While Gabbana kept thanking me far longer than was necessary, the receptionist finally contacted Myourmiles.
With Gabbana and the receptionist bowing us off like their lives depended on it, Souei and I walked through the building without hesitation. Ranga moved in my shadow, silent and watchful.
Myourmiles' office was on the top floor.
Spacious. Sunlight poured in through wide windows. The view made the city look small—like a map laid out beneath a ruler's hand.
We sat on the best sofas. Cold juice was already prepared, as if Myourmiles had predicted the exact second I would arrive.
Myourmiles studied my face carefully.
"Atem-sama… did something happen?"
"Nothing," I answered at once. My voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
Relief flickered across his expression, then worry returned.
"Well, that's good, but perhaps Gabbana has done something rude—"
"It's finished," I cut in. Clean. Final. "Forget it."
Then I shifted my gaze—not to him, but to the wall.
And I spoke like I was reading a verdict.
"More importantly… Myourmiles. I heard you have a portrait of me in your room. Explain."
His throat made a strange sound.
"Gweh—?! W-well, that's…"
Souei, as always, answered like a blade sliding from its sheath—quiet, precise.
"The painting appears to have been acquired on the black market. The source is unknown. The artist's identity is also unknown."
I blinked once.
"Unknown?"
Souei continued.
"There was also one depicting Atem form. Whoever painted it knows Atem-sama personally—or has observed him closely. However, even our intelligence network cannot trace the origin."
For a moment, the sunlight in the room felt colder.
"Even you couldn't find them?" I asked.
"I'm afraid not," Souei said. "During the war, we judged the case low priority. We couldn't allocate enough personnel."
So that was the reason.
Still—
Being used as a model by someone I didn't know?
In a world where faces become weapons and rumors become knives?
No.
Myourmiles tried to soften it.
"Atem-sama… foreign reporters have seen you. Some nobles collect paintings. Isn't it possible someone simply—"
I lifted a hand.
He stopped.
"Enough."
I didn't shout. I didn't tease. I didn't smile.
I simply decided.
"Confiscate it."
Myourmiles froze.
"Yes— E-Eh?!"
I stood, walked to the wall, and took the portrait down myself.
Myourmiles reached out like a man watching his treasure fall into the sea.
"N-No way! That's tyrannical! I don't think any ruler, ancient or modern—!"
"Tyranny is taking what belongs to others," I replied. "This is mine. It is my face. My name. My authority."
I turned the painting slightly.
And there it was—beauty, fragility, elegance.
It wasn't me.
It was Shizu's image wearing my name like a mask.
That alone was reason enough.
"I'll pay you for it," I said. "But it leaves with me."
Myourmiles looked like he might actually cry.
"I was so excited to hang Atem-sama's picture here…"
Souei put a hand on his shoulder—calm, steady.
Then Souei spoke again, like he'd been waiting for this moment.
"Then… I will give Myourmiles-dono this as well."
Myourmiles blinked.
"Eh?"
Souei produced another portrait.
Myourmiles and I both stared at it in silence.
"…"
"…"
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
"Good for you," I said, deadpan. "Hang that. Stare at it. See if it inspires you."
Myourmiles panicked immediately.
"No, no, no— that's not— I mean—"
"It's different," I agreed. "Looking at a portrait won't ignite anyone's ambition."
Then I narrowed my eyes at Souei.
"And why do you even have that?"
Souei's pause was small.
Too small.
"I confiscated it during our investigation," he said. "There were other leaked items as well. We recovered them."
"Just my portraits?" I asked.
"…Yes."
That pause again.
I didn't move. I didn't have to.
Souei spoke, reluctantly.
"Diablo took one from me."
The air sharpened.
That name always did it.
"That bastard," I said softly.
Souei lowered his head.
"I resisted. I was unable to stop him. I apologize."
"You did your duty," I said immediately. "I'll retrieve it myself."
Diablo was a problem.
Not because he doubted me.
Because he believed too fiercely—too recklessly—like faith was permission.
And I wouldn't allow anyone, not even him, to keep an unknown portrait of my face. Not when I couldn't trace the hand behind it.
Souei's expression eased—just a fraction.
Myourmiles muttered under his breath, "No, but… then Souei-dono will keep the painting?" like that was the real crisis.
I looked at him once.
"Souei doesn't need a portrait to attract attention," I said. "You can rest easy."
Myourmiles nodded, still conflicted.
We ended that discussion with one firm decision:
We would investigate the source thoroughly—this time properly.
With only a few hours left before nightfall, we finally moved to real business.
"I'm glad the plans are going well," I said, "but what comes next?"
Myourmiles straightened, switching to the man who built empires out of ledgers.
"That's what I wanted to discuss. The current situation—"
I raised a hand again.
He stopped instantly.
"I've been flooded with inquiries," he said. "So I invited you to the party tonight. We'll hold the full meeting tomorrow."
A rare thing happened.
I approved without hesitation.
"Good," I said. "Efficient."
"Wahaha! Of course!"
He was right.
Better to crush all questions at once rather than waste time repeating the same conversation ten different ways.
So I let him report.
REG was devouring the underground organizations one by one. Opposition was collapsing. Public trust had grown so much that nobles from multiple nations were lining up to join.
Myourmiles' voice carried pride.
But then he said something that mattered.
"Veryard-dono… his skill is frightening. Frankly, he may be better than I am."
Myourmiles' honesty was not weakness.
It was why he was fit to lead.
"Don't worry," I said. "I remember when Veryard deceived me. Your fear isn't baseless."
Myourmiles grimaced.
"I hate to admit it, but he's a monster. Sometimes I feel like he's reading my thoughts. Perhaps… he should be the representative instead of me."
I didn't hesitate.
"No."
He blinked.
I leaned forward slightly. My voice remained calm, but it carried the weight of command.
"A boss's job isn't just to be 'the best.' It is to make others useful and to recognize their value."
Myourmiles listened, not arguing—just absorbing.
"When someone is too capable," I continued, "they stop needing others. And when a man reaches the top believing that, he begins to treat people like tools. Tools that break get thrown away."
Myourmiles' eyes narrowed.
He understood now.
I finished cleanly.
"Veryard is brilliant. But brilliance tends to choose efficiency over people. You do not. That's why you stay at the top."
Myourmiles exhaled.
"So my role is to make it easier for the people
under Veryard-dono to work."
"Exactly."
I stood, and the room felt like it stood with me.
"The top can be a symbol," I said. "A banner people are proud to carry. But a banner must still have weight. If it's empty, the organization rots."
Myourmiles' mouth opened—then he laughed.
"Wahaha! As expected of Atem-sama—so very humble!"
For a second, I just stared at him.
Then my voice sharpened like a snapped card.
"…?"
"…!!"
"You fool," I said flatly. "I wasn't talking about me."
I pointed at him.
"I was talking about you."
Myourmiles kept laughing anyway—because that was Myourmiles.
And because, for the first time in a while, the room felt lighter.
But the decisions we'd made were iron.
The portraits would be traced.
Diablo would be dealt with.
After Myourmiles finished his report, the air in the office shifted.
It was time.
"The guests are arriving," Myourmiles said, straightening his suit like a soldier tightening armor. "We invited noblemen from all over the world. Atem-sama will be the center of attention. There will be so many that you may not even have time to breathe."
I looked out over the city through the glass. Lights were waking up in the streets below like embers catching flame.
"…That's a problem," I said calmly.
Myourmiles blinked. "A problem?"
"I don't intend to intimidate them," I answered.
"And I don't intend to be pulled apart by greetings and empty praise."
If this were any other gathering, I would have refused outright.
But tonight wasn't optional.
King Gazel would be present. King Youm as well. And King Drum of Blumund—one of the few human rulers in this world who could gamble with a nation and still keep his hands clean.
Myourmiles represented the Four Nations Trade Federation. Those kings were the pillars behind it.
If I didn't appear, it would be read as disrespect. If I appeared carelessly, it could become a political weapon.
Souei spoke from beside me, his face perfectly composed.
"Shall I remove them myself?"
My instincts screamed: that was not a metaphor.
"N-no," I said immediately—then corrected myself, tone sharpening into command. "No. Absolutely not."
Souei's gaze didn't change, but the pressure behind it eased.
"With my… interpersonal skills," I said, measured and controlled, "I will handle it."
"I understand," Souei replied. "Then I will escort Atem-sama from a short distance."
"Good."
Tonight, violence was forbidden.
Not because I feared it—because I didn't want a single drop of blood to ripple into an international incident.
Ranga emerged from my shadow, his eyes bright, his presence steady.
"My lord, I am here as well. Do not worry."
I placed a hand lightly on his head—more a gesture of trust than affection.
"I'm counting on you."
Ranga's confidence smoothed the edge of my tension.
And with that, we moved.
The party venue was on the ninth floor, one level below.
A wide, open space—built for meetings, staff assemblies, and large events. Tonight it had been transformed: standing tables, banners, soft lights, elegant cloth, and the quiet tension of money and power gathered in one room.
The moment I stepped in, eyes turned.
Not with panic.
Not with worship.
With calculation.
Souei stayed just far enough to be invisible to most, close enough to cut down anything that reached for me.
Ranga returned to my shadow, but I could feel him like a guard tower at my back.
I scanned the venue.
Then my eyes landed on the food.
Pickles. Soups. Prosciutto. High-grade steaks. Meatballs. Roast beef. Pasta—
Then I saw the rest.
Takoyaki. Yakisoba. Okonomiyaki. Curry and rice. Hamburgers.
I stopped.
"…Myourmiles."
"Yes?" he answered instantly, like he'd been waiting for the blade.
"Are you trying to start a war with the aristocracy?"
He looked genuinely confused.
"Is it strange? This is the most popular menu from the Eterna cafeteria."
I stared at him.
"It's not strange," I said slowly. "It's… aggressive."
Myourmiles nodded like a man proud of his crime.
"At the Founding Festival, we served unusual cuisine. Some guests are expecting it. And if they aren't—"
He smiled.
"I won't complain even if there's a problem."
For a moment, I almost sighed.
Not a tease. Not amusement.
Just the understanding that this man had steel under his politeness.
"…Fine," I said. "Then we'll make it our style."
A new world didn't need old manners to survive.
It needed results.
As long as the food was good, it would win.
And if it didn't?
Then we would win anyway.
I turned—and my eyes met the man overseeing final arrangements.
Veryard.
He moved with the ease of someone who belonged anywhere. His suit was flawless. His smile was flawless too, which made it dangerous.
"Well, well," he said smoothly. "Your Majesty Atem. Given my position… would it be acceptable if I called you Atem-sama?"
I watched him for a heartbeat too long.
Then I nodded once.
"It's acceptable."
Veryard smiled wider, satisfied like a gambler watching the dealer deal exactly the card he expected.
Myourmiles stood beside him, expression strained.
He didn't fear Veryard's loyalty.
He feared Veryard's mind.
And I understood why.
Blumund's transformation had been bloodless—something that should have been impossible. Even in a world with magic, that kind of political surgery required a steady hand and a cold brain.
King Drum had done it.
But Veryard had been the blade.
I said what needed to be said.
"Today's arrangements are careful. Thorough. I feel comfortable leaving this to you. Continue supporting Myourmiles."
"Of course," Veryard said. Then casually added, "And please… call me Veryard."
I raised an eyebrow.
He continued before anyone could interrupt.
"My father is the head of our house—the former marquis family. I intend to throw the inheritance away."
Myourmiles actually jolted.
"Eh—Is that so?!"
I didn't react.
Not because it wasn't shocking.
Because I was measuring the angle of the move.
A marquis rank should have been safe even if nobility weakened. Lower nobles would suffer first. But a house like that?
It didn't need to fall.
So why would he abandon it?
Veryard answered, like he'd been waiting for the question.
"It is certain that the system will change. Aristocrats will become noblemen, then gradually lose power. After all—"
He smiled again.
"I proposed it to King Drum."
So it was you.
I didn't say it out loud.
I kept my face calm and let the room breathe.
Veryard spoke like a man describing the weather.
"Right now, aristocracy runs the government. But if the people become wise, they will resent it. So we transfer authority little by little—so that when change comes, they won't come with hatred."
"That's reasonable," I said. "But a nation can't be handed to people with no political experience overnight."
Veryard's eyes gleamed.
"That is why I will become a commoner now," he said softly, "and accept the authority that will be transferred."
The room felt colder.
Not because of fear.
Because of clarity.
It wasn't cheating.
It was positioning.
He was moving ahead of the wave—so when the wave arrived, he would already be standing where the shore would become.
I looked at Myourmiles.
Myourmiles was shaking his head as if he'd been struck by a truth he didn't want to admit.
His eyes told me plainly:
I warned you.
I gave him a single nod.
I see it.
Veryard was smiling.
And tonight, beneath Eterna's banner, with kings gathering and power changing hands quietly—
I understood something clearly.
This party wasn't just celebration.
It was a battlefield with music.
And the sharpest weapons weren't swords.
They were men like Veryard.