The blue-haired youth sat there waiting for him, emitting a chuckle of “Kufufufu,” refraining from intervening in the recent battle. In his view, both Inu and Chigusa had relaxed a bit, so a bit of physical training wouldn’t hurt.

“Nice to meet you. I have a question I’d like to ask you,” he said.

“Fool, I’ll answer you slowly while you grovel at my feet!” YukYukichi snarled.

“Looks like you’re not interested in a normal conversation,” Mori remarked, spreading his hands. Gasping for breath, Mori followed behind YukYukichi, a dagger sliding out from under his sleeve as he eyed Yukichi ahead.

“This kind of personality… I’ve seen plenty,” Mori chuckled.

“What?!” Yukichi’s back suddenly seared with pain.

Mori’s dagger viciously plunged into his back, but it was Mori’s voice that echoed from his mouth. “But in the end, they all realize one thing: making an enemy of me was their biggest mistake.”

If victory could be achieved effortlessly, Mori saw no need for life-or-death struggles. Wasn’t it enjoyable to witness others’ suffering?  

A true illusionist should effortlessly secure victory.

“Kufufufu, can you answer my question now?” Mori took control of Kimura’s body, the blade coated with a highly concentrated anesthetic to weaken his opponent. “What is your relationship with the Penggerei Family, and are you indeed the successor to the tenth generation of the Penggerei?”

Yukichi staggered back two steps, not daring to turn his back to the genuine Mori, and could only glance sideways at “Kimura.” His expression was a mix of relief and sorrow, extreme disgust, as he spat out a retort.

“Is Kimura your pawn? You’re controlling him, aren’t you? You coward who only knows how to hurt others from behind!”

“You’re mistaken,” Mori said with a smirk, aiming to hurt him psychologically. “When I had control over Kimura, he begged for mercy and willingly told me about bringing you here. He said your power is formidable, worth more than ten of him. Your subordinates aren’t very loyal to you, are they?”

Yukichi’s expression froze.

Rikodu’s original body stood up, walking over to the tangerine-haired youth who was now half-kneeling due to the effects of the anesthetic. He lifted the youth’s chin, scrutinizing the face that didn’t quite resemble that of an Asian.

“Speak up. Are you from the Penggerei Family or not?”

“No… I’m not…”

From between clenched teeth, Nakahara spat out angry words, his fist propelled by gravity crashing forward.

“Who’s… with the mafia?!”

The powerful punch shook the room, causing the walls to quake along with it. Yet, despite the force, he felt no impact on his opponent. Rikodu dispersed into ethereal mist, unaffected and unscathed, living up to his reputation as one of the most elusive illusionists in the underground world.

A hole was torn through the room’s wall, and out stepped Dazai, with Nakahara following closely behind him.

In that moment, Nakahara’s heart sank into a rare sense of despair.

These three…

Dazai’s intellect was unquestionable, Nakahara’s strength restrained him, and Rikodu couldn’t be directly attacked. The only possibility left to turn the tide was…

Before Nakahara could even contemplate his next move, reality dealt him a harsh blow. Rikodu’s crimson eyes dripped blood as he spoke.

“Regardless of whether you’re involved or not, Nakahara, King of the Sheep in the Leibo street, I ask you to surrender your body to me. I will use it to destroy the mafia.”

What?

Destroy the mafia?

I already have the power to destroy the mafia, so why do I need you?!

Nakahara’s head spun, feeling a nauseating force invading his mind. He clutched his head, collapsing to the ground in agony, the scars on the back of his hand throbbing faintly.

Rikodu was on the brink of gaining complete control over him.

“No… don’t…”

Under the urgency, Nakahara let out a grammatically incorrect sound, eager to warn “Dazai” as he was the first to notice the changing core power of the “Shifting Color Divine Beast.” The faint crimson hue, when contaminated and altered, signaled the revival of the Divine Beast!

“It’s…”

“A human…”

Only now did Nakahara realize that the shifting-colored Divine Beast was not a Divine Beast at all.

That innocent shade of crimson represented life!

Unable to catch hold of the elusive “Dazai,” who slipped away from his fingers, Dazai seemed to understand yet appeared indifferent, calmly asking, “Haven’t you always wanted him dead?”

In the midst of agony, Nakahara looked up at Nakahara, feeling an inexplicable urge to laugh, experiencing the sorrow of humanity.

“Is that so?”

“So, it’s because of Arahabaki that Nakahara was chasing me…”

Translator’s Note: You can check the meaning of Arahabaki in the internet hihiz (;

As Rikodu’s consciousness formally took over Nakahara, Nakahara’s hand dropped, the diamond-like brilliance in his blue eyes dimming as he seemed to lose himself.

The tainted scars climbed swiftly from his hand, surpassing imagination!

Beneath the human shell.

As Nakahara lost consciousness, a few words silently crossed Rikodu’s mind.

“You…”

“Melancholic and polluted tolerance…”

“Please… don’t… awaken me… again…”

Arahabaki awakened.

Rikodu’s vision was covered in dark red, as if vying for possession of a body with a deity.

“What is this thing—??”

The house exploded.