It really was my authority. No doubt about it.
It wasn't merely that my impression had subtly shifted after hearing what the Warehouse had to say.
This was a professional comparison, judged from the perspective of a mature wielder of authority.
Beyond the orange eyes of calamity, there was another perspective from which to scrutinize the world.
Its manifestation was completely different, though. Even when people called them blue eyes, there was no trace of anything like that.
Instead, there was something more abstract and more complex—lines?
Like some wondrous mathematical formula unfolding, every person in my field of vision was surrounded by intricate, closed circuits.
They weren't simply outlines or anything of the sort. I could even sense that each circuit represented something different.
If Supernatural Perception were still with me, I should have been able to glean even more from them.
Unfortunately, in my current state, they were as purely abstract as my own perspective of calamity.
The only thing I could tell for certain was that together, they formed the "self."
The unbroken lines seemed to represent the completeness of this concept—but not all of them were like that.
The music had reached its climax, and the dancer's movements were gradually slowing. She was quite skilled, but she was still breathing a little heavily.
And with that reaction, one striking difference between her and everyone else became even more glaring—a break.
At one point, the intricate lines belonging to her spread out toward some unknown place, then converged again from another direction.
It was as if a piece had been forcibly torn away, yet her overall state remained stable.
Although the positions couldn't be directly compared, the torn section clearly corresponded somehow to the lower abdomen bearing her Unassailable mark.
I thought I understood why it was