Day 6
The morning announcement carried no solemnity. Arthur did not gather the people into a circle, did not look for high ground, and did not call for silence. He simply stood in the middle of the hall at an hour when most were already awake, and threw a single word to Takagi:
"Translate."
Saya stood shoulder to shoulder with him. Her voice sounded dry and detached, precisely mirroring his clipped, unembellished phrases:
"The shutters won't hold. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow or the day after—but they will give in. He knows where to go. One bus, two trips. First, the first group heads to the coast, then he returns for the rest. Departure tomorrow at dawn."
The hall listened in a heavy, viscous silence. This was no thoughtless agreement—rather, it was an understanding of the inevitable, which required time to take root in their minds. Somewhere in the back of the room, someone let out a quiet, defeated sigh. One of the older women instinctively pressed her palms to her chest. Fujimoto sat motionless, eyes closed; his face made it clear that he was not asleep, but thinking—heavily and with great effort.
The silence was broken by Yotsuba. She didn't just raise her hand—she stood up entirely, to her full, petite height, with that disarming bluntness that was always her nature, never a performative gesture.
"I'm going," she said loudly in Japanese, without the slightest hesitation.
Nino immediately yanked her by the sleeve, trying to pull her down:
"Don't decide for everyone."
"I'm deciding for myself."
"You can't—"
"I can."
Ichika cut them off with a single, short word—quiet, almost devoid of inflection, but enough to make both sisters fall silent instantly. The eldest of the quintuplets fixed her gaze on Arthur. She looked at him for a long time, with that mature, evaluating seriousness that never left her eyes during crucial moments.
"We're going," she said simply. There was no question or usual agreement in it—just a statement of fact, which she voiced to save everyone's time.
Nino merely crossed her arms over her chest in silence, looking like someone who had lost the argument before it even began and was fully aware of it.
After the Nakanos, something shifted in the hall—the way the first stone moves before a landslide. Hinata stood up silently, without a single explanation, but the gesture itself said everything for her. Yui nodded—softly, almost apologetically, as if asking forgiveness from those who chose to stay. Megumi flushed deeply and quietly muttered something in Japanese; Takagi translated briefly: "She's coming." Ono didn't utter a word, but simply stood up next to the others.
Then the movement rippled through the rows. Ayane Shirakawa stood up with the same calm confidence Arthur had already seen from her in battle. Kotone followed her like a faithful shadow. Yuriya Komiya, exchanging a brief look with Rina and Anna, whispered something maternal to them, and the three of them stood up—unhurriedly, with dignity. Hana Mitsuya was the last of the newly added to rise; a heavy, unchildlike expression had settled in her purple eyes since her brother's death, and it hadn't left them since.
Tsuki Uzaki murmured something quietly to her daughter.
"Mom says trouble will find us anywhere anyway," Hana Uzaki translated with a completely serious face. "So we might as well be on the move."
From somewhere deep in the hall came a quiet, nervous chuckle. It died down quickly, but it managed to ease the oppressive atmosphere a little.
From the high school group, Rei didn't stand up right away. She sat, her eyes fixed on Arthur, as if dissecting his intentions, weighing the risks, and searching for the slightest reason to distrust him. But in the end, she stood up too—silently, without extra words.
He didn't even notice Saeko the moment she rose. At some point, he simply realized she was already standing slightly behind him and to the right—in the exact same position she had invariably held since day one, as if she had never left her post.
Shizuka timidly raised her hand, like a girl in class:
"Am I driving?"
"Yes," Arthur replied.
She lowered her hand and nodded in agreement. A concrete task gave her a foothold, something to hold onto now.
Takagi didn't say anything. She simply closed her notebook, slipped her pencil into her pocket, and stood beside him. That gesture was more than enough.
Marin was the last of all to rise—slowly, keeping the same serious expression on her face as the night before. The quintuplets stood still beside her, as a single whole.
Hirano adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and, trying to hide his trembling behind a facade of cheerfulness, muttered in English:
"Well... at least it won't be boring."
Fujimoto finally stood up too. Along with him rose the second adult man, whom Arthur knew only by sight. They exchanged a look and stood there silently, with the dignity of men who had made a difficult decision and had no intention of justifying themselves to anyone.
The rest of the adults remained seated. Arthur didn't look in their direction. He didn't persuade, didn't pressure, and didn't judge. He merely gave Takagi a short nod, and she announced the final instructions: departure tomorrow at dawn, take only the bare essentials, dress as warmly as possible.
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of chores. There was no panic in the hall—only that methodical, muffled diligence that sets in when a choice has been made and only the execution remains. Keiko packed the provisions, tightly packing canned food and water bottles into bags—everything that could possibly fit. Masaru cut the power and dismantled the generator, packing up the tools. Noriko, focused and frowning, checked the bus tires and oil level all by herself.
In the afternoon, Takagi brought Arthur a heavy canvas bag.
"Everything we could find in the jewelry store," she said quietly. "Down to the last gram, just as you asked."
She set the bag down in front of him and watched intently as he checked the contents. Inside, rings, chains, solid bracelets, collectible coins from the numismatic department, and a couple of small gold bars that had clearly served as display decorations rather than merchandise gleamed dully.
"Will this be enough?" she asked.
"No," Arthur replied honestly.
Takagi paused, digesting the answer, and then calmly summarized:
"Then we'll look for more."
There was no question in her words—just a statement of fact. Arthur looked at her intently. Saya Takagi. Sharp, observant, too smart to indulge in illusions. She had seen too much over these past few days to pretend to be blind, and yet she followed him. Not out of blind faith, but because she understood: his knowledge of the laws of this world was worth far more than her personal distrust. It was more honest than most of the alliances he had formed in his past life.
By evening, the hall fell quiet much earlier than usual. People went to bed with the grim seriousness that comes only when facing major changes. The children fell asleep quickly—they were keenly sensitive to the adults' tension and quieted down on their own. The adults tossed and turned longer.
Hirano sat near Veridis, whispering something quietly and monotonously. He was speaking not so much to her as to himself, simply directing the words in her direction. Veridis lay with her eyes half-closed. She didn't look at him—her gaze was fixed somewhere through space, maintaining the majesty of a creature that could leave at any moment but had chosen to stay for some internal reasons of her own. Hirano, however, was not at all bothered by this indifference.
Arthur lay on his back and stared at the dark ceiling. The steel shutters continued to sing their strained song, but now it was quieter than in the morning. Either the metal was completely fatigued and deformed, or the pressure from the outside had weakened. Or maybe he himself had grown so used to the sound that he stopped perceiving it as a direct threat.
That was a bad sign. Getting used to danger is always the beginning of the end.
Veridis shifted beside him. Adjusting her head more comfortably, she brushed his shoulder with her large muzzle—an almost accidental, casual, lazy movement. Arthur did not pull away.
In the white fog of his internal space, the tree still stood. Quite small, with two branches: one alive and warm, the other dark and quiet. Nearby, two blueprints emanated a steady light, complete and real. They were waiting for their hour.
He closed his eyes, already falling asleep, when he noticed that the shutters had gone completely silent.
Completely.
This could mean that things had finally calmed down outside. Or that the exhausted metal had stopped resisting and was now simply waiting for the final, decisive push—just like Arthur himself.
There was no point in figuring it out now. The morning would show anyway.