——A somber silence had fallen over the shelter.
The faint sound of stifled weeping, the restless tapping of fingers against the floor.
The girl sat with her knees drawn up, feeling the cold wall against her back, listening to those sounds that echoed unnervingly through the quiet space.
She was a small girl with golden hair.
Resting her chin on her small white knees as she crouched, she gently drew close the weight beside her.
Leaning against her left shoulder, with his head tucked between her knees and chest, was a young boy still in his infancy — her little brother. He had wailed himself hoarse earlier, but now he had cried himself to exhaustion and fallen asleep.
Tear-stained tracks still marked his cheeks, and his reddened eyes were swollen from crying. She wanted to reach over and gently ruffle his hair, but the thought that it might wake him stayed her hand.
If he could keep sleeping, it would be far better for him to stay that way right now.
Listening to her brother's peaceful breathing, she wished that at least in his dreams, he might find some rest — because the reality beyond those dreams was still too harsh for one so young.
And the same was true for a young sister who thought only of her little brother.
——It had been several hours since the announcement that the control tower of the Pristella city gate had been seized.
The girl had been out with her brother that morning when she heard the broadcast in the city square. The unbelievable content, the venomous stream of abuse lacing every word — unable to accept what she had heard, worrying about their parents, she had taken her anxious little brother by the hand and fled into the shelter with the other adults around them.
——When an unforeseen crisis occurs, make for the shelter immediately.
It was the emergency protocol repeated every morning in the regular broadcast from City Hall. Though the girl honestly couldn't recall ever listening seriously to anything besides the Songstress's singing, the warning had been drilled in well enough that it came back to her in an instant.
However, what to do after reaching the shelter — that was a question to which neither the girl nor the surrounding adults seemed to have a clear answer.
——The
The villainous woman's sultry voice showered the fear-stricken people with insults, clawing at their hearts.
The horrible words, mixed with those ominous terms, were each enough to grip the hearts of the girl and the adults alike with terror.
Locked inside the dim shelter, with no clear picture of the situation outside and no sign of improvement, it was only natural for anxiety to mount with every passing moment.
At first, voices had been raised to encourage one another, but their tone gradually weakened, and before long, anxiety and irritation began to seep into the silence. Before she knew it, people around her were openly showing their displeasure, and that atmosphere spread until directionless resentment and dissatisfaction turned barbs in every glance and gesture.
Once that happened, nothing could stop it.
Glaring. Insulting. At worst, blows would be exchanged and a brawl would break out.
The same toxic mood had taken hold in this shelter too, and the situation had reached the razor's edge of eruption.
"Ahh—!"
It was her little brother's wailing cry that shattered the blood-soaked tension in the nick of time.
Tossing his short golden hair about, the sobbing, pleading child had — without anyone resorting to shoving him away violently — apparently managed to dredge up some last shred of adult dignity and restraint from the adults who had been on the verge of boiling over.
After all, there was real power in a child's cry.
The little brother's voice, which she had always considered nothing but a nuisance, had proven useful for once — and the girl, who hugged him tightly from behind to stop the fight, shed a few tears of her own.
After that, no more quarrels broke out in the shelter.
But everyone knew that this fragile peace rested on an equally fragile equilibrium. Next time, a child's crying alone would never be enough to stop things.
Knowing this, the people of the shelter — who should have been bound together by a shared fate — kept their distance from one another, stubbornly maintaining a space where not even glances or breathing could reach. They shut out the outside world entirely, unwilling to let their consciousness brush against anyone else's — because no one knew what might catch someone's attention, provoke their anger, or pull the trigger.
So for their own sake, and for the sake of others, they made themselves small and held their breath, waiting with grim faces for time to pass. Clinging to the hollow hope that if they just waited, something would change.
"——Ah."
Suddenly, the girl raised her head with a faint, hoarse sound.
The subtle shift in the air had caught the senses that had been quietly yearning for change.
Reacting to the same stimulus, the heads of those around her stirred for the first time in hours. It was a tremor in the air that every resident of this city had felt before — the prelude to a broadcast.
In the world of silence, a sound like a breath brushing past her ear reached her. Being able to sense this harbinger of a broadcast was, at this moment, nothing short of miserable.
The change she wanted was, of course, a positive one. But broadcasts only ever conveyed the Witch Cult's malice. What impossible demands would that shrill voice impose on them this time?
But her pessimistic prediction turned out to be wrong.
"—Uh, um, can everyone hear me okay? Mic test, mic test, one-two, one-two."
What reached her instead was the voice of a boy who sounded vaguely clueless.
A complete departure from every broadcast before — the uncertain, unconfident voice of a young man. Not the commanding voice of the important man she heard every morning. A young voice she had never heard before.
The girl's eyes went wide. The adults around her exchanged puzzled glances.
Their reactions, of course, did not carry across to the other side of the magic device. The boy continued to check his voice a few more times, and once he was confident the broadcast was working, he cleared his throat. Then— "Glad it's working. First off, sorry for coming at you like this with a sudden broadcast. I'm sure I scared you. A lot of you are probably wondering what's going to be said this time. But please — rest easy. The person making this broadcast right now is not with the Witch Cult. That's the first thing I need you to understand."
"...Not with the Witch Cult?"
The unfamiliar magic device caused the boy's volume to fluctuate slightly.
But the shock of his words far outweighed that detail — no one even mentioned it. Looking up at the source of the voice above them, the expressions of the people who had been wearing dark faces all this time began to shift. It was the look of people daring to hope for a change.
Someone whispered softly: "Then… does that mean… we've been saved?"
Everyone in the shelter arrived at the same hope those words implied.
Yes — wasn't that right? If someone other than the Witch Cult was using the magic device, that could only mean someone had recaptured City Hall. And if someone had driven the Witch Cult out of City Hall, then perhaps they could be driven from the control tower too — from the city itself— "Drive the Witch Cult bastards out of here…!"
"But — sorry to get your hopes up — the threat from the Witch Cult hasn't disappeared. We took back City Hall, but they're still holed up in the control tower. The danger of the city flooding, and their demands, are all still very much in play. I need you to understand that too."
"———"
But that fragile hope was swiftly shattered by none other than the broadcasting boy himself.
His manner of speaking was almost as though he could read the hearts of everyone in the shelter. To crush nascent hope so immediately — wasn't that the cruelest thing of all?
Those whose eyes had lit up with hope and who had nearly risen to their feet sank back down. No one could blame the person whose relief from anxiety had just been declared a mistake. If anything, the anger of the crowd turned squarely toward the boy on the broadcast.
"Sorry."
But the boy had anticipated even that — the crowd's impulse to lash out.
"Right now, where is everyone listening to this? Some of you are in shelters. Some of you might not even have made it to one. You must all be brimming with anxiety. I understand the urge to hug your knees and be afraid. But even so — I know what you're thinking: who does this guy think he is, deliberately stoking everyone's hope like that?"
"———"
"I'm nobody. I'm nothing special. Just like all of you — tossed around by the situation, on the verge of being crushed by something unfair, legs shaking from fear. That's the kind of person I am. This role of calling out to everyone through a broadcast? I only took it on after a whole thing. I still think it's too much for me. Honestly, there are other people far more suited to be talking to you like this. There definitely are."
The boy's voice trembled as though he understood the hearts of the residents, steeped in fear and dread, and was giving voice to their feelings.
What followed was the unguarded, honest vulnerability of a boy who doubted his own worth.
Including the girl, the audience's attitude had moved past surprise and dismay into pure bewilderment.
Right now, everyone wanted hope. So why was this boy standing in front of the magic device?
He himself had just said there were more suitable people for this.
So why him?
"But here I am, talking to you right now. People way more incredible and important than me — they told me it should be me. They said there was meaning in doing this. Can you hear my voice shaking? Standing in front of people isn't my thing at all. I can't say anything impressive. I don't have the charisma to lead anyone. I'm weak, helpless, and even right now, at this critical moment, all I want to do is run away…"
The tone of his voice gradually dropped, threatening to drag the listeners' hearts down into the abyss with it.
His weak, strained voice made contracted hearts ache and stomachs clench. If this boy was within arm's reach, she wanted to cover his mouth — to stop him from being swallowed by that crushing fragility.
"Sis…"
At some point, her sleeping brother had woken up.
The girl hugged him tightly at the sound of his voice, pressing him close so the weakling's words wouldn't creep into his ears, so he wouldn't be dragged under by that crushing weakness.
In exchange for protecting her brother, the voice passed through her own eardrums instead, taking her along as a companion to its weakness.
The boy's voice continued.
"I don't know what I can do, so I cover my ears and bury my head, crouching down and praying — genuinely praying — that someone else will solve everything for me…"
"N-No…"
The girl squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to reject the despair and grief.
She knew. She didn't need to be told.
The boy's words were a piercingly accurate reading of the hearts of everyone in this shelter, of everyone in this city who trembled before the Witch Cult's threat.
That weakness was lodged inside her too. It was the fear rooted deep in the adults' hearts. It was the unbearable terror gnawing at her little brother's young mind.
It was surely something no one could do anything about.
But even so — to look that insurmountable reality straight in the eye— "—Even so, I can't run away. So I'll fight. That's all I am."
When he said that, the boy's voice was still trembling — but it rang out clear nonetheless.
"…Huh?"
Thinking she might have misheard, the girl opened her eyes and looked up.
The speaker wasn't there. But everyone around her wore the same stunned expression.
There was a beat — a moment to choose his words, to steady his voice.
Then— "One more time — let me hear you. Where are you right now? Hiding in a shelter? Cowering in your own home? Are you alone, trembling by yourself? Is there someone with you? Is that person someone precious to you? Even if they're a stranger — after these past few hours, aren't they at least a familiar face now?"
"———"
"I know it's a lot to ask, and it might be hard — but please, don't be alone. When you're alone, all sorts of awful thoughts start crowding your head. Trust me, I know from experience. So don't be alone. Stay with someone. And—"
He took a breath, and his voice carried just the faintest note of hesitation on his tongue.
"—and if you can, look at the face of whoever's with you."
"———"
As though guided by his words, the girl let her gaze drift down to her arms.
Her brother was looking up at her. Their eyes met — his green pupils, trembling uncertainly.
"Whose face did you just see? Someone precious to you? Or a stranger you've spent the past few hours with? Could even be a friend, I guess. …They're probably making a pretty awful face, huh. Crying, or grimacing — I doubt anyone's smiling. Well, maybe someone is putting on a brave face to keep from worrying people. If so, that person's incredible. If someone precious to you is smiling like that, you should be proud. But then — compare it to the smile you know."
Her brother's face was a crying face.
Scrunchy and crumpled, on the verge of breaking into tears again at any moment.
And the face reflected in his eyes — her own — was hollow and expressionless, as if all the life had drained from it.
"Can you forgive that?"
"No…"
A small, frail voice tumbled from the girl's lips.
Weak, faint, barely audible even to herself.
And yet— "I can't forgive it. I don't want to forgive it."
The boy's voice that followed rang out with force, as though it had heard her.
"I have people precious to me too. Important companions. And I can't forgive the ones who make them look pained and sad. I won't stand for forcing smiles out of them either. Don't mess around. Don't take us for idiots. I want to shout from the rooftops that the smile I know on this kid's face is actually way cuter than that!"
"S-Sis…"
"I can't keep losing. I can't keep giving up — that'd look terrible. I can't just keep getting beaten. They're the ones who are wrong. And even if I'm not strong enough, even if I'm not smart enough to punish the ones who are wrong and do what's right — I know what's right. When you know you're on the right side, losing to people who are in the wrong — that's something I just can't stomach. At least I don't want to be the kind of person who admits defeat to people like that."
"Fred…"
She gently drew her trembling little brother close and pressed their foreheads together.
There was warmth there. A fierce, living warmth.
Whether it was his or hers, she couldn't tell — but it was there.
"I want to run, but I can't run. I want to cry, but I can't cry. The enemy's terrifying, but I don't want to lose. So I'll fight. I know I'm weak. I know I'm not bright. But I'll fight anyway. They're wrong. The people who make the ones I love look like they want to cry — they're wrong. So I'll fight. I'm going to fight. —I want you all to fight too."
"——!"
Her breath caught. Her throat seized up in an instant — the suffocating weight of her own inadequacy.
It was precisely because she was listening to the boy's voice, now free of its earlier trembling and blazing with conviction as it pointed the way forward.
She understood. She felt the meaning of his words piercingly, painfully.
Her own honest feelings were the same as his resolve. She wanted to fight. If she could drive out the villains threatening the city, she wanted to. But she was small, and so was her brother. They were young, and their reach didn't extend far.
Helpless, ignorant, timid, cowardly — and therefore— "Don't misunderstand. When I say I want you to fight, I'm not telling you to go swinging a stick at someone. Quite the opposite — don't be reckless. I'm not asking you to band together and go after the Witch Cult with bloodshot eyes. What I'm asking from all of you — the fight I want from you — is simply this: don't look down."
"Don't look… down…"
"Staring at the ground isn't going to change anything. You're not going to burn a hole through it with your eyes, and even if you did, it wouldn't lead to any kind of solution… So raise your heads. Look forward."
She raised her eyes. Not at her own kneecaps, not at her brother's golden hair, but at the shelter itself.
She realized that those around her had raised their heads just as she had.
Their eyes met, and they widened in surprise.
Everyone had unconsciously followed the boy's voice and looked up, just as she had.
"If you look around, you're sure to meet someone else's eyes. Someone who carries the same anxiety, the same desire to run away… but also someone who carries the same unwillingness to lose. The precious person beside you, and the stranger you've just now locked eyes with. Add yourself to that, and that's already three. Depending on where you are, there are probably way more."
Just as the boy said, her gaze crossed with those of many people she could see.
The light in their eyes was complex — hers must have been the same, she thought. But somewhere along the way, it didn't seem like mere trembling fear anymore.
"I hope that makes it real for you — that you're not alone. Knowing you're not alone, that alone gives you a decent amount of strength, right? You don't want to see the sad face of someone precious to you. You don't want someone you just met to see you at your worst. That flimsy, stubborn little pride — it can't just be me who has that, can it?"
"———"
The voice that pleaded, the voice that called out — it was trying to summon the people's courage.
And yet, to the girl, it sounded like the boy himself was the one asking for help, clinging to something.
And then — as if noticing it for the first time — she realized.
The boy's feelings had not changed a single time since the broadcast began.
Raging at his own weakness, at his own inadequacy, full of regret and resentment toward himself — but never giving up.
Saying that was his only weapon, telling everyone that they were supposed to be in this together.
"Make me believe. That even a pathetic, helpless loser like me hasn't given up yet. That I'm not the only one who's terrible at giving up… please, make me believe that."
It was a cowardly voice. A contemptible appeal.
This was the voice of someone who, in a situation where everyone was crying out for help, had the shamelessness to be the first to shout, "Support me" — "Or is it just me?"
The voice lost its confidence. No — it had never had any confidence from the start.
Frustration surged inside her. She had to stop him. She didn't know what words to shout, but— "…That's not…"
A feeble, shapeless sound, no louder than a mosquito's whine, escaped her throat.
A voice like that wouldn't reach. She had to be louder — she had to answer.
To this cowardly voice that was afraid of being alone— "Is it just me who still thinks… that we can keep going, that we can still fight?"
"No—!"
The girl opened her mouth and roared.
The sound reverberated through the shelter. But it wasn't hers alone.
Other voices joined in — people who, like her, had raised their heads.
It was a voice of defiance against sorrow, against weakness, against fear.
If this was what the boy had been after, then he had played her perfectly.
Even so — calculated or not, who cared? If the trembling of that weak voice, that unreliable scolding, that pathetic encouragement, that desperate trust could be called a lie, then fine.
If it had been some masterful piece of manipulation, then being played was nothing to be ashamed of.
But if this was the clumsy, honest heart of a coward — then how could anyone leave him alone?
"Right?"
"That's right!"
"You're all still fighting, right? You haven't been swallowed by your weakness?"
"I won't lose… I don't want to lose!"
Her chest burned. Her teeth chattered, and a passion that was different from anger surged up.
That feeling was not hers alone. It swallowed up everyone around her and blazed into a single flame.
The hearts that had been united by anxiety just moments ago were now bound together by a different, far more intense emotion.
"If the person next to you is someone precious, take their hand and believe. If the person beside you is a stranger, nod to them and let's give it our all together. Both you and them — you can fight without breaking or folding. If all of you can hold it together, I won't give up either. I'll fight — and I'll win."
"———"
At the end of the day, this was just one shelter, far from City Hall.
No matter how loudly they raised their voices here, no matter how much they shouted that their feelings were the same — the boy wouldn't hear them.
And yet the boy's voice sounded relieved, as though it had heard their answer, and pouring the swell of emotion into the tremor of his voice, he declared: —I'll fight, and I'll win.
There was no doubt. No question.
She believed it — that he could do it.
Just as the boy's voice believed that she and the people of the city would not lose to despair, she too believed that this boy would win the most dangerous battle of all.
Why could she believe that? Because this voice was surely— "—My name is
"———!"
The identity the boy had kept hidden until now — that name, revealed at last — sent a wave of astonishment through the shelter.
The declaration meant nothing to the girl. But to the people around her, it was everything. The shock was enormous, but it was by no means negative.
First came astonishment, then understanding — and then hope and trust exploded outward, sweeping even the girl into their tide.
"The Witch Cult in this city — my companions and I will deal with them! So please — trust me and fight. Hold tight to the hand of someone precious to you, and knock that weak heart that wants to give the hell out. And then—"
"———"
"—Leave everything else to me!"
The voices swelled, and a wave of fervor seized the shelter.
Expectation became hope, and a single hope multiplied into countless hopes, expanding all at once.
The girl looked down at her brother in her arms and saw a steady light shining in his green eyes.
Confirming that, she hugged him tightly once more. Timidly, her brother's hands wrapped around her body in return, and feeling the warmth of the embrace, the girl looked up at the ceiling.
Unable to fully conceal her own fear and anxiety, the boy had nonetheless shouldered the hopes and expectations of the countless people in this city and declared that he would fight.
For that hero she knew only by name and held in her heart, she closed her eyes as if in prayer, wishing him every possible fortune.
——Because that boy, too, was surely nothing more than an ordinary boy somewhere, fighting against injustice for the sake of someone precious to him.
Subaru slowly backed away from the gramophone-shaped magic device.
The sweat beading on his forehead came from anxiety and nervousness. He leaned against the nearest workbench and wiped it off roughly.
He kept taking deep breaths, worried the device might have picked up the sound.
But when he glanced over at Anastasia, who was operating the magic device beside him, it seemed she had already safely shut down the power. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"…Man, that was brutal."
He muttered that between sighs and rolled his neck, feeling an exhaustion that exceeded anything he had imagined.
Honestly, while he had been speaking he had been running on pure instinct. He couldn't remember the specifics of everything he'd said. It wasn't that it had all vanished, but parts of it were hazy.
He had been given a draft of what to say — a memo from Anastasia, no less.
"———"
Wiping the sweat that dripped down to his chin with his sleeve, Subaru noticed that the room had gone remarkably quiet.
The others who had been watching the broadcast were silent. Present were Anastasia, Garfiel, and Al. Julius and Riccard, who had joined them, stood in a corner of the room — and the silence of this usually talkative group was nothing if not uncomfortable.
Had he just delivered the most incoherent, rambling broadcast imaginable?
"Natsuki-kun."
"Gah—! I'm sorry! I'll do better next time!"
"Why are you apologizing? What a weirdo."
Subaru's anxiety had been tearing at his heart, and the call had made him blurt out an apology instinctively. Anastasia laughed at his reaction and tilted her head with a smile still on her face.
"Putting aside the evaluation of you being a weirdo — Natsuki-kun, weren't you maybe—"
"Hm?"
"Weren't you originally some kind of con artist or something?"
"Of all the things to say! What kind of remark is that!? Look at me — I'm a perfectly ordinary student with nothing remarkable about me… well, in a sense, less than a student!"
"No, no — it's not an insult. It's just that the way you spoke was so natural… tearing them down and building them back up, your rhetoric was a perfect performance."
She waved her hand at Subaru's protest and let out a small "Tahaha" laugh.
Subaru, for his part, tilted his head in confusion.
"There was no rhetoric. My mind went completely blank — I was talking so fast I couldn't even tell what I was saying. The words on the memo blurred and I gave up trying to read from it. That's the extent of what I remember."
"So you completely ignored my draft, then. You started saying totally different things from what we'd rehearsed — you have no idea how worried I was watching from the sidelines. It turned out to be unfounded worry, but still—"
"I said I was sorry about that! But didn't I more or less follow the memo's general content? If it had been really that bad, Anastasia, you would have stopped me, right?"
The memo in his hand — the cheat sheet he had completely forgotten about at the critical moment — contained a carefully crafted array of eloquent words and phrases designed to dispel the citizens' anxiety. It was his pride and joy, incorporating Anastasia's negotiation techniques, Garfiel's repertoire of idioms, and even some modern knowledge Subaru had drawn upon.
He hadn't been able to read from it during the actual broadcast, but he had thought that as long some of the memo's content had stayed in his head, the speech would have proceeded roughly along those lines.
"I hate to say it, Natsuki-kun, but what you said just now didn't touch on anything in that memo at all. Not even a sliver."
"…Huh?"
Anastasia's words flatly contradicted Subaru's assumption.
He froze involuntarily and checked with the others for confirmation, glancing around. But the four of them wore uniformly serious expressions, each reacting to his gaze in their own way.
From among them, Julius stepped forward. Fiddling with his bangs with one finger, he said: "As Anastasia has stated, Subaru — you broadcast content that was entirely absent from our prior rehearsals. In particular, the fact that you held off on revealing your feat of defeating the Archbishop of Sin, 'Sloth' — which was supposed to come early — until the latter half. I was almost compelled to question what you were thinking."
"Seriously? If I hadn't mentioned that, I'd be just some random nobody! If that's how it was, you should have stopped me halfway through! I thought it would be better to restart even if things got weird!"
"Restart? Now that really would have been an absolute disaster."
To Subaru, who had just judged his own actions as questionable to the point of undermining the very purpose of the address, Julius shook his head with a serious expression.
And that expression, Subaru thought, looked almost like it held a certain kind of respect.
"—It was a magnificent speech."
"…Come again?"
"Forgetting the contents of the memo was no great issue. You accomplished something beyond what was expected, through your own ability. That feat deserves nothing but praise. The
Julius piled on the words, almost theatrically, at the bewildered Subaru.
And in that unusual attitude, Subaru caught a glimpse of the "First Knight's" excitement. No sooner had he registered that than he thought: What am I, some kind of joke?
What on earth could this knight have seen in Subaru that could shift his attitude so dramatically?
"Don't mess with me. I've thought this for a while now, but your sense of humor really isn't that funny."
"Thinking I'm joking only proves that you underestimate yourself too much. But this speech was, precisely for that reason, a speech that only you could have delivered. No one else could have said what you said."
"You really are just screwing with me, aren't you?"
The urgency of the situation was making Subaru irritable at Julius's praise.
He was used to Julius's barbs, but now was not the time for that kind of fruitless exchange. If the speech wasn't going to have the desired effect, an alternative plan was needed immediately.
"I was supposed to help everyone, but if I've just planted some weird distrust, that's no good. I should have someone else do it next time…"
"Natsuki-kun, would you lay off the self-deprecation already? It's not pleasant to listen to."
Anastasia cut in from the side, addressing his concern.
Her delicate face wore a look of displeasure, and she fixed Subaru with a sharp gaze.
"If you don't feel like the speech had any impact, let me make it clear for you. —Your speech was, beyond any reasonable expectation, flawless. You've got the talent of a demagogue, you know."
"I'm with the young lady on that one! No wait — honestly, I'm impressed! That way of speaking! So slick and sharp, big bro! You had
"Don't put words in my mouth, either of you! I didn't wrap anyone around my finger, and I'm not a demagogue!"
Subaru raised his voice at the wildly unflattering evaluations.
But Anastasia and Riccard exchanged a glance and shrugged without a hint of malice. Their timing was perfectly in sync — and yet it clearly wasn't all just for laughs.
The same could be seen in Garfiel's expression as he squatted down to look up at Subaru.
"Chief…"
"Garfiel. What did you think?"
"Chief, you were really somethin'. Me followin' the Chief outta the
"…Your expectations are always a little more than I can handle."
"But that's just the result of the Chief's actions, ain't it?"
Rising to his feet and approaching, Garfiel bared his fangs in a grin. Subaru exhaled a long, deep breath through his nose.
"Fine. I guess I'll give up on dodging the responsibility. I think that's basically what I said in the broadcast."
"You did say that."
Anastasia laughed as Subaru scratched his head in resignation and accepted the situation. Proud of the unexpectedly positive outcome, she stroked her scarf and said: "Though honestly, I'm more worried that everyone's morale is so high they might do something reckless. Even we in this room are fired up enough from the 'Wrath' effect alone."
"Being told that makes it sound even more fishy, though… Seriously, what exactly are my qualifications as a producer or admiral?"
Being praised from every angle was hard to accept when he had no real sense of accomplishment to go with it.
Subaru shrugged off the warm gazes swirling around him, quickly stepped away from the magic device, and said: "Anyway, if the speech had some kind of effect, that's the best I could've hoped for. If it helps keep things from erupting in the shelter, that's a huge win… Is there anything else we can do?"
"As far as the city's residents are concerned, there's nothing left to do besides removing the root cause itself. After what Natsuki-kun just said, the Witch Cult should have caught on to our intentions…"
"And how they respond to that — as we've discussed, all we can do is count on their irrational nature. At the same time, we need to resolve this quickly."
Regardless of how Subaru's speech had gone, the fact remained that unhinged people had their hands on a means of destroying the city. Even in the most optimistic scenario, the great water gate would be released when the date turned and the city would be submerged.
They had to settle this before that happened.
"So for that… a simultaneous four-point assault?"
"Four Archbishops of Sin plus two unknown strongmen. We need to discuss how to break through in consultation with our available forces."
The simultaneous capture of all four control towers was the non-negotiable condition for saving the city.
Like at City Hall, they probably couldn't concentrate their forces in one place. If they captured one control tower that way, there was a real risk that one of the other three would release the great water gate.
He had no confidence in winning that gamble four times over.
Against six principal enemies, their forces were— "Our hand is… thin. We could end up with a repeat of City Hall. If only we had one more card…"
"—In that case, how about adding a joker to the hand?"
The voice cut in abruptly as Subaru was counting his remaining forces.
He turned involuntarily. A figure stood in the doorway. It was— "You've gotten awfully high on yourself in the time we've been apart."
"I wouldn't trust just anyone with a public address, Natsuki-san. …I didn't think any of my friends were heroes, but perhaps I misjudged?"
"I think it's out of character for me too."
Subaru shrugged and smiled back at the grinning figure, then headed toward the doorway and high-fived him.
Seeing the greeting, Garfiel's face lit up: "Bro Otto! You made it!"
The one Garfiel had been searching for, reported missing — Otto, who now rejoined them.
He was a little dirty but unhurt. He high-fived Garfiel as the latter bounded over.
"Barely scraped by. It was touch and go, but somehow I'm alive. I'm glad to see you two are safe too. Though I wasn't all that worried — you're both a lot harder to kill than I am."
"Yeah, actually, come to think of it, I wasn't that worried about you either. Wonder why?"
"Who knows, right? It's gotta be Otto-bro's charisma!"
"Could someone worry about me for once!?! It's a state of emergency and I was out there alone — that's incredibly dangerous!"
Though, given that they had in fact reunited like this, the argument lacked some of its force.
In any case, while Subaru and the others were enjoying their reunion, Anastasia clapped her hands and butted in: "Alright, alright, settle down. I'm glad Otto-kun is alive. There's plenty I want to hear about what you've been doing up to this point—"
She cut herself off there, and her light-blue eyes pinned Otto in place.
"That earlier comment — 'a joker' — what exactly did you mean by that? Would you mind if I asked?"
"A joker. Simple, really. I was worried that if I led with my safe return, it might overshadow the bigger picture, so I held back. But I've brought a guest."
At Anastasia's prompting, Otto stepped aside from the door with an embarrassed look — and it appeared to be a signal for whoever was waiting beyond it.
Footsteps sounded, and a new person was ushered into the room. And it was— "—Sorry I'm late."
One sentence. Just that, and it carried the strength of reinforcements numbering in the ten thousand.
The sensation of a wild wind howling merged with the illusion of seeing flames before his eyes, and together they shook his heart.
But in truth, this reunion held precisely that kind of power.
The fighting strength they so desperately wanted — at its arrival— "
With those words, the red flame — the "Sword Saint" — declared his entry into the battle.