overcome with fear. His legs almost gave out while his hand still rested on the door. Why? Is it because…this door must never be opened? Atsushi didn’t even understand himself, but his body cowered in fear. His eyes couldn’t focus. His fingers trembled as they reached for the door. “What’s wrong?” He could hear the director ridicule him in his head. “It isn’t locked, you know.” Sweat dripped down his body as he struggled to steady his breathing. His hand on the door twitched.
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5—2 Skull Fortress pierced the skies of Yokohama, the city of demons. The owner of the tower, Shibusawa, was defenselessly opening his eyes wide on the top floor in Draconia. There was nothing left of his ruler-like behavior as he helplessly watched what was happening in mute dread. A hellish red light radiated as a violent wind gusted from the giant sphere. This wasn’t part of Shibusawa’s plan. He shuddered. That was when Fyodor began to speak up as if he were reciting a fairy tale. “The ability to fuse and the ability to nullify—two conflicting skills have become one, creating a singularity.” “…!” Shibusawa looked over at Fyodor, who sounded like he’d expected this to happen. Or perhaps…this was the outline of Fyodor’s story. Shibusawa was dumbfounded in mute amazement as Fyodor pulled out a skull. His heels clicked against the ground as he approached the Collector. “Even Dazai’s skill isn’t going to give you what you truly seek… Your lost memories won’t return.” “How do you know about that?!” Shibusawa turned pale, and he instinctively stood back up as Fyodor flashed him a sweet smile. “Not to worry.” Fyodor’s eyes glowed cruelly. “I will fill those lost memories for you—” There wasn’t even a moment for Shibusawa to question him, for the smiling Conjurer pulled out a paring knife he’d been keeping hidden and slit Shibusawa’s throat with its silver blade. “Gah…!” Shibusawa’s eyes rolled back into his head. All he could see was the red blood spraying out of his neck. Like countless skill crystals shattering—like a beautiful flower blooming—the blood fell like rain. He went into shock due to the intense pain to the point that his nerves couldn’t feel a thing. The scenery before him gradually began to change. “—with death.” Shibusawa could see Fyodor smiling on the other side of the blood. “Do you remember anything?” Fyodor asked. Shibusawa heard a powerful wind roaring in his head. “…I see.” It finally made sense to him. As his body fell to the ground, he thought: I know…this feeling. The end of his life was also its brightest moment. It was an uninterrupted combination of hope and despair. This was death. The white light of death flooded his vision. The memories of a distant past sprang to life with his demise. Tatsuhiko Shibusawa saw an illusion in the white light. It was a vision of what really happened six years ago. He was forced to watch these lost memories replay before his eyes. He could hear the old Shibusawa in the vision speak in a soft voice: “The director appears to misunderstand your skill.” The Shibusawa of six years ago was standing in a stone-walled cellar. The sole light source came from the window so high up on the wall that only the blue sky was visible. It was as if he were in a prison, unable to set foot in the outside world, nor even be allowed to see it. Inside the old stone room was a suspicious-looking gauge and a large piece of medical equipment. However, what stood out the most was the boy sitting in the center of the room. His extremely frail arms and legs were bound to a metal chair with metal bands that appeared to be rather sturdy. They didn’t even budge, no matter how much the boy struggled. His filthy shoes miserably tapped against the floor. “The skill you possess is extraordinarily rare…,” continued the Shibusawa of six years ago while ignoring the boy’s suffering. He seemed to be in a trance. “It’s the only skill envied by skill users the world over. However…” His voice deepened. “Perhaps because of your youth, your skill is tucked deep inside of you—so deep that not even my fog can draw it out.” The ray of light peeking in through the window did not reach Shibusawa. “That is why…” His red eyes eerily glowed like a demon’s. “…I’m doing this for your sake.” His expression brimming with compassion, Shibusawa pressed the switch in his hands, sending a powerful electric shock to the boy’s chair. The boy screamed. His cries filled the room. His limbs convulsed as he thrashed about, but the metal constraints binding him to the chair didn’t break. The electric shock continued to surge through his body until the excessive voltage turned into violet bolts of electricity. This starving, malnourished twelve-year-old boy could not withstand the pain. His cranial nerves began to fry. His muscle fibers tore, and his blood vessels burst open. The boy’s chin quivered. “Now…” Shibusawa gazed at the boy’s face, making his satisfaction and delight no secret. “…surprise me.”