Delivering that letter to Theodore Morgan the way I did felt like foul play. But technically, my task was complete. Mission checked.

Still… if I’m being honest, I want the kid for my own team. The odds of him accepting the recommendation are slim, but if he does? I’ll make sure Ansel doesn’t hear a whisper of it until the very last second.

“So,” Klaus said as we cruised down Argon’s highway, “what’s his Gift about?”

The city stretched out before us, glass and steel catching the pale morning sun. Unlike Herike Village, the air here was thick with engines and motion. Traffic weaving in measured chaos. Tower blocks crowded closer as we pushed toward the city’s heart.

“Theodore Morgan?”

“Yeah. Who else?”

“Just confirming.” I chuckled, resting my elbow against the window, eyes roaming the skyline. “He says he can make things bounce. Pretty easy to imagine. Like a pinball. Or a rubber ball. But...”

I paused.

My gaze drifted outward, yet the image burned clearly behind my eyes: Theo’s fight. The moment that punch landed.

“I think it goes beyond what he even imagines.”

Klaus hummed. “What do you mean?”

“Make things bounce sounds simple until you realize it’s not limited to something rigid,” I said, drawing a slow breath. “It works on inanimate objects or even a concept too. When I got there, he was already fighting some punks. One of them threw a punch. Theo caught it. The next second, the guy’s hand burst open. Blood everywhere.”

“Huh.” Klaus didn’t look away from the road. His voice stayed flat, steady. “If it’s just bouncing, shouldn’t the punch have been deflected? Redirected?”

“That’s why I said it’s not that simple.” Excitement leaked into my voice before I could stop it. “He’s manipulating the attribute of bouncing. The question is: what exactly is being bounced?”

I tapped the window lightly.

“Take a mirror. It reflects light, but if you hit it with your fist, it shatters. Theo, though… when he blocked that punch, the punk’s hand shredded while he walked away untouched.”

I tilted my head.

“That means he didn’t bounce the motion—”

“The force,” Klaus muttered, finishing the thought. “He’s bounced back the punch force that supposed to hit him.”

I smirked. Finally, he caught up.

“Exactly.” I snapped my fingers. “Something I haven’t seen before. Something only I could seize.”

I thought I sounded normal.

Apparently not.

Klaus frowned slightly, eyes still fixed on the road.

Have I done wrong?

…Nah. I’m not wrong.

“Still,” he said after a moment, a low rumble in his throat, “I’m curious. What’s with the ‘A’ in his name? Why would Roxley put an initial in a formal recommendation?”

“That’s what I want to know,” I replied. “Not even Mika explained it.”

Theodore Morgan A.

The recommendation letter came from Mika herself—the president of the Security Division. If she issued it, then she was the one who wrote his name that way.

Normally, I can catch lies. A twitch of the lip. A shift in breathing. A pause that lasts half a second too long. However, when I asked Mika, her expression didn’t change, not even a blink.

She’s the only one I can’t read.

“You think she’s hiding something?” Klaus asked, his tone too sharp to be idle curiosity.

“Even if she is, leave it,” I said. “I don’t want to cross paths with her more than necessary.”

“Heh. Fair.”

Silence settled between us.

The road smoothed out, trees rising on either side as the city’s noise faded behind us. Ten minutes later, Klaus flicked on the turn signal and steered left.

A tall building loomed ahead, trying very hard to look important.

Horizon Hotel, the sign declared in bright neon. Three-star class. Glass panels polished to a shine, a fountain out front trickling water just a bit too loudly, fake gold trim framing the entrance. The kind of place that wanted guests to feel important without spending real money to make them important.

“Here we are,” Klaus murmured as he guided the car into the basement lot.

“Everyone already here?” I asked.

“An hour ago. You’re the last.”

“As always.” I chuckled.

“You proud of that?” he shot back, deadpan.

I swung the door open and stepped out first. The stiff, concrete air hit me, and I stretched after two hours locked in that seat.

Klaus shut off the engine, then placed his palm flat against the hood.

Lines of pale light flared across the metal, forming a glowing grid. The surface warped, buckled, folding inward like paper under invisible hands. In seconds, the entire vehicle compressed into a thin white card resting between his fingers.

He slid it into a leather pocket already stuffed with dozens more.

⟨Parcel Shift⟩—his Gift.

A neat trick. Turning anything into something you could slip into your wallet, as long as he knew its surface area down to the decimal.

Even after seeing it a hundred times, I still thought it was epic.

“Stop gawking and move.” Klaus slapped my shoulder, irritation crackling in his voice.

“Is that how you treat your captain?” I grinned.

“Is that how you treat your senior?”

The fact is, he's a year older.

“Fair point.” I sighed and strode toward the lift. “Come on. I told Erna we’d be up soon.”

I jabbed the call button. Somewhere inside the shaft, gears whirred to life, the sound echoing through the empty basement like a machine shaking itself awake.

Klaus leaned back against the wall, arms folded. “I wonder if Erna’s irritated that you showed up late again.”

“I explained my situation. She’ll live.” The words came easily, but I still caught the sharp click of his tongue behind me. Typical Klaus. “I also asked her to dig into Theodore Morgan. Specifically the ‘A’ in his name. It’s been bugging me.”

The lift arrived with a bright ping, steel doors sliding open with a hiss. We stepped inside. Klaus pressed the button for the fourth floor, and the cage lurched upward.

“I know someone else who hides an ‘A’ in their name,” Klaus said, almost casually. “You know who I mean.”

“Yeah.” My voice dropped. “And if that’s connected… it’d be a scandal big enough to blow the roof off Roxley.”

Another ping. The doors opened.

Empty, just as expected.

The silence pressed in—no footsteps, no whispers, no presence leaking from any of the rooms except 414, where we’d scheduled the meeting.

Funny thing. Back in the day, people feared the number four. Death, curses, myth-drenched paranoia. But the Third World War burned away most superstitions. Floors labeled [4] made a comeback, though some folks still treat the number like it’s radioactive.

A little cultish, honestly.

“Should I knock?” I asked, glancing at Klaus.

“You think Erna doesn’t already know you’re here?” he said flatly. “She probably monitors you 24/7.”

“Gross.”

“Tell her.”

Klaus slid his key card, then casually stepped aside, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

“I think it’s better if the leader opens the door.”

I knew exactly what he meant—especially after that little jab. Deadpan, we switched places.

“…Sigh.”

I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Two chopsticks shot toward us at lightning speed, not even giving me time to blink. Before they could land, the bamboo snapped midair, scorched to ash in the span of a heartbeat.

Exactly why Klaus wanted me to open the door.

“Ah! You’re right! He really can turn chopsticks to dust in an instant!” Rosa shouted, eyes sparkling.

“See? Told you!” Flo crowed like he’d just won a bet.

“You guys aren’t even pretending this was an accident,” Mine muttered.

Bless her. The only sane one.

“Whatever, it was Erna’s idea anyway!” Rosa jabbed a finger at Erna, who was slouched on the couch with phone in one hand, potato chips in the other.

Sometimes I wonder how I put up with them. Then I remember, it was I who recruited them. And they were crazy enough to say yes.

“Can you cut it out, Erna?” I said, glancing her way.

She didn’t even look up. “I don’t recall leaving fingerprints on any chopsticks. No evidence means no blame.”

“Yeah, sure. Witnesses, then.” I looked around. “Raise your hand if you’re blaming Erna.”

Every hand shot up.

As expected.

“Tch.” She clicked her tongue and buried herself deeper into her phone. “Besides, you’re the one who called me gross. And I don’t spy on anyone 24/7!”

Klaus smirked as he shut the door. “Then how’d you know I said that?”

Erna didn’t reply.

Selective hearing, her favorite defense.

Erna Carmen Raferty and Klaus Nala Raferty are siblings. Their antics make a lot more sense when you know that. Of course Erna would convince Rosa to fire chopsticks at supersonic speeds just to mess with us.

“Alright, enough, you idiot siblings.” I clapped my hands, pulling everyone’s attention back. “We’ve got work. Klaus, bring the chairs.”

Klaus flipped open his card wallet, drew out a white card, and crumpled it. Light shimmered, and three chairs unfolded into reality.

At least he knows when to stop joking.

I sat first. Klaus took my right. Etsune—who I only now realized had been silently present the entire time—sat to my left.

Typical of him.

The others scattered however they pleased. I never demanded formality in these meetings. I just expected everyone to know when to laugh—and when to focus.

I leaned back slightly.

“Then, let’s begin.”