Studying Psychology Is a Dead End

"No matter what, you did far better than I did, Kumeru."

Standing at the entrance of the house, Vermouth turned her head toward Kumeru. Though he wore a smile, he looked less like he had come to see her off than to make sure she would not try anything unnecessary. She smiled.

"Don't tell me you're thinking something as pointless as, 'I didn't completely kill Tang Ze Zhao, so there's still room to ease the relationship between me and them'..." Tangze crossed his arms and sneered without the slightest courtesy.

"Isn't that true? He's still alive, and everything you took still has a chance of being returned to its rightful owner." Vermouth gathered up her long hair and tucked it back beneath the maintenance worker's hard hat, lowering her head as she spoke dully. "That's already far better than me."

Disguisers like her always played roles within the organization similar to Kumeru's.

Like the skin-stealing demons of foreign legends, their disguises did not require them to peel away another person's face, but there was no real difference. The people they replaced would have even their bones and blood sucked dry.

Take Chiaki Araide. If the FBI had not intervened first and saved his life, would she, who needed such a long-term identity as cover, really have spared that innocent doctor?

Since Tang Ze Zhao had not truly died, there was still room to turn back from all that hatred. The gulf between Kumeru and those children would not widen until it became utterly impossible to cross.

That alone made his situation far better than hers.

"What ridiculous thing are you thinking?" Tangze lowered his eyes and said coolly. "Tang Ze Zhao did survive, but I'm the one who made him what he is now. He can almost certainly never stand