I will become the ice jellyfish queen with the Chat Group

Rhodes Island - A Conference room

The walls of Rhodes Island's landship hummed faintly as it moved through the vast, desolate landscapes. Inside, however, a much different battle was taking place—one of endurance, sheer will, and, above all, survival.

Akako, John, and Rimuru were enduring something that no battlefield had ever prepared them for. Their tormentor? A demon clad in a doctor's coat—Kal'tsit.

John, a man who had seen horrors beyond mortal comprehension, had resorted to sleeping with his eyes open, unresponsive to the world around him. Rimuru, in contrast, had surrendered control to [Raphael, Lord of Wisdom], allowing the superior mind to handle the suffering while he slipped into a deep sleep.

But Akako… Akako was resisting with every fiber of his being.

He had faced death, betrayal, and despair, but this… this was something else. His mind was flooded with memories, not of war or loss, but of the time his so-called best friend had tried to sell him to a noble with less-than-honorable intentions. That friend had once been the king of the Moon Kingdom.

And yet, this—this unrelenting questioning, the piercing glares, the sheer presence of Kal'tsit—felt even worse.

after he and Kal'tsit get into a room alone she said

[Kal'tsit]: After you and your friends entered the landship... Mr. Akako, I need to speak with you alone.

[Akako]: But the Doctor—

[Kal'tsit]: Yes, his amnesia will make this difficult, but that is not my concern right now.* Get in the room.** We need to talk.

Her voice carried venom. There was no room for argument. The way her eyes burned into him, filled with hatred and urgency, made him realize—this was personal.

Why did it feel like she was talking to a ghost?

As soon as they were alone, she took a step closer, her fists clenched at her sides.

[Kal'tsit]: Now, tell me—how are you alive? And not just you... 'The Blood Angel' too.

Akako blinked. The Blood Angel?

His mind flashed with fragmented memories—fire, screams, betrayal.

Kal'tsit's voice became harsher.

[Kal'tsit]: I won't ask again, Akako.* You and 'The Blood Angel' were burned along with the Suzume Kingdom when Ursus attacked.** I buried you with my own hands in the year 300. 'The Blood Angel' fell in 450, leading an assault after Ursus attacked again.** So I'll ask one more time—how? Are. You. Alive?***

Her green eyes burned with emotion, but Akako just smiled.

That smile only made her more furious.

[Kal'tsit]: Do not lie to me, friend.

The word friend was laced with pain and anger.

Akako now remembered everything.

The Race card had rewritten his past, giving him an elaborate backstory to blend into this world. It had done the same for the others. But now, his past in this world and his true memories were starting to mix.

His expression darkened for a moment.

Then, he answered.

[Akako]: I made a deal with the devil.

Kal'tsit's body tensed.

[Akako]: He faked my death. Set me up in the black market. Some jobs here, some there… until one day, I met a man from Babel. An old friend of yours—the Doctor.

Her breath hitched.

[Akako]: He wanted information. We made a bet over a game of chess. If I lost, I worked for him. If he lost, he worked for me. We became friends halfway through the match. He won. And that's the truth.

His golden eyes met hers.

[Akako]: Now, if you want to know about 'The Blood Angel'... ask him yourself. I only helped a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Silence.

Kal'tsit stared at him, expression unreadable.

Finally, she sighed.

[Kal'tsit]: You... really haven't changed.

[back to Grey]

Somewhere deep within the landship, Grey opened her eyes to an eerie sight.

A golden door stood before her at the top of a grand staircase. She reached for the handle but then—

Click-click-click.

A faint, repetitive sound echoed behind her.

Her red eyes gleamed in the flickering light as she gripped her shovel.

The lights above her flickered, turning the corridor into a nightmarish landscape of shifting shadows.

She stepped forward, her boots silent against the cold metal floor.

A door stood before her. She opened it.

Inside…

A figure moved.

She didn't hesitate.

[Grey]: THE DEAD MEMES SHOULD STAY BURIED—DIE!

With a mighty swing, her shovel connected with something.

CRACK!

Bones shattered.

She blinked.

Lying before her, blood pooling beneath him, was Ahma's limp body.

His fingers twitched, moving through the crimson mess to write something.

With shaking, bloodied hands, he scrawled a final message:

[The killer is flat-chested (° ͜ʖ°)]

Grey blinked once.

Then twice.

Then she raised her shovel and swung again.

[let us now go to Noah and Arakan ]

Meanwhile, somewhere on Rhodes Island, another battle raged—one of pride, alcohol, and absolute stupidity.

In the middle of a crowded dormitory, Noah and Arakan sat across from each other, their gazes locked in an intense stare. Around them, Operators cheered, pounded the tables, and chanted.

[Everyone]: DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!

[Frostleaf]: Come on, Sir Arakan! Show him who's boss!

[Gavial]: No way, Noah's got this in the bag!

[Warfarin]: How the hell are they still alive?! Their blood-alcohol levels should have killed them already!

In the corner, Ace, Scout, and Blaze were completely unconscious, their heads resting against the table, victims of their own overconfidence.

[Half an hour earlier…]

It had started with a simple conversation.

Arakan had been boasting about his battle against Patriot, earning the admiration of those around him.

[Warfarin]: How the hell did you turn your bones into swords? I NEED to see this.

[Noir Corne]: More importantly, how did you train your body to withstand a hit like that?

Then, Noah had smirked.

[Noah]: Tch. That's cute. I took on FrostNova, Crownslayer, and Skullshatterer—all by myself.

To prove his point, he opened a blood bag and molded the blood into a crimson blade.

[Warfarin]: WHAT THE HELL?! That's not how Sankta's powers work!

[Noah]: I'm a hybrid. Half-Sankta, half-vampire.

[Everybody]: hhhhhhhaaaaaaaa

The room fell silent.

[Scout]: I did NOT see that coming.

[Noah]: Now, Arakan… how about we settle this with a real contest?

Noah pointed his blood blade at Arakan.

Arakan smirked.

He reached into his ribs, pulling out a bone-crafted sword.

[Arakan]: Talk less. Fight more.

They stood ready to duel—

But then Ace arrived with barrels of alcohol.

[Ace]: Alright, you two. Let's settle things like men.

[Arakan]: Fine. The loser trains every Operator for a year and sleeps on the metal floor.

[Noah]: Deal.

[Noah]: let us add more the loser will sleep on the metal floor For the duration of their stay here

[Blaze]: Can I join if you lose to me both of you will Join

[Ace]: Count me and Scout in

[Scout]: Why me

[Arakan]: Good miss Warfarin you count

[Warfarin]: Ok 3...2...1...go

[After half an hour ]

In the center of the madness, Noah and Arakan sat surrounded by overturned barrels of alcohol. Their skin glowed red, their hands shaky, their vision blurred. Yet, neither yielded.

Noah grinned, swaying slightly as he pointed at Arakan with a half-empty mug.

[Noah]: You... you're losing, Arakan. I've drunk—hic—ten barrels already!

Arakan chuckled darkly, his voice thick with intoxication.

[Arakan]: Ha...ha... Is that all? I'm still standing, aren't I?

Neither noticed the distant whispers of death creeping at the edges of their vision. Both were teetering at the brink of alcohol poisoning. In fact, they could see the River of the Afterlife. And standing at its edge—

Their grandmothers.

Noah's eyes widened.

[Noah]: N-no... You're dead, blood witch... I-I killed you myself...

Arakan slurred, eyes unfocused.

[Arakan]: G-grandmother... You've been dead for 500 years... why are you here...

The crowd stopped cheering as Warfarin screamed.

[Warfarin]: THEY'RE ABOUT TO DIE!

[Yato]: SOMEONE GET A HEALER!

As medics rushed to their aid, a new disturbance erupted.

A blood-curdling scream echoed through the halls.

Everyone turned.

A trail of blood led down the hall. At its end—

Ahma's body.

[Noah]: …What?

He blinked, his drunken haze clearing in an instant.

[Arakan]: Ahma…? How…?

[Noah]: How… did I not sense this?!

He sliced his palm, extracting the alcohol from his bloodstream to regain clarity.

[Arakan]: Who did this?

Warfarin checked Ahma's pulse.

[Warfarin]: He's alive but in a coma. We need Doctor Kal'tsit. NOW.

Yato sprinted from the room.

And somewhere in her own room, Grey yawned, stretched, and went back to sleep, unaware of the chaos she had just caused.

[With Goosein]

In the children's room, Goosein sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a circle of eager young faces. His rough, battle-worn hands cradled a small book, the cover worn and frayed from years of use.

[Goosein]: So, after the yakuza boy realized... home isn't just a place, it's where you find happiness. It doesn't matter if it's the dark, grimy streets or the sewers full of rats. As long as you have people who care for you, people who call you family, then that's your home.

The children hung on every word, Goosein smiled softly, his eyes glinting with a warmth that contrasted with the cold steel of his armor.

A girl, no older than eight, raised her hand, her small voice breaking the silence.

[Girl]: Uncle Goosein, can anywhere really accept us, even if we're different? Even if we're... infected?

Goosein's heart tightened at the question, and he looked around at the children's faces, all of them marked by the same fearful uncertainty. Before he could respond, a boy, perhaps a bit older and hardened by the world, scoffed.

[Boy]: Don't be stupid. Nobody wants us. Not with what we are. We're infected... we don't belong.

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, and Goosein's smile faltered. But he quickly stood up, his large frame casting a shadow over the group. His voice, though calm, carried an undeniable force.

[Goosein]: I don't care what anyone else says. I'm here for you, and I'll be here for you as long as you need me. No matter what happens. You all have names, you have hearts, you have dreams, and that makes you no different than anyone else. And I'll tell you this now—no matter how others treat you, I accept you. All of you, just as you are. Infected or not.

The kids stared at him in stunned silence. Some looked down, their gazes heavy with memories of rejection, of being cast aside. But Goosein wasn't done. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, gleaming knife.

[Goosein]: I swear this to you now—no matter what comes, we're family. Family doesn't abandon each other. It doesn't matter where you come from, what's in your blood, or what the world says about you. You will never be alone. I make this promise to you, right here, right now.

The children looked uncertain, their faces torn between fear and a glimmer of hope. The oldest boy, who had been so cynical just moments before, eyed the knife warily. Before Goosein could cut his finger to seal the vow, the boy stepped forward and stopped him with a firm grip.

[Boy]: Wait! Don't—don't cut yourself, Uncle. We... we don't need blood oaths. Just... just be here with us, that's enough.

Goosein smiled, his heart swelling with pride at the boy's bravery.

[Goosein]: Alright, no blood oaths. But I'll tell you this. I'll always be here. And if you ever doubt that... I'll remind you of this promise.

The room filled with a soft murmur of agreement, the children slowly beginning to smile, their faces brightening as they realized the truth of his words.

[Goosein]: Now, this is the family I'm talking about. Welcome. And remember our motto: Help the weak, fight the strong, and above all—never betray the family.

He turned to the boy who had spoken so harshly before, pointing a finger at him with a mischievous grin.

[Goosein]: You're the boss now. I'm getting too old for this, so it's your turn to lead.

The boy's eyes widened in surprise, and he straightened his posture, a mixture of pride and uncertainty filling him.

[Boy]: M-Me? But—

[Goosein]: Yeah, you. You've got the heart for it. Just don't let it get to your head.

The kids cheered softly, and Goosein couldn't help but chuckle. He patted the boy on the back before turning toward the door.

[Goosein]: Well, I'll leave you to it. Take care of each other, alright?

As Goosein walked toward the door, he caught a glimpse of the sunlight filtering through the window. The glow from outside illuminated his figure, and for a brief moment, he seemed like a protector—someone who would fight for these kids, no matter the cost.

But as he reached the door, something caught his attention. A figure stood in the hallway, partially hidden in shadow. Goosein's sharp eyes narrowed, his instincts immediately alert.

[Goosein]: Why are you here, old man?

The figure stepped forward, revealing an aged, battle-worn face. The man's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes were cold, calculating. Goosein could tell the man was a veteran, someone who had seen too many battles, and lived through too much bloodshed.

[???]I'm just curious. Wondering why someone like you, one of my kind, is here. Not in Ursus, not in the front lines, but here, with the infected. And looking at your armor, it's clear you're no ordinary soldier. You've got weapons hidden in every crevice.

Goosein didn't flinch. He had seen this kind of suspicion before. The old man's gaze was sharp, but Goosein wasn't concerned. He held out a cigar, offering it to the man.

[Goosein]: Here, take one. It'll help you forget the pain, if only for a little while.

The man eyed the cigar for a long moment before accepting it. Goosein ignited it for him, watching as the old soldier took a long drag. The tension hung thick between them, but there was an unspoken understanding—a mutual respect for the harsh realities of their worlds.

As the two of them stood there in silence, Goosein broke it with a casual tone.

[Goosein]: You were watching me in there, huh? Watching the kids. Holding your sword like you were ready to kill me at any moment.

The man remained silent, his eyes betraying little emotion. Goosein continued.

[Goosein]: You can relax, old man. I'm not here to start trouble. I'm just following my friends, that's all. No need to keep your guard up. Not today.

The old man didn't respond. He simply finished his cigar, stubbed it out, and turned to leave. Goosein watched him go, the faintest trace of a smile crossing his face. It was rare to find someone who didn't immediately judge him for what he had become.

As the door closed behind the man, a commotion erupted down the hall. An operator rushed toward Goosein, panting heavily.

[Operator]: Mr. Goosein! Sir Arakan sent me. You need to come to the infirmary, quickly. It's Ahma... he's dead.

The news hit Goosein like a cold slap, and without another word, he rushed down the hallway, his mind racing. Ahma? Dead? It didn't make sense. He pushed through the door to the infirmary, where the room was already filled with a tense, frantic atmosphere.

[Half an hour later...]

The atmosphere in the infirmary was heavy,

[Goosein]: What the hell happened here?

Noah and Arakan both glanced up at Goosein, their eyes filled with guilt and confusion.

[Arakan]: We were drunk... we didn't even feel it. Whoever did this took advantage of our state.

Noah's voice was a low, bitter growl. He took a step forward, fury flashing in his eyes.

[Noah]: Whoever did this is going to pay. I swear it on my blood.

Warfarin had already started working on a blood transfusion, pumping fresh blood into Ahma's veins. Her hands were swift, but even her expertise couldn't hide the urgency in her movements. She needed help.

[Warfarin]: We need a specialist. Someone who can pinpoint the injury and stop the internal bleeding.

The door burst open with a sudden force, and Doctor Kal'tsit entered, her expression unreadable but sharp as ever.

[Kal'tsit]: What happened?

[Goosein]: Ahma's been attacked. He's still alive, but we're not sure for how long. We need your help, Kal'tsit.

Kal'tsit nodded grimly, her keen eyes scanning the scene with clinical precision.

[Kal'tsit]: Everyone, clear the area. Warfarin, continue the transfusion. I'll handle the rest.

The others stepped back as Kal'tsit moved into action, immediately taking charge of the situation. Her eyes narrowed as she examined Ahma's body, noting the precision of the attacks—two strikes to the back of the head. The kind of strike that could only be made by someone who knew exactly where to hit.

[ chapter end ]