"What's this?"
His fingers traced gently along the edges of the pocket watch, his touch unhurried, almost contemplative, as though the object held more than mere craftsmanship within its frame.
"It's a gift."
The reply came flat, worn thin by the fatigue that clung stubbornly to every syllable, as though even speech demanded more than Jurgen cared to give.
"From Hana?"
The certainty in Nemesio's voice settled into the room with ease. He did not turn. Jurgen, however, shifted from the doorframe, his posture tightening almost imperceptibly.
The watch clicked shut beneath Nemesio's touch. Its surface bore a delicate artistry, fine lines woven into a miniature expanse of waves and grass, each detail rendered with almost sentimental precision, as though it had been crafted to preserve something more enduring than time itself.
His gaze wandered, alighting upon the necklace beside it. Without hesitation, the watch slipped into his other hand as he reached for the second object, drawn by instinct rather than intent.
"And this?"
The necklace rose between his fingers, catching the light, a subtle gleam across the sun emblem etched into its surface, radiant in its simplicity. "I've never seen you wear this one."
Movement broke the stillness. Jurgen closed the distance in a few sharp strides, irritation surfacing without restraint as both items were pulled from Nemesio's grasp.
"Stop touching my things."
The edge in his voice lingered, brittle and unguarded.
Nemesio only smiled, unbothered, as though the reaction had been anticipated long before it arrived. His hands folded neatly behind his back, posture composed, almost theatrical in its restraint.
He turned then, slowly, deliberately, pivoting on his heel with a quiet flourish that bordered on mockery.
"Ah… typical Jurgen."
He moved toward the door with unhurried composure, each step measured, as though the tension behind him held no claim over his pace. Just beyond the threshold, he paused. A brief stillness followed before he turned, his gaze settling on Jurgen with quiet insistence.
"Come join me. Perhaps we might ease some of that stress."
Jurgen remained where he was, unmoved, the fatigue etched plainly into his posture. It clung to him in a way that dulled even the simplest response, rendering him distant, uncooperative, as though the effort of refusal outweighed the act itself.
"Come now," Nemesio continued, the faintest trace of amusement threading through his tone, "indulge me, just this once."
For a moment, nothing shifted. Then, with a subdued exhale, Jurgen reached for the necklace, fastening it around his neck with a casual motion that lacked any real care. The pocket watch followed, slipping back into his pocket where it belonged. Only then did he move, stepping past the doorway and into the open air.
The door shut behind him with a sharp finality, the sound cutting cleanly through the quiet.
"So what are your plans once you join the Corps?"
Nemesio's calm gaze lingered on Jurgen as they walked, steady and unhurried, as though the question carried more weight than its simplicity suggested.
Jurgen's eyes flicked toward him for the briefest moment before drifting away again, his attention returning to the path ahead.
"To get stronger."
The answer came flat, unembellished, edged faintly with a coldness that left little room for interpretation.
Nemesio's gaze fixed forward.
"Stronger?"
His hands settled behind his back, one resting lightly over the other, his posture composed, almost deliberate in its quiet confidence. "Why? To what end? Is there a purpose behind it?"
"My purpose is my business."
The irritation surfaced without restraint, low but unmistakable, as though the very inquiry had crossed an unseen boundary.
"I have something to achieve."
A subtle tension gathered along his jaw, tightening just enough to betray the strain beneath his restraint.
"And for that… I need power."
"Power… power," Nemesio echoed softly, the word rolling off his tongue with measured consideration.
"Jurgen… do you understand what it means to hold power?"
His gaze did not waver, fixed ahead with a steadiness that bordered on introspective.
"Not merely strength, but absolute power."
A brief pause settled between them, their footsteps the only sound to fill it.
"The responsibility that follows in its wake."
Another step, precise and unhurried.
"Power without purpose… without clarity…"
A quiet exhale slipped from him, almost imperceptible.
"…is nothing more than a walking catastrophe."
The words lingered, neither raised nor pressed, yet carrying an undeniable weight.
"Power consumes. It erodes those too weak-willed to bear it."
He continued forward, voice steady, composed, as though reciting a truth long accepted.
"Power without purpose…"
A slight pause, deliberate.
"…is tyranny restrained, waiting."
The air seemed to settle around them, heavy with implication.
"A lonely man, left with nothing but the desire to control… everything."
Silence followed, stretching between them, not empty, but laden, as though the conversation had only just begun to reveal its deeper shape.
"Tell me, Jurgen," Nemesio went on, his tone softening into something almost curious, "let us assume you attain this power you speak of… that you become absolute."
He continued forward with the same measured, elegant stride, unhurried and assured, as though each step aligned perfectly with the cadence of his thoughts.
"Without purpose… without vision… without something to strive toward… what do you do then?"
His gaze remained fixed ahead, unwavering, the question unfolding with quiet deliberation.
"You sit at the top… alone, and in that stillness, one must wonder what thoughts begin to take root in a man's mind. He wakes one day, much like any other, yet finds the same emptiness waiting for him, and then comes the realization… there is no one left who can stand against him."
Another step carried him forward, calm and precise, his voice neither rising nor falling, but settling deeper with each word.
"And so, inevitably, the question follows. Why not take control? Why not rule? When there exists no force capable of opposition… who, truly, could stop him?"
Jurgen offered nothing in return. His gaze remained lowered, fixed upon the ground as though it alone demanded his attention, his silence heavy but not empty.
"Think on this, Jurgen… an all-powerful man without purpose has nothing left to lose. He gains everything, yet in doing so becomes powerless against himself. In the end, his ruin is inevitable, not through the body, not by his own hand, but in ways far less visible. Morally, he begins to decay. Mentally, he fractures. Internally, he suffers."
The words lingered, threading themselves into the quiet between them before Nemesio spoke again, the same composure intact, though something more intent now lay beneath it.
"So I will ask you once more… what purpose do you seek power for? Is it freedom? Change? Are you striving toward something… or merely pushing against it? Or perhaps…"
For the briefest moment, his gaze shifted, a subtle glance cast in Jurgen's direction.
"…is it revenge?"
The question settled without insistence, left to breathe in the silence that followed.
"You can answer when you have truly thought it through."
The tension between them deepened, not sharp, but dense, as though the air itself had grown heavier. Nemesio's gaze lingered, patient, observant, while Jurgen's jaw tightened, his fists clenching faintly at his sides, the conflict within him betraying itself in small, restrained ways.
"…Ah… heh… heh…"
A quiet, almost awkward laugh broke the weight of it, Nemesio's hand rising to the back of his head as the composure eased, if only slightly.
"I've been rambling like some old philosopher."
A soft exhale followed, his tone lightening, the earlier intensity receding into something far more casual.
"There's a warm spring nearby. We could let the tension wash away."