Chapter 41 Shadows That Burn at the Table
The general watched Kimblee for a few seconds before speaking, as if weighing a decision he did not often make.
"Let's make use of your day of freedom," he finally said. "I'll buy you a meal."
Kimblee raised an eyebrow, surprised more by the gesture than by the proposal itself. Outside, the city continued its routine, unaware that one of its most dangerous instruments was walking freely through its streets, even if only for a few hours.
"A meal?" he repeated. "Well… that sounds almost civilized."
The general sighed.
"It's not every day I have a Crimson Alchemist willing to talk without explosions involved."
Kimblee let out a low laugh.
"After everything we've discussed," he shrugged, "sure—why not?"
They walked together through Central City without a visible escort. The contrast was strange: a decorated general and a war criminal walking side by side like old acquaintances. They entered a discreet restaurant of dark wood and polished tables, frequented by mid-ranking officers. A few glances lingered on Kimblee, but no one said a word.
They sat down.
"You choose the food," the general said, settling into his chair. "Consider it part of the invitation."
Kimblee flipped through the menu with little interest.
"Something light," he said at last. "I don't want to fall asleep halfway through the conversation."
The general smiled faintly.
"Then I'll make up for it."
He ordered a generous cut of meat, accompanied by wine. Kimblee settled for a simple dish and water. For a moment, only the murmur of the place and the clinking of other diners' cutlery could be heard.
It was the general who broke the silence.
"Lately," he said, "I've been investigating General Mustang."
Kimblee looked up immediately. His eyes sharpened, and a dangerous smile spread across his face.
"I wouldn't get involved with him if I were you."
The general raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?" he asked. "And what do you know?"
Kimblee leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
"Mustang is one of the most dangerous alchemists this country has," he replied bluntly. "Not because of his rank, but because of his control. His fire alchemy is precise. Too precise. He doesn't throw flames… he directs them."
The general listened carefully.
"And his guardian angel," Kimblee continued, "is Lieutenant Hawkeye. That woman has terrifying aim. I don't know how she ended up in the military or what the hell keeps her so loyal, but believe me… you don't want her aiming at you."
The general took a sip of water.
"You say they hide things," he remarked. "Have you seen them?"
Kimblee smiled, and for a moment his gaze drifted into a distant memory.
"During the Ishvalan War," he began, "I wandered among the alchemists. My job was simple: make sure no civilians escaped while I was watching. I couldn't let anyone live."
The atmosphere seemed to grow colder.
"Mustang," he continued, "released his fire erratically. Not because he lacked control, but because he was losing something far more important. He destroyed everything. The enemy fell wrapped in flames while, farther away, others aimed and fired."
Kimblee paused, as if savoring the moment.
"Then it happened," he said. "An enemy shot went straight for him. Clean. Lethal."
The general leaned forward.
"But it never reached him."
Kimblee raised a finger.
"One bullet intercepted that shot in midair." He smiled. "Perfect. Precise. It was Lieutenant Hawkeye defending then-Colonel Mustang."
The general's eyes widened slightly.
"She never took her eyes off him," Kimblee added. "Not for a second. While Mustang burned the battlefield, she covered him from afar, eliminating any threat that dared to aim at him."
Kimblee let out a low chuckle.
"I remember smiling and thinking: now that's a fiery woman."
At that moment, the food arrived. The aroma of freshly served meat filled the table. The general cut a piece slowly, never taking his eyes off Kimblee.
"An interesting description," he said. "But you still haven't told me why I shouldn't keep investigating them."
Kimblee took a sip of water.
"Because Mustang doesn't play at being an obedient soldier," he replied. "He plays at being necessary. And as long as he is, he can move wherever he wants."
"And Hawkeye?" the general asked.
"She's the reason he's still alive," Kimblee said without hesitation. "And also his anchor. Without her, Mustang would be a fire out of control. With her… he's a weapon with a target."
The general chewed in silence.
"Everyone hides something," Kimblee added. "You. Me. Mustang. The difference is that some hide guilt… and others hide plans."
The general set his cutlery down on the plate.
"And you, Kimblee?" he asked. "What do you hide?"
Kimblee smiled, just barely showing his teeth.
"Nothing," he replied. "I've always been very honest about what I am."
A heavy silence settled over the table. Outside, the city remained alive, ignorant of the tensions woven through soft words and blood-soaked memories.
The general resumed eating.
"Even so," he said, "I'll continue investigating."
"I know," Kimblee replied. "Just remember this: if Mustang ever decides to aim at you… you won't see it coming."
The general nodded slowly.
They finished their meal without saying much more. When they stood from the table, Kimblee stretched his shoulders and looked out the window.
"It was an interesting lunch," he said. "Almost normal."
"Don't get used to it," the general replied.
Kimblee laughed as they walked toward the exit.
In a world where fire, ice, and blood had shaped destinies, even a simple meal could become a warning.
(End of Chapter)