Cyno wasn't the only one whose mindset had shifted—Nahida's had, too.
When Idris pushed those two new modules onto the Akasha, she began studying them at once. Yet for all the God of Wisdom's mastery, she couldn't unravel them in a single sitting.
"These designs… they're exquisitely precise," she murmured. "They address Sumeru's Akasha problems in one sweep."
"That means Sage Idris didn't put this together in a day or two. He must have laid the groundwork the moment he assumed the post."
She paused. "He's only… twenty, isn't he?"
All at once, the weight of five centuries—of former Grand Sages' misdeeds, of her own unintended ripples, of the long, calcified tensions—seemed to rest on the shoulders of that young man. Tears pricked Nahida's eyes. She wanted to go to him, to speak comfort.
But she could not.
In her sight, the Grand Sage was still the one who had kept her confined for five hundred years—and would keep her so a while longer. Their contradiction was as deep-rooted as Sumeru's own.
"Then all these years… were my grievances truly just?" she whispered.
She bent back to the two small programs he'd deployed across the Akasha, learning, testing—and drifting, quietly, after Idris's next moves.
—
That afternoon in Sumeru, after clearing a stack of "new broom" business within the Akademiya, Idris turned to another headache:
Trafficking in canned knowledge.
With a super-network like the Akasha came a shortcut—knowledge sealed, packaged, injected. Buying and selling such "cans," especially those laced with forbidden knowledge, was a crime. But Idris knew how things worked. In Sumeru—and especially in Port Ormos—people still risked it.
So today, he invited two particular guests to his office.
One was the "mild, bookish" scholar everyone underestimated—Alhaitham.
The other was Sumeru's most infamous merchant—Dori.
Idris skimmed the latest reports as a tall, well-built man took a seat without fuss. Behind him bounced a pink-haired, pint-sized businesswoman dressed to the nines—every inch the shrewd trader.
Once they'd both settled, Idris set the papers aside.
"You're punctual."
Alhaitham spoke first. "Naturally. When the Grand Sage summons us, we come."
He tilted his head. "But, Grand Sage Idris, I'm an ordinary scribe. What orders require my presence?"
Dori coughed twice, smile tight. "And me? Just a small-time retailer before the mighty Akademiya. Hardly a 'big name,' yes?"
For a heartbeat, even Alhaitham's usually impassive face showed a flicker of doubt. Dori's sharp little expression turned… uneasy.
They both knew the truth.
This young Grand Sage was hard to handle. Yesterday he'd proven—in minutes—that he had both methods and mettle. Why call them now? To make an example of them after dressing down the Matra and the Corps of Thirty?
Neither of them held much reverence for "Grand Sages." In the future, Alhaitham would stand at the heart of a certain "dragon's court," and Dori's favorite line had always been, "So what if I butt heads with the Akademiya?"
Idris let their tension sit, unreadable. Then he said, almost lightly:
"You're both being modest. I've called you to discuss a matter perfectly aligned with your expertise."
"It concerns the private trade in canned knowledge—and forbidden knowledge."
"You two spend most of your time in Port Ormos. I presume you've crossed paths with it more than once."
At that, a bead of sweat traced down both foreheads.
More than once? If anything, no one in Sumeru knew canned knowledge better than these two.
So—was the Grand Sage here to clean house?
They remained calm. They'd left no easy handles to grab. Idris's eyes flicked between them, and he smiled—as if he knew anyway—then shifted tack.
"Here's my thought: if 'knowledge' can be bought and sold—and persists in being sold despite bans—"
"—then what if we change what's inside the can?"
Alhaitham's eyes narrowed. Dori's ears perked.
Idris tapped the report with a fingertip. "Replace the payload. Music, instead of lessons."
"In other words—turn 'canned knowledge' into canned music."
To read advanced Chapters, head over to p@treon:
patreon.com/nani_kaito