The audience in the real world stared up at the massive projection, feeling the exact same crushing sense of absurdity as Kuchiba Hiro.
It was like a fresh graduate meeting a billionaire, a newly licensed driver going up against an F1 champion, or a level-one newbie being dropped right in front of the final boss. The gap in power and status was so impossibly wide that the mere thought of fighting back felt laughable.
"Wait… the final boss is a woman?!"
"Yeah, and an insanely beautiful one with a terrifying aura."
"I'm switching sides! Sorry, Seventh Master, but from now on, I'm Makima's dog! licks screen"
"Are you seriously letting her looks blind you? Did you forget how messed up the Ark Project is, or why the Seventh Master wants revenge in the first place?"
"Wake up! She's the one making the rules! And the rules are the cruelest part of all this!"
"But… she looks so gentle. And her voice is incredible…"
"Give it a rest. Everyone preaches about equality, but secretly worships the people at the top. Just admit it—you're jealous of her power, and you want it for yourself!"
Back on campus, the real Kuchiba Hiro stared up at the projection, his expression darker than ever. The memory of the contract he'd received from "The Authorities" yesterday—riddled with hidden traps and vague threats—flashed unbidden through his mind.
Was this woman, Makima, the one pulling the strings? Was she the one who set the trap?
On the screen, the broadcast continued...
(Confronted by Kuchiba Hiro's "What do you want?" Makima didn't beat around the bush at all. In her gentle, level voice—straightforward, honest, without a trace of condescension—she delivered the most dismissive line possible:
"I'm here to take you as my dog."
Kuchiba Hiro's pupils shrank; fury flared. He hadn't been raised to scare easy, and when someone spits in your face, you spit back.
"Hah," he sneered, eyes sharp as blades. "And how will you do that? A fight? Beat me into submission?"
Right then, a waiter beamed and bustled over, setting their ordered dishes on the table with a cheerful "Enjoy!" before hurrying off.
Makima didn't answer immediately. She lifted her large beer mug and chugged half in one go, then spoke as if stating a fact, "When a dog won't obey, I don't mind teaching it a lesson—violence is a fine way to break it in."
Her golden-ringed eyes fixed on Kuchiba Hiro. For no clear reason, she added, "You're special," then concluded, "Looks like I'll have to use violence to tame you."
Click.
Under the table, Kuchiba Hiro's hand already gripped the pistol in the holster at his back; the safety slid off. The air froze, battle imminent.
Yet Makima pivoted as if those threatening words had never left her lips, her tone turning casual, "But no rush. I'm hungry; let's eat first."
With that, she pulled her steaming bowl of udon toward her, lifted her chopsticks, and began eating daintily, as though she'd merely come for dinner.
The thought, "Run now!" flashed through Kuchiba Hiro's mind, but reason held him. She was the highest-level person he'd ever met—and possibly the only one who knew the ark's exact location. Where could he run? A clue like this might never come again. He raced through plans to pry information out of her.
As if they were ordinary friends, Makima reminded him, her chopsticks pointing at his bowl, "Aren't you going to eat? Noodles go soggy if you wait."
Kuchiba Hiro stared at her for a few seconds, irritation surging. You mess with my head, then tell me to chill and eat? You think I'm scared? Fine—eat it is!
With reckless defiance, he grabbed his chopsticks, twisted up a huge wad of noodles, and slurped them down, his eyes never leaving Makima, every sense on high alert. Who knew if she'd strike the moment he relaxed?
Thus, in the izakaya's warm ambience, the two ate in eerie silence, the only sounds being the faint clink of bowls and the scrape of chopsticks.
Makima soon finished her first beer; a faint blush tinted her cheeks. She lifted a second foaming mug, and just as she was about to drink, her gaze landed on Kuchiba Hiro's own beer.
For whatever reason, she extended her glass toward him and said naturally, "Come on, let's clink."
Kuchiba Hiro's hand froze mid-air while his mind raced—trap? Poison? A signal to attack?
But his senses reported only calm, as if she'd simply felt like a toast.
Fed up with endless suspicion and passivity, he asked bluntly, "Why clink glasses?"
Her answer was oddly innocent, almost naïve, "Because in movies people clink when they're happy. Meeting you makes me happy, so—let's clink."
The reply left Kuchiba Hiro confused, half-wanting to laugh. Happy to meet me? You want to beat me and make me your dog, and that makes you happy? He grumbled inwardly but only answered stiffly, "Well, I'm not happy."
Makima lowered her glass, her delicate face creasing in puzzlement. "Right… both sides have to be happy for a toast." She tilted her head, pondering. "So how can I make you happy?"
A sudden realization seemed to strike her. "The ark… oh, yes, the ark. You want to know where it is—want to destroy it?"
Kuchiba Hiro's heart leapt; he stared hard.
But Makima shook her head, apologetic...
"Sorry, I can't let you destroy it. It's… prepared for the people.")
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