ᵣₐbbᵢₜ ᵢₙ ₜₕₑ Bₗₐcₖ Cₕₐₘbₑᵣ

Cₕₐₚₜₑᵣ ₉: ₜₕₑᵣₑ ᵢₛ ₙₒₜₕᵢₙg ₑᵢₜₕₑᵣ gₒₒd ₒᵣ bₐd, bᵤₜ ₜₕᵢₙₖᵢₙg ₘₐₖₑₛ ᵢₜ ₛₒ

      The sky above the Port Mafia headquarters mirrored the troubled minds of those who dwelled below, thick with dark clouds, holding back their storm. Yet, there was an unsettling stillness, as if the world itself was on the edge of some unspeakable precipice, waiting for the inevitable collapse of whatever fragile morality held it together. The rain, which had momentarily ceased, left the streets damp, the smell of damp stone and rust mixing with the cold air.

Inside Mori Ougai's office, the atmosphere was altogether different. The room's muted opulence stood as a stark contrast to the grim chaos just beyond its walls. The soft light of the antique lamps cast long shadows, and the heavy mahogany furniture gave the impression of timeless power—a sanctuary from the ruin of the world outside.

Mori Ougai, leader of the Port Mafia, sat with an unnerving ease behind his desk. His fingers gently tapped against the surface, a rhythm both thoughtful and calculating. He observed Kororo with the cold gaze of a man who had seen too much and yet had not seen enough. Her presence in the room, however mysterious, was not unexpected. She had wandered into the territory of the Port Mafia with a calm defiance, requesting—no, demanding—an audience with him.

She stood before him now, draped in her usual lolita attire. There was something about her presence—an aura of quiet yet profound destruction, as if she embodied the very chaos she preached. Her eyes, hidden beneath the shadow, seemed to absorb the room's dim light, leaving Mori with a curious feeling of looking into an abyss.

Mori's voice broke the silence, smooth as silk but carrying an undercurrent of deadly intent. "You are an intriguing enigma, Kororo. You've entered my world with a purpose I can only guess at. But before we go any further, tell me, how do you view the notions of good and evil?"

Kororo did not answer immediately. The question hung in the air, almost as if time itself had slowed in anticipation of her response. When she spoke, her voice was low, reflective—a tone that seemed to resonate not only in the room but somewhere deep in Mori's mind.

"Good and evil..." she began, her lips curling into a half-smile. "They are merely constructs of the human condition, fleeting and subjective. Each society builds its own morality, shaping the concepts to suit its needs. What you deem good today may be condemned as evil tomorrow. To put it simply, good and evil do not exist—only perception does."

Mori nodded, intrigued by the detachment in her philosophy. "So, by that reasoning, the actions of the Port Mafia could be seen as neither inherently good nor evil, merely... necessary?"

Kororo met his gaze, her eyes briefly flickering with something that Mori couldn't place—was it amusement? Or something darker? "Exactly. Your actions, brutal as they may seem to those outside your sphere, are essential within the context of survival. Power in this world does not exist without force. But to some, that force is evil. To others, it is simply the cost of survival."

There was a silence, thick with contemplation, as Mori leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as if measuring the weight of her words. "You speak as though you've long understood this world, this delicate balance of chaos and control."

Kororo tilted her head slightly, the smirk still playing on her lips, for that moment, her voice wasn't hers yet was at the same time for a moment. "I have lived long enough to see the arbitrary nature of morality. I've come to realize that good and bad are illusions, and only outcomes truly matter. Chaos and order are intertwined, and from destruction, new realities are born. I have made peace with the idea that everything is in flux."

The words lingered in Mori's mind, stirring a thought he had often entertained. The world he controlled, the fragile system of alliances, betrayals, and calculated violence—was it truly just a game of perspectives? He had always operated with a sense of detachment, knowing full well that morality was not a luxury he could afford. But hearing Kororo voice it so clearly—so effortlessly—it struck a chord.