The image of Vermouth started to tremble, but it didn’t immediately disappear. Rather, the image of the human named Vermouth Lionheart from three hundred years ago scattered as particles, and as the particles dispersed, they transformed into myriad sparks.

Eugene’s hand slowly fell. He did not speak parting words to Vermouth’s image as it disappeared. He knew it wouldn’t reach Vermouth anyways. Eugene knew that most people would know Hamel as being unruly, but in his opinion, Vermouth was unrulier than anyone else.

“The biggest difference between you and me is that whatever you do will always be packaged in a way that seems plausible,” grumbled Eugene.

He was so accustomed to hearing things like — there must be a reason, after all, it’s Vermouth, or there must be a reason, it was probably inevitable — every time Vermouth did anything. But when Hamel designed a meticulous plan and put it into action, he was greeted with comments like:

—Hey, you crazy bastard. Why are you going ballistic again?

—Hamel, what is it that you want to do?

—As expected from Hamel.

At least, that’s how it was in the past. Eugene chuckled while reminiscing about his past, his hands outstretched toward the fluttering sparks. Of course, Vermouth would have a reason for doing what he was doing. But this time around, he hadn’t informed anyone in advance and acted of his own accord, and Eugene, or rather, Hamel, got caught up in it. But Eugene did not resent him.

“For now.”

Hamel believed in Vermouth. Although Eugene didn’t know why it had to be him or why Vermouth had done such a thing, he still trusted Vermouth. His comrade’s words were spreading deep...