[ Congratulations on your promotion in Smiling Faces ]
[ Acquired Work Item: Smoke Lantern ]
[ Effect 1: This lantern can transform smoke into Hardened-Mist and Softened-Mist. ]
[ Effect 2: The bearer can cover their body with Hardened-Mist, gaining physical protection and impact mitigation. ]
[ Effect 3: The bearer can manipulate Softened-Mist, which can trigger smoke detonations. ]
Now this is powerful!
Putato never expected that just as he was about to set out to hunt down Wym, he would unexpectedly receive such a potent work item. It was a perfect balance of offense and defense, enough that he wouldn't even need to resort to the Death Tattoo.
A pale, smiling pumpkin-faced lantern appeared at his waist, swaying slightly as Putato walked forward.
So, a decision had to be made right now: under which identity should he kill Maestros Wym?
Even for a Star of the City like the Ring, a Maestro was an incredibly high-ranking and vital figure. Doing this would undoubtedly trigger an endless, relentless vendetta with no room for retreat.
Retaliation wasn't Putato's exclusive privilege.
If he used his Syndicate identity, Smiling Faces would likely end up absorbing a lot of the pressure for him; they couldn't exactly cut ties with him right now.
Should he use the Fixer Vanda identity?
If he took down a target like this, could he skyrocket his grade in one go? Putato was instantly tempted. Since he'd be targeted for revenge anyway, he might as well choose the path that maximized his returns.
As for mobilizing Grey Haze... forget it. The first two identities would at most get him a target on his back from the Ring, but if that identity were exposed, he'd likely face an Association subjugation squad. Those were enemies on a completely different level from Walter's Section 6, he might even run into a Color Fixer.
At this moment, a war was raging in Putato's mind. Killing a Ring Maestro was simply too aggressive; one wrong move and he'd end up dead on the street.
He gripped the small lantern and leaned against the wall next to a fried chicken shop. Any plan felt helplessly ridiculous when it involved a Star of the City.
"Excuse me, do you want breast or thigh?"
"Actually, I value a partner's personality more."
The clerk at the fried chicken shop, wearing an apron, furrowed his brow at the nutcase in front of him. He rolled his eyes and turned to attend to other customers.
"Sir, if you aren't buying, please don't block the way."
Lost in thought, Putato finally realized the clerk was talking to him. He quickly cleared the way for the people lining up behind him.
He didn't regret cursing out Wym; a scumbag like that staying alive was against the will of heaven.
So what if the Ring retaliated? As long as Putato kept getting promoted, becoming a Color Fixer was within reach. He suddenly felt a weight lift off his shoulders and snatched a piece of fried chicken from the person next to him who had just bought it.
"Are you f***ing kidding me?! This is the first time I've seen a mugger steal fried chicken! I'm talking to you!"
Putato casually tossed all the cash in his pocket to the man, leaving him stunned. Then, he borrowed a motorcycle parked next to the shop.
"Bastard! You steal my chicken and now you want my bike?! You're completely ignoring me!"
"Sorry. I'll return it later."
"Return your mother's size!"
...
In front of the Rabbit's house.
Wym was still dealing with the wealthy elites who had participated in the betting. She patiently offered a compensation plan for the recent mishap, which finally caused the noisy voices on the other end of the communicator to subside.
She put away the device and looked up at this fairy-tale-style Rabbit house, unable to help but reminisce about the moment she first encountered performance art.
Suddenly, Wym tossed the exquisite, ornate human-skin painting in her hand onto the ground. She didn't care at all about this artwork that numerous buyers had been fighting to bid on; instead, she looked down at the latest information regarding Grey Haze.
"This kind of grand choral format is simply unprecedented, truly heart-shaking. I must create a work of art that surpasses such a sublime scene of despair."
"I truly envy that guy who witnessed the soul-piercing overture of wailing firsthand. What kind of vista must it be? I can't even begin to imagine it."
"By comparison, what I do is just child's play. Don't you think so, Putato?"
Wym, with a slight smile, looked at Putato at the end of the street. He had prominent dark circles under his eyes and almost stumbled as he got off the motorcycle, clearly exhausted.
Even she was somewhat taken aback. This guy had been parading all night and still had the energy for an offline duel. She simply couldn't fathom what he was thinking.
Putato said nothing as he jammed a pneumatic syringe into himself. He had zero interest in talking to a dead person. He exhaled a thick, drifting mist that obscured her vision.
Even though he was desperately sleepy, his numerous buffs allowed Putato to forcibly control his body through sheer willpower.
As long as he wished, he could keep fighting until his body literally gave out and he dropped dead.
CLATTER, CLATTER!
A cascade of colorful small balls spilled from Wym's sleeves and trouser legs, almost covering the street in front of the Rabbit's house like shaken-off dust.
"Hehe, since you're in such a rush, let's create something together."
Hematic Pump!
Smoke billowed out. Neither human eyes nor cameras could penetrate that eerie fog; one could only glimpse the details of the fight from the swirling, shifting shapes within the mist.
CLANG, CLANG, CLANG!
Drawing her paintbrush spears, Wym hastily engaged, parrying dozens of Putato's high-speed strikes from every angle within seconds. She was forced back until she was pinned against the front door of the Rabbit House.
SCHWING!
A blade faster than she expected thrust straight for her chest. Wym didn't even have time to swing her spears; the long-forgotten agony of tearing flesh surged through her.
Wym finally stopped hiding her madness. She actually reached out and gripped the blade of the Blood Sword, thrusting a razor-sharp paintbrush spear toward Putato's head.
"Come then! Step inside with me!"
Seeing the Blood Sword's tip only pierce halfway, Putato immediately knew the fabric she wore was anything but ordinary. He had to target her unprotected head.
Putato didn't retreat to dodge; instead, he tilted his head nimbly to the right.
SQUISH!
The paintbrush spear plunged precisely into the gap between his collarbone and neck. Nearly half the spear actually buried itself in Putato's body, almost puncturing his heart!
"What is this? It looks like it would make a fine pigment."
Wym looked in surprise at the Hardened-Mist that had encased the brush and her hand, feeling an immense, immovable resistance.
Before she could steal another glance, a blinding light forced her eyes shut.
[KILL WYM!]
Putato poured every ounce of his strength into a forward lunge with the Honesuki. Its flesh-cleaving property allowed him to slice upward through her right arm; in an instant, her limb split down the middle.
"Aaaaaah!"
Wym screamed as she saw the Honesuki coming for her head again. Terror finally broke through her madness. Her left hand fumbled behind her, wrenching open the door to the Rabbit House. She fell backward into the room, narrowly evading the decapitating blow.
POP, POP, POP.
A series of tiny explosions echoed. Putato realized the surrounding white mist was being dyed in a chaotic array of colors, and an irrational, primal fear surged from the depths of his heart.
"Hahaha! I extracted this fear from the Grand Chorus myself. Do you want to taste it with me?"
Wym's voice rang out, filled with smug pride. Though caught off guard and stripped of her pigments, her latest "masterpiece" would surely provide Putato with a novel experience. Her breathing became ragged, and her pupils dilated as if she were staring at the personification of terror.
"Yes... this is the feeling! But it's not enough! I need you to wail!"
"Aaaaaah."
But when Wym looked up at Putato, she froze. His body was boiling with grey gas, riddled with countless blood-red characters for "Death."
He let out a low, guttural wail like a wounded beast. The sheer concentration of fear-gas felt wrong to Wym; it shouldn't have reached this density. And his appearance... it looked hauntingly familiar.
Putato reached into his own body and violently ripped out the spear shaft. The Death Aura surged, rapidly repairing his corpse-like form until his flesh was whole again.
"Wait! Wait!"
Wym cried out in ecstatic delight. Ignoring her wounds and the fear, she shrieked like a starstruck fan.
Unfortunately, Putato's only response was a swift, clinical thrust.
THUD!
The paintbrush spear punched through Wym's head, ending all her words right there.
Deactivating the Necro Emission, Putato walked away without looking back. He triggered the Softened-Mist to permeate the Rabbit House, turning the place into a somnambulist's wonderland.
"Your fireworks."
BOOM!
The beautiful Rabbit House erupted. The violent explosion swept the alleyway clean of all mist, leaving only Putato's silhouette as he slowly walked away.
...
Extreme weakness turned Putato's legs to jelly. Even with his high Resilience, he felt as if he couldn't take another step. But he couldn't stay; if the Ring sent more trouble, he'd be finished.
He had already dispatched Mo and the others to deliver Parkye to Olga. They were too far away. Putato dragged the Blood Sword behind him, its tip screeching against the uneven pavement. Passersby took one look at his state and scrambled to clear a path.
"Elena, are you there?"
"I'm listening."
A cold hand slid under his arm, supporting the left side of his body. Putato's tensed nerves finally snapped, and he leaned heavily into her. She didn't smell of perfume, only the faint, metallic scent of blood.
To be honest, having such a bond with a blood-soaked Bloodfiend surprised even Putato, but he quickly reminded himself that he wasn't exactly a saint either.
"Why'd you go and kill someone from the Ring for no reason?" Elena asked. "Do you want the Association hunting you down like they do me? You can't exactly escape and survive as a mere scrap of meat like I can."
"I didn't like her face."
The blunt answer left Elena momentarily speechless. She simply rubbed her chin against Putato's neck, tracing the prominent veins. It felt strangely comforting.
Too exhausted to resist the fangs pulsing against his carotid artery, Putato closed his eyes and drifted straight into sleep.
When he finally opened them again, he found a circle of people surrounding him.
"Uh, what's the situation?"
Clutching his head, Putato slowly sat up from the sofa. He felt surprisingly good, which immediately made him turn to Katae in a panic.
"I didn't sleep for a whole day and night, did I?!"
There was still cleanup work to be done for this operation!
Furthermore, Putato already had a lead on that K Corp Director. Since he was already in deep trouble, he might as well do one last job as Grey Haze.
Once that was finished, he needed to focus all his energy on entering L Corp.
"Not quite," Katae replied. "But when you returned, you were suffering from extreme exhaustion and anemia. I gave you a high-concentration injection. Your body should be back to full health now."
Anemia?
Scanning the room and finding no trace of Elena, Putato immediately knew what had happened. He made a mental note not to make that mistake again, or he'd be bled dry without even noticing.
Suddenly, he felt Olivia anxiously clutching his finger. Seeing Putato look over, she hugged her puppet tighter.
He felt the girl's youthful, soft cheek against his palm—it felt as light as cotton.
"Maybe you shouldn't go, Brother Putato. I'll solve the invitation problem!"
Mo, seeing Putato back on his feet, had already left with the other two Prosthetic users. Parui was busy comforting his dazed sister, Parkye.
Evidently, no one had explained the full details to a child like Olivia, so she didn't even realize this chapter had closed.
"And how do you plan to solve it?"
Putato pulled Olivia onto the sofa beside him. Her expression wasn't that of a child throwing a tantrum; she was staring at him with total seriousness.
"I asked Finn about the Ring. Basically, I'm Maestros Wym's 'artwork,' so she definitely wouldn't hurt me at her exhibition."
"Then, when I grow up a bit, I can earn money. I'll get Prosthetic modifications like Big Sister Mo so I can protect myself—and help take care of you too."
Putato's relaxed expression vanished, replaced by a look of shock. Did everyone here really have to end up looking like neither man nor ghost? Total Prosthetic modification and personality chips—what did those things even turn people into?
Putato didn't understand the intricacies of tech, but he understood Prosthetic modification. If it reached the level of the brain, it was effectively destroying a person's consciousness.
"No way. You absolutely must not get Prosthetic modifications!"
"Why not?" Olivia asked, clearly puzzled, hugging her puppet as she leaned against Putato.
"What do you mean 'why'?! Because there's no turning back from Prosthetic modification! Do you really want your naturally beautiful flesh to become cold steel? To have your entire consciousness stored in a tiny personality chip?!"
Putato sighed. He didn't understand why such insane technology wasn't banned. What the hell was the Head even doing?!
Suddenly, a plastic bag filled with sandwiches hit him on the head. Hot lettuce and ham spilled all over him. Putato spun around to see Mo standing there, his heart sinking.
"Putato, go to hell!"
"You think I don't know that guy who brought you back was a Bloodfiend?! I thought you loved being the 'good guy' and doing good deeds. Why are you acting all lovey-dovey with a blood-sucking monster like that?!"
"You don't discriminate against Bloodfiends, but you're discriminating against me?! 'Beautiful flesh' my ass! Is it just because steel Prosthetics can't sleep with you?!"
"Go die, Putato!"
Putato was stunned by the torrential downpour of curses. It wasn't until Mo turned to storm away that he finally snapped out of it and scrambled to catch up.
But then, Olivia's innocent, high-pitched voice rang out. She seemed completely unfazed by the recent outburst.
"I'll do whatever you say, Brother Putato. I'm so pretty, so I definitely won't get Prosthetic modifications. But what if I become one of those Bloodfiends instead?"
Can you people just be normal for once?!
"No becoming a Bloodfiend either!"
"You are you! I am me! Don't you go turning into anything weird for my sake. I don't need it!"
Hurriedly tossing those words back, Putato bolted out the door. He immediately spotted a fuming Mo violently kicking a vending machine that dispensed guillotine blades.
As he cautiously approached, Mo spun around and roared at him.
"This old lady is a hunk of iron! You can't sweet-talk me! Go back to your Bloodfiend mistress!"
"Look at you, getting all worked up. I was just saying that for the kid's benefit."
"There are no kids in The City! You're full of it, you scumbag!"
"I'm sorry, Mo. I shouldn't have said that. How much compensation do you want?"
"Don't you f***ing play with me. It's not about the money!"
"So you don't want your cut of the big contract then?"
"You wouldn't dare! How much is it?"
Mo immediately grabbed Putato's collar, aggressively demanding answers. Her eyes widened when she saw the transfer record on Putato's communicator.
"That much?! You got a contract this big from an Office?!"
Before Mo could take a closer look at the transfer details, Putato snatched the communicator back and smiled. That brought her back to reality.
"Hmph. If you didn't split the money, I'd have left ages ago. No one can stand someone like you!"
Mo crossed her arms, too lazy to argue further with Putato. Suddenly, her optical sensor glowed red. Putato immediately realized an enemy was approaching and turned around, tensing for a fight.
Approaching them was that familiar gold-rimmed-spectacles Messenger. She seemed to recognize Putato and gave a casual wave.
Another prescript. But with his Unfettered talent, she certainly wasn't here for him.
Putato stayed on guard, ready to fight at a moment's notice. The prescripts issued by these lunatics were varied; eating cake was one of the mildest and most mundane.
"Parkye is here, right? Don't be nervous. This time, I'm bringing a prescript for Parkye."