The television in the CGO break room flickered with the usual morning news, the soft hum filling the space as staff trickled in and out.
"Update on the Y'Ruen school bus incident," the anchor announced.
Evah entered with Mika by her side, both pausing to glance at the screen.
"Authorities have confirmed that the missing school bus was discovered two days ago in front of Y'Ruen's central police station," the reporter said. "The bus was occupied by dozens of missing teenagers. CCTV footage shows an unidentified man leaving the vehicle at approximately one a.m. last Monday."
The screen displayed only a silhouetted figure, his features obscured.
"Initial reports speculated involvement from a local trafficking group," the anchor continued. "However, after interviewing the rescued youths, authorities revealed that the man seen in the footage was in fact their rescuer. No sketches or detailed descriptions have been released."
Evah's eyes lingered on the silhouette.
"The group of rescued teens has been identified as the missing youth from Cali'dus. Investigations remain ongoing."
Beside her, Mika leaned closer with a grin. "You know… I think that's the Major General."
Evah blinked. "Eh? From a shadow?"
"Call it a hunch. It's rumored he does things like this." Mika stirred her coffee, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "There was one incident—someone overheard—but gossiping about it got banned. Since then, we just guess when he's behind heroic stunts like this."
Evah raised a brow, watching Mika sip her coffee like she'd just revealed state secrets.
"Doctor Riko and the Major General are best friends, right? Both of them are so cool!" Mika added, starry-eyed.
Evah didn't reply. The words "one a.m." and "Y'Ruen station" echoed in her mind.
The night he collapsed…
One a.m., that Monday—the bus was found.
He returned home around one-thirty.
Her grip on the mug tightened. Replaying all possible details she missed.The pieces aligned too cleanly.
ON TV —
"Whoever saved them—thank you so much!" a woman sobbed on the screen, clutching her daughter with trembling hands. Her worn bag hung loosely from one arm, a pink watch glinting faintly on her wrist.
"There are thirty-four survivors in total," the anchor concluded. "Most remain under government custody, while several have been reunited with their families."
The footage faded, replaced by the calm studio backdrop.
INT. CGO CONFERENCE ROOM
The same broadcast played on a muted screen in the conference room.
Only two men remained seated before it.
One in a gray military uniform adorned with medals—Major General Erion.
The other in teal blue, posture sharp as a blade—Commander Xerxes.
"There were supposed to be thirty-five."
Erion's voice was low. Controlled. His fist struck the table once—not in anger, but in grief.
"You did your best, Major," Xerxes replied, his baritone calm, weighted with respect. "You saved thirty-four lives."
Erion shook his head, reaching for the remote to turn off the screen.
"A life is a life. Each one is important."
"So is yours, Major General," Xerxes countered.
Erion's gaze lifted—eyes glowing faintly blue beneath the low light.
But the commander did not flinch.
The silence between them grew heavy. Outside the glass wall, the city thrummed with life, unaware of the moral war unfolding within.
"Major General," Xerxes began, rising to his feet, "I formally request that you cease unauthorized missions."
"Xerxes." Erion's tone held quiet warning.
"What you've done for this country already surpasses duty. But crossing borders, involving yourself in foreign affairs—this is too reckless." His voice remained calm, but conviction pulsed through each syllable.
Erion exhaled slowly. "Please, don't make this harder."
"I once believed as you did," Xerxes said, lowering his salute. "That saving others justified bending the law, crossing lines. But I've learned something since."
The air conditioning hummed, cold and merciless.
"If you fall, what happens to Y'Ruen? What happens to the peace you fought for if its strongest shield breaks?" His tone was challenging, knowing his morale was his strongest trait and believing what;s right.
Erion met his gaze. No words. Just understanding—and guilt.
The distance between them felt wider than the table, filled with years of loyalty and unspoken truths.
For the first time, Xerxes's voice trembled—not with fear, but with loyalty.
"Let the world fend for itself, Erion. Just this once."
Erion closed his eyes. He understood.
Perhaps, too well.