I Lost. I Lost After All.

The chair scraped back hard. Another One kicked it away and stood.

"...Boss?"

It was the first passionate figure she had ever seen from him. Before that emotional face—so unlike the Absolute who had always gazed on the world as if it rested in his palm—Anastasia drew her back perfectly straight.

"I lost. I lost after all."

Another One murmured it through a bitter smile, one hand groping at his throat like a man with a thorn caught in his gullet.

"I thought I might see him once more as he was back then. Instead he brought an entirely new method, just to face me. Lethal. Savage. Even watching from a distance, it crawled up my spine."

He turned his back. Anastasia followed.

"I was the self I used to be, so—no. An excuse like that means nothing. Whatever else is true, I lost. A fight is never fought in perfect condition."

The record flickered through Another One's mind.

He let out a long breath.

He had suffered defeat more times than he could count. That had never made it familiar. Since the great war he had been drunk on victory, certain that no matter what variable struck, he could keep it in his hand. Earth was frail, and every being who might have stood against him was already dead.

A misjudgment.

He was a sailboat that never stopped pressing forward. Only, the boat had grown larger than the sea, and so he had been able to ignore the waves heaving under the hull. Just now, that boat had met a new sea. The sea of the cosmos. An end without end had come down on him as a fresh ordeal.

He could no longer read the ship's safety even a pace ahead. Storm clouds had turned to the dust of stars, and the driving waves came on as rings of asteroids. The prow was already split. A second time, he would not allow.

A laugh, torn open until it raises gooseflesh, flickers there. From behind me, he sneers at my stagnation.

"A worthy rival, is it..."

He had thought there would never be another. Even if there were, he had thought he could overcome them. The man hailed from a place called the Origin, and still Another One had felt no great sense of crisis. At most, an inconvenient enemy. Filth it was unpleasant to touch. A diversion to dull the boredom.

He breathed out.

For the first time since coming to Earth, Another One felt something like relief. It was fortunate he had seen that thing early.

A harmony of three powers that should never have been able to stand together. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠height of recklessness—an act like a moth beating its wings into the flame. And precisely because of that, sharp enough to kill an Absolute.

Another One's vigilance spread wider. It seemed he had taken the place called the Origin far too lightly.

"Anastasia."

"Yes, sir."

At the hardness in his voice, Anastasia snapped to attention.

"Inform the other executives of what became of the Scientist."

"Understood."

"Make it plain. We have just met a worthy rival we must surpass."

Anastasia drew a breath.

A worthy rival.

For an Absolute to take the words into his mouth, their weight belonged to another order entirely. It meant a danger without precedent had appeared before the organization she served. She felt sweat soak the length of her back.

"Relay my orders to each executive."

Anastasia startled.

"The Guardian of Records may move."

"If he means to move, let him move. Even if the wretch reaches the gate, there will be nothing for him to gain."

The board is laid out in the open. He is no fool enough to step onto it rashly.

"...I will relay them. Only, it will take time before the Giant arrives."

"Tell him to come slowly. I have somewhere to be as well."

Whether that one will even agree to see me.

Footsteps.

At the door that led outside, Another One looked back at Anastasia.

"Anastasia. Steel yourself as well."

"I am always ready."

"You may have to face your father."

Steel clicked. Anastasia seized the hilt at her side.

"Do not make me say the same thing more than once."

Another One looked at the sword hung at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her waist. A blade he had pulled from his collection because it happened to suit, and given her as a gift. Inferior to what a god had wielded, but a famed sword with more than enough left in it to kill an ordinary hero.

"Your spirit is good."

He snorted at Anastasia, whose eyes had sharpened.

"When did I give you that sword? When you first took one in hand, wasn't it? Years have passed since then, and you still haven't brought its true name into bloom?"

"......"

Anastasia clenched her teeth. The veins stood out across her hand.

"Alexei has grown strong on an entirely different plane from before. Dan Miryu as well—to the point that, unless the Stone of Resurrection is brought to bear, there is no facing him. Do you know what that means?"

It means they have become talents on a level with our executives.

"Half a year. And what did you do in that half year?"

Play secretary? Or train, the way everyone else does?

"You watched all of that from my side, and you felt nothing?"

"......"

"Yes. If you know enough to be ashamed, then redden your face and at least shut your mouth."

Another One looked into Anastasia's eyes. A deeper shadow fell across her pupils.

"Anastasia. You would do well to remember that feeling. And carry that feeling to the other executives."

If you cannot grow stronger, get out of your own accord.

"Ironically, the Scientist proved his strength today. He handed me a result that overturned even the expectation beyond my expectations."

Enough that I want to take back what I said before.

"You will have to prove it. The others. You as well."

If you cannot—

A low, grinding rumble filled the air.

Black blood burst from all seven of Anastasia's orifices. The killing intent an Absolute let off even faintly was a violence no superhuman realm could endure. Even so, she held. The thread of her consciousness frayed to a hair, and her whole body felt as if it would melt, and still she kept charge of her two legs and her neck somehow, and lifted her head.

"Good."

The pressure rushed back in as Another One withdrew his killing intent.

"I would prefer you did not betray my expectations."

He patted her shoulder twice, opened the door, and went out.

Anastasia collapsed in a heap, a doll whose strings had been cut. Tasting the blood sliding back down her throat, she swore it.

Never.

She would not be left alone again.

Honk! Honk!

A clown in a red nose, ridiculous paint, and a polka-dot cone hat rode a unicycle in circles around the room. A horn that made an absurd noise was clamped in the clown's mouth, and she blew it without rest.

Honk! Honk!

"Haa..."

Unlike the lively clown, one side of the room had settled into a gloom. The old man had a gentle face. In a worn, frayed cloth shirt and stiff jeans, he fidgeted with the necklace at his throat, then sighed, smoothed his expression with an effort, and approached her.

"Are you performing for an audience again today?"

The clown took the horn from her mouth and smiled wide.

"That's right! Today, too, there were audience members who came to see my show!"

She pointed at the audience. A rabbit, a puppy, and a person-doll sat sprawled any which way on a heap of toys.

"Heh heh. I see. Then may this old man squeeze in over there and watch as well?"

"Of course! The grandfather who gave me a stage is always welcome!"

Clap, clap!

The clown struck her palms together and begged the dolls' pardon.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the audience, I'm sorry, but a precious guest has arrived, so one more person will be joining you. Please make a little room!"

"Now, now—in you go!"

Under the clown's burning gaze, the old man sat with his knees drawn together in a gap among the dolls.

"Then the performance will continue! Please watch closely!"

On the unicycle she spun a trick in place, turning round and round. Then she drew a balloon from her breast, blew it taut, twisted it this way and that, and shaped it into a dog.

"Grandfather, please give that as a gift to the one sitting beside you!"

The old man took the dog balloon and set it down beside the dog doll. The sight seemed to delight the clown past all holding; she burst into a bright peal of laughter.

One hour. Two. Three.

She kept performing as if she did not know how to tire. Hundreds of balloons piled across the floor, and horns of every size lay tumbled among them. Sweat poured off her like rain, and still she never lost her smile.

And then, at a certain moment, her eyes rolled white, and she fainted.

Thup.

The old man caught her as she came off the unicycle, midway through walking the line.

"You've worked hard."

He praised her, carried the clown—collapsed from exhaustion—to the bed, and laid her down.

"Sister... Sister..."

What could she miss so terribly? Lying on the bed, the clown flailed her hands and feet, searching for someone. The old man looked down at her with a grief-stricken gaze.

"What a sorry sight."

"...?!"

The old man reacted at once to the voice that had sounded, without warning, inside the room. A strange figure stood there, wrapped in shadow. The old man seized his necklace and shielded the clown with his body.

"Who are you? This place is..."

"Enough prattle. I haven't so much time."

At the figure's words, the old man's face hardened.

"Leader of Ilshikgyo. I have business, so I've come to meet that god of yours."

The Eclipse God.

"Lucifer, that is."

The strange figure—Another One—looked the leader of Ilshikgyo dead in the eye.