Itsuki's eyes stayed fixed on the tightly tied wad of notes and the stack of documents beside his bed.
Victor stood before him with his hands tucked casually into his pockets, a wide, almost comforting smile stretched across his face.
Telling me they don't want the incident going public… It's basically a threat. They think I saw something. But without proof, so they're giving me the "polite" option. I take their money, keep their secret, and everyone wins. If I didn't see anything, then even better.
He's eyes lingered on everything arranged orderly on the table for a bit more.
As much as I'd love to play the courageous hero and refuse… the only thing that does is paint a perfect target between my shoulders.
Itsuki released a slow breath and picked up the first document with the pen beside it. The text swam before his eyes in strange shapes and strokes until the symbols shifted, corrected themselves, and became readable.
Right… the Language Fragment.
The content was exactly what he expected.
An NDA.
Just dressed up in prettier, heavier, more suffocating words.
At the very least he wasn't lying. It really is just a gag order…
"You read?" Victor asked.
Itsuki glanced up. That same polished smile greeted him—warm on the surface, sharp underneath.
"Yes."
Victor nodded and waited as Itsuki continued scanning the pages.
"Your surname—Clairmont," Victor said casually. "Are you part of any noble houses by chance?"
Noble houses?
Seriously? Is this man trying to size up my worth or my threat level?
"No," Itsuki replied, forcing his voice to remain steady. He swallowed down the irritation rising in his chest—the frustration of finally realizing the whole truth of what this was.
He signed the last page of the documents with a small flourish and handed the stack back. Victor flipped through them once, humming with approval.
"Excellent. We appreciate your cooperation, Adrien. And rest assured—we'll make every effort to ensure something like this never happens again."
He extended his hand for another handshake.
Itsuki lifted his own hand slightly—
—but before their palms could meet, the Captain's voice cut cleanly across the room.
"Hold on,"
His tone was flat. His eyes, still cold and pale as glacier water, were fixed entirely on Itsuki.
"I saw a report saying you fell from nearly 30 feet yesterday," he continued, his voice still maintaining it's flat feel. "You were rushed to a hospital with poor equipment… yet here you are. Perfectly fine with a fresh injury to your arm."
His eyes never blinked.
Itsuki's arm froze mid-air, the handshake with Victor now forgotten. Slowly, he lowered his hand and forced out a nervous, awkward laugh.
"What can I say? I'm a really lucky guy…"
The captain didn't even twitch at the attempt at humor. His stare bored into him like a nail being pressed into wood.
Then he asked, sharp and clean:
"Are you an awakened?"
Itsuki's throat tightened.
What's with these questions? What exactly are they fishing for?
"No," he answered quickly. "I haven't even gotten my limit checked yet."
For a brief moment—so brief an ordinary person would miss it—the captain's gaze flicked toward Victor, then back to Itsuki.
As if he was comparing answers.
Or confirming a detail.
Without another word, he pushed himself off the wall and walked out of the room first, he's boots making no sound against the wooden floor.
Victor exhaled softly, almost in relief, and gave a small, apologetic laugh.
"Sorry about that. He's quite the cranky partner to have around. I hope he didn't trouble you too much."
He extended his hand again.
This time Itsuki clasped it.
"Not at all," Itsuki replied with a polite smile.
Victor tapped the documents once more to straighten them and turned for the door.
"Please rest well, Adrien."
And then he too stepped out, closing the door gently behind him.
*****
Captain Léon waited a few steps outside the room, his posture rigid, hands buried inside his coat. A not-yet-lit cigarette rested between his lips, the faint scent of bitter tobacco clinging to the air.
"Did you get anything?" he asked without turning.
Victor approached until he could speak in a whisper.
"Unfortunately, no. I managed to cast the spell, but… it didn't affect him at all."
Léon let out a slow hiss, finally turning his head toward him as he plucked the cigar from his mouth with two fingers.
"That alone—" his eyes narrowed, "—is enough to consider him a person of interest. Isn't it?"
Victor shook his head lightly.
"I doubt it. It's uncommon, but not impossible. Some people already have hexes or protections on them. It can nullify any probing spell."
Léon's brows furrowed.
"So you're saying someone— or something, already placed a hex on him?"
"Possibly. Maybe he pissed off another mage somewhere. Or he bought one of the Church's antiques and actually got lucky with one that isn't a fake."
Victor watched Léon fall silent, the captain's expression tightening as gears turned behind his eyes.
"Why are you so focused on him anyway?" Victor pressed. "Coincidence exists. He might truly know nothing."
Léon said nothing at first. Instead, he reached deeper into his coat and pulled out a lighter—one that looked ordinary except for the small, striking emblem of the sun engraved into its metal.
He flicked it open, sparking a clean flame to life.
He lit the cigar with a slow inhale, then exhaled a curl of smoke before answering:
"I can't explain it clearly… but ever since I saw him standing after that fall, alive and conscious, something hasn't felt right. Like a bad premonition."
Victor tugged at his suit, adjusting it neatly before handing Léon the documents in his hands.
"Well, nothing about him is out of line yet. Give it a rest. You overread every tiny detail you run into—it'll eat you alive."
He began walking toward the stairs in front of them, his steps calm and rhythmic.
Léon followed, flipping through the documents as they walked.
Then—he froze.
"Victor."
Victor paused mid-step.
"Yeah?"
"These signatures…" Léon tapped the papers. "The ones he just signed—compared to the ones from his application to join the excavation unit…"
His voice thinned.
"They're different."
Victor glanced back with a dismissive shrug.
"So? He's a lower-class rat. Maybe he can read, sure, but that doesn't mean he knows how to hold a pen properly. He probably doesn't even understand how a signature works."
But Léon didn't move.
His gaze stayed glued to the signatures—each inconsistent stroke, each mismatched curve.
"…I guess," he muttered, though his voice carried anything but certainty.
His grip tightened on the papers, smoke drifting past his eyes as an unease he couldn't name settled deeper into his bones.