Imperial Sleeping Palace.
After returning from Minister Honest's chambers, the Young Emperor, following the daily schedule of his late father, went back to his own quarters.
The arrangement of the sleeping palace was modeled entirely after his father's, virtually unchanged since those days.
Seated on a grand, ornate chair upon the crimson-carpeted golden tiles, the Young Emperor propped his elbow on the desk and eagerly flipped through a book detailing the glorious achievements of the Empire's past sovereigns.
It was almost laughable—despite being in his own quarters, the Young Emperor still insisted on wearing the full regalia and cloak of the imperial throne. He dressed impeccably, with the imperial scepter—the symbol of supreme power—always within arm's reach, resting before him on the desk.
On the wall in front of him hung a portrait of the late emperor and empress.
Though he tried to imitate everything about his father, he was not the same man. His short, frail body could barely sit properly in the massive chair crafted for his father's tall frame. His legs dangled in midair, his posture stiff and awkward...
Behind him, the intricate emblem of a coiled dragon upon a shield was engraved into the backrest.
It was the banner of the Empire's glory—symbol of conquest and protection, of royal lineage and national spirit.
Yet at this moment, it all seemed so powerless and pitiful... When had the mighty Empire of a thousand years fallen so low that it depended on a mere child to sustain it?
"Your Majesty, the evening meal..." a nearby attendant whispered cautiously.
"Wait a moment. I must finish today's notes first," the Young Emperor replied cheerfully.
In truth, with his determination and discipline, and given proper guidance, the Young Emperor had the potential to become a wise ruler—but... no one would ever give him that chance.
Not Budo... not Honest... and certainly not Selene!
"All right, serve dinner then..."
BOOM—!
Just as he gave the order, a thunderous explosion resounded from all directions.
The impact wasn't enough to shatter the glass windows, but the grand hall trembled faintly. The ornate chandelier above swayed violently from the blast.
Moments later, frantic screams echoed from outside the palace:
"Assassins—!!"
BANG!
"Protect His Majesty!"
The doors to the chamber burst open as a squad of palace guards rushed in.
"Your Majesty! There's chaos in the palace! Assassins—!"
"They're attacking from Minister Honest's quarters!"
The lead guard, seeing the emperor unharmed, exhaled in relief and knelt on one knee. "Your Majesty, I have dispatched troops to assist Minister Honest, but for safety's sake, please evacuate the palace with us immediately!"
"At this moment, the most secure location in the capital is the Imperial Guard Headquarters within the inner citadel. Your Majesty must decide quickly!"
"But... we still don't know Minister Honest's situation. How can I flee in the midst of battle?! This is my home! How could I abandon it to rebels?!"
Donning his hat and taking up his scepter, the Young Emperor shouted angrily, "Where are the Imperial Guards? What are they doing?! Quickly, summon Great General Budo—have him reinforce Minister Honest!"
Upon hearing this, the captain of the guards nearly fainted in frustration. Your Majesty, now is the time to save your life, not Honest's! And the palace's current lack of defenders—wasn't that precisely Honest's fault?!
Because Selene and Budo controlled the Imperial Guard, Honest had no authority within their ranks. In retaliation, he had removed them from palace duties entirely.
Now, the nearest Imperial Guard unit was stationed by the city gates—over a thousand men away.
"Your Majesty, please reconsider!"
"No! I am the Emperor of the Empire! How can the ruler flee while his subjects fight and die? I will not run—"
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Haha, well said, Your Majesty..."
Turning toward the sound, they saw Minister Honest himself stumbling in, covered in dust and breathing heavily.
Yet, for some reason, the Young Emperor found him... strange. His steps—why did they seem so... light?
Yes, there was something oddly graceful about them, but the Young Emperor didn't think much of it. After all, anyone who narrowly escaped death might move a bit strangely in shock.
Pushing past the blocking guards, Honest placed a hand on his hip and shouted furiously, "You useless fools! Were you all hoping for my death?!"
"What are you standing there for?! Go exterminate those rebels... Get out! All of you, get out!!"
Perhaps because Honest's authority had long instilled fear, the captain of the guards quickly shouted, "Yes, sir!" before leading his troops toward the direction of the fighting.
"Minister, what's the situation? Who are they?" Seeing Honest safe and sound, the Young Emperor finally relaxed and asked.
"They're the rebels known as Night Raid. But there's no need to worry, Your Majesty. I'm certain they'll be wiped out soon enough." Sitting himself casually at the dining table, Honest reached for a piece of spare rib.
"Hmph, after this, I'll have those traitors completely eradicated!" the Young Emperor declared sharply.
"Hahaha... Your Majesty grows more and more like your late father with each passing day..."
"Tha—" The Young Emperor, smiling faintly, was about to respond when—splurt!—his expression froze.
As if merely leaning forward to take food, Honest suddenly drove a thin, needle-like instrument straight into the emperor's carotid artery.
"Foolish emperor... die."
In the next instant, a puff of white smoke filled the room, and Honest's obese form rapidly shrank within the haze—transforming into a young woman with headphones resting on her head.
It was Chelsea.
Calmly, she withdrew the slender needle from the emperor's neck.
As Chelsea straightened, the Young Emperor's body lost all strength, collapsing softly to the floor. Though not dead immediately... his life was fading fast.
"'Foolish emperor'... does that mean me?" In his final moments, what flashed through the Young Emperor's mind was not fear of death, nor hatred toward Chelsea—but those two words.
'Foolish emperor'—a title far more cutting than 'tyrant.'
"Foolish emperor... why..." Blood began to seep from his nose and mouth, his vision growing hazy. In his fading consciousness, he thought he saw his father and mother...
"Father... Mother... I... I'm sorry... I've... disappointed you..." Struggling to lift his head toward their portrait, the Young Emperor whispered weakly. His outstretched arm then fell lifelessly to the ground.
The last heir of the Imperial bloodline—was dead.
Chelsea, watching the scene, bit down lightly on her lollipop, her expression calm and emotionless. "Mission complete. Time to go..."
BOOM—!
"Your Majesty!!!"
...
Under the gentle moonlight, upon Air Manta's back, a pair of glowing crimson eyes slowly opened, gleaming in the dark.
"The Young Emperor... is dead."