Prologue: The Outskirts Brats and the Price of Potential

Lucas.

The dimly lit room was thick with the smell of whiskey and worn leather. I sat across from Yamamoto, his black hair and piercing eyes a stark contrast to my disheveled locks and weary gaze. The soft glow of the lantern flickered between us, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch in every direction, much like the conversation we were about to have.

"You want me to take in those Outskirts brats?" I asked, incredulous. My voice had an edge to it, as if I were still trying to grasp the absurdity of his request.

Yamamoto didn't flinch. His expression remained as cold and unreadable as ever, the stoic mask I'd grown accustomed to over the years. He took a long, deliberate sip from his glass, then set it down with a soft clink.

"Yes," he replied, his voice as flat as the surface of the whiskey in his glass.

I leaned back, glaring at him. The last thing I needed was a bunch of out-of-their-league rookies mucking up my already strained Division. "Why not take them in yourself? Your Division's bursting with high-potential recruits anyway."

He raised an eyebrow, not reacting beyond the slightest tilt of his head. "My Division's full. Yours has room."

I crossed my arms, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. "My Division isn't a babysitting service."

"Neither is mine," Yamamoto shot back, unfazed.

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. I could feel my frustration building, but Yamamoto remained calm, sipping his drink leisurely as if my glaring at him was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

I sighed, giving in, though my irritation remained. "Fine," I muttered, slumping in my chair. "But these kids better not annoy me."

I watched as Yamamoto slid a stack of documents across the table toward me, his face still unreadable. I glanced at the papers, raising an eyebrow at the bold ambition that leaped off the pages. "Ambitious, aren't they?" I mused. "One wants to be the greatest Knight, another the strongest Swordsman, and the third… unknown."

Yamamoto's gaze remained steady, unwavering, as he answered. "They have potential. And they need guidance."

I scoffed, flicking through the papers with a casual air, but something in his words caught my attention. "From the Outskirts, they're already at a disadvantage," I countered, still skeptical.

Yamamoto shrugged, unfazed by my cynicism. "If they can't handle that, then it's my mistake."

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my messy hair, the weight of his words sinking in. "They all come with high hopes," I said, my tone taking on a weary edge, "only to quit when reality hits."

Kenji Kimura's dream of becoming the greatest knight echoed in my mind, a dream I knew too well. The Division Knights are the Empire's elite—guardians who protect against bandits, beasts, and rival kingdoms. It's a brutal life. Only the strong survive, and most of them eventually burn out.

"These brats better not waste my time, Yama," I warned, locking eyes with him.

He finally cracked a faint, knowing smile. "You need the exercise, friend."

I clicked my tongue in irritation and drained my drink in one go, feeling the warmth spread through me. "I need better friends," I muttered, pouring myself another cup.

The night stretched on in quiet camaraderie, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls, blurring the lines between obligation and familiarity. We both knew what was coming, though neither of us said it aloud.

My days were about to get infinitely more annoying the moment those brats arrived. But I had no choice but to deal with it. And if Yamamoto was right, maybe, just maybe, there was a flicker of potential buried beneath their wide-eyed idealism.

But that was a stretch I wasn't ready to make just yet. I only hoped I wouldn't regret it.