Three days had passed since escaping that abandoned mine. A dull ache still lingered in Kafka's left shoulder. The burn mark left by the Trailblazer's restraint rounds—the heat that had seared through her thermal coat and reached her skin—still throbbed despite treatment. Thanks to Silverwolf's first aid, there was no infection. But every time she moved, she remembered. That moment in the abandoned mine when she had first felt her smile twist. The hideout of the lower poverty district was located in Belobog's third underground level—inside an old abandoned warehouse at the edge of the industrial zone. The walls were blackened in places, saturated with the smell of machine oil and rust. There was only one old heat exchanger for heating, its sound continuing in a steady rhythm: *pop-pop-pop-pop*. Outside, the temperature remained below freezing. Even with the Eternal Freeze Core maintaining stability, the lower levels never received the thermal systems of the wealthy districts. A map of Belobog's underground structure lay spread across the table. Kafka traced a finger along the re-entry route to the Stellaron facility as she studied the map. The entrance from the old mine was no longer usable. The Trailblazers had secured it thoroughly. Another route was necessary—there was one passage from the sewage pipe junction that led to the west wall of the engine district. Since it wasn't recorded in maintenance logs, it shouldn't exist on the Silvermane Guard's security maps. Silverwolf sat facing a terminal. Her silver ponytail swayed faintly in the weak light of the heat exchanger. Silver in her left eye, violet in her right—those heterochromatic eyes tracked the screen quietly. The wolf pattern around her eyes remained sharp even in this dim light. Her fingers moved without waste. The speed at which she processed data was almost pleasant to watch. "[gentle]I've confirmed the sewage pipe connection point. The final maintenance log update was forty-two years ago," "[cold]That works," "The pipe diameter is seventy centimeters. You could fit through, but we'd need to minimize equipment," Kafka confirmed the route on the map. Approximately eight hundred meters to the facility. Not a long distance to crawl through a pipe. The problem was the suppression after infiltration—remembering the headaches from the backlash of Chaos Flame last time, she wanted to minimize ability usage this time. Then a short alert tone sounded from the terminal. Silverwolf's hands stopped. A blinking icon appeared at the edge of the screen indicating an incoming encrypted message. Internal Stigma Organization communication—a dedicated line used only within the organization. After checking the sender's code, Silverwolf spoke quietly. "[serious]It's from Dmitri," Kafka turned her body. Dmitri—the liaison officer who handled the Stigma Organization's entire intelligence network. Among the seven core members of the organization, Dmitri specifically oversaw information gathering and communication coordination. Since arriving on Jarilo-VI, there had been no communication from him. It was standard procedure for the organization to minimize communication frequency during infiltration missions, so that itself wasn't unusual. But now he was contacting them through an encrypted line— "Connect it," Silverwolf operated the terminal, and a voice mixed with static began to flow. "—Kafka, can you hear me? It's urgent." A low voice. Clearly more tense than Dmitri's usual tone. "There's a traitor inside the organization. The operation plan for Jarilo-VI—all of it has been handed over to the Trailblazer side. Your current location too—" The voice distorted there. *Zzzzt, zzzzzt*—electromagnetic noise cut through, consuming Dmitri's words. Silverwolf quickly manipulated the terminal, but the line wouldn't stabilize. "—Run, already—" *Click.* The connection cut off. Silence. Only the sound of the heat exchanger remained. *Pop-pop-pop-pop, pop-pop-pop-pop.* Kafka tilted her head back, looking at the ceiling. Dmitri had cut the communication mid-sentence. Had he done it of his own will—or had he been forced to? Either way, the situation pointed to the worst-case scenario. If the organization's information had leaked, the hideout's location had likely leaked too. He had started to say "your location too." If that was the case, then around this building right now— A sound came from beyond the wall. Multiple, heavy footsteps. Uniform. Fast. The movement pattern of armored personnel. Not from one direction—the front corridor, the left alley, the right back entrance. Approaching simultaneously from multiple routes. Kafka stood up. Silverwolf checked outside using the terminal's camera. Her expression shifted from its usual quiet blankness to something barely—just barely—tense. It was rare for Silverwolf to show expression. That alone told Kafka everything about the situation outside. "[serious]Elite Silvermane Guard units. They're surrounding us from all sides. ...That's not all," She turned the terminal screen toward Kafka. A figure stood in front of the building. Among the Silvermane Guard soldiers, one person wore different armor. A Trailblazer uniform. Unlike the heavy black thermal armor of the Silvermane Guard, this one was designed for mobility. Purple short hair with cyan mesh mixed in. A small metal piercing glinted on the right ear. Burning red eyes stared directly at the hideout's door. By any measure, they were in their teens. ─────────────────────── The door was kicked in from outside. *Thud*—with a dull sound, the old wooden door flew inward and crashed to the floor. Cold air rushed in all at once. Armored soldiers in thermal gear poured in without gaps. Five, seven, ten—their sheer numbers created pressure. Elite Silvermane Guard, likely the upper district's direct command. Their movements were uniform and efficient. The boy stood at their center. Up close, his build was smaller than the adult soldiers, but his stance was different. The placement of his feet, the position of his center of gravity—the stance of someone accustomed to combat. A composure ill-suited to his sixteen years of age. Red eyes fixed on Kafka. They didn't tremble. "[serious]Stellaron Hunter Kafka. You are under arrest for violation of the Stellaron Protection Treaty and illegal entry into Jarilo-VI," His voice didn't tremble either. Kafka formed a smile. Her usual, composed smile. *(Eye contact would end it—or so it should have been)* Kafka turned her gaze to the soldier beside her. Chaos Flame—a power that interferes with the target's mind through eye contact. A purplish-black light flickered faintly around Kafka's eyes. The soldier looked away. Looked away—or rather, had never made contact in the first place. All of them were the same. Eyes lowered, chins tucked, deliberately looking at an angle below Kafka's line of sight. The sight lines were adjusted to angles that wouldn't intersect. The boy at the front had his visor positioned to limit his field of vision. They had studied it. The mechanism of Chaos Flame. Kafka's smile froze slightly. *(They came prepared with countermeasures)* Her gaze couldn't connect. It was already sealed from the start. The moment she confirmed this, Kafka immediately switched her judgment. Close combat without abilities. The conditions were bad—her left shoulder still ached, the enemy was more than ten elite soldiers, escape routes were limited. But there was only one thing to do. Kafka turned to Silverwolf. Low, fast, and clear, she said: "[cold]Run toward the drainage pipe. Wait for me at the rendezvous point," Silverwolf looked at Kafka. Her eyes fell briefly to Kafka's abdomen—she knew the pain in the left shoulder still remained beneath the thermal coat. Then she looked at Kafka's face. There was a smile. Her usual smile. But— "[whispers]Sister," Silverwolf took one step forward. Kafka placed a hand on her shoulder. Not forcefully, but with unmistakable strength. "[cold]I said go," Her voice wasn't rushed. It was a voice that confirmed. Precisely because of that, it left no room for argument. Silverwolf stopped. For one second. She looked directly at Kafka's face—seeing that the smile was strained, that her eyes weren't smiling, that she was still saying "go"—she saw it all. She said nothing. She turned on her heel and ran toward the drainage pipe. Kafka watched her back disappear around the corner. For just that one moment—Kafka's smile vanished. The next instant, she was already smiling again. "Well then—" She ran straight into the center of the elite unit. ─────────────────────── Close combat was attrition. It wasn't as though Kafka had no experience fighting without her abilities. As a child in the Naburlus Starport, she had fought with nothing but fists and feet. Even after joining the Stigma Organization, she had trained for situations where her abilities couldn't be used. But her left shoulder hurt. She deflected the arm of an approaching soldier. She transferred the weight and let it flow. She blocked a knee kick while backing away. Another came from the side—blocked with her right arm, then rotated her body to guide them toward the wall. She could move. She could move, but her left movements were one beat too slow. Klint drew his sword. He came from the front. His advance was without hesitation. Kafka tried to deflect—but the timing was just slightly off. The blade cut shallowly through her abdomen beneath the thermal coat. It was hot. Sharp pain shot through her, and a red line fell onto the stone pavement. Kafka retreated until her back touched the wall. She pressed her abdomen with her hand. Shallow—not a fatal wound. But blood was flowing. It seeped through the thermal coat. The smile didn't break. Only, Kafka herself was aware that the smile was strained. Klint stepped forward. Sword raised, he closed the distance to Kafka. The soldiers behind him moved to block the escape route. A dead end in the alley—wall on the left, wall on the right, soldiers behind. Checkmate. Kafka felt the pain in her abdomen and quietly acknowledged it. There was no way to confirm whether Silverwolf had escaped. She had heard footsteps chasing after her. If she had escaped—that was all Kafka could think. Klint spoke, sword still pointed at her. "[angry]Your so-called freedom is nothing but destruction," His voice had changed slightly. Not the voice of command, but the voice of interrogation. "[angry]Do you know what happens to a star without a Stellaron? Environmental control collapses. Temperature control is lost. The seven hundred thousand people in this city can't leave the underground—no, the underground itself will freeze. Do you call that liberation?" Kafka's smile disappeared. Not intentionally. It simply vanished. Klint's words struck something—something that had always been there, something she had deliberately avoided seeing. What would happen to the star after liberation. Could one hundred twenty thousand people continue living on Jarilo-VI after the Eternal Freeze Core shattered? Had she ever considered that far? She had believed Vespa Klotz's words. Liberation of the people bound to the star. She had thought that was right. But if the star collapsed after liberation—then it wasn't liberation, it was destruction. Klint was right. And Kafka had no answer to that question. She hadn't had one for three days. The smile didn't return. Her mouth opened. She tried to say something. In that instant— *BOOM!!* An electric restraint round fired from behind. Metal probes pierced through the thermal coat and dug into her skin, and high-voltage current surged through her entire body. Kafka's vision went white. Her muscles contracted all at once, and control of her body was stolen. Her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the stone pavement. Her hands wouldn't move. Her feet wouldn't move. As consciousness faded,