Aside

As the rookies slept soundly upstairs, a young woman descended from the upper floor, her pale blond hair tousled from sleep. The soft rustle of her nocturnal attire accompanied her movements, barely audible over the distant murmur of the tavern's fading nightlife. There was an effortless grace to her, a cool beauty sharpened by an air of quiet detachment. Her feline-like blue eyes, unreadable yet piercing, swept across the dimly lit room before settling on Truth.

At a sturdy wooden table, Truth and Marko nursed their fourth round of drinks, the golden liquid catching the flickering candlelight. The warmth of alcohol had softened their features, though neither man was drunk—just pleasantly adrift in the afterglow of combat and conversation.

The woman bypassed Marko without so much as a glance, slipping fluidly into the chair beside Truth. She moved with a natural ease, as if the world conformed to her presence rather than the other way around.

"How were they?" she asked, her voice low and husky from sleep.

Truth's lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. "You'll be surprised," he murmured, swirling the drink in his cup. "They held their own against Arion… even managed to last against the Captain."

Marko gave a slight nod of agreement, his gaze meeting Truth's for a fraction of a second.

Blade's eyes narrowed, skepticism flickering behind their icy depths. The thought of fresh rookies standing against someone like Captain Lucas Alexandrite was difficult to believe. Yet, Truth's relaxed confidence suggested otherwise.

"I'm telling you, it's true," Truth continued, sensing her doubt. "Though the Captain didn't exactly take it easy on them."

Blade exhaled softly, exhaustion creeping into her expression—the faint drop of her eyelids, the subtle furrow of her brow. She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "Who's the leader?"

Truth tilted his cup, watching the liquid shift before taking a measured sip. He took his time before answering.

"Each of them has something different," he admitted. "Takahiro's swordsmanship is sharp—his reaction speed, even sharper. But Kenji…" He trailed off, choosing his words. "He has presence. When he went down, the others changed their approach immediately."

Blade's interest sharpened. "Changed how?"

Truth leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the worn wood of the table. "Mid-battle, Kenji gave an order. They shifted their strategy on the spot—stopped reacting and started pressing forward, attacking with intent."

Blade's blue eyes glinted, intrigued. "And the third one?"

Truth hesitated, his brow creasing. "That's… a bit of a mystery." He glanced toward Marko for confirmation.

Marko simply shrugged. "Couldn't tell you if that's a boy or a girl."

Blade blinked, caught off guard. "You don't know?"

Truth exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "Skilled with a sword but unpredictable. Not quite an assassin, not quite a standard swordsman either." His voice took on a thoughtful edge. "I'd call them a ghost if anything."

Blade absorbed the information, her mind already fitting the pieces together. "So, Kenji's the leader."

It wasn't a question.

Truth didn't argue.

Blade stretched her arms above her head, her lean frame shifting with the motion. As she turned to leave, Marko's voice broke the brief silence, tinged with an unmistakable note of hopeful hesitation.

"Err, Blade… can I—?"

She didn't let him finish. Her cool blue eyes flicked toward him, flat and unimpressed.

"No."

Marko deflated instantly, his shoulders slumping. Truth chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Better luck next time.