The recess lasted precisely thirty-seven minutes.
Ayanokoji counted each one.
He spent the time in a small antechamber with Emilia, Rem, and Puck, reviewing the document he had submitted to the Council.
It was a risk—revealing so much of his analysis so early in the game—but calculated risks were the only kind he took.
“You showed them too much,” Puck said, floating near the ceiling with his tail twitching.
“Now they know what you’re capable of.
They’ll be watching you.”
“Let them watch.” Ayanokoji’s voice was calm.
“The more they watch, the more they’ll see what I want them to see.”
Emilia looked up from the document, her expression troubled.
“What do you mean?”
“I showed them three vulnerabilities.
But I only revealed the surface-level details—enough to impress them, not enough to actually solve the problem.
The real solutions are here.” He tapped his temple.
“In my head.
The Council knows I’m competent.
They don’t know how competent.”
Rem’s eyes widened slightly.
“You’re playing a deeper game.”
“I’m always playing a deeper game.”
The doors opened, and a servant announced that the Council was ready to reconvene.
Ayanokoji stood, offering Emilia his hand.
She took it, her fingers lingering against his for a moment longer than necessary.
“Whatever happens,” she said quietly, “I trust you.”
The words hit him harder than they should have.
Trust was a weapon, a vulnerability, a weakness.
But hearing her say it—seeing the sincerity in her amethyst eyes—made something stir in his chest.
Focus, he told himself.
Emotions are distractions.
They returned to the chamber.
The Council members had resumed their positions, but their expressions had changed.
Lord Zellgef’s scowl had softened into something approaching respect.
Lady Ashford was studying Ayanokoji with intense curiosity.
Even Lord Weller, who had seemed bored before, now appeared engaged.
“We have reviewed your document,” Zellgef announced, his voice carrying through the silent chamber.
“It is…
impressive.
Thorough.
Well-reasoned.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
“However, impressive analysis alone does not win wars.
It does not protect kingdoms.
It does not lead armies.”
Ayanokoji met his gaze without flinching.
“No, it doesn’t.
But it provides the foundation for all those things.
A general who charges into battle without understanding his enemy is a dead general.
A ruler who makes decisions without analysis is a failed ruler.
I’m offering Lady Emilia a foundation—a solid, logical basis for the decisions she will make as queen.”
Lord Zellgef’s eyes narrowed.
“You speak as if her victory is inevitable.”
“I speak as if her victory is achievable.
There’s a difference.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Ayanokoji could feel the other candidates’ eyes on him—Priscilla’s contemptuous glare, Anastasia’s calculating appraisal, Crusch’s thoughtful consideration, Felt’s wide-eyed fascination.
Lady Ashford leaned forward, her expression curious.
“You mentioned three weaknesses in the Cult’s operations.
You elaborated on two of them—their reliance on fanaticism and their decentralized command structure.
But you were vague about the third.
Why?”
Because the third weakness is the most dangerous to reveal, Ayanokoji thought.
But also the most valuable.
“The third weakness is more…
sensitive,” he said carefully.
“It involves certain assumptions about the Cult’s leadership that I’m not yet prepared to share publicly.
I would need more information to confirm my hypothesis.”
“What kind of information?”
“Access to the kingdom’s archives.
Specifically, records from the era of the Witch’s War—documents that detail the original members of the Cult and their fates.”
The chamber erupted in murmurs.
Lord Zellgef raised his hand, silencing the crowd.
“You’re asking for access to classified historical records,” he said slowly.
“That’s a significant request.”
“I’m asking for the tools to defeat a threat that has plagued this kingdom for centuries.
If the Council wants results, they need to provide the resources.”
There was a long silence.
Ayanokoji could feel the tension in the room, the weight of a hundred eyes on him.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t look away.
He simply waited.
Finally, Lord Zellgef nodded.
“Very well.
I will recommend that you be granted limited access to the archives, under supervision.
But understand this, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka—if you waste this opportunity, if you fail to deliver results, there will be consequences.”
“I understand.”
He retreated to the sidelines, watching as the other candidates faced their own questions.
Priscilla dismissed the Council’s concerns with regal arrogance, declaring that her victory was inevitable and their questioning beneath her.
Anastasia answered with cool precision, deflecting difficult questions and steering the conversation toward her economic expertise.
Crusch spoke with military discipline, outlining a detailed plan for strengthening the kingdom’s defenses.
And Felt…
Felt was a disaster.
The young girl fumbled her way through the questions, her answers rambling and incoherent.
She clearly had no political experience, no understanding of the intricacies of governance.
The Council members exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of pity and exasperation.
She’s out of her depth, Ayanokoji thought.
But there’s something there—something the Dragon saw.
I need to figure out what.
When the hearing finally ended, the candidates and their entourages dispersed.
Ayanokoji found himself approached by Reinhard van Astrea, the Sword Saint, who had been watching from the shadows.
“That was impressive,” Reinhard said, his blue eyes thoughtful.
“You’ve managed to do in one afternoon what most advisors spend months trying to accomplish—establish credibility with the Council.”
“I had good material to work with.”
“Modest as well as brilliant.” Reinhard smiled, but there was something sharp beneath the expression.
“I spoke with Lord Zellgef during the recess.
He was…
impressed.
I’ve never seen him impressed by anyone.”
“Lord Zellgef is a soldier.
He respects competence.”
“Yes.
And you have it in abundance.” Reinhard paused, his gaze drifting toward Emilia, who was speaking with Lady Ashford.
“She’s lucky to have you.”
Ayanokoji followed his gaze.
“She doesn’t see it that way.
She thinks she’s lucky to have anyone at all.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think luck is a variable I don’t rely on.”
Reinhard laughed, a genuine sound.
“You’re an interesting man, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka.
I look forward to seeing what you accomplish.”
He walked away, leaving Ayanokoji with a strange sense of unease.
The Sword Saint’s words had been friendly, but there was something beneath them—a warning, perhaps, or a challenge.
He’s watching me, Ayanokoji thought.
And he’s not the only one.
The journey back to the mansion was quiet.
Emilia was exhausted from the ordeal, her head resting against the carriage wall as the wheels rumbled over the cobblestones.
Rem sat beside her, her expression watchful, while Puck dozed on Emilia’s lap.
Ayanokoji sat across from them, his mind still processing the day’s events.
The hearing had been a success—a significant victory for Emilia’s campaign.
But it had also elevated his own profile, making him a target for the other candidates and their allies.
I need to be more careful, he thought.
I’ve shown too much of my hand too early.
“You’re brooding,” Emilia said softly, her eyes still closed.
“I’m thinking.”
“Same thing.” She opened her eyes, a tired smile on her lips.
“You did well today.
Better than well.
You were…
incredible.”
“I did what was necessary.”
“Stop saying that.” Emilia sat up, her expression serious.
“You always deflect compliments like they’re attacks.
Why?”
Ayanokoji considered the question.
It was one he had never fully answered, even to himself.
“Because compliments are often insincere.
They create expectations that are difficult to meet.”
“Are mine insincere?”
He looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the vulnerability in her eyes.
She wasn’t just paying him a compliment.
She was offering something more—a connection, a moment of shared humanity.
“No,” he said quietly.
“Yours aren’t insincere.”
Emilia’s smile brightened, and she reached across the carriage to take his hand.
“Then accept it.
You did well today.
I’m proud of you.”
The words hit him with unexpected force.
He wasn’t used to hearing that—wasn’t used to anyone being proud of him.
In the White Room, pride was irrelevant.
There was only success or failure, victory or defeat.
No one had ever been proud of him.
She’s different, he thought, for perhaps the hundredth time since arriving in this world.
She’s genuinely different.
He didn’t pull his hand away.
He didn’t deflect the compliment.
He simply nodded, a small acknowledgment that meant more than words could express.
“Thank you,” he said.
Emilia’s eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn’t expected him to accept it.
Then she smiled again, a warm expression that made something tighten in Ayanokoji’s chest.
They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence, their hands still joined.
He stood in his room, staring out the window at the moonlit forest.
The events of the day played through his mind on a loop—the hearing, the Council’s reactions, Reinhard’s words, Emilia’s touch.
I’m changing, he realized.
This world, these people—they’re changing me.
It was a dangerous thought.
The White Room had trained him to be immutable, unchangeable.
Emotions were weaknesses to be suppressed, connections to be avoided.
But here, in this strange world of magic and monsters, he found himself forming attachments despite his best efforts.
Emilia, he thought.
Rem.
Puck.
Even Ram, in her own way.
They’re becoming more than just pieces on a board.
He didn’t know what to do with these feelings.
They were foreign, unfamiliar—like a language he had never learned to speak.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
He turned, his body tensing automatically.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Rem stepped inside.
She was still in her maid’s uniform, her blue hair slightly disheveled, as if she had been in bed and gotten up.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked.
“No.”
She moved to stand beside him at the window, her gaze fixed on the same moonlit forest.
“Neither can I.
Today was…
a lot.”
“It was.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Rem spoke again, her voice soft.
“You and Lady Emilia are growing closer.”
Ayanokoji didn’t respond.
He didn’t know how to.
“I’m not jealous,” Rem continued, though something in her voice suggested otherwise.
“I’m just…
observing.
You care about her.
More than you let on.”
“Does that matter?”
“It matters to me.” Rem turned to face him, her blue eyes searching his.
“I told you before—your presence is strange.
Like I can say things without being judged.
I’ve never had that before.
Not with anyone except Lady Emilia.”
Ayanokoji met her gaze.
“You’re saying you feel…
close to me?”
“I’m saying I don’t know what I feel.
But whatever it is, it’s real.
And I think you feel something too—even if you won’t admit it.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Ayanokoji felt something shift inside him—a crack in the wall he had built around his heart.
“I don’t know what I feel,” he admitted.
“I wasn’t trained to feel.
I was trained to analyze, to calculate, to survive.
Emotions were considered weaknesses—distractions from the mission.”
“And what is your mission now?”
The question caught him off guard.
He had no immediate answer.
His mission had always been survival, victory, success.
But in this world, those concepts had taken on new meanings.
“To protect Emilia,” he said finally.
“To help her win the Selection.
To defeat the Cult.”
“And after that?”
“I don’t know.
I haven’t thought that far.”
Rem smiled, a small, understanding expression.
“Then maybe you should start.
The future is coming, Ayanokoji-kun.
Whether you’re ready for it or not.”
She turned and walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle.
“Goodnight,” she said softly.
“And…
thank you.
For being honest with me.”
She left before he could respond.
Ayanokoji stood alone in the dark, his mind churning with thoughts he couldn’t quite organize.
The future.
He had always planned for the future—always anticipated, always calculated.
But now, for the first time in his life, the future was uncertain.
The game is changing, he thought.
And I’m changing with it.
He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
But he knew one thing for certain: whatever came next, he would face it head-on.
That was who he was.
That was who he had always been.