Jikka lies on a rock and finishes his sake without noticing it. He shakes the bottle perplexedly and looks down the neck and then sighs disappointedly. The executioner throws the bottle at the dead monster's head and yawns, then looks at you.

— So, dear criminal, what do you think of a trip to a desert island? Pretty fun. But as they say, East or West, home is the best. Considering I'm out of alcohol. And there's no red light district. Do you even believe in the existence the elixir of life?