The moon was bleak, and blood spread outward from beneath each corpse, abruptly turning the previously bustling balcony into a banquet for vultures.
The wind, too, shifted from cool to the sinister gusts of Hell.
The bright red evening gown offered no protection against the chill, and Mada Kochou pressed her legs together, striving to control her body to prevent an indecent scene from occurring.
I shouldn’t have drunk so much red wine earlier, she thought with so regret.
Aozawa glanced at his future mother-in-law and said softly, "Don’t be nervous. I’m not here for you."
THUMP, THUMP—her racing heart began to calm at that mont.
Mada Kochou was no ordinary person. After receiving his response, she couldn’t help but ask, "Lord Dio, weren’t you active in Tokyo?"
"When did you get the idea that I can only be active in Tokyo?" Aozawa countered.
Mada Kochou had no rebuttal. Yes, while Dio has always been active in Tokyo, Japan, if I think about it, no one truly knows when Dio arrived in this world or where he has been. From his fluent English just now, his ti spent in Europe and Arica was definitely no shorter than his ti in Japan.
"What exactly can I help you with?" Mada Kochou asked, voicing the heaviest secret on her mind, still unable to comprehend why Dio treated her so specially.
After considering her expression, Aozawa said, "There are six conditions for entering Paradise. One of which is to have a trustworthy friend. In my eyes, you are qualified."
Mada Kochou had privately considered many possibilities but never anticipated such an answer. A hint of astonishnt showed on her face, swiftly covered by elation as she said warmly, "That is my honor, Mr. Dio."
Her eyes rippled like water. Realizing that he needed a friend, she instantly understood that she could not address him as ’Lord,’ as that would go against Dio’s idea of friendship.
"You are indeed very clever," Aozawa said. He then turned, and the leaves on the ground were quickly swept up—a new twist on his Elent Replacent, creating a visual impact whether making an entrance or an exit by becoming the wind and sweeping up objects.
Watching the leaves scatter violently, the joy on Mada Kochou’s face gradually faded.
Her eyes grew cold again. Deep down, she harbored doubts about Dio’s assertion of needing a trustworthy friend; it wasn’t genuine trust she felt from him.
Mada Kochou understood well that those in high positions often share a common flaw: they like to find reasons to beautify ugly ambitions. For example, fiercely promoting the law of the jungle to legitimize the exploitation of others, reframing it as the world’s natural order. Or waving the flags of democracy and freedom to push people toward pursuing a distorted sense of liberty and individuality, ensuring they could never unite and threaten the uppermost echelons of power. Even with such tactics, people would still proclaim the survival of the fittest as the world’s principle and shout, "Long live democracy and freedom!"
They’re the type to be sold out and still cheerfully count the money for their betrayers. That’s a sign of ignorance, Mada Kochou thought.
She did not consider herself ignorant, but she also did not believe she understood everything. In the realm of superpowers, she admittedly lacked knowledge. She couldn’t discern whether Dio’s gestures were truly benevolent or if he was rely cloaking malice with a guise of benevolence.
All this trouble... it likely ans that for Dio to enter Paradise, he needs a soul that will believe in him with all its heart and mind, she mused.
Just a mont ago, Mada Kochou had felt a sense of relief that Dio treated her differently from others.
This is a perilous matter, she realized.
Mada Kochou pressed her hand to her ample chest. I must never give my heart to Dio, she silently cautioned herself. She had no desire to be sold out by Dio and still be forced to sing his praises with a smile.
「anwhile, in London, Buckingham Palace.」
Paul stood at the entrance, diligently at his post. He wore a tall bearskin hat and a scarlet military dress jacket paired with black trousers. As a mber of the Royal Guard, the rifle on Paul’s shoulder was naturally an L85A1 assault rifle. Though it might have been seen as utterly terrible by outsiders, for Paul, its significance was more decorative. Since joining the Royal Guard, he had never pulled the trigger.
The only requirent was to stand like a robot at his post and then, with robotic steps, leave at the end of his shift. In winter, the bearskin hat provided warmth. But co sumr, Paul wished he could spend all his shifts at night. Wearing that hat during the day was sheer torture.
Thinking he would soon switch to day shifts, Paul couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, though his face remained expressionless. As a Royal Guard, even when slacking off, he had to maintain a brave and fearless expression, never allowing anyone to see that he was idling. Though everyone probably knows I’m daydreaming anyway, he often thought. The Royal Guard had been the subject of public ridicule for quite so ti.
"Ah!"
In the wee hours at Buckingham Palace, aside from the occasional drunks passed out on the streets, there were no tourists. The sudden cry made Paul reflexively scan his surroundings. He didn’t find any rowdy drunkards. Did the voice co from above? he wondered.
He was just about to look up.
THUD. A person smashed into a pulpy ss right at the doorstep, blood splattering everywhere, so landing directly on Paul’s face.
He dumbly raised his hand to touch his cheek. The warmth on his fingertips was accompanied by a stickiness resembling jam. He then lowered his gaze to the indiscernible mass of flesh on the ground.
"Eh?!" Paul let out a sound of surprise and swiftly looked up.
The night sky was no different than usual, without a star in sight; even the moon was hiding behind the clouds. There was no light from any aircraft. Where could this person have tumbled down from? And why did they crash in front of Buckingham Palace?
Paul couldn’t figure it out. After exchanging looks with a colleague, he decided to report the situation to their captain, who would determine how to handle it. Moreover, Paul hoped the captain would grant him so ti off to go ho and change his trousers. Although his expression remained calm, his body was clearly very honest. These trousers were no longer suitable for continued wear.
「Washington D.C., The White House.」
After Adel’s death, Mada Kochou was summoned by The White House at once. The departed Adel was no ordinary person but a serving four-star general of the United States.
Guided by Federal Service Bureau agents, Mada Kochou arrived at an old building cloaked in ivy, where occasional glimpses of marble radiated an extra whiteness. It wasn’t her first visit here. She was led to a waiting room by agents of the Federal Service Bureau, who considerately poured her a cup of coffee. Magazines were available for perusal while waiting.
Mada Kochou sat on the sofa. What should I say later? What should I conceal, and what should I reveal? She knew these things needed to be thought through in advance. For instance, should I ntion the six conditions for Paradise and the ’trustworthy friend’ part? Such thoughts consud her as she stared into her coffee. Finally, she made her decision.
It would probably be best to speak the truth, she decided. I can’t be sure if Dio’s ntion of friends was addressed only to or if he told others as well. Besides, Dio killed everyone else present and left only unhard. That’s an anomaly, and it would be very difficult to explain otherwise.
Before long, an agent from the Federal Service Bureau called out, "Co in, please."
"Yes."
Mada Kochou rose and walked into the Secretary of State’s office. The room’s furnishings were not extravagant, yet the gold stripes on the walls and the rich hue of the wooden chairs indicated to a discerning eye that every item was considerably expensive.
Mada Kochou looked at the man before her, effectively the Empire’s second-in-command. At least, while the President was alive, the Vice President was rely a figurehead with no real path to power. The real person in charge was this Secretary of State.
"Hello, Mr. Secretary."
"Mada Kochou, I deeply regret the tragedy that befell General Adel. He was a highly talented individual." The Secretary kneaded his temples. Internationally and dostically, there had been many issues recently. Relying on a President who only occasionally had a stroke of insight was clearly insufficient to maintain such a vast Empire.
"It may not be the appropriate ti to discuss this, but I need you to tell : why didn’t Dio take action against you?" The Secretary scrutinized the woman before him.
Mada Kochou answered without a change in expression, "I just learned from Dio that to enter Paradise requires six conditions, one of which is to have a trustworthy friend. For so reason, he seems to consider a potential candidate for that."
"Did he ntion any other conditions for entering Paradise?" The Secretary probed, trying to ascertain how much Mada Kochou knew. The CIA had already identified five of the necessary conditions for Dio to achieve Paradise; only one remained unknown.
Mada Kochou shook her head. "I am not sure. He left right after saying that. I don’t even know what I would need to do to be considered a trustworthy friend. But I will never betray humanity!"
"Dio’s actions have always been extrely secretive; no one can guess his thoughts." The Secretary was pleased with Mada Kochou’s final statent. This woman clearly understands that unity is strength, he thought. He was inwardly relieved that he hadn’t followed the Pentagon Building’s advice to drop a Mike hydrogen bomb on Tokyo. To those fanatical warmongers, there was nothing that couldn’t be obliterated by one hydrogen bomb—or if there was, then two, or three. Those lunatics casually spoke of waging apocalyptic wars, without considering if such wars were so easily fought.
The Secretary gestured dismissively. "You’ve had a shocking night. Go and get so rest. I shall clarify certain things with the MacArthur family on your behalf."
"Thank you for your understanding."
Mada Kochou bowed her head, a pang of disappointnt in her heart. So Dio’s words weren’t just for , she realized. He must have ntioned them to others too, which is how The White House learned about the conditions for his Paradise. Otherwise, the Secretary wouldn’t have believed my claims of loyalty so readily.
As the Secretary watched Mada Kochou leave, he pondered for a mont and then picked up the phone on his desk. With Adel gone, how should the Pentagon Building’s downsizing plan proceed? This requires re-evaluation, he thought. Arica today is not what it once was. Expenditures rit careful scrutiny. We can’t keep sustaining those below indefinitely. Those who must be eliminated, will be.
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