The reason Jiushi was called Jiushi was, of course, not because she was already ninety years old. It was a name she had recently chosen to keep her enemies from finding her.
The grudges of the past had already been destroyed single-handedly. Let them be buried for good.
As for blood... it was far too bland. Jiushi preferred car coolant with a high alcohol content. Only that had enough flavor.
Jiushi sat at the ticket booth, watching the group enter what she considered the best haunted house around. She nodded in satisfaction, eagerly anticipating the sight of them screaming as they ran back out. Frightened faces were excellent food—that was a quote from the island's former owner.
That little girl looked somewhat familiar...
Not the kind of familiarity that came from actually meeting her. Rather, Jiushi had only heard scattered descriptions before. Upon seeing Shamare's appearance, those descriptions unconsciously matched up, but her mind had yet to react.
"Who was it?"
She began flipping through the Siracusan records she had collected. The more she read, the more cold sweat slowly trickled down her pale skin.
Ah.
This was the former owner of Terror Island?
Those words just now really hadn't been a child's joke?
Jiushi was already on the verge of running away. Hadn't Shamare been adopted by some mysterious organization? She hadn't even returned during the mining operation. Jiushi had merely picked up the scraps and opened a haunted house—so why had that girl come back?
How utterly bizarre.
Jiushi could no longer sleep. She ran inside the ticket booth and took out her treasured weapon: a shotgun stolen from Laterano. Stealing something from those angels had always been the thing she was proudest of.
She loaded it with Originium-charged rounds and racked the gun, though her movements were