Chapter 7 - On the eve of the Post-War

The silence in the war room was suffocating, heavy with the weight of defeat. The only sound was the low hum of the holographic map, its dull red glow casting shadows across the hardened faces gathered around the table. Each marker on the map was a scar, a grave—a city conquered, a nation fallen. The map didn't just display territory. It displayed loss. Failure.

The shadow of the Imperial Federal Republic of the Philippines now stretched across Southeast Asia, an iron grip reaching from the ruins of Indonesia to the ashes of Papua New Guinea. The empire's conquest wasn't just marked by land, but by the echoes of those who had fought, bled, and died to stop it.

The silence held, suffocating, until Colonel Virginia Balance broke it. Her voice was sharp, cold—a blade cutting through the tension like steel. But beneath the hard edge was something deeper. A crack. Weariness. Regret.

"Let's begin." Her words were low, controlled. A command forced through clenched teeth. "We need to understand how this happened… and why we failed to stop it."

The words hung heavy, accusing. They were the questions no one wanted to ask but knew they had to. The questions that tasted like ash.

Raines stepped forward, his jaw tight, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He hesitated—not from fear, but from the weight of reliving failure. Then, with a grim exhale, he tapped the holographic interface. The map zoomed in, shifting to display the digital simulations of key battles. Glowing red lines marked the empire's advance, each movement a scar carved into the land.

"It started with speed and precision. The IFRP didn't just attack—they annihilated. In Vietnam, in Thailand, in Laos... they struck with overwhelming force. Tamaraw Cavalry units—enhanced, magically fortified—tore through defensive lines like they were paper. They didn't fight wars. They ended them."

The words echoed through the room, a grim litany of failure. Silence followed, heavy and sharp. Faces hardened. They had seen the footage—cities burning beneath imperial fire, soldiers crushed beneath hooves and steel, defenses shattered as if they'd never existed.

It was Canopus who spoke next, his jaw tight, his voice low and bitter.

"Singapore wasn't a battle. It was an execution."

The words hit like a hammer, heavy with grief and anger.

"We had operatives there—good men. They fought, they bled. They held as long as they could. But when that Imperial Gate opened behind our lines... they were slaughtered. Cut down like cattle. No mercy. No chance."

His gaze turned to Arcturus, a silent weight of loss in his eyes. The kind of loss that never left.

Arcturus' voice was rough, hoarse, the edges raw from memories still bleeding.

"We weren't fighting soldiers. We were fighting ghosts. They teleported behind us, struck from every shadow. Every angle. We didn't have a chance. No warning. Just... bodies hitting the ground before we could turn."

He paused, the silence thick, his hands trembling slightly beneath the table. It wasn't just tactics. It wasn't just defeat. It was the echo of helplessness.

The tension snapped when Regulus slammed his fist on the table, the sharp crack of bone against steel cutting through the room like a blade. His eyes burned—not just with anger, but with rage.

"And the ones they didn't kill?" His voice shook, barely contained. "They sent them to Fort Santiago. To rot. To die in the dark. And we're just going to let that happen?!"

The question burned, but no one answered. Because what answer was there?

The silence that followed was more than suffocating—it was an admission of helplessness.

Finally, Raines turned the map, the image shifting to Papua New Guinea. Port Moresby glowed red beneath her hand, the light staining her skin like blood.

"Papua New Guinea was a masterstroke." Her voice was cold, brittle. "They didn't even give it a chance. Naval blockades cut the country off, strangling supply lines. Aerial bombardments decimated coastal defenses. By the time we realized what was happening, it was already too late."

The map flickered, showing red markers advancing like a plague.

"The Tamaraw Cavalry broke through with ease. When resistance retreated into the jungles, they deployed the Coronia's Bastion—sweeping the forests with detection waves. Every hiding place, every stronghold was exposed and crushed. There was nowhere left to run."

She paused, her gaze lingering on the image of the island, the holographic markers collapsing one after another like falling dominoes.

"And when that wasn't enough, they used the Imperial Gate to teleport strike teams directly into Port Moresby. The defenses didn't fall. They didn't even fight. They… crumbled."

The words echoed in the silence, lingering like smoke in the air.

Admiral Kincaid stood rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes locked on the digital carnage unfolding before him. The holographic display painted the walls with images of destruction—cities burning, soldiers falling, nations crumbling. His voice was low, measured, but beneath the calm lay a storm of fury.

"They conquered half the Pacific in less than a year. Speed. Brutality. Precision. Every battlefront was another knife in ASEAN's heart."

His words lingered in the air, heavy and cold. No one argued. No one could.

Major Canopus crossed his arms, his jaw set, his gaze burning with bitterness.

"It wasn't just firepower. It was that damned Imperial Gate." His voice was low but edged like a blade. "They weren't fighting by the same rules. They tore the battlefield apart and stepped through it like gods. We were prepared for tanks and guns—not that."

The room fell into a tense stillness, the kind born of helpless rage.

It was Regulus who broke first, his voice sharp, almost snarling.

"Who the hell even has the power to do that? Who's holding the CAD that can summon something like that?"

The question slammed into the room, heavy and accusing. No one answered. Not at first. But every eye turned to Lieutenant Colonel Raines. Her face was shadowed with uncertainty, but her eyes held a weight far heavier than fear. She stepped forward, her fingers ghosting over the holographic interface.

"We've been tracking it," she said quietly, her words cutting through the silence. "That CAD… it's not just advanced. It's strategic-class level magic. Nothing like we've ever seen deployed on the field."

With another tap, she brought up a series of grainy satellite images—snapshots of horror. The Imperial Gate, a twisting vortex of light and shadow, tearing open above battlefields. Soldiers stepping from the rift in perfect formation, their advance swift, brutal, inevitable. Death following in their wake.

The room was suffocating, the weight of the images pressing down on every soul present.

Raines hesitated, her next words sharp, deliberate. "And we know who wields it."

The air grew colder. Tighter.

"Gabriella Aurelia Mendez."

Silence.

It was the kind of silence that felt alive, thick with disbelief and dawning horror.

Arcturus' eyes narrowed, the name heavy on his tongue.

"The emperor's daughter."

The title cut deep, a reminder that this was more than just a weapon—it was a legacy, an heir wielding the blade that would reshape the world.

Raines nodded grimly. "She leads their teleportation divisions. She's the one who opened the Gate behind our lines in Singapore. She's the one who turned every battle. Every time we thought we had a secure perimeter, she tore it apart. Her CAD isn't just summoning—it's warping the battlefield. She's been the architect of every major breakthrough in this war."

The weight of her words dropped like stone.

Kincaid's fists clenched behind his back, his voice low and cold as iron. "And no one saw her coming. We lost Singapore in days because of her."

Regulus shook his head, disbelief widening his eyes. "How the hell does one person have that kind of power? What is that CAD?"

But Raines didn't flinch. She didn't blink.

"It's something we haven't been able to counter. Not yet. It's beyond conventional magic. Some reports call it Imperial Gate, but that's not just a name. It's a Strategic-Class ability. She doesn't just open teleportation rifts. She can control them—shape them. Move entire divisions across continents without warning. She bends the rules of warfare."

Her voice dipped lower, the gravity in her words undeniable.

"She isn't just transporting troops. She's orchestrating the entire battlefield. By the time we respond, she's already behind us. Already striking."

Silence fell again, deeper and heavier than before. The weight of it sank into the room like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples felt in every glance, every breath.

And then, her voice broke the stillness, hesitant but sharp.

"You can't kill what you can't reach. Not with that Gate. She's everywhere. Nowhere. And by the time we move, it's already too late."

Colonel Virginia Balance leaned forward, her gaze sharp as glass, cutting through the suffocating tension in the room. Her voice was low, cold—an edge honed by the bitterness of too many defeats.

"She's more than a commander," she said, her words slow and deliberate, as though each one weighed heavy in her throat. "She's a student. Young. Barely twenty. But also…"

She paused. Not for effect, but because the truth was almost too heavy to speak. The kind of truth that changed everything.

"She's a Strategic-Class Magician."

The room froze.

The words hung in the air like smoke, bitter and choking.

Canopus opened his mouth, as though to speak, but no words came. His jaw twitched, his eyes narrowing as he wrestled with the impossible. Regulus' face twisted, disbelief contorting his features. Even Arcturus, who had stood against death more times than anyone in that room, stiffened, his eyes shadowed by something dangerously close to fear.

It was Raines who broke the silence, though her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"A… student?" The words trembled. "You're telling me that—"

Balance nodded sharply, her eyes never wavering.

"Yes. A student. But not just any student. She's the daughter of the IFRP's Supreme Commander, and their empire's greatest weapon."

The finality of it crashed down like a hammer, crushing the breath from the room.

For a moment, no one could speak. No one could breathe.

It was Canopus who found his voice first, though it came out rough, ragged, like something torn from his throat.

"We've been fighting a Strategic-Class Magician this whole time?"

Balance's jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

"Not just fighting." Her gaze hardened. "Losing."

The truth tasted like ash.

Regulus's anger broke through first, raw and jagged. He slammed his fist into the table, the holographic map shuddering beneath the impact. The image flickered, as though even it struggled to withstand the weight of his fury.

"And she's been hiding as a student this entire time?!" His voice shook, low and sharp. "She's teleporting entire armies, tearing through our lines, turning nations into graves—and she's a kid?"

Raines's hands trembled as they hovered over the interface, the hologram cycling through image after image—scenes of devastation, bodies strewn along the coasts of Singapore, the smoking ruins of Jakarta, the smoldering remnants of Papua New Guinea.

"That's how they've been doing it," she said softly. "That's why we couldn't counter it. Why every strategy failed."

Balance's eyes darkened, the weight of her words pressing down like iron.

"No one expected it. Not from someone so young. But she's not just wielding the Gate." Her voice dipped lower, each word slicing through the air like a knife. "She is the Gate."

The words were worse than a death sentence.

"That CAD isn't just a weapon—it's an extension of her. She's been trained to use it as a scalpel and a hammer. She doesn't just summon troops; she tears open reality itself. She can teleport entire battalions behind enemy lines, encircle armies before they know they're surrounded. She doesn't fight battles. She ends them. The moment she arrives on a battlefield…"

She let the words hang, the end unspoken but understood.

The moment Gabriella Mendez stepped onto a battlefield, it was already over.

The silence that followed was absolute. Heavy. Suffocating.

The weight of Balance's words pressed on them like a blade to the throat, sharp and merciless. It wasn't just that they were losing. It was that they had never stood a chance.

And they all knew it.

Benjamin Canopus leaned forward, his fingers curling into a fist, knuckles white, his jaw clenched tight as if trying to crush the unbearable reality pressing down on him. His gaze locked onto the holographic map, at the glowing red markers that marked not just cities, but graves. Names that had been erased—Singapore, Jakarta, Port Moresby—their stories reduced to ash beneath the shadow of the empire.

His mind raced, grinding through the weight of what had just been said.

A Strategic-Class Magician. Gabriella Aurelia Mendez, The daughter of the Supreme Commander, The one who tore open battlefields and turned them into mass graves.

He swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing, voice barely more than a whisper.

"We knew about one." The words were more to himself than anyone else. "We knew Japan had him. Tatsuya Shiba. A Strategic-Class magician, hiding in plain sight."

The others turned toward him, tension sharpening like drawn blades. The name echoed like a ghost in the room, a memory of power they had once feared.

Canopus's eyes stayed locked on the map, his voice low, bitter.

"But now… they have one too."

The words settled into the room like stones, dragging the air into silence.

Canopus's hands moved swiftly across the holographic interface, fingers dancing over restricted files—classified information that even he wasn't authorized to view. But none of that mattered anymore. The rules were dead, buried beneath the weight of lost nations.

Files flickered to life, grainy images, coded reports, surveillance captures. And then—her face.

Gabriella Aurelia Mendez.

Age: 20.

Student at First High, Metro Manila. National Magic University.

A name presented to the world as just another prodigy, just another elite magician in training. Her status as the daughter of the Supreme Commander was an open secret, carefully controlled and presented as a symbol of national pride. But beneath those records—beneath the carefully manufactured image—was something far darker.

A weapon. Forged in shadow and blood.

Canopus stared at the photo. Her face was calm, composed. Sharp eyes, but betraying nothing. She didn't look like a murderer. She didn't look like the kind of person who tore cities apart with a thought, who crushed entire nations beneath her heel.

She looked like a student. But she wasn't.

She was the machine.

Canopus' voice was cold, sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"She's been hiding right in front of us." His eyes didn't leave the image. "A student at First High. While we were bleeding on the frontlines, she was sitting in a classroom."

The words burned, heavy with betrayal and disbelief.

Raines stepped closer, her frown deepening as she scanned the files, her eyes sharp, dissecting every word.

"You're sure it's her?"

Canopus nodded grimly, never looking away.

"Her CAD is unique." He tapped the screen, zooming in on the grainy image. The silver ring fitted to her pointy finger, gleaming beneath the light. "It's custom, reinforced with the empire's most advanced magic-tech. No one else could wield something like it. And if she really is the Gate…"

He gestured toward the hologram, where the Imperial Gate loomed, splitting battlefields like open wounds.

"She's the one holding the knife."

The words struck hard.

Regulus' jaw clenched, his fists curling against the table, eyes burning with disgust.

"So while our men were dying in Singapore, while Jakarta burned, she was studying? Learning how to kill better?"

Raines was the first to break the suffocating silence, her voice low but sharp, each word slicing through the tension like a blade.

"It's worse than just her."

Every head turned. The air thickened.

She stepped forward, her fingers gliding across the holographic map, tapping points that flickered to life in ominous, pulsing red.

"It's not just the Imperial Gate. Not anymore."

She hesitated, the weight of her next words coiling like poison in her throat.

"They've built… hubs. Teleportation hubs. Not just on the Grand Dominion—though that ship is still their central node."

The map shifted, expanding as her fingers danced across it. Red marks bloomed across the digital landscape like an infection, spreading fast and fatal.

"They've deployed teleportation hubs across the entire empire. In parliamentary buildings, military bases, even schools." She swallowed hard, as if the words tasted of ash. "They're everywhere. Hiding them in places no one would expect."

The weight of realization settled over the room like a shroud.

A cold dread spread, seeping into every breath, every heartbeat.

Regulus' fists clenched tighter, his jaw grinding as if he could break the words apart.

"You're saying they've turned civilian structures into teleportation zones?"

Raines nodded grimly, her face shadowed.

"And that's not all."

She swiped across the interface, and a new layer of data appeared—dark, pulsing red lines, weaving across the map like veins feeding a monstrous heart.

"They've developed bombardment teleportation devices. These aren't just moving soldiers or Tamaraw battalions. They're teleporting artillery, war machines, entire armored divisions. Directly into enemy territory. Directly into civilian zones."

Her voice dropped, grim and final. The words hit the room like a hammer.

"They're not just attacking with weapons. They're making the battlefield itself into a weapon."

The map pulsed, the red markers glowing like open wounds, their veins stretching further, deeper.

Arcturus' face darkened, his hands gripping the edge of the table, his voice rough.

"That's how they crushed the resistance so fast. Not just speed. Omnipresence. The moment they deploy a hub, the entire frontline collapses. The enemy is already inside the walls."

Canopus let out a sharp breath, his voice bitter, edged with exhaustion.

"It explains why Jakarta fell so fast. Why Papua burned. We were fighting an enemy that didn't need roads, didn't need supply lines." His gaze locked on the glowing map, the horror etched deep into his face. "They just appeared—right inside the heart of our defenses. Killing before we even knew they were there."

The tension broke with the crack of Regulus' fist slamming into the table. The hologram flickered, the image of the empire's advance trembling beneath the force of his rage.

"They're turning schools into slaughterhouses. Parliamentary halls into invasion points." His voice shook, heavy with fury. "They're not just fighting dirty. They're rewriting the rules of war."

The words hung heavy, sharp as blades.

And still, Raines wasn't finished. Her voice wavered, but she forced it forward, the truth dragging itself from her throat like a dying breath.

"And it gets worse."

The map shifted again, pulsing red as zones expanded around key cities. Markers flared along occupied territories, faint lines pulsing like a heartbeat waiting to strike.

"We've identified reports from refugees. Witnesses. The Grand Dominion has teleportation hubs large enough to deploy entire battalions in under a minute. Tamaraw units, mechanized forces, artillery cannons. But it's not just the ship anymore."

She tapped another section of the map, and more red lines bloomed—connecting occupied cities like threads of a spider's web.

"They're deploying these hubs permanently."

The words fell into the room like stones.

And silence followed. Horrified. Suffocating.

Raines' voice trembled, but she forced the words out.

"They're anchoring them into conquered territory. Tying the hubs into the very infrastructure of the cities they've taken. Schools. Government buildings. Military outposts."

She took a sharp breath, her eyes hollow.

"They're turning the nations they've conquered into launch points for their next invasion."

No one spoke. No one moved.

"It's not just Southeast Asia. It's every city they've taken. And when they decide to strike again—they won't invade." Her voice dropped, almost a whisper. "They'll arrive."

The words sent a cold shiver through the room. The horror of it gnawed into bone, deeper than fear.

Canopus' jaw clenched, his eyes dark, hollow with the understanding that came too late.

"We'll wake up…" The words caught, but he forced them out.

"And they'll already be here."

The silence that followed wasn't just heavy. It was final.

---

2092 – The Salcedo Residence, Kilometer 87, Batangas

The house stood alone against the backdrop of rolling hills, nestled deep in the rural landscape of Batangas. The nearest town of San Jose was miles away, leaving the Salcedo residence isolated.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old books, fresh coffee, and ink-stained parchment. A dim desk lamp flickered over stacks of scattered papers, half-filled notebooks, and a glowing CAD device lying unused beside a mechanical keyboard. The tap-tap of fingers typing against keys filled the room, a steady rhythm, methodical, immersed.

Sallie Mae Salcedo comes off like he's just killing time. Laid-back, unreadable, and always a bit too casual, he doesn't fit the image of a Strategic-Class magician. He's usually found half-slouched, tapping away on a handheld console, acting like the battlefield's an annoying distraction. Loyalty to the IFRP isn't ideology—it's convenience. He'll serve, but he won't pretend to care about speeches or orders. He follows his own logic, and no one's ever figured out what exactly that is.

He's got a lean build, wiry strength, the ever-present briefcase CAD slung low. Messy black hair, buzzed on the sides, longer up top. Eyes half-lidded, bored-looking most of the time. When they lock in, though, it's surgical. His left wrist is marked with faint burn scars—leftover from a misfired spell test back in high school. He didn't fix it. Said it's a good reminder.

Sallie leaned back in his chair, cracking his knuckles, his messy black hair falling over his sharp, violet eyes and his glasses. He wore a loose, unbuttoned school uniform, the tie discarded somewhere on the floor. Tall and lean, his posture was as relaxed as ever, shoulders slumped, gaze distant as he reread a sentence on his screen.

"Not bad," he muttered to himself, fingers hovering over the keys. "Maybe a little more suspense in this chapter. Should I kill off a side character? Eh, let's see where this goes."

Before he could finish his thought, the door to his study slammed open.

"You're writing again?"

Sallie barely had time to react before Celeste Marie Salcedo strode into the room, her long brown hair pulled neatly behind her shoulders, thin glasses perched perfectly over her sharp eyes. She wore their school uniform properly—pressed and spotless—a stark contrast to her brother's careless appearance.

Celeste Marie Salcedo doesn't waste time with pleasantries. Sharp, fast, and always three steps ahead, she cuts through problems—people included—without blinking. Ambition drives her, and loyalty to the IFRP isn't just politics; it's blood. She volunteered for the Japan invasion before the draft hit her year. Combat's a job, and she's damn good at it. Where her brother Sallie drifts, Celeste aims. Every move is calculated. Every spell has a backup. She trusts no one fully, not even family, though she'd kill for them without hesitation.

She stands straight, never slouches. Slim build, agile, always moving like she expects a fight to break out.

Her expression was half irritation, half exasperation, but entirely Celeste.

"You do realize midterms are in two days, right?" she snapped, arms crossed over her chest. "Or did you forget? Again."

Sallie sighed dramatically, spinning lazily in his chair. "Oh, come on, Cel. It's not like I'm failing. I can breeze through the exams just fine."

Celeste's white-gloved hand came down hard against the desk, rattling his coffee cup. "Breeze through? You're not even studying! I swear, you spend more time writing that—whatever that is—than actually preparing for your magical exams!"

"It's called a novel," Sallie corrected, grinning. "And some of us have aspirations beyond just being a magic prodigy, you know."

Celeste's glasses caught the light as she narrowed her gaze. "Some of us actually care about maintaining top-tier magical performance, Sallie."

Sallie leaned back, smirking. "And some of us don't need to try as hard."

That did it.

Celeste snatched one of his notebooks, flipping through the pages. "You're writing about magic duels and high-stakes battles while completely ignoring the real ones you'll be graded on! You're supposed to be refining your casting speed, reviewing grimoire applications, practicing anti-interference techniques—"

"I know, I know," Sallie cut in, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll be fine, Cel. I always am."

Celeste pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "You're impossible."

"And you're predictable."

She shot him a sharp glare, but he only grinned wider, stretching his arms lazily over his head.

"You take everything so seriously, Cel," Sallie continued, his tone shifting slightly. "I get it—you want to be perfect, you want to prove yourself. But don't forget to breathe once in a while. Not everything has to be a battle."

Celeste fell silent for a moment, her fingers tightening around the notebook before she sighed, exasperated but relenting. "You're infuriating. You know that?"

"Yep."

Another sigh. "Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don't come crying to me when you flunk out of the advanced magical theory section."

Sallie chuckled, watching as his sister stormed out of the room, mumbling something about irresponsible older brothers.

As the door closed behind her, he smirked, rolling his shoulders before turning back to his keyboard.

"Now, where was I?"

Celeste sat at her desk in the next room, her blue Fourth High School uniform neatly pressed, the red undershirt peeking from beneath her coat. She adjusted her glasses, tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear as she flipped open her grimoire-lined notebook.

Her plan was simple—review, revise, and perfect her understanding of advanced magical theory before the midterms. She had expected to spend the entire night poring over dense material, sifting through pages of formulas and spell equations.

But the moment she turned the first page, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

There were notes already written.

Not just notes—highlights, annotations, and summarized key points. Everything she needed was organized perfectly, critical formulas underlined, practical applications neatly listed, even common mistakes bolded for reference.

Her brows furrowed as she traced a finger down the page.

This wasn't hers.

Her irritation flared almost immediately.

There was only one person who could have done this.

Celeste stormed back into her brother's study, holding up the notebook like a piece of incriminating evidence.

"Sallie!"

He barely flinched, his dark brown eyes flicking up from his screen. "Yeah?"

She shoved the notebook forward. "You did this?"

Sallie stretched in his chair, lazy smirk forming. "Yup. Figured you'd be too stressed to go through all of it, so I made things easier for you. Consider it a big brother favor."

Celeste's fingers tightened around the notebook. "You—why would you—?!"

Sallie tilted his head, pretending to think. "Maybe because I know how seriously you take these things? And because, unlike what you keep saying, I do pay attention."

Celeste stared at him, mouth opening, then closing, struggling between frustration and reluctant gratitude.

On one hand, this was unbelievable—the same careless, nonchalant, self-proclaimed slouch had actually prepared her study materials ahead of time.

On the other hand…

She scanned the pages again.

The notes were good. Efficient. Practical. The kind of studying framework she would have made herself. He knew exactly how she reviewed, how she categorized information.

Her eyes softened, just for a second.

She inhaled, then sighed deeply, shaking her head. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

Sallie's smirk widened. "I get that a lot."

A long silence.

Then, barely audible, Celeste muttered, "Thanks."

Sallie grinned, spinning his chair away as he waved a hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. Or do. Whatever."

Celeste rolled her eyes, gripping the notebook a little tighter. She wouldn't say it out loud, but… she appreciated it.

Even if her brother was an absolute menace.

Celeste adjusted her glasses, flipping through the pages of her notes before glancing at her brother, who was already back to typing on his keyboard, completely at ease. Her initial irritation had faded, but curiosity replaced it.

She tapped the notebook lightly against her palm. "Alright, I'll bite. What exactly were you writing earlier?"

Sallie paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before he lazily leaned back in his chair, stretching. "Oh, just a little something I've been working on."

Celeste raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

Sallie grinned. "It's about a girl who falls in love with a woman who's older than her."

Silence.

Celeste froze, her fingers stiffening around the notebook. Her expression flickered between shock and exasperation before she let out a long, deep sigh and—facepalmed.

"For real?" she groaned, dragging her hand down her face.

Sallie chuckled. "What? It's a compelling story. Drama, tension, unspoken longing—"

Celeste held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "I don't need to hear the details, thanks."

Sallie, unfazed, simply smirked. "You asked."

She closed her eyes, inhaled slowly as if gathering every ounce of patience left in her body, then turned away. "I don't know why I expected anything else from you."

"You expected brilliance and got it," Sallie shot back.

Celeste just shook her head, muttering as she walked away. "Unbelievable."

Sallie chuckled, spinning back toward his screen. "Hey, don't be surprised if it becomes a bestseller."

From the hallway, Celeste's voice drifted back. "I'll be surprised if you actually finish it!"

Sallie just grinned, tapping away at his keyboard again.

Celeste, still holding her notebook, paused at the doorway before turning back toward Sallie, her expression shifting into something more serious.

"You know," she said, tapping the spine of the notebook against her palm, "Gabriella came back from Japan last month."

Sallie didn't look up. His fingers continued typing, barely acknowledging the comment. "Yeah, I heard."

Celeste narrowed her eyes. "That's it? You're not even curious about what she was doing there?"

Sallie let out a long sigh, finally stopping. He turned in his chair, leaning back lazily, arms crossed over his chest. "Cel, Gabriella Aurelia Mendez isn't exactly the kind of person who just takes vacations. If she went to Japan, it wasn't for sightseeing. But whatever she was up to, it's way above my pay grade."

Celeste adjusted her glasses, a clear sign she was about to lecture him again. "She wasn't just there on some political mission—she was dealing with the aftermath of our invasion. IFRP high command needed to secure Japan as a long-term province, not just a military outpost. There's still resistance stirring in the shadows."

Sallie shrugged. "Yeah, makes sense. Not my problem."

Celeste's eyes twitched. "You're impossible."

But before she could get into another rant, Sallie raised a hand. "Okay, let me guess. Now you're going to tell me about the Imperial Sea Games next, right?"

She blinked. "Well… yes, actually. They're happening next month. You do know what that means, right?"

Sallie rolled his eyes and groaned dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. All the former ASEAN countries, now part of the empire, still trying to prove who's the best at what sport. As if the whole 'who's superior' debate wasn't pointless before, now they're doing it post-conquest. Great."

Celeste frowned. "It's about unifying the region under the empire's banner. A show of strength, unity, and cultural pride—"

"It's a glorified rivalry contest," Sallie interrupted, waving a hand. "Conquered or not, the whole 'who's better' argument is overrated. We already won. Who cares which province is fastest in swimming or strongest in magic dueling? It's not like the emperor is going to change policy because some guy from Vietnam outruns someone from Malaysia."

Celeste crossed her arms, frowning. "You have no sense of national pride."

Sallie smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Nah, I just have a working brain. Look, you go ahead and enjoy your fancy political sports festival. I'll be right here, doing something that actually matters."

Celeste let out a frustrated sigh, but she knew better than to argue. Sallie was stubborn in his own brand of cynicism, and trying to change his mind was like trying to argue with gravity.

Celeste pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply as if she were gathering every last bit of patience left in her body. She knew arguing with Sallie was pointless, but sometimes, just sometimes, she wished he'd take things a little more seriously.

Sallie, of course, was completely unbothered, spinning his chair lazily before resting his chin on his hand.

"Look, Cel," he said, his tone as casual as ever, "I don't care about facing off against some random magician from Thailand or Malaysia in a glorified magic contest. If I'm going to compete, I want to fight against actual top-tier opponents—European magicians, USNA specialists, NSU war mages. You know, people who actually push the limits of magic theory."

Celeste narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. "Oh, so now you care about competition?"

Sallie smirked. "Only when it's worth my time." He leaned back, stretching his arms, his fingers interlocking behind his head. "I mean, let's be real. I've already conquered everyone in FPS games, and real combat isn't much different. Same concept, better reflexes, more magic."

Celeste's eye twitched. "You—FPS games? That's your reasoning?"

Sallie grinned, completely shameless. "Hey, I've humiliated kids from every country in the empire at this point. I've sniped guys from two kilometers away, wiped entire squads before they even knew what hit them. I'm a walking strategic-class disaster in online warfare."

Celeste stared at him, blinking twice, before rubbing her temples. "Sallie. That's not the same thing as real combat."

"Isn't it?" he countered, his grin widening. "Magic's just another system, and like any system, if you know how to break it, you win. Doesn't matter if it's an FPS game or real life."

Celeste let out a long, exasperated sigh.

Celeste stepped out of the study, still mildly annoyed at her brother's nonchalant attitude, but at this point, she had accepted his ridiculousness as part of daily life.

She walked toward the dining area, expecting to have to make something quick for breakfast—only to pause mid-step when she saw the table already set.

A hot, freshly made breakfast sat waiting for her. Perfectly cooked eggs, garlic rice, crispy fried fish, and even a hot cup of coffee, still steaming.

Her eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.

She turned her head toward the living room, where, sure enough, Sallie had changed into his casual clothes—a loose black hoodie and gray sweatpants—and was now deeply immersed in an FPS game, his headset covering his ears as his fingers flew across the controller with inhuman reflexes.

"Contact left!" he muttered, eyes sharp and focused as he sniped an enemy off the rooftop.

Beside him, an open pack of chocolate crunchy bars sat on the couch, already half-empty. He chewed absentmindedly, not even looking away from the screen as the game's announcer blared:

"Multi-kill!"

Celeste sighed, shaking her head as she pulled out a chair.

"Let me guess," she muttered, sitting down and picking up her fork, "you got up early just to cook breakfast… and then went straight back to gaming?"

Sallie, without missing a beat, responded between bites of chocolate.

"Yup." Headshot.

Celeste rolled her eyes but couldn't help feeling a small twinge of appreciation. He was infuriating, yes. Lazy, ridiculous, and completely uninterested in anything that didn't involve magic duels or video games.

But at least he wasn't completely useless.

She took a bite of the food. It was good. Annoyingly good.

"…Thanks," she muttered under her breath, barely audible.

Sallie, still fully focused on his match, just smirked. "Don't mention it."

"Victory!"

The screen flashed as he leaned back, grinning. "Man, I'm on fire today."

Celeste, without looking up, stabbed a piece of fish and muttered, "You're always like this."

And the morning continued like any other in the Salcedo household.

___

The morning sun cast long shadows over the wide streets of Marauoy, Lipa City, where the towering gates of Fourth High School loomed ahead. The academy stood pristine and imposing, its architecture a blend of sleek modernity and classical elegance—a reflection of the IFRP's elite magical education system.

Students in blue coats and red undershirts streamed through the entrance, their chatter filling the air, some carrying wrist-mounted CADs, others wielding specialized weapons for combat training.

Among them, Sallie Mae Salcedo walked at a slow, unbothered pace, hands in his coat pockets, his black school pants slightly wrinkled, his tie missing as usual. His dark brown eyes, half-lidded with indifference, scanned the surroundings with little interest. In his right hand, he carried a sleek black briefcase CAD, its metallic accents gleaming faintly under the sunlight—the Imperial Haxor, his custom combat device.

Beside him, Celeste Marie Salcedo walked with a rigid sense of purpose, her blue coat neatly buttoned, her long brown hair tied into a low ponytail, and her glasses reflecting the morning light. She clutched her Grimoire CAD in one hand, flipping through her study notes with the other as they approached the school gates.

Sallie glanced at her, his expression bored but mildly concerned.

"Hey, Cel," he said, his tone as lazy as ever, but there was a hint of something deeper beneath it. "You good?"

Celeste paused mid-step, adjusting her glasses before looking at him. "What do you mean?"

Sallie tilted his head slightly, his black hair shifting in the breeze. "I mean, you've been all serious-faced since we left the house. I know exams are coming up, but you're not the type to stress this much."

Celeste sighed, closing her notes with a soft thud. "It's not just exams, Sallie. There's been... talk about Japan. About the resistance still stirring over there. Gabriella might have to leave again soon."

Sallie exhaled through his nose, looking up at the sky for a moment. "Yeah, well... that's expected. We did invade the place, after all."

Celeste gave him a sharp look. "You say that like it's nothing."

He shrugged. "Not nothing, but it's not surprising. No occupation goes smoothly. Some people don't like being conquered—go figure."

Celeste frowned, but she didn't argue. He wasn't wrong.

After a moment, Sallie glanced at her again, this time more directly. "But you? You're acting like it's your problem to fix."

Celeste pursed her lips, then looked away. "I just... I want to prove that I belong here. That I can be more than just 'House Salcedo's second child.'"

Sallie was silent for a second before he chuckled, shaking his head. "Cel, you're ridiculously good at magic. No one doubts that. And if they do, just shove a Grimoire spell in their face and call it a day."

Celeste rolled her eyes, though the corners of her lips twitched slightly. "That's not how it works, Sallie."

"Sure it is," he said, smirking. "Magic's just another game—either you play it better than everyone else, or you rewrite the rules."

Celeste let out a small sigh but didn't argue further.

The school gates loomed ahead, and as the elite magicians of Fourth High School strode past them, the Salcedo siblings entered the academy—one driven by ambition, the other drifting through life with an unshakable talent he barely cared about.

But despite their differences, they walked side by side—just as they always had.

As Sallie and Celeste stepped through the school gates, the atmosphere of Fourth High School was already buzzing with energy. Students moved in well-formed clusters, discussing magical theories, tactical duels, and the upcoming midterm exams.

But there was something different today—a sense of anticipation, of quiet tension, lingering beneath the usual routine.

The cause revealed itself almost immediately.

A figure in the unmistakable blue armband of the Disciplinary Committee approached them, her dark uniform crisp and perfectly fitted, posture firm and authoritative. She wasn't imposing in stature, but the way she carried herself made it clear—she was someone people listened to.

Celeste immediately straightened.

Sallie, however, barely reacted, his hands still tucked into his coat pockets as he let his lazy gaze flick up at the approaching figure.

"Salcedo siblings," the girl greeted, her tone professional but edged with something unreadable. "You're early today."

Celeste nodded. "Of course. Punctuality is important."

Sallie yawned, stretching his shoulders. "Or we just didn't want to rush breakfast. Either way."

The committee member ignored his comment, instead crossing her arms. "I assume you're aware of the upcoming military celebration?"

Celeste perked up slightly, adjusting her glasses. "Yes. It's the victory commemoration for the annexation of Indonesia and Papua New Guinea, right?"

The girl nodded, shifting her stance slightly. "It's more than just a celebration. It's a statement. This is the first time in history that the entirety of ASEAN has been unified under a single empire—a feat that was made possible thanks to Gabriella Aurelia Mendez."

At the mention of the name, both Salcedo siblings exchanged glances.

Neither of them had ever met Gabriella personally, but her name carried weight like a war drum. She wasn't just the Emperor's daughter—she was the empire's sword, the woman who single-handedly ensured ASEAN's fall with her mastery of teleportation magic and military strategy.

If the conquest of Southeast Asia had seemed swift, precise, unstoppable—it was because of her.

Sallie's gaze remained unmoved, his expression unreadable. "Huh. Sounds fancy."

Celeste, however, nodded thoughtfully. "It's understandable. The imperial leadership needs to solidify control over the region. Showing military strength through celebrations like this reinforces dominance."

The committee member smirked slightly, though there was something almost testing in her expression. "Exactly. The Imperial Federal Republic didn't just win battles—it reshaped the world. Japan is the only nation left resisting complete integration. And even that…"

She let the words linger.

Celeste took the meaning immediately. "Not for long."

The girl nodded in approval before turning her attention to Sallie. "And you? Any thoughts on this?"

Sallie shrugged. "Not really. Gabriella did her thing. People are celebrating. Business as usual."

The girl narrowed her eyes slightly, as if expecting more from him. "You don't care that you're part of the generation that will inherit this empire?"

Sallie let out a short, lazy laugh. "Oh, I care. I just think it's already decided. We won. It's done. Whether they throw a parade about it or not doesn't really matter."

Celeste sighed, half-expecting that answer. "What my brother means is that he acknowledges the importance of the event but doesn't personally feel attached to it."

The committee member stared at Sallie for a moment longer, then exhaled. "Well, at least you're not openly dismissing it."

Sallie grinned. "That's because I'm saving that for something more fun."

Celeste rolled her eyes, but the committee member simply smirked, turning away. "See you at the ceremony, Salcedos. Try not to be late."

And with that, she walked off, her disciplinary badge catching the morning light.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Celeste turned to Sallie, unimpressed. "You could at least pretend to be more engaged."

Sallie snorted, resuming his slow, relaxed pace toward the main building. "Yeah, yeah. Big empire. Big victory. Lots of speeches and formalities. I get it."

She flipped open her Grimoire CAD, scrolling through her preparation notes for the midterm magical exams.

"You did review the exam structure, right?" she asked, her tone laced with skepticism.

Sallie glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, stuffing one hand in his coat pocket while lazily holding his briefcase CAD, Imperial Haxor, in the other.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Theory portion, practical combat trials, spellcasting speed test, blah, blah. Same as always."

Celeste frowned. "'Same as always'—Sallie, you do realize this year's midterms are being monitored by the Imperial Military Academy, right?"

That made him pause.

She caught it immediately.

Celeste adjusted her glasses, smirking slightly. "Oh? That actually caught your interest?"

Sallie grunted, looking ahead. "Didn't think they'd actually send the brass to watch some glorified high school sparring matches."

"They're looking for potential recruits," Celeste explained. "With the empire expanding, they want to handpick elite magicians for high-priority combat units before we even graduate."

Sallie snorted, walking ahead again. "Pass."

Celeste sighed, already expecting that reaction. "You're ridiculous. Most students here would kill for a shot at a direct recommendation."

"Good for them," Sallie replied without a shred of interest. "I'll just pass the exams, get the top scores, and move on like always."

Celeste's eye twitched. "You sound insufferable when you say it like that."

Sallie grinned, enjoying her frustration. "And yet, I'm still right."

Celeste was about to retort, but before she could, a sharp beep from the school's overhead announcement system interrupted their conversation.

A clear, commanding voice echoed through the halls:

"Attention, all students. Report to the gymnasium immediately. An important announcement will be made. Attendance is mandatory."

Sallie stopped mid-step, raising an eyebrow.

Celeste frowned, puzzled. "An announcement? Right before midterms?"

Sallie sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his head. "Great. Just what I wanted. A surprise event I don't care about."

Celeste ignored him, already walking ahead. "Come on. Let's see what this is about."

Sallie clicked his tongue, following at a slower pace. "Bet you five credits it's some speech about 'Imperial Unity' again."

Celeste rolled her eyes. "I'm not gambling with you."

"Because you know I'd win," Sallie grinned.

As the two entered the massive gymnasium, the air was buzzing with speculation, students whispering in hushed voices. Something big was about to be announced.

And for the first time that morning, Sallie actually had a reason to be curious.

---

Fourth High School Gymnasium – Mandatory Assembly

The gymnasium of Fourth High School was more than just a standard athletic facility—it was a coliseum of discipline and magic. The towering walls were lined with reinforced spell-resistant barriers, designed to withstand high-intensity combat training. Overhead, large industrial lights bathed the space in bright white illumination, casting minimal shadows over the vast, polished floor.

At the front, a massive digital display screen hovered above the central stage, framed by black steel support beams bearing the emblem of Fourth High School—a stylized imperial crest surrounded by a ring of enchanted inscriptions. The school, like all imperial academies, was built to produce combat-ready magicians, and every inch of the gymnasium reflected that purpose.

Hundreds of students had already gathered, filling the bleachers and standing near the designated sections of the gymnasium floor.

Unlike other magic academies, Fourth High School wasn't just a place for education—it was a proving ground. The students here were among the best in the empire, each of them trained to wield combat magic with precision and efficiency.

Their uniforms, similar to Sallie and Celeste's, varied in design and modification, reflecting each student's personal combat style. Some wore modified coats with reinforced shoulder guards, others had CAD holsters strapped to their belts or magically-inscribed gloves that flickered with latent energy.

There was an unmistakable hierarchy among them.

First Division Students – The top-ranked elite, wearing gold-trimmed uniforms, many of them potential recruits for the Imperial Military Academy. Their presence radiated authority, and some stood in small clusters, speaking in hushed but confident tones.

Tactical Spellcasters – Students specializing in long-range magical combat, carrying wrist-mounted CADs and rifle-like CAD configurations slung across their backs. Many had visors or HUD-equipped glasses, displaying targeting data and spell analytics.

Close-Combat Magicians – Those trained in melee-enhanced magic, wielding enchanted daggers, short swords, or specialized gauntlets built for direct engagement. Some even had experimental exo-frame augments to boost their reflexes.

Support & Disruption Specialists – Those who worked in counter-magic, illusionary spells, and reinforcement-based techniques. Their CADs glowed with intricate glyphs, designed for strategic spell deployment and magical interference.

Despite their differences, every student shared one common trait—they were warriors first, students second.

Sallie glanced around, hands still tucked in his coat pockets, his posture as relaxed as ever.

"Looks like a full house," he muttered.

Celeste adjusted her glasses, scanning the room. "Of course. They said it was mandatory."

Sallie sighed, shifting his briefcase CAD slightly. "Mandatory means nothing if it's boring. I'll be asleep in five minutes if they start another 'Glory to the Empire' speech."

Celeste gave him a look, clearly trying to ignore his lack of enthusiasm. "Just try to pay attention. This might actually be important."

Sallie smirked but said nothing.

At the front of the gymnasium, several faculty members and student council representatives stood in formation. A podium with the school emblem was placed at the center, and beside it, a large holographic projector flickered to life, displaying a classified military seal—not just a school insignia, but an imperial military crest.

That got Sallie's attention.

He nudged Celeste slightly. "Okay. That's new."

Celeste, her expression now serious, nodded. "I told you."

The gymnasium fell silent, all eyes locking onto the stage as the doors at the side entrance opened, and a high-ranking figure stepped forward.

The gymnasium grew silent, a stillness settling over the crowd as the side doors opened and the principal of Fourth High School stepped onto the stage.

An older man with sharp, hawk-like features, his blue and red-trimmed uniform was immaculate, pressed to perfection, and his silver hair gleamed beneath the industrial lights. His expression was one of measured authority, calm yet commanding.

He approached the podium, his CAD-engraved gloves resting gently on the edges, and cleared his throat.

"Students of Fourth High School," he began, his deep voice reverberating through the speakers. "Today, we stand as proud inheritors of the empire's great achievements. Within a single year, the Imperial Federal Republic has unified the ASEAN nations under one banner—victories that have reshaped the very fabric of Southeast Asia."

There was a pause as murmurs echoed among the students, some with expressions of pride, others with stoic acceptance.

Sallie?

He looked bored, leaning against a nearby railing, his arms crossed lazily, his gaze flicking up to the principal with disinterest.

"Another speech. Another victory recap. Same old, same old."

He glanced at Celeste, who stood attentively, her arms crossed neatly, eyes sharp as she focused on every word.

The principal's gaze swept across the room.

"But victory is not without responsibility. We must remain vigilant. We must remain strong. And most importantly, we must remember that unity is forged not just through conquest—but through strength, discipline, and pride in our achievements."

And then, his gaze shifted.

"And to remind us of that strength… we have been honored by a visit from one of the empire's most celebrated heroes."

A ripple of whispers surged through the students.

Celeste straightened. Sallie didn't move but lifted an eyebrow slightly.

"Commander Gabriella Aurelia Mendez," the principal announced, stepping aside. "The Sword of the Empire."

The side doors opened once more, and the air in the gym shifted.

Gabriella Aurelia Mendez stepped into view.

Clad in her imperial uniform, her black coat trimmed in crimson that shimmered faintly under the light, she was the very image of controlled power. Her silver hair was tied back in a tight braid, and her piercing amber eyes swept across the assembled students, sharp and calculating.

She walked with perfect posture, her presence commanding the room with ease. It wasn't just her title as the Emperor's daughter that brought silence to the gymnasium—it was the unshakable knowledge that this woman had shaped the conquest of ASEAN with her own hands.

Sallie watched her, his expression unchanged, unreadable.

Celeste, however, was visibly intrigued, her posture rigid, her gaze focused.

Gabriella reached the podium, her presence turning the very air heavy.

"Students of Fourth High School," she began, her voice sharp and commanding, yet calm. "You stand as the future of the Imperial Federal Republic. You are the next generation of warriors, leaders, and scholars. Your strength is not just a matter of personal pride—it is the foundation upon which our empire stands."

Her eyes swept across the crowd.

"Indonesia. Papua New Guinea. Vietnam. Cambodia. Nations that once stood in defiance now serve the empire's will. These victories were not achieved through luck. They were forged through power. Through discipline. Through sacrifice."

A wave of pride rippled through the crowd, but Gabriella's gaze remained cold. Focused.

"And soon, we will celebrate these victories at the upcoming Imperial Sea Games," she announced. "An event that will not only showcase our strength but remind every province, every corner of our empire, that unity is forged through excellence. That strength is not only measured on the battlefield but in the will to surpass limits, to crush weakness, and to dominate all rivals."

The crowd stirred—some whispering in excitement, others glancing at their friends with competitive grins.

But Sallie?

He yawned quietly, eyes half-lidded.

Celeste noticed immediately, her gaze sharp as she leaned in and whispered. "You could at least pretend to care."

Sallie muttered under his breath, "What's the point? It's the same thing, over and over. Compete with the same provinces, crush the same ASEAN neighbors, again and again. We already beat them in war. Doing it again in a glorified sports competition isn't exactly thrilling."

Celeste gave him an incredulous look. "You really don't care about this?"

Sallie's eyes stayed on Gabriella as she continued her speech. "I care about facing real competition. Something that actually matters. Like facing off against USNA magicians or those European battle mages—not taking down the same ASEAN teams over and over. That's just..."

He waved a hand lazily. "Repetitive."

Gabriella's voice echoed through the gym once more.

"You will represent the empire. You will demonstrate the strength that made these conquests possible. And you will prove, beyond doubt, that the Imperial Federal Republic stands unchallenged."

Her eyes swept over the crowd, cold and sharp, lingering on those she deemed strong.

But when they passed over Sallie, she paused—just for a fraction of a second. Curious. Calculating.

And then she continued.

Her words lingered, sharp and commanding, before she stepped back from the podium, allowing the announcement to hang in the heavy silence of the gymnasium.

But the pause didn't last long. A student council representative—one of the top-ranked seniors—stepped forward, their posture rigid, voice amplified through the speakers.

"Students, the qualifiers for the Imperial Sea Games will commence immediately after the midterm magical exams. Every division, every school, every student will be judged. And only the top-performing schools and magicians will be selected for the Games."

There was a brief pause, then a murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd.

"And be warned—this is more than a game. Those who rise to the top, those who prove themselves, will be given the honor to participate in the upcoming invasion of Japan."

That announcement brought a noticeable tension to the air. Conversations broke out in hushed, uncertain tones. Even Celeste, standing beside Sallie, froze.

Her eyes widened behind her glasses, glancing at Sallie as if expecting some kind of reaction.

Instead, Sallie…

He yawned. Loudly. Lazily.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, his arms crossed as he leaned against the nearby railing. "Another pointless qualifying round, fighting the same ASEAN neighbors just to get a front-row seat for the next invasion."

Celeste turned sharply toward him, incredulous.

"Did you even hear what they just said?" she hissed, keeping her voice low. "Top performers get to participate in the invasion of Japan. That's not just an honor, it's a chance to prove ourselves directly to the high command."

Sallie glanced at her, unimpressed. "Yeah, I heard. Fight in qualifiers. Win. Go to Japan. Do it all again."

Celeste frowned. "You're acting like it's nothing."

Sallie shrugged, his dark eyes half-lidded in disinterest. "Because it is. What's the point of fighting the same neighbors over and over again? We already conquered them. And now it's just... fighting them again in duels, just to prove a point that's already been made."

"But it's not about that," Celeste argued, her voice sharp with conviction. "It's about showing the empire who the strongest are. Japan isn't like the other provinces. They're still resisting. High Command is watching, Sallie. They're looking for real talent to lead the frontlines. This is more than just some tournament."

Sallie gave a soft, lazy chuckle. "If they want real talent, they know where to find me."

On stage, the student council representative continued.

"The Imperial Duel will be mandatory for all Fourth High School students. Preparations will begin immediately after midterms. Every student will be evaluated. Performance will determine whether you represent the empire at the Sea Games, or whether you stay behind."

Celeste's gaze snapped back to the stage, her face tightening with determination.

Meanwhile, Sallie's attention had already begun to drift.

He muttered under his breath, "Mandatory, huh? Guess that means I'll show up. Win. Go home. Same as always."

Celeste shot him a warning glance. "If you slack off, Gabriella will notice. And when she does, it won't end well for you."

Sallie gave her an amused look. "Let her notice. She'll figure it out soon enough."

There was something about his tone—calm, confident, and just a little reckless. A man who'd already decided he wouldn't fight unless it mattered.

And right now, the Sea Games didn't matter.

Sallie shifted his weight, his eyes lazily scanning the room as the announcement continued, but his mind was already elsewhere. The Sea Games, the qualifiers, the imperial duels—it was all starting to blur into white noise.

He let out a slow, almost theatrical sigh, muttering under his breath, "So, let me get this straight. We finish midterms, wait for the results, waste time with these qualifiers, pretend to care about fighting the same ASEAN neighbors, and after all that, maybe—just maybe—we get to go to Japan and do it all again."

He chuckled lightly to himself, voice low enough only for Celeste to hear. "Yeah, sounds like a plan. Or… I could just pass midterms like I always do, go home, finish my novel, climb the FPS leaderboards, and binge-watch hentai until someone from USNA or Europe is actually worth my time."

Celeste's head snapped towards him, her eyes wide with disbelief, her mouth opening for a moment before she closed it with a sharp grunt.

"You're disgusting," she hissed, glaring at him like he'd just committed some grave offense.

Sallie didn't even blink. "Hey, it's not like the Sea Games are gonna be interesting. I've already conquered our neighbors. Over and over. I'd rather watch something that at least surprises me."

Celeste shook her head, muttering beneath her breath. "Unbelievable. The empire's future, everyone."

But before she could scold him further, the speech dragged on—the student council representative now waxing poetic about the "honor of representing the empire" and the "glory of standing alongside the might of the IFRP."

Sallie's eyes drifted to the ceiling, his expression unreadable. His mind was already counting down the hours until this mandatory nonsense was over.

"Get through the speech. Survive the exams. Go home. And never think about this again."

Beside him, Celeste stood stiff, her posture perfect, her jaw tight with frustration.

Sallie yawned again, louder this time, earning him a sharp elbow from his sister. He didn't flinch.

"Just think, Cel," he whispered with a grin. "One day, they'll write about me. 'The great Sallie Mae Salcedo—master strategist, ace FPS sniper, binge-watching legend.'"

Celeste looked like she was about to explode, but instead, she just groaned deeply, shaking her head.

The speech continued, droning on about duty and discipline, the empire's expectations, and the importance of unity.

Sallie's mind?

Already halfway home.

---

The afternoon sun dipped low over the campus of Fourth High School, casting long shadows across the courtyard as students gathered in small groups, anxiously murmuring about the midterm results. The tension in the air was palpable—weeks of preparation would now be judged by a single sheet of paper.

But Celeste wasn't nervous.

No, she was impatient.

Impatient and slightly irritated as she stood by the school's bulletin board, arms crossed, her long brown hair brushing against her blue coat, glasses glinting beneath the sunlight.

She scanned the crowd, eyes sharp, searching for the one person who should have been there already.

And then she heard them—footsteps, lazy and uneven, approaching from behind.

Turning sharply, her eyes narrowed when she saw him.

Sallie.

His blue school coat hung loosely over his shoulders, his red undershirt wrinkled, and his briefcase CAD lazily slung over one shoulder. His dark hair was as messy as ever, his eyes half-lidded from boredom, and his other hand was buried deep in his pocket.

He looked like a man who had just crawled out of bed, not someone who had just finished the most critical magical exams of the year.

Celeste's hands immediately went to her hips, her glare sharp.

"You're late," she snapped, voice cold. "And don't tell me you already forgot today was result day."

Sallie's expression didn't change. He simply shrugged, stepping closer and stopping just a few paces in front of her.

"Didn't forget," he said, voice as lazy as his posture. "I was just… taking my time."

Celeste's gaze narrowed further. "Taking your time? You were probably sleeping. Or playing games. Or wasting time doing whatever you always do when you're supposed to be preparing for exams."

Sallie's brow quirked slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Wow, thanks for the faith, sis."

She crossed her arms tighter, her frustration barely contained. "You didn't take this seriously. You never do. And don't even think about lying—if you failed, you're going to hear about it from me."

Sallie yawned, then reached into his coat pocket. Without a word, he pulled out the folded exam results and tossed them toward her.

The paper fluttered through the air before Celeste caught it with quick reflexes.

She opened it sharply, her fingers tightening in expectation—already prepared to scold him for failure.

But as her eyes scanned the paper, her breath hitched.

Her frown faltered.

The grades weren't just good.

They were nearly perfect.

Celeste's eyes darted to the small verification stamp at the bottom—NO CHEATING DETECTED. Every score was genuine. Every answer was legitimate.

Her mouth opened slightly, and for a brief second, she was stunned into silence.

Sallie simply stood there, yawning, completely unfazed.

"Told you," he said, stretching lazily. "Same as always."

Celeste blinked, trying to process what she was reading. "But… how…?"

He shrugged, his voice nonchalant. "I listened in class. Studied just enough. The rest is instinct."

Celeste's eye twitched. "Instinct?"

"Yeah," Sallie said, smirking. "Magic's just like a system. You either learn to play it, or you learn to break it."

Celeste clenched the paper, her irritation returning full force. "You could have studied properly like everyone else!"

"And waste my time?" Sallie replied, voice edged with mock disbelief. "Come on, Cel. I'm efficient. Why spend ten hours studying when I can get it done in two?"

Celeste's jaw tightened, her glasses sliding down slightly. "You're going to make me lose my mind one day, Sallie."

He grinned, already walking past her toward the school gates. "That's part of my charm."

Celeste gritted her teeth, still staring at the results in her hand.

Near-perfect scores. No cheating. No preparation.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't human.

And worst of all… it was Sallie.

He smirked slightly, hands still buried in his pockets, his briefcase CAD swinging lazily at his side.

"So," he called out, voice lazy but edged with curiosity, "how was it on your end?"

Celeste snapped out of her daze, blinking hard before adjusting her glasses and holding her chin up, regaining her composure. She wasn't about to let him get the upper hand in this conversation.

"Fine," she said crisply, though her tone held a note of forced calm. "I scored well. Top percentile, as expected."

Sallie's brow quirked. "Huh. Not bad."

Celeste's eyes narrowed behind her lenses. "Not bad? I worked hard for those scores. Unlike someone who treats exams like they're some side-quest in an FPS game."

Sallie grinned, leaning back against the gatepost, stretching his arms above his head with a lazy groan. "Yeah, but in the end, we're both in the top, right? So who's really wasting their time?"

Celeste's jaw tightened. "It's called discipline. Preparation. Taking things seriously."

Sallie tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "And it's called efficiency. Less effort, same result. Pretty sure I win that round, sis."

Celeste gritted her teeth, though deep down, she knew there was no point in arguing. Again.

He always managed to skate by, whether it was exams, training, or anything else.

And it always, always annoyed her.

But Sallie wasn't finished. His gaze drifted up to the sky, the lazy smile never leaving his lips.

"Well," he said, pushing off the gatepost, "if you're done worrying about me, I've got more important things to handle. Like finishing my novel, climbing the FPS scoreboards, and—you know—binge-watching questionable content."

Celeste shot him a sharp glare. "You're disgusting."

Sallie chuckled. "And efficient."

He turned to walk away, but this time, his voice lowered slightly, just enough for her to hear.

"Good job, by the way," he said, without looking back. "On your exams. I know you worked for it."

Celeste blinked, thrown off for a moment.

But before she could respond, he waved lazily over his shoulder and muttered, "Don't work too hard."

Celeste stood there, staring after him. Part annoyed, part confused, and… part proud.

She shook her head, muttering under her breath. "Impossible."

And yet, there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she turned to walk home.

---

Shiba Residence, Tokyo – Evening, 2102

The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the garden of the Shiba residence, casting gentle circles of light across the carefully tended grass and flower-lined pathways. The night sky was clear, calm, the stars scattered faintly above Tokyo, oblivious to the quiet gathering beneath.

Around a long wooden table, familiar faces gathered—the former students of First High School, classmates once divided into "Blooms" and "Weeds," now seated together, laughter softening the edges of the cool evening.

At the center of it all, sitting comfortably but with his usual stoic expression, was Tatsuya Shiba. Dressed in a simple dark suit, he held himself relaxed, observing his friends quietly, responding occasionally with faint nods or dry, clipped comments. Beside him sat Miyuki, radiant in a pale blue yukata, her long black hair tied carefully back, her smile warm yet refined, eyes filled with genuine happiness as she poured tea for their guests.

Erika Chiba leaned across the table, grinning broadly. "Honestly, I still can't believe you two are finally official. Took you guys forever."

Leonhard Saijo laughed, nudging Erika gently. "You're just jealous you lost the bet."

Erika shot him a playful glare, eyes sharp. "Hey, I bet they'd be engaged two years ago, not three. Tatsuya's always so slow to act on anything outside of a battlefield."

Miyuki blushed faintly, glancing at her brother with gentle eyes, her hand brushing his briefly before she quickly returned to serving tea. Tatsuya's expression softened just slightly, a small nod his only response.

Across from Erika, Mikihiko Yoshida sipped his tea, eyes calm but thoughtful. "Still, it's good to finally celebrate something peaceful. Seems like it's been years since we've had a quiet night like this."

Honoka Mitsui, sitting beside Shizuku Kitayama, nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. No magic competitions, no terrorist attacks—just us, together, celebrating something… normal."

Shizuku gave a slight nod, her soft voice barely rising above the whispering breeze. "It's a nice change."

Mayumi Saegusa, seated near Tatsuya, chuckled softly, leaning back comfortably. "Who knew the famously stoic Tatsuya Shiba could host a relaxing gathering without something exploding in the background?"

Erika snorted. "The night's still young."

Tatsuya tilted his head slightly, almost smiling. "I'll do my best to avoid any explosions. At least until after dessert."

Mayumi's eyes drifted thoughtfully toward Tatsuya, fingers tapping lightly against her tea cup. Her voice was gentle, calm, yet carried a quiet curiosity.

"By the way," she began casually, "has anyone heard from Mari lately?"

At the mention of Mari Watanabe's name, a ripple passed quietly through the group—curiosity and faint nostalgia flickering through the familiar faces.

Miyuki set her cup down softly, smiling gently. "I believe she was recently transferred to Okinawa, wasn't she? For advanced training?"

Mayumi nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. Last time she wrote, she mentioned leading some kind of coastal defense unit. It sounded important."

Leonhard leaned forward, frowning slightly. "Defense? Against what? It's not like anyone's crazy enough to attack Japan nowadays."

Erika chuckled dryly, elbowing him lightly. "Probably just routine exercises. You know Mari—always serious about training, always expecting trouble even when there's none around."

Mikihiko glanced up, his voice measured but cautious. "Still, if the military's transferring Mari around, it might not be routine. Maybe something's up?"

Tatsuya, quiet until now, finally spoke, his tone calm, analytical. "If it were serious, we'd have heard something by now. Mari is thorough. If there was a real threat, she'd be prepared."

Honoka smiled softly, reassuringly. "Mari-senpai is strong. Wherever she is, I'm sure she's fine."

Shizuku gave a small nod, quiet but certain. "Agreed."

Mayumi sighed lightly, shaking her head. "Maybe I'm just worrying too much. But she did mention some unusual movements down south before she left Tokyo."

Erika tilted her head, eyebrow arched in playful skepticism. "Unusual how?"

Mayumi shrugged lightly, a casual gesture, her voice unconcerned. "Just minor reports. Increased naval patrols near Taiwan, that sort of thing. Probably just drills, but Mari being Mari, she was taking it seriously."

Tatsuya considered that for a moment, eyes distant, unreadable. "I'm sure she'll update us when there's something we need to know."

Silence settled briefly, peaceful yet thoughtful.

Leonhard leaned back, folding his arms behind his head casually. "Speaking of people who've been quiet lately—anyone hear from Lina lately? She hasn't sent any messages since she left."

The mention of Angelina Kudou Shields—Lina—immediately drew curious glances from around the table.

Miyuki's smile dimmed slightly. "I haven't heard anything new. Last we spoke, she said she was heading back to the USNA for another assignment."

Erika stretched her arms, leaning comfortably back. "Knowing Lina, she's probably blowing something up halfway around the world right now."

Leo chuckled. "Yeah. She never struck me as the type who'd settle for desk duty."

Mayumi smiled softly, but there was an edge of seriousness beneath it. "If Lina's involved, it probably means the USNA has its hands full with something big again. She's not the type they send for minor assignments."

Mikihiko frowned slightly, thoughtful. "You think it's something related to last year's troubles?"

Tatsuya's expression remained unreadable as always, his voice calm and measured. "Possibly. But speculating won't help. Lina can handle herself. She always has."

Leonhard stretched back, crossing his arms casually. "True. Besides, we'd definitely hear from her if things got serious, right?"

Shizuku nodded lightly, though her expression stayed carefully neutral. "She'd find a way."

Honoka glanced at the others, quietly concerned. "Still, it's odd she hasn't contacted us at all."

Mayumi shook her head gently. "Lina's a captain in the USNA's Stars unit—she's probably got bigger problems to deal with right now. She'll reach out when she's able."

Tatsuya's eyes drifted briefly toward the darkening sky, his voice calm, almost distant. "Whatever it is, we'll find out soon enough."

Silence followed once more, lingering uncomfortably.

And though the group quickly returned to lighter conversation, laughter gradually returning to the gathering, the unanswered questions remained—unspoken, lingering just beneath the surface.

The peaceful quiet shattered abruptly as the garden door slid open with a sharp clatter.

"Seriously, Izumi, hurry up!" snapped Kasumi Saegusa, storming through the doorway with an irritated glare aimed squarely behind her. Her short hair fluttered as she stomped onto the lawn, clearly annoyed.

Izumi trailed close behind, catching her breath, waving apologetically at the startled group. "Sorry, everyone. Kasumi took forever choosing a gift."

Kasumi spun around, eyes blazing. "You're the one who couldn't decide whether to get a matching tea set or something sentimental!"

Mayumi chuckled softly, shaking her head at her younger sisters. "You're both late. We almost started without you."

Kasumi huffed indignantly, arms crossed defiantly. "You wouldn't dare."

Izumi smiled sheepishly, gently placing a small, beautifully wrapped box in front of Miyuki. "Congratulations, Miyuki-senpai, Tatsuya-senpai. Sorry again for interrupting."

Miyuki smiled warmly, gracefully accepting the gift. "Thank you, Izumi. Kasumi."

Kasumi's irritation faded slightly as she glanced around, realizing the seriousness of the gathering she'd disrupted. "Ah… congratulations."

Erika leaned forward, smirking playfully. "Better late than never, you two."

Kasumi shot her a quick glare, still flushed from embarrassment. "Shut it, Erika-senpai."

Izumi nudged her sister gently, whispering, "Try being polite."

Kasumi sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. We're glad for you two."

Tatsuya gave a small nod, barely hiding his amusement. "Thank you, Kasumi, Izumi. Please join us."

As the twins settled into the circle, bickering quietly between themselves, the group's laughter returned—easy and comfortable, the momentary tension forgotten.

---

Malacañang Palace – Imperial Throne Room, 2102

The Imperial Hall of Malacañang Palace echoed with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of conversation. High-ranking military officials and members of the Imperial Households mingled beneath towering chandeliers, their uniforms and ceremonial attire sharp and pristine.

Velvet banners bearing the sigil of the Imperial Federal Republic of the Philippines hung from the ceiling, black and silver shimmering in the glow of the golden light. The room was a reflection of power—cold, controlled, and absolute.

Seated at the far end of the grand hall, on an elevated throne of dark marble, sat Emperor Aurelio Mendez III. Clad in his black imperial uniform, trimmed in crimson and gold, he sat with the quiet ease of a man who no longer questioned his own power. His sharp eyes surveyed the hall with silent amusement, watching as his loyalists reveled in the celebration of the empire's victories—Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, and the conquest of all ASEAN.

But beneath the laughter, there was an undercurrent of tension. The conquest was not yet complete.

Japan still stood.

The emperor's gaze drifted, his thoughts already turning toward the next invasion, when a faint distortion of sound echoed behind his throne—a low ripple, barely perceptible to the ordinary ear.

But Aurelio III heard it clearly.

The sound of teleportation.

He didn't turn. There was no need.

Instead, a slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You're late," he said, his deep voice calm but edged with amusement. "I trust you bring news."

From behind the throne, Gabriella Aurelia Mendez stepped into view, her black uniform with crimson trim impeccable, her posture sharp, her silver hair braided neatly down her back. She approached with precise, measured steps, stopping just beside the emperor's right side—where her shadow merged with his.

"Father," she greeted, her voice sharp, respectful, and calm. "Apologies. I was detained by preparations."

Aurelio's eyes did not shift, his gaze still on the gathered officials. "Preparations for the Sea Games?"

Gabriella's lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Of course. The qualifiers are proceeding as planned. Fourth High School and the other imperial academies will undergo evaluations following the midterms."

Aurelio chuckled softly, the sound low and cold. "And how are they shaping up? Are they ready to prove their loyalty in front of the empire?"

Gabriella's eyes glimmered faintly beneath the chandelier light. "Some will be ready. Others will falter. But only the strongest will rise. The qualifiers will ensure that only the most capable face Japan."

Aurelio nodded slightly, the glint of satisfaction in his gaze. "Good. We need only the sharpest blades for the invasion. Those who survive the games will know what it means to crush resistance with precision."

Gabriella's voice remained even. "They will be ready. I will see to it personally."

The emperor chuckled again, his gaze distant, as if already envisioning the victories yet to come. "They will need to be. Japan is not ASEAN. Theirs will be a slower death."

Gabriella stood motionless, a shadow beside her father. Calm. Focused. Deadly.

"And the Fourth High School?" Aurelio asked, the question casual but edged with meaning.

The question was casual on the surface, but beneath it lay a precise intent.

Gabriella stood still, her posture flawless, her eyes unwavering. She didn't need to ask which student he referred to. She knew.

The one whose name carried weight despite his disinterest. The one whose talent was undeniable, even as his attitude remained infuriatingly slouching, lazy, indifferent. Always there, shadowed by his driven sibling, never fully engaged—but never falling behind either.

Gabriella's voice remained composed, sharp but devoid of emotion. "He remains consistent. Passive in manner, but efficient when necessary. His results are… undeniable, despite his apparent lack of discipline."

Aurelio chuckled, the sound low and cold. "Efficient, is he? And yet lazy."

Gabriella nodded slightly. "He does not lack ability. Only urgency. He does not chase excellence, but it seems to find him regardless."

Aurelio's fingers drummed lazily against the armrest of his throne, eyes half-lidded as though considering a distant storm on the horizon. "A sharp blade, still sheathed."

Gabriella inclined her head slightly, the faintest motion of acknowledgment. "When it matters, he draws it. But his indifference is… notable."

The emperor's smile was cold and knowing. "Perhaps he believes himself above the games. Above the performance expected of him."

"Perhaps," Gabriella replied smoothly, her expression unreadable. "But when pressed, he performs. And when he does, it is without question."

Aurelio hummed thoughtfully, his gaze distant. "He will need to be pressed harder. He will not have the luxury of apathy when the time comes. Not when the empire watches."

Gabriella's voice remained calm. "The qualifiers will ensure that. He will either rise, or he will be made to."

There was a pause, a heavy silence that lingered between them.

Then Aurelio's smile grew. "Good. I look forward to seeing him—seeing all of them—prove themselves. There will be no room for failure when Japan is at stake."

Gabriella stood still, her posture rigid and composed, but her mind drifted as a subtle ripple of surprise disturbed her thoughts.

"There's been… an unusual development," she said, her voice measured but edged with curiosity.

Aurelio's brow arched slightly, his fingers pausing mid-drum on the armrest. "Oh?"

Gabriella's gaze sharpened, her tone calm but edged with intrigue. "A novel. Anonymous. Written under a pen name. It's begun trending across the empire."

The emperor's amusement returned, a faint glimmer beneath his sharp gaze. "A novel?" He chuckled darkly. "And why does this concern me?"

"It shouldn't," Gabriella said simply. "But the content is… interesting. Themes of control, rebellion, the weight of power. And it's captured attention. Even among some of our more loyal provinces."

Aurelio leaned back, steepling his fingers in quiet thought. "An underground message?"

Gabriella shook her head. "No. Nothing subversive. It's fictional. Artfully vague. But the author's grasp of power dynamics is… intricate."

Aurelio's eyes glimmered slightly. "And yet, it trends?"

"Unexpectedly," Gabriella admitted, a hint of curiosity breaking through her usual composure. "It has no known backing. No major publication support. Just… word of mouth. But it's spreading fast."

Aurelio chuckled, the sound low and dry. "And who is this mysterious author?"

Gabriella's lips pressed into a thin line. "No one knows. Just a pen name. No details, no affiliations, nothing traceable."

Aurelio's eyes narrowed slightly, considering. "Perhaps talent finds its way, even when cloaked in shadows."

Gabriella hesitated, her thoughts lingering. For a moment, her mind flickered to one particular student. One whose talent for observation and calculated thought ran deeper than most realized. One who could construct systems and manipulate them effortlessly, both on paper and in reality.

But no. There was no proof. No connection. And without proof, assumptions were meaningless.

"It doesn't affect the empire," Gabriella said, controlling her thoughts. "It's a curiosity. Nothing more."

Aurelio chuckled, reclining back into his throne. "Even curiosities have roots, Gabriella. Find them. If this story captures minds, I want to know why. If it shapes perceptions, I want to know how."

Gabriella bowed her head slightly. "Understood."

The emperor's gaze darkened, his smile sharp. "Every influence matters, no matter how small. And every shadow deserves light."