Absence
And so the bank robbery came to an end.
It had been an unexpected mess, but all things considered, Shiron thought they had gotten through it rather well for people who hadn’t prepared at all.
“Young Master. Your hands are dirty.”
“Ah. Right.”
He took the handkerchief Encia held out and wiped them clean.
“Haa…”
He drew a long breath and looked around.
Calling the bank a vision of hell would have been a touch excessive; calling it a mess would have been a touch too mild. The marble tiles that finished the floor were cracked in places, and the statues and paintings along the walls had been scorched black by magic until their original forms were unrecognizable.
The people sprawled across the floor were no better. Two of them were merely unconscious; the other two were dead. One was a thug Shiron himself had dealt with. The other was a stranger—judging by the uniform, someone who had been guarding the bank.
And every single person left alive was flat on the ground under Shiron’s eyes.
Whether it was because of the robbers or because his scoundrel act had landed perfectly, they were all locked in panic, trembling and doing nothing else.
What a goddamn disaster.
Shiron furrowed his brow and let out another deep sigh.
His original plan had been to half-threaten the bank manager into giving him an interest-free, unsecured loan. That plan was now thoroughly ruined, and his mood was foul.
He scanned the room for someone who could wrap this up—someone high enough in rank to know the manual for situations like this, a professional in their own right.
Where the hell is Berta?
The cop whose eyes had met his the moment he kicked the door open was nowhere to be seen.
Shiron swept his gaze across the floor, then started walking, step by unhurried step, toward one particular spot.
A wicked little smile painted itself across his face.
He had half-worried he might step on the people lying there, but luckily that never happened. Wherever he headed, the bodies curled up like pill bugs and left him a clear path.
At last he stopped. A woman with a short blue-black bob. Her long, slender limbs were twitching. Shiron crouched in front of her.
“Why are you on the ground? Pretending you don’t know me?”
“…Ah, haha. It’s been a while, sir. I hope you’ve been well.”
Berta scratched the back of her head with an awkward laugh and stood up. She had gotten swept up in the atmosphere and dropped to the floor without even realizing it.
She had seen people die more times than she could count, but she had just watched the truly terrifying side of her terrifying Young Master, and the women flanking him were demons. The combination had left her thoroughly cowed.
The hand scratching her nape came away damp with sweat.
Right now her head was full of the image of Shiron slaughtering the robbers with brutal efficiency only moments before.
Berta forced a smile and looked at him. In the few months since she had last seen him, the terrifying Young Master had grown a little taller.
“Berta. I can leave the cleanup to you, right? I’ve got something else to do.”
“Y-Yes, sir! Everyone, please remain calm. This gentleman has just subjugated all of the rob—kh!”
A sharp jolt in her side cut the sentence short. Shiron had pinched her waist, already knowing exactly what she was about to say.
He had worked hard to build that scoundrel image, and Berta had almost ruined it in a single breath.
He yanked her collar closer and put his mouth to her ear.
“Call for backup, hold a summary trial, I don’t care—just finish this. You understand me?”
“Y-Yes, sir!”
“…And make sure no one comes upstairs.”
With that, Shiron headed for the second floor. The demons he had brought with him trailed after him. Berta watched them go for a long moment, then got to work.
Shiron walked toward a certain room on the bank’s second floor.
It was a place he had seen any number of times inside the game; the layout was burned so clearly into his mind that he could have drawn every piece of furniture from memory.
He wasn’t heading for the vault. He was heading for the branch manager’s office.
Clack.
When he took the handle and tried to go in, a dull metallic sound answered him. The door wouldn’t budge—someone had locked it from the inside to keep anyone out.
“Well now. Locked from the inside, are we?”
“…Shall I open it for you?”
“No need.”
Krrrk-crack—
Shiron simply put force into his grip and tore the handle clean off. He had considered drawing the Holy Sword, but decided against it. All that steady training had paid off; even without loading internal energy into the blow, a locked door was nothing.
“H-Huk!”
He all but ripped the door open and stepped through. Inside, a thin man clutching a staff stood shaking, his face drained of every drop of color. The branch manager—the one in charge of the whole place.
Shiron clicked his tongue once and told him to sit.
“You don’t look well. Sit down.”
“Y-Yes!”
The manager scurried over and dropped onto the sofa. He was the one who normally took the seat of honor, but today he yielded it to Shiron without a word of protest.
He had been watching everything downstairs through a scrying crystal. He knew exactly what had happened on the first floor.
Shiron crossed one leg over the other on the leather sofa of honor and opened his mouth.
“Judging by the locked door, you already know what went on downstairs.”
“Th-That is correct.”
The manager dabbed at the sweat running down his face with a handkerchief.
“Had Your Lordship not been present, the damages would have spread like wildfire. There might well have been far greater loss of life. On behalf of this branch, I would like to offer my deepest thanks for resolving the situation.”
“Yes. You should be grateful.”
Shiron nodded with a blank face.
The man in front of him had never appeared on the bank map in the game. There was no favorability system for him, which meant Shiron could speak a little more freely. Forcing himself to play the part of a thoroughly rotten scoundrel had already worn out both body and mind.
That said, the fact remained that he had cleaned up the robbery for them. He had put them in his debt, and he fully intended to collect something worthwhile for it.
He switched which leg was crossed and slowly closed his eyes.
“So. How exactly do you plan to show that gratitude? I’d like to believe you’re not going to try and settle it with a thank-you plaque.”
“O-Of course not! Please wait just a moment!”
The manager shot to his feet, dashed somewhere, and came back carrying an elegant chest.
“Please accept this as a token of our gratitude!”
He opened the lid with careful hands. The inside was packed full of gold bars.
Shiron’s brow furrowed. He fixed the man with a flat stare.
“This pocket change is your idea of gratitude?”
“…Pardon?”
“Fifty thousand shillings a bar, twenty bars total—a million shillings.”
“…”
“Pocket change.”
“Th-Then… what would you…”
“Don’t look at me like I’m here to rob the place.”
Shiron clicked his tongue again, the picture of dissatisfaction.
“I want a credit card.”
“…”
“Unsecured. Interest-free. No collateral. Unlimited. I don’t have a credit rating yet, you see. That work for you?”
“O-Of course it does!”
The manager scrambled up again and came back with a contract.
“Haa…”
What the hell even happened. My head’s a complete mess.
After putting in a request for support from Investigation HQ and confirming that every criminal was bound with restraint tools, Berta finally let out a breath of relief.
“Salute!”
The highest-ranking officer among the arriving police force snapped a salute. The rank tab on his shoulder said he was an inspector—one full grade below her. Berta returned only an informal salute and didn’t bother shouting the call.
“I must say, you’re incredible. The Special Task Force really is on another level. Taking down a wanted robbery crew single-handedly…”
The inspector, who looked at least twice her age, laughed heartily and piled on the flattery.
Even among the police, only the true elite ever made it into the Special Task Force—a place a man with a gut like his could never hope to reach. He clearly still held the unit in some kind of romantic awe, and he was practically bouncing as he fed her every compliment he could think of.
Berta found the endless bootlicking uncomfortable and waved it off.
“…I didn’t do it.”
“What? Then who on earth—some hidden master, perhaps?”
“…I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. You’ll be better off not getting involved.”
“Ah! Classified, is it? Haha, I understand completely. Well then—good work!”
The pot-bellied inspector herded the robbers into a transport carriage and took his leave.
And just like that, Berta was left alone on the first floor behind the police line.
“…”
Her eyes drifted to a particularly eye-catching spot—a deep crater gouged into the marble.
“What am I supposed to do…”
She sank into heavy thought.
It all came back to Third Prince Viktor’s order. Cooperate so that Shiron becomes Viktor’s subordinate. After what she had just witnessed, could the prince possibly still feel the same way?
She could say with absolute certainty that he would not.
Absolutely not.
The image of Shiron butchering the robbers filled her mind again.
Killing a robber who was trying to kill you could be called self-defense.
But—
the fact that he had deliberately held back against the mage who attacked him, and killed only the blade-wielder who had been about to murder a hostage, sent a chill down Berta’s spine.
That had been calculation, pure and cold. At least, that was how she read it.
Shiron knew how to look into people’s heads and use what he found there. The overwhelming display of force that crushed the enemy’s will, the merciless killing of the hostage-taker—all of it pointed the same way.
Should I really let Teacher meet His Highness the Prince…?
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.
If that terrifying Young Master ever learned what Prince Viktor was after, how would he react?
One thing she could be sure of: Viktor would end up taking a one-sided loss.
There’s no telling what kind of situation that would turn into.
Thud. Thud.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Nice and clean.”
Looking as if he had gotten exactly what he wanted, Shiron came down beaming and clapped Berta on the back.
“You eaten lunch yet? If not, let’s go together. My treat.”
“Yes.”