Three days had passed since the court council's approval. The sensation of fists meeting Leon's in that hallway still lingered on the back of her right hand. Or rather, the memory had seeped into her skin—Mizuno Misaki couldn't quite find the words to express it. Morning light streamed through the windows of the Tsaarhaus executive office. Facing west toward the castle's wing, the room overlooked the old city of Felthain. For these three days, Misaki had been stationed before that window, confronting parchment after parchment. The work of translating the approved commercial district reorganization plan into an executable phase. Site selection for intermediate distribution hubs, draft transport contracts with the agricultural villages, budget allocation—the tasks piled endlessly. If anything, the workload had only increased after approval. *(Just like after launch in my previous life.)* Misaki thought this to herself as her quill raced across the page. Projects were truly tested once they went live. If you believed the battle ended at approval, you'd always find your footing cut out from under you later. A knock came at the door during a brief pause in her work. "Pardon the intrusion." Misaki tried to identify the visitor by voice alone before looking up. A calm voice, well-projected. Emotion cleanly stripped away—a voice honed in court. The man who entered was thin-framed, in his late fifties. Silver hair tied back at the nape of his neck, thin silver-rimmed spectacles. His official robes were black with fine gold thread embroidery—the colors of the Ministry of State. A placid smile was fixed to his face. His eyes, however—a quiet gray that barely smiled at all. Kasiesu. Minister of State. The man who had effectively controlled court affairs since Prime Minister Gaius's death. "Lady Mizuno Misaki. My apologies for this sudden intrusion during your busy hours," Kasiesu said. Misaki set down her quill and rose. "Not at all," she replied. "Minister Kasiesu, what brings you here today?" she asked. "Oh, nothing of great importance," Kasiesu said as he entered the room. His footsteps were silent—his shoes barely echoed against the stone floor. "The court council documents from the other day were quite impressive. To translate the materials left by Lord Gaius into such practical implementation... I suspect this may be the first time the advisor clause of the Reincarnation Registration Edict has been utilized to such effect," Kasiesu continued. It was praise. Smooth, seamless praise without a single rough edge. *(Is this something I should be grateful for? It's hard to judge.)* In her previous life too, the most troublesome stakeholders were often those who opened with "What a wonderful proposal." Praise and pressure sometimes wore the same face. "Thank you. It was only possible because of the superior structure of Prime Minister Gaius's documents," Misaki replied carefully. She accepted the compliment but claimed no credit for herself. It was true, besides—and keeping information sparse was the wiser move. Kasiesu walked toward the window and gazed out at Felthain's old city. "By the way," he said, his tone unchanged as he shifted topics. "As a matter of administrative coordination, I had a question I hoped you might answer. Grentzaha Fortress—a military strongpoint near the kingdom's eastern border, serving as a buffer against the empire—what are its current garrison numbers and the detailed schedule for eastern defense operations? I thought defense considerations might be necessary for selecting commercial site locations," Kasiesu asked. Misaki's hand stilled slightly. *(This question... exceeds its scope.)* The commercial district reorganization and specific military deployment figures had no direct connection. They shouldn't have. Yet he'd bridged that gap with the phrase "administrative coordination." Her experience as a PM in her previous life read the structure of this question instantly. The technique of extracting unnecessary information under the guise of necessity. Slipping out-of-scope requirements into the conversation—that familiar feeling. Kasiesu's gray eyes looked directly at Misaki. His placid smile hadn't wavered. "Regarding specific military deployment figures, I believe it would be most appropriate to confirm such matters through His Highness," Misaki answered, keeping her tone steady. "My purview is limited to advice on finances and administrative planning. Military information is not within my position to discuss," she continued. "Ah, yes. You're quite right," Kasiesu said, withdrawing without hesitation. His expression didn't change. He moved to the next topic as if he'd never asked the question at all—with such natural ease. "My apologies. By the way, as you advance such reforms, how far have you progressed in deciphering the Gaius documents?" Kasiesu asked. It was a casual remark. His volume and tone unchanged. Just a shift in topic, nothing more—that was how natural it seemed. Yet something in Misaki's chest reacted sharply. The progress on deciphering the Gaius documents. Why would the Minister of State ask about that? "We're still in the middle of it," Misaki answered briefly. She offered nothing more. Kasiesu nodded as if satisfied and said, "That must be quite taxing," before leaving the room. His footsteps were nearly silent, just as they had been when he entered. After the door closed, Misaki stared at it for a long time. *(Designating stakeholders as enemies based on assumptions is a PM's worst move.)* She cautioned herself. There was no proof. She couldn't determine at this stage whether his question's intent was malicious or genuinely administrative. Suspecting people without evidence was one of the most dangerous judgment errors in organizational management. And yet. As she picked up her quill again, Misaki couldn't shake the lingering unease. --- The work continued into the afternoon. When the light from the window began to slant, Misaki realized she hadn't eaten lunch. She noticed but postponed it. The decimal places in the agricultural transport cost estimates didn't align. She'd made a calculation error somewhere. She wouldn't stop until she found it. The door burst open. There was no knock. Misaki looked up to see a girl with long silver hair braided back, bright water-blue eyes, and a short sword for protection at her waist. Aira. Leon's guard, sixteen years old. "Pardon me," Aira said, already stepping into the room. The form of courtesy was maintained, but she was already inside. "It's fine. What is it?" Misaki asked. "Everyone who approaches His Highness must be confirmed once. You too," Aira said matter-of-factly. It was straightforward. No hidden agenda. She genuinely thought this, so she said it plainly. "I don't mind. Ask whatever you like," Misaki replied. Aira looked slightly taken aback. Perhaps she'd expected more wariness or objection. "...Is it really okay to say that so easily?" Aira asked. "I have nothing to hide, and it's easier for both of us if you confirm what you need to," Misaki said. Aira studied her for a while—the parchment piled on the desk, fingers stained with ink, no sign of a meal in the office. "You haven't eaten lunch yet, have you," Aira said. "I was thinking I'd do it later," Misaki replied. "If the person I'm protecting collapses, there's no point in protecting them," Aira said bluntly, then left the room. She returned about five minutes later, carrying black bread and a bowl of soup in both hands. Misaki laughed without thinking. "Why are you laughing?" Aira asked, her face slightly pouty. "Because I wanted to say thank you," Misaki said. "...Here," Aira said, setting the bread and bowl on the edge of the desk. Somewhat roughly. But the soup didn't spill. Misaki tore off pieces of bread while watching Aira, who remained standing across from her. She showed no intention of sitting. Standing was more natural for a guard. "Can I ask you something?" Misaki asked. "What?" Aira replied. "Have you ever felt afraid, being near His Highness?" Misaki asked. Aira thought for a moment. "His Highness isn't scary. What's scary is whether I can protect him," Aira said. It was an answer without hesitation. Misaki took a sip of soup. It was thin but warm—the same kind of warmth as the co-op cup soup she'd drunk on exhausted nights in her previous life. *(This girl is straightforward.)* There was no calculation in her. In Misaki's previous workplace, people with this kind of straightforwardness were usually used up and consumed before they could protect themselves. But Aira's straightforwardness seemed to be something she defended before it could wear her down. Like the short sword at her waist. Near evening, the door was knocked on quietly. Leon entered. He wore a slightly formal overcoat instead of his usual training clothes. His golden eyes scanned the room, confirmed Aira's presence, and stopped on the documents in Misaki's hands. "Is there something troubling you?" Reon Ruminasu asked. It was neither a command nor a question—it could be taken either way. But Misaki could sense the air beneath his words: *I want you to tell me.* *(This person doesn't speak directly.)* In her previous life, Misaki had seen supervisors ask subordinates "Are you okay?" only to have them answer "I'm fine" repeatedly. Leon's way of asking was different. He wasn't demanding an answer so much as creating space for one. "This morning, Minister Kasiesu visited," Misaki said, stating only the facts. She watched Leon's face before continuing with details. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes tightened. "What did he come to ask," Reon Ruminasu said. "Congratulations on the commercial plan, and the garrison numbers at Grentzaha Fortress, the details of the eastern defense shift. Under the pretext of administrative coordination," Misaki replied. Leon was silent. "I declined. I said military information should be confirmed through Your Highness," Misaki continued. "A correct judgment," Reon Ruminasu said curtly. Just that. But the brevity came across not as a question but as approval. Misaki added one more thing. "As he left, he asked about the progress on deciphering the Gaius documents," she said. "...I see," Reon Ruminasu said. He turned his gaze toward the window. There was a pause. "Do you remember Gaius's warning? The marginal note in the third volume," Reon Ruminasu asked. Misaki nodded. It was a section she hadn't fully deciphered yet. "If the warning was left by someone of that caliber, it's not to be taken lightly. Check it again tomorrow. Don't do it alone," Reon Ruminasu said. It was a command. But it was a completely different kind of command from Kasiesu's smooth orders. Something moved quietly in Misaki's chest. *Don't do it alone.* In her previous life, no one had ever said that to her. She'd always carried everything herself, finished everything herself, never told anyone until she was on the verge of collapse. Whether there was no place to tell or she didn't know how to say it, she couldn't remember now. "...Yes," Misaki answered briefly. No other words came. None were needed. Reon Ruminasu nodded, glanced at Aira, and left the room. Aira followed. After the door closed, the office fell silent. --- Night had fallen. When the lamp oil was running low, Misaki had the third volume of the Gaius documents spread before her. The agriculture reform chapter, its marginal note. When she'd seen this before, the cipher had been harder to crack than other sections, so she'd skipped it. Gaius's cipher system wasn't simple character substitution. The decryption rules changed depending on context. In terms of her previous life's programming, it was less like a variable and more like a function. Different input produced different output. When Misaki first saw this, she'd thought, *This old man really has a terrible personality