Ch.304Final Curtain – December 31, 1924

Using a ritual that cost a single human life had lasted this long without breaking, and Michael couldn’t even begin to guess when a ritual drawing upon divine power would fade.

Perhaps neither would ever break. He had long abandoned the childish hope that the ritual might suddenly disappear one day, freeing his comrades.

The concrete walls created by the King of Industrial Spirits creaked, shedding concrete dust and making ominous groaning sounds. The parts touched by the stellar fragment Michael had detonated were burning and melting.

The divine power was gone. Whatever remained in that temple now was simply a corpse made of metal, or perhaps not even that, and the walls would collapse.

Michael felt himself getting closer to the ground, but he didn’t know how to fly. He curled his body to avoid landing head-first as he plummeted toward the ground.

His impact left a large crater in the road, but he felt no pain. The divine power he had usurped through the Connection Ritual still remained.

Covered in dirt and ash, he looked up at the sky. The winter-specific white-tinged blue was visible. The sky was hazy with smoke from heating furnaces.

But at the same time, chunks of concrete were raining down. They would fall directly over Manhattan Island. The detective let out a hollow laugh at the sight.

“At least I made the right choice not dying up there just to see the King of Industrial Spirits die up close.”

Was there a way to stop it? When thinking about the divine power of Sol Invictus, the first thing that came to mind was controlling flames. He could perhaps extend flames to catch the debris, but he might end up burning everything around him.

However, the detective’s worries were resolved in an absurdly simple way. With a thunderous sound, a hole was punched through the massive concrete wall created by the King of Industrial Spirits. The wall didn’t collapse.

To describe it more accurately, it didn’t so much collapse as evaporate. A red-scaled dragon burst through the concrete wall, breathing fire.

The ferocious fire dragon soon let out a roar. It was loud enough to shatter windows throughout Manhattan, but that was acceptable damage.

“All surviving short-lived ones, hide inside buildings! Go to the first floor or below ground! Supporting the life struggle of short-lived ones is the duty—no, the privilege of the long-lived!”

Only then did Michael look around and start searching for a building to enter. Being right in front of the King of Industrial Spirits’ body, the surrounding buildings were filled with terminals and spirits, not people.

It would be disastrous if he entered such a building and was told they wouldn’t protect it because there were no people inside. Michael ran down the road. He flexed his arm and shook it, dislodging the corroded marble encasing his right arm.

He tried to shake off the remaining marble chunks from his body. He knew it wouldn’t be effective, but he wanted to appear human on the outside. Some flesh came off with the marble, but it regenerated quickly.

As the detective ran in search of a building with people, he could hear an orc shouting. Thanks to the orc’s loud voice, the sound carried well despite the distance.

“Hurry over here! The dragons are doing something—whether they’re going to burn everything like that fire dragon or whatever, it’s safer to be with other people!”

Fearing he might be mistaken for a terminal if he didn’t speak, the detective covered his mouth with his hand and tried his voice. It was a human voice. It wasn’t something inhuman sounding like a human.

“Ah, yes! Thank you!”

With this somewhat artificial greeting, the detective ran toward the apartment. The entrance, littered with one crushed Idealist terminal and more numerous terminals of the King of Industrial Spirits, seemed somehow familiar.

As Michael entered the lobby, the orc who had seen him running outside extended a heavy hand. Michael reached out and grasped it. The orc snorted and said:

“Ha! Look at that grip strength. One of the few non-orcs who can pass as a real man! Even we were almost screwed, surrounded by terminals, but are you alright coming from inside? You look terrible.”

The detective finally looked down at himself. Despite Yehoel’s protection, his shirt was in tatters with only the front part remaining, and his hands, feet, and face were covered in blood. He was only causing less concern because he was moving.

In contrast, the apartment he had found was remarkably… intact. There were signs of fierce battle to prevent the terminals’ invasion, but they were just traces, and the remaining people were in fairly good condition and numerous.

The detective decided to lie. Following the true story would involve using the word “dying” too many times.

“I may look bad, but I’m in better shape than you’d think. I guess I barely made it out alive thanks to some good friends. This place seems to be in pretty good condition.”

The detective tried to figure out why this place felt familiar. Again, he didn’t need to try hard as the orc began to explain:

“Oh, this place? There’s a reporter lady living here who brought some glowing stone and lit up the area like a lighthouse! So the angels came quickly, and that Hive Mind commie came to help us too. That’s why we weren’t invaded. Whoa, look outside for a moment. This is why they told everyone to go inside.”

The detective turned around briefly. There were many dragons. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed since dawn, but it seemed the dragons had started gathering as soon as the wall went up.

Red-scaled dragons breathed fire that burned through concrete and rebar as if they were too weak, while poison dragons made the concrete melt rather than fall in large chunks.

Dragons whose breath wasn’t suitable for breaking debris wrapped themselves around buildings and began using the gravity magic they used for flight. The detective remained motionless, but even the orc floated slightly before coming back down.

While distracted by this sight, the detective heard a familiar voice. He finally recognized why this place felt familiar. Rose emerged from among the people gathered on the first floor.

“I’ve always wanted to see more dragons… though I wish it were under better circumstances!”

At that moment, the dragons became unimportant. Michael quickly turned his head back. He watched as Rose’s eyes widened at the sight of someone she never expected to see.

Her hair was more lemon-colored than he remembered, and her eyes were greener than he recalled. Michael decided not to trust his memories anymore. All memories were just discolored things.

Rose wasn’t the only one with a discerning eye. She could see Michael’s eyes looking at her. They were no longer the eyes from when everything looked like a dull joke or a faded photograph.

Curiosity, vitality, expectation, and his attitude toward unexpected things… Rose could easily tell that he was once again, or perhaps for the first time, truly seeing everything.

It was as she had said. Michael had finally found his way, leaping over the six years of wandering to arrive at today.

Rose had things she wanted to say. And things she needed to say. She was at a crossroads of choice, just like Michael had been inside the King of Industrial Spirits’ body moments ago.

Michael had chosen what he wanted to do instead of what he had to do for the first time. Rose decided to choose what she had to do instead of what she wanted to do second.

“Well, um, Mr. New York. Michael… I mean.”

Rose suppressed the words she wanted to say from leaking out. She remembered there were things she had to tell him when this day came.

She didn’t know the full situation either. She couldn’t even begin to guess how he had destroyed the King of Industrial Spirits and come here. This time, she decided to focus on what she knew rather than what she didn’t.

“Welcome! Welcome back! It’s been a while since you’ve been here, right? Or maybe it’s your first time. Today is December 31, 1924! The sun is rising, and tomorrow will probably be January 1, 1925. Finally, um, finally… our clock was right. Right? It’s December 31, 1924, for you too, isn’t it, Michael?”

The Argonne Invincibles were people who moved forward with indomitable will. A reporter should be someone who illuminates the truth so people can find their own path.

But a certain man from the 308th Infantry Regiment had been living buried in place. With his ankles caught in the past and his courage to move forward long gone, he was just living with his neck tied to duty.

He had many obligations. A detective works for his clients. The job will be done. Never give up. Find a way. He was living a life surrounded by countless “must-dos.”

But Rose had been constantly dreaming, her face buried in the things a reporter could do, in warm and cozy dreams and ideals not yet grasped, and achievements not yet attained.

She had many desires. She wanted to be a reporter who conveyed the truth. She wanted to right wrongs. She wanted to know the truth about the Argonne Invincibles. She was living a life surrounded by countless “want-to-dos.”

Rose chose what she had to do rather than what she wanted to do for the first time when confronting her father. Perhaps things would work out well. Instead of hoping, she pulled the trigger.

At that moment, she could have escaped the story. She could have written her own story without being bound by pages or ghostwriting hands, but she remained in that completed story and waited.

The detective, while killing Sol Invictus, recalled that there was a time when he too had color. With a longing for that color, he finally willingly gave up that longing today.

Ironically, or like some fable, only when he gave up that longing could he find color. Only then could the indomitable Argonne plant his flag at the top of the King of Industrial Spirits’ head.

Michael could finally reach the last page. Rose was waiting there. Michael chuckled at her verbose recitation of today’s date.

He tried to look at his watch, but the watch he had received in France after the Great War was already gone without a trace. It must have been caught in the explosion.

But there was no problem answering. There was no need to check the watch to confirm the date in the first place.

“Yes. It’s December 31, 1924. For me too. I thought the sky would be blue, but it’s still hazy from heating smoke, and I thought there would be some intense colors, but the only intense colors are the scales of those dragons flying out there. It’s different from what I expected. But still…”

Michael paused. Rose rushed forward and embraced him. She coughed a little at the smell of blood, ash, and burnt scent coming from him, but lightly wrapped her arms around his waist.

She felt bare skin on his back and briefly withdrew her hands, fumbling for where to put them, but eventually buried her face in Michael’s chest and embraced him.

The detective now embraced her back. This embrace was more intentional than their brief kiss on Christmas. It wasn’t impulsive, and perhaps involved some deliberation.

Rose, with her face buried in his chest, spoke instead of Michael. The choice of words wasn’t important. Both knew what emotion would follow the word “still.”

“It’s okay. Isn’t this enough, Michael? After all… words aren’t what’s important.”

“Yes, it’s okay. It’s good. It’s different from what I expected. But still, it’s okay.”

With those words, the final curtain fell completely.

Now the two could write their own story, no longer needing to rely on someone else’s ghostwriting.