"Please bring a chair over here and sit down, Mr. Reinhardt," Dr. Rose requested, her voice calm yet tinged with a note of concern.
Reinhardt obeyed without hesitation, pulling a chair from the side and settling into it. There was no trace of suspicion in his expression—Dr. Rose's tone hadn't carried even a hint of hostility.
"I'm sorry for taking up your time like this," she began, folding her hands on the table. "But I noticed the mission you accepted... and I couldn't help but wonder why you'd choose to pursue a cursed object. There are countless other assignments available. A single cursed object, when unleashed, has the potential to erase millions of lives in an instant."
Cursed objects were feared relics—manifestations of destruction wrapped in deceptive allure. They came in various shapes and sizes, each shrouded in a charming aura. As their name implied, these objects could grant powers beyond imagination—luck, strength, skills that rivaled the most gifted. But the price was always steep. They inevitably found a way to consume their users, dragging as many lives as possible down with them. And yet, the cycle continued—driven by desire, greed, and the lust for power—until the object was either destroyed or forcibly sealed away.
"I mean... millions is a bit of an exaggeration," Reinhardt responded with a faint shrug. "That number's actually pretty low. And besides, the area where the object is located is already uninhabitable due to Zone Resonances. I believe we'll be fine."
"...Right, I almost forgot you're a demon," Dr. Rose muttered under her breath, leaning back in her seat. "Deaths like these might seem natural to you... but even so, please try to look out for the ones who'll be accompanying you on the mission. I can't bear the thought of losing more of my students like this."
Reinhardt leaned back slightly, a subtle glint in his eye. "And technically speaking, a group trained in resisting mental intrusions can handle a cursed object. I believe our only real challenge will be navigating the Zone itself. While I do understand your concerns, Miss—and the reason you chose to speak to me, specifically, rather than the others—it's because I can extract the whole team safely if things go awry. But surely, we deserve the opportunity to prove ourselves. Don't you think?"
A pause followed. Dr. Rose regarded him with a long, tired look before letting out a soft sigh. "You speak well. I now understand why the Allens are considered the most tactical among the Major Families..."
She stood, her chair scraping quietly against the floor. "Well then, since that's the case, go on. Head to your next class. I doubt the teacher will delay the lesson for a single student."
Reinhardt rose as well, bowing lightly. Without another word, his form dissolved, melting seamlessly into a ripple of black liquid that sank into the floor and vanished without a trace.
After confirming that Dr. Rose hadn't done anything suspicious and had fully left the room, I let Wally disengage from the feed.
The nanobot I'd discreetly planted on Reinhardt earlier relayed the entire conversation through a microscopic lens calibrated to sync with my neural interface. I'd disabled the audio on purpose. I was still refining my lip-reading skills, and this felt like the perfect opportunity to practice in real-time.
Besides, even if I got a word or two wrong, it didn't matter. Wally had already archived the entire exchange. I could always replay it later.
"Sweet-tongued hypocrites..." I muttered, the echo of their conversation still fresh in my ears. "They'll whisper slurs behind closed doors, vilify entire races in the light of day—and yet, when desperation gnaws at their polished facades, when extinction breathes down their collective necks, they'll crawl to those very same races... whispering bargains, begging for salvation."
I leaned back to a wall, shaking my head slowly with a weary smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "At least I'm honest in what I do. There's a certain dignity in transparency—don't you think?"
"That's because they've already integrated themselves into the bones of the system," Ryuk replied, perched silently nearby, his tone more analytical than judgmental. He absentmindedly tugged at the edge of his invisible beard with his left wing. "Unlike you two, who wear your defiance like a loose-fitting mask, they've sewn theirs so tightly to their skin that even if they wished to remove it... they couldn't."
He paused, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly. "And if they tried—if they truly tried to peel it away—what they'd find underneath wouldn't be a person at all, just a hollowed-out ghost. A stranger to every version of themselves they once were."
We lingered just outside the classroom. The lesson hadn't started yet, though most of the other students had already filed in. We only had three classes a day, and since this was the last one, the teacher had the liberty to stretch it out for hours—if they were feeling particularly cruel.
"But you're not actually planning to use that cursed object yourself, are you?" Ryuk asked, eyeing me with one brow—or what could pass for a brow—raised. "You asked Reinhardt to contain it, not destroy it. That says enough."
"Spoilers," Moriarty replied coolly, stepping through the door without breaking stride. "And lose the beard-pulling act. A crow with a long beard is... unsettling, to say the least."
Ryuk gave a soft huff, entirely unbothered, and tugged on his invisible beard with exaggerated flair. "Any creature looks cool with a long beard," he said, dead serious.
This act of his seemed to irritate Moriarty even more—and in all honesty, I was enjoying every second of it. Watching them argue like that had become oddly entertaining. Twelve years ago, Moriarty hardly spoke to Ryuk at all—he'd been too wary, too guarded. But now, after everything we'd been through, the two of them looked more like best friends arguing over the pettiest of things. And frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Still... Dr. Rose's words echoed in the back of my mind.
This particular cursed object is a luck enhancer—shaped like a rabbit's foot, dangling from an old, silver chain. It's said that whoever possesses it becomes immortal... technically. Everything begins to tilt in their favor—coin flips, life-or-death encounters, even sheer chance bends to their will.
But the cost? The longer they use it, the more quickly their sanity unravels. Within a year or two, they stop being human—if they ever were to begin with. They become something else entirely... something that can't even be called a living creature anymore.
And if they ever lose it? All that luck it once granted doesn't just vanish—it turns inward. It drains every last drop of their fortune, along with their own natural luck, until there's absolutely nothing left. Just a hollow shell, doomed to failure, collapse, or worse.
That said... the object hasn't changed hands in over thirty years. That's a long time—far too long. Whatever creature holds it now... may not be something Reinhardt's squad can easily handle.
Still, if their coordination training goes well, I might finally send out the humanoid prototype of Wally I've been working on. It's nearly ready, and this would be a good field test.
…Wait a minute. I haven't even given it a name yet. That could be a problem. Imagine the embarrassment if one of Reinhardt's squad members asked for its designation and I had to improvise on the spot. Disgraceful.
And of course, cursed objects only affect the living. They're completely useless against machines, undead, or half-dead beings. They just don't register. No spark of life, nothing to feed on.
"Let's name it Pixie," Moriarty said nonchalantly, striding toward an uncrowded corner of the training hall. The last class of the day was a combat training session, so the entire room resembled a wide-open battlefield, with practice weapons lining the walls and padded flooring underfoot.
"...Pixie?" I hissed under my breath, trying to keep my voice low enough that no one nearby could hear. I pressed two fingers to my right ear to make it look like I was talking through a comms link. "You want to name a prototype—a soon-to-be humanoid killing machine—Pixie?!"
"Hey. My day, my rules," Moriarty shot back without missing a beat.
"Who even said that?"
"You did. Yesterday. Right before you passed out and made me sit through the strategy meeting for you."
I rubbed my temples. "But why Pixie? It's such a—by the Emperor, you're a child... Why did I even agree to this?" I groaned, already regretting letting him take control for the day. Any other soul would try to kill or save their host. But this one? This one names experimental weapons Pixie. "I'm going to die of a headache one day. Mark my words."
"Calm down, let him have his fun for today," Ryuk chimed in casually, perched above with wings half-folded. "Besides, it's just a prototype. You'll either scrap it when the next model's ready or upgrade this one beyond recognition. Oh wait—nope. The name will stick. Yeah... good luck explaining that on the battlefield."