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Dante woke up to the scrabbling of Heathcliff and Ishmael, along with Don Quixote’s massive voice. Getting out of bed, they put on their shoes and opened the door to see Outis, greeting them with a salute.
<You don’t need to do this, you know…> they ticked at the sinner, who continued to rigidly stand in place.
“Executive manager, it is only proper to greet you as such,” Outis replied. They shook their head in surrender and told her to be at ease, leaving the corridor to head up front to see the rest of the LCB entourage. As per usual, Charon sat in the driver’s seat, absentmindedly watching the road as she sucked on a lollipop, Vergilius seeming to be absent.
“Morning, Dante~!” A certain tall brunette called out to them, waving from her seat.
<What’s up, Rodya? I heard Heathcliff and Ishmael shouting earlier> they clicked back to her. Rodya shrugged, too focused on inhaling the gigantic breakfast in front of her. Dante looked at Gregor, who sighed and stood up.
“Follow me, Manager Bud, it’s easier to show than explain,” he grimaced, opening the door to Faust’s room. They’d only ever seen glimpses of her room but weren’t surprised to find a massive whiteboard covering the wall. There, Heathcliff and Ishmael argued, the names of the sinners written and ranked on the wall.
“Bloke, Faust’s the bloody maker of the bus, ‘course she’s the smartest!” Ishmael scoffed at Heathcliff’s words.
“I’m telling you, Yi Sang made the mirror technology that we use, why wouldn’t he be the smartest? Faust’s intelligence comes from her mysteriousness,” she retorted. Dante looked at the list of the LCB sinners again, finding themself placed at the very bottom.
<What are you two up to?> Dante asked, startling Heathcliff and Ishmael out of their discussion. Don, sitting on the floor, piped up.
“Manager! Thine eyes do see what young Heathcliff and Ishmael have deduced: who art the smartest of this company of 13!” She proudly declared, not having realized she ranked second to last. Ishmael coughed, directing their attention back to the whiteboard.
“Anyways, Manager Bud, could you help solve the argument? They’re not going to stop until one of them’s dead,” Gregor said. Dante sighed as best as a person with a head for a clock could, and stepped towards the wall. Looking at the list, all but 2 spots, the first and second place, were filled. Since it didn’t appear like Heathcliff and Ishmael would agree any time soon, Dante joined the conversation.
<How about we get each of the sinners to make an argument for their cause? Then you could compare them based off what they said> they proposed, surprising the two.
“Actually, that isn’t such a bad idea…” Ishmael contemplated it for a moment, and then nodded. Heathcliff enthusiastically agreed, calling them ‘not as stupid as he thought they were’. The back-handed comment, though unintentional, still stung them.
<Let’s call in everybody by number, starting with Yi Sang> Dante told Gregor, who left to hunt down their poor victim. Soon enough, he returned with the frail researcher carried on his shoulder.
“He was sleeping, didn’t want to go through the trouble of waking him up,” Gregor explained, seeing the confused looks on their faces. Unceremoniously, he dropped Yi Sang who promptly woke up from the fall. Without any time to ask what was going on, Heathcliff threw him into the conversation.
“Oi, Mr. ‘Ideal’, tell us why you’re the smartest of the sinners. Ya got five minutes, alright?” Yi Sang, still baffled by the situation, stood up and brushed himself off.
“Very well. What should I begin with? I could give you my dissertation about the mirror world technology and Identity extraction that caught Limbus Company’s eye, would that suffice?” Without waiting for an answer, Yi Sang began to explain, rambling about concepts Dante was sorely undereducated on. Maybe before the amnesia they might have understood, but it was clear neither they, Heathcliff, or Ishmael understood a single word.
“Thanks, Yi Sang, we really appreciate it, but is it possible to put it in simpler terms? Maybe dumb it down for us?” Ishmael interrupted.
“There’s simply no other apt terms to phrase it so, perhaps I could give some background information to make it more palatable?” He asked, but Heathcliff and Ishmael were already lost to their argument.
<I appreciate your effort, Yi Sang. By the way, where’s Faust? She’s not in the front with the others> Dante ticked. Unfortunately, Yi Sang didn’t know either, leaving to return to his room and head back to bed.
Since the three couldn’t interrogate Faust next, they moved on to Don Quixote, who had been on the floor fidgeting with her various fixer badges on her coat while they talked. For a moment, Dante questioned themself if they truly wanted to listen to her chaotic stream of thought.
“Hark, my companions! You know my name well, for I, Don Quixote, am the courageous and heroic fixer you have journeyed with! Verily, I am the most erudite among thee, for the perils we’ve weathered and foul villains fought could not have been overcome except through mine own brilliance!” Don Quixote, enthusiastic and loud as ever, soon derailed herself into various obscure facts about the City’s fixers and stories from her own life. Looking over at Heathcliff and Ishmael, it appeared they had silently agreed to be done with their coworker and move on.
“All right, all right, we gotcha lass, pipe down! Oi, Gregor, can ya find us Ryoshu?” Heathcliff asked. Don Quixote, who didn’t notice the shifting attention, continued to spew information out of her fixer obsession. Ishmael put a check mark next to Don Quixote’s name, confirming she was the second least intelligent of the 13.
“W.D.Y.N.M.?” Ryoshu walked in, smoking a cigarette and arm resting on her sheathed blade. She leaned on the wall, Dante picking up that she was impatient. Heathcliff elbowed Ishmael to explain, who shoved him back in revenge.
“We’re trying to determine who’s the smartest sinner, and you’re here to argue why you’d be the most intelligent out of us,” she explained. Ryoshu took a long drag, exhaling the smoke into the two’s faces.
“I’m the best when it comes to G.M.D., that’s all. I’m L.Y.S.A.,” Ryoshu turned around and left, leaving Dante confused as Sinclair wasn’t around to translate.
<Well, any of you catch that?> Dante glanced at Ishmael, but it seemed neither she or Heathcliff knew what Ryoshu had said.
“Let’s just move on, Manager Bud. Meursault’s next, right? He went out with the Guide Bud for something earlier, but I heard them come back when I got Ryoshu,” Gregor said. As Dante went to open the door to bring over Meursault, Faust walked in, pausing to survey the gathering within her room. Meursault, who was passing by in the corridor and stopped by Faust, also glanced in to see the mess that Ishmael and Heathcliff made.
“…Manager, what is this? How did you get in Faust’s room?” She asked, something unusual for her.
“Miss Faust, if you would please move so I may pass through the hallway,” Meursault prompted, sparking Heathcliff to jump in.
“Oi, you two! We need ya to settle something. Which one of ya is the smartest?” He said, forgetting entirely about the other 11 sinners. Faust looked at Meursault, who looked back at her impassively.
“Where did this question come from?” Meursault asked him, Ishmael explaining what had happened.
“You know how last night we were talking about what we did before Limbus Company hired us? You briefly mentioned how you worked at N Corp, which got me thinking about who here’s the smartest and the highest achieving,” she summarized. For a moment, Faust looked disappointed she hadn’t been immediately declared the winner but quickly managed her face into a neutral expression.
“Faust’s achievements are revolutionary breakthroughs in the field of science and logic, and you would compare Faust’s intelligence to another?” She said, a certain confidence underlying her words.
“Ahem. If you aren’t going to move, Miss Faust, then I take it you would like to test our knowledge?” Meursault added. Dante was surprised he had said anything at all, as they were used to his apathetic and quiet demeanor.
“Very well. Faust shall prove her worth. What method shall be used to go about this?” Faust questioned. Finally, Heathcliff was able to form a thought.
“What if we have a maths contest? Ain’t that something all smart people are good at?” He proposed, with Meursault and Faust in agreement with his idea.
“Ooh! A con-test! I shall cheer both young Meursault and Faust on!” Don Quixote inserted herself into the conversation. Gregor leaned back against the wall, content to watch in silence as the two started to furiously write on the board. Don Quixote let out an occasional exclamation of awe, their neat handwriting quickly covering the board.
After 5 minutes, Ishmael stopped them. Taking a look, Dante saw theorems and formulas that made their head hurt, but the two were evenly matched.
“What now, Manager Bud? Doesn’t seem like anyone’s content for a tie,” Gregor remarked. Ishmael thought for a moment, then came to a conclusion.
“What’s 2+2?” She asked out of the blue. Temporarily stunned by her question, Meursault and Faust blanked.
“It’s 4. What is the point of this?” Faust recovered.
“Congrats, Faust, you’re officially the smartest sinner,” Heathcliff broke the silence. Don Quixote pulled out confetti from her pockets to throw at Faust, who looked displeased.
<So… you based it off the reaction time?> Dante deduced, Ishmael nodding at them.
“Since they were well-matched, I thought it would be best to break the tie with something fast,” she told them. Meursault accepted his defeat gracefully, apologizing to them for coming short in the end. Dante patted his back to comfort him, leaving the room before Faust inevitably killed Heathcliff and Ishmael for intruding. Meursault followed closely behind as they went to the front of the bus to rejoin the other sinners.
“Executive Manager, I’m glad you’ve returned. Is there anything I can do for you?” Outis immediately noticed their presence, but they shook their head. Vergilius looked up from his notepad, alerted to their presence.
“Let’s not get carried away by a certain two sinners’ antics and stay on task. Charon, how long until we reach the next stop?” Vergilius’s attention now directed away from them, Dante exhaled a sigh of relief, or rather, their best imitation of one. Finally free from the sinners and their shenanigan, Dante sat down on a bench and took the nap they’d needed. It was fun to be around their coworkers they now considered family, but managing them was like herding cats. And unfortunately for Dante, they weren’t good with animals.