Hunf… hunf…
Yuta's breath scraped against the air itself, rough and uncontrolled.
His eyelids fluttered open and shut, heavy, as if invisible hands were trying to drag him back into the dark. In between distorted flashes, he realized he was inside a car. His parents' voices floated around him, muffled as though coming from underwater:
— Stay with me, Yuta… stay with me…
Echoes.
Memories.
Or fear.
Then everything went dark.
The world sank into a black so deep it seemed to swallow thought itself.
Until a light appeared—distant, high, warm.
Calling.
He raised his hand.
And awoke.
The hospital ceiling hovered above him—white, sharp, aggressively bright.
Yuta blinked, disoriented, trying to distinguish where his body ended and where the machines began. The steady beep seemed to pierce through the silence.
He was in a bed.
Wearing a thin, light-blue hospital gown.
A bandage tightened around his head, throbbing with a pulse of its own.
The smell of alcohol and burnt plastic dominated the room.
In front of him, asleep in a crooked chair designed to torture spines, was Diane—straight black hair, soft brown eyes even when closed. Her hand rested over his, holding it tightly even while unconscious.
Yuta lifted his hand to his head.
Pain detonated instantly.
— Ah… it hurts too much…
The whisper was enough.
Diane jolted awake, tears forming instantly. She leaned over him, hugging him too tightly.
— Mom… it still hurts… — Yuta murmured.
— I'm sorry… — she loosened the embrace, and her expression changed in an instant. Her eyes narrowed. Anger rose. — Now you need to tell me exactly what happened to you, Yuta.
He tried to pull his memories together… but only fragments surfaced—
lights, a park, sand, a girl…
and that man.
— Errm… I… — he whispered, holding his head.
The flashes collided violently.
And then, everything returned.
— You don't need to say anything — Diane cut in, jaw clenched. — It was those nobles. It always is. Tomorrow I'm filing a complaint. They can't treat us like this just because we're a lower class.
The door opened.
Nagui entered—black hair, green eyes, the physique of someone who had fought too many battles. Even retired, he still moved like a man carrying old wars in his bones.
— Love, calm down. What matters now is knowing how he is… and what really happened.
— I don't understand how you can be so cal—
— Sofia! — Yuta shouted, cutting everything. — We need to find Sofia! Now!
He began ripping the needles from his arm, desperate. Diane grabbed his wrists immediately.
— Who is Sofia!? Yuta, what is going on!?
His words tumbled out, frantic:
— Sofia… I met her at the park… we played… then a man appeared and took her… I thought he was her father but… he wasn't! We need to hurry! Really hurry! How long was I unconscious!?
Nagui held his son's shoulders firmly.
— Calm down. Who is this man?
But before Yuta could respond, the door opened again.
Two men in black stepped inside.
Tall.
Broad.
Presences that crushed the air.
— We were informed that a boy named Yuta is in this room — one of them said, voice deep and impersonal.
Nagui stood, posture of a knight.
— Yes. He is my son. Why?
— We need to speak with him about a… delicate matter.
Nagui narrowed his eyes.
— He's incapacitated. Come back another time.
The man lifted his glasses slightly.
— Nagui Uzurugui. A man born in the normal class who ascended to the upper class. The knight who helped subdue Demon Queen's Number 5 alongside Monarch Number 2. A victory that changed the course of this war.
Nagui did not react.
— Knowing who I am changes nothing — he replied. — Not in this situation.
— But we also know — the man continued — that you lost your powers in that battle. And you know the penalty for harming royalty.
The sentence fell into the room like a stone thrown into a dead lake.
Nothing rippled.
It only sank.
Nagui turned to his son.
— What did you do, Yuta? — his voice had no anger.
Only fear.
— I… I didn't do anything… I swear… — Yuta trembled.
The man continued, emotionless:
— Yesterday, the king's daughter disappeared. She fled the castle. Returned injured. Arm broken. And according to witnesses… she was seen with you.
— Sofia!? — Yuta cried. — I didn't hurt her! It was the man in black! He took her!
But Nagui placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
Pressed down.
And said, with a voice Yuta had never heard from him:
— Silence.
Yuta froze.
The man smiled.
— Then you confirm you were with her. I'm sorry, Nagui… but we must take your son—and you both—for a strict interrogation.
— Wait! He said he did nothing! — Diane protested.
Nagui lowered his head.
— It doesn't matter… — he whispered, defeated. — They already have enough to incriminate him…
The room doors slid open.
Cold hospital light spilled into the hallway as Yuta walked between his parents—small, silent, as if even his own shadow had abandoned him.
Their footsteps echoed.
And each echo seemed to draw unwanted eyes.
At the reception, two nurses whispered—not quietly enough:
— Poor thing…
— I heard he hurt someone from the royal family…
A security guard followed Yuta with his eyes until he vanished down the corridor.
A mother pulled her daughter closer, as if the eleven-year-old boy were an omen.
The whole hospital wanted distance from him.
The automatic doors opened with a breath of night air. Outside, streetlights reflected off a black car parked near the entrance—not a normal car: flawless paint, dark windows like closed eyes, the engine barely audible. A uniformed driver waited beside it, rigid like a statue.
The man opened the rear door.
Inside, the scent of fine leather and subtle perfume filled the space—luxury that did not belong to the moment.
— Get in — he said, his tone too neutral to be natural.
Yuta sat.
The seat was so soft it almost swallowed him.
The contrast between the comfort and his destiny was too cruel to comment on.
The car glided forward, silent as glass sliding over glass.
The city passed by outside: mirrored buildings, lit windows, living streets. Everything felt distant, indifferent to what was happening inside that luxury sedan.
Yuta leaned his forehead against the cold window, watching the world blur—people walking, shops open, distant laughter.
Normal lives.
And he, shackled to fate.
The silence inside the car was elegant and suffocating at once.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
Until Nagui finally broke the air with a low voice chosen with precision:
— Inside the castle there's a man who can detect lies. He is your only salvation. No matter what happens, always tell the truth. Don't worry about us… we're under Monarch Number 2's protection.
The boy turned slowly.
Nagui looked at him with firmness—no pity, no softness, only truth.
— Hold on a little longer.
The car followed the road that snaked toward the castle.
And the night grew so quiet it felt like it was listening.
Yuta nodded slowly.
His stomach trembled as if trying to escape his own body.
The road turned.
And then the castle appeared.
First as a shadow.
Then as a monster.
The structure rose in the center of the city, far too large to exist there. Made of dark stone and polished steel, mixing old and modern architecture in a way that defied logic. The towers climbed so high they seemed to scratch the sky—and the entire city, with its shining buildings, bowed around that fortress as if serving it.
It wasn't just large.
It was dominant.
The kind of construction built to remind everyone that absolute power did not need explanations.
The castle gates appeared—massive, forged from black iron, engraved with symbols so deep they looked like scars in metal.
A warning carved forever.
When they opened, the metallic sound echoed across the square like a verdict.
The car entered.
The gardens were too perfect, too precise, as if someone polished every leaf each morning. Fountains spilled crystal water, reflecting white fragments of light like blades glinting in the eyes of a judge.
Ancient statues lined the path, stone faces watching without blinking.
But for Yuta…
nothing had color,
nothing had life,
nothing felt real.
The castle's grandeur crushed everything—sound, air, hope.
And no matter how deeply he tried to breathe, the air there was too heavy for an eleven-year-old boy.
He knew what awaited him.
He had known since he crossed those sky-scratching gates.
Inside, Yuta was swallowed by a corridor so vast it seemed impossible to fit inside any building. The ceiling was absurdly high, echoing each step as if sound had to travel seconds before returning. To the left and right, massive rooms aligned—each door three times taller than Yuta, as if built for creatures he never wanted to meet.
The corridor felt endless.
A cold, calculated tunnel.
They walked for long minutes, shadows stretching along smooth stone walls, until finally reaching the last door.
And there…
The throne room.
So large it seemed like a cathedral torn from the heavens and dropped there intact.
Thirty crystal chandeliers hung above, glowing like artificial constellations. Light fractured into sharp fragments, dancing along the walls like moving spirits.
On the second floor, a full balcony circled the room.
Dozens of people watched from above—faces still, eyes hungry for spectacle.
Not here to judge.
Here to witness.
At the center, a long red carpet led to three thrones.
The central throne was larger.
Much larger.
And sitting on it with an ease that suffocated the air was the king.
Impeccable blond hair.
Green eyes that analyzed and dismissed at the same time.
Perfect posture.
Arrogance not learned—born.
The King of the Realm.
At his right, a man dressed entirely in white stood motionless—as if alive stone. His eyes did not blink.
The lie detector.
The king raised his chin, looking at Yuta as if addressing something small:
— Very well, Yuta. Tell me exactly what happened.
The world slowed.
Yuta felt his own heart beat so hard it seemed to push the air around him.
His throat dried.
His hands trembled.
But he spoke.
He told everything.
The punches he received at school.
The girl.
The swing.
The man.
The abduction.
When he finished, the king turned slowly to the man in white.
— Is it true?
The silence that followed wasn't just absence of sound.
It was weight—
a stone block pressed against the spirit.
The man in white turned his head toward Yuta.
His gaze passed through the boy as if he were nothing but dust suspended in light.
— No.
It is a lie.
The ground vanished beneath Yuta's feet.
On the upper floor, whispers spread like poison:
— How dare he?
— He lied to the king…
— The punishment is inevitable…
— SILENCE! — a guard roared, and the echo cracked through the hall like a trapped thunderbolt.
The king spoke again, unhurried:
— What is the punishment for one who harms… and lies to royalty?
The man in white tilted his head and answered with the ritualistic coldness of someone who had pronounced this sentence a hundred times:
— Execution.
And in that instant, Yuta's heart did not beat.
Did not accelerate.
Did not stop.
It simply fell inward—
like someone dropping into a bottomless pit, knowing no hand would ever reach down to catch him.