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The boys who had done the beating finally left.
There was nothing to gain from Sky or Putz. The only profit they could possibly make would be selling the two of them to Cannibal Street.
But they were just children themselves. Trying to sell someone there also carried the risk of being detained and sold as well. It was practically walking into a trap, so the idea had never really been an option.
The black girl, her face swollen and blood still trickling from her nose and mouth, struggled toward the plastic-bead hair tie she treasured more than anything.
Carefully picking it up, she gently wiped away the muddy water clinging to it.
Putz was hurting all over too, but he was in far better shape than she was. He dragged her over to a wall and helped her sit against it. Sky cooperated with difficulty, all the while clutching the hair tie tightly in her hand.
Because she hadn't lost her treasure, there was still a smile on her face.
Getting beaten up was practically a part of daily life. There was no point making a big deal out of it.
Putz sat beside her, their shoulders touching.
With a hint of helplessness, the troublesome little brat said,
"You got beaten up over something like that. How can you still smile?"
"Because if I don't keep thinking about happy things and smiling, I won't be able to keep going. Besides, this was a gift from you. It's the first gift anyone has ever given me. I really like this shiny hair tie."
Looking at the girl's broad smile, seeing the tears trapped within her swollen eyes, Putz suddenly found himself unable to say anything.
Using both his hands and back for support, he pushed himself up against the wall and stood.
"We need to find food or make money. I'm planning to look for Bowery King's people this morning. They'll take half the pay, but at least they follow the rules."
The black girl remained seated against the wall. She tried to stand as well but ultimately gave up and slumped back down.
Weakly, she said,
"You go ahead. I'll head the other way. Today's the day the church hands out relief supplies, so I'll try my luck in line. I'm just a little tired. Let me rest for a bit first."
"Alright. I'll get going then."
"Putz!"
"What?"
"You should smile more. You're cute when you smile too."
"That won't do. If you're too cute, people start wanting to play with you like a doll."
A bad memory flashed through his mind.
Nothing had happened in the end, but experiencing it once had been terrifying enough.
Putz shook his head, trying to cast the unpleasant memories away.
Yet the black girl stubbornly repeated,
"You should still smile more."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm leaving."
His tone was impatient. Clearly, he didn't want to continue the conversation.
Watching her only friend walk away, the girl tried several times to stand.
Each attempt ended with her collapsing back to the ground.
Her injuries were far more serious than they appeared.
Though it wasn't something a child her age should understand, she had seen enough death to suddenly realize something.
Was it my turn this time?
Many people died exactly like this.
Too weak to move.
Unable to move.
And then, eventually, they simply died.
The black girl murmured softly,
"Putz... I'm sorry. I don't think I can stay with you any longer."
Scenes like this were commonplace in the sewers.
People died every day.
Some were murdered.
Others simply starved to death.
Being accidentally beaten to death like this wasn't rare at all.
Just then, a set of distinctly out-of-place footsteps echoed through the tunnel.
They belonged to a pair of expensive leather shoes—the sharp tapping of their heels sounded entirely different from ordinary footwear.
The man who stopped before the black girl wore an old-fashioned formal suit decorated with layered ruffles.
His hair was half black and half white, and a long scar stretched across his face.
Unfortunately, his thick beard failed to hide it, leaving his overall appearance oddly mismatched and somewhat ridiculous.
He crouched down, unconcerned about muddy water splashing onto the hem of his clothes.
Lowering himself to meet the girl's eye level, he asked,
"Do you want to live?"
"Who are you?"
Though her voice was barely audible, the man's superhuman hearing caught every word.
He introduced himself.
"I am the Tinkerer. Saving people happens to be my specialty. If you want to live, I can help you."
"Why?"
"Why indeed?"
The Tinkerer answered his own question.
"Perhaps because an old man once helped me, but he's already passed away, and I can no longer repay him. So I suppose I want to pass that kindness on to someone else."
"As for why you specifically? Let's just say I happened to see you."
"What do you want?"
"I only charge a life-saving fee. Unfortunately, your life isn't worth a single cent, so it seems I'll have to help you for free."
The Tinkerer spoke as though discussing something entirely ordinary.
"Still, I respect the wishes of the person involved. If you've decided this is where your journey ends, I won't insist on saving you."
Before the black girl could answer, another person appeared.
This newcomer was an exceptionally handsome middle-aged gentleman.
Fashionably dressed and wearing a long scarf, he looked like some wealthy magnate who had graciously lowered himself to visit such a filthy place.
Removing his bowler hat, he greeted her.
"Good day, helpless and innocent young lady. If you still possess the desire to live, perhaps you might consider my offer. A transparent and honest transaction—fair to young and old alike."
"Who are you?"
"A Great Demon, Mephisto, at your service, lovely lady."
The handsome gentleman placed his hat against his chest and gave a small bow.
The unexpected name caused the Tinkerer's ear to twitch slightly.
He genuinely hadn't noticed how this man had arrived.
It was as though he had simply materialized beside him out of thin air.
So...
Should he just punch him?
Tilting his head, the Tinkerer seriously considered the question.
"Heh heh, my friend, I didn't come here for you. Is there really a need to glare at me with such murderous intent?"
Mephisto smiled.
The power of wishes granted through the Infinity Stones could affect him as well, though only to a limited degree.
As a result, he remembered very clearly exactly how this man had fought the Sentry.
Before the Tinkerer could say anything, the black girl weakly asked,
"If he's a demon... then are you an angel?"
The Tinkerer shook his head.
"Unfortunately, no. I'm just a kind passerby."
"And I don't even know whether angels exist in this universe. At most, there's an irresponsible God somewhere."
He paused before continuing.
"But I should emphasize that your time to choose me is running out. Your internal bleeding is getting worse. Once you've lost too much blood and your condition passes the point where even I can save you, your only options will be selling your soul to a demon or dying."
Perhaps because the Tinkerer's words were too rational—so blunt and detached that they bordered on callousness—the girl's gaze shifted toward the demon instead.
Truthfully, in terms of approachability alone, the Great Demon Mephisto held a clear advantage.
So she asked,
"Do you want my soul?"
Mephisto chuckled.
First, he turned to the man beside him.
"It seems I've been chosen. Surely you won't disrespect her decision?"
Only then did he explain to the girl:
"Strictly speaking, what I offer is a second life.
"You don't actually believe that after people die, some go to Heaven and others to Hell according to their deeds in life, do you?
"No. Everyone shares the same destination.
"Hell.
"There is no Heaven.
"When you entrust your soul to me after death, it simply means that after your first life ends, you'll begin a different journey under my protection.
"Of course, this new life won't be filled with unpredictable suffering like your current one.
"You'll merely need to follow my instructions from time to time and complete a few insignificant tasks.
"It's rather like playing a game, wouldn't you say?
"Most of the time, I don't interfere much with the souls under my protection unless they provide me with greater amusement.
"Personally, I think that's a wonderful arrangement.
"It's just that most people fail to appreciate it."l
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