Chapter : 273

:0:

“My lord,” Karna said, and his voice trembled. Not with fear. With awe. “I thank the Sovereign for granting me the privilege of serving a master who sees the world as it truly is. Your insight is a gift beyond measure.”

Ken looked at him. For a moment, the mask slipped entirely, and what Karna saw in his master's eyes was not wisdom or power or authority. It was exhaustion. Deep, bone-level exhaustion from carrying an understanding of the world that most people never had to face.

“Yeah, well,” Ken said, and the lazy drawl crept back into his voice like an old friend returning home. “Seeing the world as it truly is is highly overrated. I would much rather see it as a place where I can sleep until noon and eat caramel pudding without consequences.”

He flopped backward onto his mattress, his arms spread wide, staring at the ceiling. “You can go. Keep monitoring the Albino Desert situation. If the dark faction makes any real progress on those seals, I want to know immediately.”

“Yes, my lord,” Karna said. He straightened from his bow and stepped back into the center of the summoning circle. He paused, just for a moment, and looked back at his master with those golden eyes.

“Rest well, my lord. The world is fortunate to have its levee.”

The green light flared once more, bright and cold, and then Karna was gone. The circle faded. The room was dark again. The temperature returned to normal so gradually that it was like the cold had never been there at all.

Ken lay in the silence, staring at the ceiling that he could not see. His mind was still turning, still processing, still calculating. The Albino Desert. The Great Black Soul Sovereign. The eternal, unkillable nature of human darkness.

He thought about Carrion. A man who had chased Eternal Youth and found death instead. He thought about the journal with its meticulous formulas and its desperate, hurried final entries. He thought about the cactus on the dead man's desk, still alive, still stubbornly growing.

Life was persistent that way. So was darkness. So was hope. They were all the same thing, really. Just different expressions of the same relentless, irrational refusal to stop existing.

Tomorrow, he would wake up and be the lazy, messy, infuriating Ken Eliot that everyone in the 13th Unit knew and tolerated. He would yawn during briefings and steal snacks from the kitchen and pretend to fall asleep while standing up.

But right now, in the dark, he allowed himself a single, quiet breath. The breath of a boy who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and had to pretend it was just a really comfortable blanket.

He closed his eyes. And for a few hours, at least, he slept.

Outside his door, the hallway was dark and silent. The estate was at peace. And somewhere in the capital, forces were moving in the shadows that would test that peace to its very foundation.

But that was a problem for tomorrow's Ken. Tonight's Ken was going to sleep. And dream of a world where the darkness stayed in the corner where it belonged, and the caramel pudding was always warm.

---

Morning arrived at the 13th Unit estate the way it always did: reluctantly. The sun crept through the curtains, the birds sang their indifferent songs, and Ken Eliot remained face-down on his mattress like a man who had personally offended the concept of wakefulness.

By the time he shuffled into the strategy room, the rest of the unit was already assembled. Sayma had the journal open on the table, surrounded by a small fortress of reference books and scribbled notes. Her pen had not stopped moving since dawn.

Iris sat at the head of the table, her posture straight and alert despite the dark circles under her eyes. She had slept even less than Sayma, but you would never know it from the composed, focused expression on her face. Princesses, it seemed, did not get to look tired.

Naomi was poring over the police reports for the third time, her red hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that suggested she was in a no-nonsense mood. She had a red pen in one hand and was circling inconsistencies with the sharp, angry precision of someone who took incompetence personally.

Zinia stood behind Naomi, arms crossed, silent as a mountain. She did not need to speak. Her presence alone was enough to make the room feel more grounded, more solid. Like the walls were holding themselves up out of respect for her.

Luna was asleep with her eyes open, which was somehow more unsettling than if she had just closed them. Her half-lidded gaze was fixed on the far wall, but nobody was fooled. She was dreaming about something. Probably pancakes.

Risa was making tea in the corner, her small hands moving carefully between the kettle and the cups. She poured one for Iris first, then set about preparing the rest. It was a small, quiet ritual that brought a touch of warmth to the cold, tactical atmosphere of the strategy room.

Ira sat near the door, her silver-white hair catching the lamplight, her eyes watching the room with quiet vigilance.

She had been the first one awake, as usual. Her discipline was unwavering, even on days without missions. Her gaze swept the room methodically, cataloging exits and potential threats out of pure habit. She was always watching, always ready.

Laxmi was bouncing one leg impatiently, a small flame flickering between her fingertips. She had never been good at sitting still, and strategy meetings were her personal nightmare. Give her something to punch and she was happy. Give her a table full of documents and she started vibrating.

Ken dropped into his usual chair at the far end of the table, leaned back, and yawned so loudly that Luna briefly woke up, mumbled something about syrup, and went back to sleep with her eyes open.

Risa set a cup of tea in front of him without being asked. Ken picked it up, took a sip, and made a face. "This is green tea. I wanted the sweet one." Risa smiled apologetically and shrugged her small shoulders.

“The sweet one gives you too much energy,” Risa said firmly. “Green tea is calming.”

“I do not need calming. I need sugar.”

“You absolutely do not need sugar,” Naomi said without looking up from her notes.

Iris tapped the journal, drawing the room's attention. “We need to determine why a brilliant scientist working on an Eternal Youth potion would be assassinated. The motive is the key to identifying the culprit.”

“Corporate theft,” Sayma said immediately, pushing her glasses up with the confidence of someone who had been thinking about this all night. “An Eternal Youth potion would be the single most valuable pharmaceutical product in history. Rival companies would kill to obtain the formula.”

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.