To Kiyotaka Ayanokoji, loyalty was a fickle, decorative concept. In the cold calculus of the White Room, only a partnership forged in mutual interest held any structural integrity.
If he could bring the Bowel Hunter, Elsa Granhiert, under his control, the strength of his faction would see a vertical spike. Not only would he gain a Tier-1 combatant, but he would also secure a bridge to Meili and the intelligence networks of the hidden Assassination Guild.
Despite being disemboweled by her in a previous loop, Ayanokoji felt no heat of resentment. To him, her blade was simply a variable that had yielded an inefficient outcome. Hatred was a waste of energy; utility was the only metric that mattered.
"I can provide you with the intersections you crave," Ayanokoji said, his voice a steady drone in the damp cellar.
"A dangerous proposition. Do you truly think you understand me?" Elsa laughed, her purple eyes tracking him like a wolf eyeing its next meal. "You are attempting to hire the very monster who opened you up just a lifetime ago."
She knew then that Ayanokoji was no lamb. He was an entity more terrifying than a wolf—a vacuum that consumed intent.
"Consider it," Ayanokoji replied flatly.
The question had been a probe. He saw the momentary spark in her gaze when he mentioned "killing opportunities." The bait had a price, and she had acknowledged its value. His objective was complete. He reached for the birdcage on the table, pulling back the cloth to reveal the sharp, watching eyes of the medium, and prepared to leave.
"Wait," Elsa's voice echoed through the bars. "A 'perhaps' is not enough. I have no taste for hollow promises."
"A hollow promise?" Ayanokoji murmured, the words lingering in the air.
The Observation Room: Global Reactions
"Is he actually trying to recruit the Bowel Hunter?"
Emilia watched the sky-projection in the real world, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. Beside her, Reinhard van Astrea stood like a statue of living gold. Having seen the slaughter Elsa was capable of, his grip on the Dragon Sword remained firm.
"Speaking as a Knight, Lord Ayanokoji's attempt is beyond reckless," Reinhard said, shaking his head. "The Bowel Hunter's danger level exceeds all conventional limits. To try and leash a calamity you've already died to... it defies the logic of the living."
Across the capital, in a blood-stained alleyway of the slums, the real Elsa Granhiert finished licking a fresh curve of red from her blade. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, a flush of dark euphoria on her cheeks.
"Kiyotaka Ayanokoji... using 'slaughter' as currency for a contract? What an exquisite man! You truly are my twin soul."
She stepped over the remnants of a Royal Guard squad. The guards in the capital were numerous, but without Reinhard, they were merely tissue paper before her steel. Her hunger was no longer for the guards, but for the boy in the vision.
The Ordinary Life: ANHS Interlude
"Hey! Ayanokoji! Horikita! You guys are here too!"
In the high-end coffee shop of the Advanced Nurturing High School, a vibrant voice cut through the tension. Honami Ichinose, the leader of Class B, approached their table with her usual sun-drenched energy.
Her pinkish-orange hair flowed past her waist, her presence momentarily softening the predatory atmosphere that had followed Ayanokoji since the broadcast began.
"Ayanokoji-kun, is that person on the screen really you?" Ichinose leaned forward, her student terminal displaying the same cinematic loop. Beside her, Horikita Suzune's eyes narrowed, her expression a mix of defensive pride and lingering hurt.
"I have no memory of filming such things," Ayanokoji said, offering a practiced, weary shake of the head. "It has been quite the inconvenience."
"I figured!" Ichinose laughed. "The Ayanokoji in the video is so... intense. His values are a bit terrifying. The real Ayanokoji-kun is much kinder than that!"
Ayanokoji nodded blankly. In his mind, Ichinose was another tool—one that was remarkably easy to use because of her idealism. She was Class B's engine, and as long as their interests aligned, he would keep her sharp. But if the board shifted, he would discard her with the same apathy he showed Rem's corpse.
The Descent: The Escape and the Ambush
Inside the cellar of the vision, Elsa began to count the heartbeats of the manor.
Based on the lighting, she deduced it was approaching midnight. Ayanokoji's mention of Meili being "processed" had changed her schedule. She could not allow the child to be dismantled by the boy with the dead eyes.
"This is going to hurt," Elsa whispered, a twisted smile stretching her pale face. "How wonderful."
She did not seek a key. She contorted her frame into a shape that defied human biology, dragging her skin against the jagged edges of the iron restraints.
The sound of tearing meat and scraping bone filled the silence. Blood painted the chains a slick, wet red as she literally peeled her hands through the narrow steel gaps. A normal human would have collapsed from the agonizing trauma of degloving their own limbs, but for a half-vampire, pain was a stimulant.
It took two hours of rhythmic, bloody self-mutilation. She stood on the cellar floor, her hands raw and shivering as her regenerative factor began the frantic work of rebuilding the tissue.
She moved through the darkness, bypassing the primary traps she had scouted during Ayanokoji's visit. Her goal was the room where Meili was held.
The mansion was silent. Too silent.
She reached the door Ayanokoji had indicated. She pushed it open, her blade—scavenged from a guard's rack—held low.
"It seems someone couldn't wait for morning," a flat, familiar voice rang out from the shadows behind her.
Kiyotaka Ayanokoji.
Elsa spun, her blade a silver arc, but her limbs were still sluggish from blood loss. Before she could strike, the air turned to solid ice.
Emilia and Roswaal stepped out from the adjacent rooms, their mana illuminating the hallway in a cold, unforgiving glow.
Ayanokoji stood with his hands in his pockets, watching her with the same indifference he'd shown her in the cellar. He had never intended to interrogate Meili. He had only needed to give Elsa a reason to break her own bones to escape.
The "Fishing Hole" was closed. Every variable was exactly where he needed it to be.