A long, deathly silence pressed down like a solid block of lead upon the underground workshop, thick with the pungent smells of machine oil and preservatives.
There was not a trace of warmth in your eyes. Your earlier aloofness gradually congealed into a spine-chilling frost.
You spoke slowly, your voice so indifferent that it seemed devoid of human emotion, enunciating each word as you sought confirmation.
"I don't quite understand what you just meant."
"Are you sure... what you're discussing with me is still a matter of 'cursed corpses'?"
"Without the central driving mechanism, without even the soul's framework remaining, can something that's nothing but an empty shell still be called a cursed corpse?"
Confronted with your piercing stare, which felt like needles against his back and seemed ready to see straight through his soul, the cursed corpse maker showed neither panic nor guilt.
Instead, with an air of practiced familiarity, he raised his hands, stained with black grease and unidentified slime, and gently rubbed his chin. His eyes narrowed slightly as he actually sank into what resembled academic contemplation.
Then he looked up and answered you in an almost obsessive tone, as though he considered it perfectly natural.
"Eighty percent of its structure consists of cursed corpse materials and a metal framework."
"And ultimately, our requirements for it and the logic governing its control are also formulated entirely according to cursed corpse standards."
"In my view, this is undoubtedly still a matter of cursed corpses."
"Just like Masamichi Yaga's 'Puppet Manipulation,' the range of puppets he can control and define is also extremely broad."
"If both the shell and its ultimate function meet the definition, why rigidly restrict the core to a single form?"
Listening to this sophistry, seemingly rigorous in its logic yet utterly absurd, you drew a