"Unbelievable. Did they all coordinate this beforehand? There's no way they didn't."
Gil dragged a hand down his face, thoroughly fed up with people who clearly had zero concept of timing or boundaries.
Granted, nobody in this hellhole actually knew what time it was, but still—the sheer lack of basic courtesy was giving him a headache.
Whatever brief moment of peace they had was officially blown to hell, and Gil was not in a good mood.
Not even a little bit.
Once again, uninvited guests were crashing their space.
"Alright," Gil muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he tracked the approaching shadows through the dark. His grip tightened, the fresh mental strain from earlier fading beneath a spike of pure irritation. "Let's see what these bastards want now..."
Through the link, both Kuro and Greg felt the volatile surge of Gil's mood.
Kuro simply shook her head, keeping her thoughts to herself: Well... I'll just let him blow off some steam. I'm definitely not getting involved.
Greg, on the other hand, couldn't suppress a mischievous little smirk.
As long as I'm not the one on the receiving end this time, he thought.
The two of them exchanged a brief, silent glance, tacitly agreeing to stay out of the crossfire—though remaining on standby in case things spiraled out of control.
Moments later, the figures emerged from the gloom.
There were two distinct parties arriving at the exact same time.
On one side stood the dynamic duo: the hummer and the giant red-haired man.
On the other... was the Scholar, there all by himself.
Now this really takes the cake, Gil thought.
Temporarily setting the duo aside, Gil zeroed in on the bastard who had come alone.
He actually dares to come looking for me right now? This is going to be fun.
Keeping his composure, Gil let them approach. The Scholar offered a polite nod toward the duo who had arrived alongside him, then took the first step toward Gil's small group.
"Good evening... or perhaps good morning. It's impossible to tell in a place like this, isn't it? I am Mao," he began, attempting a smooth, refined tone.
"I'd say it's a bad evening,'" Gil cut him off sharply, his voice dripping with venom. "And at this hour, decent people are usually sleeping. But apparently, you wouldn't know anything about that."
The Scholar, Mao, froze, caught completely off guard.
A flicker of confusion crossed his face: I knew I wouldn't get a warm welcome, but why is he being so openly aggressive? I've never said a bad word against him, nor have I shown him any hostility, have I?... At least not openly.
Uneasy, he cleared his throat to regain his footing. "Ah... yes, well, I apologize for the intrusion. But I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you. What would you say to an exchange of information?"
Gil scanned him from head to toe.
After an agonizingly tense silence, a cold, disdainful smirk spread across Gil's face.
"An exchange of information, you say? Come on, speak the truth. Isn't it more like you want to squeeze information out of me?"
The Scholar flinched slightly, but to his credit, he quickly smoothed over his expression. "No, I am talking about a genuine, mutual exchange. After all, I've managed to piece together a few clues, and I thought combining our knowledge would give us a better chance against whatever comes next."
Contrary to what he had expected after the rough start, Gil actually nodded.
"Hmm. What you're saying actually makes sense," Gil said thoughtfully. Then, his tone dropped an octave. "So I'll give you one chance. Prove it."
Gil raised his right hand, holding up three fingers. "Three words."
The Scholar blinked, stunned. "Huh? Three words?"
"Yes, three words," Gil confirmed, his gaze cold and unyielding. "You have three words to convince me of the value of your information. If it's actually relevant, we trade. If not... well, you leave me and my friends in peace. We have things to do. What do you say?"
Mao's expression instantly turned grim.
His mind started racing at breakneck speed, analyzing every piece of intel he had gathered so far.
Gil didn't rush him—at least not at first. But after a quiet, agonizing pause, he tapped his foot impatiently.
"Tick-tock, Scholar. Give me the three words."
Scholar?
Mao and everyone else there blinked at the nickname.
Forcing himself to regain his composure, Mao took a breath and offered his first word:
"First word: Kidnapping."
"Mm-hmm," Gil murmured, tilting his head slightly in a gesture that silently invited him to elaborate.
"I've gathered details from the recent survivors about how our captors select their targets and the precise timing of their abductions—"
"Yeah, that's all very fascinating," Gil cut him off smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "But that kind of information is only useful to the people out there trying to find us—if they exist. Seeing as we're already locked up in here, knowing their standard operating procedure on the outside doesn't do a damn thing for us right now."
Gritting his teeth, Mao swallowed his frustration, pivoting quickly to his second point.
"Second word: Influence."
Gil signaled for him to continue, utterly unamused.
"An operation of this scale couldn't last this long without high-level complicity," Mao explained, leaning in slightly. "I suspect key individuals within the Federation—or at least within the Law Enforcement Squads—are actively in on it."
Gil stared back at him, entirely unbothered. "That's basic deduction," he scoffed. "Most of us here might be castaways, but young bodies are still valuable resources. A society designed to exploit every scrap of usable material wouldn't just sit on its hands while scores of kids vanish into thin air—unless someone at the top was getting paid to look the other way. Old news, Scholar. Try again. You've got one chance left."
Mao closed his eyes, taking a prolonged, deliberate breath. He realized playing it safe with standard macro-analysis wasn't going to cut it with Gil.
He needed to drop something raw, something specific that hit much closer to home.
Opening his eyes, he looked straight into Gil's.
"The third word... is Sacrifice."
That caught Gil's attention. His casual demeanor vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp focus.
"Go on," Gil said softly, his voice dropping into a deadly quiet. "What about it?"
At the word sacrifice, Gil instantly knew that whatever was coming next was serious.
A quick sensory scan of Mao's emotions confirmed it: despite his arrogance, the Scholar wasn't making this up. Beneath the layers of anxiety, trepidation, and confusion, even Mao himself regarded this piece of intel as dangerously volatile.
Around them, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
Kuro leaned in slightly, her senses sharp and attuned to every word. Greg, though he hadn't grasped every detail, straightened up with a surprisingly solemn look on his face, his eyes locked on the Scholar.
Even the hummer and the red-haired giant quieted down, waiting to hear what the intellectual had uncovered.
Now the undisputed center of attention, Mao regained a sliver of his usual composure, and a subtle, arrogant smirk began to creep back onto his lips.
Gil felt a wave of disgust, but he forced it down. He was proud, sure, but he wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't let his personal distaste for the guy get in the way of vital survival intel.
Taking a slow, deliberate breath, Gil raised a single finger.
"One question," he declared coldly. "Only one. Out of those three words, sacrifice is the only one that bought you my time. You get one question answered in exchange. Choose wisely."
The Scholar's smirk evaporated on the spot.
His mind went into overdrive, weighing the massive tactical value of a single guaranteed answer from Gil.
He already knew what he should ask—what would give him the greatest strategic edge. But before he could stop himself, a lingering frustration slipped through his filter, and the words tumbled out before he could pull them back:
"Why are you so hostile toward me? I don't recall us ever having a conflict."
The others looked at Gil as well, having also noted his clear dislike of Mao.
Gil stared at him in complete, heavy silence.
For a long second, Mao thought he'd blown his only chance on a personal grievance and wouldn't get a response at all.
Then, Gil's lips curved into a razor-thin, icy smile.
"If that's really the question you want to burn your token on... fine," he replied smoothly. "Let's just say I don't like hypocrites. People who think one thing, but act out another. Make of that what you will. I've answered your question."
Gil took a half-step forward, his eyes locking onto Mao, unconsciously exuding a suffocating pressure.
"Now. Tell me what you mean by sacrifice."
The temperature in the corridor dropped instantly.
Everyone present—Kuro, Greg, even the duo watching from the side—understood the unspoken ultimatum: if Mao didn't deliver a damn good answer in the next ten seconds, things were about to get very ugly, very fast.