DJ caught up with Himari near the spellcraft wing.

  “You still haven’t heard from your group?” she asked, brows raised.

  Himari shook her head. “Nothing. Three days left and no one’s said a word.”

  DJ clicked her tongue. “Ugh, that’s ridiculous. Kiro and Maishe are council reps, right? They’re probably in the council room. Go poke them.”

  Himari hesitated. “Isn’t that… inappropriate?”

  DJ grinned. “You’re not storming the throne room, Hima. Just ask. Worst case, they ignore you. Best case, they remember you exist.”

  Himari sighed. “Fine. I’ll go.”

  “Atta girl,” DJ said, giving her a playful salute. “And if they act snobby, hex their chairs.”

  —

  The halls leading to the council room were unusually quiet.

  No footsteps. No voices. Just the soft hum of mana wards lining the walls.

  Himari walked slowly, her boots echoing faintly against polished stone. The silence made her more aware of her own heartbeat — steady, but fast.

  As she neared the council room, she heard it.

  Laughter.

  Not polite chuckles. Actual laughter. Loud, relaxed, familiar.

  She froze.

  Was this the right moment to interrupt? Would they take her seriously? Would they even listen?

  She stepped closer, hesitating just outside the door.

  The voices inside were clear now — Maishe’s sharp laugh, Kiro’s low chuckle, someone else snorting mid-sentence.

  Himari leaned slightly toward the doorframe, peeking through the narrow gap.

  And there they were.

  Kiro, Maishe, Lune, and Reian — sprawled across enchanted cushions, parchment scattered around them, mana diagrams glowing midair. A tray of steaming snacks floated lazily between them, occasionally nudged by a charm glyph.

  Maishe was mid-story, gesturing wildly. “—and then he tried to summon a fire sprite and ended up with a flaming chicken!”

  Reian nearly choked on his drink. “A chicken?”

  “A chicken,” Maishe confirmed. “It exploded. The professor had to cast a containment spell on the ceiling.”

  Kiro shook his head, amused. “That’s why we don’t mix fire glyphs with unstable summoning runes.”

  Lune added, “Unless you want poultry-based destruction.”

  Shouta and Suo were there too, laughing along with a few other students Himari didn’t recognize.

  She blinked.

  They weren’t planning. They weren’t coordinating. They were… hanging out.

  She stepped back slightly, unsure whether to knock or disappear.

  But before she could decide, the door creaked open — not by her hand, but by a motion glyph sensing her presence.

  Reian’s gaze met hers through the narrow gap — sharp, unreadable.

  Himari’s breath caught.

  For a split second, panic surged. Her fingers twitched at her side, illusion magic flickering like a reflex. She almost turned away.

  But then she straightened.

  I didn’t do anything wrong, she told herself. They’re the ones ignoring the project. I’m just asking.

  Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, but her face stayed composed — chin lifted, eyes steady. She didn’t move to enter. She couldn’t. Her feet wouldn’t.

  So she knocked.

  Three soft taps.

  The motion glyph had already opened the door halfway, but the knock made it official. Made it real.

  Inside, the laughter vanished.

  She could feel it — the shift in mana, the sudden stillness. Even the charm glyph nudging the snack tray paused mid-hover.

  Himari pushed the door open slowly.

  The silence was worse than she expected.

  Seven students. One room. Dead quiet.

  She stepped in, and the door clicked shut behind her.

  Suo stood up first.

  He’d been half-hidden behind a stack of parchment, but the moment he saw her, he moved — quiet, deliberate. No words. Just a soft nod and a hand on the door, easing it open the rest of the way.

  Himari blinked, startled by the gesture.

  She stepped inside.

  Seven pairs of eyes followed her, but no one spoke.

  She gave a small bow, just enough to be polite. “Good afternoon.”

  Her voice was steady. Her face, neutral. But inside—

  Why is it so quiet? Why are they all looking? Just say what you came to say. Don’t freeze. Don’t fidget. Don’t let them think you’re weak.

  She hated this.

  The attention. The silence. The way her presence felt like a disruption.

  I should’ve waited. Or sent a message. Or pretended I didn’t care.

  But she did care. And the deadline was closing in.

  “I came to ask about the project,” she said, keeping her tone light, almost detached. “We haven’t discussed anything yet, and I wanted to know if a topic’s been chosen.”

  No one interrupted.

  Maishe glanced at Kiro. Reian leaned back slightly. Lune’s expression didn’t change.

  Suo stayed beside her, not saying anything, but not leaving either.

  Okay. Deep breath. You’re a serious person. A mature person. A person who does not panic when seven people stare at you like you just walked in wearing a chicken costume.

  Which you’re not. Obviously. You’re wearing boots and dignity. Probably.

  Suo opened the door gently, like he was letting in a breeze instead of a socially anxious illusion mage.

  Thanks, Suo. MVP of not making this worse.

  Himari stepped inside, gave a polite bow, and said, “Good afternoon.”

  Translation: Hello, I am here to ruin your vibes with responsibility and deadlines. Please pretend I’m not sweating.

  She could feel the silence pressing against her like a mana ward set to “judgmental.” Everyone was looking. No one was talking.

  Okay, this is fine. This is normal. This is how people socialize, right? You walk into a room, everyone goes silent, and you pretend it’s not a horror movie.

  What she really wanted to say: “Hi, yes, hello, sorry to interrupt your chicken party, but we have a literal deadline and I’m the only one who seems to care. So unless this is a strategic snack summit, can we please talk about the assignment before I combust from secondhand awkwardness?”

  What she actually said: “I just wanted to check if a topic’s been chosen. I wasn’t sure if coordination had started.”

  She kept her tone light, her posture straight, her hands politely folded.

  Meanwhile, inside: You nailed it, Himari. You sound like a responsible adult. A responsible adult who is currently dying inside but doing it with grace. Huh yup I can also speak I have done but why I feel like I am standing in front of police officer I am getting feeling like I am a criminal or something augh their gazes

  Mission: Initiated. Objective: Don’t cry. Bonus points if no one makes a chicken joke.

  She kept her hands folded, her posture straight, her expression neutral.

  Meanwhile, inside: tap-dancing goblin screaming “Why is it so quiet?”

  Okay okay okay why is everyone staring? Calm down, people. I’m not here to steal your snacks or eavesdrop on your chicken trauma.

  Just keep laughing. Pretend I’m a ghost. A polite ghost with a deadline.

  Himari, say your thing. Say it fast. Then run. No, don’t run. Walk. Elegantly. Like an agent. A responsible, deadline-carrying agent.

  Oh god, why is it so quiet now? Did I kill the vibe? I definitely killed the vibe.

  Okay, fine. You’re here. You knocked. You bowed. You spoke. You’re officially part of the Awkward Entrance Club. Just survive the next sixty seconds and you can go back to DJ and scream into a pillow.

  The silence stretched.

  Then Kiro cleared his throat. “We were… just about to start.”

  Maishe raised an eyebrow, still watching Himari. “Wait. Suo, do you know her?”

  Suo, still standing beside Himari, nodded. “She’s my cousin.”

  Himari smiled — calm, polite, and just sharp enough to land the message. “Older sister, technically.”

  She glanced at Suo, and her smile shifted — subtle, strategic. The kind that said don’t give them the wrong idea, please, without needing words.

  Suo smiled back, equally unreadable.

  Okay, good. No one’s blushing. No one’s making weird faces. We’ve successfully dodged the ‘Are they dating?’ energy. Mission: Deflect achieved.

  Maishe blinked. “Huh. Didn’t know that.”

  Reian muttered, “Explains the entrance.”

  Lune didn’t comment, but her gaze flicked between Suo and Himari like she was filing the information away for later.

  Himari stayed composed.

  Great. Now they know I’m related to someone in the room. Maybe they’ll stop acting like I’m a rogue spell trying to crash their snack party.

  Himari remained standing, posture straight — like she was about to be interrogated by a council of snack-loving mages.

  Okay. This is it. They’re going to ask questions. Or stare. Or both. I should’ve brought DJ. She’d have hexed the silence.

  Reian gestured toward an empty cushion. “You can sit there.”

  She blinked.

  Oh. A chair. Right. That’s what normal people do. They sit. They don’t hover like a suspicious librarian waiting to catch someone stealing spellbooks.

  She nodded politely. “Thank you.”

  Then walked over and sat — carefully, gracefully, like she wasn’t internally screaming.

  Okay, good. You’re sitting. You’re blending in. You’re a functioning human. Probably. Just don’t knock over the snack tray or summon a flaming chicken.

  Maishe leaned toward Suo, whispering just loud enough to be heard. “She’s really your cousin?”

  Suo nodded. “Yeah

  Maishe tilted her head, voice light. “It’s nice that you came to check in. Most people just wait for updates instead of… showing up.”

  Himari smiled gently. “I suppose I’m not most people.”

  Oh, I heard that tone. That’s the ‘you’re clingy’ tone wrapped in a compliment tortilla. Cute.

  Maishe continued, still casual. “We were going to send a message eventually. It’s just been… busy.”

  Himari nodded, her expression soft, almost apologetic. “Of course. I imagine storytelling and snack coordination take a lot of effort.”

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  Suo coughed into his sleeve. Reian looked away, lips twitching.

  Maishe blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Himari tilted her head, eyes wide with innocence. “I just meant it must be hard balancing council work and social time. I admire that.”

  Translation: I know exactly what you’re doing, and I’m going to smile while I dismantle it.

  Maishe didn’t reply.

  That’s right. Smile, blink, and pretend I didn’t just hand you a mirror.

  Maishe crossed her arms. “You know, some people prefer to build trust before jumping into group decisions.”

  Himari smiled, soft and sweet. “That’s fair. Though I assumed trust came from communication, not snack-based telepathy.”

  Shouta let out a low whistle. “Oof. That one had glitter on it.”

  Reian muttered, “She’s not even trying to be subtle.”

  Lune didn’t look up, but her charm glyph flickered with interest.

  Kiro sighed quietly, rubbing his temple.

  Okay, that was a bit much. You could’ve dialed it down, Himari. You’re not here to win a roast battle.

  But she started it. And you’re not built to lose.

  Maishe narrowed her eyes. “You always talk like that?”

  Himari blinked innocently. “Like what?”

  Maishe’s tone sharpened. “Like you’re giving a lecture in a velvet glove.”

  Himari tilted her head. “I just try to be clear. Velvet’s optional.”

  Suo coughed again, clearly trying not to laugh.

  Okay, stop. Stop. You’re being petty. You came here to ask about the project, not emotionally spar with a girl who thinks sarcasm is a leadership style.

  You’re better than this. Probably. Maybe. Ugh, DJ would be loving this.

  She shifted slightly, guilt prickling under her ribs.

  You didn’t need to say that last line. You could’ve smiled and let it go. But nooo, your tongue has a mind of its own. Great job, Himari. You’re officially the polite menace.

  Maishe leaned forward. “If you’re so eager to help, maybe you should’ve joined the council.”

  Himari’s smile didn’t waver. “I considered it. But I didn’t want to risk turning into someone who thinks flaming poultry counts as leadership training.”

  Shouta dropped his snack. “Okay, I’m out. This is war.”

  The second-year girl scribbled something on her parchment, whispering, “I’m writing this down. This is gold.”

  Kiro finally raised a hand. “Enough. We’re here to plan, not duel.”

  Lune looked up, eyes sharp. “Actually, this is useful. We’re seeing how people handle pressure.”

  Maishe didn’t reply.

  Himari folded her hands again, posture perfect.

  Okay. You’re done. No more sass. You’ve made your point. Now be the responsible older cousin and save this group from imploding.

  Maishe wasn’t done.

  She leaned forward, voice casual but loud enough for the second-years to hear. “Speaking of coordination… didn’t you slam Kiro into the dormitory gate last week? Real graceful entrance.”

  The room went quiet again.

  Kiro blinked. “That wasn’t—”

  Himari smiled, soft and composed. “Ah, yes. The gate incident. I believe it was caused by a misfired wind glyph. Very unfortunate.”

  Oh, you want to play dirty? Fine. Let’s dance.

  Maishe smirked. “Unfortunate for Kiro’s ribs, maybe.”

  Himari tilted her head, voice still gentle. “He recovered quickly.I didn’t know Council reps were so good at exaggerating things." . Especially when he just got hit by gate on his temple I think u need to correct it .”

  Shouta let out a low “Oof.”

  Reian whispered, “That was surgical.”

  Lune didn’t react, but her charm glyph flared slightly — a flicker of interest.

  Maishe’s smile faltered. “You always talk like that?”

  Himari blinked. “Like what?”

  Maishe’s voice sharpened. “Like you’re trying to sound smarter than everyone else.”

  Himari’s tone didn’t change. “I don’t try. It’s just a side effect of clarity.”

  Okay, that was mean. You didn’t need to say that. You could’ve smiled and let it go. But nooo, your tongue decided to go full dagger mode. Great job, Himari. You’re officially the polite menace.

  Maishe stood up, clearly flustered. “I have council work to finish.”

  Kiro raised an eyebrow. “We’re in the middle of planning.”

  Maishe didn’t answer. She grabbed her mana scroll and walked out, heels clicking against the stone floor.

  The door closed behind her with a soft thud.

  Silence.

  Then Shouta whispered, “Did she just rage-quit?”

  Reian nodded. “She rage-quit.”

  Suo glanced at Himari, amused. “You okay?”

  Himari smiled politely. “Perfectly.”

  Emotionally? I’m a little guilty. She didn’t deserve a full verbal takedown. But also… she kinda did. I’ll send her a fruit charm later. Maybe.

  She folded her hands again, posture perfect.

  Okay. Drama: defused. Room: quieter. Reputation: slightly terrifying. Let’s talk about the actual project before someone else tries to test my patience.

  The room had settled into a strange quiet after Maishe left — not tense, but not relaxed either.

  Himari leaned slightly toward Suo, voice barely above a whisper. “Did I say something wrong? Is she mad at me or something?”

  Her tone was soft, genuinely confused.

  Okay, maybe I went too far. But she started it. Right? I mean… was that not normal banter? Did I accidentally insult her ancestors?

  Before Suo could answer, Reian — seated just beside her — spoke up.

  “Nah. She’s not mad. And I don’t think you said anything rude.”

  Himari blinked. “Oh.”

  She nodded slowly, guilt prickling under her ribs.

  Okay. Still. Maybe next time don’t roast someone’s leadership style with poultry metaphors. You’re not DJ. You don’t get immunity.

  She folded her hands again, trying to reset her posture.

  Lune looked up from her charm glyph, voice calm. “We’re meeting at the dorm lounge tonight to finalize the project.”

  Himari perked up slightly. “Oh. Good.”

  Lune continued, tone smooth. “We’ve already finished half of it.”

  Himari’s brows furrowed.

  Wait. What?

  Lune didn’t pause. “Since you joined in third year as a transfer, we assumed you wouldn’t be familiar with the framework. So we decided not to burden you.”

  Himari’s expression didn’t change, but her spine straightened.

  Ah. There it is. The polite exclusion. Wrapped in concern. Delivered with a smile.

  Lune added, “If you’re interested, we can assign you an easier topic. Something light.”

  Himari smiled, soft and composed. “I appreciate the consideration.”

  Translation: I’m going to take that easy topic and make it look like the backbone of the entire project. Watch me.

  Himari stood up quickly, the movement sharper than she intended.

  “I’d like to see the topic,” she said, voice steady.

  Lune looked up, then handed her a small stack of papers. “This is the outline. You can also check the old archives for reference.”

  She turned to Kiro. “You can go with her and help. My work’s not done yet.”

  Kiro nodded without hesitation. “Sure.”

  Okay. That’s fine. It’s not weird. It’s just logistics. Not a chaperone. Not a pity escort. Just… help.

  Himari took the papers, scanning them briefly. Her eyes flicked to Lune, who was already deep in conversation with Kiro about glyph layering.

  She turned slightly toward Suo. “What are you doing here, anyway? In the class rep room?”

  Suo smiled. “I’m the first-year class rep.”

  He gestured toward two students sitting quietly in the corner, both half-buried in scrolls. “They’re second-years. Kiro and Maishe are third-year reps. My own friend’s a rep too, but she didn’t come today. Otherwise I’d have introduced you.”

  Himari nodded. “I see.”

  Okay. That makes sense. Still weird that I walked into a council nest without knowing half the birds.

  Before she could say more, Lune called out again. “Himari.”

  She turned.

  “You can get books from the archives,” Lune said. “You don’t have access yet, but Kiro does. He’s going anyway — you can go with him.”

  Shouta, who’d been quietly munching on something, perked up. “I’ll tag along too. I need to return a scroll.”

  Himari nodded, papers in hand.

  Okay. Mission: accepted. Emotional damage: minimal. Social awkwardness: ongoing. But at least I get to leave the room before someone brings up flaming chickens again.

  She glanced once at Suo, who gave her a quiet thumbs-up.

  She didn’t smile, but her shoulders relaxed.

  The door to the rep room shut behind them.

  Himari stepped into the hallway, papers in hand, her posture straight but her thoughts still tangled. Kiro walked ahead, silent. Shouta followed a few steps behind, his presence quiet but unmistakably there.

  None of them spoke.

  The corridor stretched long and dim, lined with flickering glyph lanterns. Himari’s grip tightened around the papers.

  Okay. That was a lot. Maishe rage-quit. Lune handed me a topic like I was a guest at a charity banquet. And now I’m walking with two people I barely know. Great.

  They turned the corner — and DJ was already walking toward them from the library wing.

  She didn’t even glance at Kiro or Shouta.

  Her eyes locked on Himari instantly.

  “There you are,” DJ said, speeding up. “Namise told me you went to the rep room. Did they finally stop pretending the deadline’s a myth or are they still hosting the Flaming Chicken Summit?”

  Himari blinked, tension easing — then immediately tightening again.

  “DJ,” she said softly, shifting slightly to the side, “maybe not so loud…”

  DJ didn’t notice. “I swear, if Maishe tries to act like she’s the only one with a functioning brain again, I’m going to start handing out fake awards. ‘Best at breathing while talking.’ ‘Most dramatic scroll placement.’”

  Himari gave a small, deliberate glance over her shoulder. “They were… still discussing things.”

  DJ snorted. “Discussing? You mean circling the same three ideas like they’re sacred relics? Lune probably called it a ‘strategic delay.’”

  Himari’s voice dropped. “Some of them are still nearby.”

  DJ blinked. “What?”

  Himari tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking toward Kiro — who was still walking ahead — and then toward Shouta, who had slowed down behind them.

  DJ followed her gaze, finally registering the quiet footsteps.

  “Oh.”

  Himari gave a faint, polite smile. “Yes.”

  DJ cleared her throat. “Right. Well. I’m sure they’re doing their best.”

  Himari didn’t reply.

  Okay. That was close. DJ nearly started a war in the hallway. Kiro didn’t react, but Shouta definitely heard. Great. Now I’m the girl with the loud best friend and the diplomatic damage control face.

  DJ leaned closer, voice low now. “You okay?”

  Himari nodded. “Better now.”

  Better-ish. I survived the rep room. I survived DJ’s roast session. I’m walking with two strangers and one chaos magnet. And I haven’t combusted yet

  They reached the split in the hallway where the archive wing branched off from the main corridor.

  DJ slowed her pace, scrolls still tucked under her arm. “I need to check something with Namise before class,” she said, glancing toward the east wing. “But if you’ve got time, could you grab those two books I mentioned? The ones on glyph layering and boundary seals?”

  Himari nodded. “I’ll look for them.”

  DJ gave her a quick smile. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  She turned and walked off without another word, her steps quick, already halfway into her next task.

  Himari watched her go, then turned toward the archive doors.

  Behind her, Shouta had paused near the entrance, his gaze flicking toward a group of students gathered near the far wall — loud, familiar voices, half-laughing, half-arguing.

  He hesitated, then veered off without saying anything.

  Okay. That’s one gone.

  Himari stepped inside.

  The archive was quiet, lined with rows of stone shelves and floating index glyphs. The air smelled faintly of old paper and binding ink. Light filtered in through the high windows, soft and cold.

  Kiro was already ahead, walking with purpose, not looking back.

  Himari followed, her steps careful, her mind still half-looped around Lune’s words.

  “Easy topic.” Right. I’ll make it look like the backbone of the entire project. Watch me.

  She reached the reference section and began scanning the shelves, fingers trailing lightly over the spines.

  Kiro stopped a few rows down, pulling a scroll from the shelf without comment.

  They didn’t speak.

  The silence wasn’t awkward — just neutral. Like two people working in parallel, not quite connected, not quite distant.

  Himari found the first book DJ had asked for and tucked it under her arm.

  Then she reached for her own.

  I’m not here to prove anything. But I’m also not here to be underestimated.

  She opened the book, eyes narrowing slightly as she began to read.

  The archive was crowded when Himari entered — students scattered across tables, some flipping through scrolls, others whispering over reference glyphs. The air was cold, dry, and faintly metallic from the winter wind pressing against the stone walls outside.

  She walked straight to the desk near the entrance, where the archive supervisor — a stern-looking woman with silver-threaded robes — sat behind a glowing ledger.

  Himari placed Kiro’s card on the desk. “I’m here to search for project materials.”

  The woman nodded, barely glancing up. “Return the card before closing.”

  Himari nodded and stepped into the maze of shelves.

  It was harder than she expected.

  The archive was massive — rows upon rows of books, scrolls, and glyph-bound volumes. The index glyphs flickered inconsistently, and several sections had overlapping tags. She moved slowly, scanning each shelf, her fingers trailing along the spines.

  She found DJ’s two requested books first — one on boundary seals, the other on glyph layering. Then her own: two volumes on elemental convergence and one on historical spell structures.

  Five books.

  She frowned.

  DJ’s two. My three. That’s already five. But I haven’t even picked the one I actually want.

  She turned a corner — and paused.

  There it was.

  A thick, black-bound volume with no title on the spine. The tag above it read: Restricted: Historical Black Magic — Internal Use Only.

  Her fingers hovered.

  She picked it up.

  The weight of it was different — heavier, colder. She walked back to the desk, holding it carefully.

  “Can I take this one too?” she asked.

  The supervisor looked up, eyes narrowing. “Only four books per person. That one’s not for lending. Students aren’t permitted to read it without clearance.”

  Himari nodded politely. “Understood. I’ll return it to its shelf.”

  She turned away — but didn’t go back to the shelf.

  Instead, she slipped into a narrow aisle between two tall bookcases, crouched down, and sat on the cold stone floor. She placed the book in her lap, pulled her coat tighter around her, and slid her earphones in.

  Just a few pages. I’ll read quickly. No one will notice.

  She opened the book put earphones on and start reading

  The writing was dense, archaic. Diagrams of rituals, fragmented accounts of forbidden practices, notes from long-dead scholars. Her eyes moved faster, absorbing every line.

  She didn’t notice the silence growing around her.

  She didn’t notice the students leaving.

  She didn’t notice the light outside fading into full winter dark.

  She didn’t notice the archive lanterns dimming to standby mode.

  She didn’t notice anything — until the last page.

  She blinked, suddenly aware of how dry her eyes were, how stiff her legs felt. She pulled out her earphones — and froze.

  Silence.

  Not quiet — silence.

  She stood slowly, clutching the book, her breath catching.

  The archive was empty.

  No students.

  No supervisor.

  No sound.

  She walked quickly to the desk — it was abandoned. The ledger was closed. The gate glyph was inactive.

  A chill ran down her spine.

  She reached for Kiro’s card, slid it into the lock glyph.

  It blinked red.

  Rejected.

  She tried again.

  Still red.

  Her breath hitched.

  The archive felt darker now — not just unlit, but closed. Sealed.

  She backed away from the gate, her chest tightening.

  Darkness. Closed space. No exit. No sound.

  Her fingers trembled.

  She tried to call out — but her voice didn’t come.

  Then — a sound.

  Behind her.

  She turned sharply.

  Nothing.

  Just shelves.

  Just books.

  She stepped back — and froze.

  A hand.

  Cold.

  Rough.

  Gripping the back of her neck.

  She gasped — but no sound came.

  Something sharp pressed against her skin — not cutting, but pricking, like a warning.

  Her breath stopped.

  Her knees buckled.

  The last thing she saw before her vision collapsed was a shadow — tall, indistinct, standing just beyond the shelves.

  Then everything went dark

  Scene: Rep Room — Winter Evening

  Kiro handed Himari his access card without much expression.

  “You can use this if you need to stay longer,” he said.

  She nodded, took it, and walked toward the archive wing.

  Kiro watched her go, then turned and headed back to the rep room.

  Inside, the room was still active — a few second-year class reps were scattered across the side tables, quietly working through their assigned charts. The lantern glyphs overhead flickered with soft blue light, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

  At the center table sat Lune and Reian — both third-years, both familiar. Kiro’s friends.

  Lune looked up first. “She left?”

  Kiro nodded, already pulling out his scrolls. “I gave her my card. I had work.”

  Reian raised an eyebrow. “You let her go alone?”

  “I had work,” Kiro repeated, voice even. “Maishe left early. Her section’s still untouched.”

  He gestured to the stack of charts beside him — neat, overwhelming, marked with Maishe’s initials.

  Lune didn’t press. Reian frowned, watching him for a moment longer.

  Time passed.

  The second-years began packing up, one by one. A few nodded to Kiro as they left. Eventually, the side tables were empty.

  Lune finished her last scroll and stood, stretching. “We’re done here.”

  Reian gathered his papers, still glancing at Kiro. “You’re not coming?”

  Kiro didn’t look up. “I’ll finish this first.”

  Reian frowned. “Ryujin and Shun are waiting at the gate.”

  “I know,” Kiro said. “Tell them I’ll catch up.”

  Lune sighed. “Let’s go, Reian.”

  Reian lingered a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  Kiro kept his posture calm, his tone steady.

  Reian finally turned, but not before giving Kiro one last suspicious glance.

  The door closed behind them.

  Kiro waited.

  Then he stood.

  He locked the door.

  The room fell silent.

  He moved quickly to the far wall — to a shelf that was always locked, its surface dusty, its latch rusted. He pulled out a small, worn key from his coat and slid it into the lock.

  It clicked open easily.

  Inside was a narrow compartment, hidden behind a false panel. He scanned his eyes across a glyph strip — it blinked green.

  The panel slid open.

  He pulled out a suitcase.

  Inside: a laptop, a military-grade transmitter, a walkie-talkie, and a small encrypted drive.

  He opened the laptop.

  Kiro sat alone in the locked rep room, the suitcase open before him. The laptop screen glowed faintly in the dark, casting pale light across his face. The wind outside scraped against the stone walls, sharp and constant — winter pressing harder now.

  He connected to the secure channel.

  The screen flickered, then stabilized.

  The walkie crackled.

  A voice came through.

  Male.

  Not old.

  Not rushed.

  Low, steady, and quiet — the kind of voice that didn’t need volume to command attention.

  “Report.”

  Kiro leaned forward. “Today’s rep meeting was unstable. Maishe tried to corner Himari — passive-aggressive, but deliberate. Himari didn’t fold. She replied directly. No emotion, no escalation.”

  There was a pause.

  Then the voice, faintly amused: “She replied the same way Maishe did?”

  Kiro nodded. “Almost word for word. It caught Maishe off guard.”

  Another pause.

  Then: “I know she’s brave. She can do that.”

  Kiro hesitated. “She’s still isolated. Doesn’t talk to anyone except a girl named DJ. Keeps her distance. Doesn’t linger.”

  The voice didn’t respond immediately.

  Then, softer: “Before I return from Cyprus, I want you to keep an eye on her. Take care of her.”

  Kiro’s voice was quiet. “Yes, sir. I’ll protect her.”

  The voice shifted — no longer soft.

  Serious.

  “Start deeper surveillance on Reian. And on the organization. The black magic users. I want everything.”

  Kiro’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the laptop.

  “Understood.”

  The line went dead.

  Kiro closed the laptop.

  Outside, the wind howled louder.

  Inside, the room was silent.

  .