Erion had seen reactions like this before.
Victims always wanted justice—immediate, visible justice. And when it didn't come the way they hoped… they unraveled.
But this wasn't how the law worked.
Even the GCO had to follow the rules. They could act, yes. But in court? Convictions required more than rage. More than grief. You needed proof—undeniable, irrefutable.
And that was always the hardest thing to explain.
Especially to people like her.
"…Where's the flash drive?" Erion asked softly, careful not to startle her.
Evah froze, a meter away from him. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, holding her elbows like she was trying to keep from falling apart.
He saw it in an instant—something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
He hadn't wanted to bring this up. He knew it could hurt her. But right now… it was the only path forward. The only way to protect her.
"I…" Her voice cracked. Her eyes were down. She didn't move.
Her lips parted again—still no sound.
Then, suddenly—
"You—You!"
She spun toward him, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes.
"You should've done something! You're the Major General, aren't you? You could've done it if you wanted to!" Her voice trembled. "You should've taken action if you actually cared!"
"Maybe you're one of them too!" she screamed. "Maybe you're the other one behind all this!"
Erion took a step forward, but she flinched.
"Don't come near me!"
Frustration twisted her face. Raw. Unfiltered. Heartbreaking.
He knew that expression.
It was the look of someone whose last hope had been ripped away.
And now, the accusations weren't really for him—they were for the world that had let her down again.
"…My family,the victims" she whispered. "What will happen to them?"
"Calm down," Erion said gently.
But it didn't reach her.
"I thought you were powerful!" she wailed. "I thought you could protect us!"
He met her gaze. There was no easy way to say it. But right now, he couldn't allow himself to show more emotion.
She didn't need his pity—or false promises that would only fall apart later.
"But that's not how the world works," he said.
He wanted to tell her everything.
That what she saw as powerful was barely a fraction of what existed beneath the surface. That the people he was fighting… were darker, deeper, more untouchable than anything she could imagine.
That his power meant nothing to the ones truly in control.
But he didn't say it.
He didn't want to crush her completely.
This wasn't the first time he had to deliver news like this. And it wouldn't be the last. He said nothing.
He stepped forward and gently grabbed her arms.
"Let go!" she snapped, but she didn't resist. Her whole body was trembling.
"Bunny," he said softly. "Listen to me."
She blinked, startled by the name. Her confusion slowed her tears.
"I don't believe it," Erion whispered. "I don't believe you're safe."
She couldn't respond, but the confusion and tears in her eyes said enough. He knew he had to keep explaining.
"I saw something that day. Something wasn't right."
His hands were cold on her shoulders. But his gaze was steady.
"The investigation said you were clear. But I don't buy it. Something's wrong."
"If we don't go back," he continued, "It will also alarm them. We have to do this."
He took a slow breath.
"We need to go back. I'll protect you. No matter what."
His voice was firm. Certain. Like a vow.
"It'll be just the two of us. You must not tell anyone about this suspicion." His eyes locked onto hers, steady and intense.
Again, she couldn't find the words. Her world was spiraling—confusion, anger, frustration, and everything in between.
"You don't have to tell me now… but when you're ready, let me know where the flash drive is."
Evah's throat tightened.
How could he say it like that? So calm… So sure?
He didn't even force her to answer.
He could have. He scared her without even trying. If he'd wanted to, she knew she would've broken in seconds.
But instead…
"Ask me anything," he said, slowly letting go of her arms. "Once you're calm… I'll answer."
He stepped back, giving her space.
"Please rest well tonight," he said gently. "We fly out tomorrow morning."
INT. CGO International Hospital
The white walls felt as empty as ever, though at least the windows were open today. The view outside wasn't much—just a sliver of sky and a stretch of rooftops—but Yuka was still grateful. From a life once full of mystery and adventure, she was now trapped within these four walls for months.
She glanced at the white sheets covering her legs, unable to feel the feet beneath them. Little by little, her hope had begun to fade—especially now, when the only person she could really talk to hadn't answered her calls for weeks.
"How are you feeling, Miss Iekami?"
The familiar voice cut through the quiet, followed by the soft thud of the door closing.
It was him—the tall, handsome doctor who always came to check on her. As always, he held a fidget cube in his right hand, idly turning it between his fingers. His presence was warm and soothing, like an older brother—gentle, comforting, and deeply concerned.
"Doctor!" Yuka smiled. "I'm okay… just bored, as always." The smile was forced, but she tried to make it convincing.
"I brought you a new book."
Her face lit up instantly, like a child receiving a long-awaited toy from a parent.
The doctor raised a finger to his lips in a playful shush, slowing his approach before slipping a hardbound book from the pocket of his white lab coat.
It was forbidden. She'd begged others before—nurses, aides, even orderlies—for something to read, but they always refused. Anything that could connect her to the outside world was off-limits, especially electronics. But he… he always brought something. His nameplate read: Dr. Battenberg, MD, DO. OR-V. and his warm smile made the room feel less like a cage.
"Thank you so much, Doctor!" Yuka clutched the book and slid it under her pillow, as if hiding treasure.
"Do you have… maybe a magazine? Or a newspaper?" she asked carefully, her tone light, as if trying not to push her luck.
"Miss Iekami, that will only stress you out." His voice was calm but firm as he checked the IV drips beside her bed. "I know it's hard—especially given your profession—but not now. You have to focus on recovering first."
He pulled out his stethoscope and began his routine check of her vitals.
Yuka let out a long sigh, but kept quiet. She knew she was asking for too much.