Department Store Terror (7)
Thud… Thud…
‘Fuck… Found you… I found you….’
Thud… Thud…
‘Hiding in a place like that… Talk about the darkest spot being right under the lamp… You held out there pretty well…’
Thud… Thud…
‘But it’s over now… I found you… I tracked you down… You damn bastard… You damn villain…’
Thud… Thud…
Her footsteps wobbled slightly, unsteadily somewhere. Yet toward her target, they marched without a tremor as Club ascended the stairs.
She’d found the one she’d been hunting: No. 13.
Club’s cat had sniffed him out.
No. 13 had been just a few floors away. Honestly, almost right above her. The perfect spot to call right over her head.
Thinking about it made her blood boil with quiet rage.
A normal sniper couldn’t hit a target in a position like that, no matter what. No matter the gun, a sniper couldn’t shoot an enemy blocked by layers of ceiling right above their own head.
If he’d chosen that spot with Club in mind, maybe she should praise him for a clever move.
‘But did you think you could dodge my cat’s eyes by holing up in some corner?’
That’s why the place she’d lured Spade to had inevitably become a shadowy corner or remote spot where cats couldn’t easily go—perfect for hiding.
But No. 13? Nothing like that. He’d been right in the middle of the floor, bold as brass.
Through the cat’s eyes, she’d seen him lounging on a plush sofa—brought in as a display prop—sprawled out in total leisure, waiting openly like he owned the place.
Even thinking about it again made her furious.
A villain, of all things. A goddamn villain…!
Thud… Thud… Thud…
Clunk!
Finally, she reached the floor where No. 13 waited.
Club shoved open the emergency stairwell door and stepped onto the floor.
Dim and deathly silent, lit only by emergency lights, the floor lay shrouded in darkness. And smack in the middle, on a sofa, there he sat.
“Oh, you’re finally here. I was starting to think my neck would snap from craning it.”
Sitting arrogantly, so casual it made her forget the situation entirely, No. 13 waved the cat in his lap like it was saying ‘Hi!’—all while greeting her with perfect nonchalance.
The cat in his arms let out a lazy “Nyaa~ong.”
* * *
“Villain No. 13…! This time… it ends.”
Thud…!
Exuding murderous intent, Club advanced slowly across the floor.
Her outstretched arm already had a coin chambered.
Unlike scattering coins into the air and firing them, using her finger as the firing pin made the bullets seven times faster and more powerful.
“Ah, haha, wow. Scary.”
But even with that ‘barrel’ aimed right at him, No. 13 stayed bizarrely calm.
Deep in the sofa, playing with the cat like it was a game.
Saying it was scary, but his attitude screamed anything but.
Probably because, like before, he wouldn’t die even if shot full of holes.
So maybe, like earlier, she needed to sever the head separately?
There was a chance he’d survive decapitation, but it’d neutralize him just fine.
Hell, if just the head lived, she could drag it off for interrogation.
Might even be more convenient.
“Hey, Club. Where’s Spade?”
“…Why the hell would I tell you that?”
“Be a little friendlier. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”
Club snorted at No. 13’s words.
“Don’t make me laugh. You’re dying here. This is our last meeting. I’ve got no plans to see you again.”
Fearsome killing intent poured from Club.
Sensing it, the cat playing under No. 13’s hand bolted in fright.
But it didn’t matter anymore. No need to borrow a cat’s eyes—she could see everything with her own.
Just capture No. 13 here and end it.
End him.
“Club, where’s Spade?”
The same question again made Club frown.
Did this guy have no learning curve? Or was he just trying to piss her off?
Why didn’t he get that she had no reason or intention to tell him?
Why focus elsewhere when she had a weapon trained on him, radiating intent to kill right now?
Was he playing?
Even if it was just a coin, he’d felt its destructive power firsthand.
—Cocky bastard.
Club ground her teeth just as—
“Let me rephrase, Club. …Why are you here all alone?”
What kind of question was that now?
Obvious, wasn’t it? She’d spotted him through the cat’s eyes, so here she was.
Senior Spade had scouted ahead as the vanguard, opening up cat-proof spots to widen Club’s view.
With that help, Club had searched tirelessly for No. 13.
The moment she found him, she’d rushed up here.
Spade had clearly said, ‘Report the second you spot him! You’re the sniper—stay put and prep to shoot from there!’
“…………………………………Huh?”
Still holding the coin aimed at No. 13, Club froze with a dumb noise.
Wha… what?
Hold on.
‘Why… am I even here?’
Her heart pounded thump-thump.
Cold sweat trickled down her forehead.
Spade had told her to stay put, right?
She’d guarded the one perfect sniper spot, with its single entrance monitored by other cats.
The plan: pincer attack on discovery, or end him from afar with Club’s shot if possible.
So why had she come all the way here?
Why climb up?
Because he was overhead? No, a normal sniper maybe, but she could hit overhead no problem.
More importantly, why hadn’t she told Senior Spade?
She probably didn’t even know Club was here.
Why? Why…?
——Thud…
Doubt. Bewilderment. Confusion. Panic.
Frozen in those emotions, Club stood rigid as No. 13—now off the sofa—approached at a leisurely pace.
What the hell was he doing?
Didn’t he see the coin she had aimed?
Think a coin wasn’t a weapon?
Club lowered the coin and drew her pistol from the thigh holster instead.
Unlike Spade’s rubber rounds, Club’s mag was loaded with live ammo.
No. 13 was empty-handed by comparison. A shot from here would punch his heart clean through, no ability needed.
“D-Don’t come closer…!”
Yet bizarrely, Club’s trigger finger stayed slack.
Even with No. 13 right there, closing in slow and casual, she showed no sign of firing.
“Fuck! I said don’t come closer!!”
Click—she tightened her grip.
But still, no trigger pull. And No. 13 kept coming.
The whole situation was utter chaos.
She couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
——What the hell.
What the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell, WHAT THE HELL!!
“Come on, Club. Put it down. You can’t point something that dangerous at me.”
“Because Club’s my pet, and I’m her owner.”
What…?
What the hell was that?
What was he even saying?
As No. 13 spouted nonsense she couldn’t grasp, he was already within arm’s reach.
He grabbed the pistol barrel she’d thrust forward and yanked it lightly.
“Let go.”
Club tried to hold on, clenching hard—but that single word drained her strength in an instant.
The gun was taken.
Why had she let go? Why hadn’t she shot? Why had she come here alone?
Nothing made sense.
It was utterly incomprehensible.
But one thing surfaced: Senior Spade’s odd behavior earlier.
Spade, under No. 13’s control.
No way… but could it be…?
“Good girl, good girl. Just stay quiet and I won’t do anything bad. I really like good girls like you, Club. Behave like a sweet, obedient pet, and I’ll spoil you rotten.”
“Sh-Shut up…! Who’d… for you…”
“Now, just stay still like that. You can do it, right?”
“……!”
Clatter!
No. 13 tossed the pistol aside carelessly and reached out, caressing Club’s cheek tenderly instead.
The vile villain’s hand stroked her face, and Club—disgustingly—didn’t resist. She just accepted it.
Impossible.
Letting a villain touch her? Absurd.
Yet somehow.
Somehow, each brush brought inexplicable relief…
A warm feeling welled up…
Like a cat rolling in the sunlight…
Strange. Strange. Strange.
This was blatantly wrong.
What was happening.
What the hell was happening to her right now…?
“S-Senior… Senior!!”
Senior…! Spade Senior…!
Please… please, help me…
