[POV: Sora Amano] [Location: The Grand Ballroom]
The air in the ballroom tasted like expensive perfume and lies.
Sora stood near a pillar wrapped in white velvet, swirling a glass of sparkling cider that he was pretending was champagne. From his vantage point in the shadows, he watched the play unfold.
And it was a play.
In the center of the polished marble floor, the music swelled—a waltz played by floating violins. The crowd parted, forming a wide circle of silk and jewels.
"May I?" Princess Elara asked, her voice carrying over the hushed crowd.
She stood before Ren, her hand extended. She looked like a creature made of light—golden hair, violet eyes, a dress that shimmered like a frozen waterfall.
Ren looked terrified. He glanced at his friends for help.
Daigo gave him a thumbs up.
Toru mouthed 'Go get her, tiger.'
Rika looked like she was mentally calculating the trajectory needed to throw a steak knife into the Princess's throat.
"Uh... sure," Ren stammered, taking Elara's hand.
The crowd gasped in delight as the Princess swept the "Hero" onto the floor. They began to dance. Ren was stiff, counting his steps, terrified of stepping on the royal hem. Elara was fluid, guiding him effortlessly, gazing up at him with that terrifying, intense hope.
"Look at them," a noblewoman near Sora whispered behind her fan. "The Savior and the Maiden. It's like the tapestries come to life."
"He moves well for a commoner," her husband muttered, adjusting his monocle. "Do we know his lineage? Which academy did the King pluck him from?"
"I heard he was found in a remote village in the North," the woman replied. "A hidden prodigy. A diamond in the rough."
Sora took a sip of his cider to hide his smirk.
So that's the narrative, Sora analyzed.
He scanned the room, listening to snippets of conversation.
"These students... surely they are from the Royal Knight Academy?"
"No, I heard they are orphans trained by the Church."
"Potential demon slayers. Finally, the King makes a move."
Not a single mention of "Earth." Not a whisper of "Otherworlders."
Smart, Sora thought. If the neighboring kingdoms knew Altherion had summoned Heroes from another dimension, it would be an act of war. Or an invitation for assassination. The King is keeping us a secret. We aren't aliens to them; we're just talented peasants.
It made them safer, in a way. But it also made them property. You can't demand human rights if you don't legally exist.
Sora turned away from the dance floor. The sight of Rika gripping her butter knife with white knuckles was making him anxious.
Objective: Calories.
He navigated the edge of the crowd toward the buffet tables. This was the real reason he had agreed to come.
The spread was obscene. Roast boar glazed in honey. Towers of shrimp. Fruits he didn't recognize. Cakes layered with gold leaf.
Sora grabbed a plate. He didn't pile it high—that would attract attention. He moved with surgical precision.
Smoked salmon. High protein, omega-3s. Good for the brain.
Hard cheese. Calcium. Good for the ribs.
Grapes. Hydration and sugar.
He ate quickly, efficiently, standing with his back to the wall. He wasn't savoring the flavor; he was refueling the machine.
"You eat like a soldier," a voice said.
Sora didn't jump. He finished chewing, swallowed, and turned slowly.
Standing next to him, holding a glass of dark red wine, was Prince Valerius.
The Prince looked different up close. His blue eyes behind the rimless glasses were cold, sharp, and bored. He wasn't watching the dance; he was watching the room.
"Your Highness," Sora gave a slight nod, not a bow. "I eat like someone who's used to having five minutes before the next drill."
"Fair," Valerius took a sip of wine. He looked at Sora's black vest. "No silk? My tailor can be... difficult."
"I prefer pockets," Sora said.
Valerius's lips quirked upward—a micro-expression of amusement. "Practicality. A rare trait in this room."
The Prince turned his gaze toward the dance floor, where Ren was currently spinning Elara (and nearly tripping).
"My sister is enamored with the idea of the Hero," Valerius said quietly. "She sees the Sword. The Light. The Prophecy. She loves the story."
Valerius turned back to Sora. His gaze sharpened, dissecting him.
"But I prefer the footnotes. The details that don't make it into the ballads."
Sora tightened his grip on his plate. "I'm just a footnote, Your Highness?"
"You are an anomaly," Valerius corrected. "I read the After-Action Report from the Howling Caverns. The official version credits the Vanguard for holding the line and the Hero for the killing blow."
Valerius swirled his wine.
"But the Artificer... Riku Kamishiro... submitted a supplementary log. He details a 'Tactical Diversion' initiated by a non-combatant."
The Prince looked at Sora directly.
"He claims you entered the Goblin Nest alone. That you identified the hostages. And that you pulled the entire Goblin Horde into the Boss Room to force a monster infighting scenario."
Sora kept his face blank. "Riku exaggerates. I just ran away, and the goblins chased me. It was an accident."
"Was it?" Valerius stepped closer. He wasn't intimidating in a physical way like Daigo. He was intimidating like a scalpel. "Running into a Boss Room is suicide. Unless you calculated the aggression tables of the two species. Unless you knew the Basilisk would prioritize the swarm over the students."
Sora didn't answer. He took a grape and popped it into his mouth.
"I value intelligence, Amano Sora," Valerius said, dropping the pleasantries. "My father collects swords. I collect minds. Ren Takashi is a sledgehammer. Effective, but blunt."
Valerius leaned in slightly.
"But a man who can weaponize an enemy army against itself? That is a scalpel. And I have use for scalpels."
Sora felt a chill go down his spine. This wasn't a compliment. It was a job interview. And working for this guy seemed infinitely more dangerous than fighting a basilisk.
"I'm just a student, Your Highness," Sora said carefully. "I'm Class 3-G. My job is to try not to die."
"For now," Valerius straightened up, his cold mask returning. "Enjoy the salmon. It's imported."
The Prince turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of nobles.
Sora let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Prince Valerius.
Threat Level: High.
Status: Watching.
Sora looked at his half-eaten plate. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore. The noise of the ballroom—the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—felt overwhelming. It was a cacophony of fake joy masking a brutal reality.
He needed air.
[Location: The Royal Balcony]
The balcony was a relief.
The cool night air washed over Sora, carrying the scent of the gardens below. The noise of the party was muffled by the heavy glass doors.
He leaned against the stone railing, looking out at the capital city. From up here, the lights of the houses looked like stars.
"You hiding too?"
Sora turned.
Ren was standing in the doorway, loosening his cravat. He looked exhausted. His hair was messy, and there was a faint lipstick stain on his cheek (courtesy of an over-enthusiastic Duchess, probably).
"Just getting some air," Sora said, turning back to the view.
Ren walked over and leaned on the railing next to him. He sighed—a long, heavy exhale that seemed to deflate his entire posture.
"That was... intense," Ren muttered. "I stepped on the Princess's foot twice. And then the King asked me about my 'village.' I had to make up a story about yak farming. I don't even know what a yak is."
"It's like a hairy cow," Sora supplied.
"Great. So I'm a hairy cow farmer," Ren laughed weakly.
They stood in silence for a moment. Just two boys from Japan, standing on a castle balcony in a world that wanted to eat them.
"They really think we're heroes," Ren said softly. "The way they look at me, Sora... it's heavy. They think I can fix everything. They think I can save everyone."
Ren looked at his hands—the hands that Princess Elara had held with such reverence.
"I almost died today," Ren whispered. "If you hadn't come back... if I hadn't unlocked that skill... we would be statues in a snake pit right now."
"But we aren't," Sora said.
"This time," Ren gripped the railing. " But what about next time? What about when the Demon Lord actually shows up? I'm just a high school student, Sora. I played video games. I didn't sign up to lead armies."
Ren turned to look at Sora. His golden eyes were filled with fear.
"I'm scared," Ren admitted. "I'm terrified that I'm going to let everyone down."
Sora looked at him.
He saw the pressure cooker Ren was in. The King, the Church, Valdorn, the Princess—they were all piling expectations onto this one kid. They were building a statue of a Hero on top of a human being.
Sora reached into his pocket. He pulled out the last remaining item he had stolen from the buffet table.
A chocolate truffle.
"Here," Sora tossed it to Ren.
Ren caught it, confused. "Chocolate?"
"Sugar for the brain," Sora said. "Eat it."
Ren unwrapped the foil and popped it into his mouth.
"Look, Ren," Sora said, leaning back against the stone. "You're looking at this wrong. You think you have to be Superman. You think you have to be the 'Hero' they wrote in their prophecy."
Sora gestured to the ballroom behind them.
"That's a play. That's a script. The Princess wants a fairytale. The King wants a weapon."
Sora looked Ren in the eye.
"But you don't have to be their Hero. You just have to be our Vanguard. You just have to be the guy who keeps Daigo from eating rocks and keeps Rika from stabbing people."
Ren chewed the chocolate. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Rika really wanted to stab someone tonight."
"She has a knife in her garter," Sora noted. "I saw the outline."
Ren laughed. A real laugh this time. "Of course she does."
"You don't have to save the world alone, Ren," Sora said, his voice serious again. "You have a team. You have the strongest Tank, the smartest Mage, the craziest Healer."
Sora paused. He looked at the city lights.
"And you have me."
Ren looked at Sora. He saw the "Defect." The guy with no mana. The guy who lived in the slums.
"Yeah," Ren said, a warmth returning to his eyes. "I have you. The guy who negotiates with goblins."
"I didn't negotiate," Sora corrected. "I just introduced them to management."
Ren chuckled, shaking his head. "Thanks, Sora. I needed that. I felt like I was drowning in there."
"Just remember," Sora pushed off the railing. "The banquet is fake. The hardtack is real. Don't get used to the silk."
"I won't," Ren promised. "Are you coming back inside?"
Sora looked at the glass doors. He saw Toru dancing on a table. He saw Rika looking around, searching for Ren. He saw the Prince watching from the shadows.
"Nah," Sora shook his head. "I'm done with the spotlight. I'm going to head back to the dorms. I have an early morning."
"Early morning?" Ren asked. "The Prince gave us the day off tomorrow."
"You guys have the day off," Sora corrected. "I have to go to the Guild."
"The Guild? Why?"
Sora patted his pocket, where the silver coins from the hyena fangs clinked against the few coppers he had left.
"To get my license," Sora grinned—a sharp, feral grin that matched the scar on his jaw. "If I'm going to survive in this world, I need to get paid for it."
Ren watched him for a second, sensing the shift in his friend. Sora wasn't just surviving anymore. He was planning.
"Okay," Ren nodded. "Be careful out there, Sora."
"Careful is my middle name," Sora lied.
"I thought it was 'Danger'?"
"It changes based on the market economy."
Sora waved a hand over his shoulder and hopped over the balcony railing.
"Whoa!" Ren rushed forward.
He looked down.
Sora had landed on a lower roof, rolled, and dropped into the garden shadows with the grace of a stray cat. He looked up, gave a two-finger salute, and melted into the darkness.
Ren stood there for a moment, the cool wind tousling his hair.
Inside, the music swelled again. Princess Elara was looking for him. The King was waiting. The destiny of the world was calling.
But for the first time that night, Ren didn't feel the crushing weight of it.
He adjusted his cravat, turned around, and walked back into the light.
We got this, Ren thought. The Hero in the light.
Yeah. We got this.