The silence that followed wasn't awkward — it was heavy. The kind that hangs in the air when too many truths are sitting unspoken between two people who've known each other too long.
Takumi leaned against the wall, half-finished soda in hand.
"You think she really knows what she's into?" he asked, staring at the ceiling.
Nathan didn't respond immediately. He just spun the bottle in his hand slowly, the fizz settling. Then, with a dry tone:
"No. She has no clue. But that's what makes it interesting."
Takumi smirked.
"Man, you're sick."
Nathan chuckled under his breath.
"Coming from you?"
"Touché."
A knock echoed on the door.
Neither moved.
"You expecting someone?" Takumi asked.
"No."
Nathan stood, tossing the empty bottle in the trash as he walked to the door. He opened it halfway — no one was there. But on the ground, a small black envelope.
He picked it up, eyes narrowing slightly as he read the front:
*"To the one who hides in plain sight."*
He flipped it open. Inside was a single photo.
*A picture of Mira… inside the prison. But the time stamp? It was from *today*.*
Nathan's jaw tensed.
"Who the hell is feeding this through me now?" he muttered.
Takumi stepped behind him, peering at the photo."Looks like your game's already started," he said.
Nathan closed the envelope and walked back in.
"Then I hope they're ready to lose."
He tossed the envelope on the table and turned to Takumi.
"Tell Viki to stop spiraling. If she explodes before the competition, she won't be the only one to burn."
Takumi nodded.
"Got it. And Nao?"
Nathan paused… then smirked.
"Let's see if she survives the fire.
*Same Night – *Cell Block, Imperial Detention Center**
The faint buzz of the flickering ceiling light hummed through the corridor as Mira was escorted back to her cell. The sharp click of the officer's boots echoed with every step.
"Inside," the officer grunted, unlocking the cell and shoving the door open.
Mira stepped in slowly, almost dreamily, her smirk still plastered across her face. The door clanged shut behind her with a metallic thud.
She sat down on her bed, crossing her legs, still humming the same soft, haunting melody.
*"Promise…"* she whispered mockingly to herself, tilting her head.
"Michelle... what a joke."
Her fingers traced a circle on the mattress, slow and calculated, as she leaned her head back against the wall.
"They really think this is going to hold me?"
She chuckled under her breath.
"Michelle… Viki… Nao… and that rat of a principal's son—Nathan..."
Her smile widened, now crooked, twitching slightly at the corner.
"Mr. Williams thought he could silence me. Bury me in here like a secret. But secrets don't stay buried for long, do they?"
She reached under her thin mattress and pulled out a *small folded paper* — not from today, but from earlier, carefully hidden.On it: *a crude sketch of Imperial's layout*, marked red on the *underground utility exits*.
She kissed the paper.
"Six days left… that's what I said, didn't I?"
She whispered to herself.
"Day two begins now."
A muffled shout came from another cell down the hallway — someone arguing with a guard. Mira ignored it. She laid back down, humming again.
This time, the tune was the same song Nao had sung on stage… but twisted, darker.
She stared up at the ceiling.
"They took my freedom, my future, my father... but I'll take something bigger."
Her voice dropped into a cold whisper:
*"Their legacy**.
---Minutes earlier---
A clank echoed from down the hall, and Mira didn't even flinch. She was sprawled on her bunk, one leg dangling lazily over the edge, humming something incoherent with a twisted grin playing on her lips.
"Mira Kang. You have a visitor," a guard said flatly, stopping at her cell with keys jangling in one hand.
Mira's eyes lit up, the lazy haze on her face sharpening with interest.
"Ooh, is it the press? Fans?" she smirked, swinging her legs off the bed and standing with slow grace. "Or has daddy finally come to break me out?"
The guard said nothing. Just opened the door and signaled her forward.
She followed, hands cuffed, orange prison uniform dragging slightly as she walked like she owned the place.
*[Visitors' Lounge]*The room was sterile, too clean for the chaos that lived within its walls. A thin glass pane separated inmate from visitor. On the other side sat a girl, face obscured by a large scarf and oversized sunglasses. Her shoulders were hunched, fingers clutched tightly around the visitor's desk as she looked down, as if trying not to be recognized.
Mira stepped in, eyes scanning the figure with theatrical curiosity.
"Hmm," she said, pulling out the metal chair and plopping into it, crossing her legs. "It's the bitch."
The girl flinched visibly.
"…I'm sorry, okay?" the girl whispered, not looking up. "I didn't mean for it to get this far. I… I'll get you out. Soon. I promise."
Mira leaned forward, her voice low, smile creeping.
"You don't even know who I *am*, and here you are making promises like you're my savior." She chuckled darkly. "The fact that you think this is about guilt… that's what's really cute."
"I thought… I thought we were helping each other," the girl stammered.
"Helping?" Mira repeated with a scoff, standing up slowly. "Sweetheart, the only thing you did was push a ticking time bomb off schedule."
She walked to the door slowly, glancing over her shoulder just once.
"But I'll keep *my* promise."Michelle finally raised her head, brows pulled together in confusion. "P–promise?"
Mira turned fully, grin wide now, eyes gleaming like a predator's.
"Yes… of killing you, Michelle."
The guard stepped in immediately. "Visit's over. Back to your cell."
Michelle sat frozen, the air knocked from her lungs. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Mira offered her one last wink before turning her back and walking down the corridor like she was walking a red carpet.
*INT. NEWS STUDIO – NIGHT*
The screen flickered to life across homes, lounges, clubs, and even Imperial's common halls. The bold text glowed across the lower third:
*"BREAKING: Presidential Elections Commence – National Candidates Announced"*
A poised female news anchor adjusted her earpiece and looked directly into the camera, her voice clear and formal.
*ANCHOR:*
"This year's National Presidential Elections have officially begun, with the Electoral Committee releasing the full list of selected candidates. Citizens are to take note that campaigning officially begins today, with the deadline for the election concluding in 30 days from now."
The screen transitioned into a graphic displaying the candidate lineup. Ten names scrolled across, each photo beside them. At number four, bold and distinct:
*— Mr. Elias Williams (Founder – W.W.M Group, Imperial Authority Executive)*
The camera returned to the anchor.
*ANCHOR (CONT'D):*
"Mr. Elias Williams, a well-known figure in the educational and cultural sector, has made a surprising entrance into this year's political race. Analysts say his inclusion could shift the direction of this election significantly."
*INT. PENTHOUSE OFFICE – NIGHT*Dim lighting cast long shadows across the sleek, expensive office. A large TV on the wall played the announcement, the anchor's voice still audible.
Mr. Williams sat calmly in his leather armchair, legs crossed, a half-full wine glass in hand. His eyes fixated on the screen until the segment ended.
He took a slow sip, then let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
"Finally…"
He stood up, setting the glass down on the polished table. With calculated precision, he reached for his long, dark coat hanging nearby, sliding it on.
He walked past the large glass windows, overlooking the city below like a king surveying his territory.
"Might be visiting you all soon… fellow candidates."
His voice was low, edged with threat masked by elegance.
*INT. PENTHOUSE HALLWAY –
He opened the door, and the guard stationed outside immediately straightened and bowed slightly.
"Sir."
"Take me home."
He replied.
He stepped into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut behind him with a soft *ding*, the reflection of his cold smile lingering on the polished surface.