June 23, 1617 Central Calendar, 13:00

  Ministry of Ancient Sorcerous Empire Countermeasures, San Redentore District, Runepolis, Holy Milishial Empire

  Administratively, MOASEC's research centers were categorized into four branches: Aerial Systems, Ground Systems, Naval Systems, and Magic Technology Systems. The latter functioned as both the foundation for developing core technologies used by the first three and as the hub for planning and advancing future capabilities. Naturally, its responsibilities were heavier than those of the other departments—though so was the compensation.

  Although the three older Roguerider siblings made notable contributions in their respective fields, the fact that their younger brother, Meteos Roguerider, was placed in the Magic Technology System Development Facility—where he demonstrated his abilities and even boosted the department's output significantly—spoke volumes to those unaware of his true circumstances, marking him as a rare prodigy. Among those impressed was his childhood friend, Walman Falkenhausen.

  In the Second Timeline, he was the first person Meteos thought of partnering with, sparking their collaboration on inventions aimed at attracting the government's attention and securing a clear path to greatness, as Meteos described it. At the same time, Meteos made sure their bond stayed cordial, avoiding the souring rivalry that, in the original timeline, ended with Meteos heartbroken as he witnessed Walman's death at the hands of the Gra Valkas Empire's super-battleship, the Grade Atlastar. In truth, Meteos' choice was partly selfish—he simply couldn't bear to see his friend die in such a humiliating way. The fact that Walman's survival also spared him from being mocked in both the mortal world and the higher realm was merely an added benefit.

  A similar situation unfolded in the Third Timeline's version of the above events, only this time Walman's family migrated to Runepolis shortly after he was born and the boy grew up alongside a vastly different environment than Leiden. If anything, Walman's value as the sole promising talent able to keep pace with Meteos, eventually earning an invitation to join the MOASEC as one of its youngest members—stood out even more, since he had risen from a much tighter competition since the very beginning.

  Despite Meteos' reservations about the higher being interventions outside his control, Walman Falkenhausen was arguably better off in this Third Timeline. That was final.

  Earlier, while arranging the workstation he shared in alternating shifts with his silver-haired partner, Walman was approached by a slightly older researcher, somewhere in his mid-twenties.

  "Hi, Walman. The preliminary report on the Astral Foam testing, as requested."

  Walman's head snapped up from the half-sorted documents on the tableside, a spark of genuine excitement cutting through his concentration. The Astral Foam test. With so many other projects crowding his mind, he had nearly forgotten it was scheduled for today. "Already? That was fast. Thanks," he said, accepting the hard copy and the datapoint containing the results with eager hands.

  As he slotted the datapoint into the console on the desk, the idle holographic projection (or 'screensaver,' as Meteos called it) immediately switched to display the detailed test results. The other man didn't leave, instead crossing his arms and leaning against a neighboring terminal, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched for Walman's reaction.

  The brunette boy's eyes scanned the data, his composure melting into a look of surprise. The projection displayed a section mentioning the Astral Foam's kinetic energy dissipation properties that reached a level of 60% even under almost nonexistent mana conditions. Which meant the material wasn't just resistant; it was actively neutralizing the force of a bullet or shrapnel impact, converting a potentially lethal strike into little more than a powerful shove. In terms of personal protection technology, it wasn't a mere incremental improvement but a huge leap.

  Astral Foam was a new material developed for next-generation military bodysuits. Woven from ultrafine orichalcum metal threads that had been magically treated to vibrate and scatter energy upon impact, it could be powered to its incredible defensive capabilities even with the minimal amounts of ambient mana a standard soldier could passively channel.

  Even without mana, it was already as flexible and light as cloth (despite being metal) and offered sufficient baseline physical protection against bullets. Since energy cannot be destroyed, in itself the dissipated energy would travel somewhere, with that somewhere is almost always through the body wearing the armor. However, said next-generation Battle Dress Uniform was said to incorporate various other means to safely bleed off the energy and dampen the concussive shock anyway, significantly reducing damage inflicted on the wearer.

  What Walman couldn't know was that Astral Foam was not the pinnacle, not even close. In Meteos' inherited memories, it was only a diluted shadow of the true monster of a fabric, the 'Pedanium Hexa Line.' A substance so absurd in its properties that even meteoric advancements like Astral Foam seemed tame in comparison. Meteos had deliberately stripped it down, restraining its more terrifying qualities to something that could be passed off as revolutionary but still plausible. The official line was that it was being developed to upgrade Battle Dress Uniform undersuits for frontline soldiers. In truth, its development was also an exercise in managing the public and enemy's perception. Especially the enemy, the Annonrial Empire.

  Lastly, as for why it was named "Foam," despite being a synthetic fiber made of magical metal threads, nobody knew except for Meteos. His naming sense was as unique as it was weird.

  "This is very good. Better than expected, huh?"

  The older researcher chuckled softly, pushing off from the terminal he was leaning against.

  "It's a strong step forward indeed. But it's not yet ideal. The dissipation rate plateaus under sustained, high-kinetic energy barrages, and the mana draw, while minimal, isn't zero. There's room for optimization before we can call it perfect."

  "So, the mass-production will be delayed?" Walman commented.

  Walman had a talk with Meteos about it once. He called it the "Second-Best Tomorrow" approach—the idea that a good-enough solution fielded today is better than a perfect one that never leaves the lab. Could it be that the MOASEC is relapsing to that culture?

  To his surprise, however, the researcher shook his head, his knowing smile returning.

  "Oh, it's not quite that. This is an exercise of the Second-Best Tomorrow, just a more advanced iteration of it. Our baseline technological level has climbed so high that what we consider a 'practical' solution now would have been a 'perfect' one a few years ago."

  The explanation made sense to Walman. It was a nuance he hadn't considered, that the definition of "good enough" was a moving target, constantly elevated by their own breakthroughs. The sheer performance of the Astral Foam was mind-boggling, and it begged the obvious, forbidden question. He knew the answer would be no, but the sheer absurdity of their division's workflow made him ask anyway.

  "Okay, but..." he started, a playful grin spreading across his face. "But it makes me wonder. The Ministry tells us to design something with specs that look like pure fantasy and then, like magic, the production teams actually deliver the product. None of us designers ever see how it's actually made. So, what's the secret? Can I take a peek at the factory floor?"

  It might sound ridiculous, but the production division simply told the designers "Trust me bro" and refused to elaborate. They were lucky they could actually deliver, but if they weren't...

  The older researcher let out a chuckle.

  "If only it were that simple. I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. The 'how' is so far above my clearance it might as well be on the moons. But, to answer your question: could you see it? Theoretically, yes. Someday. Maybe."

  'If your best friend allows it, though...' he added in his mind. If even one of Meteos' closest people was kept in the dark regarding the Cauldron technology, the White Lotus Leader wasn't joking around with secrecy. Come to think about it, with the exception of the White Lotus Leader himself, none of his secretive cabal's members were underage children, so it must be because of that.

  "Alright, then. You enjoy the report, I'll return to my post."

  "Thanks, by the way," Walman called out.

  "Anytime!"

  With a nod, the man went on his way, already scrolling through data on his tablet.

  Alone again, Walman turned back to his own workstation. This part of the workplace was less a sterile white box and more like a comfortable den for obsessive inventors. Even before the Finance Ministry stopped fiercely contesting the MOASEC over allegations of overfunding, the accused Ministry already spared no expense here in providing amenities for its members. There were facilities such as recreation spaces, a kitchen, new ergonomic chairs designed for marathon research sessions, and widespread usage of holographic projectors that made data dance above desks like tame auroras. For all the seriousness of their mission, the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed, almost homey.

  For a moment, he pondered to himself about the Ancient Ministry's upward trend as of late.

  Too good to be true? It was natural to think so. But what else was MOASEC if not an institution meant to create things that defied conventional expectations? These days it followed the "Second-Best Tomorrow" principle and aimed for workable solutions instead of obsessing over perfection from the outset, but the very act of chasing improbable possibilities in search of the perfect answer was precisely the sort of work this Ministry was founded for. As the world's leading power, the Holy Empire had no true peer to measure itself against, so its only benchmark was the very notion of an ideal state of being.

  And what did "ideal state of being" mean? For certain esoteric circles of wizards, it was nothing short of 'Godhood.' To them, the diligent pursuit, practice, and advancement of magic to reach enlightenment was a path to grasping the essence of "God," comparable to religious rites. Seen in this way, the "Holy" in the Holy Milishial Empire sounded less like empty pomp—after all, they were the first to elevate magic from occult subject into science and the world's most advanced nation. Though, that conclusion was right for the wrong reasons.

  After finishing reviewing the report, Walman stretched his arms and pulled up another dataset. It was his turn on shift, after Meteos had spent the previous one laying the groundwork to improve the Astral Foam to surpass the current specifications. Now that the result was known to exceed the minimal requirements, Walman could work in an even more relaxed pace than before.

  Then, another older man ambled over. He had a relaxed gait and a countenance that softened upon seeing the brunette concentrating. It was Hirkane Valpe, a senior researcher and a familiar face around here, often acting as a liaison between the departments, and more often than not, the chauffeur for the Ministry executives as a side gig.

  "Walman? What are you doing here?" Hirkane asked, leaning against the edge of the workstation with an air of casual curiosity.

  Walman blinked, looking up from the shimmering data streams. His confusion was genuine.

  "I'm... working? It's my shift."

  He gestured vaguely at the holographic models of Astral Foam structures still rotating slowly above the desk. At that, Hirkane chuckled.

  "No, no, I mean here, in this building. I was just over at the Aerial Systems hangar. They're setting up for that big technology integration initiative with new private corporations, right? Quite the spectacle. Saw Mrs. Robin right in the thick of it, too. I figured you'd be there as well, seeing the new toys."

  "Oh, that," Walman snorted, shrugging dismissively. "They're just setting up, right? Meteos and I might pop by when the actual event starts. Maybe."

  Hirkane's smile turned teasing.

  "Not even a little bit interested in getting a sneak peek? There's a model for the Mass Driver over there. It's supposed to be revolutionary."

  "Hn..."

  Walman didn't even look up this time, his fingers tapping parameters into a simulation program.

  "It's boring without Meteos," he deadpanned. "And if I show up alone, Teacher will just grab me and put me to work hauling something. Or worse, make me network with corporate executives."

  "Now, now, young one. Politics may be tiresome, but it's not something to be underestimated, you know?"

  "Exactly why I won't show up alone. My dad is a corporate bigwig himself, I'd rather run blunt-impact tests all day. Besides, me picking my answers for your every line right now is already politics."

  A hearty chuckle escaped Hirkane as his features softened.

  "Fair enough, lad. I'll leave you to it, but if you feel like visiting, just give us a holler. They'll allow it."

  "I know, the higher ups will give me an 'observation assignment' of sorts. But yeah, thanks in advance."

  Reaching out to ruffle the youth's hair, the man then bid his goodbye and went on his way, his footsteps fading into the low hum of the facility. Left alone again, Walman tapped a command and pulled up a simulation overlay. But even as he worked, his mind occasionally drifted elsewhere.

  'What's Meteos up to right now, anyway...?'

  ?????

  MOASEC Ground System Development Facility

  During the inspection, the Lieutenant Colonel from the Holy Milishial Imperial Army observed the bustling activity inside the hangar. The Ancient Ministry crew went about their tasks with an almost overly cheerful demeanor, showing little sign of seriousness. Being newly assigned and accustomed to a different kind of atmosphere, unlike the Military Affairs Ministry bureaucrat standing nearby, the officer couldn't help but feel uneasy. To him, it was as if he had stepped into a playground for overgrown children—however improper.

  The officer's sense of exasperation only deepened when a low, satisfying whine filled the hangar. The sound unmistakably came from the smooth resonance of a cutting-edge magic engine. Moments later, one of the MOASEC crew maneuvered an angular vehicle in shiny gray paint into the bay, parking it with a flourish beside another of its kind. The crewman driving it beamed as he dismounted, as though he had presented a festival float rather than a war machine.

  "Lieutenant Colonel, your expression hardly suits a man whose institution is about to receive such an upgrade."

  The Military Affairs Ministry bureaucrat glanced sidelong at the officer, hands folded behind his back.

  "My apologies. Just wondering what to do with these new things, sorry if my reaction come out as inappropriate."

  'Whiners,' the bureaucrat snorted inwardly.

  It wasn't as if the Army's complaints had come out of nowhere—compared to the other branches, they had always been stuck with outdated gear relative to others. The Navy, in particular, seemed to get every shiny toy the excavated technologies could offer, while the unfortunate Army was left to make do. Small wonder they'd gained a reputation as the loudest complainers, since the others had little reason to grumble. After all, it was the Army that handles most monster encounters, the lingering horrors of the Ancient Sorcerous Empire. The lack of their aquatic and aerial equivalents made the Navy and Air Force instead parade their strength to keep the other countries in awe of the Holy Empire. Still, their constant griping was tiresome.

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  And now, after finally receiving proper gear to fight with, they were whining again—this time because they didn't know how to handle it? What a troublesome bunch.

  But ultimately, the bureaucrat somewhat agreed with the officer. Their eyes drifted back to the vehicle resting proudly under the hangar lamps.

  "Well, Lieutenant Colonel, I cannot say your sentiment is wholly misplaced. But unsettling the people is the Ancient Ministry's duty, so I suppose it can't be helped."

  The newly parked vehicle was called Pattern 17 Heavy Armored Fighting Vehicle, also known as the Galberos. Supposedly the successor to the Pattern 15 Bizorm, which appeared as a novel concept a mere two years ago, the Galberos embodied the sort of massive leap in einherjar (tank) design that could only come from sudden, cryptic advancements traced to ancient technology.

  Where the Bizorm was armed with a 52 caliber 105 mm cannon, the Galberos sported a powerful 55 caliber 120 mm Spirit Evo magic cannon. Its hull was larger and heavier, while the turret was more angular in design. The traces of the Bizorm still could be discerned in the Galberos, but it felt like the MOASEC had just skipped several stages of development to create this new model, rendering the Bizorm obsolete even before it was introduced. And then there was the matter of its variant. Clad in the new material, the Pedanium Galberos was said to shrug off any punishment short of divine wrath. In recent exercises, a single Pedanium Galberos had stood against multiple Bizorms and not only survived but obliterated them in what observers called an almost casual manner.

  Only last year, the Army had been working on integrating einherjars into its military strength. Now, just as the ink on those plans had begun to dry, the rug was pulled from under them. Predictably, the sudden shift caused a slight uproar within the Army's ranks. Fortunately, the plan hadn't advanced so far that it couldn't be salvaged.

  "But still, if they keep changing equipment so often in an obscenely short timeframe, wouldn't it adversely affect logistics?"

  The bureaucrat, sensing the Lieutenant Colonel's spiraling concerns, cut him off with a wave of his hand.

  "Do not trouble yourself with the production lines, officer. That is already taken care of brilliantly, I must say. I heard that the Bizorm mass-production will not stop, and some units would serve to fool the Annonrial Empire by making flashy displays. Meanwhile, your new Galberos units will train in secret. Let the world believe we are modernizing; they need not know how we are modernizing."

  "Instead of words, it would be better if we can confirm their production lines ourselves."

  "No can do, the confidentiality is enforced by His Majesty himself," the bureaucrat shook his head. "Well, let's just say they're produced using magic!"

  Hearing that carefree remark, the Army officer dryly commented in his mind that at last they've reached the Navy and Air Force's level... in terms of flashiness.

  "Speaking of which, what of the Bizorms already in production?"

  At that, a thin smile spread across the bureaucrat's lips. The Lieutenant Colonel raised an eyebrow, swearing that he could hear the signature sound of a cash register from somewhere.

  "They're going to reinforce the World's Defense Line, I guess?"

  ?????

  Goldras Sea on the 67th Parallel North

  In preparation for the upcoming Apocalypse, that is the fight against the Ancient Sorcerous Empire, the Holy Milishial Empire never stopped its preparations, even as MOASEC's unhinged developments causing disruptions in established military doctrine. After discreetly claiming the Hyperborean Circle as their hidden training ground, the Holy Empire began conducting intensive drills there as well.

  Rather than commanding from CIC, Yponavarch (Rear Admiral) Rudolph Tachyon, the commander of the Imperial Guard's Surface Strike Group Shadow Moon, chose to stand on the bridge of his flagship, the brand-new ADOR Type 11 battleship Tlaloc, observing the naval exercise that was taking place. Her sister ships Llumu Qhimil, Calaklum, and Kukulcan sailed in line ahead formation, escorted on either flank by the Guard's cutting-edge cruisers and destroyers.

  "Contact!" the voice of the communications officer rang sharp through the bridge. "Message from destroyer Taurus Ballista: underwater contact bearing 182, range eight thousand."

  "Alright. Commence anti-submarine drill."

  While the rest of Shadow Moon maintained formation, the ADOR Type 031 Flight I destroyer Taurus Ballista spent the current exercise session detached from the main fleet, running anti-submarine drills. These were devised with what they know about the Annonrial Empire in mind, which was infamous for its policy of sinking any vessel that dared venture near its so-called Absolute Kill Zone. Since the destroyer was far enough from the main fleet that it was unseen even from the bridge, requiring nearby units' cameras to provide visuals, there was no real reason for Tachyon to be up here aside from his wish to take in the scenery of the seas near the north pole.

  "Airopter away."

  On the distant destroyer, an aircraft was scrambled from the flight deck on its stern, taking off vertically with its engines screaming as it climbed and banked sharply towards the designated coordinates. As it reached the target, a cylindrical object tumbled from its underbelly, plunging into the frigid depths with a quiet splash. That was a sonobuoy, a piece of technology used in modern anti-submarine warfare.

  Compact and self-contained, the device houses a sonar system within its canister. The moment it strikes the water, it comes alive: the lower portion, equipped with a hydrophone and transmitter, sinks to a present depth, tethered by a cable, while the upper section floats on the surface, serving as both antenna and beacon. With the VTOL releasing an active sonobuoy into the waters where the contact was suspected, the hunt was now underway.

  Tachyon watched the tactical display as the sonobuoy activated, its signal painting a picture of the submerged contact. The data streamed back to both the Taurus Ballista and the Tlaloc, confirming the target's course and depth. And then, in an imitation of an Annonrial submarine, the contact started an emergency dive.

  Once the sonobuoy confirmed the presence of a moving target beneath the waves, the VTOL overhead released another cylindrical device. A parachute steadied its fall before it pierced the sea's surface with a subdued splash. This was an anti-submarine guided torpedo—its seeker activating the instant it entered the water as the propulsion kicked in. Not long after, the ocean shuddered with a violent tremor, followed by a column of froth and spray erupting upward. Below, the submarine-shaped drone was ripped apart, its shattered remains drifting down into the abyss.

  "Enemy submarine destroyed. Mission complete."

  "Well, that was quite realistic," commented the Tlaloc's captain, reflecting on the boldness the higher-ups' decision for this inaugural anti-submarine warfare exercise.

  After capturing the Annonrial Rahab-class submarine 069 not too long ago, the Tarpian Rock Secret Base proceeded to thoroughly dissect the boat down to the minute detail and replicated it through the Cauldron to create aggressor drones for ASW training, known as 'Pattern R' U-boats. Accounts from their new Annonrial friends provided know-how on the submarine's operation, allowing the exercise to closely simulate an actual confrontation with the enemy. The drawback, however, lay in the limited scope of available intel—an issue expected to remain until further disruption missions within the Annonrial Empire bring in more data to verify.

  "...But won't we just end up cluttering the sea with wreckage every time we run an exercise?"

  "Hah!"

  Tachyon barked an amused laugh.

  "Of course not. That's what the recovery crews are for. Who knows? Maybe they'll even stumble across an undiscovered Ancient technology while they're at it."

  "Amen to that."

  "Everything's going well so far," the Yponavarch murmured, "but it would be preferable if the others finished their training soon..."

  "Ah, it's rather quiet even on here."

  It was true. A battleship of the Tlaloc's size was estimated to require a crew of around 1.800 to 2.000. Yet on this massive vessel, the bridge with its handful of officers and the Combat Information Center below deck were the only pockets of human activity.

  Such was the new reality of the Holy Milishial Empire's military. With the advent of the Cauldron technology and the LEGION system, the Holy Empire managed to maintain a reasonable degree of combat strength by relying heavily on unmanned vehicles, even as it struggled to phase out obsolete equipment in favor of far more advanced weaponry. The result was a military that had undergone a massive leap in technology and scale, but now possessed a staggering ratio of 20% effective human personnel to 80% LEGION units, with the remaining manpower still undergoing intensive training.

  Tachyon's murmured comment about the others finishing their training soon was a reflection of this new paradigm. The "others" were the human officers and specialists needed to command and operate alongside the drones. The Holy Empire's strategic aim was to, as quickly as possible, bring the human-to-LEGION ratio to 40:60 or even an ideal 50:50. This wouldn't mean reducing the LEGION, but rather doubling the military's total size and effectiveness with its current, and gradually expanding, human manpower. They were rapidly building a gargantuan golem fist, but they urgently needed more human minds capable of guiding it.

  "One more thing..."

  "What is it?" Tachyon glanced at the captain.

  "Evolving our military might is only one half of the problem, isn't it? The other is to keep the enemy from realizing the true extent of our strength until the moment we choose to reveal it."

  "Indeed. For now, the Holy Empire seems to rely a great deal on misdirection and carefully controlled appearances. This period is a gift. With the next major event not until next year, the government is most definitely going to pull maneuvers under the guise of preparing for the next World Conference. I can feel it."

  "I see, that makes a lot of sense. So, is the Holy Empire still going to invite Annonrial? That would be funny."

  Tachyon tilted his head.

  "I don't know, but actually it's better for them to come, more Annonrial friends for us."

  "Still, to think those backward-looking and reclusive people hides so much scorn to humanity."

  "Mostly," the Yponavarch corrected with a lopsided grin. "But yes... 'they are not people,' they said. That's how you start oppressing others."

  In a sort of joking, self-deprecating way, the Holy Milishial Empire was becoming increasingly self-aware of its overbearing nature, but having been exposed to a large amount of information regarding the Ravernal Empire, they would rather kill themselves than start thinking their fellow sentient beings as less than people. Appropriating Devil technology for the defense of humanity doesn't mean they must emulate Devil behavior too. To begin with, their overwhelming pride was rooted in skill issue (technology), not speciesism.

  "Well, shame that we Imperial Guards aren't going to receive any spotlight any time soon."

  "Hah, what are you, Captain, attention-starved?" Tachyon teased before turning to the communications officer. "Alright, Communications Officer! Signal the Marauder Unit that we're ready for the next round!"

  While the commanding officers exchanged such lighthearted banters, the naval exercise under the quietness of the extreme northern frontier continued. Receiving the request from Shadow Moon, the drone control ship/submarine fleet leader of the Marauder Unit sailing nearby issued commands to the Pattern R submarine drones on standby.

  ?????

  14:00

  Runepolis Magic Academy

  Nearing their destination, Meteos was greeted by the nostalgic sight that stirred a faint smile. Directly ahead stood an arched gateway, crowned with an ornate crest, beyond which green-roofed buildings rose above the brick wall dividing the premises from the street.

  "Here again."

  "Never strikes you as a nostalgic type," Arthur Arkland, his current traveling companion, cast him a brief sidelong glance and offered the remark before turning back to the checkpoint officer. "Already missed attending classes?"

  At that, Meteos genuinely chuckled.

  "No. By the end I considered them a chore. I only stayed to... follow my siblings' path."

  "Like your brothers and sister, huh. That's amazing. You people made it sound so easy."

  "Yeah..."

  And so, as soon as the mirth came, it quickly evaporated dry like a morning dew.

  After the downward spiral that was his first live, the impatience to reach a fitting stage for his reforms had led him to treat this institution as nothing more than a stepping stone toward greater ambitions. Even that, however, had been wrenched away from him, leaving behind a lingering awkwardness that was his burden alone to bear, neither cathartic nor agonizing.

  Still, it was his world-famous alma mater, the Runepolis Magic Academy. To simply attend was enough to be counted among the elite; to graduate with accelerated distinction, as Meteos Roguerider and Walman Falkenhausen once had, was to etch one's name among the celebrated luminaries. Even if he now viewed it as but one of his many tools, he held a certain respect for it as an instrument that helped him achieve his ambition.

  After parking and stepping out of the car, Meteos drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Runepolis was in the midst of summer, with pleasant air all around. It won't do to keep less-savory thoughts living rent-free in his mind.

  "Well, spending the time feeling nostalgic is not why I'm here, anyway," Meteos turned at his senior with a lopsided grin. "No, I'm here to talk about future matters."

  "How very considerate."

  Knowing the meaning behind Meteos' words, Arthur replied dryly, yet with a small smile playing on his lips.

  "Honestly, Mr. Arkland, I sometimes envy you and Teacher. Working in the same place and sharing the same world must simplify things."

  "Thank you."

  With a nod of gratitude, Meteos turned and walked into the familiar hallways of the academy, stopping just short of a closed doorway. Positioning himself by the wall next to the window and peeking through the glass, his eyes instantly found her.

  Nadia Smirnova sat in the middle of the third row, focused and sitting with a prim and proper posture. Her pen flew across her notebook, capturing every word the professor uttered. As Meteos had noted, she was noticeably the youngest person in the room, a fact accentuated by her serious expression and the slight frown of concentration that made her look both incredibly studious and endearingly youthful. A small, fond smile touched the reincarnator's lips. She was in her element.

  Meteos simply waited in silence, leaning against the wall, watching her. He waited through the professor's final points, through the rustle of students preparing to leave, and through the dismissive announcement. He waited until the lecture was truly over.

  As the room erupted into the controlled chaos of students gathering their belongings and filing out, Nadia carefully capped her pen and slipped it into her bag. When she finally stepped out into the hallway, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she almost walked right past him. Her mind was clearly still on the lecture.

  "........."

  ".......!!!"

  Meteos pushed himself off the wall and made himself known, sheepishly raised his eyebrows and shrugged as the golden-haired girl stopped in her tracks and her cerulean eyes widened in surprise.

  …………

  After that encounter, Meteos led Nadia outside, turning to her as he began the conversation.

  "Sorry for coming unannounced."

  Nadia's giggle rang like silver chimes, and she looked up at him with curious eyes.

  "I'm always happy to see you. Do you have business with the Academy today?"

  Meteos shook his head, his countenance softening yet turning more serious. "No, not with the Academy itself. I'm actually here to tell you something."

  "...Me?"

  The silver-haired boy gestured for them to walk slowly along the tree-lined path as he began.

  "You know about the work at the Ancient Ministry. It's... entering a new phase." He chose his words carefully, weaving the official narrative with fragments of truth. "The world is developing rapidly, and the government is urging our Ministry to lend its expertise to friendly nations as well."

  Nadia listened intently, her brows knit in thought.

  "International cooperation... that sounds like a very important duty. And if they are choosing you for such tasks, then the Ministry must be truly remarkable, Meteos," she remarked, voice filled with genuine admiration and a touch of pride.

  "Thank you. But that's the heart of it. This means business trips abroad, like the one from before... they're going to become much more frequent. And likely longer."

  He watched her, waiting for her reaction—for any sign of disappointment or hesitation. He saw the initial spark of surprise in her cerulean eyes, followed by a moment of quiet processing.

  But ultimately, what she displayed was a gentle smile of understanding. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his before settling into a comforting hold on his hand.

  "Do you... feel guilty telling me this?"

  "...That obvious?"

  "Well, yes. But Meteos, I understand. Besides... I didn't fall in love with you—only to become a chain that holds you back. The fact that you went all the way just tell me this, I appreciate it."

  "........."

  For a moment, Meteos could only look at her in silence, relieved. Such decisiveness. And being stared at with such intensity, an adorable hue of pink crept up to Nadia's cheeks.

  "J-just wait for me to work together with you, okay? I... I'm trying my best too..."

  "...Thank you, Nadia."

  The girl's words were like a gentle chisel against the cold stone encasing his heart. She spoke with sincerity so untainted that he almost felt ashamed.

  'I can't tell you the truth. You wouldn't fathom the depths I've already sunk into manipulating this world, the role I've accepted as a villain cloaked in noble pretense... But I will never betray your trust. No matter how far I fall, Nadia Smirnova, I'll strive to be the one you believe I am.'

  …………

  Seeing Meteos walking toward him already, Arthur cocked a questioning eyebrow.

  "Was the result favorable?"

  The boy hummed thoughtfully, but raised his head and chuckled.

  "She's... sometimes I feel that she's just too good for someone like me."

  "I see. Hey, Meteos."

  "Hm?"

  "About what you say earlier... You know, when I and Robin met, we were already neck-deep in... less fortunate circumstances. If anything, I find you two rather enviable yourself."

  "I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side, huh..."

  "So it would seem. Then, what now?"

  Meteos' gaze zeroed at him as he smirked. And so, it was time to delve back to political machinations as the leader of the White Lotus.

  "Do you feel like visiting Parpaldia, Mr. Arkland?"

  As a fellow empire born from the ashes of a brutal warring states era, the Parpaldia Empire under Leonius nurtured the dream of becoming the August Star of Heaven's equal, bound by a one-sided sense of kinship. Henceforth, despite the Holy Milishial Empire's Island Chain Diplomacy cutting off Parpaldia's maritime invasion routes, it was merely restrained, glaring at the Holy Empire with resentment. Now, however, the time had come to finally tame the rampaging Dragon of Philades.