Chapter 102: Epilogue

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The sleepless young girl looked somewhat haggard. After Catherine and Avra arrived, Qin Mo, accompanied by Avra, returned to the hotel to rest. Ji Ning stared at the television with a desolate gaze.

On the screen, politicians were bowing while loudly shouting about the "Red Bean Confidential Marseille." The spokesperson who appeared was an obscure junior official. The Prime Minister and the Emperor were on a plane returning to Japan; they had been informed early and had taken a private jet to a safe foreign country. Now that everything was confirmed safe, they had turned back. The cabin background wasn’t suitable for a public address, so, as usual, they sent a junior official to serve as a scapegoat.

Catherine, the current caretaker, stared intently at Ji Ning, who had shown no attempt to hide her despondency since Qin Mo left. Patiently, she waited until the news ended and commercials came on before asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Unless something unexpected happens, I’ll spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. After returning to Lu Academy, there’s another surgery scheduled, but the attending physician said the chances aren’t good after reviewing the diagnosis.” Ji Ning slumped on the hospital bed like a defeated dog with its spine broken, her entire being exuding a profound melancholy, as if saying, “Let me taste this sorrow alone.”

“Lu Academy’s medical prowess ranks among the best in the world. Even if you were covered in ancient god tentacles, as long as you still have a breath when entering their medical facilities, they could save you.” Catherine looked puzzled as she noticed a medical report on the bedside cabinet and began to examine it.

“Lower motor neuron paralysis? That shouldn’t be a big deal in theory.” Catherine frowned, wondering if Lu Academy held any grudges against Ji Ning; otherwise, there was no way they’d let her end up wheelchair-bound for life.

“They said my body has exceeded human limits, so conventional medical techniques don’t work on me.” Ji Ning’s face was void of hope.

Catherine remained silent. She opened her laptop and turned the screen so Ji Ning could see a photo displayed.

The humanoid creature in the photo radiated explosive beauty. Though Ji Ning didn’t understand aerodynamics, she had no doubt that the being’s speed could rival that of a jet plane. The exoskeleton covering its body shimmered with a mesmerizing metallic luster. Even the world’s most advanced high-speed cameras couldn’t capture its membrane wings vibrating rapidly at its back; these wings, trailing ghostly afterimages, seemed forged from molten lava, sparkling like diamonds.

“Is that me from that day?” No boy wouldn’t want to become the figure in that photo, and Ji Ning was no exception.

“Yes, this is a photo given to me by the SCP Foundation. They said it’s you from that day. Perhaps this transformation caused an essential difference between your flesh and that of a human.” Catherine clicked “send” on her mouse. Though Ji Ning was distressed, Catherine believed this photo would become his screensaver.

“It’s very cool, but the cost is too high.” Ji Ning’s voice remained low.

“Don’t lose hope. I believe Lu Academy will find a cure.” Catherine’s tone was cold but carried a hint of comfort. She quietly pushed aside other afternoon tasks. Her sense of duty wouldn’t allow her to watch her team member suffer unfairly. If Lu Academy gave no explanation, she would make them give one.

“Maybe that day will come, but who knows when?” Ji Ning longed to find a secluded corner and cry—a mere twenty years old, in the prime of life, yet destined to be disabled for a long time, perhaps a lifetime.

Catherine was silent; the most insincere phrase in the world was “I understand your pain.” No one could truly feel another’s suffering.

“Zhao Tianxing visited you yesterday.” After a moment of silence, Catherine changed the subject.

“What has he been doing lately?” Ji Ning asked.

“He told me before leaving the hospital that he needed to handle some matters concerning Chunxia Minami. Probably went to say goodbye to that girl.” Catherine’s female intuition told her things might not be as simple as Zhao Tianxing described, but looking at his masked expression, she didn’t ask further.

“We’re going back to Lu Academy in a few days. These days are quiet, so I hope senior can visit Yakushima again to see Chunxia Minami. Senior too—how could he just leave her there? We who heard the story know that girl clearly likes him. He can’t still think they’re just regular friends, can he?”

“What about Officer Ueno?” Ji Ning suddenly recalled that night wasn’t just about the mystic storm.

“That night’s mystic storm attracted many yokai. These supernatural events have been fully exposed to everyone in Japan. According to the third amendment of the supernatural constitution, the SCP Foundation used memetic correction. This mass cognitive alteration made everyone believe a typhoon hit Tokyo’s coast that day—no yokai, no frozen ocean, just a natural disaster caused by the typhoon. The officials on the cruise ship were revised to be disaster relief workers who died on the front lines. Japanese news even commemorated these officials yesterday. Because of this, only we know what truly happened on the cruise. Officer Ueno is, of course, safe.”

“Isn’t it ironic? Those guys are remembered for such a cause of death.” Ji Ning smirked and reached for water on the bedside table.

“At least they’re dead.” Catherine, after reviewing data from Ueno Tsuku, had no sympathy for those men, and her tone showed little respect for the deceased.

“Before coming to Japan, they thought this trip was a vacation. Who knew fate would be so cruel?” Ji Ning sighed, her gaze returning to her legs.

Catherine pondered how to comfort the despondent Ji Ning but found no words. When Qin Mo returned from rest to take over, they said nothing further.

Ueno Tsuku sat behind the wheel of a taxi, his eyes watching the distant movements.

His young wife smiled as she saw him out the door, holding a restless little child in her arms. After a tender kiss goodbye, she closed the door, unaware of the gaze fixed on her from afar.

“This is fine.” Ueno Tsuku smiled, glanced at the time, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and placed it between his lips. He pressed the accelerator, not once glancing at the rearview mirror.

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“Is this guy really a top graduate from Kyoto University?”

“No way. He’s been a driver for fifteen years?”

“Is something wrong with him? Why would anyone graduate from Kyoto University and become a taxi driver?”

Ueno Tsuku overheard these comments in the interview room and suddenly recalled the question Catherine asked when she came to his apartment for documents that night.

“Is it worth it? Sacrificing your life for a justice that may never come—does it truly matter?”

“Does a trial delayed for years still hold meaning?”

He said nothing then, only nodded. During the wait for the interview results, he pondered these questions.

It wasn’t for vague ideals of justice or honor, nor youthful stubbornness turned obsession.

“Someone has to stand up and light a flame in the darkness.” Ueno Tsuku closed his eyes and saw the young policeman approaching him.

At the GOC Tokyo headquarters, a young girl waited for a reward from Hisakazu Masakawa.

On the day the god Saen descended, this girl, busy investigating the Carnal Cult, was in the city. When yokai preyed on humans, she took over the GOC’s duties of protecting an entire block of ordinary people while the main force was overwhelmed. After everything ended, upon learning the block belonged to the GOC’s jurisdiction, Chu Chaoyan openly came to claim her compensation.

By the unwritten rules of supernatural organizations, Chu Chaoyan’s actions deserved a reward. After Masakawa personally thanked her, he asked what form of compensation she wished.

“Anything you can tell me about the Carnal Cult.” Chu Chaoyan was not there for money; she sought revenge.

While Masakawa retrieved files, Chu Chaoyan sipped barley tea, eyeing his desk piled high with files.

Though she knew Masakawa wouldn’t leave unauthorized documents on his desk, she couldn’t help but glance over.

A wanted poster placed at the desk’s center caught her eye—not for the bounty, but because she recognized the person.

Arthur Alfred, who had faced her in Russia. She recalled he was a GOC agent then. Chu Chaoyan studied the wanted poster carefully.

“A deserter of the GOC, fleeing with a little girl.” She was surprised; she could barely believe that Arthur had the audacity to oppose the GOC.

“If Miss Chu can help us find Arthur Alfred, I believe you will receive more of the information you seek here.” Masakawa, now seated, spoke calmly. Chu Chaoyan instinctively returned the wanted poster.

Masakawa handed her a thick dossier filled with paper files. Chu Chaoyan thanked him softly and eagerly left his office, clutching the files.

Only when her figure vanished from Masakawa’s sight did he lower his head to the wanted poster. A crimson stamp bearing the GOC insignia was pressed beneath Arthur’s photo.

Paris, a city like a flowing feast, also had streets dimly lit by streetlights.

Arthur stood across the street, lighting a cigarette and watching it burn to ash, feeling his heart grow colder with it.

He had landed in Fujian, China, and after a grueling two months, finally arrived in Paris. The city was good—bustling enough to accommodate the extraordinary. No one questioned the child’s origin. She would be raised like a proper baby by nuns, under God’s guidance, never to return across the ocean to the lethal battles with the Japanese.

Sorry, I cannot bear such a responsibility.

Arthur quietly watched the small box outside the orphanage. The sun would rise in half an hour, and when the orphanage doors opened, the nuns—loving all in God’s name—would find Shiori sleeping inside.

He replayed the words he said before making his decision the day before.

They would raise her as they once raised him. In a few years, she’d be seen singing praises in the choir of a nearby church.

They would give her bread, milk, teach her love and gratitude, and cultivate her into a refined lady.

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Although if Momiji Kari knew her daughter would grow up a Christian-faith yokai, she might think her trust misplaced, it was far better than having her grow up chasing the GOC across the world, living in constant peril. How could a child thrive in exile?

You did not err; you chose a better path to fulfill Momiji Kari’s trust.

Wait a little longer, until you see her carried into a warm house.

Wait—Arthur stomped his foot. The long night had drained the warmth the sun would bring; the darkness before dawn was especially cold.

He clearly remembered covering her with a blanket when leaving her in the alley. His bank accounts had been frozen by the GOC; he was penniless upon arriving in Paris. He could survive unnoticed on free food and drinks in bars and casinos, but the child could not. To support the infant Shiori, he had even pawned the watch given to him at his Alexylva University graduation. The blanket was his last expense.

He’d never had a girlfriend but was already a competent father. The first thing he did after escaping danger with Shiori was to buy a parenting manual at a bookstore.

Did she turn over? Did she kick off the covers? Was she cold? Half a bottle of milk remained in the bottle last night—was she awake hungry now?

Arthur paced anxiously, these sudden questions gnawing at his mind. Finally, he ran back to check the child in the box.

None of his imagined horrors had occurred. The normally noisy little one was sound asleep—neither hungry from last night’s half bottle nor cold from the long night. The blanket’s warmth had made her cheeks flush. Perhaps it was because Arthur always engaged her in a sleep battle before bedtime, so a faint smile still graced her lips.

Arthur’s mouth involuntarily curved slightly. Though he was exhausted by the little one’s antics these days, his heart softened whenever he saw her.

This is it. Here is where I say goodbye. After dawn, she will embark on a very different life.

Such a lovely girl will surely have many families vying to raise her.

For some reason, Arthur suddenly recalled his school days.

Children learning to use a dictionary for the first time, curiously staring at words. Teachers would pick the first unfamiliar word on the first page to explain.

Abandon—“to leave behind.”

All eyes would then converge on Arthur.

I did not abandon you; I just... Arthur wanted to explain, but seeing her peaceful sleeping face, he found no words.

Must such a tragic fate be repeated on her?

His soul seemed frozen by the thought. He shuddered; she would sit silently before a family cartoon, cry alone at night, and drown in endless self-doubt for never having known love.

She was a beautiful child, her brows and eyes just like her mother’s—a true beauty in the making. But such a beautiful face would one day muster the courage to quietly ask an elder who treats her well: “Do you have children?”

The answer would be the same as the brave youth’s years ago.

His heart twitched, overwhelmed suddenly by immense sorrow and sharp bitterness flooding his nostrils. That cold, vast sadness engulfed him. For over twenty years, he had never truly left that orphanage.

Because a broken childhood takes a lifetime to mend.

“Sir, what are you doing here?” A woman in a white nun’s habit looked at the struggling man at the door with concern.

Seeing Arthur silent, the young nun asked, “Is this your child?”

Arthur was startled. He reflexively looked up at the nun and replied word by word, his gaze like a visitor from hell, ready to tear to pieces anyone who dared take this child.

“She is my child.”