By the time evening rolled around, Anqiluo finally woke up.
What pulled him out of sleep wasn't an alarm—
It was a disturbance from his clay golem.
He switched his vision over.
One was standing there… scrubbing it.
Number One was carefully applying something like detergent, wiping down the golem's body with serious focus.
Anqiluo blinked.
…Was she giving it a bath?
He immediately cut the connection.
That was… too weird to watch.
After a quick wash, he headed downstairs.
The moment he stepped into the main hall, he paused.
Everything looked different.
Cleaner.
Not just clean—
Alive.
The skeletons kept things orderly, sure.
But this?
This had warmth.
"Hey," Anqiluo called, stopping a girl walking past. "Which number are you?"
"I'm Six, boss."
She stood straight, giving a small, respectful nod.
"…Right. Six. Can you make dinner?"
"It would be my honor."
Anqiluo watched her walk away, frowning slightly.
He didn't get it.
This wasn't how people acted anymore.
He found Number One.
Still… cleaning the golem.
"…One," he said, "you don't need to do that."
She froze.
Then quickly spoke, a little nervous.
"Boss, I just thought it looked dirty…"
Anqiluo rubbed his forehead.
How was he supposed to explain this?
The "statue" wasn't dirty.
It was made of clay.
That color wasn't coming off.
And something else felt off.
The way they looked at him.
That wasn't normal.
That kind of intensity—
He'd only seen it in religious fanatics.
He didn't like it.
So he walked over and tapped the golem.
"Move."
In front of everyone—
The statue stood up.
The girls stiffened.
The golem shook itself, clearly annoyed, sending droplets everywhere.
Then it glanced at Number One.
Like it remembered exactly who had been touching it.
Anqiluo motioned for it to go back.
It did.
"It's alive," he said simply. "And it's supposed to look like that. You don't need to clean it."
Number One nodded quickly.
Anqiluo dropped onto a bench and took a moment.
Then spoke again.
"You don't have to act like this," he said. "If you're worried I'll kick you out, don't be. You're free to stay or leave."
He paused.
"Do you have a religion?"
The question came out of nowhere.
But he needed to know.
They looked at each other.
Then—
Pointed in the same direction.
"The Church."
Anqiluo followed their gaze.
The cross.
And—
The empty beer bottle sitting on it.
His eye twitched.
They had cleaned everything else.
That was left on purpose.
He walked over, grabbed the bottle, and tossed it into a trash bag.
"I made that up," he said flatly. "I don't even know what Rasuma is supposed to be. I don't like religion."
He paused.
"But I don't hate belief."
They looked confused.
"You don't need to believe in Rasuma," he continued. "Believe in whatever you want. Freedom. Justice. Even something stupid, if it works."
A small shrug.
"Belief is yours. So is whatever comes after."
That was about as much as he could say.
He wasn't a speaker.
Just someone with common sense.
In this world, gods existed.
But they weren't gods.
Just… something else.
Like Thor.
Loud.
Not exactly deep.
Number One didn't respond.
Just lowered her head, thinking.
Anqiluo didn't realize it.
But to them—
He wasn't just a man.
He had pulled them out of hell.
That kind of thing changed people.
…
Dinner arrived soon after.
Steak.
He took a bite.
Paused.
It was… actually good.
Not perfect.
But far better than what the skeletons made.
That alone was enough.
They had a new job.
After eating, Anqiluo waved them off.
"Go rest. You've done enough today."
The hall grew quiet.
He leaned back on the bench, lit a cigar, and stared at the ceiling.
Nine people.
Nine problems.
He needed to figure out what to do with them.
Click.
The door creaked open.
A figure slipped inside.
"Hello," the man said. "Father… are you hearing confessions tonight?"
Anqiluo almost replied with a blunt dismissal—
Then stopped.
The man stood under the light.
Tall.
Lean.
Black suit.
Mask covering his eyes.
A baton in hand.
The outfit should've looked ridiculous.
It didn't.
"…You've got to be kidding me," Anqiluo muttered under his breath.
Daredevil.