Shirley unconsciously rubbed her right hand with her left hand.

"Don't worry about me for now. I can't hang this portrait at home right now. Agnes might have noticed something's wrong."

"You still call her Agnes," Margaret said as she examined the portrait. "I've always told you that you should learn to compromise sometimes. It was like that at school, when you were with Igor Sullivan, and when you were with little Anne. You clearly have such great abilities, so why do you always make such a mess of your life?"

Shirley gritted her teeth.

This action made her jaw clench and she looked full of resistance.

"Because she's not Anne," Shirley said coldly. "No one can bear the title of Saint Anne, not Agnes, not anyone else. It's the name her mother...my sister gave her. Why shouldn't I call her 'Agnes' instead of a nickname that's not appropriate at all?"

Margarita looked up. "Because the Vatican chose her. You're going to make things difficult for everyone—including yourself."

"Then let's wait until the time comes."

The orange-haired researcher in a white coat snorted coquettishly yet with disdain.

"It's up to you. If you don't have a place to put this painting, I can keep it for now."

Shirley stood up, her heels pressed together. "In that case, I'll be leaving first."

"Hey!" Margarita's eyes widened. "Why are you in such a hurry? Let me see your hands!"

Viscount Joyce pulled off the lace glove on his right hand.

The orange-haired researcher standing opposite her was speechless for a moment.

Her right hand is a black and blue mechanical prosthesis. The fine material gleams like ripples of water in the sunlight.

"You...you..." After a while, Margarita stammered, "Is it because of Igor? Or because of Wendy?"

"Because of myself." Shirley looked down at her right hand, her expression still cold. "I'm the head of the Federation's mecha R&D department. I shouldn't be completely ignorant of what I created."

Margarita was speechless.

She knew that Shirley's way of thinking was different from others, but she didn't know that she could be so cruel to herself.

"...That's how you were in the beginning. They asked you to approach Igor with a purpose, but you sincerely became his friend, doing your best to help him, and even earned Wendy's admiration—but you didn't let any of them go, even though it hurt you." Margarita suddenly said, "This is what I hate most about you, Shirley. You can never be a completely evil person. You make people hate you on one hand, and sympathize with you on the other."

Shirley replied: "This is your own problem, it has nothing to do with me."

“I just do what I want to do.”

Margarita's words inevitably made her think back to the past, back to the time when everything had begun but had not yet ended.

**

Azathoth rarely takes the initiative to pry into other people's private lives. He is not interested and is too lazy to delve into it.

From this perspective, Mr. Evil God is actually quite Buddhist. If the situation is not critical, he would rather stay in bed and fiddle with his tentacles like a salted fish than go out to solve the problem in advance.

So even though Igor didn't take the initiative to explain but pretended to let him ask, Azathoth could still pretend to be blind for a long time. After all, he could always handle these troubles and hold on even if the sky fell. So why not let himself live a more comfortable life?

And the word proactive is also difficult to define.

Just like now, he was walking leisurely on the streets of the federal capital a few years ago, avoiding places where crowds gathered and not wearing a hood.

One of the benefits of dreams is that Azathoth can make everyone ignore him.

A few dozen meters away, Igor was walking on a busy commercial street. Wendy, who was about twelve years old, grabbed his sleeve and looked around curiously.

Azathoth really didn't mean to come into Igor's dream.

But what could he do? The mind of the follower was like his unprotected backyard! Sometimes he would inexplicably feel Igor's call while sleeping, and run over to take a look - there was no emergency!

Wendy was walking and chattering like a little sparrow with her brother: "Why didn't Sister Shirley come today? She was the one who invited us to the amusement park."

"She's busy." Igor's expression was relaxed, his short gray hair slightly disheveled, clearly neglected during the holidays. He wore a simple shirt and jeans. Azathoth had never imagined that his own followers could have given off the impression of recent college graduates just five years ago. Igor had already been on the battlefield for several years by then. War was so unreasonable, it could force anyone, regardless of age, to join the front lines.

"I was just forced to take a leave because of my leg. Everyone else is still working. Shirley is very talented in weapons research and development. There's no way the Federation will let her leave."

"Oh." Shirley kicked the pebbles under her feet gloomily. "When will this fight be over? I want to go back to the orphanage."

"The orphanage is on the border. I'm afraid you won't be able to go back anytime soon."

"But my brother can go back. This is not fair at all!"

The girl was obviously joking, but a trace of gloom flashed across Igor's face.

Then he smiled and asked, "Isn't the capital fun? You can still go to school."

"I don't like studying," Wendy said. "Although it's fun to see my friends, I've missed so much knowledge that it's hard to catch up."

They walked away, talking and laughing. This scene was so real, Azathoth knew it was because it really happened, an event that Igor kept recalling during the day.

At this time, Azathoth was still sleeping in the ocean at the South Pole of the desolate planet.

The scene changed rapidly. Most of the time it was sunny and bright. The weather in the federal capital was always good. Only occasionally would lingering rain be seen outside the window.

This is an old apartment, which is very tidy and full of life. Its owner must have lived here for a long time.

Wendy was a little younger again, with a small red heart-shaped hairpin in her gray hair.

She carefully adjusted the angle of the hairpin in front of the mirror to make her hairstyle look more lovely. Then the girl happily walked out of the bedroom and greeted the people in the living room: "Brother Igor! Sister Shirley!"

The two adults who were talking seriously suddenly stopped talking.

Igor smiled and waved, and Shirley also looked relaxed and happy (compared to her usual expression).

Wendy quickly walked over and sat down opposite them.

Azathoth noticed that Shirley looked a little absent-minded. She was talking to Wendy in a disjointed manner, but her eyes were always on Igor's still intact left leg.

"Igor," she suddenly said, "let's talk about what we were talking about. You said that you've been feeling that your spiritual contract with the Saint Valentine mecha isn't very stable lately, right?"

"...We can talk about it later." Igor said gently.

Wendy looked at him and then at Shirley: "You two want to talk about business? Then I'll go back to the house first?"

"No, you don't need to," Shirley said firmly. "You have the right to be present at this matter. We're talking about your brother's left leg. I've been researching bionic technology that can significantly enhance human combat capabilities. Although I heard that your abilities, Igor, aren't combat-related, it would be safer on the battlefield if you had more defensive and offensive means."

Wendy asked hesitantly, "What does that have to do with my brother's left leg?"

"We're talking about replacing it with a robotic prosthesis," Shirley said.

“…”

They seemed to have had a big argument.

The footage became messy.

Azathoth sat bored on the windowsill outside the window, with fine, wet raindrops pouring down on him, dripping through the gaps between his fingers and into the small garden downstairs of the apartment building.

His tentacles stretched out wantonly in this dream, as if stretching, spreading along the gray-brown wall like a waterfall or ivy.

After a while, Shirley hurried away in the rain. In the room, Wendy sat next to Igor with her knees hugged, doing exactly the same thing as she had done in Igor's dream the day before.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have gotten mad at Shirley and you."

"I don't know anything. If you think it's necessary, then go ahead and do it."

Wendy sneaked into Igor's warehouse where the mecha Saint Valentine was parked at night.

This warehouse was just downstairs from them, and the mecha named after the saint was sleeping quietly inside.

The little girl struggled to stand on its giant toes and wrote on the mecha's calf with the charcoal pencil in her hand:

"I present this to my mecha pilot. I hope he will always be safe and happy."

She thought about it and drew an ugly but cute little flower next to this sentence.

Igor watched this scene from a place where the lights could not reach, his expression gloomy and unclear.

"gentlemen."

He suddenly said.

Azathoth quietly emerged from the shadows.

Igor turned and looked at him, as if talking to himself: "Looking back now, I realized that I wasn't careful enough in many ways."

"I should have realized that even with the support of the Chief Archon, a young man who quickly climbed from the bottom to the pinnacle of power still offended too many forces."

"Although there are many reasons I cannot understand, those bad results are all directed at me."

"Only Wendy...I shouldn't have let her get close to Shirley."

"Although we had a fight today, Shirley came over to apologize to Wendy afterwards. She said she felt that as my sister, Wendy should have the right to know."

"I think so too, and we all think that Shirley's guilt is sincere. She has been sad for unknown reasons."

"...Wendy found Viscount Joyce, who occasionally had a melancholic temperament, very attractive. She treated her as a close friend, and for a long time they talked about everything."

At this point, Igor took a deep breath and continued, "Wendy has come into contact with too few people. Because of me, it's hard for her to make friends at school."

"She's always wanted to go back and visit the orphanage where she grew up. She doesn't remember much about it, as she was too young. Besides, the orphanage was forced to disband in the middle of the war. Wendy just likes familiar places and people; it makes her feel safe."

This sounds like a normal little Omega girl.

Azathoth thought.

Igor concluded: "This is my fault."

His gaze seemed vague in the dim light of the warehouse. Azathoth was not sure whether he really knew that God was in his dream, or whether he thought he had dreamed of God - after all, Igor would not talk so much under normal circumstances.

A soft, dry tentacle rested soothingly on Igor's shoulder.

The young man probably really thought that this was an illusory dream.

He stared at his right shoulder for a moment, then whispered, "If you were here..."

The rest of the sentence was swallowed. Igor shook his head and raised one hand to press the tentacle on his shoulder. In the darkness, he raised the corner of his mouth, revealing a quiet and tired smile.