Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: S2. Lament to the Stars -2
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The journey to find the mathematician Lot was grueling. Only after inquiring about his location from university survivors, obtaining the address of the apartment where he lived, and repelling the crazed people who lunged at them could Bennett and Niore finally track down the mathematician.
The farthest end of the fourth floor in an apartment corridor.
That's when they realized he was no ordinary man—the entire door had been welded shut, impossible to open from either inside or out. The windows were reinforced too, as if he had no intention of ever leaving, determined to die within those walls if it came to that.
[Should we cut the door open?]
"First... let's knock."
Knock knock knock.
They rapped three times in steady rhythm, and a voice immediately shot back from inside. Shrill and grating. The tone alone screamed cantankerous old coot.
"Multiply 42 by three. What's the answer?"
"...?"
[...]
Caught off guard by the sudden math attack, Bennett and Niore exchanged glances. What the hell? Did we hear that right?
About three seconds of silence passed before the mathematician Lot spoke again.
"No instant answer? Figures—I can gauge your brainpower from that. I'll talk down to you monkeys nice and slow. Why—did—you—come—here?"
"..."
Each syllable dripped with the fake kindness of coaxing a fussy infant. A vein bulged on Bennett's forehead. Niore patted his shoulder.
[Hold it in, Bennett.]
"Grooming each other like monkeys? Social butterflies, huh. Low IQ means you gotta lean on charm. That one's not talking yet? Must be at least a month old."
[Should I not hold it in, Bennett?]
"...I have to. We're the ones begging for a favor."
But poke him a little more, and welded door or not, Bennett would cleave it in half and storm in. He steeled himself.
"Forgot already? Why—did—you—come—here?"
"Do you know Astronomy Professor Abraham?"
[...]
Niore loaded a spell beside him, ready to blast Door Breach the instant any trash talk about Abraham escaped those lips.
"At least he was someone I could talk to. Too soft-hearted, though—that was his flaw."
"We're here to ask you to run calculations on the research Abraham left behind."
"In this era when time itself screams, biologists want to off themselves, and monsters swarm the skies? You're either insane or a physicist. Spoiler: same thing."
"Will you do it or not?"
Or die trying, he swallowed.
"Hmph... Hand it over. My crossword rags are running out anyway. Was about to jump. Guess my lifespan just got extended."
Click.
A small slot under the welded door—for mail—snapped open. Bennett slid Abraham's research notes through. No worries about the guy wiping his mouth after.
If he did, ceiling or floor—Bennett would smash in, knuckle-sandwich his skull, retrieve the notes, and leave.
Luckily, no ma-force wasted.
"This... intriguing. You want the alpha value?"
"Can you calculate it?"
"Won't take a day. Time to dust off my darling neurons. Now scram."
"How do I get the results?"
No answer. Bennett scowled and pounded the door. Bang bang bang. Lot snapped irritably.
"Filthy monkey! Interrupting my focus?!"
"How—do—I—get—the—results?"
"355!"
Whoosh—a walkie-talkie flew through the slot. Bennett snatched it and pocketed it. That number shouted earlier? Probably the frequency.
Cranky weirdo, sure—but genius mages were always half-mad. Abraham name-dropped him for a reason. Skills checked out.
Still, a nagging doubt lingered. Bennett warned through the door.
"No contact by tonight? I swear I'll blow this place sky-high. Bonus: carve some humility into that skull of yours."
No reply.
[...Is this okay?]
"Pray it works out... If it flops, there's another way somewhere. Don't worry."
[...]
"...That's what happened."
"So that's why we're just waiting..."
Tara stared blankly at the walkie-talkie on the table. When it crackled, the final push would begin. She wouldn't be there, though.
Tempted to tag along anyway—but recalling the recent ordeal, nearly crushed by one man, staying put would help more.
Going would just hinder them.
Crouched low, Tara sneaked a sideways glance at Bennett. Leaning against the wall, resting—he hadn't seemed handsome at first. But now...
Sharp eyes, defined nose. Wolfish, almost.
Sensing her gaze, Bennett turned.
"Something to say?"
Tara's heart froze. What do I say? Did I stare too hard? Flustered, she stammered carefully.
"...Did I say thanks?"
"Don't recall."
Oh god, hadn't thanked him yet? Panicking, Tara scrambled for words. How to thank him? Polite speech to show sincerity?
Or casual, like always... Wait, how had she treated him before?
No real thoughts. First meeting: "Scar's gross." That shifted as she learned more.
Charging into battle. Guiding the group amid chaos. Wiping spilled food for someone...
Yeah. Bennett was kinder than he looked. Thought him cold-blooded once—but now she knew it was his way of trying.
Recalling his comforting hand at Abraham's farewell, her face heated.
And just now, raging for her sake.
Now, just looking made her heart race, dizzy. Like illness—body disobeying, eyes locking on his profile if she slipped.
Tara knew the name for this.
Stacks of romance novels, piled rebelliously and devoured—they all testified. It was the fever called love.
"...!!"
Her face burned crimson. She buried it between her knees, mumbling.
"...Thanks for saving me, Bennett."
"No big deal."
"...Not lip service. Really grateful."
"Never doubted it."
His casual reply tangled her thoughts. Had she been too curt? Should've been softer. What now?
Status gap incoming too.
Divine power depleted, saintess title lost—she'd be expelled from the academy. If the church didn't seize her pocket money, enough for a comfy life in the capital...
But meeting Bennett again? Tough. Academy students were quasi-nobles. Commoner Tara couldn't just drop by.
Maybe...
This moment—last one together.
Tell him. Before time ran out. Even if rejected.
Tara resolved.
Attempt 1: Rooftop recon, just us.
"H-Hey, Bennett. Wanna scout the roof, quick...?"
[Flying monsters everywhere. Better keep Tara down here.]
"...!"
"Niore's right. I'll go with her. Stay put."
Failed: safety concerns.
Attempt 2: Dinner for two.
"Um, canned tomatoes..."
[Grabbed lunch boxes on the way back with Bennett. This'll do for today.]
"Yay! Meat-like stuff at last... Can I have some?!"
[Of course, Sally.]
"..."
Failed: lunch box ambush.
Failures piled up—Niore sabotaging? Nah...
Attempt 3: Fake illness ploy.
"Bennett, my stomach from that hit... hurts bad. Check it?"
Bennett called Niore instantly.
"...Niore!"
"Wait, no! You can do it! Don't tire poor Niore...!"
"Showing your belly to a guy, though...?"
Bennett looked dubious but sat when Tara yanked his wrist. Half-success: lured in.
Overlooked: saintess dress was one-piece. No separate top—skirt had to hike up fully for belly view.
Lower half exposed.
Tara's hands shook gripping the hem. Is this right? Die of shame. Just do it? But if he freaks...
Inner war: hem fluttered mid-thigh, up-down-up-down. Bennett stared at the ceiling.
"...What's your game."
"H-Huh?! G-Game?!"
"Seduce me for what? Social ruin...?"
"...!?!?"
Realizing her turmoil looked suspicious, Tara yanked the skirt down, clamping legs shut. Shame exploded.
"N-Not hurting anymore. Go away, Bennett!"
"Don't kick! What the hell..."
Failed: shame overload.
Still, he said "seduce"—half-win? Tara punched her own head.
How to approach? Invite to bathroom together?
Cornered by flops, Tara's brain short-circuited weird ideas. Meanwhile, Bennett sat quietly beside her erratic self.
Nearly assaulted—tough girl or not, trauma lingers. Today's weirdness: stress. He figured.
Softly: "Tara."
"Y-Yeah?!"
"No need to push. You've done plenty. Without you... we wouldn't have made it this far. World might've ended already."
"..."
Comforting. Tara beamed, deflated. Knew no sudden confession—but humans hope on pipe dreams.
Still, chance now?
Quick scan: Sally curled asleep shrimp-style. Niore in bathroom? Gone. Now. Go!
"B-Be-Bennett!"
"Listening."
"I-I mean... y'know. That is..."
"Take it slow. I'll hear you out."
Deep breath. Heart thundering—loud enough for him? Steady breath, shove doubt—this feeling.
This feeling!
"I—Bennett—"
Beeeep!!
Walkie-talkie blinked red, screeching. Bennett bolted to it.
Tara flopped flat, tears pricking. Why now...!
Fine. When he returns—not too late...
Tara soothed herself, eyeing next shot.
Party huddled at the walkie. Tuned frequency—static crackled, then Lot's voice.
[Hard to hear.]
"Try adjusting the antenna..."
Crackle. Hiss.
"..."
The mathematician recited a long, intricate string of numbers. Five repeats, in case listeners forgot.
Footsteps. Click of loading. Bang.
Silence.
Recording looped.
Bennett quietly powered off the walkie.
"...We have the value. Let's move."
[Yes, Bennett.]
In the chilling silence, Bennett and Niore finished final preparations.