Makoto Aizawa began to live at the Yukioka Institute, already five years later.
I dropped out from Front Street to Back Street and started using the Snow Oka Institute as my home, but I also lived as a mercenary abroad for about six months, so I wasn't at the Snow Oka Institute all the time. However, if you are asked about the number of years of backstreet history, you will say five years.
In the meantime, True has become the faithful hand and foot of the Lord of the Institute, slaughtering those relative to the Lord of the Institute, Junko Yukioka, and at times not killing them and missing them.
Having worked as a dedicated killer for Junko Yukioka for five years without giving him little expression in public, he only became known under the street name "Junko Yukioka's Murder Doll," and as one of the top killers in the back street, he was feared.
"True, you may come back to work."
At breakfast, a girl sitting across the table from the truth, in her position to her Lord, tells her in a bounced voice.
Next to the true, a blonde emerald-eyed boy sits.
The taller is slightly lower than the true and looks younger than the true at the apparent age. The beauty owner who also seemed to be a girl at first sight is completely white in appearance, but his name is Shizuno Ryoru. He said he was born in Japan and raised in Japan with Japanese people.
"You're always going in there. Well, isn't this miso soup a little thick?
True to complain about the taste of breakfast before asking what the job is about. All the meals at the laboratory were made by the girl with the crimson eyes in front of her.
"Haha, I wonder if you were a little blurry. Sorry, I haven't slept all night for like two days."
Girl laughing innocently. Instead of staying up all night for two days, I haven't had a neighborhood under the girl's eyes, and I can't see her sleeping at all.
"To me... there were two eggs... in there... Want to go?"
Tired in a gruesome tone, he took the stand to put an egg in his miso soup in the true miso soup next door, but the truth was he gave it only one hand and refused it.
"So, what am I supposed to do next?
True to ask with no expression. The voice also lacks discouragement.
"He's the usual player, though. I want you to come back and play with the people from" The President Pickled with Formalin. "Oh, don't kill me as much as you can. I've been running out of labs again lately, so come on."
True Lord - notorious as a living legend on the back street, Mad Scientist Junko Yukioka demands as he twirls and squirms the wiener that pierced the fork.
"Okay. I'm gonna kill them all."
True said with no expression.
"No, don't kill me. Corpses don't serve as a test bench. Come on."
He was a pure child to say with laughter, but the truth is, I'm not kidding. I'm not willing to listen to what the Lord wants.
"If you have a raw bastard to the point of killing, except for the story. Don't kill me if I see something like that. It would be a more cruel punishment for your lab."
The odds of having a bastard like that seem high, I would add the truth without putting it in my mouth. If you think about what the other organization is going to be like, you get to that conclusion.
Junko foresees it, too, and finds such a lowlife that True doesn't want to kill him unexpectedly, he sells fights from himself and develops them into a war, turning True against him as an assassin.
"I'll let you do whatever I want. As usual."
True to declare so and take hot water and make tea.
Junko and True are the pattern of obedience, but True always follows Junko's demands. Yes. On the contrary, it is more common to do the opposite of demand, but Junko also deals with true such behavior knowingly, and plays with it.
"That organization... I don't like it. Reminds me of my old self...... from. Honestly, I think it's better not to get involved anymore."
"I agree."
Tired pinches his mouth and really snorts.
"Hmm... even if they say so. It's an invaluable organization for me to secure a laboratory..."
Junko, who is denied by both of us and feels dizzy.
"I already let go of the mouse, but I think I got caught. I didn't do very well, so don't worry."
Junko called the human being he modified as an experimental bench a mouse. No, it's not just Junko. That's what all the Mad Scientists who do human experiments call it. Though rarely do they call it Marutai.
Today, in the second half of the twenty-first century, the stagnation in science has become remarkable because of the global spread of the tide of ecological precedence and poor development of scientific civilization.
It was the race of Mad Scientists who rebelled against the tide and used to be almost fiction that led to mass outbreaks into the real world.
Don't you mind if I die?
True stares at Junko. It's faceless, but I blame it obviously.
"No, I didn't say that much."
"But that's what you mean. You're really good at pissing me off."
In a heartfelt ironic tone, Truth takes a seat and leaves the room.
"I'm gonna be working out for you so you don't get annoyed with things a little bit or softly. Hey."
He was a pure child who whined so without being evil, keeping a smile on his face.
Ten nights when I hear about the misfortunes of others, the feeling of pity and the feeling of being different boils strongly at the same time.
On the contrary, when you look at a happy person, you spit on the unhappy Nara and, for that matter, strongly desire that the unhappy person be happy.
I am aware of ten nights when it is a silly contradictory thought. Comparison between others and yourself. Happiness and unhappiness. Which is up or down. I'm just aware of them.
Myself living under that father. A life that always cares about gaze, is frightened by violence, and trembles with unprovoked anger and remorse in its irrationality. Therefore, ten nights believe that I have gone crazy like this. The source of all my misfortunes is my father.
(When do I rebel? When can I be angry? When do I kill you?
Since I was a junior high school student, the Ten Nights didn't just frighten me and make me mourn, but I started asking myself that.
I have grown to some extent already. I was wondering if it might be time to take some action instead of just being unilaterally abused.
(When should I kill him?
Repeat that word only in your chest and pull the trigger.
Ten nights is because of the thin lines, the neutral and adult appearance, they say they seem to be nice a lot from around them, but they think the opposite is true for themselves. I commend myself for being fiercely poisonous in my heart.
I'm not normal. Normally, I would never have such black thoughts. So presumptuous and vile. I am self-loathing.
The shock that runs from hand to arm to soul and the sound that rings small because of the earguard drags the consciousness of the Ten Nights out of the vortex of black affection.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You went in the middle of nowhere. It's my first time and suddenly it's pretty good."
When you see that the bullet fired at the center of the target at ten nights, the shake gives you a drink.
Ten nights when he was brought to the shooting range to shake, he fired a gun with a definite intent to kill. Even in Japan in the second half of the twenty-first century, guns are not commercially available, and there are no firing ranges, for example, that let unlicensed people shoot at them.
This is a backstreet facility in Euthanasia City. The shake also examined and found it beforehand, and first he said that he should learn how to shoot a gun, and brought him ten nights.
After one full explanation from the attendant at the shooting range, the two continued shooting guns about enough afterwards.
"Nice kid. Are you sure this is your first time?
A tall long-haired woman, who had missed her ear guard trying to take a break and was shooting a gun next door, called out at ten nights.
Age is around twenty. He lowers the pendant of a cross tangled with snakes in a black short jacket, a black chiffon blouse, and even a full-body black slack outfit called Black Slacks. His face is long and neat enough to be convinced even when he says she's an actress.
The woman had a coquettish grin and looked down at the ten nights intriguingly.
"Yeah, yeah."
Ten nights answering lightly because they were quite beautiful. Faces aren't the only ones that are neat. I remember the impression that the ten nights were beautiful and dressed up because the place to leave and pull in was an excellent proposition that was pulling in, besides being tall.
"You had a terrible killing temper when you shot him, but you have someone you want to kill so badly?
The teasing words of the black-crushed woman made the heart of the ten nights sound dokun loud.
It is easy to guess whether this woman must be a backstreet resident. That's why I'm in a place like this, and I understand for ten nights that I've spotted my intention to kill at a glance.
"No, you can't. When you assassinate him, you have to keep him as low as you can. Taste the satisfaction of killing to the full extent you think after killing. Except when we recognize each other from the front and kill each other. Actually, back street killings are more frontal and don't pat each other than assassinations. Anyway, we're all sensitive to murder, so assassination isn't common."
The black-crushed woman smiles lovingly, pompously mouthing words that support her thoughts of the Ten Nights.
"Then do your best to kill me."
That's what I left out in a tone neither joking nor serious, and the woman left the shooting range behind.
(Now you can even kill him...)
Staring seriously at the gun in your hand, your unexpected desire brings you a sickle again.
Black flames swirling in the midst of ten nights. I'm just scorching my heart at it, and I have unspeakable comfort.
I really think about how good it would feel if I unleashed that flame from the inside out. Somehow I have the tools to do it in my own hands.
(I don't care what happens next, I guess I'll kill the guy who tormented me first)
Return to my father, who has irrationally abused me since I was a young child - no, I want to go and deliver a gift that is perfect. Shortly after I thought that...
"Hey, what's wrong with you?"
I am called out to shake, ten nights returns to me, and I feel disgusted by myself for having a horrible imagination.
"Well, the gun arm has improved, so let's go sell us into the backstreet organization."
He tells her with a smile, and the shake tries to pull his hand for ten nights and take him out of the shooting range.
"No, no, you said you improved... you just shot me a little. Besides, why don't you just suddenly go sell it to an organization like that and eat it up front?
"You think I'm just going to hit like that? It's out of my mind. I'm talking to you in advance about your appointment. They took a referral fee or something, but you can trust me for that."
On the ten nights of anxiously asking, Shake answered with a smile.
The lack of drainage around here is what impresses me as a boulder shake, but to the extent that I've practiced enough, I don't think my shooting arm has gone up. It may be better than never shooting, but it hasn't really gotten to the level where you can shoot each other.
I wonder what the hell I'm doing. He's trying to dandruff school and step into the noisy world of backstreets and such.
But what did you think, in the end, you just follow after a shake. That's all I have at ten nights.