Outside the door is likewise Hell, with bodies strewn all over the corridor. Fujiwara Homare stood in place, panting for a moment, then turned to look around. Seeing no one pursuing, he instantly breathed a sigh of relief as his anxious heart settled back into his chest.
Right after, he turned his head to see Minamoto Tamako clutching a rifle, searching the bodies one by one for ammunition.
She wore pajamas and slippers, her small face serious yet still very cute, with her hair tuft bobbing atop her head—utterly contrasting the blood-smeared rifle in her hands.
Ah, right, gotta get a weapon for self-defense!
Fujiwara Homare hurriedly picked up a rifle, fiddling with it a bit to get the feel. Although he liked being lazy, he still knew how to shoot—a lesson from when his father had tugged at his ear to teach him. Now he realized the careful intentions behind his father's actions.
