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When Yukinari got back to the reception room, he all but threw himself on the sofa. He put a hand over his face and let out a long sigh.
“Yuki...?” the girl who sat down beside him asked in puzzlement. She cocked her head to look at him, causing her simple, not-quite-shoulder-length silver hair to quiver. She was pretty; there was no question about that. But...
“Did... something happen...?”
Her skin was white as new-fallen snow, her eyes blue as jewels, and combined with her somewhat hesitant way of speaking, she appeared almost doll-like: she gave off a slightly stiff, cold aura. Like a delicate work of art that was very nearly lifelike. Her glasses, the glass-and-stainless-steel vision aid that bisected her face, strengthened the impression.
This girl was also somewhat lacking in facial expression. It was possible to guess from her gestures and words that she was concerned about Yukinari, but her tone and face hardly wavered. Her actions were human actions, yet some essential ingredient of humanity was lacking about them; it was almost like she was only pretending to be human.
Dasa Urban. Yukinari’s partner, and the little sister of the person to whom he owed his life.
“Oh... No... Not really.” He gave an ambiguous shake of his head.
He couldn’t tell Dasa. It was her sister, Jirina Urban, about whom Angela had been saying those awful things just moments before. Dasa had loved Jirina even more than Yukinari did; he had no idea how she might react if she heard half of what Angela had said. Actually, he had a pretty good idea, which was precisely why he wasn’t going to repeat any of it to her.
“.........Mn.”
Dasa gave a small nod as if to say, I understand, you don’t have to tell me everything. Her right hand made a flowing motion, almost too fast to see. Grasped in her willowy fingers was a crude metal weapon she had pulled out from somewhere.
Red Chili: a Sturm Ruger Super Blackhawk .44 Magnum Custom. In other words, a handgun. In this world, where even the concept of guns hardly existed, it might not be an exaggeration to say that Dasa was the only “hand-gunner” alive. A larger weapon might not have worked with her lithe body, but this little pistol was perfect for her. With the hammer half-cocked, she opened the loading gate and checked that the rotating chamber was loaded. Every step of the process seemed utterly familiar to her.
“Okay. Hold on. What do you think you’re doing?” Yukinari said.
Dasa, already rising from the sofa said, “That... missionary woman. I know... she said something terrible to... you, Yuki.”
Dasa knew Yukinari had gone down to the underground room to interrogate Angela Jindel, who was being held captive there. And when he came back, he was suddenly sighing and sinking into the sofa. It wasn’t hard to guess that something had upset him.
“I am going to make... her pay.”
“I told you, wait. What have you got in mind, waving Red Chili around like that?”
“It’s all right,” Dasa said expressionlessly. “A bullet in the palm, say, wouldn’t be fatal.”
“What’s all right? Just stop it. Please stop.”
Dasa looked at Yukinari closely, but when he asked her a second time, she sat down beside him again. Apparently, she had given up the idea of an interrogation of her own—or, well, since she didn’t intend to ask any questions, it would have been mere torture.
“Looks like you’ve collected yourself a bit, too.”
The words came from Veronika as she entered the room a moment later.
“Yuki... too?” Dasa asked, cocking her head again.
Veronika leaned against the wall beside the door and gave a sad smile. “A few minutes ago, Yukinari looked ready to torture that woman to death.”
“Really? Yuki did...?” Dasa blinked behind her glasses. She must have been surprised. Yukinari rarely resorted to violence, and he wasn’t the type to take joy in hurting someone else, even his enemies. All the more so when it came to women and children. Dasa knew this better than anyone, so she was truly startled.
Now a third voice, somehow hesitant, joined the conversation. “Um... Lord Yukinari?”
A girl had come in with tea supplies on a cart and began serving tea on the table near the sofa.
“You must be tired,” she said. “Please, have some tea.”
This girl had braided, flaxen hair; she gave a very simple impression. For better or worse, she formed a contrast with Dasa; she was full of gestures and expressions that bespoke a constant jumpiness. Her facial features were pretty, but the first thing one noticed about her was not her looks so much as a sense of vulnerability.
The girl’s name was Berta Wohmann.
She was one who, for a variety of complex reasons, had been “offered” to Yukinari. She was often to be seen attending him or doing various chores. But at the moment she was staying in this house, the Schillings mansion, helping to look after the prisoner Angela and Veronika, the female mercenary who was guarding the captive.
“Oh, thanks,” Yukinari said.
Berta smiled. “Not at all.” She looked down, blushing.
Her position of servitude to Yukinari was not initially something she had chosen for herself; it was the result of a number of factors outside her control. But be that as it may, she had come to respect Yukinari greatly. Over the last several days in particular, she had been acting like the very picture of a maiden in love each time she had seen Yukinari, and it left him very confused.
“What the hell was all that about, anyway?” Yukinari said, sighing again.
“What exactly happened?” Another girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes, entered the room behind Berta. She was a beauty, very collected; she seemed a bit more adult than Dasa or Berta. She wasn’t any older than they were, but she had more experience as an administrator than her contemporaries did.
Fiona Schillings—the daughter of the mayor of Friedland, currently filling in for her father. She had studied in the capital and had a broad range of knowledge; she was a quick thinker, yet very flexible. There was hardly any need to call her the “deputy” mayor anymore—it wouldn’t have felt wrong just to call her the mayor.
“Er, uh, you know...” Yukinari trailed off, unsure exactly what to say.
Veronika answered for him. “Angela Jindel insulted and provoked Yukinari every way she knew how. He got pissed enough to slap her.”
“Yukinari did?” Fiona said in surprise. She, too, knew how he usually acted. She hadn’t been around Yukinari for as long as Dasa had, but Fiona was a keen observer of people.
“I just... I just sort of saw red.”
“So it is possible to get a rise out of Yukinari.”
“Disappointed?” Veronika asked. “Sorry to find out he’s a disgusting villain who would raise his hand against a woman?”
“Not especially,” Fiona said with a laugh. “I sort of feel like it makes him more human.”
“You might be right about that.”
“Anyway,” Fiona went on, looking at Veronika, “a real brute would use his fists when he decided to beat a woman. The fact that Yukinari used an open-handed slap practically proves he’s a gentleman.”
“...Heh. Could be,” Veronika said with a smirk and a nod. As a mercenary, she was probably all too well acquainted with moments when people’s true colors came out. “That woman had a weird reaction, though,” she went on.