Strange Uncle

Because he had snuck out, Coleman did not have a luxury airship to take on this trip.

It was quite a pity when he thought about it.

But walking was out of the question, unless Coleman were to become poor to a certain degree.

Carrying his modified electric skateboard, Coleman swayed his way out of Kukuroo Mountain.

As he glided, he thought that this was hardly in line with a gentleman's style.

Tsk, it was a shame he was still too young; otherwise, Coleman would rather drive himself than resort to this.

Passing by the Crow Forest, Coleman let out a whistle.

In the silent forest, the sound was particularly prominent.

It startled a flock of birds into flight.

After a few dozen seconds, a black crow flew down in response and landed on Coleman's arm.

He folded the letter he had written earlier and tucked it into the small letter cylinder.

"Go on, go find brother Illumi."

With that, he flicked his arm and released the crow.

To facilitate his 'escape' from his father's surveillance, Coleman had specifically chosen to wear an inconspicuous gray hoodie and sweatpants.

He adjusted his baseball cap and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up.

He looked like a small figure, weaving through the forest.

The specially modified skateboard had a very high top speed and could, to a certain extent, overcome uneven paths.

With his hands in his pockets and listening to music through his headphones, Coleman glided in the direction completely opposite to Heavens Arena.

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

For instance, meeting the 'artist' who had set his sights on him.

That master of art who hailed from Meteor City.

The Human Puppeteer.

Ku'er Ya.

Crossing the railroad tracks, he arrived at a desolate town.

Coleman's speed was extremely fast; he did not intend to make any stops.

Taking advantage of the full battery, he wanted to cross this fjord directly and go see the small island on the other side.

There was a race there called the Kurta Clan.

It was said that when people of that clan became emotionally agitated, their irises would turn scarlet.

And that shade of red was hailed as "one of the seven most beautiful colors in the world."

It was something the black market had always offered high bounties for.

But since no one knew the specific location where this clan resided, it was logically impossible for anyone to obtain them.

Such a treasure was priceless but unavailable.

As for how Coleman knew?

Naturally, it was thanks to that great 'artist,' Ku'er Ya.

God knows why this madman wanted to have a chat on a godforsaken island.

What? To go and admire that kind of treasure?

Coleman sneered.

He didn't think those people's eyeballs were as good-looking as his own.

How could scarlet compare to the red of fresh blood?

Clearly, the color of blood was the most heart-stirring.

It made one have the desire to taste it.

Besides, shouldn't things like that look best when they were alive?

You could see them flicker with red as their emotions shifted.

A frozen, emotionless, and cold beauty was the most boring thing of all.

That was nothing more than a red bead.

If it didn't imprison the intoxicating emotions unique to humans, it wasn't worth mentioning.

Besides, shouldn't the most beautiful thing about humans be their emotions?

Helpless despair.

Hysterical rage.

A face full of yearning desire.

A heart full of joyful hope.

This is the true beauty belonging to the creature known as human.

Complex and ever-changing.

Yet, it can only struggle and sink under the hands of an "artist" like Coleman.

Until everything turns into nothingness.

Cruelly posed by the "artist" into the desired shape.

Finally frozen within a square photograph.

Emotions flow wantonly through this unique frame, making the entire image rich in tension and artistry.

Fascinating.

Perhaps this gentlemanly artist will occasionally wipe the photos clean, finding a suitable, sun-drenched corner to hang them.

Letting beauty shine brilliantly forever.

Rest assured, these scrolls are never lonely.

This artist is not stingy at all, hanging hundreds of photos on that wall.

They accompany one another.

Together, they sink into the boundless darkness.

Unable to fathom what those "artists" who enjoy collecting human body parts are thinking, Coleman could only sigh in the end.

Perhaps this is the generation gap between a spiritual "artist" and a physical "artist."

For instance, Ku'er Ya, that master collector, prefers to store these parts or complete "dolls" in some dark corner.

He coats his art pieces in preservatives, treasuring these puppets.

Whereas what Coleman prefers is a frozen image rich in human emotional tension.

As for the materials used for this stop-motion art.

Once used, they are useless waste, the kind that cannot even be recycled.

Just toss them away at will.

Finally, after Coleman's wandering thoughts, he arrived at the edge of the island.

Watching the rising and falling waves, Coleman sighed.

Why did he have to run all the way out here in the middle of the afternoon?

Wasn't it pleasant enough to drink afternoon tea at home?

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

Suddenly, a tone like a poetry recitation rang out from nearby.

Coleman was not surprised, nor did he feel the slightest bit of vigilance.

It must be that old pervert named Ku'er Ya.

Coleman's heart remained calm, and he simply said indifferently, "Isn't this the homeland of the Kurta Clan?"

How did it become your paradise?

Cleaning the sand off his skateboard, Coleman went about his work while bearing Ku'er Ya's gaze.

As for why he was so relaxed, it was because Coleman was familiar with his own kind.

Madmen, after all, generally only prey on targets that fit their "criteria."

Although those of the same kind are naturally drawn to one another.

However, for those with different attributes, there is no conflict over prey between them.

Therefore, there is no reason for them to fight.

In fact, they are quite willing to sit down and discuss art with each other.

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

Someone with the capital to kill everyone present naturally has no need to be nervous.

Clearly, the boy before him believed he possessed that capital.

"Don't misunderstand, I only came here to sketch."

I never thought about laying a hand on those beautiful creatures.

This was a middle-aged man with brown hair and a bit of stubble.

He was about 1.9 meters tall, wore round glasses, and had a decadent, harmless appearance.

He let out a yawn and scratched his head.

He looked like a painter lacking inspiration.

His hands were still stained with fresh dye; it seemed he had been in quite a rush to welcome Coleman.

Meeting Coleman's blood-red eyes, which were filled with confusion, Ku'er Ya smiled and spread his hands.

"Are you not interested in a little girl with blonde hair and red eyes?"

"Especially one who is curvaceous, yet stands at just over one meter sixty."

"You should know, the people of this race are generally not very tall, and besides..."

As he spoke, he suddenly flashed a lecherous grin: "They have amazing figures!"