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Kenta beat a tactical retreat from the Mechanical Settlement. As much as he enjoyed seeing Svarog's hydraulic-powered composure spring a leak, making Clara upset by turning her room into a war zone would be counterproductive.
On the trek back toward Boulder Town, the memory of Clara's radiant, red-eyed smile nearly triggered another "bout" of his protective elder-brother illness. But before he could get lost in the clouds of fraternal sentiment, he spotted two familiar figures standing on the ridge ahead.
Is that... Seele and Oleg?
The first was Seele, with whom he'd only parted ways the night before. Beside her stood the gray-haired man in the weathered red coat: Oleg, the nominal leader of Wildfire.
Kenta knew the organization inside out. As a freelance courier between the two worlds, he frequently crossed paths with these self-appointed peacekeepers. He was well aware that while Oleg was the public face of the resistance, the real backbone—the true founder—was Natasha. Kenta wasn't officially on the payroll, but he was as close to a Wildfire regular as one could get without wearing the uniform.
"Seele, Oleg," Kenta called out, raising a hand in a casual greeting. "What's the occasion? Did someone lose a shipment of Geomarrow, or are you two just enjoying the subterranean ambiance?"
Both of them turned. Oleg's eyebrows shot up. "Kenta? Back already?"
It was obvious Seele hadn't mentioned their late-night rendezvous at the clinic. Seele herself looked momentarily caught off guard; she glanced pointedly at the path Kenta had just traveled—the one leading directly to Svarog's domain—and her eyes sharpened with immediate, intuitive clarity.
Kenta, blissfully unaware that he'd just been "geolocated" by Seele's instincts, was about to offer Oleg some small talk when Seele's voice cut through the air like a cold blade.
"Oh, look. It's the perverted wanderer. Did you head straight for the Mechanical Settlement this morning to dote on your 'dear little sister' again?"
Kenta: "..."
Seriously, Seele? You're a Hunt character, but your passive isn't 'Execute'—it's 'Silence.'
The famous five-star critic Kenta declared that in the current version of "Life in the Underworld," Seele's verbal sting was still far too overpowered.
Oleg, a man who had survived decades of subterranean politics, watched the exchange with a knowing, weary glint in his eyes. He'd seen through Seele's transparent defensiveness years ago. He was just grateful that her "rivals" were either trapped behind the Overworld gates or were, geographically speaking, too young to be considered a threat. If Seele didn't sharpen her social game, she was going to end up as the "defeated childhood friend" archetype without even realizing the race had started.
Naturally, Oleg kept these observations to himself. Instead, he offered a gentle, dry reminder. "Seele, far be it from me to doubt your judgment, but you aren't actually jealous of a child like Clara, are you?"
"Hmph!" Seele tossed her head, her scarf fluttering. "Who said anything about jealousy? I'm providing a public service! I'm warning a certain individual not to commit a crime that forces Wildfire to arrest him. If that happens, don't expect me to go easy on the handcuffs!"
Kenta suppressed a grin. This was exactly what he loved about her. Whether it was Clara's sweetness or Bronya's rigid obstinacy, Kenta had a talent for appreciating the finer points of a woman's personality. And for Seele? He absolutely lived for that stubborn, tsundere arrogance.
Who designed this girl? That tone of voice alone makes it hard to walk a straight line.
"Alright, jokes aside," Kenta said, shifting his tone to match Oleg's serious expression. "What's the actual trouble?"
"Miners found a new Geomarrow vein," Oleg explained. "Possibly the largest strike in years. But instead of reporting it, they tried to mine it secretly. The Vagrants caught wind of it, and now both sides are at each other's throats, vying for the claim. It's a powder keg."
Seele nodded, her playful fire replaced by cold steel. "The Boss is right. You coming, Kenta? We could use a heavy hitter."
Kenta waved a hand. "I'll pass. Wildfire can handle a few greedy pickaxes. I need to head back to the clinic and help Natasha tally the medical supplies for the next run."
Seele's face fell instantly. "What? You just got back last night! You're leaving the Underworld again already?"
The shift in her mood was so visible it was almost comical. Kenta felt a twinge of guilt, reaching out to give her hair a brief, soothing ruffle. "Not today. I'll be around for a few days to prep. Calm down."
Seele froze, a flash of delight crossing her face before she realized she was supposed to be annoyed. She slapped his hand away with a frantic, red-faced scowl. "Leave whenever you want! I don't care! You don't owe me an explanation!"
Kenta: "..."
Three for three. Just as I predicted.
He had to engage in a forty-second mental battle just to suppress his laughter. He felt like a game developer watching a player trigger a hidden, perfectly scripted cutscene. I lose the 'Don't Laugh' challenge, he admitted internally.
Bidding the two farewell, Kenta hurried toward the clinic. As he approached, the low murmur of voices reached his ears.
Is that... Natasha and Sampo?
He couldn't make out the words, but Sampo Koski's voice was unmistakable—it had a greasy, melodic quality that tended to linger in the ears like an oil slick. What is that blue-haired vulture doing at the clinic this early?
Curiosity piqued, Kenta pushed open the door.
Creak—
The scene inside stopped him dead. Natasha and Sampo were by the entrance, but as Kenta's gaze swept the room, he saw the three Trailblazers from the Express lying in the recovery beds. And next to them... Bronya?
"Wait. Who?!"
Kenta rubbed his eyes, convinced he was hallucinating from the sheer amount of emotional whiplash he'd experienced today. He backed out of the room, closed the door, and reopened it. He did this three times. The result remained the same.
"Kenta, you're just in time," Natasha said, her voice calm despite the absurdity of the situation. "Sampo... 'found' these people and brought them here."
Kenta ignored her. He took three heavy, deliberate steps toward Sampo. He raised his hands and slammed them onto the man's shoulders with the weight of a falling star.
"Sampo," Kenta said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I know we've both got flexible morals, but if you've actually started a human trafficking business, I'm going to have to personally introduce you to the business end of my boot."
Even though the accusation was wild, Sampo Koski felt the very real weight of Kenta's black flames simmering just beneath the surface.
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