Gotham Song stealthily slipped out of jiro Ramonu’s room.
Honestly, every ti she stepped inside, she felt oddly nostalgic.
After all, the very first room she’d stayed in after arriving at jiro Manor had been Ramonu-nee’s. Sothing had happened in there—sothing she still didn’t dare tell the owner of the room about, involving a significant amount of blood.
Yeah... it hurt, and there was a lot of blood.
She glanced at the door plate number, nodded once, then scampered away without hesitation.
After all, she’d gotten away with teasing Ramonu-nee into a daze by acting spoiled. It would be catastrophic if her big sister snapped out of it later and retaliated with an iron grip.
But now that she’d finally found herself free, what to do next?
It had been a long ti since Gotham Song had last found herself completely alone. Usually, soone else was always by her side. Now, facing this rare mont of solitude, she felt oddly uncertain.
However, that feeling quickly passed, and soon a new idea popped into her mind. Quietly, she headed down the hallway toward the guest rooms.
The rooms in this part of jiro Manor, furthest from the main living area, were generally guest rooms—and among them was Gotham Song’s target.
Earlier, she’d asked Haya City about it and learned that the little one had inexplicably been holed up inside her room, refusing to co out.
After all, Van Gogh was just a cute junior who admired her greatly, running the sa Great Escape style, and hadn’t done anything particularly awful. At most, she’d shown a bit of resistance to Gotham Song, suspecting her of being so kind of impostor.
So as a mature senpai, Gotham Song wouldn’t hold a grudge against Van Gogh.
Not only would she not hold a grudge, but she’d even gently knock on her door—and promptly enter!
However, her attempted sneak attack turned out to be entirely unnecessary.
Hmm... No doubt about it. She really is my fan, isn’t she?
Now Gotham Song had zero doubts about that fact, because the door to Van Gogh’s room at the very end of the corridor was actually wide open.
Which ant this silly little junior had been holed up inside her room this whole ti with the door unlocked?
Unsure how exactly to respond to this, Gotham Song suddenly had an idea. She slipped off her indoor shoes, fixed her appearance carefully in the full-length mirror in the adjacent room, cleared her throat, and softly practiced altering her voice until she found a comfortable, familiar tone.
Then, stepping lightly in her white thigh-high socks, she quietly crossed the hall and entered the room.
But as soon as she stepped inside, she encountered a rather startling sight.
Initially, she’d planned to gently knock as a warning—but just as she walked in, she heard rapid clicking noises. An endless torrent of keyboard sounds crackled like fireworks from the far end of the room.
This being jiro Manor, the guest rooms naturally boasted top-tier anities, far surpassing the archaic technology still found in URA headquarters.
Naturally, this included a high-end computer.
And the source of those clicking sounds?
Van Gogh, typing with the skill and speed of a concert pianist.
It was hard to believe these lightning-fast movents belonged to a young Uma Musu who still seed inexperienced and not particularly adept at social interaction.
Faced with such a bizarre sight, Gotham Song was montarily at a loss for what expression to show.
Still, she lightly knocked on the doorfra.
The reaction was instantaneous. Incredibly swift—like a slacking office worker hearing their boss’s footsteps and hastily hitting a shortcut key—Van Gogh’s screen switched from a wall of green text, resembling so kind of docunt editor, to a video-streaming site.
But as Van Gogh turned toward her, Gotham Song caught a glimpse of the page’s title.
"Legendary Arc: Twilight Song’s Final Race – A Tiless Classic?"
"Ah! Ahh!! R-Ruka-sama?!" Van Gogh whipped around abruptly, then froze in place.
Standing at the doorway, slightly surprised, was a petite Uma Musu with flowing silver hair.
How to describe the girl before ?
She was exactly the legendary horse girl Van Gogh had dread about, idolized, and obsessed over countless tis.
Twilight Song—she’s the Uma Musu who could genuinely be everything to !
But wasn’t this strange? Even if Twilight Song really had connections to jiro Manor, she’d clearly left this world, so how could she possibly appear here? Could it be a ghost?
No, no—Uma Musu believed in science! Everyone at school insisted ghosts didn’t exist! Thus, logic dictated that the person before her absolutely couldn’t be the real Twilight Song.
Which ant...
Van Gogh quickly realized her mistake. Hesitantly, she tested the waters, addressing the Uma Musu still frozen before her.
"Gotham... Gotham Song-san?"
"Ah! Y-yes, it’s . But just to clarify, no matter what, I really am not Twilight Song-san, okay?"
Absolutely not her!
Honestly, Van Gogh’s lightning-fast keyboard skills earlier had been utterly surreal and outlandish. Gotham Song never imagined she’d see such extre corporate-slave behavior from a newly debuted junior at jiro Manor. For a mont, it dredged up mories she’d hoped to forget.
But as she snapped back to reality, Gotham Song imdiately understood why Van Gogh had questioned her identity in such a tone.
In her shock, she’d inadvertently spoken with "soone else’s" voice.
Gotham Song’s own voice carried a subtle huskiness—but if she consciously minimized that trait, she could effortlessly adopt a soft, ethereal tone that would make Van Gogh’s heart race with delight.
This was precisely what she’d practiced earlier. After adjusting her hairstyle, she’d experinted with her voice until she found just the right pitch.
Wait—I nearly forgot. I ca here to check up on Van Gogh’s condition.
Still, recalling the frantic typing and the text-filled screen earlier, Gotham Song couldn’t help but form a bold suspicion.
It... couldn’t possibly be a novel, could it? Van Gogh, you thick-browed filly—were you actually doing sothing that daring?
She cast another appraising glance at the anxious junior perched tensely in the chair.
Despite her inexperience, Van Gogh was surprisingly tall—though still slightly shorter than her big sister Haya City, she appeared taller than McQueen at least.
Hmm... More mature in various ways.
Her jet-black hair was cut short, except for one distinctly longer strand on her right side, creating a striking yet elegant look.
Simply put, Van Gogh was an icy beauty whose silent, serious expression irresistibly invited curiosity—and even teasing.
Yet, the mont she opened her mouth or showed expression...
Watching Van Gogh’s hesitant, nervous deanor as she carefully considered her words, Gotham Song arrived at a clear conclusion:
She seems so elegant and cool at first glance—but the second she speaks, she’s a Great Escape dummy.
Sigh. Why are all my juniors like this? Does that an I’m secretly a dummy too?
The thought flickered briefly before vanishing as Gotham Song sat down gracefully on Van Gogh’s bed, lips curling into a mysterious smile.
Since she’d already revealed Twilight Song’s delicate voice to Van Gogh...
Might as well commit to the thrill.
Gotham Song was suddenly intrigued. After all, a silly, icy beauty like Van Gogh held an unexpectedly irresistible gap.
Hehe.
Anyway, I truly am not Twilight Song—even if I use her voice!
Van Gogh started stamring, sweating nervously as Gotham Song, silently smiling, leaned in slightly. Despite Gotham Song’s small stature, the invisible pressure from her closeness forced Van Gogh back into her chair, breathing erratically.
How do you feel now, Van Gogh-chan?
Wait—why is she this nervous? Can my voice alone intimidate her that much?
Instinctively, Gotham Song sensed there was sothing else—sothing deeply embarrassing for Van Gogh—that explained her extre reaction.
Indeed, Van Gogh was internally panicking. Why?
Because the docunt she’d been feverishly writing earlier was actually her ongoing online novel—featuring Twilight Song heavily in nurous intimate roles.
And the villain of her current arc?
The hateful impostor who stole Twilight Song’s power yet refused the Great Escape running style—the villainous "Gotham Song"!
When reality unfolded precisely opposite to her novel, utterly invalidating the scene she’d written of Gotham Song’s humiliating defeat, what could she feel except sheer, existential panic?
Now, confronted directly by Gotham Song—who even used her idol’s beloved voice—Van Gogh’s mind collapsed into total ltdown.
I’m dead. My novel is dead. My reputation is dead. EVERYTHING IS DEAD.
As Gotham Song gently shook her shoulders, desperately trying to revive her, Van Gogh’s eyes beca lifeless.
Finally, inspiration struck Gotham Song.
"Adorable little filly—if you don’t wake up soon, you’ll be next to run the Arc with Twilight Song, you know?"
"In that legendary video you’ve watched countless tis...?"
"Oooohhh?! Can I really beco part of the legend too?! Just like in my novel—"
Just like... in my novel...?
"AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Thus, Van Gogh’s life—perhaps, probably, maybe—ca to an end.
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