If the stench had a color, it’d be blood red. The closer they got to the door, the more intense and sickly sweet it became—like rotting meat dried to a crisp, the odor seeped through the cracks of the cabin… It was no laughing matter. They were right on top of the Hamon Production Workshop, which was surprisingly close by.
Johan stood there, staring blankly since he didn’t quite get what was happening. Seojun shamelessly walked on, as if he had replaced the skin on his face with an iron plate. He strutted confidently, chin up like he was just taking a casual stroll and not running away from something. His walk was a bit stiff and awkward, like a puppet on strings, but it would’ve been convincing if not for his flushed cheeks.
Johan closed the gap between them, their faces so close their noses brushed, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through Seojun. Johan’s eyes, bright and lively, held Seojun’s, his face breaking into a wide, heartfelt smile as if revealing his deepest feelings was his greatest joy.
Some people just come into the world a certain way. They might be born as natural right-handers, stand head and shoulders above the rest like living giants or have wild, curly hair and captivating green eyes. Some are extraordinarily perceptive — as if they possess their own kind of magic.
Obviously Seojun, known for his prickly attitude, wasn’t suddenly overcome with compassion. He idly played with the binoculars slung around his waist, lost in thought.
Seojun’s gaze was locked onto the raging inferno before him, his eyes stinging from the intensity of the blaze. The heat scorched their skin, but he and his group couldn’t bring themselves to leave.
Airi’s eyes flew open, replacing the view of the ground below with the vast night sky above.
As her body soared, the cool night breeze caressed her skin, leaving behind the earthy scent that had lingered just moments before.
A distant rumble echoed through the shadowy kitchen, causing Christina’s hand to freeze mid-reach.
“Christina? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it’s just...” Christina’s voice wavered, lost in thought.
It had to be Christina, no one else. The decisive role in defeating the monster was meant for her. Johan’s eyebrows sagged a bit at Seojun’s unwavering response, almost sounding defeated as he quietly mumbled.
“….Beware the damp, many-legged creature that emerges from the spot where a pig narrowly escaped death. In that instance, hurl a yellow fruit.”
The tentacles felt deceptively soft as they began wrapping Gas Mask’s leg in their unyielding grip. Each suction cup clung and tightened with slow, mounting force, morphing from gentle caresses to implements of agony.
Thankfully, Seojun managed to keep his composure, avoiding the embarrassment of staining his worn-out jeans. The reason behind it was as clear as day.