The tension in the hall, already a thick, suffocating blanket, tightened further as Ash arrived. He stepped through the archway with his usual steady gait, but something was undeniably different. His presence, usually a grounding force, a silent reassurance, felt… off. The familiar indifference in his orange eyes had been replaced by a disconcerting unease, a flicker of something raw and exposed.
Ritso, adjusting her glasses with a practiced flick of her wrist, was the first to notice. "You're early," she remarked, pushing back a stray strand of hair. "The one-on-one matches haven't started yet." Ash replied. His gaze swept the gathered faces, a silent, almost frantic search, before locking onto Ritso with an intensity that made her shoulders stiffen. She took his arm and whispered urgently, her words a hurried, hushed explanation. The color seemed to drain from his face, his eyes widening with a stark disbelief.
"Is it true?" His voice, usually a steady, controlled murmur, held a strained edge, a carefully restrained tension. "Sir Lionheart was here?"
At the mention of her name, a ripple of unease spread through the room. Some shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze; others simply stared, their faces etched with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
Ritso nodded, her expression grim. "She came not long ago. Assessed the situation, told us we have until tomorrow to be ready."
Ash exhaled sharply, pressing his thumb against his temple, a gesture of frustrated disbelief. "Damn it."
Kelly, who had been contentedly playing with the strap of her satchel, perked up at his outburst. "Mista said a bad word!" she giggled, her voice a bright counterpoint to the tense atmosphere.
Ash blinked down at her, momentarily thrown off balance. But before he could respond, Myre stepped forward, her arms still crossed, though her posture had lost some of its earlier defiance.
"Mister Ash." Her voice was measured, cautious. "You knew she was coming, didn't you?"
Ash hesitated, his gaze flickering away. "I didn't think she'd come herself," he admitted, his voice low. "I thought she'd send someone else."
That only made Myre narrow her eyes, her suspicion deepening. "Why would she come herself? What kind of person is she?"
Ash rubbed the back of his neck, a rare display of discomfort. Then, in a moment of unexpected vulnerability, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "She's not just anyone."
That caught everyone's attention. Ash never spoke like this, never allowed uncertainty to bleed into his voice.
"She's Count Anzhelina Lionheart," he finally said, his voice heavy with unspoken implications. "And the city we're heading to—she rules it."
Silence descended, a heavy, pregnant silence that hung in the air like a shroud.
Then, a small voice broke the quiet.
Kelly blinked, tilting her head. "What's a Count?"
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the room, a brief release of the pent-up tension. But Ash wasn't laughing. He crouched down slightly to meet Kelly's gaze, his expression serious.
"A Count is like a very, very important person," he explained, his voice slower, gentler. "They own a lot of land, and they make the rules in the city they rule over."
Kelly's nose scrunched in thought. "Like a big big boss?"
Ash nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Pretty much."
Kelly clapped her hands together, her ears twitching, her tail swinging. "Oh! So like silly Rito, but bigger?"
A strangled sound escaped Ritso's lips. "What?"
The tension in the hall cracked for just a moment as some of the fighters laughed. Even Ash let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Much, much, much bigger, Kelly."
Kelly's eyes widened. "Like… really, really big?" She try to make hand gestures to show meaning behind her words.
Ash smiled faintly ans follows her gesture. "Yeah. Really, really big."
But while Kelly and the other children were content with this explanation, Myre was not. She had gone still, her arms slowly lowering to her sides as realization dawned. The weight of her earlier words to Lionheart slammed into her like a physical blow.
"We don't need your approval—just your word that we're leaving."
"They are people, not numbers."
She had stood there, speaking to a Count—the very person ensuring their escape—with absolute disrespect. Her face paled, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
Ritso, ever perceptive, caught the shift in her expression immediately. Adjusting her glasses, she murmured, "Oh, now you realize."
Myre's breath came unsteady as she struggled to find the right words. "I—I didn't know," she said, more to herself than anyone else.
"You didn't ask," Ritso replied bluntly, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation.
Myre's jaw clenched. "I need to apologize. Lady Ritso."
"Yes," Ritso agreed, giving her a pointed look. "Yes, you do. And stop calling me lady. Just Ritso."
Ash, who had been watching this exchange in silence, finally spoke up. "She won't care for an apology," he said, shaking his head. "She's not the forgiving type."
That didn't deter Myre. If anything, it only strengthened her resolve. "That doesn't matter," she said firmly. "I need to do it."
Ash studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine. Just don't expect her to acknowledge it."
Myre exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her forehead. She had always thought herself someone who understood people, who could read their motivations, their strengths, their weaknesses. But she had made a mistake today. One that she couldn't afford to repeat.
But more than that, the revelation of Lionheart's status brought another, heavier realization: they weren't just walking into a city. They were walking into her city. And that meant they were going to be under her rules. For better or worse.
Myre was still trying to process everything when Ritso placed a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Well," Ritso said with a smirk, adjusting her glasses, "what's the worst that can happen?"
Myre glanced at her warily.
Ritso shrugged. "Either she tells you to get out of her sight, or she throws you in a cell. Which, to be honest, we can probably free you out of. Still better than rotting in the Underpaths, don't you think?"
Myre swallowed. That wasn't exactly comforting, but Ritso had a point. "And it's not like she eats people," Ritso added with a chuckle.
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Yeahhhhhh… about that…"
The entire hall froze.
Slowly, all eyes turned to Ash.
His eyes flickered as he realized exactly what he had just said out loud.
Ash immediately straightened and cleared his throat. "Anyway," he said, shifting the topic so fast it nearly gave them whiplash, "we should probably start packing. Lionheart wants us ready by tomorrow."
No one moved. No one blinked.
"Mister Ash," Myre said carefully, her voice laced with a mixture of dread and curiosity, "what do you mean by that'?"
Ash crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "Not important."
"It sounds important."
"It's not."
"It really sounds important."
"Focus on packing," Ash said, already turning toward the exit. "I have stuff to handle."
Ritso just stared after him, then adjusted her glasses with a resigned sigh. "You definitely just made it worse idiot."
The tension didn't leave the room even after Ash disappeared into the corridor. And now, Myre had two problems. One: she still needed to apologize to Count Anzhelina Lionheart. Two: she was now deeply, deeply concerned about whatever the hell Ash had just implied.
Zyna came downstairs wipping her hands with her apron and speaks in motherly tone, "Everyone dinner is ready~", she didn't get answer so she looks at them and stop understanding the silence, "Ahhh guys?"