The west side of the kingdom slept uneasily.

  Narrow streets twisted between old stone buildings, lanterns few and far between. Shops had long since closed, and the only sounds were boots against cobblestone and the distant cry of a night bird.

  A patrol of royal knights moved in formation—six in total.

  “Keep your spacing,” one of them muttered. “This area’s been quiet for weeks, but don’t relax.”

  “Yes, sir,” another replied.

  Among them walked a knight with red hair, tied loosely at the back of his helmet, and sly fox-like eyes that never quite reflected the lantern light the same way as the others. His armor was polished like the rest, his steps perfectly in sync.

  Too perfect.

  They turned a corner into a darker stretch of road.

  That was when it happened.

  The red-haired knight stepped half a pace behind the one to his right.

  Shk.

  Steel slid between armor plates.

  The stabbed knight froze, breath hitching. “…Wha—”

  The red-haired knight caught him before he fell, whispering into his ear, “Orders change.”

  He pulled the blade free.

  Blood spilled onto the stones.

  “What the hell—?!” another knight shouted, spinning around.

  The traitor moved instantly.

  He hurled the dying body forward, knocking one knight off balance, then drew a second dagger from his boot and threw it—clean, precise. It buried itself in a throat.

  “Formation!” someone yelled.

  Too late.

  The red-haired knight closed the distance, sword flashing. One knight raised his shield—only for the traitor to slide low, cutting through the back of his knee. The man screamed and collapsed.

  “You bastard!” a knight roared, charging.

  The red-haired knight met him head-on. Steel clashed, sparks flying in the darkness. The loyal knight was strong—trained—but he hesitated.

  The traitor didn’t.

  He twisted his blade, slammed his shoulder forward, and drove the sword through the knight’s chest.

  Another tried to retreat.

  The red-haired knight lunged, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed his head against the wall—once, twice—until the body went limp.

  Silence returned to the street.

  Six knights.

  None breathing.

  The red-haired man stood alone, chest rising steadily. Not a trace of panic. Not even satisfaction.

  He wiped his blade clean on a fallen cloak.

  Then he lifted his wrist to his mouth, speaking softly into a tight metal bracelet wrapped around his arm.

  “Plans have changed,” he said calmly. “The knights are no longer following fixed schedules. They’re acting only on direct orders from their captains.”

  A faint, distorted voice answered from the bracelet.

  “That was expected.”

  “I won’t be able to leak schedules anymore,” the red-haired man continued. “There isn’t one.”

  The voice chuckled quietly. “It will be alright. We knew this would happen sooner or later.”

  The bracelet went silent.

  The man lowered his arm, glanced once more at the bodies, and disappeared into the shadows.

  Beneath Fiester Academy, the earth told a different story.

  A network of secret passageways twisted beneath classrooms and courtyards—old stone corridors reinforced over generations, hidden from all but a few.

  A man in a hooded cloak moved quickly through them, boots splashing lightly through shallow water. His breathing was controlled, but tension coiled in his shoulders.

  Then—

  Bzzzt.

  The bracelet on his arm vibrated.

  “Evacuate immediately,” a voice said. “The passageways have been found.”

  The man cursed under his breath and broke into a run.

  He turned a corner—

  —and skidded to a halt.

  Torchlight.

  Voices.

  Royal knights flooded the corridor ahead.

  “There!” someone shouted. “Stop!”

  The man drew a short blade and lunged forward, striking the first knight across the neck. Another rushed him—steel clashed, sparks flying as they fought in the narrow corridor.

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  He was fast. Desperate.

  But outnumbered.

  A spear slammed into his side, knocking him off balance. He slashed wildly, cutting one knight’s arm, but a shield struck his head, and the world spun.

  He fell.

  Gauntlets pinned his arms.

  “Got him,” a knight said grimly.

  The hood slipped back slightly, but before anyone could see his face clearly, shackles snapped into place.

  “Take him in,” the captain ordered. “Alive.”

  The man closed his eyes.

  The next day, the café near Fiester Academy bustled quietly.

  Akitsu Shouga moved between tables wearing a simple waiter’s uniform—black vest, white shirt, sleeves rolled up. His hood and cloak were gone. His face was uncovered.

  Ordinary.

  He set down cups, wiped counters, nodded politely to customers.

  Outside the window, royal knights marched through the academy gates in greater numbers than usual.

  Right on time, Akitsu thought calmly.

  The bell above the café door rang.

  Akitsu looked up.

  Rhen Calder walked in, orange hair catching the light, Lemon perched comfortably on his shoulder.

  Rhen took a seat by the window.

  Akitsu approached, not missing a step. “Welcome. What can I get you?”

  Rhen looked up at him. “Did you do that?”

  Akitsu blinked. “Do what?”

  Lemon squeaked sharply, staring at Akitsu. “You always do that face when you’re lying.”

  Akitsu sighed. “Are you ordering or not?”

  Rhen smirked. “Small cup of black coffee. And a bowl of fruit for Lemon.”

  “Coming right up,” Akitsu said flatly, turning toward the kitchen.

  As he walked away, Rhen leaned back, watching the academy through the glass.

  That was when the door rang again.

  A girl stepped inside.

  Kaoru.

  She wore casual clothes—a light gray sweater, dark skirt, black tights, her hair tied loosely behind her. Comfortable. Normal.

  Her eyes scanned the café—then landed on Rhen.

  She froze for half a second.

  Then she walked over.

  “…Excuse me,” she said. “You were there during our survival camp, weren’t you?”

  Rhen turned, surprised. Then smiled. “I was.”

  “You told us when it would end,” Kaoru said. “That helped a lot.”

  “I’m glad,” Rhen replied. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “…Thank you,” Kaoru said sincerely. “My class really appreciates it.”

  Rhen inclined his head. “Happy to hear that.”

  She hesitated. “May I ask your name?”

  “Rhen Calder,” he said. “And you are?”

  “Kaoru,” she replied. “Ryozen Kaoru. "

  Rhen’s eyes flickered with recognition—but he kept his expression neutral. “Nice to meet you.”

  Kaoru sat across from him. “Can I ask… how did you know when the camp would end?”

  Rhen considered for a moment. “Personal connections.”

  “…With the academy?” she pressed.

  “With Itsuki Shiraishi,” he said calmly.

  Kaoru blinked. “The headmaster?”

  “Yes.”

  “…That explains a lot,” she murmured. “Things have been strange lately.”

  Rhen nodded. “They usually are before they get worse.”

  Kaoru smiled faintly. “Well… I’m still grateful.”

  They spoke a little longer—about nothing important. Weather. Travel. Small things.

  Eventually, Kaoru stood. “I should go. Thank you again.”

  “Take care,” Rhen said.

  She left the café, the bell chiming softly behind her.

  Moments later, Akitsu emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray.

  He set down the coffee and fruit. “Here you go.”

  Rhen glanced at him. “Kaoru just came by.”

  Akitsu didn’t react outwardly. “…I know.”

  “You didn’t come out,” Rhen said.

  “I didn’t plan to,” Akitsu replied quietly.

  Rhen studied him. Then nodded. “Probably for the best.”

  Lemon squeaked thoughtfully.

  Outside, Kaoru walked away, unaware of how close she’d been.

  And inside the café, Akitsu returned to work—just another waiter, hiding in plain sight as the city tightened around itself.