TBR CH116: Extra

1. The Gradually Unfolding Sonata

The chapel was built by the sea, where the ocean breeze gently stirred a weathered signpost carved with a seagull. Around it, low shrubs grew carelessly. In front of the vine-entwined wooden door, Father Peter wore a stern expression—not because he was unhappy, but because this old man only smiled when something truly delighted him.

For example, when he saw two figures walking along the long cape, he broke into the kind, tolerant smile of someone looking at two young lovers. He stepped forward, drew a cross over his chest, and blessed them with peace and joy.

“Good afternoon, Father Peter,” Asta greeted politely with a bow.
“You know why we’re here. The wedding is tomorrow—thank you so much for helping us. We’d like to confirm the process one last time.”

The old man gave a cough, turned around, and motioned for them to follow him into the chapel.

It had been over three months since Asta and Isidore settled in the small town. First, they needed to put down roots before doing anything else. During that time, they built good relationships with most of the neighbors and transformed the first floor of their villa into a bakery named Steloj, which also served fresh coffee.

Before this, Isidore had done some proper market research. Garden City already had a few well-established patisseries, but none close enough to St. Laice Street to be in direct competition. They selected a few creative desserts as their specialties, and the sweet aroma of cream wafting through the streets each morning easily attracted passersby.

The takeout window efficiently served customers looking for a quick coffee fix, with customizations for milk, sugar, and cinnamon. For those wanting to sit in a bright room adorned with fresh flowers and enjoy their time in peace, the bakery also delivered that experience.

Isidore was smart, almost like he could stretch a moment into two and use both. He had already learned most baking techniques along the way. His cakes had perfect color and fluffiness, his cookies were golden like coins, and his whipped cream was snow-white, piled high on pancakes. With top-quality ingredients sourced from nearby farms, they even had a pending commercial agreement with the local dairy.

But Asta was the real baking expert.

Every baker has dreamed of having a third hand—especially when everything happens at once: the oven beeping, cream almost reaching perfect consistency, milk boiling over, and a sundae about to melt from neglect.

But the monster had no such problem. It had countless tentacles—one pouring milk while another closed the oven, one stirring a latte while another placed freshly baked bread on the pickup conveyor belt.

It sanitized every working limb before use. The kitchen ran like clockwork—except for the occasional mismatch between inventory and finished goods.

That was because some tentacles just couldn’t resist tasting a bite here and there… totally understandable, right?

They weren’t trying to make a fortune. Garden City had a relatively low cost of living, and Isidore had already deposited a massive amount into a bank account under Star’s name. They only ran the store until 5 p.m. and closed two days a week. Leftover food was donated to a local shelter for the homeless, part of their community outreach.

When Father Peter heard that, his already favorable impression of them grew stronger.

He was the classic good man of the town, the kind every place seems to have. Naturally, he agreed to host the wedding. He had extensive experience and made all the preparations himself, sparing the couple most of the effort.

Asta made a batch of invitations and delivered them to everyone they knew. Isidore went to a high-end tailor to pick out suits: a white one with a green patterned tie for himself, and a sleek black suit and tie for Asta—the classic groom’s combo.

“The wedding is tomorrow, and the weather looks good,” Father Peter’s footsteps echoed in the wide corridor.
“But don’t count on sunshine in Garden City—it’s rare. The guests will enter from here, and you two will wait in the small chapel. I’ll guide them in—”

The chapel, like those anywhere else, had rows of stained-glass windows. The colorful enamel reflected long strips of grape-purple and pomegranate-red across the floor, outlining roses and doves, angels and martyrs. Asta raised a hand, and the stained glass colored his palm.

Like the deep blue of the ocean.

Father Peter noticed Asta slowing down and followed his gaze to the stained-glass window. He understood—most visitors from out of town stopped here too. It represented the region’s unique maritime culture.

“That one,” the priest nodded, “is a preserved sea deity motif, hundreds of years old.”

The window was breathtaking: a base of dark ocean blue so intense it seemed ready to drip, layered with pure black patterns resembling secrets from the deep sea surfacing with the waves. Each line was filled with gleaming obsidian, converging like arms from the deep, lifting a single star.

“The original inhabitants lived by fishing. The sea god protected them through the storms—a local tradition.
From a theological standpoint, the sea god is seen as a manifestation of our great Lord, so we’ve preserved the window.”

“We’d never heard of that,” Isidore said with a smile. “But it’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” the priest sighed, “so besides the standard wedding ritual, there’s also a traditional sea-blessing. Everyone loves it, though it’s not strictly part of official rites.”

Asta turned to face him.

“Please,” the black-haired, black-eyed youth blinked earnestly beneath the sea god’s image, “we may not be locals, but we’d really like to have that.”

It sounded strange to be “blessed by oneself,” but also unexpectedly touching.
Asta didn’t want to be a human messiah, but an ancient deity who only appeared during wedding rites? That sounded like a fine role to play.

And the stained-glass window was just so beautiful—like the sea outside.

“You young people,” Father Peter shook his head, but the smile lines at his lips betrayed his real emotion.
“I’d already planned for that. No need to worry. Come on—let me walk you through the rest of the details.”

Their footsteps faded as they continued down the corridor.

2. Andante Like a Song

Before the wedding took place, a few quiet, significant events happened.

The mass monster riot three months ago had ended with the disappearance of Alpha.
The instigators were revealed to be members of the external cult organization known as Black Star.
Thanks to the quick thinking and preventive measures of Special Forces Captain John, the incident only resulted in a few low-risk monster escapes. There were no casualties. Power was swiftly restored—it was practically a miracle.

Government agencies stepped in quickly and arrested all Black Star members.
Strangely, they claimed they hadn’t helped any monsters escape and hadn’t even seen Alpha.
They agreed to bear the losses sustained by the institute and face legal accountability.

The whereabouts of Alpha and the missing monsters remained under ongoing investigation.

John entered his office and immediately spotted the incident report on his desk.
He read it from beginning to end. The tiny printed letters were reflected in his steel-gray eyes, which revealed no emotion—until he let out a faint, almost inaudible laugh.

The report was full of holes.

The biggest flaw? Himself.

His role in the incident was described as “miraculous”—but miracles are, by definition, illogical.
Black Hawk’s movement logs didn’t add up. The timeline was also suspiciously vague.

Unfortunately for the opposition, interrogation of Black Star’s members yielded no evidence connecting the incident to Black Hawk.
On the contrary, this operation cemented John’s reputation as the research facility’s supreme enforcer and gave him a seat at the elite roundtable. He had become one of the decision-makers.

In all the reports, the name “Isidore” was erased—like he’d never existed in the facility.

John focused his energy on optimizing monster containment procedures, revising several of the institute’s original plans.
Within Special Ops, the usually cold and silent members like Ibis and Stork oddly stopped speaking about their encounters with Isidore. In fact, they seemed more human now, along with the rest of the team.

Black Hawk quickly flipped through the new files, paper rustling noisily.

One report mentioned Hill, making his fingers pause briefly.

Hill, once the “Son of God” in the institute’s eyes, had been regarded as humanity’s last hope in dealing with monsters.
Now, he had suddenly lost his mind-influencing abilities.

In the old institute, people like him were always… discarded.

John had improved the conditions within the research institute, but someone who had willingly given up on themselves was beyond saving. Hill could have started a new life—there were many clerical positions available at the institute, and if all else failed, he could have applied to live outside. But the once perfectly handsome boy had completely lost his mind.

Hill screamed shrilly, begging to be freed from the restraints holding him.

But once he was set free, he would go to any lengths to destroy others’ faces—using whatever was at hand, sharp tools, fingernails, even his teeth. He stared at everyone with resentment, even those with the most ordinary appearances. In the end, the institute had no choice but to treat him like a monster—locking him away and avoiding any contact with others.

Amid pain and mad laughter, he eventually slashed and ruined his own face.

John sighed. He knew he had already done everything he could for Hill, but the madness of a human worse than any monster still stirred something in his heart. Maybe this was what humans looked like in the eyes of monsters—especially in Asta’s eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder: how had humans ever struck a deal with it? And how had they later tried everything they could to kill it?

How were the monster and the teacher doing now?

That thought passed through his mind as he signed off on the final document. Perhaps they would never meet again in this lifetime. They had already broken free from the institute like birds escaping a cage, now scattered somewhere in the world—who knew where, doing who knew what. Would there ever be a moment where they remembered him, the way he remembered them?

Wait a moment.

Black Hawk’s pupils contracted—more startled than if a missile had appeared in his office.
As the final document was flipped over, a thick card, a green gemstone, and a colorful package fell out of the folder.

Acting on instinct, he reached first for the unfamiliar package, fully alert.

The loosely sealed wrapper peeled open under careful fingers, dropping its contents into the black blast-proof box in the room:

—A handful of brightly colored candies.

The candy wrappers were translucent and beautiful, printed in elegant script that said “LOVE”, adorned with intricate hearts. John stared at them like he’d seen a ghost, cautiously unwrapping one of them.

No matter how he examined it—it was still just candy.

Before sending them off for testing, Black Hawk turned instead to the white card. It had the same style as the candy, outlined in gold floral designs, forming an archway of blooming flowers.
One glance made it clear—it was an invitation. But no one should have been able to slip something like this into files meant for the Special Forces Captain.

John could hear his own heartbeat, and nervously swallowed.

He recognized the handwriting—sharp as a blade—and the name signed at the bottom of the card.

None of that really mattered, he thought vaguely.
The time was set for fifteen minutes from now, and the location was left unspecified.
The “identity” field had a strange suffix, like a pointed inside joke or a nightmare made real.

But the most terrifying part… was the event’s name:

“Wedding.”

“John Cliff, you are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Mr. Asta and Mr. Isidor.”

At first, Isidor noticed something strange during a tea party at a neighbor’s house.

Even though he and Asta ran a dessert shop together, the elderly woman—her head full of silver hair—still insisted on baking them cranberry cookies. They happily accepted them, since the treats carried the rich, time-worn taste of experience.

The tea party itself was just a casual gathering of familiar neighbors to enjoy some tea and snacks. Nothing unusual—except today, there was an uninvited guest.

A black cat.

Clearly here for free food and drink, the cat wasn’t particularly bright. It pawed at the snowy white tablecloth and then jumped up to occupy an empty chair.

Isidor silently watched it. Asta was in the kitchen helping out, so his chair was the only one left unoccupied. Still, Isidor wasn’t the type to get angry at a cat. But…

The black cat suddenly jumped down and darted away at full speed—without taking a single bite of the food in front of it.

At the same time, Asta pulled out his chair and sat down.

The monster looked a bit puzzled at the cranberry cookie in front of him, which had a bite taken out of it. Isidor stared at him—thinking how much he resembled that black cat, with his white gloves and polite demeanor.

Casually, Isidor removed the cookie.

“It’s fine,”

The human picked up a new treat from his own plate and handed it to the monster. Asta, without hesitation, took a bite from his hand.

“It was just a black cat.”

Garden City was a peaceful town with frequent community events—and recently, these events had been seeing quite a few unexpected visitors.

Not just black cats claiming chairs.

Sometimes it was a black dog wagging its tail.
Sometimes a blackbird swooping down onto a dinner table.
Other times, it was an inky black frog hopping out of a nearby pond.

In fairy tales, such creatures were known as guardian spirits—beings who only showed up at joyful feasts. Since they seemed harmless, most residents simply enjoyed their presence.

But this didn’t explain why the cat had bolted the moment it saw Asta.

One moonlit evening, Isidor walked alone through a quiet alleyway. The moonlight was pure and bright, like a thin layer of snow spread across the ground.

He moved silently, like a cautious hunter, lips pressed together, his emerald eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

A faint rustling came from around the corner.

In an empty alleyway at night, that should have been a little scary—but Isidor merely smiled.
He stepped around the corner swiftly—far quicker than the creature hiding there.

That’s right. A monster.

It was one of the monsters Asta had released from the institute. Its power was minimal, and it posed no threat to human life. It would shapeshift into various animals to blend into festive gatherings, feeding on joyful atmospheres, nibbling at delicacies, and acting as a silent guest.

In ancient times, people called it a guardian spirit.
Fairy tales often described it too. It was said that feasts it attended always brought good luck to the guests.

It didn’t have human-level intelligence and could only engage in basic communication. Asta’s power was overwhelmingly dominant to such a small creature, which was why the moment it sensed his approach, it fled in blind panic.

Unfortunately, that trick didn’t work on a clever human.

At that moment, the monster was in the middle of melting itself—a strange but necessary step for its transformation.

“Don’t be scared,”

Isidor said softly. The rustling stopped.
The monster stared at him nervously, not knowing what would happen next.

Then it despaired, as from the shadows behind Isidor, a familiar figure slowly emerged—his tendrils hidden in the dark like deadly blades, surrounding it.

“Hello,” Asta greeted it with a warm and elegant smile.
“Long time no see. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

On the ground of the alley, a black cat only half-melted stared blankly. Its half-solid, slime-like body had already formed part of a wing.

“No need to be nervous,”

Asta’s eyes finally softened into a smile.
He leaned forward to look at the little monster hiding in the city and thought that human advice had been right—this was exactly what they needed to find.

Isidor pulled a white card from his pocket and slowly, non-threateningly, held it out.
The monster tensed and stretched its body, swallowing half of the card.

“We just want to invite you,”

Asta said, blinking.
“To attend our wedding.
And maybe… help with a small favor, if you don’t mind?”