Arknights: The Deathless Black Snake Just Wants to Live a Simple Life.

"Oh, my loyal bodyguard, may I invite you—such a beautiful lady—to dine with me?"

In their shared office, Mobius held up two lunchboxes from Rhine Lab's internal cafeteria, speaking in a flamboyant tone to Saria, who sat beside Her, deeply focused on reviewing documents.

"Thank you," Saria replied dryly, rolling her eyes.

After months of working alongside this so-called "immortal" of unknown identity, she had gradually grown accustomed to this unreliable presence loitering around her—frequently acting out with spontaneous bouts of nonsense.

Just think of Her like a misbehaving child, she told herself.

From what she understood, some immortals and Feranmuts did indeed display such immature behavior. But in most cases, it wasn't due to a young mental age—it was because they had long lost their sense of empathy, and now treated the world as little more than a game.

Do you play games methodically? I, for one, play them as outrageously as possible.

Just as Saria was about to continue processing documents and save her meal for later, Mobius provocatively placed one of the lunchboxes right between the horns on her head.

"Eat properly if you want energy to work~"

"Mobius—! You—!"

To prevent the contents from spilling onto her paperwork, she was forced to slowly stand and retrieve the box from her head with both hands.

Mobius used the opportunity to swipe the document she had just been reading.

"If you don't eat well, it'll affect your health. Your work efficiency will suffer too."

That deliberately affected tone of voice nearly made her fist twitch. She resisted the urge to strike Mobius across her beautiful face and demand to know whether her past image as a devoted seeker of truth—so obsessed with knowledge and reason—had all just been an elaborate act.

"Dear Ms. Saria, you wouldn't want these important documents to get stained, would you?"

Her mockingly elegant tone, so full of faux Higashi flair, grated on her nerves. All of this... just to get her to eat lunch?

Saria found herself questioning everything she thought she understood about immortals.

Is there really such a creature that goes out of its way just to be annoying?

Does she truly think she can act so shamelessly just because she's wearing a disguise?

She opened the lunchbox and, in full view of Mobius, used the portable instruments she had brought to check the food for poison. Then, calmly, she picked up her own set of sterilized utensils.

"Oh, after all this time we've spent together, I thought we were as close as sisters," Mobius said with a dramatically wounded expression, one hand over her heart and her eyes wide with theatrical dismay. "And yet you still don't trust me."

Veins began to pulse visibly on Saria's forehead.

Watching her grit her teeth in frustration while being forced to hold back brought Mobius endless satisfaction.

Throughout her long existence, Mobius had always delighted in amusement—and what greater pleasure was there than watching others suffer, if only a little?

She didn't have to turn people into enemies to enjoy tormenting them. As long as She could make someone uncomfortable, She was content.

Mobius was just that kind of despicable woman—one who thrived on others' misery.

And lately, the general manager's attitude had become a little more... flexible.

When She couldn't force her to back down, allowing Saria to voluntarily withdraw from surveillance duty would grant Her far greater freedom.

All of it—every step, every little nuisance—was part of Mobius's long-term objective: to exploit Rhine Lab's memory, that is, its top-tier scientific research capabilities, to develop a cloning technology usable by Her.

Once perfected, it would drastically increase her safety margin—several times over.

"After all, there are far too few people whose bodies I can comfortably inhabit," She mused.

Mobius detested occupying the bodies of good people.

Doing so would only reduce their already dwindling numbers, making it harder for Her to take advantage of their compassion later. Worse, those who had received kindness from such people would turn their hatred toward Her, aiding the virtuous in their quest for revenge.

None of this aligned with the peaceful, uneventful end that she was seeking.

By contrast, a lone, evil man made for the perfect vessel.

Yet in this era, even such "pure evil" individuals were hard to find. And among those who did exist, some naive fools were bound to be taken in by their facade—thus becoming Mobius's enemies instead.

But if the cloning project succeeded, Mobius would never again need to waste time and effort searching for a suitable body. She could instead pursue life's many fascinating amusements:

[Undersea Adventure]

[The Charlatan of Yan Country]

[The Snake Knight of Kazimierz]

[The Devil Satan of Kazdel]

[The Mad Scientist of Rhine Lab]

These were all either future vacation plans in the making—or unfinished tales, halted due to unforeseen circumstances.

It was impossible for Her to stay in Ursus day after day, playing the tiresome role of duke like a glorified nanny.

As long as the cloning project succeeds, my life will become not only safer, but vastly more entertaining.

As Mobius watched Saria, who always wore a stiff expression, finish her meal with barely concealed anger, She handed her the document back with great satisfaction.

"Besides," She thought with amusement, "making Saria angry is always a delightful way to pass the time."

---

Time flows back to the present.

Saria led Mobius into her office and handed Her a report.

[On the Conception of Gender in Feranmuts and Immortals]

Mobius's brow furrowed.

She immediately understood what Saria was getting at by calling Her here.

Unfortunately, the topic touched on a gap in her own knowledge—a rare occurrence.

She Herself had no particular concern for gender. To Her, it was utterly meaningless.

Her gender shifted as her vessel changed. In Her eyes, both male and female forms had their own merits.

If She wished, She could establish a Mobius Family of her own—passing it down through countless generations.

But such efforts would only consume Her valuable time and energy, offering little in return.

Worse, playing house with oneself ran the high risk of degenerating into madness.

Even though She had used male bodies far more frequently in recent years, it didn't mean She identified with that gender.

Who came up with this ridiculous idea?

What kind of genius came up with this nonsense?

The ever-knowledgeable and well-informed Dr. Mobius—Kashchey—was, for once, in utter disarray.

---

"Hey, Kal'tsit, let me ask you something."

A woman with neatly styled white hair, curved red horns, and playful purple eyes sat lazily with her tail swaying behind her. She was watching another white-haired woman with sharp green eyes, who was focused intently on the documents before her.

"Do beings like us really exist—ones whose gender can't be defined?"

"I have no idea."

Kal'tsit replied curtly, clearly irritated. She was in the middle of handling important Rhodes Island affairs and had no time for Nian's casual chatter.

"Aw, don't be mad~ I know I'm bothering you while you're working, but you're always so busy. I can never find a time when you're actually resting."

"Besides, this is a matter of serious concern to me, okay?"

Kal'tsit looked up from her documents, casting a helpless glance at Nian. The sincerity in her clasped hands and pleading expression was too absurd to ignore.

Finally, Kal'tsit sighed and gave in.

"Of course."

She spoke without looking away from her work, flipping through pages with practiced speed.

"But first, you need to be sure that the 'same race' you're referring to really are Feranmuts—not some other peculiar creatures."

She paused for a moment, a shadow crossing her face as certain dangerous figures surfaced in her memory.

"And... if this being has never once experienced a real setback, a life-threatening crisis, or a soul-shaking event that forced Him to confront his own identity…"

"Then He wouldn't be able to answer the same question you and your siblings already know deep down."

Nian's smirk faded. Her usual carefree expression turned still.

Kal'tsit enunciated each word clearly and slowly.

["Who am I?"]