Strange Uncle

Since Coleman had snuck out, he didn't have a luxurious airship to ride this time.

It was a bit of a shame, when he thought about it.

But walking was out of the question—unless Coleman was truly broke.

With his modified electric skateboard in hand, Coleman leisurely rolled away from Kukuroo Mountain.

As he rode, he thought, This is hardly gentlemanly.

Tsk, what a shame. He was still too young. Otherwise, Coleman would rather drive himself than go on like this.

As he passed through Crow Forest, Coleman whistled.

In the silent forest, the sound stood out especially.

A flock of birds burst into flight.

A few dozen seconds later, a black crow answered the whistle and landed on Coleman's arm.

He folded the letter he'd written earlier and tucked it into the tiny tube.

"Go on, find big brother Illumi."

With that, he raised his arm and sent the crow on its way.

To make it easier to "escape" his father's watchful eye, Coleman had deliberately chosen an inconspicuous gray hoodie and sweatpants this time.

He put on a baseball cap, then pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over it.

Small and slight, he slipped through the forest.

His specially modified skateboard was extremely fast and could handle uneven paths to a certain extent.

With his hands in his pockets, Coleman listened to music through his headphones as he rode in the exact opposite direction from Heavens Arena.

Compared to finding that cheap older brother of his, he had something more important to do right now.

For instance, meeting the "artist" who had his eye on him.

That great artist from Meteor City.

The Human Puppeteer.

Ku'er Ya.

After crossing the railway, he came to a deserted town.

Coleman was moving so fast that he had no intention of stopping at all.

With the battery still well charged, he wanted to cross the gulf in one go and take a look at the island on the other side.

A people called the Kurta Clan lived there.

It was said that when the people of that clan became agitated, their eyes turned a brilliant scarlet.

That shade of red was hailed as "one of the seven beauties of the world."

It was something the black market had long offered a high price for.

But since no one knew the exact location where this clan lived,

in theory, no one should have been able to obtain it.

A treasure like that was priceless and impossible to buy.

As for how Coleman knew about it?

Of course, it was thanks to that great "artist," Ku'er Ya.

Who knew why that lunatic wanted to meet on some godforsaken island?

What, was he going there to admire that treasure?

Coleman scoffed.

He didn't think those people's eyes were as beautiful as his own.

How could scarlet compare to the red of blood?

After all, the color of blood was the most captivating of all.

It made you want to taste it.

Besides, weren't things like that most beautiful when they were alive?

You could watch the red flicker in their eyes as their emotions changed.

Frozen in place, devoid of emotion and coldly beautiful, was the most boring thing imaginable.

That was just a red bead.

Without the intoxicating emotions unique to humans trapped inside it, it was hardly worth mentioning.

Besides, weren't human emotions the most beautiful thing about them?

Helpless despair.

Hysterical rage.

Desire written all over their faces.

Hope filling their hearts.

That was the true beauty of human beings.

Complex and ever-changing.

Yet they could only struggle and sink beneath the hands of an "artist" like Coleman.

Until everything faded into nothingness.

The cruel "artist" arranged them in whatever pose he wanted.

Then they were frozen forever in a square photograph.

Their emotions would flow freely through that distinctive image, giving the whole scene force and artistry.

It was mesmerizing.

Perhaps this gentlemanly artist would wipe the photographs down from time to time, then hang them in a sunny corner where they would look just right.

That way, their beauty would shine forever.

Don't worry, these pictures were never lonely.

This artist had generously hung hundreds of them on that wall.

They kept one another company.

Together, they sank into boundless darkness.

Unable to understand what went through the minds of "artists" who liked collecting body parts, Coleman could only sigh in the end.

Perhaps that was the generation gap between spiritual "artists" and physical "artists."

For instance, Ku'er Ya, a great collector, preferred to keep these parts—or whole sets of "dolls"—in some dark corner.

He would coat the works of art in preservative and keep those puppets as prized possessions.

Coleman, on the other hand, preferred images frozen in time, charged with the full force of human emotion.

As for the materials used to make that frozen art,

once they'd been used, they were useless trash—the non-recyclable kind.

You could just throw them away.

At last, after all his wandering thoughts, Coleman reached the edge of the island.

Watching the waves rise and fall, Coleman sighed.

Why had he insisted on coming all the way out here in the middle of the afternoon?

Wouldn't it have been nicer to have afternoon tea at home?

"Ah, my dear boy, welcome to my paradise."

A voice suddenly rang out beside him, its tone like someone reciting poetry.

Coleman wasn't surprised in the least, nor was he wary.

It had to be that old pervert called Ku'er Ya.

Coleman felt nothing as he replied flatly, "Isn't this the homeland of the Kurta Clan?"

How had it become your paradise?

Coleman cleaned the sand off his skateboard, working away under Ku'er Ya's gaze.

The reason he was so relaxed was that Coleman knew his own kind.

A lunatic usually only preyed on targets that fit the bill.

Although people of the same kind naturally attracted one another,

those of different types had no prey disputes between them.

So there was no reason for them to fight.

In fact, they were quite happy to sit down and discuss art together.

Ku'er Ya emerged from the shade of the trees, unsurprised by Coleman's attitude.

Someone with the means to kill everyone present had no need to be nervous.

Clearly, the boy before him believed he had those means.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm only here to paint from life."

He had no intention of harming those beautiful creatures.

He was a brown-haired man with a bit of stubble.

He stood about one meter ninety tall, wore round glasses, and looked worn-out and harmless.

He yawned and scratched his head.

He looked like an artist who'd run out of inspiration.

Fresh paint still smudged his hands, so it seemed he'd hurried over to greet Coleman.

Meeting Coleman's puzzled, blood-red eyes, Ku'er Ya smiled and spread his hands.

"Aren't you interested in blonde girls with red eyes?"

"Especially the curvy ones who are only around five foot five."

"You know, the people of this clan are generally not very tall, and..."

As he spoke, he suddenly leered. "They've got fantastic figures!"