21:35 – Northern Residential Street, Akarius
The night air was damp, the lingering drizzle from earlier still clinging to the asphalt, reflecting the glow of the streetlights like the shimmer of cracked glass.
Anwar strolled casually along the sidewalk, one hand holding a black-framed tablet, eyes fixed on the screen as he read. From time to time, he pushed his glasses up with an index finger—a habit that surfaced whenever his eyes felt tired.
"Hhh… this report is way too long. I'll just finish it later at home. Not like my stomach's asking to be fed. Getting home's all that matters right now." Anwar muttered.
He stopped in front of a cream-painted house with a low iron gate. His hand touched the door handle, and as soon as the door opened, a faint cinnamon scent from the air freshener welcomed him in. In the living room, a 50-inch TV was mounted on the wall, and in the corner sat a humanoid robot—powered off, motionless like a statue.
Then, with a click, the robot's eye lights flared blue.
"Good evening, Anwar," came a deep yet warm voice from its metal mouth—Mr. Fred.
"Evening, Mr. Fred," Anwar replied casually, setting the tablet down on the glass table. He dropped himself onto the sofa, grabbed a small cushion, and placed it across his lap.
"How was today? A good day… or a bad one?" Mr. Fred asked, tilting his head slightly in a perfect imitation of human gestures.
"Hah…" Anwar let out a long sigh, his left hand adjusting his glasses. "It was exhausting. And for some reason… not a single person today said anything pleasant to hear."
"Seriously, it's like everyone's competing to talk without a filter. My brain's overheating." Anwar muttered.
Mr. Fred nodded slowly, his voice lowering. "I see… so that's how it is."
"By the way, did anyone drop by here?" Anwar leaned forward.
"Negative. No visitors. Would you like a drink or dinner?"
Anwar shook his head lazily. "No. Not in the mood for food or drink."
"Any notifications on your phone?"
"Empty," Mr. Fred answered curtly.
Suddenly, a light knock sounded at the front door. Tok… tok… tok.
Mr. Fred turned his head quickly. "It might be… Hana."
"Hana? Oh, really?" Anwar stood, taking a deep breath. "Alright, I'll get it."
He walked to the door and opened it slowly—there stood Hana, a silver-haired student whose locks caught the porch light, her brown eyes focused yet faintly nervous. She held an M14 rifle in a relaxed but ready position.
"Oh, hey, Hana," Anwar greeted with a faint smile.
"H-hey, Brother Anwar. Uh… I mean, Anwar. Do you have a moment?" she asked, voice hesitant.
"For you? Sure. Lucky I'm in a good mood," Anwar said, motioning her inside.
"Sorry if I'm interrupting your private time…" Hana glanced briefly toward Mr. Fred.
"It's fine. I'm glad to have a guest. And just call me Anwar—no need for 'Brother.'"
Hana nodded. Anwar pointed toward the chair near his study desk. "Sit there, Hana."
He himself pulled a folding chair, placed it in front of her, and sat down.
"It's rare for you to talk to anyone besides your cousin," Anwar observed, studying her expression.
Hana averted her gaze. "Well… actually…"
"What is it?" Anwar asked, leaning in slightly.
"Do you know Duv?"
"Know him? Of course. I'm the one who introduced him to you. Why?"
Hana exhaled slowly, then blurted out, "I… think I'm starting to like Duv." A clear blush spread across her cheeks.
Anwar went silent for two seconds, then gave a short laugh. "Why tell me that? You could tell your cousin or a girl friend."
"My cousin's at work. And… I don't have girl friends. So… you're the only one I trust, Anwar."
"Well, that's… unexpected. But… pretty honest of her." Anwar muttered inwardly.
"Alright. So what do you want me to do?"
"I want to get closer to Duv… with your help."
"Hm… lucky timing. Mag and Duv need someone to play a princess in their drama project. Interested?"
"Uh… sure."
"Tomorrow morning, go to the Absolute Author club. I'll be there with Mag and Duv."
"Okay. Thanks, Anwar. I'll head home now."
Hana stood and walked toward the door—but before she could open it, it swung inward on its own.
A student stepped in. Black jacket, hood pulled tight, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a silver revolver. His face was hidden behind a white mask, yet the round-brimmed hat in his other hand lent an oddly elegant air to the midnight scene.
Hana immediately raised her M14, eyes sharp.
"Hana, relax. He's not a threat," Anwar said calmly.
"Good thing I know who he is. Otherwise, we'd have a firefight in the living room right now." Anwar thought.
Hana slowly lowered her weapon but kept a wary gaze fixed on the mysterious student until he stepped fully inside.
The student approached Anwar, removed his hoodie, and set the round-brimmed hat on his head.
"Good evening, Anwar," he said.
Anwar raised an eyebrow, then smiled faintly. "Good evening… Guy."
---
Morning – Amiratul Hukm Tower Apartment
Morning sunlight filtered through thin curtains, dancing across the bedroom walls.
On the plush bed with white sheets, Miraka blinked sleepily, her face still wrapped in the haze of drowsiness. Her slightly messy hair made her look like a kitten just waking up.
"Papa! Papa… where are you?" her voice was soft, yet in the quiet room, it carried clearly.
She sat up, hugging a pillow for a moment before letting out a small sigh.
"Hm… so quiet."
Miraka slid off the bed, her small feet meeting the cold floor. She walked slowly through Kaito's room, her eyes glancing left and right as if her Papa might appear from behind the wardrobe carrying breakfast.
When she opened the bedroom door, the warm scent of broth drifted in.
In the corridor, Natasya was walking toward her, carrying a steel tray. On it sat a steaming bowl of soup, a small spoon beside it… and one black pistol, stark against the homely aroma.
"Oh—Sis Natasya!" Miraka quickened her steps. "Sis… where's Papa?"
Natasya paused, raising an eyebrow. "Huh!? Papa?"
Miraka quickly waved her hands. "I mean… teacher."
"Oh…" Natasya chuckled softly, giving a crooked smile. "So the teacher's your papa, huh? He's teaching at a school… quite far from here."
"Why didn't he take me along…" Miraka pouted, cheeks puffing.
Natasya studied that sulking face for a moment, then in her heart thought, "Of course… because he's teaching at Velstrance Institute. There's no way he'd bring an innocent little thing like you there. If he did…" she sighed inwardly."
"Miraka, let's go back to your room first. Eat this soup, so your mood comes back," Natasya said, stepping inside, deliberately changing the subject.
---
A few minutes later
In the warm living room, Miraka sat on the plush sofa, her small feet dangling. Natasya set the tray down on the table in front of her. The soup's aroma filled the space.
Miraka took the spoon, blew gently on the rising steam, and sipped.
"Mmm… delicious!" she said with a bright smile.
Natasya smiled as well. "Good. She's easy to soften up with food. This girl… when she's hungry, nothing beats warm soup."
While chewing, Miraka murmured, "If Papa were here… he'd eat too."
Natasya gave a slight nod. "Papa, huh? Miraka, you have no idea just how… complicated your 'Papa' is."
Once Miraka finished her soup, Natasya picked up the pistol from the steel tray. The cold weight settled into her palm. She spun it lightly before handing it to Miraka.
"After this, we'll learn how to use a firearm, alright?" Natasya's voice was half-serious, half-playful.
Miraka's eyes lit up. "Hm… okay!"
"Yay… a new toy!" she thought innocently.
Natasya gave a wry smile at that reaction. "Let's hope the teacher doesn't get mad at me for teaching someone this young to handle a gun. But… in this city, it's more dangerous for her not to know."