NEWS:
A secluded multi-storey building in Prettysberg, Indorussi has mysteriously collapsed. Updates are yet to be received, as the owner's whereabouts remain unknown.
The headline played twice on the bus terminal monitor before switching to weather.
No one around seemed to care.
Jaz did.
It was Monday morning. The bus engine rumbled beneath their feet as it pulled away from the terminal. Jaz sat by the window. Karl beside her. Boss across the aisle, arms folded, eyes closed but clearly awake.
Roof stood near the front exit, holding the overhead rail, casually watching passengers board and disembark like this was just another commute.
No one mentioned the building.
No one mentioned the dungeon.
But Jaz knew.
A lot of dead mages had been fed to Spartacus' dungeon.
Her fingers curled slightly on her lap.
Karl noticed.
"You're thinking too loud," he muttered.
"I'm not talking," Jaz replied.
"You don't have to."
Boss opened one eye. "Save it. We're not discussing it here."
Roof glanced back briefly. "President's fine. That's the only update you're getting on public transport."
Jaz didn't respond.
The bus continued home.
Once they arrived at the property, Boss didn't let anyone disperse.
"Meeting. Practice room."
The underground facility was finally complete. The hidden basement connected seamlessly to the training area. The walls were embedded with alternating crystals — heat-absorbing, magic-absorbing, heat-absorbing, magic-absorbing — arranged deliberately.
The design wasn't aesthetic.
It was strategic.
Heat crystals cooled the room and emitted steady light.
Magic-absorbing crystals converted stray casting into controlled warmth.
Stability.
Containment.
Insurance.
Karl ran a hand along one of the glowing stones. "Feels expensive."
"It is," Boss replied.
Everyone gathered.
John leaned against the wall. Skinn sat on one of the training benches. Jaz stood near the center.
Boss took out a folded document.
"Land transfer's complete. Two hectares. Abandoned sector. Valued at a million."
Skinn raised a brow. "President doesn't do small gestures."
"No," Boss agreed. "He doesn't."
John crossed his arms. "Why invest this much in you?"
Before Boss answered, Jaz did.
"Because Boss was publicly announced present during the investigation."
Silence settled.
Karl looked up. "That alone?"
"Yes," Jaz said. "They were planning to infiltrate Spartacus while President was distracted. But once Boss was seen acting as temporary commander, that changed everything."
Skinn nodded slowly. "Infiltrating Spartacus means clashing with Boss too."
"And that complicates things," Jaz continued. "So instead of pushing Chord Group to ask Kard for retaliation against Spartacus through the traitor…"
"They shifted," John finished.
"Frame the President alone," Jaz confirmed.
Cleaner.
Contained.
Focused.
Karl looked at Boss. "So you being there stopped a bigger war."
Boss shrugged. "It made them hesitate."
John's gaze sharpened. "President doesn't want that."
"No," Boss replied calmly. "He doesn't."
Everyone knew why.
The President was the beacon of Spartacus.
The symbol.
The gravitational center.
If Boss became publicly tied too deeply — another visible figure of strength — Spartacus could split.
Two centers of gravity.
Two loyalties.
That was dangerous.
Boss rubbed his neck. "He doesn't want me around long-term. I don't want to be dragged into the chaos either. Me staying out is a win-win."
Think, the Manager of Spartacus, handled operations. Distribution of dungeon-mined items. Corporate exchanges. Risk diversification. She kept the structure intact.
President led.
Think managed.
Boss? He was an external variable.
And variables were removed.
Later that afternoon, Boss's phone vibrated.
He stared at the screen for a second before answering.
"What."
President didn't bother with greetings.
"Another gift's coming. Might be useful. And another million."
Click.
Boss stared at the phone after the call ended.
"I don't like surprises," he muttered.
The truck arrived before evening.
A large wooden crate was unloaded carefully into the underground space.
Karl circled it. "This better not explode."
Skinn tilted his head. "It's breathing."
The room went still.
Boss opened the crate.
Inside—
A small child.
Sleeping.
Jaz stepped forward immediately.
"She's—"
Boss's phone rang again.
He answered without looking away from the crate.
President's voice came through, relaxed.
"She awakened and burned her foster parents' house after discovering through the news that her father died. Everyone's safe. No injuries."
Boss's jaw tightened.
"I thought she'd be useful to you," President continued. "One million for the child. Five hundred grand for your talent fee. Peace."
Click.
Boss lowered the phone slowly.
Karl blinked. "He sent you a grieving child."
"Apparently," Boss said flatly.
Jaz crouched near the crate.
The girl stirred.
Her eyes opened.
"…Daddy?"
The word was small.
Broken.
Jaz instinctively moved closer.
"It's okay—"
Flames erupted.
A sudden blast of fire engulfed Jaz's position.
"Don't come near me!" the girl screamed.
Boss reacted instantly.
A pulse of controlled magic hit the air.
The girl collapsed back into sleep.
The flames extinguished.
Smoke drifted upward.
Jaz stood there, unharmed but shaken.
Boss exhaled slowly. "We're not rushing this."
John and Skinn were called in.
John observed quietly. Skinn crouched near the crate.
"Leave her alone for now," John said. "Let her process."
"Give her something soft," Skinn added. "Cute. Harmless."
"She'll calm down through time," John finished. "Forcing comfort won't work."
The girl was moved to the basement office temporarily.
The crystals stabilized the temperature.
The next morning, Roof arrived with a file.
"Transfer credentials," he said, handing them to Jaz.
She read aloud.
"Lambrei Jess. Nine years old. Third year primary. Strong grades. Good behavioral record."
Jaz smiled faintly. "That's a nice name."
Roof shrugged. "President doesn't keep strays without paperwork."
Boss glanced at him. "You're heading back?"
"Yeah. Indorussi doesn't babysit itself."
Roof looked at Lambrei through the office window briefly.
Then left.
He returned to Indorussi after escorting them home and handing over the credentials.
No dramatics.
No lingering.
Night came quietly.
John and Skinn returned from the café and headed directly to the hideout.
Before they even reached the basement entrance, they felt it.
Heat.
They rushed inside.
The practice room was filled with fire.
Walls glowed red under the crystal lattice. Training equipment had turned to ash. The embedded stones pulsed as they absorbed excess energy.
Lambrei stood at the center.
Burning.
Jaz stood several meters away.
Boss beside her.
Skinn's voice stayed level. "What happened?"
Boss scratched his head. "Jaz told her she'll have new classmates."
Jaz didn't look away from Lambrei. "I thought structure would help."
John stepped closer.
The flames didn't lash outward randomly.
They moved with rhythm.
"She's not just emitting fire," John said quietly.
Boss nodded. "She's mixing healing magic with it."
Skinn frowned. "So?"
"Everything burns except living things," John explained.
The wooden benches were gone.
Metal fixtures glowed but remained intact.
Jaz's clothes were scorched at the edges, but her skin was untouched.
Lambrei's voice trembled.
"Why doesn't everyone just burn?"
No anger.
Just confusion.
John spoke carefully. "Because burning hurts."
"They burned him," she whispered.
No one corrected her.
Boss stepped forward slightly.
"You can be angry," he said. "You can scream. You can break walls. But you don't burn people."
Lambrei stared at him.
"You can't stop me."
"Try."
Not a threat.
A boundary.
The flames flickered violently.
Then slowly—
Dimmed.
Lambrei's knees gave out.
John caught her before she hit the ground.
She clung to his shirt.
"…Daddy…"
Her voice cracked.
Jaz knelt beside her.
Boss ran a hand through his hair.
"What kind of situation did he send us…"
He wasn't furious.
Just tired.
Jaz looked at Lambrei gently.
"She's not a weapon."
Boss didn't answer.
Later that night, the practice room had cooled completely.
Lambrei slept in the basement office.
Jaz stayed nearby.
Karl had gone home earlier.
Skinn was upstairs.
Boss was reviewing financial transfers in silence.
John sat alone on one of the rebuilt benches.
He reached into his bag.
Pulled out the book he had bought days ago.
Marionette World: Illusions & Tricks.
He flipped it open randomly.
A chapter about misdirection.
"The most effective illusion," it read, "is not the one that hides something. It is the one that makes the audience look somewhere else willingly."
John paused.
He read the line again.
President.
Kard.
Chord.
Framing.
Retaliation.
Dungeon collapses.
Building collapses.
Public headlines.
Shifted attention.
John leaned back slightly.
"…So that's how you do it," he murmured.
Not just power.
Positioning.
The room was quiet.
Below, in the office, Lambrei turned in her sleep.
A faint warmth pulsed through the crystal-lined walls.
John flipped the page.
And kept reading.