Izochi slumped against the transport's plush seating, a long, languid groan escaping his lips as the skyline of Alola faded into the rearview.
"Damn,"
He muttered, tracing a lazy pattern on the frosted glass.
"We're really cutting this short? My skin hasn't even seen enough sun to call this a vacation."
To him, the high-stakes political maneuvering of the past week had been nothing more than a mild diversion, a pleasant stroll through a minefield.
"The Captain's word isn't a suggestion, Izochi,"
Marco replied, his hands tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned a brittle white.
Izochi leaned back, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn't look at Marco; instead, he watched the clouds.
"A Horitoshi is a Horitoshi, isn't he? I can already hear the lecture, the same dry tone, the same predictable weight in every sentence. I've already memorized the script."
His voice carried a weight of absolute certainty, even as his eyes remained unfocused, drifting over the passing landscape.
"Who knows what he'll say,"
Marco countered, his voice flat.
"I do. Obviously."
The air in the vehicle grew heavy with Izochi's relentless, needle-like chatter. He filled every pocket of silence with unnecessary observations, refusing to let the tension settle.
As the familiar, grimy silhouette of the city finally rose to meet them, Izochi let out a sharp, theatrical exhale.
"Well? Aren't you going to roll out the red carpet? Welcome me back to this glorious heap of trash?"
Marco didn't crack a smile.
"Welcome back, Mr. Authority,"
He said, the words falling like lead.
The Evernight Club didn't greet them with its usual amber glow. Instead, the interior was drenched in a cold, electric blue that felt like being submerged in deep water.
Izochi didn't so much as blink. He surveyed the shifting hues with a heavy, practiced weariness.
"Blue now? Does the mood change with the tide, or is someone just bored?"
He asked, his voice dripping with indifference.
Marco didn't answer. He simply turned and vanished into the crowd, leaving Izochi anchored alone in the middle of the neon haze.
Izochi's jaw tightened, a sharp, boyish pout clouding his face as he watched his partner disappear.
"Who does he think he is, leaving me like this?"
Near the same pillar where they had first met, Angela stood waiting. Before she could utter a single syllable of her prepared greeting, Izochi cut through the air with a flick of his wrist.
"Save the script,"
He drawled, his eyes fixed somewhere past her shoulder.
"Just show me the way."
A small, surprised flicker of a smile touched Angela's lips. She nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, and led him toward the back.
Downstairs, the atmosphere was different. Marco and Angela sat on opposite ends of a sprawling sofa, a vast, invisible chasm stretching between them.
Marco's eyes were fixed on the floor, where the tiles pulsed with light, shifting from cerulean to a bruised purple.
"What really happened out there?"
Marco's voice was a strained whisper, his face a mask of rigid tension.
Angela didn't lean back. She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, the sharp, condescending edge of her usual persona completely eroded. She looked... fragile.
"The Captain's instructions were a single line,"
She said softly.
"To write the letter, bring Izochi and you back. I didn't ask questions because he didn't give me room to breathe."
"He told you nothing else?"
Marco pressed.
"Nothing. Only that I should request a report on your situation. I skipped that part... I thought if I moved faster, I'd be giving you more time, not less."
The silence that followed was absolute.
"When the Captain came to me,"
Angela whispered, her voice barely audible over the club's low hum,
"He looked like a man who had seen his own ghost. Like he'd discovered a secret that was never meant to leave Alola."
Marco let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours.
"So, the kid was right. He knew."
Angela tilted her head, her brow furrowed in a silent question.
"Right about what?"
But Marco offered no answer, leaving her to drown in a sea of unanswered 'ifs.'
On the third floor, the air felt thin.
The room was an ocean of marble and glass, vast enough to make a man feel small, yet Izochi didn't look like a prisoner awaiting a sentence.
He sat in a plush, high-backed chair, his legs crossed with a casual grace that suggested he owned the very floor beneath him.
To his left, a massive bookshelf climbed toward the ceiling, smelling of old leather and dust. Ahead, a wall of pure glass offered a panoramic view of the district, the city lights flickering like dying embers.
The Captain stood by the glass, his silhouette sharp and unmoving.
"What have you done in Alola, Izochi Horitoshi?"
The question was a shard of ice. The Captain turned and took the seat opposite Izochi, his eyes searching the boy's face for a flinch.
"I was wondering when the pleasantries would end,"
Izochi said, his voice dropping into a cold, melodic rhythm. He bowed his head slightly, a mock gesture of regret.
"I claimed them both. The Authority and the Laws of Blood."
The Captain's hand, resting on the arm of his chair, twitched.
"You knew? About the previous leader's line?"
"I knew,"
Izochi replied.
"How?"
Izochi repeated the history he had shared in that small patisserie in Alola, the words flowing like a practiced eulogy.
"Then why?"
The Captain demanded, leaning forward, his shadow looming large.
"Why claim the Authority now? You've invited a storm you cannot hide from."
Izochi sighed, a sound of genuine, bone-deep exhaustion.
He looked out at the city, his eyes reflecting the cold blue of the night.
"Because a storm is better than a slow rot. If I hadn't claimed it, the clan would have torn itself apart from the inside out within the year. A civil war was already written in the stars, Captain.
Now? Now they have a focal point."
The Captain narrowed his eyes, clearly unsatisfied.
"And you think this stops the bloodshed? You think they won't fight for a crown they believe is misplaced?"
Izochi looked him dead in the eye, his voice ringing with a terrifying, absolute certainty.
"Let them fight. But they won't fight each other anymore. If they want this crown, they'll have to stand together to take it from me.
I haven't started a war, Captain. I've given them a common enemy."
Izochi seemed confident.