It was already midnight when Soren got home—the kind of late where even the walls seemed quieter, like the entire place knew better than to make a sound when he walked in.

"Is she asleep?" he asked immediately, not even bothering to slow his pace as he walked in.

Mikael, who had clearly been expecting him, inclined his head. "Yes, Master."

Soren gave a small nod, already moving towards the upper floor. "What about the target?"

Mikael fell into step behind him. "About that, he’s at—"

Soren had already reached Blanca’s door and stopped.

The door didn’t open.

It didn’t creak, didn’t glitch, didn’t even pretend to consider it. It just stayed shut—firm, unbothered, and deeply committed to ruining Soren’s already dwindling patience.

Which was a problem.

Because in this house, everything was automatic. Lights adjusted themselves, curtains knew when to feel dramatic, and doors? Doors opened the second someone with proper authorization so much as breathed in their direction. The entire system revolved around one thing: permission granted by the main control panel.

And Soren always had permission.

So the fact that the door wasn’t opening wasn’t just unusual—it was offensive.

Even Mikael, who practically functioned as an extension of the system itself, had no access.

Now that was suspicious.

Slowly—very slowly—Soren turned his head toward Mikael, the kind of movement that suggested someone had made a terrible life decision.

He reached for the handle but the door remained firmly, stubbornly closed.

Soren slowly turned his head toward Mikael. "...Did Blanca activated the defense control system?"

Mikael didn’t even hesitate. "No, Master. The lady doesn’t even know what a defense control system is. Or a control panel. Or, frankly, any button that looks even slightly important."

Which, while reassuring, raised an even bigger problem.

Soren looked back at the door, still closed.

"Then," he said slowly, each word sharpened by growing irritation, "why is my own house locking me out?"

"About that," Mikael began, clearly enjoying himself far more than someone in his position should, "the lady’s manny—"

"Manny?" Soren echoed, raising a brow, as if that single word had personally offended him.

"Male nanny," Mikael clarified helpfully, then cleared his throat like a scholar presenting a thesis. "As I was saying, the target is also inside. With the lady."

Silence.

"And. You. Just. Let. It. Be?" Soren said, each word dropping like it could bruise on impact.

Mikael smiled.

"He is the lady’s manny, Master. Why would I give orders to either of them when he works exclusively for her?" he said, with the subtle satisfaction of someone poking a dragon with a stick and finding it incredibly entertaining.

Soren stared at the door for a moment longer, as if considering whether glaring at it hard enough would make it open out of fear.

It did not.

"Get me the control panel. Now."

"As you wish, Master," Mikael said, already turning to leave, clearly in no rush whatsoever—which, given what came next, was a bold lifestyle choice.

"Oh, and Mikael."

He paused and glanced back. "Yes, Master?"

"Hurry," Soren said calmly, which was somehow worse than shouting, "or I’ll start deducting your salary for every minute you’re not back after five."

Mikael inclined his head politely, as if he hadn’t just been threatened financially into sprinting. "Understood."

And then he walked off—still at a perfectly reasonable pace—because if there was one thing Mikael excelled at, it was testing the exact limits of Soren’s patience without technically crossing the line.

Behind him, Soren remained standing in front of the door that refused to open, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him.

Exactly five minutes later—because Mikael, despite his attitude, valued his salary—he returned holding the control panel tablet like it was a peace offering to a very dangerous beast.

Without so much as a glance, Soren snatched it out of his hands and immediately began overriding the system, his fingers moving with the kind of precision that suggested he’d very much like to override a person next.

Click.

A second later, the defense system deactivated as the door finally slid open.

Soren was instantly greeted by the very comforting sight of a Nova Shard Tempest aimed directly at his face.

"..."

"..."

Gawain sat casually on a chair facing the door like he had been expecting them all along, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed—like a man who definitely wasn’t aiming a highly dangerous weapon at the owner of this estate.

He smiled—far too pleased with himself—and lifted a finger to his lips in a quiet "shhh," then tilted his head toward the bed.

Blanca was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that her room had just turned into a standoff between two men and one very patient gun.

Soren’s eye twitched.

Not visibly.

But spiritually? Violently.

"Can we talk outside?" he asked, his voice low and controlled in the way that screamed this is your last chance to make a good decision.

"Not gonna happen," Gawain replied lightly, spinning the gun in his hand like this was all part of his nightly routine. "You see... me and My Lady? We have a special bond. We protect each other, vice versa. So who knows what you’re gonna do to me when I’m not within her vicinity?"

Soren stared at him.

There was a very vivid, very specific image forming in his head—one that involved barging in, grabbing Gawain by the collar, dragging him outside, and burying him fifty feet underground.

Alive.

Preferably upside down.

But he stopped himself.

Because as satisfying as that sounded, Blanca would absolutely notice. And worse, she would absolutely be furious. And even worse than that, she might try to leave the estate.

And that? Unacceptable.

So Soren inhaled slowly, burying both the thought and Gawain—mentally, for now.

"I’m not that stupid," he said flatly. "If you want, we can talk here. Right now."

"Fine by me." Gawain shrugged, completely at ease, like he wasn’t one sarcastic remark away from being launched into the afterlife. "Just keep your voice down. My Lady hasn’t been sleeping properly these days."

That caught Soren off guard.

His frown came immediately. "What do you mean ’these days’?"

"Exactly what I said," Gawain replied simply, which was the conversational equivalent of throwing a rock and walking away.

Soren’s gaze sharpened as he slowly turned his head towards Mikael—the unfortunate recipient of what could only be described as incoming doom.

"How," Soren asked, each word precise and dangerous, "did he manage to enter the estate when you were supposed to be guarding it?"

Mikael straightened instantly, but before he could defend himself—

Gawain’s grin widened instantly, like he had just been handed a golden opportunity and intended to abuse it thoroughly.

"Oh? Didn’t you know?" he chimed in, tone delightfully unhelpful. "Mika was the one who gave me permission to enter freely."

Silence.

"Mika, huh?" Soren repeated, his tone dropping into something far more dangerous. "It seems you two already know each other."

Mikael’s composure shattered instantly.

"—He’s lying!" he blurted out, immediately stepping forward like a man defending not just his honor, but his continued employment. Only Miss Blanca calls me that—I swear I did not—I haven’t even—Master, he—"

Gawain finally broke, letting out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the chaos he had manufactured in under ten seconds. "Relax. I was kidding," he said lazily. "Didn’t think you’d take it that seriously. Besides, I heard from the lady herself that she calls you Mika... and that she’s been staying up late carving energy stones."

Not the entire truth—but enough.

Mikael did not relax. In fact, he chose violence.

Without warning, a dagger flew across the room with impressive speed and deadly intent.

Gawain didn’t even flinch. With one smooth motion, he parried it mid-air using his karambit, the metal clinking softly before the dagger dropped harmlessly to the floor.

Just like that, the playful air shifted.

Gawain’s expression sharpened instantly, his posture straightening as his grip on the weapon steadied.

The room, quiet just moments ago for Blanca’s sake, now felt like it was balancing on the edge of something much worse.

His gaze locked onto Soren.

"So," he said, voice quieter now, but far more serious, "what exactly are we gonna talk about?"

"Blanca," Soren answered simply.

There was no hesitation. No elaboration. Just her name—heavy enough on its own.

And just like that, Gawain relaxed.

Not completely—his grip on the Nova Shard Tempest was still steady—but the tension in his shoulders eased, like he had been expecting something far worse. He leaned back slightly in his chair, exhaling as if the conversation had suddenly become boring.

"I’m sure you already know," he said, almost lazily. "You’ve got the Mad Dogs Squad running around digging into everything. But..." He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I’m guessing you want to hear it from me. So I’ll flatter you."

Soren didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Gawain took that as his cue.

"Yes," he continued, tone casual in a way that made the words far more unsettling than they should’ve been. "All the reports are true. I infiltrated the Tajiri estate, set it on fire..." He paused, as if recalling a fond memory. "And then made sure it exploded into pieces."

Mikael went very still.

Soren didn’t move at all.

"Why?" Gawain added, shrugging lightly. "Let’s just call it revenge. For how they treated the lady all those years."

The room fell quiet.

Blanca shifted slightly in her sleep, completely detached from the confession casually unfolding a few feet away from her.

Soren’s gaze hardened just a fraction. "The records... were you also the one behind that?"

Gawain nodded without even pretending to think about it. "Uh-huh. Wiped everything. Every trace. Made sure the Duke believes his other daughter is already dead."

He stretched his arms slightly, like he’d just finished recounting a mildly tiring chore. "I want the lady to live a peaceful, happy life."

Then—because apparently arson and identity erasure weren’t enough for one night—he yawned.

"Is that enough to satisfy your questions?"

Mikael, who had been unusually quiet—likely because he was still recovering from being emotionally attacked and nearly framed for treason five minutes ago—finally spoke.

"One more question... Which came first? Erasing the records or burning down the Tajiri estate?"

Gawain’s eyes flicked toward him.

For a moment, something in his expression shifted then, just as quickly, it was gone.

"The second one," he said then ruined the entire gravity of it by yawning like he’d just finished discussing tomorrow’s weather instead of arson and identity erasure. "That’s all for today."

Silence settled around them, well, more like the calm before someone inevitably made a terrible decision.

Gawain tilted his head toward the door, already mentally clocking out. "Can you leave already and close the door?" he added, voice drifting back into that infuriatingly casual tone. "I want to sleep too."

Soren didn’t move.

"Then you can sleep in one of our guest rooms," he said instead, tone controlled, like he was holding back something far less polite.

Gawain caught it immediately.

’Ohhh...’ his thoughts stretched lazily, amusement flickering across his eyes as he glanced sideways at Blanca, who was peacefully snoring through what was shaping up to be a life-threatening argument. ’So he’s interested in the lady.’

His grin deepened.

’Too bad,’ he added inwardly, almost cheerfully. ’The lady doesn’t seem interested in him at all.’ His gaze lingered on her for a second longer, fond and exasperated all at once. ’This rude, foul-mouthed lady is only interested in making money.’

Gawain looked back at Soren as his smile came back instantly—bright, annoying, and absolutely punchable.

"Why would I?" he said, gesturing lazily toward the bed behind him, like he hadn’t just mentally dismantled Soren’s dignity in three seconds flat. "When the bed is just right here?"

Soren stepped forward.

It was a small movement—barely a shift of weight, a single step that should’ve meant nothing.

But for Gawain, it meant everything.

The moment Soren crossed that invisible line, the Nova Shard Tempest roared to life. The trigger clicked, and a violent burst of energy tore through the air with a deafening crack—fast, precise, and very much aimed to make a point.

But Soren had already reacted.

In a split second, his humanoid mech activated, forming over him like a second skin. He raised his left arm, the reinforced plating taking the hit head-on.

The impact thundered through the room but the force didn’t stop there.

The blast tore past Mikael—who, through either skill or sheer refusal to die on duty, managed to avoid becoming a cautionary tale—and blasted straight into the hallway behind them.

The wall didn’t stand a chance.

It exploded outward, leaving behind a massive, smoking hole that looked less like damage and more like a statement.

Dust and debris rained down like snow, as the echo of destruction traveled through the estate like an announcement.

Naturally, the servants noticed.

Because it’s hard not to notice when your workplace suddenly gains a new window.

They froze—mid-step, mid-task, mid-existence—and cautiously peeked through the hole, eyes wide as they took in the scene like unwilling audience members.

First: their master, standing there like destruction was just part of his nightly routine.

Second: Mikael, still alive, which honestly deserved recognition.

And third—

Inside the room was Gawain, holding a gun, while smiling.

There was a brief moment of collective silence.

Then, without a word, the servants looked away.

And just as slowly, just as carefully, they turned around and walked off—because whatever was happening in that side was clearly above their pay grade, their curiosity level, and their desire to remain alive.

Not their problem.

Not today.

Not ever.

Meanwhile, on the bed, completely disconnected from the chaos of near-death and property damage—

Blanca stirred.

Just enough to shift slightly against the pillows, her voice soft and drowsy as she murmured, "Gawang..."

Gawain’s entire expression lit up like he had just been personally chosen by fate itself.

His grin stretched wider, brighter, unbearably smug—as if the universe had just confirmed he was, in fact, the favorite.

In one smooth, almost cheerful motion, he skipped over to her side, positioning himself beside the bed like a loyal guard dog who also happened to be holding a weapon capable of structural damage.

The Nova Shard Tempest was still aimed lazily but deliberately at Soren and Mikael.

"See?" he said softly, though there was nothing gentle about the warning underneath. "She called my name. Not Agatha. Not Mika. Not—"

"Shoren..." Blanca mumbled again.

"Shoren— wait, what?" Gawain blinked, his smile faltering for the first time as he slowly turned his head toward Blanca but she was still asleep.

Soren however, smiled. "I’ll see her tomorrow morning then," he said calmly, already turning away like he’d just secured an invisible victory.

Gawain didn’t even get the chance to respond before the door shut.

Soren glanced at Mikael, his expression returning to its usual cold efficiency as if nothing had happened. "Fix this mess before Blanca wakes up," he said, gesturing toward the massive, smoking hole in the wall like it was a minor inconvenience.

Mikael followed his gaze.

The hole.

The debris.

The very obvious evidence of attempted murder.

"...Of course, Master," he replied, because what else was there to say at this point?

Soren continued walking.

"Oh, and after that," he added, almost as an afterthought, "wake Agatha."

Mikael stiffened slightly.

"And tell her to run one hundred laps around the manor."

A pause.

"As punishment for not bringing reporting to me that Blanca finally met with her manny."

Mikael closed his eyes briefly.

Somewhere in the estate, Agatha—blissfully unaware—was about to have the worst morning of her life.

"...Understood, Master."