"I've decided. Become my little brother."
"---I refuse."
It was a decisive response. So desicive that no further words were needed.
The exchange unfolding before their eyes seemed enough to make Rosanna burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. Amidst her laughter echoing through the reception room, Morlan, her face flushed red, became quite aggressive.
"You...! I, Moran of the Botan-kai! I had high hopes for you and proposed a bond---"
"I'm a military man. Doesn't that reason suffice?"
A person holding public office forms a bond of siblings with the head of the Botan-kai, one of the three major organizations in the underworld. ...For a while, the media would have no shortage of scandalous material to broadcast on TV shows and online news.
"Thaaat's not it! Military men or whatever, that's a no-no!"
"...Don't deny my job."
"I... I admired your benevolence and justice! So, please! Share a cup with me! That's all I'm asking!"
"...Benevolence and justice..."
He flicked his cigarette into a glass ashtray, dropped the ashes, and commanded the hardworking synapse librarian in his brain to retrieve related information.
The philosopher Mencius, born in the eastern part of the Eurasian continent in ancient times, advocated a philosophy.
.
.
.
Benevolence as the virtue of universal love, righteousness as the virtue of being ashamed of evil and distinguishing between right and wrong.
.
.
.
And a philosophy based on the theory of innate goodness, as reported by the synapse librarians.
---No, seriously, on what part am I included in that?
Involuntarily, Moore found himself wanting to question the meaning of benevolence and righteousness she mentioned.
Moran, in response, deposited the lit cigarette into the ashtray and rubbed her head against the tabletop.
Though he didn't want to concede even if Moran lowered his head, Moore inwardly sighed deeply.
"---Sorry, but even in formality, I can't share a cup as things are now. That's absolute."
Moore, as a person in a military position, also held a minimum level of morality. It was something he couldn't violate to the extent of forming a bond against it.
Just as he was about to resign himself to the situation, Moran unexpectedly lifted his head from the tabletop and directed a sharp gaze towards Moore.
"...As it is now, did you say?"
"Yeah. Don't tell me you're asking me to quit the military?"
"...Heh. I got your word, yeah? Don't take it back."
With a casual lift of the corner of his mouth, Moran pulled out a mobile device. Swiping the LCD screen, tapping, and eventually bringing the device close to his own ear.
"Yeah, it's Moran... Oh, thanks... USB? I received it properly... So, there's something I reluctantly want to ask. Mustang, can you create a new family register for one human? No, whose... Shaw Moore, the military... Yeah, that Major Moore. I couldn't think of any other way for him to become someone else."
"Oi, wait a moment."
Just as it seemed she had started making a call, it turned out to be Mustang. He was the CEO of TetraLine, one of the three major corporations. Beyond his often unforgettable demeanor, he wielded considerable authority.
It had to be stopped quickly. He lifted his hips, but Rosanna, sitting next to him, grabbed his arm, detaining him. With a composed face that seemed to find the situation amusing, she wore an almost entertaining expression.
"Huh? Seriously? You can do that? If so, I'm counting on you. We don't need any thanks this time?... There are benefits?... Got it. Then I'm asking. Goodnight... Yep! He says it can be done!"
"...What on earth did you just do?"
Moore's forehead showed veins as he looked at Moran, who wore a refreshing smile as if having completed a job.
"W-What? I told you, didn't I? As it is now."
Despite being somewhat intimidated by the calm atmosphere, Moran, who put away his mobile device, retorted.
Certainly, he had said it. He had made the statement. However---
"Who could have predicted settling things in such a way !?"
---It was an excessively forceful method. It was, to some extent, illegal. Was it really okay for family registers to be created so easily? Frustrated, he crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.
"D-Don't get so angry. Do you dislike forming a bond with me?"
"...It's not about that, but... how should I explain..."
His lack of eloquence was frustrating. While he had realized his difficulty in persuasion when seeking information about Unchained materials from Snow White and the Pilgrims, he wondered if he had become incompetent in explaining things as well.
However, considering how confused he was, it was likely due in no small part to Moran's overly unconventional and forceful resolution, along with Mustang's agreement.
---Damn it, bastard.
Gradually, his irritation grew, but there was no turning back now. It was all because of that Mustang.
He was probably diligently and swiftly creating a new family register at this very moment. Put yourself in the shoes of someone being forced into this situation---he downed the remaining drink in his glass in one go, then grabbed the bottle that sat in front of Rosanna.
"---Hey... drinking like that..."
He pulled it toward him and poured it into the glass in a steady stream. He knew it wasn't a commendable way of drinking, but without doing this, there seemed to be no sign of his anger subsiding.
He poured the filled glass into his mouth, emptying the amber liquid in a single gulp.
As he repeated this two or three times, almost simultaneously, Moore and Morlan's mobile devices signaled incoming messages.
Despite a foreboding feeling, he pulled his mobile device from the inner pocket of his jacket.
It had been less than five minutes since she made the call. Just five minutes.
No, for Mustang, five minutes were probably more than enough.
The message stated that the new family register had been successfully completed.
While sending a glare at Moran, who was seated on the opposite sofa, he poured another round of sake into his glass.
"...Don't get so angry like that..."
"...Whose fault do you think it is?"
"N-No... Mustang didn't refuse either...! L-Look, check out the name on the new family register! It's cool!"
---What's so cool about it.
Expressing his displeasure, he snorted. If Nikke and the squad under his command at the outpost were present, they would surely be wide-eyed at this entirely different side of Moore.
However, Moran just wanted him to improve his mood.
Leaning forward, she showed Moore a photo sent to her mobile device's LCD screen.
"See, it's a cool name, right?"
---Thump, his heart raced.
"---Richard Smith, that's the name!"
---Sharp pain echoed deep within his brain.
"---The surname is ordinary, but isn't it a good one? What do you think?"
---Moran's voice sounds distant.
---The ringing in the ears intensifies.
---The head, it hurts.
"---Mister?"
"---Moore-kun?"
---Despite Rosanna and Sakura's concern, there was no room to respond.
.
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.
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---Dick! Show those tin cans who's boss!
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.
---Unknown voices, familiar voices, reverberate through the head like echoes.
Intensely---he can't help feeling that he has forgotten something very important.
Exactly what is it---
"---Mister!"
---Suddenly, white and black hair reflected right in front of his eyes. And the face of a beautiful woman that was like waking up.
Focusing his gaze on her somewhat panicked expression, not the cool one, Moore checked the situation.
"...Rosanna?"
"What's wrong, Mister? You suddenly seemed strange..."
"Moore-kun, are you okay? Feeling unwell somewhere?"
Rosanna no longer had a cigar on her lips. She must have thrown it into the ashtray.
On her knees in front of him, her eyes checked him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Beyond that---on the sofa facing them, Sakura leaned forward, and Moran lifted his hips.
"...I think it's just fatigue. I was in the hospital until recently..."
"Is that so? How about taking a little rest? I can prepare a room."
"....I appreciate your offer."
While the caution was not completely gone, he could still make his own judgment about his condition.
Here in the Outer Rim, the laws of the Ark did not reach, and whether there was any morality similar to that of the Core was questionable.
If something happened along the way---like collapsing---he had no idea what kind of disaster he might face.
Moore nodded in response to Rosanna's offer, and she gave him a faint smile.
----
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"...Ha..."
---He felt a bit relieved. The intense headache and ringing in his ears that had been so severe had settled to some extent.
The assigned room was spacious. It was Moore's private space at the outpost---similar to the often-invaded commander's office where Anis and Neon often hung out.
He managed to stow his jacket in the provided closet, but with his shirt loosely worn, leaving four buttons undone, he lay on the wide bed facing upward.
---How am I going to tamper with the information in the recognition chip?
The recognition chip would likely be embedded in his neck. Moore absentmindedly stroked his neck while thinking---for some reason, he could easily imagine Mustang looking triumphant. He let out a heavy sigh.
Just then.
His ears caught the faint footsteps approaching his room in the corridor beyond the door.
Ignoring his reluctant body for a moment, Moore silently raised his upper body. Putting his legs, still in shoes, on the floor, he retrieved a pistol from the shoulder holster on the side table.
He disengaged the safety, lightly pulled the slide. Checked the chamber. The ammunition was firmly loaded.
Having mechanically confirmed it with practiced hands, a few seconds after directing his gaze to the door, the faint footsteps stopped in front of the room.
Shortly afterward, a knock echoed.
"---Mister, are you awake?"
The voice from beyond the door---he had become familiar with it over the past few hours.
"...I'm awake, but what's up?"
Still gripping the pistol just in case, Moore asked Rosanna, who would be on the other side of the door.
"If you're awake, how about some nightcap? I'd be happy if you could open it since my hands are busy."
He wished they had some door scope or camera in the room---but unfortunately, this wasn't an Ark hotel.
Keeping his guard, he approached the door, and as he grasped the doorknob, he opened the door slightly.
There stood Rosanna, the leader with a glossy red nightgown, the boss of Heddonia. It seemed like she just took a bath. The scent of roses emanating from her hair was faint but noticeable.
In her hands, she held a bottle of liquor on a tray, two glasses, and a small pair of tongs in an ice bucket with ice.
"...WOLF KILLER. It's my favorite drink... How did you know?"
"Just a hunch. I thought it might be a drink you like, Mister. I happen to enjoy it too. Isn't it a taste that becomes addictive?"
"...Is that so? Yeah, it is."
Quietly opening the door, Moore invited Rosanna in. She didn't overlook the fact that Moore had a pistol in one hand.
Capturing Rosanna's faintly furrowed brows, Moore shrugged, and as soon as she stepped into the room, he closed the door. Then, he secured the safety on the pistol and holstered it on the side table.
---Is it always like this with you?
---Most of the time, yes.
Excessive caution was a good thing, especially in the Outer Rim. However, to Rosanna, he appeared as a person on the sunny side.
"Isn't it difficult to live like that?"
"Those are not words for someone serving in the court."
She placed the tray on the low table near the bed, tossed ice into two glasses, opened the bottle of liquor, and a stronger alcoholic aroma than the brand she preferred wafted through the air.
"...Between us... I sometimes feel like I was born in the wrong era."
It must be incredibly difficult. Unable to endure it, Rosanna handed one of the glasses to Moore with a wry smile.
There were no words of cheers, but the light clinking of the glasses and the sound of ice and glass gently resounding filled the room.
While Moore savored the familiar taste and sat on the edge of the bed, Rosanna sat down next to him.
In that movement, her long legs shifted. She discarded the shoes she had been wearing, and from under the hem of her nightgown, which gleamed in a thin red fabric, appeared legs---not bare feet.
She seemed to be wearing black stockings that revealed her legs through the thin fabric, with a denier, a unit indicating the thickness of the fiber, quite low.
Crossing her legs wrapped in the thin stockings, the neckline of the nightgown revealed a glimpse of her ample bosom.
It would be more than enough for visual enjoyment.
"For example?"
"...Well, most people would probably think I'm crazy, insane. That I'm a madman, something like that."
"Hmm."
Rosanna glanced at him with her faint rose-colored eyes, probing him.
During the process of gathering information, she had heard rumors about him.
That there was someone who could fight against Rapture.
There was an initial dismissal of the fishy tale of outlandsih ones, but when Rosanna looked into the details to pass the time, it turned out to be true. Internally, she was surprised at the idea that the central government had finally created a genuine monster, especially one with artificially altered genetics and physical structure.
However, this monster was surprisingly handsome, even judging by her slightly bloated eyes.
"The injuries?"
"Well, yeah. The right leg, left arm, and right eye are prosthetics."
"Oh, my..."
At first glance, it wouldn't be apparent. Even in the Outer Rim, there were people with prosthetic legs and arms. However, in environments with limited medical facilities, the available prosthetics were often rudimentary.
While electromyography prosthetics or limb parts from Nikke might be available with luck, they were not widely spread, possibly due to high prices.
Moreover, in the latter case, there was also the possibility of rejection, and even if obtained, they might not be usable.
As the ice clinked in the glass, a light sound echoed from Moore's hand.
"By the way, is there something you need? I appreciate the offer for a nightcap, but..."
The intense brown eyes narrowed, questioning his true intentions. When directed from the side, Rosanna smiled.
"Hmm? Mister, do you think that inviting mature adults like us for a session with just a drink is enough?"
"No, of course not."
He wasn't that pure. As Rosanna's smile deepened, her slender hand gently took the glass from Moore.
She tilted her own glass, tasting the liquor, then rose and approached the low table. Placing two glasses on the tray there, Rosanna returned to Moore's side.
"Mister and me. Don't you think we make a good pair?"
"...Is that so? If you think so, then it must be true."
It had only been half a day since they met. Moore thought it was too early to determine their compatibility, but suddenly, Rosanna's hand reached toward his waist.
With a conspicuous motion, the nightgown's belt was undone, followed by the smooth skin that traced down. The thin fabric slid down to the floor, following the pull of gravity.
"How about it? I'm quite confident on my appearance, you know?"
"...I think you're pretty attractive too."
There was no need to confirm that.
Wrapped in minimal black fabric was a tall and long-limbed white body - lingerie.
Lacking knowledge in that area, Moore's first thoughts upon witnessing the lingerie with the same design were the description of beauty and the impression that it must be expensive.
The lingerie she wore seemed uniformly thin. The fact that Rosanna's skin was visible through it was the most significant evidence.
Black complemented her white skin well.
Observing the flower design woven with lace, Moore casually extended his right hand to the right side of Rosanna's waist, just above her hip, where a tattoo was carved.
"...Nn..."
As his fingertips gently traced the tattoo, a sweet, poignant, and somewhat needy voice softly escaped her lips, tinged with a breath.
"Do you like roses?"
"What do you think?"
"I'd appreciate it if you stop answering a question with another question..."
Having exhaled, Rosanna, who naturally looked down at him, again smiled. She gently took Moore's right hand, which was tracing the tattoo, as if to say the location was different.
What he touched now was her ample, lingerie-covered chest.
She guided his large hand to rest on her soft and firm breast. The warmth of his palm and the body temperature transmitted through his fingertips to the skin felt pleasant.
"...Haa... Your hand is warm, Mister..."
The breath carried warmth, and her light rose-colored eyes became teary.
"If you want to know the compatibility between a man and a woman, isn't this the quickest way?"
"...It might be too hasty from a general perspective, just saying."
"Don't you like it? Sleeping with someone like me, a Nikké?"
"It's not that... I'm a shy person. I prefer to get more acquainted first. Of course, I think sleeping with a beauty like you is a man's blessing."
In his response, Rosanna narrowed her eyes satisfactorily.
She slipped one knee of her long legs, covered in thin stockings hanging from a garter belt, into the gap at the base of Moore's leg, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, and pressed it slightly harder.
Stimulated, wrinkles inadvertently formed on Moore's forehead. It wasn't an uncomfortable sensation, but it brought about a reaction that he found awkward.
Rosanna's upper body tilted, and his palm naturally sank into her ample chest.
"I want to confirm our compatibility, Mister. How about it?"
Even if she's a Nikké, would it be appropriate to embarrass a woman who has gone this far?
He was by no means fastidious. However, he wasn't indifferent to ethics, morals, or morality.
For a brief moment—truly rare, and tomorrow might see a storm of spears raining down on the entire Ark—his reason wavered. In that fleeting moment, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Instinctively, he pushed Rosanna aside and reached for the side table. Grabbing the gun and hiding her behind him, just as he was about to deactivate the safety—
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.
.
"Lil bro!! Let's have a drinking contest!! If I win, you have to admit I'm your big sister!!"
The door was violently thrown open.
Moran stood there, holding a bottle.
"You... damn... interfering bastard...!!"
A heavy voice leaked behind Moore.
This time, Rosanna, who had pushed him away, stepped forward.
"Ro-Rosanna!? Wh-what are you doing in that outfit...!?"
"If you look, you'll understand...! You asshole, don't fuck with me...!"
Disrupting the atmosphere they had carefully created—presumably, Rosanna harbored intense feelings bordering on murderous intent towards Moran.
"Mister... Hand over the gun. It only takes one shot."
"...It's not a gun manufactured in the Ark, so you should be able to use it..."
Without turning to him, Rosanna extended her palm. Moore shrugged in response to her urging him to hand over the gun quickly.
Indeed, the gun he held wasn't manufactured in the Ark. It was created a long time ago—probably around the time of the first Rapture invasion. It lacked fingerprint recognition and, to put it bluntly, could be used by anyone.
However, it was impossible to overlook the clash between Nikké, so the gun with the safety engaged was holstered back in its holster on the side table.
Almost one-sidedly—perhaps due to the difference of just one fist in height—Rosanna glared down at Moran.
While Moran did feel sorry for interfering, this was entirely an accident.
Just before trying to calm the situation, a low and unexpected chuckle echoed in the room.
"…That was a bit dangerous. I appreciate it, big sis."
"Y-yeah. Don't worry about it. ----W-Wait a minute!! What did you just say...!? Say it again!!"
"...Sometime later."
He thought he should decide on a name by then, and while pondering, he lit a cigarette with an oil lighter.
---
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"…I want to go home soon..."
The next day, Moore, dressed in his jacket, vest, and slacks, all cleaned up, left Heddonia's gathering place.
With this, all the MISSIONs from Mustang were accomplished. As he walked towards the outpost, planning to stop by Ark and buy his favorite brand of cigarettes, his mobile device, kept in the jacket's inner pocket, vibrated.
Curious about the caller, he unlocked it with fingerprint recognition, checking the sender of the new message on the LCD screen. It was from Anderson.
He must have heard it from Mustang. He knew about the fake or newly created family register. He seemed willing to overlook it—instead, he had some work to assign.
If those tasks were completed, the family register issue would be ignored, even acknowledged.
—It wasn't something he desired himself, but apparently, that didn't matter.
Just as Moore let out a deep sigh at this typical court duty,
"Darling, how have you been?"
A voice with a lingering, sweet sensation was directed at him.
-----
Author note: Regarding Moran's way of addressing... What would be appropriate? Elder sister, big sister, or just sister?
"I've decided. Become my little brother."
"---I refuse."
It was a decisive response. So desicive that no further words were needed.
The exchange unfolding before their eyes seemed enough to make Rosanna burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. Amidst her laughter echoing through the reception room, Morlan, her face flushed red, became quite aggressive.
"You...! I, Moran of the Botan-kai! I had high hopes for you and proposed a bond---"
"I'm a military man. Doesn't that reason suffice?"
A person holding public office forms a bond of siblings with the head of the Botan-kai, one of the three major organizations in the underworld. ...For a while, the media would have no shortage of scandalous material to broadcast on TV shows and online news.
"Thaaat's not it! Military men or whatever, that's a no-no!"
"...Don't deny my job."
"I... I admired your benevolence and justice! So, please! Share a cup with me! That's all I'm asking!"
"...Benevolence and justice..."
He flicked his cigarette into a glass ashtray, dropped the ashes, and commanded the hardworking synapse librarian in his brain to retrieve related information.
The philosopher Mencius, born in the eastern part of the Eurasian continent in ancient times, advocated a philosophy.
.
.
.
Benevolence as the virtue of universal love, righteousness as the virtue of being ashamed of evil and distinguishing between right and wrong.
.
.
.
And a philosophy based on the theory of innate goodness, as reported by the synapse librarians.
---No, seriously, on what part am I included in that?
Involuntarily, Moore found himself wanting to question the meaning of benevolence and righteousness she mentioned.
Moran, in response, deposited the lit cigarette into the ashtray and rubbed her head against the tabletop.
Though he didn't want to concede even if Moran lowered his head, Moore inwardly sighed deeply.
"---Sorry, but even in formality, I can't share a cup as things are now. That's absolute."
Moore, as a person in a military position, also held a minimum level of morality. It was something he couldn't violate to the extent of forming a bond against it.
Just as he was about to resign himself to the situation, Moran unexpectedly lifted his head from the tabletop and directed a sharp gaze towards Moore.
"...As it is now, did you say?"
"Yeah. Don't tell me you're asking me to quit the military?"
"...Heh. I got your word, yeah? Don't take it back."
With a casual lift of the corner of his mouth, Moran pulled out a mobile device. Swiping the LCD screen, tapping, and eventually bringing the device close to his own ear.
"Yeah, it's Moran... Oh, thanks... USB? I received it properly... So, there's something I reluctantly want to ask. Mustang, can you create a new family register for one human? No, whose... Shaw Moore, the military... Yeah, that Major Moore. I couldn't think of any other way for him to become someone else."
"Oi, wait a moment."
Just as it seemed she had started making a call, it turned out to be Mustang. He was the CEO of TetraLine, one of the three major corporations. Beyond his often unforgettable demeanor, he wielded considerable authority.
It had to be stopped quickly. He lifted his hips, but Rosanna, sitting next to him, grabbed his arm, detaining him. With a composed face that seemed to find the situation amusing, she wore an almost entertaining expression.
"Huh? Seriously? You can do that? If so, I'm counting on you. We don't need any thanks this time?... There are benefits?... Got it. Then I'm asking. Goodnight... Yep! He says it can be done!"
"...What on earth did you just do?"
Moore's forehead showed veins as he looked at Moran, who wore a refreshing smile as if having completed a job.
"W-What? I told you, didn't I? As it is now."
Despite being somewhat intimidated by the calm atmosphere, Moran, who put away his mobile device, retorted.
Certainly, he had said it. He had made the statement. However---
"Who could have predicted settling things in such a way !?"
---It was an excessively forceful method. It was, to some extent, illegal. Was it really okay for family registers to be created so easily? Frustrated, he crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.
"D-Don't get so angry. Do you dislike forming a bond with me?"
"...It's not about that, but... how should I explain..."
His lack of eloquence was frustrating. While he had realized his difficulty in persuasion when seeking information about Unchained materials from Snow White and the Pilgrims, he wondered if he had become incompetent in explaining things as well.
However, considering how confused he was, it was likely due in no small part to Moran's overly unconventional and forceful resolution, along with Mustang's agreement.
---Damn it, bastard.
Gradually, his irritation grew, but there was no turning back now. It was all because of that Mustang.
He was probably diligently and swiftly creating a new family register at this very moment. Put yourself in the shoes of someone being forced into this situation---he downed the remaining drink in his glass in one go, then grabbed the bottle that sat in front of Rosanna.
"---Hey... drinking like that..."
He pulled it toward him and poured it into the glass in a steady stream. He knew it wasn't a commendable way of drinking, but without doing this, there seemed to be no sign of his anger subsiding.
He poured the filled glass into his mouth, emptying the amber liquid in a single gulp.
As he repeated this two or three times, almost simultaneously, Moore and Morlan's mobile devices signaled incoming messages.
Despite a foreboding feeling, he pulled his mobile device from the inner pocket of his jacket.
It had been less than five minutes since she made the call. Just five minutes.
No, for Mustang, five minutes were probably more than enough.
The message stated that the new family register had been successfully completed.
While sending a glare at Moran, who was seated on the opposite sofa, he poured another round of sake into his glass.
"...Don't get so angry like that..."
"...Whose fault do you think it is?"
"N-No... Mustang didn't refuse either...! L-Look, check out the name on the new family register! It's cool!"
---What's so cool about it.
Expressing his displeasure, he snorted. If Nikke and the squad under his command at the outpost were present, they would surely be wide-eyed at this entirely different side of Moore.
However, Moran just wanted him to improve his mood.
Leaning forward, she showed Moore a photo sent to her mobile device's LCD screen.
"See, it's a cool name, right?"
---Thump, his heart raced.
"---Richard Smith, that's the name!"
---Sharp pain echoed deep within his brain.
"---The surname is ordinary, but isn't it a good one? What do you think?"
---Moran's voice sounds distant.
---The ringing in the ears intensifies.
---The head, it hurts.
"---Mister?"
"---Moore-kun?"
---Despite Rosanna and Sakura's concern, there was no room to respond.
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---Dick! Show those tin cans who's boss!
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---Unknown voices, familiar voices, reverberate through the head like echoes.
Intensely---he can't help feeling that he has forgotten something very important.
Exactly what is it---
"---Mister!"
---Suddenly, white and black hair reflected right in front of his eyes. And the face of a beautiful woman that was like waking up.
Focusing his gaze on her somewhat panicked expression, not the cool one, Moore checked the situation.
"...Rosanna?"
"What's wrong, Mister? You suddenly seemed strange..."
"Moore-kun, are you okay? Feeling unwell somewhere?"
Rosanna no longer had a cigar on her lips. She must have thrown it into the ashtray.
On her knees in front of him, her eyes checked him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Beyond that---on the sofa facing them, Sakura leaned forward, and Moran lifted his hips.
"...I think it's just fatigue. I was in the hospital until recently..."
"Is that so? How about taking a little rest? I can prepare a room."
"....I appreciate your offer."
While the caution was not completely gone, he could still make his own judgment about his condition.
Here in the Outer Rim, the laws of the Ark did not reach, and whether there was any morality similar to that of the Core was questionable.
If something happened along the way---like collapsing---he had no idea what kind of disaster he might face.
Moore nodded in response to Rosanna's offer, and she gave him a faint smile.
----
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"...Ha..."
---He felt a bit relieved. The intense headache and ringing in his ears that had been so severe had settled to some extent.
The assigned room was spacious. It was Moore's private space at the outpost---similar to the often-invaded commander's office where Anis and Neon often hung out.
He managed to stow his jacket in the provided closet, but with his shirt loosely worn, leaving four buttons undone, he lay on the wide bed facing upward.
---How am I going to tamper with the information in the recognition chip?
The recognition chip would likely be embedded in his neck. Moore absentmindedly stroked his neck while thinking---for some reason, he could easily imagine Mustang looking triumphant. He let out a heavy sigh.
Just then.
His ears caught the faint footsteps approaching his room in the corridor beyond the door.
Ignoring his reluctant body for a moment, Moore silently raised his upper body. Putting his legs, still in shoes, on the floor, he retrieved a pistol from the shoulder holster on the side table.
He disengaged the safety, lightly pulled the slide. Checked the chamber. The ammunition was firmly loaded.
Having mechanically confirmed it with practiced hands, a few seconds after directing his gaze to the door, the faint footsteps stopped in front of the room.
Shortly afterward, a knock echoed.
"---Mister, are you awake?"
The voice from beyond the door---he had become familiar with it over the past few hours.
"...I'm awake, but what's up?"
Still gripping the pistol just in case, Moore asked Rosanna, who would be on the other side of the door.
"If you're awake, how about some nightcap? I'd be happy if you could open it since my hands are busy."
He wished they had some door scope or camera in the room---but unfortunately, this wasn't an Ark hotel.
Keeping his guard, he approached the door, and as he grasped the doorknob, he opened the door slightly.
There stood Rosanna, the leader with a glossy red nightgown, the boss of Heddonia. It seemed like she just took a bath. The scent of roses emanating from her hair was faint but noticeable.
In her hands, she held a bottle of liquor on a tray, two glasses, and a small pair of tongs in an ice bucket with ice.
"...WOLF KILLER. It's my favorite drink... How did you know?"
"Just a hunch. I thought it might be a drink you like, Mister. I happen to enjoy it too. Isn't it a taste that becomes addictive?"
"...Is that so? Yeah, it is."
Quietly opening the door, Moore invited Rosanna in. She didn't overlook the fact that Moore had a pistol in one hand.
Capturing Rosanna's faintly furrowed brows, Moore shrugged, and as soon as she stepped into the room, he closed the door. Then, he secured the safety on the pistol and holstered it on the side table.
---Is it always like this with you?
---Most of the time, yes.
Excessive caution was a good thing, especially in the Outer Rim. However, to Rosanna, he appeared as a person on the sunny side.
"Isn't it difficult to live like that?"
"Those are not words for someone serving in the court."
She placed the tray on the low table near the bed, tossed ice into two glasses, opened the bottle of liquor, and a stronger alcoholic aroma than the brand she preferred wafted through the air.
"...Between us... I sometimes feel like I was born in the wrong era."
It must be incredibly difficult. Unable to endure it, Rosanna handed one of the glasses to Moore with a wry smile.
There were no words of cheers, but the light clinking of the glasses and the sound of ice and glass gently resounding filled the room.
While Moore savored the familiar taste and sat on the edge of the bed, Rosanna sat down next to him.
In that movement, her long legs shifted. She discarded the shoes she had been wearing, and from under the hem of her nightgown, which gleamed in a thin red fabric, appeared legs---not bare feet.
She seemed to be wearing black stockings that revealed her legs through the thin fabric, with a denier, a unit indicating the thickness of the fiber, quite low.
Crossing her legs wrapped in the thin stockings, the neckline of the nightgown revealed a glimpse of her ample bosom.
It would be more than enough for visual enjoyment.
"For example?"
"...Well, most people would probably think I'm crazy, insane. That I'm a madman, something like that."
"Hmm."
Rosanna glanced at him with her faint rose-colored eyes, probing him.
During the process of gathering information, she had heard rumors about him.
That there was someone who could fight against Rapture.
There was an initial dismissal of the fishy tale of outlandsih ones, but when Rosanna looked into the details to pass the time, it turned out to be true. Internally, she was surprised at the idea that the central government had finally created a genuine monster, especially one with artificially altered genetics and physical structure.
However, this monster was surprisingly handsome, even judging by her slightly bloated eyes.
"The injuries?"
"Well, yeah. The right leg, left arm, and right eye are prosthetics."
"Oh, my..."
At first glance, it wouldn't be apparent. Even in the Outer Rim, there were people with prosthetic legs and arms. However, in environments with limited medical facilities, the available prosthetics were often rudimentary.
While electromyography prosthetics or limb parts from Nikke might be available with luck, they were not widely spread, possibly due to high prices.
Moreover, in the latter case, there was also the possibility of rejection, and even if obtained, they might not be usable.
As the ice clinked in the glass, a light sound echoed from Moore's hand.
"By the way, is there something you need? I appreciate the offer for a nightcap, but..."
The intense brown eyes narrowed, questioning his true intentions. When directed from the side, Rosanna smiled.
"Hmm? Mister, do you think that inviting mature adults like us for a session with just a drink is enough?"
"No, of course not."
He wasn't that pure. As Rosanna's smile deepened, her slender hand gently took the glass from Moore.
She tilted her own glass, tasting the liquor, then rose and approached the low table. Placing two glasses on the tray there, Rosanna returned to Moore's side.
"Mister and me. Don't you think we make a good pair?"
"...Is that so? If you think so, then it must be true."
It had only been half a day since they met. Moore thought it was too early to determine their compatibility, but suddenly, Rosanna's hand reached toward his waist.
With a conspicuous motion, the nightgown's belt was undone, followed by the smooth skin that traced down. The thin fabric slid down to the floor, following the pull of gravity.
"How about it? I'm quite confident on my appearance, you know?"
"...I think you're pretty attractive too."
There was no need to confirm that.
Wrapped in minimal black fabric was a tall and long-limbed white body - lingerie.
Lacking knowledge in that area, Moore's first thoughts upon witnessing the lingerie with the same design were the description of beauty and the impression that it must be expensive.
The lingerie she wore seemed uniformly thin. The fact that Rosanna's skin was visible through it was the most significant evidence.
Black complemented her white skin well.
Observing the flower design woven with lace, Moore casually extended his right hand to the right side of Rosanna's waist, just above her hip, where a tattoo was carved.
"...Nn..."
As his fingertips gently traced the tattoo, a sweet, poignant, and somewhat needy voice softly escaped her lips, tinged with a breath.
"Do you like roses?"
"What do you think?"
"I'd appreciate it if you stop answering a question with another question..."
Having exhaled, Rosanna, who naturally looked down at him, again smiled. She gently took Moore's right hand, which was tracing the tattoo, as if to say the location was different.
What he touched now was her ample, lingerie-covered chest.
She guided his large hand to rest on her soft and firm breast. The warmth of his palm and the body temperature transmitted through his fingertips to the skin felt pleasant.
"...Haa... Your hand is warm, Mister..."
The breath carried warmth, and her light rose-colored eyes became teary.
"If you want to know the compatibility between a man and a woman, isn't this the quickest way?"
"...It might be too hasty from a general perspective, just saying."
"Don't you like it? Sleeping with someone like me, a Nikké?"
"It's not that... I'm a shy person. I prefer to get more acquainted first. Of course, I think sleeping with a beauty like you is a man's blessing."
In his response, Rosanna narrowed her eyes satisfactorily.
She slipped one knee of her long legs, covered in thin stockings hanging from a garter belt, into the gap at the base of Moore's leg, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, and pressed it slightly harder.
Stimulated, wrinkles inadvertently formed on Moore's forehead. It wasn't an uncomfortable sensation, but it brought about a reaction that he found awkward.
Rosanna's upper body tilted, and his palm naturally sank into her ample chest.
"I want to confirm our compatibility, Mister. How about it?"
Even if she's a Nikké, would it be appropriate to embarrass a woman who has gone this far?
He was by no means fastidious. However, he wasn't indifferent to ethics, morals, or morality.
For a brief moment—truly rare, and tomorrow might see a storm of spears raining down on the entire Ark—his reason wavered. In that fleeting moment, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Instinctively, he pushed Rosanna aside and reached for the side table. Grabbing the gun and hiding her behind him, just as he was about to deactivate the safety—
.
.
.
"Lil bro!! Let's have a drinking contest!! If I win, you have to admit I'm your big sister!!"
The door was violently thrown open.
Moran stood there, holding a bottle.
"You... damn... interfering bastard...!!"
A heavy voice leaked behind Moore.
This time, Rosanna, who had pushed him away, stepped forward.
"Ro-Rosanna!? Wh-what are you doing in that outfit...!?"
"If you look, you'll understand...! You asshole, don't fuck with me...!"
Disrupting the atmosphere they had carefully created—presumably, Rosanna harbored intense feelings bordering on murderous intent towards Moran.
"Mister... Hand over the gun. It only takes one shot."
"...It's not a gun manufactured in the Ark, so you should be able to use it..."
Without turning to him, Rosanna extended her palm. Moore shrugged in response to her urging him to hand over the gun quickly.
Indeed, the gun he held wasn't manufactured in the Ark. It was created a long time ago—probably around the time of the first Rapture invasion. It lacked fingerprint recognition and, to put it bluntly, could be used by anyone.
However, it was impossible to overlook the clash between Nikké, so the gun with the safety engaged was holstered back in its holster on the side table.
Almost one-sidedly—perhaps due to the difference of just one fist in height—Rosanna glared down at Moran.
While Moran did feel sorry for interfering, this was entirely an accident.
Just before trying to calm the situation, a low and unexpected chuckle echoed in the room.
"…That was a bit dangerous. I appreciate it, big sis."
"Y-yeah. Don't worry about it. ----W-Wait a minute!! What did you just say...!? Say it again!!"
"...Sometime later."
He thought he should decide on a name by then, and while pondering, he lit a cigarette with an oil lighter.
---
.
.
.
.
"…I want to go home soon..."
The next day, Moore, dressed in his jacket, vest, and slacks, all cleaned up, left Heddonia's gathering place.
With this, all the MISSIONs from Mustang were accomplished. As he walked towards the outpost, planning to stop by Ark and buy his favorite brand of cigarettes, his mobile device, kept in the jacket's inner pocket, vibrated.
Curious about the caller, he unlocked it with fingerprint recognition, checking the sender of the new message on the LCD screen. It was from Anderson.
He must have heard it from Mustang. He knew about the fake or newly created family register. He seemed willing to overlook it—instead, he had some work to assign.
If those tasks were completed, the family register issue would be ignored, even acknowledged.
—It wasn't something he desired himself, but apparently, that didn't matter.
Just as Moore let out a deep sigh at this typical court duty,
"Darling, how have you been?"
A voice with a lingering, sweet sensation was directed at him.
-----
Author note: Regarding Moran's way of addressing... What would be appropriate? Elder sister, big sister, or just sister?
