Orson had wanted to say, "This place could take in a lot of wounded people," but under the gazes of the other three, he forcibly swallowed the words.
"Is there some kind of event over there?"
Truth noticed that some sort of event seemed to be taking place in the lobby of the Chernobog Hotel. When they gathered closer, they discovered it was a competition that sounded utterly incomprehensible at first glance: the First Elegant Service Cup Competition.
The basic premise was that people wore maid outfits and provided service to guests.
"...How boring. Let's go, Anna."
After giving it a glance, Lumiere prepared to leave with Truth, but Lumen seemed to think of something and suddenly called everyone back.
"Perhaps... we could give it a try too, Sonia?"
Lumen looked at Lumiere with a smile, then turned her gaze toward Orson.
Wasn't this a perfect opportunity? She could show her approachable side and demonstrate her feminine charm as well.
As the daughter of a merchant, Lumen instantly analyzed the benefits.
"Huh? Why should I—"
"Well, Sonia, you're so reckless. Maybe you really aren't suited to serving others, right?"
"...Hey, you bastard. That's a challenge, isn't it?!"
Lumiere, who had been about to leave, became interested upon hearing that. The two rivals ran off together to register.
"Mm. Let's go home."
Truth blinked, completely uninterested in watching this spectacle.
However, the course of the competition was entirely beyond Truth's expectations—
"Your black tea."
Though Lumiere looked extremely awkward in her maid outfit, every movement she made was elegant and proper. She looked nothing like a fighting prodigy capable of smashing a sandbag apart with one punch.
Meanwhile, Lumen was having a much harder time.
"P-please... enjoy."
"Mm, uh, um, o-okay."
Lumen herself held the black tea with trembling hands, her face flushed red, while the guest being served looked equally miserable and walked on eggshells.
Why am I doing maid cosplay at a time like this...?!
Why is the young heiress of the Rostov family doing maid cosplay...?!
They said love made people blind. Lumen still had a long way to go before becoming a shrewd merchant capable of perfectly weighing gains and losses.
"Why... are you so skilled at this, Sonia?"
During the break, Lumen wiped away sweat and curiously asked Lumiere.
"Hm? My mom used to be a maid serving nobles. I was taught this stuff a lot when I was little, though I never liked this kind of work."
"Eh..."
Lumen blinked. This had been a complete miscalculation.
Though they had both made fools of themselves, seeing a side of the other that they usually kept hidden was a subtle and novel experience for the two bears.
Somehow, this polar bear/Sonia has an interesting side too.
The two glanced at each other.
In the end, the winner of the First Elegant Service Cup Competition was—Orson.
"I'm just wearing the same outfit. I'm not one of your hotel attendants. This suit belongs to the Rostov family... ngh?"
Orson was still explaining himself after being dragged onto the award stage when the championship trophy was suddenly shoved into his hands. He held it with a bewildered expression.
"...""..."
Below the award stage, Lumiere and Lumen stood in maid outfits, blankly watching Orson hold up the trophy.
Fireworks. Lumen. Lumiere. Fireworks.
Azazel Clinic
The Club Activity lasted nearly the entire day. Only when the sun set did everyone finally finish wandering around.
"This was much more interesting than I expected. And I saw something quite entertaining too, noble young lady."
This time, Lumiere did not complain about being bored. Instead, she glanced at Lumen with a wicked grin.
"Ugh... a complete miscalculation."
Lumen frowned, admitting that she had been too naive. Not only had she failed to show off her feminine side, she had made everyone awkward and become the subject of Lumiere's amusement.
And in the end, even the trophy had gone to Orson!
"Two months' worth of exercise..."
Truth sat in a chair, quietly grumbling as she panted. Her role was different from the strength of these bears—she was more the wheelchair detective type.
After a brief chat, the first bear group activity came to a fairly satisfactory end. Everyone went home, and the relationship between Lumen, Lumiere, and Truth had deepened considerably.
"Orson, aren't you going back?"
When one of the few black luxury cars still remaining in the Rostov family's security detail arrived to pick up Lumen, accompanied by three elite assassins in suits, Orson showed no intention of getting in with her. This left Lumen somewhat puzzled.
"You go back first, Natalia. I still have something to deal with."
"Mm... be careful."
Lumen knew this was not the time to be willful. Orson was the key to breaking the deadlock, and she needed to support his actions.
"You too, young lady. Once this is over—no, I'd better not raise a death flag..."
Orson wanted to say something, but after rubbing his hair, he swallowed the words again. In the end, the two merely nodded to each other, and Lumen returned to the estate under escort.
After seeing Lumen off, Orson took out a slip of paper with an address vaguely written on it.
Following the directions on the note, Orson concealed his presence and arrived at a flower shop.
After using his scouting ability to confirm that Duke Baikal's watchers were no longer nearby, Orson pushed open the door and entered the flower shop.
"Hello, do you know where the Azazel Clinic is?"
Orson approached the counter and asked the middle-aged clerk. This was his other objective for the trip—to contact the manager of Chernobog's underground clinic, General Hegre, who had won countless military achievements for Ursus.
"..."
The clerk gave Orson a once-over, then pointed outside.
"Across the street?"
"Get out."
"Uh..."
After being thrown out, Orson stared at the flower shop and frowned in thought. Could the address Uncle Isaac had helped him find be wrong?
No. Though Uncle Isaac usually seemed unreliable, he was actually dependable. The problem was probably with how I asked.
Orson nodded and entered the flower shop again.
"Hello, I'd like to buy some flowers."
The middle-aged clerk nodded to indicate that was fine.
Then Orson bought several bouquets of lily of the valley.
"Can you tell me where Azazel is now?"
"Get out."
"Hey, you really keep business and personal matters separate, huh!"
Orson was thrown out again, still holding the flowers he had just bought.
"Young man from the Rostov family, you should learn to give up. Otherwise, this will only make things awkward for both of us."
As Orson considered what to do next, a deep, resonant male voice sounded beside him.
"—Ah."
Orson turned toward the speaker and immediately recognized the white-haired Liberi old man before him, dressed in leather pants and a trench coat identical to V's, exuding rugged masculine charm as he walked himself—his bird.
There was an illustration here, viewable after updating to the latest version.
The old man—no, although his hair was graying at the temples, he gave off none of an elderly man's calm, unhurried demeanor. He was like a still razor-sharp blade of war, poised and ready to strike.
Sharp, compact, staccato strings. It felt impossible to catch my breath, but... was he deliberately slowing his own melody?
In any case, this gallant old gentleman was Hegre, the person Orson had been seeking—the head of the Azazel Clinic and Chernobog's infected network.
"You are General Hegre, aren't you?"
"General? I have not heard that title in a long time."
Hegre raised an eyebrow slightly at Orson's form of address, but that was all. This older man, bearing obvious marks left by the years, showed neither surprise nor impatience.
"General Hegre, my name is Orson. I came here because there are some matters I hope you can—"
"Please leave, young man. There is nothing I can do for you. The title of general was stripped from me long ago. The man standing here now is merely a destitute fellow who has abandoned everything."
Before Orson could even finish speaking, Hegre interrupted him directly.
Destitute people do not put gel in their hair and stroll through the streets in trench coats and leather pants!
Orson silently complained to himself, then unbuttoned his suit jacket and pulled aside his white shirt, revealing the Originium crystals on his shoulder.
"I am not a legitimate member of the Rostov family, but I am indeed an infected person."
"...Then come with me."
After seeing Orson's Oripathy symptoms, Hegre nodded and led him into the flower shop.
"Peh—"
As he passed the middle-aged clerk, the grudge-holding Orson did not forget to make a face at him.
The two reached the back of the flower shop. Hegre gently pushed open a half-closed door, revealing a staircase leading underground.
The space hidden beneath the basement was a world of its own. An area resembling a factory slowly unfolded before Orson's eyes.
"Go to 1B and find Doctor Ziegler. I do not understand how Oripathy is treated. Next time, you can enter through the clinic at Revolution Road A23. That is the main entrance."
"Alright, Mr. Hegre... uh, he ran off so fast."
Orson was about to say goodbye when he turned around and discovered that Hegre, who had been behind him moments ago, had vanished without a trace.
No... Orson could actually sense through Wide-area Low Frequency that Hegre was nearby, hiding in the shadows on a rooftop. But if he exposed that Batman-like method of disappearing, the old man would probably kick him straight out with a long leather-clad leg.
He would discuss cooperation with Hegre later.
Orson followed the signs toward Area 1B. Along the way, he saw many people he had never encountered in Chernobog before—infected people.
Across Terra, nearly every nation discriminated against and persecuted the infected to some degree, and Ursus was among the harshest.
The infected living in Chernobog were isolated and helpless, unable to find any way to ease their symptoms. Some did not even dare tell their closest family members about their illness.
And the Azazel Clinic was the last thread of hope for these infected people in Chernobog.
"Someone from the Rostov family...?" "Hey, that guy..." "Has this place been discovered?"
The infected gathered in the basement gradually noticed Orson. They quietly discussed this uninvited visitor holding flowers.
"..."
Orson silently removed the identification badge from his chest. He had deliberately worn this work uniform earlier to draw Duke Baikal's watchers in, but it seemed he should have taken it off sooner.
Based on his observations during this period, the Rostov family had not persecuted or abused Chernobog's infected people, but correspondingly, they had not done anything for them either.
Sometimes, indifference itself was a form of harm. Even though everyone knew that infected people in Ursus had no human rights, they still hoped someone would extend a helping hand. At the same time, they cursed those nobles who possessed happiness, wealth, and status they could never attain, yet remained indifferent to the infected.
Looking at the infected people whose eyes held no trace of life, Orson understood clearly that this was another side of Chernobog.
It was neither the bright, glamorous "surface" nor the "dark side" of hidden schemes and mutual deception.
This was merely the "crack" that all infected people were destined to reach—unaccepted by society or the world, a place no one would ever care about.
Before you continue