Otome’s gaze locked onto me, and for a moment, she blinked as if trying to dispel a vision or hallucination. Her sharp eyes, scanned my face, lingering for a long second before flicking toward Nanik and Farthington. Without a word, she stepped protectively in front of the lady with the vermilion hair, her body shifting into a subtle but unmistakable stance of defense.
“Who exactly are our guests here, Vargo?” she called out, her voice steady but laced with suspicion. Her gaze didn’t leave us, as if she was prepared to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.
“They were brought here by Jason because the woman that resembles you uncannily, was trying to find you. She claims her name is Tokei Makina.”
“Makina?”
Otome stood there, her eyes narrowing as if weighing my claim. The seconds stretched, thick with contemplation, before she finally made her judgment. “You, Tokei, follow me.”
She turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the lady with vermilion hair. “Victoria, go meet up with the others,” she instructed.
Victoria hesitated for a brief moment before nodding and quickly leaving the room. Otome’s attention shifted back to me, her gaze hard and unyielding. “Come with me,” she said sternly. “Your companions will be shown around the base while we have our chat.”
Without another word, she turned and began walking toward the door, expecting me to follow. To which I complied after exchanging glances of confirmation with Nanik before leaving.
Traversing the well-worn wooden Hallway leading further into the hideout, I managed to glance through a door that was slightly ajar while walking and ended up seeing the inside of the room that Victoria had entered after Otome let her leave. Inside she was speaking to a young man with black hair and cerulean eyes, he had a quiver slung over his shoulder and a wooden recurve bow in hand. I quickly averted my eyes before any of them noticed me peering in.
The hallway ahead seemed to stretch on, quiet but for the soft creaks of the wood beneath our feet. Otome’s pace never slowed, and I wondered what sort of revelation or confrontation lay at the end of this path.
Nearing her destination Otome came to a halt, In front of her a door on which hung a plaque of her name messily engraved as if a 5-year-old had handcrafted it. She took out a bronze key with an intricately shaped bit at the end, sliding it into the lock and twisting it, with a Clack the door swiveld open ans she strode into the room in the direction of a sturdy wooden desk, and as it were second-hand nature to her, she abducted a box of matches that were resting on the desk and walked over to a lantern before seting its wick ablaze. The warm glow from the flame flickered to life, casting shadows that danced along the walls of what was clearly her personal quarters. The room had a rugged, no-nonsense feel to it—functional rather than decorative. A sturdy wooden desk sat to one side, cluttered with maps, documents, and a half-finished mug of coffee. On the opposite wall, a weapons rack held a variety of well-worn blades, and curiously enough there were what seemed to be almost steampunk-looking gadgets.
She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. Once the room was lit, Otome turned to face me, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “Sit,” she gestured to a simple wooden chair near the desk, while she remained standing. Her tone was clipped, and professional. As I complied, the flickering light caught in her eyes—gleaming like the reflection of fire on steel.
“So,” she began, crossing her arms, “you’re claiming the name Makina. And you’ve come all the way here. Start talking. I want to know everything, starting with what you know about the family name you claim to carry.”
“Sigh, If I’m being honest, I don’t know the first thing about my family name… I had some sort of amnesia and couldn’t remember anything but my name…”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Otome’s reaction to the word “amnesia” was immediate. Her posture stiffened, and her eyes narrowed as though she was piecing something together in her mind. The sudden shift in her demeanor was impossible to miss. She was no longer just sizing me up—now she seemed genuinely unsettled as if my words had struck a nerve.
"Amnesia," she repeated, her voice quieter, but there was an edge to it. "You're telling me you don’t remember anything? Not your family, not your past?"
I nodded, unsure of where she was going with this. “That’s right. All I remember is waking up in the city, and my name—Tokei Makina. Since then, I’ve been searching for any kind of connection to my past, and that’s what led me here… to you.”
Otome took a deep breath, the tension in her shoulders visible. She began pacing slightly, as though debating something with herself. “Amnesia... and the same last name,” she muttered, half to herself.
Coming to a halt, Otome looked directly into my eyes, “I have one last question. Do you have a functioning Mansian?”
“No.”
She closed her eyes and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, before turning to face me again, her expression hard but not unkind. "There’s more to this than you realize…"
Her words hung in the air, thick with unspoken implications. Whatever she knew, it was more than she was willing to say right away.
“However, we very well could be related. For your information, I do not recall having a sister either so I can’t be certain, But judging from the looks of it… we’re almost definitely related.”
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Outside the Coffee shop, night had begun to creep across the city, with shadows growing darker. The gas-powered streetlights began to come alive one by one, their lanterns casting fiery warmth across the main streets, while the less trekked roads grew colder from the moon’s embrace.
The trio moved like shadows through the dimly lit streets, their urgency palpable. Elizabeth, leading the way, was focused straight ahead. Her dark, bluish hair flowed behind her, and her gleaming yellow eyes glinted like a predator prepared to pounce on its prey. Her outfit helped her move swiftly as she dashed through the alleyways with precision. She barely glanced back at Riftel and Cedrick, who struggled to keep pace but followed her without question.
"Eliz, seriously, we’re in a port town, not a battlefield," Riftel muttered between breaths, his hand adjusting his glasses as they threatened to slip from his nose during the sprint. He kept flipping his fountain pen, a nervous habit that seemed at odds with his otherwise composed demeanor.
Elizabeth didn’t bother to respond. Her cold gaze remained fixed ahead, scanning the streets with a kind of ruthless efficiency. Every movement she made was deliberate, and there was no trace of hesitation in her steps. She lived for precision, and failure wasn’t an option.
Cedrick, in contrast to Riftel’s exasperation, seemed to enjoy the sprint. His laughter echoed against the brick walls as he kept a hand on his top hat, making sure it didn’t fly off as they bolted through the narrow alleys. "Rif, my man, you oughta know by now that when Lady Elizabeth says move, ya best move," he teased, though his eyes gleamed with sharp awareness.
Riftel rolled his eyes but kept pace, twirling his fountain pen with more fervor. "I just don't get why we’re the ones on the ground. Couldn't they have sent someone else? We’ve got bigger things to deal with than some rogue mercs."
Elizabeth’s voice cut through the night like a cold wind. "Orders are orders, Riftel. The turncoats know something, something the State Security wants. If we don’t move now, they’ll disappear into the cracks of this city before dawn. Do I need to remind you what happens if we fail?"
Riftel grimaced but didn’t respond. He didn’t need reminding. None of them did.
As the three figures reached the mouth of another alley, the glow of the nearby streetlights flickered slightly, and Elizabeth slowed her pace, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed their surroundings. They were close now, she could feel it. The faint trail of mana residue left behind by the targets was still fresh.
“Cedrick, take the rooftops. Riftel, follow me,” she ordered, her voice sharp as steel. Without waiting for a reply, she darted ahead, her hand swiftly unsheathing throwing knives she stored in her outfit.
Cedrick gave a quick salute before leaping to the nearest fire escape, his figure disappearing into the darkened skyline. Riftel sighed, pocketing his pen, and jogged after Elizabeth, grumbling under his breath but following without further protest.
The hunt was on.