I honestly could care less

As the air turned awkward, Ĉiela inhaled sharply, about to speak—

Then—

BANG!

The sound of a door slamming open cut through the street like a gunshot, making even some of the bystanders flinch.

A voice followed, sharp with frustration, carried across the street with the force of a man who no longer gave a damn about keeping his grievances quiet.

"I DON'T CARE, WE DID A VOW!"

A bearded man stormed out of the building, his boots hitting the ground with a weight that matched his fury. Several others followed—men sweating, looking visibly distressed, their faces pale from either exhaustion or whatever ordeal they had just come from.

"I HELPED YOU AND YOUR CITY! YOU THINK JUST BECAUSE WE'RE NOTHING BUT A TOWN, YOU CAN JUST PUSH ME AROUND?!"

The tension in his voice was raw, layered with frustration, and exhaustion close to desperation.

Beside him, a younger man clutched a tablet, his hands shaking slightly as he scribbled something down at high speed, his expression one of barely contained panic.

And then there was him.

The mayor, going by his attire—or at least, the closest thing to one. His clothes were fine but weathered, practical but bearing a certain distinction that set him apart from the rest. He had an accent, thick and clipped, like someone who had lived too long negotiating for survival.

"Besides," He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face, his Ursus ears twitching as he calmed his breathing. "Your city was hit a few days ago—same as us. And that ship that fell, too."

He paused, glancing around, his gaze briefly lingering on the massive stone arm still embedded in the nearby building.

His eyes dimmed slightly, the light behind them dulling as his exhaustion finally won out over his temper.

"Look, you don't even know why we're being attacked." His tone shifted, no longer yelling, just tired, like a man who had said these words too many times already. "We're cities without a country. We're free market, you fool. Resources, people, all of it—it's a fucking open hunt."

No one spoke as the weight of his words settled in, pressing against the space between them.

A few of the gathered onlookers averted their gazes. Others kept watching, expressions unreadable.

The mayor exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders back before giving a halfhearted wave.

"We'll talk later. Bye."

And just like that, the moment passed.

His posture slumped slightly, his shoulders relaxing as if dropping an invisible weight. The glow in his eyes fully faded, leaving him looking older—more worn than a man of his supposed position should be.

"Serj," His voice low and steady, turning toward the sweating man still gripping his tablet. "How much did we suffer?"

The man—Serj—licked his lips, adjusting his grip on the device as his fingers tapped anxiously at the screen. He hesitated, as if considering whether or not to soften the blow.

He didn't.

"We haven't checked everything yet, but…"

He swallowed, then said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

"It's around seven hundred million."

The number landed like a thunderclap.

The people nearby didn't react immediately. It was the kind of number that needed a second to sink in—to register the scale of it.

Seven. Hundred. Million.

Seraniti remained still, watching the mayor as the weight of that number settled on his shoulders.

He didn't say anything at first—didn't curse, didn't throw a fit.

He just… stood there.

Then, finally—

"Fuck."

That was it.

One word.

But everything behind it. Because what else was there to say?

The number was already set. The damage was done. The losses were real.

Seraniti, however, wasn't about to rat herself out about the part she played in all of that.

If they didn't find out—then she was safe, right?

…Right?

The mayor exhaled sharply, placing his hands on his hips as he clicked his teeth in thought. His gaze drifted downward, staring at the fractured pavement beneath his feet as if it held the answers he was looking for.

Finally, he shook his head. "Alright, fine." His voice was gruff, resigned. He turned slightly, directing his attention back toward Serj.

"Did they take anything?"

Serj hesitated before glancing at his tablet, swiping through notes as if hoping the numbers had somehow changed in the last few minutes.

"Not anything that we could find," he admitted. "From what we gathered from the bodies, these were just the rookies. They'll probably do what they did to Yiv—train, take the city center, and then…"

His fingers tightened slightly around the device.

"Then we lose our home."

The words sat heavy in the air.

The mayor sighed again, rubbing the back of his head with the kind of frustration that came from someone too tired to even be angry anymore.

He didn't look like the usual politician—the kind who'd run at the first sign of trouble, who'd sell out their people if it meant escaping unscathed. No, this one seemed different. He looked tired, like someone who had seen too much—but still refused to leave.

"Ĉiela," He said suddenly, barely turning his head. "Mind telling me what she's doing here? I don't know this person."

His gaze settled on Seraniti—not hostile and not particular curious either. 

Ĉiela froze before coughing lightly. "You need people?"

The mayor gave her a look.

"Why'd you end that like a question? Ah, whatever."

He clapped his hands once, the motion as dry as the town itself.

Then, in a voice that sounded like he was reading off a script—

"Resident of this fine town—are you one? Doesn't matter."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Would you be interested in bringing this once glorious town back to its former glory?"

His tone was mocking, the barest hint of amusement undercutting the obvious lack of enthusiasm. It was the kind of question that came after too many disappointments, after hearing 'no' one too many times.

And then—

"Pfft—!"

Zora tilted her head, ears twitching before she laughed outright, her tail flicking behind her.

"What kind of recruitment is that?"

The mayor barely reacted.

The Perro under Ĉiela's boot, however, finally found his voice.

"Sir, are you sure?" he growled, even as his head throbbed from the earlier impact. His breathing was still uneven, but his tone only grew louder, edged with pain and resentment.

"Should we even trust them after what the woman did to us?!"

Seraniti stiffened, opening her mouth to speak—

"You're not hiding anything, right?" the mayor cut in, turning his attention back toward her.

Seraniti froze further.

But before she could get a word out, Serj leaned in, whispering something into the mayor's ear.

The older man's brows furrowed slightly, then arched.

"Ah."

A pause.

"You damaged part of a street—"

Seraniti's heart lurched.

"—but also killed our foes."

His voice was level. Not accusing. Not even angry. Just…fact.

Zora walked up beside Seraniti, her grin nothing short of mischievous as she casually reached up—

pat.

Seraniti twitched, her head jerking away immediately.

"Don't do that."

Zora snickered.

The mayor, unfazed by their antics, rubbed his beard before spinning on his heel, his tone dry but cutting straight to the point.

"I honestly couldn't care less. Either you offer your services, and I pay you—"

Seraniti's ears perked up before she could stop herself, the sound of money cutting through the her mind.

The mayor turned back toward them, his expression abruptly changing.

His eyes were watery, shimmering with desperation, his lips quivering slightly like some bad anime character—in a way that absolutely did not match his rugged persona.

"We need the people!"

Seraniti shuddered.

A full-body chill crawled up her spine as her face contorted in pure, undiluted disgust.

She took a step back.

"Disgusting," She muttered, barely restraining the urge to gag.

Her weary gaze narrowed, laced with distaste as she exhaled sharply.

"If I help you, I'd rather stay in the back as support. I have no interest in putting my life on the line for a place I have no desire to stay in."

She crossed her arms as she finished, the finality in her voice making it abundantly clear where she stood.

Not that it would matter.

Because unbeknownst to her—

She had no idea she was about to get royally fucked over.

The mayor's body practically vibrated with joy.

No, literally.

The air around him shimmered as faint, confetti-like manas spilled from his form—a pitiful attempt at lightening the mood, the tiny flecks of potential floating around them like they had just agreed to a celebration.

Seraniti's expression flattened.

"You're terrible at this."

The mayor did not care.

With that same unsettling, too happy aura surrounding him, he turned and started walking back toward the building.

Seraniti sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose before casually reaching out—

And grabbing Zora's tail.

"LET GO, MASHAA!"

Zora's yelp echoed as she struggled, twisting in place as she tried—and failed—to pry Seraniti's grip off her tail.

Seraniti ignored her.

For a solid ten seconds, Zora fought for her freedom, her ears flattened, her entire body jerking with every step they took.

And then—

They stepped inside.

And the sight that greeted them was... depressing.

To say the least.

The far wall was completely wrecked—a massive hole had been blown open, and near the center of the lobby, a deep crater marred the floor, its edges cracked and uneven from the impact.

A building—meant to be functional, meant to house whatever—now looked like a someone took a bite out of it.

Seraniti let out a low exhale, dragging her gaze across the ruined interior.

"So…" Seraniti muttered, tilting her head slightly.

"This is where we start? We're already so fucked."

She sighed, the visible disappointment in her expression making it clear that she wasn't even trying to hide it.

With a flick of her fingers, manas coagulated at her side, forming into a simple an upside down U-shaped chair—a half-conscious action, more out of habit than necessity. She lowered herself onto it, the familiar pull of magic soothing some of the buzzing at the back of her mind.

It was an unconscious attempt to distract herself from everything—from the fact that they were standing in the middle of a war, from the fact that she had been inches from death just days ago.

The plates of Terra II weren't stopping.

So neither could she.

The others followed in silence, and soon enough, an elevator dinged, the doors sliding open as a group of workers emerged, carrying crates and supplies into the already-crumbling lobby.

"You're losing already, huh?"

Zora's voice cut through the air as she casually walked up beside Seraniti, holding something in her hand.

A brush.

Her glaring eyes made it abundantly clear what she wanted.

Seraniti sighed, but she still took it—along with Zora's tail.

With a practiced motion, she started brushing the sad, slightly frizzed tail, the rhythmic motion an oddly grounding routine.

Ĉiela was the one to finally break the silence as the rest of the group entered the building.

"We could have defended against them better," she admitted, her tone more resigned than frustrated. "But what remains of the city is what you see now. The last war took out most of our production."

She raised her right hand slightly, twisting her wrist in a fluid motion.

A screen popped up in front of her, flickering to life with grainy footage—several city plates decoupling, their massive structures peeling apart as fire and misery consumed them.

Even without sound, the desperation was palpable.

Entire sections of the city being cut away, people fleeing as the streets burned, shadows moving in the smoke. The slow, grinding collapse of what had once been a fully operational settlement.

Seraniti's grip on the brush tightened.

Ĉiela let the footage linger for a moment before looking back toward them.

"This was earlier in that war," She said, her voice softer now. "I could show you more, but I don't know you that well."

She gave a small, slightly apologetic bow befitting a maid knight.

"I do hope you don't mind."

Zora, still leaning slightly against Seraniti, simply hummed in response, the sound thoughtful, but noncommittal.

Seraniti didn't answer right away.

Seraniti kept brushing, her eyes lingering on the screen for a fraction too long before finally looking away. The footage was burned into her mind, but dwelling on it wouldn't change anything.

Nearby, the Perro who had antagonized her earlier sat hunched over his phone, his expression tense as he tapped at the screen repeatedly. He seemed distracted, almost absentminded—until a small notification pinged in her vision.

A message, an apology.

It wasn't much. Just a single, clumsy attempt at making amends but it was there.

Accompanying it was an image—a small puppy, its head lowered in guilt.

Seraniti's lips twitched repeatedly.

Her mood lightened ever so slightly as she sent a single thumbs up, followed immediately by a message calling him a shameless dumbass.

The typing indicator on his screen hesitated for a moment before disappearing entirely.

She sighed again to herself.

"So."

She resumed brushing Zora's tail, her voice casual but pointed.

"What's your plan, then? This town of yours won't last long at this rate."

She gave the tail an extra stroke, earning a visible shudder from Zora as she froze in place, her ears twitching.

"And more importantly—when am I getting paid?"

The mayor, who had been focused on the multiple screens floating in front of him, barely reacted. His attention was locked on the maps and reports shifting across, his fingers scrolling through data at an almost mechanical pace.

"Well, you're in luck."

He clicked his tongue, tapping on a section of the town map that expanded in front of them.

"We've got a grace period of sorts. Probably because it's a war between cabals, and we smaller folks are just being used as meat puppets."

His tone was dry, matter-of-fact, but there was a bite to his words—resentment, frustration, and the underlying exhaustion of someone who had seen too much shit in too little time.

Seraniti watched him carefully as he continued.

"I don't have anything for you right now."

His fingers flicked through the interface, scrolling past damage reports, tactical layouts, and supply shortages.

"Come back in a few hours. I've got people to talk to."

Seraniti exhaled through her nose.

"Fine."

She finally let go of Zora's tail, watching as the feline shook herself out, visibly displeased but saying nothing about it.

Seraniti stretched lazily before flicking a half-hearted wave toward Ĉiela.

Ĉiela, ever proper, dipped her head in a small, polite bow before a message slid into Seraniti's view.

Here. Tell them I sent you.

It was an address, leading to an underground section of the town.

You'll get some food and supplies as an apology from earlier!

The message ended as the contract registered under. A small icon appeared beside it—Ĉiela's sword and screen, alongside the official town insignia.

Seraniti arched a brow before closing the notification.

"Huh."

She wasn't entirely sure if she had won something here or if she was just walking into another problem.

But the moment they stepped out of the building—

Smack!

A sharp, stinging impact landed against the back of her head, making her stumble forward.

"Ack! What the hell was that for?!"

Seraniti whipped around, glaring daggers at Zora like she had just been personally betrayed.

Zora, arms crossed, ears twitching, tail flicking sharply.

"You pervert!"

Seraniti blinked.

"I didn't tell you to stroke it!"

It took Seraniti a full second to process what she meant—

And then another second to realize that Zora was actually serious.

"Are you—" She started, utterly offended by the accusation.

Zora huffed before abruptly grabbing Seraniti's hand and pulling her forward.

"You got a message from Ĉiela, no?"

Seraniti scowled but relented, sharing the address with a flick of her fingers. The map pinged in their vision, the route lighting up.

Zora glanced at the location before she moved to step into the shadows—

But Seraniti's grip tightened, yanking her back.

"Nope."

Zora stared at her, ears flicking in confusion.

"We're walking."

Zora gawked. "Why?! We can just—"

"Because you need to touch grass."

Zora visibly took offense to that, but Seraniti was already stepping forward, heading toward the main road.

With no other choice, Zora grumbled but followed.

The streets were still alive—filled with vehicles weaving through makeshift barricades, their engines humming as people moved with purpose, some hurried, others simply watching, lingering in doorways or leaning against the building while speaking in a rush.

Despite everything—despite the town's losses, despite the war looming over them like a curse—it still functioned.

Or some shit like that.

Seraniti didn't know fuck shit about war.

She just knew how to live through it or in this case—learn how to.

On the way, they stopped at a small restaurant tucked into the street corner. It wasn't much—but the moment they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.

Warmth.

The scent of fresh food, the low murmur of conversation.

The place had a homey feel to it, even with its mismatched chairs and scratched-up tables. The patrons inside were a mix of various species, some sitting in pairs, others eating alone, lost in thought.

It was an obvious contrast to the cold, misery-ridden streets outside.

It was the kind of place people went to pretend, even just for a moment, that the civilization outside wasn't falling apart.

Seraniti and Zora took a seat, waiting for someone to take their order.

Seraniti let her gaze wander, her thoughts drifting—not to the town, not to the war, but to something else entirely as she looked around.

The Monster Secret Records.

Most of the known races were documented in it—alongside the beasts that roamed the plates. It wasn't controlled by any one nation, but every single one of them relied on it.

Because it was run by Messenger Trade LTD—one of the few cabals with the resources to navigate the vast mirror of Terra II, thanks to their connection with the Ægir.

It had started small—a collective of messengers, independent traders, companies, and a handful of Ægir cities in desperate need of help from the Seiren.

And now?

Now it was a pillar of how the common era functioned.

As she sat there, waiting for their order, her mind wandered to how different life would have been if Messenger Trade had never existed.

Would anything still work?

Around the same time that Yansu waged war against Lu—the Qilin, Messenger Trade had established something else.

The Plate Communication Control.

Or, as most people called it—TripleC.

The closest thing this world had to WiFi.

Without it, even the basic infrastructure of most cities would collapse. Communication, navigation, logistics—everything was tied to TripleC.

It was the one thing that kept the Plates connected, despite the war, despite the conflicts, despite everything else that threatened to tear them apart.

Seraniti exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly.

She didn't like depending on things like that.

Things that, if they disappeared one day, would leave everyone fucked beyond reason.

And yet, here they were.

Sitting in a war-torn town, ordering food in a place that shouldn't still be standing, thinking about how civilization wouldn't function without a system no one really thought about.

How fucking ironic.