AKAME ASSASINATION (54)
The Aquatic Blue Station, Nairobi Branch, felt less like a transit hub and more like a grand, hollow museum dedicated to the concept of travel. Vast, vaulted ceilings of steel and glass stretched overhead, letting in great swathes of sterile morning light that illuminated… emptiness. The cavernous hall echoed with the ghosts of footsteps that weren't there. Benches stood in perfect, desolate rows. Departure boards displayed frozen schedules next to the haunting, omnipresent word: CANCELLED.
It was unnerving. This artery of the nation, which should have been throbbing with the chaotic lifeblood of commerce and commuters, was clinically still. A stark contrast to the sweaty, vibrant chaos of the Kisumu terminal.
"I honestly thought there would be more people," Gil said, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet. He had been untied and now stood on his own two feet, testing his balance. His previous clothes were a lost cause—torn, burnt, and stiff with dried void-ichor. Fortunately, a spare set had been stored in what was essentially Lynn's pocket dimension (an ability hinted at back in the murk of Chapter 35). He now wore a simple, clean white t-shirt and durable trousers. In hindsight, white might attract attention, but it was a minor concern against the backdrop of their current surreal predicament.
"It was packed to the rafters when I used it to get to Kisumu," Koji confirmed, his hunter's senses on high alert, scanning the unnatural stillness. "This isn't right. It's been sanitized."
"Wow! Can I have that?" Catherine, blissfully immune to atmospheric tension, had her face pressed against the glass of a souvenir kiosk, her breath fogging the pane as she stared at a rack of plush toy zebras.
"I don't think now's the time for a shopping spree," Akame remarked, not looking at her, his emerald eyes methodically sweeping the concourse.
"But I want it," Catherine whined, deploying her ultimate weapon: The Pout. It was a look of such pure, distilled, heartbreaking entreaty that it could theoretically soften stone and derail empires.
"Can we focus?" Gil interjected, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I can barely remember the plot from our departure." (A fair admission, given the narrative has spanned over 80 chapters of twists, voids, and existential dread.)
"Then let's recap," Akame stated, his voice cutting through the distraction with calm authority. He began ticking points off on his fingers. "Primary objective: reach Kisumu, board the Aquatic Blue to Nairobi."
"Secondary complication: encountered Vatican Knights—Teddy and Jericho," Gil added, picking up the thread. "Acquired tickets via a contract with Mr. Koji, in exchange for protection."
"Current status: objective achieved. We are in Nairobi. Next logical step: proceed to the international port and secure passage out of Loliwe."
"But we'll hit the same wall," Koji pointed out, his expression grim. "No licenses, no registrations. Three of us are internationally wanted. One of us"—he glanced at Catherine—"officially doesn't exist."
"Technically true," Akame conceded. "Which is why we're now in dire need of Blake's support. I've let this situation escalate by trying to handle it alone."
'I was being selfish,' Akame thought, a rare flicker of self-reproach in his mind. 'Instead of leveraging his resources from the start, I chose a convoluted path. It endangered everyone. The only silver lining is the training Gil received from Koji.'
The four of them instinctively drew closer, forming a tight, conspiratorial huddle in the middle of the vast, empty hall.
"We need precision from here on out," Akame whispered, his voice a low hum. "I have a strong suspicion we are not alone in this building."
"It would make tactical sense," Koji agreed, his hand drifting subtly toward the hilt of Shizen. "If the bounty is active, this is the most logical choke point. They'd lock it down."
"So… what do we do?" Catherine asked, finally tearing her eyes from the zebra, her tone curious but detached from the gravity of their predicament.
"Can't you just print more fake tickets, Mr. Koji?" Gil suggested.
"I could," Koji admitted. "But with this level of lockdown, they'll be running serial numbers and biometrics. A fake ticket would be a red flag that gets us detained on the spot. It's a risk."
"Then we don't need tickets," Akame said, a plan crystallizing behind his impassive green eyes. "I have another idea."
***
SORCERER ASSOCIATION HQ – NAIROBI BRANCH
The atmosphere here was the polar opposite—a pressurized hive of controlled urgency.
In a sleek, minimalist bathroom on the 50th floor, Maomao leaned against the cool marble wall, staring at her phone. The screen displayed a call log filled with red 'missed' icons next to a single name: Koji.
She lifted the device to her ear one more time. A cheerful, automated voice answered: "The person you are trying to reach is currently doing something really important! Probably. So, you know, leave a message? Please?"
Beep.
"Hey… um. It's me. I'm in Loliwe. Nairobi, actually. I think that's where you said you'd be? So, if you get this before you… leave… let's meet up."
She ended the call and let her arm drop, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.
"He's still not answering?" Rika asked from the sink, where she was meticulously washing her hands, her reflection in the mirror a mask of perfect composure.
"Nope." Maomao's voice was small, troubled.
"Men are congenital idiots." Rika tore a paper towel from the dispenser with precise efficiency. "But Koji-san is pathologically honest. Lying is a physical impossibility for him. He's likely just… in a zone."
"I know, I know. It just… feels like he's been absent for months. Even when he's right there, you know?"
"I understand the sentiment. It can feel like your time together isn't valued." Rika's advice sounded rehearsed, pulled from a handbook on relationship management rather than lived experience. "The only solution is a frank conversation. Address the issues. Find a mutually agreeable path forward."
"Rika-chan." Maomao's voice shifted, losing its airy quality, becoming deadly serious.
"Hmm?"
"If Akame-kun were standing right here, in my place… would you cut him down? Instantly?"
"Obviously—"
"Think about it. Really think. Before you answer."
Rika turned, her polished facade finally showing a hairline fracture of irritation. "What's gotten into you?"
"I know you don't love Germain, Rika-chan."
Rika stopped drying her hands. The silence in the bathroom became deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the ventilation. "It's an arranged marriage. A political union. Love is a secondary, often inconvenient, variable."
"Notice how you said 'arranged' this time. Not 'engaged.'"
"You're not making sense."
"I'm saying you only hide behind 'I'm engaged to Germain' when you want to avoid talking about how you actually feel."
Rika didn't flinch, but a glacial coldness settled in her eyes. She discarded the towel with a sharp, final motion. "Look. If I find him first, I will kill him. Efficiently. I will sever his head, or pierce his heart. There will be no hesitation. So you can stop worrying about my resolve."
She adjusted the cuff of her blazer, the movement sharp and final. "Come. We have a strategy meeting. Junichi's theatrics won't plan themselves."
Maomao watched her friend stride toward the door, a knot of worry tightening in her chest.
'I'm worried about Koji-chan,' she thought, using the affectionate suffix she reserved for him alone, a private nod to his surprisingly gentle features. 'And I'm worried about Rika-chan, too. It feels like the Five Swords are only held together now by the glue of a shared murder mission—the murder of our oldest friend.'
She clenched her small fists, the fabric of her shinobi shozoku tightening across her knuckles.
'If we could just… talk to him. Hear his side. Maybe we'd understand what really happened that day.'
"Rika-chan is such a terrible liar," Maomao whispered to the empty room, before following her out.
The hallway outside was a sterile tube of polished floor and indirect lighting, a stark contrast to the organic tension they carried. They were on the 50th floor of a shimmering glass monolith—the Nairobi headquarters of the Sorcerer Association. Within its walls, over ten thousand people worked, but only a fraction, about 250, were actual combat sorcerers. That number now included Rika, Maomao, and the elite core of the Okinawa Group. Junichi, true to form, was already somewhere in the urban jungle below, hunting by instinct alone.
Leaving Rika and Maomao to handle the tedious, vital calculus of consequences.
"I hate that we're the ones stuck with this," Maomao grumbled as they power-walked toward the conference suite.
"There's no alternative," Rika replied, her heels clicking a rapid, authoritative rhythm on the marble. "If we let Junichi-san run loose, he'll level half the city. We'll need to budget for deploying every local saint and sorcerer on damage control and bribe officials to look the other way. Not to mention the actual reparations."
"Why can't Benny-kun handle it?" Maomao asked, referring to Benson Wamalwa, the nominal head of the Nairobi branch.
"Benny is currently enjoying a very expensive, all-expenses-paid 'urgent fact-finding mission' to the coastal resorts. We need the city's administrative spine to be… pliable. Our goal is to contain the calamity to one designated zone. I've already selected the site."
They arrived at a set of imposing double doors. Rika pushed them open without breaking stride.
The room beyond was a war room. One entire wall was a floor-to-ceiling window offering a dizzying, god's-eye view of Nairobi. The other walls were covered in digital maps, satellite imagery, and personnel dossiers. At least two dozen analysts and mid-level sorcerers sat at banks of computers, their faces illuminated by the glow of screens, a low murmur of tense conversation filling the air.
Maomao peered over Rika's shoulder at the organized chaos.
"Well," she sighed, her youthful face looking suddenly very tired. "This looks like it's going to be such a drag."
TO BE CONTINUED!