Chapter 253: At This Point, I'm Not Even Asking You to Stay Out of Trouble Anymore
Steven honestly wasn't all that worried about being exposed.
And besides—Centaurea, that little white horse, was someone he actually trusted. If she knew, then she knew. No big deal.
I mean, come on. Even if the entire so-called K.G.C.C found out, what could they do?
Beat him? Yeah, good luck with that.
If they couldn't win in a fight, then what did knowing even matter? It's not like he lived in this dumpster of a city, or even belonged to Kazimierz. Why the hell should he follow their rules?
In this world, might makes right. Always has.
And if they really pushed him to the edge? Well, don't blame him for pulling an E-boss special and black-hole vacuuming the city off the map.
Seriously, that giant skyscraper at the General Chamber of Commerce HQ? He'd hated that eyesore since day one. Why build it so tall? Afraid the streets were getting too much sunlight?
One of these days, he was gonna bring that monstrosity down and replace it with the RWBY series flying Atlas City—show these Kazimierz idiots what real aesthetics looked like.
"So," Steven grinned as he casually leaned a hand against the wall beside her head. "Got any free time, pretty lady? Big bro wants to take you out for tea."
He struck a perfect kabedon pose, smirking playfully as he cocked a brow at her.
"Consider it my heartfelt thanks for that ticket you gave me. Pretty generous, huh?"
Centaurea rolled her eyes so hard they practically rattled in her skull.
But notably—she didn't move away.
Instead, she reached out with a single slender finger and jabbed him square in the chest.
"Generous, my ass. I wish I'd never met you," she muttered. "Can you please rein it in just a little? You're stressing me the hell out."
She wasn't lying. If she had a choice, she'd rather have never crossed paths with Steven.
Honestly, back during their first meeting, she would've preferred to be blown off her feet and yeeted to the emergency room instead of being stuck underground with him.
At least if she'd gotten injured, she might've ended up in a hospital bed. That sounded way more relaxing than the nerve-wracking hell she was living now.
"Aww, so you're saying you wanna break up with me?" Steven pouted dramatically, the corners of his lips drooping.
Of course, the fact that his arm was still resting on the wall beside her told a very different story.
"Let me ask you something," Centaurea growled. "When you were up there yelling at the audience, did it cross your mind that I was part of that audience? You verbally curb-stomped everyone—including me!"
She ground the heel of her boot into the top of his shoe.
The more he played dumb, the more pissed she got.
What the hell was that? He wasn't just picking fights—he was dragging her into them too!
Steven scratched his head sheepishly.
"Well, I mean… your current employer is that dumbass organization, right? Plus, you said it yourself that I'm just a 'random spectator.' So technically, I wasn't insulting you."
His expression was all innocent country boy, but every word out of his mouth made her blood pressure spike.
And the worst part? She couldn't even argue with him.
Because technically… she had said that.
Also—she did agree that the Armorless Union was full of idiots.
Honestly, if they weren't, then who was? She'd cursed her higher-ups a thousand times over in her heart already. Might as well make it a thousand and one.
"I'm done arguing with you," she huffed. "Thanks to the mess you made, I'll be busy for the next few days cleaning it up. If—if—I find some time, I'll get in touch."
She turned to walk off, but paused, glancing over her shoulder with a warning glare.
"In the meantime, try not to cause any more trouble."
Then, after a beat—
"…No, scratch that. Just don't drag me into it when you do."
Having more or less accepted the reality that Steven was a walking disaster magnet, Centaurea no longer held any illusions about him ever behaving himself.
If the trouble he stirred up didn't drag her down with it, she might even light some incense in gratitude.
"You say that like all I ever do is cause trouble when I'm bored."
Steven gave her a sheepish grin, his eyes darting away guiltily. "Which… okay, fair. But still, no need to say it out loud, right? Some things are better left unspoken—for everyone's sake."
Even he couldn't deny it. Causing chaos was kind of his thing.
Give him some slack, please, he was all by himself for thousands of years in Minecraft.
He had gone from sane to insane, then back to sane again.
"Well, anyway," he waved off the topic with a casual flick of the wrist. "Thanks for today, Miss Lil' Platinum. I'll catch you later when you've got some free time, yeah~?"
He didn't even bother leaving her an address or contact info. Not that it mattered—she was part of the Armorless Union. Tracking him down wouldn't be hard at all.
If anything, what annoyed Centaurea more than his carefree attitude was something else entirely.
"Don't call me Lil' Platinum."
Her voice was sharp, her expression twisted into a grimace. "You can just call me by name—hell, shout my name if you want—but not that. I hate it."
That nickname was giving her PTSD.
Every time the higher-ups at the Armorless Union shoved a new job onto her plate, they'd sweeten the command with that saccharine title: Lil' Platinum. As if slapping a cutesy name on hard labor made it any less miserable.
No way in hell she'd come to like it.
"Alright, alright," Steven chuckled, raising a hand in mock surrender.
"Next time, then—see you soon, my dearest Miss Centaurea~"
His voice dripped with melodramatic flair, but he respected her wishes, waving farewell before casually striding off in the direction of the inn.
Once he was finally out of sight, Centaurea turned to head back toward the arena to continue her patrol—only to freeze mid-step.
From the shadows nearby, a man stepped out. Roy, one of the Lazurite ranked assassins, and technically her superior in the Armorless Union.
"Well, well," Roy said with a teasing grin, his gaze following the direction Steven had gone. "Who was that handsome fella just now, huh? Rare to see our lil' platinum getting so close with someone. A boyfriend, maybe?"
The tone was playful, but Centaurea instantly tensed up.
Unlike with Steven, she couldn't afford to joke around with this guy.
She shot Roy a cool, unreadable look. Her voice was flat, almost bored.
"He's a friend. Asked me for a VIP ticket to get in early—that's all. If you've got doubts, feel free to go verify it yourself."
She wasn't interested in offering extra explanations. The more you explained, the more suspicious it sounded.
What she said was the truth, after all. Nothing for him to dig up.
And as for Steven's real identity and connect it to her?
Please. No one in their right mind would believe that that over-the-top maniac from earlier had anything to do with a straight-laced Armorless Union platinum like her.
She considered herself a good soldier—dutiful, loyal, hardworking—Okay, mostly hardworking. She slacked off occasionally, sure—but never shirked her missions or spoke out of turn.
If anyone managed to connect her with that masked lunatic from earlier, it'd be a miracle. Or they'd just have way too much imagination.
"Now, now," Roy raised both hands innocently. "I'd never suspect my own colleague. Making new friends is great! And giving someone a VIP ticket using your position? That's small potatoes—really nothing at all."
Once he confirmed that Centaurea's explanation matched the report his subordinates had brought him, Roy finally smiled.
Just like he'd said—there was nothing suspicious about her making a new friend.
As for using her position to sneak someone in with a VIP ticket? Barely worth mentioning.
In fact, a small smudge like that on her otherwise clean record only made her more trustworthy in his eyes.
And that guy who just left? Sure, he was a little handsome, but other than that, he looked perfectly normal.
No matter how wild his imagination got, Roy couldn't bring himself to believe that that guy could possibly be the same arrogant, near-invincible knight who had just caused such a stir earlier.
"So then," Centaurea interrupted coolly, steering the conversation away from Steven as subtly as she could, "you didn't come all this way just to check on your subordinate's social life, right? Why not just tell me what you really want?"
Anything involving Steven always meant trouble.
The less she said about him, the better.
"Ah, that's what I like about you," Roy laughed, still wearing that relaxed grin. "Always so aware, so responsible. You keep this up, and maybe someday you'll be the one taking over my seat when I retire. Get those pretty white locks of yours dyed blue and all."
He chuckled, half-joking as he gestured toward her platinum-white hair.
"Pass," Centaurea deadpanned. Her sharp eyes dulled into flat, dead-fish ones.
"Since when does the Armorless Union have a retirement plan? You're hilarious. Now please—just get to the point."
Truthfully, she'd guessed what he wanted the moment he showed up. She just didn't like it.
"Fine, fine," Roy sighed, his smile never fading. "I'll get to the point, then."
He folded his arms and glanced toward the direction Steven had disappeared to.
"That guy from earlier—you know the one. It's not just the General Chamber of Commerce who wants a lead on him. Our own boss is interested as well."
"Apparently," he continued, with the air of someone who knew full well how flimsy his justification was, "he seems to have some... unusual interest in the Whislash Knight from the Nearl family. So, we figured—why not ask a fellow young lady like yourself to get close and gather some information?"
Roy said it with a smile, but they both knew what it really was: a command dressed up as a suggestion.
He was Lazurite. She was Platinum. Rank alone made the nature of the exchange clear.
Orders were orders.
"Seriously?" Centaurea raised a brow, not even bothering to hide her disbelief. But after a second, she gave a resigned sigh and nodded. "Fine. Got it."
She knew how much of a pain this job would be.
Not only did it risk pissing off Steven—which was already a ticking time bomb—but it also meant stepping on the toes of the Nearl family, who backed the Whislash Knight.
Taking someone out during the Major was one thing. If it ended in a lost qualification or injury, that could still be chalked up to the competition participant. And without hard evidence, the Nearl family wouldn't make a fuss.
But conducting an obvious investigation outside the tournament? That was another story entirely. That wasn't just bold—it was borderline suicidal.
Yes, the Nearl family had fallen into decline after the old warhorse passed away. Their second son was practically a corporate drone now.
But even a dying tiger still had claws and fangs.
And no one was foolish enough to pretend those weren't real.
<+>
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