After a night of uneasy rest, tended to by the quiet kindness of the boy, Chiaki sat on the edge of the bed, her hand resting over the layers of tight bandages around her waist. The pain was still sharp, echoing through her ribs with every breath, but it wasn't enough to stop her anymore.
"Damn it… I can't just sit here while everything keeps moving," she muttered under her breath, rising shakily to her feet. "I've got to find the answers. I've come too far to start healing in place."
She took each step slowly, her bare feet quiet on the wood as she walked toward the narrow balcony. Pushing open the curtain with one hand, she stepped into the sunlight. The breeze hit her like a memory—familiar, sharp, and distant. Below, Lyvoria Crest was alive with noise. The city pulsed with its usual energy, sunlight reflecting off copper domes and the tiled roofs of the merchant roads below.
But her gaze locked onto something far more troubling.
Down in the alleyway, just beneath the balcony, she spotted the crests of imperial colors—armor and banners marked by the Empress's troops. They moved with practiced formation, disciplined and wary. But there, trudging just a bit slower, head low, shoulders always seeming too heavy, was the same man who had once nearly captured her.
He didn't command presence. He barely held his own.
"I mean… she's probably here," he said in a tone that was more of a drawn-out sigh than a statement. His voice was low, tired, as if he could barely bother to hear himself speak. "Or maybe I'm wrong. Again. That happens. A lot."
He scratched the back of his head sluggishly and turned to the gray-bearded elder who stood at the doorway.
"Look… I—I don't really want to accuse anyone. It's not like I want to be here. Honestly, I'd rather be lying in a gutter somewhere, away from this crap." He motioned vaguely to the surrounding buildings. "But I can still… feel it. That weight. It's like there's a hole in the air."
The elder narrowed his eyes, defensive. "This is a quiet street. We haven't seen anyone suspicious. You've got the wrong place."
"Yeah," the man murmured, gaze drifting to the side. "That's what they all say. And most of the time, yeah—I do have the wrong place. I mean, who the hell am I to know anything, right?" He let out a long breath and looked back up, his eyes sunken and ringed with sleeplessness. "But still… her blood's in the wind. I… I can smell it. Or maybe I'm just imagining that, too."
He stared blankly at the door behind the old man. "Your kid helped her. Probably didn't mean to get involved. That's just how it goes, huh? Someone's always dragged into someone else's mess. And I… I get it."
A pause hung in the air.
"I'm not gonna break down your door or anything. That's… too much effort, honestly," he mumbled. "But if she's still here? You should tell her to run. Before someone shows up who actually wants to be doing this job."
He turned, slouching as he walked away, hands deep in his pockets, his coat dragging slightly on the edges of the stone. His steps were uneven, and he muttered something under his breath—either to himself or no one at all.
"I'm tired of this…"
Above, Chiaki remained against the wall, silent, her expression darkening. Not with fear—something colder. Urgency. She had to move. Fast.
From below, the clatter of armored boots and hushed murmurs shifted suddenly. One of the younger soldiers—sharp-eyed and alert—lifted his gaze toward the balconies that hung like broken teeth along the wall.
"Up there! I saw movement!" he shouted, pointing directly at Chiaki's silhouette barely visible behind the curtain. "Someone's on the balcony!"
Morvain, who had been trudging forward half-heartedly with his hands shoved into the folds of his coat, groaned aloud. Not with surprise, not with urgency—just deep, painful inconvenience.
"Ugh… damn it," he muttered, dragging one foot behind the other as he turned around without enthusiasm. "Why is it always when I think maybe—just maybe—this time I can get through a patrol without anything actually happening?"
He followed the soldier's pointed hand and squinted toward the upper floor, catching a glimpse of Chiaki's figure disappearing out of view.
"Yup. That's her," he mumbled dully, barely raising his voice. "Because why wouldn't it be? Of course it is. It always is when I'm in charge."
Morvain rubbed his temple and gave the elder beside him a pitiful, half-hearted glance. "See? I told you. But no, I get it. Why would anyone believe me, right? Morvain the Maybe. Always maybe right, maybe wrong, but definitely miserable."
He turned to his soldiers, gesturing vaguely with his hand as if it physically hurt to lift his arm. "Yeah, go ahead. Surround the place or whatever. Standard procedure. Not that it'll matter. She's probably already halfway out the back door."
One soldier stepped forward. "Should we breach the building, sir?"
Morvain just sighed. "Yeah, sure. Knock yourselves out. Literally, if you want. She's probably got traps. Or some… secret tunnel. Or a hostage situation, I don't know." He slumped against the wall, arms crossed loosely. "I'm just gonna… stay right here and reflect on my growing list of failures."
He tilted his head up, muttering to the clouds, "Why did I take this job again? Oh right, I didn't. I was assigned. Because that's how my life works."
Chiaki, meanwhile, had already turned from the balcony, her body tensing. The walls were closing in fast, and she didn't have time for hesitation.
Not now.
The boy's father—worn and humble in his posture—stepped outside the home with a calm, almost pleading expression. His hands were raised, palms open, his body angled slightly in front of the doorway as though shielding it with his presence.
"Wait, wait! You've got the wrong place," he called down to them, voice steady despite the beads of sweat lining his brow. "No one like that here. Just me and my son. You can check, but I promise you—there's no girl hiding in my home."
His eyes flicked upward for a brief second toward the balcony, silently begging Chiaki not to move, not to reveal herself. Then back to the soldiers, trying to appear composed. "We're just trying to get through the week like everyone else. Please. I've got nothing to do with whoever you're hunting."
Morvain squinted lazily at him, clearly not convinced, though the effort it would take to act on suspicion seemed to outweigh his desire to pursue it.
The father's words fell on deaf ears.
One of the soldiers scoffed, pushing past him with the butt of his weapon. "Step aside, old man." Another followed, boots heavy against the stone as the rest surged forward, ignoring the frantic gesture of the man trying to shield his home.
"We found you!" one of them shouted with a cruel grin, eyes already locked on the balcony above. "She's up there—move, now!"
Within seconds, the house trembled beneath the thundering footsteps of armored boots storming the interior. The wooden stairs creaked under the pressure of their sprinting ascent, dust shaking from the beams as they closed in on the second floor. Shouts and the clatter of gear filled the narrow halls.
Chiaki backed away from the balcony railing, her breath tightening in her throat.
The door to the room trembled. Then came the pounding of fists. Then the sound of it being kicked in.
Chiaki didn't waste a breath.
The moment her eyes caught the glint of armored boots storming up the stairs, she pivoted on her heel, twisting with a burst of motion that flared pain through her bandaged ribs. But she didn't hesitate. Her hand caught the balcony's stone railing as she vaulted up and over, tucking her knees to her chest in midair. She flipped smoothly, momentum carrying her into a crouched landing on the sloped roof below with a low grunt. Her soles scraped ceramic tiles, dislodging a few, but her balance held.
The guards burst into the room half a second later.
"She's on the roof!" one shouted, sprinting toward the balcony, nearly colliding with his comrades in the narrow doorway.
Another guard leaned out just in time to see Chiaki dash forward, each step placed with pinpoint precision. Her left foot landed on the crest of a roof beam, then she pushed off into a full sprint, arms pumping low and tight. Her movements were fluid and predatory—shoulders rolled forward, core tight, legs snapping with speed and control as if she'd trained for this all her life.
Down below, a group of foot soldiers shouted in panic, scattering into the alleyways and streets below the chase. But Chiaki was already gone, vaulting over a jutting balcony rail, swinging around it in midair with her right hand, and landing in a slide that skimmed along the roof's steep incline.
"Watch it! She's gonna jump!" a guard screamed, attempting to follow.
One soldier tried to mimic her leap across a tight alley gap—but his armor caught mid-flight, and he slammed chest-first into the edge of the next building, clattering down with a muffled "oof" into a garbage heap.
Another attempted to sprint across a low rooftop but overstepped onto a slick patch of bird droppings. His foot slid, his leg flailed upward comically, and he landed hard on his back with a gasp. "I think I broke something that isn't supposed to bend…"
Chiaki didn't even look back. Her movements were relentless.
She darted sideways along the sloped surface, crossed an awning by running along its narrow wooden frame, then rebounded off the vertical wall of an adjacent building. Using both hands, she grabbed the lip of a decorative ledge, swung her legs upward, and kicked off the next structure with perfect rhythm.
Below her, a market exploded into chaos.
Civilians dove out of the way as soldiers tripped over crates, collided with fruit stalls, and fell into carts full of squawking birds. One hapless trooper chased after her only to catch a hanging laundry sheet to the face. Blinded, he spun in place, tumbled through a stack of ceramic pots, and vanished into a rolling barrel of fermented fish.
Chiaki's breath was steady, but every movement screamed with pain from her injuries. Still, she pressed on, diving through a shuttered window, skidding across a polished wooden floor, and emerging through another window across the way in a single roll.
She vaulted back onto the rooftops with no time to spare.
Two rooftop soldiers cornered her at the next junction—but one took a step too far and his boot sank through rotted tiles. He yelped, one leg dangling into a bedroom below. The other froze, arms flailing as he tried to balance—until a pigeon smacked into his helmet and sent him tumbling backward with a helpless scream.
Above it all, Morvain finally made his appearance. He stepped onto the rooftop behind them with his usual sluggish gait, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, his posture slouched as if he'd just woken up from a nap he didn't enjoy.
He watched her leap over a chimney, knees tucked tight to her chest, before springing off a triangular beam and vaulting over an alleyway five stories deep.
"…Yeah. This is fine. Definitely. No, I totally got this. Just… chasing ghosts over rooftops while slowly bleeding from the inside with existential dread. Classic Tuesday," he mumbled, squinting lazily into the distance as she vanished over a rooftop arch.
"She's way too fast…" he added, his words stretching like molasses. "Why even try? I'll just embarrass myself. Not like I was ever cut out for this anyway…"
But his eyes never left her.
Chiaki kept sprinting, ignoring the burn in her legs and the stinging from her waist. She vaulted over spires, ran across the top edge of a city bell tower, ducked under a jutting weathervane, and slid along the sloped roof of a curved bathhouse, scattering terrified birds into the sky.
The wind howled past her ears, mixed with distant yells, clanging boots, and the chorus of utter incompetence behind her. But she didn't stop.
Because she knew—every second mattered.
And she wasn't going back.
Chiaki's boot slammed onto the slanted rooftop tiles, her body rolling forward with seamless momentum before she sprang back to her feet in a single, fluid motion. The crimson-tinted glow of the descending sun bathed the skyline in deep reds and sharp shadows, casting everything in a moody, cinematic hue. She moved like a phantom in that moment—lean, composed, untouchable.
With her cropped jean jacket flaring and the edge of her mini t-shirt fluttering against her waist, she darted through the rooftops with raw, practiced agility. Her jeans scraped against the tiles with each slick movement, the fabric catching the wind as she twisted her body, launching herself off ledges and narrow rails. She moved like she wasn't running from soldiers—but escaping a velvet-coated world of masks and heists, each movement slick and theatrical.
With one hand grazing a ledge, she vaulted clean over a rooftop chimney and skidded down the slope, using a crisscross of washing lines to swing herself between two buildings. The cut of her jacket caught air like a cape, her silhouette framed for a moment in the dying light.
Below, guards scrambled like amateurs—slow, noisy, clunky.
"Don't let her get away!" one yelled, only to slip on a puddle and take three others with him as they tumbled into a street vendor's fruit cart, exploding in a splash of overripe plums and half-screamed regrets.
Chiaki didn't even glance back. Her stride remained rhythmic and purposeful. With a sharp twist, she ducked beneath an arch and scaled a fire escape like clockwork, then backflipped from its railing to a painted awning, using its recoil to launch herself over another narrow alleyway. A faint smile curved her lips. For a second, she felt like a shadow-dancing trickster straight out of a Metaverse heist, barely touching the world she sped through.
Then she stopped mid-air—her landing abruptly canceled by a figure standing directly in her path.
Morvain.
She landed hard, stumbled, and barely kept herself upright.
"…Seriously?" she groaned.
Morvain stared at her with deadpan eyes and slouched shoulders. He didn't raise a weapon. Didn't even widen his stance. Just stood there like a guy who got dragged out of bed for the third time this week.
"Saw you doing all that flashy rooftop flipping," he mumbled, rubbing his neck. "Real theatrical. Thought maybe you'd summon a spirit or whatever. You had the vibe going. But nope… now you're here, I'm here, and I'm tired."
Chiaki darted left without hesitation.
Morvain didn't follow.
He just sighed. "Not even good at being an obstacle. Gotta be some kind of record…"
He turned back toward the alley, dragging his feet.
"Could've just let her escape. But nooo… now they'll blame me for not catching her. Again. I swear I wasn't built for this kind of cardio."
To be continued...