"It seems this matter is far from simple," Ayanokoji said slowly to Emilia. "Since the target was your insignia, the intent was clearly to strip you of your eligibility for the Royal Selection."
Emilia nodded, her mind racing through a list of potential shadow-players.
"From a logical standpoint, the most likely culprits are the other candidates. They are the direct beneficiaries if you are disqualified," Ayanokoji analyzed. "Of course, it could be a personal vendetta, but given the precision of the theft, it feels political. Do you know anyone who fits that description?"
"I... I don't know..." Emilia hesitated. She knew many in the capital despised her for her resemblance to the Witch, and her platform of equality threatened the very foundations of the nobility. There were too many enemies to count.
'Politics is far darker than you can imagine,' Ayanokoji thought. To him, Emilia's idealism was a child's dream. Society is a machine; some are engines, others are merely cogs. Inequality isn't a bug—it's the fuel that keeps the gears turning. He would never tell her this, though. Her idealism was the perfect remote control for him to steer her.
"Lady Emilia, you are in a vulnerable position," he continued, layering the psychological pressure. "You've been marked. Today they took your badge; tomorrow, they may take more. You are too kind for a game where people play for keeps."
"Kiyotaka is right, Lia," Puck added, floating by her shoulder. The Great Spirit knew that in a battle of wits, Emilia was outclassed by the other candidates. She needed a shield—and a brain.
Emilia's expression grew somber. She had a reason she had to win. She looked at Ayanokoji, her eyes searching for a lifeline. "Then... what should I do?"
"You need an ally. If you'll have me, I'm willing to support your cause," Ayanokoji proposed. "I possess... adequate intelligence and martial skill. I believe I can be of use."
Emilia weighed his words. He was composed, logical, and he had already dismantled three men in seconds. Plus, his supposed status as a foreign prince provided a layer of political intrigue she lacked.
"I must ask, though... why help me?" she asked.
"I am a man of practical needs. I require the status and lifestyle befitting my station. As a foreigner, I am a 'ghost' in this city. I help you win, and you ensure I am well-fed, well-housed, and legally recognized." He laid his cards on the table. In a world of lies, a confession of self-interest is the most believable truth.
"I can provide that," Emilia agreed. A fair trade.
Ayanokoji then turned his gaze—subtly, intentionally—toward Felt. "And then there is the matter of the witness. I didn't know the importance of the badge earlier, but now that we've interfered, we are both targets for 'cleanup.'"
Felt's heart skipped a beat. She was just a slum kid. She had wanted ten Holy Gold coins, not a death warrant from a shadowy political faction. Ayanokoji's words weren't just for Emilia; they were a hook for the thief.
"...And it likely won't stop at us. They'll go after anyone connected to the failure. Friends. Family," Ayanokoji added.
Felt swallowed hard. Old Man Rom. She couldn't let Rom pay for her mistake. If the employer was as dangerous as this guy said, they were both dead meat unless they had a protector.
"Is there no other way?" Emilia asked, worried.
"When you can't run, you take a side," Ayanokoji replied.
"I—I want in too!" Felt blurted out. "I'm the best thief in the slums! I can get you anything! Just... keep us safe!"
"That's nothing to be proud of!" Emilia chided, but Ayanokoji silenced her with a glance. He had his team. He had the gratitude of the thief and the reliance of the candidate.
"We can use Felt to bait the employer," Ayanokoji suggested. "We go to the storehouse, set an ambush, and take them down before they realize the script has changed. But we must prepare. They won't come alone, and they won't come unarmed."
"He secured their loyalty with nothing but a few sentences?"
In Tokyo, Miyuki Shirogane stared at the screen, a bead of sweat on his brow. He prided himself on his social standing and intellect, but Ayanokoji was operating on a level of cold efficiency that was terrifying. If he were in my school, he wouldn't be my rival... he'd be the one holding the leash.
The scene shifted. The trio entered the slums.
The air was stagnant, the buildings rotting. Emilia's face softened with pity, while Ayanokoji's remained a mask. He had split from Felt, telling her to meet them at the storehouse in a few minutes. He had also insisted Emilia wear a tattered cloak and a deep hood.
He knew Elsa might have eyes everywhere. He wasn't just walking into an ambush; he was the one setting the trap. Every variable was being accounted for.
He was no longer just a survivor.He was the director.