The moonlight spread white across the courtyard's stone pavement. Reon Ruminasu's golden eyes remained fixed on the wax seal of the Gaius documents. Misaki adjusted her grip on the first volume in her arms. The option to flee had already vanished at this point. She was the one who stopped walking. She was the one who took the documents. With no room for excuses, speaking first was the best move. "Based on the advisor clause in the Reincarnate Registration Edict, I've applied for library access permissions. I've filed it formally with the relevant official," Misaki said, her voice steady. She gave herself a small internal nod for managing to sound composed. Reon crossed his arms. Even after sheathing his sword, his body remained tense. "That's all?" he asked. Two words. Short, but heavy with pressure. It wasn't all, Misaki thought. There was the question of what this document was, why she'd come here, what she intended to do with it—plenty more to explain. But there was no need to lay everything bare to someone she'd just met for the first time, here in the moonlit courtyard in the dead of night. *Timing is everything in negotiations.* Even in her past life, no PM worth their salt revealed all their requirements in the first meeting. First, you assessed what the other party was looking at. Then you played your cards. Misaki extended the first volume slightly forward. "I can read the cipher in this," she said. Reon's eyebrows rose, just barely. The look on his face said: *I'm willing to listen.* That was enough. Privately, Misaki had already noticed something else. When she'd chosen this courtyard right after reincarnating, she certainly hadn't imagined she'd be negotiating fiscal reconstruction in the middle of the night. She'd planned to take more preliminary steps. --- The next morning, in the western wing of Hohenruminasu Castle, in the office of the Prime Minister's residence. Sunlight slanted through the corridors of Tsaarhaus, casting thin shadows on the stone floor. As Misaki walked the hallway, she could hear the distant voices of guards changing shifts. The office that former Prime Minister Gaius had once used faced inward toward the castle, and from its windows, the rooftops of Felthain's old city spread out in view. Before opening the door, Reon turned back. "Three days. If nothing comes of it in three days, we're done," he said, then entered the room ahead of her. Misaki waited a beat, then followed through the same door. *This is easier than a death march before release.* Producing results from zero in three days. In her past life, she'd handled projects like that more than once. Salvaging burning projects, scope management for mid-stage entries, sprint goal recalibration—she wasn't used to it, but it wasn't impossible. If she could just see the structure of the problem, three days wasn't short at all. "Understood," she said, extending her right hand. It was meant as a handshake. Reon looked at her hand for a moment, clearly uncertain of her intent. Still, seeming to decide to match her gesture, he hesitantly extended his own right hand and grasped hers. His hand was warm. The hand that had gripped a sword for so long was harder than she'd expected. An indescribable atmosphere hung between them. *This world might not have a handshake culture.* Misaki quickly withdrew her hand. Reon said nothing, but his gaze shifted slightly away. She sensed that laughing now would wound his pride, so she covered the awkwardness by unrolling parchment instead. She began work. First, she organized the information readable from the first volume of the Gaius documents. The finance chapter listed income versus expenditure: against annual revenue of 180,000 gold zol, 72,000 zol disappeared into loan repayment to the Estrade Commercial Federation. If forty percent of annual income vanished before anything else, the nation would quietly collapse over time. Misaki drew lines on the parchment and divided it into three stages: Increase revenue. Renegotiate loan repayment. Long-term tax base strengthening through agricultural investment. Looking at the three-part structure, Reon stood and leaned in. "...It has the same form as a military strategy," he said. For the first time, his tone carried something forward-looking. "The enemy is fiscal deficit, the weapon is policy, the supply line is budget. It's no different from the structure of war that Your Highness describes," Misaki replied. Something shifted in Reon's golden eyes. The way he'd been looking at her—as merely a reincarnator—switched to something different. The change was subtle, but Misaki saw it. Years of experience reading clients' and supervisors' faces as a PM were quietly working here. He didn't say "continue." But he sat back down and turned his attention back to the parchment. That was enough. Work continued. By mid-morning, she'd assembled the skeleton of the first volume's financial items. By early afternoon, she'd moved into the agricultural reform chapter. Milchfeld—the granary region spreading about forty kilometers northeast of Felthain—had aging irrigation infrastructure marked in Gaius's documents as the top priority repair project. The cause of harvest yields dropping to sixty percent of levels from twenty years ago lay here. A bird sang outside the window. Misaki realized for the first time that afternoon had passed. Reon, who'd been leaning in to examine the parchment with her, felt his stomach rumble. Both of them heard it at the same time. Reon fell silent. Misaki turned her gaze out the window. "...Shall we continue after?" she said, keeping her voice as normal as possible. Reon said nothing, simply stood and opened the door, speaking something brief to the guards in the corridor. Shortly after, hard bread and a stew dish arrived. A small bottle of mountain mead came with it. Misaki hadn't anticipated eating a meal in the Prime Minister's office with Reon when she'd chosen this location right after reincarnating. She'd planned to take more preliminary steps. As she tore into the bread, she thought to herself: *Plans never go according to schedule.* --- Late night. By the time the lamp oil had burned down to half, the office was buried in documents and parchment. Misaki was deciphering the cipher in the military reform chapter while listening to Reon speak. He hadn't started from the beginning. When they'd reached the military equipment section of Gaius's documents, Reon had said, "This differs somewhat from reality," then fallen silent. Misaki didn't prompt him to continue—she simply stopped working and waited. Then, haltingly, words came. "I was fifteen when I fought at the border. The Lamberck Conflict—when armed clashes broke out between minor lords at the northeast frontier," he said, his tone stripped of emotion. A flat voice, like reading from a record. "I won't claim I wasn't afraid. But when you swing a sword, you get an answer. Cut or be cut. Advance or stop. Win or lose. There's always an answer," he continued. The lamp flame flickered slightly. "Politics has none of that. No matter how right you are, someone delays it. Someone changes it from the side. No answer comes. That's why I hate it," he said, the last words quiet. Not anger, but something closer to truth. Misaki didn't answer. There had been a night in her past life like this. When she'd crammed the project schedule, watched the team wear down, pretended not to see it, and still walked out holding only the result of "we shipped." The words she'd heard later—"I can't keep up with Mizuno's pace"—still lingered at the edge of her chest. She hadn't listened to the end that time. So now, she listened in silence. Reon didn't continue. After he finished speaking, his gaze dropped slightly, and his finger traced the edge of the parchment. She hadn't thought he was the type to make such gestures. Despite his intimidating golden eyes, he showed a hint of restlessness after speaking—Misaki learned this side of him for the first time that night. They sat across the desk from each other. The lamp light fell between them, the distance closer than she'd realized. Because they were sharing the parchment, it was unavoidable that Reon's profile was in her field of vision. The way the light caught his deep chestnut hair made it seem faintly reddish. Misaki couldn't look away. *This person has always stood in a place where they could only prove themselves through results.* At fifteen, sword in hand at the border. After that, positioned as a military genius in places where victory came with each battle. He could say he hated politics. But he believed that with a sword, answers came. That wasn't escape—it was the conclusion of experience he'd accumulated. Something quiet and certain moved in her chest. *I want to be someone who can truly listen to this person's words.* The moment she thought it, she understood what she'd thought. She understood too well. A kind of emotion she'd never felt in either her past or present life now sat heavy and certain in the center of her chest. Misaki turned her gaze back to the parchment. Her right hand, stained with ink, was visible in the lamp light. Reon seemed to notice something and turned his gaze that way. Without a word, he unfastened the cloth strip hanging from his waist. Without explanation, he placed it beside Misaki's right hand. That was all. After a moment, Misaki took it and wiped her fingers. "...Thank you," she said. "Don't mention it," he replied. The lamp flame flickered. Both turned their attention back to the parchment. The office was quiet. From outside the castle, the sound of night watch footsteps echoed distantly. --- Morning came. As Felthain's sky began to pale, Misaki walked the corridor to begin work on the second day. They'd progressed through the third volume the previous night. Today's plan was to organize the details of agricultural reform and map out the path for renegotiating the loan with Estrade. The sequence was already clear in her mind. She reached for the office door and stopped. Someone was already there. A man who appeared to be in his fifties. He wore official robes of black with gold trim—the colors of the Finance Ministry. His thin frame was topped with carefully combed white-streaked hair. Behind his glasses, his eyes narrowed in assessment the moment they saw Misaki. "You must be Mizuno Misaki," he said, using her name without introduction. "I'm from the Finance Ministry. I'll be direct: we've received reports that a reincarnator has been accessing classified Prime Minister's residence documents. While the advisor clause does permit library access, it does not grant authority for continuous possession and analysis of classified materials. I'm here to formally lodge an objection. I must request that you cease work from today onward," he said in a flowing tone, stripped of all emotion. Administrative language. But Misaki's ear caught something in the gaps. The phrasing of "a reincarnator." The angle of "must request that you cease." The meaning embedded wasn't merely legal objection. *Someone put him up to this.* She was certain of it because he never once mentioned Reon's name. Despite knowing the work proceeded under the prince's permission, he deliberately avoided touching on it. He discussed authority while avoiding the name of the person who held it. *Kasiesu.* The name floated to mind. The National Affairs Minister. The de facto head of the Prime Minister's residence. The small emblem sewn into the man's official robes overlapped with that ministry's insignia. Misaki reported to Reon immediately. He came out into the corridor and looked at the man's face. A small sound escaped—a tongue click. Quiet, but audible. "Troublesome. It'd be faster to silence him with force," Reon said, his voice serious. For a moment, Misaki understood that he genuinely believed he could do it. Not that