The west side of the kingdom slept uneasily. Narrow streets twisted between old stone buildings, their walls blackened with age. Lanterns hung sporadically, swaying slightly in the wind, casting long, trembling shadows that stretched across cobblestones worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Shops had long since shuttered their windows, the smell of stale bread and smoke lingering faintly in the air. The only sounds were the rhythmic tap of boots against stone and the distant, lonely cry of a night bird.

  A patrol of royal knights moved in formation—six in total. Their armor glinted faintly under lantern light, polished steel catching faint reflections from distant fires and moonlight.

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

  “Yes, sir,” another replied, voice firm yet wary.

  Among them walked a knight whose red hair peeked from beneath his helmet, tied loosely at the back. His eyes—sharp, sly, almost fox-like—never reflected the lantern light the same way as the others’. Every movement, every step, was precise. Too precise.

  They turned a corner into a darker stretch of road. The shadows seemed to grow heavier, almost alive.

  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 with chilling calm, “Orders change.”

  He pulled the blade free. Blood spilled onto the stones, warm and sticky in the dim light.

  “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 drop low, slicing through the back of his knee. The man screamed, collapsing in agony.

  “You bastard!” a knight roared, charging forward.

  Steel clashed, sparks flying in the darkness. The loyal knight fought with strength and skill, but hesitation betrayed him. The traitor did not. He twisted his blade, slammed his shoulder forward, and drove the sword through the man’s chest with mechanical precision.

  Another attempted to retreat. The red-haired knight lunged, grabbing him by the collar and slamming his head against the stone 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. “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 lying in the moonlight, 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. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of wet earth and old stone.

  A man in a hooded cloak moved quickly through them, boots splashing lightly through shallow water. Every step was measured. His breathing was controlled, muscles coiled with tension.

  Then—Bzzzt.

  The bracelet on his arm vibrated sharply.

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

  He cursed under his breath and broke into a sprint, the echo of his boots bouncing off the narrow walls. 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 clashing with steel, sparks flying as the two collided in the confined space.

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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, spinning him around. 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. Alive,” the captain ordered.

  The man closed his eyes, breathing shallow and controlled, as he was escorted through the damp corridors.

  The next day, the café near Fiester Academy bustled quietly. Sunlight spilled through the windows, illuminating the warm wooden tables and polished floors. The smell of fresh coffee and baked goods filled the air.

  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, and nodded politely to customers. Outside, through the café windows, 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 moved with the casual confidence of someone who knew the city’s veins better than most.

  Rhen took a seat by the window. Akitsu approached without 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 faintly. “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.

  The door rang again. A girl stepped inside. Kaoru.

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

  Her eyes scanned the café—and landed on Rhen. She froze for half a second, then walked over.

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

  Rhen turned, expression neutral at first, 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. Ryozen Kaoru.”

  Rhen’s eyes flickered with recognition—but his expression remained 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—weather, travel, small, ordinary things that didn’t matter in the shadows looming over the academy.

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

  “Take care,” Rhen said.

  The bell chimed softly as she left the café.

  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 asked.

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

  Rhen studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Probably for the best.”

  Lemon squeaked thoughtfully.

  Outside, Kaoru walked away, unaware of how close she’d been to danger—and how easily shadows moved around her.

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