The clown did not move.
Silver AM chains wrapped its body from neck to ankle, pulsing faintly as anti-manifestation energy suppressed every twitch. Its painted grin was cracked now, laughter reduced to a thin, broken wheeze that echoed weakly through the ruined street.
"Hahaha… ha…"
Ren wiped blood from his mouth, grimacing.
"Man. Even tied up, it's annoying."
Ayla didn't respond.
Her gaze swept the surroundings—collapsed storefronts, shattered roads, the silence that followed too much violence.
"The Dreamer," she said quietly.
"We still haven't found them."
Akira nodded once.
"Split up. Stay within range."
No one argued.
The city felt hollow now.
Neon lights reflected across rain-soaked streets. Glass crunched underfoot. The air smelled of smoke, dust, and something faintly metallic.
Ren searched a gutted convenience store.
"Nothing here."
One of the Misoke twins reported from a damaged apartment lobby.
"Clear."
Ayla moved differently.
Her steps slowed.
Her instincts pulled 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.
Third floor.
A door stood ajar at the end of the hallway.
Inside—
A boy.
No older than thirteen.
Curled into himself, arms wrapped around his head, body shaking uncontrollably.
Ayla dropped to her knees instantly.
"Hey," she said softly.
The boy flinched.
"I—I can still hear it," he whispered.
"It's laughing…"
She placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"It can't hurt you anymore," she said gently.
"You're safe."
She waited.
Then whispered—
"Wake up."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the boy gasped sharply, eyes snapping open as if pulled from deep water.
Outside—
The clown's laughter shattered completely.
Its body dissolved into nothingness.
The AM chains clattered uselessly onto the ground.
Silence reclaimed the city.
IDHA BASE HOSPITAL
"ARE YOU ALL OUT OF YOUR MINDS?!"
The shout echoed through the sterile corridor.
An elderly doctor stood at the foot of their beds, clipboard shaking in his grip, eyes blazing.
"Fractures! Internal bleeding! Concussions!" he barked.
"You think nightmares care how brave you are?! You're lucky you're alive!"
All seven of them lay wrapped in bandages from head to toe, only their eyes visible.
"You all need six weeks of rest," the doctor snapped.
"At least."
Viran Varanasi entered quietly.
He listened to the report without interruption.
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 scarf?" Ren asked softly.
Akirawa turned his back.
"You've done well," he said flatly.
"Take care of it."
He paused.
"I'm taking leave," he added.
"Spending time with my daughter."
No one spoke.
"…Don't break while I'm gone."
Then he walked away.
Later that night—
A senior agent passed by their ward.
A familiar face.
Hiroshi Kurogami.
He raised a hand in quiet acknowledgment.
"Good work out there."
No applause.
No celebration.
Just respect.
Akira sat back against his pillow, IDHA jacket folded neatly beside him.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
Outside the window, the city glowed peacefully—as if nothing had happened.
For the first time since joining IDHA, he allowed himself to feel it.
The exhaustion.
The relief.
And a small, quiet spark of pride.
The mission was over.
For now.
But deep in the back of his mind, Akira knew
This peace was fragile.
END OF VOLUME ONE