--Pwoooooooooon

...... What the hell was that?

　For a moment, the sound of a loud trumpet echoed throughout the poorhouse. The sound, which occasionally echoed through the ghetto, made people look up to the heavens. Everyone peeked out of the windows and eaves to see what was going on, and it was time for the noisy street vendors to close their mouths for a moment.

　But that is not the only reason for the silence today. There was an intruder who was not supposed to be here, a guard who was supposed to be patrolling the streets of Garouamalia, but whose voice had been stolen from the inhabitants of the poorhouse.

I'm sorry, Vice-Captain. The thief went into the alleyway of the favela as if he had wings on his feet. But we've got what we think is a collaborator.

　The second-in-command, as he was called. He was thin and slender, but his body looked sharp rather than frail.

　It was a child that the troopers had secured. A young girl, no more than a year old. She was neatly groomed, but her clothes and flesh gave her the appearance of being from the poorhouse. A dirty shofar quivered in her hand.

　The man called the second-in-command looked down at the girl and said in an extremely cold voice, "You are a thief who has escaped.

"Is it true that you let the thief escape?

　The girl had no answer to that question. Nothing, she could not answer. Her mouth closed in fear, her throat convulsed, but she made no sound.

　The man stares at her with a glazed look in his eyes. The edge of the girl's mouth twitched involuntarily.

　The eyes, reminiscent of reptiles, are not very friendly.

　Even the troopers who are supposed to be securing the girl involuntarily break out in cold sweat from their foreheads. His heart was beating in fear, wondering if he would be accused of something he didn't deserve.

　The man's fingers stroked the girl's neck with the trumpet, narrowing his glazed eyes. The girl's shoulders shook as if to resist for a moment, only to be blocked by the arm of a trooper.

　There is a black bruise. No, it was a tattoo. Proof of a crime once committed. The mark of one who had committed the unpardonable and received his reward within the walls.

　Then it's settled. The man's chin nodded stiffly.

Good. If you are one of the thieves, even a girl will not be harmed. Then cut off her right arm according to the law.

　One of the members of the team who was instructed to do so drew his saber without hesitation. The blue blade reflected the sunlight with a glint.

　The girl's frightened eyes instantly widened, and cold sweat ran down her spine. The girl's frightened eyes instantly widened, and a cold sweat ran down her spine. Her heels felt as if they were crawling with insects. Her knees refused to move in the face of the raging fear and frustration.

　Her eyes looked around her as if she was looking for help.

　There were many people around. Too many to count. On the other hand, there were only five people from the Guard, including the man called the second-in-command. If you surround them, you can overwhelm them as much as you want. No amount of elite can counter the violence of numbers.

　But there was no response to their gaze. The people around you say nothing. Just like the girl, they say nothing.
　You might as well complain about something. And the next thing you know, your arm will fly off. Or worse, your head. Who's to say? You're dealing with people inside those walls. They're not your inferiors.

　So you can't say. You can't. That's natural. It's only natural. We can't do anything about it. We are foolish, we deserve to be trampled, we can only look down and live for today.

　Everyone has been deprived of their will. Everyone was struggling to play the role of a resident of the poorhouse, leaving their thoughts to the voices in the sky. Everyone tried to be a stone on the road.

　Oh, this is the way it has to be.

　The girl bit her lip and cursed her voiceless throat. Oh, if only she had a voice, she would curse not only her throat, but the whole world.

　The trumpet of my last wish no longer means anything. My brother, who used to rush to me whenever he heard it, will never come.

　Ah, but that's better. If I die, maybe my brave brother will come back to life. Maybe he'll change everything.

　So that man doesn't have to come.

　The saber glows blue as it swings down. You'll never make it. His slender right arm is sliced off. It's no longer within man's reach.

　The sound of people gasping for breath overlaps.

　And then...



I'm not sure what to make of it, but I think it's a good idea.

　I'm not sure if you've heard of it, but I've heard of it.

　In the event that you've got a lot of time, you'll be able to take a look at the web site and find out more about it.

　His shoulders are slightly up and down, and he's breathing hard. Although he was trying to keep up with her, it was only natural since he was running around the poorhouse without a break.

　So I thought she was asking for a break, and I opened my mouth.

"Sorry, not so restful. Whenever he blows his trumpet, it's when the devil's arm is around his neck. And he's so elusive that he doesn't seem happy when you brush his arm away.

　He slows down a little, but he's still going fast, following the back roads. The ghettos are strangely dark everywhere you go.

　When I looked behind me, Fialat shook his head as if to deny my words. I narrowed my eyes and asked him what it was all about, and he said under his breath.

He said, with a broken breath, "Well, ...... you look like nothing. Are you actually mad at me?

　The words that he said to me, though choppy, were strangely weak. It was very different from what I had heard before I left.

　I rolled my eyes and reflexively cleared my throat.

　I tried to speak, but he sounded so weak that I had no idea what to say to him.

　What is the matter with you? I've never seen or heard such weakness before in my travels.

　You're not a woman who cares about my feelings. No, you were not a woman who cared about my feelings.

"Well, I guess I'm still annoyed by ....... ....... It was forced on me, and I'm not really good at anything. ...... But when you leave me behind, I feel like you don't need me. ......

　While I was searching for words to say, Fialat's expletive continued, as if he was turning his heart inside out and letting his emotions flow. All the while, I didn't look back. I didn't turn around.

　I thought she was very, very strong. To see her so weak. It's kind of bad, kind of depressing. Like I didn't want to see it. I had these feelings in my heart. Oh, I should've thought of it as a weakness and just held on to her.

　I see a light in front of me. We should be on the main road soon. Maybe the sound of the trumpet will come from there.

I know, I know. I know I'm being weird. But come on. ......

　You don't have to leave me here. The mumbled words in a sultry tone told me that the haze in his heart had not yet cleared.

Who said I don't need it? No, it's necessary, Fearless. In fact, apparently, I can't go on stage by myself.

　The words that I had been scrambling to formulate in my brain, trying to figure out how to address Fialaat, fizzled out in an instant.

　The scene in front of me tore them to shreds as if they were unnecessary. The figure of the Guardsmen, sabers drawn. The denizens of the ghettos refusing to stop them. And there's a girl being held up, Cereal, Wood's sister.

　Not in time. She's still so small that no matter how hard I run from here, I'll never make it. It's beyond human limits. Only the gifted can cross that line.

　I'm not. So at this rate, all ends will naturally follow the course of the world.
　The girl's right arm falls off, the poor people in the ghettos accept the consequences with resignation, and the guards live to trample on them.

　It's an ending I don't like. Yes, I don't like it.

　But you can't reach that stage alone.

"Come on, Fialaat. I'm out of luck. I'm not gonna make it there without your help. Do it fast and do it right.

　He said with a forced smile on his cheeks, even though he didn't have much time to spare. I know I'm being ridiculous.

　However, I couldn't help but say nothing to the weak figure that I could just see.

　I understand the urge to trample on myself, thinking that I can do nothing myself. I am deeply aware of the pain of being unneeded, of sinking into the mud.

　For a moment, Fialat's dark eyes widened and he stiffened. But it was only for a moment, really.

Yes, I've got it. I'm going to treat you exactly the way you deserve to be treated because I'm the one who cast you.

　I've seen that look before. I've seen that look before.

　I'm sure it's the same Fiorato La Volgograd I once saw with my own eyes.