I've Come to Move In

Laliman bit his lip in frustration.

Even at a glance, the victims numbered in the dozens.

There were long, rambling posts about "optimization" and "admission cancellations" and the like, but with his mind in this state, none of those miscellaneous threads could possibly register.

No way. Am I one of them too?

He snatched up his mana panel in a panic.

He'd sent messages. He'd tried calling. He'd done everything he could think of — and still.

Damn it all!

No contact, just as he'd suspected.

The awakening he'd felt mere hours ago, that spine-tingling thrill of control — all of it had long since evaporated from his mind. There was only one thought left now: he had to catch this bastard and destroy him.

Bloodshot eyes burning, Laliman began hammering out a message.

Too dizzy to keep reading, he shut his mana panel.

Now then, delivery address... there it is. Got it!

Finding the man's location wasn't difficult. After all, he'd shipped his parts there for repairs.

Outskirts of the city, huh?

BOOM! BOOM!

Riding the Titan-exclusive highway, he peeled off the main boulevard and made for the address — a field of dormant golems near the city's edge. He was certain he'd be planting a steel fist into the bastard's face any second now.

What the...

The field the address led him to was nothing but a scrapyard, mountains of junked metal heaped to the horizon — and at its entrance, a CLOSED sign swayed in the wind.

Nobody's here?

A chill of dread crawled up his spine. The workshop was the same. Scrap and parts lay strewn everywhere, but not a trace of human warmth remained.

He ran. He actually ran!

Any fool could see the man had packed up and fled in the night. The only thing left was a single cramped room in the corner of the warehouse — the traces of someone actually living there — but inside its wide-open door, there wasn't a flicker of life.

Damn it... of course he's not here!

A cracked mirror. A bare, flimsy mattress. Cheap furniture, nothing else. Standing alone in that dust-choked room, Laliman felt like he might burst into tears. Where would he even go to tell people he'd been scammed? This was humiliating beyond words. And if he thought back to his brother's smile — the brother who'd gifted him a top-of-the-line custom Titan for his academy entrance —

I will find him. I swear it.

He clenched his fists again and combed the empty room for anything — anything — that might count as personal information on the scammer. He'd just picked up a battered old file folder lying on the floor when—

Huh?

Flap—.

A single thin sheet of paper fluttered loose and drifted to the floor.

A photo?

Laliman's eyes lit up. If he could put a face to the man, he'd have evidence for the report. Catching him would be ten times easier. With that thought, he flipped the fallen photo over—

...!

His breath caught in his throat. His widened eyes refused to close.

What... the.

The photograph held a girl of silver hair. A frame so slender it seemed it would crumble to dust at a touch, and eyes that gazed back at the camera with a heartbreaking, almost pleading tenderness.

"A real... person?"

Forgive him, Lumi-chan — but he couldn't help thinking that even she might not compare to this girl. After all, you simply cannot measure a being of the mortal world against one of the heavens.

"......"

He stared, spellbound. Five minutes. Ten.

"Ah."

Only when his gaze finally tore free did he notice the strangeness — the thing he should have clocked first of all.

"She's an Academy student!"

The girl in the photo was dressed neatly and formally in unmistakably the Royal Academy's uniform. Judging by the plain backdrop and the stiff framing, it looked like the kind of ID photo taken right after enrollment.

Insane. Someone like her actually existed?

But something was off. If a girl like that attended the Academy, how could he possibly not know her? Could anyone with that face go about life without turning every head in sight?

His daughter? His little sister?

He raised his head — and only now noticed the traces he'd missed in his rage. A pink blanket. A teddy-bear pillow cover. Bunny slippers. Most likely hers.

Definitely not his family, at least.

He shook his head with a hollow laugh. There was no way that girl was related to the Fraud King. At most they barely knew each other — a next-door tenant in a rented building, maybe. Even that degree of connection was more than the bastard deserved.

Well then. Time for a deep-dive investigation.

Stroking his chin, he looked around the room. He checked the texture of the bed, searched for evidence like stray hairs, even sniffed the blanket to see if he could identify a perfume. Not that hours had left much scent behind.

"Hmm..."

He glanced around warily, checked whether the ceiling had some crystal recording device or other — then slipped the photo into his pocket.

Intelligence gathering: complete.

In the end, he never found so much as a single trace of the scammer. A perfectly wasted trip. Remembering the fury he'd set out with hours ago, any normal person would have been apoplectic —

I'm glad I came, though.

His heart had settled into an oddly profound calm. He even felt a little giddy, somehow. Whatever question had once been why did I come here again? no longer existed anywhere in Laliman's head. There was only one thought left: starting tomorrow, I should really pay closer attention to the students walking around the Academy.

After the brief introductions were out of the way —

"As you can see, this is a mixed property: retail space on the first floor, with residential quarters on the second and third."

"Whichever room you choose, Madam Rosetta, I'll have it fully prepared for you right away."

"I'll... take the first floor..."

In a voice that seemed to be crawling along the ground, Rosetta pointed at the sofa in the living room. The moment she'd glimpsed the spacing of the staircase, all ambition of venturing upstairs had evaporated. That height was, to her, Mount Everest.

"Either is perfectly fine, of course, if that is your wish."

"Then allow me to show you the rest of the property."

Marcus, having smoothed away his moment of bewilderment, began guiding her through the rooms. The first stop was a display cabinet filling an entire wall of the lounge.

"The wine here is yours to enjoy freely at any hour."

"Only the finest vintages, I assure you. Perfect for unwinding after a long day."

But Rosetta could only stare up at the shelves, dazed.

"Ah... alcohol..."

"Yes?"

"If I drink it... I will... die..."

That was no metaphor. She might genuinely, actually die. On her very first day in this body, she'd been such a mental wreck that she'd tried drinking — and after a single sip nearly suffocated her into the grave, she'd sworn off alcohol forever. Coffee, likewise, felt like swallowing dirt by the handful, so she skipped that too.

"I... see? That's, ah... unfortunate."

The next stop was the gym — a spacious hall that could easily accommodate five people at once.

"This is the physical training room."

"Everything here is state-of-the-art mana equipment. It should serve you well in your training as well, Madam Rosetta."

Physical training... well, I might manage that much?

Intrigued, she drifted toward the corner. She picked up the smallest, cutest dumbbell there — a dainty pink thing stamped with a label reading 2kg.

"Hnngh...!"

Rosetta's arms began trembling like leaves.

Marcus watched, breath held, as the dumbbell slowly, agonizingly, began to rise from the floor...

...but before it ever completed its ascent, it dropped right back down with a clatter.

"Hoo... hoo... not... today..."

"......"

"I've already... used so much... strength..."

It wasn't a lie. Carrying that weight-reduction backpack all the way here had wrung her out completely. She needed no further exercise.

"And next, this is the display room."

They moved on to the next space. A room slightly dimmer than the rest, lit by luxurious mood lighting, with chairs fitted with every variety of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠holographic panel — and a massive screen embedded in the far wall.

"A space for watching films or the news, or enjoying games. You can also sync your personal mana panel to the big screen, of course."

"Ooh..."

Her favorite room so far. How do I sync my personal panel again? Rosetta fiddled with the wireless connection settings on the panel in her pocket —

Pop! And in that very instant, the enormous screen flickered to life.

"Ah..."

The screen that had blazed up out of nowhere startled her. She'd completely forgotten she was even connected to the forum. Her tiny fingers frantically mashed the back button —

Pop!

"W-wait, just a second..."

Pop!

"This is... not..."

Pop!

In the end she abandoned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the back button entirely and cut the power. For a long moment, only silence hung in the darkened room.

...What was that?

Marcus swallowed quietly. The screens had flashed past in the blink of an eye — maybe a second each, far too fast to take anything in — but something monumental had just blown by, he was sure of it.

And yet... something told him he must never ask for details. Not when the girl was standing there, teary-eyed and trembling, her face an open book even as she desperately avoided his gaze.

"A-ah, wasn't there... something about a moving service bringing your belongings?"

He cleared his throat loudly and changed the subject.

"Please go ahead and take care of that. I'll tidy up around here in the meantime."

Back inside the shop, left alone once more, Marcus sat on the sofa wearing a grave expression, deep in thought.

What on earth is going on?

He'd been sure he'd made the best possible choice. He'd evaded the Abyss Knight's threat — or so he'd believed — and kept the shop safe. But taken together, everything that had happened today suggested something had gone very wrong.

Something's off about that girl.

The refusal to drink, fine. He could accept that much. A Titan pilot drinking and then climbing into the cockpit would get slapped with a piloting-under-the-influence charge, after all.

But being ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠unable to lift a 2-kilogram dumbbell? That defied all understanding.

Was my instinct wrong?

Titan pilots needed mana above all, but a baseline of physical ability was non-negotiable. Second-generation sync Titans — the true combat models — mirrored the pilot's own movements. A body that couldn't lift two kilos couldn't pilot one at all.

She's just a completely ordinary kid, isn't she.

And then there were the screens that had flashed by. He hadn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠caught everything, but none of it looked like the kind of information an Abyss Knight would care about. The girl hadn't carried so much as a trace of that savage, blood-and-steel aura the knights wore like a second skin.

Don't tell me... I've been conned?

The uneasy possibility smoldered up from the depths. If that were true, he'd given a total stranger of a little brat free room and board, plus a personal errand-running allowance, out of sheer terror. Twenty years in the trade. He'd prided himself on a sharp eye for people...

Did I really just pull off the gullible-fool hustle of the century on myself?

And at that very moment —

"I'm baaack..."

Krrzzt—!

A metallic, mechanical buzz echoed through the speaker. The signal that someone had arrived at the hangar.

Hm?

Marcus shot to his feet and hurried through the back door toward the hangar. Even before he arrived, the massive stone gate was already grinding upward. The rental registration was complete — which meant Rosetta now had hangar access of her own.

This is...

Dust and wind billowed out of the open hangar. At the sight that spread before his eyes, Marcus's jaw came unhinged.

One thing, at least, was a relief: this much was certain proof he hadn't been swindled by a little brat.

Titans...

Every thought from moments ago was swept away in an instant.

BOOM! BOOM!

There was only one set of footsteps — but what he saw was no single machine. Every one of the Titans was moving in perfectly synchronized stride, their steps merging into a single thunderous sound.

Why... are there eight of them...?