Akira Valmont strolled into the principal’s office, her presence commanding yet disarmingly warm. The room was modest compared to her usual surroundings, but she made herself at home, sitting elegantly across from the principal.

“Miss Valmont,” Principal Tanaka began, a mixture of gratitude and awe in his tone. “I can’t thank you enough for your generous support. Offering to cover the school’s damages and medical expenses for the injured staff and students is more than we could have hoped for.”

Akira offered a soft smile, her golden hair shimmering as she tilted her head slightly. “Please, Principal Tanaka, there’s no need for formalities. I’m simply doing what I can to help the community.”

The principal nodded, clearly moved. “You’re a blessing, truly. If there’s ever anything I can do to repay your kindness…”

Her smile widened, but her eyes remained sharp, focused. “Actually, there is something you might help me with.”

“Of course,” Tanaka said quickly. “Anything.”

Akira offered a gentle smile, her tone as smooth as silk. "I actually run a foundation for gifted youth— those who show unusual promise or are simply in need of proper guidance. If this student is in any kind of trouble, l'd like to offer him that chance." She let her words linger just long enough to sound charitable, but not too long to sound rehearsed. "All I need is a bit of information about the incident to begin with."

The principal hesitated, shifting in his seat. “I understand, Miss Akira, and believe me, I want to help—but the truth is, we still don’t know exactly who is behind the accident or what happened. The explosion caught everyone off guard, and the cause is… unclear, at best.”

Akira’s eyes narrowed subtly, her tone still silk but now with a trace of firm pressure. “Unclear?”

He nodded slowly. “The teachers and students from the classrooms closest to the blast were either rendered unconscious or—” he swallowed, “—reported missing. No one saw anything clearly. It was chaos.”

A pause.

“I see,” Akira murmured. Then, with a charming tilt of her head and a glint of quiet demand in her gaze, she added, “In that case, I’d like access to the student records—specifically, those who were nearest to the explosion. I trust that won’t be an issue.”

The principal frowned slightly, shifting in his chair. “Miss Valmont, I appreciate your intentions, but we have a strict policy regarding student privacy.”

“Naturally,” Akira replied smoothly, placing a hand over her heart. “And I wouldn’t dream of asking you to violate any rules. I’m only hoping for enough to reach out and offer support. A name, perhaps? Or a contact detail?”

Tanaka hesitated, glancing at his desk. “I… I understand your concern, but—”

“Please,” Akira interjected gently, her tone laced with genuine compassion. “Principal Tanaka, think of how much good we could do together. A single gesture of trust from you could change this young person’s life. And you know I’m someone who keeps her word.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose there’s no harm in giving you a general idea.”

He swiveled his chair to face the computer, typing in his credentials. The screen flickered to life, and he began scrolling through the student database. Names and faces passed by in a blur as Akira leaned in slightly, her expression unreadable.

“Before we get into specifics,” she said, casually brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “would you mind showing me the list of students still unaccounted for after the incident? Missing students, in particular.”

Tanaka paused mid-scroll, blinking at the request. “Ah… yes. We’ve only had two students reported missing so far.”

He clicked through a few files and brought up two profiles.

“They were both in the classroom closest to the explosion site. We’ve searched the area, but there’s been no sign of them. No injuries, no bodies… nothing. It’s like they vanished.”

Akira’s eyes flicked between the two profiles. “I’d like to take a closer look at their personal files—background, academic records, anything you have. If there’s any way I can assist in locating them or helping their families… my foundation is more than equipped.”

Tanaka hesitated again, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Akira gave him a gentle, reassuring smile. “You’d be helping me give them a real chance. And if there’s even a possibility they’re out there, lost or hurt, don’t you think it’s worth a closer look?”

The principal sighed and nodded. “I suppose there’s no harm in that. Let me pull them up for you.”

He opened the admin panel and began collecting the files.

“I’ll send them to you right away,” he said.

Akira slid a sleek business card across his desk, her smile gracious. “Use this one. It’s secure.”

Tanaka nodded, typing in the details. “You’ll have everything within a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Principal Tanaka,” she said, her voice warm but measured. “Your cooperation won’t be forgotten.”

As the office door clicked shut behind her, Akira’s smile evaporated like smoke. Her heels echoed through the hallway.

Kaito stood waiting near the exit, his arms crossed, face unreadable.

“Did he give you trouble?” he asked without looking at her.

“He sang like a bird,” Akira replied coolly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Filthy little pig. Groveling for attention while hiding behind bureaucracy.”

Kaito’s eyes narrowed. “You could’ve just taken the boy.”

Akira stepped past him, down the stone steps outside.“If I’d taken him too early, he wouldn’t break the way I need him to.”Besides…” She glanced upward toward the faint echo of student chatter beyond the hall. “He’s already cracked. I just gave him the right pressure.”

She glided toward the waiting limousine. The black vehicle gleamed under the overcast sky, its tinted windows hiding its secrets. Kaito moved ahead silently and opened the door for her. She slid in first, seating herself comfortably on the leather interior as he took the seat across from her.

The door shut, and the limo began to roll away.

Akira crossed her legs with elegance, then raised her palm. A golden orb appeared above it—flickering, unstable—wrapped in dark veins of shadow energy, humming with raw, unformed power.

“It was never about taking him,” she said, gazing into the orb. “It’s about pushing him—to see how much of that power he’ll use when the pressure mounts.”

Kaito watched the swirling energy in silence.

Then, quietly: “And what about the entity?”

Akira’s expression tightened, just for a second.

“Seraphine,” she said slowly, as though tasting the name. “She’s moving faster than expected. If the boy awakens before I can shape him…”

She let the thought hang in the air.

“But don’t worry.” Her lips curved into a dark smile. “I’ve already begun to prepare.”

Kaito's gaze flicked to the orb, then back to her. "You're provoking something you can't control."

Akira smiled slowly, the orb still pulsing in her hand. “Control is such a fragile illusion, Kaito. I prefer influence.” She leaned back, letting the golden light dance across her face. “Besides, what’s the point of power if you never risk using it to reshape the game?”

She met his stare directly, eyes gleaming like sharpened glass. “Let Seraphine watch. Let the boy break. In the end, they’ll both move exactly the way I want them.”