Gai had expected Diavolo to have important intelligence to pass on—some critical lead he'd uncovered. But this man's first call since their parting on the ship opened not with strategy, but with a request: use whatever means necessary to enroll Inori Yuzuriha in Tennōzu First High School.
"What—send her to school?"
"Yes. It's what she wants. I'd like to make it happen." The video feed was blank; only the man's low, rough voice came through. "You can manage it, I take it. Gai."
"…I can, yes—but are you certain? She's on the Anti-Bodies' records."
"That's not your concern."
Gai's brow furrowed.
He wanted to understand what Diavolo was after. A man like this never moved purely to fulfil a girl's wish—there had to be something else. A purpose. Tennōzu First High School—one of Tokyo's top-ranked schools, if he recalled correctly. Was there something there that no one else knew about?
"Consider it her payment for the help she provided last time. She asked me to pass that along."
"I'll take care of it."
Gai agreed.
And quietly, he committed the school's name to memory. He'd have someone look into it—find out exactly what made it worth Diavolo's attention.
"By the way—you've apparently been investigating intelligence on Kenji Kido recently. Are you trying to free him?"
Kido—the boy who, at age twelve, had single-handedly caused the Tokyo Skytree explosion that shocked the entire world. A genuine prodigy. For one person to achieve that alone was extraordinary—though in a universe where high schoolers routinely threatened to destroy everything, perhaps that wasn't so remarkable. His age had spared him execution, and so he'd been sitting in a cell for the five years since.
"To crack the Leucocytes, I need his ability."
"Those satellites are not actually difficult to deal with." The faceless voice continued, low and unhurried. "Don't make any moves yet. GHQ's informants have been watching your group very closely lately."
"Which is exactly why we should strike while momentum is on our side."
Gai pushed back with a slight frown.
"You seem to enjoy doing the opposite of what's expected. Acting when no one anticipates it."
"…It's simply experience. My own style."
"Regardless—hold on this matter for now. Keep reaching out to your financial backers, or source some weapons from the OAU. Those are things you're good at. Don't slip up."
The voice from the other end came out with the finality of someone ending a conversation, leaving no opening for further argument.
"But—"
"Wait for my intelligence. No military action until then."
Before Gai could finish his sentence, Diavolo sealed it shut with one more line—and the line went dead.
"…Self-centered to the last."
Gai sighed.
He had already begun mapping out the next operation's steps. Now, because of a single word from this man, he had to stop. That sense of being managed by someone else was genuinely infuriating.
But if he defied Diavolo, both he and Funeral Parlor risked exposure. And Inori—the girl with the Void—was the core of every combat plan he was building. He could not afford to alienate Diavolo. Losing Inori would mean losing Funeral Parlor's most critical asset.
Still. What Diavolo had said wasn't entirely without reason. Waving a gun around didn't change the world. Gai steadied himself. He recognized that some part of him was wary of this man—but he couldn't let that wariness warp his reading of the facts. Right now, there was no shortage of things that needed handling beyond combat operations.
Running a real armed organization was not simply a matter of standing at the barrel of a gun and speaking nobly.
...
...
Class ended. The teacher had covered the GHQ's second emergency state declaration for the coming weeks, including an appeal to students to report any suspected Funeral Parlor affiliates, and then dismissed class.
Predictably, Inori's seat was surrounded within moments. An internationally famous idol suddenly becoming your classmate—that was the kind of thing that happened in stories, and no one could hold themselves back.
"Inori, why did you come to our school?"
"Because there's someone I know here."
"Inori! Can I get your autograph?"
"Of course—but not on blank paper."
"Inori! Which of your songs is your favorite?"
"…I love them all."
Inori answered each question with patient attention.
This kind of school atmosphere—she had missed it, in a distant way. Though it was a little different from what she remembered. In her previous life, she had definitely been the kind of person who sat quietly in a corner like Shu Ouma, watching the well-adjusted, social people cluster together from a safe distance. But now she was the center of the classroom—and she felt not even a trace of nervousness or discomfort about it.
Someone who navigated conversations with top GHQ commanders and Funeral Parlor leadership without breaking a sweat was hardly going to falter in front of a few students.
"I'm Kanon Kusama, the class representative. If there's anything you don't understand, feel free to ask me, Inori."
"Thank you."
She smiled—graceful, easy, natural.
"Inori!"
A boy with a close-cropped, clean-cut style pushed his way through the crowd just then.
Unlike Shu Ouma, he wasn't red-faced or fumbling—but his expression was covered in barely contained excitement. Just being in her presence clearly felt like a privilege to him. The mentality of a true fan.
Souta Tamadate—and Shu Ouma, both loyal EGOIST listeners, though they were completely opposite in personality: one quiet and prone to anxiety, bordering on reclusive; the other cheerfully oblivious and naturally gregarious. That they were friends was almost certainly the result of Souta's relentless approach and Shu's inability to say no.
"I'm your biggest fan! Inori—I, I was wondering if you'd be willing to sign this EGOIST poster for me?"
"Of course."
Inori blinked, just slightly, letting herself look a little pleased—then took the pen and wrote a fluid, practiced "EGOIST" across the cheap print-quality photo paper.
"This is a screencap from 'Euterpe,' isn't it?"
"Yes! Inori! I love your very first song the most!"
"Thank you~"
...
...
Shu Ouma stood where he was, watching.
From across the room, that pink-haired girl moved through the crowd—every gesture carrying an effortless pull, a charm that was difficult to resist. Every now and then she would raise a hand to half-cover her lips and smile quietly to herself. All of it because his exhausting friend Souta was in front of her, dramatically expressing the exact depths of his devotion to EGOIST.
Shu had to admit it: he was jealous. He had never once envied Souta's easy sociability as much as he did right now.
I'm Inori. What's your name?
That brief exchange replayed itself in his head, over and over. That girl with a smile like sunlight—as if she had stepped out of his phone screen and come to him—and all Shu had wanted was to be confident enough to stand up and say one more sentence. Anything. But he had been completely helpless. Frozen.
—She probably doesn't like me… Everyone likes someone open and confident like him.
Whatever. What was he even thinking?
Shu shook his head with a rueful half-smile and sat back down, doing his best to act as though he'd seen and heard nothing.
What he didn't know was that someone in the front of the room had seen all of it.
Hare Menjou looked from Inori—animated, charming, holding court—to Shu Ouma, who was wearing an expression of resentful longing and frustration. The excitement she'd been feeling at Inori finally coming to school guttered out. She sat down, her face dimming, the light in her eyes fading.
—I was here first. I knew him first. I started making his lunches first. Why has it turned out like this?
Hare's expression drifted, lost.
—Well. What can I do. Inori is… she's that extraordinary. How could an ordinary girl like me possibly compare?