"Sir, isn't this a bit…"
Zenshirō glanced at the newcomer, his expression turning awkward.
The golden-haired youth frowned at having his chosen servant contested. His sharp eyes narrowed, settling coldly on the one who had spoken.
Among the refugees, the high school girl who had been deliberately suppressing her presence realized she had become the center of attention. Her face darkened as she slowly raised her head.
At the entrance of the hall, a thin figure stepped past the doorway.
It was a boy, no more than sixteen or seventeen.
A striped baseball cap shaded his face, from beneath which spilled locks of soft, snowy white hair, slightly curled. His hair was pure white, as if made from untouched, flawless snow.
His features were delicate—less ruggedly handsome than exquisitely beautiful, almost like an art piece shaped by careful design. The corners of his lips carried a faint, gentle smile, one that seemed approachable at first glance, instantly easing tension and drawing goodwill.
And yet, the black-rimmed glasses on his face masked his eyes, making his expression difficult to read.
For the briefest instant, however, one could swear they saw a blood-red gleam flicker in his gaze.
Beneath the glasses, his eyes were indeed scarlet—vivid, dazzling, and disturbingly beautiful, as if soaked in fresh blood. Their allure was impossible to ignore.
On the chest of his black coat was a badge inscribed with the word "Matsu"—the lowest rank among Fuyuki's ruling magi.
"Sir, those two refugees have already been chosen by this gentleman here," Zenshirō said nervously, bowing as he spoke. "Perhaps you might select another instead?"
His voice betrayed unease. In Fuyuki City, anyone bearing such a badge was no ordinary person. They were magi—the hidden rulers who commanded the lifeblood of the city. Their number was extremely small, and each stood far above the likes of him. Even as the director of this refugee shelter, he was barely qualified to speak in their presence.
"A magician?!"
Someone among the gathered refugees gasped in shock.
"You mean… actual supernatural powers? Like the kind from light novels—people who control magic? Does that mean magic really exists in this world?!"
The voice belonged to a black-haired boy wearing glasses. His entire face lit up with excitement as he stared at the two magi, eyes shining as if witnessing the embodiment of his fantasies.
Coincidentally, he was sitting right beside the long-haired girl in the white headband.
Her face instantly hardened. She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut.
The situation was already dangerous enough—acting out and drawing attention was the height of stupidity. Who knew what might come of it?
Around them, the other refugees reacted in mixed ways. Some remained silent and pale-faced, others whispered nervously, while a few watched with thinly veiled schadenfreude, waiting for trouble to break out.
The girl's slender, stocking-clad legs trembled slightly as if she were barely suppressing her fear.
But the two magi ignored the refugees' murmurs completely.
"I rather like that girl myself," the white-haired boy said warmly, turning to the golden-haired youth. "Atram, would you consider letting me have her instead?"
His voice was polite, even gentle, yet the words carried a weight that pressed into the room like invisible chains.
Zenshirō's heart clenched.
Would these two fight here, in the shelter, over a single refugee? If they did, the consequences would be catastrophic.
He recalled what he knew of the hierarchy. "Matsu" was the lowest tier of magi, while "Kai"—the badge worn by Atram—was two ranks above. Why would someone of such low standing risk demanding a choice from his superior? Why not yield gracefully?
"…Well, well. And here I was wondering who it could be," Atram said at last, his voice light. Then his face broke into a wide, almost theatrical grin. "So it's you, Roy."
The golden-haired youth laughed easily, as if nothing at all was amiss.
"Of course I don't mind. After all, she's just a refugee. If it pleases you, Roy, then by all means—take her."
Zenshirō blinked in surprise, then let out a shaky breath of relief.
Seeing the two magi smile and address one another so familiarly eased his terror. For now, at least, disaster had been averted.
"In that case, I'll process the paperwork right away," Zenshirō said quickly. "Ah, yes—Sir Atram, you are entitled to two attendants this month. You've selected one already. Would you like to choose the other now?"
"Now, of course. I've no time to come running back and forth. That loudmouthed brat will do."
"Understood!"
Zenshirō bowed deeply and hurried to the counter.
The paperwork was completed swiftly.
The burly man and the excitable glasses-wearing boy were assigned to Atram. The long-haired girl, in her torn stockings and dust-stained uniform, was claimed by the white-haired, red-eyed youth—Roy.
"Roy," Atram said smoothly, "do come to my home sometime. We could discuss magic together. If your family is free, all the better."
"Thank you for the invitation," Roy replied with a flawless smile. "But I have no family. Good day."
With that, he turned on his heel and left the refugee shelter, the girl following silently at his side.
Only after Roy's figure vanished from sight did Atram's smile collapse. His lips curled in disgust.
"Pathetic. What a joke."
He spat on the ground in the direction Roy had gone, contempt twisting his features.
Zenshirō kept his head bowed low, his scalp prickling. He pretended to see nothing.
Fuyuki City.
The settlement lay by the sea, built where mountains and water met.
Once, as a seaside city, the view here would have been breathtaking.
Now, stepping out from the shelter, the world that greeted the eye was anything but beautiful.
The ground stretched out black and scorched, as if charred beyond recovery. The sea beyond was no shimmering blue, but a murky, polluted abyss.
Even the air was thick with the acrid stench of burning, heavy and suffocating.
"What's your name?" Roy asked casually as they walked. His gaze remained fixed straight ahead.
The people they passed caught sight of the badge pinned to his chest. Fear and awe filled their faces, and each and every one instinctively stepped aside, clearing the way for him without a word.
"…Kasumigaoka Utaha."
The girl hesitated, then spoke honestly.
As he expected.
Roy nodded inwardly. He had suspected as much the moment he'd seen her in the shelter.
"My name is Roy," he told her.
"Yes, Roy-sama," Utaha answered quietly, her voice submissive.
Roy offered no reaction—neither acknowledgment nor correction. His unreadable expression left her uncertain, disappointment creeping in.
She stole a glance around. Something felt off.
They weren't heading deeper into the city. They were walking toward its edge.
Proof of it loomed before her: the colossal city walls that encircled Fuyuki. Over ten meters tall, they rose like the boundary of a fortress. And they were getting closer with each step.
Her heart thudded uneasily. Where was he taking her? Why outside the safety of the city?
She bit her tongue, suppressing the urge to ask.
"You'll be working in my household from now on," Roy said suddenly, as if sensing her unspoken doubts. His smile softened, warm enough to steady the unease gnawing at her heart. "It's best you understand some of the truths of this world. The essentials, at least."
Then he gestured upward, toward the towering wall.
"Come. Take a look. This is only the tip of the iceberg."
Together, they ascended the wall.
And there, as the desolate landscape unfolded, the girl finally saw a glimpse of the vast, terrifying world she had been thrust into.