"Shu… I… I don't know what to say."
Yahiro Samukawa's joy evaporated in an instant. He stared at his friend, who had taken all that virus into himself in his place, and the guilt welled up from somewhere deep in his chest like water breaking through a dam—enough to make this boy who was always so composed, so proud, bow his head and press it down low. He couldn't bring himself to look Shu in the eye.
"It's fine, Yahiro. Don't worry about it."
The old Shu Ouma might have screamed. Might have complained about why his Void had to be such a cursed ability. But this Shu—the one whose memories had returned, the one who had resolved to avenge his sister—had long since stopped caring about things like that.
"I'm sorry, Shu."
"I said it's fine." Shu smiled and clapped Yahiro on the shoulder. Then his gaze steadied, and he turned to Inori Yuzuriha. "Inori, let's move out."
"Right."
Inori nodded. She had already been about to push them to get going—the enemies outside had started preparing the Apocalypse Virus, and they couldn't waste another second.
"I—I want to come too!" Yahiro said urgently.
"Stay here and look after Jun." Shu's smile was gentle. But when Yahiro caught sight of that long chain of violet crystals running down Shu's cheek and jaw, something in his chest twisted like a knife turning. He didn't want to lose his brother. But he didn't want to lose Shu either.
"Then—at least take my Void with you."
Yahiro held his fist clenched for two seconds, wavering. Then he spoke again.
"Inori, I know you saw all of this coming. You must have a way to save everyone."
"I'll do what I can."
Inori's answer was calm, unhesitating.
"Shu is different from you. His Void isn't suited for combat." Yahiro's voice dropped. "So please—draw out my Scissors. If nothing else, that should give Shu some ability to defend himself."
"No! Absolutely not!" Shu's voice shot up immediately. "If a Void is destroyed, the person it belongs to dies! Yahiro, don't worry—I'll be fine."
Inori hadn't expected these two to still be arguing about this at a moment like this. She remembered that in the original story, just before Shu set out for his final battle with Gai Tsutsugami, he'd tried to return his own Void too—afraid that if he lost, he'd drag everyone else down with him.
Maybe this counts as convergence. In any case, the sincerity of these two boys had genuinely moved her. Even on the brink of life and death, they were still thinking of each other first. Like a duo from some old comedy act—this was what it meant to be true friends. Worlds apart from someone like Souta Tamadate.
"I promise you, Yahiro."
"We'll both come back safe."
Inori smiled, confident, and reached out to draw the Scissors Void from Yahiro's body.
The outbreak had been sudden, but Funeral Parlor's side was moving with steady, practiced efficiency. GHQ's side was another matter entirely.
The Ivory Christmas Tree was in chaos. Major General Yan had discovered that he could no longer reach any of his bases inside the country—not even the troops stationed in Tokyo would respond to his calls. He was the highest-ranking GHQ commander in Tokyo, and right now he couldn't mobilize a single soldier. How could he not be furious? He felt blind. Deaf. He didn't even know what was happening outside—all he could tentatively surmise was that Funeral Parlor had launched some kind of "biochemical weapons attack."
What he hadn't anticipated was that even the few small units dispatched to reinforce his position had been cut off. He was completely on his own.
"Segai! What in the hell is going on out there?"
The sound of gunfire and explosions outside was loud enough to carry clearly through the base walls. Major General Yan slammed his fist on the table and snarled at the scarred face on his screen.
"A great revolution," Makoto Waltz Segai answered, with that particular smile of his—sly, faintly mocking, entirely too pleased with himself. "One giant step for humanity toward a new civilization. Please remain calm, General. Don't do anything foolish."
"…You're staging a coup!"
Major General Yan raged like an old lion trapped in a cage—but all he could do was roar. There was nothing substantive he could actually accomplish. He couldn't fathom it: that Segai, a veteran of GHQ, could do something like this. Had he defected to Funeral Parlor?
He couldn't think of any other explanation. He was a plain soldier; his understanding of the Apocalypse Virus was no deeper than any civilian's. It never occurred to him that his old colleague Shuichiro Keido harbored dreams of creating a "Crystal Age."
"Where's Keido? Put him on!"
"The Director is occupied with important matters. Please remain patient, General, and stay where you are."
With that, Segai cut the call. Major General Yan shoved himself out of his chair. There was no way he was just going to sit here like an idiot. He had to—he had to stop this coup. His career was at stake. GHQ's dignity was at stake.
He had barely reached the door when a figure slipped inside—a woman's graceful silhouette, hurrying in with obvious urgency. His secretary. His mistress.
"Don't be afraid. I'm here."
The tension in Major General Yan's face eased. He took his secretary's hand and moved toward the northwestern emergency passage he had memorized.
If he couldn't command his troops, the only option left was to make sure he stayed alive.
Daryl Yan stumbled into the battle with no idea what he was doing.
He had no clue what was happening. Out of nowhere that unbearable noise had rolled across the entire earth, and GHQ soldiers all through the headquarters had collapsed as the virus took them. But at the same moment, a different unit had appeared inside the compound—one unaffected by the virus—the Special Countermeasures Division, troops belonging to the supposedly house-arrested Director Keido.
Maybe it was the cockpit protecting him. Maybe he was just lucky. Either way, Daryl hadn't been infected. Not yet.
This looked like a coup, but Daryl didn't waste time thinking about it. All he wanted was to slaughter every enemy in front of him.
He had taken one humiliating loss after another against that mask-wearing girl—spent weeks sulking over it, barely functional. Now he finally had somewhere to put all of that. He was seventeen years old. His home life was a disaster. He had no ideology, no military conviction; he simply wanted to vent in a fight.
Daryl piloted his Endlave in wide circles around the outer perimeter of the Ivory Christmas Tree. Everywhere he looked, soldiers had collapsed, unable to move—crystallized, then shattered. The sight of it cooled the fever in his head. He knew how terrifying this virus was. Who is it? Who is spreading this?
And it was here, of all places—the Ivory Christmas Tree. GHQ's own headquarters. A bad feeling crept over him, and his mind went to his bastard of a father. He had been about to push the thought down when, by sheer bad timing, the telephoto lens mounted on his Endlave caught a familiar shape passing by a window.
His father. General Yan.
Daryl's chest lurched. Confirming his father was alive eased the knot in his stomach—but only for a fraction of a second, because then he saw it: his father's arm around his secretary's shoulders, his hand moving across her young face with unmistakable intimacy.
The coil in Daryl's chest snapped. His emotions hit bottom and rebounded hard, rocketing upward to a place he'd never been before.
That woman.
He ground his teeth. His expression twisted. Something detonated in his skull and took his last shred of reason with it. Without hesitating, he fired the Endlave's grapple line at the tower, hauled his unit up to his father's floor, and locked into position hanging directly outside the window.
Then he raised the Endlave's massive mounted machine gun.
And aimed it at the two of them.
"A—a terrorist?" General Yan's face went pale, but he was a general, and he recovered fast. "State your demands!"
He'd decided Keido and Segai wouldn't actually move against him—which meant this had to be a terrorist. He pulled himself together and raised his voice.
"I am the Supreme Commander of GHQ—"
"Unit number 823," came the voice from the Endlave. "Same digits as my birthday."
General Yan's mind went blank. He didn't understand why his own son was doing this. He didn't even process what Daryl had just said.
"Is that so…" Daryl's face twisted into something between a sob and a bitter laugh. "So you don't even know."
That day—after Daryl had lost to Inori Yuzuriha again and hit rock bottom—his birthday had come around not long after. He'd cleaned himself up and waited for his father to come home and share a cake with him.
But the man never showed. He'd forgotten his son's birthday entirely. He'd never had room in his heart for Daryl or his mother. There was only ever her.
"You filthy pair of cheats."
Daryl pulled the trigger without another thought.
He screamed until his voice broke, pouring every drop of his rage into his Endlave's weapon, and he didn't stop until the last round in the magazine was spent.