"Either the situation wasn't obvious enough for you — or your brain genuinely only has that much space in it..."
The man in uniform clicked his tongue and spelled it out: "As you can see — every one of these things is something you have discarded at some point."
"I thought, being a cat, you wouldn't have many attachments beyond food and yarn balls. I underestimated animals' capacity for sentiment. But it looks like things end here. You can't even move — killing me is out of the question."
"Doesn't matter. The Holy Corpse is already mine."
He stood, looking down at her. A flicker of something that might have been regret passed through his eyes.
Compared to his Stand attacks, it was the spring's curse that had truly pinned her. Time had shifted gradually — but the sunset itself arrived in minutes.
The roots were replacing her body, piece by piece. It wasn't just that breathing had become difficult. By now, the only part of her still capable of movement was her eyes.
In desperation, Yimi remembered she still had something left, and called inward: "Feed it energy — all of it!"
She meant for the System to absorb the spring water and the membrane encasing her.
"Notice for Host: Energy not belonging to the Host cannot be infused."
"Lao Wu!"
Never mind — she still had the frog. The demon could help her.
"People will always discard something to keep moving forward."
The familiar words came again — but not from the eerie, hollow voice of the enemy's Stand.
The phantom of the corpse's owner appeared, crowned in thorns, bending close to whisper directly in the cat's ear:
"Just let it go..."
"Mrow?"
"Just let it go..."
"...Let go of what?"
For the first time, Yimi felt a flicker of genuine irritation toward the corpse's owner. She finally understood — this saint who had lectured her endlessly had never once, in any moment that truly mattered, given her any concrete help. The only one who could actually help her right now was the demon.
"Just let it go..."
Yimi stopped listening to his incomprehensible words and reached for the thread of her contract with the demon.
And in that instant, her sight was filled by a mass of black.
Amid all the objects the enemy's Stand had conjured and scattered around the room, there was human hair. Long hair. A woman's hair.
She wore glasses. She looked just over twelve — small in frame, dressed in a fashionable long coat from the 22nd century.
She lay among the debris, staring blankly up at the cat, and called out Yimi's true name:
"Juanjuan..."
This was Yimi's mother.
A cheap imitation conjured by the Stand called 『Civil War』, built from Yimi's own memories.
The cat's heart — almost entirely replaced by roots by now — lurched. Something beyond the physical had been struck.
Pride. A pride that felt almost human.
Eisal R.O. His Stand: 『Civil War』. Within a defined area, it uses the target's memories to manifest their sins and all things they have ever discarded. Any contact causes the target to merge with these manifestations, sealing their movement inside a membrane.
In truth, without his Stand's interference, Yimi — mid-punishment from the spring's curse — was already virtually unable to move.
As his uniform suggested, Eisal had once been a soldier of this country.
In 1863, young and dreaming of becoming a musician, he was conscripted instead to one of the most remote sentry posts on the front. Day after day staring at the horrors of the battlefield, he — never meant for war — developed a drinking habit. On the one day it mattered most, he slept through his watch, just as enemy forces were quietly approaching his position in the trees.
His task had been simple: light a signal fire to warn allied soldiers several kilometers away. He didn't do it. He pulled his hat over his face and pretended not to see.
Because the moment he lit that fire, the enemy would spot him and shoot.
In the dark, he survived. His comrades and the townspeople who were ambushed — their fate was easy to imagine.
Every one of them was a sin he carried, a guilt that would never leave him. It was one of the reasons he had agreed to help the President collect the Holy Corpse —
To have someone kill him.
A person cannot take another's life without guilt. As long as someone killed him within his Stand's range, all the sins he bore would be purified — and transferred to the killer. And then, his Stand's second ability would trigger: he would be resurrected in the form of the burden the killer now carried.
This was why he had voluntarily revealed his own weakness to his enemy. Play helpless, present as fair — make the victor feel the kill was undeserved. Plant the guilt. The guilt would do the rest.
But would a cat feel guilt for killing someone?
Low creatures like cats would toy with a sparrow for sport — bat it around until it died, then walk away without a second thought. That was simply their nature.
He had absolutely no desire to bet his resurrection on whether this particular animal had a conscience.
Though — looking at the small girl his Stand had conjured — was she this cat's owner? An Eastern face, unexpectedly sweet and easy to feel protective of. She probably hadn't expected her beloved pet to one day abandon her and go wandering the world. Then again, that was just cats — the moment something more interesting appeared, they would drop everything and run...
Did cats even have a concept of home?
A quiet scoff.
"Just let it go..."
"There is no absolute fairness in this world, cat."
The cat understood. Finally — the true meaning behind the corpse owner's words.
"Trade," Yimi said.
Her throat was constricted by roots. The word came out rough, barely a sound.
"Oh, you can talk. Is that also something the Holy Corpse does?"
Yimi didn't answer.
Before Eisal's stunned eyes, her eyes, ears, legs, arms, and spine detached from her body one by one — and moved toward him on their own. Then, to his even greater shock, they merged with him.
"How..."
The Holy Corpse recognized him?
Impossible. He was a sinner. How could someone like him receive the Holy Corpse's recognition? His desire to transfer his sins to another was driven partly by guilt — but there was another part, a small and private corner of himself, that wanted to be purified. Not because he craved the act, but as proof. Proof that he was no longer the man who carried those sins.
And now the Holy Corpse — the Saint himself, in effect — had recognized him. Even with those sins unwashed... did that mean he still possessed something the Saint deemed worthy?
"Trade," the cat said again. The wooden paralysis seemed to ease slightly.
"A trade?" Eisal blinked, then put the pieces together: "Ah... my goal was always the Holy Corpse. It makes sense that you'd try to hand it over to beg for mercy, after being overwhelmed by all those discarded things."
"Remarkable, truly. Just a cat — yet you can speak. You display emotions and behaviors that should only belong to humans. Pity that in terms of intelligence, you're probably not even at the level of a human child."
Eisal was in high spirits. He didn't mind a few parting words: "Since I already have what I need — what reason would I have to spare you?"
He produced a box of matches and a pre-prepared oil can, intending to light the place and leave. He wouldn't kill her within the range of his Stand — that would be absurd, to inherit her 'sins' like that.
"You... accepted it."
His action — accepting the Holy Corpse Yimi had discarded — constituted acceptance of the trade.
The wooden paralysis had already spread across Yimi's eyes; Eisal couldn't read her gaze even if he had tried. And even if he could, no one could decipher anything from a cat's pupils.
The trade was valid.