Episode 9 — Absolute Solution 2



"Next ad."
The moment the footage switched, grand, marching music swelled, and the background flooded red.
[People of the cosmos! They're coming!]
[Will you be oppressed, enslaved, your most precious rights stripped away?!]
[Or will you strike them down with the tool of justice held in your own hand?!]
[If you are one brave enough to call for retribution, then in your hand will be a high-powered firearm bearing the ZK emblem!]
[Iron Fist Front! Your comrade in arms, forging the steel hand that will crush all who oppress the people's mud-caked hands!]
"...Russian, huh."
"Yeah. A surprisingly popular manufacturer among users."
"Eh? Really?"
"Right. High firepower, cheap, and easy to handle."
"...!"
The Professor cleared his throat, watching her eyes flicker with sudden interest.
"That said, precision is low, so it's hard to hit exactly what you're aiming for, and the recoil is strong — you need real strength to control it."
"Ngh."
"Next."
[We at UEA stand as friends to patriots everywhere.]
[The suit-clad gentleman, the soldier on the battlefield, the elegant noblewoman—]
[Those with an eye for beauty, or an understanding of just how vital practicality truly is, already know—]
[...that UEA's gear is the shortest path to survival.]
"Uh... which region's this?"
Shadow asked, watching the video showcase an array of colorfully designed firearms.
"...European. They have several subsidiaries under their umbrella, so their design concepts vary widely, but they mainly build high-precision weapons centered around burst-fire functionality."
"Ooh."
Once the ad footage cut off, Shadow spoke up without much further thought.
"UEA sounds like the way to go."
"........."
Already anticipating her answer, the Professor handed her one of the four guns he'd already pulled — a submachine gun.
"This one?"
"Yeah. A specialized model with an integrated suppressor, built for special operations."
The Professor demonstrated its operation a couple of times in front of her, and though she fumbled at first, she gradually got the hang of it.
"This really is easier than I expected."
"Right. Guns were originally adopted in the first place because bows and crossbows were too hard to master."
Watching Shadow practice for a while, the Professor tapped her on the shoulder.
"Shields next."
"Ah, right!"
Several shields were set out on the table again.
"Shields fall broadly into two categories — passive and active."
"Uh..."
"Simply put, passive shields stay on at all times, while active shields are ones you switch on and off manually."
"Ah!"
Realizing that the shield the Professor used was active, she nodded.
"Both approaches have their trade-offs. Passive shields carry less risk of being caught off guard, but their raw performance falls short of active ones."
"I see."
"Active ones leave you more vulnerable to surprise attacks, but offer much stronger shielding."
"Huh, interesting."
After demonstrating both passive and active shields with Cuticle's help, the Professor gave a mischievous grin.
"Of course, shields have downsides of their own too."
"Huh? Isn't protecting your body a good thing regardless?"
The Professor tapped a finger.
"The problem is, a shield's energy field is easy for enemy detection systems to pick up. For someone like you, whose whole approach relies on infiltration, a passive shield is basically the worst option."
"Ugh. Guess I won't use shields at all, then."
"But without one, you've got no fallback when you get spotted. As long as you keep it off unless you need it, it's just dead weight — so an active shield's worth carrying, at least."
The Professor thought it over for a moment, then gestured to Cuticle.
"Cuticle. Give her a spare of my shield."
"Huh? You sure that's a good idea?"
"Why not. Her playstyle has some overlap with mine — it'll suit her well."
At the Professor's words, Cuticle pulled out a shield module he'd apparently been keeping hidden — jet black with striking purple panel lines, unmistakably premium in design — and handed it to her.
"This is...?"
"The shield module I use."
"...You're lying."
The moment she took it, a golden glow rose from the module — the color marking the second-highest item tier: Treasure grade!
"You— just how much money have you dumped into your gear?!"
"...As a professional, I insist on nothing but the best."
"E-even so, a Treasure-grade shield module—!"
Cuticle piled on right beside her, still reeling.
"...Pretty much all of the Professor's gear is either Treasure grade or Legendary grade."
"...!"
"Of course, you'll be signing an exclusive contract with Cuticle soon enough too, and you'll get equipped to a similar standard. No need to be shocked."
"B-b-but the money—!"
Watching Shadow stammer, visibly panicking over the cost of gearing up, the Professor spoke flatly.
"You're a mercenary of this estate now. That naturally means you're entitled to the same self-set rates I use. And even on jobs we take together, each of us bills for our own portion at our own rate."
"...!"
Just as she'd hoped — if she could earn according to the Professor's rates, all she needed was to hold out until she was properly geared up, and after that, the money would take care of itself.
"In exchange, you'll uphold this estate's franchise without exception."
"A 100% success rate...!"
"That's right. Keep that promise, and everything else is fine. But if you fail, or give up on a job, know that the full contract fee gets refunded."
"Ngh...!"
She hadn't expected to shoulder that kind of penalty. Wait — did that mean the Professor himself...?
"Professor..."
"For your information, I've never had to issue a refund."
"...!"
"I told you — the brand isn't just talk."
He gave a low chuckle, as if he could read exactly what she was thinking. Before, she might have found that laugh irritating. Now was different — a cold chill ran down her spine. This man's confidence carried not one ounce of bluff. It was the real thing, the confidence of a true professional.
Three days passed.
With no jobs coming in, the Professor advised Shadow to keep up her firearms practice — without leveling up her shooting skill, she'd never perform properly out in the field.
Today too, Shadow had shut herself in the underground firing range for practice, while the Professor sat in the parlor watching the news. When the doorbell rang, Cuticle answered it to find a familiar face.
"Welcome—"
"Ah, thank you."
A mid-level officer from Mary's Children, wearing a deeply troubled expression, walked into the parlor where the Professor sat.
"Professor. Doing well?"
"...Same as ever."
"........."
The Professor had him sit and gestured to Cuticle to bring tea.
"What's got you so hesitant? Do you still doubt my brand?"
"N-no, it's not that. It's just... I'm not sure I should even be bringing this to you..."
"...I can at least listen."
Reassured, the officer, who'd been hesitating, pressed his forehead to the tea table.
"I'm begging you! Would you consider taking Sister Grave under your employ?!"
"...!?"
Even the Professor was caught off guard by this request — an unexpected turn.
What exactly was going on here?
"...Explain."
"Well— getting her to defect went fine, but..."
The officer's story went like this: getting Grave to switch sides had gone well enough, but right afterward, Father Masquerade had brought in Crimson Hood to apply pressure. They'd made it clear — if Sister participated in the next official-match season under Mary's Children's banner, they should be prepared for all-out war with Crimson Hood.
However much support Mary's Children enjoyed for their good works and devout membership, their opponent was a top-tier superfaction that could hold its own even against other major clans. If it came to full-scale conflict, Mary's Children would be annihilated.
"So we've tried negotiating several times, but—"
"...Expel Sister Grave from Mary's Children and make her independent, or ban her from official matches. Is that it?"
"Ngh..."
There'd been signs of this ever since they'd first pulled her out, but why would a clan like Crimson Hood cling this hard to a single named user?
"That's odd. For a clan the size of Crimson Hood to fixate this hard over one named user."
"Well, as you're aware, they care deeply about saving face."
"........."
The Professor caught on and nodded.
"...They never forgive a traitor. Hunt them down and eliminate them, no matter how long it takes."
"Exactly."
This had turned into quite the mess for Mary's Children — forced to give up a named user they'd fought so hard to gain. In the end, after racking their brains, they'd come to entrust her to the Professor, the freelance mercenary with the highest reliability and the best track record around.
"That's a troublesome situation for me as well."
"Please! Once she's free, Crimson Hood will definitely try to recruit her themselves — and if she refuses, they'll keep attacking her until they reset her level entirely!"
"...That's not my concern."
"C-can't you do something about it—!"
The Professor calmly shook his head. He sympathized with the situation, but this wasn't a job he could accept. Taking this on would crack one of his core principles — mechanical neutrality.
"I'm a freelance mercenary who operates on the basis of mechanical neutrality."
"Ngh...!"
"Which means, if Sister Grave were to ever be hired here, she too would have to follow this estate's rules."
The Professor pointed a finger at the officer.
"Accepting a job means being prepared to turn your weapon on your own side, if the contract requires it."
"...!"
"If Sister Grave is prepared to work under that condition, I'll consider taking her on."
Watching the officer trudge away, shoulders slumped, the Professor let out a sigh.
"Is this year cursed or something? Why does one headache after another keep piling up..."
Not only had his principle of working alone already been broken, but now people kept flocking to him, one after another, right on schedule.
Shaking his head, he made a fresh vow — no more mercenaries beyond Shadow.
The Professor had no idea just how soon that resolve would crumble.
Another week passed.
The Professor and Shadow had each been taking on separate jobs. Shadow, apparently having taken a liking to the submachine gun, had kept up her practice to the point of learning a skill that let her dual-wield one in each hand.
Requests had come in from the Roaring Dragon Society's officers asking for her to return, but the Professor had shut them down, saying she'd come here of her own accord as an individual, and he had no intention of interfering unless she herself chose to leave. It wasn't out of any particular fondness for her — it was simply his principle.
When the doorbell rang, he turned toward the entrance to see Cuticle opening the front door.
"Welco— hm?!"
The moment the door opened, a figure collapsed inward, riddled with gunshot wounds all over.
The Professor recognized who it was immediately from the clothing.
"Sister... Grave...!"
—To be continued—