Who Do You Think You’re Acting Tough In Front Of?

I spent the night prowling around the Detention Center to figure out the Owl's identity, but I came up empty-handed.

There was just too little information to go on. All I knew for sure was that the Owl was "reasonably skilled." I hadn't managed to vet every single person in the facility in one night, but I’d already found about ten people who fit that description.

I can usually gauge someone’s level just by looking at their physique, movements, and posture, but that only gets you so far. It’s a classic trope: the guy who looks like a total pushover is actually a beast, while the guy who looks like a tank is a wet noodle. It happens.

And so, I decided to give up early. It was impossible with my current lack of intel. Maybe if I was bored tonight, I’d sneak out of the Detention Center and try to gather some leads on the outside.

Well, I’d cross that bridge when the sun went down.

After polishing off the delicious breakfast Zack-kun made for me, I headed out to the wide courtyard to take a stroll in the refreshing morning sun. I’ve always liked the crisp, clear air of a winter morning and the warmth of a beautiful sunrise. The sky stretched out, clear and distant. I didn't really get it, but it made me feel the "breath of life" or whatever.

“Hmm.”

As I walked among the prisoners—who looked like a bunch of vagrants eating smelly bread and vegetable-scrap soup—the lack of my own "mob" factor hit me like a ton of bricks. If I were walking through a normal city, I had total confidence in my ability to blend in as a background character. But among these derelicts, I just wasn't filthy enough. Part of it was just because I’d only recently arrived, so I figured time would eventually solve the problem, but still...

Suddenly, an angry roar echoed across the yard.

“Are you saying we did it?!”

I turned toward the noise and saw a crowd forming. This looks interesting, I thought, pushing through the onlookers to snag a front-row seat.

“I can’t think of anyone but you,” a voice declared.

Right in the middle of the circle, Clara Oriana was in a standoff with that thief-looking mob I’d spotted in the basement. Behind Clara stood a line of hangers-on who were clearly from the Royalist Faction, while the thief had a group from the Doem Faction backing him up. Zack and the Handsome Boss were among them.

“The Royalist Faction and the Doem Faction are all here...”

“The atmosphere is getting dangerous...”

The prisoner-onlookers started buzzing.

“The body of my companion was found last night,” Clara said, her voice trembling. “There were traces of assault and torture.”

Whoops. I was so caught up playing detective that I missed a major plot event.

“I’m telling you, I don't know anything about that!” the man shouted.

“There were marks of torture! Who else but you people would do something so horrible?!” Clara’s grief-stricken voice rang out.

“Maybe they were just hated? I mean, the guy was a total piece of shit!”

“—You!”

Slap.

Clara’s palm connected squarely with the mob thief’s cheek. The world seemed to go silent for a heartbeat.

Then...

“You bitch!”

The man snarled, drawing a short rod from his waist and swinging it upward.

Oh, that’s bad.

Clara was a complete amateur. At worst, that swing would split her skull and kill her in one hit. I’m sorry, but I couldn't allow a route where a mob character kills a main character right in front of me.

“—Eh?”

The sound came from Clara, her eyes wide with shock. Right before her eyes, the man who had swung the rod collapsed unnaturally. The rod slipped from his hand and went flying high into the air.

“—Wha?! What happened?!”

“He just went down!”

The prisoners were stunned.

“Could it be—the Owl?”

“Search the area! They’re nearby!”

“...The Owl?”

Members of both the Doem Faction and the Royalist Faction began scanning their surroundings.

Sorry to disappoint, guys, but I’m the one who did it.

It was a simple trick: I sent a bit of slime out through the soles of my feet, tunneled it underground, and delivered an uppercut to his jaw from a blind spot. No one noticed, but that’s exactly why it felt like the perfect work for The Eminence in Shadow.

Just then, I noticed Zack-kun shooting a suspicious look my way. I gave him a meaningful smile and deliberately averted my eyes. Perfect. Everything was clicking into place.

That’s when I noticed the short rod that had been flung into the sky. It was rotating as it plummeted toward me. In that split second, I had a flash of inspiration.

It’s not over yet!

Sure, my work as The Eminence in Shadow was done, but I still had a job to do as a mob!

I instantly calculated the rod’s trajectory, adjusted my position by a few inches, and slipped directly under its path. Then, I popped a packet of fake blood I’d prepared for just such an occasion into my mouth and looked up.

The rod slammed right into my nose.

“Bfuoooo?!”

I sprayed the fake blood out of my nose and recoiled. The way the red mist splattered like a fountain, sparkling in the morning sun, was nothing short of artistic.

MOB SECRET TECHNIQUE: NOSEBLEED SPLASH.

It was a high-level technique that involved beautifully jetting fake blood from one's mouth out through the nostrils.

“Uwah?! Gross!”

“Gah, it got on my face!”

In the middle of the bloodthirsty morning at the detention center, my fountain of noseblood provided a moment of strange tranquility.

I had done it. I had successfully pulled off the "mob character gets caught in the crossfire of a main character conflict" move immediately following an Eminence in Shadow maneuver.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?!”

Clara rushed over to me as I collapsed in a state of total satisfaction. I quickly pretended to have fainted.