Darkness.
Endless darkness.
In this corridor drowned in black, only a few artificial lights glowed soundlessly against the arched walls. There were no screams—only the moment Chiya's fingertips brushed a lamp cover, when the cheap casing rasped like claws dragging across a chalkboard.
Sickly green emergency lights wandered between rusted pipes. Chiya followed the Black Doctor's bootsteps, stumbling along the slanted passageway. Moist metal walls sweated condensation that trickled down and pooled into dark, reddish puddles across the oil-smeared floor. Every three steps he'd kick a loose gear; the way it clattered into the shadows always made him think of hemostats slipping off a surgical table.
"Messy, isn't it?"
"More precisely… filthy and chaotic…" Chiya swallowed. "Teacher… why are you—"
"Hehe. Earlier you wouldn't call me that," she cut in, amused. "And now it just slips out naturally—like a kitten spotting its litter box attendant and mewling without a shred of politeness."
Chiya's fingers curled.
"Still the same, Chiya. A little brat—no, not even that," she murmured, voice soft as a blade. "You want to cut cleanly away from everyone who hurt you… but the moment they show you even a hint of hardship, you reach out anyway. Even if they're covered in thorns. Even if you might get hurt."
She was smiling, but in the dim light Chiya could see what the smile couldn't hide—nostalgia, and something deeper: sorrow and helpless resignation. She tried to quicken her pace, hesitated the instant she did, and in the end her steps turned into something almost laughable—like a clown's awkward shuffle on a stage.
Then she stopped and turned back, suddenly solemn.
"Chiya. Don't show too much mercy. One day, your kindness will buy you nothing but more suffering."
She spoke like a verdict.
"New Eridu doesn't pity us."
"New Eridu doesn't believe in tears."
And with that, she turned again and walked forward without hesitation, leaving Chiya standing in silence until her quiet urging drifted back from ahead—only then did he force his stiff legs to move.
When he stepped into the room—when the steady drip-drip-drip, like rain striking stone, became unbearably clear—he saw the girl.
Her hands were locked in iron restraints. Tubes pierced into her body in dense clusters, like a spider's web pinning her in place. When she turned her head with visible effort, even though Chiya already knew the basics of the "Silver Army," he still recoiled a few steps on instinct.
Long ago, when Nicole had carefully brought Anby to his clinic, the first thing he'd seen was a pair of eyes like that.
Dead silence. Grief. Like ash burned all the way through—no light, no heat, nothing left to kindle. Life no longer fit inside that body; the only thing propping it up was emotion—anger, sorrow, pain… or—
Numbness.
Absolute numbness.
Every ideal, every hope, every joy and warmth time had polished into something bearable—obliterated in a single blow, leaving only numbness to pilot the flesh.
Then she spoke.
Her voice—similar to Anby's, and yet sharpened into broken glass—made Chiya realize, with a jolt, that this "person"…
This "person" was not Anby.
Not the same individual.
While Chiya's thoughts tangled, the Black Doctor had already pulled on gloves and picked up a scalpel—choosing one with practiced precision, as if she'd always known which blade would cut him deepest.
"Chiya. Now—open it up."
"…"
"What are you hesitating for?" she pressed. "Back then, you didn't blink when you cut into cadavers."
"This is different."
Chiya stared into those numb eyes. The memory of operating on Anby braided itself with the present: the same surgical table, an almost identical face, the same dimness—only the surgical lamp casting light over her and him.
"Those donors… they sacrificed themselves for us. The least we can do is not waste—"
"Don't defend corpses," the Black Doctor interrupted, impatient. She shook her head and shrugged. "You know how many of those 'donations' were voluntary?"
"But you can't deny—"
"Deny?" Her smile thinned. "I never said I would. Sure—some people did choose it. For lofty ideals. For others. They gave up burial in earth, or fire, or the sea."
Her heels clicked closer. Step by step, she advanced on Chiya with arms opening, like a serpent unfurling to embrace.
"But, Chiya, most bodies are nothing but evil. Ugly things. People beyond saving."
The air filled with a coaxing, cloying scent—twining around him, rushing in like moths to a flame, trying to dye the last small light into her color.
"Captured rebels. Monsters who butchered pregnant women. Capitalists who rose by trampling lives and fell in political infighting. The incompetent scions of the Ravenlock family. A hysterical woman who dismembered her best friend out of jealousy…"
She leaned in, voice velvet-soft.
"But in the end, they were all still human. Still carried ten months and born from a human womb."
"At most," she said lightly, "the only difference is how they arrived in this world—natural birth, or a scalpel."
"Chiya. You could cut into those bodies without hesitation. So why can't you cut into this one?"
"Because she's still alive!" Chiya snapped. "She's a living person!"
"She's a clone," the Black Doctor said calmly. "Her birthplace wasn't a hospital—it was a lab. She's expensive material. And now?"
She smiled.
"Now she's scrap."
"It's not the same!"
All this time, the white-haired girl on the table had been watching their argument in silence. Now her lips tugged upward with difficulty into a smile full of contempt.
"Stop acting."
"A snake plays the villain, and a Bangboo plays the hero."
"What a ridiculous, disgusting little performance."
The Black Doctor's eyes cooled.
"Hm. Looks like I didn't hurt you enough."
"You—who are you calling a Bangboo? Say it again."
Chiya's temper flared instantly—and the girl's suspicion hardened into certainty.
This was theater.
Life, evil—what a joke. Just pretty words for people who'd never truly tasted despair.
They didn't understand her pain.
They didn't understand what it meant to be a girl who once carried ideals—watching nearly all her sisters get slaughtered, then feeling the Hollow's corrosion eat into her body until her limbs were ruined.
They didn't understand.
She didn't want to watch this "false sincerity" anymore.
She closed her eyes and waited.
For the next torment.
Or for her fate.
Would they pull out her intestines? Crush her heart in a fist? Use that scalpel to pry apart her bones bit by bit?
But it didn't come.
Instead, something warm touched her cheek—pressing lightly, gently, like a newborn kitten testing the world with its soft paw pads.
Then came a different sensation—an oddly sharp, refreshing sting beneath her chin. The technique was so practiced, the relief so strangely satisfying, that for a heartbeat she felt as if she'd returned to the past—to the time when her sisters were still together.
"Hehe. You've trained quite a deft hand, Chiya," the Black Doctor said, watching. "No wonder. After all… that Anby girl was Silver Army too, wasn't she?"
"Captain—!"
The word hit like a bullet.
The girl's eyes snapped open, the hollowness gone—replaced by something she hadn't dared feel in a long time: disbelief, and hope. She struggled to rise, voice shaking.
"You—Bangboo—you know the Captain!"
"Don't call me a Bangboo!"
Chiya was about to explode, but the girl's struggle abruptly stopped. She stared up at the mechanical, cold light overhead and whispered, breaking:
"N-no… that's impossible."
"The Captain is dead."
"She went willingly… for Xia Lin. For our youngest sister."
"It's impossible—impossible!"
"You're lying again," she choked out. "Mocking me again. How long are you going to keep deceiving me?!"
"Our pain. Our blood and tears. Our bond. Our Silver Army—"
"In your eyes… is it nothing but a joke? Something to laugh about?!"
She looked at Chiya, whose hands had frozen mid-motion. She tried to gather anger into her eyes—tried to ignite it—
But it burned out fast, leaving only deeper despair.
She wanted to move. To seize his throat. To take revenge—to drive a blade into the flesh-eaters who created the Silver Army, then threw them away like trash.
But—
"Hehe. 'Vase Girl,'" the Black Doctor said softly, stepping in. Her gaze was glacial as she looked down at the experiment on the table. A scalpel gleamed in her fingers under the lamp's light.
"I think you've misunderstood."
"We're not deceiving you. And look at yourself—your limbs have been badly corroded."
"Need me to rip off that little fig leaf covering you, so my darling can see just how ugly you've become?"
"Teacher—don't—"
"Chiya," she cut him off, voice turning syrupy and cruel, "don't waste your tenderness on that."
"Your tenderness is precious. Delicious."
"Don't serve it to this thing."
"The little bit of warmth you just showed this 'flesh-Bangboo'… it's almost making my original urge surge back up."
"The urge to destroy it completely."
She moved closer, whispering at his ear like a spell.
"Stop hesitating. You've seen it—there's nothing of value left in it besides the body."
"Dissect it. Take the information from its brain."
"And with my channels… Chiya, we'll be able to manufacture a Silver Army at an unprecedentedly low cost."
"Then we'll use violence to redefine who gets to speak in New Eridu."
"And once we hold that power," she breathed, "you can learn why that teacher of yours vanished."
"Who pushed it from behind the scenes."
"And if nothing else… you can prove her innocence. Wash away the stain."
"Isn't that what you want?"
Her voice sharpened, persuasive as poison.
"And you can reshape New Eridu's order."
"If corruption and filth are born even under gentle rule, even beneath the light…"
"Then why not raise a cold, iron curtain of violence?"
"Let that violence crush evil in its cradle—utterly, irrevocably."
She leaned closer still, lips nearly at his ear, and promised him a throne made of fear and praise:
"When that day comes… all those ordinary people who only want not to be betrayed, who crave peace, who crave happiness…"
"They'll worship your name."
"They'll shout—"
"Long live the Lord of the Night…"
Dead-End Hollow. Canvas Alley.
Inside, the three members of the Cunning Hares and a large crowd of residents waited in tense silence for a certain suspicious little cat to return.
For no reason she could name, Anby suddenly felt her heart seize.
"Ugh…"
"Anby?" Nicole leaned in. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Anby said, but her brows knit. "I just… suddenly feel like something bad is about to happen."
"Something bad?!" Billy gasped dramatically. "Don't tell me—!"
He instantly struck a pose straight out of The Scream, wriggling in an exaggerated attempt to "cheer her up through joy."
Anby didn't laugh. She simply kept thinking.
But the little girl they'd rescued from the Dead-End Butcher burst into giggles instead—making Billy feel like his performance hadn't been wasted, and easing his mood a little.
"Anby… are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Grandma."
"Oh?" The old woman chuckled. "Seeing your face just now made me remember myself when I was younger."
"Younger you?"
Nicole leaned over too, curious.
"Hehe, yes. Back then, whenever I suspected my old man had a new sweetheart on the side, I'd make that exact same troubled expression."
"Of course," she continued warmly, "turns out he was loyal as can be. But you still worry, you know?"
"He's a wonderful man. If I hadn't made the first move back then, maybe my adorable granddaughter would've ended up belonging to someone else—oh, right."
As she gently ruffled her energetic granddaughter's hair, she smiled and handed over the last few pages of commission forms.
"Anby—here. I collected the final ones too!"
"Thank you."
"No, we should be the ones thanking you. If you hadn't come, we really would've had nowhere left to go."
Then the old woman's smile turned puzzled.
"But… the little girl you sent to request help—why hasn't she come back after all this time?"
Nicole sighed.
"Yeah… you're right. Don't tell me something happened…"
"It did," a voice cut in brightly, "but we've already got a solution now!"
"That voice—our Proxy!"
As Belle's voice rang out, Nekomata also appeared in front of them, scratching her cheek.
"Sorry to keep everyone waiting!"
"Nekomata," Anby asked immediately, "where's Chiya?"
Anby didn't see Chiya—didn't see his Bangboo either.
"Oh, uh—Shorty said he wanted to perfect his formula, so he left early," Nekomata said. "But he gave me a contact method!"
"Lemme see, lemme see!" Nicole snatched the note at once, scanned it, and clicked her tongue. "Vic-to-ri-a Housekeeping? You can tell that's a flashy organization just by the name."
She stuffed the note straight into her chest with a satisfied huff.
Anby stayed quiet.
She pressed a hand lightly to her heart.
It was pounding—fast, fast.
It hadn't pounded like this in a very long time.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 80)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 80)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 74)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter20)
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