By the time the group arrived at the Infected Arena, night had already fallen.
"Hai… What exactly is this place? You haven't systematically introduced it to me before."
Following Hai's steps, Don Quixote curiously glanced at the buildings ahead after passing through one alley after another, then looked back at Hai and asked.
"If you're talking about the Infected Arena... It's a place where many people's dreams lie buried."
Hai responded casually, continuing forward:
"Keep up. According to the message from Lobotomy Corporation, it's only natural that Kazimierz would have underground industries. This place is precisely the new emotional focal point they observed."
"What they intend to do now... is gather emotions here. Once they've gathered enough of it, the work of Lobotomy Corporation's branch in Kazimierz will likely enter its formal phase—or rather, opening their branch here was probably always meant precisely for this moment."
"The Infected Arena..."
Nearl, at the back of the group, murmured softly to herself.
She then slightly lowered her head, seemingly deep in thought.
"Underground industries, if you don't keep up, you'll probably get lost."
Hai added this remark, interrupting Nearl's contemplation. Thus, Nearl quietly followed Hai and Don Quixote onward. After weaving through several buildings and arriving at a staircase descending underground, Hai gave a secret signal, and a large door swung open for them.
Immediately, crude and vulgar language assaulted their ears. Nearl covered her ears instinctively, grimacing slightly. Only after adjusting did she slowly gaze around at the underground Infected Arena before her—at the cruel, barbaric underside of Kazimierz civilization.
Here, alcohol mixed with saliva splashed freely in the air. At the center, in an octagonal cage, infected were continuously thrust in. Loud shouts, curses, and cheers rose constantly, boiling into a chaotic din. Occasionally, attendants wove silently through the crowd—calm expressions, steady steps, their poised elegance oddly out of place amid the surrounding debauchery. Clearly, they were veterans here.
Nearl stared blankly at this scene.
By contrast, Don Quixote adapted remarkably quickly. He lowered his gaze toward the audience, exhaled slightly, then tilted his head toward Hai:
"So... what exactly do you need us to do here?"
"Wait."
Hai replied succinctly, then sat down near the middle of the venue.
Waiting—for despair and hatred to bloom.
Waiting—for those emotions to take root in whoever would arrive next.
"…Did Lobotomy Corporation specifically say what would happen?"
"No. They only said the relevant emotions would appear. All we have to do is wait, then collect them with this device."
Hai waved a strangely shaped apparatus in his hand. Don Quixote glanced briefly at it, then sighed helplessly and sat beside Hai.
"To be honest… I've always had a bad feeling about this… But alright. If you say wait, then I'll wait. Nearl, not sitting down?"
"No… not yet. I'd like to stand and observe for now."
Nearl took a deep breath, replying softly. Don Quixote shrugged, indifferent to Nearl's decision.
In truth, Nearl shared Don Quixote's vague, unsettling premonition.
And as it turned out, that feeling wasn't misplaced.
Just half an hour later, a commotion swept through the entire arena. Nearl's eyes widened suddenly as she saw a group of infected being escorted into the arena—her pupils contracting sharply when she recognized that their captors belonged to the Armorless Union.
"Hey, you bastards, I swear I'll—!"
"Shut up!"
The leader of the escort team kicked the shouting infected squarely. That infected glared back viciously, but the sight of the octagonal cage immediately filled him with fear—fear that drove him to a desperate, futile struggle.
Hai quietly watched the scene unfold, expression unchanged. He then slowly opened his mouth, firing off two crisp syllables:
"Hatred."
The device seemed to blink with a faint green dot.
As for the others in the arena, after a roar of laughter, jeering filled the air.
Scenes like this were nothing new to them, yet still entertaining. After all, judging by the current situation, it seemed another batch of "troublemakers" had been delivered.
Troublemakers among infected were rare these days. Someone shouted at the escort team:
"Hey! What kinda batch you bringing in today?"
"They ain't gonna cry out for mommy and faint after one kick, are they?"
Another round of mocking laughter echoed. The infected glared furiously toward those mocking voices, their eyes filled with nothing but hatred.
Hatred for those who had stripped away their lives.
Peals of laughter, jeers piled upon jeers. Every gaze the infected returned was thick with hatred, yet every hateful glare was met only with increasingly brazen ridicule.
Don Quixote watched, his brow deeply furrowed. Nearl, meanwhile, had already gripped the railing tightly with both hands, anxiously awaiting what would unfold next.
"The strongest among them might get sent up to the official Knight Tournament."
Suddenly, Hai spoke up, his voice detached, cold, like an observer: "Moving from one hell directly to another."
"Business Federation, you bastards can go fuck yourselves—!"
Before Hai's words even faded, a fresh disturbance broke out as the infected shouted his curse. Immediately, Armorless Union's members swarmed forward, beating and kicking the infected mercilessly. Laughter grew louder; someone even spat at the infected in disgust.
Hatred, loathing, resentment—all fermenting wildly… from the infected towards the spectators, from spectators towards the infected. Even the onlookers who'd placed bets, now impatiently waiting for the infected to begin fighting, cast contemptuous looks their way.
And through all of this—
"Hatred, indeed…"
Hai seemed to sigh lightly, murmuring to himself. At that moment, the green dot on the device grew noticeably brighter.
Hai glanced down, confirming it. This level of increase was likely enough.
"…Hai, next should we—?"
"Shh. Don't speak yet. Just watch. It's not over."
Hai spoke calmly to Nearl, sighing again. He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling and murmured softly:
"Because, according to Lobotomy Corporation, there's still one more layer of emotion…"
"And now—is precisely that moment."