[Budapest, Hungary]
The National Assembly was reuniting for one of the most consequential votes since the fall of communism.
A no confidence motion—one that could redefine Hungary's political course—was about to unfold.
At the heart of it stood Gábor LaVey, leader of the Hungarian Unity Party — Magység. Through a merger with Jobbik and a wave of sudden, "unexplainable" defections from Fidesz, Magység now held a comfortable majority.
Enough to bring down the government.
Prime Minister Viktor Orbán rose to address the chamber, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of the moment.
"Honorable Members of this Assembly,
I call on you to reject this farce of a no-confidence vote. Hungary's young democracy stands at its most dangerous crossroads since the days of Kádár.
Gábor LaVey is not a politician. He is a provocateur, a far-right radical who cloaks himself in occult symbols and Satanist nonsense. We are a Christian nation — Catholic, proud, and rooted in our faith.
We cannot surrender our country to a man who wants to pull us out of the European Union and NATO, who dreams of redrawing borders with nothing but slogans and dangerous fantasies.
Dreams and fabrications will not feed our children. They will not secure our borders. They will not protect our future.
I ask you, dear colleagues — vote with reason. Vote with responsibility. Vote for Hungary's stability.
Vote no."
Cheers came from the Fidesz benches.
MSZP deputies, more sidelined, were watching from their seats, quietly.
LaVey stepped to the podium, his eyes sweeping across the crowd with predatory intensity.
"My fellow Hungarians, my blood brothers!
The traitor Orbán has sold our sacred homeland to the highest bidder! He stands before you dressed as a patriot while his conscience is stained with the chains of our nation!
Remember our greatness? When Hungarian wine flowed through the markets of Europe? When our golden fields fed the continent? Now our lands are poisoned by foreign vultures who feast upon our carcass!
Orbán screams about Brussels' tyranny while crawling on his belly to Moscow! He condemns EU interference while begging for Russian scraps! He claims I want to pull Hungary out of alliances he so constantly criticizes!
What hypocrisy from a coward who wears the mask of nationalism while serving foreign masters!
Viktor, go home! Your time is over!"
He paused, letting the cheers from Magység benches echo harder.
"While Orbán was playing politics, I helped aid the Székely Republic to freedom! Romanian chains have been broken by Hungarian will! The Szekler people now stand proud under our protection – a victory Orbán said was impossible!
I offer you the true path! The path of our ancestors! The path of blood and soil!
We will forge a Greater Hungary that will make our enemies tremble! Our armies will march to the very gates of Moscow if we so choose!
The Middle Ages were not our peak – they were merely a glimpse of our destiny! We are the descendants of Attila, the scourge of God! We will reclaim what is ours by blood right!
Vote yes on this no confidence motion! Vote for Hungary's rebirth! Vote for the Hungary that strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies!
For Hungary! For our blood! For our eternal destiny!"
The cheers from Magység's benches echoed louder, almost reverent.
*Előre Magyarország!*
The leader of MSZP's parliamentary group, a weary-looking man in a slightly rumpled suit, took the microphone last.
He adjusted his glasses with deliberate slowness.
"Colleagues. We in the Hungarian Socialist Party have spent years warning of the democratic backsliding under Fidesz. We agree that the country is heading in the wrong direction with Orbán at the helm.
His corruption, his attacks on democratic institutions, his cozying up to Moscow while claiming to defend sovereignty – these are realities we have consistently opposed."
He paused, looking directly at the Magység deputies.
"But we will not participate in replacing one autocrat with another. We will not stand by while a new Horthy rises from the ashes of our democracy, draped in the flag of extreme nationalism.
The path of irredentism and confrontation with our neighbors is a fool's errand that will only bring isolation and suffering to our people.
The true path for Hungary lies in strengthening our ties with our European partners, in building a social Europe that protects workers and the vulnerable.
We must restore democratic norms, not replace them with a new form of authoritarianism. We must invest in education, healthcare, and sustainable development, not in military adventurism.
For these reasons, the Hungarian Socialist Party will abstain from the vote.
We cannot support this government, but we will not legitimize its far-right replacement either.
Hungary deserves better than this choice between two disastrous paths."
Then the vote proceeded. Deputies cast their ballots one by one, the chamber settling into an uneasy rhythm.
When the voting stopped, the Fidesz and MSZP deputies shifted uncomfortably in their seats, feeling the ground sweep from under them.
Meanwhile, the former Fidesz deputies who had defected to Magység sat a little differently than the rest.
A few of them allowed themselves small, knowing smiles. LaVey's promises still echoed in their minds. More wealth. Positions. A greater share in what was coming next.
And then, the results were announced.
The outcome was clear: 105 votes for, 64 against, and 30 abstentions.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the chamber fractured.
Magység's benches erupted in cheers—loud, triumphant.
Across from them, Fidesz deputies remained seated, rigid, faces set.
The government had fallen.
________
[Kuoh, Japan]
I was already at school when the news hit.
Up until then, the day was the usual kind of pointless.
Hyoudou and his pervert entourage were deep into a "summer plans" discussion—which, for them, meant arguing over porn schedules like it was a matter of national security.
The Red Dragon of Breast Lovers, getting an earful for not making time for his friends.
"Dude, you ditched us all break!" Matsuda complained, slamming his hand on the desk.
"Yeah, man, we had plans! Cultural activities!" Motohama added, way too seriously for a guy talking about adult DVDs.
Hyoudou scratched his cheek, laughing awkwardly.
"S-Sorry, okay? I was busy…"
"Busy doing what?" Matsuda narrowed his eyes.
Hyoudou hesitated.
"…Training."
Silence.
Motohama blinked.
"…You?"
"I'm serious!" Hyoudou snapped. "It was hell! I had to run for hours, no breaks, no nothing! I thought I was gonna die!"
I exhaled quietly.
Hyoudou told me about his training. Run to the Hills, dragon edition. Apparently, his master was an actual dragon turned devil who gave him some Spartan training on a mountain.
Rias really wasn't joking when she said she'd name that jagged rock Mt. Ise.
It's good that the most "main character" person in our shitshow had it rough too. Like at least I'm not the only one, but…
Watching Hyoudou complain about his little training hell, about running until his legs gave out, about dragons pushing him past his limits—
It almost felt cute.
Compared to fighting a war against half of your own blood?
Compared to watching civilians get caught in the crossfire?
Compared to losing your own grandma in a missile strike?
His training sounded like a vacation.
Like, really, Brașov should rename the Harmanului Street to Bulevardul Grădinaru. After Buni.
Asia and Xenovia shot each other a look that said, yeah, this is our friend…
"Ise-san worked really hard! You can tell!," she said with a mix of genuine excitement and mild exasperation.
Xenovia crossed her arms, nodding once.
"His endurance has improved. That much is evident."
Meanwhile, Murayama and Katase were watching the whole thing with open disgust.
"…Why are they like this?" Murayama asked flatly.
Katase shivered. "I don't even want to know…"
I couldn't help but let out a quiet snort.
Both girls immediately looked my way.
I winked in their direction.
Murayama blinked, while Katase blushed as she nudged her.
"Do you think… Kokonoe-kun l-likes me?," she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Murayama shrugged, but her voice was thoughtful.
"I don't know. But he's definitely a better option than these three idiots."
I'll take that as a compliment.
Kiryuu Aika, who had been watching quietly until now, slipped into the conversation like she was in it all along.
"Ara~ Kokonoe-kun is getting popular, isn't he?" she said, tilting her head slightly.
Her eyes lingered a second longer than necessary.
"But you don't really feel like the shy type…" she continued, voice soft, teasing.
"Maybe someone a bit more… experienced would suit you better~"
I blinked.
Katase let out a tiny squeak, going stiff in her desk.
"K-Kiryuu-san, that's… that's way too shameless!" she stammered, face turning bright red almost instantly. "You can't just say things like that!"
Murayama just sighed, like this was exactly what she expected.
"…Of course she can," she muttered.
…Yeah.
Get me out of here.
Like, thanks, but no thanks. I've already got a three way relationship with Suzuka and Haruka—a situation even we stopped questioning, somehow.
The last thing I need is school girls fighting over me.
As if the circus wasn't enough, chairs suddenly scraped loudly from the back of the classroom.
"Oi, oi, oi—what the hell is this?!" Matsuda snapped, pointing at me like I'd committed a crime.
"First Issei somehow survives summer training, and now this guy is getting all the attention?!" Motohama added, equally offended.
Matsuda clicked his tongue, glaring.
"Die, you riajuu!…"
"Yeah, seriously, go explode somewhere," Motohama muttered, nodding in full agreement.
Hyoudou blinked, caught in the crossfire.
"H-Hey, why am I included in this?!"
"Because you're also a riajuu now!" Matsuda shot back immediately.
"…That makes no sense," Hyoudou groaned.
…Must be nice, being oblivious to life. Some of us can't afford that luxury.
Eventually, the teacher came in, and the noise slowly died down into the usual dull classroom silence.
And somewhere in the middle of that pointless lecture, my phone buzzed.
A notification I did NOT want to receive.
Orbán's government has fallen. LaVey's faction now holds parliamentary control.
I stared at the screen. Just for a second too long.
Then another line loaded in beneath it:
"Following the collapse of the government, President János Áder has refused to appoint Gábor LaVey as Prime Minister.
In a public statement, Áder declared:
'I will not be the one to place a figure like Miklós Horthy at the head of this country. If extremist forces wish to govern, they must do so through elections. It is my hope that the Hungarian people will make a responsible choice in the days ahead.'"
I slammed a fist into my desk.
The sound was sharper than I meant it to be.
Almost instinctively, my brain shifted into Romanian.
"Sugi pula, căcatule!," I muttered under my breath, barely audible even to myself.
A few heads turned. Then quickly turned back.
The teacher paused mid-sentence.
"…Kokonoe," he said after a beat, adjusting his glasses. "Is there a problem with the lesson?"
A few students still glanced at me. Most already looked away again, trying to unhear whatever they just caught.
I stared at my desk for a second too long.
"No, there's a problem with me, I feel like I'm going to vomit," I said.
It wasn't even a lie. My stomach actually twisted as I said it.
The room went still in that specific way classrooms do when nobody wants to acknowledge something real just happened.
The teacher held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he sighed through his nose, already deciding this was not a fight worth having in front of 30 students.
"…If you need to step out, do it quietly," he said. "And take your phone with you."
Yeah. That checks out.
Japanese teachers and students are dismissive if you disrupt their little classes.
In a Romanian classroom, most people would react loudly. They'd shout, joke, offer help—even if they didn't like you.
Some out of concern, others because it was the only interesting thing happening, and they could use the distraction to stop pretending they were listening to the teacher repeat the curriculum like they hadn't barely scraped by the titularization exam.
…School is such a waste of time.
No matter the country.
Anyways.
I had more important problems to deal with than pretending I'm a good Japanese student.
I left the school grounds without looking back.
By the time I reached the edge of campus, I was already halfway through summoning Nelu. Flying over Kuoh sounded like the least stupid option right now.
That's when a magic circle snapped to life right in front of me.
I stopped.
It carved itself into the air with clean precision. Crimson light shined once, then settled in.
Someone stepped through.
He had blond hair, brown-hazel eyes, and kind of a pretty face.
Hungarian.
Young, maybe 19 or 20.
I didn't need more than a second to recognize the aura.
Vampire.
Great.
He looked at me like he already knew the answer, but asked anyway.
"Te vagy Mihály?"
Yeah.
Who the hell else would I be?
"What's your business with me?" I asked simply, replying in Hungarian.
"Count Szilárd would like to speak with you," he replied without missing a beat. "Regarding… the situation in our country."
Of course he would.
I was heading there anyway.
That makes things easier.
"Yeah, I'd actually like a word with him too. LaVey just made everything worse."
"Worse?" His tone sharpened slightly. "The survival of our race is at stake."
I studied him for a second.
"You're a former human, aren't you?"
His eyebrow twitched—barely noticeable, but there.
"…Yes. But in Hungary, turning humans is hardly unusual. It's you who got turned by those elitist, blood‑purity‑obsessed Romanians. That's the rare part."
Right. Of course he went there.
"And before you misunderstand," he continued, voice calm but edged with quiet superiority, "we don't really indulge in your kind of hierarchy games here. That's more of a provincial habit."
A faint smile crossed his lips, like he thought he already won the argument.
I let out a small groan.
"Okay, first of all, I'm half Székely. You homeland purists really need to stop acting like every Hungarian outside the country is some kind of guest worker."
A pause.
"And second, I could just walk away and let LaVey deal with your entire situation. Would you prefer that outcome?"
His expression didn't change, but the atmosphere around him changed slightly.
Enough to tell me it struck a chord.
"…You won't."
He flashed me a small, almost bored smile.
"You came this far already. That says enough about your intentions."
I let out a yawn.
"What's your name?" I asked, casually.
"…Bencze," he muttered.
"Alright, Benczi bácsi, here's the deal."
I tilted my head slightly.
"I had to deal with people back home who could actually kill me. You're not one of them. So either you drop the attitude… or I kick your ass."
He blinked once, then exhaled through his nose.
"…Let's just go."
"Oh, and one thing," I added.
Bencze let out a long, theatrical groan — the kind only Budapestians manage, halfway between I'm suffering and you're wasting my time.
"What now," he muttered.
"Teleport us to Győr first. The city. I wanna see it again."
He blinked at me like I'd just asked him to detour through the moon.
"…You want to go sightseeing when things are this dire?," he asked, incredulous.
"Yeah. In my past life, my family lived in Hungary, pretty close to Győr. Of course I wanna see it again. Isn't that where Count Szilárd lives anyway?"
He threw his hands up.
"Fine, fine — let's just go already!"
"Ready when you are."
"Bazdmeg," he muttered, stepping into the circle.
I smirked as the teleport cycle pulled us out of Kuoh.
Right back at you.
_______________
[Györ, Hungary]
Bencze teleported us into a panelház neighborhood. Marcalváros, if I had to guess.
Huge communist-era blocks stood side by side with smaller buildings and traditional Hungarian houses. A faint memory surfaced of my mom circling around here in her 2011 Suzuki Alto, before a 40 minutes walk toward the historical center.
Hungarians and Suzukis have always been an old love story. Even my dad worked for a Suzuki representative office in Szombathely.
And my dad is Romanian.
Anyway.
"…Really? You could've just teleported us to Belváros. Or somewhere near the train station."
Bencze exhaled slowly, visibly annoyed now rather than impressed.
"…You really think I can just drop you anywhere you want like I'm a sightseeing service?"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"I brought you here because I felt like it. Not because I'm your driver… And if you keep treating this like a game, you're going to run into something you don't understand very fast."
I looked at him flatly, extending a 10,000-forint bill toward him.
"Make it the train station," I smirked.
Bencze stared at me.
For a second, he didn't move at all.
Then his eyes dropped to the bill.
His hand moved.
He reached out—before stopping entirely.
In the end, he didn't take the money.
"…Do you always assume everything has a price?" he asked, voice calm, but colder now. "I'm not a taxi service," he added. "And I'm not impressed by paper."
Says the guy who almost took it.
The air shifted again, and the familiar sight of Győr Vasútállomás stretched out before us.
A Baroque façade, cleaner and better looking than anything I remembered from Romanian stations. It's not that MÁV was that much better compared to CFR.
Especially in the delays spectrum. But their trains had better conditions, at least.
And, if you were lucky enough, you'd even get wi-fi when you closed in to Budapest.
Outside the station, Hungarians and gypsies flooded the streets, coming from all across the country. Sometimes, you could even hear German from some Austrian tourists.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Memories slipped in without permission—long train rides between Győr and Brașov. Sometimes there was no direct train. Which meant hours of waiting and, sometimes, missed connections in Budapest.
The slightest delay could mean losing the last route back across the border entirely.
It wasn't nostalgia.
Just repetition.
My eyes drifted to the Nemzeti Dohánybolt near the entrance.
I turned slightly toward Bencze.
"You smoke?"
He glanced at me.
"…Yeah."
"What cigarettes?" I asked.
"Winston Red. Why?"
"Wait here."
I turned and walked into the Nemzeti Dohánybolt.
A few minutes later, I came back with a pack of Marlboro Gold for me and Winston Red for him.
Bencze watched without saying anything at first.
Then he raised an eyebrow as he took the pack.
"…You really didn't have to match them like that," he muttered.
His fingers tightened slightly around the cigarettes.
"Nah," he added, shifting his weight. "Let me pay for it."
I smirked.
"Don't sweat it."
His eyes lingered on me a second longer than necessary, like he was recalculating my very existence.
"…Yeah," he finally said, lighting one. "That's what I thought."
I lit one too, letting the smoke hang in the air between us.
We walked about ten minutes toward the historical center, crossing Baross Bridge on the way in.
The city didn't change much.
The Ferris wheel I used to ride with my brother still stood near the river. The Rába River kept flowing like it always did. And that glass corporate building near the main square still looked slightly out of place against the baroque backdrop.
Even the McDonald's was still there—same spot, same problem. Never could get the Wi-Fi to connect properly.
"Győr isn't bad for a védek city, honestly," Bencze muttered. "I can't stand Debrecen or Miskolc."
I let out a short laugh. "Yeah, Miskolc is a joke, lol. Hungarian Vaslui."
He glanced at me, unimpressed.
"You're from Budapest, huh?"
"Yeah," Bencze replied. "Újpest."
I smirked. "Ferencváros is better."
A pause.
"…Fuck the Geese," he said flatly.
We fell quiet, and after a few more minutes of walking and random memories my mind refused to get lost in, Bencze suddenly turned to me.
"Alright, Brassó kid. You had your little tour, right? Szilárd is waiting."
"Yeah. I'm done," I replied, nonchalant.
That was all he needed.
He snapped the teleportation cycle open.
For a moment, I expected something else. Something straight out of the Middle Ages. A manor, maybe even a castle.
Instead—
I found myself in a hallway. In an actual pánelház. The stale air settled into my lungs, merciless.
An apartment door stood in front of us.
I blinked.
…This is the Count of Győr?
Bencze ringed the doorbell. But it wasn't Szilárd who opened.
It was a woman.
She looked in her late 30s, black hair and soft brown eyes staring at me sharply.
"You are late," she said, looking from me to Bencze, eyes landing on him as we entered the apartment.
I found myself in a hallway. An actual pánelház. The stale air settled into my lungs, heavy and indifferent, like the building itself had no interest in who came or went.
An apartment door stood right in front of us.
I blinked.
…This is the Count of Győr?
Bencze rang the doorbell.
A short pause.
The lock clicked.
But it wasn't Szilárd who opened the door.
A woman stood there instead.
Late thirties, maybe. Black hair tied back loosely, brown eyes that didn't soften for anyone. The kind of gaze that measured you before you even spoke.
Her eyes moved over me once—quick, precise—then shifted to Bencze.
"You're late," she said flatly.
No surprise or curiosity in her voice. Just a statement, delivered plainly, like she'd already accounted for this outcome.
We stepped inside.
The apartment felt the same as the hallway—functional, almost temporary. Not a home, but more like a position.
A placeholder in a system that didn't care for comfort.
Her eyes lingered on Bencze a second longer.
Then, colder:
"My husband is not in a mood for delays."
Bencze, for his part, just groaned like he wasn't in the mood for this conversation.
"Mihály wanted to see around Györ," he replied, a bit stiff. "Not my fault."
"Tourism?" she asked, flatly.
Bencze exhaled through his nose, already tired of the conversation.
"Something like that."
The woman blinked, then atepped aside at last, letting us in fully.
"More like revisiting a city I haven't seen in a lifetime," I cut in with a sigh, tone flat. "Literally."
It was only then she turned to me fully.
"Hello. I'm Edith Szilárd," she said simply. "And László has told me quite a bit about you."
The corner of her mouth went up without becoming a smile.
"Come in."
She raised her voice slightly, calling deeper into the apartment.
"László, szerelem! Your guest is here!"
For a moment, nothing.
Then he was just… there.
Count Szilárd stood in the doorway like he had always been part of the room.
"Welcome, Mihály," he said calmly. "Please—sit."
He gestured toward the couch.
I didn't argue.
Bencze dropped down as well, keeping a bit of distance from me.
Szilárd remained standing for a second longer, studying me. Then he moved, taking a seat across from us. Edith settled onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They looked like a power couple or something. Figures.
"As you already know…" Szilárd began, his tone even, almost conversational, "the government has collapsed."
A pause.
"The reason I asked you to come is simple. If we do nothing, our kind will be wiped from Hungarian territory."
He spoke without emotion, just full of certainty.
"And if the reports are accurate…" his gaze sharpened slightly, "…then this extends far beyond us. LaVey intends to reshape the balance entirely. Reincarnated devils… as the dominant species."
Silence settled in the room for a brief second.
"Which, in practical terms," he finished, almost quietly, "means the end of humanity as we know it."
I let out a quiet sigh.
"Yeah… we can't let LaVey take Hungary. The moment he does, he's got a stable base for everything else."
I paused, rubbing my temples.
"I've fought the Oblivion Syndicate in Nagano. In Kuoh. Brașov. Even here, in Budapest. I've seen how they operate."
My gaze lifted for a moment.
"If LaVey consolidates control here, Hungary doesn't just become dangerous."
A brief pause.
"It becomes a launchpad. A country more volatile than WW2 Germany and Japan combined… Except this time, it works.
LaVey's Hungary would accomplish what the Third Reich couldn't—through political control backed by supernatural force."
My eyes moved between Szilárd, Edith and Bencze.
"And once that happens… defeating him gets way harder. So yeah," I finished, voice calm but firm, "he needs to be stopped before he reaches that point."
The reaction wasn't immediate. They were too stunned.
Bencze provided the first one, a low smirk, almost approval.
"At least he understands the stakes," he said.
Szilárd didn't react immediately.
For a moment, he just watched me—like he was checking if I actually understood what I was saying.
Then his fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
"Good," he said. "At least you're not naïve."
Edith shifted slightly against him, her gaze never leaving me.
"Most still think this is a territorial dispute," she added coolly. "Borders. Pride. Old claims."
Szilárd exhaled quietly.
"It isn't. It's consolidation. Power, resources, population. LaVey isn't interested in ruling Hungary… He's interested in using it."
Edith's voice followed, just as controlled.
"And once he does, every structure—human or otherwise—becomes expendable."
Silence settled for a second.
Szilárd leaned forward slightly.
"So," he continued, tone steady, "you understand the scale. The question is… what exactly do you intend to do about it, Mihály?"
I sighed.
"I'm planning to nuke LaVey into oblivion," I said coolly.
Pun intended.
A brief pause.
"You're forgetting something important."
My gaze hardened.
"I—no, we—were the first ones to get hit. In Nagano."
My jaw tightened slightly.
"Suzuka lost her friend. Haruka lost her home."
I didn't look away.
"They had nothing to do with Hungary. Or Romania. They just happened to be in the way."
Silence.
Then, flat:
"So yeah."
A faint exhale.
"Every plague has a cure."
Szilárd didn't react.
Not immediately.
He just looked at me for a second, like he was checking if I was serious or just venting.
Then he leaned back slightly.
"…Right," he said.
No shock. No lecture.
Just that.
Edith didn't move either, but her eyes stayed on me a bit longer.
"Direct approach," she muttered.
Szilárd nodded faintly.
"Nothing wrong with that," he added. "If it works."
A short pause.
"But LaVey isn't sitting in one place waiting to be erased."
He glanced at Bencze for a second, then back at me.
"You hit him like that, best case—you miss."
Another beat.
"Worst case, you hit something else."
Edith exhaled quietly.
"And he adapts."
"So sure," he continued. "If you get a clean shot, take it. Just don't build your entire plan around a miracle."
I shrugged.
"Relax. I didn't say I'd do it alone. This concerns all of us.
Maybe because you're the ones in the crossfire, you see it clearer than the Romanian 'aristocracy'—busy with a civil war while everything around them is burning."
Bencze raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," he muttered. "That's one rational Romanian. Didn't expect that."
Edith's gaze slid toward him—sharp, brief.
"Careful," she said dryly. "You're getting close to sounding surprised by competence."
Bencze huffed under his breath but didn't push it.
Szilárd, meanwhile, kept his eyes on me.
"No," he said calmly. "He's not wrong. Their conflict has become… self-contained. Which makes them slow."
Edith shifted slightly, still composed.
"And predictable."
Szilárd gave the faintest nod.
"Whereas you," he continued, tone even, "have been forced to deal with the wider picture from the start."
"So," he added, "if you're not doing it alone…"
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"…what exactly are you proposing?"
"I'm not proposing anything," I replied flatly. "You're the one who summoned me here. The ball's in your court, not mine."
Szilárd held my gaze for a second, then gave a small, almost amused nod.
"Fair enough. Then I'll keep it simple."
A brief pause.
"We need someone who can move outside our structure. Someone LaVey doesn't fully account for."
His eyes gazed into mine once more.
"That's you."
Edith didn't look surprised.
"You're not tied to our hierarchy," she added. "Which makes you harder to predict."
Szilárd continued, tone steady.
"In return, we provide what you don't have. Information. Access. Logistics. We don't need you to agree now," he said. "But understand this—"
A slight tilt of his head.
"If Hungary falls, Romania won't stay untouched for long."
Silence settled for a monent.
Then, Szilárd added simply:
"So think carefully before you walk away."
There's nothing to think about.
"Well, realistically, my only constraint is this fake life Japan shoved me into," I said. "School. Normalcy. A new family."
I exhaled quietly.
"I can't be here 24/7. But I'll do what I can."
Szilárd nodded once.
"That's enough."
Edith spoke next, just as matter-of-fact.
"We don't need you here constantly. We need you where you already are."
A brief silence.
Szilárd leaned forward slightly.
"Japan is not a limitation," he said. "It's proximity. To where this started."
Edith added, calm as ever:
"And to where it will escalate again."
Szilárd's gaze held mine.
"So operate there," he said. "We'll handle what we must here. And when it overlaps… We coordinate."
Then, he smiled, half hearted.
"Is what I would've liked to say. But, there will be times when you would have to answer our call."
Figures.
"So while you operate here," Szilárd continued, "you can use this apartment."
He said it like it was already decided.
Edith's fingers tightened slightly for a moment on his arm—subtle, instinctive.
Szilárd noticed anyway.
"It's secure," he added calmly. "And neutral. No one will question it. As long as you need a foothold in Győr, it's yours."
He leaned back again.
"Just don't treat it like a hotel."
Edith finally spoke, tone even.
"And don't bring attention here. We prefer it stays invisible."
I pretended to weigh in for a second, but I already made up my mind.
"Deal."
I extended my hand towards Szilárd. He blinked, one second, then shook it.
And, in this Györ flat, my alliance with the Pannonia Order was born.