Ruvenne’s blue eyes froze on the stairwell, breath snatched from his lungs.
“Did he…
actually pull it off?” He slumped to the ground with a dull, heavy thud, one leg extended, the other furled as he heaved the weary, relieved breath he’d been holding.
“Oh…
God…”
It’s done.
It’s finally over.
His gaze climbed toward the sky, hooded, devoid of vigor.
There’s nothing left of the thing but splinters.
Ichett trotted toward Kisatsu, offering a hand.
“Are you alright?
Not hurt?” His eyes sharpened with realization, darting into the stairwell.
He came from below?
Then— He studied the vacuum of the boy’s face him while hauling him up.
“I’ll need a word with you.
Once you’ve caught your breath.”
Kisatsu didn’t even look back, eyes hollow, unfocused.
The sight drew a furrow on Ichett’s brow.
“What’s the matter?” His voice carried an edge of concern.
“Are you the only one left?”
The boy didn’t respond.
His countenance was an answer Ichett already understood.
The claw caught Kisatsu’s notice, jutting out from Ichett’s chest with an unwavering defiance—he still hadn’t pulled it out to stem the flow.
I’m the only one here without a scratch.
His pale, violet eyes reflected the blood darkening on Ichett’s cloth.
And now…
you’re still asking me if I’m not hurt?
A sudden hitch of breath broke through the air.
Ichett’s hands flew to clutch the claw in his chest, though he still didn’t pull it out.
He stumbled back, grip faltering on the boy.
“Nngh!” His bellow came out jagged.
Damn it…
the adrenaline’s wearing off.
Kisatsu watched him passively, a quiver running through his fingers as his hand almost reached out.
Before Ichett could collapse, Ruvenne caught his weight from behind.
“You’ve gone and overdone it.
For God’s sake, just sit down for a bit.” Ruvenne glanced at the boy, then back to Ichett, a hand steadying his shoulder.
“You’re in the worst state out of all of us.
Worry about yourself for once, will you?”
Ichett only huffed dryly at that, letting Ruvenne lean him against the wall before he turned his attention to Kisatsu.
“You’re Kisatsu Vurgemond, am I right?
I heard you were the new candidate for the Reco team.”
Kisatsu blinked, then nodded.
Ruvenne let out a long, heavy breath.
“Lucky you’re still in one piece—the manikin would’ve had you a second later,” he said, tone flat with resignation.
“Next time, don’t just wander out of your hiding spot like that.”
His gaze wandered before falling on the mangled shapes of the students, lingering a second too long before he forced himself to look back at Kisatsu.
“Are you alright?
I mean…
in the head?” He paused, voice lowering.
“You might want to take a minute to settle yourself before we head off.”
The question was met only by the grim silence enveloping them both like a cloak.
Kisatsu’s face was thin, pallid from the mixture of lingering shock and the harsh cold.
His lips split, a small crease forming at the corners.
“…There are three more corpses downstairs…
in the training chamber.” The words wove out fragile, reedy.
Ruvenne’s brows knit as if catching a needle in the boy’s words.
“The training chamber?” He rose, straightening his posture.
“The name Delvey—does it mean anything to you?”
Kisatsu’s eyelids fluttered, a flash of surprise—the look of an accomplice caught.
But it didn’t matter.
His eyes were too hollowed out to carry any real denial.
“Yes…
he’s the only one who made it out.”
“I see.
So the rest of his lot were killed, then?” Ruvenne’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly.
“And you?
Were you part of this, as well?
Regardless, you’re going to be implicated in this.”
“I just…
joined them, not knowing what they’d done.”
“Do you have their names?”
“I only know one was Farnz.
The other two…
I really didn’t hear anyone say their names.”
Ruvenne’s eyes narrowed.
Farnz Deutschbelg, was it?
Kisatsu lifted his gaze slowly, borrowing the faint light from across the cloister.
“Am I being detained now?” His voice was thin, brittle.
The sight fixed Ruvenne for a heartbeat.
He released another sigh in a mix of pity and resignation, squaring his shoulders.
“No, but you’ll be needed for questioning.” His voice had softened, gentler than it had been before the puppet was obliterated.
“It isn’t a demand, strictly speaking, but we’d appreciate it if you’d come along quietly.”
Kisatsu looked away in evasion—toward the hall where he had trooped alongside Delvey and the others just hours earlier.
One moment, he was eating a meal; the next, he’d watched them die.
Ruvenne crouched to Ichett’s level, murmuring about getting him to the emergency center.
But the words no longer reached the boy.
Would this even have happened without me?
He pictured the scene where he’d fed a portion of his Rage into the battery.
If I hadn’t put my Rage into it, would that monster still have woken up?
His teeth gritted until they creaked, fingers twitching, shoulders tense.
The evergrey sky hung low, the cold air biting into his skin, but it wasn’t the chill that made him shiver.
In that moment, the sense of belonging he’d been trying to build crumbled like dust.
He might’ve been a hero in Hamburn, but in here, it counted for nothing.
He’d awakened a monster in this school.
***
Delvey’s interrogation began the next day.
He sat in the interview room, the walls dark, muted, lit only by the dim light catching in his pale, vacant eyes.
The faint buzz of a mosquito near the flickering bulb made a low, continuous hum—the only noise in the chamber.
Ichett sat before the boy while Ruvenne leaned back against the far wall, watching with the quiet observation of a sentry.
Ruvenne had offered to take over, but Ichett wasn’t having it.
He set the battery on the table as it glowed with a dimmed, persistent, violet hue.
“Where did you get your hands on this?
And when?” he asked, voice finally breaking through the heavy silence.
Delvey felt a quiver run down his spine under Ichett’s prying gaze, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his chocolate brown sweater.
“A week ago.”
“The battery—or the Rage itself?”
Delvey angled his gaze up, violet eyes glassy with genuine puzzlement.
“Th-The Rage?” His voice stammered, like glass on the verge of breaking.
We just…
we all chipped in yesterday—we didn’t nick it from anyone this time, I swear.”
“Then why is Xavior Ashira’s Rage sitting in the middle of it?” Ichett’s voice sharpened, eyes clamping into keen slits.
“X-Xavior?
I—I don’t know.
We just…” Delvey quickly recalled Kisatsu feeding a large portion of his Rage into the core, steadying his breath.
“I only gave my own, then so did the others.
None of my friends used anyone else’s—I’m certain of that.” A pause, the hum of the mosquito filling the gap.
“But there was this one lad we invited.
He put in more than the rest of us put together.”
Ichett’s brows crinkled at the thought of the boy he’d just tried to save.
Ruvenne had mentioned Kisatsu while Ichett was still laid up in bed.
“Kisatsu Vurgemond?” The name felt strangely sharp in his mouth, though it failed to ring any bells.
“…Yes.
But we only met him yesterday—never laid eyes on him before that,” Delvey said, the impulse to shift the blame faltering as a sliver of guilt bubbled up.
“But…
I don’t think he did anything wrong.
It’s our fault…
for dragging him into it.”
Ichett stared at him, fingers intertwined, resting against his chin.
The logic simply wouldn’t connect.
Kisatsu…
when I scanned him for Rage, there wasn’t a trace.
His forehead creased in uncertainty.
Was he just completely spent—or was he hiding a reservoir somewhere?
He blinked, gaze drifting down to the table, fixed on nothing.
But the Rage inside the manikin was too heavy, any vessel for it would’ve been impossible to miss.
The lines at his temple deepened in profound suspicion.
He pitched his gaze back at Delvey’s face, leaning into a more upright posture.
His hands lowered to the table, fingers splayed against the cool aluminum.
“Did you see him carrying anything?
A bag, a flask—anything that could’ve served as a container?”
Delvey glanced away, navigating his memory before looking back, finding nothing.
“No.
He was…
we were all empty-handed.
No one had anything on them but the battery.”
Ruvenne peeled away from the wall and walked up behind Ichett.
“Should we be looking into Kisatsu instead?
There’s a fair chance his Rage has topped up by now.”
Ichett didn’t turn, eyes merely flicking sideways.
“Hold on.
I still got one more for this lad.” He turned back to the boy, leaning in.
“Tell me.
Why the fake name?
We’ve checked the records outside the school and your alias isn’t on them.” His eyes thinned, voice dropping.
“What were you playing at, and how long has this been going on?”
Delvey stayed silent, unable to meet his gaze any longer, eyes hidden behind the thin curtain of his magenta bangs.
His fingers stilled.
Ichett observed him intently, his silence demanding an answer.
The mosquito stopped buzzing, the light’s flicker now steadied.
The air in the room was thick, cold as if it, too, were waiting for the boy’s words.
Finally, Delvey’s lips parted, though his eyes remained on the table.
“My mother abandoned me when I was a baby, and…
I didn’t want to carry the name she left me with.” The words were fragile, barely audible.
“It was two years ago.
I tried changing my last name as well, but they wouldn’t have it.”
Ichett’s facade didn’t soften—if anything, he leaned closer, curiosity glinting in his eyes.
“Do you still have a lead on your mother?
Any idea where she’s got to?”
Delvey forced himself to look up at him, though timidly.
“I’ve only seen the photos.
My carer told me she was a maid working in the Shriner Palace.”
Ichett squinted, eyes twitching at the mere mention.
The Autocrat’s Palace?
He leaned back, arms folding across his chest.
“And where are you living at the moment?
Where did you grow up?”
“I’m in the dorms with my friends…
well, they’re gone now, aren’t they?” Delvey snorted grimly.
“We were all at the same orphanage in Vinhurd.
Grew up together.” His shoulders slumped just a fraction, visage heavy with a somber, quiet weight.
He looked down at his hands, voice barely a whisper.
“If there’s a punishment for it, I’ll take it,” he added, lifting his gaze as it guttered with dull finality.
“I just want to go back to the orphanage and…
tell them what’s happened.
Stealing the manikin was my idea, so the whole thing’s on me.” He looked down again, fingers curling against his lap.
“I’m truly sorry.
I’m guilty, and I’m not denying it.”
Ichett’s eyes stayed fixed on him, a quiet stare devoid of pity.
He heaved a jaded, patient sigh, arms unfurling.
“It’s a mess, isn’t it?
All we can do at the moment is lay the blame at your door, which we are.” He paused, the ridges on his forehead softening.
“But I suppose that doesn’t get us much further.”
He turned to Ruvenne, the chair creaking softly beneath his weight.
“What’s the move, then?”
Ruvenne glanced at the boy, then back to Ichett, one hand resting on his hip.
“You could throw the book at him, but it’ll only make life harder for the lad.”
“Well, what else can we do?
There have to be consequences to his actions—I can’t just let him walk away scot-free.” Ichett’s gaze flicked between the boy and Ruvenne, a hard edge to his voice.
“So, how are we supposed to punish him, then?”
A pause.
Ruvenne walked over to the boy, arms crossed, each step slow, deliberate.
“How did you manage to get away, when the others didn’t?” His brows tightened in visible doubt as Kisatsu surfaced in his mind—the same frail posture from yesterday.
More to the point, how did he?