Prologue

The abandoned building’s cries echoed through its dimly lit interior. They didn’t come from the floors and walls, which were giving in to their fate and crumbling naturally, but from destruction caused by someone.

The structure seemed to be an abandoned factory of some kind and was coated in rust. Forgotten machinery lay strewn amongst rubble from the ceiling that now littered the floor. And now, after long years without a single person setting foot inside it, the entire structure creaked with incessant booms and vibrations.

A rapid-fire rat-a-tat joined the cacophony: the sound of gunfire. Blasts continued to reverberate, gradually approaching the factory, until the wall was suddenly blown in with explosive force.

As the dust settled, a four-legged beast with a maw like a crocodile’s appeared. It was wholly unlike any existing animal. Its body, composed of rusted pieces of junk, made that fact clear. The creature was a three-meter-long amalgamation of iron scraps, bits of concrete, and large gears—man-made materials that no longer served their purpose.

“Watch out for falling rubble!”

A group of five armed individuals wearing full-face helmets surged through the hole in pursuit of the large beast. Their small submachine guns and jet-black equipment made them look more like a special forces team than a military unit.

Tubes attached to the bottoms of their guns illuminated the dark room. The troops fired thirty-seven-millimeter grenades, which traveled faster than the eye could follow and exploded as soon as they hit the junk monster.

“KRRRRK!”

The monster’s cry sounded like metal scraping together. Pieces of junk from its body were blown in all directions, piercing the walls and machines.

“Archive! Now!” yelled a young man.

A huge black net appeared before the beast. If you looked closely, you could see that it was actually made up of countless strings of text that had been woven together. It was clearly something that didn’t fit in with the natural laws of this world.

Unable to respond in time, the beast collided with the net, but the creature didn’t budge. In fact, the strange strings of text were so strong that the collision caused more metal fragments to fly off the beast’s body and scatter throughout the room with grating metallic sounds.

The hunk of junk didn’t cry out. Instead, it glared at the girl on the other side of the black net.

Coldly staring down at the beast from atop a five-meter-high scaffold was a girl with shoulder-length blond hair and slanted, almond-shaped eyes. She was holding up a red string that was entwined around her fingers as if she were playing cat’s cradle.

“KREEEEE!”

The junk beast howled in pain, producing another metallic cacophony. It threw itself at the sturdy net again, determined to reach the girl, but…

“Bring it down!” the same young man commanded.

Upon his signal, the armed troopers, who had surrounded the beast, simultaneously fired grenades which tore apart the beast’s body. The pieces of junk flew through the air, and what remained of the beast crashed to the ground with a loud thud.

“There it is!” the blond-haired girl called out in a clear voice, pointing at the beast. She was indicating an object lodged inside the creature’s crumbled head—an old, worn-out gear, shining with a red light. Despite the numerous explosions the beast had taken, there wasn’t a scratch on it.

“Mr. Karamori!”

“On it!”

A figure rushed forward like the wind. It was the young man in charge of the armed group, who looked to be around seventeen years old. His black hair was a little unruly, and his lips rested in a slight smile.

Unlike the other troopers, he didn’t have a helmet and wore only light armor. He also carried a sword in his right hand, a weapon choice that stood in stark contrast to the modern equipment of his peers.

The sheathed sword was so gaudy it looked as if it were purely ceremonial. The entirety of it was golden, from the handle to the sheath, which was inlaid with a startling number of gems. Its majesty was spoiled only by the chains that extended from the pommel and wrapped around the sword, almost as if the young man were afraid to draw it.

The half-destroyed beast writhed in pain, and the youth showed no hesitation as he ran toward it, holding the still-sheathed sword at the ready. His target was the exposed red gear.

Dodging a swing of the beast’s tail by a matter of centimeters, the youth slid the chained sword ever so slightly from its sheath. But the beast chose that moment to unleash a grating cry. The light given off by the worn gear grew stronger, and the abandoned machinery and steel beams in the ceiling suddenly split apart. The screws and bolts holding them together fell loose, reducing the man-made objects to lowly junk that were pulled toward the beast as they fell.

“Damn! It’s reviving again?!” the youth spat, looking annoyed. His team had been pursuing the beast for some time without being able to finish it off. And to make matters worse, the abandoned building rumbled in response to large parts of it being disassembled.

The youth looked around. He saw the factory crumbling along with his chance, as well as his helmeted comrades standing at the ready.

“Pull back, everyone! I’ll take care of it by myself! Hurry!”

The troops hesitated only a moment before acknowledging the command, and they ran outside, avoiding the falling rubble. The boy turned around to face the beast and rushed toward it as pieces of the building crashed to the ground all around him.

The red gear was still visible, but it was only a matter of moments before it would once again be hidden by the pieces of junk attaching themselves to the beast’s body.

A thought flashed through the youth’s mind: I have to get there first!

The gear was less than two meters away. He could jump onto the beast’s back before the new junk covered it completely.

Time slowed as the young man concentrated.

He remembered the abandoned factory being three stories high. He could be seriously injured—maybe even killed—if rubble fell on his head. Even if he survived, he could end up buried alive.

And yet…

It won’t hit me.

The youth ran, unbothered by those grisly possibilities. Steel beams and chunks of ceiling collapsed all around him, slamming into the floor with deafening thuds.

He slid the sword from the sheath, careful not to draw it fully.

Azure.

Only a sliver of the blade was visible, dull and dark as if covered in ash.

If he drew the blade all the way, he would become the monster.

Sunlight shined through the gaps in the ceiling, reflecting dimly off the blade, and a giant steel beam grazed his cheek as it fell.

By the time his azure blade reached the red gear, the factory had completely collapsed.

A huge dust cloud covered the destroyed factory, and tremors continued to shake the windows of the surrounding buildings. The steel beams sticking out of the ground and glass fragments scattered far and wide were a testament to the tremendous force of the destruction.

However, when the dust cleared, the young man stood in the center of those ruins, unharmed except for a few minor injuries. He wiped a drop of blood off his cheek. Two beams jutted out of the ground on either side of him, crossing over his head to create an umbrella that had protected him from the falling rubble.

“The first two steel frames to fall just happened to shield you, and every other piece of rubble just happened to miss you…? Your luck never runs out, does it, Mr. Karamori?”

The blond-haired girl had suddenly appeared at the young man’s side. Just like she said, there was a surprising lack of rubble around him.

The youth gave the girl a dubious look.

“You’re one to talk, Archive. How’d you manage to get your clothes all torn up like that without suffering a single scratch?”

The blond girl’s—Archive’s—clothes were in tatters, but there wasn’t a mark on her.

“I am not fated to die today,” she answered offhandedly, fixing her disheveled bangs. Much of her spotless, dazzling skin was exposed, but she showed no sign of embarrassment.

The young man sighed and gazed up at the sky.

“Haaah… Fate, huh…?”

He looked down at his right arm. A dark-blue mark shaped like flames could just be seen poking out from the edge of his sleeve.

“It’s always ‘fate this, fate that’ with us.”

“…At least my fate is not cursed,” replied the girl.

“And yet, I doubt you think you’re better off.”

“…”

When she said nothing, the young man covered her with his jacket.

“Well, I’ll find a way to free you, at least. I swear it.” He tugged on his sleeve to hide the mark.

The girl lowered her long eyelashes and said, “You are free to try.” She began twirling the red string she was still holding between her fingers.

“Are you injured, sir?”

One of the troopers who had retreated ran up to the young man, who raised his hand in response.

“I’m fine. Have you gained control of the facility?”

“Yes, sir. We have apprehended multiple individuals who seem to be members of an organization and are taking them in for questioning to determine their affiliation.”

“It could be Grave Nest. Or maybe that Neo K group that’s been causing trouble on the west side recently…”

“My guess is that it’s a fringe group established to be disposable, so I doubt we’ll get much information out of them. They didn’t even know the name Noary.”

“Really? That’s surprising. It is a famous corporation.”

“Ha-ha, I assume they only know the public-facing name.”

“Hah, true… Oh, excuse me.”

The young man pulled a vibrating mobile device from his left pants pocket. It had a feather strap and displayed the words Incoming call on the screen. He eyed the caller ID and pressed the button to answer.

“…What do you want, Mr. Nanba?” he said.

“I’m hurt, kid. Is that any way to speak to your boss?” the caller cried out, hearing the youth’s annoyed tone. He was a middle-aged man with an unusually high-pitched voice. “I take it you just wrapped up your mission. Way to go, me! Nice timing!”

He said the last part in English with surprisingly good pronunciation.

A fed-up look crossed the young man’s face.

“…Have you made any progress on what I asked you to look into for me?”

“Heh, I knew you’d ask about that. The case concerning that book has been entrusted to you, just as you wanted.”

The youth’s face tensed up. He shifted his gaze toward the blond girl waiting next to him.

“I really had to pull out all the stops, you know? …However, your mission is to destroy it.”

A shadow fell over the young man’s expression.

“But, Mr. Nanba—”

“Nope. Not happening, kid. This thing’s caused a lot of damage. Noary don’t have the option of taking it into custody. I really tried, but…they wouldn’t budge on that.”

“…”

“I get that you’re looking for clues for saving that girl. If you don’t want to destroy the book, find a justifiable excuse not to.”

“…Okay.”

After a brief exchange of information, the young man hung up. He narrowed his eyes, looking down at the extravagantly decorated sword in his right hand, then lifted his head again and gave the helmeted trooper a grateful nod.

“Sorry about this, but we’re moving on to our next mission. Can you guys handle the cleanup?”

The trooper threw him a sharp salute. “Yes, sir… It was an honor to work with two Canaries, Noary’s finest investigators.”

“Please. We’re just high school students. You don’t need to treat us with such respect.”

A laugh slipped from beneath the helmet. “You’re performing a role beyond the capabilities of elite soldiers. I think that makes you more than ‘just high school students.’”

“Ha-ha-ha… Well, when you put it like that…” The young man flashed an awkward smile and turned to the blond girl. “Let’s go, Archive. We’ve got a new job, and it’s close by. Can you handle another one back-to-back?”

“Of course,” she replied. “We Canaries must always be ready to respond to any distortions of the world’s natural laws. Let us go.”

“Oh, hang on. Get changed first. I’ll find you some clothes.”

A gust of wind on its way to some distant location stirred up a cloud of dust.

Gears continued creaking quietly in the broken machines.

This is the story of a boy and a girl bound by their fates.

Are people truly able to change the ending that has already been written for them?

Only time will tell.

It was a night so dark that even the moon slept.

The study smelled strongly of old paper. An expensive-looking rug and time-worn books gave the room a dignified air that seemed at odds with the building’s actual age.

A lone girl stood in the center of the room, gripping a kitchen knife in one trembling hand. Dim moonlight reflected off the blade and illuminated her face, which was framed by wavy ash-brown hair that tumbled past her shaking shoulders.

She was breathing heavily, her face a contorted mess of troubled emotions—fear, anger, confusion. Each one was a manifestation of her despair.

Give them back…! Give Nao and Mom back!

Her heart wavered like ripples on the surface of a lake.

A single book was set on the desk before her. It sat perfectly still in the quiet study without a title on its worn cover.

“This book is yours. Use it however you wish… However, you must never take it out of this study.”

The girl knew she shouldn’t have broken her promise. But the punishment was far too cruel.

Give them back!

She swung her knife down at the book, and the blade bounced off its cover with a loud clang that felt both metallic and not. The impact forced the knife from her hand and it flew across the room and embedded itself in the floor.

The ancient book was unharmed.

It sat there eerily unchanged, becoming a part of the night.

“Why…? Why…?”

The girl crumpled to her knees and burst into tears.

“A book that eats text?”

Somewhere in Shiga Prefecture, an unusual pair was walking through a quiet residential district.

“Sounds like another philosophical vanit.”

The speaker was a youth of high school age—Shin Karamori. His short black hair was unruly yet still managed to make him look neat and tidy, and his mouth rested in a slight smile. He had the sort of face that tended to give people a positive first impression.

On his back was a bag like the ones used by kendo-club members to carry bamboo swords.

“It feels less philosophical and more like its very existence is ironic,” said the girl walking beside him with perfect posture.

The name she carried was “Archive.” She had shoulder-length blond hair and slightly slanted eyes that gave the impression she was hard to please. Her filmy black dress accentuated her tall frame.

She was playing cat’s cradle with a thin red string as she walked.

The girl’s otherworldliness and the long object on the boy’s back made them stand out against the ordinary streetscape, but there was no sign of other people. Their comrades had already evacuated the residents. And even before they did, a great many people had already disappeared.

“According to the scouts, the target seems to be an old book. It consumes all text within a five-hundred-meter radius.”

“…I see that,” the young man replied, looking up at the arch marking the entrance to the deserted shopping arcade they were approaching. There was no writing where the name should have been. Nor was there writing anywhere else on the street, be it shop signs or fallen magazines.

“This incident reportedly began when a daughter of the wealthy family in possession of the book removed it from its study. Apparently, she inherited it from her father and wanted to show it to her friends. However, as soon as she took it outside, all writing in the area disappeared, as did a great number of objects and people.”

The youth furrowed his brow at the girl’s disturbing report, which she delivered in a smooth, even tone.

“Around three hundred people vanished, with two of the girl’s three friends among the victims. Many objects in the vicinity also disappeared, regardless of their size…as you can see here.”

The pair was wandering down the street parallel to the shopping arcade when they saw a humongous pile of junk by the side of the road. The objects were broken, yet they all appeared to be brand new. It was as if the apartment building here had disappeared, leaving everything inside to fall to the ground.

“Some people who entered the affected area later also disappeared, including one of our scouts,” Archive said.

Karamori looked up at the sky.

“I can see why we were ordered to destroy it. Is there anything that differentiates between what disappears and what doesn’t?”

“Unclear. That is what the report said anyway. However, an inference can be made from the list of vanished items and people: They all have proper nouns.”

“Ah, I see…”

A bitter smile crossed Karamori’s face. People, apartment buildings, products—they all have names that are proper nouns. The individuals who vanished might have left something with their names written on it somewhere in the affected area.

“A book that eats text…,” Karamori mused. “Maybe when it eats a proper noun, it causes everything indicated by that word that’s inside its range to disappear.”

“I believe that to be the case,” agreed Archive. “Perhaps it is not the word itself that the book consumes, but the very concept it represents.”

“Man. I always feel this way, but that just goes against all common sense…”

“Indeed. Hence its designation as a vanit.”

A “vanit” was an object that held some sort of distortion to the natural laws of the world. They were proof that the world was imperfect. As investigators for the Noary Group, Karamori and Archive’s job was to collect and destroy these objects.

“The fact that we were sent can only mean one thing…”

“Yes. It’s an Unbreakable.”

“Figured as much.”

The boy glanced at his sword bag. It was decorated with a lotus-flower pattern and bounced gently as he walked.

“It seems the book can be moved but not opened. Its contents are unknown. As its power does not allow the book to have a title, the vanit has been given the name ‘Untitled,’” Archive said, keeping up a brisk pace.

“Hey, wait up,” Karamori said.

“I will not wait. Fate has determined that we will reach our destination at 4:07:12 PM.”

“…Oh.”

Fate.

The figure of another girl overlapped that of Archive walking in front of him, causing memories to rush to the surface of Karamori’s mind like bubbles in glass.

Black hair fluttering in the wind. A side ponytail that swayed with even the slightest of movements. The girl in his memory shined brighter than the sun…

Karamori shook his head. He thought it was rich of him to consider that a sweet memory.

The house they sought finally came into view. It was in the center of a street situated a short distance from the shopping arcade and was so lavish it stood out from the rest of the area. It only had a small yard, but the house itself was three stories tall, built with magnificent white tile and adorned with elegant decorations on the walls. The family that owned it was clearly wealthy.

“This is a strange place to build such a fancy mansion,” Karamori said.

“It is the home of the deceased Asahi Fujinaka. He founded Fujinaka Industries and grew it into a successful company. His prosperous business and the effective management of his assets must have made him quite the fortune. It is likely he built a new home on land that he already owned,” Archive explained.

When they approached, a female scout and a girl in a school uniform emerged from the house. The girl likely lived here. She appeared to be a high school student, just like Karamori, and both she and the scout were pale with exhaustion.

“Thank you for coming. We have been waiting for you,” the scout said. She was holding it together, but her voice shook as she spoke. That was unsurprising, considering she’d likely witnessed her teammates disappear before her very eyes. Being erased because you were carrying something with your name on it was a senseless way to die.

“We appreciate your hard work,” Archive replied. “So this must be…” She glanced at the girl in the school uniform, who jumped as her gaze met Archive’s.

The schoolgirl had slightly wavy grayish-brown hair. She was pretty, with a well-defined nose, and her short skirt and bright-pink nails gave the impression of someone who was in touch with the latest fashion trends. Karamori thought the contrast between her delicate features and trendy outfit made her look like a dress-up doll.

“Hello… I’m Hitsugi Fujinaka. Are you here to destroy the book?” The girl’s eyes wavered with fear, and tear marks streaked her cheeks.

She had just witnessed an object defy the natural laws of the world and make people disappear. Of course she’d be terrified.

“Yeah, something like that. I’m Shin Karamori. Nice to meet you.” He put on his best smile to ease her nerves, but the girl just looked at him suspiciously.

He’d expected as much, though. She wouldn’t have expected the person sent to deal with the dangerous book to be a boy her age. Still, her expression did relax a little.

“I tried cutting the book and burning it, but it didn’t leave a mark. Are you really going to be able to do something about it…?”

The girl had asked Karamori, but Archive answered instead.

“You have nothing to worry about. As part of Canary, a special department within the Noary Group, there is no one better at handling supernatural objects.”

“…Please destroy it. I’m begging you!” Anguish filled the girl’s voice. “It… It erased everyone… It’s all my fault… It took Mom and Nao…”

“…!”

Karamori suddenly felt sick to his stomach. This girl had seen her friend and her mother disappear in an instant because of the book. It was impossible to understand how much pain she must be in.

He took her trembling hand and squeezed it tight.

“I promise you I will destroy it.”

The schoolgirl began to lead Karamori, Archive, and the scout toward the study.

The mansion was just as lavish inside as it was out. A marble statue of a child holding a plate welcomed people at the front door, and colorful oil paintings hung in the spacious hallways. It felt surreal to see this kind of wealth in such an ordinary residential area.

Untitled should have taken anything with a proper noun, but most of the contents of the house seemed to have been unaffected. Even so, there were signs that something unnatural had occurred.

Karamori looked at the plate in the hands of the sculpture next to the entrance. It held car keys and other small objects. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of such a luxurious item being used as a key holder.

The two women they’d met at the house both looked gloomy. The scout would be okay, but any more strain on Fujinaka’s nerves might send her into a panic attack. That could be a problem if things escalated. Karamori wanted to put her mind at ease, but before he could, Archive spoke up.

“Look at this, Ms. Fujinaka. It is the Tokyo Skytree,” she said, showing the other girl a complex shape she’d made using the string in her fingers.

Archive seemed to have had the same idea as him, but he didn’t think her method was going to work. Fujinaka looked bewildered by the combination of the string and Archive’s blank expression.

That Tokyo Skytree is pretty impressive, though, Karamori thought.

He doubted there were many high school girls who were into cat’s cradle these days. And while he shouldn’t make assumptions, he thought it was especially unlikely for a trendy girl like Fujinaka.

“Uh, Archive, cat’s cradle fell out of fashion decades ago.” Karamori stepped out in front of Fujinaka as if to say he would handle it. “Check this out… Ta-da!”

Before Fujinaka’s very eyes, he produced a rose from out of nowhere. It was an everyday, ordinary magic trick.

“Don’t worry. We’ll sort this out!” He grinned at Fujinaka, trying to put her at ease.

“Um… Thank you…”

But unfortunately, Karamori’s little trick didn’t have the desired effect. It seemed the sentiment had gotten across to Fujinaka, though, because she gave him a strained smile.

Just then, Karamori heard a sigh from beside him.

“That was painfully corny. Of course she would have no idea how to react to that.”

“What do you mean, ‘painfully corny’? Your trick with the cat’s cradle bombed, too.”

“I simply chose the wrong shape. Look, Ms. Fujinaka. It’s Colonel Sanders.”

“Okay, that one’s pretty amazing, I have to admit!”

Archive had used her string to make a complex shape that resembled the face of a familiar old man. Her expression remained as blank as ever, of course.

“Hello there, Mr. Karamori,” she said, deepening her voice slightly and using the string to move the old man’s lips.

“God, that’s creepy! I hardly think she’s gonna—”

Karamori was suddenly interrupted by a “Pfft!” from beside him. He looked across to see Fujinaka laughing with a hand covering her mouth.

“Do you see that, Mr. Karamori? Colonel Sanders worked.”

But Fujinaka shook her head. “No… It’s the way you two talk to each other that made me laugh.”

Karamori and Archive both raised their eyebrows.

The group continued walking down the corridor, and a short while later, a portrait in one corner caught Karamori’s attention. It was a picture of a middle-aged man wearing an eyepatch over his right eye. The eyepatch had a wing symbol on it, and the skin around it was covered in burn scars. The man wore a terrifying expression with creases lining his forehead. It hardly seemed like the sort of portrait that would be hung in the hallway of a home.

“Asahi Fujinaka. He’s the man who built this house,” Fujinaka explained.

That is one sinister-looking man, Karamori thought. Of course, he kept that to himself. Between this portrait and the excessively lavish interior of the house, Asahi Fujinaka must have been an incredibly eccentric man.

Unsure of what to say, Karamori settled on a safe “…I-interesting.”

For some reason, Fujinaka gave a wry smile when she saw his reaction. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be so nice. He has a scary face.”

It seemed Karamori’s answer was so safe it had given away his actual thoughts. He felt a little bad.

Karamori and Archive’s clumsy efforts to cheer her up must have worked because the atmosphere surrounding Fujinaka seemed to have softened. At the very least, it didn’t look like she was about to have a breakdown anymore.

“This is it.”

She stopped at an ordinary wooden door. It was slightly bigger than those of an ordinary home and had a bit of ornamentation, but there was nothing else unusual about it.

The study was through that door, as was the book they were here for.

“It seems nothing out of the ordinary happens while the book is inside the study,” Archive said. “I assume that means the room functions as a kind of barrier.”

Karamori readied himself to step inside that barrier and put his hand on the doorknob. He thought it felt heavy but quickly dismissed that as just a figment of his imagination and threw the door open.

The word study didn’t feel quite right to describe the room. For one thing, it didn’t have many books. There was only a single bookshelf next to the large desk at the end of the room, and only a few volumes lined one shelf. The other shelves were occupied by ornaments, family pictures, and other miscellaneous items. This room housed a book that devoured text, after all, so it didn’t seem like a good idea to bring other written works here.

A single tome sat on the desk.

“That book is our target, Untitled,” the scout said, pointing at it.

Its worn cover had no words on it, yet the creases and loose fibers of its green binding conveyed how often it had been opened. The book looked harmless sitting upon the desk, but Karamori could tell this was the text-eating vanit.

Archive twisted her string into an intricate shape.

“Flower Charm.” At her words, Karamori’s body started to glow faintly. “I cast a concept barrier on you to prevent you from disappearing. Good luck. I will stay behind to protect these two in case something goes wrong.”

“Understood,” Karamori said.

He reached for the bag on his back and pulled out a Western-style sword. The jewels and golden decoration on the handle and sheath made it look like a ceremonial blade; the silver chains attached to the pommel wrapped around the entire weapon.

Karamori heard Fujinaka gasp behind him. The sword had such an intimidating air that simply drawing it was enough to elicit a reaction from those not used to the supernatural.

The excessive ornamentation, which looked unsuited to combat, was contrasted by the sinister pressure that emanated from the sword. Its very presence seemed to make all the air in the room grow heavier.

Karamori attached the chained sword to his waist, then took a step into the room. The moment he did, Untitled began to emit a dark-green light—and the book, which should have stayed closed, opened.

“…!”

Karamori reflexively jumped back just as a katana grazed his cheek. It hurtled toward the door where Archive and the others were waiting, so fast it was barely visible. But before it reached them, it was repelled by an invisible wall. Archive must have protected them.

The katana had emerged from a page of Untitled.

“I knew you wouldn’t just sit there and let me slice you up!” Karamori yelled without even pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Naturally, Untitled didn’t reply. Instead, words danced atop its open pages and combined to form swords, axes, knives, and other sharp weapons that flew at Karamori.

“Hey! Are you really going to be okay?!” Fujinaka cried out behind him.

But dodging projectiles was a walk in the park for Shin Karamori. Having objects thrown at him was nothing compared to all the ridiculous things that could happen fighting a vanit.

Karamori seemed to glide through the small room, dodging the weapons as he made his way toward Untitled. He furrowed his brow. All sorts of different types of bladed weapons were flying at him, even ones that were rarely seen, like morning stars and lances. Eventually, the storm of blades stopped, but Karamori only had a brief respite before Untitled sent a massive stone wall sliding across the room at him.

“O-oh?”

One might have thought that Karamori’s surprise came from seeing the small book produce such a large object, but that wasn’t the reason for it. Instead, he was startled by the Western-style mural on the wall that depicted what looked like angels and gods. The painting was as wide as the room and charged at him so quickly he didn’t have time to think.

“We can’t have that now,” Archive said from behind him.

She gathered her string in her hands and squeezed it tight. As she did, the mural became as thin as paper and was crushed up into a ball.

Untitled determinedly continued to spit out walls, fighting to prevent Karamori from approaching. Even with Archive transforming each one into a wad of wadded-up paper, Karamori was slowly pushed back toward the door.

He frowned as he watched the walls appear and crumple in rapid succession. Each one was painted with a mural. They looked as if they came from all over the world; some were Buddhist, some were contemporary Japanese, and others were of Western styles, past and present. He even felt like he’d seen some of them before.

There was a clink as Karamori’s foot brushed against something hard, and he looked down to see the katana that had been sent flying at him earlier. He cocked his head. There was something about the sword that also looked familiar.

It had a distinctive golden handle and a black guard with gold embellishments…

“That is Chiyoganemaru, a katana currently in the possession of the Naha City Museum of History. It is not an imitation, either. The scratches and other signs of wear perfectly match the real artifact. All of the murals it has created are real as well,” Archive explained as she continued to deal with the approaching walls.

“…Which means?”

“The book is likely producing objects described by the writing it has consumed. That is how it is summoning the weapons and murals. That katana must also have been written about in a book.”

“Ah, okay…”

So that was how the book was creating such a wide variety of weapons and murals. Karamori had noticed that it hadn’t produced the same object twice—once it summoned something, it lost the corresponding text.

“…I see,” Archive said to herself. “I thought this property seemed excessive for the president of a relatively small company, but he was hiding an endless source of funds.”

Untitled could reproduce anything described in the writing it consumed. With that ability, there was no limit to the fortune one could accumulate.

Karamori’s earlier guess had been correct, and Untitled stopped producing murals. It must have run out of text to draw from. He dashed forward to seize the opening—but nothing could have prepared him for what the book produced next.

It was a horde of grotesque monsters. Karamori saw a minotaur, a gargoyle in the shape of a devil, and an unidentifiable six-legged beast.

It can summon fictional creatures, too?! These monsters must have come from fantasy novels the book had consumed.

The monsters outnumbered them two-to-one, and they rushed toward Karamori.

“Aaah!”

Fujinaka let out an involuntary cry behind him. Archive, meanwhile, remained perfectly calm, and even the scout showed no sign of concern.

The youth nimbly dodged every sharp fang and claw raining down on him and kicked one of the monsters into the opposite wall. The room transformed into a storm of violence with Shin Karamori at its center. He didn’t draw the chained sword but, instead, pounded the monsters into the floor with its sheath and with his fists. There was no special power at work here; Karamori relied solely on his martial arts abilities.

“That’s crazy…,” Fujinaka murmured as she watched him overpower the monsters like some kind of ferocious god.

“There is no need to worry,” Archive reassured her. “He will not die. He cannot die.”

More terrifying monsters appeared, and Karamori slaughtered them all. His movements were restricted to the realm of humans, yet he appeared otherworldly as he fought.

The still-sheathed sword glittered as it caught the light coming in through the window. As Karamori swung the weapon, a bluish-black mark shaped like flames extended from underneath his sleeve to his palm.

“He wields Tyrfing, a magic sword which grants anyone who draws it a wish in exchange for ruining their life and eventually killing them. His wish to the sword was ‘I want to live.’”

It was a contradiction, but a wish was still a wish. The sword had granted it, making Karamori able to survive anything by giving him combat skills far beyond those of any normal seventeen-year-old.

The screams of the monsters filled the house. A creature that was half-wolf, half-man howled in agony as its arm was severed. Karamori had partially drawn Tyrfing and sliced through its flesh.

The glimpse of Tyrfing’s blade made Fujinaka uneasy. Its dull blue color gave off the impression that it was enveloped in a miasma.

Light gleamed off the azure blade a second time as Karamori once again swung it without fully drawing it, mercilessly cutting through multiple monsters.

“That is why he will not die so easily. The sword will not allow it.”

Karamori wove through the attacking monsters and made for the supernatural book.

According to Norse mythology, Tyrfing had been forged by dwarves threatened into crafting a sword that could cut through anything. In the process, they had channeled all their resentment into it and cursed the weapon.

True to the legend, the blade was so sharp that it could slice through any object. Even if the target was an Unbreakable.

Karamori unsheathed the blade halfway. The chains wrapped around it should have gotten in his way as he swung, but every flash of his sword was so smooth it was as if they weren’t even there.

He closed the distance to Untitled in a single bound, then swung the half-drawn sword, which left an azure trail of light in its wake. But just before the blade reached the book, a monster flew out of its pages and knocked Karamori backward off his feet.

“Gah…!”

Chiding himself for being too hasty, Karamori quickly got up and took his stance. He immediately struck again, this time lopping off about five centimeters from the edge of the book.

The monsters and the katana on the floor all began to blur, revealing a huge amount of text inside their forms—proof that damaging the book would also harm its constructs. If the book were destroyed, the monsters should disappear as well.

Looking around, Karamori noticed that many of the decorations in the room were also blurring. It seemed that Fujinaka’s father had indeed used the book to produce many of his possessions, just as Archive had predicted.

Damaging the book slowed down the monsters. I can do this!

By some logic he didn’t understand, Untitled was shaping text to make up its missing section, trying to regenerate itself. He had to finish this now.

Karamori lifted his sword and was about to strike when—

“Mr. Karamori! Wait!” the scout called out from behind him.

He stopped, surprised, and looked over his shoulder.

Karamori’s eyes went wide.

“Ah… Aaah…!”

It was a girl’s voice, crying out in anguish.

Hitsugi Fujinaka’s figure blurred, showing a mountain of text inside her body.

“What?!”

Karamori felt as if cold water had been dumped over his head.

A horrifying conclusion arose in his mind: Untitled’s owner, Asahi Fujinaka, had used the book not just to produce a variety of objects, but also to create his daughter.

He didn’t know whether the man had done it because he and his wife couldn’t conceive or simply on a whim, but the fact was that the girl’s form was wavering just like the monsters.

“No way…”

Karamori’s hand fell limp.

In other words, if he destroyed Untitled…Hitsugi Fujinaka would die.

“No… Why…? I… I’m not… Make it stop…”

Fujinaka’s face went pale as she looked at the writing within her hand. Text was visible throughout her entire body, even appearing and disappearing under the tips of her pink nails.

Learning this tragic truth left Karamori at a loss.

What…? What should I do…?!

His shock left him wide open, and the attacking monsters caught up to Karamori. One of them swung at him with sharp claws bigger than a person’s head, catching him off guard. He had no time to react. The sharp points were about to puncture his skull when—

“MAKE IT STOP!”

At Fujinaka’s desperate cry, the monsters all froze.

“Huh…?”

Karamori was bewildered, but Fujinaka herself looked just as stunned.

“Uh… What…?”

Karamori cautiously dropped his guard. The monsters didn’t react at all.

In the middle of the shocked group, only Archive remained calm. “Hmm… Ms. Fujinaka, try giving that book an order.”

“Um… Then I guess, erase those monsters…”

The monsters dropped to the floor like puppets with their strings cut. They didn’t disappear but were clearly incapacitated. Maybe Untitled was unable to erase the things it created.

“So my theory was correct,” Archive said. “There was one question that had been bothering me. I was able to infer that Asahi Fujinaka used Untitled to produce many of his possessions; however, I could not figure out how he managed to control the book. I did not know the method, yet it was clear he had one.”

“But all Fujinaka did was tell it to stop,” Karamori said.

“It must only listen to the words of its owner, or something along those lines. Asahi Fujinaka is a man who used Untitled to achieve great success. I think it’s likely that he would have figured out how to bestow his daughter with the ability to control it when he created her.”

The man had written out his ideal daughter, fed that to Untitled, and had it create her. The process was so mechanical, so coldhearted, that Karamori couldn’t help but grimace.

The seemingly fictional girl put her hands to her chest, and her face contorted in pain. She had just learned the truth of her birth and her father’s cruelty. No one could imagine the despair she must be feeling.

“Ms. Fujinaka, I wish to conduct a test,” Archive said casually. “Order it to stop eating writing.”

Fujinaka said in a monotone, “Don’t eat writing,” and the green light around Untitled disappeared.

Archive took out a notebook, wrote something in it, and showed it to the others. It said “Shin Karamori.”

“Hmm. Nothing happened. It certainly seems to have stopped.”

“Hey, what if that had worked?” Karamori asked, affronted.

Out of any immediate danger, Karamori sheathed Tyrfing and took a breath.

But a moment later, Fujinaka spoke up.

“Destroy it… Now…”

She was shaking pitifully, and her voice was weak and riddled with despair.

“Wh-what are you saying? If I do that, you’ll—”

“I don’t care! That book can’t be allowed to exist! It killed Mom and my friends!”

“As long as you are alive, they can return,” Archive said dispassionately.

“But…”

Archive had no idea how cruel those words were. Untitled would probably obey Fujinaka and return the people it had made vanish, but there was one problem: They would be inhuman recreations just like her. Archive hadn’t considered whether she would want that.

“I’m not destroying it. The target’s neutralized, and we know we can control it. We’re taking both you and the book into custody.” Karamori did his best to give her a kind smile and put a hand on the crying girl’s shoulder.

He also had personal reasons for wanting to investigate the book rather than destroy it.

However…

“Our mission is to eliminate the target. That goes against our orders,” Archive said, looking at her partner with emotionless eyes.

Karamori returned her gaze with a dangerous look. The air in the room tensed.

“So you think we should kill her?” he said.

“I do not think anything. At the very least, I have not decided that is what we should do yet. I am simply reminding you of our orders.”

Archive gently closed her eyes and stopped talking.

Karamori furrowed his brow and let out a long breath.

However, Fujinaka shook her head.

“…Ms. Archive is right. Please destroy it. This is wrong… I—I’m not even really alive… I don’t want to exist anymore…”

Karamori’s eyebrows twitched in irritation.

“It’s my fault all those people disappeared… How can I possibly live a normal life after that…? I don’t deserve to—”

“Stop acting like a child.”

Fujinaka jumped and looked at Karamori. His kind expression had quickly turned to anger.

“The people who disappeared won’t come back. No matter how unfair it is, it won’t change the fact that you were the one who caused this tragedy.” He looked the girl in the eyes. “I won’t deny that book is dangerous. You’re not wrong for thinking we should destroy it. But you’re only saying that because you want to run away from reality.”

“But…!”

“I won’t kill you. You need to live, even if it means you have to carry this pain with you.”

A bloody memory surfaced in Karamori’s mind.

Mutilated corpses lying face down in a pool of blood. Him standing in the center of it all. People who were kind to him, people who attacked him, all dead by Karamori’s own hand… Regardless of his own intentions.

“…Otherwise, your family and friends will have died for no reason.”

“…!” Fujinaka let out a gasp.

“You can live a good life. Unlike us, your fate is not yet decided.”

The girl sank to her knees and wept.

With that, the Untitled incident came to a close.

Hitsugi Fujinaka was to be taken into custody along with Untitled. She would be moved to a protected zone owned by the Noary Group, the company behind the Canaries. Her fate was now in her own hands.

Certain procedures had to be taken care of before the move, however, so Karamori and Archive stayed at Fujinaka’s house that night. They were both sitting on a couch facing a television in the luxurious living room. Archive was writing a report on a laptop, her body sinking into the supportive material of the sofa, while Karamori spoke into a mobile device he was holding to his ear.

“…Yeah. So can I leave you to take care of the rest of the paperwork?”

“I guess. I still can’t believe you actually found a reason not to destroy the book.”

“…It was a total coincidence.”

“Oh, was it? Those words sound tragic coming from you. I’ll take care of it; desk work is what we bosses do.”

“…Thank you, Mr. Nanba. And…sorry for always giving you so much trouble.”

“What’re you acting all meek for all of a sudden? Don’t worry about it. Just make sure you give Fujinaka all the support she needs.”

His boss hung up, and Karamori let out a deep sigh as he leaned back onto the couch.

“You look tired,” Archive said, stretching. “How much did your suffering today satisfy Tyrfing?”

“…”

Karamori pulled back his right sleeve, along with the bodysuit below it. The flame-like mark that had extended up to his palm earlier in the day had receded, stopping between his elbow and wrist. It was about the size of a child’s fist.

“It seems pretty content. I’m sure it delighted in my struggle over whether we should destroy Untitled.”

“The sword has some nerve taking pleasure in a fate it forced on you itself.”

“You got that right.”

Karamori gave the flashy sword beside him an unpleasant look.

“…Oh yeah,” he said, just remembering something. “Didn’t a bunch of people not disappear, including one of her friends? How’d they survive?”

“Good question. I was curious about that as well and realized the answer after seeing the surviving books in the house.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Yes. It appears there is certain text Untitled does not consume. The names of the people who did not vanish all contain at least one of the kanji characters for ‘wisteria,’ ‘middle,’ ‘morning,’ or ‘day.’”

“Why those kanji?”

“They are the four characters that make up Asahi Fujinaka’s name.”

“…You’re kidding.”

Asahi Fujinaka—who had used Untitled to build himself a vast fortune—was a man it seemed even the vanit had been unable to eat.

Interlude 1: The World Seen by Hitsugi Fujinaka

The World Seen by Hitsugi Fujinaka

Hey there. I’m Hitsugi Fujinaka, a perfectly ordinary high school student. At least, that was what I thought until I learned that apparently I’m not even human.

That came as a shock at first, but so much has happened that I don’t really feel anything anymore. Or maybe…I’m just scared to actually slow down and think about it.

Do I see the world differently from normal people? Are my feelings different? Am I even really alive…?

I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts away. I don’t want to go down that path right now.

Right now, I’m in my living room. Anyone who comes to the house always calls it luxurious, but now, it just looks sad. A lot of our stuff disappeared when I opened Untitled the day before yesterday.

All our home appliances with a name written on them are gone. So is my mobile device. Every packaged food in the fridge—natto, candy, you name it—went poof, but surprisingly, the refrigerator and TV are still here. Weirdly, their official names aren’t written on them anywhere.

Restarting my life in this house feels like it will be really hard…though I guess I won’t have to do that. Untitled is being taken to a safe place, and I’m apparently going with it because I can control it… This is all moving too quickly for me to keep up.

I feel like my heart has become hollow. When they told me I’m moving, I barely felt any desire to refuse. I don’t know if that’s because I’m in shock or because I’m not a person…

I’m currently using a mobile device the investigators gave me to call my friends and tell them about suddenly having to move. It’s come as a shock to all of them; people don’t just up and move out of nowhere like this. I’m doing my best to lie and convince everyone that nothing’s wrong, but Karamori and Archive forbade me from telling anyone what really happened.

They’re staying at my house tonight because I can’t be moved to the protection zone until some paperwork is taken care of. I still have to prepare for the move, too. The area around my house has been evacuated, and we don’t know when Untitled might go berserk again, so I think it’s for the best that they’re here.

Archive is in the living room with me. Her blond hair is so pretty. She’s been sitting on the same couch as me for a little while, playing cat’s cradle with a blank expression the whole time.

Honestly…it’s a little creepy.

The TV is uncomfortably loud. I wish I could switch the channel from the variety show that’s on right now, but I feel like that would give away how awkward I’m feeling.

Karamori is out buying dinner. Pretty much all the food in the house is gone except for the fruits and vegetables. That means Archive and I are all alone here.

I steal a glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s still silently playing with that string of hers. I don’t think I’d ever seen cat’s cradle before today.

Archive’s thin fingers overlap and move apart as she forms the strings into different shapes… It might just be because I’ve never seen this game before, but it feels like she’s performing some kind of holy ritual. Her beautiful doll-like appearance is probably contributing to that.

On that note, I’m super jealous of her long eyelashes. They’re gorgeous and the same golden color as her hair. Her face looks Japanese, but her red eyes and blond hair—which I swear must be her natural color—make her look like a fantasy character come to life. You know what, I think I’m most jealous of her hair. For girls, it really comes down to the hair, doesn’t it? Hers is so blond and fine and silky, while mine is all frizzy…

“…Do you need something?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh, no…”

Shoot, she noticed me.

Her red eyes are staring my way.

Archive kinda scares me… I don’t think I’ve seen her emote yet. She couldn’t be any more different than Karamori, who’s always so bright and friendly. She didn’t hesitate to say that Karamori should destroy Untitled, even though it meant I would disappear… She seems like a really cold person…

“D-do you like cat’s cradle?” I ask.

“Not particularly. I need it for my Distortionism, so I play with it whenever I can.”

“Distortionism…?”

Archive’s red eyes glance my way.

“You can call it ‘magic’ if you wish. The people in our circles call it Distortionism, but everyone has their own name for it. Essentially, it’s an art that utilizes distortions of the world’s reason.”

“Distortions? What does that even mean?”

It’s obvious that Untitled is supernatural, given all the crazy things it can do, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to hear about magic…

“Hmm. I suppose I should explain.”

Archive stops playing with her string.

“The concept is actually quite simple. This world is imperfect. Those blemishes are what we call distortions. That is all. A vanit is an object that possesses such a distortion… Do you play video games, Ms. Fujinaka?”

“Uh, a little…”

“Then this should be easy to understand. A distortion of reason is similar to a bug in a video game. Bugged items are the vanits. Distortionism involves intentionally activating a bug and using it. All supernatural phenomena in the world stem from these distortions—magic, spirits, supernatural powers…and your Untitled.”

I shiver at her mention of Untitled.

A distortion of reason. That’s where Untitled gets its powers from. And from what Archive said, there are apparently a lot of other objects that also contain distortions.

She said the world isn’t perfect, but fear creeps up my legs at the thought of just how many of those distortions there are out there. Suddenly, I feel like there’s no guarantee the floor beneath us won’t just crumble at any moment.

“Finding and dealing with vanits is our job as special investigators for Noary.”

She says all this so casually, you’d think we were discussing the weather. Archive clearly lives in a completely different world, one that I know nothing about.

“Haah… You’re amazing. I can’t believe you and Mr. Karamori are my age and doing such a dangerous job…”

“We both have our own circumstances… Now, please pick one.”

Archive holds the red string out toward me. It’s intertwined around her fingers on both hands to form a net.

“Uh, why…?”

“Divination. Please pull one string.”

Confused, I tug on the string around her right ring finger, and it quietly slides off. Archive then moves the string back and forth between her hands multiple times until it creates a slightly different shape. It looks to me like another net, just with a different number of holes…

“It’s a coin.”

“A coin?”

“Yes,” Archive replies. “It mainly represents wealth and desire but can also refer to fate and the two sides of a coin.”

“Two sides of the same coin…?”

“Precisely. Every coin consists of two sides—a fact that is used to signify that something can have a meaning that is simultaneously good and bad. One interpretation of this could be that something in your future will bring about both fortune and misfortune.”

Hearing that from Archive, who can use—what was it called again?—Distortionism, makes it feel like this fortune is guaranteed to come true.

“Is this a magical divination?” I ask.

“No, it is not. Nor am I an expert on fortune-telling, so take it as you wish.”

“Oh, really? I thought for sure you just used some amazing power. Are you the type of person who believes in fortune-telling?”

“No, not at all.”

Seriously…?

It’s pretty hard to keep the conversation going after that, but surprisingly, Archive continues where she left off.

“Knowing that there are people like me and Karamori, whose fates are decided for them, makes it difficult to see ordinary divination as anything other than child’s play. Yet even so…no, because of that, irresponsibly divining the future gives me hope.”

“…”

I might be imagining things, but I feel like I felt a tiny flicker of emotion in Archive’s detached tone. She’s frowning, but I’m sure she actually enjoys telling people’s fortunes.

“I like fortune-telling, too. A long time ago, my dad taught me how to read tarot cards, but now I…”

The words stick in my throat, and Archive cocks her head at me.

“…I’m not normal. I just learned that my dad was in possession of that weird object and used it to do bad things. But I…I still love him…”

He had a scary face, but he was incredibly kind and smiled at everything I did. My chest still feels warm every time I think of him.

“That doesn’t make any sense, right? I must feel this way because… because I’m not a real person…”

My already depressed heart sinks to an even darker place.

Now that I think about it, I’ve always been told that I’m unusually bold and that my personality doesn’t match my appearance. I bet that’s also because I’m not human.

I’ve been telling myself that I don’t want to think about all this right now, that I don’t want to deal with these feelings, but I can’t stop my mind from going there.

“Curious. I think that makes you sound more human.”

“Huh?”

“Everyone has feelings they can’t discard, even when they know them to be illogical. Is that not how people are?” Archive asks, her fingers twisting the string into another shape. “You simply look like a trendy, outgoing girl.”

“R-really? …I guess people do tell me I have a bright personality and seem like the type to go out clubbing…”

I only want to look cute, though…

“Yet, in contrast to your appearance, your gestures and speech are elegant and polite.”

“O-oh… Thank you.”

That’s nothing new, either. People have told me countless times that I both do and don’t seem like a party girl. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

“That leads me to the assumption that you had a good upbringing,” Archive continues. “Your father’s status as the president of a company made it easy to guess that you were affluent, but I also get the sense that your parents loved you and provided for you well. Is that right?”

“Y-yes, I think so.”

Mom and Dad were kind but strict. They always scolded me for things like bad language, sitting with my legs apart, and laughing with my mouth open.

“It is perfectly normal for a person who was raised so lovingly to have trouble hating their father. And what’s more…” Archive peers into my eyes. “You don’t need to worry about whether you feel the same as other people. Even flesh-and-blood humans have no way of knowing if they share the same feelings as others.”

Archive returns her full focus to her string. I don’t totally understand everything she said…but that was probably her way of trying to lift my spirits. Funnily enough, I realize now that the discomfort I’d been feeling around her has totally disappeared.

As Archive said, there’s no point worrying about that right now. I should just put it out of my mind.

I know now: Archive might be difficult to understand, but she’s not scary.

I can do this! I’m Hitsugi Fujinaka! I don’t have a shy bone in my body!

“Hey, Archive! Can I please touch your hair?!”

My sudden question causes the usually blank-faced Archive to raise her eyebrows.

“Why would you want to do that?” she asks.

“Because your hair is so beautiful!”

“Well, I guess I don’t mind.”

“Really?! Thank you so much!”

I get up, go around behind the couch, and scoop Archive’s hair between my fingers.

“Wow, it’s just as soft as it looks! Oh, you have split ends.”

Archive continues playing with her string, showing no sign of discomfort. Her hair is silky smooth and super pretty, but it quickly becomes obvious…

“I knew it. You don’t take care of your hair at all. It’s dry all over. You don’t even comb it, do you?”

“No. I have no interest in such things.”

“That’s such a waste!”

How can someone so beautiful be so indifferent about her hair?! Just putting a little bit of effort into it would make her 10 percent cuter!

I feel my passion for fashion flaring up inside me.

“Can I style your hair, Archive?”

“Go ahead.”

“Yay! Okay, I can’t fix your damaged hair right now, so I’ll tie it up. That alone will make a big difference!”

I take a hairbrush and a hair band out of the drawer of a shelf in the corner of the room, then get to work fixing her hair. It only reaches her shoulders, but it’s not so short that it can’t be tied up.

Should I play it safe and go with a ponytail? No, I kinda want to try something more fun. A side ponytail would look so cute.

A commercial plays on the TV.

“Noary—we make your life easy.”

It was the sign-off of a Noary commercial advertising their latest electrical appliance. Their logo—which has the N styled like a lightning bolt—is everywhere. I’m sure most people see it multiple times a day. Even my mobile device that disappeared was made by Noary.

“Hey, Archive. Is that the same Noary you work for?”

“Indeed.”

“Huh. It is…?”

I find that a little hard to believe. I mean, Noary is a superfamous group that does all sorts of things from selling electrical appliances to carrying out energy-related projects I don’t understand. How can a giant company even I’ve heard of be hiding a secret organization like this? …Actually, maybe it’s because of its size that this is possible.

Thinking about it, they couldn’t prevent an incident like this from reaching the news or evacuate such a large area unless they spent a huge amount of money and convinced a lot of people to keep quiet, right?

“Do you work for a secret division of the company, like you see in TV dramas? Are you on the side of justice?”

“That is not too far off, I suppose… But we are not allies of justice.”

“Oh. You’re not?”

My hands pause as I brush her hair. The way that Archive and her coworkers protected me gave the impression that they’re some kind of heroes, but I don’t actually know what their motives are.

Perhaps it’s because she’s picked up on my apprehension, but Archive leans her face slightly back toward mine.

“No organization would go do this without having something to gain. At least, not normally… And Noary is no different. That said, Noary’s goal is to maintain the balance of the world, so it is close to volunteer work…”

“…?”

“I suppose you can think of us as enemies of evil.”

“Enemies of evil”? How is that different from “allies of justice”?

As we chat, I gather Archive’s hair on the top of the right side of her head and fix it in place with a hair band.

“All done!”

I come around the sofa to look at Archive from the front and admire her adorable side ponytail.

“You look so cute!”

“The right side of my head is heavy.”

She tilts her head to the side slightly as if it feels a bit weird. Even that little gesture is super cute.

“Can I take a picture?” I ask.

“I do not mind,” replies Archive.

I lift the mobile device they gave me to take a picture, but Archive is sitting up ramrod straight and not smiling at all. I hardly feel like I can ask her to say cheese and make a peace sign…

Oh, I know!

I grab a large doll from the corner of the room and give it to her.

“This is…”

It’s Sir Penny, a round penguin dressed like a knight. He’s the main character of a TV show I love called Prudence, Sir Penny!

“Do you know him?! It’s Sir Penny!”

“…Yes. I am familiar.”

Is it just me, or does she look kind of annoyed? Is everything okay? …Well, whatever!

“I love him so much! The series has been going viral every week whenever a new episode comes out! I got obsessed with it just before it got popular.”

Archive holds Sir Penny up to eye level and stares at it.

“I want you to squeeze it tight for me. Like this!” I say, hugging my chest.

Even if she doesn’t smile, the contrast of Archive’s blank expression with the cuteness of her hairstyle and Sir Penny will make for an adorable picture. I hold up the mobile device to take the photo, but for some reason, Archive doesn’t move. She just stares at Sir Penny in front of her face.

“Ms. Archive?”

“Hey, I’m back.”

That was Karamori’s voice from the front door. He’s back from his shopping trip.

He opens the living room door and comes in, laden down with plastic bags from a convenience store in both hands. He looks at us and gasps.

“…!”

Karamori freezes, and the bags slip from his hands. His eyes glisten as he stares at us—no, at Archive—looking as if he’s just seen a ghost. It almost looks like he’s about to cry…

For a moment, it feels as if time has stopped in the room. The noise from the TV feels like it’s coming from another world.

“…My apologies. That must have been quite painful,” Archive says, and time resumes. She raises her eyebrows slightly, sets Sir Penny aside, and casually removes the hair band.

“…You have nothing to apologize for,” Karamori says.

“I know.”

After that brief exchange, Karamori looks at me with a start.

“S-sorry, Fujinaka! I ruined the mood, didn’t I?”

He smiles again and picks up the plastic bags, then sets an array of bread, pasta, and more on the living room table.

Huh? I said he didn’t need to get me anything…

“All right, Fujinaka. I know you said you’re not hungry, but you should eat anyway. You’ll feel better for it.”

Karamori seems like a pretty considerate person. Something I don’t understand clearly passed between him and Archive just now, but he quickly brushed it off with a smile. He bought me food and showed me that magic trick when he first got here…though I hadn’t really given him much of a reaction.

I get the feeling he’s the sort of perpetually friendly guy that exists in every class. How does he manage that while doing such a dangerous job as a high schooler? It seems like he has lots of secrets of his own.

While I’ve been thinking, Karamori has set out a variety of food in front of me. There’s a strawberry jam roll, red rice onigiri, strawberry no-bake cheesecake… I can’t possibly eat all this.

Wait a second…

I just noticed something about the food.

“This is all egg free…”

“You’re allergic, aren’t you? I’m glad I realized.” Karamori smiles. “I saw there were some egg-free desserts among the remaining food, so I figured that might be the case. I also noticed the strawberry accessory on your bag and the strawberries in the kitchen and guessed you might like them.”

“Whoa, that’s kind of scary,” I say, at the risk of sounding rude. I know he’s being kind, but it’s terrifying that he got that close to the truth with so little information!

I’m revising my earlier observation: He’s not just pretty considerate. He’s insanely considerate.

Although I feel bad about it, I tell him…

“Well, actually…it’s my mom who was allergic to eggs, not me.”

“Wait, really?” Karamori’s voice pitches up in surprise.

“Y-yeah. I appreciate the thought, though.”

Archive shakes her head.

“Mr. Karamori, you’re making Ms. Fujinaka uncomfortable.”

“Huh?”

Karamori looks taken aback by Archive’s accusation.

“He’s not! I was actually really impressed,” I protest.

“It is better to be honest, Ms. Fujinaka,” Archive says calmly. “I also find his need to take care of others unsettling. When my clothes were torn during our last mission, he had a backup outfit ready, which he had bought for me. It was exactly the right size. That sent a chill down my spine, which I assure you is no easy feat.”

“Your sizes are in the database,” Karamori says indignantly.

“Just wait until he serves you white rice and asks if you prefer Koshihikari or Yumepirika.”

“Come on, I wouldn’t go that far.”

Archive and Karamori feel like polar opposites. They look like they get along fine, but I get the sense they have a lot of disagreements.

“This is for you, Archive. I picked one at random,” Karamori says, taking out a colorful instant ramen cup.

“I told you I don’t need anything.”

“Don’t tell me fate said you’re not eating tonight.”

Seriously? Instant ramen?

I only met Archive today, but I don’t know if I could think of a food that seemed more at odds with her whole look… Did he buy that for her out of spite?

“…Well, I suppose it would be a waste to let it go uneaten.”

Archive slides the ramen toward herself, looking far from displeased. In fact, is that a hint of a smile?! Her expression didn’t change at all when we talked about fortune-telling earlier!

“Uh, Ms. Archive? Do you like instant ramen?”

“I do not. I am only eating this because I did not originally intend to eat, and if I am going to, I might as well eat something fast… I will be borrowing your kitchen.”

Archive gets up and walks briskly out of the room.

“Surprising, right?” Karamori says as he opens his bento box.

“You can say that again.”

“That’s one thing about her that hasn’t changed…”

There’s a hint of sadness to Karamori’s voice, but he quickly puts on a smile and looks at me.

“By the way, you can drop the ‘mister.’ We’re the same age, after all.”

“Oh… Are you sure?”

“Of course. We’re both second-years in high school. It’s embarrassing, being called ‘Mr. Karamori’ by you.”

“Okay… Honestly, it felt a little weird to me, too.”

“See? Feel free to drop the ‘Miss’ with Archive as well. She doesn’t care.”

“I don’t know if that would feel right with her…”

“Ha-ha-ha. Well, you can call her whatever you want.”

I’ll just call him “Karamori,” then. I much prefer that as well.

I decide to start with the strawberry jam roll. The moment I open the bag, a strawberry scent tickles my nose.

“So, Karamori, why’s a high school student like you doing such a dangerous job?”

I was just trying to make conversation, but Karamori looks troubled by the question.

“That’s, uh…kind of a long story…”

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t realize it was a sensitive topic… You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just…”

Despite Karamori’s claim, I can clearly tell he doesn’t like to be asked that question.

I look at the mysterious sword resting next to the door. Somehow, it managed to cut through Untitled. It feels clearly out of place beside his pistol and state-of-the-art bodysuit.

Just the sight of it sitting there makes me uneasy. Thinking back to the brief glimpse I got of its dark-blue blade, a shiver runs through my body.

Beneath the chains, the entire sheath and handle are made of glittering gold inlaid with blue and red gems. I think the gems are real. It’s undeniably dazzling, but from a design standpoint, it’s gaudy and kind of la—

“You must’ve figured it out by now. The reason I’m doing this job is related to that sword,” Karamori says, following my gaze. “You should be fine, but don’t get too close to it. It’s dangerous. Sorry to disappoint. I know how insanely cool it looks.”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

We stare at each other.

“…You don’t think it’s cool?”

“No. Never. Not at all.”

And just like that, we end up talking late into the night.

The next morning, after the sun comes up, we go to a nearby park.

“So how are you going to move us? What if the book starts wreaking havoc again? We can’t take it where there might be people…”

“Don’t worry. We thought about that. See?”

Karamori points up at the sky. There’s a black helicopter above us, and I watch in disbelief as it descends toward the empty park we’re in. It sweeps the area with strong gusts of wind as it touches down.

“I asked for a private helicopter. We won’t come across anyone up in the air, will we?” Karamori says casually.

…It feels like I’m stepping into a whole new world I know nothing about.

Chapter 2: HALF-WIT ~Green Syndemic~

“Done. Straight-up fire, right?”

“Eh? That’s lame, man. What’s it supposed to be, a pig?”

“Shut up.”

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, plunging the town into darkness.

Five delinquents were spray-painting a trash-strewn tunnel beneath an overpass. Their psychedelic art on the walls wasn’t unskilled, but it was clearly damaging the tunnel’s aesthetic.

Holding a cigarette between his teeth, a young man wearing a knit cap raised his spray can to start his next piece. He quickly froze, surprised to find that someone had beaten him to the spot on the wall in front of him.

The picture looked like a person drawn in black magic marker. Only their top half had been drawn; their arms were complete down to the fingertips, but the artist hadn’t bothered with anything below the torso.

Creepily, the face was blank other than the right eye. This was made all the more unsettling by the painstaking detail of the eye, which stood in stark contrast to the crude outline of the rest of the body. Yet, even in its simplicity, the detailed curves and depressions of the fingertips revealed the skill of the artist.

The young man wasn’t happy.

“What the hell?! Some asshole spoiled our canvas! This crappy drawing’s gettin’ in the way of my art.”

“Ha, art, my ass. Just spray over it, man.”

“Oh, right.”

Laughing with his friends, the youth covered the drawing with spray paint. He decided to spray over it with white first, then draw on top of that. But when he was almost done covering it up, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

“Huh?”

Next to his white paint was the same exact drawing of a person’s upper body.

“Another one? Wait, was that there before?”

He went to paint over it when—

—a hand reached out of the concrete and stabbed him through the arm.

“Aaaaagh!”

Blood spattered. A cry echoed through the tunnel.

His friends watched on in dumbfounded surprise.

First was the bloody arm, but now, something was dragging itself out of the wall.

It was the drawing of the upper body come to life—a half-man made of concrete.

The torso thudded to the ground, and the youth who’d been stabbed was dragged down with it, his face smacking into the pavement.

“Wh-wha—?!”

The young man began to panic, but before his mind could process what was happening, a merciless transformation began. His stabbed arm stopped bleeding, then lost all its hair and wrinkles, and turned completely flat, just like the torso from the drawing. This change radiated out to the rest of his body before he even had the chance to scream—his clothes vanished, his face changed, and before he knew it, there were two one-eyed concrete monsters.

“Eek…”

Once comprehension dawned, the other men began to shrink back. The thing before them was watching them with its one eye, then began to drag itself noisily toward them.

“AAAAAAAHHH!”

The men ran for their lives.

With the Untitled incident in the rearview mirror, Karamori, Archive, and Fujinaka were enduring a bumpy helicopter ride to the Noary base.

Though it was a private helicopter, it was designed for military use and deployed for Canary missions, so the interior was plain and functional with exposed steel bars. A row of cloth-covered seats on either side of the hull offered the only seating.

The three of them were all sitting on the same side, with Karamori in the center. They were all focused on their own activities—Archive was sitting straight-backed and playing cat’s cradle, Fujinaka was using her mobile device to contact her friends, and Karamori…was doing his school homework.

Fujinaka pried her eyes from her device and looked at Karamori. They had no desks, so he was doing his homework on a thin sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. He had a textbook open on his lap—Japanese language, a subject that concluded a week ago at Fujinaka’s school.

“Wow. You really are a high schooler, Karamori,” she said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I try anyway,” he replied with a strained smile.

Fujinaka figured he had his reasons for living a double life, but it was clearly difficult for him.

“That’s gotta be hard… Oh, that one’s wrong. It looks like the passive voice, but it’s actually the polite form of the word.”

“Huh, really? …Are you actually smart, Fujinaka?”

“Hey! You thought I was dumb because of my appearance, didn’t you?!”

Fujinaka scrunched up her face in anger. Her looks and attitude often led people to that misconception, but she’d actually been in the top ten of her grade at her last school.

“No, not at all! I swear I didn’t think that!”

“Reeeally…?”

Fujinaka glared at him, but Karamori brushed it off with a friendly smile.

“Well, actually, I have to translate this section by tomorrow. Do you mind helping me out if I get stuck?”

“Tomorrow?” Fujinaka asked, cocking her head.

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Archive said, still playing with her string.

“Huh?!”

Karamori dropped his mechanical pencil. He and Archive had taken the previous day, which was Friday, off school to handle the Untitled case, and he’d been thinking this whole time that they’d spent one day working the case and another recuperating, making today Sunday.

Karamori turned his head to look at Archive.

“You should’ve told me that earlier!”

“Fate did not say that I would,” replied Archive. “Besides, I assumed you were being diligent and using this bit of free time to study even though tomorrow is the weekend.”

“You’re not serious…”

“More importantly, please look at this. I have a new creation.”

Archive held up her string, which she’d tied into an unbelievably complex shape.

“It is Oda Nobunaga, based on the portrait at the Kobe City Museum.”

“I gotta admit, that’s insane! Just gonna change the subject, are you? Wait… Have you developed a thing for old men or something?”

Archive’s ability to form just about any shape with her string was truly amazing. She clearly had more string than usual, though, which made Karamori wonder if she was cheating with Distortionism.

Now that he knew he didn’t need to finish his homework this instant, he sighed and started putting his textbook and clipboard away. Archive, who had been watching him, looked up. Her scarlet eyes stared off into the distance.

“…In our line of work, it’s best to take care of things while you have the opportunity. Especially on days like today.”

“What?” Karamori said, looking at her suspiciously.

Archive’s eyes flicked toward him.

“In three minutes and twelve seconds, we are going to receive two emergency missions.”

“You’re kidding…”

It had been a full day since the Untitled case, but Karamori was still less than thrilled about the prospect of going right back to work.

He could have scolded Archive for not sharing that information sooner, but there was no point. She didn’t do anything that fate hadn’t decided for her. Even though she was perfectly capable of it…

“Give me the details.”

“The first mission concerns an ongoing case in Aichi Prefecture. The second is in relation to a detention center in Shizuoka. From here, we shall make for the former.”

Karamori felt the helicopter change course. It must be heading toward Aichi.

“People have been going missing in a certain region of Aichi, and it sounds like there is a high probability a vanit is behind it. We will be asked to investigate the target and destroy it.”

“Is it an Unbreakable?”

“Unclear. It is, however, quite violent and has mutated four mid-level investigators who tried to destroy it.”

“It mutated them?” Karamori asked, raising an eyebrow at the unsettling word.

“Yes. According to the report, the vanit is able to transform anyone it does sufficient harm to into a copy of itself.”

Karamori frowned. “So it’s a self-propagating vanit… We’ll have to take care of it quickly. We’ll leave Fujinaka with the other investigators and—”

“No,” Archive said, cutting him off. “We will have her accompany us.”

“Huh? Why?” Karamori asked.

Fujinaka’s eyes went wide.

“Because we will need her and Untitled for the second mission.”

“…”

Karamori crinkled his nose, looking displeased.

The disappearances were occurring in a perfectly ordinary town in Aichi Prefecture, which was lined with houses and apartment buildings.

Karamori, Archive, and Fujinaka were walking through a shopping arcade just outside the town limits. It was dusk, and yet the street was still crowded.

“Two weeks ago, a young man went missing. His friends testified that he was attacked by a monster. None of them was taken seriously at first, but those friends soon began to disappear in succession, and unfortunately, word of these disappearances reached the news. The abnormal nature of this case and consistent mention of monsters in witness testimony led undercover Noary agents to determine that a vanit is involved and implement a media blackout,” Archive reported.

“How do people describe the monsters?” Karamori asked.

“As the upper half of a person with a face that only features a single large right eye. Multiple people have claimed that the monsters begin as drawings that emerge from a wall.”

“Sounds like a vanit all right.”

Karamori felt a tinge of relief that news of these incidents hadn’t reached the wider public, which would have led to mass hysteria.

“You said the victims are disappearing, so…”

“It is as you imagine. With each passing incident, the number of eyewitness reports detailing the monsters has increased. The vanits are almost certainly the missing victims.”

“…”

Karamori sighed and shook his head.

“Um, Karamori? I can’t do this! I shouldn’t be here! What if the book eats all these people?!” Fujinaka cried out, walking behind them. She sounded terrified.

“There is no need for concern,” Archive reassured her. “I am devoting eighty percent of my power to binding Untitled. Even if it multiplied and there were ten of them, it would not be able to break free.”

The effort Archive was expending to keep Untitled in check meant that, like last time, Karamori would have to handle this mission almost entirely alone.

Yesterday, Fujinaka had been unwilling to take Untitled out of the study, no matter how many times they explained to her that the book was properly sealed. Archive had finally managed to set her at ease by flattening the entire study into a single sheet of paper and wrapping it around the book, saying, “There. It is still in the study.”

The effect of the study’s barrier had almost certainly vanished when the room was flattened, but Karamori didn’t say anything. Archive’s stunt had a strong visual impression and had only been done to convince Fujinaka that the book was safe to carry around.

“Why did you bring me with you anyway?” Fujinaka asked.

“As I explained in the helicopter, we could not leave you and Untitled unsupervised, nor could I let Karamori go on this mission alone. That is not an option on a mission like this, where combat is inevitable.”

“…”

Archive’s answer made Karamori grimace.

“Well, being around all these people is freaking me out…,” Fujinaka said. “Will those half-body things show up here?”

“Unclear. However, I do not think the vanits are attacking people at random. The victims all have certain traits in common, and I believe that is where we should begin our investigation.”

“What do they have in common?” she asked.

“Of the nine confirmed victims, six are second-year boys at Shujitsu High School. They are all the type people would commonly refer to as ‘delinquents.’”

Fujinaka went pale. It looked like hearing specific information about the victims had hit her hard. Karamori could sympathize.

“So there’s a pattern to the people who’ve been targeted?” he asked.

“It appears so. If the vanits attacked indiscriminately, significantly more of the town’s population would already be mutated. Those six Shujitsu High students were apparently close friends.”

“This is one picky vanit… If we’re right about the pattern, that is.”

There had been plenty of cases where a vanit made it look as if it was following some sort of a pattern while actually doing whatever it wanted. It wouldn’t have been surprising, for instance, to learn that Untitled could eat more than just writing. Trying to apply logic to an object containing distorted reason was futile.

“The other three confirmed victims are Noary employees who tried to capture the vanit, only to be attacked themselves and mutated. If we are looking for a pattern among the victims, I believe it logical to look exclusively at the second-year Shujitsu High students and consider the Noary employees as being exceptions on the basis of self-defense.”

“Agreed.”

“The target has been named ‘Half-wit.’ This seems to be a joke based on the shape of its body.”

As she spoke, Archive’s steps quickened, and she wandered away from the other two toward the side of the road.

““?””

Karamori and Fujinaka tilted their heads in confusion—but then he noticed a ramen shop on the side of the street Archive was headed for. It was dinner time, and the smell of tonkotsu was wafting out onto the street.

“Are you serious? Your fate is to eat ramen right now?”

“Of course not,” Archive said blankly. The other two had caught up by now, and true to her word, she passed by the ramen shop…though her head turned to face it the entire time.

“If you want to eat there that badly, we can stop by on the way back,” Karamori said.

“…Unfortunately, fate has decided on a different meal for me tonight.”

“Oh, really? And what’s that?”

“Yakiniku.”

“Wow, fancy.”

They reached the end of the shopping arcade and entered a residential area.

A look of relief crossed Fujinaka’s face. “Um, so where are we going now?”

“The home of the sole remaining member of the five young men present at the first attack. If Half-wit follows its pattern, it will target him next.”

“And if it doesn’t…?” Fujinaka asked.

“Then someone else will be killed,” Archive answered flatly. “Even if it adheres to the established pattern, there is no guarantee this boy will be the next target. However, the pattern will dictate that the vanit appears before Karamori.”

“Huh? How do you know that?”

“Because the fate imposed upon him desires it.”

The blond girl looked at the lotus-patterned sword bag over Karamori’s shoulder.

“Mr. Karamori, please take out that ‘keychain bought on an elementary school field trip’ of a weapon of yours.”

“…Don’t tell me you’re talking about Tyrfing.”

Archive stared at him as if that should be obvious.

“Even if it is a cursed sword, that’s a really rude thing to say about it,” he said indignantly.

“I assure you, it most certainly is cursed.”

“That’s not funny. Why do I need Tyrfing already anyway? Is Half-wit close?”

“…We may have more than just Half-wit to worry about.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

Karamori frowned, confused.

“This has not officially been confirmed by Noary, but there are rumors that Grave Nest is on the move.”

“Huh?! What are they doing here?!” Karamori asked, eyes wide and voice raw with anger.

“This case drew too much attention before Noary implemented the media blackout, so their presence would not be surprising.”

“But their objective is to—”

Karamori was interrupted by a man’s scream from across the street.

“AAAAAAH!”

It was a harrowing cry that made the red of the evening sky feel like the color of blood. Fujinaka jumped, startled, while Karamori drew Tyrfing from the sword bag and dashed forward so fast it seemed as if he’d leave his own shadow behind. In seconds, he was way out in front of the two girls.

Karamori pinpointed the direction the voice was coming from. He ran down three streets, turned a corner, and found a terrible spectacle unfolding in a dim dead-end alley.

A young man was trembling on the ground as a middle-aged man protected him, bleeding from one of his arms. Cinder block walls surrounded them to their left, right, and back, while a horde of concrete monsters shaped like human torsos—the Half-wits—approached them from the front. The unsettling creatures protruded from the walls and asphalt filling the whole alley, their delicately carved right eyes staring fixedly at the shaking youth.

“Are you two okay?!” Karamori asked as he positioned himself before the high school student and the older man—presumably a Noary investigator assigned to protect the youth.

“You’re here, sir. They came after him, just as we expected… Be careful. They can freely move in and out of the walls. But what’s even more troublesome…is their speed.”

Karamori took in the horde of Half-wits.

“The report said there were about ten of them…”

There were clearly more than twenty just in that alley.

“I’m sorry, sir. More of our team members have been killed…”

“Damn…”

There was no time to mourn his comrades’ deaths.

True to the investigator’s word, one of the Half-wits sank into the ground, becoming a picture and racing toward the wall the young man was leaning against. A needle-thin arm jabbed out of the wall, but Karamori deflected it with Tyrfing.

“Take this…!” he cried, spinning into a roundhouse kick that shattered the Half-wit’s arm. But the limb immediately pulled back into the picture and reformed.

A different Half-wit raced forward next with astounding speed. It tried to attack the high school student from below, but…

“Not happening!”

Karamori grabbed the young man by the collar and pulled him away just in time to avoid the protruding arm. He then shifted his hands to the tip of the scabbard and swung it. The scabbard slid back as far as the chains allowed, slightly exposing the dull blue blade near the hilt. It left an azure trail and severed the arm.

There was no scream, but the Half-wit clearly looked shaken as it withdrew its arm into the ground. This time, the arm didn’t reform. The creature’s right eye stared at the ruined limb, and its unease seemed to spread to the Half-wits behind it, which began to move restlessly.

Karamori gnashed his teeth. Each one of these monsters used to be human. This was all that was left of them…

Three monsters sank into the asphalt and walls and rushed at him, giving him no time to think. Their target had completely shifted to Karamori.

He started to reach for his sword, but hesitated. His hands were shaking.

The Half-wits all leaped out simultaneously.

“Coffin.”

A clear voice rang out, and three black coffins made of words appeared before the Half-wits. Momentum carried the creatures into the open caskets, and the lids closed before they could escape.

Karamori turned around and saw Archive and Fujinaka. They’d caught up.

“Funeral Procession,” Archive said, twisting her string. The coffins shook violently, sank into the asphalt, and disappeared.

Karamori frowned. The blond girl’s figure was blurring.

“Archive…?”

He’d seen this before. It happened whenever Archive disobeyed her fate.

Thankfully, the dramatic blurring lasted only a moment before Archive returned to normal. She stood up straight with her usual rigid posture, and a faint grimace flickered across her face, as if she were seriously ill.

“I…I’m fine, Karamori… They are no longer human. If you hesitate to cut them down, you may not die, but other people will.”

“You think I don’t know that…?!”

Karamori swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and looked at the Half-wits.

“I’m sorry…”

He pulled back Tyrfing’s scabbard to expose a small piece of the azure blade, doing his best to make the unnatural metal appear threatening.

The reaction of the Half-wits surprised him. It was unclear if they were capable of fear, but the monstrous pictures sank into the ground and fled down the street away from him.

“Hey… Wait!”

They were too fast to chase. He also couldn’t leave the collapsed young man and the investigator behind.

“Hound Dogs.”

Before Karamori could make up his mind what to do, multiple dark shapes shot past him—black dogs made of writing summoned by Archive, who ran after them.

“I will pursue the Half-wits. Take care of those two.”

“H-hey!”

Karamori felt a strong sense of unease as he watched Archive race down the street. Her body blurred again as she ran. He considered her words and actions. Was she really obeying fate? If not, then why?

He knew no matter how much he thought about that question, it wouldn’t lead him to any answers, so he put it out of his mind. Karamori watched Archive turn a corner and disappear from view, then kneeled down beside the collapsed investigator and the young man.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be fine,” the older investigator responded, stanching the bleeding from his arm.

The youth was dazed from being dragged around by Karamori and didn’t answer right away, but he appeared uninjured, at least. When he finally managed to speak, he said, “Wh-who the hell are you two…? Are you involved with Takeo, as well?”

“Huh? Who’s Takeo—?”

“Well, well, well. Whadda we have here? I felt a massive distortion this way, and who do I find but a couple of cute little Noary birdies.”

A voice deep and rumbling like a storm echoed through the alley.

Karamori looked up and saw a burly man standing further down the street. He was wearing a pitch-black trench coat—even though it was the end of spring—and had a shaved head, a heavily creased face, and a large, hooked nose. A smile increased the wrinkles around his small, beady eyes, which glared out from within the folds.

Even more conspicuous than his large build was the giant anchor he was carrying on one shoulder. It was heavily rusted and almost seemed to float in the air.

Karamori immediately stepped in front of Fujinaka, the investigator, and the young man, taking a quick-draw stance. The timing of this man’s arrival, his intimidating aura, and his unique appearance—it was clear he was no ordinary person. Most disturbingly, Karamori hadn’t even noticed him until he spoke up.

He scanned the eccentric man’s clothes, then looked him in the face. “You’re from Grave Nest… Pyrovault, right?”

“Heh, I figured you’d know me.”

Sweat trickled down Karamori’s brow. Very few people were able to gain any kind of notoriety among the hidden world in which he and others involved with Distortionism resided. Someone’s name being well known was, in and of itself, proof of how formidable they were.

“Why is Grave Nest after the Half-wits? Are you so short on members that you’ve stooped to recruiting monsters?”

Pyrovault’s small eyes went wide, then he put a hand to his forehead and burst into laughter.

“Ha-ha-ha! Was that a joke, or are you actually that stupid? That must mean… Huh, you guys are…” The large man barked with laughter. “Use your brain, kid! I expected more from a high-and-mighty Noary investigator.”

Karamori had no idea what was so funny, but he brushed off the man’s taunting laughter and calmly held Tyrfing at the ready.

“Whoa there, kid. You’d better be careful pointing that immortal-slaying sword at me. Heh-heh…,” Pyrovault chuckled to himself and stroked his jaw. His creeping gaze coiled around Karamori. “…You’re much younger than I thought you’d be. You’re Noary’s Vanit Slayer, right? I knew it as soon as I saw that corny sword.”

“Corny?! It looks super cool!”

“…Huh?”

“Huh?”

A sudden silence befell the alley. Both men seemed equally baffled by the other.

“Oh, you actually… Sorry ’bout that,” Pyrovault eventually said, looking awkward.

“Why’re you apologizing?”

Pyrovault cleared his throat and reassumed his arrogant attitude.

“Uh, forget it,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

“…?”

The man’s grin deepened.

“Four years ago, you handled a case. My son was one of the victims.”

Karamori went pale.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I ain’t holding a grudge. Anyone who gets into this line of work and expects to die old, surrounded by their loved ones, is an idiot. We started that whole mess anyway. But that ain’t stopping me—”

The man dashed forward, closing the distance in an instant.

“—from getting my revenge!”

“…!”

Karamori didn’t even have time to gasp before he reflexively swung his scabbard up. It collided with Pyrovault’s anchor without a second to spare, and the cacophonous clang of metal sent a tremor down his spine.

“Damn!” he spat.

The anchor was incredibly heavy. It was hardly a realistic weapon under normal circumstances, which could only mean one thing…

It’s a vanit!

Pyrovault swung the anchor again and grazed the younger man’s cheek.

“That’s a crazy weapon!” Karamori said.

“Yeah! It’s stupid hard to use, I ain’t gonna lie!” Pyrovault agreed, striking with the anchor again.

The weapons violently collided, then a second and a third time. The larger man clearly had the advantage.

“You’re damn good with that sword, kid!”

The anchor crashed powerfully into Karamori’s shoulder. He immediately swung the chained Tyrfing, knowing he had no time to wallow in pain, but the sheath bounced easily off Pyrovault’s arm. Karamori regrouped, drew the gun at his waist, and fired it at his opponent’s head. He knew his aim was good, but for some reason, none of the bullets hit their target.

“Who the hell’s still susceptible to guns?! Whew, hand-to-hand combat is such a blast! You definitely belong in this world, kid! But unfortunately…”

Karamori bent low, his eyes glittering with malice, fixed on Pyrovault’s right leg. He slid Tyrfing half from its sheath in a desperate attempt to turn the tables and was just about to swing it when—

“You’re making too many rookie mistakes.”

He felt his skin tear open. Karamori looked down and saw three large gashes running from his shoulder to his stomach. They resembled the claw marks of some sort of large beast.

Blood spurted from his wounds. Karamori couldn’t even process what had happened.

Pyrovault tapped the anchor with a fist.

“This thing is definitely hard to use, but it’s sure as hell strong enough to make up for that.”

Karamori collapsed face forward. The larger man thrust the anchor mercilessly down toward his head.

“Barbed Spear.”

A long spear summoned by a female voice flew through the air toward Pyrovault.

“Whoa there!”

Pyrovault quickly altered the anchor’s path and deflected the spear.

“Wouldja look at that. We’ve got company.” He glanced down the street, which had been empty just moments before, to see Archive, her figure blurring and her face contorted in pain. She was forming a shape with her red string. “What’d you do, teleport? That’s rare nowadays.”

“N-no… I simply came back… Fate did not determine I would chase those monsters.” Holding it out in front of her eyes, Archive finished a shape with her hemp string and said, “Exorcism.”

A deluge of gold strings shot out of her formation and rushed at Pyrovault. The older man jumped backward. He fished a hand into the breast pocket of his trench coat, pulled out a fist-sized black glass vial that shouldn’t have been there, and threw it. It collided with the supernatural strings and burst into flame, burning them all up.

“I see now why they call you Pyrovault,” Archive said. “Is your coat full of those incendiary bottles?”

“Hmm? Wouldn’t you like to know. I could have much more than just bottles in there, couldn’t I?” Pyrovault looked at the anchor he was carrying. “Luck’s on your side today, Vanit Slayer. Have fun exterminating all those monsters!”

He took a vial out of his coat and smashed it on the ground, causing blue flames to erupt upward and envelop his body. When they died down, no trace of him remained.

“Karamori!”

Fujinaka ran up to Karamori, who had collapsed onto the ground. His clothing was stained scarlet.

“I’m okay, Fujinaka… These are just like scratches to us.”

The bodysuit Karamori wore under his clothes shined softly and stopped his bleeding. It was woven from a special material produced by vanit and given to Canaries to help them against the otherworldly opponents they were sent to fight. The thin material was impossibly strong and could do things that would otherwise be unimaginable.

Fujinaka looked at Archive.

“Who the heck was that guy?” she asked.

“A member of Grave Nest, an organization that seeks to collect vanits and profit off their unusual abilities. Once they get wind of a vanit, they will do anything to obtain it. That includes killing people who get in their way.”

“Kill…?!” Fujinaka echoed, shocked by the other girl’s matter-of-fact tone.

“Archive…stop scaring Fujinaka,” Karamori said, slowly sitting up. He was still pale, but his suit had restored his mobility.

“Mr. Karamori, I disposed of most of the Half-wits, but two or three escaped,” she said dispassionately.

Karamori looked at her with confusion. “That’s… Thanks. You did plenty. But why’d you come back? That isn’t like you.”

“It was a gamb—”

But before she could finish the word, Archive began to blur, and she closed her mouth.

“A gamble?” Karamori asked, but Archive remained silent, pain etched on her face. He raised his eyebrows. “Fate not letting you answer?”

Deciding not to press it further, he approached the young man who had been under the investigator’s protection.

“Sorry. All sorts of things started happening at the same time, and it got a bit chaotic. Are you okay?”

“O-okay? Of course I’m not okay! Who the hell are you people?” the young man asked, trembling with fear.

“Think of us as people who work to eliminate monsters like those. You should forget about the old man who got here after us. You said something that caught my attention earlier. About someone named Takeo?”

“Y-yeah. I did. I just know those monsters have something to do with that loser. I’m sure of it!”

“Calm down. First things first, who’s Takeo?”

“He is referring to Takeo Komaki, a second-year student at Shujitsu High,” Archive said casually. “Mr. Komaki is in the art club, and to put it bluntly, he is being bullied by the victims of this case.”

“H-how do you know that?” the young man asked. He looked at Archive with fear in his eyes, but Karamori ignored his question and continued.

“So why do you think Takeo is involved in this case?”

“I—I mean…those things look exactly like the pictures Takeo always draws!”

“…!!”

A shock ran through Karamori, Archive, and the older investigator. Revelation struck them like a bolt of lightning; that single sentence was enough for them to realize they had overlooked one important possibility.

The Half-wit came from a drawing.

A drawing implied an artist and a drawing utensil.

That thought hadn’t occurred to them because they had been so preoccupied by the abnormal nature and ferocity of the Half-wits. They dealt with such strange phenomena in their line of work that a drawing spawning out of nowhere was hardly something to bat an eye at. Still, it would have been a good idea to try to consider the situation from a more logical angle.

“Archive, where does this Takeo live?!” Karamori asked.

“I have located his home. Please follow me,” Archive said, breaking into a run before she finished speaking. Karamori followed her.

That must have been what Pyrovault was talking about. And given what he’d said, the man was likely going to pay Takeo a visit himself—to capture either Takeo or the tool he’d used to draw the Half-wit.

The late-evening sun hid behind a cloud before it dipped below the horizon.

“It’s not my fault… It’s not my fault…”

Takeo Komaki sat on his bed in a dimly lit room with the curtains drawn, his arms around his knees. He was trembling, overwhelmed by his guilt.

A beam of evening sunlight snuck in through a gap in the curtains. It divided the room with an orange line, swaying gently.

“Ah, I see… You’re the oblivious type, eh? Or maybe it’s a special drawing utensil that’s to blame.”

The boy looked up to see a large man in the room.

“Wha—?!” he screamed, jumping up and falling out of his bed.

The man had a wrinkled face and a large, hooked nose. The corners of his lips curled upward like a carnivore eyeing its prey.

“Wh-who are you?”

“Just a friendly old man. Consider me a shoulder to cry on. Ha-ha-ha! You have a problem you want to discuss, don’cha? Say, I dunno, how you conveniently managed to create a monster that’s killing all the people you hate?”

“I-it’s not like that! I had no idea the pen had this kind of power! I just wanted it to teach them a lesson! I even stopped drawing before it was done because I thought I was being stupid! And now that half-finished drawing…it’s…”

The boy held his head and cowered. The man, however, was unforgiving. He grabbed the boy by the neck and slammed him against the wall.

“Gah…!”

“No crying, brat. You’re gonna tell me what you know. Quickly. I don’t have much ti—”

A sharp sound cut through the air, and something flew toward Pyrovault, interrupting him. He let go of the boy and jumped back just before a wooden arm pierced the space where he’d just been standing.

On the wall behind the boy, who was violently wheezing, was the original Half-wit. Other Half-wits had also appeared on the walls and floor.

“Huh. I didn’t know they could do that,” Pyrovault said, keeping his cool.

The Half-wits slid rapidly toward Pyrovault. They leaped from the carpet and walls and chopped at him with their arms.

“Word of advice: If you become the material you emerge from, you really shouldn’t pop outta the walls and carpet.” The monsters’ blows failed to penetrate Pyrovault’s coat, and he responded by pulling numerous vials out of his pockets and throwing them in all directions. “And fully emerging was a big mistake.”

Pyrovault smirked as the glass vials shattered, releasing swirling flames that instantly lit the Half-wits on fire. It burned them all up before they had time to sink back into the ground and become pictures again.

Black ash fluttered down through the room like falling cherry blossoms.

“Now then, where were w—?”

This time, he was interrupted by the shattering of the window.

Shin Karamori burst into the room, swinging his golden scabbard horizontally as he landed.

“How’d you get here so quickly?!” Pyrovault yelled, raising his arm and easily blocking the scabbard with a clang. The arm he’d blocked the blow with was covered in what looked to be the same metal his anchor was made of. “Can’t you just let me have this one, Vanit Slayer? The early bird gets the worm and all that?”

“As if I’d give him to the kind of scum who would turn an entire town’s population into jewels for money!”

“Ha, I remember that like it was yesterday!”

Pyrovault delivered a slashing kick to Karamori’s stomach, making his face contort in pain, then grabbed the younger man’s head and threw him out the window with incredible strength. Karamori fell toward the garden, surrounded by glass fragments. He landed gracefully and looked up to see Pyrovault jump down after him.

A gigantic shadow made of text descended on the man’s head. Archive had caught up. She had twisted her red string into a shape symbolizing an elephant’s foot.

“Don’t interfere, girlie!”

Pyrovault effortlessly dodged the leg of text and thrust a hand into his opposite sleeve. The black coat swallowed his arm up like a swamp, and when he withdrew it, he was holding a blue glass vial. He threw it at Archive, and it exploded into red flames that threatened to engulf both her and Fujinaka by her side.

“…! Ms. Fujinaka!” Archive cried out, panic written across her face. She formed her string into the shape of a basket and pointed it at the trembling Fujinaka just before the scorching flames wrapped around them both.

“You should know better than to challenge me while most of your power is being diverted elsewhere,” Pyrovault said.

“Fujinaka! Archive!” Karamori yelled.

“I’m not gonna kill them. That brown-haired girl has a real nice distortion. I want her for myself.”

“You bastard!”

Karamori pounced at Pyrovault like a beast, his hair standing on end. The larger man pulled his anchor out of his coat with an unwavering smile and used it to fend him off. Karamori continued swinging Tyrfing with reckless abandon, even trying to attack with the chains extending from the pommel, but Pyrovault blocked every blow with his anchor and flames. Until, eventually…

“…!”

An invisible slash split Karamori’s shoulder open. Pyrovault used the opportunity to pull an orange vial out of his coat and break it, freeing multiple birds made of flame that swooped at Karamori. The younger man struck down as many as he could with the chains and scabbard, but a few got through and collided into his abdomen. This slowed him down, and Pyrovault fiercely pressed him by swinging his anchor, which nicked Karamori on the neck as he dodged.

Drops of blood flew through the air, which was heavy with malice. A sharp pain made Karamori pull his arm back by reflex, and he saw that his palm had been cut by an invisible slash. While he was distracted, a torrent of flame assaulted his right side.

“Gaaaaah!”

The intense flames burned through not only Karamori’s jacket but his special bodysuit, exposing much of his skin from his right shoulder down.

Karamori backed up and regrouped. He studied his right arm, which was trembling from the agony. There were signs of internal bleeding and burns, but he could still move it.

His eyes drifted unwillingly to the blue-black mark between his right elbow and wrist.

“Hah… Haaah…”

The footsteps of death approaching echoed in his ears.

It was clear this man was far stronger than him. He had no chance in this fight.

Pyrovault walked toward him, saying something that Karamori couldn’t make out. He seemed so big, so imposing, wearing that black coat which made him look like the grim reaper.

Karamori’s breathing felt impossibly loud. The aches and pains throughout his body had fried his brain.

A sluggish thought arose to the forefront of his mind.

Am I going to die here?

There was only one way he’d make it through this. But if he did that…

Just then, the voice of a small child whispered in his ear.

“Stop resisting, Shin… Your wish was to live, right? So just do that. You have to live.”

Karamori’s eyes quivered, and his breathing grew ragged. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and a bead of red ran down his chin.

Shut up. I can’t draw it! There has to be another way! There has to be…!

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll make sure to find a proper use for those two girls.”

The light faded from Karamori’s eyes.

Pyrovault ran toward him and raised his anchor. There were no openings in his guard, and he moved with the speed of a true master.

To beat him, you would need the speed of a god.

The man swung the anchor down.

As sparks flew between the weapons, Karamori drew Tyrfing from its scabbard.

A split second later, Pyrovault’s right arm went flying through the air.

It had been severed along with the sleeve of his coat, still holding the anchor, and left a spray of blood in its wake.

Pyrovault’s mind was slow to catch up.

Karamori had vanished before his very eyes, and all the one-armed man could sense now was a demonic presence behind his back.

Groaning, he turned to see a dark figure with the red evening sun at its back. The kid wasn’t just dark because he was backlit; an unsettling black mark shaped like flames had grown to cover his entire exposed arm and his face.

Strangely, the sword in his hands reflected no sunlight, remaining a dull blue. Yet it appeared to be so sharp that no blood could stick to it. Something about that contradiction made the sword feel overpoweringly sinister.

“It’s the azure sword…!” Pyrovault said, his grin widening.

He looked his opponent in the eyes and was met with a lifeless gaze that seemed to bore through his skull. The kid’s expression was worse than hostile—it was devoid of all emotion. He seemed like an entirely different person.

“Ha-ha-ha… It’s time to see what Vanit Slayer is truly capable of!”

Pyrovault pulled an orange vial out of his coat and crushed it in his hand. Flame exploded upward and coalesced into seven birds that flew at Karamori. But though they darted about and tried to attack with unpredictable movements, they were promptly dispatched with seven quick gunshots.

Shocked by the kid’s impossibly precise gunfire, Pyrovault picked up his anchor from his severed arm, having already planned for his next attack. He triggered a torrent of invisible slashes with his mind, targeting the spot where Karamori was standing, and each one ripped through the air with merciless speed and strength.

The kid avoided them all.

“You gotta be kidding!”

His speed was astonishing. Before drawing the sword, Karamori had been fast enough that it was hard to follow his actions, but now, it looked like he was teleporting. And yet, his movement didn’t feel inhuman. He simply performed every action with the perfect precision of a well-oiled machine.

The next thing Pyrovault knew, Karamori was right in front of him.

“…!”

The azure blade arced toward him, its chains trailing behind. Pyrovault broke into a cold sweat.

“Let’s see you dodge this!”

Pyrovault swung at the air before him with countless invisible slashes. He meant them to act as a shield that would tear the kid apart if he passed through it.

But he underestimated his opponent. The youth didn’t slow in his strike; instead, he twisted into unnatural positions and evaded each of the swings in turn.

The impossible sight made Pyrovault’s smile tighten.

“Are you even human?!”

There was no answer.

Pyrovault’s gaze collided with Karamori’s lifeless pupils—and that’s when he realized the kid was reading his mind. He was watching his eyes, his gestures, and his facial expressions to foresee his every move. That was how he’d predicted the trajectory of the invisible slashes.

The large man’s face spasmed. Everything the younger man was doing was humanly possible; the precise gunshots, the sharp defensive movements, the human foresight—none of it was supernatural. But while these stunts were theoretically possible, no ordinary person should ever be able to fight so flawlessly.

He was superhuman within the realms of human. That was Shin Karamori’s true strength.

Karamori caught Pyrovault’s attention wavering and instantly closed the distance between them. By the time the larger man cursed to himself, it was too late. He held up his anchor in self-defense, but it might as well have been made of paper for all the good it did him, as Karamori’s blade tore through flesh and metal alike.

“Ah!”

My eyes snap open.

I notice that the fire that enveloped us earlier is gone.

Archive and I are both uninjured. She protected us with a spell just before the fire reached us.

I look around, and what I see sets my heart thundering in my chest. Nearby, a stranger is holding an unnaturally dull sword above a man in a black coat, who has cuts all over his body and is sitting weakly on his knees.

No, not a stranger. That’s Karamori.

I feel my blood drain from my face.

His expression is cold, and his eyes are devoid of light. He looks nothing like the cheerful Karamori I’ve come to know. The unsettling black mark covering his arm and most of his face doesn’t help, either.

The sword he’s holding is the one that he’s refused to draw ever since I met him. Even I, knowing nothing about his and Archive’s world, can feel the wickedness of that dull blue blade.

They’re both so covered in blood that I feel like some of it must be mine. It’s a terribly brutal sight.

“I see. So he drew it,” Archive says next to me.

The blue blade flashes toward the large man’s neck.

I reflexively avert my eyes, but the visceral sound of metal cutting through flesh still reaches me. A groan escapes my lips even though I’m not the one being beheaded. I’m too scared to look up and see what happened to that man.

Terrifyingly, I hear the same sound over and over again, as the sword continues to slice through flesh.

Terror pervades my entire body, overwhelming all other emotions.

“Wh-what’s Karamori doing?” I ask.

“He drew Tyrfing. The sword offers him greater power when free of its scabbard. However, it also takes over his body.”

Does that mean Karamori is being possessed by the sword?

Archive begins to twist the red string in her hands. She settles it into a star shape, and before I can think about what that might mean, a strange wall of words forms around me. It’s some kind of barrier, translucent like frosted glass.

“Whatever you do, do not move from that spot,” she says.

“What’s going on…?”

“The Norse myth of Tyrfing survives in modern society. It tells of a sword sharp enough to cut through anything, which grants a wish to the wielder before guiding them to ruin. It also says that when it is drawn, it will not return to its scabbard until it claims a life.”

I gulp. They’d told me that Karamori’s abnormal strength came from trading his fate for the sword. But nothing about how every time he draws it, he’s forced to kill someone…

If he draws the sword, it possesses him. If he doesn’t, it owns his fate anyway.

He’s…basically the sword’s slave…

“…The myth, however, gets one key detail wrong,” Archive continues. “The cost for drawing the sword isn’t killing one person; it’s killing until the sword is satisfied.”

“Until it’s s-satisfied…?” I repeat, unable to believe what I’ve just heard.

Does that mean the number of deaths doesn’t matter? He just has to keep killing as long as the sword wants, without any idea of when it will end?

Wait… Archive and I are the only other two people here…

My hands begin to shake.

That means we… He’s going to…

“Do not worry. As long as you stay in there, everything will be—”

Archive’s head flies across the room.

I can’t see clearly through the translucent barrier, but there’s no doubt about it. I saw Archive’s head get cut off, and I saw Karamori standing there with his sword held high. His eyes were cold.

Blood spatters and clings to the barrier around me.

I try to scream but can’t even manage a whimper. A person I was talking to only a second ago…is dead.

Too late, I realize I’m about to throw up.

Clearly unsatisfied, Karamori continues to sink his blade into Archive’s body. Within ten seconds, her remains are reduced to formless scraps of meat, her blood covering the barrier and turning the surrounding area into a red sea.

All I can do is tremble and watch in abject horror. The sight is so shocking I can’t look away.

Karamori falls still. Archive’s flesh is so ravaged there’s nothing left for him to cut.

Those cold eyes turn to look at me.

“Eep…”

That puny squeak is all I can manage. My body feels as if it’s been caked in cement.

I catch sight of something strange: a faintly glowing object rising out of the pool of Archive’s blood. It’s hard to see through the blood-soaked barrier, but it looks like a translucent red book.

That shape. Its size and thickness…

“Untitled…?”

The mysterious book shines brightly, and when the light fades, I see Archive standing there without a speck of blood on her. Her clothes remain in tatters on the ground, but it’s clearly her.

I stare at her in shock.

“You do not need to worry about me,” she says. “This is not the day I die. Fate will not allow it.”

It takes only a few seconds for Karamori to start slicing her apart again.

A hellish scene unfolds from there as I watch Karamori kill Archive again, and again, and again. Each time, she’s mutilated beyond recognition, and each time, she revives as if nothing happened.

Slicing skin and cracking bones are all I hear for who knows how long, and the garden turns from a sea of blood into an ocean. But every time Karamori swings his sword, the flame-like mark covering his skin retreats a little farther back up his right arm.

I watch, trembling with fear.

Karamori mercilessly swings his sword.

And tears stream from his eyes.

The sun had sunk below the horizon by the time it was over.

Karamori stood there breathing heavily and covered in dark, dried blood. Archive watched him, standing a few feet away without a shred of clothing on. Light had returned to his eyes, and the memory of what he’d done had turned into barbs of guilt that stabbed into his heart.

The heinous, unspeakable violence he had committed…

The sword had gained complete control over him.

He glared loathsomely at the naked blade and rammed it back into its scabbard.

“…I’m sorry, Archive.”

“No need to apologize. That is why we were paired together,” she remarked casually.

“…”

Karamori squeezed his eyes shut.

A moment later, the barrier around Fujinaka dispelled. She looked at Karamori with terror in her eyes, cutting deeper than anything else.

“…It’s over? Thank you both for your help.”

The older investigator entered the garden. Seeing Archive, he gave her his jacket, and she thanked him and put it on.

Karamori forced himself to speak. “Sorry, but you took Takeo into custody and evacuated the surrounding residents, right?”

“Yes, sir. When I heard that you drew Tyrfing, I rushed to take precautionary measures. I know that once the blade is loose, you both lose the ability to focus on anything else.”

“I’m really sorry for all the trouble.”

Karamori bowed, and the older investigator shook his head.

“Please, this is nothing compared to the burdens you two have to carry.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a black felt-tip pen. It had a familiar design but lacked any sort of brand name.

“This is the vanit that spawned the Half-wits. As you predicted, the pen itself seems to contain the distortion. I questioned young Komaki, and he told me something rather concerning…”

“…What did he say?”

“That a stranger gave it to him, calling it a wish-granting pen.”

“What…?”

Someone was handing out vanits? That in itself was surprising, but it was made all the more unusual by the fact that they had chosen such an ordinary boy. Had the culprit just been playing around…or was it something else?

“Who is this stranger?” Archive asked.

“I don’t know. But I did have the boy describe him. He said he was horribly scarred on the right side of his face and wore an eyepatch marked with a wing.”

“What?”

The other three looked stunned. Even Fujinaka, who had been in a daze and barely paying attention, went wide-eyed.

A face disfigured on the right side and an eyepatch with a wing… They knew someone who fit that description. Karamori’s mind went right to the portrait he’d seen yesterday in Fujinaka’s house.

Asahi Fujinaka. The man who had created Hitsugi Fujinaka.

“Isn’t he dead?” Karamori asked.

“There was a funeral, which Ms. Fujinaka herself attended. This could be an imposter; however, we are talking about a man who managed to obtain and use Untitled for his own means. It would be foolish to discard the possibility that it is actually him.”

“What…? Dad…?” Fujinaka muttered in a daze. She had to be close to her breaking point, considering everything she had experienced over the last couple of days.

“Please continue your investigation,” Karamori said to the investigator. “Also, can I borrow that pen real quick?”

“Of course. But I must ask, sir, what do you wish to use it for?” the man asked, holding out the pen.

Karamori took the pen, drew Tyrfing halfway from its scabbard, and sliced it in two.

“Wh-what did you…?!”

“I destroyed the target because I felt we were in danger. You can put that in your report.”

Archive picked up the broken fragments of the pen.

“We were not in danger. Why did you destroy it? Regulations stipulate that we should collect and store every vanit we can.”

“If we do that, it’ll just fall into the hands of someone else like Pyrovault. Or like you, or me, or Fujinaka…”

“So you chose to destroy it? Forgoing the use of vanits makes little sense when groups like Grave Nest will have no such moral quandaries. We will need to make appropriate use of them if we are to fight off such organizations.”

“I don’t even want to think about what ‘appropriate use’ could be found for that pen… Sure, maybe some vanits can be used for good, but that’s not gonna stop me from destroying them all. Not as long as they’re capable of causing suffering.”

The older investigator looked bewildered by their testy exchange, and Archive wordlessly gave the pen back to him.

“Perhaps you should have destroyed the pen after using it to draw this impossible dream of yours,” she said, smiling slightly.

Interlude 2: Introspection

Introspection

A few hours after wrapping up the Half-wit case, Karamori, Archive, and Fujinaka were sitting in a yakiniku restaurant in the town.

“Well, cheers,” Archive said in her usual monotone, raising a mug of oolong tea.

“Cheers,” Karamori responded unenthusiastically.

“Ch-cheers…,” Fujinaka managed to say with visible effort.

Karamori was still feeling disheartened from the day’s earlier events, and while Fujinaka was smiling, her hollow eyes made it clear she was mentally exhausted.

Archive had been the one to suggest yakiniku, meaning she must have been telling the truth earlier when she said this was fated to be her dinner tonight. She’d said it would help Fujinaka de-stress, and Karamori had agreed.

Archive gave Karamori an exasperated look.

“Mr. Karamori, how long are you going to let this bother you? This is far from the first time you have butchered me with that sword. It is past time you got used to it.”

“How the hell am I supposed to get used to that?” Karamori snapped. “I never will—and I don’t want to!”

“…I am not her,” Archive said quietly.

Karamori looked away, unable to look her in the face. “I know… But killing a person isn’t exactly a pleasant experience.”

The blond girl sighed. “Well, if you did not have such an aversion to killing, Tyrfing probably would not let you go after just five or six victims. It may be necessary for you to bear this pain if you wish to maintain your humanity.”

“…”

“Anyway, please cheer up, Mr. Karamori. You are scaring Ms. Fujinaka.”

“Huh? No, I… I’m perfectly fine!” Fujinaka insisted, but her strained smile told otherwise. She was obviously still struggling.

Archive was right; he should consider her feelings and try his best to act cheerful.

Karamori put on his best smile.

“S-sorry, Fujinaka. I brought down the mood. Let’s not let all this meat go to waste! After all, I’m buying!”

“Y-yeah. I’m excited!” Fujinaka responded brightly. Though her hands trembled as she held her chopsticks.

Karamori and Archive exchanged a look. For now, it would be best to distract Fujinaka from thinking about their world or her problems. They reached an unspoken agreement not to bring anything like that up.

A waiter walked over to their table, having been summoned by Archive.

“One jajamen, please,” she said.

“…You’re getting noodles at a yakiniku restaurant?” Karamori asked.

“Fate has chosen jajamen for me tonight.”

“I knew you were lying.”

Karamori grabbed a pair of tongs and began to lay out meat on the grill built into the table.

“Fujinaka, you don’t have to worry about Untitled right now,” he said. “We rented out the restaurant and asked another investigator to block off the area with a barrier, so even if the book escapes Archive’s barrier and goes berserk, none of the townspeople will vanish.”

“Oh, really? That makes me feel a bit better.” Fujinaka gave him a carefree smile, but the invisible wall between them remained impenetrable. She probably couldn’t get Karamori’s horrible brutality out of her mind.

“How about you show us one of your strange magic tricks while we wait for the meat to cook, Mr. Karamori?” Archive asked.

“O-oh, good idea. Don’t call them strange, though.”

Karamori honestly thought that doing magic tricks in this gloomy atmosphere sounded like hell, but he forced himself to do one anyway and made the water in his cup disappear.

Despite Fujinaka clearly doing her best to be nice, she barely reacted. The trick at least helped them all relax, and while there was still some awkwardness in the air, they were able to chat as they enjoyed the grilled meat.

However, when Karamori was still only about half full, Fujinaka put down her chopsticks. She took a deep breath and spoke up with a determined expression.

“…Karamori… How many people…have you killed?”

“…!”

The question was a dagger to Karamori’s heart. She obviously knew those words would hurt him; the way she guiltily averted her eyes from his reaction was proof of that, but she quickly looked back toward him.

“More…than me?” she asked.

Karamori narrowed his eyes. He had a vague sense as to why she’d asked.

“…A lot,” he said simply.

Fujinaka bit her lip. She looked at Tyrfing, which was resting next to Karamori.

“…I was afraid of you when you were cutting Archive. She told me the sword forces you to kill regardless of your own wishes, but…when I thought about how many people you must have killed before today, I only felt more scared…”

“…”

“But then I realized something… I’m no different.”

“Fujinaka…”

She stared at her trembling palms. Karamori guessed that she was seeing her perfectly manicured hands stained in blood.

With one act, she had accidentally erased a great many people in her town. Now she was trying to face her sins—or rather, she was being forced to do so by the sight of Karamori’s horrible brutality, as she saw herself in his actions. Her emotions had been numbed by the rapid sequence of abnormal events over the last few days, but they were finally reawakening.

Karamori wondered for a moment if he should distract her from this line of thought. But now that her mind had started going down this path, there was no going back. It would be best to listen and answer sincerely.

Fujinaka clenched her trembling hands.

“I’m terrified… You told me yesterday that if I don’t choose to live, the people I killed will have died for nothing. But I’m so scared…of living with this burden… It still hasn’t really sunk in, and it’s already so hard…!”

The meat began to burn black on the grill, but no one reached for it.

“H-how did you overcome it?” Fujinaka asked.

Karamori looked down. “I…don’t think I have. I still have nightmares of killing people… But I chose to walk this path.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I had a choice. I could have moved to some mountain and lived alone with Tyrfing’s curse until I died. Instead, I chose the path of becoming a Noary special investigator. I chose a job where I have to kill people… I had my reasons for doing that, but it wasn’t my only option.”

Karamori looked Fujinaka in the eyes, his gaze burning with resolve.

“That’s why I don’t have any excuses. I don’t have anyone to blame but myself… So I decided the best thing to do is accept my fear and my pain for what it is. It’s not anyone’s fault. I may have been backed into a corner, but this life was my choice.”

Karamori didn’t falter as he spoke. He’d probably repeated those words to himself hundreds of times.

Fujinaka sighed loudly, impressed by his passion.

“You’re so strong, Karamori… Maybe too strong,” she said, giving him a troubled smile.

“It’s not that simple,” he responded. “It took me months to accept what I’d done. You’re doing so much better than I did. Er, sorry, that’s probably not helpful.”

“No, you helped me calm down in a way… I feel like I can keep doing my best.”

Fujinaka squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then looked at Archive.

“Archive… Exactly how many people…did I kill with Untitled?” Her voice shook, but there was strong determination in her eyes.

Archive looked at Karamori. He nodded.

“Two hundred eighty-nine.”

“…!”

Her face fell for a moment, but she quickly smoothed her expression, doing her best to face the truth head-on. A single tear leaked from her eye and trailed down her cheek.

“Fujinaka…”

“It’s okay… This is my fight…”

“Your fight?”

She wiped her eyes and forced herself to smile.

“Yeah… I can’t fight like you, Karamori… So I guess living itself is my fight? Is that a bit of a stretch?” she said, smiling awkwardly as if embarrassed by her words.

She shined brightly in Karamori’s eyes. The mood relaxed slightly.

The neglected meat on the grill chose that moment to ignite, sending up a column of fire between them all.

“Whoa!”

Karamori and Fujinaka both cried out in surprise, and Archive—who had been watching their conversation out of the corner of her eye—calmly began taking the burnt meat off the grill.

“It appears you lost track of time,” Archive said.

“Ah, ha-ha, sorry…,” Fujinaka said.

“Do not apologize. You needed to talk things out,” Archive said, her scarlet eyes studying Fujinaka. Karamori sometimes felt that her emotions seeped more into her gaze than her words.

“Anyway, this meat’s not gonna eat itself,” he said.

“Ha-ha, I think I’ve had enough,” Fujinaka said.

“Really? Then that’s more for—”

Untitled thudded open.

Karamori looked at the book in shock, the relaxed atmosphere gone in an instant. There was nothing he could do.

Every piece of text in the restaurant peeled from its respective surface and flooded toward Untitled, leaving the menus, posters, and labels on soy sauce bottles all blank. Objects corresponding to the words consumed by the book started to disappear. The chopsticks and order button in front of them vanished, and the sounds of things falling and breaking could be heard throughout the restaurant.

“Untitled! Stop!” Fujinaka yelled.

Untitled immediately stopped glowing and went still. Fujinaka had been able to respond so quickly because she’d feared this exact scenario unfolding all day.

Surprisingly few things had disappeared, but there was something unnatural about the space around them. The tables and chairs had survived, as had their plates and meat, but the wordless posters and menus were more than a little unsettling.

Karamori held his mobile device to his ear.

“Untitled broke loose! Did the barrier hold?!”

“Yes, everything is fine! The barrier contained the damage!” a voice responded.

His head snapped up. Karamori jumped out of his seat and rushed to the kitchen.

The area was a mess. The counters and floor were scattered with utensils and ingredients, but there were clearly far fewer things than normal.

Unsurprisingly, there was no one in the room.

At Karamori’s feet, he found an employee ID tag with a picture and no name.

He stormed back to the table, his face contorted in fury.

Fujinaka saw his expression and went pale.

“I—I didn’t do anything. I swear!” she cried, tears in her eyes.

But Karamori’s anger wasn’t directed at her.

He stepped toward Archive, who was sitting there expressionlessly, and grabbed her collar.

“Why did you dispel Untitled’s barrier?!”

“Huh…?” Fujinaka looked at Archive with fear and shock.

The blond girl remained expressionless. “Surely, you already know the answer. Fate determined that I would do so at this place and time.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you warn me?! If you had, we could have saved the employees! If I hadn’t asked for a barrier to be put up outside, the damage could have been devastating!”

“A foolish question. I did not warn you because fate did not dictate that I would.”

“Don’t you dare give me that! You can just as easily say it was fated that you would tell me! Why do you never share such vital information with me?!”

“Because I am a being that obeys fate. It is as simple as that.”

“Is that really all you can do?!”

“Yes. I’m telling the truth.”

“That’s… That’s…”

Karamori trailed off as he watched her face.

“…I’m telling the truth,” she repeated.

Her voice was cold and blank, but her expression was sorrowful. It looked like she was close to tears. Karamori saw that and forced himself to calm down.

He let go of her collar and tamped down his emotions, letting them simmer unsatisfactorily within him. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Fujinaka by slamming the table in frustration.

“If you lose faith in me, you can end this at any time…by destroying this.”

Archive formed her red string into a square. A mass of red text appeared and quickly formed into a red book.

“I am to be disposed of the moment I am deemed dangerous. That is the condition under which an uncontrollable vanitas like me was allowed to live as a Canary. That is why we were paired together,” she said, holding out the red book.

Karamori looked at her with pity. “Put that away. Hell, you know I’m not going to destroy it.”

“I do wonder. What is this world if not a place where even fate can be distorted?” Archive said, twisting her string and reapplying her barrier to Untitled.

An hour later, the trio found themselves on the roof of a building. It was slightly taller than the surrounding structures, allowing them to look down and watch the lights of the town below. They were waiting to be picked up from the roof’s helipad.

“Hey, Karamori…” Fujinaka was warily watching Archive, who was standing atop a lightning rod and surveying the town thoughtfully. “Who is Archive? I can’t stop thinking about what she did earlier and how she keeps saying things are ‘determined by fate’…”

Karamori was hesitant to tell her more about their world, but he found himself answering anyway.

“She’s a human who was fully transformed into a vanit. That book she produced earlier is called ‘The Archive.’ It dictates everything she will do, and she obeys it completely. Her actions are literally predetermined.”

“Everything? Regardless of what she wants?” Fujinaka asked.

“Yeah.”

Fujinaka pictured the red book in her mind.

“Karamori, that book…”

“You’re gonna say it looks like Untitled, right? That’s not a coincidence. From our perspective, Untitled looks like The Archive. After I read the report on your incident, I demanded my boss give me that mission. I thought it might help me understand the mystery that is Archive, even if only a little.”

“Oh…”

“There must be a reason Untitled and The Archive look so similar.”

It was possible that the book came from the same source, just like how the Half-wits had all been created by the same pen.

“If the books are related, I have to find out how and prevent any more from being made… Before anyone else is hurt or killed.” The hope in Karamori’s eyes outshined the stars reflected in his pupils. His gaze shifted to Archive atop the lightning rod. “I think Archive…has given up.”

“You do?” Fujinaka asked.

“There’s no way everything is predetermined. Fate can’t rob you of the ability to resist, either. You can find freedom within the restraints you’re given. That’s what I believe.”

Fujinaka felt like those words were more for Karamori himself than anyone else. She thought they could apply to her, too. She might have made people disappear, and she might not be a person, but she could still do her best to find what freedom she could. As long as she wanted to.

“Her fate binds her more strongly than mine, but I think she can say the same thing. So long as she doesn’t give up.”

“Now that you mention it, I doubt fate determined her love of ramen,” Fujinaka said.

Karamori frowned. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s the influence of the original person, though, so I’m not exactly sure that’s actually an example of free will…”

He fell silent, staring off into the distance, and Fujinaka peered into his eyes as if trying to find answers there.

“Did you know the person she was before?” she asked.

“…Yeah.”

A frown creased Fujinaka’s brow as well. The girl Karamori had known probably didn’t look or act anything like Archive. Meaning he’d essentially lost a friend.

“Was she…important to you?”

“She was… Though I only knew her for less than a month.”

Karamori looked up at the sky. Stars glittered into view in defiance of the town’s light.

“She shined like the sun. At least, she did to me… I was deep in an abyss of despair, and she showed me a sliver of light. That light was the only reason I didn’t break. And as I got to know her, I found she had that light in inexhaustible supply.”

“You want to save her, don’t you?” Fujinaka asked.

“Yeah. I will save her. I swore it.”

Karamori looked at Archive.

“…I’ll save her, even if it means erasing Archive.”

He appeared melancholic as he watched his partner. Fujinaka figured that would be a difficult choice for him, given the relationship he’d built with Archive. She put a hand to her chest, feeling the pain she saw on his face.

Archive’s exchange with Karamori in Fujinaka’s house and her actions over the last couple of days made it clear she felt his pain—and his determination. And yet, she could only do what fate determined for her.

Feeling a sudden urge to pray, Fujinaka closed her eyes and wished for the two of them to receive at least some small salvation on their difficult path.

The whirring of a helicopter’s rotor approached, and a strong downward gust began whipping their hair.

“All right, it’s time to move on,” Karamori said. “I feel bad about this, Fujinaka, but we’ll be needing your help again.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry. We’ve got a bit of a crisis on our hands. After all, this next vanit is an Apocalypse-class…with the power to end the world.”

Interlude 3: Shin Karamori

Shin Karamori

Report.

On July 2, XXXX, Vanit Research Facility F-9 was assaulted by Afterglow, a subordinate organization of Grave Nest.

Due to the facility’s cognitive barrier, the assault was unable to be noticed immediately from the outside. It took three days for investigators to realize that an attack had occurred and send aid. The researchers and Canaries in the facility at the time appear to have fought back; however, it seems they were vastly overwhelmed.

When the deployed troops arrived at the facility, they found enemy forces and facility employees alike brutally slaughtered. The corpses were mutilated to such an extent that very few remained in one piece. It was suspected that a vanit stored in the facility had run amok.

The ensuing investigation determined that the slash wounds were inflicted by a vanit named Tyrfing. Concerningly, it had been taken from the facility.

After the incident, frequent instances of mass slaughter began to occur at facilities connected with Afterglow. This continued for one month until a Canary named Yuto Hinosaki took a boy into custody, who had been found in possession of Tyrfing at an Afterglow facility in which all of the members had been killed.

The boy had sustained gunshot wounds and lacerations all over his body, and he had more than ten blisters on his palms that had burst and become infected. He had clearly continued to wield Tyrfing long past when he should have been physically able. His sanitary and nutritional status had deteriorated, leaving him in a critically weakened condition when he was taken into custody.

The boy was identified as the son of Makoto Karamori, an employee who had worked at the assaulted Noary research facility. Evidence suggests that his father brought him along that day to show him his workplace.

Upon questioning, the boy testified that he picked up Tyrfing by chance during the Afterglow assault. His abnormal survival skills and murderous abilities likely came from the sword. We believe that Tyrfing bent fate to make him attack the Afterglow facilities, as well as to prevent us from finding him for close to a month.

It is currently unclear what the boy wished for. Further questioning is planned for after he recovers.

Having suffered tremendous losses, Afterglow seems to have since been dismantled by Grave Nest, who—

“Whew, that sure is one terrifying sword.”

The speaker was a smiling older man who was standing in a hospital lobby with a cell phone to his ear.

He wore a white suit that fit snugly to his thinner-than-thin frame. His suit and the white patterned button-down he wore underneath made him look quite professional—if you ignored the rest of his appearance, that is. His bright blue hair and strong Western facial features, combined with his clothing, gave him the impression of a clown or magician. He could hardly have been more conspicuous.

All passersby ended up looking his way only to quickly avert their eyes, then turn their heads to look at him again once they were past.

The hospital was massive. The entrance was shaped like a large atrium, and the footsteps and voices of those in the lobby bounced back and forth between the ceiling and floor.

Dim sunlight from a cloudy sky lit the room. It was noon on a weekday, which meant the hospital was incredibly busy, but the building was so large that it still managed to look half empty.

The man could hear every word of a friendly chat between a group of elderly women near reception. He shrugged in response to one particularly frank comment and focused on the voice coming through his phone.

“I can hardly believe it enabled a thirteen-year-old boy to perform such slaughter. Those facilities were full of people trained for combat,” a woman said, her discomfort clear through her tone.

“Did he kill them all with brute force?” the man asked.

“No. That’s what makes the massacres even more terrifying. He employed stealth, staged ambushes, and set traps to kill entire groups at once… The assaults were carried out with exceeding cleverness.”

“Oh-ho. So it didn’t send him into a mindless battle frenzy.”

“It appears not…”

There was nothing scarier than a strong opponent who managed to stay composed and fight strategically with cold cunning. The man knew that from personal experience.

“Now I’m even more curious to know what he asked the sword for.”

“They actually got him to share that during yesterday’s counseling session.”

“Whoa, hold the phone! I thought we agreed not to press him further until his mental state stabilized.”

“Please don’t be angry. It may have been harsh, but we needed to learn what he wished for as soon as possible. The nature of his wish could very well lead to more people getting hurt, after all.”

The man snorted, but his smile didn’t waver.

“Well? Gonna fill me in? What’d he wish for?”

“‘I want to live’… That is what he told the sword when he drew it.”

“…”

An investigation conducted after the slaughter spree revealed that Afterglow had been trying to obtain Tyrfing. If its members learned the boy was in possession of the sword, they would never have stopped pursuing him. Tyrfing must have decided that they needed to be eliminated to ensure his survival and had driven him to kill as many Afterglow members as he could. It had gifted him the knowledge and skill required to do so—the spark that had led to the chain of terrible massacres.

“Hmm, but isn’t that…?”

“Yes, his wish to live contradicts the sword’s tendency to bring suffering and death to its wielder. This makes the boy’s future very hard to predict.”

“…I think there are plenty of ways to make a person suffer without killing them.”

Everyone who lived in their world had heard of an unpleasant number of such cases. The man hoped that the boy wouldn’t be subjected to such a fate.

“Anyhow, let him rest for now. We’ll save inquiries for after he settles down.”

“Of course. Please take care of yourself as well, Mr. Nanba.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

The man hung up. He’d reached the hospital room.

Nanba made sure he was ready, then swung open the door.

“Hello, how are you? It’s so nice to see you again! I’m from Noary. Are you awake, Shin?” the man said, his tone so light the words could have blown away on the wind. It stood in stark contrast to the room’s oppressively heavy air.

There was one young boy in the room. He was hooked up to multiple IVs and had bandages wrapped around his hands and head. His physical state was tough to look at, but nothing pained Nanba more than the kid’s expression.

It was hollow.

He was awake, but there was no light in his eyes, which stared unseeingly at the ceiling. The puffy skin around his eyelids suggested that he had been crying.

Nanba’s pained expression lasted only a moment before he put on a big smile.

“You remember me, right? Blue hair? Affable smile? I’m not a serial killer here to off you in your sleep, I swear,” he said, sitting on a stool next to the bed.

It was only then that the boy—Shin Karamori—finally looked at him.

“…Hello…again.”

His voice was so quiet it seemed to evaporate. He was looking at Nanba, but his eyes remained unfocused.

It was clear that the kid’s mind was terribly frayed. Having had a front-row seat for such slaughter would do that to anyone. It had been two weeks since he was taken into custody and one week since he regained consciousness, but counseling hadn’t yet done much to heal the deep wound in his heart.

“Let me introduce myself again. My name is Jasper Nanba. I know that sounds like a fake name, but it’s not. I’m half-Japanese, half-British. See, I even have a business card.”

Nanba snapped his fingers and made a business card appear in his hand. His name was written the Western way, with his given name first.

“It sounds much better in that order. Here, take it,” Nanba said, holding out the business card respectfully. Karamori took it with the bare minimum of movement. “I’m here to check on you and see if I can be your friend.”

“…”

“You’re recovering nicely, kid. Your life’s not in danger anymore.”

“Okay…”

Not only was Karamori barely reacting, but he was also showing no sign of wariness toward Nanba, who was practically a stranger. He didn’t seem to care what happened to him at all.

Still, Nanba kept smiling.

“By the way, that’s a pretty flower in your right hand.”

“…A flower?”

Karamori looked at his right hand in confusion and saw that the business card had transformed into a single red rose.

“What…?”

The rose leaped into the boy’s face.

“Ah!”

He reflexively leaned back to dodge, but the rose vanished before it reached his face. His eyes went wide.

“Oh my. What’s going on here?” Nanba said playfully.

Karamori looked up at Nanba and was stunned to see that the entire hospital room was suddenly decorated with colorful flowers. He was understandably bewildered. It had to be some sort of magic trick, but he had no idea how the man had done it.

“Finally, an expression befitting your age! That was a little bit of magic, but not of the variety with which most are familiar.”

Nanba snapped his fingers. The color of the flowers began to fade, then they vanished into thin air. The business card that had turned into a flower was back in Karamori’s hand.

“That was Mirage, sort of like a superpower of mine,” Nanba said. “I can create fun little illusions to mess with people’s minds. I can even make them tangible.”

He snapped his fingers again, and the business card in Karamori’s hands turned into a large bouquet of flowers. Strangely, the boy could feel their weight.

“Well, part of that was a simple magic trick, though,” Nanba said, turning his wrist to reveal a business card on the back of his hand. It had probably been there when he’d made it look like it appeared from out of nowhere. “I’m pretty sure you already pieced this together because of that sword, but there are some strange phenomena in this world that science can’t explain.”

“…”

The boy cast his eyes down at the mention of the sword.

Nanba shook his head. “I’ll save the full rundown for when you’re ready, but I’ll tell you this now: That was an accident. You aren’t responsible for what happened.”

The magical sword Tyrfing even appeared in Norse mythology. It was an ancient blade that had survived right up until the modern age. Through their research in that facility, Noary had figured out some of its powers.

Tyrfing grants its wielder one wish for the privilege of ruining their life. Once drawn, it forces you to slaughter people until its bloodlust is satisfied. The wielder enters a trancelike state during that period, under which they’re helpless to stop the killing.

“…Even though I killed hundreds of people with my own hands?” Karamori asked Nanba.

“You were powerless to resist, weren’t you?”

“But it’s still true that I killed them…”

Karamori wrapped his hands around his knees and buried his head in his lap.

“You can do wrong without being at fault. Yes, you killed those people. But you had no say in the matter and are not to blame. You don’t need to beat yourself up about something you were forced to do. I wanted to make sure you understand that. What you really need to think about is your future,” Nanba said.

“…My future? I don’t have a future. Nothing but bad things are going to happen to me.”

Nanba’s eyebrows rose slightly. No one was supposed to have told the kid about the sword ruining the life of its wielder.

“Why do you think that?” he asked without breaking his smile.

“I can hear some kind of voice. I think it’s the sword’s. It says it wants to destroy me.”

“Right… Yeah, I remember reading that in the report.”

Tyrfing destroyed the lives of its wielders. That was part of its legend from Norse myth, and experimentation had proven it to be true.

Tyrfing did grant one wish to its wielder; however, the wielders experienced nothing but pain and misfortune after that, and it was never long before they met an untimely and gruesome death. There was no avoiding it—no matter how careful the wielder was, Tyrfing would bend fate in unnatural ways to ensure it got its way.

Researchers had locked one wielder in a perfectly secure room with nothing dangerous inside. Within a month, another vanit inside the facility inexplicably went berserk and destroyed the entire room from the outside, killing the wielder. Before that, the wielder had cut the inside of their mouth on a sharp piece of metal that just happened to make its way into their food and gotten into a fistfight with a researcher who just happened to start an argument with them. There was a string of other episodes of misfortune that the researchers had been powerless to stop.

The sword had manipulated fate to ensure they would suffer and die. There was no other explanation.

Nanba looked at Karamori’s right arm. A dark flame-shaped mark was peeking out from underneath his bandage.

It was a marker. The shape grew as wielders went about their normal lives and receded when they suffered misfortune. The larger the mark grew, the more unnatural and absurd the wielder’s misfortune became.

However, Noary had thought of a way to combat this.

“You don’t have to let the sword destroy you. It’s possible to stave off that fate,” Nanba said. “As you mentioned, the sword wants you to suffer, and it’ll do its best to make that happen. But I have a special way for you to avoid that.”

He had intended to have this talk once the boy was further along in his mental recovery, but there was nothing else for it now. He learned toward the bed.

“You can become a Noary special investigator. It’ll be a dangerous job full of painful experiences, but by choosing to subject yourself to that kind of work, at least you won’t suffer misfortune at random. You’ll have control over your painful fate. Maintain a proper balance between your difficult job and everything else, and just maybe, you’ll be able to live a normal life. We’ll give you proper training and support, so—”

“No. I’m not doing that,” the boy refused. His tone left no room for argument. “…I don’t care anymore if I live or die. If the sword wants to destroy me… Let it. It’d be selfish of me to live a happy life after what I did.”

“…Well, I won’t tell you to make a decision right now. Just think about it, okay? I don’t like to watch people suffer.”

The boy kept his head down.

To Shin Karamori, the chirping of the birds outside sounded hollow, and the wind sounded incredibly lonely.

Karamori’s counseling and treatment continued. Nanba visited him many more times, but his mental state didn’t improve much. He was being treated in secret, far from his home, because of his unique circumstances, so he had no friends around to visit and cheer him up, either.

The turning point in his recovery came one month into his stay at the hospital.

It was the height of summer, and though the hospital was air-conditioned, the sunlight streaming through Karamori’s window made his room feel quite hot. He left his room to buy a drink at the convenience store inside the building.

His wounds had almost completely closed, and the full-body pain that had been tormenting him when he was admitted had greatly subsided. He’d grown nearly three centimeters, and his short-sleeved shirt revealed arms that were noticeably more muscular. That was likely the influence of Tyrfing, which was still trying to make him fight. His body was preparing—or rather, being forced to prepare—for the combat it believed to be inevitable.

His heart, on the other hand, remained broken. Nanba gave him a mobile device to contact his friends, but he had no desire to use it. He just spent his days idly. He didn’t even feel like buying his favorite snacks when he went to the store for a drink.

Yet today, something broke his routine.

“Waaah!”

Someone cried out as an avalanche of instant ramen cups fell to the ground next to him. Karamori looked up in surprise, his face showing rare emotion, and saw a woman on the ground in a flower-patterned hospital gown. The IV drip she was hooked up to hadn’t fallen over, but she could have seriously hurt herself.

Karamori instinctively rushed over to her.

“A-are you okay?”

“Ow… Y-yeah, I’m good! This floor is super slippery,” the woman replied brightly.

She had glossy black hair and a distinctive side ponytail tied high on her head. Her demeanor was so cheerful that it seemed to ward off the hospital’s gloom. It was clear even through her clothes that her body was well-toned, and that, combined with her tanned skin, gave off a sporty vibe.

She stood up, eliciting more surprise from Karamori when her head rose above his. Even though he was still in middle school, it was rare for a woman to be taller than him.

She smiled in embarrassment at her fall. Karamori found himself dazzled.

He gave her a cup of instant ramen.

“Ah, thanks a bunch!” Her eyes lit up as she looked at Karamori. “Oh! There’s someone else here my age?! It’s really hard being in the hospital as a student, isn’t it?”

She spoke as if they were already close friends. Karamori, however, just cocked his head.

“Huh? The same age?”

Who is? Karamori thought. The woman in front of him had the face and figure of an adult. There was no way she was as young as him.

The girl smiled as if she were used to this kind of exchange.

“I’m a second-year in high school.”

“R-really?!”

That was their first encounter. They didn’t talk for long, but the next day, Karamori had found her in the lounge eating instant ramen again, and they’d begun to talk to each other regularly.

Despite looking like an adult, she really did go to a nearby high school.

“My friends visit me, but there’s something really nice about having a fellow patient to talk to who’s your own age. Don’t you agree?”

“I guess…”

“You’re kinda gloomy, you know that?”

The woman’s—no, the girl’s—name was Oka Sakura. She was outgoing and as bright as the sun, and it wasn’t long before she broke down Karamori’s barriers and her light spread to him. She didn’t care at all that she was a couple of years his senior.

Karamori had been a cheerful kid himself before the incident, and he’d been starving for someone close to his age to speak to, so they became fast friends. Conversation came easy due to their surprisingly good chemistry.

One week after meeting her, Karamori felt perfectly at ease in her presence. Two weeks after meeting her, he was smiling.

“You know why I’m here? I’m having heart problems. Isn’t that so unfair? Teenagers aren’t supposed to have heart problems,” Sakura said.

“Is your heart going to be okay, Sakura?”

“Lighten up a bit. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Are you…gonna be okay?”

“Sorry to get your hopes up, but yes! My surgery was a success! So no crying on your shoulder today!” she teased.

Karamori glared at her. “Why would I want that?”

“They’re just keeping an eye on me for now. I’ll be discharged soon.”

“Really?”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Nah.”

“You sure?”

They were chatting in the hospital’s lounge at around noon, just like always. Ever unsatisfied with the hospital food, Sakura was eating instant ramen.

“Hey, look at this,” she said, holding her chopsticks in one hand and holding her mobile device out toward Karamori with the other. She was showing him a post on a social media app. It was for a comedy manga with a round penguin on the cover. “Isn’t Prudence, Sir Penny! the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“I mean…,” Karamori replied evasively, not wanting to be rude. The title caught his attention more than the penguin. “…‘Prudence’?”

“Yep. It’s this super popular new manga.”

Karamori looked at the follower count.

“It has almost zero followers.”

“I meant it’s super popular with me. It only has ten chapters so far, so it’s still new, but it’s gonna blow up soon. Just you watch!”

“Why? It doesn’t look that unique to me.”

“Trust me, it is. It’s about Sir Penny, a penguin knight who laments the rampant corruption among his fellow knights. It deals with adultery and other kinds of misconduct. He even meets a hero’s party guilty of embezzlement. It’s cute and socially conscious.”

“That sounds different…”

He wasn’t sure if that combination could work, but it definitely sounded like something that would draw attention.

“I hope it gets super popular so they start selling merchandise!”

“You think it’ll get that big?”

As they chatted, Sakura slurped up the last of her ramen.

“Ahhh, that hit the spot.”

“You eat instant ramen every day, Sakura.”

“I like it. It’s so good if you use a little less hot water and make the flavor richer. I also like to boil it a bit longer than the instructions say so the flavor seeps into the noodles. And if you don’t drink the soup, you’re doing it all wrong.”

“You’ll be back in the hospital in no time.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m young.” Sakura stuck out her tongue.

Karamori found himself laughing at her boyish behavior.

She smiled, looking satisfied. “You’re laughing a lot now, Karamori.”

“…Yeah, I guess I am,” he said awkwardly. Karamori was slightly discomforted by the nurturing look she sometimes gave him. He knew how low his spirits had been.

“You’ve probably figured this out, but I started speaking to you because I was worried about you,” Sakura said.

“I got the feeling.”

He’d thought she was being unnaturally sociable with him—though a part of him attributed that to her just being a little weird.

“Can you blame me? You were like a ghost when we first met! When you asked me if I was okay, I was like, ‘Who are you to ask me that?!’”

“Ha-ha-ha…”

Karamori obviously hadn’t told Sakura why he was here. He couldn’t tell anyone what he’d done, and he wasn’t mentally ready to talk about it anyway. Fortunately, she talked openly about herself and didn’t ask Karamori any questions.

Sakura recrossed her long legs.

“I might have been overstepping, but I decided I wanted to keep an eye on you. Then we kept running into each other by chance, so I decided to keep talking to you.”

“Yeah… Honestly, you’ve helped me. I feel a little better now,” Karamori admitted.

“Only a little?”

“Slightly better, then.”

“That’s even less than a little! I’m gonna be discharged soon, you know. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll manage.”

“Really? Well, I’ll visit you when I can.”

They continued to talk every day until Sakura was eventually discharged.

Karamori’s mental state had stabilized enough for him to undergo detailed questioning about the incident. The memories were just as painful, but he was able to keep his composure as he recounted what happened. He had not, however, accepted Nanba’s proposal for avoiding his miserable fate and still thought he should be punished for killing all those people.

The mark on his arm continued to grow. It originally extended from his wrist to his elbow, but now, it was starting to creep across his palm and shoulder.

He didn’t care. Karamori was past ready to accept whatever misfortune would befall him.

In fact, fate had already begun to torment him. A chair had broken beneath his weight, causing him to fall, and he’d started to bleed after his IV tube came out one night. Yet none of it bothered him at all.

He thought he might have seen the last of Sakura, but she kept her word and visited him in the hospital. She always brought snacks and popular local sweets.

“I tried to get back into running, but it was a disaster. I’ve lost too much muscle,” she said one day with a sigh. She was talking to Karamori in his hospital room as he stuffed his cheeks with a chocolate cake shaped like a tree stump. Her side ponytail swayed with her every movement.

“Will it be hard for you to get back in form?” Karamori asked.

“And then some. I’m still forbidden from intense exercise, so I want to at least get my strength back… I’ve just gotta keep at it.”

“I’m rooting for you.”

Karamori smiled and took another bite of the cake. His IV was out, his bandages had been removed, and he was getting stronger every day.

“Man, this is really good,” he said, gesturing to the cake. “To be honest, chocolate isn’t my thing, but I’m loving this.”

“Oh, you don’t like chocolate? Sorry about that,” Sakura told him.

“No, I don’t dislike it. And this is perfect because it’s not too sweet. Where’d you get it from?”

“Apricot.”

“‘Apricot’?”

Sakura had casually thrown out the name, but Karamori had never heard of it. He suddenly realized he knew nothing about this town outside of the hospital.

“You don’t know it?” Sakura asked. “It’s the place next to the convenience store at Kuki Station. The one with the red sign.”

“Sorry. I’m not sure if I told you, but I don’t know anything about this town. It’s a long story, but I was, uh…transferred to this hospital.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Oh man. I feel bad for you. That means you don’t know Nakamura. It’s an amazing ramen place near my school.”

“Nope, no idea. Is it good?”

Sakura snorted. “Good doesn’t even begin to describe it! They use a fish-based broth, which sets their ramen apart from others and gives it an intense seafood flavor. It’s famous enough that people from other prefectures see it in magazines and come to try it.”

“My mouth’s watering already. I wish I could go there…”

Sakura jumped up excitedly. “Let’s do it!”

“Really?” Karamori asked, taken aback.

His physical condition had improved enough for him to return to his normal life without issue, but he was still here for psychological treatment—and because Noary hadn’t decided what to do with him yet.

Nanba always told him to be safe and not leave the hospital. Apparently, Noary had influence over this hospital and used Distortionism to infuse it with special protections. The older man probably didn’t want Karamori venturing out on his own, given his unique circumstances.

He knew that, but…

“…Yeah, let’s go.”

Karamori had been stuck in the hospital for more than a month now, and he was starting to get sick of it. Fate would likely punish him with another unlikely bout of unfortunate events, but he would accept them without complaint.

He stood up and started forming a plan to sneak out.

Sneaking out of the hospital ended up being incredibly easy. It required hardly any effort at all. Karamori simply got changed, left his room as if he was going to use the bathroom, then walked right out of the lobby’s main entrance, making it seem as if he was allowed to leave.

Once the automatic door slid shut behind him, he and Sakura exchanged a glance and laughed. They hurried away from the hospital to avoid suspicion, completing Karamori’s escape.

He had no way of knowing everything that had just gone wrong. Unbeknownst to Karamori, Noary had been surveilling him. Right before he left the hospital, however, the observer on duty just happened to get distracted by an emergency call and miss him as he snuck out. And so began the distortion of fate.

Karamori followed Sakura to the ramen shop. It was his first time walking through the town, and everything about it felt new and exciting. Even the air tasted different. When he thought about the fact that he was experiencing the scenery that, for the last month, had only ever been visible from his window, it gave him a thrill.

The hospital faced a highway with never-ending traffic. A billboard at a nearby intersection was so rusty and faded that it looked like it hadn’t been swapped out in years. A gyudon shop and other chain restaurants lined the street. Karamori got the sense that business in this area had declined over the past few years, but it still seemed relatively popular.

The ramen shop ended up being close to the hospital. There was also a school nearby, just as Sakura had told him. It was visible beyond a building across the street.

“That’s my school,” she said to Karamori. “Doesn’t it look ancient?”

“It looks pretty typical to me.”

“Really? You should see the high school in the northern district. It’s huge and has amazing facilities.”

“Sounds like a case of ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’ to me.”

They chatted until they entered the restaurant and received an energetic “Welcome!” The shop was smaller than Karamori had expected, and Sakura strode right to the counter with exceeding familiarity and sat down at an empty seat. A middle-aged man with bold features emerged on the other side of the counter. He seemed to be the owner.

“Hey there, Sakura! Haven’t seen you since yesterday!” he said.

“Heya! I wanted to introduce this place to my friend here!”

The owner looked at Karamori. “Ah… First time here, I take it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Karamori said.

“I knew it! I never forget a customer’s face!”

He withdrew into the kitchen, looking pleased by his memory.

“You’re clearly a regular,” Karamori said.

“Duh. Who wouldn’t go to a ramen shop right across the street from their school?! You have no idea how much I missed this place when I was in the hospital.”

“You really do act like a boy.”

“Shut up. I’m sensitive about that.”

The ramen arrived quickly despite how busy the restaurant was. The thick fish-based soup was distinctive, just as Sakura said it would be, and it enriched the wavy noodles with flavor. She was definitely right to recommend it.

They finished eating at almost the same time. Not only was Sakura as tall as a boy—she also ate like one.

She sighed happily, her side ponytail resting on her shoulder.

“Whew, I’m stuffed. So what’d you think? You like it here?”

“Yeah, that was delicious. I don’t think I’d ever had fish-based ramen before.”

“Yay! Another convert!”

Sakura beamed at him, causing Karamori to smile, too.

“…You’re amazing, Sakura,” he said.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I mean, most people wouldn’t go nearly this far for someone they’re just a little concerned about.”

“That’s not why I invited you. I just wanted to bring you here. I don’t only hang out with you because I’m worried about you, you know.”

The frank way she said that probably meant it was the truth.

“Still, you saved me,” Karamori said. “I’m sure you really were concerned about me at first.”

“I guess…” Sakura scratched her cheek in embarrassment.

Karamori cleared his throat and pulled something out of his pocket.

“This is, uh…I guess a sort of thank-you gift.”

He held out a woven red bracelet. Karamori had made it himself using thread that he’d asked Nanba to get for him. He’d rehearsed a few different things to say when giving it to Sakura but ended up forgetting them all in his embarrassment.

“…It’s for you.”

“Oh, uh, really? Th-thanks…” Sakura was smiling, but she looked taken aback. Karamori was too afraid to meet her gaze.

“I didn’t really know what to get you, so I chose something that was popular at my middle school…”

“N-nice…”

Sakura put the bracelet on her right wrist without delay. She turned her wrist over multiple times to study it and let out a giggle.

“I…want my life to mean something,” she said slowly.

“Hmm?” Karamori tilted his head, confused by the sudden change of topic, but Sakura fell silent again. He looked at her, finding her behavior odd.

She gave him a sheepish smile. “It’s kind of embarrassing to say that out loud. But when I learned I needed surgery, I found that thought occupying my mind.”

Sakura traced the table around her empty bowl with her spoon.

“Hearing that I had a heart condition made me so scared that I was going to die… Even though it was something that could be fixed with a simple surgery. When that fear grew really strong, I had a thought: I want my life to have meant something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted something I could point to and say, ‘This is the reason I was born. This is the mark I left on the world.’ Speaking to you was a part of that.”

“And you thought speaking to me would leave that mark?”

“Ah-ha-ha, I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. No one can tell the exact impact of their life while they’re still alive. But I’m not gonna be some kind of amazing inventor, so I thought that if I’m going to leave behind any proof of my existence, it’ll be in someone’s memory. That’s why I want to do my best to help people.”

“And then you found me…”

“Yeah. It was self-serving in part. I liked the idea of living on in someone’s mind.”

“…”

Karamori hung his head. In his mind, he saw the corpses scattered all around him. The mutilated flesh and the sea of blood. The putrid stink of death felt fresh in his nose.

“I wonder…if my life has meaning,” he found himself muttering.

“It does,” Sakura replied confidently.

“But…I did something unspeakable. Something I can never tell anyone about. Something I can’t undo… Can my life still have meaning?”

“Absolutely.”

Karamori frowned and looked at her, almost offended by the ease with which Sakura’s answer came.

“How can you say that so confidently?”

“Because you’re alive.”

“…!”

Karamori’s eyes wavered, and Sakura gazed directly into them.

“No one is born without a purpose. The fact that you’re alive is all the proof you need… So stop looking like you have a death wish all the time.”

Karamori’s words stuck in his throat.

“How…?”

“I can tell that what you’re dealing with isn’t just simple depression,” Sakura said, grinning from ear to ear.

Karamori bit his lip. “But… That terrible thing I did… What if that was the impact I was meant to leave on the world?”

“Hey, way to twist my words… Well, think what you want. But I want you to believe your life has a good meaning, too. That’ll help you feel better. And if you feel better, you’ll be able to deal with those negative feelings.”

Sakura poked herself in the cheeks with her fingers and pushed them up, giving herself an even wider smile.

“You won’t get anywhere if you’re feeling down in the dumps all the time. But if you can find the will to live on and be happy, you’ll be able to do anything. So shouldn’t you believe whatever you need to reach that mindset?”

Her smile was brighter than the sun.

Karamori looked down. He saw the thick chains of guilt wrapped around his body. He’d put them there himself to ensure he wouldn’t be able to escape his pain. But despite their death grip on his morale, the gentle light of the sun beside him began to melt them.

The solution Sakura was proposing was a simple change of thought. The chains countered her words, arguing that he only saw light in her words because he wanted a convenient way to escape what he’d done and cling to life.

But even so…

“Maybe it is okay…for me to keep living…,” Karamori murmured. Those words clawed up from a place deep beneath his death wish and cracked the chains binding him. “But…what if I’m just latching onto your advice because it suits me?”

“What’s wrong with that? If it helps you, that’s all that matters. Once you find happiness, you’ll be able to spread your joy to others and do anything you set your mind to. So your first priority is turning that frown upside down.”

Sakura smiled.

“Your life has meaning.”

The chains shattered. They fell to the ground, alongside Karamori’s tears.

He would never be able to outrun his guilt. But sometimes, you had to deceive yourself to keep on living.

Karamori cried silently, and Sakura patted him gently on the back.

They sat like that for some time until he’d calmed down.

“Ah, dammit,” the owner said, cleaning the counter seat two seats down from them.

“What’s wrong?” Sakura asked.

“Oh, I think the customer that just left forgot this book.”

“Oh no.”

“I’d never seen them before, so I don’t know if they’ll be back. I’m gonna have to chase after them, so…”

But the owner trailed off as another customer arrived with particularly bad timing. His expression sank.

“I’ll give it to them!” Sakura said suddenly.

“Really? Thanks. I doubt they’ve gotten far.”

“Sure! What did they look like? Do you remember what they were wearing?”

“He had a green coat and an eyepatch over his right eye.”

“Got it! I’ll be right back, Karamori.”

Sakura took the book from the owner and cheerfully ran out of the restaurant.

In her hands was that bright-red, strangely foreboding book.

She never came back.

That was the day Oka Sakura went missing.

Report.

Contact was successfully made with the individual who infiltrated a Noary research facility on XX/YY and stole confidential information.

The target’s actions cannot be restricted in any way, to the extent that even killing or binding her would likely have no effect. Judging by her testimony, it appears her fate has been fixed.

A red book serves as her core, and it is reasonable to assume that destroying it would also eliminate her. Procedures began for her to be disposed of by a Canary capable of concept destruction, but they were temporarily delayed after a strong entreaty by Chief Nanba.

The target has been exceedingly obedient, so uses for her are being considered.

Additionally, the girl’s possessions and appearance clearly identify her as missing high school student—

Karamori sat in his hospital bed late at night, tightly gripping his sheets. The mark on his right arm had receded to the size of a fingertip.

It had been one week since Oka Sakura went missing. His soul had been burning with worry for her the entire time. Tonight, he’d finally received news from Nanba that broke his heart.

A few days ago, a strange girl had raided a Noary research facility. Apparently, this was Oka Sakura, whose very existence had been rewritten.

The girl Nanba had shown him a picture of had the wrong hair color—blond—and the wrong eye color—red. She didn’t even have a side ponytail. But her face was undeniably Sakura’s.

Further investigation by Noary confirmed her identity. However, Karamori had known it was her as soon as he’d seen the red bracelet around her right wrist. It was the same one he’d given Sakura.

In that moment, Karamori came to an important realization: Tyrfing’s efforts to ruin the life of its wielder went beyond directly harming them. The sword wouldn’t hesitate to hurt others too if it meant bringing its wielder pain.

“I managed to prevent them from killing her… And believe you me, that took a lot of convincing,” Nanba said from his stool by the bed. His exhaustion was written clearly on his face. “Someone proposed turning her into a vanit investigator. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but there are some real nutsos among my superiors, so it might just end up happening. Either way, I’ll do my best to make sure she doesn’t suffer.”

“Is there any way…to turn her back?” Karamori asked hoarsely.

Nanba shook his head. “Maybe. But if there is, I have no idea. Vanits are unpredictable; each one operates under entirely different logic. Honestly, the odds of an investigation revealing a way to bring back your friend are slim to none.”

“…”

Karamori squeezed the sheets hard enough to leave nail marks on his palms. He now knew that his curse could harm others as well as himself. He’d been willing to let it do whatever it wanted if that meant his own destruction. But he’d been naive.

Karamori took a deep breath.

“Please let me be a vanit investigator. I’ll…I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Sure. I’m not gonna stop you… Actually, after what happened, I can’t recommend any other path. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. I’m sure my superiors will have their objections, but I’ll find a way to convince them… If you’re gonna do this, though, you need a proper motive. Not even considering the situation with Tyrfing, this’ll be a hellish job. You won’t last without something to drive you and get you through hard times.”

“I already have that,” Karamori said, looking up. His eyes were no longer a lifeless black but burned with determination right from his soul. “I’m going to bring back Sakura, no matter what. And…I’m going to find my life’s meaning.”

“Your life’s meaning?”

“Yeah. I want to find a reason for me to live on after killing hundreds of people and subjecting Sakura to that fate.”

“…That sounds like searching for the bluebird of happiness.”

“I know. It’s self-serving. But I want to find a reason I can be satisfied with.”

“I see,” Nanba said with a faint smile. “In that case, I want you to add one more motive to the list.”

“Hm?”

“Dispelling your curse. Don’t forget about that.”

With that, Karamori set forth on his journey as a Canary.

A journey in which he would continue trying to find a reason to live and seek hope as he atoned.

Chapter 3: DUPLICATOR TREE ~Blue Apocalypse~

Bustling foot traffic dominated the street. The scenery was dazzlingly bright despite the cloudy sky, mostly due to the colorful signs hanging from the buildings. Each one displayed kanji that were uncommon in Japan, and standing menus for food stalls and Chinese restaurants were scattered throughout.

“Huh,” Fujinaka murmured. “I guess this is my first time in Yokohama Chinatown.”

“It’s a really fun spot,” Karamori said. “It’s like Japan’s take on China, giving it a completely different vibe from the real thing.”

“Have you been to China, Karamori?”

“Yeah, a few times for jobs. Canaries get sent abroad pretty often.”

“Oh, wow.”

Karamori, Fujinaka, and Archive were standing at the end of a Chinatown street, watching the foot traffic.

“You should definitely go there one day if you’re interested,” Karamori said. “To the real Yokohama Chinatown, I mean.”

A couple he was watching vanished as if passing through an invisible wall. Many more people appeared and disappeared at that same boundary, and buildings that crossed it were cut off. Two hundred meters down the street, the town abruptly ended in the exact same manner.

They were currently on a mountain in Shizuoka Prefecture. There was supposed to be nothing but forests and open fields in this area—yet right in the middle of a sparsely vegetated grove was an isolated strip of town. This was made even more bizarre by the fact that the street looked exactly like Yokohama Chinatown.

Karamori and Archive led the stunned Fujinaka onto the street.

“You said this is a vanit dangerous enough to destroy the world, right?” Fujinaka asked as she looked around fearfully. Ignoring the forest behind them, it looked entirely like they were in Yokohama.

“Apocalypse-class vanits are not always dangerous,” Archive explained. “Vanits are classified separately by their ability to impact the world and their danger level. This vanit was classified with a danger level of Blue…meaning the damage can be mitigated if we are careful.”

“But if it’s not dangerous, can it really destroy the world?” Fujinaka asked.

“Yes. A vanit’s particular characteristics can enable such a contradiction… Please follow me. Be careful not to bump into anybody.”

Archive walked down the street, staying unnaturally close to the buildings.

“When this street was discovered, it had a diameter of approximately thirty-two meters. It has doubled in size every two months since then, and now, six months later, it has a diameter of two hundred fifty-six meters.”

“It’s grown that much in half a year?” Fujinaka asked.

“It has, as it doubles each time. The extent to which the vanit will grow is currently under investigation, but if its growth rate remains consistent, it will eventually overwrite the world. That is how it was designated harmless yet capable of ending the world.”

“We don’t know if it’ll actually get that big, though,” commented Karamori. “There are a lot of other questions, too, like what’ll happen when it reaches the real Yokohama. But if it keeps doubling in size every two months, it will replace the world in three years.”

“Th-three years?!”

Fujinaka looked around. In its current state, the street didn’t extend beyond their field of view in either direction. It was hard to imagine that in three years, it would cover the entire world. Doubling in size every two months was a truly terrifying pace.

“The world being overwritten is certainly a concern, but there is another more immediate issue,” Archive said.

Fujinaka had been observing her surroundings, but just then, she bumped into someone who had suddenly changed direction and was knocked backward onto the street.

“Ah! S-sorry!”

The other person—a man wearing a beanie—fell backward as well, equally taken off guard. He looked around with bewilderment on his face, not seeing the apologizing Fujinaka.

“It’s no use,” Archive said. “He is unable to see us.”

“O-oh. I guess that makes sense, this being a duplication… But wait… Does that mean…?” Fujinaka trailed off.

“Yes. Any interference here will affect the real Yokohama. A violent storm passed through this area not long ago and damaged some buildings with its strong winds. The same damage occurred simultaneously in Yokohama.”

What happened in one Yokohama clearly happened in the other, as little sense as that made in the real location. If another storm came through and knocked a tree into the street, it would hit and injure pedestrians. That risk alone made this situation dangerous.

“That’s insane. Do you really think I…or rather, Untitled can fix this?” Fujinaka asked.

“Essentially, we consider it a possibility worth trying. This will also double as an experiment with Untitled,” Archive said, before adding, “…We have arrived.”

She pointed at a white tree. Actually, tree might not have been the right word. The ends of its branches were shaped like human hands, complete with nails on the fingers. That combined with the smoothness of its surface made it look like it was made entirely of interlaced white hands.

The tree was growing right in the middle of the busy street, but no one even looked at it.

“That tree is the only difference between this Yokohama and the real one and is likely responsible for this phenomenon. It has been named the Duplicator Tree.”

“If that tree is the cause, can’t Karamori just destroy it with his sword?” Fujinaka asked.

“It’s not gonna be that simple,” Karamori said.

He wove through the crowd of people and approached the tree, then drew Tyrfing halfway and swung it with tremendous speed. Somehow, the chains managed not to get in the way, and the blade sliced the Duplicator Tree in half.

However, the tree immediately reformed as if nothing had happened.

“I can cut it, but I can’t kill it. This sword has the power to slice through the distorted laws of any vanit, but this tree’s core must be elsewhere.”

“Multiple other methods of destroying this tree have been attempted, but nothing has worked so far,” Archive explained. “Hence, the proposal to use your Untitled. The theory is that it might be able to use its power to consume the tree’s name and erase it from existence.”

“I’m surprised we’re allowed to use it so freely…,” Fujinaka commented. “I thought Untitled would have to go through a bunch of procedures and investigations before you were given permission to use it in the field.”

“Normally, that would be the case,” Archive said. “But time is short, so we were given special permission to go ahead and make this attempt.”

“What do you mean by ‘time is short’?”

“In three days, it will have been two months since the town last expanded. If it doubles in size again, it will have a diameter of five hundred and twelve meters, which surpasses the range of Archive’s power.”

The size of the town wouldn’t matter if all they had to do was make the tree disappear, but on the off chance that the only way to destroy it was to make the entire town disappear, they only had three days left to accomplish that with Untitled.

“Th-that makes sense…”

Fujinaka looked down at Untitled in her bag. The book still scared her. Even if it only snapped open in the yakiniku restaurant because Archive had dispelled her barrier, she wasn’t confident she could actually control it.

Archive went on. “We will begin the operation late tonight, once people have been evacuated from the actual location in Yokohama.”

Time passed quickly as Karamori and Archive explained the vanit to Fujinaka, went over the plan, and tested Fujinaka’s control of Untitled. Before they knew it, the sun had begun to set.

“Shoot, it ate everything again,” Fujinaka said, running a hand through her ash-brown hair. A blank paper that had until a moment ago been a calendar sat on a simple desk before her.

She was testing Untitled and training for the mission on level ground over five hundred meters away from the second Yokohama. Noary investigators had set up a large tent closer to the street, but it would have been problematic if the writing within it was eaten, so they were performing the test a good distance away from it. Multiple employees in white coats had also joined Archive and Karamori to witness it.

So far, the results had been less than ideal. Untitled listened to Fujinaka but only to an extent.

This time she’d ordered it to eat only the numbers on the calendar, but it had ended up consuming every piece of text on it. It did not, however, take the random words written on a piece of paper set nearby, meaning it had obeyed part of her instructions, at least.

Fujinaka sighed. It had been like this ever since they started. She would try to get Untitled to eat only certain characters on a page only for it to eat them all or order it to eat the characters in a one-meter radius and have it expand to three. Precise commands didn’t seem to work. She clearly needed to practice if she was going to prevent any unnecessary damage during the mission later that night.

“The problem might not lie with Untitled but with Ms. Fujinaka’s use of it,” commented Archive. “Perhaps it is just like any tool, and improving her skill with it will enable more precise control.”

“You sure about that?” Karamori asked. “Honestly, I’ll be surprised if she ever does much better than this.”

“I believe the connection between Untitled and Ms. Fujinaka could make it possible. She was born from Untitled, and yet, she is also its operator. That makes Untitled both her parent and her servant. Their fates are strongly bound. With sufficient skill, I think she could control the book with relative freedom. She might even be able to control it from a distance.”

“That’d be handy…”

“Ms. Fujinaka and the book are already connected. The rest is up to her.”

Karamori looked at Archive with surprise. She was being unusually talkative.

Had fate dictated that as well?

Regardless, he suspected that Untitled and The Archive might be related, so her words seemed credible as a fellow owner of a mystical book.

“Next, how about trying to give Untitled an order without speaking aloud?” Archive directed. “It clearly does not have any auditory organs, so whether or not you need to speak likely depends on your mindset. Please try to direct your thoughts toward Untitled just like you do when you speak your commands aloud.”

“O-okay.” Fujinaka wrote some random words on a sheet of paper and silently put a hand on Untitled’s green cover.

A brief silence passed as she furrowed her brow in concentration. When her eyes flicked open, Untitled opened itself to a blank page and sucked in the characters she’d written.

“Whoa! It actually worked!” Fujinaka exclaimed.

“Just as I suspected,” Archive said.

Is it my imagination, Karamori thought, or did Archive actually smile?

“Now, let us increase the stakes of this training,” she said, taking something out of a bag next to her. It was a round penguin doll dressed like a knight—Sir Penny.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Fujinaka shouted.

“Indeed. We are going to place this doll’s name within range as you practice your control of Untitled’s writing consumption. That should help you apply yourself more seriously.”

“No way! We are so not doing that! That’s my favorite doll!”

Fujinaka tried to snatch Sir Penny from Archive, who took advantage of her greater height to lift it out of reach.

“My point exactly. You will have to give this your best effort.”

“That’s not fair!” Fujinaka cried.

Karamori tilted his head. “Why would that work? It’s not like that doll is Sir Penny in the flesh. Eating the name ‘Sir Penny’ shouldn’t be enough for Untitled to make it disappear.”

“I looked up the doll’s product name. Its official name is ‘Sir Penny Standard PK1034,’” Archive said, writing that on the piece of paper on the desk.

A simple stuffed animal wasn’t likely to have its model number or official product name written on it anywhere. That was probably why it hadn’t disappeared when Fujinaka opened Untitled in her home.

Archive wrote ‘Shin Kalamari’ next to Sir Penny’s product name and turned toward Fujinaka.

“Now then, Ms. Fujinaka, order the book to eat only this second name.”

“Hey, wait,” Karamori said.

“What is it, Mr. Kalamari?”

“It’s Karamori. That’s a mean prank. If Untitled misreads your handwriting, I’m dead.”

“Relax. My handwriting is perfectly legible. And there is no precedent for Untitled making a person or object disappear when their name is misspelled.”

“I’m not comfortable with this, either!” Fujinaka said.

Faced with both of their disapproval, Archive erased ‘Kalamari’ and wrote a random name in its place.

“Now then. Go ahead,” she prompted.

Fujinaka turned toward Sir Penny, whose fate was suddenly in her hands.

“Hngh… W-well, I just have to prevent it from eating the whole product name…”

She closed her eyes. A moment later Untitled glowed and unleashed its power.

Sir Penny vanished.

“Noooooo!” Fujinaka cried in despair, falling to her knees. Despite her best effort, Untitled had eaten all of the characters. “You’re so mean, Archive! I hate you!”

“Simply summon it from the book again,” Archive said detachedly as Fujinaka cried and clung to her legs.

Fujinaka’s eyes went wide.

“Wait a second! You’re so right! And if I can summon him, then…”

She closed her eyes again, and Untitled lit up. A mass of text emerged from the book. The words gained shape and color and formed into a Sir Penny as tall as a person. And what’s more…

“Honk!”

Sir Penny cried and waved a flipper.

“Yaaaaay! I did it!” Fujinaka shouted, excitedly hugging Sir Penny. “Why didn’t I think of this? Untitled made all those crazy monsters at my house! There’s no reason I can’t summon whatever I want, too!”

She admired the huge penguin, smiling with pure bliss. Then Fujinaka snapped her eyes shut, making Untitled glow again and spit out a succession of round penguins. Each one was distinct—one wore a robe, one held a sword, and another carried a staff.

Her eyes shined even brighter.

“Penck! Penelope! Pengarde!” Fujinaka shouted. She started to play with the penguins, having completely forgotten her training.

“She really can make anything, can’t she?” mused Karamori. “Those round penguins make no sense as actual living creatures. She can summon any fictional being exactly as it’s written.”

“I do not believe that to be the case,” responded Archive. “Among the monsters you fought in Ms. Fujinaka’s house was a Gafma from Record of Dayron War. In the original novels, Gafma move faster than the human eye can perceive. The one you fought was not nearly that fast, however, so I do not think Untitled can recreate much beyond a fictional creature’s appearance.”

“…I feel like that could change as she improves her skill with the book, though.”

“Incidentally, in the manga, Sir Penny is so strong he can break down a castle wall with his bare flippers.”

“That feels like overkill.”

He doubted that was true of this Sir Penny.

Karamori’s expression darkened. Even if she couldn’t replicate it internally, Fujinaka could summon any fictional thing almost exactly as it was described. There was no reason that couldn’t extend that ability to include incredibly deadly weapons and monsters. Untitled’s power to consume writing already made it a threat—but if Fujinaka obtained mastery over the book, it would become unimaginably dangerous.

“This thing is way too powerful, even for a vanit.”

“Indeed,” Archive agreed. “Even ignoring its summoning ability, it can be used to instantly kill anyone you know the name of. I would guess that only half of our fellow Canaries could survive it.”

Fujinaka walked up to them, hand-in-flipper with two penguins.

“Hey, I just thought of something. The Canaries you guys are always going on about are Noary’s top investigators, right? Why are you given such an adorable name?”

“Huh? Adorable how? The name’s as literal as it gets. We’re just that: canaries.”

Fujinaka looked confused. “Canaries are the definition of adorable. Am I missing something?”

“Ah… Have you never heard of a canary in a coal mine?” Karamori asked.

“What’s that?”

“Canaries are frequent chirpers, so they were used to check for poisonous gases in coal mines. If the bird stopped chirping or died, miners would know the cave was unsafe.”

“Oh…”

Fujinaka looked disgusted. Not only was that horribly cruel to the canaries, it wasn’t hard to see the implication that name had for a group of people who did such a life-threatening job.

“That’s a crazy name. Who’d want to be called that?”

“See?” Karamori said. “Now you get it.”

Archive brushed her hair behind her ears. “I like the name.”

“Huh? Why?” Karamori asked.

“You can try to deny it, but it is the unvarnished truth that we risk our lives to verify the danger of unpredictable vanits. The name ‘Canary’ also implies that people will follow us. I think it concisely conveys our organization’s purpose and credo.”

“…You’re taking that name too favorably.”

“Am I? I think that an organization full of people so strong they are practically immortal being named after such a delicate bird must sound incredibly ironic to the enemy forces and vanits we fight.”

“Ah… Yeah, you might have a point there,” Karamori said, somewhat convinced by her answer.

Fujinaka, meanwhile, stood there in shock, hung up on Archive’s claim that Canaries were “practically immortal.”

They resumed their tests and training exercises, stopping only when night fell. After discussing the results, the investigators determined that Fujinaka’s level of control over Untitled wouldn’t present any issues for this experiment and decided to go ahead with the mission that night.

It was one in the morning. Karamori, Archive, and Fujinaka once again approached the Duplicator Tree, this time accompanied by two investigators.

The buildings had been dazzlingly bright just a few hours ago when the night was still young, but now, their lights had been turned off, and they stood in the silent slumber of night. It wasn’t until now that Karamori noticed how few streetlights there were. Once the gaudy signs on the buildings were shut off, the street became unsettlingly dark.

Compared to the liveliness of the day, the buildings actually looked less like they were sleeping and more as if they were dead.

The area around the Duplicator Tree had been illuminated by lights prepared by a different group of investigators, leaving that spot alone as bright as day.

“The street in the real Yokohama has been evacuated. No matter what happens here, no one will get hurt.”

The plan was exceedingly simple: Write the name “Duplicator Tree” on a piece of paper and feed it to Untitled. If that erased the Duplicator Tree and the second Yokohama, the mission would be complete. If that didn’t work, they would feed the book the name “Yokohama No. 2”—the designation assigned to this street—and see if it could make the whole street vanish.

“This mission is doubling as a test of Untitled,” Archive continued. “The ‘Duplicator Tree’ name was given to this vanit by a Noary appellator six months ago. If this works, it will prove that Untitled can make something vanish by consuming an arbitrarily assigned name.”

They didn’t tell this to Fujinaka, but if it was proven that Untitled could be made to consume things by feeding it names that someone invented on the spot, Noary would raise its danger level. Thorough testing would be required in the future to determine how specific or well-known the words fed to the book had to be to make something disappear.

“We will observe from close by and respond immediately if anything goes wrong. Please be at ease,” Archive said to Fujinaka, her words followed by a loud slurping sound.

“Why are you eating instant ramen?” Karamori asked, standing next to her.

“I was fated to eat Biggie Bowl Hakata Ramen at this time.”

“You liar.”

Shortly before they set out to come here, Karamori had seen Archive pour boiling water into the cup, then see the instructions on the lid and let out an “Oh.” It said to wait for seven minutes after adding the water, which was apparently longer than she’d expected.

“Well, I guess it’s pretty common to get hungry late at night,” he said.

Archive noisily slurped up more noodles, choosing not to respond. Karamori decided to do her the favor of not asking why she’d wanted to eat right before leaving camp.

“You know, if she fails to control Untitled, that ramen’ll disappear.”

The slurping intensified as Archive started to wolf down the ramen. Soup splashed into her blond hair, but she clearly didn’t care.

Karamori sighed, feeling exhausted. “You already know the result of this experiment, don’t you?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I only know the actions I will take, which is not the same thing as seeing the future. This does, however, allow me to infer the outcome of future events.”

“We might be able to change things if you share what you know.”

“I will not do that. I see no meaning in doing so.”

“Figured as much.”

Archive was essentially a product of whatever happened to Oka Sakura. She had the intelligence to communicate, but it was unclear if she thought like a human or was even self-aware.

Fujinaka, who had been performing some final checks with the investigators, turned toward Karamori and Archive.

“I’m gonna start now!”

“Got it!” Karamori replied.

Fujinaka was holding a piece of paper with “Duplicator Tree” written on it. Their first attempt involved feeding those words to Untitled. Karamori doubted they were in any danger, but he rested his hands on Tyrfing and carefully watched their surroundings.

Fujinaka took a deep breath and stroked Untitled’s cover. The green book flipped itself open in her hands and started glowing. Writing streamed into the book from all around, including from the note in her hands.

Untitled slammed shut, the sound echoing down the quiet street.

“…”

Silence returned as they waited for something to happen. But no matter how long they stood there, the Chinatown street appeared no different than it had before.

Fujinaka turned toward Karamori and Archive, looking disappointed.

“Umm… I don’t think it worked.”

“Did it eat the words?” Karamori asked.

“Yep. They’re gone.”

“Damn.”

Karamori sighed quietly, feeling a mixture of disappointment that the town hadn’t vanished and relief that Untitled wasn’t as dangerous as he’d feared. It looked like the book was incapable of erasing something by consuming a randomly assigned name.

“Looks like it failed.”

“Yes,” agreed Archive. “And in the worst possible way.”

“Really? How?”

“Not only did Yokohama No. 2 not disappear, my late-night snack did.”

Archive’s hands were cupped around thin air where her instant ramen used to be. The sight of her chopsticks held aloft in her left hand was tragic.

Fujinaka had once again failed to completely control Untitled.

“Whoa, it really did disappear… Oh, hang on!!” Karamori said, noticing something that stunned him. He looked around. “Notice anything weird?”

“Yes. Very peculiar.” Archive was also observing their surroundings. The other two investigators also seemed to have noticed something was off.

“Uh, what do you mean?” Fujinaka asked.

“You don’t see it, Fujinaka? Untitled didn’t listen to you, but none of the writing on the street disappeared.”

“Huh?”

Fujinaka’s eyes darted about the street. Just as Karamori said, the Chinese restaurant signs and road signs had kept the text on them.

“It makes little sense that the book would decide to consume only the writing on my Biggie Bowl Hakata Ramen… Ms. Fujinaka, please order Untitled to eat all the writing on this street,” Archive said, pulling a note out of her pocket and writing a few random words on it.

“O-okay… Untitled, consume all of the writing on this street.”

The order was clear as could be. Yet when the green book reopened, it sucked up only the text on Archive’s note and quietly shut itself again, leaving the rest of the street’s writing untouched.

“It is possible this street has a special concept barrier,” Archive said. “However, prior investigation confirmed nothing of the sort.”

“Which means the most likely explanation is that this street has no writing,” Karamori added.

“A reasonable assumption.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Fujinaka asked Archive.

“We should confirm this. That means it is my turn. Ms. Fujinaka, please order Untitled not to consume anything.”

“Okay.”

Fujinaka put a hand on Untitled’s cover and communicated the order with her mind. Archive wrote something on her piece of paper as a test, and Untitled did nothing. After receiving that confirmation, the other two investigators walked up to her with an imposing metal box.

“Ms. Archive’s Compilation ability uses writing. We will seal Untitled in here until the job is done to prevent it from interfering. Please place it in here,” said one of the investigators.

Fujinaka put Untitled in the box as she’d been asked, and the investigators shut it tight. They then walked to the edge of the street and put their hands on the box, which glowed blue, then transformed into a dull black sphere.

“It is sealed. Please proceed, Ms. Archive.”

“Understood. Now then…”

Archive twisted her red string into a rectangle, causing her red book—The Archive—to appear above her hands. She calmly closed her eyes, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks.

“Step back, Fujinaka,” Karamori said, taking Fujinaka’s hand and leading her five meters away from Archive.

“What’s she doing?” Fujinaka asked.

“You know how Tyrfing can slice through anything with a physical form? Archive has a power, too, which is to Compile formless things along with their very concepts… She gets this ability from her book.”

“I Compile information and concepts. That is the essence of the task I have been fated to perform,” Archive said, clearly having heard them. She opened her eyes. “Now, bind this street.”

The red book in her hands glowed and sent streams of text flooding out of its pages. The words fell to the ground and raced through the street as if they were alive.

Archive spoke as she watched the writing cover the street. “The fact that Compilation has begun likely confirms the theory that this street has no substance.”

The red book could only bind concepts and information that Archive captured—and she had to understood whatever was written in it.

The words crept outward, causing the dark street’s form to waver, fade, and restore itself over and over again.

“That’s crazy,” Fujinaka said as she watched. “There are so many words… I see now why we needed to seal Untitled.”

“Exactly. Not only would it interfere with Archive’s Compilation, it would probably consume all the writing in her red book, which is essentially her real body.”

“Oh yeah. What would happen if Untitled ate Ms. Archive’s book?”

“Who knows? The Archive doesn’t have an actual title. You could feed your book the word ‘Untitled’ to try to erase it from existence, but I’m not sure that would actually do anything… Definitely don’t try it, though.”

“Why would I?!” Fujinaka puffed out her cheeks indignantly. “You still think I’m some kind of airhead, don’t you? Have I done anything close to that stupid since we met?”

“What am I supposed to think when you ask a question like that?”

“I’m not going to try it! And you’re supposed to deny that you think I’m an airhead!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking. Though to be honest, most people tied to a vanit are weighed down by gloom. The combination of your cheery personality and your dangerous power makes you feel a little unpredictable.”

“Huh? There have to be other people with vanits who aren’t total downers.”

“There are, but most of them understand our world.”

“Ah, I guess that makes sense. But I won’t do anything stupid! I swear!”

“Sounds like famous last words to me…”

Archive sighed quietly. “Compiling something of this scale is exhausting.” She sounded more annoyed than tired.

Characters continued to pour out of the book, destabilizing the town’s shape. About five minutes after Compilation began, the area around Archive warped, transforming completely.

White tree roots now ran across the ground around her. They were made of the same material as the Duplicator Tree and extended out in all directions. The buildings had also disappeared to reveal massive Duplicator Trees standing in their place.

Within a few minutes, Karamori and the others were standing in a forest of vanits. Being surrounded by pure-white trees shaped like human hands in the dead of night was eerie to say the least. The branches’ countless fingers pointed to the sky and swayed in the wind. The trees that imitated buildings were big and blocky and terribly misshapen.

The forest was empty except for the Duplicator Trees and the survey equipment Karamori and the others brought. Their lamps amplified the already unsettling white of the trees.

“So this is the vanit’s true form.” The revelation that he was surrounded by thousands of hand-shaped trees sent a chill down Karamori’s spine.

“It seems the entire forest that is distorted,” said Archive. “That explains why destroying the tree in the center of the street did nothing.”

“So these trees have the ability to create an illusion of a different place?”

“Apparently so. I am almost ready to Compile the trees’ distorted concepts. After that, all that will be left is to dispose of the forest.”

“It’d save us a lot of time if you could Compile the trees themselves.”

“All I can bind is concepts. Once I have stolen their abnormal nature, these will be nothing more than oddly shaped trees.”

That doesn’t stop them from being insanely creepy, Karamori thought. He knew the trees were harmless, but they were so unsettling that his every instinct made him want to run for his life.

“Could we burn them all down with a napalm bomb?” he suggested.

“Why not fell them with that sword of yours, which if it were smaller, looks like it would sell for three hundred yen at a souvenir shop?”

“Why are you so convinced it looks like a giant keychain? And don’t you realize how long that would take?”

Karamori looked at Tyrfing. The sword had been taking a verbal beating the last couple of days. The golden decoration and embedded gems of the chained sword shined brightly under the lamps.

The chains served an important purpose—they were actually a separate vanit installed by Noary to prevent Tyrfing from being drawn accidentally. They had the exceptionally useful nature of turning intangible upon collisions that happened above a certain speed, meaning they didn’t get in the way when Karamori swung Tyrfing in its sheath.

“This sword is sick, and anyone who can’t see that needs to get their head examined,” Karamori retorted. “Also, it would sell for way more than three hundred yen if it was smaller. Those are real gemstones.”

“Gemstones are like people: They only have value when they are in a suitable place,” Archive said casually.

“Oh, now you think you’re some kind of wise sage, do you? You can compare anything to people to make yourself sound smart.”

“Instant noodles are like people: All you need is a few minutes of boiling water to soften them up.”

“That’s just horrifying.”

It turned out that trick had its limits, after all.

Archive’s Compilation took around ten minutes. When she was finished, the mass of text that had spread through the forest turned red and reversed direction to flow quickly back into the book. Fujinaka barely had time to gasp with surprise before the words all returned to the pages and the red cover slammed shut.

“Compilation complete,” Archive said.

Karamori sighed with relief. “Great. Nice work. You too, Fujinaka.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Fujinaka protested.

“Still, this was your first time trying something like this, so I’m sure you’re tired. Let’s head back. We can let the other investigators clean up the trees.”

“There will be no need for that, son. I’ll take care of it.”

A voice Karamori didn’t recognize echoed through the white forest. It came from the direction of the black sphere that Untitled had been sealed inside. But before he could look toward it, Karamori heard a large crack that sounded like a boulder being shattered, followed by a series of dull thuds. He reflexively grabbed Fujinaka’s hand and pulled her behind his back.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. By the time Karamori looked toward Untitled, the two researchers who’d sealed the book had been slammed against a wall and killed. Two strangers had taken their place.

One was a white-haired girl. Her pigtails were long enough to reach the ground despite being tied high on the top of her head, and her eyes blazed with confidence.

And the other person…

“What…?” Fujinaka muttered, her voice trembling.

Karamori was more shocked by the sight of him than was by the sudden attack.

He’d never met this person before. But he knew him.

The tall man was wearing a pitch-black suit. His lined face and gray-streaked hair placed him at around fifty years old, and he had an eyepatch marked with a wing over his right eye.

“Asahi…Fujinaka…!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man said disinterestedly. “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Third! Nice to meet you!” the girl chirped, beaming with pure and innocent joy that felt completely out of place given the situation.

Karamori went on high alert. He noticed the embroidery on the breast of Asahi Fujinaka’s suit—an emblem depicting a black tombstone with a bird’s nest sitting atop it.

“Grave Nest…!” he said, gripping Tyrfing’s handle. “How did you escape Untitled?! Were you in there the whole time?!”

“The whole time? Heavens no. I’m much too busy for that,” the man said calmly. “I’ve been in the book since yesterday.”

“Since yesterday?”

The man put a hand to his chest. In his grip was Untitled.

“That’s right. Yesterday. I assume you remember when the book suddenly opened and consumed all the writing around it?”

Karamori’s eyes went wide. He must have been talking about when they’d lost control of Untitled at the yakiniku restaurant in Aichi Prefecture. Were these two there at the time, hiding not far from where they were eating? What was worse, the reason the book had come open and started indiscriminately eating the writing around them was…

Karamori glanced at Archive, but she looked just as bewildered as him.

“If that is true, then…you must know the actions I am fated to perform… How is that possible?” Archive’s voice quivered as she spoke. She already knew the answer.

“Why, that should be obvious: I wrote them myself. I am the author of Second, the book you call The Archive.”

Karamori’s vision went red, boiling blood rushing to his head faster than he could think. Asahi Fujinaka was the very person who had turned Oka Sakura into Archive. He began to draw Tyrfing, consequences be damned, but before he could, a net made of words exploded toward Asahi Fujinaka. One of Third’s pigtails reached out toward it with astonishing speed, expanded into the shape of a large palm, and caught it.

The source of the attack was Archive. Her face was twisted with rage and hatred greater than Karamori had ever seen from her, and tears glistened on her cheeks.

“Give me my life back!” she screamed. The words came from her very soul.

Archive quickly twisted her red string into another formation, causing text to spring up from beneath her feet. The words combined to form a giant that clawed its way up from the ground with Archive riding on its shoulder. She had used her string to project a concept into reality.

The giant raced forward in total mockery of common sense and raised a fist as large as a car. Its wild movements seemed to embody Archive’s turbulent emotions.

Asahi Fujinaka simply watched with a faint smile.

“That’s all wrong, Second. You’re going off script.”

The giant froze. It tried to move, but its body just trembled, then began to blur and destabilize. The same thing happened to Archive on its shoulder. Within seconds, they both vanished, and Archive reappeared where she’d been standing earlier, as if she’d never moved. She glared at Asahi Fujinaka, the pain written across her face.

“D-Dad…?” Hitsugi Fujinaka said weakly, her voice shaking.

“Hey, Hitsugi. You look well.” Asahi Fujinaka’s voice was so calm, it was actually incredibly intimidating.

Sweat beaded Karamori’s face. He’d finally calmed down after the initial shock of the situation. That Asahi Fujinaka had created both Untitled and The Archive was an important revelation, but it wasn’t the biggest priority right now.

“Why are you here? What’s your goal?” Karamori asked.

“Slow down, son,” the older man replied. “I’m not here to pick a fight.”

“Answer me!”

“I’m just here to help. You need someone to cut down this forest, don’t you? Third, go ahead.”

“You got it!” the girl named Third responded energetically. She moved her pigtails as freely as limbs, slamming them into the ground and propelling herself into the air. “You’re up, Pironay!”

She touched her hair bands. They glowed green, and her pigtails grew dozens of times in size.

“You’re kidding…!” Karamori said.

“Watch and be amazed!” Third exclaimed, spinning in the air as her hair swept across the entire forest.

Deafening cracks sounded all around them as her white hair swung at the Duplicator Trees and easily cut them down. Strangely, the trees didn’t fall to the ground but disappeared as soon as they were severed.

The explosive noise soon died down. It hadn’t even been ten seconds. That was all the time it took for the white forest Karamori and the others were standing in to be reduced to a graveyard of roughly hewn stumps.

Third touched back down to the ground, followed by her infinitely long hair, which caused a tremor when it landed.

“I did it, Papa! I gathered them all up for you!” she said, beaming at Asahi Fujinaka.

“Yes. You did well.”

The girl’s hair bands shattered noisily, causing her hair—which had grown to hundreds of meters long—to shrink back to its original length as if time was being rewound.

“Aw, I figured they wouldn’t be able to handle all that,” Third said.

“It’s okay. You only had to use them today.” Asahi Fujinaka patted her head, and Third smiled and leaned into him like a cat.

Karamori watched them, taut as a bowstring. “Did you want these trees that badly? Your plan required using Archive and Untitled, which means it must have been years in the making.”

Sakura had been transformed into Archive four years ago, meaning this man had been planning on stealing the Duplicator Trees for at least that long.

“I won’t deny it. I need them to make another book.”

“…!”

A lightbulb went off in Karamori’s mind.

“So the paper in The Archive and Untitled was made from Duplicator Trees. How the hell did you think to do that?”

“Call it intellectual curiosity. Items made with strange materials tend to yield strange results. And within the innumerable sands of failure, gold dust can shine through.”

“And the books made from these trees are that gold dust?”

“Naturally. It truly is the grace of God. This more than justifies abandoning my family and coming out of retirement to rejoin Grave Nest.”

“‘The grace of God’? You’re sure you don’t mean ‘whispers of the Devil’?” Karamori said, upset by the man’s heartless words in front of his daughter.

“Come now, son. Don’t be rude,” Asahi Fujinaka scolded him. “I’d rather you describe this event in a more positive light.”

“Shut up. Either way, I’ll never let you make another one of those evil books!”

Karamori angrily ran at him, the sight of Hitsugi and Archive’s tear-streaked faces burned into his mind. The desire to prevent this man from making other people cry like them spurred him on.

He didn’t make it far before Third got in his way. The girl’s head only came up to his chest, but she made up for that with her hair, which she swung at him. The tip of her hair moved as if it were alive, transforming into the shape of a human hand.

Karamori drew Tyrfing halfway and swung it at the arm of hair, intending to savagely cut through everything in its path. However, to his complete shock, the azure blade clanged loudly against Third’s hair.

“What the—?!”

“Whoo-hoo! Are you amazed by my powerful presence?” the girl said proudly after blocking Karamori’s full-strength blow. She followed that up by curling her hair that wasn’t holding off Tyrfing into a fist and swinging it at him.

Karamori dodged by jumping backward. He watched her, frustration etched into his face.

Tyrfing was supposed to be able to slice through anything—even reason itself—but there were an infinite number of exceptions to that. This girl was clearly one of them. The strength of her existence likely surpassed Tyrfing’s distorted nature.

Third swung another fist of hair at him, which he only barely managed to avoid. The fist pounded the ground instead, causing a violent tremor that made it hard to believe it was actually made of hair. The girl used that same arm to push herself into the air and fling herself at Karamori for a drop kick. Karamori swung Tyrfing at her, intending to cut her body in half, but she blocked it with her other arm of hair and crashed her tiny legs into his chest.

Despite her petite size, Karamori felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

“Gah!” The impact penetrated the defense of his bodysuit, and pain coursed from his ribs throughout his entire body. He’d managed to twist to dampen the impact a little, but he was still blown backward like a leaf, crashing backward into a Duplicator Tree stump.

“I won’t let you hurt Papa,” Third said.

“Ngh…,” Karamori groaned.

“Impressive, isn’t she? Even if she is another failure. I made Second to be more easily controlled after the lessons I learned with First, but I went a bit too far and robbed her of any free will. Though her ability to Compile concepts turned out all right, at least,” Asahi Fujinaka said, looking at Archive.

The blond girl glared back at him with pain on her face.

“Third was my next project, and I imbued her with greater freedom after the lessons I learned from Second. She has to devote an excessive amount of strength to anchoring her existence because I made her without an original human body, but that drawback ended up serving her well. She’s an easy-to-use book with quite a powerful presence. Her ability to Compile existences didn’t work out exactly the way I wanted, but it’s serviceable.”

“How can you say that about a young girl right to her face?” Karamori argued.

Asahi Fujinaka burst out laughing, and Third joined him.

“I’m just telling the truth. I still cherish her, despite her flaws.”

“Oh, well, in that case—take this!” Karamori yelled, rushing at Third again with Tyrfing held aloft. Before he reached her, however, a black net made of text flew in front of him from the side, blocking his path. Caught off guard, Karamori crashed into it. The netting cut deep into his body. He hurriedly forced Tyrfing between himself and the net, barely preventing himself from being but in half.

Blood trickled down his sliced-up right side.

“Archive…? Why…?”

The black net of text had come from Archive. She held out her red string, laced between her fingers, and looked at Karamori with such pain you would have thought she was the one who’d been cut by the net.

“…This is also my fate.”

“Huh…?!”

“This is the moment I betray Noary. There was no avoiding this.” She seemed to be speaking to herself more than anyone else. “I told you, I can’t resist… No matter how much I want to.”

Archive closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face.

Those tears kindled a burning rage within Karamori.

“Asahi Fujinaka! You bastard!” He let out a savage roar, but his anger wasn’t enough to overcome their numerical disadvantage.

Just then, a pillar of blue flame as tall as a person shot up next to Asahi Fujinaka. A man stepped out of it, and Karamori stared at him in complete shock.

“Yo. I’m here.”

The bald-headed, hook-nosed man wore trench coat shrouded in darkness…

“Oh, Pyrovault. You’re right on time,” Asahi Fujinaka said calmly.

“Heh, ’course I am. I take my job seriously, you know,” Pyrovault said, shrugging his shoulders.

There was no doubt about it: This was the very same man Karamori had carved up with his sword just the day before.

He looked at Karamori and gave a friendly wave.

“Hey, Vanit Slayer. Haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

“Pyrovault…! H-how are you…?!” Karamori stammered.

“Eh? Gimme some credit, kid. I ain’t gonna die that easily. I’ll admit you got the best of me, though,” Pyrovault said, shaking his right sleeve. It dangled past his elbow; a reminder of where Karamori had cut off his arm.

Karamori broke out into a cold sweat. The situation had just worsened considerably.

“So what’re we doing here?” Pyrovault asked. “Should I kill him? Makes sense to eliminate a Noary birdie when we can, right?”

Asahi Fujinaka stroked his chin. He looked at Tyrfing, and his eyes shined with childlike glee.

“That is true, but I would very much like to make Tyrfing mine. It’s a first-class piece of distortion and a relic from the time of myth. I must add it to my collection.”

“Gotcha. Leave it to me!”

Pyrovault rushed at Karamori, kicking off the ground with such force you would have thought a landmine had exploded.

“And try not to hurt my daughter,” Asahi Fujinaka called out behind him.

Showing no sign he’d heard the other man, Pyrovault raised his empty right sleeve. It fluttered in the wind until it was suddenly ripped apart by a giant metal arm that appeared to replace his missing forearm.

The arm reached into his coat and pulled out a long weapon—a metal pole with a round road sign attached to one end and, for whatever reason, an animal skull on the other. The arm and road sign were clearly both vanits.

He swung down the road sign with the force of a hurricane.

“Fujinaka, get back!” Karamori yelled, pushing her away and barely avoiding the sign himself. Then, without missing a beat, he drove the half-drawn Tyrfing at Pyrovault’s abdomen.

However—

“…!”

—the azure blade froze. Its tip stopped right before the road sign, which Pyrovault had lifted to defend himself. The word STOP had appeared on the sign.

“Ha-ha-ha. I came prepared this time. That sword might be able to slice through anything, but it can’t cut what it can’t touch!” Pyrovault punctuated that last word with a vicious kick to Karamori’s stomach.

Karamori spit up blood, twisted his body, then swung the sword again, and Pyrovault used the pole of the road sign to deflect the scabbard.

“Crap!” Karamori spat. The situation was only getting worse for him.

“Third,” Asahi Fujinaka called out.

“Okaaay!” Third responded enthusiastically, swinging a fist of hair clasped so tightly it could squeeze a person to death.

“Ngh,” Karamori grunted as he turned and parried Third’s hair with Tyrfing. He knocked the hair only slightly off course, causing it to crash into the ground next to him and gouge into the earth.

“Aaah!”

A chunk of shattered white tree root crashed into Fujinaka, knocking her onto her back.

“Fujinaka!” Karamori cried out.

It didn’t seem like Pyrovault and Third were trying to hurt Fujinaka, but they clearly didn’t care if she got caught in the crossfire. If the fight continued like this, she could be killed just from getting caught up in one of their attacks.

“Eyes on me, kid!” Pyrovault yelled, jabbing his road sign at his face. Karamori quickly tried to block it with Tyrfing’s chains, but Pyrovault’s weapon slammed straight into them and forced the weapon back, hitting the youth square in the face.

Karamori tumbled to the ground. Third immediately followed up by swinging a fist of hair at him, which he dodged by rolling out of the way. He was clearly overmatched on his own.

“Archive! Please! Just protect Fujinaka!” he yelled, desperate for the quietly observing Archive to do something.

She simply shook her head. “I cannot. I was fated to fight you here.”

Any attempt by her to help would be pointless, as her fate would just force her back to the actions detailed in the book. Karamori could only imagine the despair she felt.

Archive held up her string.

“Exorcism.”

“Grk…!”

Karamori braced himself for her attack—but it didn’t come. Instead, bands of light formed around Archive and wrapped around her own body, immobilizing her and forcing her to the ground.

“…?!”

Anguish contorted her face. The bands of light held her so tightly that she couldn’t move a muscle.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why she’d done that; it was probably the only thing Archive could do to resist. She couldn’t attack him if she couldn’t move.

“Ha-ha-ha. I like your resolve.” Pyrovault once again leveled the road sign at Karamori.

Archive’s form began to blur and return to its original position again, but the bands of light seemed to slow the process. The restraints must have had special properties.

“Fujinaka! Run! Get away from here as fast as you can!” Karamori yelled.

“O-okay!”

He was too hard pressed to be able to look in her direction and see if she’d listened.

Archive had temporarily made the fight one against two, but Karamori knew Pyrovault and Third were much too strong for him to take out quickly.

He still had one option, though.

Karamori picked up Tyrfing by the chains and looked at it.

I need to draw it, but if I do it now while Archive isn’t helping me…

Even if he managed to kill Third and Pyrovault, there was no guarantee that would be enough blood to satisfy Tyrfing—meaning the blade’s next victim would be Fujinaka.

Karamori dodged a swipe from Third’s fist of hair and threw the sheathed Tyrfing at Pyrovault. The man dodged it and knocked the sword down with his road sign.

“…!!”

Tyrfing fell point-first and stabbed into a Duplicator Tree root, still in its scabbard. Karamori froze. In that split-second, he was totally defenseless.

His two opponents turned toward him. Murder shined in Pyrovault’s eyes.

Karamori no longer had a choice.

He yanked hard on the chains attached to Tyrfing’s handle, forcing the sword free of the scabbard, which remained protruding from the root.

The azure sword arced through the night sky.

In seconds, Karamori’s dark flame-shaped mark grew to cover most of his body.

He dodged a strike from Third’s hair without even looking, yanked on the chains again, and grabbed the sword by the hilt. Pyrovault immediately sent firebirds at him, and Karamori easily cut them all down without even moving his feet.

“Heh, nicely done,” Pyrovault said, grinning.

Asahi Fujinaka looked at him with wonder. “Incredible! So this is the sword with the power to distort a person’s fate?! Oh, how I want it!”

“Could you quiet down a bit? It’ll be yours soon enough… Okay kid, let’s see how long you last with the sword drawn… Third, now!”

The shoulders of Pyrovault’s coat swelled and two rings flew out of it. Third reached out with two arms of hair, deftly slipping one through each ring.

“These are so cute! My power’s a hundred times stronger than before!”

Third, now with her pigtails back, curled one into a fist and swung it at Karamori. The force of her attack alone swept Duplicator Tree root fragments off the ground and sent them flying.

“I increased their power,” Pyrovault said. “Let’s crush him!”

“You got it!” replied Third.

Karamori remained expressionless and drew a gun from his hip without a single wasted movement. He aimed it at the man with the eyepatch—Asahi Fujinaka—and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Multiple gunshots echoed in the night.

However…

“Oh my, how quaint. You’re the first person to shoot a gun at me in a very long time.”

The bullets froze in the air directly in front of the man. Unsurprisingly, he’d taken measures to defend against guns.

Next, Karamori made for his scabbard, which was still jutting out of the Duplicator Tree root. He cut through Pyrovault’s flames and dodged Third’s hair on the way, then jumped forward to dodge an attack and used his momentum to kick the sheath. It flew at Asahi Fujinaka like a golden arrow, but Third deflected it with her hair just before it reached him.

“Phew. That almost gave me a fright,” the man said calmly.

“Hey, what gives?!” Third shouted angrily.

Karamori didn’t react. He simply watched Third, who was visibly panicked, and Asahi Fujinaka, who’d reflexively raised his arms to defend himself.

Darkness glowed in the young man’s eyes.

Without giving his opponents time to collect themselves, Karamori shifted his grip to the end of Tyrfing’s chains and threw the blade at Asahi Fujinaka. This forced Third to abort an attack directed at Karamori and use her hair to knock away the blue sword.

“Hey! Why are you only attacking Papa?!” she yelled.

“Because it forces us to protect him!” Pyrovault said.

The bald man positioned himself next to Third and threw a large bottle at Karamori, who responded by yanking on Tyrfing’s chain. The sword flew back toward him and cut the bottle in two on the way before it could produce the desired effect. He dashed forward, grabbed Tyrfing’s handle, and tried to circle around Pyrovault and Third and get behind Asahi Fujinaka.

“Not so fast.”

Pyrovault moved to block his path and slammed the animal skull on the other end of his pole onto the ground at his feet. The impact shattered Duplicator Tree roots and caused black needle-like objects to shoot out of their cracks in all directions.

The needles flew at Karamori with explosive force, but he thrust Tyrfing into the ground and blocked them. The next moment, he jumped onto Tyrfing and used it as a platform to propel himself high into the air, clearing Pyrovault’s head. He yanked on the chains in midair to reclaim the sword, which arced toward Pyrovault as it flew to him.

“Shit!” Pyrovault cursed. He moved his neck a hairbreadth, having no time to do anything else, and the azure blade grazed his ear.

Karamori grabbed the sword, landed in a slide to avoid a vicious sweep of hair from Third, and closed in on Asahi Fujinaka.

“Oh dear,” the man said, seeming to realize he was actually in danger. He turned to run, but it was too late. Karamori overtook him in an instant and swung down with Tyrfing.

An ear-splitting clang followed. Third had gotten her hair in front of the blade just in time to save the old man. Karamori responded by spinning and using the centripetal force to swing the blade as hard as he could, managing to cut through a few centimeters of her hair. The white strands danced in the wind.

“What?! That’s impossible!” Third cried.

Karamori continued to persistently dog Asahi Fujinaka, focusing solely on him. This forced Third to protect the old man, leaving her little time to attack. Karamori’s relentless pursuit also introduced a clumsiness to her movement that wasn’t there before, likely due to her lack of combat experience. Karamori’s close proximity to Asahi Fujinaka meant that neither she nor Pyrovault could go all out for fear of hurting their master.

Karamori’s strategy was cold—dirty, even—and it limited Third and Pyrovault’s capabilities to the point that they might as well have been fighting in mud.

A fierce fight bloomed in the dead forest. A distorted fight filled with dancing blue sword, whirling white hair, and exploding flame.

Karamori was dogged in his pursuit. He matched Asahi Fujinaka’s movements step for step, even choosing to suffer blows from Third and Pyrovault rather than pause and let the man escape striking distance. It was an impossible balancing act, though, because he knew if he didn’t devote at least a little attention to defense, Third and Pyrovault would kill him in an instant.

He suddenly threw the azure sword. Pyrovault smiled savagely and lifted the road sign, likely thinking Karamori defenseless with only the chain in his hands. But before the bald man could swing his weapon, he went pale and ducked. The dark azure glow of the blade streaked through the spot where his head had just been.

Karamori skillfully looped the chain around a branch growing from a Duplicator Tree root, which altered Tyrfing’s trajectory so it swung at Pyrovault from behind. The bald man dodged and clenched his teeth in frustration.

Karamori wielded Tyrfing less like a sword and more like a kusarigama, making cunning, expert use of the chain as he sought to kill his opponents.

The thin sickle of a kusarigama would have been easy to deflect, but Tyrfing being on the end of the chains eliminated that concern. The blade’s distortion allowed it to cut through anything, regardless of the speed and strength with which it was swung.

The chains gave Karamori overwhelming reach and flexibility of strategy. All who faced him with the sword fully drawn felt like they were being hounded by blue death on all sides.

The injuries Pyrovault and Third were consistently inflicting on Karamori should have given them a clear advantage. And yet, cold sweat beaded their faces. They both possessed superhuman strength but couldn’t defeat one young man with a sword. Multiple times during the battle, they were confident they were about to kill him, only for Karamori to escape the jaws of death by the skin of his teeth and keep fighting.

It was eerie. Pyrovault, Third, and Asahi Fujinaka couldn’t help but be unsettled by Shin Karamori.

Another piercing clang sounded as Karamori sliced through a fist of hair that Third swung at him. The hair fluttered to the ground. Cutting Third’s hair may have appeared pointless, but it was her weapon, and he was chipping away at her fighting strength.

He was increasing his chances of winning. Steadily. Unemotionally. Mechanically.

Violent flames erupted around Karamori, ignited by Pyrovault the moment the young man fell far enough behind Asahi Fujinaka. The flames rose as tall as a barn, painting the landscape red.

But when the fire cleared, Karamori crawled out from beneath a triangle-shaped hole he’d cut into a Duplicator Tree root. He’d made a shelter for himself, having decided he couldn’t avoid the flames.

Karamori got to his feet and stared at the three of them, his eyes devoid of anything but malice.

“Papa, there’s something wrong with him!” Third shouted.

Asahi Fujinaka frowned. “Pyrovault. Stop. We’re retreating. I can’t afford for Third to lose any more hair.”

“Screw that,” Pyrovault spat. “You may not have a reason to kill him, but I do.”

“I thought you said you take your job seriously.”

“…Tsk.”

Pyrovault looked unhappy, but he raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Flames shot up around him, Third, and the restrained Archive, and they were all teleported to Asahi Fujinaka.

Karamori, driven by the sword’s bloodlust, couldn’t care less that they thought they were done fighting. He rushed at the group, completely devoid of emotion.

“Farewell for now,” Asahi Fujinaka said. “How many people will you have killed by the time you regain consciousness, I wonder.”

“…!”

The small sliver of Karamori that was left in his mind panicked. If he let them get away, he would be forced to hunt down and kill Fujinaka. He had to avoid that at all costs.

Yet his limbs moved of their own accord. Bloodlust overpowered his rational mind.

Pyrovault punched the earth, and blue flames appeared around the four people, who began to fade. However, just before they vanished completely, Archive took a step forward. The surprised expressions of Asahi Fujinaka and the others were visible for a mere moment before they disappeared, leaving only Archive behind.

The blue sword sliced through her flesh, sending blood arcing through the night.

Her form blurred, just like it had earlier when she’d disobeyed the book.

As Archive’s blood spattered, she lifted her string before her eyes.

“Coffin.”

Ten coffins appeared around Karamori, and a Half-wit crawled from each one. They sank into the ground, becoming pictures that swam toward Karamori.

The young man’s face didn’t even flinch at their unexpected arrival. They emerged from below and attacked him, each one made of dirt, but azure trails streaked through the air as Karamori easily slaughtered them. With each kill, the mark on his arm receded.

Archive’s form wavered violently as she watched; it looked like she could disappear at any moment. She spoke to the young man possessed by the sword, her face scrunched up in agony.

“It has all…been decided. In five hours, I…will be killed by you… That is my fate.”

“…!”

Karamori’s blade stilled momentarily as the tiny piece of him that was still conscious reacted to her words. However, that was the last thing Archive said before she faded into nothingness as if she had never been there at all.

He resumed swinging his sword, and once he’d butchered six more Half-wits, Karamori finally returned to his senses. He killed the remaining monsters while in his right mind, and only then was he able to stop.

Karamori looked around. He saw a dead forest ravaged by the ferocious battle—the investigators’ corpses lying in pools of their own blood. And…

“Karamori…”

…Hitsugi Fujinaka.

Karamori sheathed his sword and punched the ground.

He couldn’t do a damn thing on his own. He relied solely on the sword, and even then, he had to be saved by Archive. After all this time, he remained a slave to his sword, unable to resist the rushing current of fate it imposed upon him. He was powerless.

Wind blew through the forest, brushing up against death and regret. It was no comfort to Karamori, nor did it carry away the smallest piece of his sorrow. All the fleeting wind did was blow through his hollow heart.

Interlude 4: Madman

Madman

With the footsteps of dawn beginning to approach, a man wearing an eyepatch embroidered with a wing—Asahi Fujinaka—was observing a giant floating sphere made of what looked like water.

He stood in a building with corrugated metal walls and slightly worn iron poles spaced evenly throughout—an abandoned factory that he had remodeled into his personal workshop. LEDs illuminated every millimeter of the chaotic space. Cranes hung from the ceiling, and the outer walls were weathered and rotten, but the machinery looked almost brand new.

There were a lot of things, however, that one would never expect to see in a workshop, including blue mushrooms tall enough to reach the ceiling and a water basin that produced a never-ending sound, as if it were singing.

“What the hell is this place? Did you build it yourself?” asked a man in a large black coat—Pyrovault—as he looked around the workshop’s interior. He rubbed his bald head and turned toward the floating water sphere with interest.

“I found the fetters imposed by Grave Nest much too tight for my tastes,” Asahi Fujinaka said, his eyes not leaving the sphere.

The workshop was built on what had originally been a mine that had been abandoned along with its expansive facilities. Asahi Fujinaka had bought the mine with what amounted to pocket change for him and rebuilt it into a workshop…unbeknownst even to Grave Nest.

“You’ve gone off the rails, man,” Pyrovault complained. “What made you think you could do all this on your own? You didn’t even tell me we’d be running into Noary. I’m perfectly happy to fight, but my superiors weren’t pleased. You’ve also stored a ton of vanits in here without any kind of security to protect them.” Pyrovault hadn’t seen any guards or even any other researchers when he’d explored the facility. No vanit research facility should be left so defenseless. “Our researchers would faint at the sight of this place.”

“I have implemented the bare minimum of measures to ward off any intruders. It is important to me that this facility remains my own little world. Don’t ruin it with the presence of other people,” Asahi Fujinaka said.

Pyrovault sighed and shook his head. He looked at the floating sphere of water.

“Whatever, man. Are you using this giant water ball to make another one of those? I thought you just made them from paper from those trees. Y’know, like how normal paper’s made.”

“That is how I made First and Second. Further research and trials led me to a fuller understanding of their nature and to this more polished method of creation. That is the essence of scientific pursuit,” Asahi Fujinaka responded, before calling out “…Third.”

“Yes!”

Third, who was sitting atop a giant blue mushroom, spun her long white hair like helicopter blades and descended softly to the ground. She then extended a pigtail toward the water sphere, opened out the end like a flower, and pressed it to the sphere, causing ripples to spread across its five-meter diameter.

Pale human arms—or rather, Duplicator Tree branches—and white blocks of wood emerged from her hair and entered the water. In no time at all, the sphere was packed near to capacity with pieces from the five-story-tall Duplicator Tree. With a crunch, the wood was flattened to the width of paper.

Pyrovault looked behind him. Archive was standing quietly next to a blue mushroom; one hand reached out toward the sphere.

The flattened pieces of wood melted into the water and vanished.

“That’s some handy Distortionism you got there, li’l lady. It’s…not magic, right?” Pyrovault asked.

“It’s an ability called Optical Transference—or Hireal—that can influence reality based on what one sees,” Asahi Fujinaka answered instead. “When an object is seen from one perspective, the observer cannot tell if it is a two-dimensional picture or something that actually exists in three dimensions. The observer must see it from another angle to verify which it is. The Archive is doing the opposite. She saw the wood as a flat plane from one angle and forced reality to conform to that observation. It’s essentially her ability to collect concepts in reverse.”

Pyrovault snorted. “Well, that explains things. I guess she used the same ability to throw that net of words at me. She held her string in front of her eyes and imagined an object where her vision was blocked.”

“Exactly,” Asahi Fujinaka agreed.

He laid a hand on the green book he was carrying—Untitled—which opened with a faint green light. Black text leaped off the pages and formed a shape within the water sphere. It took the form of a person, eventually taking on a color like skin and forming clothing.

Pyrovault raised his eyebrows at the sight. The figure was a middle-aged man with an eyepatch. It was clearly…

“What the hell? That’s you.”

“Yes, it is. I learned from Second and Third that a creation cannot maintain its concept unless you define it as a person. But neither using a person as a base nor creating a human-shaped body proved sufficient for accomplishing my goal. Then inspiration struck: I could just use Untitled to produce the ideal material,” Asahi Fujinaka said, stroking Untitled’s spine.

“Is there anything you can’t make with that book? Wait, isn’t it not supposed to be able to eat the characters in your name?” Pyrovault asked.

“I’m not making this from my name. As the book’s owner, I can describe a person’s genetic information and deep-seated psyche and create them with great precision. That’s how I made Hitsugi.”

“Hmm… That wasn’t in your report.” Pyrovault snorted, a frown creasing his brow.

“Surely, I’m allowed to keep a few things to myself? What I am trying to make will justify my methods.”

“Why did you retire anyway, if you were just gonna come back? If you were in your old position, you would’ve been able to do whatever you wanted without going to all this trouble.”

Asahi Fujinaka smiled bitterly. “Now that is a long story.”

It was a surprisingly evasive answer given how readily the man had answered every other question.

Pyrovault raised his eyebrows but didn’t press him further. “Oh yeah? Eh, I’m not that interested anyway.”

Asahi Fujinaka shrugged in response and looked at the two girls, who were currently working. “I’m stepping out for a bit, you two. I’m sorry, but keep working without me,” he said, before exiting the workshop with Pyrovault.

This left Archive and Third alone with the giant mass of water between them. Third looked curiously at the other girl, who was working expressionlessly.

“Hey, we haven’t properly introduced ourselves, have we? I’m Third. You’re basically my older sister, right?” Third gave a smile, looking both embarrassed and excited to call her that. When Archive didn’t respond, Third put her hands on her hips and glared at her. “Come on, don’t ignore me. Surely, you’d rather talk to me than work in silence. That’d be so boring. Let’s chat.”

Archive squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds before speaking. “I was not fated to make small talk at this time.”

“Uh, what? I highly doubt working in dead silence was fated for you, either.” When Archive didn’t answer, Third barreled on. “There’s no way your entire life has been mapped out in perfect detail. Isn’t it boring just doing what your book says?”

“You do not understand how it feels to be unable to do anything but obey a predetermined fate regardless of your own wishes,” retorted Archive.

“That’s kinda why I’m asking,” Third said, undeterred by the other girl’s attitude.

“…”

“Are you saying you don’t like being made to do things against your will? I feel the same way, but…” Third tilted her head in confusion without ceasing her work. “Wait. That’s weird. Papa said you were born to obey your fate and that you’re not supposed to have any problem with that.”

Living beings were a product of their nature. Humans, for example, didn’t give any thought to their breathing or the beating of their heart. Similarly, Archive wasn’t supposed to question following the outline she had been created with. If she was opposed to that, then…

“Does that mean the will of that body’s original owner is still inside you? Now that I think about it, she was super mad at Papa. She was like a totally different person!”

Archive visibly grimaced hearing that, looking like she’d swallowed something bitter.

“But you’re not that person anymore, so you should be able to easily push her desires away,” Third said.

“I will not do that. Not ever.”

“Why not?” Third asked, clearly happy at finally getting a response.

Archive closed her eyes. “Because someone I know misses her. Someone who treats me as a completely different person despite seeing hope in the traces of her that remain. Despite how badly he wants to save her. As long as he lives, I will not erase those traces. No matter how much despair her wishes cause me.”

“Huh?” Third scrunched her face as if confused by what she just heard. “I don’t really get it, but it sounds like you have someone you really care about!”

“…”

“I do too. I love my Papa. He does bad things, but he’s a super good person. He could’ve disposed of me because I didn’t turn out the way he wanted, but he raised me with care instead. He even bought me these clothes because he thought they would look nice on me!”

She grabbed the hem of her dress. The light-orange fabric did not look cheap, and the sunflowers embroidered near the hem suited her cheerful personality.

“He probably just designed you to feel affection for him,” Archive said dryly.

“Oh, wow. Good point. You’re so smart.” Third laughed. “But I’m okay with that. I wouldn’t exist if not for him. And everything I’ve experienced has been so lovely and fun!”

“…”

Her smile was blindingly bright. Was it just a coincidence that Archive happened to avert her eyes at that moment and look up at the water sphere?

“One thing has become apparent,” the blond girl said.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Third asked.

“I am not going to get along with you.”

“Whaaat?!”

The abandoned mine was as quiet as the surrounding mountains. The clatter of the mine’s workers was long forgotten, as was the smell of dust that likely permeated the place, having been replaced by the refreshing smell of the trees.

“Wait a second. Why didn’t you just grab the book while it was still at your house?” Pyrovault asked, looking at Untitled in the hands of the one-eyed man.

“I had to leave it there. If I hadn’t, Hitsugi would not have opened the book and drawn Second to my house, nor would Second have gone to investigate the trees I get this paper from…which Noary calls Duplicator Trees,” Asahi Fujinaka said.

The hook-nosed man cocked his head. “I’m not following… Can you manipulate fate or something?”

“No, nothing of the sort. I just wrote the event ‘Asahi Fujinaka obtains Duplicator Trees’ into Second’s timeline. That means I bound myself to that fate, too, if just slightly. I didn’t know how I would obtain the Duplicator Trees, just that I would.” Asahi Fujinaka laughed jovially.

Pyrovault shot him a cold look. “And now your wife’s dead and the doll you created to be your daughter hates you. Was it really worth it?”

“Those were unfortunate sacrifices,” he said, looking up at the sky. There was no hint of regret in his voice. “Pyrovault, Vanit Slayer killed your son, right? Is it revenge that fuels your desire to kill him?”

Pyrovault waved his hands in protest. “Oh, stop. I ain’t that sentimental. I mean, that sword was dragging him around like a rag doll. He’s already suffering a fitting fate, too. Ninety percent of me wants to kill him just ’cause I want a good fight.”

“Is the final ten percent for your son?”

“Kind of…? I wouldn’t call it ‘revenge.’ Killing the kid’s just… I don’t know… It feels like something I should do as a parent. Does that make sense?”

“You wanted to try being a normal person?”

“Yeah, that’s it!” Pyrovault said, snapping his fingers.

Asahi Fujinaka smiled bitterly. “I’ve been there. But the attempt left you feeling surprisingly—”

“Bored,” the two men said together. They both laughed.

“Maybe that’s what it’s like to yearn for something. The feeling is always most beautiful before you obtain it,” Asahi Fujinaka said.

“You’re wrong. That’s only true if you dirty your hands on your way to achieving your goal. That’s what ulterior motives do. Right now, my passion is killing, and yours is research. Anything we truly desire will shine brightly in our hands if we obtain it the right way,” Pyrovault said, puffing out his chest.

Asahi Fujinaka smiled sadly. “…It’s that light that’s the problem. It draws me like a moth to a flame.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pyrovault looked at the one-eyed man, but he didn’t say anything else. “Eh, whatever. I’m going to sleep. I doubt you need a bodyguard right now.”

“Yeah. Goodnight,” he replied as Pyrovault turned around and walked away. When his footsteps faded from earshot, Asahi Fujinaka was once again left in the silence of night.

Relying on the light of the moon, he walked a short distance and stopped beneath a water storage tank located behind the workshop. He closed his eyes and Untitled glowed in his hands. It then opened and produced a middle-aged woman wearing an apron. Her wavy shoulder-length hair blew in the breeze.

Her cheeks were wrinkled by stress, but her big powerful eyes distracted from them. Those eyes and the rest of her features closely resembled Hitsugi Fujinaka.

Asahi Fujinaka’s one eye lit up with joy, but there was hesitance in his expression as well.

The woman looked bewildered, unable to process the situation she had just been dropped into, but as soon as he saw Asahi Fujinaka and Untitled in his hands, her face fell sadly.

“Oh… I see.”

“Yes. It turned out I couldn’t escape my nature as a madman…”

It was Tsumugi Sasaki—the woman who had been his fake wife.

Grave Nest didn’t allow its members to retire easily, so when Asahi Fujinaka had declared his intention to do so, its leaders had offered him a compromise: the position of CEO of Grave Nest’s new front company. He considered it a fair offer that reflected Asahi Fujinaka’s achievements in the organization.

When he accepted it, Tsumugi Sasaki had been assigned to him as an observer and point of contact with Grave Nest. Their marriage was a guise, a falsehood. Yet, sometimes, a falsehood can become a reality. Tsumugi had only been assigned to live with him for five years but ended up staying with him for another fifteen. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“What happened to our daughter?” Tsumugi asked.

“She’s alive. But she learned the truth of her existence.”

A dry slap echoed through the night as Tsumugi struck Asahi Fujinaka.

“I despise you,” she said.

“…”

Those words pierced Asahi Fujinaka’s heart, but he accepted them with a sad expression.

All his life, he had been a man who couldn’t contain his curiosity. He would find himself doing anything to satiate it, even if it meant ignoring all sense of danger or morality.

Others complimented his inquisitiveness until they learned that he was willing to risk human lives in the pursuit of knowledge. That quickly shut people up. They had only one word for him after that: madman.

No one believed it, but he did possess a general sense of morality. At least, that was what he thought. But when his curiosity gripped him, it overwrote that sense. That was how he was able to distinguish himself in Grave Nest, an organization full of researchers willing to conduct inhumane experiments.

But when his curiosity subsided, he was always left with a certain feeling. That he was fundamentally different from other people. That he truly was a madman.

That was the reason he wanted to leave Grave Nest. As long as he conducted research for that organization, the mad side of him would continue to manifest. He was tired of living with that feeling. He wanted to quit his research, place himself into an environment that would not stimulate his curiosity, and bury his madman tendencies however deep he could.

The attempt had actually succeeded…for a little over twenty years anyway. He had been able to use the final product of his curiosity—Untitled—and repress his urges to live a relatively normal life. Occasionally the scales of his mind tipped in favor of curiosity over ethics, such as when he created his child, Hitsugi, but he didn’t do anything that harmed other people.

Having Tsumugi—a woman he truly loved—was a major part of that. She was his rock. Yet even so…in the end, he couldn’t escape his true self.

Thirteen years after he made Hitsugi, inspiration struck him with an idea that threw off all his inhibitions. That was when his plan, which he knew most would consider evil, began.

“I could tell you to quit, but I know you won’t listen,” Tsumugi said.

“That’s right. I can’t stop. I’ve got something I have to try, no matter the cost.”

“I’ll say it anyway: Please stop. Whatever you’re doing. Nothing can possibly be worth killing me and who knows how many other people. It’s not right. I’m begging you. Just this once, restrain yourself.”

Asahi Fujinaka closed his one remaining eye. He felt pain in his missing right eye, which he’d crushed himself for an experiment long ago.

“…I can’t. My desire to do this is too strong.” He opened his eye, which glittered as brightly as the stars with the light of curiosity.

This time, it was Tsumugi’s turn to shut her eyes.

That was Asahi Fujinaka in a nutshell. Was this the destiny of a person born as a madman? He was incapable of repressing even his worst tendencies and had tried and failed to avoid this path in life. Perhaps he was just another victim of a fate written in stone.

“It won’t make a difference…if I tell you to just force yourself to quit?” Tsumugi asked.

“No. I can’t possibly do that after coming this far.”

Tsumugi shook her head, her shoulders slumping drooped dejectedly…then she slashed a dagger at his neck in a blur of speed. A dull thunk broke the silence of the night.

“You better thank your lucky stars I noticed you bein’ all weird and followed you. The hell’s going on here? Who’s she?”

The dagger had been blocked by a thick arm belonging to Pyrovault, who had approached without either of them noticing.

“I wasn’t acting suspiciously. And this is my wife,” Asahi Fujinaka said.

“Your wife?” Pyrovault turned his beady eyes on the one-eyed man. “Didn’t she die ’cause of your plan? Why’d you summon her? You’re just gonna make things harder on yourself.”

“I summoned her because I wanted to. That is all.”

“Eh? …You make no sense at all, man. If you can create any kind of person you want, at least make her so she won’t try to slit your throat.”

“I could do that. But…unpredictability is what makes other people interesting.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry for worrying you. I’m done here.”

Asahi Fujinaka placed a hand on Untitled’s cover, and Tsumugi’s form began to distort. The sadness that had seeped into his expression mere moments ago was nowhere to be seen, making him look just like an aloof middle-aged man enjoying life to the fullest. Even Pyrovault was thrown off by his inexplicable behavior. The only person who understood the true emotion beneath his mask was Tsumugi Sasaki, who was currently reverting to a string of text and disappearing.

He was all alone.

That was his punishment for walking the path of a madman. No one would understand him or even see the value in trying. Loneliness. There was no other life available to him.

Tsumugi looked up at the crescent moon as she faded away. It glowed unmatched in the sky, forbidding the approach of even a single cloud. Try as one might to reach up and touch it, it would remain forever out of reach.

Chapter 4: FORCE ~White Syndemic~

Investigators raced from their tents as soon as Archive disappeared. They immediately treated Karamori’s injuries, and after they questioned him about what had happened, they moved on to other tasks including performing a follow-up investigation on the Duplicator Trees.

The investigators attempted to track Archive and Asahi Fujinaka using both Distortionism and scientific methods, but nothing they could immediately implement bore any fruit.

Karamori was seriously injured. He had suffered multiple broken ribs, two broken fingers on his left hand, and damage to his lungs and other organs. He was treated using Distortionist methods, but the simple tools available in the investigator tents weren’t enough to fully heal him. Excessive movement would likely completely undo the treatment he received.

Once the necessary reports were taken care of and Karamori’s trauma-induced fever receded, the investigators on site were finally able to relax. By that point, it had been some time since Archive and the others left.

Karamori and Fujinaka were in a room in the medical ward of a simple research facility. The room was made of plastic and illuminated by bright white light. Bare wiring connected to the medical equipment by the bed and the ceiling light.

The mood in the facility had calmed since Karamori was brought here, but he could still hear busy footsteps and voices on the other side of the thin walls. A vague sense of urgency remained, making it feel as if the place had been electrified. The air he breathed numbed his throat.

Karamori was sitting on the edge of the bed with his portable device to his ear. He was pale, the cause of which extended beyond his physical injuries.

“Six of the eight tracking methods we’ve employed turned up nothing. The other two need more time.”

He was talking to Nanba to give him a report on what happened earlier that day. Nanba was speaking with his usual easygoing tone, but his voice sounded a little harder than usual.

The Noary Group was not run by idiots. Nanba was able to use his silver tongue and convince his superiors to employ Archive, but they knew better than to employ an unpredictable element like her as a Canary without a firm leash. They paired her with Karamori, a partner who could kill her at any time, and prepared multiple methods to track or kill her from a distance in the event of her betrayal. Not that those methods were doing any good now.

“How much longer will the other two methods take?” Karamori asked impatiently.

“I wouldn’t tell you if I knew, kid,” Nanba said, his voice cold. “You’ll go after them as soon as you know where they are.”

“Of course I will! They have Archive!”

“I can’t sign off on that. You realize the scope of this situation, don’t you? We’re dealing with Grave Nest here. We have to be careful about striking back. Both sides will lose if this turns into a game of tit for tat. I’ve gotta speak with my superiors first, and if we decide to act, we’ll form a strike tea—”

“We don’t have time for th—argh…”

Karamori’s face contorted with pain from the strain of yelling. Blood seeped into his clothes over his shoulder.

“I get why you’re antsy… Two hours have passed since the incident, which means that in three hours, you’re gonna kill Archive. If what she says is true, that is.”

“I don’t think she had any reason to lie in that situation. It was pretty clear she was disobeying fate,” Karamori said.

Her form blurred when she spoke, just like it did when she tried to attack Asahi Fujinaka.

“Then fate whipped her back to where she was meant to be. If she can be believed, you could probably sit in bed twiddling your thumbs for the next three hours and somehow end up killing her at the appointed time anyway. Maybe you’ll misfire your gun just as she teleports directly in front of the muzzle.”

“…”

And then she would die. She would bleed out easily, unprotected by fate like she had been every other time he had killed her. Nanba’s example was absurd, but both he and Karamori knew to an uncomfortable degree just how irrational fate could be when it was decided ahead of time.

“I can’t just sit around doing nothing. I want to at least try to prevent this!” Karamori said.

“I know, kid. I know. But I’ve got no power here. I’m sorry. An investigator I fought for the company to hire just defected. My head is on the chopping block here.”

“Ah…”

“Not that I’m the one who suggested we make her an investigator… Life isn’t fair, is it?”

Hearing that calmed Karamori down a little. Nanba had always fought hard for him, often at his own risk. Asking more of him now would place too big of a burden on him.

He squeezed the hem of his shirt.

“Understood. You don’t have to do anything, Mr. Nanba.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Anything I do from here will be of my own accord.”

Canaries were the highest-ranking vanit investigators and had the authority to give orders to lower investigators. He should be able to use that to manage something on his own.

“Huh? I don’t like the sound of that. What’re you planning? Do you have any leads?”

“Nope. I’ve got absolutely nothing to go on. Talk later.”

“Hey, wait—”

Karamori ended the call before Nanba could finish his sentence and threw his portable device at his pillow.

“Um, Karamori? Are you okay?” Fujinaka asked, peering into his face. She was sitting in a nearby folding chair.

“Yeah,” replied Karamori. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Fujinaka shook her head. She looked down at her lap and laced her fingers.

“Are you…going after Dad?”

“Yeah. Even if it weren’t for Archive, that man would need to be stopped. He wants to make another vanit book. I don’t know his motives, but I can’t overlook the creation of a new distortion. I won’t let him give birth to any more victims like you and Archive.”

Fujinaka unclasped and clasped her hands.

“But…if you find him and Archive…you’ll kill Archive, right? Wouldn’t it be better for you to not know where he is? If you don’t find my dad, you won’t kill Archive.”

“That’s not how that works. Fate can’t be so easily avoided. You saw what happened when Archive tried to resist hers. She was continually forced back onto fate’s intended path. But that’s exactly why I can’t run from this. I won’t let fate rule my life. I didn’t become a Canary to hide when I don’t like what fate has in store.”

He could decide how he lived his life. Even if the end—and his very actions—were determined, he wouldn’t let fate rob him of his initiative.

“That’s why I’m going after your dad,” he continued. “I can’t let him make another book.”

“But you don’t know where he is…”

“No. But I know how to find him.”

“Huh…?”

Fujinaka’s head snapped up in surprise. Karamori looked at her, his eyes brimming with confidence.

“Fujinaka, you know where he is, don’t you?”

“Huh?!” Fujinaka jumped up from her chair. “What are you saying?! How the heck would I know where he is? Not even Noary has been able to find him.”

“That’s because Noary can’t find him. I’m apparently fated to kill Archive in three hours. Which means I’ll find her in three hours.”

He’d meant it when he said that you couldn’t run from fate. It would find you no matter what.

“I could do absolutely nothing and somehow find out where she is anyway, but I’d rather take action. We can’t rely on Noary’s tracking, which means the only way to find your dad right now is you. You’re the owner of Untitled, and he took it with him.”

“But—”

“And unless I’m imagining things, you’ve been acting like you don’t want me to find Archive.”

“…”

Fujinaka looked down and fell silent for a moment.

“It’s just…” Her voice was barely audible. “If I tell you where they are…you’ll kill Dad, won’t you?”

Tears welled in her eyes. One tear streaked down her face, quickly followed by another.

Karamori’s breath caught in his throat. He saw the fear in her words and realized how divorced his way of thinking had become from ordinary civilians.

Fujinaka was right. He was already operating under the assumption that he would kill Asahi Fujinaka. Without consideration for her feelings as his daughter.

That would be the right decision as a Canary. He had no reason to leave a harmful member of Grave Nest alive. But the fact that he didn’t even give that a second thought was proof of just how much the world he worked in had tainted him.

“I still love Dad, even after what he just did. Is that weird?”

“Of course n—”

“I had a thought. He created me…which means he could have made me so that I would never hate him, no matter what.”

Her voice was heavy with sorrow. She was terrified that her very mind didn’t belong to her. That her feelings were predetermined, making her another slave to fate.

“But I still don’t want him to die! That might mean there’s something wrong with me, but I don’t care!”

Karamori more than understood the reason for her despair. But that was exactly why…

“Let’s interrogate him directly,” he said.

“Huh?”

Karamori stood up from the bed and grabbed Fujinaka’s hands.

“I won’t kill your dad. I promise. So let’s go talk to him. We’ll ask him why he made you, together. I’ll make sure to capture your dad alive.”

Those words were a vow. The light in his eyes was genuine and unwavering in the face of the fate he carried.

“But if you find Dad, you’ll kill Archive. How can you be so sure you want to go?” Fujinaka asked.

“Because I want to fight. If I’m fated to die today, I’ll fight to go out with a smile. If I’m fated to die with tears on my cheeks, I’ll fight to make sure they’re tears of joy. And if fate decides that I can’t save Archive, I’ll fight to make sure she can be saved in the future.”

Karamori gripped her hands more tightly.

“Fujinaka. Live the life you want to live. It doesn’t matter who or what you are. Don’t you have questions for your dad?”

He had a strong resolve to not let fate rule his life. He was probably on a long losing streak in that battle. Even so, he was marching on. That was the fight he had chosen for himself.

“I do, but…if he really did make me just to serve him, I’m not sure how I’ll react… I’m scared to talk to him for that reason…”

Karamori looked Fujinaka in the eyes and smiled.

“If you don’t like his answers, I’ll be there to cheer you up. We can go out to eat again. All three of us!”

Fujinaka looked at Karamori. All three of us. He probably knew better than her how hard achieving that would be. And yet, he was able to declare that with a smile on his face.

He meant it as another vow.

Fujinaka felt her hands grow strangely warm in his. That warmth spread from her hands to her chest.

She nodded and squeezed his hands back.

“Okay… I believe you.”

An hour later.

“Excuse me, sir. Can you angle us a little more to the north?” Fujinaka asked.

Karamori and Fujinaka were traveling in a small helicopter. It had a simple interior with gray cushioning and upholstered seats with faded yellow cloth on the walls. The ladder and plastic boxes fixed to the walls vibrated along with the helicopter.

Dawn was approaching, creating a purple gradient in the sky.

They were pursuing Asahi Fujinaka by having Fujinaka sense Untitled’s location. She had been less than confident she would be able to do that, but she actually seemed to be able to sense its general direction over a long distance. That might have been due to the training Archive put her through.

She couldn’t manage it without deep concentration. She was currently furrowing her brow and closing her eyes. The most she could sense was a vague direction, which was why she was here guiding the pilot in real time.

Untitled—as well as Archive and Asahi Fujinaka—awaited at the location she was guiding them to.

As the sound of the spinning rotor echoed within the helicopter’s interior, Karamori stared into space with a hand to his chin.

“Is something on your mind?” Fujinaka asked after returning from the pilot’s seat.

Karamori looked up. “Yeah, I was thinking about Archive. Something… feels off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Archive said that in five hours, she would be killed by me. She said it was her fate. If you flip that, it means I am fated to kill her… And as far as I know, Archive’s book only details her own actions. I was wondering if it can determine the fates of other people, too.”

Tyrfing already held the reins on Karamori’s fate. Could The Archive really influence his actions, too?

He could think of many possibilities to explain her wording, of course. For example, if the book said, “You will be killed by Tyrfing,” then it would almost certainly be Karamori who delivered the killing blow.

“Are you saying Archive might be lying?” Fujinaka asked.

“That would be a relief,” Karamori said.

He felt like it wasn’t that simple. Archive said that while ignoring her fate. That meant she chose those words of her own will. He couldn’t imagine she would go out of her way to tell him a meaningless lie.

“I think she had a reason for choosing those exact words. They’re the reason I decided to go after her so quickly, in fact. If not for what she said, I would have spent a little more time preparing and building a team, and I wouldn’t have taken you… I think Archive has a plan,” Karamori said.

She was fighting within the fate that was decided for her. That much was certain.

“That means the key…is probably you,” he said.

“Huh? Me?” Fujinaka asked.

Nanba contacted Karamori after they left. One of the two remaining tracking methods activated, revealing Archive’s likely location with high precision. He shared the information, saying there was no point in withholding it if Karamori was acting on his own.

The location was in the same direction they were heading now. Karamori would have been able to find Archive even without Fujinaka’s help.

“You’re only here because of what Archive said. She’s also the one who taught you how to control Untitled. If she was acting only to feed your dad Noary intel and help him obtain the Duplicator Trees and Untitled, she wouldn’t have needed to do that,” Karamori said.

“But what does she want me to do? She never told me anything. I’m just as clueless as you are,” Fujinaka said.

“Yeah… We have to think about that.”

The aircraft swayed slightly, likely due to a strong wind. The equipment fixed to the floor and walls rattled.

They both fell silent for a moment. Fujinaka was the next to speak.

“…What does Dad want to make? What has him going this far?”

“Both The Archive and the girl named Third have a Compilation ability,” Karamori said. The Archive could Compile concepts while Third could likely Compile physical objects. Untitled, meanwhile, could Compile words and the things they referred to. “There’s little doubt he’s trying to make something else that can Compile something.”

But what did he want to collect? The Compilation abilities of his existing books were already quite powerful.

No amount of thought would lead them to an answer now.

Drops of sweat formed on Karamori’s forehead. They came not from the pain of his injuries, but rather from his rising impatience. However, the light in his eyes did not waver.

Nothing could disrupt his desire—his conviction.

He might be a slave to fate, but he would not yield.

Karamori looked out the window. The light of dawn had sliced through the horizon and was spilling out to the rest of the sky.

The day was just beginning. This day that would decide all of their fates.

Two birds soared through the sunlit sky. Their wings gave them a freedom that would inspire jealousy in most. Karamori burned their image into his mind.

Fujinaka, who was sitting next to him, scratched the corners of her eyes.

“Haaah… My eyes itch… I’ve been crying way too much since I met you.”

Karamori certainly had seen Fujinaka cry a lot over the last few days. She didn’t come off as a crybaby, though.

“I don’t think anyone could blame you for that, considering what you’ve been through,” he told her.

“I know, but still. It’s embarrassing crying in front of people so much.”

“Well, flush your tears out while you can. We’ll be all smiles once we’re done here today!”

“You’re way too good at cheering people up,” Fujinaka said with a carefree smile.

Shortly afterward, her posture went rigid.

“It’s close…”

Ignoring Karamori’s surprised expression, she unfastened her seatbelt and hurried to the cockpit. When she reached it, she looked at the scenery below with concern on her face. Karamori followed her.

Expansive fields unfolded below them. Buildings and field crops intermingled, the latter of which decreased in frequency as the buildings got taller and closer together. It looked like a typical Japanese rural town. Mountains crawled from the town and reached for the sky, covered by deep forestation interrupted by patches of bare land that made it look like they had been nibbled on by some kind of giant.

Fujinaka pointed at one of the patches of bare land.

“Over there! That’s where I sense Untitled! I feel it much more strongly than before! It’s definitely there!” she said.

It looked like an old mining site. Rusty buildings and machinery were visible from a distance.

“A mine, huh…? That definitely seems like a good hideout,” Karamori said.

The helicopter’s speed dropped. The pilot probably decided they shouldn’t pass directly over it.

“I’ll look for a nearby landing place,” he said. He started to speak to someone over the radio.

Karamori and Fujinaka returned to their seats.

“Thanks, Fujinaka. For guiding us here,” he said haltingly. “Wait in the helicopter after we land. I swear I’ll bring your dad back with me.”

“Huh? But if I don’t go, Archive will—”

“There’s almost certainly going to be a fight after I infiltrate their facility. I can’t bring you into the middle of that.”

He had spent the whole flight mulling whether he should take her, but he decided it would be too dangerous. He couldn’t risk it when he didn’t have definitive proof she was the key to this situation.

“Just lie low. Once it’s safe, I’ll send someone to get you,” Karamori said.

“…Okay.”

“You may have to rethink those plans.”

Someone suddenly spoke from the other end of the helicopter. Karamori recognized the voice, but it belonged to someone who shouldn’t have been there.

He turned around. Somehow, Archive was standing there…looking ready for battle.

She held her red string before her eyes, blocking most of her field of view with a net pattern. She could see Karamori and Fujinaka through the holes.

“Fujinaka!” Karamori shouted, flinging himself at Fujinaka and forcing them both to the floor. A net of text whooshed centimeters over his head, slicing up the walls of the helicopter as it passed. It tore through the cockpit—mercilessly slicing the pilot’s back—and shattered the window. Blood, glass, and explosive wind rushed from the cockpit to the rest of the aircraft.

“Aaah!” Fujinaka screamed as forceful wind assaulted them.

The helicopter swayed massively, giving Karamori the sensation of his stomach jumping into his throat. They were falling. A deafening alarm added to the sense of crisis.

The next attack was imminent. Karamori looked at Archive amid the raging wind. She lifted her string toward him and Fujinaka again.

“Ngh…!”

He dashed across the tilting floor and swung Tyrfing, striking Archive’s wrist with its scabbard just before she fired another black net of text. He pressed on toward her to neutralize her abilities. Archive struggled in close combat. He had the advantage at this dista—

Archive disappeared.

“Crap!”

He should have seen that coming. She had no reason to stick around when he had her cornered.

He quickly looked around the nosediving helicopter and saw no sign of her. She had run. She had clearly done enough damage already.

The helicopter spiraled as it fell. There was no saving it.

“Fujinaka! Grab onto something and get down!” Karamori yelled. He ran to the cockpit and looked at the pilot. “Are you okay?!”

“Y-yeah… I think so…”

The pilot had survived despite the deep slash wounds on his back. He was desperately wrangling the joystick to try to get control of the helicopter, fighting through his pain and the strong wind.

“The helicopter’s done for! You need to evacuate!” he yelled.

“What about you?” Karamori asked.

“I—I’ll be fine! I have…a spare…parachute! Save the girl!” The pilot looked at Fujinaka, who was crouched in a stupor.

Karamori scanned the view outside. They were now about two hundred meters above the ground, close enough to make out details of the trees and the mine.

A crash was inevitable. The falling helicopter would make using parachutes dangerous, as they could easily get hit by the aircraft’s falling body or sliced up by the rotor. There was no easy escape. Karamori might be okay, but Fujinaka had received no special training and had no chance of surviving without help.

Hesitation would mean death. Karamori made a decision.

“Make it out alive, okay? That’s an order!”

He rushed toward Fujinaka in the spinning helicopter, then grabbed her trembling cheeks and turned her face toward his.

“Fujinaka, listen to me! We’re going to jump!”

“Huh? What?!”

He dragged the bewildered Fujinaka to her feet and kicked down the helicopter’s door. Then, after waiting for the right timing, he threw themselves into the air while holding her tight.

“Aaaaahhh!” Fujinaka screamed.

The wind beat at them as they fell and quickly built a lead on the helicopter.

“Fujinaka! You’ll be fine if you just stay calm! Do as I told you before we got on the helicopter!” Karamori shouted.

He made sure they were far enough ahead of the aircraft and pulled the string on her back to release her parachute. A giant dome made of nylon fabric instantly unfurled above her.

The sudden shock of being caught by the wind punched Karamori in the gut. He immediately let go of her hands and resumed falling, ending up far below her in just seconds. She looked like she was floating from his perspective, but that was just an optical illusion resulting from her falling much more slowly than him.

Please remain calm. Please.

He looked up at Fujinaka as she fell slowly under the rectangular parachute. She looked dazed, but she didn’t seem to be panicking. She would land just fine as long as she kept her composure.

Another parachute unfolded at the edge of his vision. The pilot must have managed to escape despite his injuries.

I hope he can be treated after he lands…

Right now, he had no time to worry about anyone but himself.

Karamori engaged his parachute. He was only about fifty meters from the ground, too low for his parachute to lower his speed enough for him to survive. Fortunately, he had a plan.

Face scrunched from the shock of the sudden decrease in speed, he stared fixedly at his landing spot. It was a tall and skinny building that looked like a smokestack.

He used the strings of his parachute to steer himself to the top of the building and stuck out his legs. His feet slammed hard into the structure, but instead of landing, he used the wall to kill his momentum before throwing himself back into the air. The impact was almost enough to break his knees, but he managed to slow himself to a safe landing speed and touch down in a spot overgrown with weeds.

He immediately detached his parachute to remove the burden of its weight.

Luckily—or unluckily—he landed right in the middle of the abandoned mine. The forgotten facilities offered no greeting to their rare visitor. The ground had been hardened by the tread of workers and vehicles, but the weeds now covered any marks they had left.

That was a narrow escape from death. Karamori panted heavily, his heart thundering in his chest; that was enough to scare even him.

“You don’t hold back, do you?” Karamori said to a blond girl standing nearby in a tight black dress. It was Archive. She was twisting her string and watching him.

Her clothes were plain and casual. They were completely unsuited for combat; it looked like she could have been going out for drinks at a café. That was no surprise, as Karamori knew she spared no thought for clothing.

Archive’s hands paused.

“This was all predetermined,” she said.

The helicopter crashed with a loud boom not far from where they were standing. The metallic crunch of the aircraft pierced their eardrums and explosive flames hurled intense heat at their skin. The weeds swayed violently, and the buildings creaked.

An object flew past Karamori and stabbed into a wall next to him. It was Tyrfing, which happened to fly out of the helicopter and end up by his side. The chains had been torn off along with most of the decorations, but the sword itself was whole.

Neither Karamori nor Archive batted an eye. They didn’t even look at the sword. Such distortions of fate were nothing new to them.

“Canopy.”

Archive twisted her string into a new shape, summoning a circle of light around them that quickly became a towering wall of text.

“You cannot escape… Not until one of us dies.”

“…”

Karamori bit his lip. Archive was forcing him to fight her. This was the worst-case scenario. He had instantly found himself forced into a situation in which he had to kill her, and he still had no idea what her intentions were.

“I won’t kill you,” he said.

“That is your prerogative,” Archive replied detachedly. “It simply means that I will be the one to leave this space.”

A red book appeared in her hands—The Archive, her true form. It left her hands and floated above her shoulder.

Karamori balled his fists.

“You wanted me to bring Fujinaka here, right? What do you want us to do?! Tell me!” he shouted.

“…She is—”

Archive’s figure blurred right after she started to answer. When she stabilized, she was back in her original posture, showing no intention of speaking.

She was fated to say nothing. That was clear.

“…I see. Then I don’t need words.” Karamori pulled Tyrfing out of the wall. “I trust you.”

“…”

She didn’t answer.

Archive touched the floating book. The ground shined around her, then it began to rumble and rise as a dirt giant lifted itself up with her on its shoulder. She didn’t stop there—she shifted her string into another shape, causing indecipherable characters to appear on the walls of the buildings around them. Sharp spikes grew from those walls, all of them aimed at Karamori.

She was projecting concepts onto reality. The fact that she had summoned The Archive, the book from which she took her name, meant that the giant and the spikes were more than they appeared. She had probably imbued them with concepts that she Compiled from vanits in the past.

She was genuinely trying to kill Karamori.

“I should not need to tell you the difficulty of fighting a Distortionist who was given time to prepare,” Archive said from atop the giant. Her eyes were devoid of emotion.

She flicked her wrist, and the giant’s fist and the spikes all rushed at Karamori at once.

Fujinaka, who managed to land safely with her parachute, heard the ground tremor nearby. She looked toward the sound.

“Hngh…!”

She tried to walk and immediately collapsed. Her left knee was swollen purple and bleeding. She’d injured it when she landed.

After managing to move a short distance, she peered around the edge of a building and saw Karamori and Archive fighting within a wall of characters. Archive fought with shocking ferocity as she hounded Karamori with spikes and a dirt giant. He dodged the giant’s blows and used Tyrfing’s scabbard—and occasionally, the blade—to shatter the spikes.

“Karamori…”

He fought with desperation on his face. But Fujinaka thought something looked off about him. He kept briefly pausing. The fight was intense and hard to follow, but she felt like he was passing up chances to attack Archive, instead waiting for her next attack.

“Oh no… Is he not going to attack her? Because he might kill her?”

The source of Archive’s immortality came from the fact that, if she was killed on a day that she wasn’t fated to die, she would revive. But if her words were to be believed, today was that day. There was a chance any regular attack could kill her.

“But then…”

A metal spike stabbed Karamori in the shoulder. A net of text flew at him next, but he cut it down with Tyrfing and backed far away from his opponent.

He was panting heavily. At this rate, he’d only his disadvantage growing larger.

However…

“…!”

Fujinaka noticed Karamori’s eyes. Hope hadn’t faded from them in the slightest. They still shined with honest belief. He hadn’t given up. He may have had no idea how he was going to defy fate, but he was determined to keep fighting to the end.

Karamori’s eyes darted toward Fujinaka. He must have noticed her. His eyes were only on her for the briefest of moments, but the vivid light within them pierced through to her very soul. Feeling propelled by that look, she turned on her heel and ran. Her destination: where she felt Untitled.

“That means the key…is probably you.”

Karamori’s words resonated in her mind. If Archive’s fate was only to help Asahi Fujinaka obtain the Duplicator Trees and assist with his plan, then any unrelated actions she took must have displayed her true intent. They were proof that she was fighting while bound hand and foot by fate.

Fujinaka trembled as she ran, fear wrapped around her legs like snakes.

She was on a battlefield. Someone could try to kill her at any moment, like when Archive appeared out of nowhere and sent the helicopter spiraling. Death could be lurking behind that bush, around the corner of that building, or on the other side of that window.

That was enough to scare her senseless.

But…

Her mind went back to the yakiniku restaurant. Karamori said he chose the path he was currently walking as a way to resist the shackles that fate placed upon him. He did so while bearing the full weight of his past.

He made the same decision today. He chose to oppose fate.

She couldn’t see him fighting and then do nothing herself. The only problem was, she had no idea what she could actually do…

I want to fight, too…!

She responded at the time by saying that “living itself” was her fight. She would do all she could in the here and now. That was her fight. That thought became kindling for the fire blazing in her heart.

Fujinaka sifted through her memories. She had just met Archive, and even she could tell that the girl had done plenty of things around her unnecessary for her own fate.

One such example was teaching her how to use Untitled. If Archive hadn’t helped Fujinaka figure out how to control the book, she would not have been able to sense it from a distance. That was why Fujinaka was here now.

The same could be said for why she was currently taking action. If Archive hadn’t brought down the helicopter, she’d be waiting inside it right now.

Fujinaka was sure of it. Archive was guiding her. She just didn’t know where to. She didn’t know anything about Archive or about vanits. But perhaps her ignorance was what allowed her to see the one guiding light in the darkness.

“Untitled…”

She was here for a reason. There was something only she could do. The book had to be the key.

Fujinaka ran faster.

Those two had entrusted their fates to her.

She liked them both. She had only known them for a few days, but she could tell that despite the brutal world they lived in and the cruel fates they were saddled with, they treated each other like ordinary friends.

If Karamori kills Archive, he’ll never get over it.

That couldn’t be allowed to happen. She knew the terrible weight of having killed loved ones with your own hands. He already lived with a lot of guilt; this could break his spirit completely. She had to stop this somehow.

But I only have one idea…

And that one idea was the last thing she wanted to do.

But…it would be better than one of them having to kill the other…right?

Fujinaka stopped before a building that looked like some kind of toolshed. It was concrete and about the size of a truck container. She felt Untitled within it.

Naturally, there was a huge lock on the iron door.

“Hmm… Should I…? Oh, screw it! That works! Untitled! Just spit it all out! Give me anything and everything!”

She was definitely close enough to control the book. She couldn’t tell through the wall if it actually followed her command…but the loud racket inside the building quickly made it clear that it did. She heard crashes, bangs, and shatters; the concrete walls cracked, and the iron door bent outward.

“Oh geez…”

Sensing danger, Fujinaka backed away. Seconds later, the door blasted off its hinges and an avalanche of random objects spilled out. The chaotic jumble of paintings, small snack bags, books, medium-sized machinery, and more made it impossible to tell what had originally been in the shed.

Fujinaka felt a jolt of anxiety when it occurred to her that the book might have summoned people, too, but she didn’t see any. It must have sensed that she didn’t want it to do that.

Her ploy got the door open, but she had buried Untitled in the process. She was about to start digging, knowing she had no other choice, when something moved in the corner of her vision. She tensed and snapped her head toward it, then saw that it was a round penguin dressed like a knight—Sir Penny. He was holding something toward her with his short flippers.

“Huh…?”

It was a thick green book. It was Untitled—the book she was born from. The sight of it still filled her with hatred and fear. But she needed its power right now.

Fujinaka heard a clink from the pile of junk behind Sir Penny. She looked toward the sound and saw a single coin rolling toward her. It bumped into her feet and fell.

“It’s a coin.”

Archive’s voice surfaced in her memory. She was reminded of the fortune-telling Archive had performed for her what felt like ages ago.

A coin. It represented…

Fujinaka raised her eyebrows and accepted Untitled from Sir Penny.

“Will you help me?”

Sir Penny nodded resolutely in response to his master’s question.

“Let’s go!” Fujinaka declared. She ran back in the direction she’d come from, toward where she heard Karamori and Archive still fighting.

But when she reached them, she found the situation had already passed a point of no return.

Meanwhile, inside Asahi Fujinaka’s workshop, crowded with giant mushrooms and ominous machinery, the floating sphere of water had changed. It used to be five meters wide, but it was now small enough to fit in the palm of one’s hand. It had also begun to glow red.

Countless words wriggled within that ominous dark-red light. They reached into the sphere’s depths, which seemed to stretch into infinity despite its small size. The sphere could no longer be described as water—it was now a mass or a liquid made of text.

The strange liquid descended from the air and settled on the floor, where it wobbled like jelly.

“Bravo! Oh, happy day! It’s finished,” Asahi Fujinaka said, clapping and standing up from a nearby folding chair.

“Hooray!” cheered Third, who had been standing drowsily next to him. She pumped her fists and white pigtails in the air.

“Really? That puny thing is what you wanted to make?” Pyrovault walked over to the liquid text wearing his usual black coat. He timidly poked the red substance, which did nothing but wobble. “That ain’t a book or a person. What happened to that clone of yourself?”

“I used it as the base,” Asahi Fujinaka said.

The one-eyed man approached the red liquid and carefully scraped it off the floor with a clipboard. He then walked to a nearby cluster of giant blue mushrooms and closed his eyes.

The liquid text emitted red light, which sapped the brightness of the blue mushrooms. The mushrooms’ forms then wavered and withered before their very eyes. Black words rose to the surface of the mushrooms and were sucked into the red liquid.

In the span of a few seconds, the giant mushrooms had transformed into a single human corpse.

Pyrovault frowned. “What the actual hell? Were these mushrooms originally a person?”

“Never mind that! What you’re about to see will drive it from your mind completely!” Asahi Fujinaka said, his eyes shining. “Behold!”

He closed his eyes again, and this time a huge amount of text flowed out of the red liquid. It wrapped around the folding chair that Asahi Fujinaka was just sitting in, covering it in writing from a language that none of them recognized, then quickly disappeared.

“Third, destroy that chair!” he commanded.

“Sir, yes, sir! Hi-yah!”

Third wove her fists of hair together and swung them at the chair like a hammer. The blow was strong enough to cave in the concrete floor so, unsurprisingly, it shattered the chair to pieces.

“Whuh?” Third cried out.

Somehow, the chair had appeared next to her fists of hair fully formed. The shattered fragments had disappeared. She immediately wrapped her hair around the chair and squeezed it like a boa constrictor, crushing it and sending leather and metal fragments flying across the room…until it again reappeared on the floor in one piece. There was no sign that it had been destroyed twice now.

“Grrr…”

Third stubbornly continued to pound the chair, but the result was always the same. It always reappeared as if nothing had happened.

Asahi Fujinaka proudly lifted his chin, unbothered by the clamor Third was making.

“Giant azure mushrooms. They were thought to have grown from a single man in Gifu Prefecture. There were seven in total, and nothing could be done to decrease their numbers. You could slice them, crush them, or burn them, but all seven giant mushrooms would reappear a second later as if nothing had happened,” he said.

“And now the distortion belonging to those mushrooms is inside that folding chair,” Pyrovault observed as he watched Third pulverize the chair in the corner of his eye.

“Precisely! We’ve finally obtained it! A tool that can Compile this world’s very distortions!”

This new creation could be used to collect and employ not reality, existences, and concepts—but distortions themselves. The implications of that were huge.

“A distortion that prevents its owner from being distorted in any way is wasted on a mushroom. What if you took that distortion and applied it to a person or a weapon? There are vanits that are difficult to manage and use because of their size or nature, but that need no longer be a concern! We can take their distortions and use them however we please!” Asahi Fujinaka declared, balling his fists excitedly.

“Looks like it might be too soon for you to celebrate,” Pyrovault said.

The folding chair was still undamaged, but it was all wrong. The casters that should have been on the ends of the legs were instead attached to the seat, and the back of the chair was facing the wrong way.

“Ah. I suppose the seven mushrooms didn’t always reform in the exact same shape. Well, this is no problem. We can work out the kinks with some trial and error,” Asahi Fujinaka said.

“Does that mean we can consider your project a success?” Pyrovault asked, peering at the small sphere.

“Absolutely! It will give you all exactly what you want! Let’s perform all kinds of experiments! I call it Force, and we must find out exactly what it is capable of!”

“Sure… Got one thing to do before that, though.”

Pyrovault stabbed Asahi Fujinaka through the gut with his metal arm.

“Huh…? Gak… Why?” the one-eyed man gasped.

“Sorry, bud. Just followin’ orders.”

Asahi Fujinaka’s arms went limp, and Force rolled down the clipboard. Pyrovault caught it with his other arm.

“Whew, that felt good. It was hard as hell restraining myself while watchin’ you have fun pummeling that chair.”

“Papa!” Third shrieked, her face contorted by a demonic rage. She swung a fist of hair at Pyrovault, but the bands that tied her pigtails suddenly burst into green flames. “Wha—?! Aaaaahhh! What’s happening?!”

They were the same hair bands that Pyrovault had given her in the Duplicator Tree forest.

“That’s on you. You should know better than to wear something given to you by an old man you’ve never met,” he said.

“Ow! It burns!”

Her hair caught fire, and she squirmed as if her skin was burning.

“I know that’s your main body,” Pyrovault said.

Ash fluttered from her burning hair to the floor. Close inspection of her hair revealed it to be made of thin scraps of paper covered in tiny letters.

Asahi Fujinaka placed trembling hands on the arm piercing his gut.

“I—I don’t understand… I thought…I still had…v-value to you all…,” he wheezed.

“Catch up, Asahi Fujinaka. Is your brain out for lunch?” Pyrovault leaned into the man’s face with a thin smile. “You said it yourself. We can make as many of you as we want. Even better, we can alter those versions of you any way we want. As long as we have that green book and your daughter.”

“I…see.”

“Now you get it. The real, unpredictable you is much less useful to us than a version of you who follows every order. So why not go with the latter?”

Pyrovault pressed Force into his own chest. The liquid text seeped into his black coat, and columns of strange letters appeared on it like embroidery.

“Don’t worry about your little creation. I’ll make good use of it. So will the new you,” he said.

He saw a bright flash of light in the corner of his eye.

“Get away from him!” Third shrieked, swinging a fist of hair. Pyrovault threw Asahi Fujinaka down and dodged it.

He looked up and saw a girl glaring at him even as her hair burned with green flames.

Third. She was Asahi Fujinaka’s third book, which he gave the ability to Compile existences.

“Papa!”

She rushed toward her one and only creator, completely unconcerned about herself. The man was on his last breaths. Blood was gushing out of the wound in his gut now that Pyrovault had removed his arm. His white coat was quickly turning red.

Third put her small hands to the wound, bravely trying to plug it. She had to have been in agony because of her burning hair, which was her main body, but she didn’t care. Her hands were trembling violently.

“I hate you!” she screamed, striking at Pyrovault with her burning hair. Pyrovault pulled a vial out of his coat and smashed it on the floor, creating a wall of flame that blocked her attack.

“Hey, little dolly. You’re just behaving the way that old man programmed you to. Can’t you spare any concern for yourself?”

“I don’t care about that!” Third shouted. Her eyes burned brighter than her hair. “I’m living the life I was created to live! So what if I was programmed?! So what if I’m a tool?! I just want to live the life I was given to the fullest! Papa is the only reason I exist!”

Third split her tresses into thinner bundles despite knowing that would increase the surface area of her hair and cause it to burn faster. She used some of those bundles to slice through the wall of fire and the rest to try to pick up Pyrovault.

“Now that’s the spirit! Let’s fight!” Pyrovault said.

He pulled something out of his coat and used it to deflect Third’s hair with a loud whack. It was the road sign. Vials began to spill from his coat. They were all different colors, and with each one that emerged, the red geometric pattern on his coat shined brighter.

“Don’t worry about these. They’re just vanit residue,” he said.

The vials continued to spill endlessly from his coat, forming a giant pile that lifted him atop it.

“I feel so much lighter now. Wanna help me test my new capabilities?” Pyrovault held his metal hand out toward Third. The same red letters that were on his coat appeared on his hand.

He casually swung his arm down.

Bent steel frames had been stabbed into the weed-covered ground. A dust cloud hung in the air, accompanied by the faint scent of blood. It was in that environment that Karamori wiped sweat from his face.

Signs of destruction were all around him. Here the ground was gouged; there a concrete building had collapsed. Few things within the barrier of text maintained their prior shape.

Karamori breathed heavily, getting blood from his hands on his face.

“You’re quite stubborn,” the blond-haired girl across from him said, her voice colder than ice. Archive calmly watched him from atop her dirt giant’s shoulder. Unlike Karamori, her hair and clothes were completely undisturbed. The red book floating next to her didn’t have a speck of dirt on it.

There was a good reason for that—in the ten minutes since the fight began, Karamori hadn’t hit her once. He hadn’t even tried.

“I suppose that is also fate’s influence. Your sword does not allow you to die easily.”

Archive twisted her red string into a new shape.

“Coffin,” she said with a voice soft enough to ride the wind. Eight black coffins appeared around Karamori. As he expected, one-eyed Half-wits that she had captured smashed through the coffin lids and flew out of them. They gathered around Archive’s giant. They appeared to be under her command.

Karamori now found himself facing a dirt giant and a crowd of Half-wits, all enhanced by Distortionism. At this point, he stood very little chance of killing Archive even if he wanted to. Without drawing Tyrfing, that is.

“If you are afraid to draw Tyrfing, do not be. As you already know, the Half-wits satisfy the sword’s bloodlust… And you will be doing them a favor,” Archive said coldly. Before Karamori could respond, she lifted her string. “Meteor Shower.”

A small star-filled night swirled into existence above her head, out of which large rocks rained on Karamori. They fell with the force of cannonballs, each large enough to wrap one’s arms around.

“Damn…!”

Deciding immediately that he wouldn’t be able to dodge all the falling rocks, Karamori turned and ran. He stayed just ahead of the rocks as they tore up the land behind him. He hid behind a crumbling ruin, but it proved an unreliable shield when one meteor easily broke through it. Rubble sliced his cheeks as he hid behind more objects and swung his sword to deflect as many rocks as he could.

Archive half closed her eyes from atop her giant.

“I am fated to die today.”

One of the meteors reached Karamori too quickly for him to dodge. He quickly raised Tyrfing’s scabbard to block it, and the meteor smashed into it with an ear-splitting screech. The rock was much too fast and massive for him to deflect it completely, but he managed to twist his body out of the way and avoid getting hit. Right afterward, he heard a concerning rupturing sound accompanied by a vibration in his hands; that was the sound of Tyrfing’s scabbard cracking.

“…”

Karamori looked down at the sword, his eyes wide. The scabbard was wooden with a gold coat of paint. It was unusually strong but not impossible to break.

Archive twisted her string into a new shape and shot a net of black text at Karamori. He instinctively slashed at it with his scabbard but immediately realized that was a mistake.

The black net dug into the scabbard. The crack expanded and decorative jewels and wood chips scattered in all directions.

Archive’s cool voice reached his ears.

“Fate gets its name because it is unavoidable.”

Just then, Tyrfing’s scabbard shattered.

The azure blade was exposed. That blade—which reflected light dully as if covered in miasma—was ruthlessness embodied. There was nothing it wouldn’t cut.

Regret filled Karamori’s eyes. That emotion was quickly overridden by bloodlust, and his dark flame-shaped mark burned across his skin until it covered his entire body.

He quickly tore apart the net of text and slashed through all other attacks heading his way. His speed and skill were so transcendent that he didn’t look human. A murderous intent propelled him.

In a flash, he slayed multiple Half-wits and dashed up the giant Archive was riding, slicing it up on the way.

Naturally, killing a few Half-wits was not enough to return him to sanity.

Karamori easily dodged Archive’s counterattack and jumped up to eye level with her. His approach activated multiple Distortionist traps, but he cut them all down, leaving Archive completely defenseless.

It was kill or be killed. And yet, they were both completely expressionless. There was no one present to feel the terrible cruelty of this situation.

Azure streaked toward the book and the blond girl beneath it.

A single tear rolled down both of their blank faces.

The interior of Asahi Fujinaka’s workshop was nigh on unrecognizable. The paths between the sloppily installed machinery had been piled high with miscellaneous junk, which was mostly made up of colorful empty vials. There were also road signs, animal skulls, and all kinds of other objects.

It was piled highest around two of the room’s occupants.

“Well, that was easy,” said the bald man.

He held a limply dangling Third by the neck. Her orange dress had been stained with blood, and her hair had been burned to shoulder length. It continued to burn even now.

“How dare you…turn on Papa…”

“Beating me up won’t help him now, dolly.”

“Shut…up… I can’t…do nothing…after you killed…my Papa…”

A small bundle of Third’s short hair turned sharp as a needle and stabbed at Pyrovault. A wall of fire appeared and obstructed it.

Pyrovault smiled boldly.

“Guess I might as well help myself to your distortion, too.”

He squeezed her neck tighter, causing her face to scrunch with pain. Her head glowed red, and text appeared on it. Those letters marched into Pyrovault’s arm as if they were alive.

“Urk…”

Third was so beaten up that all she could do was groan. The more her hair burned, the more her life’s light faded. When her eyes started to glaze—

—something sharp sliced through the wind near the workshop’s entrance. Pyrovault looked in that direction just as the door, which had been cut out of the wall around it, was kicked down.

A young man with a naked blue sword walked through, sunlight at his back.

Pyrovault burst out laughing.

“Ha! You came! I take it you killed the girl?” he taunted.

Large, round tears streamed from the young man’s eyes.

Pyrovault tossed Third aside as if she was a bag of garbage. Helpless to slow herself in the air, she crashed through the workshop wall and fell to the ground outside.

The young man—Shin Karamori—looked around the workshop. His eyes paused on Asahi Fujinaka, who was sitting by the wall injured and barely breathing. He frowned.

“…What happened here?” Karamori asked.

“Oh-ho. You’ve managed to stay sane with the sword drawn? …No, I guess you’ve killed enough to return to sanity,” Pyrovault said.

“…”

Karamori didn’t respond. Pyrovault held out his metal hand to show him a ball of red liquid packed with words sitting in his palm.

“This is Asahi Fujinaka’s greatest masterpiece: a book that can Compile the world’s distortions,” he said.

“…!”

Karamori’s mind went temporarily blank from the shock.

Such an invention would let its owner obtain any of the world’s twisted phenomena. Tyrfing, The Archive, Untitled… If the book could be controlled after obtaining the distortions of powerful vanits like those, it would be incredibly dangerous.

No one person could be allowed to have that much power.

Karamori’s eyes sharpened as he looked at Pyrovault.

“Ha-ha-ha, just the reaction I expected. You know you have to stop me. I wouldn’t have it any other way! Let’s settle things, once and for all!”

Pyrovault stored the liquid text in his coat and forcefully swung his right arm. Bright-red flames then erupted from his back and formed into wings.

“We’re fightin’ to the death, Vanit Slayer.”

He had used Force to imbue himself with the distortion from his vials, giving him the ability to produce and manipulate flames at will. Spots on his flaming wings darkened and fire birds shot out of them. There were nearly twenty of them.

Karamori immediately drew his gun and shot at them, but the bullets had no effect. That left him no choice but to swing Tyrfing and slice apart the first fire bird that reached him, but—

“…!”

The severed pieces of the bird flared and exploded. The explosion itself was small, but the flames instantly burned Karamori’s skin. Even so, he used his superhuman speed to avoid a direct hit.

He had no time to rest as two more fire birds dove at him. He got low and skillfully severed their wings. They both produced small explosions as well, but he easily dodged them.

“Nicely done, kid!”

Pyrovault dashed through the explosive flames, catching Karamori completely off guard. He thrust a sword made of fire at Karamori’s back, who only had time to slightly twist his body to try to avoid it. The fire sword passed through his right arm and torso and stabbed into the floor.

Karamori fell to the floor, and without even waiting to regain his balance, he stabbed Tyrfing upward at Pyrovault’s heart. His blade, however, did not reach his opponent’s chest. It was forced to a halt right before letters appeared on Pyrovault’s coat, spelling the word STOP. The road sign’s distortion now resided within the coat.

Karamori scowled and retreated to give himself distance. The spot on the floor that the fire sword stabbed into burst aflame, sending up a column of smoke.

Pyrovault watched him and spread his arms wide.

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got no desire to finish you off with nothin’ but ranged magic tricks. We’ve gotta make this fun!” he yelled, beginning to run at Karamori before he finished speaking. Fire birds spawned from his flaming wings as he charged.

Karamori swung Tyrfing at the fire sword, but the flames had no substance and the azure blade passed ineffectually through it. The fire birds then dove and exploded, bathing him in bright-red flames and knocking him off his feet. The explosions blasted pieces off of nearby apparatuses and started multiple fires.

Karamori tumbled to the floor. Smoke rose from his burned cheeks. He would have been burnt to a crisp by now if not for his special full-body Canary suit.

An uninjured Pyrovault emerged from the inferno that was now burning in the workshop. He paid no heed to the flames surrounding him, his face a mesh of beastlike ferocity and a mad smile unique to humanity.

Pyrovault repeatedly slashed his fire sword with impossible speed, giving Karamori only two options: defend or dodge. The swooping, exploding fire birds made sure he never had a moment to collect himself. The amount of blasts and fires in the workshop made it sound like a miniature war was taking place.

Karamori fought desperately, blood from his wounds boiling as they fell through the air and thoughts blazing in his head. A cut on his forehead bled down his face. His eyes flared as they searched for a means of survival, but they found nothing.

His meager counters were halted by the word on the coat, and his full-strength kicks did nothing. He slashed, lunged, and leaped—his sword a blur as he fought back—but he couldn’t turn the fight in his favor. Pyrovault’s onslaught was so overwhelming that it was actually remarkable that Karamori was able to survive it with one sword.

He accidentally sliced a fire bird in two, causing it to explode. A quick jump backward allowed him to avoid the full force of the blast, but it still hit him at close range and sent him flying. He managed to land on his feet, but the moment he did so, the fire sword pierced his abdomen.

“Gaaah!”

His body sizzled like meat on a grill, but the pain was so excruciating he barely heard it. It felt like his very soul was being burned. As the intense pain threatened to rob him of consciousness, his leg kicked out almost involuntarily, hitting Pyrovault and allowing him to back up off the sword.

Karamori fell to the floor. His hands were shaking, and he was close to hyperventilating. He had bled enough for it to be visible through his black full-body suit. He looked like he was in no state to fight.

He scrambled back to his feet and readied his sword, but Pyrovault’s hellish assault didn’t continue.

“How the hell are you still standing?” Pyrovault said.

He stared in wonder at Karamori’s stomach. The stab wound was gruesome and smoking. It looked like the Canary suit’s automatic healing properties had kicked in, but there was no way he should have been on his feet.

“Looks like I just happened to miss any vital organs,” Pyrovault, sighing exasperatedly. “That’s enough. I’m getting bored. You win. Your inability to die is just gonna get on my nerves.”

Karamori glared at the man.

“I told you before, didn’t I? I don’t really bear a grudge against you… Ha-ha. Now that I think about it, your sword’s influence might be the reason I got bored and decided to quit fighting.”

“…”

Karamori didn’t respond. That was partially because he was still too out of breath to speak, but more so because he felt the same way as his opponent.

“How about I take your sword’s distortion for you instead?” Pyrovault said, sticking out his left hand. There was no good intent visible in his expression, but no bad intent, either.

Karamori’s eyes went wide. He looked down at the sword. He could be released from Tyrfing. Was there anything he wanted more? And yet…

“I don’t need your help,” Karamori said, looking up and rejecting the offer with a grin. “Accepting that would leave me with nothing but my twisted life. And also…”

He held the blue sword at the ready, a light strong enough to defy fate filling his eyes.

“No fate is so absolute that you can’t cut your own path through it. Someone I know taught me that!”

Pyrovault raised his eyebrows. Just then, a figure appeared at the workshop’s entrance. It was a heavily panting girl with the morning sun at her back—Hitsugi Fujinaka.

“Karamori!” she shouted, waving enthusiastically and then giving him a thumbs-up, her cheeriness feeling out of place. The hope in her eyes seemed to outshine the sun behind her.

Karamori’s grin widened.

“That thought is all I need to fight on!”

He dashed at Pyrovault and slashed his sword upward with all his might. Pyrovault was ready—he summoned STOP onto his coat again to halt the sword’s tip.

The sword slashed his abdomen anyway.

Pyrovault looked down in shock as Karamori completed his swing.

“What the…?!”

He noticed something as blood flew from his wound. STOP had disappeared from his coat.

He leaped away from Karamori and looked at Fujinaka. The brown-haired girl was holding a green book—Untitled. Her knees knocked with fear, but her face was determined.

Karamori pursued, not letting the older man retreat, and quickly swung his sword upward. Pyrovault instinctively summoned STOP, but the letters were immediately torn off his coat and sucked into Untitled. He then tried to wrench his body out of the way, but he was just too late, and the sword grazed his shoulder.

Pyrovault winced and looked at Fujinaka again, a light fury in his eyes.

“Careful, now. You’re gonna make an enemy of me doin’ things like that,” he said.

A body of flame shot out of his fire wings and at Fujinaka. It started as a small fireball and expanded into a net of fire when it reached her.

“Be a good girl and stay there till this is over.”

Fujinaka, frightened, was unable to resist as the dome-shaped net trapped her.

“Fujinaka!” Karamori shouted.

“Sorry, kid. This ain’t the place for people who don’t know how to fight,” Pyrovault said. But just then, the dome of flames turned to black smoke.

“I think you will find we are more than qualified.”

A voice sounded from the cloud of smoke. It was clearer and calmer than Fujinaka’s.

The smoke cleared, revealing a single girl. She was standing where Fujinaka had been a moment before, her blond shoulder-length hair fluttering in the wind of the deathly flames. She had bound red string around her fingers and was holding it before her eyes.

It was Archive, wearing an expression of perfect composure.

“You haven’t died yet?” Pyrovault said as he jumped to avoid a slash from Karamori. He remained floating in the air and looked at her in astonishment.

“Incorrect. I died just as fate determined. By way of being consumed by Untitled.”

The Archive was a book that detailed the fate of a single girl. Naturally, it was written with words. There was no reason Untitled couldn’t eat it. The Archive’s every word had been transcribed into Untitled, a book that shared the same material and author.

When Untitled consumed the red book’s existence, Archive died. But her existence took up residence within the new book.

“Huh. So you tricked fate. Impressive,” Pyrovault said.

“I did not do it alone. All I could do was plan and make small moves within the fate that was decided for me. It is Mr. Karamori, who believed in me and came this far, and Ms. Fujinaka, who put her unique ability to use in this harrowing situation, who made it a reality,” Archive said.

With a high-pitched sound like ringing glass—ting—Archive glowed and transformed into Fujinaka. Fear slightly colored her expression, but she returned Pyrovault’s look with unwavering resolve.

Fujinaka had acted without thinking. When she returned to Karamori after leaving the storehouse, she saw him about to kill Archive. Overtaken by the desire to prevent him from killing a friend, she opened Untitled and ordered it to consume The Archive.

Luckily, her knee-jerk reaction ended up being the right thing to do. But she still felt like she had to take responsibility for what she had done.

Fujinaka briefly glanced toward the edge of the workshop to see Asahi Fujinaka lying face down in a pool of his own blood. She wanted to drop everything and rush to him, but she had to focus on the imminent threat. She wiped cold sweat from her face, her lips pursed tightly.

Pyrovault smirked.

“Heh, I’m impressed… Let’s see how you handle this!”

He swung an arm, throwing fireballs at her that were much faster and smaller than the one that turned into a cage. They didn’t get far before they were all swept away by what felt like a strong gust of wind but was actually Shin Karamori and Tyrfing. The young man bore innumerable injuries, but his fighting spirit still burned bright.

He stood beside Fujinaka.

“Are you okay?!” he asked.

“Y-yeah!”

A ting sounded as Fujinaka transformed into Archive.

“Archive!” Karamori said.

“I know. That invention cannot be allowed to exist in this world. Let’s destroy it. Together,” Archive said, her words conveying real intent. No one chose those words for her; she said them of her own will.

Karamori found himself smiling.

“You bet!”

“Let’s show him what we are capable of as a team.”

Pyrovault acted first. He shot multiple fireballs out of his coat—

—which were all flattened to the width of paper with a crunch.

That was Archive’s doing. From her fixed point of view, the fireballs were two-dimensional, and she used her ability to make that a reality. She quickly formed her string into another shape and towering stone pillars rose from the floor. They rushed at Pyrovault.

“Tsk.”

The bald man clicked his tongue and shattered the pillars with his fire wings as they approached. A figure rode a pillar approaching him from behind, having dashed atop it to use as a platform. It was Shin Karamori. He jumped off and slashed at the floating Pyrovault’s back, intending to cut off his fire wings.

But when Karamori sliced through the fire wings and was about to slash Pyrovault, STOP appeared on the back of his coat…and failed to stop the sword. The letters were ripped away by Untitled as soon as they appeared; Archive had switched back to Fujinaka.

Pyrovault tried to turn around in the air, face screwed up with effort, but he was too slow and Karamori’s full-strength swing sliced his back. Blood spattered, but the wound was shallow. Pyrovault then grinned and, with his back still to Karamori, made his fire wings blow up in the young man’s face.

He descended to the floor and looked up at the midair explosion. He saw Karamori uninjured and surrounded by a transparent barrier. Fujinaka had switched to Archive, who was twisting her string.

“Heh. Not bad,” Pyrovault said. His wide grin remained plastered on his face, but his eyes took on a relentless ferocity.

A net of text flew at him, and he transformed his fire sword into a wall of fire and blocked it. Karamori then spun around from behind him and swung Tyrfing.

“You’ll have to do better than that!” Pyrovault shouted.

The bald man stomped hard on the floor. The impact shattered the concrete and dark needle-like objects burst out of the cracks.

“Grk…” Karamori grunted as a few needles he was too slow to dodge shallowly stabbed him in the stomach.

That was a Distortionist attack that Pyrovault had performed a few hours ago with an animal skull. At that time, he needed to smash the skull into the ground to activate it, but now, he could do it with a single stomp of his feet. The cracks also spread further than before and spawned more needles, which suggested that he enhanced his physical strength with the distortions of other vanits.

Pyrovault backed up, pulled a jellylike substance with an eerie luster from his coat, and threw it.

“I’m calling for help, too. It’s only fair.”

The substance quickly expanded above his head into a black tentacled life form that unsettlingly looked somewhere between an octopus and a tree. Its very existence seemed to mock the world’s natural laws. The creature contained multiple distortions and was so blasphemous that the very air seemed to scream and shy away at the sight of it.

It reached sharp tentacles toward Karamori and Archive as it constructed its body.

“I know what that is,” Archive said. She dodged the tentacles and traced a finger in the air. The finger left a trail of light, which she used to spell the name “Gulorton.”

Ting! Blond hair turned to ash brown as she switched to Hitsugi Fujinaka, who placed a hand on Untitled. The letters spelling “Gulorton” disappeared, and the black monster immediately turned into a large cluster of letters. Powerless to resist, the letters were sucked into Untitled, where they vanished from existence.

There was no defense for that move. Pyrovault was shocked, leaving him vulnerable for a moment.

Karamori rushed at him like the wind and swept Tyrfing fast enough to shake off his afterimage. The sword could cut through reason itself, and Pyrovault had no chance of stopping it. Karamori swung it one, two, three times and successfully cut off his metal right arm.

Next, he swung the azure blade at the man’s neck. Archive chose that time to spawn multiple golden spears and send them at their opponent from behind. It was a malicious pincer attack born from the duo’s—no, the trio’s—polished coordination.

But Pyrovault’s smile didn’t falter.

“This has gotten fun!”

He stomped the floor again, shattering the concrete within a ten-meter radius. A large number of shadow needles flew out of the cracks.

“Damn…!”

The needles were spawned so close to Karamori and at such a wide range that not even he could dodge them all, and a few pierced his arms and stomach. Archive quickly put up a clear barrier to protect him.

The impact of the stomp and the presence of the holes the shadow needles punched through the walls caused a section of the workshop to noisily collapse. Rubble landed directly on Pyrovault, but he didn’t even flinch.

Karamori retreated and stood next to Archive. He was wounded all over and his left arm—his non-sword arm—hung limply. He left a trail of blood as he moved.

“Archive. Can you still fight?” he asked while keeping his eyes on Pyrovault.

“Of course…Mr. Karamori. We should assume he can no longer be harmed by ordinary means,” Archive said.

“I know. That’s what I’ve got this for.”

He readied Tyrfing, its blue sword dully reflecting the sunlight. The cursed sword that could cut through reason itself. Even after all these years of fighting, the blade didn’t have a single nick or scratch. It floated above the most chaotic of situations.

Karamori and Pyrovault ran at each other simultaneously. Swordplay met explosive flames met nets made of text as the fight increased in intensity. The distortions came rapid fire, spawning flaming giants, raining meteors, and beasts of fire, all of which were cut down by one sword.

Violent explosions rocked the workshop, causing rubble to fall as it collapsed piece by piece. Three fighters navigated this mad reality, each seeking to kill.

Karamori and Archive protected each other as they searched for gaps in the relentless storm through which to attack. Archive occasionally switched to Fujinaka, who dealt with the letters that appeared on Pyrovault’s coat—

“Charge!”

—by summoning Sir Penny to help them fight. She only spawned him and his penguin companions, perhaps because they were easy for her to control, but true to the manga, they were formidable fighters. While they didn’t come close to matching Pyrovault’s strength, they could defend Karamori and Fujinaka and also split up to create diversions and give their opponent more targets to focus on.

As Pyrovault wielded the many distortions he had applied to his coat using Force, Karamori noticed a pattern. There was a visible sign before the man activated each distortion: a red geometric pattern that traveled down his coat. Without fail, the distortions manifested briefly after that pattern appeared. That delay gave Karamori just enough warning to avoid attacks that should have instantly finished him.

Unfortunately, there was one attack he still couldn’t handle.

Karamori and Sir Penny closed in on Pyrovault from opposite sides, who responded by stomping on the floor. Cracks raced down the concrete and needles shot out of them.

This stomp is the only attack that’s too fast for me!

Karamori only faltered for a moment, but that was enough to instantly turn a perfect chance into a deadly pinch. Before he knew it, the fire sword was racing at him along with an onslaught of fireballs.

Sir Penny jumped in front of him with a fierce look and allowed himself to be torn up by the fiery attacks. Fujinaka had spawned him from Untitled to act as Karamori’s shield. The penguin honked sadly, his eyes turned to Xs, and he vanished.

Karamori backed up, gnashing his teeth. That move prevented his approach entirely. He wouldn’t be able to kill Pyrovault without finding a way to catch him completely off guard. But he couldn’t hope for that against an opponent as formidable as him.

Oxygen deficiency due to blood loss, fatigue, and the never-ending string of rapid movements had Karamori’s mind hazy. The combat sense implanted within him by Tyrfing was essentially the only reason he could still move. He had lost a significant amount of blood, and adrenaline could only do so much to mask pain.

He needed one more move.

“Hey, don’t think you’re the only one puttin’ your brain to work,” Pyrovault said.

A swarm of fire dragons flew out of his coat and rushed directly at Archive. She created a net of text, and Sir Penny and his comrades tried to defend her, but the dragons were too numerous.

“Unprepared Distortionists are hopeless in close combat,” Pyrovault said.

“Archive!” Karamori yelled.

He ran toward her, but Pyrovault stood in his way with his sword at the ready. Karamori swept Tyrfing in a horizontal line, but the larger man didn’t dodge. Instead, STOP appeared on his coat and halted the blue sword. Pyrovault countered by swinging his fire sword, which grazed the young man’s cheek.

Karamori looked at Archive. She couldn’t switch to the defenseless Fujinaka while under assault. And if she couldn’t switch to Fujinaka, Karamori had no way to harm Pyrovault.

That gave them almost no chance of winning. But as Karamori swung his sword, his eyes still blazed fiercely.

Clear images appeared within his hazy mind.

He saw Archive following a fate set in stone…

…Fujinaka crying after killing all those people in her town…

…and Sakura’s smiling face, which he hadn’t been able to see for years.

Defeat was not an option.

“I’m severing that distortion if it’s the last thing I do!” Karamori yelled, gripping the sword’s handle hard enough for the bones in his arm to creak.

He attacked Pyrovault with renewed vigor, but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t harm the man. Eventually, Pyrovault repelled one of his sword strikes hard enough to knock him off balance, and with Karamori unable to move out of the way, he spawned multiple fireballs around himself and shot them forward like arrows.

A white blur passed between the two of them.

Just before the fireballs hit Karamori, they were swallowed by a long white object. The object passed beside him and circled behind Pyrovault, and Karamori noticed that it was a long arm of white hair. The hair expanded and surrounded them both like a cage.

Pyrovault looked behind him at where Archive should have been standing. A different small girl was standing there instead, smiling boldly at him. It was Third.

She stuck out her tongue and laughed.

“Got you, loser!” she yelled.

Pyrovault’s eyes darted to where he had thrown Third through the workshop wall. There was no sign of her body. There was only one explanation: Fujinaka had also absorbed the dying Third into Untitled. It was probably the white-haired girl who eliminated the fire dragons.

It took Pyrovault only a moment to figure that out, but that brief hesitation was what Karamori had been waiting for. He stepped forward within the cage of hair, driven by strong determination, and whipped Tyrfing above his head fast enough to slice wind.

Unfortunately, Pyrovault was ready. He elected not to try to block the sword, instead turning to attack Third. He knew that she would switch to Fujinaka just as Karamori’s blade reached his skin; without her help, the strike would stop short.

One moment dragged into infinity. Their moves and schemes intertwined, seeming to increase the density of time.

Just as Pyrovault predicted, Third switched to Fujinaka. The hair around them turned from white to ash brown.

His grin widened. He made STOP appear on his coat before the sword’s tip and aimed a long-range attack at Fujinaka. To his surprise, the hair around him quickly turned blond. Fujinaka switched to Archive.

Pyrovault had failed to realize something. The giant cage of hair around him was shaped into a complex cat’s cradle formation.

And he was in the center of it.

“Exorcism.”

Archive’s hair glowed. Many bands of light spawned from her hair and wrapped around Pyrovault. He was momentarily stunned by the restraints; he could probably break out of them quickly, but that brief period of immobility would place him in mortal danger.

Ting!

The hair around him turned ash brown. Archive had turned into Hitsugi Fujinaka. She was holding Untitled, the vanit that ate writing.

The book tore STOP off his coat.

“Gaaah!”

Fury on his face, Pyrovault stomped his foot. That move was his fastest weapon and his only way out of this trap.

Nothing happened. He looked down in shock and saw that Karamori had wedged his feet between Pyrovault’s feet and the floor. The stomp was strong enough to smash concrete, so naturally, it crushed Karamori’s feet into fleshy messes. However, the maneuver successfully stopped Pyrovault’s feet from touching the floor.

Pyrovault’s eyes went wide as Tyrfing raced toward him.

It looked like a flash of lightning.

The azure blade sliced through Pyrovault’s body. It also tore into his coat, slaying Force and the numerous distortions of reality that had been applied to it.

No death throes could be heard from the distortions as they faded from this world, but invisible shock waves could be felt in the air.

Blood spurted from the wound. Pyrovault was following the distortions to the grave. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he began to laugh.

The large man thudded noisily to the floor. Karamori collapsed face first at the same time.

Silence befell the ruins of the workshop. The only sounds were the echoes of the violent battle and the heavy panting of its participants. The respiration of one of them—Pyrovault—was growing steadily weaker.

A rapidly expanding puddle of blood formed around him. As it expanded, his breathing grew weaker.

Karamori, unable to lift his head, heard a whisper in his ear.

“That was…magnificent…”

He couldn’t see the man’s face. But he knew that he was smiling.

With those last words, Pyrovault’s breathing fell silent.

“Is it…over?” Fujinaka muttered.

Just how long had passed since the fight ended? It had probably only been a brief moment, but the sudden silence had messed with her perception of time.

The tension of the fight had dissipated, leaving Fujinaka feeling half dazed. She didn’t seem to share Archive’s injuries, and fortunately, her own were shallow.

She saw Karamori stir across the room and rushed to him.

“Karamori! Are you okay?!” she asked.

His wounds were terrible. His full-body suit had been slashed and torn all over his body, and open flesh was visible through the gaps. His feet were so gruesome she couldn’t look at them. The floor around them was stained with fresh blood.

Yet, somehow, he was alive. His breathing was weak but stabilizing, and while he looked so disoriented he could barely open his eyes, he was clearly gazing up at the sky.

Fujinaka searched for the right thing to say, but Karamori interrupted her by pointing weakly to their right.

“Huh…?”

“I’m…fine… You should…still have time…”

He was pointing to a corner of the collapsed workshop that was just barely not caught up in the fighting. Asahi Fujinaka was lying there face down in his own blood.

Fujinaka gasped.

“Dad!” she cried, sprinting toward him.

Asahi Fujinaka’s eye was hollow. His blood, which continued to spill unimpeded, had stained his clothes dark red. He was still breathing, but only very weakly.

When Fujinaka reached him, his unfocused eye turned toward her.

“Hitsugi…”

“Dad! Why? Why did you do all this?!”

Fujinaka frantically searched his body for the source of the bleeding, but his clothes were so drenched that she couldn’t find it. She was at a loss for what to do.

Her father just smiled weakly.

“Ha-ha… Is this…divine punishment…? I suppose this is…a fitting end…for a madman…”

“A-a madman…?”

“That’s right… I…did you a terrible wrong, my dear. I caused…so much pain…for so many people. Even knowing that…I couldn’t contain myself… What am I…if not mad?”

His eye opened and closed sleepily. Tears welled in Fujinaka’s own eyes as she watched him.

“Dad… You can’t die! You have to hang on!” she cried.

All the questions she wanted to ask about why he made her and the motives for his actions had vanished from her mind. She was just a girl who didn’t want to lose her father.

Her tears began to fall. Asahi Fujinaka’s eye opened slightly at the sight.

“Why…are you crying? I was…a terrible…father…”

“I don’t know!”

Fujinaka desperately tried to wipe the tears away, but they just kept coming. There was no stopping them.

“I—I don’t understand it either! D-didn’t you…make me to love you no matter what?!” she asked, the words spilling out of her mouth. That was the biggest doubt that had been haunting her over the last few days.

Asahi Fujinaka looked directly into her eyes.

“Absolutely not. I would never make a daughter who has no choice but to love and obey me. I swear it on my life!”

He declared that with enough clarity to momentarily ward off his looming death. The force of his tone made him cough up blood and pushed more blood out of his wound, but he didn’t seem to care.

Asahi Fujinaka looked around the room.

“Ahhh… Look at all this, Hitsugi… Look at all my inventions…”

He pointed weakly at nothing.

“This is the…Mind Anchor. It has the ability…to reproduce any phenomena that it remembers… So I had it record the capability of a vanit…that could spawn slashes in the air…and made it into a weapon.”

He spoke joyfully, but his eye was vacant. His life was slipping away with each word.

Fujinaka nodded as he spoke, tears continuing to fall.

“That ring…is called the Infection Stone… It’s made from a stone…that turns anyone who stares at it for too long…into a gemstone… And a metal vanit…that traps a person’s gaze…if they catch a glimpse of it…”

Asahi Fujinaka’s smile vanished. He stopped talking.

“Dad?”

“Oh, God… All my proud inventions…are worthless… All my effort…was for nothing… It’s no wonder I was killed…”

His one eye made a lap of the room.

“Huh…? Hitsugi? Where did you go?”

“I’m here! I’m right here, Dad! I didn’t go anywhere!”

Fujinaka grabbed his shoulders and leaned her face into his. It didn’t seem like her father heard her voice or felt her touch.

But he was smiling.

“Oh. She’s not here… That’s…good,” he said, smiling softly. There was relief in his voice.

With those final words, Asahi Fujinaka gently closed his eye.

Fujinaka wailed, fat tears cascading down her face.

Epilogue

It isn’t raining today. That’s a rare gift in the middle of the rainy season.

Soft sunlight streams in through the school windows, coming from a blue sky that looks overjoyed to bless the land with its presence in between cloudy days.

I stop and look out the window. I’m on the third floor of the school building and can see the town unfurl below me. This new school was built on a small hill, providing a wide view of the residential district surrounding it.

Sunlight brushes against my cheeks, and wind blows in through the open windows to play with my hair.

I see my reflection in the mirror and tuck my ash-brown hair back behind my ears. I curled my hair and made sure I looked my best for today. I’m a little nervous, but I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.

I start walking again and catch up to the teacher in front of me.

This is my first day at my new school. It’s time for everyone to meet Hitsugi Fujinaka.

The uniform has a navy-blue blazer with white lines on the shoulders. I think they call this a sailor uniform? It’s cute; I like it. My old school had sailor uniforms, too, so it feels both new and familiar.

It’s been almost two weeks since the Force incident. Noary employees rushed to the scene soon after the fight and took me and Karamori into their protection. They carefully tested me afterward to study what I’d done to myself.

I look at the palms of my hands. Archive and Third have remained fused with me since I absorbed them into Untitled. Noary is apparently going to perform more testing to determine what influence that will have on me, but I was told my condition is stable and that I’ll be given a degree of freedom.

I still feel Archive and Third’s minds within me. I think it’ll be impossible to separate us all, but strangely, the thought doesn’t bother me. Maybe it’s because we all share the same father.

I used to want sisters—now I have two. I was created first, so I guess that makes me the oldest.

I observe my surroundings. The floors are a shiny white and the walls are an undecorated gray. The building’s design is modern and there are few signs of damage; you can tell it’s relatively new.

This school—and the rest of the town, for that matter—is apparently a place where Noary gathers and safeguards people with special circumstances like me. Karamori said a little less than 10 percent of the student body is special in some way. I’m now a resident of this town and a part of that statistic.

The last two weeks were a whirlwind of moving and school transfer procedures. When I first heard I was going to be taken into custody, I was afraid that meant I would be trapped in a white room. Fortunately, that’s not the case at all, and while I still had some anxieties about moving here, Karamori and a bunch of other people supported me as I got situated. I’m now living in a dorm…which honestly, I’m still not used to at all.

The tall, young teacher walking ahead of me turns around.

“Fujinaka. You should introduce yourself to the class, I guess. Just keep it casual.”

His glasses make him look like a serious person, but there’s a casualness to his body language and speech.

“Okay,” I say in response. I put a hand to my chest and take a deep breath.

I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.

The teacher opens the door and enters the room. I follow him.

The classroom is bright with sunlight. Students I’ve never seen are sitting at their desks, which are white and look nicer than the ones at my previous school. I feel my face stiffen as I get my bearings. With each step I take, the buzz from my new classmates grows louder. Their gazes pierce me from all throughout the room.

Ah, it’s happening again.

I’m getting scared. The truth is I’m not a real person, so it feels like I’m lying to everyone…

I catch sight of a guy with slightly messy hair two desks from the back on the window side. It’s Karamori. He’s giving me a soft smile, and I feel my face relax a little in response.

“Morning,” the teacher calls out to the class. “I think I already told you all, but we have a transfer student. Make sure you get along with her, and all that. Go on, introduce yourself.”

“Okay!” I reply, my voice now free of anxiety.

I’m going to be okay. I’m the same girl I’ve always been. Mom and Dad raised me as a person. I have nothing to feel guilty about.

I may have been created in a lab, but—

“My name is Hitsugi Fujinaka! It’s so nice to meet you all!”

—I’m just me. And that’s good enough.

“Anyway, Chika and Hina are taking me to a makeup shop later,” Fujinaka said.

“Wow, already calling them by their given names? You’re adapting fast,” Karamori responded, surprised.

The two of them had gone to the largest hospital in the town after school. They had passed through the gymnasium-sized lobby and were now walking the perfectly clean hallways. The place smelled of disinfectant and was filled with nurses’ and patients’ footsteps, which overlapped with their own. A nurse passed pushing a large cart that smelled faintly of cooked fish. It must be dinner time.

The setting sun approached the horizon, dyeing the hallway temporarily orange.

As they walked, Fujinaka looked down at Karamori’s feet. He was in one piece. He still had some bandages and scabs throughout his body, but he’d almost entirely recovered, including his crushed feet.

“I can’t believe your feet healed. They were gruesome.”

“Well, they weren’t healed so much as restored,” he explained. “Injuries on that scale that can be treated in my line of work. Though they make us recover from small injuries on our own.”

Karamori had taken off his school blazer and was carrying it over his shoulder along with his backpack. That left him in a short-sleeved shirt with a long-sleeved undershirt beneath it. That undershirt probably concealed countless scars.

He fanned his face with his free hand.

“You look hot,” Fujinaka said.

“I am. I wish we could switch to our summer uniforms already.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think about that! I just started wearing this uniform! When do we switch?”

“Next week.”

“Oh, wow!” Fujinaka exclaimed. A passing nurse glared at her, and she ducked her head and closed her mouth.

They continued to chat, but Fujinaka noticed that Karamori wasn’t saying much. She’d spent time with him nearly every day for the past two weeks and had gotten better at reading him.

Karamori was the type to hide his feelings to avoid burdening other people. There was no way his crushed feet and other injuries hadn’t been terribly painful during his recovery. Despite that, he gave Fujinaka all the help she needed during the move and even showed her around the town. He did so while letting no pain show on his face. She felt terrible when he arrived on crutches.

Fujinaka could see that he was tense. There was a tightness to his voice that was perceptible only if she listened closely.

“Are you nervous?”

“No. Why would I be?” Karamori asked, his tone perfectly casual.

“…Okay.”

He was probably just being stubborn and hiding his feelings.

“How long has she been able to receive visitors?” Fujinaka asked.

“Since a week ago,” he said.

“One week?! And it’s taken you until now to visit?!”

“I’ve been busy.”

Fujinaka cocked her head and sighed resignedly. “Karamori… You never let it show, but you’re actually kind of gloomy.”

“Where’s this coming from…?”

“Nowhere. I just think you have a tendency to overthink things. I know you feel guilty, but you’ve worked super hard and saved a lot of people. It’s okay for you to be happy about this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Karamori said evasively.

Fujinaka walked ahead of him and turned around.

“I just, you know, think it’s really cool how you’re able to conduct yourself positively despite all the terrible things you’ve been through. That’s all.”

Her bluntness left Karamori at a loss for words.

Fujinaka’s eyes suddenly snapped toward nothing. She looked bewildered.

“Huh? Now? Here? But… You want to come out that badly? Oh, fine,” she muttered. She looked up and down the hall, and with a flash of light and a ting, she turned into Archive. There was a bandage on her cheek, and, somehow, she was wearing the same uniform as Fujinaka.

“H-hey! Don’t switch in public like that!” Karamori said.

“No one was watching,” Archive replied.

Karamori looked around and saw that she was right; there was no one in the hallway.

“…Also, I was getting a little worried.”

“About what?”

“Never mind.” She cleared her throat, her expression nonchalant. “I have something I want to say.”

Karamori’s breath caught in his throat. Archive was still mostly expressionless, but she’d clearly said that of her own will.

Their eyes met.

“Thank you for saving me.” Her gaze stayed fixed on his, and then she gave him a gentle smile he’d never seen from her. It was clearly from the heart. “We are standing here now because we seized this future.”

“…!”

Archive leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes without waiting for a response.

“We’ll wait here.”

Karamori looked at the number of the nearest hospital room. They had reached their destination. He opened his mouth to respond but ended up saying nothing.

He put a hand to the door, trembling slightly. He closed his eyes and slid it open.

Bright evening light coming through the far window made Karamori squint. The room smelled faintly of a person’s presence and was dyed orange just like the hallways. A bed sat in the center of the room against the wall, its curtains open and swaying gently in the wind coming through the open window.

The bed’s occupant turned toward Karamori. The sun behind them made it difficult to make out their features for a brief moment until his eyes adjusted. It was a girl.

She had slightly slanted eyes and a mature face. Her glossy black hair, which fluttered slightly in the wind, was shoulder length. And her signature side ponytail…was gone.

Oka Sakura—the girl who had been transformed into Archive—was sitting up in the bed.

“…!”

Karamori couldn’t manage a single word.

In a way, he’d just been looking at that face. But this was different. Her eyes, her figure, the way she carried herself—he hadn’t forgotten any of it for a second. Even her tan was the same as the day she’d turned into Archive.

Fujinaka had imprisoned The Archive inside Untitled. Naturally, that had restored the original body used to create it.

Two weeks ago, when the red book was fully consumed, Sakura had been left standing in Archive’s place. The Half-wits immediately attacked Karamori, who was able to free himself from Tyrfing’s control once he killed them. Archive must have left them there for that purpose.

The first thing Karamori had seen when he came to was Sakura. His shock at her sudden restoration and the relief that he hadn’t killed her reduced him to tears. He ordered Fujinaka to take her somewhere safe and went to find Asahi Fujinaka and Pyrovault.

Sakura had been taken into custody by Noary. And now, here she was.

The silence stretched, but it was heavy with emotion.

Sakura screwed up her face in concentration as she looked at him. Eventually, she looked up at the ceiling.

“Oh, it’s no use!” she cried exasperatedly. “I can’t remember! I’m sorry! You’re someone I knew before I went missing, right?”

“…!”

“Went missing”… Sakura hadn’t been told about Archive or even about the existence of vanits. The story she’d been given was that she’d simply vanished and no one knew why. Karamori had been warned that she had no memory of the last four years, and that to her, it felt like no time had passed since he last saw her.

It made sense that she wouldn’t recognize him. To her, she met him two weeks ago when he was just thirteen years old, and they didn’t know each other for long. He had undergone intense training as a Noary investigator and grown since they last saw each other, so his face and physique looked quite different. Her memories of the time before she turned into Archive might have been vague as well.

“…”

Her reaction wasn’t unexpected. Karamori steeled himself, knowing what he now had to do.

“Oh, sorry. Looks like I have the wrong room.” He gave her an awkward smile, then opened the sliding door behind him.

Medical examinations had found nothing wrong with her. She would be able to live a normal life, ignorant of the world’s distortions.

If he truly cared about her, the best thing to do would be to stay away from her.

Karamori turned around and went to step into the hallway, when…

“Wait! I do know you!”

“…!”

Karamori’s eyes glistened. It wasn’t just the reflection of the hallway light that caused it, either.

Sakura continued to speak behind him. “I recognize your voice! I don’t remember anything from the last four years, but I feel like your voice was with me the whole time!”

Karamori froze in place. He didn’t say anything. No, he couldn’t say anything. His hand shook from how hard he was clasping the door’s handle.

“You’re the one who saved me, aren’t you?” Sakura said to his back. “Having no memory of the time I’ve been gone terrifies me, but I feel like it wasn’t a bad four years because I had your voice… That’s how I felt when you spoke.”

As far as Sakura could see, Karamori didn’t react to her words. He just stood there with his back turned, holding the door half open. She couldn’t see the tears rolling down his cheeks. Nor was she aware of how hard he was clenching his teeth.

He couldn’t turn around and let her see him sobbing. It wouldn’t make sense for a person who entered the room by mistake to cry hearing those words.

“So…thanks,” she said.

Karamori looked down at his feet. She might see that as a nod, or not.

“Take care of yourself,” he told her, doing everything he could to stop his voice from shaking.

He stepped out into the hallway.

“I will…,” replied Sakura. “Come again, okay?”

Karamori closed the door without turning around. He wiped his tears with his sleeves and walked down the sunset-bathed hallway. Archive soon caught up to him.

“…Is that what you wanted?” she asked.

“It’s better this way.” He wiped more tears and looked straight ahead. “Archive. I swear never to stop working as a Canary. Even if I’m freed from Tyrfing’s curse.”

“I see. Then I shall accompany you. Hitsugi gives her consent as well.”

“You don’t have to force yourself. You have no reason to work as a Canary anymore.”

“I am not forcing myself. It is…what I wish to do. That is all.”

Karamori looked at her, eyebrows raised. There was a quiet yet strong resolve in her eyes. He faced forward again and smiled.

“That’s good… Then to mark a new beginning, how about we get some ramen?” he suggested.

“I would prefer something else.”

“Huh?” Karamori looked at her, stunned. “Why? Are you not feeling well?”

Archive gave him a small, awkward smile.

“I am fine. I simply do not like ramen anymore.”

She looked happy as she said that.

A gust of wind brushed against their cheeks, guiding them toward a distant place.

Neither of them knew where that would be.

Only that the sun would be shining there.

Commentary

The following passage is a commentary on The Azure Sword, Slayer of Distortions, the winner of the Gold Prize at the 30th Dengeki Novel Prize. It touches on story content, so please read it after finishing the novel to avoid spoilers.

What I felt during my first read of The Azure Sword, Slayer of Distortions was something akin to nostalgia.

Vessels carrying sinister powers that surpass human understanding. Young agents who work to find and confiscate those vessels with the backing of a wealthy corporation. Hearing mention of those elements alone is sure to excite any fan of entertainment from the 2000s or 1990s. This novel is an orthodox occult action story that draws on timeless masterpieces like Spriggan and parts of the Cthulhu Mythos. I couldn’t help but have high expectations for it, which naturally raised my standards for critiquing it.

I am happy to say that The Azure Sword did not disappoint.

A main character who entered into a contract with a wicked sword; a mysterious young girl who serves as his partner; a second girl burdened by a heavy fate; antagonists driven by wicked desires—this novel hits you with one classic plot point after another, as if to say, “I know you like these,” and displays the strength of sticking to a formula.

That said, it is certainly not an old-fashioned light novel that does nothing to improve upon its predecessors and has many elements that feel quite modern. One such example is how its characters are presented. Shin Karamori, the protagonist, is highly skilled in combat, but he isn’t cocky and treats his superiors with respect. The main female characters, Archive and Hitsugi Fujinaka, aren’t unreasonably violent, nor do they get overly emotional and pointlessly hold the protagonist back. The dialogue shows restraint and lacks any embarrassing lines that would turn the characters into caricatures, making it feel firmly rooted in what we’ve come to expect in the current era.

My opinion of this novel is that it feels both nostalgic and new, while also hitting the reader with tried-and-true elements of its genre.

I’ll end my critical analysis of the genre there and talk more subjectively about my favorite elements of the novel.

This will get a little technical, but what immediately impressed me about the story was the cinematic nature with which it was expressed. The prose is simple yet paints a clear picture of each scene in the reader’s mind. I could feel the author’s skill and effort coming through the page.

Truthfully, during the final selection for the Dengeki Novel Prize, the opinion was raised that the abilities of vanits are difficult to understand. It is true that the ability of an important book in the story is conceptual, and even plain, at first glance. A book that consumes writing and makes people and objects it refers to disappear cannot exist in reality, so it is inevitable that the reader might have a hard time wrapping their head around it. It is the clear imagery of the writing that makes these conceptual abilities convincing and conveys the frightening nature of vanits.

The expressiveness of a novel relies on the imagination of the reader, which must be guided by the clarity of the imagery being placed in the reader’s mind. I believe that to be the greatest difficulty of writing occult action—the degree to which the reader’s imagination is relied upon.

In that regard, this novel’s writing is outstanding. Whether a book is eating text or using those words to materialize various creatures and objects, these scenes manifest in the reader’s mind with vibrant clarity. The writing is more detailed, more beautiful than a novel with cheaper imagery.

As for the story itself, if I were asked to name the greatest charm of The Azure Sword, it would be the straightforward and even naive nature of the characters. The main characters and those around them are all surprisingly good people, and even the villains Asahi Fujinaka and Pyrovault have a certain purity to them.

The nature of vanits, which are the main gimmick of this novel, could have enabled all kinds of depressing developments in the story. In fact, Karamori and Hitsugi Fujinaka are both placed in horribly cruel circumstances. It would not have been difficult to write them as pessimists trapped by the hatred of their pasts, but instead, they are simply depicted as good people. The twisted nature of the vanits makes for a powerful contrast with this. I believe that is both the fundamental nature and charm of this novel.

Having such wholesome characters leaves the reader with a refreshing feeling that runs contrary to the gloomy setting. I believe it would be wrong to deride that as cheap.

After all, it is the characters’ willingness to defy their fates that allows them to obtain the feel-good happy ending.

Anyway, that was my humble attempt at commentary on The Azure Sword, Slayer of Distortions. It has a well-developed setting, the likes of which one might not expect from a recipient of an award given to new authors, and I eagerly await the sequel. I’m curious to learn more about Noary and Grave Nest and find myself excited by the idea of getting to see new vanits and their abilities. The day I can read more of Karamori and Archive’s story cannot come soon enough.

February 2024

Gakuto Mikumo

Short Story: CHERASCAL ~Green Syndemic~

It’s a spring day toward the end of cherry blossom season. Mr. Karamori and I just completed a mission to destroy a vanit.

We’re standing in a small clearing slightly removed from a path leading up into a deserted mountain. Both of us are panting heavily. There is good reason for our fatigue—this mission forced us to run all over the place.

Our target was a vanit named Cherascal. It was a cherry tree that rushed about wildly, throwing its trunk and branches around as it did so. There was nothing else noteworthy about it, although its tendency to flee with incredible speed when at a disadvantage kept us at arm’s length for some time.

But we’re finally done. I collected its concept using my Compilation ability.

It is now nothing more than a strangely shaped tree standing at the edge of this small clearing.

“Haah… Haah… Good work, Archive,” Mr. Karamori says as a blizzard of cherry blossom petals fall around us.

It has been about three months since we were paired together, but I don’t feel any closer to understanding him. I am especially confused about why he insists on trying to treat me like a person, even though I am nothing of the sort.

“Man, that thing had some serious legs… I didn’t know you were in such good shape,” he says to me.

“Indeed. I do not mind running,” I reply.

I realize the strangeness of my words after they leave my mouth. I “don’t mind” running? Why would I say such a thing? I was created to do nothing more than obey my fate. I shouldn’t have likes and dislikes.

Mr. Karamori’s eyes go wide. He stares into my own eyes, as if searching for someone within them.

Oh… I see. That was…a remnant of her mind. He’s trying to find fragments of her within me. Seeing those fragments gives him hope. How utterly pointless. The chances of getting her back are beyond minuscule.

That thought touches her heart, which lies inside me.

What a pain. Without her presence, I wouldn’t have to think these unnecessary thoughts. It’s her fault I feel discomfort every time my fate takes control. These feelings are an impediment to the fate that was assigned to me.

Without thinking, I twist my thread and hold it toward the motionless tree.

“I may have removed the distortion, but it is still unnatural for a cherry tree to be here. Let’s dispose of it,” I say, intending to slice the tree apart and destroy it without a trace.

However…

“It’s so beautiful, though…,” Mr. Karamori remarks, staring up at the cherry tree, which is still in full bloom.

I…put my hands down.

The reason why I do that eludes me. I just…have a feeling.

A feeling that I can’t destroy this tree.

Such feelings may cause me distress…but something tells me sparing the tree is the right thing to do.