Ultraman Legend of the Light Chaser

Number Twelve rushed towards the entrance, her footsteps pounding all the way, as if the house were about to collapse. But she couldn't hear them; all she could hear was her own heartbeat and the sound of blood pumping from her heart.

"Swish, swish—"

Like a surging river.

The moment I turned the doorknob, a shower of starlight poured out, and the cool night air carried the distant honking of cars.

Amidst the chirping of insects, she seemed to have stumbled into another world.

……

church.

The assets under the "father's" name may not even be clear to him. There are always many believers or figures like Kamimura Zao who leave behind "inheritances," which are transferred to his name with a simple signature. This church is one of them.

The building, dating back a century, seems to have been donated by a businessman. In its early days, Christ was sung here, but as monsters descended and giants appeared, fewer and fewer people sang Christ, and the choir switched to new hymns. Meanwhile, the pastor transformed into a devout follower of the god Kirieloid—regularly and openly asking his superiors for funding, or, as the church calls it, "charity fees."

The "father" didn't mind having a familiar loudspeaker to spread his doctrines; the guy's professional skills were commensurate with the amount of money invested, and he was quite effective. Later, the pastor died of food poisoning, foaming at the mouth when he was taken to the hospital. His grieving "compatriots" prepared for his funeral and accepted his final donation.

The successor is number twelve. A woman with a beautiful face naturally exudes friendliness, and her soft-spoken manner, born of nervousness, makes her even more popular.

“The maidservant is indeed close to God,” the believers said. “She is bright and innocent, like a sweet mountain spring.” Unlike the previous pastor, who, although he was flawless, always had a shrewdness that made people wary.

After the speech the day before yesterday, the "crazy" believer spread the word that the "servant of God" had answered his questions with just a smile. As a result, some confused people like to run into the church at night to listen to the message—even if there is no one there and the number twelve is not present at all, they can suddenly understand and leave as if they have been baptized!

Number Twelve found all of this utterly absurd.

She wanted to grab the "lunatic" believer by the neck, shake him until his brains splattered, and yell in his ear, "Give up your illusions! I have no idea how to answer you. What are you even imagining?! I've never even seen that god. What does his power have to do with me?! He's only good to 'Father.' I'm going to be burned to ashes like the other 'Paladias,' piled up here and there!"

However, the reserve that the "father" instilled in her, belonging to the real Paradya, was deeply ingrained. At that time, she was overwhelmed with emotion, but she always maintained her composure on the surface, which was one of the reasons for the misunderstanding.

"This can't go on." Number Twelve left her temporary residence and immediately headed for the church. Tomorrow was the day of Holy Communion, and she had to collect and destroy the food and water contaminated with the potion—but how to destroy it without leaving any future problems? She didn't know. Should she seal it up three or four times, or, if all else failed, fill it with cement and sink it in the sea?

If the Demon Realm still existed, she could secretly take it back and feed it to the fish.

Thinking about various ways to destroy the "tools of the crime," she pushed open the heavy doors of the church.

The hall was already set up, with tables and chairs arranged in a circle to create a more intimate atmosphere of "dining with family." The tablecloths and seating arrangements had been carefully considered. Number Twelve continued forward, and after going around one flight of stairs—her spot for tomorrow—she would reach the back door, through which lay the warehouse.

The steps were also carefully swept, and she glanced at them, only to see something that shouldn't have been there.

"A basket?" It looks like a cheap fruit basket sold in the market. Has something been moved from the warehouse? But a fruit basket wasn't on the list for communion.

She walked over; the basket was lying crookedly, with a letter underneath, the seal held together only by transparent tape, reflecting a cheap light in the moonlight.

[From Hiroshi Yoshikawa, with sincere gratitude.]

The name was written outside. Number Twelve thought for a long time before he remembered that "Yoshikawa" seemed to be the surname of that crazy person with an infinitely wild imagination.

What kind of weird tricks is he up to now? Number Twelve opened the envelope.

Please forgive my absence, but I am ill. I am sorry, my lady.

The first sentence is normal, but if you remove "maid"...

"Adult" would be even better. But how could a lunatic write such normal words?

My parrot made a mess of the food and water I prepared. I gave it the freedom to run around the house, and in return, it left feathers and droppings all over the sofa and dining table. I got so angry that I hit it a few times, and it stopped moving.

I can't control my temper; I'm always either extremely happy or extremely sad. I put it back in its nest, but it didn't bother me again on the second or third day. I couldn't sleep when it bothered me, and now that it's not bothering me, I can't sleep at all. I want to go out for a walk, but I don't know where to go. I can only think of you, God's servant, you always patiently listen to our trivial complaints and never tell anyone.

Number Twelve, who had been somewhat nonchalant, now stared intently at the letter—the bespectacled, well-mannered believer was a pity he was mentally ill. But now, judging from the letter, he seemed to have returned to his true self.

My parrot, my family member, it should smell terrible, but I can't smell anything. I'm sure I'm sick. I don't plan to bury it; it must be happy to stay in the nest.

Number Twelve's hand, which was holding the letter, slowly clenched.

I've been worrying all night long. Has God truly heard our prayers? My answer is yes, because I hope He can hear me; I need Him… I need the strength to pull me out of this abyss.

I am worried about the existence of giants, anxious about the performance of TPC. Their cheers make me angry, their joy makes me sad—how can I not be sad? My lady, you are right, "God gives guidance to mankind," but will God guide us? I am determined to achieve great things, but now, in the foreseeable future, even going out is a problem. Will God guide someone as hopeless as me?

As I write this, I know I am sick; I smell a stench from the inside out—emanating from my very soul.

The letter wasn't long; only the last paragraph remained. The paper was slightly wrinkled, traces of water damage and subsequent drying. Number Twelve gently smoothed it out, as if she could still feel the lingering dampness and warmth.

Therefore, I cannot come tomorrow. I will offer my expired longing and let it rot with me.

[Maid, you look adorable when you're spacing out and can't answer.]

What did he mean by that? Whom did he want to rot with? That parrot? Number Twelve looked up, his eyes blank. He knew he couldn't answer! So he saw through her trick and decided to run away, right? That's good. It's best if no one comes, so she has enough time to destroy the so-called "Holy Communion."

...No, no!

When the mentally ill person shouted that God favors humanity, he said he would go home and tell his parents. At that moment, she hoped his parents wouldn't believe his nonsense. But why didn't he mention them at all in the story? Instead, he kept talking about his pet parrot?

Number Twelve suddenly stood up, and just then, the door behind him creaked open.

……

Yu Aiba never expected that meeting "Paradia" would be so simple.

A dilapidated little church.

There was no sign of danger. He merely pushed open the door tentatively and saw the person standing on the steps at the end of the hall—he didn't even need to turn around; just by looking at the back and the outline of the profile, he knew who it was.

Paradia? He didn't want to address her by that name. So he asked instead:

"who are you?"

Number Twelve turned around, and the TPC insignia on the other person made her instinctively take a step back. The question echoed in the empty church, like a lost bird, soaring in the sky but unable to find its way.

Who are you? Number Twelve doesn't even know who he is.

But she knew the other person was the tomb keeper, and that face was on the high-risk list. It was the kind of person her "father" had warned her to be extremely careful if she saw him, and to run away as soon as possible if possible.

“I don’t know,” Number Twelve replied. She didn’t intend to continue being her “father’s” little lamb. It would be best if the tomb keeper didn’t recognize her; she was even more afraid that he would blurt out the name “Paradia.”

"Are the Kirielods here?" the tomb keeper continued to ask.

Number Twelve shook his head: "They went back to headquarters. With the destruction of the Demon Realm, the Kirieloids have reduced their activities. It's us who are outside now."

She saw the look of surprise on the tomb keeper's face. In fact, she herself was also surprised that she could tell him about her "father's" whereabouts so calmly and smoothly... as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and she could even guess what he was going to say next.

“I’m going somewhere, would you like to come with me?” She waved the letter in her hand: “Someone’s in trouble, his name is Yoshikawa Hiroshi, can TPC find out where he lives?”

"Yoshikawa..." the tomb keeper replied, "Perhaps we don't need to check. Is he wearing glasses?"

……

A guest who had "walked right into the trap" arrived at the patrol car of the ground security team.

Everyone stared at him with curiosity—this human who had confessed to siding with the Kirieloids was personally picked up by Captain Sato, who said he'd been captured by the air force. It was strange, like the fire department getting credit for capturing a group of aliens who were allergic to tap water.

“My house is in danger, you’d better ask a researcher to take a look,” Hiroshi Yoshikawa said. “Of course, I think it would be best to level it and bury it deep in cement along with the excavated soil.”

"You buried a biological weapon in your house?" the driver grumbled. "We have to report everything you say in the car to our superiors, even if we say you've been... [illegible]."

We need to investigate FO's arrest and subsequent release; don't add to our workload.

"Then you will indeed have to increase your workload. I am also a mobile biological weapon. I am glad that you are all dressed so warmly. After I get off the train, please thoroughly clean the carriage."

"Crazy." Some people in the car believed it and showed serious expressions, while others were indifferent and came to the same answer as before, like the one given by number twelve.

Hiroshi Yoshikawa just smiled. He looked out the window, where the lights of the night were stretched into thin golden lines by the speed of the car. The so-called "fleeting time" might be like this scene. Those lines were long and far, seemingly extending to the horizon. When they reached places beyond sight, they turned into bubbles, merging into the night or merging with the pale light of dawn.

"Can armored vehicles drive that fast?" he asked. "It looks like they can catch up with the sun. If they keep going like this, we'll be able to see the sunrise, right?"

"It will take at most an hour to get to headquarters," the driver said, puzzled by the thought process of today's young people. Perhaps there is indeed an insurmountable gap between their boundless imagination and the minds hardened by the whirlpool of life: "The sunrise is six hours away. If you want to see it, you can wait until you wake up from a nap."

“Okay, I want to see the sunrise,” Hiroshi Yoshikawa said. “Please arrange a nice room for me. I want to get up early, watch the sunrise, read some books, watch some news, and then go to bed early.”

"Something's wrong," the driver muttered to himself.

……

“Something’s wrong,” Number Twelve muttered to himself.

She was pleased that the tomb keeper's attitude wasn't one of violence, but why did he keep asking her questions like "Who are you?", "What's your name?", and "What do the Kyrielords call you?"

She's a clone! Who else could she be? Did this tomb keeper never learn Chinese or can't understand human speech? Has she gone mad from guarding the tomb?

"What's your name?" Aiba Yu asked again, as if a broken record was stuck in his throat.

"Number twelve, number twelve, number twelve!" she finally blurted out in anger, uttering the name she hated most: "Call me number twelve!"

“…When I asked her before, ‘What’s your name?’ she would say, ‘I’m the most powerful shrine maiden in the world, the guardian of Hoshimi Village. You can call me ‘Hey’ or ‘Hey, you there’ and I won’t get angry. I’m a reliable and good friend,’” Aiba Yu repeated Paradia’s words with a flat tone: “You are indeed different people, but number twelve doesn’t sound like a name.”

"Who cares if it sounds like a name! You're crazy!" Number Twelve said. "Hurry up, does he live on this street?"

“We’ve arrived.” Aiba Yu’s gaze passed through the overlapping walls and dozens of houses, arriving at a small courtyard that looked overgrown with weeds.

Hiroshi Yoshikawa said he has many "friends" at home: caterpillars in spring, mosquitoes in summer, mole crickets in autumn, and parrots that sing louder in the quiet of winter.

He also said that his home was dangerous and that Aiba Yu should wear protective clothing and treat it like a nuclear bomb. He added that the church would have "Holy Communion" tomorrow, and he could arrange for people to wipe them out then.

However, Hiroshi Yoshikawa was unaware of the true situation. To Yu Aiba, the most dangerous place wasn't his home, but the church where the "Holy Communion" was about to begin. So he rushed there immediately and encountered Number Twelve, "Paladia".

Now, at the Yoshikawa family's house, he finally met the "parrot" the homeowner had mentioned.

Its nest was in a cellar, filled with jars and pots containing some pickled foods—but they were clearly not well preserved, as the pickled foods had gone moldy, and the air was filled with the fermenting smell of various rotten fruits and vegetables.

Hiroshi Yoshikawa said he gave it the freedom to run around the house. Number Twelve then understood why he wrote "run" instead of "fly". Even in a curled-up position, it was still half a person tall, its wings seemed too small for its robust body, and its leg muscles were as developed as a kangaroo's. If you told her it could leap across the street, she would believe you.

Yoshikawa Hiroki didn't smell the parrot rotting because it wasn't rotting at all. It quietly closed its eyes, its two heads tilted together as if trying to tuck them under its wings, and its right wing was open, revealing a human arm.

“It’s an alien beast,” Aiba Yu said.

Heaven knows how Hiroki Yoshikawa lived with a monster; perhaps the appearance of those two heads can provide the answer.