Around the time Kamishiro and the rest were fighting the Field Boss, in a certain dark, dusty warehouse somewhere near the wharf, a shady group had gathered.
The one sitting atop a tall pile of sacks looked down on those below him, smiling gently. It wasn't a threatening kind of smile, but still, those below were trembling beautifully—like lambs about to be offered up to a wolf.
A white long-sleeved shirt with a puffy chest accessory matched his pale-blue eyes well. Eyes that stared right at the other party, cold and penetrating. He looked no older than Kamishiro. But the aura he gave off was beyond common sense.
"So... This Kamishiro guy... said he's a member of my Ares?"
The man, whose hair was well-maintained like a wealthy businessman's son, crossed his legs as he asked. "He's got guts, at least... And he even pulled it off against someone like you, Mokuro..."
"Y-Yes...!"
