The following morning, under the direct orders of the Emperor, Syura, in his battered state, was transported from the military encampment to the royal palace's prison. His swollen face barely resembled a human's face after the savage beating he had endured at Garou's hands. The palace guards carried him without much care, their expressions blank, their pace unhurried. The man had committed a crime serious enough to warrant his imprisonment, and though few pitied him, the procedure still had to be followed. Medical attention would be given, not out of kindness, but to ensure that he lived long enough to be properly sentenced.
It did not take long for the news to reach Prime Minister Honest. The moment he heard whispers of his son's capture and subsequent incarceration, he wasted no time in marching toward the palace, his plump form moving with a speed that belied his usual sluggish demeanor. A serious look rested in his eyes as he entered the Emperor's chamber, he was confident that this was simply a misunderstanding that could be smoothed over with the boy. His son was an immoral man, sure, but imprisonment and waiting for a sentence? That was excessive. Syura may have committed some crimes or offenses, but he was still the Prime Minister's son. No one had the right to lay a hand on him, let alone throw him into a prison cell like a common criminal.
As he stepped into the throne room, the young Emperor sat on his throne, flanked by Budo, his ever-loyal general, and several royal guards. Honest quickly schooled his features into a mask of exaggerated concern, his beady eyes widening with well-practiced fake worry.
"Your Majesty, I have heard the most troubling news," Honest began, his voice dripping with honeyed concern. "My son, my dear Syura, has been imprisoned under your order. I must confess, I am utterly perplexed. Surely, there has been some mistake?"
The little Emperor met his gaze with an uncharacteristic firmness. The past few weeks had changed him. Garou's influence had done what no tutor, no minister, and no courtier could—transformed a naive boy into an emerging ruler.
"There is no mistake, Prime Minister," the Emperor replied, his voice steady. "It saddens me to inform you that your son has committed a severe crime against my teacher, Garou. He has been imprisoned accordingly."
Honest's well-practiced mask barely faltered, but a flicker of genuine surprise passed through his gaze. Of all the things he had expected, this was not one of them. He had thought perhaps Syura had slighted the emperor or was brazen enough to do something in front of the emperor. But Garou? Syura had dared to cross Garou? After all the effort he put into telling his son about Garou and warning him to be careful.
"My son?" Honest chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Your Majesty, surely you must be mistaken. My Syura is no angel, I'll admit, but what crime could he possibly have committed against Garou? And where is the evidence of such an accusation?"
The Emperor's expression remained unchanged. "He kidnapped my teacher."
For the first time in years, Prime Minister Honest found himself momentarily lost for words. He blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened to speak then closed without uttering a word. Then after seconds of confusion, very slowly, his lips parted, and he let out an incredulous laugh.
"Kidnap who?" Honest scoffed. "Garou?"
The room remained silent, and Honest's laughter died in his throat as he realized no one else found the claim amusing. His expression twisted slightly as he searched the faces of those present, only to find Budo nodding in a serious confirmation.
Budo took a step forward, his massive frame looming. "It is true, Prime Minister. Your son used his Teigu's trump card to forcefully bring Garou from another world into ours. He did this in an attempt to recruit him into some twisted team he was forming."
Honest's thoughts churned, trying to make sense of the information. Garou… from another world? The very idea sounded absurd. But then again, nothing about Garou had ever made sense. From the moment he appeared out of nowhere, the man was an anomaly—a force of nature unlike anything the Empire had ever seen. But Syura? He had been the one responsible? The weight of the revelation settled heavily on Honest's shoulders, but what troubled him more was the implication. Garou's presence had disrupted everything. His influence over the Emperor was growing, his strength was undeniable, and his very existence was a thorn in Honest's carefully maintained control over the palace. And now, to learn that all of this was the fault of his own son…
Honest took a slow, measured breath.
"I see," he finally said, his voice eerily calm. He knew exactly what kind of son he had raised. There was no crime Syura hadn't indulged in—murder, extortion, torture, slavery—but this time, the boy had outdone himself. Unwittingly, he had delivered the greatest obstacle Honest had ever faced right to his doorstep.
However, his simmering rage settled quickly, Honest recalled his recent conversation with Syura. His son had no knowledge of Garou at the time. That meant there was a possibility of misunderstanding—perhaps even an unfair accusation.
"Your Majesty, is there any proof of this claim?" Honest asked carefully. "My son's Teigu manipulates space—it can send and retrieve objects across great distances. But bringing people from another world? That is not within its capabilities."
"A fair point, my minister," the little emperor replied, his voice composed. "But the proof lies in Syura's own admission. He boasted about it right in front of my teacher. I was there, as was General Budo and several royal guards. We all heard him say it himself."
The Prime Minister's fingers curled into his robes as a slow, simmering rage boiled beneath his skin—hotter, fiercer than before. That incompetent, reckless little bastard. Every frustration, every worry, every ounce of lost control over the past weeks—it all traced back to Syura's foolishness.
Honest didn't doubt the emperor's words. He knew exactly what kind of ruler the boy was. Despite his young age, he was above petty lies. And with General Budo as a witness, the claim became undeniable. The stubborn general was a man of honor, one who would rather die than stain his name with falsehoods.
That unfilial animal. Syura had brought Garou into this world—had thrown an uncontrollable force into the heart of the empire—and then had the gall to lie to his face.
For the first time since entering the room, Honest's face twisted, dark and seething with barely restrained fury "Your Majesty, such a crime cannot be ignored. I believe Syura must face execution for his actions. A painful death is a must"
A stunned silence fell over the room. Even the Emperor himself blinked in shock, his young mind struggling to process the sudden shift in tone. He had expected resistance, pleas for mercy. But execution?
Even Budo's normally stern demeanor faltered for a brief second. "You would call for the death of your own son?"
Honest turned toward Budo, his lips twisting into a grim smile. "He has committed a crime, has he not? A crime that has caused great disruption to the Empire. We must set an example. If even my own blood is not above the law, then what greater testament to justice can there be?"
The Emperor hesitated. "Before we discuss punishment, we need to find out how Syura did it. So my teacher could return to his world."
Honest blinked, the fire of his rage momentarily dimming. Then, suddenly, his expression brightened.
"Of course, Your Majesty!" Honest said, his voice almost gleeful. "You are wise beyond your years! It would be foolish to dispose of him before we extract such valuable information. I completely agree! In fact, I insist upon it."
He almost laughed. If Garou could leave, then perhaps there was still hope to salvage what little control he had left. But for now, Syura would remain imprisoned. Honest would make sure he suffered for his stupidity, and once the information was extracted, he would personally ensure that his own son met a fitting end.
A weight lifted off Honest's shoulders, and a twisted smile stretched across his lips. Things had taken a turn, but perhaps, just perhaps, he could turn this to his advantage after all.
______________________
Syura sat slumped against the cold, damp wall of his cell, his swollen face throbbing with pain. The guards' words echoed in his head—accusations so absurd he almost laughed, if not for the iron bars that confined him. He knew what he was—a vile man, a predator who thrived on cruelty—but this? This was pure injustice. He had committed countless atrocities, but kidnapping some crazed bastard from another world? That wasn't one of them. And yet, no one cared. No one even entertained the possibility of his innocence, despite how ridiculous the claim was.
Worst of all, his father hadn't come. No help, no message, nothing. His father had abandoned him. If not, then why was he still rotting in this cell? The realization gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He was alone. The silence of the dungeon pressed down on him, suffocating and cruel— he even felt this was a mockery by fate itself for all the power he had, for all the crimes he committed.