Yato really wanted to go to Lungmen right now.
She needed to carry out her mission as soon as possible.
But Yato had no interest in experiencing Lungmen's bustle and prosperity. All she wanted was to complete her mission, return to Rhodes Island and stay there quietly, then lie dormant like wild grass until her next mission.
The purpose of carrying out a mission was to carry out the next one.
That was Yato's life.
Hard to understand, wasn't it?
She sat in the Rhodes Island cafeteria, chewing a bacon burger. The flavors of lettuce and meat flooded her mouth. She chewed seventeen times, then swallowed the mixture of meat, starch, and vegetables, absorbing nutrients as if her life depended on it.
Once she finished eating, it would be time to prepare for the mission.
Or rather, eating was also part of carrying out the mission.
None of that mattered.
Yato greeted no one. The teasing and shouting in the cafeteria were completely outside her notice, as was some silly dog trying to sneak into the kitchen in plain sight. In Yato's eyes, there was only her work.
She had never failed.
Back in the staff dormitory, Yato began arranging her mission equipment.
There was not much to arrange. The reason she had never failed was that her equipment was simple: one katana, and one container for the katana.
There was only one katana, but there could be many containers.
This time, the container was a cello case. Its exterior was coated in matte black paint that reflected no light, elegant and restrained in shape, full of soft curves. Yato reached up and removed her mask, then slung the case onto her back. She truly looked like a cellist.
She blinked.
Though it looked quite pretty, Yato put her mask