At 10 p.m., No. 85, dressed impeccably, slowly came downstairs. After resting all morning, he looked completely refreshed.
Downstairs, 1 had already prepared a lavish table of food, waiting for everyone to wake up.
"First, where did you learn to cook?" 85 looked at the sumptuous feast on the table. All the ingredients had been bought by Mirai yesterday.
1 scratched his head sheepishly and answered, "I have instincts. I can do any of the 360 trades. I can't just be a mercenary."
"Oh? Why do you say that? You can carry a gun onto the battlefield, but now you're cooking here. Don't you think that's wrong?" 85 asked expressionlessly.
"What's wrong with that? A mercenary!" 1 said with a smile. "Taking on the mission is Colonel Mo's job, but doing the job well is a mercenary's job."
As he fiddled with his submachine gun, 1 spoke in a practiced, standard stance.
No. 85 looked at 1 without saying anything.
Knowing that No. 85 disagreed with him, 1 smiled and said, "We're different. It's normal for you to disagree with me."
"What's the difference?" 85 asked.
"I'm a mercenary, and I'm also Colonel Mo's mercenary, so I can cook and do anything." 1 raised the gun to his chest and aimed it at him. With textbook movements, he said, "You're a soldier. Colonel Mo has never treated you as a mercenary. So it's normal that you don't understand me, and you don't need to. I know Colonel Mo won't ask anything of you. Just be yourself, like me. Perhaps that is the Colonel's wisdom."
85 pondered for a moment, then nodded, as though accepting 1's view.
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded from upstairs.
The two exchanged glances and looked toward the sound, only to see Mirai, disheveled and holding a