Thursday, 0600 hours.
Ongoing repairs prevented Mezil from using the Spire’s briefing hall, much to his annoyance. He’s not comfortable talking about top-secret material in civilian space. Nonetheless, the hospital’s boardroom will have to do for now.
It’s fortunate that the hospital’s chairman was once a Magus Healer; it’s thanks to him that the non-magical staff members don’t ask too many questions.
Cenna struggled to sit up straight. Hair, not properly combed. Hat, falling forward.
Mezil sighed, fixing the hat so that it doesn’t drop onto the floor. “…And you complain about me.” he said.
A long, angry groan expressed her dissatisfaction.
“Old man…” she muttered, “I gotta wake up at ungodly hours just because you’re a damn vampire. Will it hurt you to sleep early for once?”
“And give you the chance to boot me off my bed?” he replied. “I thought you’re the lark. Isn’t six your usual waking time?”
“You’re starting the meeting AT six. It means I gotta wake up at five!”
Mezil sat down on his chair. “Any later and I’ll be too tired.”
The young woman glared back. “Yeah, yeah, because you take fucking forever to sleep AND wake up. BOTH! You have stupid max resist stats versus alarm clocks too!”
“At least I don’t need to fence my sleeping space. Goodness, you roll more than a ball.”
Their silly spat ended when his wife, Lucidia, entered the boardroom. She stared at the two humans for a moment, unimpressed by their current sleep-deprived condition.
“Do you two need an ice-cold towel?” she asked. “I refuse to start the meeting if nobody can pay attention.”
Cenna sat straight up. “No ma’am! I’m fine ma’am!”
“Good. How about you, ‘Judge Thyme’?”
Straightening his coat, Mezil responded: “Please begin, ‘Lady Lucidia’.”
Lucidia turned off the lights and connected her tablet to the hospital’s projector. It listed all the related suspects of this time loop.
Two men occupied the center. Aiden of Aratet, supposedly the eldest son of The Last Persona.
And…
The nemesis himself. Even after all these years, he’s still relevant to history. What a scourge.
Lucidia focused on the younger of the two; “Aiden of Aratet,” she began “The current true leader of Gungnir. Claims to be Persona’s son.”
“In my search for his identity, I started with the public records: medical, police, immigration and so on. However, I could not find an individual named ‘Aiden’ who matches his features.”
“Knowing their tradition, this mismatch is intentional. Aiden would have listed a different name. Therefore, I next ran a search for all mixed-race Aratet children without a known father. Here is my closest consistent match.”
The screen displayed a photograph of a young boy. It’s a humanitarian record for child soldiers.
Peering at the photos, Mezil noted the similarities around his eyes. They tend to change the least. Even so, it was difficult to match the face of the man with his prepubescent self.
Lucidia continued: “According to this documentation, ‘Asachulra Bhuntiri’ enlisted in a student program after the war. Eligible children could gain sponsors for re-education, promoting a future free of conflict.”
“His grades were good enough to secure him a spot at an agricultural school. After graduation, he worked as an apprentice in the same place for two years. He vanished from the public eye soon after. Presumably that's when he returned to his old ways.”
Mezil asked, “What about their passports? They would’ve had to get into the country somehow.”
“The police already received my request yesterday, though no progress can be made until time continues to flow on as normal.”
“That’s exactly why I had decided to end the cycle.” said Mezil. “Behavioral patterns suggests that the Gungnir lack sufficient ways to record spacetime. The alterations were just enough to evade capture; there’s no indication of a counterattack.”
Cenna leaned against the chair. “Yeah. Real slim chance for them to have a proper Persona. They wouldn’t have been so desperate to grab Frisky if they already had one. This Aiden fellow is probably a Red Minor, nothing more.”
Mezil pointed out. “Still, I don’t know the exact nature of his Psychia either. He could be a special case.”
“Like a Double Red Minor?” asked Cenna. “With a 50-50 Major-Minor split?”
“Yes,” Mezil nodded. “Judge Pashowar had a student with a similar composition. Shame she died so young.”
“Anyway,” Cenna twirled her finger at the screen. “About that stuff from before. Here’s the thing I don’t get. Sure, the Aratet region went to hell at one point. But. Once they stopped fighting, they would have rebuilt to modern standards, including records for everything and anything. What gives?”
“Aiden must have settled in a rural area. Those catch up the last. I won’t be surprised if he changed identities then and there.”
Mezil crossed his arms. “I can think of an easy loophole. Use a relative’s name. Preferably a wife’s.”
Lucidia nodded. “Their tradition dictates that the non-warrior member of the family hold the majority of their property. It’s a practical arrangement: those who fight or work abroad are unable to manage the assets. A civilian spouse would make the best choice.”
“Aiden’s missus holds the cash and pays the bills, huh?” Cenna rubbed her neck. “Any signs of kids?”
“Captain Undyne mentioned that Papyrus singled out a male teenager.”
The next photograph was a snapshot reconstructed by the Chronograph. Papyrus talked to a brown-skinned boy with a gold earring.
Without doubt, that was another Aratet. The traditionalists mark their adulthood with earrings emblazoned in a symbol matching their deeds. His was diamond-shaped, themed in a sun motif.
“Known name, ‘Dayton’. Age, estimated 15 to 17 years old. Based on context, Aiden is his father.”
Persona has grandchildren now? Mezil thought. Another day, another headache… What else is new?
Mezil’s phone disrupted the meeting. It came from an approved emergency number:
Investigator Garamond.
“Excuse me.” Mezil then answered the call.
“Judge Thyme, Frisk has yet to emerge from the Underground. Should I call a rescue team?”
The Judge hurried out of the boardroom with such urgency, he knocked over his own cane.
Both his ears and legs were aware of this mistake. Yet he can’t turn back.
…I can’t let Cenna know.
Where could he go? The balcony was the worst place with all that wind. The cafeteria was too public. And the solitude of the parking lot just begged for an attack.
In the end, Mezil retreated into the men’s bathroom. She won’t follow him there. At least, that’s what he hoped.
He holed himself up in one of the cubicles, locked it, and resumed the call.
“Sorry for taking so long,” he said. “I was in the middle of a debriefing.”
Garamond replied: “Understood, sir.”
“Thank you. Back to Frisk. They’re still in there? I thought it’s possible to walk out of the Underground within a day? Back then it was almost clockwork. I can’t imagine they died.”
“Correct, sir. I do retain their Mark. Plus, if they sustained serious injuries, Gaelic would have brought them out posthaste.”
“Agreed,” said Mezil, “But why then the delay?”
“I don’t know, sir. Will you rewind time?”
Mezil primed his SAVE. The world desaturated into monochrome grey, ready to switch back to yesterday.
Should I?
After much contemplation, the Living Victory put away his powers.
“No, I won’t. Continue your observation and keep me posted.”
“Yes sir.” Garamond ended the call.
Alone in the toilet, Mezil let himself relax. The constant need to be strong before others could wear down even the steeliest of men.
Then, he heard the hinges of the main entrance. Someone else had entered the restroom.
A guard on duty? Hospital staff? A Gungnir infiltrant? Or…
Mezil prepared to react. Any moment now, as long they remained in the vicinity, an ambush may be sprung.
Except, the person walked past his stall and got down to business.
Toilet seat, lowered.
Streams of water, checked.
Groans of bowel movement, checked.
And finally, relief. “Aaaah… Can’t wait to go home and tucker out.”
Mezil recognized the voice as belonging to one of the guards. It appears that he was just discharged from his shift.
Everyone is tired, huh? Might as well get mine done too. Pass the time. Make an alibi.
The wait continued until the neighbour washed up and left.
…I wonder if I’m getting too paranoid.
Mezil dragged himself to the sink. As he washed his hands and his face, the flowing water reminded him of his own fatigue.
Against caution for the fluctuating quality of urban water systems, he also drank straight from the tap.
Maybe his oversensitive digestive system would protest. Maybe not.
Other than meeting the right amount nutrients, Mezil didn’t care much about the source. It made no difference whether or not his meat was grown in a lab or butchered from an animal. Protein is protein. Can it be digested? That’s all he wanted to know.
He never had the luxury of being picky. Let that sense of judgement focus on other more important things: such as his battle with time-travelling DEMONs.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Mezil sensed a spike of aggression charging towards him. His left hand darted to his gun holster. Dangerous or not, it’s an ingrained habit.
“MEZIL THYYYYME!!!”
Alas, he was too late. Cenna managed to grab his arm and twisted it behind his back. The price of his failure was a strong slam against the wall.
“What happened to Frisky???” She yelled.
Mezil grunted. “Why now?”
“Because YOU ran off like a shady bastard! Tell me, goddammit! Or else I’ll make you!”
Down the hall, Mezil heard the hurried footsteps of the guards on duty. And the situation spiralled out of control.
Cenna stole his gun from the holster. Without doubt, she would use that to keep the guards at bay.
They soon arrived. Prompt and on point. One of them ordered, “Judge Caraway, please stand down!”
“Stay out of this!” she yelled back, recklessly waving the gun around.
“You’re attacking a superior. Please. Stand. Down.”
“That’s why I’m telling you to get the fuck away! This is PERSONAL!”
“Ma’am, calm down,” said the guard. “Being irrational won’t help.”
“Then make him TALK!!!” she yelled back, “Or else I’m gonna punch the bloody secrets outta him!”
From the corner of his eyes, Mezil saw Cenna raise her fist. He braced himself for the inevitable impact.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Or so he thought. In the nick of time, a familiar buzz of Blue magic saved his face from a firm bruising.
There was a startled yelp, and then Mezil got freed from her grip. Lucidia had tossed her husband’s assailant towards the ceiling.
Ever meticulous, Lucidia used her magic to slip his weapon back into its holster.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” Turning towards the dangling human, Lucidia questioned: “What were you thinking, young lady? A fight? In public? Are you a child? I expect the Magus Association’s top Judges to behave better!”
Cenna grit her teeth. “Yeah, I’m a bloody delinquent. What are you gonna do about it, Little Miss Perfect?!”
“I will do what any ‘Little Miss Perfect’ would do: restrain and discipline!”
Lucidia proceeded to rope Cenna with a long spine. No matter how the young woman struggled, she couldn’t break free.
The assailant was then handed over to the guards. While they did their handcuffing for good measure, Lucidia helped her husband.
“Are you fine, dear?” she asked.
“Sort of,” he replied. “A sore arm and some light bruising at most.”
Still, there was that seething anger radiating from the transgressor. She continued to yell and struggle among the guards. What a chaotic scene.
Mezil thought that he should settle the mayhem before she wakes up the whole hospital.
Too late. The Grandmaster himself already walked onto the scene. He must have caught word of the ruckus. The proverbial cat had escaped the bag, ran all the way to the elder, and led him here.
“Do we have trouble?” he asked.
A guard reported: “Judge Caraway assaulted Judge Thyme, sir! We don’t know the reason yet.”
“That’s fine,” said the elder. “Please escort Judge Caraway to my chambers. I’ll take it from there.”
All of them responded with a salute. “Yes, sir!”
Mezil sighed, relieved that his father-in-law wrapped up this incident posthaste.
Lucidia, however, glanced at her husband. Mood, soured. As if her days weren’t bad enough.
At least, he would just need to deal with his wife. Nobody else. He counted that as a silver lining.
* * *
Cenna lowered her head. A mix of guilt, anger, and anxiety stirred in her heart.
Sitting across her was the Grandmaster himself.
‘The Ancient One’.
‘The True Headmaster’.
‘The Judger of Judges’.
‘The Red Sage’
And the cheekier yet accurate, ‘The Holy Bone’.
The lady expected nothing but a stern berating from now onward. She might as well be a little girl with a dunce cone on her head.
“Well then,” so said the ancient one. “You’ve caused quite a ruckus.”
“Yes, sir…” Cenna muttered.
“And you also derided my daughter as ‘Little Miss Perfect’.”
Regret. Utter regret. Just thinking about it made her cringe. She knew Lucidia resented that title, and it was precisely the reason why she used it.
Growing redder, she admitted: “Yes… Sir…”
The Grandmaster rested his staff against his shoulder. “Recite to me the most basic common prayer: Our Father.”
Cenna hesitated. She knew exactly where he’ll focus. This wasn’t the first time Lucidia’s adoptive father disciplined her.
In the relationship chain, if Mezil was the ‘son’ then Cenna would be the ‘granddaughter’. It’s not official on paper, but the old Lich saw no difference. After all, the Wanderstars did give her over to the custody of House Berendin.
“Recite,” he said. Stern.
“R-right! Um.”
“Our Father who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name,
Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours,
now and forever. Amen.”
Lord Berendin nodded. “Right there, ‘Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us’.”
“You’re commanded to forgive. Otherwise the roots of bitterness will continue to spring up… as it had happened on this very morning.”
Cenna tried to avoid his direct gaze. “It’s hard.”
“I know it is,” said the old man.
“I’m angry.”
“I know you are.”
Her vision started to blur from the tears. “If my parents were really that important to Mez, why did he let them die?”
In turn, the Grandmaster replied: “Have you asked Winston for the truth?”
“He’ll just deflect the whole issue!”
“But you have never tried. Not once in these ten years. Do you fear his answer, or do you fear being wrong?”
She clenched her hands. “Both, to be honest.”
What a shame for someone with Justice. Cenna knew she should have confessed sooner… Her inability to resolve their complicated relationship prevented her from taking certain Vanquisher tasks. She’s already grateful that it didn’t mess with her Ascension.
If nothing happened to Frisky, she could have hidden her thoughts. Forever maybe. But something did happen: on the same demonic mountain that had claimed her parents.
“If…” she began. “If Mez tells me he had a choice, I wouldn’t be able to face him again. If he didn’t, then, I dunno. I’d get mad anyway. Probably rile myself up about his solo battle with Persona cause, y’know, he had a whole damn army at his disposal!”
“Heck, a group of snipers would have guaranteed a much safer outcome! So why… why did he insist on his bloody gambit?!”
Before Berendin could say any more, he questioned her heart. “Cenna, are you willing to listen without prejudice?”
Does she want to listen?
Or does she not?
“I… know half of it at least. Mez didn’t want to put anyone at risk of HVMs. Persona had no qualms resorting to those. It makes sense, I guess. But.”
In the end, she couldn’t proceed. Cenna shook her head. “Sorry, Grandmaster. I just can’t.”
The Lich tapped his chin, pondering at this current predicament.
That moment seemed like forever. Patience, she lacked. On the other hand, the old bone had plenty.
“Uh, Sir. I got something to ask,” The lady fidgeted with the tip of her hat. “I… Uhm…”
After a few false starts, Cenna mustered enough coherence to speak: “I wanna know what sort of a guy Mez was before meeting Papa and Mama. They seem to go way back. At the dinner table, they’d sometimes joke about Mez not turning into a real vampire. With a spooky castle and all.”
“I was too young to understand. Now that I know more, I wonder what sort of truths those words were based on.”
The Grandmaster chuckled. “Oh, did they? Always the comical ones. Let’s see, how do I answer your question without divulging too much…”
Whatever lightheartedness lasted only for a while; he resumed a serious tone fit for explaining the past.
So the Red Sage said: “Many doubted Winston’s eligibility to be the Supreme Judge. His election was done out of necessity and steeped in violence. Such often happens when the previous generation fails to secure a peaceful succession.”
“As his conflict with Persona grew, so did his darkness. It reached a point where I was pressured to seek a replacement. That’s where your parents came in.”
Cenna widened her eyes. This was the first time she had heard of this story. The Wanderstars died too soon, and Mezil would never confess without a direct prompt.
“M-mama and Papa were supposed to replace Mez?!”
“Not quite,” the Grandmaster replied. “Contrary to the demands for his disposal, I sought those who could guide Winston back to the right path.”
“They entered the Crimson Hall as a pair. My personal request. The son of Wanderstar was determined to remain faithful to the truth, while the woman he’d one day marry was determined to be kind, no matter the circumstances. ”
The sweet memories made Cenna smile. “Yeah. Sounds like them alright. They took in a random kid like me. So, did they confuse the heck out of Mez?”
“Why, yes.” he nodded. “They had left him quite befuddled. That was the first and only time I had ever seen Winston call for a recess in the trial.”
Snort. Chortle. She tried her best to control her laughter, but it kept spilling over.
“Oh my god even Mez in all his tsundereness had a nubcake moment! Hahahahahaha I can’t believe it! Ack I think I pulled my stitches.”
The old one tapped her on the shoulder with his staff. “Now, now, Cenna. Everyone has to go through the learning ropes. Winston was no different.”
“Okay, okay, okay.”
It might have taken a good minute for her to truly calm back down. Maybe less, maybe more. It’s hard to tell.
“Well then.” The Grandmaster’s staff tapped the floor, “Now that your spirits have been lifted, I shall send you back. But only under one condition.”
“Which would be?”
“That you apologize to your colleagues for your outbursts. Keep it simple. And most of all, honest.”
“Ugh….” Back to square one.
“Apologize. Or else.”
“Ok! Ok!” Sooner or later, she had to do it anyway. “…I dunno if Lucy can accept it though.”
“As long you give her time. Come, the Cosmos turns ever onward.”
* * *
Back here again…
While Lucidia handled the fine details, Mezil rested in his seat. He grumbled about the soreness of his twisted arm. The hospital had provided him an ice pack for the joints and some simple instructions.
Then, he yawned. So he got up to walk around. Started browsing the internet on his phone to get an idea about the public opinion in the meantime. The media still held persuasive power over the masses… one that Gungnir had managed to exploit for their own agenda.
So far, nothing different. Just more ‘advocates’ yelling about the perceived lack of safety of the Magi students. There’s a high chance that they would converge into a public protest this coming Saturday.
The sheer taste of disdain made him reminisce. Memories of the old, yet unforgettable past echoed. He might not recall the exact details, but the intent… it was as bright as day.
Long in the past, The Grandmaster called him to the office. Severity weighted the air.
“I know what you did, Winston. I’m no fool. Your actions have put your integrity under question.”
“You have two options. Repent and use the Keys of Fate to undo your deeds, or live with the consequences.”
“………………………”
“I see. You do not believe in the path of Mercy either.”
“Surprised? No, not at all. The majority of Supreme Judges thought the same as you. Mercy was given to individuals, but few make it their lifelong calling. My days of youth are not exempted.”
“Dear Winston, an empire built on force will not change people’s hearts. The Redeemer Himself said that those who live by the sword will die by the sword. Many of your predecessors lost their lives to this vicious cycle. Directly or otherwise.”
“I pray that one day you will see the light. In the meantime, I shall continue to be a living example: as I have been for generations.”
At this moment, Mezil felt old beyond his age. “Mercy, huh?”
His musings were interrupted when Lucidia returned with a clipboard in tow.
That stare of disappointment… it stung more than any physical injury. The heavier the responsibility, the greater the scrutiny.
“Why didn’t you rewind?” questioned Lucidia. Her voice had a slight snap. “You knew Cenna would react like this. And what if Frisk was injured? What if something worse had happened to them?”
He replied: “I’ll cross that road when I come to it.”
His reasoning only made Lucidia angrier. The edges of her luscious hair started to curl upwards: a bad sign. “Look, anything can happen in the next twenty-four hours to prevent you from using the Keys. We’ve talked about this, Mezil!”
The pressure rose. For both of their sakes, Mezil needed to calm her down.
“I’m aware.” He kept his voice level. “I’ve also taken that into account. Since nothing serious has happened in the last few resets, I let time flow.”
Continuing, he said: “This is also for Frisk’s benefit. Before the Crimson Hall, they had free reign on their power. Nothing had permanent consequences. The fact that they’re still down there means that they’re expecting time-travel to undo their mishap. A dangerous and complacent thought.”
Lucidia pondered. A slight relief, yet Mezil can’t relax just yet. It all depends on her next response.
“That is quite true. But isn’t that a bit harsh of a lesson? I know Gaelic is with them. Still, I’m worried.”
Raising a brow, the husband asked back: “You doubt his abilities?”
“Not him.” She clutched her clipboard. “It’s Frisk. Prodigy or not, a child is still a child. Can they handle Gaelic at his worst? Alone? Even if we rewind… I can’t imagine the traumatic memories that might remain.”
“They befriended the entirety of Ebott. That includes an extremist fish, a nihilist Lichborn assassin, and two sociopathic DEMON flowers. Gaelic shouldn’t be a problem.”
His wife glared back. “You’re aware that they almost got bit, right?”
“Well aware. Everyone has to get past that initial aggression. Minus your good fortune. He’s always gentle with you.”
The disbelief intensified. Dealing with his wife’s mood swings was the price of keeping her as a living person. Allowing her to embrace the ways of a rational ‘machine’ may make his life easier, but that meant losing her precious heart. A pointless endeavour.
Mezil let out a deep sigh. “Frisk thought that Gaelic was between a ‘cute pet’ and a ‘beast’. Typical ignorance. We know he’s more than that. Only those lost in the wilderness will truly appreciate him and his virtues.”
Her temper cooled. After a long thought, she responded with the following statement: “As long as you admit that this may not be the wisest of decisions. I’m sorry. There are just too many unknown variables for my liking.”
He could accept that. She had a point. Also, the determination to preserve respect trumped winning some fleeting argument.
“Yes, dear,” he replied, “…Maybe it’s not for the best. I’ll bear full responsibility should anything happen.”
“Thank you.” Handing over the clipboard, she said: “Please sign.”
“What’s this?”
“A form to suspend Judge Caraway for one week for attacking a superior. Insubordination, Judge Thyme.”
Mezil read the details. Everything was already filled out. All he needed to do was verify and approve.
…His decision-making process must have taken longer than expected. Lucidia grew impatient. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?”
“N-no,” Mezil shook his head. “I just wonder if it’s necessary. The Spring Mission is right around the corner. There’s not much time left to prepare.”
Frowning, Lucidia reminded him of the reality of this situation. “I wish we could ignore it. However, she snapped in public. It would set a bad example to the rest of the Magi if we sweep this incident under the rug.”
“You have a point,” he added. “So, another forced vacation.”
“Another?”
“I had said the same for Frisk.”
Thus, The Judge sealed the verdict with his pen. He knew that Cenna had stopped caring about her track record a long time ago. Why bother? Credentials were useless for someone who’s about to ‘retire’ from the mortal plane itself.
“And done.” He slipped the pen back on the board. “Lucidia, I want to ask you something.”
“Yes?” she replied.
“Have I become a sentimental old fool?”
One blink. Two blinks. Lucidia asked back: “Is that a bad thing, dear?”
The puzzled reaction confused Mezil. “Yes. I’m supposed to be stern and impartial.”
“Oh dear husband, you can be so silly at times. The Supreme Judge is a human with a heart too. That warmness should be treasured.”
“That… doesn’t answer my question. My job isn’t quite fit for mere humans.”
Mezil took a seat. He then rested his head on the table, drawing out a weary sigh.
“There’s just no end to this,” he muttered. “First it was Kisei, then Persona, and now his children. Grandchildren even.”
“I’ve turned grey in the past decade, Lucidia. I can no longer walk long distances without a cane. And yet, my enemies are youths in their prime, springing up everywhere. How can I take on Aiden, the Son of Persona?”
Lucidia settled by his side. “My determined husband, whining? I’ll have you know fifty is not that old! The official senior citizen classification begins at sixty. You’re a decade too young to label yourself so.”
He grunted. “On the assumption that the average human doesn’t deal with a lifetime of death matches.”
Countering in a playful tone, she asked: “What about soldiers? Police? Would fifty be considered old for them?”
“Athletes,” Mezil added. “Don’t forget athletes. And yes, I would consider fifty to be ‘old’ for those groups.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Feeling creaky already? It’s not even a century. I’ll have you know that I expect you to live for much, much longer. Together with me… as my handsome red-eyed Lich.”
“Hmph. I’ll only live as long as you do.”
“Such morbid romanticism. A melodramatic Mezzy is a tired Mezzy. Rest, dear. We’ll resume businesses when you’re better.”
Someone knocked on the door. Mezil groaned in response. Meddlesome interruptions… he had to force himself back up to his professional stance.
“Does my hair look right?” he asked.
Lucidia helped smooth down the stray strands. “Now it does. I’ll answer the door.”
The father-in-law had returned with the delinquent in tow. By way of discreet nudges of his staff, The Grandmaster urged the semi-reluctant Cenna to do what’s right.
He waited in silence. That expectant stare was all Mezil needed to understand his intent.
The young lady took off her hat as she slowly walked closer towards her superiors. That’s good manners there: a proof of sincerity.
“Um,” she began. “Sorry. For the dumb outbursts. And, u-um…”
The Grandmaster cleared his throat. Non-existent breathing organs for a Lich, but the sound got his point across. If Cenna had a lighter skin tone, she would’ve been as red as a tomato.
“Sorry, Lucy, for calling you ‘Little Miss Perfect’. I know you hate it. And. I realised that I was being horrible.”
“And Mez, sorry for flipping out over Frisky. That proves your point, huh? Me. Not being able to handle it.”
Mezil huffed. “Glad you acknowledged that part. Does it hurt to have a little faith in me? If something serious does happen to Frisk, I’ll use the Keys of Fate. That’s guaranteed.”
“Mmm,” Lucidia nodded. “Apology accepted.” Those were her words. But, her heart wouldn’t be able to let it go so soon.
The Supreme Judge pushed the clipboard towards Cenna. Reaching out his arm, he said: “Turn in your badge and gun. You’re suspended for a week starting from now.”
There was an immediate look of dejection on the young woman’s face, as if he’d just served an extra blow to whatever sense of shame that was already burning on her head.
“Go look for Frisk.” he then added.
Shock replaced the gloom, followed by an eventual brightening into joy. There was never a person so glad to surrender their gear… until today.
The gun and her badge, placed before Mezil in under half a minute. Quite an amusing sight to behold. This girl could be so dense yet sharp at the same time.
“You’re dismissed,” he said. “Scoot off already. Bring along a certain fish if possible.”
Cenna saluted. “Thank you very much! Have a good sleep, sir!!!”
Off she went. So hard to believe that she almost died last Sunday. At least she’s still robust.
Back alone, Mezil slumped into his chair. “Guh. I’m feeling nauseous.”
Dear wife sprang into action. Her delicate fingers massaged his scalp, analyzing every function on his body.
“Abnormal brain activity, negative. Concussion complications, negative. Blood pressure, low. Blood sugar, low. Gastrointestinal irritation, positive. Query: did you drink from the bathroom tap?”
“You think that’s the cause?”
“Negative,” she replied. “But risky. Bathrooms are a prime source of contamination from infected users. It appears that your current issues are caused by skipped meals.”
“Suggestion: a light snack before retiring to bed.”
Lucidia had a point. Coupled with the ill-feelings, he heard his stomach growl. Rather embarrassing.
In a half-joking manner, he asked: “Jungle Curry then?”
Her response? “Request, denied!”