“I cannot make toys.”

“Why?”

“In my family, only creations with use and value have meaning.”

“What the hell is that.”

— Dat’s weiwd.

Gidan and Guru both spoke in dissatisfied tones, and Serhi, who had been silently listening, popped his bubble gum.

“I think I get a general idea of what kind of atmosphere your household has.”

Gidan muttered, thinking maybe Serhi was overlapping Haruna with his own past.

“That house must be so boring.”

Guru joined in with her gruff voice: — Uwuu, boowing.

Only Haruna, not knowing the meaning of “no-jaem” (boring), asked again:

“No jae-mu?”

“Your house is not funny.”

“...Eh?”

At Gidan’s answer, Haruna soon burst out laughing.

Boring. Where in Japan would anyone describe the Inoue household that way?

In school, even if she couldn’t play with others, the kids understood and took it for granted.

“Haruna can’t play again today?”

“Haruna’s busy with family matters.”

“Because she’s a great family’s daughter.”

“Can’t be helped. Hang in there!”

It was the same through elementary and middle school. And by the time she entered high school, no one even asked anymore.

Because everyone knew Haruna was that kind of child.

But in Korea...

— A famiwy dat doesn’t wet you make toys is bad.

“Deserves the death penalty.”

— Deaf...! I hadn’t thought of it that way.

“You’ve got to aim big with your ambitions.”

— Undewstood. Inoue deaf penawty.

The endless stream of absurd comments came through the translator.

She should say it wasn’t a bad household.

She should explain how great the Inoue family was.

But somehow, Haruna felt comforted by their string of complaints.

Even as she watched kids her age badmouthing her family, ironically, she felt relieved and as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When Haruna grinned to herself with her head lowered, Serhi glanced at her and smiled faintly.

“Aren’t {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} you going to make something? We might lose.”

“Eh?”

When Serhi picked up and fitted a piece, Haruna seemed to understand and nodded.

Meanwhile, Guru, who had gone back to assembling her chick drone, had put together the head and perked up her ears.

'This, dis is not da time!'

She’d meant to teach Haruna the joy of making, but she’d gotten so into it that she was just enjoying herself.

'S-Cwass toy!'

Guru’s eyes shone brightly.

She was so curious about what Haruna would make, her chest full of anticipation.

But Haruna was still hesitating without fitting a single piece together.

Whenever she tried to, a clang would ring in her ears.

Along with the stern face of her grandfather, who had thrown her work aside.

“Yours isn’t worth evaluating.”

Haruna’s hand, holding a toy piece, trembled.

She didn’t want to disappoint anyone.

But with her talentless, unskilled hands, no matter how much she tried, she could never make anything great.

Then a round teddy bear paw clasped her wrist.

Haruna’s voice flickered out like a candle:

[“...I’m scared I’ll ruin it.”]

Even making just one toy felt frightening.

That she wouldn’t be recognized again for failing to make something great.

[“I can’t be some representative of Japan.”]

Guru stared straight at Haruna.

After thinking for a moment, Guru pointed at Gidan.

Focused, Gidan looked like a pro.

But...

— Gidan is makin’ a potato.

He was producing something lumpy and round.

— And Sewhi is makin’ a sweet potato.

Serhi’s was a bit smoother, but on Gidan’s level.

Both of them kept straight faces, and Haruna had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

— Da one at da next tabwe made a monstah wif its eyes on its bewwy.

Haruna turned her head.

The eyes really were on the belly.

With her view widened, she saw the people in the hands-on zone. All of them were making a mess of their creations, laughing and having fun.

— Makin’ someting gweat and gettin’ praised is, of couwse, fun.

Guru knew exactly how good it felt to get five stars, and how many fireworks the worms in your chest set off when your dad praised you.

— But dat onwy wasts a moment.

The joy from recognition lasted only then. Soon it deflated like a balloon.

— Instead, if yoo find joy in da pwocess of makin’, yoo can be happy evewy day.

Right now, everyone in the hands-on zone was enjoying that process.

Gidan, Serhi, everyone but Haruna.

— So don’t stop makin’ just fow dat one moment of wecognition.

The process would bring longer, greater happiness.

The ugly teddy bear mascot wiggled her eyebrows up and down in a smile.

— Yoo stiww don’t feew wike makin’?

Haruna shook her head. Then she began fitting pieces together, one by one.

***

“A... robot?”

— Wobot!

What Haruna completed in short order was a humanoid robot straight out of an anime.

Gidan and Guru, both suckers for mecha, trembled at the sight of the armored warrior Haruna had finished.

Serhi smirked like he’d made it himself.

“Think you can win?”

“You damn traitor.”

— Twaitor.

When Serhi told them they could call him that all they wanted, Gidan and Guru’s fists trembled with rage.

Haruna bit her lip to hold back a laugh at their ridiculous posturing.

“Korea’s no pushover, you know?”

— That’s wight. Dis Mama’s chick is invincibwe!

“Looks weak to me.”

Serhi hit her with the most critical blow—Guru’s least favorite phrase: “looks weak.”

— Attacking wif wowds...!

Furious, Guru moved her chick to attack Serhi’s sweet potato.

Papapat!

With the chick’s wing flaps, the haphazardly built sweet potato collapsed completely.

“You—!”

“Kekekeke.”

— Kekekeke.

Gidan and Guru shared a sinister high-five.

Haruna smiled as she watched the two of them, who now turned to attack her robot under the banner of “showing Japan Korea’s power.”

It was silly and petty, but fun.

She’d never imagined she’d be playing with toys at nineteen.

Still... had she ever felt this happy before?

— Mephisto Kick!

“Go, Viart Type 12!”

As they played like kindergartners, Haruna spoke up as if making a firm decision.

[“I have something to say to the Hyeonak members.”]

The sudden seriousness in her tone drew all eyes to her.

Everyone understood at least the word “Hyeonak.”

Haruna lowered her phone volume to the minimum and turned on the speaker.

“I am not S-Class.”

— What?!

Guru’s eyes went wide in shock.

Gidan and Serhi also looked surprised, but they both nodded in their own way.

Given the timing, it wasn’t something impossible to accept even if she wasn’t S-Class.

But her next words caught them off guard.

“The reason the special exhibition was held in Korea and Japan simultaneously is because Yamauka Shun seemed to have a Plan B.”

Serhi frowned.

“So you mean he has another reason besides ruining the Jjapso pop-up store?”

Haruna nodded.

“Yamauka Shun seemed to be creating an excuse to come to Korea. I don’t know much. I’m just a puppet.”

“Yamauka Shun?”

“My guard.”

Haruna gave a lonely smile.

After the death of former Prime Minister Takahashi Norio, Yamauka Shun, who had been one of his right-hand men in the Public Security Bureau, suddenly became like a kite with its string cut.

Since then, she knew he’d made constant efforts to come to Korea.

It was also Yamauka Shun who convinced Haruna’s grandfather to present her as S-Class.

Whether out of revenge or just to vent his frustration—whatever the reason, even Haruna could easily guess he was plotting something.

Even if she didn’t know what.

***

[“Where the hell did you go without coming back? Bring Inoue Haruna here.”]

[“Yes.”]

At Yamauka Shun’s order, the man in the suit bowed his head.

Looking at the Hunters gathered for the special exhibition, Yamauka Shun left the main hall.

Soon after, holding his phone, he told his subordinates to begin and then cut the call short.

Above the department store where the pop-up store’s line stretched on—

Yamauka Shun slipped in under concealment.

And watching it all, Dominic smiled.