I killed a fifteen-year-old cadet.
That was the story.
That was what they said.
***
The perpetrator: the heir of the Ebenholtz family.
The victim: a nameless cadet with no backing.
It should have ended quietly.
Buried.
Forgotten.
But some media outlets—the self-proclaimed "conscience of the Empire"—decided otherwise.
—Does this make sense?!
—Just because he's an Ebenholtz, he can kill anyone?!
They gathered in front of the central precinct of Sahelan, shouting, pushing, demanding answers.
The chief clicked his tongue.
—They said there were reasons. Go home already—
—What reasons?! What justifies killing a fifteen-year-old?!
—Annoying…
He waved them off lazily.
Then—
A subordinate rushed over and whispered something into his ear.
The chief's expression froze.
—…Is that confirmed?
—Yes. They're certain.
—…Understood.
He turned back to the crowd, his gaze sharp now.
—There will be a public autopsy. Come see it yourselves.
***
A public autopsy.
That meant one thing.
No manipulation.
No cover-up.
Only truth.
Or at least…
something that couldn't be easily denied.
***
—Public…?
—They're opening it to everyone?
The reporters exchanged uneasy glances.
Even the Ebenholtz family couldn't interfere with something like that.
—Eight o'clock. Etten Forensic Institute. Don't be late.
The chief turned and walked inside.
Engines roared as the reporters rushed to leave.
***
Eight o'clock.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
—…Autopsy complete.
The forensic examiner placed the heart onto a metal tray.
Behind reinforced glass, a crowd watched.
Journalists.
Observers.
And enemies.
If the result went wrong—
If even one detail failed—
I would be executed.
***
—Results of analysis.
Mana lingered in the dead.
That was why organs couldn't be swapped.
That was why this worked.
The examiner raised the heart slightly.
—The deceased, identified as Jacob Mac…
A pause.
Long enough to make the air tighten.
—…is not imperial.
A ripple spread through the room.
—Further analysis suggests Ezenheim… or Elina lineage.
Murmurs.
Reactions.
Calculations.
Empire Point only accepted imperials.
Falsifying identity—
was punishable by death.
Which meant—
I was justified.
***
Some reporters left immediately.
Others stayed.
Silent.
Uncomfortable.
The Ebenholtz retainers exhaled quietly.
—No manipulation?
—None. One of the examiners is ours.
—Tch…
The opposition clicked their tongues.
An infiltrator.
Discovered.
Eliminated.
Before reaching the heart of the Empire.
A perfect outcome.
Too perfect.
***
—Careless… to come this far and fail.
—He probably didn't expect Maximilian to notice.
—Luck.
—Yes. Just luck.
They left.
Dismissing it.
Reducing it.
That was fine.
***
One journalist remained.
Alphonse.
—…Are you certain?
—You may verify it yourself.
The examiner gestured toward the heart.
Alphonse stepped closer.
Looked down.
The body lay still.
Too still.
The boy's face…
was calm.
Too calm.
As if nothing had happened.
That made it worse.
His jaw tightened.
***
I sat with my eyes closed.
This wasn't a prison.
Not really.
The ones behind bars…
were the cadets.
—Impressive concealment. Hidden within the book…
The investigator spoke casually.
Almost impressed.
—A pity we found no clue about the sender.
—Release them.
I pointed toward the holding area.
Their faces were pale.
—We can't do that. They need to be investigated.
—And after that?
—Ah, apologies. Sergeant Georges.
—What happens to them?
—Their futures will be ruined. Contact with subhumans… that alone is enough.
…
Wrong.
That was wrong.
The Empire's persecution of minorities was flawed.
Ignorant.
But there was one exception.
The Ezenheim.
They weren't human.
Not even subhuman.
Something else entirely.
But these cadets—
weren't them.
I knew.
The fragment inside me was silent.
No reaction.
—Release them.
—But—
—I said there's no problem.
Silence.
—…Yes. Open it.
The door unlocked.
They stepped out slowly.
—Choose your friends more carefully.
The sergeant tapped their heads with a file.
—Go on. Thank him.
They bowed.
Quiet.
Subdued.
Before leaving, I spoke:
—Were you close?
—…No.
The girl answered.
Hanna.
Good.
—Record it. No close relationship.
—Y-Yes…
I turned.
Ready to leave.
Then—
A hand grabbed my sleeve.
—There was another way.
Silence.
The sergeant exploded:
—Are you insane?!
But I raised my hand.
He stopped.
I looked at her.
Her eyes burned.
Not with fear.
With conviction.
I remembered—
The ruined world.
Edmon.
The creatures.
And answered.
—You didn't have to kill him.
Her voice trembled.
But she didn't look away.
Good.
—If I hesitated…
I met her gaze.
—More would die.
Silence fell.
—This is the method.
***
Ebenholtz residence.
—The autopsy report.
Sebastien von Ebenholtz didn't expect anything.
Not from small matters.
Not from great ones.
But this—
was unexpected.
Maximilian wasn't someone who killed.
Not a child.
And yet—
he did.
And the result…
was correct.
—How ironic.
Perhaps…
just luck.
—When is the Sentinel ceremony?
—Next week.
—Cancel my attendance.
Maximilian didn't belong among the elite.
Only ridicule awaited him there.
—There are more important matters.
Sebastien turned away.
For a man like him—
his son remained his only flaw.
And yet…
for the first time—
that flaw had drawn blood.