"Don't be so distant. We're partners, at least in a sense."
X smiled, his tone casual and unhurried as he closed the distance between them.
"So… you still haven't answered my question, Der Freischütz."
"I'm genuinely curious."
"…Curious?"
As X approached, the head of black flame that belonged to Der Freischütz shifted slightly.
The two points of light within the fire—like bullets piercing darkness—locked straight onto the human manager who had once spoken with her.
"You think I did it to punish evil? Or because I felt like playing the hero and saving the weak?"
There was mockery in her voice, as if she were laughing at X 's naivety.
"I once made a deal with a demon. It said that the seventh magic bullet would pierce the head of the one I loved most."
"So before I ever fired that seventh shot, I killed everyone I loved with my own hands. Left that demon with nothing to claim, and sent it scurrying back to hell."
"It even thought that the seventh bullet would eventually be fired at myself. Hah—utterly naïve."
"I'm still alive. Very much so. And I possess incomparable power."
She glanced at the corpse on the ground, already growing cold, then casually slung the long rifle back over her shoulder.
"As for the rest of this… it has nothing to do with goodwill."
"It was just a whim."
"Some people call me righteous. Others call me cold-blooded. None of that matters."
"I'm only interested in things that are about to die."
"Then that means…"
The smile on X 's face slowly faded, replaced by a sharp, level calm.
"Your soul has already fallen into hell."
A calm no different from her own.
"You became a demon long ago. Naturally, the transaction between you and that demon was already complete."
"So what?"
Der Freischütz clearly didn't care. If anything, she had long since accepted it.
"Of course I know that. But what does it matter if I'm a demon?"
Her voice didn't ripple in the slightest, as if "soul" and "hell" were hollow words that had nothing to do with her.
"…I know your work preferences."
X ignored her question and cut straight to the point.
The warmth of reunion in his expression vanished, leaving behind a purely professional, icy smile.
"Repression work. At its core, it denies an Abnormality's 'self'—it denies the meaning of its existence."
"And you like that kind of work."
"You enjoy the feeling of being denied."
He paused, deliberately leaving her no way to dodge the silence.
"So then…"
X stared straight at the silent gunwoman.
"What are you really enjoying?"
"Denying the demon you've become—one who no longer even loves herself…"
"Or denying the woman you once were, who killed those she loved just to wield the magic bullets?"
"I'll answer for you."
When she still didn't speak, X pressed on.
"You enjoy both. The reason the seventh bullet never struck you is because you loathe yourself to the deepest extreme."
"And when you loathe yourself that much, love becomes impossible. From the moment you killed the first person you loved, the contract's conditions were already essentially fulfilled."
"Hatred that deep leads to despair. Despair leads to numbness."
"And at that point, your soul naturally falls into hell."
"But is that… really the truth?"
X stopped there and tossed the unanswered question back to its rightful owner.
For the present Der Freischütz, those words themselves were a form of repression work.
A more precise, more cruel—an alternative form of repression.
An alternative form of repression.
X hadn't spoken at random. After hearing her story and thinking it through carefully, this was a method tailored specifically for her.
Because this demon woman's acceptance of her "demon identity" had become a hardened shell protecting herself.
That was why she enjoyed conventional repression work.
It was a kind of self-affirmation—
See? I really am a heartless monster. Your denial only proves I succeeded.
But it was nothing more than false self-protection.
Like a terrible gamer who deliberately throws matches to hide how bad they really are.
When people insult him for throwing, he even enjoys it, because in his mind—
I'm not bad at the game. I'm just not trying.
In situations like that, you don't attack the act of throwing.
You attack the fact that he's bad.
You tell him plainly: pretending doesn't change the truth. No matter how you dress it up, you're still bad.
Most of the time, that approach works.
You think you're cold-blooded. You desperately want everyone to agree that you're a heartless demon.
But I refuse to accept that.
I'll tell you outright—you're not that kind of demon at all.
That so-called "demon identity" is nothing more than a pitiful disguise you forced upon yourself to escape your pain.
"…"
Der Freischütz still said nothing.
But the rifle on her shoulder seemed heavier than before, and the black flames flickered—ever so slightly—into a brief, chaotic tremor.
Then they settled again.
"Finished?"
Her voice was calm as ever.
"What was the point of saying all that? To shake my resolve so you can bargain down my hiring price?"
"If that's what you were after, then I'm afraid you've failed."
"Well, that's a shame."
This time, the smile on X 's face carried genuine warmth.
He wasn't surprised that she regained her composure so quickly.
He never expected a single conversation to peel away a belief shell built from blood and pain.
With someone this troublesome, you had to play the long game.
"Can I keep finding chances like this to talk with you in the future?"
"…Do as you like. But my base price isn't changing."
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