Sinclair had a dramatic reaction to Rodion's sudden call.
Of course, Rodion brushed it off without a care and carried on the conversation at her own pace, just as always.
"When you were little, you ever mess around with dance?"
"M-mess around? In school enrichment class... I did learn the basics of maracas once..."
""
As far as I was concerned, only Dante didn't know that...
"You can tell just by the way they walk or talk. It's obvious at a glance."
"On the flip side, the ones who never learned a thing... heh... you know?"
Rodion quietly snickered while looking toward Heathcliff, then slipped behind Sinclair and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"Now then~ our Sinclair. From this moment on, you've got a really~ really~ important mission."
"Huh? Huh? Rodion? Where are you dragging me..."
Hang in there, Sinclair. You can do it!
Before long, Sinclair, who had been hauled off somewhere, came back out with a solemn expression.
"That's right, think back on all those days when you were just getting beaten up by that Heathcliff bastard..."
There was something oddly self-serving in Ishmael's words of encouragement, but that was probably just my imagination.
"I-I..."
Even with the Sinners cheering him on, Sinclair still seemed uneasy, staring at Rodion with trembling eyes.
"R-really... is it okay for me to step up?"
"No, Sinclair."
"You're the only one who can do it."
Sinclair nodded with grave determination.
Rodion, your skill at dumping things on other people is top-tier. Amazing.
-shhhk, shhhk
Before long, Sinclair started swaying to the rhythm while shaking the maracas.
Shaking the maracas to guitar accompaniment, eyes closed, body moving with the beat... in more ways than one, it was impressive.
Wait, guitar?
Sensing something off, I looked around and found Ryoshu playing the guitar.
...That's genuinely unexpected.
"Nice one, Sinclair!"
Rodion was clapping and cheering him on.
"Gregor, do you want to wear this hat too?"
Hong Lu, dressed in a poncho I had no idea where he'd gotten, was thrusting a Mexican-style hat at Gregor.
When did he even put that on?
"The snap of the wrist... the entranced expression... the restrained rhythm... Perfect!"
"So calm... and yet that calmness only stirs the heart more... This boy is reading something..."
"Sublimation..."
"He's trying to overcome the dark things and pain suppressed inside him through movement...!"
"Ooh... the last embers left in the ashes after everything burned away... The rhythm heated by those embers... the movement expressed through that rhythm... It's like a giant campfire that burned through one night and left only ash! A dawn ball where those ash flakes flutter like dancers!"
As Dante said, I had no idea what the hell that was supposed to mean, but somehow things seemed to be going well.
Hey, Hong Lu. Could you move that hat out of the way? I can't see Sinclair's future embarrassment anymore.
"You, want to join our organization? You're a seed that'll grow big someday."
"That child belongs to our company. Attempting to poach talent without permission is a serious violation of the rules."
At Sword's words, Sinclair—who until only a few hours ago had been lumped in with the idiot crowd—had somehow been promoted to company talent.
By the time the performance ended, the staff were looking at us favorably.
"That was a fine performance. You want to go up to the top floor, right?"
"Go on up. You've more than earned it."
"But the guys upstairs won't be able to talk sense. They don't know a thing about having fun."
So that meant another fight. Understood perfectly.
And Sinclair, having finished his performance, approached with a much lighter expression.
"What was trying to rise up from inside me... so that was it."
"Why did I think it would be so difficult? I feel much more at ease now."
...What even was that. I couldn't make sense of it.
What this pretty young master had felt through dance.
What kind of past had given rise to that frustration.
I had a lot of things I wanted to ask, but decided not to.
We were busy enough just moving forward right now.
But once the mission was over, maybe I could ask him a little.
Looking forward to the time we'd spend talking later, we headed for the third floor.
When we opened the door and entered the third floor, a group of large, tattooed men with their shirts off greeted us.
With their thick... no, to be honest, rather obese builds, they threatened us in deep, gravelly voices that suited them.
"What's this now?"
"You lot, do you even know where you're crawling up to?"
"If you go poking around carelessly, I'll twist your body into something acrobatic."
"And then I'll break every finger joint and use 'em as mahjong tiles."
...Just hearing it, it sounded vicious, but why didn't it feel threatening at all?
Maybe because of how they looked, it felt less like a threat to life and more like they were just trying to act tough.
In any case, Ishmael let out a sigh, having sensed battle from the hostile attitude.
"Haa... what a murderous welcome."
"Heh, I'm not the type to turn down a greeting like this. Hey! Go wreck 'em!"
With that, Heathcliff charged out.
...Right, battle the moment we arrive on a floor now.
About to say something to Heathcliff, I gave up and took my stance.
He wouldn't listen even if I did, so rather than wasting breath complaining, it would be better for my mental health to just deal with the enemies quickly.
"Hraaah!!"
-clang!
-shhk
Heathcliff swung his blade with a raucous battle cry.
The enemy seemed to be trying to block with the Chinese cleaver in his hand, but the difference in weapons was too much, and he took a hit from Heathcliff.
At this rate, we might win pretty easily.
"Hup!"
-clang!
-thud
The enemies were heavily built, but we had the slight advantage in the fight.
Obviously, the difference in weapons has a huge effect on combat.
No matter how big the other side is, unless they're some kind of superhuman, it's hard to overcome that.
...Let's ignore the fact that this world has a ridiculous number of those superhumans.
The point is that it's extremely hard for a Chinese cleaver to beat a long-reach polearm.
-clang!
Ah, damn it.
-thwack
"Ghk..."
...Why was I getting hit when we had the advantage?
There was a reason for all of it.
"Hey, if you keep spacing out like that, I'll split your skull and use it as a lamp."
They kept hurling mental attacks like that every time they swung, so how was I supposed to hold out!
Once or twice would've been one thing, but they kept spouting that garbage nonstop, making it hard to keep my mind together.
-clang!
-whoosh, thwack
"That's his weakness."
-boom!
"He's on fire!"
Of course, that didn't mean we were losing.
The battle was still steadily going our way.
"You lot, keep a good hold on your heads. I'll pull 'em off and use 'em as soccer balls."
That didn't mean the mental attacks stopped, though.
"I forgot... these guys are famous for having filthy mouths..."
"There's a rumor they wiped out dozens of rival gang members with nothing but verbal abuse..."
...Is that true, Epi?
In any case, Heathcliff finally couldn't stand listening to them anymore and started getting angry, but...
"Hey! If you can still talk, then shut up and—"
"What're you staring at like that for? You got a problem? What, you got dog eyes or somethin'..."
"Aye, quit it. I already split one guy's skull earlier and shouted inside it, but all I got back was an echo."
"Heh~ what, did you not even have udon in that skull of yours? How do you walk around with a hollow bun hanging off your head?"
"..."
Well, he got wrecked.
Heathcliff stood there, letting out only weak groans like he'd lost his mind.
"Hmm, are they all getting some kind of group lesson?"
"This is the first time I've seen Heathcliff get torn apart like that."
"...Pfft."
At the sudden laugh, everyone's gaze turned to Rodion.
"N-no, I mean, it is funny. W-why are you all looking at me~"
Even the shameless Rodion seemed to find everyone's attention hard to handle.
"...All of you."
Hm?
"...I'll kill you all!!"
*
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*
Ugh, what a racket.
Heathcliff, suddenly snapping back to his senses, exploded with fury.
"Why're you yellin' so damn loud? Got nothin' inside, so the sound's echoing around?"
"Big head, but nothing in it, so that's how he is. Even when you hit him, it sounds like striking a wooden fish."
The Heathcliff who had lost all reason charged at the men who'd mocked him.
...At this rate, swinging weapons around without thinking at all, there was no way this would end quickly.
The battle dragged on in a grinding war of attrition.
We, with our endless lives, slowly reduced their numbers.
They, with their words, slowly wore down our momentum.
Surprisingly, Ishmael let out a snort after hearing Dante's anxious voice.
"What do you mean, what do we do? We've got a trump card, don't we?"
Did we have some kind of trump card...?
"They still don't know. The 'real' thing."
At the end of Ishmael's gaze, Ryoshu was sitting on the table before we knew it.
What exactly was this "real" thing that made her so confident...
And what came out of Ryoshu's mouth next far exceeded my imagination.