Inside the hall of a three-story villa on Island 39 of the Sabaody Archipelago.
"How about working for me?"
"What did you say!?"
Rim stared at him, stunned. What was he thinking?
"You're not joking, are you?
You took control of the Breaths of the Gods from me.
And now, you actually want me to work for you."
"That's right."
Sephiroth nodded.
"I greatly appreciate your talent in meteorology. I hope you can work for me..."
"Hey! Are you mistaken?"
Rim cut him off.
"Given our current relationship, do you think that's possible?"
By absorbing the girl's blood, Sephiroth had learned her history. Two hundred years ago, Rim had risen above the many meteorologists on the Vafflard—a sky island renowned for its meteorological studies—to become the controller of the Breaths of the Gods.
She was a genius, possessing expertise that allowed her to command the legendary weather phenomenon.
That was precisely why Sephiroth had extended the offer.
"First, you are the last survivor of the Vafflard.
Second, the World Government covets the Breaths of the Gods. They never let go of any clue or person related to the Vafflard. If you're exposed, they'll hunt you down—and I might be exposed too.
So if you refuse to cooperate, I won't let you leave. I'll deal with you myself.
Third, you've noticed your physical condition, haven't you?
You hibernated within the Breaths of the Gods for two hundred years, but your injuries were never treated.
They never healed. They festered. Ordinary doctors can't fix you.
By my estimate, with proper rest, you have maybe two or three months left.
But I can heal you.
What do you say?
Do you think cooperation is possible now?"
"..."
Rim lowered her head, silent.
Two hundred years ago, the Vafflard fell from ten thousand meters and crashed into the Blue Sea. The impact left her with devastating internal injuries.
The Breaths of the Gods had preserved her, using low temperatures to induce a semi-conscious hibernation. Gentle currents of electricity had stimulated her body, preventing her from dying as her injuries worsened.
But...
Two hundred years is a long time. It doesn't mean she's cured.
Even now, she could feel the deep ache in her organs. Every breath scraped her lungs.
"What is your name?"
"Karl D. Sephiroth. And yours?"
"Rim."
"Are you really not with the World Government?"
"Well...
I am a Marine, technically. It's a convenient cover.
But I have my own organization. I'm not asking you to join the Marines. I'm asking you to join me."
Rim looked up, studying the silver-haired young man for a long moment.
He had taken the Breaths of the Gods. She was dying from old wounds.
And he'd made it clear: refuse, and she dies.
Her life now hung on her answer.
As for whether Sephiroth's words are true or false, that is ...
Without the Breaths of the Gods, she had little exploitable value beyond her meteorological expertise.
Suddenly, Rim recalled the scene of Sephiroth teasing her. Annoyance and regret twisted inside her. Why was she so weak-willed as to have strange thoughts about that scoundrel?
What she didn't know was that the blood Sephiroth had injected while reading her memories still lingered in her veins.
Facing her angry scolding, he'd felt a flash of displeasure—and the impulse to tease her.
So he'd used that lingering blood to plant a subconscious suggestion.
To be fair, if Sephiroth used conscious hypnosis to seduce someone, a mere flick of his finger would render most women obedient… unless their will was exceptionally strong.
But he had no need for such methods. Plenty of women already wanted to sleep with him.
Compared to that crude, unromantic trick, he far preferred the slow, satisfying成就感 of capturing a heart step by step.
After a long silence, Rim finally spoke.
"I'll work for you.
But you heal my injuries first. Otherwise, there's nothing to discuss."
"Fine. No problem."
Sephiroth nodded easily.
Her internal injuries were severe, merely dormant for now. When they erupted, she'd likely die on the spot.
The Breaths of the Gods was damaged; repairing it would require a professional like Rim. He also coveted the Vafflard's soul-crystal and guardian-statue technologies, and needed her help to decipher them.
He could, of course, lock her in a basement and continuously drain her blood to extract the knowledge.
But…
How to put it?
He already had too many research projects. He was stretched thin. And his desire for Vafflard's ancient tech was keen enough that recruiting Rim as a subordinate seemed the fastest route.
After seizing control of the Breaths of the Gods, he'd found the thing somewhat… useless.
This ancient weapon required a brainwave connection for perfect control. Without it, he could only issue commands and let the weapon's own will decide how to attack.
That meant Sephiroth had to stay in the cockpit to unleash its full power.
Truthfully, piloting it let him unleash super-large-scale area attacks without cost or restriction, but it didn't truly improve his own inherent strength.
Against top-tier masters, driving the Breaths of the Gods might be less effective than just going in himself with a knife.
So in his hands, it could only serve as a guardian for his main base—a deterrent against the World Government launching a super-scale aerial sneak attack to obliterate all he'd built.
He imagined a future where the Umbrella Corporation could mass-produce replicas. He'd issue one to every island under his command.
Really, if the Breaths of the Gods didn't require staying in the cockpit—if it could be perfectly controlled via brainwave connection—its strategic value would skyrocket.
Hmm!?... Wait, brainwave connection!?...
Sephiroth immediately considered Marie Gold's Rumble-Rumble Fruit ability. For her, manipulating electrical signals wouldn't be a problem.
If she could remotely control the Breaths of the Gods… the possibilities would be endless.
I'll have to let her try it someday.
But for now, I need to keep the Breaths of the Gods under my direct control.
After all, in the future, I will have to send a dedicated research team to reside on the Vafflard to study the ancient technology there…