Chapter : 245

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The morning sun crept through the dusty windows of the 13th Unit estate, painting golden stripes across the wooden floor of the living room. It was the kind of lazy, peaceful morning that made you want to curl up and forget the world existed.

Ken Eliot was doing exactly that.

He was sprawled across the long sofa like a starfish that had given up on life. His navy blue suit jacket was crumpled on the floor beside him. His tie was wrapped around his wrist like a sloppy bracelet. His shirt was untucked, naturally, and one of his socks had somehow gone missing during the night.

His messy black hair stuck out in every direction, as if a small bird had tried to build a nest on his head and given up halfway through. His mouth hung open. A thin line of drool connected his chin to the cushion.

This was peak Ken Eliot. The absolute pinnacle of laziness. A masterpiece of doing absolutely nothing. If laziness were an art form, Ken would be its greatest living master, celebrated across the Empire for his groundbreaking contribution to the field of sitting still.

Across the room, Sayma sat in her favorite armchair with a thick book propped open on her lap. Her glasses caught the morning light as she turned a page silently. She glanced at Ken over the top of her book, shook her head just slightly, and went back to reading.

Zinia was on the floor near the window, doing slow, controlled push-ups. Her muscular arms moved with practiced ease. She counted under her breath, her voice low and steady. She did not even look at Ken. She had long ago accepted that the boy was a lost cause when it came to physical training.

In the indoor garden just down the hall, Risa was humming a sweet little song to her potted flowers. Her pink hair caught the sunlight and glowed like cotton candy. She watered a small succulent with careful, gentle hands, smiling as if the plant had just told her a joke.

Naomi was in the kitchen, clattering pots and pans with the aggressive energy of a woman on a mission. She was making breakfast for the entire unit, as she did every morning, and she was not happy about it.

"Who left the butter out last night?" Naomi's sharp voice rang through the hallway. "I have told you people a thousand times! The butter goes in the cold box! It is not that complicated!"

Nobody answered. Nobody ever answered when Naomi was in one of her morning moods. It was a survival instinct shared by every member of the 13th Unit.

Ken shifted on the sofa, scratched his stomach through his wrinkled shirt, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. His eyes were still closed. His lips curved into a tiny, content smile. This was his kingdom. This couch. This exact spot. He had claimed it the day he arrived, and he intended to defend it with his life.

Or at least with a very loud groan if anyone tried to move him.

Upstairs, Luna was doing what Luna always did in the morning. She was asleep. The lazy lightning user had crawled under her blankets at some absurd hour the night before and had not moved since. Her silver-blue hair was spread across her pillow like a fan. Her breathing was slow and deep.

A half-eaten rice cracker sat on her nightstand, abandoned when sleep had claimed her mid-snack. Crumbs dotted the pillow like tiny, delicious constellations.

It was, by all measures, a perfectly normal, perfectly lazy morning at the 13th Unit estate. The kind of morning where nothing exciting could possibly happen. The kind of morning that existed purely for sleeping in and eating toast.

Then the living room door swung open.

Ira walked in.

This, by itself, was not unusual. Ira was a member of the unit, and she lived in the estate. But the way she walked in made everyone in the room stop what they were doing and stare.

Because Ira was carrying a movie poster.

A large, brightly colored, glossy movie poster. The kind that shops hung in their windows to advertise new releases. The kind that featured dramatic explosions, shadowy figures, and bold red text screaming the title across the top.

Ira held it in both hands, her pale fingers gripping the edges with the same careful precision she used to control her water magic. Her expression, however, was exactly the same as always. Blank. Empty. Completely and utterly deadpan.

She stood in the doorway like a statue holding a billboard. The morning light caught the poster's shiny surface and reflected little sparks of color across the ceiling.

Sayma lowered her book. Zinia paused mid-push-up. Even the birds outside seemed to go quiet. The entire estate held its breath, waiting for someone to break the silence.

Ira's flat, robotic voice broke the silence.

"I have calculated the optimal viewing window for a cinematic release," she said. Her tone was as monotonous as ever, as if she were reporting the weather instead of announcing something completely out of character. "An action-mystery film premieres in the commercial district today. I have been tracking its production for eleven months.

Statistically speaking, I require a brief leave of absence to view it."

She held up the poster slightly, as if presenting evidence in a courtroom. The poster showed a dark city skyline, a figure in a trench coat, and the words 'THE SILENT WITNESS' in enormous red letters.

The room was so quiet you could hear Ken drooling on the cushion.

Sayma pushed her glasses up with one finger. Her expression was a rare mix of surprise and genuine confusion. "Ira, you want to go... to a movie? In a theater? With other people?"

"Correct," Ira answered without hesitation. Her empty eyes did not blink. "The narrative structure appears statistically compelling. The lead detective solves a locked-room mystery using hydro-static pressure analysis. I find this relevant to my interests."

Zinia sat back on her heels, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Well, that is... actually kind of nice, Ira. You never go out. You should do something fun for once."

Ira did not respond. She simply stood there, holding her poster, waiting for permission like a soldier awaiting orders. Her pale face showed absolutely no emotion. But if you looked very, very closely, you might have noticed that she was standing just a tiny bit straighter than usual. Just a fraction.

Just enough to suggest that this mattered to her, even if she would never admit it. The kind of subtle tells that only people who truly paid attention would ever notice.

Then a voice came from the sofa. A sleepy, groggy, half-conscious voice that sounded like it was being dragged out of a very pleasant dream about potato chips.

"What movie?"

Everyone turned. Ken had opened one eye. Just one. His other eye remained stubbornly shut, as if opening both would require more energy than he was willing to spend.

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