A single memo lay on the desk. "One who must not be trusted dwells at the heart of the court." Misaki traced those seven characters again and again by lamplight, the flame burning steadily. Beyond the window, darkness still held the city. Felthain—the capital of the Luminous Kingdom, where the court resided—lay quiet beyond the castle walls, the old quarter's houses still sleeping. Dawn was still distant. The words Kasiesu had spoken yesterday wouldn't leave her mind. Questions about the garrison numbers at Grentzaha Fortress—one of the kingdom's primary defensive strongholds along the eastern border. Details about the eastern defense rotation. All under the pretense of administrative coordination. (That smile had a purpose from the start.) Misaki sat with Gais's Documents, Volume Three—the lifetime record of governance and national defense kept by the former Prime Minister—resting on her lap, her thoughts churning. There was no proof. Only circumstantial evidence. The most dangerous judgment a PM could make—treating an unproven hypothesis as truth. Yet simultaneously, the structure of those questions delivered in that calm voice matched perfectly with a technique she'd seen countless times in her previous life: "slipping in out-of-scope requirements." Knock. Knock. Someone rapped on the door. The moment Misaki reached to hide the memo, a voice came from outside. "An urgent report!" the guard called out, his voice trembling. --- In the corridor, a young armored guard leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He'd run here—his cheeks flushed red, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Grentzaha Fortress—" the guard began, then faltered. "It has fallen," he finished. Something cold dropped into Misaki's chest. The guard's explanation came in fragments, but the situation was clear. In the darkness before dawn, a scout near the fortress's south gate had witnessed the imperial army's deployment and ridden hard to the nearest relay station—a waypoint connecting the fortress to the capital. From there to the city was an hour and a half by fast horse. The fortress had been breached in the dead of night; the messenger had only just arrived at the castle. Despite that time gap, the news had reached the city quickly. The messenger route between Felthain and Grentzaha was maintained in triplicate for emergencies. In the war room, Reon had already spread out the deployment maps. Three lamps lit the desk where officers had gathered despite the hour before dawn. Deep chestnut hair, golden eyes. A face showing no sign of sleep. Reon was already trying to grasp everything. Misaki leaned over the map. Red marks indicated several points along the imperial army's invasion route. The moment she traced them with her eyes, the hair on her neck stood on end. (They're striking only at the weak points. Precisely.) The eastern mountain route, the southern old road, the detour through the pass. None of this information was public. Only someone intimately familiar with the Luminous Kingdom's defense plans could move like this. Breaking through the fortress's defenses would require brute force. But this movement—this was the movement of someone who'd seen the map from the inside. "Information is leaking from within," Reon said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion, a statement of fact. That was when it happened. "How convenient. I would like the principal figures to gather in the great hall," Kasiesu's calm voice echoed from beyond the door. Misaki turned slowly. Silver hair, thin silver-rimmed glasses, black official robes. Kasiesu stood in the war room's entrance, wearing his usual gentle smile. His gray eyes caught Misaki's for a moment, then drifted away. Misaki's insides turned to ice. (I've been played.) --- The great hall filled with people as dawn broke. High nobles of the kingdom, ministers, court officials. Some rubbed sleepy eyes as they gathered; others had already dressed formally. News of the fortress's fall had swept through the castle, and everyone bore anxiety and anger on their faces. Misaki stood in the center of the hall. At first, she didn't understand why. Kasiesu had guided her here with a simple "this way," and before she knew it, she was standing in this spot. Two things lay on a table. A document. And a small pouch. "This document was recovered from the imperial general's camp at the moment of the fortress's fall this morning," Kasiesu said, his voice gentle, tinged even with sorrow. That calculated sorrow terrified Misaki far more than any shout could have. "Immediately after the fortress was breached, our scouts intercepted a messenger fleeing the imperial general's temporary camp. The secret letter this messenger carried detailed the Luminous Kingdom's defensive positions with perfect correspondence to every location the imperial army struck tonight," Kasiesu continued, holding the document toward the hall. "And these gold coins—they were discovered in Mizuno Misaki's private chambers during an emergency investigation conducted immediately after receiving news of the fortress's fall this morning. The investigation was conducted under my direct command, with multiple witnesses present," Kasiesu said. The pouch's opening fell open. Gold coins tumbled out, each bearing the double-headed eagle seal. The imperial crest of Zeevaldt—the great power to the east, the enemy nation currently at war with them. The hall erupted in murmurs. Misaki looked at the document. It resembled her handwriting disturbingly well. The characteristic way she wrote the character "ka," the rightward flow of "shi." A meticulous forgery, researched carefully over time. The stack of documents Kasiesu had glanced through during yesterday's visit—her handwritten papers had been among them. That was the "material." And the gold coins—since Kasiesu had personally directed the emergency investigation, he'd controlled access to her room. He'd had countless opportunities to plant them. (It was all designed from the beginning.) "I wanted to believe in the reincarnator. Truly, I wanted to believe," Kasiesu said, lowering his eyes, his expression perfectly performing a "sorrow" he didn't feel. "The reincarnator cannot be trusted after all!" one noble shouted. "We should never have brought an outsider into the court!" another cried. Voices overlapped. Angry shouts filled the hall. Misaki opened her mouth. "That's a forgery. The handwriting is imitated—" "Where is your proof?" Kasiesu interrupted gently. There was no proof. No means to demonstrate it here. The same sensation as when she'd faced perfectly fabricated reports in her previous life—words didn't reach. The weight of evidence crushed the lightness of words. Misaki looked around the hall. She searched for Aira. Yesterday, she'd silently brought her soup. The warmth of the bowl. That back, quietly closing the door without a word. In this moment, Misaki unconsciously reached for that warmth. Aira stood at the edge of the hall. Shimmering silver-long hair. Bright water-blue eyes. Those eyes now held the color of doubt. The expression she'd honed over years as a guard wavered for the first time. Their eyes met. Aira's hand moved to the short sword at her waist. One step. Then another. Aira stood before Misaki. She drew her short sword. The blade didn't point at Misaki. Yet her body blocked the way. "It is my duty," Aira said, her voice trembling slightly. Misaki looked at Aira's face. It wavered. Between wanting to believe and not being allowed to believe. Between the guard who followed orders and the one who'd brought soup yesterday. (So this child is also breaking something in this moment.) Misaki looked next at Reon. His golden eyes looked directly at her. What lay in the depths of those eyes was difficult to put into words. As if he were biting down on the desire to believe, grinding it between his teeth—that was the face he wore. A long silence, as if his body had turned to stone. Angry shouts continued to echo through the hall. Reon's mouth slowly opened. "Take her into custody," Reon said, his voice low. A voice wrung from deep within. A guard's hand seized Misaki's arm. Misaki didn't resist. She couldn't take her eyes from Reon's face. The voice saying "don't do this alone" echoed in her ears. Something inside her chest shattered into pieces. --- The underground cell was silent. No torches. No windows. Cold air seeping up from the castle floor slowly invaded her body from the stone walls and floor. The guard's footsteps faded. A key turned in the lock beyond the iron bars. Then silence. Misaki sat on the stone floor, hugging her knees. She had no lamp. Not true darkness, but nothing was visible until her eyes adjusted. Only coldness remained. She remembered the night she'd collapsed from overwork in her previous life. She'd never told anyone. She'd convinced herself "I can still do this" and kept running three steps past her limit. That night, too, she'd been alone. Tonight, she was alone again. The reforms. The three-stage plan. The carefully accumulated layers of negotiation. The sense of accomplishment when she'd broken through the Finance Ministry's bureaucracy with a single document. The warmth in her chest when she'd seen the old merchant bow to Reon on Markt Street. The soup Aira had silently brought. All of it had lost meaning in this moment. A tear fell on the stone floor. Misaki wept silently for a while. She knew no one could hear. Still, she kept her voice silent—it was a habit. In her previous life too, she'd always wept silently. She didn't know how long she cried. Then a strange thought occurred to her. (The situation is terrible, yet somehow I'm getting hungry.) She couldn't laugh. But it was true—her stomach was signaling hunger. The human body was stubborn. It continued its digestive processes even now. In both lives, the body's reality showed no consideration for emotion. She was pulled slightly back to reality. Self-loathing washed over her again. She'd known the evidence was forged, yet she couldn't prevent it. The line should have connected from Kasiesu's first visit. She'd understood everything, yet she couldn't strike first. Kasiesu's "sorrowful" expression the moment the evidence appeared floated behind her eyelids. Aira's wavering water-blue eyes appeared. And— Reon's face appeared. The face when he'd said "take her into custody." Anguish and conflict and something that still compelled him to give that order—all of it carved into that young face. Misaki wept while slowly considering the meaning of that face. It wasn't the face of someone who didn't believe. It was the face of someone who believed but still had to give that order. She understood the meaning of that long silence now. It wasn't hesitation but the time needed to swallow everything and make a decision. (That person believes in me.) The moment she realized this interpretation, a strange heat kindled in Misaki's chest. She felt a little ashamed of herself—sitting on the stone floor, tears still on her cheeks, thinking such things. Yet she couldn't deny it. That face wouldn't leave the center of her chest. --- The silence after crying oneself out was strangely clear. A body emptied of tears felt oddly light. Her mind, with the emotional noise withdrawn, began to move quietly instead. Misaki leaned against the stone wall and steadied her breathing. In her mind's eye, the margins of Gais's Documents, Volume Three appeared. The fine handwriting of those notes. "One who must not be trusted dwells at the heart of the court. Not the wall of finance, but human betrayal is the greatest risk." The final words left by someone who'd served as Prime Minister for thirty years. (Gais would have left evidence too.) A person who left only a warning wouldn't depart. Someone who'd seen everything—finance, diplomacy, military affairs—over thirty years wouldn't leave only a warning as a final test