"──Today was a tough day, huh."
"──Tch. To accumulate so many dismantling requests, that guy is really useless. I want him to consider the situation on-site."
Even in the Outer Rim, the activities of people exist. The difference from the Ark may be in their living standards and morals, but oddly enough, complaints about work seem to be no different between the Ark and the Outer Rim.
Two workers who had finished their day's work grip the swing door at the entrance of the tavern – a door swinging from chest to knee height – while venting their complaints.
"Old man, a drink──"
"What's up──"
Regardless of the day of the week, the atmosphere in the tavern, usually a melting pot of vulgar complaints about work, was unusually silent.
Although familiar faces can be seen at some tables inside the establishment, an atmosphere where everyone is tight-lipped and deliberately avoids speaking is palpable.
The men then turned their gaze to the owner of the tavern, who was polishing shot glasses behind the counter.
The face of the middle-aged owner turned pale.
Not only the owner but also the customers are not in a good state──
"──Master. The same for me."
"──Y-Yes...!"
"──It's a quiet and good place."
"──Th-Thank you very much!"
A low voice quietly echoed through the tavern.
All attention was directed towards the tall figure sitting on a stool at the counter table – a man dressed entirely in a black suit.
The residents of the Outer Rim, with varying degrees of sensitivity, especially if they are weak, have a keen sense of smell.
A kind of crisis detection ability, so to speak.
It's dangerous.
"──O-Old man. Sorry... remembered something important."
"──Y-yeah, come again..."
Let's go home quietly today. It's for our own good.
Strangely, the residents of this place have a high probability of being right in a bad sense. Otherwise, they wouldn't survive.
Therefore, the men who had just entered also made the decision to hurry home according to that intuition.
"...Hmm, are they busy? Customers have been coming in and out since earlier..."
"Wh-who knows...? Please, Mister."
The owner grabbed a whole bottle of liquor from the shelf behind him and placed it on the table of the counter.
The empty bottles and the ashtray, filled with seven cigarette butts, were collected, and the new ones were directed towards him – Moore, the customer.
"Master, won't you have a drink too? It's no fun drinking alone."
"No, no, I appreciate the offer, but... my wife has been telling me to cut down on alcohol lately..."
"...That's unfortunate."
Shrugging his shoulders, Moore grabs an unopened bottle of high-proof whiskey that circulates in the Ark. He prefers it a bit smokier, but as he breaks the seal, he pours amber-colored liquor into a shot glass.
Two hours have already passed since he entered.
Moore is grateful to the girl who told him the destination, but the people he's waiting for – or rather, the waiters – still haven't shown up.
Fortunately, he had received a considerable amount of currency in Ark credits from Mustang as funds for spending time in the Outer Rim, or as pocket money.
Although the Ark's currency is mainly electronic, here in the Outer Rim, only paper bills are accepted. The reason is evident when he sees the environment, and simply put, the infrastructure to enable electronic transactions is not in place.
Of course, there may be places where it's possible, but it would be very limited.
That being said, three empty bottles are already on the table.
How many more bottles does he have to empty before the waiters arrive?
Grabbing the shot glass filled with amber whiskey, he downs it in one go. It's not his preferred taste, but it's not bad either. He clamps a cigarette in his mouth and lights it with an oil lighter.
Behind Moore, at the stool seat of the counter table, the swing door opens abruptly, followed by the rough footsteps of several people.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Only gloomy faces around here."
"Yeah, give us some booze. Pour it!"
With rough steps – it's uncertain whether they're trying to exude intimidation with their footsteps, but they seem to lack a lot of manners – they reach out to pour whiskey into the dry shot glass.
"Hey, you're drinking something good."
Probably around the same age as Moore, a man's voice reached out, and the whiskey bottle he was about to reach for was snatched away.
Instantly, three deep vertical wrinkles appeared on his forehead.
Five men, with an air of roughness, sit down at an empty table, capturing their movements with a sense of presence. Moore sighs, releasing a puff of purple smoke.
"Master. The same thing."
"Sorry, that was the last one..."
"I see. Then, something else. I'll leave the choice of brand to you."
"Y-Yes. Please wait."
The bustling atmosphere begins to fill the table where the men have taken their seats.
"Let's go to Bad Dreams after having a drink."
"Heh. I'll keep going until I collapse."
"Oh, what's that? Tetra's stuff?"
"Yeah, a kid had it on the street over there a while ago. It tastes good. Want some?"
─ His bare left eye, the pupil of which widened suddenly.
The owner, who had somehow selected a bottle of liquor with the same alcohol content and a similar taste, placed it in front of Moore. However, he paid no attention to it, and while still holding the cigarette emitting purple smoke, he stood up.
"─ Who had that chocolate you mentioned?"
While approaching the table, the hem of the jacket with both buttons detached fluttered slightly.
A low voice, crawling on the ground, was directed at the men, and the ten piercing eyes focused on Moore.
"Some shabby kid had it."
"...Around 10 years old something, a girl?"
"I don't know. Hell, It was dirty. Couldn't tell if it was a girl or a boy."
"She didn't even apologize for bumping into us. Since she lacks manners, we gave her a little discipline."
As a substitute for the discipline fee, one of the men shows the unwrapped chocolate.
.
.
.
.
.
"─ I see."
In response, Moore wore a smile that seemed like it could tear up to his ears.
------
.
.
.
.
"─ Long time no see."
"─ It's been a while."
"─ It's been a while."
Three different voices. However, the words spoken by all three were similar. Nevertheless, they weren't particularly close. But they weren't actively hostile either.
"─ Mustang told me to meet someone here... Were you all informed about it?"
It makes one wonder if her ancestors had roots in the far-eastern region of Eurasia during the old era, as her attire reflects those characteristics.
Wrapped in a long coat adorned with an Eastern dragon, beneath it, Moran, the grandmaster of the Peony Association, wears a garment featuring large peonies on a golden canary-colored fabric. The two individuals inquiring with him have just stepped out of two cars – both with well-defined features.
"No, we haven't informed anything. But... the messenger has a USB drive. We understand that we have to accept it from him."
Like Moran, she too might have ancestral roots in the far-eastern region of the old era.
Sakura, the head of the Qingming Association, responds to Morlan's inquiry while donning a vibrant kimono and hakama, with a calm light-brown coat draped over her shoulders.
"I don't know much either. Well, just accept it and leave, okay?"
Seemingly uninterested, Rosanna, the boss of the Heddonia, replies with a small yawn.
She has long hair in contrasting white and black, wearing a fur that reaches down to her ankles instead of a coat, revealing a bold sleeveless jacket underneath. Her right hip, accentuated by a tight fit, and the skin on her arms bear rose tattoos without hesitation.
They are the Underworld Queens, a unit formed by the leaders of the three organizations rising in the underworld of the Ark.
"Accepting is fine, but... is it safe to enter?"
"Well, who knows?"
"....Maybe not?"
Until they stepped out of their respective cars, everything was fine. Undoubtedly, this is the designated meeting place – a tavern.
Their hesitation to step inside dates back to shortly after arriving at the tavern. People are being thrown out of the establishment.
Literally, without metaphors or exaggeration.
First, a man who had broken through a window, with glass shards piercing his entire body, was thrown out. He rolled onto the street, groaning.
Next, breaking another window from the inside, another man jumped out. A knife was lodged in his thigh, and extensive bleeding was evident from his armpit and wrist.
─ Another sound of shattering. A figure leaped out from the opposite side of the entrance, his face greatly distorted. In an appearance that would never be seen again, the Qingming Association's guards were slammed back-first onto the front windshield of the car they were riding in.
"─ Sakura-sama, he's dead!"
"─ I can see that. Don't make a fuss."
Despite the Qingming Association member reporting to the head, she maintains a cool demeanor, staring at the tavern.
"... Is Rapture causing trouble or something? Hey, Jin, go check it out."
"Sis, spare me, please. I've been saying it for a while now, but I'm the intellectual type."
─ Keep the jokes to your face only, Morlan thought as he sighed to one of his subordinates standing nearby.
Shortly after she sighed, the swing door at the entrance was violently kicked open with a powerful blow.
It must have been quite a shock. As the dislodged left and right doors flew off in their respective directions, a tall young man appeared, dragging two men from the inside of the shop, each resembling ragged pieces of cloth. Describing him as a young man could be questionable though, as they might notice a somewhat prominent display of white hair.
The young man tossed the men onto the street as if discarding garbage. Liberated, the two men attempted to crawl clumsily on the street, attempting to escape. However, faster than their attempts, the young man threw a blade-damaged knife into one of the men, similar to a throwing knife.
"─ Aaaahhh!!?"
"Noisy. I'll kill you soon, so shut up and wait. ─Underworld Queens, right?"
The knife deeply embedded in the thigh showed no signs of easily coming out. As the man screamed in agony, the young man's absolute zero nonsense-toned voice continued.
Casually, sharp eyes behind dark black lenses were directed toward the Queens.
The scene indicated that he had been rampaging against several men right in front of him. Observing this, the guards of each organization began to move.
To protect Moran, Sakura, and Rosanna, members of the Peony Association, Qingming Association, and Heddonia raised firearms, including pistols.
In response, he also showed a gesture of inserting his right hand into the inside of his dark black jacket.
"─ Hey, stop it!!"
"─ Lower your guns. Do you want to die?"
"─ You all can't win against him, so stop. Don't want to die quickly, right?"
"─ But Boss..."
"─ ...Are you making me say the same thing twice?"
Rosanna glared at the overprotective consigliere counselor.
─ Don't make me repeat the same thing twice.
Under the pressure and following the order, she lowered her gun. First, Heddonia, followed by members of the Peony and Qingming, also turned their gun barrels away from him.
"─ Alright, Mister. Nice to meet you, I guess?"
For now, a potentially explosive situation was avoided.
Rosanna narrowed her eyes and, with one hand resting on her tightly bound waist, called out with a cheerful voice to the young man who prevented the fleeing man by stepping on his back with one leg.
"...Yeah, nice to meet you. ─Wait a moment."
Even as he recognized Rosanna through the lenses of his sunglasses, the young man seemed to have something he needed to do first.
Continuing to kick the man with one foot after stepping on him, the young man flipped him onto his back. He casually grabbed the collar and effortlessly lifted him with just one arm, raising him higher than his own head.
"─ Let's continue our earlier conversation. Where, and from whom, did you mention that chocolate?"
"─ G...gh...!?"
"─ Can't talk anymore? I haven't crushed your vocal cords yet. I haven't even cut off your tongue, you know?"
The man being hoisted up by his collar, with his arm hanging in the air, clenched his fist and repeatedly struck, but the young man remained unfazed, not even flinching. He seemed unperturbed, as if not feeling any pain.
"...Just answer this. That's all I need. It's simple, right? ─Did you kill her?"
Through the sharp gaze behind the lenses, filled with unmistakable intent to kill, the man's resistance abruptly ceased.
"─ Answer quickly."
Prompted, the man found it difficult to speak, not just due to the pain but also the difficulty in vocalizing. The man nodded slightly.
"─ I see."
Suddenly, the strength drained from the left arm that was lifting him, and the man awkwardly tumbled down onto the street.
As the man coughed violently, the young man seemed to be heading somewhere.
"─ Excuse me, Mister?"
"─ Please make sure they don't escape. ─I must kill them without fail."
What a busy man──Rosanna watched the departing figure of the young man as she spoke.
"──Today was a tough day, huh."
"──Tch. To accumulate so many dismantling requests, that guy is really useless. I want him to consider the situation on-site."
Even in the Outer Rim, the activities of people exist. The difference from the Ark may be in their living standards and morals, but oddly enough, complaints about work seem to be no different between the Ark and the Outer Rim.
Two workers who had finished their day's work grip the swing door at the entrance of the tavern – a door swinging from chest to knee height – while venting their complaints.
"Old man, a drink──"
"What's up──"
Regardless of the day of the week, the atmosphere in the tavern, usually a melting pot of vulgar complaints about work, was unusually silent.
Although familiar faces can be seen at some tables inside the establishment, an atmosphere where everyone is tight-lipped and deliberately avoids speaking is palpable.
The men then turned their gaze to the owner of the tavern, who was polishing shot glasses behind the counter.
The face of the middle-aged owner turned pale.
Not only the owner but also the customers are not in a good state──
"──Master. The same for me."
"──Y-Yes...!"
"──It's a quiet and good place."
"──Th-Thank you very much!"
A low voice quietly echoed through the tavern.
All attention was directed towards the tall figure sitting on a stool at the counter table – a man dressed entirely in a black suit.
The residents of the Outer Rim, with varying degrees of sensitivity, especially if they are weak, have a keen sense of smell.
A kind of crisis detection ability, so to speak.
It's dangerous.
"──O-Old man. Sorry... remembered something important."
"──Y-yeah, come again..."
Let's go home quietly today. It's for our own good.
Strangely, the residents of this place have a high probability of being right in a bad sense. Otherwise, they wouldn't survive.
Therefore, the men who had just entered also made the decision to hurry home according to that intuition.
"...Hmm, are they busy? Customers have been coming in and out since earlier..."
"Wh-who knows...? Please, Mister."
The owner grabbed a whole bottle of liquor from the shelf behind him and placed it on the table of the counter.
The empty bottles and the ashtray, filled with seven cigarette butts, were collected, and the new ones were directed towards him – Moore, the customer.
"Master, won't you have a drink too? It's no fun drinking alone."
"No, no, I appreciate the offer, but... my wife has been telling me to cut down on alcohol lately..."
"...That's unfortunate."
Shrugging his shoulders, Moore grabs an unopened bottle of high-proof whiskey that circulates in the Ark. He prefers it a bit smokier, but as he breaks the seal, he pours amber-colored liquor into a shot glass.
Two hours have already passed since he entered.
Moore is grateful to the girl who told him the destination, but the people he's waiting for – or rather, the waiters – still haven't shown up.
Fortunately, he had received a considerable amount of currency in Ark credits from Mustang as funds for spending time in the Outer Rim, or as pocket money.
Although the Ark's currency is mainly electronic, here in the Outer Rim, only paper bills are accepted. The reason is evident when he sees the environment, and simply put, the infrastructure to enable electronic transactions is not in place.
Of course, there may be places where it's possible, but it would be very limited.
That being said, three empty bottles are already on the table.
How many more bottles does he have to empty before the waiters arrive?
Grabbing the shot glass filled with amber whiskey, he downs it in one go. It's not his preferred taste, but it's not bad either. He clamps a cigarette in his mouth and lights it with an oil lighter.
Behind Moore, at the stool seat of the counter table, the swing door opens abruptly, followed by the rough footsteps of several people.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Only gloomy faces around here."
"Yeah, give us some booze. Pour it!"
With rough steps – it's uncertain whether they're trying to exude intimidation with their footsteps, but they seem to lack a lot of manners – they reach out to pour whiskey into the dry shot glass.
"Hey, you're drinking something good."
Probably around the same age as Moore, a man's voice reached out, and the whiskey bottle he was about to reach for was snatched away.
Instantly, three deep vertical wrinkles appeared on his forehead.
Five men, with an air of roughness, sit down at an empty table, capturing their movements with a sense of presence. Moore sighs, releasing a puff of purple smoke.
"Master. The same thing."
"Sorry, that was the last one..."
"I see. Then, something else. I'll leave the choice of brand to you."
"Y-Yes. Please wait."
The bustling atmosphere begins to fill the table where the men have taken their seats.
"Let's go to Bad Dreams after having a drink."
"Heh. I'll keep going until I collapse."
"Oh, what's that? Tetra's stuff?"
"Yeah, a kid had it on the street over there a while ago. It tastes good. Want some?"
─ His bare left eye, the pupil of which widened suddenly.
The owner, who had somehow selected a bottle of liquor with the same alcohol content and a similar taste, placed it in front of Moore. However, he paid no attention to it, and while still holding the cigarette emitting purple smoke, he stood up.
"─ Who had that chocolate you mentioned?"
While approaching the table, the hem of the jacket with both buttons detached fluttered slightly.
A low voice, crawling on the ground, was directed at the men, and the ten piercing eyes focused on Moore.
"Some shabby kid had it."
"...Around 10 years old something, a girl?"
"I don't know. Hell, It was dirty. Couldn't tell if it was a girl or a boy."
"She didn't even apologize for bumping into us. Since she lacks manners, we gave her a little discipline."
As a substitute for the discipline fee, one of the men shows the unwrapped chocolate.
.
.
.
.
.
"─ I see."
In response, Moore wore a smile that seemed like it could tear up to his ears.
------
.
.
.
.
"─ Long time no see."
"─ It's been a while."
"─ It's been a while."
Three different voices. However, the words spoken by all three were similar. Nevertheless, they weren't particularly close. But they weren't actively hostile either.
"─ Mustang told me to meet someone here... Were you all informed about it?"
It makes one wonder if her ancestors had roots in the far-eastern region of Eurasia during the old era, as her attire reflects those characteristics.
Wrapped in a long coat adorned with an Eastern dragon, beneath it, Moran, the grandmaster of the Peony Association, wears a garment featuring large peonies on a golden canary-colored fabric. The two individuals inquiring with him have just stepped out of two cars – both with well-defined features.
"No, we haven't informed anything. But... the messenger has a USB drive. We understand that we have to accept it from him."
Like Moran, she too might have ancestral roots in the far-eastern region of the old era.
Sakura, the head of the Qingming Association, responds to Morlan's inquiry while donning a vibrant kimono and hakama, with a calm light-brown coat draped over her shoulders.
"I don't know much either. Well, just accept it and leave, okay?"
Seemingly uninterested, Rosanna, the boss of the Heddonia, replies with a small yawn.
She has long hair in contrasting white and black, wearing a fur that reaches down to her ankles instead of a coat, revealing a bold sleeveless jacket underneath. Her right hip, accentuated by a tight fit, and the skin on her arms bear rose tattoos without hesitation.
They are the Underworld Queens, a unit formed by the leaders of the three organizations rising in the underworld of the Ark.
"Accepting is fine, but... is it safe to enter?"
"Well, who knows?"
"....Maybe not?"
Until they stepped out of their respective cars, everything was fine. Undoubtedly, this is the designated meeting place – a tavern.
Their hesitation to step inside dates back to shortly after arriving at the tavern. People are being thrown out of the establishment.
Literally, without metaphors or exaggeration.
First, a man who had broken through a window, with glass shards piercing his entire body, was thrown out. He rolled onto the street, groaning.
Next, breaking another window from the inside, another man jumped out. A knife was lodged in his thigh, and extensive bleeding was evident from his armpit and wrist.
─ Another sound of shattering. A figure leaped out from the opposite side of the entrance, his face greatly distorted. In an appearance that would never be seen again, the Qingming Association's guards were slammed back-first onto the front windshield of the car they were riding in.
"─ Sakura-sama, he's dead!"
"─ I can see that. Don't make a fuss."
Despite the Qingming Association member reporting to the head, she maintains a cool demeanor, staring at the tavern.
"... Is Rapture causing trouble or something? Hey, Jin, go check it out."
"Sis, spare me, please. I've been saying it for a while now, but I'm the intellectual type."
─ Keep the jokes to your face only, Morlan thought as he sighed to one of his subordinates standing nearby.
Shortly after she sighed, the swing door at the entrance was violently kicked open with a powerful blow.
It must have been quite a shock. As the dislodged left and right doors flew off in their respective directions, a tall young man appeared, dragging two men from the inside of the shop, each resembling ragged pieces of cloth. Describing him as a young man could be questionable though, as they might notice a somewhat prominent display of white hair.
The young man tossed the men onto the street as if discarding garbage. Liberated, the two men attempted to crawl clumsily on the street, attempting to escape. However, faster than their attempts, the young man threw a blade-damaged knife into one of the men, similar to a throwing knife.
"─ Aaaahhh!!?"
"Noisy. I'll kill you soon, so shut up and wait. ─Underworld Queens, right?"
The knife deeply embedded in the thigh showed no signs of easily coming out. As the man screamed in agony, the young man's absolute zero nonsense-toned voice continued.
Casually, sharp eyes behind dark black lenses were directed toward the Queens.
The scene indicated that he had been rampaging against several men right in front of him. Observing this, the guards of each organization began to move.
To protect Moran, Sakura, and Rosanna, members of the Peony Association, Qingming Association, and Heddonia raised firearms, including pistols.
In response, he also showed a gesture of inserting his right hand into the inside of his dark black jacket.
"─ Hey, stop it!!"
"─ Lower your guns. Do you want to die?"
"─ You all can't win against him, so stop. Don't want to die quickly, right?"
"─ But Boss..."
"─ ...Are you making me say the same thing twice?"
Rosanna glared at the overprotective consigliere counselor.
─ Don't make me repeat the same thing twice.
Under the pressure and following the order, she lowered her gun. First, Heddonia, followed by members of the Peony and Qingming, also turned their gun barrels away from him.
"─ Alright, Mister. Nice to meet you, I guess?"
For now, a potentially explosive situation was avoided.
Rosanna narrowed her eyes and, with one hand resting on her tightly bound waist, called out with a cheerful voice to the young man who prevented the fleeing man by stepping on his back with one leg.
"...Yeah, nice to meet you. ─Wait a moment."
Even as he recognized Rosanna through the lenses of his sunglasses, the young man seemed to have something he needed to do first.
Continuing to kick the man with one foot after stepping on him, the young man flipped him onto his back. He casually grabbed the collar and effortlessly lifted him with just one arm, raising him higher than his own head.
"─ Let's continue our earlier conversation. Where, and from whom, did you mention that chocolate?"
"─ G...gh...!?"
"─ Can't talk anymore? I haven't crushed your vocal cords yet. I haven't even cut off your tongue, you know?"
The man being hoisted up by his collar, with his arm hanging in the air, clenched his fist and repeatedly struck, but the young man remained unfazed, not even flinching. He seemed unperturbed, as if not feeling any pain.
"...Just answer this. That's all I need. It's simple, right? ─Did you kill her?"
Through the sharp gaze behind the lenses, filled with unmistakable intent to kill, the man's resistance abruptly ceased.
"─ Answer quickly."
Prompted, the man found it difficult to speak, not just due to the pain but also the difficulty in vocalizing. The man nodded slightly.
"─ I see."
Suddenly, the strength drained from the left arm that was lifting him, and the man awkwardly tumbled down onto the street.
As the man coughed violently, the young man seemed to be heading somewhere.
"─ Excuse me, Mister?"
"─ Please make sure they don't escape. ─I must kill them without fail."
What a busy man──Rosanna watched the departing figure of the young man as she spoke.
