The clown did not move.
Silver AM chains wrapped its body from neck to ankle, every joint locked, every twitch suppressed by pulsing anti-manifestation energy. But even restrained, its laughter refused to die.
"Hahaha…~ Ahahaha…~"
The echoes bounced off shattered buildings like sound leaking from a broken toy.
Ren wiped blood from his mouth, scowling.
"Man. Even tied up, it's annoying."
Ayla's gaze remained sharp. "The Dreamer. We haven't found them yet."
Akira nodded. "Split up. Stay within range."
The city was unnervingly quiet. Broken streets reflected neon streaks in puddles of rainwater. Shattered storefronts and collapsed buildings bore silent witness to the Nightmare's rampage. Half an hour passed.
"Nothing here," Ren called from a gutted convenience store.
"Clear," one of the Misoke twins reported from a crumbling apartment lobby.
Ayla moved differently. Her instincts guided her down a narrow side street, past a half-standing stairwell, into a residential building that had somehow survived. Dust hung thick in the air, coating every surface.
Third floor.
A door at the end of the hallway stood ajar.
Inside—
A boy, no older than thirteen. Curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his head, body shaking.
Ayla dropped to her knees instantly.
"Hey," she said softly.
The boy flinched.
"I—I can still hear it," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "It's laughing…"
She placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"It can't hurt you anymore. You're safe."
"Wake up."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then his eyes snapped open, gasping like he'd been pulled from deep water.
Outside—the clown's laughter shattered completely. Its body disappeared and the AM chains clattered to the ground. Silence reclaimed the city.
IDHA Base Hospital
"ARE YOU ALL OUT OF YOUR MINDS?!"
The shout echoed down the sterile corridor.
An elderly doctor, clipboard shaking, eyes blazing, stood at the foot of their beds.
"Fractures! Internal bleeding! Concussions! You think nightmares care how brave you are?! You're lucky you're alive!"
All seven of them lay wrapped in fresh bandages from head to toe, only their eyes visible.
"You all need six weeks of rest—at least."
Viran Varanasi entered quietly. He listened to the report in silence. When it ended, he nodded once.
"Good work."
That was all. No speeches. No medals. Just acknowledgment.
Outside the ward, Akirawa waited.
Without a word, he removed something from his coat and tossed it.
Ren caught it instinctively. A long, dark scarf—frayed, heavy, stained with blood that would never fully wash out.
"…Your cape?" Ren asked softly.
Akirawa turned his back, shoulders squared.
"You all have done a great job.""Ren take care of it for me."
He paused. "I'm taking leave. For spending time with my daughter."
No one spoke.
"…Don't break while I'm gone."
Then he walked off.
Later that night.
A senior passed by...a face they had trained alongside for a year. Hiroshi Kurogami.
He raised a hand in quiet acknowledgment.
"Good work out there."
No applause. No speeches. Just respect.
Akira sat back against his pillow, IDHA jacket folded neatly beside him.
He inhaled. Exhaled. The city outside the window glowed peacefully.
And finally, he let himself feel it—the exhaustion, the relief, and the tiny spark of pride that hadn't dared emerge until now.
The mission was over.
For now.
But deep in the back of his mind, Akira knew this peace was fragile.
This volume has ended.
But their story was only beginning.