"Are you okay, Sir?"

I groaned, banging my head to clear the nasty headache that soon followed my return to consciousness.

"Sir?" I frowned at the gender honorifics. Had that voice been talking to me?

"Affirmative. Your physical attributes would see you of the female type, but your chi count is of a volume belonging to the male counterpart. Therefore, I calculate that you are a male hiruda inside a female host," said a clinical voice.

I was greeted by an animachine in a lucky blue and dragon gold full body uniform similar to the type Forneas wore. Unlike Forneas, this animachine's head was a fox with two small round dishes for ears and a rod poking up from the top of his forehead. A gold star was pinned to his right breast; the same star as the one the Evadale Knights wore on their ties and caps.

"Um, I'm not a hiruda." I corrected the animachine.

"Well, my analysis does calculate a probable chance of 0.5 percent of you being some other creature." The animachine was adamant his analysis hadn't been wrong.

"My analysis tells me you're one hundred percent wrong," I argued.

"Stevie, is this male creature dangerous?" said a deep, smooth voice like the one that said the spell.

The animachine paused before it returned with an answer.

"Whilst Charlese-sama is a skilled force magis. Her body's mana has dampened tremendously, rendering this male-hiruda incapable of magic abilities."

I frowned at the fox-animachine and turned my head to the sound of the other voice.

"Uncle Smithsonian?!" I accidentally blurted when I saw a grandpa version of Wilfred sporting a bushy black beard, which ran the length of his round chin, so the tips was a finger span away from his collarbone.

A navy-blue Lincoln top hat added a few graces of height to him. He wore a different version of the Evadale Knight navy-blue attire being a single breasted jacket, opened to reveal his double-breasted vest with gold buttons running parallel lengths down his torso, white cotton shirt and black silk cravat with the ends tucked into his vest. I was impressed by his well-kept physique of long legs in navy-blue slacks, a lean waist and stomach (free from a pot-belly), and broad shoulders. A well-worn double belt with a gun holstered to his right and short sword sheathed to his left, was evenly balanced on his hips. It was clear he was a gentleman of action. My mind wandered to a memory of sketched men modelling various fashions in Bulldog's Velvet Rose season catalogues.

I frowned at his steel cap boots. His soles were steel as well. Why steel?

"Boy, I do not believe we have had the pleasure." Uncle Smithsonian frowned, rather perplexed by my outburst. "How have we met?"

I gulped. Damn my stupid mouth. "Aah, no, just something in this head."

"Ganmo. Good, you're alright."

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard Leinard's voice. I turned my head and realised I was sitting on cold grass, underneath a bushy canopy of an ancient elm tree in full bloom.

A quick glance of the rest of my surroundings made me realised I had somehow been magically zapped from the Triuta's Indulgence Floor to a forest somewhere.

I stared at the sky and blinked at the glaring blue visage. It was a lot different to the daylight from Apocalypse's Second District.

"Ganmo's your name?" Uncle Smithsonian chuckled. "Let me guess, your surname is Doki, right?"

"How'd you know?" I acted surprised and cursed my growling stomach. "More importantly, do you have any because I'm starving?"

"No." He blatantly confirmed.

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