Five stern men, each capable of intimidating even the most notorious thugs into fits of fear, scrutinized every detail of the broadcast replaying on four monitors. They all knew that what they were witnessing was a top-level state secret. Moreover, they realized that they were not privy to this information without good reason, and they would be expected to express their well-informed opinions.

"So, a reincarnate," said the youngest of the men.

"My analysis department isn't just loafing around. They predicted this outcome with nearly eighty percent certainty," responded the one among the five who knew the individual in question best.

"Well, he's not a madman with a split personality. That's something," rumbled a man so large he could barely fit through the door.

"Intelligent and experienced can be worse than insane," countered the most inconspicuous among them.

The brief exchange ended, and the recording started anew from the beginning. However, not even three minutes had passed when the massive door swung open, and the duke's eldest son entered the room. The five men immediately straightened into a line and stood rigid.

The Heir surveyed them with a stern gaze, waving his hand to signal they could relax.

"Rock," Lair Gluathon stated calmly, though the man named Rock turned noticeably pale at the mention of his name.

"Yes, sire?"

"Didn't you inform me that Maestro was in a state of dejection, almost depressed, due to the loss of a student in the last Breakthrough?"

"I did. All observations, all my sources indicated as much..."

"And?" The Heir pointed to the nearest monitor. "Does my conversational partner appear dejected or depressed to you?"

"No, sire," managed the curator of the Break Knights, though with noticeable difficulty.

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"We'll discuss this further," the Heir said after a brief pause, "Privately."

The other men in the room cast sympathetic glances at Rock.

"We will delve into the details later, but for now, I want your initial impressions," Lair Gluathon said, surveying his most loyal men before clapping his hands, "Begin!"

"In forming an alliance with you, Maestro seemed sincere," the curator of police services responded first.

"You were correct to offer him an alliance, not personal vassalage and a title of count," Tunk chimed in with a brief nod.

"I initially had doubts about your decision to disclose to Maestro the role played by the 'Masks of Novilter'. However, it soon became clear that he appreciated your candor, and the conversation took a more trusting turn," said the curator of foreign affairs, as verbose as ever.

"I believe you made the appropriate decision..." Alir started, but was cut off abruptly.

The Heir strode to the table, forcefully slamming his palm down with such intensity that one of the monitors toppled over.

"Enough!" he roared, his voice echoing in the room. "Quit licking me under the tail! You're my closest, most trusted advisers! Act like it, and not like those slimy palace politicians!" His fiery gaze swept over the immobilized curators. "Now, who wants to start?"

"Your mistake, sire, was trying to exert pressure on him from the get-go," Rock was the first to venture, considering he had little to lose after his previous misstep. "You treated him sharply and as an inferior."

"And you had warned me about that, I remember," the Heir responded, clapping the raig curator on the shoulder before turning his attention to Kotr.

"From the start, Maestro behaved as if his status was at least on par with yours, and it wasn't an act or inflated arrogance, sire."

"Go on."

"Given that he's a reincarnate, I propose that in his past life, Maestro was a noble of the purest blood."

This suggestion, made by the intelligence curator, caused everyone in the room to pause in contemplation.

"Interesting!" The Heir elongated the word. "I want to hear your worst assumptions about Maestro's primary personality. What are your thoughts? Let's speculate!"

In response, the curators exchanged nervous glances in the silence. Only Alir, whose responsibility was supervising the capital's crime, moved towards the table and picked up a book lying there.

"I'm waiting," the Heir said, his low voice sending a chill down everyone's spine.

"Sire," Alir began, tapping his index finger on the book in his hand.

"Yes?"

"This is the worst-case scenario, Sire."

The crime curator pointedly indicated the image of a man on the cover of the book titled "Undefeated."

The Heir let out a weary sigh, sinking into the nearest chair and burying his head in his hands. The silence stretched on for several minutes before the duke's eldest son finally spoke in a tired voice.

"Are there any options that aren't quite so... extreme?"