TBR CH97

The reason I need your help is that, even when all is irredeemable, you still strive to stop it, even at the cost of your own destruction. Isidor, you are the last human fighting the monster. But… you are not what I imagined.

—Words written by Black Book during its first attempt to communicate with Isidor, explaining the “world-ending” prophecy tied to Asta.

—

The days that followed passed slowly, yet looking back from the edge of time, they seemed to rush by in a blur. Asta had no concept of such things before, but after Isidor’s arrival, it began using human calendars.

In the depths of the sea, it slowly opened its eyes, knowing a new day had begun.

These days were less unremarkable than utterly tasteless, like chewing wax. The monster hadn’t sought new opportunities to venture out, perhaps due to an inner resistance. But even restraining itself from teetering on the brink of overthinking couldn’t ease the subconscious unease. It tried not to let it show, still exchanging messages with Isidor daily, sometimes saying a great deal.

But something was different. Both keenly sensed it. Every subtle question seemed to morph into a probe, ordinary conversations chewed over repeatedly by both sides until, at last, their exchanges carried a trace of estrangement.

To mask this troubling trend, Asta would feign a bit more cheer, and Isidor did the same. Through his gentle words, it could almost see him on the other side, blinking those emerald eyes and smiling at it. He always picked the brightest moments of his life to share, like sifting gleaming gems from a pile of rubble.

…If it hadn’t seen the rubble, perhaps it would have been delighted too.

Maybe meeting in person would help. With this thought, Asta sought out Black Book. It only wanted to heal from this period of unease, purely craving companionship to ease its loneliness, so there was no need for secrecy. It left a note on the page, saying it would go out again today.

Isidor’s reply came swiftly, as if he’d been waiting for those words for a long time.

“Want a cream croissant? This time, let’s get all four flavors,” Asta wrote. “And maple sticks and frosted cake. Oh, last time I saw white chocolate lover’s cookies. I like white chocolate—they’re sweeter.”

“Then I’ll buy them all for you. Maybe add some strawberry tarts too?”

“I’d love those,” the monster replied, a bit surprised. The bakery hadn’t offered that dessert in a while. When Isidor first introduced it to sweets, strawberry tarts had been its favorite, though its tastes had gradually shifted. A touch of nostalgia didn’t seem bad.

Imagining Isidor reading its words with a slight smile, Asta felt its heart lighten, as if the burdens of recent days had been momentarily dispelled. The anticipation of something worth looking forward to finally pierced the gloom. This even made Asta noticeably cheerier when facing Hill.

Hill was a bit surprised. The monster’s joy was palpable, and for the first time in a while, it touched him in its human form, albeit through a layer of clothing. He was growing accustomed to Asta’s flawless face and played his role with convincing sincerity. The monster seemed almost reluctant, hesitating as it withdrew its fingers.

The human boy tried to seize the chance to grasp its hand, but Asta deftly avoided the touch with a single motion. It gazed at him with deep, dark eyes—an intense look, like staring at a gift it eagerly anticipated but wasn’t ready to unwrap.

Hill lowered his head slightly, a faint blush coloring his beautiful cheeks.

Asta, meanwhile, looked at the tentacle imbued with a fragment of its power, now attached to him, and felt genuine anticipation. It was eager to meet the researcher immediately. Hill found the monster unusually warm today, always watching him with eyes that seemed to burn with a quiet fire. This secretly thrilled him.

Even an SSS-class monster wasn’t that hard to handle, was it? It just avoided touch and spoke little. But hadn’t the monster he’d dealt with a few days ago been similar, later revealing it only feared scaring him with its touch or inhuman voice?

He was confident in himself, in the face he now wore…

At this thought, he couldn’t help but glance at the monster again, a strange notion surfacing. Once he succeeded in winning it over, the monster’s appearance would be his to claim, wouldn’t it? Then, he could do whatever he wanted without interference.

Unaware of each other’s true thoughts, the human and monster spent the morning in relative harmony.

As the titanium-white security door slid shut with a swift hiss, Asta sensed a part of itself cut off beyond the barrier.

It was about to shift to its avatar when it suddenly perceived something.

No, it was more like it smelled something. A familiar, heady floral scent, laced with an eerie undertone, surged into its room. The “Flower” clearly had no sense of timing. Asta hesitated for two seconds, debating whether to investigate the strange note in the fragrance—after all, it rarely spoke of serious matters. But soon, the monster’s gaze hardened. It opened its palm.

The fragmented scent coalesced into coherent words—a message meant only for it.

“—King of Monsters, come to me. I have what you want to know.”

—

While waiting for Asta, Isidor rapidly reviewed the matters requiring his attention.

Truth be told, the situation was incredibly thorny. The “Two Stars” outside were pushing to incite a riot and take Asta immediately, but the institute’s internal preparations weren’t complete. Isidor was single-handedly managing those preparations, which slightly unnerved them. Just last time, they’d confronted him over a missing star on his bracelet, and he could only claim it was lost somewhere.

He couldn’t afford to arouse their suspicion, as he fully intended to betray them after escaping.

That wasn’t the only reason for delaying Asta’s extraction.

Black Book nagged incessantly at his side, and he had to allocate time for the World Consciousness to set up the final trap against their enemies. Before that, he needed to handle Hill and the monsters around him—keeping Hill stable while weakening him. The former task Asta was handling well; the latter, Isidor had to find a way to accomplish quickly.

The plan to save the world demanded more time, while the plan to spirit Asta away from the institute required shrinking the preparation timeline. John was already onto him, and the external cult didn’t trust him. Balancing these pressures was already pushing Isidor to his limits.

His fingers tapped the wall unconsciously, but his mind wasn’t on any of these issues.

The “Dawn Project.”

The institute was abuzz with unease lately. Of course, a low-level employee shouldn’t know such things, but Isidor had pried information from certain lips. The deeper he dug, the more alarmed he became. This time, the institute’s actions targeting Project α seemed deadly serious, with meticulous preparations—as if they were certain they could kill Asta.

The key questions were: How? And when?

These were unknowns. No matter how deeply Isidor probed, the secret remained the institute’s most closely guarded treasure. Even Black Hawk might not know the specifics of the plan, let alone John, who, despite being the student who once revered and feared him seven years ago, had grown into a different person.

Isidor didn’t consider their past bond a reliable asset.

So, it must have been when Asta first interacted with Hill, when it was completely unguarded, that it revealed something. The institute had gleaned patterns from seemingly meaningless behavior. Now, they expected Hill to bring more intelligence.

The boy called the “Son of God”—Isidor knew his purpose and doubted he’d expose Asta before completing his mission. But Hill seemed unaware that the institute was already exploiting him.

The most critical factor was time. If all went smoothly, Asta would be taken away before the Dawn Project was enacted.

But he had to prepare for the worst—for everything to unravel ahead of schedule.

All the heavy thoughts dissolved the moment Isidor saw Asta. He looked up, watching it approach step by step. Leaning against the wall outside the office door, surrounded by the mundane and ordinary, he couldn’t suppress the urge to let a smile curl his lips.

How strange. These past days had been tinged with awkwardness, yet the sight of Asta sparked an intimacy that surged through him from head to toe, as if no cause for worry had ever existed.

“Asta,” Isidor’s eyes sparkled like the brightest emeralds. “It’s been a while.”

—

“Don’t overwork yourself lately,” Asta urged as it escorted Isidor back to his office. It hadn’t felt this happy in a long time, simply reveling in the other’s company. Each time the monster stole a glance at him, it met his smiling gaze.

Isidor teased, “Caught you. You’re looking at me.”

Asta averted its eyes, trying to cover up, then realized it felt wrong. Instead, it reached out to ruffle Isidor’s hair. The soft, chestnut-brown strands felt as gentle as the man himself. It noticed Isidor standing on his tiptoes, playfully nuzzling his head against its palm like an excited child thrilled by a new adventure. Today, he seemed genuinely delighted, almost like a kid reveling in something fresh and fun.

They shared a bag of strawberry tarts. Isidor bought Asta a double-sugar milk tea and ordered himself a cup of black tea. The café’s brew was subpar, tasteless, and Asta lost interest after a sip.

It was a pity it couldn’t take anything back—it could only experience these moments here and now.

Asta was growing more human-like, and the need for pretense seemed to fade. They spent a long time wandering the institute’s safe zones, just chatting. Oddly, while their recent exchanges via Black Book had been stilted, forcing them to rack their brains for topics, now there was no such barrier.

It even joked, “You’re not hiding another identity from me, are you? Like a prophet who always knows what I like?”

“Ha,” Isidor laughed, his eyes crinkling. “You’ve figured me out.”

Regardless, it was a joyful meeting, so much so that the monster and human lingered over their goodbyes. Asta walked Isidor back to his office, and the researcher seemed determined to hold onto the mood until the very last moment. He tugged lightly at Asta’s collar, as if struck by a sudden thought, his eyes lighting up again.

“Next time we meet, I’ll give you a gift.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Asta said preemptively, releasing Isidor’s hand. Today, his hand wasn’t cold at all—likely warmed by the steaming black tea.

“Goodbye,” the researcher said reluctantly. “I mean, I want the next time to come soon.”

They parted, and Asta watched Isidor return to his office before turning away. But it didn’t, as humans might assume, find a secluded spot to discard its soon-to-be-exhausted avatar and retreat to its sealed chamber.

Lately, Black Book seemed busy. Beyond routine messaging, it often vanished. Asta hadn’t hidden its outing today, and Black Book, forced to linger among humans and monsters, felt superfluous and left.

Asta forcibly drew on its core power to sustain its presence outside the door. Time was short, but its purpose was clear.

It needed to find the “Flower” and uncover the secret it promised to reveal.

The closer it got to the Flower’s chamber, the stronger the scent grew. Today, it seemed unusually excited, its floral aroma laced with whispers. For a monster imprisoned by the institute, such cheer was hardly a good sign. Though typically erratic, its mood was rarely this elevated.

“You’re here!” it exclaimed, its tone bordering on a tenor’s pitch if it could speak. “Today is a lucky day! Our sole savior has graced us again. Hey, I’m grateful—truly, immensely grateful.”

Asta ignored it, conjuring a small black fragment in its palm. The cold, briny scent of seawater overpowered the cloying floral notes, slicing through the Flower’s domain like ice.

“I’ve done nothing. Tell me what you meant to say.”

“Don’t be like that,” the Flower retorted, its fragmented scent reforming into a series of eerie chuckles. “Your mere existence has already helped immensely. Ah, I can hardly wait… Fine, fine, no more nonsense. I just recalled a few things.”

“What?”

“That list you asked for last time—I’ve compiled it.”

This was the task Asta had assigned the Flower: to gather intelligence on monsters that had interacted with Hill and those that refused to. Many monsters’ domains barred the Flower’s prying, so completing this wasn’t easy.

Asta nodded. It knew the Flower had deliberately sidetracked to pique its curiosity. The list was indeed useful.

“And, of course, about the ‘Kingfisher,’” the Flower continued.

Reading those words, Asta almost sighed in relief. Then, a rare confusion gripped it. Had it become so convinced that hearing the name actually surface brought a sense of release? It suppressed the tremor from the heart beating within its human guise, listening as if indifferent.

This demeanor made even the Flower doubt itself. Offending α was a poor choice.

It stopped stalling. “I don’t recall much about the ‘Kingfisher,’ just that long ago, someone called the human by your side that name. Of course, I know you won’t believe me just because I say so. But I remembered some details.”

…

Asta’s pale fingers gently gathered the floral scent, its expression unreadable.

“The ‘Kingfisher’ was a cruel, emotionless human. Then again, humans are often like that. But he was rare even among them. Back then, he killed many monsters with extraordinary power. That’s not the point, though. The point is, he killed other humans—many of them.”

The final words unraveled in the fragrance like a shattered web, deliberately emphasized. “He killed his companions, all of them. How those emerald eyes gleamed in the blood—I can still picture it vividly… Such a pity he showed no emotion in the end.”

Asta crushed the fragment in its hand, its gaze lowered. “That’s all?”

The Flower seemed taken aback. α shouldn’t be this calm. Given its prior concern for that human, these words should have sparked deep disappointment or at least prompted questions, not this icy dismissal.

“You think I came here just for a human?” Asta said.

The Flower suddenly felt a chill sweep through. It tried to flood the space with sweet, heady fragrance, but the cold aura suppressed it, restraining its power. Even a mere fragment of Asta could achieve this—the overwhelming dominance of a supreme being over a weaker one. The Flower bowed its head, a cold dread settling in.

Indeed, α was the innate king among monsters, the sole guide to the future. It wielded power capable of destroying the world and a past too vast to measure.

How could it think such a monster genuinely cared for a human?

“Sorry,” Asta caught a faint trace of the Flower’s scent. “I was mistaken. But, our king, I have another piece of intel. I can’t say much, but something is about to happen in Sector E-12 today. See it with your own eyes.”

Asta let out an imperceptible breath of relief. Regardless, it didn’t want monsters like the Flower to assume a connection between it and Isidor. That would draw the attention of those coveting its power to him.

It committed the Flower’s words to memory, along with the new sector it mentioned. Asta didn’t fully trust the Flower—otherwise, it would have confirmed Isidor’s deception at their last meeting. But the increasingly detailed accounts only deepened its unease. And it suspected something—or someone—was urging the Flower to speak these words.

The matter of deception, Asta pushed to the back of its mind, deluding itself.

Its principle was clear: Isidor’s safety must be ensured.

—

A monster escape occurred in Sector E-12.

Strangely, the institute’s detection of containment breaches was near perfection, and its measures were impregnable, functioning flawlessly for years.

Yet, on this day, with no errors detected in the containment protocols, a monster inexplicably appeared outside.

The escaped monster was a dangerous S-class, beyond the capabilities of standard security personnel, who couldn’t handle anything above S-tier. The task fell to the specially armed “Oriole” and “Ibis.” The entire sector was temporarily evacuated, and the institute, experienced in such emergencies, swiftly prepared all necessary responses.

But Oriole noticed something unusual.

“According to the institute’s weakness analysis, we should target its lower jaw,” he said, sounding like an emotionless mannequin reciting a script. “S-class monsters typically require two bullets.”

Ibis countered, “But it’s displaying aggression inconsistent with the records. We can’t get close. Its jaw has sprouted bone spikes. I suspect its classification is off. We need backup.”

Their strength far surpassed human limits, but they never underestimated a monster’s power. Unfortunately, even recognizing the anomaly, reinforcements would take time to arrive.

Until then, they could only contain the monster, drawing its attention to keep it stable.

The escaped monster closed in on Oriole, its white, corrosive saliva dripping to the ground with a sizzling hiss. Ibis raised her gun and fired three shots, but nothing happened—the bullets seemed to miss or were deflected by its surface. She quickly pulled Oriole back.

A troublesome situation.

Yet, their faces showed no panic, as if their imminent death was inconsequential. They focused on engaging the monster, maneuvering with precision.

As if viewing themselves as mere weapons, Oriole, pulled back by Ibis, soon stepped forward again. He fired several shots, all aimed at the monster’s jaw.

…Still, they couldn’t penetrate. It was likely a problematic mutation.

Asta, following the Flower’s tip, navigated the blockades and arrived at the scene, observing briefly. Beyond seeing two humans struggling against an escaped monster, it gleaned no useful information. This level of enhanced mutation didn’t impress it.

But if things continued, the humans would likely succumb to the monster’s relentless assault.

The monster advanced, and the two humans seemed overwhelmed, attacking from opposite directions with intense firepower. Some shots finally lodged in the monster’s flesh, but finding a critical weak point was now too late.

Asta’s hand, resting at its side, twitched slightly. It didn’t want to watch two lives vanish before its eyes but hesitated to intervene—acting would inevitably leave traces.

From its hidden vantage, it took a step forward.

At that moment, a gunshot rang out. In an instant, the monster was struck dead, collapsing with a thunderous crash. The scene, like an absurd play half-performed, abruptly ended.

The two humans approached to inspect. Asta stood motionless, using its extraordinary vision to observe. One human sliced open the wound, retrieving the bullet that had pierced the monster’s heart. They seemed to nod to each other, confirming something.

The bullet in the wound matched the specialized ammunition their pistols used. The ballistic marks aligned with their weapons’ characteristics. Outside their elite unit, no one could access such guns or bullets.

So, was it sheer luck that they’d hit the monster’s weak point by chance?

Asta’s head snapped up, its gaze locking on a direction. No—humans might not notice, but the sound of the wind stirred by that bullet differed from all prior shots.

A third person, like Asta, had been silently watching.

And they had fired the fatal shot.