Travis Loverheart stepped quietly onto the balcony, his footsteps light against the cold stone. The night breeze tousled his dark hair as he rubbed the back of his neck, a slight tension in his shoulders betraying his discomfort. His eyes flickered toward Arata and the Queen, who stood under the moonlight, their figures casting long shadows on the balcony floor.

“Sorry, I overheard some weird conversation… something about killing me?” Travis spoke with a faint, awkward smile, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. His hands slipped into his pockets, fingers fidgeting slightly as he studied their faces, searching for any sign of deceit.

Arata, who had been leaning casually against the balcony railing with his arms crossed, straightened up. His eyes gleamed with sharpness as he turned to Travis, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across his lips. He didn’t say anything at first, merely tapping his fingers on the cold stone behind him, letting the silence linger, thickening the air.

“Just like I thought,” Arata finally spoke, his voice low and controlled. He took a small step forward, his weight shifting smoothly, his gaze never leaving Travis as if dissecting him with every second. “It seems we have an imposter… even though they don’t know they’re an imposter.”

Arata’s smile widened slightly as his head tilted ever so subtly toward the Queen, standing beside him. His eyes flickered to her briefly before settling back on Travis. His posture remained composed, hands relaxed at his sides, yet an underlying intensity radiated from him as though he were ready to pounce at any moment.

“Am I right, Williams?” Arata’s voice was now sharper, cutting through the air. His head turned with eerie slowness toward the Queen, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t blink. His stance was unnervingly still, except for the slight twitch of his fingers at his side, betraying the mental calculations happening behind his cool facade.

The Queen’s expression shifted, a slight furrow forming between her brows as her hand lightly gripped the edge of her gown. Her eyes widened, her lips parting in confusion, but she didn’t respond immediately. Her fingers trembled faintly as they tightened around the fabric, and her posture stiffened, as if unsure whether to step back or stand her ground.

“Or should I ask all the commanders who are watching me converse with the Queen right now?” Arata’s voice took on a mocking tone, his body now fully facing the Queen. His movements were deliberate, every step slow, every tilt of his head calculated. He raised an eyebrow as he leaned slightly toward her, his arms hanging loosely but ready to react.

The Queen’s lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze darted between Arata and Travis. Her breathing quickened, visible in the rise and fall of her chest. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other, her back now almost pressed against the stone railing of the balcony, seeking the cold support behind her. “What are you implying?” she asked, her voice strained as her hand instinctively moved to the pendant around her neck, fingers gripping it like a lifeline.

“Miss Queen,” Arata drawled, taking a single step closer, his boots scraping softly against the stone. He leaned in just enough to make her flinch slightly, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet, predatory amusement. “You have been a spy since the start… for literally every single commander.”

The Queen’s eyes widened further. Her face paled as the words sank in, and she visibly recoiled, taking half a step back, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the railing behind her. “What do you mean?” Her voice wavered, the confusion in her tone genuine, but the panic was beginning to creep into her features as well. Her other hand now trembled at her side, fingers clenching and unclenching as though trying to grasp an invisible thread of truth.

Arata’s gaze didn’t waver, his grin widening as if relishing her growing distress. He tilted his head slightly to one side, his posture still deceptively relaxed, though every line of his body suggested he was fully in control of the situation. The tension in his muscles coiled like a spring, and his smile deepened into something almost cruel.

“Shouldn’t you tell her… Mister Travis Loverheart?” Arata’s eyes finally shifted back to Travis, and his voice dropped an octave lower, the words dragging out slowly. He raised one hand in a slow, deliberate gesture, extending it toward Travis with a mocking flourish. The smile playing on his lips turned menacing, his gaze sharp and expectant as he watched Travis, waiting for his reaction like a cat playing with a cornered mouse.

Travis swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn’t move. His hands remained in his pockets, though his fingers twitched nervously. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his jaw tightening as he glanced toward the Queen. His smile faded, replaced with something harder, more serious, as he squared his shoulders ever so slightly, standing straighter as if preparing himself for the storm that was now unavoidable.

Travis Loverheart’s heart pounded in his chest, the rhythmic thud echoing in his ears as he felt the cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck. His hand, which had been resting casually in his pocket, now tightened into a fist, his knuckles white as he fought to maintain composure. His charming smile wavered, barely clinging to his lips as his eyes darted toward Arata, whose presence now felt oppressive, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“What’s with this guy…? There was no info on him being such a menace…” Travis thought, his pulse quickening. His body was rigid, locked in place as if the weight of Arata’s gaze alone had pinned him to the spot. He swallowed hard, trying to control the subtle tremor in his legs, but his knees felt weak, betraying the fear that gnawed at his insides. The sweat on his brow became heavier, a few drops falling onto the cold stone beneath his feet.

Arata, on the other hand, seemed to bask in the growing tension, his stance calm and confident. He took a slow, deliberate step toward Travis, his footsteps echoing in the silence, the sound sending an involuntary shiver down Travis’s spine. Arata’s smile twisted into something far more sinister, his eyes glinting with a malevolent amusement as he locked his gaze on Travis like a predator eyeing its next move.

“What’s the matter, Mister Travis Loverheart?” Arata’s voice slithered through the air, deceptively calm, his tone laced with mockery. His head tilted slightly as he spoke, his hand raised in a casual gesture toward Travis. His fingers flexed ever so slightly, as though he were playing with an invisible thread of tension. “Don’t you have info?”

Travis’s stomach twisted as Arata’s words struck him. He felt the muscles in his face twitch as he struggled to maintain his charm, but his smile faltered, becoming a shaky, awkward grin that failed to hide the panic building behind his eyes. He forced out a laugh, but it came out choked, strained. “I-I-I don’t know what you are talking about…” he stammered, his hand slipping out of his pocket to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead.

Arata’s smile deepened, his expression darkening as he took another step forward. His body remained unnervingly relaxed, yet the cold, calculated menace in his movements was impossible to ignore. His eyes, locked on Travis’s, seemed to pierce right through him, seeing into the very depths of his fear. His voice dropped, slow and menacing, as he leaned in ever so slightly. “Oh, so you don’t know anything about CHARGE-55?”

Travis’s heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. His entire body tensed at the mention of Project CHARGE-55, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he instinctively took a half-step back, his feet shuffling on the cold stone beneath him. His jaw tightened, and his eyes widened in shock, unable to mask the sudden wave of panic that surged through him.

“How the hell… do you know about Project CHARGE-55?” Travis’s voice came out louder than he intended, the question blurting out in a rush. His hands, trembling ever so slightly, moved toward his sides, as though preparing to defend himself if the situation took a darker turn. His back pressed against the balcony railing, the cold stone digging into his skin, reminding him there was no escape.

Arata’s smile widened, a twisted, almost gleeful expression. He spread his arms wide, pointing to himself with a slow, deliberate motion, every movement filled with an eerie sense of control. His eyes glinted with something wicked, and the grin plastered on his face only grew more unsettling with each passing second.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Arata’s voice was a slow, venomous drawl, his words dragging out as though he were savoring each syllable. “I was part of Project CHARGE-55. Remember? I was Harry and Sheena’s kid after all.”

He punctuated his statement by jabbing his thumb toward his chest, his body language radiating confidence and control. His eyes never left Travis, watching the terror take root in him. The air around them seemed to grow colder, the tension tightening like a noose.

Travis felt the blood drain from his face as Arata’s words sank in. His breath hitched, and he stared at Arata with wide, horrified eyes, taking in the twisted smile that now seemed less human and more predatory. His legs threatened to give out beneath him as a fresh wave of cold sweat poured down his back.

“Oh no, you are not…” Travis thought to himself, his mind racing as he stared at Arata’s chilling grin. His entire body tensed, his muscles coiling in silent terror. “You are more villainous than any of those heroes… I don’t even know who the fuck you are…”

Travis’s lips twitched, his mind screaming at him to move, to do something, but his body remained frozen, trapped in the presence of the man before him. His heart pounded louder in his ears, every thud echoing through his entire being as Arata’s words and presence consumed him, leaving him standing helpless, exposed, and terrified.

Arata’s demeanor shifted abruptly, the playful menace in his expression vanishing as a cold, piercing intensity took over his features. His smile flattened into a hard line, his gaze drilling into Travis with an unwavering, merciless focus. His entire body seemed to tense, his posture stiffening as though the weight of his words carried the force of a sledgehammer. His fists clenched, the muscles in his forearms rippling beneath his skin as he took a deliberate step toward Travis.

"How long are you going to maintain the good guy persona, Mister Rapist Loverheart?" Arata’s voice dropped into a low, venomous growl, each word dripping with restrained fury.

Travis visibly recoiled, his eyes widening in shock as the accusation hit him. His jaw slackened, and his breath caught in his throat, unable to process the sudden shift in Arata's tone. His hands twitched involuntarily, moving to his sides in a nervous gesture as he forced a stammered response. "W-What are you talking about?" His voice came out weak, the charm and confidence now completely shattered, replaced with a rising panic.

Arata took another step forward, closing the distance between them with a predatory calmness. His eyes, now sharp and unyielding, bore into Travis, leaving no room for escape. His hand lifted slowly, pointing an accusatory finger at Travis as his expression hardened further.

"Quite fucking bold of you to act like you don’t know jack shit," Arata spat, his voice now laced with venom. His entire body seemed coiled, like a spring ready to unleash. His shoulders squared, and his chest rose as his breathing deepened with barely contained anger. "When you were the one leading the assault charge towards Harry and Sheena’s lab."

Travis’s knees buckled slightly, and he took an instinctive step back, his back pressing hard against the balcony railing once more. His eyes flicked nervously to the ground, then back to Arata, searching for any sign of mercy in his eyes, but finding none. His lips trembled as he struggled to form words, his hands trembling at his sides.

Arata leaned in, his face inches from Travis’s now, the tension in the air suffocating. His voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper, but every word was sharp, slicing through the air like a blade. "Not to mention, the one who raped Sheena… was also you and your squadmates."

Travis’s breath hitched, his entire body going rigid at the accusation. His face went pale, the blood draining from his cheeks as sweat now poured down his temples. His hands instinctively moved in front of him, palms up in a weak, defensive gesture. He shook his head, his voice cracking. "N-No… I… I didn’t…" he stammered, but the words felt hollow even to him.

Arata’s eyes blazed with fury, and his lips curled into a twisted sneer. His shoulders shook with barely restrained anger as he took another step closer, his presence now overwhelming. His fists unclenched and clenched again, the muscles in his arms flexing with the desire to lash out.

"You enjoyed it," Arata snarled, his lips curling into a wild, almost animalistic smile that contrasted disturbingly with the dark, serious conversation. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous as he leaned even closer, his voice filled with venom. "You enjoyed it as you guys took turns on her. You and your squadmates—taking turns enjoying her."

The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around Travis’s neck. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his body trembled uncontrollably. His legs felt weak, as if they would give out beneath him at any moment, but he was too terrified to move. His mind raced, searching for a way out, but the intensity of Arata’s presence made it impossible to think clearly.

Arata’s grin widened, the contrast between his smile and the gravity of the situation making it all the more unnerving. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing as he stared into Travis’s very soul. He let the silence stretch for a moment, savoring Travis’s growing terror before speaking again, his voice now cold, calculating.

"Tell me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you," Arata asked, his wild smile widening even further, the expression now twisted into something almost grotesque. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but the tension in his fingers, the way they twitched with anticipation, hinted at the violence lurking beneath the surface.

Travis could barely stand under the weight of Arata’s words. His legs trembled violently, and his knees wobbled as if they might give out at any second. His chest tightened, and his breath came in ragged gasps as he stared at the man before him. There was no escape, no charm to fall back on, only the cold, terrifying reality that Arata held his fate in his hands.

Travis’s hands, once smooth and confident, now shook uncontrollably as he lifted them weakly in a pathetic attempt at placation. His throat was dry, his voice barely a whisper. "I… I…" he tried, but no words came. He felt small, powerless, standing before Arata, whose eyes gleamed with the knowledge of his dark past.

Travis Loverheart's voice cracked as he tried to regain control of the situation, his composure shattered. His body jerked forward as he shouted, arms flailing out in front of him as if trying to physically hold the unraveling moment together. His face twisted with desperation, eyes darting wildly between Arata and The Queen, beads of sweat dripping down his temples. He was shaking now, hands trembling as he raised his voice, a shrillness creeping into his tone.

“You crazy bastard!” Travis roared, his voice shaking with both anger and fear. He stomped his foot, the sound echoing in the otherwise tense silence of the balcony. His chest heaved, trying to project a false bravado that his unsteady stance betrayed. His legs seemed locked in place, one foot planted awkwardly forward, as if ready to bolt at any moment. “LISTEN TO YOURSELF! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING?!”

His arms shot upward in a frenzied gesture, fingers splayed wide as if to pull some sense out of the air. His breathing was erratic, and the wide-eyed panic on his face made it clear that his words were as much a plea for Arata to back down as they were an attempt to defend himself.

"YOUR FRIENDS ARE HERE!" Travis spat, flinging his arm toward the others as if calling for reinforcements. His face was flushed with panic, veins standing out on his neck. His lips trembled, barely able to maintain their form, his breath coming in rapid gasps. “THINK ABOUT WHAT THEY WILL THINK AFTER HEARING YOUR STUPID ASS!”

Arata stood eerily still, his head cocked slightly to the side, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he watched Travis unravel before him. His eyes narrowed, but his body remained tense, poised like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He didn't move, but the intensity in his posture, the rigid set of his shoulders, and the slight curl of his fingers all screamed of barely contained aggression.

The Queen, sensing the escalating tension, shifted her position. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if trying to gently diffuse the situation. She stepped toward Arata, her delicate hands raising in a calming gesture. Her expression softened, eyes searching Arata’s face for any flicker of reason.

"Listen, Arata," she began, her voice calm but urgent. Her fingers, long and graceful, hovered in the air between them, not quite touching him but close enough to feel his energy. Her eyes flitted toward Travis, her lips tightening with concern before returning to Arata’s face. “It’s best if you kept your theories aside.”

Her tone was cautious, trying to navigate the storm brewing in Arata’s eyes. She took another step, her robes brushing the ground lightly as she moved. Her eyes darted toward Travis briefly, reading his panic, before returning to Arata, her voice adopting a measured tone of reasoning.

“We don’t have proof of anything you're accusing him of,” she continued, her voice soothing, like a balm meant to ease the tension radiating off Arata’s rigid frame. She kept her movements slow, careful not to agitate him further. Her left hand reached out, hovering just a breath away from his arm, as if she was about to gently touch his shoulder but thought better of it.

Arata didn’t flinch, his gaze locked on her, but his eyes flickered with the slightest hint of calculation. His hands, still clenched into fists, relaxed ever so slightly, but the tension in his body remained palpable.

The Queen, sensing that her words were beginning to reach him, pressed on, her tone soft but firm. “It will just lead Hex to us, and we will be in trouble.” Her fingers twitched subtly, still hovering near him but not touching, trying to keep the calm without making him feel cornered.

She glanced briefly at Travis, who was still breathing heavily, his shoulders hunched forward defensively, eyes darting nervously between them. Travis shifted on his feet, his knees slightly bent as if ready to run. His breathing was audible now, the panic gripping him tighter as he realized the precariousness of his situation.

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The Queen’s gaze snapped back to Arata. Her eyes softened even more, as if pleading with him to think clearly. “Plus,” she added, her voice dropping to a hushed, almost conspiratorial tone, “Elio has taken a liking to him as well.” She paused, letting the weight of her next words hang in the air. “I’m sure you don’t want to deal with the Dark Dragon.”

Arata’s eyes darkened at the mention of Elio, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. His smile, which had been hovering at the edges of his lips, disappeared, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. His shoulders, once tense with the threat of violence, seemed to relax slightly, but his body still radiated an air of menace. His fists, no longer clenched, rested by his sides, fingers twitching ever so slightly, like a hunter weighing the decision to strike or retreat.

He turned his head just a fraction toward the Queen, his eyes narrowing as he met her gaze. For a long, tense moment, the balcony was silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of Travis, who now stood rigid and sweating, his eyes wide with fear.

Arata’s lips curled into a small, knowing smirk. He didn't say anything, but the weight of his unspoken words hung in the air between them. He slowly turned his head back toward Travis, his expression unreadable. Travis could feel the blood drain from his face as Arata’s piercing gaze settled on him once again, sending a cold shiver down his spine.

Arata’s voice was calm, too calm for the storm of emotions brewing around them. His body language, however, spoke volumes. He leaned slightly forward, hands loosely hanging by his sides but with his fingers twitching, as if he was on the verge of making a more aggressive move. His piercing gaze never wavered from the Queen, studying every flicker of expression on her face. His smile was unnervingly serene, almost predatory, as he spoke.

“Oh, yeah,” Arata said, his tone laced with casual menace. “You don’t know that everyone else already knows my plan.”

The Queen blinked, her eyes widening slightly as confusion crept into her features. Her body stiffened, and she took a small step back, instinctively distancing herself from Arata's overpowering presence. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She was too stunned to form a coherent response.

“Huh?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with disbelief. She tilted her head slightly, brows furrowing, as if she was trying to piece together a puzzle she didn't even know existed.

Arata straightened his posture just slightly, his hand rising to brush a strand of hair out of his face, the movement deliberate and slow. His smile grew wider, more condescending, as he continued to explain. His eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of watching the Queen slowly unravel.

“You see…” he began, his voice dripping with condescension. His hand lowered lazily to his side again, fingers flexing as though to release the tension building in his frame. “I asked Butter to tell everyone when I found her beaten by Alex…about my plan.”

The Queen's reaction was immediate. She visibly flinched, her body recoiling slightly, as if Arata’s words had struck her physically. Her eyes shot open wider, and her breath caught in her throat, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She took another small, hesitant step back, her hands trembling slightly as they hovered uncertainly by her sides. The shock on her face was palpable.

“Huh? What?!” The Queen's voice cracked, the words coming out in a hurried rush of disbelief. Her feet shifted nervously beneath her, her knees slightly buckling as if her body was struggling to remain upright under the weight of this new revelation. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she had just heard, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Arata's eyes narrowed, his smile sharpening into something darker, more dangerous. He took a single step forward, closing the gap between them with a slow, deliberate movement. His boots made a soft click against the stone floor of the balcony, the sound echoing ominously in the tense silence.

“That eliminated my thought process of who the imposter is,” Arata continued, his voice steady and unwavering. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving the Queen’s wide, panicked eyes. “And narrowed it down to you and Elio.”

The Queen swallowed hard, her throat visibly constricting as she fought to keep her composure. Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides, her mind racing. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her legs trembling slightly beneath the fabric of her robes. She could feel her pulse quickening, each beat hammering in her ears as Arata’s words sunk deeper into her mind.

Arata's smirk widened as he watched her struggle. He raised one hand slowly, pointing a single finger toward her as though marking her as his prey. “Looking at how Elio acted…” he said, his voice taking on an almost mocking lilt, “I gave him a cheat after our battle against Divine. With that, there was only one imposter that remained.”

He paused, letting the tension hang in the air between them. His eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction, watching every flicker of doubt and fear cross the Queen’s face. Then, he delivered the final blow with a soft, menacing smile.

“You, Miss Queen…” His finger, still pointing at her, twitched slightly as if sealing her fate. “…were the unintentional imposter.”

The Queen gasped softly, her hands flying up to her mouth in an instinctive gesture of disbelief. Her entire body froze, her legs locking in place as she stood there, trembling. Her wide, disbelieving eyes stared back at Arata, searching for any hint of a lie in his face. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. She looked as though the ground beneath her had shifted, leaving her teetering on the edge of collapse.

Arata's gaze softened just slightly, but it was a cruel sort of softness. He lowered his hand slowly, letting it fall to his side again, his fingers curling and uncurling as if relishing the control he had over the situation. He leaned in just a little, his voice lowering to a near whisper as he dropped the next bombshell.

“You have a chip inside your brain which transmits our conversations to the Commanders.”

The Queen’s knees buckled visibly, her hands dropping from her mouth to grip the edge of her robe as though steadying herself. She looked up at Arata, her breath shallow, her eyes wide with confusion. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the weight of the revelation almost too much for her to bear.

“That chip…” Arata continued, his voice slow and deliberate, savoring each word. “Is known as CHARGE-55. A chip created by Harry to keep things on the right track…in case things went wrong.”

The Queen’s lips trembled as she tried to form a response, her voice shaky, almost pleading. “Wait, what?” she stammered, her hand reaching up to her head as though she could feel the chip beneath her skin. Her fingers brushed against her temple, trembling, her nails digging into her skin in a desperate, unconscious gesture. “I don’t… I don’t understand…”

Her knees gave out slightly, and she took a small, faltering step backward, her balance teetering on the edge. The confusion etched across her face deepened, her eyes wide and searching as she looked back at Arata, hoping for some kind of explanation that would make this all go away. But Arata’s smile only grew wider, and his silence in that moment spoke volumes.

Arata’s voice was slow, deliberate, each word dripping with the weight of the revelation. His body leaned forward ever so slightly, closing in on the Queen and Travis Loverheart as if he were a predator stalking his prey. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but the tension in his fingers, the slight curl of his fists, hinted at a barely restrained fury. His smile, however, was the most unsettling—a wild, menacing grin that stretched across his face, showing just how much control he had over the situation.

“In other words…” Arata began, his tone shifting into something darker, more predatory. His eyes narrowed, glinting with a dangerous light as he watched the Queen’s reaction. “The commanders have complete control over you.”

The Queen stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat. Her body remained rigid, her fingers clutching the fabric of her robes as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Her wide, fearful eyes darted between Arata and Travis, searching desperately for any sign of denial, any explanation that might refute what Arata was saying. But there was none. Her hands trembled as she took a shaky step backward, her legs barely able to support her as her knees threatened to buckle.

“They can kill you at any time they want,” Arata continued, his voice cold and emotionless. His words struck the Queen like a blow, causing her to flinch involuntarily. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, as if she were trying to push down the rising tide of panic within her.

Travis Loverheart, meanwhile, was visibly sweating. His charm, the suave demeanor he had so carefully maintained, was crumbling before Arata’s relentless onslaught. His feet shifted nervously beneath him, his polished shoes scuffing against the floor as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure. His hands fidgeted, one reaching up to adjust his collar as if the air around him had suddenly grown too thick, too suffocating. His eyes darted from Arata to the Queen and back again, wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Arata’s voice lowered, becoming almost a growl as he took a slow, deliberate step toward Travis, his boots making a soft, ominous thud against the ground. The menace in his tone was unmistakable.

“And make you do things as well,” Arata said, the corners of his mouth twisting into an even darker smile. His hand twitched slightly, as if he were tempted to reach out and grab Travis, to pull him into the web of control that Arata now held over him. “All your actions… are in their hands.”

Travis stiffened, his back straightening defensively. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching into tight fists as though he were readying himself for a confrontation. His lips pressed together into a thin, grim line, but his face betrayed him—the sweat rolling down his temples, the slight twitch of his eye, all revealed the fear that was steadily creeping in. He took an involuntary step back, his legs stiff, almost mechanical, as if he were struggling to keep himself upright.

Arata’s eyes glinted with a wild, dangerous energy as he took another step forward, his body language confident, controlled. He was dominating the space, and he knew it. His words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife.

“YOU…” Arata’s voice rose slightly, his wild grin widening, “are basically a puppet of these commanders.”

The Queen's knees finally gave way, and she stumbled backward, her hand flying out to grab the edge of the balcony for support. Her chest heaved with shallow, panicked breaths, her fingers digging into the stone as if she were trying to hold on to something real, something stable. Her eyes were wide, glistening with fear, as she stared at Arata, her mind racing to process the horror of what he had just revealed.

“That’s what CHARGE-55 is,” Arata said, his voice now laced with bitter satisfaction. He took another step toward Travis, closing the distance between them with an air of inevitability, like a predator cornering its prey. His eyes never left Travis, watching every flicker of emotion on the man’s face with intense scrutiny.

“A chip so powerful that it can control any and all Undergrounders.”

Travis swallowed hard, his throat visibly constricting as he fought to keep his composure. His fists clenched tighter, knuckles white, but he didn’t move. He stood frozen, trapped under Arata’s gaze, his legs rooted to the spot despite every instinct telling him to run. He tried to muster a response, but his voice caught in his throat, and all that escaped was a soft, panicked breath.

Arata's smirk deepened as he finally turned his full attention to Travis. His head tilted slightly, almost mockingly, as he addressed him directly, his voice filled with dark amusement.

“That’s how…” Arata said, pausing for effect, “they’ve been able to keep the King under control after all.” He leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming with cold, calculated malice. “Am I right… Mister Loverheart?”

Travis’s body visibly tensed at the question, his face paling as the weight of Arata’s words settled over him. His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, and he took a small, shaky step backward, his legs trembling beneath him. His eyes locked onto Arata’s, wide with fear, but he couldn’t look away. The wild, menacing smile on Arata’s face was like a trap, drawing him in, suffocating him under its oppressive weight.

Travis’s lips parted as though he wanted to speak, to deny it all, but no words came out. His body language screamed defeat, his once-charming demeanor shattered into a thousand pieces as he stood there, trapped in the web that Arata had so carefully spun around him.

Arata’s smile never wavered, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as he watched Travis crumble. He had complete control now, and both Travis and the Queen knew it.

Travis’s eyes narrowed, a sneer curling at the corner of his mouth as he faced Arata. He forced a chuckle, despite the nervous tremor that ran through his body, and squared his shoulders, trying to stand tall. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, and his legs shifted, taking a firmer stance as though he were preparing for a fight.

“So, I am cornered?” Travis asked, his voice hoarse but laced with defiance. His eyes flickered with something close to desperation, but he masked it with bravado. His hand twitched, moving subtly toward the inside of his coat, as though reaching for a hidden weapon or a final gambit.

“You are forgetting one thing,” he spat, leaning forward with renewed energy, his teeth gritted in a last-ditch show of defiance. “I AM STILL A—"

Suddenly, Travis’s words were cut off. His eyes bulged, shock flooding his face as his body jerked forward, stiffening in an unnatural, rigid position. A wet, gurgling sound erupted from his throat, and a spatter of blood flew from his mouth, staining his once-pristine suit with dark crimson droplets. His knees buckled slightly, legs trembling as he staggered, his hand instinctively shooting up to his throat.

“Guh—”

The sound that escaped him was barely human, more of a choked gasp than a word. His body swayed, teetering unsteadily as his knees threatened to give out completely. His fingers grasped futilely at his neck, where a cold blade had punctured deep through the skin. The blood began to pour more freely now, soaking through his collar, and Travis’s wide eyes rolled toward Arata, filled with confusion and terror.

Arata stood still, his expression twisted into a wild, almost gleeful grin. His eyes gleamed with a chilling light, reflecting the sight of Travis’s blood as it dripped down his neck. He cocked his head slightly, as though admiring his work, before speaking in a low, cold voice.

“Sorry, Loverheart,” Arata said, his tone casual yet laced with a sadistic edge. He shrugged one shoulder, as if it were a trivial matter. “You have to die here.” His smile only widened as he watched Travis crumple.

On the opposite side of Travis, the faint shing of a blade being drawn filled the air, followed by a soft, wet noise as it was pulled free from his flesh. Standing just behind him, Uriel appeared, his hand still gripping the bloodied knife that had plunged through Travis’s throat. Uriel’s expression was unreadable, his eyes cold and focused as he let the weapon dangle lazily from his fingers. The blood dripped slowly from the tip, staining the floor beneath them.

Travis’s body slumped forward, his legs giving out completely as he collapsed onto his knees. His hands still clutched at his neck, feebly trying to stem the flow of blood, but it was a futile effort. His body shook violently, spasms wracking his frame as the life drained from him, his vision fading into darkness.

Uriel, calm and unbothered, wiped the blade on his sleeve, his movements precise and almost indifferent. His eyes barely flickered as he looked down at the dying man. He rolled his shoulders, stretching out the tension in his muscles before casting a glance toward Lance.

“Next time you ask me to kill someone,” Uriel muttered, his voice laced with irritation as he twirled the knife in his hand, “at least have the decency to give me a better item.”

His tone was flat, but his annoyance was clear. He glanced at the blade in his hand with mild disdain, as if the weapon itself was an insult to his abilities. The handle was crude, the blade dull, and Uriel’s hand flexed as though he were already mentally discarding it.

Lance, standing a few steps behind, crossed his arms over his chest, his face impassive. His body language was relaxed, almost unconcerned by the brutal scene playing out before him. He watched with half-lidded eyes as Travis’s body slumped further, the final shudders of life leaving him.

“You were the one who told me that you’d take responsibility for killing him,” Lance said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of accusation. He raised one eyebrow, meeting Uriel’s cold gaze with a look of mild irritation.

Uriel gave an exaggerated sigh, his fingers playing with the hilt of the knife before tossing it carelessly aside. The blade clattered to the floor, forgotten, as Uriel ran a hand through his hair, pushing the strands back from his face. He stepped over Travis’s lifeless body with ease, his boots making a soft thud as they hit the blood-splattered ground.

“That doesn’t mean you get to pick such a shitty weapon,” Uriel shot back, his lips curling into a wry smile as he cast a sidelong glance at Lance. His steps were unhurried, almost languid, as though the entire ordeal had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His hands rested loosely at his sides, his body relaxed, as if the act of killing Travis had been nothing more than a routine task.

Lance’s eyes followed Uriel’s movements, his expression barely changing as he shrugged in response. “It got the job done, didn’t it?” he replied, his tone neutral, dismissive.

Uriel rolled his eyes, brushing past Lance as he moved further into the room, his posture loose and unconcerned. The tension in the air had evaporated, leaving only the faint metallic scent of blood lingering in the aftermath.

Arata stood there, his wild grin still plastered across his face, eyes gleaming with a terrifying sense of satisfaction. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto the Queen’s eyes with an almost predatory focus. His fingers twitched, and his body remained unnervingly still, save for the slow curl of his lips as he spoke, voice dripping with menace.

"Oye, Commanders, you’re listening, right?" Arata’s voice was low, but it carried with a chilling authority, as though he knew his words were reaching far beyond the room. His fingers played at his sides, flexing as if readying for the next move. His entire posture screamed confidence, bordering on arrogance, as he leaned in slightly, eyes still fixed on the Queen with a sinister intensity.

"Warrier, I’m coming for you next. So be ready," Arata continued, the smirk on his face growing wider. The muscles in his neck tensed as he savored every word, relishing the power he felt in that moment. "But before that, you should check tomorrow’s news." He chuckled darkly, his tongue grazing the edge of his teeth. "You’ve got a good surprise waiting for you."

The Queen’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as the weight of Arata’s words settled in. Her hand, trembling, moved instinctively to her side, as though she wanted to back away but found herself frozen in place. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the tension between them palpable. The room seemed to close in around her, every breath Arata took laced with threat. She tried to maintain her composure, but her hands betrayed her, twitching slightly as she held her position.

The glow of the monitors illuminated Williams’ face as he sat, hunched over, hands clenched tightly in his lap. His sharp, angular features were etched with a mix of disbelief and unease. His eyebrows furrowed deeply, his lips pressed into a thin line as he listened to Arata’s voice booming through the speakers. The room was dim, filled only with the hum of machines and the quiet beeping of incoming communications.

“This guy…” Williams muttered under his breath, his hands unclenching momentarily before he leaned back in his chair. His fingers ran through his short, graying hair, the strands catching the soft light above. His usually stoic demeanor cracked slightly, a flicker of unease passing over his face. His broad shoulders, normally squared with confidence, slumped for just a second as if the weight of Arata’s words was too heavy to bear.

“He’s crazy…” Williams whispered, shaking his head slightly, eyes still locked on the screen.

Beside him, Taylor leaned in closer to the monitor, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and intrigue. She crossed her arms tightly, her long fingers drumming impatiently against her biceps as she tried to process what they had just heard. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, the tension in her posture mirroring the tightness in her features. She exhaled sharply, her foot tapping restlessly against the floor.

“Crazy is an understatement,” she muttered, turning slightly to glance at Williams. Her lips pursed, and the intensity in her dark eyes was unmistakable. “This guy… he’s a whole new level of dangerous.”

The air in the control room was thick with tension. Rows of computers hummed softly, the screens glowing with urgent messages and data streams. In the center of the room stood Commander Warrier. He was a tall, imposing figure, with broad, muscular shoulders that stretched the fabric of his crisp military uniform. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped close to his head, but there were still enough gray strands to show his age. His face was sharp and severe, with a prominent jawline and deep-set eyes that burned with intensity.

Warrier’s hands, large and scarred from years of battle, gripped the edge of the control panel in front of him. His knuckles turned white from the pressure as he listened to the communication blaring in his earpiece. The veins in his neck bulged slightly, his entire body rigid with fury. His eyes, dark and steely, flashed with disbelief and barely contained rage as he processed the words he had just heard.

“WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY?!” Warrier bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls of the control room. His thick, muscular chest heaved with each breath as he slammed his fist down on the table in front of him, causing the equipment to rattle violently. The veins in his forearms bulged as his muscles flexed with the force of his anger. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his face twitched, his teeth grinding audibly.

His face, usually stoic and composed, was contorted with fury. His brow furrowed deeply, lines etched into his skin from years of stress and command. His lips, usually pressed into a thin, commanding line, were now pulled back in a snarl as he leaned forward, barking orders into the communication ring.

“WILLIAMS, WHO IS THIS GUY?!” Warrier roared again, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. His entire body trembled with the effort to keep himself in check, his fists pounding the table once more. His dark eyes gleamed with a mix of disbelief and fear, emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel.

“Tell me RIGHT NOW! SHEENA AND HARRY’S SON?! I WAS SURE HE WAS DEAD! HOW IS HE ALIVE?!” Warrier’s voice broke slightly, the shock of the revelation overtaking him. His fingers curled into fists again, his broad shoulders hunched as if readying himself for battle. His jaw twitched, and his breathing came in short, rapid bursts as he tried to wrap his mind around the information.

His face, now flushed with fury, turned toward one of the junior officers nearby, who was watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. Warrier’s gaze was so intense that the young officer flinched, his body instinctively recoiling as the commander’s wrath bore down on him.

Commander Warrier’s chest rose and fell with barely suppressed fury as he straightened his posture, towering over everyone else in the room. His hands remained clenched at his sides, muscles tight with the effort to contain his rage, but his eyes burned with a singular purpose: vengeance.