"All right, enough small talk. Weren't you curious about how I make those strings that control people? Find somewhere suitable, and I'll explain."
Ku'er Ya was very enthusiastic.
You could even say he was overly enthusiastic.
Coleman raised an eyebrow and gladly accepted the man's invitation.
You could call it an act of arrogance.
But his curiosity drove him to investigate.
Besides, he didn't think this guy could kill him.
He was just a puppeteer. Coleman had seen plenty of them in his previous life.
Quite a few had even wanted to turn him into a puppet.
Too bad for them. They'd all ended up as part of Coleman's collection.
Their crazed expressions had been preserved forever on canvas.
Along with their puppets, they were frozen in their own dark basements.
Following close behind, Coleman found that the man had led him to a discreetly luxurious wooden villa.
Well, well. This one had money.
Ku'er Ya pushed the door open, ambled inside, and turned on the lights.
By then, the sun had begun to set outside.
The bright sunset wasn't dazzling.
But its light was nowhere near enough for anyone inside to make out the furnishings.
Perhaps it was the painter's own preference, but the lights in Ku'er Ya's house weren't very bright.
Even when switched on, they only made the corners of the room barely visible.
Coleman didn't complain. He stayed where he was, waiting for the older man to show him what to do.
Don't go wandering into the homes of others like you.
That was an unspoken rule among these oddballs.
After all, you could never imagine what a lunatic might have done to their home.
One careless mistake, and an outsider could die on the spot.
Besides, every oddball had different habits.
Maybe some thoughtless thing you did would cross one of their boundaries.
And send you plunging into the abyss.
Turning you into one of their defective works of art.
Ku'er Ya finished making tea before he noticed the boy was still standing in the same place.
He chuckled, as if he'd just remembered something, then said casually, "Make yourself at home. Come on in. I'm not fussy about rules."
Hearing this, Coleman shrugged and ambled inside.
This guy sure didn't have many rules.
Coleman looked around as he thought.
If it were his place, perhaps he'd make guests change their shoes before letting them in.
He wouldn't allow an outsider to dirty his floors.
A gentleman's home ought to be spotless, always clean.
Coleman sat on the sofa with perfect propriety.
His back remained as straight as if a ruler had been placed against it.
It was as though a nobleman's upbringing had been etched into his bones.
Every gesture was courteous.
Utterly elegant.
By chance, Coleman's hand brushed the sofa.
His fingers paused as he felt the surface.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise, blinked, then spoke slowly. "You have rather unusual tastes."
He rubbed his fingers together. If his sense of touch was right—
This was a human-skin sofa.
And judging by the fine seams, it had taken more than one person's skin to make it.
The skin from people's chests had probably been cut out, trimmed, and stitched together to cover the entire sofa.
"Oh, you mean this."
Ku'er Ya was drinking his tea when he belatedly realized what the boy meant.
"There aren't any shops in this godforsaken place, so I made most of the things in this house myself. But you know how it is—there aren't many materials to choose from here."
His words seemed to hint at something, while also sounding like an excuse.
"I don't usually do this. Those people were just too noisy."
As if recalling something, Ku'er Ya frowned.
The people who'd been hunting him were always making a racket.
He'd sewn their mouths shut, and they still kept grunting and whining.
As it happened, he needed some materials for making furniture.
Waste not, want not.
Besides, humans who'd awakened Nen worked better than ordinary materials.
Their bones, for instance, were much sturdier than those of ordinary people.
Coleman smiled without saying anything.
It was hard to tell whether he believed that explanation.
His gaze was fixed on the coffee table.
It was a glass tile patterned like marble.
Those grayish-white fragments were probably made from crushed human skulls.
Coleman gave a scoff and continued, trying to provoke the man in front of him.
"You're rather rough when it comes to dealing with substandard 'materials.'"
There. Had I managed to provoke you?
If so, could you show me those marvelous strings of yours?
I'm terribly curious.
They could extend and retract freely.
Perfect for making a "spiderweb."
Coleman wanted them.
But ever since they'd entered the house, Ku'er Ya hadn't shown any intention of letting him see them.
So Coleman planned to take them for himself.
Unfortunately, his plan was off the mark.
How could a lazy, slovenly older man be provoked by a few words?
"Oh, it's not so bad. They were substandard materials, so I smashed them. Some of them could still be put to use, after all."
Ku'er Ya scratched his head. He was getting a little sleepy.
But he still wanted to chat with the boy.
How had Coleman's puppet-making been both crude and delicate?
Ku'er Ya could tell from Coleman's technique that the boy had specifically studied how to make life-sized puppets.
But if he had such refined skills, why were his products so crude, even rough?
Ku'er Ya was also curious about the method Coleman used to make his puppets.
He wanted to learn.
So now he had to find a way to steer the conversation in that direction.
"What about you? Don't you handle scrap materials that way?"
Coleman was puzzled by the question.
Why handle scrap so violently?
My dear, there's nothing elegant about that.
Coleman rejected the idea outright. He intended to have a proper discussion with this "violent artist."
"No, I never do that. Usually, I either let them go or burn them."
As he spoke, he smiled.
"After all, when a material is defective, we ought to ask God why He made it so imperfect in the first place."
And my job is to send it to meet Him.
Before you continue