The shriek of bursting iron tore through the desert evening. Black smoke rose in countless columns, staining the sky that had begun to bleed into orange. The Caravane Noir—a three-hundred-meter steel caravan—no longer retained any semblance of its original form. Its twelve linked armored cars had detonated one after another, their twisted steel frames laid bare upon the scorching sand. The heat radiating from the blazing wreckage made the landscape shimmer like a mirage. Galen Vollhardt stood at the outer edge of that ruin. His short, silver-gray hair was disheveled by the blast wind, smeared with soot. The old burn scar on the left side of his head flickered into relief under the crimson pulse of the flames. The proof of his direct service to Knives—that brand carved into the back of his left hand—was now so caked in blood and sand that it could no longer be seen. Only his right eye, a deep, dark navy iris, maintained an eerie stillness within that blazing hell. In his right hand, Vesper. The long-barreled revolver of a bygone era rested heavily in his grip. "[cold]...This was not in the calculations." His dry murmur was swallowed by the roar of the explosions. Before his eyes, that man stood. A red coat billowing in the dust, a silver gun dangling from one hand. Vash the Stampede—the "Humanoid Typhoon"—the legendary gunman designated a natural disaster by insurance companies. His figure was so uncanny it seemed as if the very flames and smoke had taken human shape. Vash's expression held neither anger nor sorrow. Only eyes brimming with a profound grief stared straight at Galen. "[cold]This is your fault. All of it. Because you exist." Galen's right index finger settled on the trigger. The finger trembled faintly. He aligned his sights on the center of Vash's chest. His prosthetic eye—the golden left eye implanted with Plant cells—throbbed with a prickling, searing ache. Vash began to open his mouth. In that instant, Galen pulled the trigger. —DOOM!! Vesper's gunshot tore the air apart. The breach round—a special Plant-derived warhead—released a blinding flash upon impact. A scorching explosion, incinerating everything within a three-meter radius, hurled the sand into the air. But. Vash's figure was no longer there. "—What." Galen's right eye widened. In the next moment, a silver muzzle precisely caught Galen's left arm. The bullet Vash fired, without a shred of waste, pierced through the joint of Galen's elbow. —BANG!! The sensation of bone shattering. Searing pain raced through his entire left arm. A hoarse groan leaked from Galen's lips. He desperately clenched his right hand, which had nearly dropped Vesper. Blood spurting from his left arm began to form a red stain upon the sand. "[angry]Not yet... It's not over yet...!" Galen gritted his teeth and readied Vesper again with only his remaining right hand. Trying to fire a second shot, he aligned his sights with trembling fingers. But— Behind him, a fuel tank exploded. —ZUDOOOOOOM!!! The shockwave slammed Galen's body onto the sand. Simultaneously, the collapsing ceiling plate and steel frame of a vehicle crushed his lower body with a thunderous roar. The immense weight of the rubble made his bones creak and compressed his internal organs. And then— The explosion's shrapnel. Countless metal fragments assaulted Galen's face. One among them, a sharp piece of steel, tore through the black eyepatch covering his left eye and struck the golden prosthetic eye hidden beneath it directly. —Pop. A faint sound, like glass shattering. The prosthetic eye implanted with Plant cells shattered into pieces from within. A vivid sensation of something being crushed deep inside his eye socket. And then—a searing pain pierced his brain. Galen let out a voiceless scream. The right half of his vision was dyed red. Blood overflowed from the ruined eye socket, ran down his cheek, and dripped onto the sand. It was hot. He had never known his own blood could be this hot. But—more than that. What assaulted Galen was a deeper, darker shock. (—It's gone.) His sole physical connection to Knives. The prosthetic eye implanted with his brother's cells. Through it, he had always felt his brother's presence. His brother's will, his brother's power, his brother's shadow. That—was now completely shattered. Galen could not move. His lower body, pinned under the rubble, had no sensation left at all. His left arm was broken, his prosthetic eye shattered, blood flowing ceaselessly. He simply looked up at the sky, covered by the blazing wreckage of the vehicles. Beyond the twisted steel frames, an orange sky stretched wide. At that moment, a faint weight fell into his right hand. It was a fragment of the shattered prosthetic eye. A tiny golden shard, resting on his blood-soaked palm, glinted dully as it reflected the flickering flames. Galen clenched that fragment tightly. (—So this is the end.) His great cause, his ambitions, everything—crushed here. For the first time, he accepted his complete defeat with a sense of utter blankness. Neither rage nor lament welled up within him. Only a hollow emptiness, as if a hole had been punched through his chest, existed there. From the blazing iron ceiling above, sparks scattered and fell onto the sand right beside his face. 　□ How much time had passed? Amid the hanging smoke, faint footsteps could be heard. The sound of shoes treading through rubble, drawing closer. A regular, unwavering stride. Galen turned his remaining right eye towards it. From beyond the smoke, a woman emerged. Her long, deep crimson hair was tied up high, and her sharp, amber, almond-shaped eyes looked down at the fallen Galen. The thin sword scar on her right cheek seemed to move in the flickering firelight. The tattoo of the Plant crest, engraved from her left shoulder down to her upper arm, peeked out from beneath her soot-stained coat. Kestra Vael. His second-in-command, who just moments ago had stolen his plan and defected. Kestra looked upon Galen's wretched state without so much as twitching an eyebrow. There was no anger, no pity, no mockery. Only a detached gaze, like a technician inspecting a broken part. Wordlessly, she placed her hands on the end of the steel beam that was crushing Galen. Then, she wedged another steel beam that had fallen nearby underneath it, using the principle of leverage. Putting her entire body weight into it, she pushed the beam down. —Groan. The steel beam creaked and lifted slightly. In that gap, Kestra swiftly slipped her hand in and grabbed Galen by the collar. And then—with brute force, she dragged him out from under the rubble. Galen's body tumbled onto the sand. "[serious]...I told you I wouldn't allow you to die a pointless death." Kestra's voice had a businesslike ring to it, as if she were reading aloud from a document. Looking down at Galen, bleeding from his left arm and his face stained red, she dusted off her coat. "[cold]Why...?" Galen's question leaked out with a ragged breath. For just a fleeting moment, Kestra raised the right corner of her mouth. Her characteristic, crooked smile. "[sarcastic]Results are everything. Lord Galen dying a pointless death here doesn't fit my calculations. That's all there is to it." Her gaze dropped briefly to the fragment of the prosthetic eye clenched in Galen's right hand. And then, she immediately looked up again. Galen, his face smeared with blood and sand, continued to look up at Kestra. He understood. This was neither loyalty nor sentiment. It was a perfectly rational decision based on Kestra's own calculations. And—in this moment, she had saved his life. He had incurred a debt. The master-servant relationship had irreversibly inverted. Galen could put neither gratitude nor anger into words. He simply looked up at Kestra with a blank expression. 　□ Kestra reached into the inner pocket of her coat. What she took out was a small, portable storage medium. Its metallic casing glinted dully, reflecting the firelight. "[cold]The activation data for Absolute Zero. A complete copy is right here." Galen's right eye widened slightly. "[cold]I backed up all the data before I shut down the power. Long before you ever went to the front lines." Holding the storage medium up where Galen could see it, she pointed into the distance with her other hand. The smoke, carried by the wind, began to thin. At the sight that emerged beyond it, Galen's breath stopped. On the sand, a short distance from the blazing wreckage, were two figures. Vash was down on one knee. In his arms—was Arisa. Her long, silver-white hair, reaching down to her waist, was dirty with soot, but her large, pale aquamarine eyes trembled as she looked up at Vash. Vash was gently wiping the blood caked on her forehead with his own fingers. The gesture was so tender, as if he were handling something precious. Arisa's hands were clutching tightly at the chest of Vash's red coat. Inside Galen, two emotions detonated simultaneously. One was a seething, boiling hatred for Vash. The man who had destroyed everything. The younger brother who had always monopolized his brother's attention. The most detestable existence in this world. The other was—a dark heat he could not name. Arisa was being held by Vash. That girl, who had slipped from his grasp, was in the arms of the man he hated, a look of relief on her face. That sight was generating something thick and viscous deep within Galen's chest. Whether it was jealousy, possessiveness, or perhaps— Even Galen himself could not tell. "[cold]As long as Arisa is alive, the biological key to the plan is not lost." Kestra's cold, ruthless voice cut off Galen's thoughts. "[cold]In the next phase, treating her as a mere tool will be inefficient. For better results—we change our methods. This is not a condition; it's a premise." She returned the storage medium to her coat's inner pocket. Galen was still staring at the two figures in the distance. Arisa buried her face in Vash's chest. Vash's hand was gently placed on her back. Galen's right eye narrowed. 　□ "[cold]...Brother." Galen's lips moved faintly. The voice was too small, too weak. A thin murmur, easily drowned out by the roar of the flames and the sound of collapsing steel. There was no way it could reach Vash, far in the distance. But—that voice held a definite heat. "[cold]I am not finished yet." His right hand clenched the fragment of the shattered prosthetic eye even tighter. The corner of the golden shard bit into his palm, and fresh blood dripped down. Galen's mouth, smeared with blood and sand, slowly twisted. It was a sneer. It was not the smile of the cold, calculating man he once was. It was something more primal, darker, filled with obsession. The cage called "great cause" had been completely shattered. His pseudo-connection with Knives had been physically severed. What drove him now was no longer faith or a sense of mission. A personal hatred for Vash. And—a dark, twisted fixation on Arisa. That was the new power source for the man named Galen Vollhardt. Kestra quietly looked down at Galen's sneer with her amber eyes. Within her chest was the solid sensation of the copied data. The Absolute Zero plan was not dead yet. It could change its form, change its leadership, and continue without fail. Her gaze turned towards Arisa and Vash in the distance. (—This is merely the beginning of the end.) It was not a feeling, but a cold, hard conviction. The sunset dyed the blazing wreckage of the Caravane Noir an even deeper red. The desert night was slowly approaching. At the edge of the ruins, only two shadows remained. Galen, slumped on the rubble, a twisted sneer plastered on his lips, continuing to stare at the two figures in the distance. And Kestra, standing beside him, silently fixing her gaze in the same direction. Their shadows, stretched long by the flickering flames, eventual