TBR CH90

His abilities can never be restored, and thus he can never fulfill the mission bestowed upon him.

When I told this patient as much, he looked at me with those emerald-green eyes, utterly indifferent, as if I weren’t speaking of the tragedy that had befallen him. A lack of empathy, persistent low mood, complete loss of sense of value, and no reverence for death… I’ve only encountered such a patient once.

My only advice: give him the opportunity to end his life, and he will act on it.

—An old record, torn from the notebook of a former Institute psychiatrist, who has been missing for years.

—

Even if it briefly refused to confront the truth, the monster Asta knew what it meant if Flower wasn’t deceiving it—about everything concerning Isodor.

If he wasn’t the ordinary clerk he claimed to be, sent here for offending the higher-ups, then what was his purpose? Seven years had passed—any hidden agenda should have amassed ample opportunities by now.

The Institute had been trying to kill it all along.

Just before Isodor was assigned, the previous handler had attempted to replace the seawater with scalding magma. It had sustained damage, and that human had undoubtedly perished in the task. That was the Institute’s most extreme attempt. As a result, Project Alpha began displaying intense aggression.

Asta understood why the Institute sent so many employees to their deaths.

It wanted to end this, so it stopped concealing its malice. The sharp, thorn-like tendrils sprawling across the ocean floor were enough to chill any human heart, sending them fleeing in panic. As long as it wished, human minds were entirely at its mercy.

They feared it so much that they trembled and fled upon entering. The position responsible for it remained vacant for a long time—long enough for the Institute to abandon their misguided ambitions.

Then they sent Isodor.

A fragile, bewildered human who succeeded in reaching the control panel, meticulously adjusting the seawater parameters to its most comfortable settings before preparing to ride the platform to the center of the sea.

Asta had intended to scare him off, as it had done with every previous handler. But Isodor was different from what it imagined. The researcher’s emerald eyes widened, staring at the grotesque tendrils slithering across the ocean floor, and in a daze, he lost his balance, plummeting straight down. In the next second, his paper-thin chest would have been pierced by spear-like tentacles.

Like a falling bird.

Asta thought as it recalled this moment.

If it hadn’t acted, Isodor would have died—there was no doubt about that, a certainty that hadn’t faded even now. All its trust was built on this certainty. It wouldn’t suspect a human so dazed as to fall from the platform, nor one who had entrusted his life to its salvation. So it allowed Isodor to stay, to have further contact.

But from another angle—what if he had been manipulating it from the start?

To gain its trust through such means, the Institute would have had to prepare to sacrifice a slew of people, including the consequences of making it wary. The person they chose initially had to be perfect—ruthless and deceitful enough to mimic such genuine emotions that even Asta was fooled.

—Do you want to kill me too?

The tendrils at the ocean floor, sharp with black blade-like edges, slashed through, severing a vast coral reef in half. Dark seawater churned, like an impending shipwreck. Its ten thousand eyes opened across the ocean floor.

Like a beast, unlike humans, it had slit pupils like jagged lightning.

I will trust you, Asta thought, because you said friends must trust each other. You’re my only friend. Since I’ve hidden nothing from you, I’ll trust you until the very last moment—if such a moment exists.

This was a non-human way of thinking, more like inertia. A monster’s logic couldn’t be bound by human rules. Yet it was wholly shackled by the friendship Isodor promised. Asta was born with an efficient information-processing system and learning ability. Friendship was a concept that captivated it, and at the same time, it intuitively grasped its opposite.

The one thing friends could never forgive was deception.

…And deception was what it hated most.

Only in this moment did its thinking leap entirely beyond human bounds—unhesitating, decisive, devoid of any lingering human emotions.

In nature, a beast will shed a part of its body to escape harm. Asta now harbored the same instinct. It wouldn’t let itself be hurt.

Isodor had left the bread and sweets in the cabin. Tendrils followed the human’s damp footprints to the table, curling around the heavy paper bag. When in a foul mood, the monster craved sweets even more, and sweets inevitably brought to mind the human with emerald eyes.

When he leaned close today, covering its eyes, his shallow breaths brushing against it, Asta hadn’t reminded him that the light seeping through his fingers was enough for it to see his ears flush red.

Seven years were brief for it, but not for Isodor.

Humans gradually wove their perception of time into the monster’s mind until it, too, acknowledged that seven years were a significant part of its life—built from daily meetings, every conversation, his gentle smiles, and delicious food. It was long.

Its thoughts were interrupted again.

The paper bag tore under its unconscious grip, the pastries falling into the sea. Even though Asta quickly retrieved them, the sweet treats, soaked in seawater, lost all their fragrance. The salty bitterness of the sea became their only flavor.

Though Asta didn’t mind seawater, eating was merely a hobby, so these pastries were now inedible.

All the treats bought today were in that one bag, with none spared.

Suddenly, it felt… an utterly inexplicable emotion.

The monster should trust Isodor, and it should trust itself. If Isodor deceived it, it would withdraw without hesitation, refusing to let itself be further harmed. It wasn’t human, unbound by emotions or morality, understanding only likes and dislikes, with interpersonal relationships extending only to friendship. This was all pretense—it was, after all, a monster.

But like the sweets eagerly chosen that day, now ruined, this feeling was even more intense.

All its eyes closed at once, and for a moment, it saw nothing—just like when Isodor had covered its eyes during the day. The Black Book recorded that the foolish, gullible monster willingly bowed before the Son of God, Hill, blind to human lies and betrayal. Hill came to it with ulterior motives, which was wrong, but it could easily erase that mistake.

Isodor, though, was good—very good.

He wouldn’t deceive it, so it wouldn’t have to make a choice. The monster’s mind was chillingly calm, yet its logic wasn’t human, processing countless tasks and contingencies simultaneously. All contingencies pointed to one outcome:

He wouldn’t deceive it, or all his promises would lose meaning. He would lose meaning to it.

That thought was enough.

Asta knew Isodor would come the next morning, bringing news of the Child of Destiny and humanity’s salvation. It sank into the deep water, eyes closed, waiting for the next moment to arrive.

—

Not all monsters trusted Flower—it was notoriously unhinged. But when the rich floral scent seeped through every sealed door, the contained entities sensed something different, laced with a briny bitterness as deep as seawater.

Asta didn’t plan to achieve everything in one stroke. It only needed to plant seeds of doubt in the monsters’ minds, and they would naturally choose the path most beneficial to them. Better to believe it possible than dismiss it outright. If they themselves were beings beyond mortal comprehension, how could they scoff at a human said to bear a halo?

And so, Hill was turned away for the fourth time this week.

The halo of universal charm still clung to him, but it had no chance to take effect. As the boy approached the rooms, the monsters suddenly displayed rare signs of agitation. Their power surged, straining against the Institute’s restraints, their limbs reaching out to attack the outside preemptively.

Even though this was within the Institute’s control, Hill was urgently ordered to evacuate. The boy’s abilities were too valuable; he needed to stay far from any danger. At the same time, the higher-ups had yet to fully study him and were unwilling to let his unpredictable powers affect unstable entities.

Hill suddenly felt an inexplicable panic, his distress plain on his face, making him look pitiful, as if he were upset for failing to do his part. John didn’t lower his gun, cautiously escorting the boy away from the alert zone. Once they reached a safe area, his sleeve was tugged.

“Am I completely useless?” 

The boy dubbed the “Son of God” lowered his eyes, his voice soft and dejected. “I’m supposed to bear the weight of humanity’s future, but I haven’t even seen a monster’s face. I don’t know what’s going on. Maybe my abilities have failed—”

“No,” Captain John, usually cold, softened his tone, seemingly touched by the boy’s emotions. 

“You’ve succeeded far more often than you’ve failed. Don’t sell yourself short. The monster riots have been unusually frequent lately, not just with the cases you’ve handled. Our researchers are already looking into the cause, and we have several solid theories—none of them related to you. In fact, these incidents happen cyclically. Hill, this is technically Institute confidential, but I trust you’ll keep it secret.”

“Really?”

Hill still looked uneasy, but a shadow briefly flickered in his lowered eyes. “John, you’re so kind to me. I always overthink things. If it’s okay, could you keep me updated about the monsters?”

The system nearly cheered for its host in its mind—Hill was finally getting the hang of it. Moments ago, it had worried that the minor ripples in this world might be tied to the Heavenly Dao, but Hill had deftly extracted the cause from an Institute insider. If John agreed to share monster-related updates with Hill going forward, the system might detect the Heavenly Dao the moment it appeared.

Captain John Cliff glanced warily back toward the alert zone, then holstered his gun and turned to face the boy.

“Of course.”

No one could refuse the angelic, kind-hearted boy’s request.

Hill lifted his head joyfully to look at John. It had to be said, as the captain of the Special Armed Forces, his physique and demeanor perfectly matched the Child of Destiny’s tastes, and his status was exceptional.

“Can I come find you tonight, John?” 

The boy spoke softly, shyly, his indescribably beautiful face shimmering with a gem-like glow as he leaned toward John, fragile and dependent. “I have some things I’d like to say to you. Of course, if it’s inconvenient, another day is fine.”

“Not tonight,” John said, worried about a misunderstanding. “I have to attend a high-level meeting.”

“Alright,” Hill replied, a touch of regret in his voice but playing the part of understanding perfectly. “Then I wish you luck with work, Captain John. I’ll… I’ll think of you often.”

“You too,” John nodded. “Don’t worry—the monster riots are normal. Besides, you’ve successfully interacted with three observation subjects this week. I believe you can fulfill your mission.”

The conversation ended there.

The armed captain codenamed “Black Hawk” watched Hill leave. Standing in place, he felt his thoughts grow muddled again. Hill was a kind, beautiful boy who needed protection—a fact that became clearer with time. Yet another part of him, unyielding as stone, viewed Hill’s talents separately.

The Institute might have underestimated his influence. John had nearly blurted out the truth: the monsters’ anomalies were specific to Hill, never occurring elsewhere. The words had almost slipped out.

But he lied instead.

Because all of Hill’s reactions had been precisely predicted by that email.

—

Isodor knocked on the door. There was no response, but the green light on the door lit up, so he pushed it open himself.

Nominally, this was the office of Sector C Security Chief John Cliff. In reality, it was the lair of the Special Armed Forces’ “Black Hawk.” Not everyone could stand here. The room was sparsely furnished, but deadly weapons hung on the walls. As Isodor stepped inside, he knew full well that a mechanism was aimed at his head—one switch, and a spinning bullet would pierce his forehead.

Black Hawk had the authority to kill any intruder without permission or anyone he deemed “necessary” to eliminate.

Isodor, to put it mildly, despised this feeling.

John sat in his office chair—one seated, one standing, a setup that naturally pressured anyone entering. Isodor quietly walked to the center of the room, lifting his emerald eyes like a fragile human facing a beast, ready to bare his neck. His gentle aura flickered, as if on the verge of fading.

Black Hawk waited patiently for a few seconds before realizing Isodor had no intention of speaking first. He was waiting for John to start. This was the worst of all possible scenarios, but John steeled himself and spoke the title:

“Teacher.”

The word hadn’t left his mouth in so long that it came out hoarse and awkward. But he repeated it quickly:

“Teacher, you’re back.”

In an instant, the room’s atmosphere flipped. The powerful armed captain behind the wide desk seemed to lose all authority, willingly ceding his dominance to the clerk standing before him. The long-unheard title landed calmly in Isodor’s ears, doing little beyond turning his gaze abruptly cold.

“I’m no longer your teacher,” Isodor said, letting out a soft sigh, still smiling. But John recoiled, avoiding his eyes.

A brief silence followed, swallowing John whole, leaving him unsure how to proceed. Subconsciously, he held deep reverence for the man before him, forged through years of relentless training. Yet he was acutely aware that the more he noticed Isodor stood unarmed and vulnerable, the stronger the eerie sense of dissonance grew.

“Are you planning to return?” John couldn’t help but ask, his voice tight. “I’m the captain of the Special Armed Forces now, but if you’re willing, ‘Kingfisher’ could once again lead us all. If you’re worried I’d cling to my power…”

His voice trailed off.

The silence didn’t affect Isodor, who stood calmly, tilting his head slightly to glance at the bullet aimed at his skull.

“A single bullet like that could kill me now. Doesn’t that seem laughable compared to before?”

The researcher shifted his emerald eyes back. “John, after all these years, I thought you’d at least have matured. Do you think the Special Armed Forces would follow a powerless ordinary person the way they follow you? I never taught you to indulge in such fantasies.”

Captain John Cliff held special privileges within the Institute. He wasn’t just a mindless armed leader; through years of maneuvering, he’d gained a measure of real power.

The higher-ups feared him but had to rely on his strength.

He was an exceptional leader, trusted unquestioningly by his armed subordinates.

Yet now, he felt utterly powerless. Isodor was right—making such a decision out of long-held guilt was irresponsible to both the Institute and the Special Armed Forces. The weight of responsibility loomed like an insurmountable mountain between Isodor and the man he was now. Shame left him nowhere to hide.

Isodor showed no interest in reminiscing with his former student. His eyes seemed coated in thin ice, his gentle demeanor gone, leaving only intense pressure for John.

Defeated, he lowered his head and changed the subject:

“I did as you said in the email. Your predictions were spot-on—Hill asked exactly those questions. What kind of monsters do you want the ‘Son of God’ to interact with next? If needed, I can try to arrange it.”

“…Handle it as you see fit,” Isodor said. “As long as he doesn’t get suspicious.”

John obediently mumbled, “Oh.”

He knew that in the past, “Kingfisher” would never have tolerated him for this long. Though Isodor had reached out, it was clear his teacher had no desire to return or rekindle any mentor-student bond. John felt foolish, summoning him to say obvious things, circling around without getting to the point.

He tried to say more, his tongue nearly tripping:

“Teacher, Hill’s actually a good person. Having these abilities isn’t his choice. He even feels guilty about it…”

“Mm,” Isodor didn’t argue, standing impassively. “You’re free to think that.”

The words cut John off. He knew it was time to change topics.

But no matter how he pivoted, he was stalling. For Isodor to wait this long was already a miracle—his methods were decisive. Even knowing he’d lost his former power, John still felt dread in his presence. Years ago, Kingfisher wove through mountains of monster flesh and blood, his slender blade a mere thread, cruel yet beautiful, leaving corpses in his wake.

Back then, people said he was the Institute’s most absurd creation—they wanted to kill monsters, yet they’d crafted a human just like one.

“Teacher,” John finally resolved to speak plainly. He was no soaring Black Hawk now, more like a bird drenched in rain. “It’s like this: the Institute plans to restart the ‘Dawn Project,’ and the higher-ups have chosen Hill. Even I can’t sway their decision.”

Isodor’s head snapped up, his emerald gaze so bright it was unbearable to meet.

“So,” the Special Armed Forces captain said with difficulty to his former teacher, “for safety’s sake, please don’t act recklessly. This operation is inevitable—Hill has already gathered the necessary data. What I mean is…”

“You want me to stay away from it.”

Isodor said.

John took a deep breath, regaining a sliver of composure, his eyes filled with unmasked sincerity and anxiety:

“If it comes to that, I’d have to act against you. That’s not what I want.”

Saying such words to the teacher he once revered and feared, John felt both a bone-deep terror and a reckless surge of genuine emotion. But Isodor didn’t respond as he’d hoped. The emerald-eyed man merely paused for a few seconds, then his demeanor shifted.

He smiled politely at John, his manner almost gentle.

“I understand. Thank you, John.”

Was this acceptance or not? John couldn’t tell. All he knew was that a smiling Isodor was, for some reason, far more terrifying than a cold one. Driven by a primal survival instinct and a lingering impression of this Isodor, John swallowed the question, “Have you still not forgiven me?” and said something else he’d regret:

“Teacher,” he stammered, “I saw you this afternoon too. But you were with someone, so I didn’t go over to say hello.”