The morning sun barely touched the streets of the lower district. Smoke curled from chimneys, and merchants shouted their wares over the clatter of horses and wagons. Yet Zaro didn't notice any of it. His eyes were fixed on the horizon—on the distant silhouette of the towers that had haunted his dreams for years.
He didn't walk. He ran. Every step was a promise he had made to himself. Not to anyone else. Not to fate. To himself.
"You're crazy," his younger brother called after him, trying to keep pace. "The streets are dangerous! And you—"
"Dangerous or not, it doesn't matter." Zaro's voice was calm, almost cold. "If I don't move, I'll stay exactly where I am. And I refuse to be there."
The boy gritted his teeth. "You don't even know what it takes to get into M7. You think you can just… walk in?"
Zaro didn't answer. He couldn't waste energy on words. Each alleyway brought him closer to the training grounds where rumors said the M7 captains sometimes tested new recruits—even from outside the Kingdom.
The training grounds were chaotic. Soldiers sparred, their movements precise but brutal. Archers released arrows with lethal speed. A group of EMOS operatives moved silently across the shadows, as if the ground itself feared them. Zaro's heart pounded—not from fear, but anticipation.
And then he saw them. Six figures, each standing perfectly still. Each wearing the color of a different division: red, blue, green, black, gold, and white. Their gazes scanned the crowd as if every heartbeat, every breath, was recorded.
One of them—a captain with crimson armor—stepped forward. He had a sword slung casually across his back, yet his presence alone made even the bravest soldier hesitate.
"You there," he called, eyes locking on Zaro. "What do you want?"
Zaro straightened. "I want to join M7-PROTECTION."
The captain raised an eyebrow, letting a silence stretch long enough to make a heartbeat feel loud. "Do you even know what that means?"
"Yes." Zaro's voice didn't waver. "It means I protect those who can't protect themselves. And I'll become strong enough to stand in the tower, like the General once did."
The captain's smirk was almost invisible. "Bold words for a street rat."
A sudden laugh cut through the tension. Zaro's younger brother had caught up, leaning on the edge of a training post. "Street rat, huh? Maybe he's just another fool chasing a dream."
Zaro clenched his fists. "Shut up."
"Or maybe," the brother continued, smirking, "he's the kind of fool who actually scares everyone around him… including you."
Their eyes met. The tension wasn't anger—it was familiar rivalry, the kind only brothers can share. They hated each other in front of everyone, yet underneath, each silently protected the other.
The captain's gaze flicked between them. "Interesting," he muttered. "Maybe I'll watch. Or maybe I'll test him now."
Without warning, the captain drew his sword, the sunlight glinting along the blade like fire. A group of trainees, not noticing Zaro, fell back instinctively.
Zaro didn't move. He stepped forward.
"Do you think you're ready?" the captain asked.
"I don't think," Zaro replied. "I know."
The blade swung. Faster than any eye could follow. Zaro's instincts, sharpened by years of survival, kicked in. He dodged, rolled, and countered with a broken practice stick he had carried since childhood. Each movement was imperfect—but precise enough to draw a flicker of recognition from the captain.
A smirk. A nod. "Not bad," the captain said. "You might survive here… if you're willing to endure."
High above the training grounds, Mimi observed from the balcony of her temporary assignment in Famos. She had come to understand M7—to measure its power against her royal blood.
And then she saw him. The boy whose movements were unrefined but instinctive. The boy who didn't even flinch in front of a captain.
Her eyes narrowed. "Hmph… you might actually be interesting."
By the time the sun dipped behind the horizon, Zaro sat atop the same ruined rooftop from Chapter 1. His younger brother stood nearby, arms crossed, scowling, but silently approving.
"I saw them," the younger brother said. "The captains… the divisions… the colors."
Zaro looked at the horizon, where the towers pierced the fading light. "One day… I'll stand in that central tower. And I won't just survive—I'll lead. And nothing… nothing will stop me."
The wind carried his words across the city, as if the towers themselves had heard him.
Far away, in shadows unknown to anyone, someone listened. A faint smirk. A whisper.
"Good… let's see if you truly deserve it, boy."