"I can only say that he sneaked the Power of Order from me before approaching my sister."
"Besides, he plays in a band, works as a journalist, and he's even a Blondie."
As the Order Emissary listed one heavyweight term after another, the mechanical aristocrat beside him showed a trace of surprise.
Well, damn.
A Blondie, a band guy, and fuck news.
Was he stacking buffs or something?
What kind of born-to-run-after-pulling-up-his-pants physique was that?
Robin was a generation-defining superstar, after all. Was her taste really that bad?
His mechanical cells swiftly connected to the network, gathering every scrap of information related to that superstar.
Under the Emissary of Intellect's investigation, Robin's personality profile was completed almost instantly.
Hmm. She looked delicate, but she was actually very strong inside.
She liked standing up for the disadvantaged, was a little saintly, and was a devout follower of Harmony.
Recently, she also seemed to have been dismantling her own power, trying to turn Sunday into an energy device to supply others and change their fates.
Obviously.
Unless someone encountered something as extraordinary as an asteroid impact on Earth, anyone who wanted to make her develop feelings would need at least three qualities: "pity for the weak," "exceptional strength," and "long-term companionship."
Anyone who met those three conditions didn't sound very Blondie, no matter how he looked at it.
He couldn't help giving Sunday an appraising look, then nodded deeply in agreement.
Anyone intending to disrupt the order of the world should not exist. Anyone harboring schemes must not be allowed to live. All things in the universe should be maintained within order.
That was Order.
The God of Order was just such a stubborn, old-fashioned relic.
And naturally, His followers were all fanatics, more or less touched in the head.
This guy