Third Person: The Golden Leash
Leo's "yes" resonated in the botanical garden, a sound of surrender that completely changed the atmosphere. The confrontation was over. The negotiation had concluded. And a strange, new hierarchy had just been born.
Cecilia Alcott, who had been running on a mix of fury and adrenaline, seemed to inflate with a new, serene authority. The vulnerability she had shown was now coated with her usual aristocratic bearing, but now it was sharper, more real. It wasn't the arrogance of a rich girl; it was the poise of someone who had just won a battle of wills against an incredibly dangerous opponent.
"Good," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "I'm glad you see the logic. Now, the rules of our agreement."
She approached him, picking up the stun baton he had left on the bench. She didn't hand it back. She held it like a scepter, a symbol of her new authority.
"Rule number one," she began. "From now on, you will walk two paces behind me at all times. Not beside, not in front. Behind. As befits a pupil."
Leo, who was still processing how quickly his situation had devolved from "cornered wolf" to "leashed pet," could only blink.
"Rule number two," she continued, oblivious to his internal conflict. "You will not speak to anyone unless I give you permission. And you will not speak to me unless I initiate the conversation. Your unsolicited opinions are no longer welcome."
"Rule number three," she finished, looking him up and down, her gaze lingering on the tattered hospital gown. "We will get you some proper clothes. I cannot have my... responsibility, looking like a vagrant."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and began walking towards the dome's exit. "Follow me."
Leo stood there for a second, rebellion simmering within him. Every fiber of his being, every ounce of his FBI training, screamed against submission. But then, the pragmatic voice of survival reminded him of the alternatives: a solitary confinement cell or an autopsy table. With a sigh that was the soundtrack to his dying dignity, he took one step, then another, positioning himself exactly two paces behind her.
As they exited the dome, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The security guards, previously tense and battle-ready, were now stiff, but relaxed. Their eyes weren't on Leo, but on Cecilia. She was the center of gravity. With a subtle flick of her head, she motioned for them to step aside. They obeyed without question.
As they walked through the academy's corridors, the strange duo attracted stares of awe and confusion from the few students they passed. The proud Cecilia Alcott, Britain's representative pilot, walking with imperial confidence, followed by the mysterious man whose party and subsequent escape had become the academy's instant legend.
Leo felt like a prisoner of war in a victory parade. The only difference was that the general who had captured him was a teenage girl with a posh accent and a troubling penchant for control.
First Person: The Baptism of Chaos
I was led back to the control room. The Viper's Nest. As I entered, I felt a dozen eyes bore into me. Chifuyu, the other girls, Ichika—they were all there, their expressions a mix of curiosity, fear, and utter bewilderment.
Cecilia stopped in front of Chifuyu, commanding the center of attention. "Instructor Orimura," she announced with impeccable formality. "The 'incident' has been contained. We have an agreement."
Chifuyu's gaze slid from Cecilia to me, then back. There was a universe of questions in her eyes, but she held them back. She simply nodded. "I see. An... unorthodox arrangement."
"The circumstances are unorthodox," Cecilia retorted. Then, she turned to me. The air grew tense. "However, there are outstanding matters that must be resolved before we can proceed. The first is formality. We cannot continue to refer to you as 'the intruder.'" Her gaze was imperious. "You heard the instructor. Introduce yourself. Your full name."
The entire room waited. My name. My identity. The last piece of me I hadn't yet relinquished. Giving it was an act of final submission. But it was part of the deal. The deal that kept me alive and off a metal table.
I took a deep breath. "My name is Kennedy," I said, my voice sounding strange in the silent room. I paused, then added the rest, because the theatricality of the moment seemed to demand it. "Leon S. Kennedy."
I expected a reaction. A gasp. Something.
I got nothing.
To them, it was just a foreign name. It meant nothing. There was no association with rookie cops on their first, worst day on the job, no plagues, no kidnapped presidents. It was just a name.
But in my head, the System, my only confidante in this madness, had a minor meltdown.
[WARNING: Host Name confirmed - LEON S. KENNEDY.][Cross-referencing with origin universe fiction database...][!!!MATCH FOUND!!!][Probability of future incidents involving viral outbreaks, evil pharmaceutical corporations, and zombies has increased by 7,342%.][System Recommendation: Locate and stockpile green and red herbs. Avoid mansions and police stations. Begin practicing witty one-liners for post-monster kills.]
I ignored my personal UI's panic attack. I had enough problems.
Cecilia nodded, satisfied. "Leon Kennedy. Good. Now that we have a name for the disaster, let us move on to restitution." Her gaze hardened. "You will apologize."
"I believe I already did," I pointed out.
"You apologized to me," she corrected. "But your actions affected the entire academy. Specifically, the men who were performing their duty to protect this place. Men whom you assaulted. You will apologize to them. Now."
I realized her game. It wasn't just about manners. It was about setting a precedent. She was forcing me to acknowledge and respect the academy's authority. She was forcibly integrating me into their structure, starting from the lowest rung. It was a brilliant political play, disguised as an etiquette lesson.
"As you command, my lady," I said with a touch of sarcasm that, luckily, she chose to ignore.
"Follow me."
And once again, I followed her out of the room, two steps behind, feeling less and less like an agent and more and more like a very dangerous butler.
Third Person: The Apology Tour
The journey to the infirmary was a lesson in power. The hallways, once my battlefield and hiding place, were now the stage for my controlled humiliation. Students parted as we passed, whispering and pointing. They weren't looking at me, the mysterious man. They were looking at Cecilia, the girl who had him under control. She was building her legend on top of mine.
They reached a different wing of the infirmary, one reserved for security personnel. Inside, the scene was a mix of drama and comedy. Several of the twenty guards Leo had faced were being tended to for bruises, sprains, and wounded egos.
As they entered, conversation stopped. All eyes fell on Leo. There was anger in some gazes, but in others, there was something else: grudging respect. The respect of one fighter for another.
Cecilia stopped at the entrance, gesturing for Leo to move forward alone.
Leo walked to the center of the room, feeling the weight of all eyes. He stopped in front of an older, weathered man with an insignia identifying him as the Head of Security.
"Chief," Leo began, his tone calm and professional. "I'm here to apologize. To you and your men."
The Chief looked at him, arms crossed. "Oh, are you?"
"Yes," Leo confirmed. "I regret that our conflict was necessary. I regret the injuries. Each of you was performing your duty admirably and professionally. I, for my part, was performing my own duty at the time, which was to not be captured and vivisected. It was nothing personal."
He paused, looking the men in the eyes. "You fought well. You're a credit to this academy."
The apology was perfect. It wasn't subservient. It wasn't arrogant. It was a professional acknowledging professionals. It respected their ability while justifying his own actions.
The Head of Security studied him for a long moment. Then, a small smile appeared on his face. "We accept your apology, Kennedy. But next time you decide to 'not be vivisected,' try not to break three of my best man's ribs."
Leo nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."
The tension in the room dissipated. An understanding had been reached. Peace, or something akin to it, had been made.
Satisfied, Cecilia motioned for him to exit. As they walked back down the hallway, they passed another section of the infirmary, one with guards from different countries stationed at the door. From inside, the complaints of Sir Reginald Covington about the quality of the tea could be heard.
Leo paused. "What about them?" he asked, nodding towards the door. "Aren't I supposed to apologize for their... broken bones and bruised egos?"
Cecilia stopped and turned to him, a cold, calculating smile on her lips. It was a smile he was beginning to find deeply unsettling.
"They are not our problem," she said quietly, but with crystalline clarity. "They were guests in our house who behaved rudely and attempted to overstep their authority. You merely gave them a much-needed lesson in manners."
Leo looked at her, and the true nature of their arrangement became clear.
This wasn't a simple surrender. This was a recruitment.
She hadn't just put him under her control. She had aligned him with the academy. She had claimed him. By forcing him to apologize to the academy guards, she had reinforced the internal structure. By dismissing the foreign agents, she had drawn a line in the sand. You're with us now. Your fight with them wasn't our problem. Your fight with our own, that was.
He was no longer an intruder. He was part of the system. A very strange, dangerous piece on Cecilia's chessboard, but her piece nonetheless.
"I see," Leo said quietly, a new understanding dawning in his eyes.
"I'm glad you do," Cecilia replied, turning to walk on. "Now, come along. We have to discuss your new... responsibilities. And your accommodation. You can't keep wearing that tattered gown."
As he followed her, two paces behind, Leo realized the irony. He had fought tooth and nail to escape this academy. Now, his only ally and protector was one of its warrior princesses.
He had lost his freedom, but perhaps, just perhaps, he had gained something more. A player in the game. And a very, very complicated owner. Hell, he realized, could come in many forms. And this one, with her British accent and aristocratic bearing, promised to be the most interesting of them all.