Shou Hai returned home after many outings searching for Hyakki, sighing as he sat inside the house. He appeared even older than before, strands of white hair peeking through thick and rugged hair. In his spare moments, he carved prosthetics, envisioning the grown-up Hyakki, praying that when Hyakki returned, he could promptly replace his limbs and spine.

With rough hands, he brushed aside debris, revealing a mask of Hyakki at age fifteen in his palm.

Originally, he planned to gift this mask along with prosthetic eyes and nose to the future Hyakki next year. With better facial prosthetics, Hyakki could eat in front of others without removing his mask, sparing them the shock and fear of seeing his true face.

He was supposed to be the most handsome child.

Shou Hai prayed that everyone who encountered Hyakki would be kind-hearted and refrain from harming the physically disabled youth.

“That child has yet to encounter truly bad people.”

“He doesn’t even understand how to communicate, doesn’t know how to eat cooked food, and his prosthetics need replacing.”

“Where could he have gone…”

“Many places outside are in turmoil. Could he have gotten lost… unable to find his way back home?”

Once a executioner on the battlefield, now renowned as a skilled physician, Shou Hai felt a deep anguish. Yet he hadn’t reached the point of despair, thanks to Hyakki’s resilience and his own understanding of the child—Hyakki’s survival instincts surpassed those of many adults who easily gave up.

“As long as he’s alive, there will be a day when we meet again.”

Shou Hai often comforted himself with these words when he couldn’t eat, determined not to let Hyakki lose his way home.

When Kusuo followed the memories from his “mind reading” to find Hyakki and Shou Hai’s home, his “clairvoyance” revealed a weathered and aged man inside, who in ancient times would already be considered elderly.

Ignoring the strangeness of his appearance, he knocked on the wooden door, waking Shou Hai inside.

“Hello.”

The pink-haired youth from another world expressed himself silently, intending never to speak again in this lifetime.

“I’ve come for Hyakki. Are you his… foster father?”

Twenty minutes later, Kusuo sat inside Hyakki’s home, using his “psychography” ability to complete a detailed drawing in just one minute. He depicted the Hyakki he had seen.

“Thank you…” Shou Hai trembled as he took the precious paper.

On the pristine paper, Kusuo’s psychic drawing vividly portrayed Hyakki sitting in a chair, being fed by another frail, delicate youth. His body was no longer bound in bandages, his skin soft and renewed. The two lived in a clean, tidy place, bound by an invisible bond of warmth.

While the Port Mafia wasn’t a good place, its internal environment was countless times better than the ancient world, and the food wasn’t abusive to Hyakki.

Kusuo avoided the fact that Shou Hai’s son now lived in a “bandit’s den.”

“He now lives in a somewhat distant place, where he has made… friends. I can’t take you there, but I hope you can give me a letter or token so he’ll believe I’ve seen you.”

“Y-yes!” Shou Hai hastily retrieved masks and various finished prosthetics set aside. “These are all prepared for Hyakki. He’ll recognize them. Please deliver them for me!”

Kusuo deadpanned, “The skin tone doesn’t match, and there’s also a height difference.”

Shou Hai paused, scrutinizing the drawing of Hyakki, feeling a wave of relief.

“I’ll make some adjustments…”

In the end,

Kusuo emerged holding a pile of peculiar prosthetics that could easily land him in the police station.

“So many things…”

“I almost feel like I’m carrying back a puppet…”

Kusuo, who put so much effort into delivering the package, truly lived up to his reputation as a renowned kind-hearted person in the 2D world. He brought a ray of light to this fictional ancient Warring States period and then departed without lingering, leaving behind seeds of hope to sprout in the other world. His role was to assist in nurturing these seeds to prevent them from withering prematurely.

Returning to his own world, Kusuo noticed the hem of his left pant leg torn and his right leg bitten by the chasing dog. He lowered his head, removed his glasses, and stared at the relentless monster.

Petrification was ineffective.

Clairvoyance was ineffective.

Mind reading sporadically worked…

“Hunger… madness… chaos… screams… kill… devour…”

These were the thoughts inside the Cerberus-like Hound of Tindalos.

Feeling oddly melancholic, it realized that besides Dazai, only dogs could meet its gaze in this world.

“Could my life get any more miserable?”

Upon facing each other, Kusuo reached across dimensions and patted the ferocious head of the Cerberus-like Hound.

A single pat flattened it.

*Smack!*

Forget about just space; next time, it would bring dimensions along for the attack.

Kusuo continued on his way, leaving behind shattered space and the echo of barks in the void.

That night, the headquarters of the Yokohama Port Mafia received a package.

This anonymous delivery was addressed to Hyakki, assuredly without bombs. Inside the box were various chilling items.

All of them… were human organs.