Chapter : 251

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They drank. The tea was bitter and cold, but neither of them cared. They had work to do, and for researchers like them, the work was all that mattered.

Princess Iris was in the strategy room, reviewing mission reports with the quiet focus of a young leader who carried the weight of her entire unit on her small shoulders. She had not seen the morning's commotion, but she had heard the door slam and Laxmi's laughter echoing through the halls.

She smiled to herself. Her unit was loud, messy, and completely chaotic. They argued about butter and fought over chores and teased each other relentlessly. But underneath all of that noise and nonsense, there was something warm and real and unbreakable.

They were a family. A weird, dysfunctional, potato-chip-obsessed family.

And somehow, Ken Eliot was right at the center of it all, like a lazy sun that the rest of them orbited around without even realizing it.

Iris set down her report and glanced out the window. The morning sun was climbing higher. Somewhere in the commercial district, four members of her unit were settling into their seats, about to watch a movie about a detective solving a mystery.

She hoped the chips were worth it.

In the dark of the theater, the opening scene unfolded. Rain poured across a dimly lit city street. A lone figure in a trench coat stood beneath a flickering streetlamp, staring at something the audience could not yet see. The music swelled with deep, ominous strings.

Luna leaned forward in her seat, her tired eyes wide and sparkling.

Ira sat perfectly still, her blank face illuminated by the screen, absorbing every frame.

Risa clutched her hands to her chest, holding her breath.

Ken shoved chips into his mouth and watched.

The movie was beginning. And for the next two hours, the world outside the theater did not exist. There was only the story on the screen, the warmth of the seats, the smell of butter and salt, and the quiet, comfortable feeling of being somewhere you belonged.

Ken would never admit it out loud. He would complain about the walking and the early morning and the lack of extra popcorn. He would grumble and groan and drag his feet all the way home.

But right now, in the dark, with chips in his lap and friends on either side, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

He just wished the couch was here too.

---

The credits rolled across the screen in tiny white letters while a soft piano melody played from the speakers overhead. The audience around them began to stir, stretching their arms and reaching for coats and bags.

Ken Eliot did not stretch. He did not reach for anything. He simply sat in his seat with his chip bag balanced on his stomach like a satisfied cat resting on a warm pillow. The bag was almost empty now. Just a few broken crumbs and a thin layer of sour cream powder remained at the bottom.

He tilted the bag up and shook the last of the crumbs into his mouth. A small, content sigh escaped his lips. The chips had been worth every second of walking. Every step. Every groan. Every dramatic protest. The chips had delivered.

"So?" Luna turned to face him, her sleepy eyes bright with lingering excitement. "What did you think?"

Ken considered the question with the seriousness of a judge delivering a verdict. He stroked his chin. He squinted at the ceiling. He let the silence build for exactly three seconds longer than necessary.

"Thirty-seven explosions," he said finally. "Not bad. The detective was okay. The villain was obvious from the start. And the main character talked too much before punching people."

"You are not wrong," Luna admitted with a reluctant nod. "The talking-before-punching thing is a real problem in action movies."

"Statistically, the film exceeded my expectations," Ira reported from Ken's other side. Her blank face was as unreadable as ever, but her voice carried a faint, almost imperceptible note of satisfaction. "The hydro-static pressure analysis scene was eighty-nine percent accurate. I appreciate the attention to scientific detail."

"You would," Ken said with a lazy grin.

Risa was still sitting in her seat, her hands clasped together, her green eyes a little dreamy. "The detective was really handsome," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else.

"Risa!" Luna laughed, leaning over to nudge her. "That is what you took away from the movie?"

"I liked the mystery too," Risa said, her cheeks turning a soft pink. "But the detective had very nice cheekbones. That is just a fact. It is not my fault."

Ken snorted. "Cheekbones. Sure. What about the part where he fell through three floors and landed in a fountain without breaking a single bone? That was the best part."

"That was physically impossible," Ira stated.

"That is why it was the best part," Ken said, as if this explained everything.

The four of them filed out of the theater with the rest of the crowd, stepping back into the busy world of the commercial district. The midmorning sun was warm on their faces. The street was even more crowded than before. Vendors called out from their stalls. Children chased each other around the fountain in the central plaza.

The smell of roasting chestnuts drifted from a cart on the corner.

Luna stretched her arms above her head and let out a long, satisfied yawn. "That was nice," she said, her voice soft and warm. "Really nice. I needed that."

She said it simply, without drama, but the words carried a quiet weight. Just weeks ago, she had been lying in a bed, burning with blue fire, her mana channels being eaten alive by poison. Now she was standing in the sunshine, yawning after a movie, happy to be alive.

Ken glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He did not say anything sentimental or supportive. He just shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. But the corner of his mouth twitched upward, just barely, for just a second.

"So," Luna said, turning to Risa with a sleepy but friendly smile. "You needed fabric and thread, right? Where is the sewing shop?"

"It is on Maple Lane, just past the Inner City gate," Risa said, pulling a small piece of paper from her basket. She had written the address in neat, careful handwriting. "The lady at the estate told me it has the best selection of magical thread in the capital."

"Maple Lane it is," Luna said, linking her arm through Risa's. "I could use some fresh air anyway. The theater was nice but a little stuffy."

Ken groaned. "More walking? Really? Can we not just stand still for five minutes? My legs are protesting. They are writing a formal letter of complaint."

"Your legs are fine," Ira said flatly. "You walked less than one kilometer total. This is well within standard human endurance parameters."

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