The highest floor of the First Academic Building was not listed on any public map. A narrow staircase led upward, winding tightly between stone walls, the air growing cooler and heavier with each step. At the top stood a reinforced door, dark and imposing. No windows. No banners. Only the faint glint of polished obsidian furniture catching the dim glow of a single hanging light.

  Beyond it, a long table stretched across the room, its surface reflecting sharp streaks of light that cut through the shadows like knives. Nine figures were present.

  At the head of the table sat Itsuki Shiraishi, the headmaster of Fiester Academy. White hair pulled neatly back, posture straight despite her years, eyes sharp and calculating—nothing escaped her gaze. Around her sat the Eight Flags of the Kingdom, Fiester’s highest authorities, each wearing the weight of responsibility like armor.

  To her right, the Captain of the Royal Knights, Gideon Falk, sat rigidly, clad not in armor but in a dark, disciplined uniform. His presence was heavy, unyielding, like stone in a room of whispered schemes.

  One of the figures cleared his throat, voice echoing slightly in the austere chamber.

  “The emergency council of the Eight Flags will now begin,” said Hoshin Kurobane, the Gold Flag, deep and ceremonial, reverberating with authority.

  Itsuki folded her hands atop the table. “Thank you. We have little time.” Her eyes swept the room, measuring each gaze, searching for doubt or hesitation.

  “The distribution of Ashveil is expanding,” she began. “Faster than anticipated. More citizens—students included—are gaining access.”

  A murmur rippled through the room. Concern, fear, and disbelief intermingled in hushed tones.

  Elira Vayne, the Blue Flag, tilted her head thoughtfully. “Is this limited to Fiester?”

  “No,” Itsuki replied, voice even but cold. “Reports confirm similar activity in neighboring kingdoms. This is not an isolated incident.”

  Raiden Solcrest, the Yellow Flag, clenched his jaw tightly. “Then we are facing an organized network.”

  “Yes,” Itsuki agreed. “And their production has improved. The quality and quantity of Ashveil have increased significantly over the past few days.”

  Gideon’s frown deepened. “Meaning they’ve stabilized their process.”

  “Or found a better one,” added Mireya Thorne, the Green Flag, voice steady but wary.

  Valen Kyr, the Red Flag, slammed a fist lightly against the table, the sound sharp in the tense silence. “Then our first priority is containment.”

  “We’ve already failed at that,” Lysandre Quill, the Pink Flag, replied, adjusting his gloves with deliberate precision. “Our patrols and schedules are being leaked. Every step we take is anticipated.”

  Itsuki nodded solemnly. “Which brings us to our next point.” She straightened, exuding a controlled authority.

  “From this moment on, patrols, investigations, and task forces will operate under compartmentalized orders.”

  Raiden raised an eyebrow. “You mean—”

  “No one knows the full plan,” Itsuki finished. “Teams will receive instructions only when necessary, nothing more. This is how we prevent further leaks.”

  Elira frowned. “That will cause confusion. Miscommunication could be disastrous.”

  “It will stop leaks,” Gideon said firmly, voice low but decisive.

  Hoshin inclined his head. “If someone is feeding information to the enemy, they can only leak what they know. Compartmentalization limits exposure.”

  Valen crossed his arms, jaw tight. “Risky. But necessary.”

  Mireya leaned forward slightly. “What about the cult?”

  The room seemed to grow colder, the tension nearly tangible.

  Itsuki’s voice lowered, calm but heavy. “The cult calls itself The Ashen Cradle.”

  Several Flags stiffened.

  “They believe Fiester Academy is the foundation of the kingdom’s power,” Itsuki continued. “And that by collapsing it, the rest will follow.”

  Raiden muttered under his breath, “Fanatics.”

  “They are not acting alone,” Lysandre interjected. “Their dead members in the sewers—someone cleaned them up.”

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  Gideon’s jaw tightened visibly. “Which means the syndicate producing Ashveil and the Ashen Cradle are cooperating… or using each other.”

  A heavy silence fell across the chamber. The only sound was the faint scratching of quills and the soft shuffle of papers. Then Gideon spoke again, voice deliberate.

  “If Ashveil is so effective… perhaps we should consider using it ourselves. Controlled usage. If it’s easy to acquire—”

  “No,” Itsuki’s voice cut through the room like steel.

  “Absolutely not,” Valen snapped, eyes flashing.

  Elira shook her head sharply. “That drug erodes willpower. It is poison in any hands.”

  Mireya added quietly but firmly, “Using it makes us no different from them.”

  Gideon exhaled, a long, measured sound. “I had to ask. For strategy’s sake.”

  “You should not have,” Itsuki replied sharply. “This council exists to protect Fiester, not damn it.”

  The Captain bowed his head slightly. “Understood.”

  Itsuki closed her eyes briefly, letting the weight of the council’s decisions settle over her. When she opened them again, her gaze was hard and resolute.

  “This war will not be won quickly,” she said, voice low, deliberate. “But it will be fought in shadows.”

  The chalk scratched against the board. “Today’s lesson will cover Applied Political Ethics,” the teacher announced. Kaoru sat by the window, notebook open, but her mind was elsewhere.

  Ashveil. The cult. The leaks.

  Her pen paused mid-sentence. How deep does it go?

  She glanced around the classroom. Students listened, took notes, whispered quietly to one another. The normal rhythm of school life carried on—oblivious.

  The bell rang. Class ended. Kaoru packed her things quickly and stood, tension coiling in her shoulders.

  That evening, she followed her new patrol route, personally assigned by Miyazuki Ashen. Her boots clicked softly against the stone pavement as she moved outside the male dormitories, hands tucked into her blazer pockets. Her eyes scanned shadows, doorways, and rooftops, sharp and alert.

  Nothing. Too quiet.

  She frowned. If I were hiding something…

  Kaoru moved along the side of the building, climbing the external stairs to the roof. Wind greeted her, tugging at her hair and blazer. The campus stretched beneath her, silent and serene, but she knew appearances were deceptive.

  Then she froze. In the distance, atop the Third Academic Building, she saw a silhouette. A figure. And then—they jumped.

  “What—?!” Kaoru bolted across the rooftop, adrenaline fueling her speed. She leaped down the stairs, racing full tilt toward the third building. Her boots pounded against stone, echoing off the walls.

  She reached the spot. Nothing. No sound. No body. No trace.

  “…Gone?” she whispered, unease curling in her stomach.

  Her eyes darted around the building. Then—“Kaoru?”

  She turned sharply. Another student council member approached, amber lantern light spilling behind her. Hana Kurosawa, third-year, reconnaissance division.

  “Hana,” Kaoru said quickly. “Did you see anyone?”

  Hana shook her head. “No. What happened?”

  “I saw someone jump from the roof,” Kaoru explained, voice low. “But they vanished.”

  Hana’s brows knit together. “…That’s not possible.”

  Kaoru’s eyes narrowed, scanning the ground. “Unless there’s another way out.”

  “Like underground,” Hana murmured, a shiver in her voice.

  Kaoru nodded. “Secret passageways. Sewers. Something.”

  Hana exhaled softly. “We’re not ready for that yet.”

  Kaoru let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “…Yeah.”

  They stood in silence for a moment. The campus was peaceful under the evening sky, lanterns glowing warmly. Students laughed in the distance. For now, nothing happened.

  And somehow—that felt more unsettling than danger.

  Kaoru straightened, resolve hardening. “Let’s report what we saw. No conclusions yet.”

  Hana offered a faint, understanding smile. “Careful as always.”

  They walked back together. Above them, the academy remained calm.

  Below it—secrets waited, silent and patient.