Bermuda

“Kyahhh!”

“Shit, you scared me—.”

“That’s it!”

Second row from the very back of the stands, the leftmost edge where they drew relatively little attention. Three people sitting side by side bounced with the roar. In truth, it was the two on either side making noise—the woman in the middle only flinched.

“See? What did I tell you? I said the dolphin would save him, didn’t I?”

The woman who’d thrown both arms up and screamed first grabbed the shoulder of the person next to her and shook them hard. Woman Two, who’d rolled her eyes in surprise, sat with her arms crossed and got jostled wherever the shaking took her. She looked annoyed, but she only wore an expression that said here we go again instead of pushing her off.

“Not a dolphin. A killer whale. And I don’t like that bastard. He keeps sticking to him.”

“Oooh, our boss♡—see? I told you he wasn’t dead yet. If I’d been down there, I would’ve kissed him—.”

With a nasal hum, Woman One threw her arms around her displeased colleague’s neck. Even so, her gaze stayed fixed on Team JOKER’s newly freed prisoner—Lion. The figure was no more than a dot at this distance, yet to them it was the clearest silhouette in the arena.

“Go kiss somewhere else and back off. How much perfume did you spray?”

Woman Two pinched her nose between thumb and forefinger and contorted her face. It was faint, but the thick fragrance carried a mixed note of rusty iron and spoiled blood. The cap pulled low kept her from standing out outright, but her crushed brows, and her ears, nose, lips—even her tongue. Ornate piercings twitched with her facial muscles, enough to give the impression she might be in pain if you looked too long.

Not a short cut but a clean two-block, loose clothing with plenty of room. Rough, calloused hands and a solid build—she often got called handsome. But despite the androgynous looks and voice, biologically she was unmistakably a woman.

“Of course. If you’re coming to see the boss, you have to do at least this much. And you—no matter how you call it a disguise, what the hell is that look?”

In contrast, Woman One in a tight two-piece replied while jiggling the pearl ornament on her hat. Her eyes were hidden behind dark lenses, but her excitement was obvious. Her full lips—painted completely in purple-toned makeup—curved into a delighted smile.

“Yours doesn’t look appropriate either.”

“Yeah—shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The man on the right tried to butt in and immediately got smacked down. Grease used as lubricant gleamed on his thick leather jacket and half-gloves. Meanwhile, the loose face covering pulled up to under his eyes—probably grabbed in a hurry—was oddly clean. The overall outfit clashed.

All three looked suspicious in their own ways, but blended in once they were mixed into the crowd. More than half the people nearby had face paint on to enjoy the festival mood. Masks, costumes, and coordinated dress codes packed the arena. In that sea, even the dung-fly-colored lenses used for concealment were just another “hot girl acting out,” according to Woman One—Taylor.

“Ah... I want to see him a little closer. It’s been too long since I last saw the boss.”

“You’ll see him soon enough. And if the boss finds out all four of us came here, he’ll grab the back of his neck again.”

Pierce, beside the grumbling, coaxed in a moderate tone. Her proud, upturned eyes drooped, and Taylor looked like she might rip the empty seatback in front of her right out.

“Someone who used to be so laid-back, living a life of worries now.”

Fiddling with her newly done nail decorations, she muttered—unable to take her eyes off the boss.

“As if we wouldn’t handle it ourselves.”

<Orca responds to the crowd’s cheers!>

Waaaaaa—!

The fervor boiled over another notch. Praise rained down on Team JOKER for the incredible match. Standing atop a Floating Platform near the upper part of the arena, Orca waved—then grabbed his teammate Lion’s hand and raised it together.

Watching that, Pierce’s expression turned colder by the second.

“That bastard. I really don’t like him.”

“Still, thanks to him the boss won. All right, we’ve seen the result, so let’s get ready to go. If we keep dragging our feet, all our heads are going to roll—.”

Finder urged them in a languid voice as he checked a pocket watch hanging from his waistband. His relaxed attitude didn’t match the threatening words at all. Then he flipped the watch open and pulled out a portable stun gun he’d smuggled in.

“Just in case—one more.”

He brought the live tip to the side of his neck.

Pip— a tiny spark jumped.

Rubbing the back of his hot neck, he offered the stun gun to Pierce beside him.

Pierce half-lowered her head, stuck out her tongue, and pressed the stun gun to the tip of her piercing. Her face twisted for an instant, but she lifted her head again as if nothing had happened, flicking her tongue calmly—then handed the stun gun to Taylor, who recoiled in disgust.

“Ugh, gross. You should’ve given it to me first.”

“Then you should’ve sat here.”

“It’s already been thirty minutes? Why isn’t Nero here? Why’s he taking so long?”

Taylor scanned around primly, took the stun gun, and tucked her hair behind her ear. Then she lightly pricked behind her left ear with two sharp needles. A trick that made the tracker implanted under the skin useless for a set amount of time.

Of course, it couldn’t be used often—maybe once or twice a month, useful for slipping past surveillance for no more than two hours. Leonardo had warned them not to use it unless it was truly necessary, since there could always be unforeseen risks. But for the Eleven Squad, this moment—when they could at least see the boss from afar—was exactly that necessary timing.

Just then, a second man came running up, both hands full of hot dogs and snacks. He hadn’t covered his face, but his features were remarkably ordinary; despite the bland look, his physique showing through his clothes gave the impression he knew how to use his body.

He hurried to the three of them, flicked his gaze between his teammates and the arena’s center, then asked in a hollow tone,

“What? It’s already over?”

“Can’t you tell by looking? And why’d it take you so long—did you make them yourself?”

“Because you ordered so damn many, Senior! I was standing there forever by myself! I still came as fast as I could!”

“Enough. Hold this. We’re leaving.”

Taylor stood and tossed the paper shopping bag she’d lined up neatly by her feet into Nero’s chest. Nero panicked, crouched, and barely managed to catch her things with both arms.

“Next time, I hope they release a Lion victory commemorative pendant—.”

“Ah, Senior! Wait!”

“Let’s go, kid. Keep your voice down.”

At Nero’s irritated call, Taylor gave him a bright smile, tapped his cheek twice, and walked past. Crossing the aisle behind the seats, she headed toward the exit with elegant, light steps. It might’ve been swallowed by the cheering, but even in high heels her footsteps made no sound. Pierce rose as well, lazily smacking Nero’s complaining back.

“I’ll carry a couple. Hurry up and follow.”

“Damn it, I barely saw anything! Did the boss win?”

“As if he’d lose. Who do you think the boss is?”

Pierce picked up two paper bags disguised as shopping goods. Inside were Taylor’s combat clothes, soaked with unknown blood. He roughly cinched the foul-smelling opening and soothed Nero, promising to explain properly later.

Still craning his neck toward the arena in regret, Nero took one last look at Leonardo’s silhouette—then hurried after Taylor.

Finder, the last to stand, shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled out. Pierce, who had naturally waited, tucked themself behind a pillar at the back of the stands and spoke.

“Senior.”

Pierce called softly, then nodded toward a spot.

“Over there.”

Finder, who hadn’t reacted much, turned to look where Pierce indicated.

He prided himself on target acquisition sharper than any bird of prey. In his vision, three people—a man and two women in black outfits—came into view.

Like them, they stood off to the side, watching the center of the arena and whispering.

“Over there too.”

Pierce rolled their eyes and jerked their chin again. This time, there were two people in white uniforms covered in gold-thread knot ornaments. Not quite The Council’s uniform—these signified the Imperial Knights. If they were wearing full dress, infiltration wasn’t the goal. But to AmSilver, slipping through the crowd in plain clothes, they were an uncomfortable presence.

Finder asked,

“Why are they here?”

“They look like higher-ups. They usually don’t go out much.”

“Plenty of higher-ups come to the league to scout participants.”

“They’re hovering around from the preliminaries?”

“Guess they’ve got time to waste. Unlike us.”

Finder shrugged and answered, easygoing. Pierce’s brows twitched, and they added,

“Ha. Cut the crap. Do we share this with the boss, or not?”

“If we tell him, we’re basically confirming we came here, aren’t we? Leave it for now.”

Finder answered with a yawn, not a hint of seriousness in him. He stretched his stiff arms out to the sides, then rubbed at watery eyes with his palm.

“I get why you’re uneasy. But I want the boss to enjoy this. Standing in front of people, hearing them cheer. Feeling outside air.”

“......”

“You know he likes that stuff. Even while pretending he doesn’t.”

Faced with such a clear answer, Pierce didn’t respond. It looked like the reaction of someone who didn’t like something about it, so Finder casually draped an arm around his junior’s shoulder.

He gave a small, unbothered grin and guided his teammate along at an unhurried pace.

“If anything happens, we can erase them for him.”