Forth High School, Hallway Outside Combat Simulation Wing
Sallie's coat hung loose on his shoulders, blue fabric creased from how he stuffed it into his locker earlier. His black slacks were tucked sloppily into combat boots, not regulation, but no instructor bothered anymore. He walked with his hands in his pockets, his CAD—a sleek black briefcase—clamped to his thigh. His glasses slid down his nose as he tilted his head toward Celeste.
"I'm just saying," Sallie said, voice lazy. "If they didn't wanna get clapped, they shouldn't have brought a Kriss Vector to a gun fight."
Celeste kept pace beside him, straight-backed, her uniform pristine. Red skirt aligned, black tie knotted exactly under her collar. She gave him a sideways glance, tone clipped. "You spent half the match rambling about 'bullet drop rate,' and the other half quoting your weird self-insert sci-fi monologue while stabbing a woman who throws holographic playing cards."
"That monologue is part of a four-book arc, thank you. And I stabbed her with the Imperial Haxor, lore-accurate."
"You made that up yesterday."
He shrugged. "Lore's gotta start somewhere."
They passed rows of lockers and a vending machine with flickering lights. Students filtered out of the simulation wing, talking loudly about the duels, some still wearing their CADs.
Angela Castillo leaned against the wall near the entrance, hair damp with sweat. Short blue bob tucked behind one ear, glasses fogged. Her coat hung open, red dress wrinkled. She raised a hand as they approached.
"You two are insane," Angela said. "Three wins in a row? Did you rehearse that sync kill on match three?"
"No," Celeste said flatly. "He just copies my casting style and improvises with nonsense."
"It's called adaptive mirroring. Like jazz, but violent," Sallie added, stopping next to her.
Angela gave a slow clap. "Seriously though, that last team? Guy with a Kriss CAD and a card caster? I thought they'd outpace you."
Sallie grinned. "He kept aiming center mass like I wasn't redirecting his spell vectors. Classic rookie fps tunnel vision."
Celeste crossed her arms. "I baited the card caster into a forced engagement range. He leapt in front of her like a moron."
Angela's eyes widened. "Wait, he bodyblocked?"
Celeste nodded. "And Sallie used him as a mana conductor."
"Haxor Impaler, version 3," Sallie said, holding up three fingers.
Angela blinked. "Didn't you use version 2 last round?"
"Version 3 has glowing runes and screams in Latin."
"You saw who's up next week?" she asked, tapping her finger halfway down the sheet.
Celeste scanned it. "Yeah. Imperial Duel Round Four. We'll probably be facing you guys."
Angela nodded. "I watched their match earlier. Weak front-line defense. They stretch their cast range too far. You'll break them easy if Sallie flanks."
"Assuming he doesn't get distracted designing a flamethrower from a toaster."
Sallie rolled his eyes. "Hey, I haven't done that in weeks. Besides, it was a microwave, not a toaster."
Angela snorted. "Honestly, you two are terrifying when you click. I'm kinda dreading our match."
Celeste blinked. "What?"
Angela held up the bracket again. "If we win next round, and you win yours, we'll meet in the semifinals. I'm teamed with Arwen again."
Celeste stared at the page, silent for a second. She exhaled through her nose. "Tch. Arwen's still using that six-seal bloom CAD?"
Angela nodded. "Still annoying as ever. She's trying to mask her cast delays with a three-second loop illusion, but I'm stuck covering her long startup."
Sallie made a face. "So... support-tank comp? One caster, one distraction." He rubbed the back of his neck. "God. I really don't wanna face you. It's like punching someone's pet hamster."
Angela stared at him. "Wow."
"Like, in a sad way. Not a cruel way."
"You're awful."
"I know."
Celeste adjusted her gloves. "You won't be punching anyone. I'll be the one dismantling the illusion. You'll flank and suppress."
Sallie didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted toward the windows lining the hall. Sunlight filtered in. He tugged on his collar. "Still doesn't feel right."
Celeste stopped walking. "Why?"
"Because she's your best friend?"
Angela raised an eyebrow. "You think I signed up for this thing to not get blasted?"
Sallie raised his hands, surrendering. "Just saying. No hard feelings when I open with a mana sink chain and sweep your CAD, alright?"
Celeste stepped forward, face unreadable. "Don't hold back."
Sallie looked at her. "You're annoying. You're sloppy. But you win fights. So do it properly."
Angela smiled. "Yeah. Hit me hard. Otherwise, I'll just make you trip over your own fantasy monologue."
Sallie muttered under his breath. "Bet."
Angela folded the bracket and slipped it back into her coat. "Guess I better prep for a rough match."
After Angela left, the two were started their discussion about the next match.
Sallie kept his eyes forward, voice low. "Still doesn't feel right."
Celeste didn't reply right away. She walked a few steps ahead, then slowed until they were side by side again.
"Yeah," she said. "It doesn't."
Sallie's hands were buried in his coat pockets. He kicked a scuff on the tile floor. "If it were up to me, I'd skip it. Take a DQ, let her move on."
"You know that's not an option."
"I know." He exhaled through his nose. "If I throw, House Salcedo comes down like a boot. They'd lock up my whole room. Every gaming rig, every draft file. Gone."
Celeste gave a short nod. "They'd take my grimoires. My sword. Reassign me to auxiliary duty."
"They'd split us up too." Sallie glanced at her. "Right?"
She looked ahead. "Probably. I'd be moved to a clean-up unit. You'd be stuck running logistics in some basement, maybe re-education if they feel like punishing the name."
Sallie muttered, "I'd lose everything. You. My stories. The ranks. My set-ups."
Celeste said nothing. The hallway stretched ahead, lockers silent, classrooms sealed.
Sallie's tone flattened. "Feels rigged. Win, and I punch your best friend in the gut. Lose, and I get turned into a House puppet."
Celeste stopped at a corner, hands behind her back. "We were born rigged."
Sallie leaned against the wall. "That doesn't make it easier."
"No. But we don't have a choice."
He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. "If I hit her too hard, you're not gonna hate me, right?"
Celeste glanced at him. "If you hold back, I'll hate you more."
"You sure about that?" he asked. "You really want me going full tilt on her? Not pulling anything back?"
Celeste looked at him.
"I mean it," Sallie said. "You're not just saying that because it sounds strong or noble or whatever. I'm talking about the real version. Haxor mode. No second-guessing. I drag her to the ground, rip her CAD out of her hand, and cut her illusion cycle to pieces."
She didn't flinch.
"She'll cry, probably," he added. "You've seen her. When Arwen's sync spell fails, she panics. You think she's ready for that? You think you're ready to stand there and watch that happen?"
Celeste exhaled through her nose. Looked down at her gloves, then started pulling one tighter around her wrist.
"She trained with me. Same drills. Same punishments. Same pressure. We all signed the same forms."
"That's not what I asked."
She pulled the other glove tight. "You want me to say I'm okay with it? I'm not. But if you hold back, and she finds out, she'll blame herself. And if we lose, the House'll make sure neither of us walks again without a chain on our backs."
Sallie rubbed the back of his neck. "You ever think this whole system's just... broken?"
"All the time."
They stood there for a beat. Celeste didn't say anything. Sallie's hand lowered.
"I've seen you tear through illusion fields like they're glass. She won't stand a chance."
Celeste looked at him again. "You're not supposed to give her a chance."
Sallie stared at her. Eyes narrowed. Lips pressed into a line. "Okay. You want me to end it fast, or draw it out?"
"End it clean. One strike. No dragging."
He nodded once, slow. "Got it."
"Alright," he said finally. "For the match… I'll take Arwen."
Celeste gave him a look. "You sure?"
Sallie nodded. "She's running Bloom-Type CAD. Wide spread, big range, no close defense. I can disable her without turning her spine inside out."
"You think you can get past her channel guard?"
"Yeah," he said. "She relies on static formations. Once she sets her field, she holds ground. All I gotta do is bait out a wide-cast and flank while she's recovering." He tapped the side of his head. "It's just another AOE zone trap. Seen it in games a hundred times."
Celeste raised an eyebrow. "That's your plan? Treat her like a dungeon boss?"
"Better than treating Angela like target practice." His tone dropped a notch. "I don't wanna fight her. Not really. I've watched you two for years. You think I'm gonna square up and slam your best friend into the floor like it's a scrim? No shot."
Celeste didn't argue. She looked at the floor.
Sallie went on. "If I take Arwen and pull her pressure off Angela, you'll have the room to disrupt the illusion cycle and isolate her. Fast engagement. No prolonged hits. Clean takedown. You don't have to hurt her."
Celeste stayed quiet for a moment. Then she spoke. "You trust me to finish it clean?"
"I've watched you end matches in under ten seconds."
"You're being sentimental."
Sallie grunted. "Yeah, well. She's not just your friend. She gave me her charger cable that one time when my briefcase CAD blacked out."
Celeste blinked. "Don't laugh. That's friendship."
"I'm not laughing."
They reached the stairwell. Sallie leaned against the rail.
"I'll handle Arwen. No flame rounds. No charge bursts. Just clean disruption, force her to eject."
Celeste nodded. "And I'll take Angela."
Sallie glanced at her. "You okay with that?"
"No," she said. "But I'll do it anyway."
A soft hum pulsed from Sallie's thigh. The briefcase CAD blinked to life—thin blue lines pulsing along its edges. He tapped the top panel, opened the notification feed, and muttered, "Oh, nice. New comment drop."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "What now?"
He didn't look up. "Update went live earlier. Chapter twelve. The one with the orchard scene."
She sighed. "Is this about that weird book you write again?"
"It's not weird. It's literary." He scrolled through the comments, squinting. "Wow. That one got attention fast."
Celeste crossed her arms. "Let me guess. The one where the nine-year-old builds a mana cannon to impress the seventeen-year-old noble with no social skills."
"It's character-driven," he said, still scrolling. "Iris is a prodigy. Seraphina's just emotionally repressed. It's not about the age thing, it's about emotional development and—hold up—this comment's gold."
Celeste groaned. "I don't want to hear it."
But Sallie already read it aloud.
"'idk man, if iris is smart enough to build a transdimensional flower engine she's smart enough to know kissing on the cheek ain't platonic. this is enemy mage propaganda and i'm here for it.' Username… 'Sageburn87'."
Celeste stared at him. "Why do you let strangers talk like that about the stuff you write?"
He smirked. "Because they get it. Sageburn87's been commenting since chapter four. Real one."
Celeste rubbed her temple. "You've got a war match next week, and you're still writing nonsense about emotional flower engines and noblewomen who don't know how to talk to children."
"It's about bonding, Cel."
"You need therapy."
"You need taste."
Notifications scrolled past in rows—likes, bookmarks, and long-winded feedback stacked under the latest chapter.
He tapped the region filter. Comments snapped into groups.
"Alright… let's see how the internationals are reacting." He murmured.
First came the USNA block.
One comment in all caps read:
"IRIS IS LITERALLY A WAR ASSET. SHE'S A STRATEGIC-CLASS WAIFU. PROTECT HER AT ALL COSTS."
Another added:
"Seraphina is giving cold-blooded Stars officer energy. Is this secretly a military psy-op disguised as yuri?"
Sallie nodded slowly. "Honestly not wrong."
He scrolled again. One user from the East Coast:
"Chapter twelve wrecked me. That last line—'I built the engine so you'd never have to be alone in winter again'—yeah, I felt that in my ribs."
Next up: Japan.
These were more restrained. A few highlighted Iris' dialogue syntax, dissecting her emotional reasoning.
"The balance between logic and affection in Iris' behavior shows a deeper subtext. It's unusual but well-framed."
Another:
"Seraphina's rejection of noble tradition through Iris is a subtle critique of inherited social roles. Impressive."
Sallie tilted his head. "Okay, philosophy majors."
Then the global wave—Europe, ASEAN, and scattered IPs from unknown proxies.
From France:
"Iris is not child. Iris is idea. The idea of untainted affection through intellect. I weep."
A tag from Britain:
"If this ends with Seraphina dying in war, I'm deleting my account. Don't do this to me, author."
And one flagged from an unrecognized IP, location scrambled:
"You've built something unsettling and beautiful. These two exist on a wire between genius and madness. Keep going."
Sallie grinned, then muttered under his breath, "They get it."
Behind him, Celeste was still halfway down the stairs, arms folded. "You're really standing there reading fanmail about emotional engines while we're prepping to fight my best friend."
Sallie turned the CAD screen off with a tap.
"Yeah. Gotta stay sharp."
Celeste stared for a few seconds, then dragged her palm down her face in slow motion.
"Are you serious right now?" she muttered.
Sallie didn't answer. He was too busy squinting at another paragraph-length comment. The CAD's screen bathed his glasses in pale blue light.
Celeste pointed up at him. "We're on a match roster. Quarterfinals. Imperial Duel Tournament. And you're up here reading fanfiction feedback like it's mission intel."
"It kind of is," he said, not looking up. "Field reports on emotional payload delivery. Evaluating narrative damage. Critical reception metrics."
"Stop talking like that."
"Too late. Already drafting a sequel in my head."
Celeste exhaled, stepped back up, and grabbed the edge of his coat. "No. Focus. You are fighting Angela. Angela Castillo. My best friend. You remember her? Blue hair, soft voice, loaned you her charger when your CAD crashed last month?"
Sallie tapped the screen off. "That was a pivotal moment in my life."
Celeste stared blankly. "You are mentally twelve."
"Emotionally, maybe. But narratively? I'm writing from a place of depth."
"It's a story about a nine-year-old who builds a love-powered doomsday weapon so a seventeen-year-old noble girl stops feeling lonely."
"She also dismantles class hierarchy through applied theoretical empathy."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "You said she tries to kiss her in chapter thirteen."
Sallie raised a finger. "Tries. Keyword. There's a difference."
"You're an idiot."
"An idiot with over nine hundred active readers."
She smacked the back of his head lightly. "You better have a plan that isn't using Iris and Seraphina's bond as a metaphor for our battle strategy."
Sallie rubbed the spot, unfazed. "Too late. I was gonna say you're Seraphina—cold, disciplined, emotionally armored—and I'm Iris—chaotic, genius, emotionally reckless."
Celeste raised her hand again.
He stepped back, hands up. "Fine. No metaphors."
She stared at him a beat longer, then turned away, heading back down.
Sallie waited a second, then muttered just loud enough, "Still think Angela would like the orchard scene…"
Celeste didn't look back. "If you send her that story before the match, I'll file for mental instability on your behalf."
---
Location: Camp Foster, Okinawa — Forward Coordination Bunker
Inside the reinforced JSDF-USNA joint operations center, air recyclers hissed under dim overhead lights. Tables were cluttered with maps, mana field readouts, and satellite recon prints. The room smelled of coffee, sweat, and ozone—too many bodies and not enough ventilation.
A pair of USNA officers leaned over a digital terrain board, red holographic overlays marking possible IFRP amphibious landing zones along the western beaches.
"They've gone quiet since Kyushu," said Major Will Sanders, glancing at the latest recon sweep. "Naval movement's flat. Air patrols steady. But we both know that's not peace. It's staging."
Colonel Ishikawa of the JSDF crossed his arms. "They'll hit us through the southwest corridor. Aerial drop or teleportation gate. They won't try a direct storm. Not with our point-defense grid live."
"Still no confirmation from the Fleet Command?" Sanders asked.
"Nothing. They're watching the Philippine Sea. Not Okinawa."
Another officer, JSDF Signals, called out from a terminal. "Intermittent mana signature spikes over East Taiwan Basin—could be feint patterns. Could be bait."
"Or a relay test for something bigger," Sanders muttered.
Monitors flashed overhead with simulation models—projected invasion routes, estimated IFRP Tamaraw Cavalry divisions, possible Strategic-Class spell deployment patterns. All theoretical.
All waiting.
But none of them were talking about the elephant in the situation room.
On a lower monitor, buried between military feeds, a civilian broadcast looped on mute. Colorful graphics. Flashy title card.
"IMPERIAL SOUTHEAST ASIAN GAMES — LIVE FROM METRO MANILA STADIUM!"
Footage played of young IFRP athletes marching in uniform, each carrying school flags, weapons holstered, CADs visible. Pyrotechnics lit the skyline.
Ishikawa spotted it. "They're really doing this."
"Sports festival during wartime," Sanders said. "Is that arrogance, or a distraction?"
"Both."
"No chatter about the Games being a mobilization cover?"
"Nothing concrete," Ishikawa said. "But it's Imperial doctrine. Hide troop deployments under civilian events. Send athletes to Tokyo one week, and they're launching assault spells the next."
He looked over the live footage again.
One girl on the screen raised a mana javelin over her head as fireworks went off.
Sanders shook his head. "The world's watching a sporting event. We're watching the shoreline."
Neither said the obvious.
No one knew which would come first—the gold medals, or the invasion.
The door hissed open. Two figures stepped through in combat-grade JSDF coats, uniforms stiff with recent field wear. Mari Watanabe had a sealed folder tucked under one arm, her boots leaving faint streaks of dried mud on the tile. Kiyoko Fujibayashi followed just behind, expression unreadable behind rectangular glasses.
Colonel Ishikawa straightened up.
"Lieutenant Colonel Watanabe. Agent Fujibayashi."
Sanders gave a nod. "Didn't expect you this early."
Mari didn't waste time. She slid the folder across the table toward Ishikawa, pages clipped and color-coded.
"Direct hand-off. Coordinated JSDF intelligence summary," she said. "Compiled from field assets in Fukuoka, Sasebo, and northern Luzon."
Kiyoko placed a small data module next to it. "Encrypted copy. Same content. Plus intercepted IFRP civilian and military broadcasts."
Sanders pulled the folder open, flipping through.
Photos, comms logs, satellite timestamps. Movement of IFRP cargo vessels, sudden blackout drills across occupied Manila, large gatherings labeled as "training exercises" involving student soldiers.
Mari pointed to one line on the second page. "They're doing the Southeast Asian Games."
Sanders blinked. "Now?"
"Yeah," she said. "Launched it as a 'post-war morale campaign.' Publicly it's framed as a regional goodwill event. Privately it's something else."
Kiyoko spoke next. "The Games were greenlit under the terms of the automated ceasefire protocols. The one tagged after the ASEAN capitulation. By clause, it suspends all formal large-scale hostilities until the Games conclude."
Sanders frowned. "So they're using a ceasefire… to stall and prepare."
Ishikawa looked back at the footage on the muted monitor—marching cadets, spells flaring over stadiums, commentators smiling.
"They're mobilizing under the cover of peace."
Mari leaned over the table. "Athletes from every conquered zone. Cadets from the Philippine high schools. We're talking students with combat deployments. Mixed into a so-called celebration."
Kiyoko added, "Many of them are elite units. Trained in anti-personnel tactics. Publicly labeled as cultural representatives. No uniforms, but every one of them carries a CAD."
Sanders nodded slowly. "So while the world cheers, they're assembling a precision strike force."
Mari met his gaze. "And when the closing ceremony ends—so does the ceasefire."
Mari leaned her hip against the edge of the table, arms crossed, eyes still on the report. "You know what gets me? They didn't even try to hide it. 'Imperial Southeast Asian Games.' Sounds like something out of a dystopian school drama."
Sanders snorted. "Or a knockoff anime. What's next, 'Battle Gymnastics: Tokyo Arc'?"
Kiyoko pushed her glasses up. "The mascots are worse. I skimmed the promo broadcast. One's a Tamaraw with sunglasses. The other's a sentient CAD shaped like a rice cooker."
Ishikawa raised an eyebrow. "You're joking."
Kiyoko shook her head. "I wish I was."
Sanders leaned back in his chair. "And the events?"
Mari gave a faint smirk. "Mixed relay teleportation, precision spell duels, close-quarters CAD wrestling. It's a damn recruiting fair in disguise."
Sanders glanced at the screen again. "Still weird seeing kids in formation uniforms smiling while tossing elemental spears. Like watching a promo for a sports team that's also a kill squad."
Kiyoko shrugged. "That's how the IFRP conditions them. Win medals one day, invade a prefecture the next."
Mari added, "Some of them probably don't even know where the line is anymore. You train a generation in conquest, dress it up as national pride, and call it normal."
Sanders looked at the folder, then tapped a photo of a grinning student holding a fire-coated baton. "You think any of them actually believe it's just a game?"
Mari didn't answer immediately. Then: "Some do. The rest just follow orders."
Ishikawa muttered, "Makes it harder to shoot when they're still technically in school."
Kiyoko's tone didn't shift. "That's the point."
Ishikawa thumbed through another report—this one stamped with a Ten Master Clans insignia watermark. He slid it across to Kiyoko. "Got this from the internal liaison network. Looks like the clans are waking up."
Kiyoko scanned the heading. "Deployment Readiness: Master Clans Contingency Directive."
Mari leaned over to get a look. "Which of them's actually moving?"
"Saegusa," Ishikawa said. "She's on station in Kyoto. Coordinating with the new Defense Circle."
Sanders glanced over. "Mayumi? I thought she was still tied up in central politics."
"She was," Kiyoko said. "Now she's running logistical defense drills and acting as a liaison to clan youth forces. She's not just a figurehead anymore."
Mari tapped the side of the page. "Makes sense. Her family's been handling information flow and internal security. If the invasion comes through Kansai, they'll be the firewall."
Sanders nodded. "Smart pick. She's got range control and battlefield awareness. That laugh's annoying, but her reflex spells are solid."
Kiyoko added, "Ten Master Clans have started calling in reserves. Half are still arguing over doctrine. The other half's quietly mobilizing kids that've barely finished school."
Mari crossed her arms again. "They waited too long. Letting the IFRP breach Tokyo Bay without a full counter-response was a mistake."
Ishikawa looked at the map table. "Now they're playing catch-up. We've got Mayumi drawing up defense grids. Ichijo reinforcing Nagoya's barrier net. Kudou's running internal weapon tests in private labs."
Sanders gave a short chuckle. "Hell of a defense plan. High schoolers, nobles, and military leftovers. That's who's holding the line."
"Benjamin's holding position outside Yokosuka," he said. "Running joint drills with JSDF recon units. Last report said he's been rotating between stealth counter-ops and barrier projection support. No injuries. Still carrying that reinforced CAD rifle."
Kiyoko gave a nod. "Canopus plays it safe. Always has."
Mari raised an eyebrow. "He's Stars' acting head in the region now, right?"
"Unofficially," Sanders said. "They haven't named it outright, but yeah—he's coordinating three units. Angie Sirius hasn't been seen since the last classified burst, so he's next in line."
Ishikawa adjusted his cuff. "What about Arcturus?"
Sanders gave a dry look. "Still pissed off."
Mari smirked. "Sounds like him."
"Alexander's with the Third Unit. Stationed near Sendai. They're running adaptive terrain drills and anti-mount ambushes. Apparently, he's obsessed with Tamaraw Cavalry formations. Studied the Jakarta incident and started modifying combat doctrine."
Kiyoko raised a brow. "So he's planning to tangle with IFRP cavalry?"
"Wants to bait them into overextending on urban terrain. Says he'll use mobility kills and bottlenecks. Something about 'showing colonial throwbacks how modern doctrine works.' His words."
Mari shook her head. "That'll either be a highlight reel or a war crime."
Sanders grinned. "Probably both."
Ishikawa turned toward the last name. "And Regulus?"
"Low profile," Sanders said. "He's forward-deployed with Fourth Recon. Not much chatter. Last signal tagged him running suppressive ops in Nagano outskirts. Focused on data relay sabotage and short-burst magic denial zones."
Kiyoko muttered, "Classic Regulus. Quiet, then catastrophic."
Mari added, "That's the guy who cast a full-layer blackout field inside a compound just to grab one prisoner, right?"
Sanders nodded. "Used six layers of displacement fog and a silence seal. The compound guards thought they were being hit by a Strategic-Class ghost."
"Hell of a cleanup crew," Ishikawa said.
Sanders rested both hands on the edge of the table, eyes narrowed at the data logs on-screen. His voice dropped slightly.
"We got something else," he said. "Came through Arcturus. Quiet channel. Not official report—just a flagged message from internal comms."
Mari glanced over. "What kind of something?"
Sanders tapped the terminal. "Third Unit pulled fragments from debrief chatter. Three Stars—USNA operatives. Not regulars. Second-tier field agents assigned to rear-line support during the Singapore front."
Kiyoko tilted her head. "We didn't get that in the SitRep."
"You wouldn't," Sanders said. "It wasn't sent through Joint Command. The moment Singapore fell, comms got choked. Arcturus dug it out manually."
Ishikawa stepped closer. "What happened to them?"
Sanders didn't answer immediately. He opened a secured file—no images, just text logs and fragment tags.
"They were captured during IFRP's second wave breach. Cornered while evacuating the tech cache near the shoreline. Didn't make it to extraction. No confirmation if they were KIA or detained… until now."
Mari stiffened slightly. "They survived?"
Sanders nodded once. "Yeah. According to Arcturus's contact—they were beaten. Brutally. Not battlefield injuries. Post-capture."
Kiyoko's face went still. "Torture?"
"Likely. Two of them had shattered vertebrae. One was found unconscious with a burst mana core—CAD forcibly detonated during containment."
Ishikawa's jaw tightened. "Where are they now?"
Sanders looked at the others. "Fort Santiago."
The name settled in the room like a dropped weight.
Kiyoko muttered, "That's not a prison. That's an extraction site."
Mari's eyes narrowed. "No trial. No Red Cross tag. No public acknowledgment."
"Nothing," Sanders said. "IFRP marked them as 'unlawful paramilitary intruders.' No POW status. No Geneva coverage."
Ishikawa stepped away from the table. "So they're using Fort Santiago for renditions."
"Looks like it," Sanders said. "Quiet, fast, no oversight."
Kiyoko's voice was cold. "What are they doing to them?"
Sanders didn't look up. "Don't know. No photos. Just audio fragments. Screams. Spell tags. Surge readings."
Mari said nothing.
Sanders shut the terminal, leaned back, and let the hum of the bunker fill the silence again.
"They're not playing games," he said. "Singapore wasn't a battle. It was a message."
---
Location: Fourth High School – Simulation Combat Room 3, Pre-Match Staging Area
The arena lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the polished combat floor. Projected walls flickered in and out of terrain presets—brief flashes of urban alleyways, smoke-covered intersections, rail lines. Waiting for final map lock-in.
Sallie stood on one side of the staging zone, coat half-buttoned, glasses sliding down his nose. His briefcase CAD—Imperial Haxor—rested on the floor next to him, its surface already humming with internal computation. Faint lines of crimson light pulsed along its edges, sync rate rising.
He crouched, popped the latch, and whispered, "Combat config—personal loadout."
The briefcase unfolded. Panels rotated, locking with soft clicks. A short spear extended first, then a kinetic plate shield, then finally the reinforced wrist unit with modular inputs—his custom setup.
Celeste stood to his right, checking the calibration settings on her Grimoire CAD. Runes flickered in her peripheral display, casting quick pulses of light over her face. She didn't speak for a moment.
Then, quietly: "You ready?"
Sallie didn't look up. "Yeah. Just not sure how it's gonna feel walking out of here with Angela on the floor."
Celeste adjusted a parameter on her screen. "She knows what this is. We both do."
Sallie stood, flexed his hand, checked the CAD's lock positions. "Still feels weird. We've had matches before. None like this."
Celeste's eyes stayed locked on her screen. "Angela and I met when I transferred. First person who didn't try to size me up or ask about House Salcedo. She offered me a seat. No questions."
Sallie nodded slowly. "I remember. You didn't talk about her for weeks, then suddenly she was bringing snacks over after drills."
"She helped me train during the Kyoto evaluation trials. Let me test disruptive arrays on her own CAD. I overloaded it twice. She didn't flinch."
Sallie glanced across the field—Angela and Arwen were on the far side. Arwen was bouncing slightly on her heels, loosening her arms. Angela stood still, eyes closed, murmuring to her CAD. No tension. Just focus.
"She's solid," Sallie said. "Better than she looks."
Celeste closed her Grimoire with a flick. "She's more than that."
He turned to her. "You sure you can fight her clean?"
"I owe it to her. She didn't come here for mercy."
"She said anything to you before the match?"
Celeste stared across the field. "Yeah. She said: 'Don't hesitate. I want to win or lose for real.'"
The arena's countdown display flickered to life—SEMI-FINALS: 02:00 UNTIL START—blazing in red over the battlefield.
Sallie adjusted the gauntlet on his left arm, locking the mana coil into place with a click. The CAD's feedback pulsed through his fingers like static.
He glanced sideways at Celeste. "You know the outcome's a dice roll, right?"
She didn't look at him.
"I'm saying," he continued, voice flat, "after this match? Your friendship with her? Could go either way. Best-case, she shrugs it off. Worst-case… she doesn't look at you the same again."
Celeste tightened her jaw slightly. "It's a risk."
"You two used to do lunch after practice. Shared spellbooks. She's the only one who didn't treat you like House property."
Celeste nodded once. "And now I'm about to take her down in front of the entire school."
Sallie exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. That."
Celeste didn't speak for a moment. Then she stepped forward, leaving him behind as she crossed the boundary line toward the opposite prep zone. The match hadn't started yet—pre-combat protocols allowed for neutral communication. Angela stood there, arms folded, Arwen adjusting her card pouch behind her.
Angela looked up as Celeste approached. No smile. Just a quiet nod.
"You alright?" Celeste asked.
Angela shrugged lightly. "About as alright as someone waiting to get hexed by her best friend can be."
Celeste kept her tone level. "You sure you're okay with this?"
Angela gave a tired smile. "Doesn't matter if I'm okay with it. This is what we signed up for."
"You didn't have to enter."
Angela met her eyes. "Neither did you."
They stood there for a second.
Celeste glanced at Arwen, who was watching without speaking, arms crossed now, lips pressed tight.
Angela spoke again, quieter. "If I lose, I want to lose knowing you meant it. All of it."
Celeste nodded. "I will."
Angela looked away briefly, then back. "If we don't talk after this… no hard feelings. I get it."
Celeste didn't answer.
She just stepped back to her side of the field.
MATCH START: 00:00
The arena siren blared.
Terrain shifted into place—cracked railway tracks, debris-littered platforms, rusted cargo containers half-sunken into digital earth. The simulation snapped into full stability as the barrier field sealed overhead.
Sallie moved first.
He broke right along the edge of a collapsed rail line, CAD shield active on his left, mana spear folding into full-length configuration. Heat rippled off the Haxor's emitter vents as it synced with his Elemental Sight. A flash of red marked Arwen's position behind cover—already drawing her card-based CAD.
Celeste advanced straight down center, covering ground fast. Her Grimoire CAD floated behind her, runes cycling mid-air as she layered defensive spells and mana disruption pulses around her feet.
Angela responded immediately—an illusion wave dropped across the field, mist and shadow distorting the Salcedos' line of sight. Terrain blurred. Outlines bent. The simulated train yard twisted under dense visual fog.
"Switching IR grid," Sallie muttered.
"Negative," Celeste said. "Follow my pulse instead."
She fired a disruption flare straight into the mist—mana bloom detonated with a tight ripple, punching a gap through the illusion. Sallie dove through it.
Arwen launched a wave of kinetic cards, spinning in arcs. Sallie deflected two with his shield, dropped into a slide, then flanked left. "I've got Arwen!"
Celeste focused on Angela—who'd already cast two mirror clones across the far end of the platform. Celeste didn't hesitate. She fired a layered mana bolt—not at the clones, but at the ground.
The explosion staggered the illusion field. One clone flickered. Celeste cast again, fingers shifting mid-air. "Sallie, redirect grid-3. Open corridor."
"On it."
He twisted his wrist, spear flipping into short mode. He drove it into the platform, unleashing a shockwave of compressed mana that cracked the debris field. Arwen stumbled, losing her firing stance. Celeste moved in instantly, redirected her support spell, and dumped a mana barrier onto Sallie's blindside.
"Thanks," he said, dropping low and sweeping Arwen's feet with a magnetic pull burst.
Angela retaliated—clone shattered, real self launched a slicing spell toward Celeste's flank. Celeste spun, grimoire screen catching the arc mid-cast. Her counter-spell unraveled the projectile mid-air, sparks raining off the deflection.
"She's doubling her pace," Celeste said.
"Then we push."
Sallie advanced, shield raised, catching Arwen's last card wave. Celeste overlaid a magic spike beneath Angela's next step—forcing her to jump. As Angela flipped mid-air, Sallie fired a suppression pulse that forced her to twist sideways, ruining her landing. Celeste dashed in—blade-form CAD already in hand.
The siblings didn't speak for the next ten seconds.
Celeste launched a sequence of short-cast stuns. Sallie timed each one with wide-range suppressors. She forced the dodge, he closed the gap. When Angela tried to counter, he intercepted the spell line. When Arwen raised her CAD again, Celeste slammed a short-distance distortion field to scatter the cards before they took form.
Each move lined up. Each spell completed the other's rhythm.
By the time Arwen's barrier collapsed, Angela had burned through most of her core charge trying to keep up.
Angela dropped low, kicked off a bent rail tie, and sent a hard-cast light bolt toward Celeste's exposed flank. Arwen backed it with a spread of tracking cards, trying to box Celeste in from two angles.
Celeste pivoted hard, blade-form CAD intercepting one angle—barely. The second bolt came fast. Her mana shield flickered under strain.
Sallie was already moving.
"Hey, Arwen," he called out, voice casual even under pressure. "Nice deck. Mind if I borrow it?"
He sprinted straight into Arwen's firing lane.
Her eyes widened. "Are you insane—?"
His CAD opened mid-run. The briefcase spun, unfolded like a trap. The panel caught two of her active cards mid-air. Arwen tried to eject her CAD module—too late.
The Haxor's surface shimmered. A split-second distortion swallowed the mana imprint from her CAD. The weapon's form twisted—cards converted into a rotating wheel of segmented glyphs now attached to Sallie's forearm.
Arwen's device sparked. Deactivated.
Sallie grinned. "Yoink."
Celeste, mid-duel, shouted without looking, "Don't do anything stupid with that!"
He rolled behind a cargo crate, syncing the stolen construct into his CAD's interface. "Too late. It's mine now. I earned it."
He flicked his wrist—Arwen's former card-based spell engine flared to life, but reoriented for a wide-area stun spread. Mana surged into five new projection points. He sent them straight over Celeste's shoulder.
She ducked instinctively. The glyphs passed clean overhead and detonated mid-air, scattering Angela's illusion veil again and frying her next clone.
Celeste looked back for half a second. "Seriously?!"
"I modded it. Stun cards now have pushback."
"You modded it during the fight?"
"FPS rules. Take their weapon, turn it against 'em."
Celeste didn't argue. She stepped through the opening, slicing through Angela's remaining defense runes with precise strikes. Sallie backed her with another stolen cast—projected silence wave to cancel out countercasting from the side.
They kept moving like gears.
Even while shouting.
Celeste parried a wide strike, ducked, and growled, "Don't mess with the spell tags, idiot!"
Sallie fired a suppression flare past her head. "I enhanced them!"
Angela dropped to one knee, breathing hard. Arwen tried to pull backup cards from a secondary holster—empty. Her casting ring gone. Replaced by a pulsing signal tethered to Sallie's CAD.
"Still your best friend?" Sallie muttered between casts.
Celeste swung wide, disrupted Angela's shield, then answered flatly: "She's still getting lunch after this."
They advanced again, fast and clean, overwhelming in motion—spells overlapping, timing tight. Every step, every cast, sharpened through years of drills and bickering and trust that didn't need words.
Angela tried to fall back—boot scraping metal as she pivoted behind a collapsed girder. Her CAD sparked in her grip, mana channels glowing as she cycled a complex illusion trigger—layered mirror clones, misdirection pulse, movement blur.
Sallie didn't chase. He just flipped the Haxor back to briefcase form with a click of his gauntlet.
"Hey, Cel," he said, sliding under a burst of light from Arwen's fallback cast. "Cover me for two."
"Why."
"Gonna borrow something."
"Again?!"
He didn't answer.
The briefcase locked tight in his hand. Sallie charged through a shockwave, kicked debris aside, and slid hard across the terrain—straight toward Angela's last position. He didn't swing, didn't cast.
He just tapped her CAD.
The briefcase made contact. One solid clang.
Angela's eyes widened. "What—"
"No theft," Sallie muttered. "Just a scan."
A ripple of data shimmered over the briefcase shell. The Haxor pulsed once—absorbing the imprint of her spell format, architecture, and trigger condition. Not disabling it. Just copying. Like pulling a file mid-download.
He kicked off and rolled backward as Angela fired a counter-spell. He deflected it with a spin of the briefcase and dropped back behind a rusted buffer plate.
The briefcase expanded again—new projection module unfolding, Angela's spell imprint mapped into a new interface. The illusion engine converted to a simplified deployable clone system.
"Cel," he called out. "Boost inbound."
She was mid-cast—held back for half a second, just long enough for him to flick his wrist.
Three holographic clone projections burst outward from Sallie's position, racing ahead in divergent vectors—timed to her offensive pattern.
Angela hesitated. Her targeting paused. Celeste moved.
She vanished from direct line of sight, then reappeared behind the rightmost clone. The real one.
Sallie synced again. "Running Angela's pattern. I cleaned up the runtime—yours now."
Celeste didn't respond. She stepped through the gap his timing created and struck hard—Angela barely managed to block it with a mana barrier.
Sallie fell into step beside her again, launching another copied subroutine—Angela's movement blur, tuned to his own mana rhythm. He moved fast. Faster than before. Casts coming clean.
"You gonna yell at me again for modding mid-fight?" he asked.
Celeste fired a chain-bind spell toward Arwen, clipped her shoulder. "Only if you break something important."
Sallie triggered a hard light wall behind Angela, sealing her retreat. "Too late."
Angela dropped low, flicking her hand outward—last-ditch wide-area burst, meant to scatter or blind. Sallie stepped through it without flinching. The copied CAD pulsed in his hand, restructured from Angela's architecture. He'd already re-routed the trigger delay and dumped half the redundant casting loops.
He fired.
A hard-light clone sprang forward, breaking right. Angela's aim snapped toward it. Celeste moved the same instant—her Grimoire cast a silence pulse, blinding Angela's spell trigger path for two seconds.
Sallie used both.
He charged from the opposite side, short spear extended. Angela tried to raise a barrier—Celeste fired a null-beam through the side of her casting field, disrupted it mid-formation.
Sallie didn't slow. He closed the gap, locked the stun node into place, and drove the hilt of the weapon against Angela's shoulder.
Light flared. The simulation engine froze her motion instantly.
Angela dropped, caught mid-step. Locked out.
Arwen turned, cards drawn, but her stance was broken—one foot behind the other, hands staggered from a mistimed reload. She tried to cast.
Celeste stepped in. One clean slash of her mana blade knocked the cards out of sync. She followed it with a precision-stun spell straight to Arwen's center mass.
Arwen seized. The simulation tagged her with a red pulse.
MATCH OVER
Sallie stood breathing steady, CAD still glowing with the remnants of Angela's blueprint. The arena fell silent except for the dull hum of power-down cycles and the voice of the match announcer crackling overhead.
"Victory: Salcedo Pair—Combat Sync Rate: 92%."
He looked over at Celeste. "Did we just do a perfect pincer with two stolen loadouts?"
She adjusted her Grimoire. "You did. I cleaned up your mess."
Sallie rolled his shoulders. "Still counts."
Celeste glanced across the field—Angela and Arwen were frozen in post-capture stasis, their vitals green, no damage taken.
The simulation field powered down. Holograms faded, platforms retracted, and the buzz of ambient mana dropped to a low hum. The arena lights dimmed to neutral.
Celeste walked ahead without looking at Sallie. Her tone was sharp, but controlled. "You yoinked two CADs. Mid-match. In front of the judges."
Sallie adjusted his glasses, briefcase CAD latched to his hip again, still warm. "Correction—I borrowed Arwen's and sampled Angela's. Big difference."
Celeste spun on him. "You hijacked enemy spell structures, reprogrammed them on the fly, and then turned them into your personal artillery."
Sallie shrugged. "That's called adaptation. You've heard of it."
"It's called theft."
"Borrowed. Temporarily. I even returned the mana templates. Left the spell tags cleaner than I found them."
Celeste's eyes narrowed. "You're treating CADs like loot drops."
"They're digital weapons. I treat them like they treat me."
She crossed her arms. "What happens when someone reports it? You're not supposed to override another student's design structure."
Sallie tapped the side of his briefcase. "Didn't override. Just copied. Simulation clause allows passive imprint scans. I just added flair."
Celeste sighed. "You're unbelievable and You're a child."
"Still won, though."
She didn't answer.
Angela and Arwen stepped in—simulation capture locks released. Angela's uniform was scuffed at the sleeves, one lock of blue hair hanging loose. Arwen was re-sorting her cards into their casing, silent.
Angela raised an eyebrow. "You two done yelling?"
Sallie straightened. "Yeah. Just bonding."
Celeste nodded. "Sibling maintenance."
Arwen looked between them. "That's what bonding looks like?"
Sallie tilted his head. "Kind of like a live-fire family therapy session."
Angela cracked a faint smile. "If that's bonding, remind me never to attend dinner."
Celeste relaxed her stance. "We didn't hold back. Like you asked."
Angela nodded. "Yeah. I noticed."
Sallie added, deadpan, "Sorry about stealing your spell design. It was too good not to copy."
Angela replied back "It's fine. The more important is you two fought clean. Brutal, but clean. Congratulations."
Arwen gave a quiet nod, still reorganizing her deck.
Celeste exhaled, brushing her bangs aside. "Thanks."
Sallie grinned. "Appreciate it. You two didn't hold back either. That misdirection field almost had me walk into a live disruption trap."
Angela shrugged. "Almost."
He pointed a thumb at Celeste. "She bailed me out."
Celeste crossed her arms. "Only because you were too busy trying to mod a stolen CAD mid-fight."
"Details."
Angela raised a brow. "What now?"
Sallie looked up, casually. "Lunch."
Celeste's eyes twitched. "You're thinking about food right after we fought my best friend."
"Yeah? Gotta refuel before finals. Mental processing burns calories. Also, you looked like you were one mana burst away from passing out."
Celeste facepalmed. "You are absolutely, undeniably, ill."
"Maybe. But I'm also right."
"You know," he said, glancing sideways at Celeste. "We fight a lot. Like, a lot. Over everything. Meal rations, spell calibrations, anime endings, whether or not grimoire storage should be organized alphabetically—"
"It should," Celeste muttered.
"See?" He gestured toward her, still facing Angela. "That's the point. We're not the same. Not even close. But she's still my sister. Always will be."
Angela tilted her head, listening.
Sallie continued. "When we argue, it's because we give a damn. Because she actually knows me. She's not afraid to call me out when I'm messing up, or pulling some half-baked stunt with the Haxor, or writing questionable stuff into my novel—"
"Half your novel is a war crime," Celeste cut in.
"See? She keeps me grounded."
He looked at Celeste. "You ever wonder why I run dumb spells or rush the field like an idiot?"
"I assume it's because you are an idiot."
Sallie grinned. "Nah. It's 'cause I know you'll cover me. Every time."
Celeste blinked once. Didn't respond right away. Then she exhaled and turned toward Angela and Arwen.
"He's a pain. And reckless. And half the time, I think he was dropped on his head during weapons training."
"Still no proof," Sallie said.
"But…" Celeste paused. "He's always had my back. Even when I didn't ask. Even when I didn't want him to. When things fall apart, he's always there. And he knows I'll be there for him, too."
Angela watched, arms crossed loosely, eyes sharp.
Celeste glanced at Sallie again. "That's how it works. We fight. We argue. We threaten to disown each other every other day. But there's no one I trust more in a fight."
Sallie added, "And there's no one I'd rather walk out of one with."
Celeste nodded once. "We're siblings. That's what it means. Doesn't have to look perfect."
Angela's expression softened, just a little. "It doesn't."
Arwen finally spoke, quiet but clear. "Honestly, that was… kinda cool."
Sallie smirked. "We try."
Celeste rolled her eyes. "Barely."
Angela smirked, watching them walk off. She matched pace beside Celeste. "Hey… is he always like this?"
Celeste didn't look at her. "Like what?"
"Laid back. Joking during fights. Writing strange fantasy stories. Treating battles like game matches."
Sallie snorted from a few steps ahead. "That's called tactical morale maintenance."
Angela raised an eyebrow. "So… yes?"
Celeste exhaled. "He's been like that since we were kids. He'd skip half our drills to mod his CAD for something ridiculous. One time, he programmed it to launch confetti."
"Victory confetti," Sallie corrected. "For when I win. I had a button. Still do."
Angela turned back to Celeste. "And the writing?"
Celeste groaned. "Don't get me started."
Sallie turned slightly, walking backward now. "It's called literary development. Some people train with blades, I train with emotion arcs and character trauma."
Angela gave him a long look. "You wrote about a nine-year-old building a flower engine to emotionally heal a seventeen-year-old noble who can't process affection."
Celeste muttered, "Exactly."
Sallie pointed at both of them. "And it got three thousand upvotes and a fan art commission from someone in Norway. So."
Angela tried not to smile. "So it's real?"
Celeste sighed. "Unfortunately."
"He names the chapters after food," she added.
"Metaphorical food," Sallie said. "Episode eight was 'Strawberry Preserves of Regret.'"
Angela blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Sallie nodded solemnly. "You'd have to read it."
Celeste smacked the back of his head lightly. "Don't encourage her."
Angela grinned, glancing between them. "I'm starting to get it now."
Celeste gave her a side glance. "Get what?"
Angela shrugged. "You're the blade. He's the chaos. Somehow, it works."
Sallie didn't argue.
He just turned forward again, whistling low as they neared the exit doors.
"Lunch before the finals," he said. "If I'm going down later, I'm doing it full."
---
Location: Malacañang Palace – Imperial Throne Hall, Year 2102
The hall was quiet—too quiet for a seat of power. Sunlight filtered through reinforced glass panels, muted by layers of shielding and surveillance-grade enchantments. Red banners bearing the emblem of the Imperial Federal Republic of the Philippines hung heavy against the marble walls. Gold trim lined the steps leading up to the throne.
Emperor Aurelio Mendez III sat unmoving atop the blackened stone seat—no crown, no ornament. He wore his field uniform. Simple, sharp, clean. A ceremonial blade rested at his side, untouched.
The air rippled once.
Then Gabriella Aurelia Mendez appeared in front of him.
Teleportation complete—no delay, no wasted motion. She stood tall, expression unreadable, her long coat falling silent around her boots. The distortion shimmered away behind her.
Aurelio didn't lift his head right away. He studied her.
Then he spoke, voice low but solid. "You're late."
Gabriella kept her tone neutral. "Had to recalibrate the gate anchor. Northern relay nodes were lagging. Japanese jammers again."
Aurelio nodded once. "Status?"
"Stable. Movement through Tokyo is quiet. Local resistance is scattered. No signs of another full-scale offensive."
He shifted slightly in his throne, elbows resting on the stone arms. "Good."
A pause.
Then: "The Imperial Southeast Asian Games. They're scheduled."
Gabriella didn't blink. "Yes, Father. Opening ceremonies begin in three days. Metro Manila Stadium's lockdown is active. Internal security has swept all guest delegations. No leaks."
Aurelio narrowed his eyes. "And the illusion holds?"
"Publicly it's a cultural unity event. Internally it's phase preparation. Cadets are already cycling between event drills and operational tests. Transport teams are running drills under civilian cover."
He leaned forward slightly, voice colder. "Are they ready?"
Gabriella didn't hesitate. "They will be. All participating units have passed combat-readiness. Tamaraw divisions embedded within exhibition teams. Airship deployment routes confirmed. Final orders await your word."
Aurelio leaned back on his throne, the stone creaking slightly under the pressure. His gaze fixed on the floor beneath Gabriella's boots, but his mind was elsewhere.
"What about the southeast Asean Games," he said. "It's working?"
Gabriella nodded. "Yes, sir. International attention is focused on the event. Media saturation levels across the USNA, Europe, and the Middle East have spiked. Headlines frame it as a cultural renaissance. A restored peace effort."
Aurelio's fingers tapped twice against the armrest. "Idiots. They see uniforms, smiles, and pyrotechnics, and forget we burned through three nations to host it."
Gabriella continued. "Morale on the home front is stable. Civilian metrics show a 15% spike in national pride. Youth enlistment apps increased by 11%. Even resistance groups have gone quiet. They're treating it like an actual sports festival."
"And the cadets?" Aurelio asked.
Gabriella pulled a data slate from her coat and flicked a tab open. "All participating schools are running dual schedules. Publicly, they're in exhibition matches and training showcases. Privately, they're rotating through live-fire prep, terrain familiarization, and direct-action simulations."
She added, "We embedded 142 forward-deployment-ready magicians within the athletics rosters. Two-thirds are ranked top percentile in rapid-cast combat. They're set for field redeployment the moment the closing ceremony ends."
Aurelio's voice dropped. "They'll be in position?"
"Yes. Eastern Kyushu, the Nansei Islands, and the Tokai corridor. Target lists have been preloaded. Once the ceasefire lapses, Phase Two of the reclamation begins."
He stood slowly, eyes locked on the Imperial banner overhead. His voice didn't rise, but it carried across the hall.
"The Games are theater. The applause drowns out the sound of engines moving. Of boots loading onto carriers. Of teleportation nodes syncing."
Gabriella's tone stayed flat. "We turn pageantry into preparation. Smiles into staging grounds."
Aurelio asked. His voice, for once, carried a low note of unease beneath the steel.
"The resistance," he said. "Across Southeast Asia. Are they regrouping?"
Gabriella didn't flinch. She straightened, tapping the data slate once more, pulling up a regional map. Territories lit red stretched from Vietnam to Singapore, Brunei to southern Thailand. Flecks of yellow dotted the overlay—marked "unresolved zones."
"They've been active, but fragmented," she said. "Most cells remain isolated. Post-Vietnam purges left command structures in disarray. We've identified three consistent factions—what's left of the Vietnamese Loyalist Core, a remnant force in Sarawak, and a ghost cell operating out of Chiang Mai. The last one's slippery."
Aurelio stopped at the map display, studying it. "Chiang Mai?"
Gabriella nodded. "They're not military. They're intelligence-trained. Counter-surveillance, illusion-casters, cloaked strike teams. Sabotage operations only. No open engagements."
"Who's supporting them?"
"Unknown. Possibly external aid routed through old GAU intel networks. Some signs of encrypted burst traffic suggest a third-party data broker, likely operating offshore. Could be neutral, could be feeding both sides."
Aurelio's jaw tightened. "We missed them during the purge."
"They stayed underground. Never engaged openly. They waited."
He stepped closer to the map, hand resting on the edge of the console. "And now?"
Gabriella shifted screens, bringing up a log of intercepted activity. "Eight sabotage incidents in the last month. One successful disruptor attack on a mana relay in Sabah. Two failed strikes—both operatives killed mid-extraction. They're precise. No loose ends."
"Do they know about the Games?"
Gabriella shook her head. "Not fully. They've mentioned troop movement, but their chatter suggests they believe it's a morale stunt. They're watching, but not ready to strike."
The heavy throne hall doors slammed open—metal hinges shrieking against reinforced stone. The echo cracked through the chamber like a gunshot.
Aurelio turned his head slightly.
Gabriella had already shifted one foot forward, hand subtly raised in case teleportation was necessary.
Boots stormed across the floor—six soldiers in full combat dress from the Imperial Federal Magic Corps. At the front, a female officer moved fast, coat flaring behind her, baliwag hat clipped under one arm.
She halted at the foot of the throne steps, snapped a salute.
"General Mendez. Your Majesty," she said, voice sharp and winded. "Major Clarisse Ventura, 3rd Recon Strike Wing. Apologies for breach of protocol, sir. We have urgent detainment."
Behind her, two of her subordinates dragged forward a restrained young woman—cloaked in a torn infiltration suit soaked from riverwater, hands locked in mana-suppression cuffs. Her hair clung to her face, soaked and plastered down. Blood trickled from a shallow cut on her temple.
Ventura gestured sharply. "Caught her breaching the restricted zone near the Pasig River teleportation scaffold. No uniform, no ID, cloaking spell half-stabilized. She was attempting to mark coordinates."
Gabriella's tone dropped. "Infiltration caster."
"Confirmed," Ventura said. "Unit Alpha detected the distortion signature. She disabled two drones and tried to dump her CAD. Interception spell caught her just past the flood channel."
The restrained woman lifted her head.
Japanese. Young—mid to late teens. Breathing steady. Not resisting.
Gabriella narrowed her eyes. "Name?"
No answer.
Ventura stepped forward. "We found a branded mana tag embedded in her coat lining. It's burned out, but the residual pattern lines match Ten Master Clan encryption—old but still active."
Aurelio stepped forward, one step down from the throne. "You're telling me one of Japan's heir-line magicians crossed our river border during an international ceasefire?"
Ventura straightened. "Yes, Your Majesty. Based on her restraint and magic structure, she's not civilian. Tactical-grade caster. Strong signature. Likely not acting alone."
Aurelio stared down at the girl.
Gabriella's voice was level. "If she's here to mark a jump point or relay position, this isn't an isolated breach."
The girl looked up, hair still dripping. Her voice came out sharp, clipped, unmistakably defiant.
"You're already exposed. The world just hasn't seen it yet."
The words hung in the air—but blank stares followed. None of the IFRP personnel flinched. Confused looks passed between Ventura's squad.
One of them stepped forward—irritated, tired of her tone.
"The hell did she just say?"
Gabriella's eyes narrowed. "Japanese."
The soldier growled, lifted his rifle, and slammed the butt against the girl's ribs. The thud echoed loud. She grunted, but didn't collapse.
"This isn't Japan," the soldier snapped. "You don't get to talk like we owe you a damn word."
Gabriella raised a hand, signaling the man to step back.
She knelt slightly, eyes level with the prisoner. "You speak English?"
Silence.
Gabriella's voice sharpened. "Do you understand me? This is a direct interrogation under Imperial security authority. Speak now."
The girl didn't flinch. Her mouth stayed shut, eyes locked forward—expression carved from stone.
Gabriella rose. "She's trained. Magic suppression cuffs are holding, but she's refusing language sync. Probably has a self-sealed mnemonic block."
Aurelio's expression didn't shift. His voice dropped. Cold. Final.
"She was found marking a teleport scaffold during ceasefire. That's not surveillance. That's preparation."
Ventura stepped forward. "We could break her. Give us time—"
Aurelio cut her off. "No."
Gabriella looked at him, waiting.
Aurelio descended the last step, stood over the girl. "This one isn't a message carrier. She's bait. Time wasted on her is time handed to whatever cell she's part of."
He turned to Ventura. "Public execution. Now."
Ventura blinked. "Your Majesty, the Games—"
"Use the Games," Aurelio snapped. "Slip her into the closing performance queue. No names. No announcement. Just show the crowd what happens to rats who sneak through Imperial walls."
Gabriella didn't object.
She turned to Ventura. "Prep the site. Notify the optics team. No signal identifiers—just raw broadcast."
Ventura nodded, fist clenched tight. "Yes, ma'am."
The girl said nothing as they pulled her back—dragged across the polished floor, boots leaving streaks of river silt.
The throne hall emptied again—soldiers gone, boots no longer echoing. Only the Emperor and his daughter remained, both standing in the center of the vast room. The silence was heavy, settled like dust over old stone.
Gabriella broke it first.
"She crossed a reinforced river checkpoint, bypassed three mana sensors, masked her casting signature long enough to reach a scaffold," she said, voice low. "That's not random. That's trained infiltration."
Aurelio didn't respond immediately. He stared at the floor where the girl had stood.
"She didn't panic," he muttered. "Didn't flinch. Not even when they cuffed her. That's not normal."
Gabriella nodded. "And she didn't speak English. Not even under pressure."
"Could've been faking it."
"No twitch. No hesitation. No instinctive reaction to basic commands. Either she's trained to suppress multiple language responses—"
"Or she doesn't understand a word of ours," Aurelio finished.
He turned to Gabriella. "Then how the hell did she get this far? Through Manila. Past customs, checkpoints, military patrols. How?"
Gabriella's tone stayed measured. "Only three possibilities. One—she came in through an underground relay. Remote-cast or carried by a sympathetic agent. Two—someone inside gave her a bypass route. We've had leaks before."
Aurelio's jaw clenched. "And the third?"
Gabriella met his eyes. "Someone from the Ten Master Clans opened the door."
That lingered.
Aurelio stepped away, pacing slowly now.
"She didn't bring a weapon," he said. "She brought coordinates."
Gabriella nodded. "She was marking a drop zone. Not for herself. For someone else. Or something."
He looked back at her. "And the language block?"
Gabriella exhaled. "If it's real, it means the Master Clans have agents so isolated, so embedded in their own op structures, they don't even bother training them in external comms. That's either arrogance—or they never expected her to get caught."
"Which means she was expendable," Aurelio said.
Gabriella's tone sharpened. "Or they're planning to get her back."
That stopped him cold.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then Aurelio turned toward the door again.
"Double the handlers. Scrub every transit node between Pasig and Marikina. If there's another operative inbound, I want them wrapped in chains before they can breathe our air."
Gabriella gave a short nod. "And the Games?"
"Proceed as planned," he said. "If they want a show… we'll give them one."
Gabriella gave a final nod. "Understood. I'll coordinate with Fort Santiago and tighten the grid. If another asset's in-country, we'll find them."
Aurelio didn't speak, only gave a faint tilt of his head—a signal to proceed.
She turned halfway toward the throne room doors, then paused.
"Also—" her voice softened slightly, "—dinner's at nineteen-hundred. Mother had something arranged. I suggest you show up this time."
Aurelio didn't look at her. "If the world doesn't fall apart by then."
Gabriella gave a faint breath, almost a sigh, but her stance didn't break.
"It always does," she said. "But we eat anyway."
Without another word, she raised her right hand. The air bent around her fingers—light snapped, and a burst of spatial distortion swirled outward.
In the blink of an eye, Gabriella Aurelia Mendez vanished. Teleportation clean. No trace.
Aurelio stood alone in the quiet throne hall once again.
And the silence returned.