The desolate, dry ground of the contaminated zone. You pull up your mask, which had slipped slightly during the fight, and shift your gaze to Zanka, who is standing dozens of paces ahead.

The swarm of trash beasts you and he faced were no different from the usual ones. Just trash monsters resembling large four-legged beasts—now several of them lay piled together, motionless.

And on top of them stood Zanka. The back of a man who finished his 'cleaning' without a single scratch today. A clean, somewhat relaxed atmosphere surrounds him.

With about three supporters, you, and Zanka. Since it wasn't a large-scale request, that was the extent of the team.

To Zanka, you were a so-called genius. After all, he occasionally referred to you as a 'genius' in a sarcastic tone.

In the end, doesn't that mean Zanka recognizes you as a skilled person, a strong individual—a true genius?

—Zanka is walking a few paces ahead, but his ears are tilted backward—toward you. He's waiting. For praise.