BATTER 54

“We must respect his wishes.”

“What?”

A voice of pure bewilderment cut through the warmth of the greenhouse. This shock belonged entirely to Baron. Countless gazes turned toward him where he stood, leaning at a defiant angle. Baron looked Old Man Peter straight in the eye and closed the distance between them with wide, heavy strides.

“Not ‘we can never let him go’ or ‘let’s find another way’? Nothing like that?”

“That’s right,” Peter replied, not backing down.

Faced with that unyielding stare, Baron let out a sharp, hollow laugh. At that, a resident standing nearby hesitantly stood up.

“It is because Mr. Bijou didn’t care for his own safety that we were all able to be saved. We cannot accept salvation for ourselves and then stop him from doing the same for others.”

“He’s right. Because we all love Mr. Bijou, we can’t take away his right to save someone else…”

One by one, they began to speak. The sentiment was always the same: We were all saved by Mr. Bijou, and we all love Mr. Bijou, so we cannot stop him from saving others. Hearing this story overflowing with such fastidious, submissive love, Baron couldn’t help but laugh.

“Haha…”

He found himself wishing he were standing on the stage of a black comedy show—that this was a script written to deliberately and meticulously violate every natural rule of the world. But there were no bright lights, and no cameras to be seen.

Of course not. Reality was always a hell of a lot more ridiculous. Baron scratched the back of his neck irritably, like a dog with fleas. The warmth of the greenhouse clung to his skin like something sticky. Still wearing that laughing expression, Baron spat out:

“You people are all like dodo birds. I don’t know how you’re even still alive…”

As his laughing face contorted and he lowered his head, a resident sitting nearby reached out a kind hand, perhaps thinking he was crying.

“Oh my, you must be so shocked. Please don’t cry…”

Haha, as if I’d cry. Baron swatted away the tenderly offered hand and whipped his gaze around. His eyes, the color of flowing honey yet infinitely cold, scanned the area beneath the transparent ceiling. Naive eyes, like those of an infant who had just learned how to open them, blinked incessantly at him.

Whether they had once been terrifying fugitives, criminals of a similar caliber, or conversely, humans so fragile they couldn’t even become such things, any aggression they once possessed had been thoroughly castrated by the hands of a mad metal angel.

Because aggression hurts people, and pain is something that must be eliminated. These people, who had been stripped of everything from the context to the very root of suffering, sadness, anger, jealousy, and desire, were truly nothing more than a flock of gentle sheep within a fence—a species of mysterious birds on an isolated archipelago.

These gentle prey would be happy. Even if they were plundered, they wouldn’t know how to be sad.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not as nice as you people.”

Without hesitation, he gripped Bijou’s shoulders with force. His hands dug into the man’s shoulders like a muzzle baring its fangs. He poured strength into his fingers, intending to bite into the soft flesh. Despite this, Bijou didn’t even flinch. Baron stared down at him with a look of pure mockery.

“Listen closely, Darling. I’m going to plant a tracker on your body. I’m doing it whether you like it or not. Though I suppose you don’t even know how to dislike something.”

Bijou smiled again in silence. A reddish curve hung on his lips, looking like a bent petal. It was a functional, instrumental smile. In that regard, it resembled Baron’s own laugh: a movement of facial muscles designed to put the human in front of him at ease to get what he needed. However, the android smiled like a flower withering in a biting wind, while Baron laughed like an animal eating meat. Baron growled out:

“And I plan to follow that signal, find you, and figure out who those bastards are and what they’re doing. I might not know much about gratitude, but I always settle my debts.”

The debt of a scar not yet healed, the debt of a shattered left eye, the debt for Liz’s skull. Tearing off fingers or leaving holes in a stomach wouldn’t even cover the interest. Baron intended to pay them back in full, with a heavy premium. Just then, a thin hand settled gently on his tensed, clenched jaw.

“You’re truly worried about me.”

“Oh, you moron. It’s not like that…”

“Every time you worry about me, my response output speed gets slower. Is this also a good thing?”

Blue eyes, so unnaturally vivid that no living creature should possess them, reflected Baron directly. Neither the wings of an extinct Morpho butterfly nor the petals of an iris, that mysterious hue combined with the man’s inherent errors to form a unique structure. It scattered into a strange, dangerous blue, as if it had borrowed the atmosphere of an alien world. Baron snapped the hand away from his cheek and turned his head.

“Hey, Harry. Doctor Harrison is here, right?”

As he called the name, an arm slowly reached up from among the rows of quiet heads. An Asian man with unusually thick eyebrows stood up, glancing around warily. He didn’t seem particularly pleased to have his name called in a situation like this.

“What is it?”

“Where is your robot right now?”

“His name is Lawrence.”

“Right, so where is your friend?”

Harrison, who had stubbornly emphasized the name, hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Some of the children were slightly injured, so he should be looking at their wounds. He’s likely still in the dining hall. Do you need Lawrence for something?”

“I do.”

Baron gave a curt reply and immediately left the greenhouse. Harrison, standing there uncomfortably, eventually hurried after him. For the people still left in the greenhouse, Bijou stayed behind to give a long explanation of what they should do during his absence. Since Baron was already climbing the stairs with quick steps, he didn’t hear the rest. If Baron’s plan went perfectly, Bijou’s absence wouldn’t be long at all.

“Hey, Lawrence.”

As he greeted the already open dining hall door, the snow-white humanoid turned its head. It was in the middle of pulling a splinter out of a child’s palm. Lawrence, having plucked the tiny sliver with tweezers built into its finger, responded with a light bow.

―It is a pleasure to meet you again. Have you adjusted to your new eye?

“Thanks to you. I appreciate it, but that’s not why I’m here.”

The sound of running footsteps drew closer, and Harrison’s head suddenly popped into the doorway. He was panting heavily, as if he had run from a great distance. Coughing as he caught his breath, Harrison cut into the conversation.

“Lawrence is—gasp—our staff. It’s—gasp—difficult if you talk to him without me.”

The humanoid looked back and forth between the flushed Harrison and Baron.

―Has something happened?

“A big problem. Your Mr. Bijou is about to be hauled off by some villain.”

―Oh.

Lawrence let out a soft, mechanical exclamation.

―Could you please explain in more detail?

“Man, I wish I could just send this via Bluetooth. Fine. For some reason, some rich villain really wants your Mr. Bijou, and he’s being a coward about it—holding hostages and insisting on an exchange.”

―Oh…

The mechanical exclamation repeated, longer and more troubled than the first. Baron pulled an empty chair close and sat down, furrowing his brow. The children from Edge Street, who had been huddled together, gathered around as well.

“Are you going to give me that talk about love and the right to be saved, too?”

―No, sir.