Sitting stiffly on the worn couch in the Tangen family’s small living room, Seth offered an awkward smile to the young woman sitting across from him.
This was Rose, the sister of the original body he now inhabited.
He observed her carefully.
She was petite, with shoulder-length wavy hair that frad a face still holding traces of childhood.
Her appearance, however, contrasted sharply with the mature and cautious tone in her voice.
Seth knew their parents had been lost to demons years ago, forcing both siblings to grow up far too quickly just to survive.
He could see the effect of that responsibility in her wary eyes...
Rose studied him just as intently, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
"Is it... is it really you, Seth?"
She finally asked, her voice barely above a low tone.
Seth maintained his amnesiac persona, keeping his expression neutral.
"I don’t rember anything from my past life..."
He said gently.
"But it should still be ..."
Rose was silent for a long mont, her gaze searching his face for any flicker of deception.
Seemingly finding none, she gave a slow, accepting nod.
Her right hand, hidden in her pocket, silently crumpled the threatening letter she had brought with her.
The fear it had instilled was now warring with the relief of seeing her brother alive.
"Alright."
She whispered, her voice cracking slightly.
"That’s all that matters."
She stood up and took a hesitant step forward.
"Welco back, brother."
Then she moved in for a hesitant embrace.
Seth remained still, his arms at his sides, as the young woman hugged him.
He could feel her small fra trembling, and the dampness of silent tears seeped through his shirt.
He felt a pang of complicated guilt— for the brother she had lost, for the deception he was forced to maintain, and for the hope he was now representing.
...
After so strained small talk about Rose’s studies and Seth’s vague explanations about "feeling fine," Rose announced she had to return ho.
She had early classes, and a few projects and assignnts with early deadlines.
"Your house is almost two hours away from your school here in Matamisan..."
Phoebe interjected, a note of familiar concern in her voice.
This was an old argunt between them.
"Why don’t you just transfer your residency to a boarding house sowhere nearer? The commute is draining you."
Rose shook her head, a stubborn set to her jaw.
"It’s fine, really. The rent is cheaper there, and I’m still saving up. Besides... it helps pressure to wake up early and build good sleeping habits. If I miss the first morning pedicab, I’m late for the entire day."
She added with a weak attempt at a joke.
She then turned her attention back to Seth, her expression softening with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.
"Seth... are you sure you don’t want to co back with ? We could... we could figure things out together."
Seth shook his head, offering her a reassuring smile.
"It’s alright, Rose. I can feel that you’re still... uncomfortable with . That’s perfectly understandable. It’s better if I stay here for now so Phoebe can monitor my behavior and help ... readjust."
It was a convenient excuse, one that served his need to stay close to Phoebe for their mutual investigations.
Rose let out a soft, self-conscious chuckle.
"Haha, was I that obvious?"
She admitted, a blush coloring her cheeks.
After a few more parting words and promises to visit again soon, Rose left, her figure disappearing down the dusty street.
The mont the door closed, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Phoebe turned to Seth, her playful deanor gone, replaced by a serious, analytical expression.
"Did you recover any of your mories upon seeing her?"
She asked directly.
"None at all."
Seth replied truthfully.
He then decided to share a crucial piece of information, testing the waters.
"Also, I’ve learned sothing. A gang called the Iron Jackals is also interested in your uncle, Fredero. Do you know about them?"
Phoebe’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with concern.
She nodded grimly.
"I do. I was originally hoping their activities might create an opportunity for , but my ntor explicitly warned not to get involved with a group like the Iron Jackals."
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"They are practitioners of demonic creation."
Seeing Seth’s confused look, she elaborated.
"If you don’t know what that is, it’s as monstrous as it sounds. They identify vulnerable people—often those deep in debt to them—and systematically manipulate them. They push them to commit terrible acts, to accumulate an enormous amount of Sin."
"Then, they kill them and leave the bodies to transform into demons. Once the transformation is complete, they kill the demon a second ti and harvest the body parts that can be forged into weapons."
"If you’re not careful..."
She warned, her gaze intense.
"They might do the sa to you. They don’t just target those who owe them, they see anyone with potential as raw material. From what I know, they also run a lucrative trade in these demonic weapons with other criminal organizations."
Seth nodded, absorbing this horrifying information.
It confird the grim business he had witnessed in the pawnshop.
But it also raised a new, critical question in his mind.
’If the Iron Jackals can manufacture their own demonic weapons... why would a high-ranking mber like Reymond need to buy one from an independent, fake pawnshop? What was so special about that specific eyeball?’
He thought, deeply contemplating Reymond’s motives,
’Or is he not a high-ranking mber... just an ordinary one?’
Phoebe’s voice cut through his thoughts, growing even more somber.
"But that’s not what makes them dangerous."
Seth looked at her, his curiosity piqued.
What could be worse than intentional psychological torture and murder for profit?
"Then what does?"
He asked.
Phoebe leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hushed, almost fearful tone.
"My ntor said that apparently, the founder of the Iron Jackals... doesn’t just create demons. He worships a very powerful and very ancient one."
"The Star Demon..."
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