Council: Pulling the strings from the shadows of the world.

I woke up when my brother's teammates came in, but I decided to keep pretending to be asleep to avoid any awkwardness.

See? I can read the room too sometimes.

I closed my eyes and listened to the lively chatter, feeling as though there was an insurmountable chasm between us, one that I could only silently observe from the other side.

My brother apologized for not being able to attend the final match, and the others were quick to understand and comfort Piqsirpoq. I suspected that Sotura, who was originally a substitute, didn't mind the outcome too much--but that could just be the Gray part of me talking. Who knows?

Snow's team ended up in third place, behind Nyx and Wood--not that I actually understood what that meant.

I really didn't want to ruin this warm moment, but I had needed to use the bathroom for the past half hour. I didn't expect them to chat for so long.

When I finally decided to give up on pretending to be asleep, I heard the sliding door open and the sound of my brother's teammates with their tails between their legs. I sneakily opened my right eye to take a peek.

"Visiting hours are over," Qana said. Before he even finished speaking, my brother's teammates had already fled the room.

"Uh..." Piqsirpoq sounded a bit awkward. "Master."

"Congratulations." Qana threw something at my face, which I caught and saw it was a set of clothes. "You're being discharged."

"What about me?" Piqsirpoq asked, a hint of urgency in his voice.

My brother had mentioned earlier that he suspected he was on the verge of getting bedsores, or possibly some kind of long-term confinement syndrome--whichever came first.

"You too." Though he said this, Qana dragged a chair over, straddled it, and rested his elbows on the backrest, his wrists supporting his chin. "But only after we have a private talk."

Piqsirpoq's once-joyful expression faltered slightly, clearly sensing something off in the Swordmaster's tone.

"I've already told you everything I remember..." he said hesitantly, glancing at me quickly. "...Master."

"We need to discuss something else," Qana said slowly. If I didn't know the Swordmaster so well, I'd have thought the way he bared his teeth when he spoke was meant as a threat. "In private." Under Qana's intense gaze, I wisely began to get dressed and gave them some space.

Is this what applying pressure looks like? It seems Qana is really good at it.

And I'm sure the Swordmaster wouldn't appreciate any fool stupid enough to try eavesdropping, so after getting dressed, I left the room.

The atmosphere in the dining hall was lively, everyone still buzzing from the aftermath of the Selection process, even though Snow's performance this year wasn't as expected. Some were discussing Piqsirpoq's incident, while fewer speculated wildly about the mysterious attacker's background.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

No one seemed particularly interested in me.

From the gossip I overheard, the incident had been twisted into a story about how Piqsirpoq heroically saved me--or rather, some identity fabricated wolf. At least, that's the main narrative; some of the wilder ones aren't even worth mentioning.

Qana probably covered for me and my brother by using the similarity in our wave patterns or applied some skilled "pressure." Whatever the method, it was effective, as none of the stories included me.

After hearing enough of these embellished, fanciful tales, I decided to focus on more practical matters, like how to explain my long absence to Aether. Also, I needed to get a new terminal and replace the winter gear that was lost or damaged. The thought of having to engage in a battle of wits with the storage manager was already exhausting.

But for now, staying silent might be the most reasonable choice, as I had a feeling the Swordmaster had something to discuss with me as well.

"Jupiter's Flight," I said hesitantly to the food synthesizer, feeling slightly more at ease after confirming that the food it gave me at least looked normal.

As I ate the tasteless porridge, I tried to piece together the entire event.

After Qana confirmed that Piqsirpoq and I had recovered sufficiently, he asked us to recount what had happened. When I described how I resonated, releasing a slash that cleaved the armored vehicle in half, he frowned but didn't interrupt. Piqsirpoq then added his perspective, detailing how he got back up and killed the Bloodhound from behind.

But he didn't tell us what had happened inside the armored vehicle before that, and Qana didn't ask. This led me to believe that Qana knew what had happened and why Piqsirpoq didn't want to talk about it.

Ugh, I hate this.

Qana briefly informed us about the confirmed identities of the kidnappers--various notorious bounty hunters and mercenaries, though none were particularly well-known, likely just there to fill out the consciousness collective's numbers. The gray dog was Wolfhound, a Delta-level psychic, not a Red-Eye. Within the Empire, there were bounties on him in many places, but due to his cautious and discreet nature, little was known about him. However, the few cases directly linked to him were notorious and involved extremely cruel methods.

As for the one who got away, they had already disappeared without leaving any clues that might reveal their identity. They clearly had a very thorough escape plan, or they were exceptionally skilled in covert operations. Of course, it could also be both.

So, the plan behind this attack was primarily to conceal the mastermind's identity; even with the information about these criminals and mercenaries, there wasn't enough direct evidence to link them to any entity.

I recalled the sticky blood on the bottom of my shoes in the armored vehicle, along with the scattered remains and viscera, and found that it didn't affect my appetite at all. I wasn't sure if it was because I had no appetite to begin with, or if those things simply didn't bother me.

Shrugging, I continued to eat my tasteless porridge.

The Wolfhound being split in two by Qana didn't elicit any special feelings from me, except for admiration of the Swordmaster's skill. I had no idea from how high up he had started aiming or how he ensured his trajectory...

Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind, making me freeze, the spoon still in my mouth.

Qana had perfectly bisected the Wolfhound--not just in terms of technique; the key point was that the Swordmaster had clearly seen him. So, Qana knew we weren't in immediate danger but still killed the Wolfhound.

Why?

Though the burly Swordmaster looked rough and tough, always wearing a scowl, he was definitely not the type to lose control out of momentary emotional agitation. He could've just severed the Wolfhound's hand or something; his psychic ability was far superior to the Wolfhound's. So why did Qana choose to kill him?

Qana wanted to silence the Wolfhound because he knew what the Wolfhound would say--he knew who the mastermind was.

I tried to steady my hands as I placed the spoon back on the tray.

Why?

I went over the event again, trying to determine if this was just my paranoia or a case of obsession. But this only made me more certain that Qana was determined to kill the Wolfhound to shut him up.

Knowing that the person you trust most might betray you is an incredibly awful feeling--on multiple levels.

First comes self-reproach, wondering how you could be stupid enough to be deceived, how you missed all the obvious signs. Then comes the shame, questioning why you're losing faith--what if it's just a simple misunderstanding? And finally, you have to confront the helplessness that comes with the realization that you might actually be manipulated and losing control of everything.

Damn it!

I pressed my palms over my eyes, taking a few deep breaths.

Faced with what seemed like a complicated and insoluble problem, I chose the simplest path--trust. No matter how strange things seemed, even if Qana knew the true identity of the mastermind and tried to cover it up, there was no evidence that he wasn't acting in my best interest.

Though this still brought me back to the original question--why--it seemed infinitely better and more reasonable than the worst-case scenario.

In any case, I decided to trust Qana, even though he had subtly hinted that I shouldn't.

I could only shrug, doing my best not to dwell on whether trust really was an entirely illogical decision.