On the morning of the 29th, the sky was cloaked in gray clouds, casting a chill across the outskirts of the capital. Though no rain had fallen, the cold alone was enough to make anyone shiver. Strong winds swept through the streets and alleys, rattling rooftops and windows, carrying away everything in their path. Bits of trash flew like leaves, driven by a force that was becoming increasingly less subtle.
And in Gou District — the Fifth — known for its towering commercial buildings, that wall of gray clouds loomed over the majestic Domus-Dei: the ancient and enigmatic structure housing the Order of Exorcists. The building, made entirely of glass and unwavering in its stance, stood firm against the raging winds, its presence a direct challenge to even the fiercest forces of nature. Among all the skyscrapers in the region, it was the tallest.
While chaos ruled outside, inside the building was a breathtaking view of Aurora, casting its golden light across the entire city. Above the clouds, the sky glowed in warm yellow hues, as if stained with gold. A sea of other skyscrapers — varied in size and shape — dotted the skyline.
That was the view before a magnate, dressed in a flawless black suit. A supernatural silver crucifix gleamed on his wrist, reflecting the light as he sipped from a lavish, diamond-studded wine glass. The wine itself was extravagant — 325,000 yen a bottle. Behind the towering pane of glass that separated the building's interior from the outside world, the intense light was filtered, protecting the most sensitive eyes.
He was on the seventy-eighth floor, where the luxurious quarters of the leadership were located — the nine most powerful men in the world, commanding the mightiest army in Crea. His gaze, cold and unreadable, mirrored the grandeur around him. And through the glass, one could see the faint reflection of someone behind him, seated patiently on a sofa, holding a glass taken from the coffee table, silently waiting for the magnate to speak.
"Mr. Souza, are you certain you heard those exact words from Romero's mouth?" he asked, letting out a deep sigh as he glanced sideways.
The man seated on the leather sofa behind the table — with the expensive Roi des Rois bottle in front of him — wore a coat that gave him the air of someone older and dignified. He seemed calm. Balding, with one blind eye and a severe expression, his gaze still radiated an unparalleled peace.
"I heard him," he finally answered, his voice brimming with certainty. "Unfortunately, I know enough to recognize the truth in his eyes. But tell me: will you believe me, or not?"
His mind was sharp enough to cut straight through the labyrinth he was being led into.
"I know, you philosophers and dreamers have a different connection than us — the powerful and crude!" he said, narrowing his eyes as if to pierce through Gabriel's soul. "But who am I to doubt you? Besides, you've given me plenty of reasons to trust you."
He took a few steps forward and downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, bracing himself on the arms of the sofa.
"Good… excellent! Just…"
"Yes, I know. Believe me… it's harder for me than it is for anyone else to bring you this warning…"
His voice slipped out in a sigh, carrying a weight that stirred his chest. He had clearly faced something significant to be saying what he was — perhaps the bitterness of disillusionment or the slow torture of lost hope.
"Well, I'll bring it to the Council, as you asked, throwing myself to the lions!" There was no fear in his eyes, even though he'd have to stand before the other nine. "But I get you. I'm the only madman reckless enough to say this with conviction. You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"Crazy? No, maybe not. Just… a social suicide," he said, with the calm of a Buddhist monk. "But that's how the Regnians are, aren't they?"
"They are! Being born in the frozen lands is practically a certificate of insanity!" he joked, swirling the empty glass before setting it down on the table.
The man let out a forced laugh at the attempt at humor, but quickly swallowed hard, raising a hand to his lips as if to keep something in before continuing:
"But a social suicide? I kind of like that…"
"In any case, I ask that you give this the attention it deserves. I… understand my friend's ideals, but the world is already… in chaos, isn't it?" he asked.
Had he just sealed the fate of the one he accused?
"Yes, I believe you, more than anyone, understood the consequences of his thoughts! If Romero truly wants to change the world, he'll have to act like an authoritarian tyrant. He'll have to get blood on his hands. What do you think would push him to that point? Aren't you both pacifists? Or… just men of faith? No offense, of course!"
"He changed after what happened with the boy. His view of the world isn't the same anymore," he paused, then allowed himself to judge. "I still am — but him… I don't think so."
"And is his view wrong?" His sincerity made the question come out poorly. "I mean, not that I was trying to agree…"
"I don't know, and I don't care. If he chooses bloodshed, I'll stand in opposition. That's it," he said with firm resolve. "I'm not one to ponder too much over subjective dilemmas when things reach a level of real danger. After all, subjectivity is nothing more than a skeptical excuse to avoid action, isn't it?"
"I see. And Rasen? Along with the other students… do you know if anyone else shares his views?"
"Well, I'm not sure. All I know is: Romero wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice himself for what he believes in. I saw it in his eyes, Mr. Moreau…" He finally stood from the couch and met his gaze with seriousness. "So please, make it count."
"Understood. You'll hear good news soon enough," he replied with confidence, escorting him to the door and raising his glass full of wine for a final toast. "A toast to us!"
His eyes followed the man subtly, from head to toe, as he watched him at the doorway, staring silently down the hall.
"Anytime."
The interest in his gaze was clear, but like any refined wine taster, he knew how to distinguish which "bottles" were the right match.
And this one wasn't.
What a waste.
When Gabriel stepped out, he came face-to-face with the last person he expected to see that day. Standing before him was the generation's greatest prodigy — or so he claimed — the youngest to ever graduate from the academy.
"Well, how'd it go, egghead?" he asked, dripping with sarcasm.
Leaning casually against the hallway wall, the kid stared at him with shameless confidence. His hair was as messy as ever, his clothes dirty — clearly just back from a mission. But there was a fire in his eyes.
"Ah, Jigoku…" Gabriel muttered, rolling his eyes at the sight of him. "Egghead? Really?"
"Yeah, exactly. What did that fraud tell you?"
This brat's relentless… Think.
"Well, about that… he said he was going to do something, but didn't give many details. Just asked a few questions. And you — weren't you on a mission?"
"Me? Oh, I already finished it!"
Gabriel raised an eyebrow and gave a sideways smirk at the boy's words.
"Already? You really are a prodigy. Too bad about your mindset…"
"Meh, I am a prodigy. A perfect exorcist. Don't try to humble me, old man!" he said, folding his arms behind his neck and staring toward the end of the vast corridor. "One day, I'll be a Celestial-Rank Exorcist like you. So you better get used to it!"
"You don't even seem like you're 21…" Gabriel said, gripping the kid's shoulders, surprising him as a peaceful aura emanated from his presence. "But I'm looking forward to that day."
"Man, you're so cool it's easy to forget you're bald…" he teased, though it only drew a forced laugh. "You never get angry, do you?"
His indifference was palpable.
"Get angry? You think I've never dealt with annoying little punks before?" he said, releasing him and walking ahead across the vinyl floor.
"Ugh… fine. But one day you're gonna lose that whole monk act," the boy replied, trailing after him — his stride more like a spirited warhorse than a calm sage.
Gabriel sighed deeply, realizing there was no escape: the kid was like a tick.
And this was only the beginning of a long day…