The conversation had gradually drifted away from the system itself.
Dr. Anton had been speaking with an ease that came naturally to him, his tone carrying the faint enthusiasm of someone who truly enjoyed explaining things. His fingers occasionally moved as he talked, sketching invisible diagrams in the air as if the mechanisms he described were objects he could physically arrange.
Seven listened.
For a while, he simply remained silent.
His posture did not change. His expression stayed calm. From the outside, it looked as though he was merely following the flow of the conversation without particular interest.
But his mind was not idle.
He was observing the structure beneath the explanation.
Then he suddenly spoke.
"What about the town's point system?"
The question entered the conversation almost casually.
But the moment it was spoken, the rhythm of the room shifted ever so slightly.
Seven's tone was relaxed.
Yet it was not truly casual.
"It looks very similar to the academy's system."
Dr. Anton paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
It was a brief pause, the kind that most people would not notice. But Seven did.
Then understanding appeared on the man's face.
"Indeed."
Dr. Anton nodded without hesitation.
"Student ID cards originally had a reward-point mechanism."
He leaned back slightly as he spoke, as though revisiting an earlier stage of development.
His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the table.
He paused briefly.
"However—"
A faint smile appeared.
He lifted his hand and raised two fingers, making an extremely small gesture in the air, as though pinching something almost invisible between them.
"Compared to what we're using now," he said, "that was child's play."
The words were delivered without arrogance.
If anything, they sounded more like the calm satisfaction of an engineer looking back at an outdated prototype.
After finishing the sentence, he lifted his coffee cup.
The porcelain touched the saucer with a quiet sound before he brought it to his lips.
He took a small sip.
Not hurried.
Not slow.
Just enough time to arrange the next part of his explanation.
"Here," he continued, placing the cup back down, "obtaining points is actually very simple."
He spoke as though introducing something that required no special effort.
"Every month, as long as you participate in the routine ability examination, the points are automatically issued."
When he said the word automatically, his tone became slightly heavier.
Not louder.
Just more deliberate.
"Not an assessment."
He raised a finger.
"Not random inspections."
Another finger lifted.
"And certainly not like the academy days, where someone was constantly observing your behavior and assigning scores."
He let out a soft breath through his nose.
Dr. Anton shook his head gently.
"That kind of method works for children."
His voice remained calm.
"For adults, it only provokes resistance."
The room settled into a quiet rhythm again.
Seven did not interrupt.
He simply listened.
Dr. Anton leaned back slightly in his chair.
"And besides," he continued, "the entire underground infrastructure of Freetown is equipped with a complete wireless energy supply system."
He lifted his hand again.
This time, he tapped lightly in the air.
Once.
"As long as you remain within the boundaries of Freetown, the point carrier will never deactivate."
His tone carried the calm certainty of someone describing an established system that had already proven itself through years of operation.
"The barcode remains in a continuously active state."
He said it naturally.
As if he were describing streetlights.
Or running water.
Just another piece of infrastructure that existed quietly beneath daily life.
"To prevent malicious usage," he added, "the moment the points leave the owner's body, the barcode automatically deactivates."
He spoke without emphasis.
"In other words—"
Dr. Anton looked directly at Seven.
"Snatching it, transferring it, forcibly stripping it away—none of those methods have any meaning."
Seven nodded slightly.
The motion was small.
Barely noticeable.
But it was enough.
Dr. Anton continued.
"And another thing," he said, lifting his hand again as if continuing a list, "once someone leaves Freetown, the points themselves enter a frozen state."
His fingers traced a small horizontal motion in the air.
"After returning, the owner must personally visit the Ability Development Bureau lobby to reissue and reactivate them."
As he spoke, there was a subtle trace of pride in his voice.
It was not the pride of authority.
Nor the pride of control.
It was the pride of design.
This was not restriction.
It was delimitation.
Seven understood the difference immediately.
Restrictions were visible.
Delimitations were structural.
"What if someone wants to exchange the points for cash?" Seven asked.
This time, he lifted his eyes.
His gaze settled directly on Dr. Anton.
There was no challenge in it.
Just clarity.
Dr. Anton answered almost instantly.
"That's possible."
The response was crisp.
Clean.
Without hesitation.
"But there's a fifty percent handling fee."
He said it with complete naturalness.
As if the number required no justification.
"And besides," he added, "I believe no rational person would be foolish enough to convert points into unity."
Seven did not respond.
Dr. Anton continued speaking.
"More importantly, there's also an exchange limit."
"Per month, the conversion cannot exceed ten thousand unity."
He placed the coffee cup down more firmly this time.
Not loudly.
But the sound was slightly more solid than before.
His tone grew a little more serious.
"If large quantities of unity were converted and released back into the global market, it would directly affect economic structures."
He paused briefly.
"The Azure Polity does not allow such uncontrolled variables."
The room became quiet again.
Seven slowly exhaled.
A complete logical loop.
Each piece connected neatly to the next.
Then he asked another question.
"What about ability users who have family members outside?"
The moment the sentence landed, the atmosphere paused.
It was subtle.
Almost invisible.
But the shift was real.
Dr. Anton, however, seemed almost as if he had been waiting for this question.
His eyes lit up.
Suddenly—
He clapped his hands.
A sharp sound echoed briefly in the room.
"You've brought up exactly the right point."
There was even a hint of excitement in his expression.
"If a direct family member already has an ability user living in Freetown long-term—"
He slowed his voice.
Speaking clearly.
"We provide free housing."
The words were simple.
"And if the family chooses to work inside the town," he continued, "the Azure Polity also provides additional living subsidies."
He paused.
Just briefly.
Then he added something in a tone so casual it almost felt like an afterthought.
"My own family is actually a second-generation case."
He tilted his head slightly.
Correcting himself.
"Well—recently even my grandson and granddaughter have moved into Freetown."
The sentence came without hesitation.
Like someone presenting a successful example of a functioning policy.
Seven nodded.
His expression remained calm.
But inside his mind, the evaluation had already formed.
Points.
Housing.
Employment.
Family.
Subsidies.
One link connected to the next.
Not coercion.
Guidance.
Not restriction.
A structure designed so people would not want to leave.
Seven silently completed the judgment.
A perfect chain.
He did not say it aloud.
Instead, he stood up.
The motion was smooth.
Unhurried.
"Headmaster," he said, "let's stop here for today."
His tone sounded natural.
Almost casual.
"We can continue another time."
He paused slightly.
Then added another sentence.
"It's getting late anyway."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"How about we have a meal together?"
"My treat."
Dr. Anton blinked.
For a moment, he seemed genuinely surprised.
Then laughter burst out of him.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "I won't be polite about it then."
They walked together toward Food Street.
The night air carried the faint warmth of restaurant lights and cooking aromas drifting into the streets.
When they entered the Western restaurant, Dr. Anton showed no restraint at all.
A large premium steak.
Wine.
And dessert afterward.
He ordered them with the comfortable confidence of someone who had already decided to enjoy the evening fully.
When the meal ended, he even asked the staff to pack several additional portions to take away.
Danny, who had been standing nearby the entire time, finally cleared his throat softly.
"Dr. Anton," he said.
"A little moderation."
Dr. Anton burst into laughter.
"I know, I know."
Yet his expression showed absolutely no sign of regret.
Soon after, he left quickly.
Danny drove Seven back to the Azure Castle in a small car.
The streets had already grown quiet.
Night had deepened.
The lights of Freetown stretched across the distance like a quiet constellation beneath the underground sky.
Inside the castle, the silence felt almost vast.
Seven walked alone through the corridors.
His footsteps were soft.
When he stepped into the Throne Hall, the space seemed even larger than before.
The thin lines embedded within the walls and the floor gradually appeared the moment he entered.
At first they were faint.
Almost invisible.
Then they slowly darkened.
Line after line emerging from the structure itself.
Until they all turned completely black.
The hall seemed to awaken.
Once, this had been the place where he fought Lucian.
The memory lingered in the architecture itself.
Now it served another purpose.
Storage.
Lucian had asked him to come here every day.
To "store some battery."
The partition behind the throne slowly opened with a quiet mechanical movement.
The space inside was not luxurious.
A double bed.
A simple desk and chair.
A small refrigerator.
A bathroom.
A shower.
Everything arranged with efficient simplicity.
Outside the room, an AI service robot stood in standby mode.
Silent.
Waiting.
This had once been Lucian's living arrangement.
Now it belonged to him.
Seven stepped inside.
The door closed quietly behind him.
He lay down on the bed.
His eyes moved toward the ceiling.
He did not close them immediately.
Instead, he allowed the day's conversations to replay in his mind.
Piece by piece.
Points.
The town.
The system.
People.
Each fragment aligned with the others.
Then, gradually, a realization formed.
The thing truly being designed had never been the system itself.
It was something deeper.
Something slower.
Something far more difficult to escape.
The moment when people could no longer live without it.
The night inside the Azure Castle remained silent.
But Seven's thoughts did not settle so easily.