Chapter : 256

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Her eyes were green. Sharp, piercing, judgmental green. They swept across the 13th Unit estate the way a health inspector surveys a dirty kitchen. Taking in every crack, every weed, every spot of rust on the iron gates. The corner of her perfect mouth twitched downward in a tiny, involuntary expression of distaste.

She walked through the courtyard gate with the unhurried, absolute confidence of someone who had never been denied anything in her entire life. Her attendants followed behind her in perfect formation, the parasol holders shielding her from the afternoon sun as if she might melt if exposed to it for more than thirty seconds.

The girls of the 13th Unit noticed immediately. Zinia stopped her push-ups. Laxmi dropped her magazine. Sayma appeared in the doorway of the strategy room, her glasses catching the light. Naomi stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel, her green eyes narrowing at the sight of the ostentatious carriage parked outside their gate.

Risa appeared on the porch, her pink hair catching the sunlight, her expression shifting from curiosity to careful alertness. She had heard of the 2nd Princess. Everyone in the Empire had heard of the 2nd Princess.

Princess Iris came down the front steps of the manor, her silver-moonlight hair tied in its usual messy ponytail. Her violet eyes were cautious but composed. She wore her simple, practical clothes, looking distinctly underdressed compared to the vision of white and gold walking toward her.

The two Princesses faced each other in the middle of the dusty courtyard. The contrast could not have been more striking. Hera, in her shimmering gown and golden tiara, looked like she had stepped out of a painting of the Imperial Palace. Iris, in her worn boots and plain tunic, looked like she had stepped out of a barn.

Hera's sharp green eyes swept over Iris with barely concealed condescension. "Little sister," she said, her voice smooth and polished and completely devoid of warmth. "What a charming little estate you have here. So... rustic."

Iris did not flinch. "2nd Princess Hera. What brings you to our home?"

"Business," Hera said simply. Her gaze left Iris and traveled across the courtyard, scanning the members of the 13th Unit like a general inspecting troops. Her eyes lingered on Naomi's twin daggers, on Zinia's strong frame, on Sayma's neat posture. Then they moved past all of them and landed on the stone pillar near the gate.

They landed on Ken.

Ken was still sitting on the pillar. He was still holding his stale toast. His shirt was still untucked. His hair was still messy. He was staring at Hera with the same half-closed, mildly bored expression he used when watching paint dry.

Hera's lip curled. The look she gave him was not anger. It was not even dislike. It was the way a person might look at a stain on an otherwise clean floor. With absolute, pristine, uncomplicated disdain.

"So this is the famous Ken Eliot," Hera said, her voice carrying across the courtyard. "The commoner servant who has been making waves in the Succession War. I expected someone more... impressive."

Ken raised his piece of toast slightly in a lazy half-greeting. "Hey," he said. Then he took another bite.

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Hera's eye twitched. Just barely. Just enough that someone watching closely might have caught the tiny fracture in her perfect composure. She turned back to Iris and folded her elegant arms across her chest.

"I will be direct," Hera announced, her voice shifting into the crisp, authoritative tone she used in council chambers and negotiation tables. "I am here to make your little servant an offer."

She gestured toward the carriage with one perfectly manicured hand. From behind the attendants, a woman stepped forward. She was tall, lean, and sharp-featured, with close-cropped silver hair and cold, calculating eyes. She wore a sleek black combat uniform that was spotless and perfectly fitted, every buckle polished, every strap adjusted with military precision.

She stood at attention, her hands clasped behind her back, her posture so rigid she could have been carved from stone.

"This is Jenny," Hera said, gesturing to the woman like a merchant displaying premium merchandise. "Elite warrior. Top of her class at the Royal Academy. Expert in close-quarters combat, barrier infiltration, and tactical field operations. She is flawless. Disciplined. Reliable."

Jenny did not react to the introduction. She simply stood there, staring straight ahead, as if the 13th Unit's dusty courtyard was just another training ground and the people in it were just another set of obstacles to evaluate and categorize.

Hera turned her sharp green eyes back to Iris. "Here is my proposition. I will recruit Ken Eliot directly into my faction. In exchange, I will assign Jenny to the 13th Unit as his permanent replacement. You will lose one lazy commoner and gain one elite soldier. By any rational metric, this is a significant upgrade for your little team."

The courtyard went very quiet.

Naomi's hands tightened around the kitchen towel. Her green eyes blazed with a sudden, fierce indignation. Zinia's jaw clenched. Laxmi sat up straight on the couch, her fashion magazine forgotten, sparks dancing around her knuckles. Sayma pushed her glasses up with a calm, measured motion that somehow conveyed more tension than Laxmi's flames.

Risa's fingers curled at her sides. She stood very still near the porch, her expression carefully neutral, but her green eyes kept flicking toward Ken with concern.

Princess Iris did not speak immediately. She looked at Hera, then at Jenny, then at Ken. Her violet eyes were calm and unreadable, but there was a quiet firmness in the set of her shoulders that Hera either did not notice or chose to ignore.

Hera smiled. It was a beautiful, confident, utterly self-satisfied smile. She clearly believed the offer was so overwhelmingly advantageous that no reasonable person could possibly refuse. "Well?" she prompted, tilting her chin up. "I do not see how you can turn this down. Unless, of course, sentiment is clouding your judgment. A common problem with the lower-ranked Royals."

Every eye in the courtyard turned to Ken.

Ken was still sitting on his stone pillar. He was still holding his piece of toast. He looked at Hera with the same lazy, half-closed eyes. He looked at Jenny with the detached interest of someone checking the weather. He looked at the golden carriage, the red carpet, the attendants, the parasols.

Then he yawned.

It was not a small yawn. It was not a polite, covered-mouth yawn. It was a massive, theatrical, full-body yawn that started at his toes and worked its way up.

He stretched his arms above his head, arched his back, opened his mouth as wide as it would go, and let out a long, loud, completely unapologetic yawn that echoed across the courtyard like a declaration of absolute indifference.

"Ah," he said, smacking his lips and scratching the back of his messy black hair. "Sorry. Was someone talking? I kind of zoned out there for a second."

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