Six years later. Present day.
Lauran had been attending Zandora Academy for a few months now, quietly blending in, keeping her head down—at least on the surface.
One afternoon, as she walked home from school with her bag slung over her shoulder, her phone buzzed.
"Okay, Dad," she answered, trying not to sound suspicious. "Yeah, I'll be careful. I was just planning to stop by the national library this weekend."
She could hear her mother's voice chiming in from the background—sharp, worried. Her parents still hadn't adjusted to her being on her own again.
"Yes, I promise. No, you don't need to cut patrol short. I've got this. Really."
She ended the call with a sigh and slipped her phone into her pocket. That was close.
Back in her room, she changed out of her school uniform and pulled on soft, pastel clothes—so unlike her usual palette. But innocence was part of the disguise. She'd need it where she was going.
From under her bed, she dragged out her go-bag and opened it with a satisfying click. Inside: snacks, first aid, suppressants, extra ammo, two knives, a compact pistol, and a bundle of modified tech devices. Everything was in place.
She was going to sneak into Ostasia—and she was ready.
---
The old hideout hadn't changed. Dust still covered the rune-sealed floor, the stone bridge humming faintly as she activated it with a drop of her mana and the weight of her pendant.
In seconds, the portal opened.
The scent of flowers hit her first. She stepped into a field of pale purple blossoms, the wind carrying hints of jasmine and frost. Around her neck, the jade pendant of the Ostasian royal family gleamed faintly against her chest. The gold crest of Euratisia rested beside it—a silent declaration of everything she carried.
Ahead, a fortress rose in the distance, shadowed and solemn.
Two guards approached, weapons out—until their eyes landed on her pendants. One of them blinked, then bowed slightly.
"Do you require an escort...?" he asked, uncertain of what title to use.
Lauran smiled politely, keeping her posture light but firm.
"No, thank you. I can manage."
They stepped aside without further question.
---
The city swallowed her in silence. Buildings she had only seen in history books towered around her. Her expression remained blank, cold—detached, like someone on a mission.
But inside?
Full fangirl mode.
So this is what the night streets of Ostasia look like… she thought, resisting the urge to giggle. I always imagined walking them with someone special...
Her thoughts scattered as she caught movement behind her—two, maybe three shadows following at a careful distance.
She quickened her pace, planning to lose them in a side alley and double back with a sneak attack.
But just as she passed a narrow alley, a hand reached out and yanked her into the shadows.
"Wha—?!" she started to cry out, but a thick cloak was tossed over her, hood up.
Lauran shoved the hood back and looked up in alarm—only to freeze.
A boy, roughly her age but taller, stood in front of her. Dark hair like the void of space, golden eyes that flickered hazel in the low light. His grip on her shoulders was firm, almost desperate.
"Are you insane?" he whispered fiercely. "Walking around here without a disguise? What if someone had seen you? You could've been kidnapped!"
His voice was low, edged with panic and something deeper—familiarity.
Before she could reply, he tugged her hand and pulled her down a side path. The men trailing her passed by the alley without noticing.
"You need to go back," the boy muttered. "This is too dangerous."
His voice. His urgency. The way he shielded her with his body—it all stirred something in her.
For a second, she swore she saw Hajime in him.
That same haunted solitude.
She nearly said his name aloud—but then they were surrounded.
Assassins emerged from both ends of the alley, blades drawn.
Lauran didn't hesitate. She reached into her bag and pulled out her pistol. The boy—no, Stark—drew a sword from the sheath on his back.
They stood back to back, breathing in sync.
When the assassins charged, they moved as one—covering each other's blind spots, weaving through shadows. Blood splattered the walls as they carved a path to a narrow side exit.
"Can you run?" Stark asked, voice taut.
Lauran nodded. "Lead the way."
He opened a portable portal just ahead and tapped his wokitoki. "Maya. Open the cushions. I've got someone with me—don't ask. Have papers ready. I'm bringing her in."
Knives flew through the air—Stark spun, catching one with his shoulder as he pushed Lauran forward. She grabbed his wrist.
"Together."
They leapt through the portal.
---
They landed on a pile of mattresses with a heavy thud.
The portal sealed behind them.
Stark sat up first, panting. "You okay?"
Lauran nodded, dazed. "Yeah."
A girl with bright blue hair ran into the room, a data pad in her hand. "Stark, are you insane? Who is this girl? You don't take hits for anyone."
Stark stood up slowly, blood staining his sleeve. He glanced at Lauran, then back at the room.
"Meet our legitimate leader."
Lauran stood too, lowering her hood.
Everyone froze.
Then, one by one, they dropped to one knee.
"Long live the princess."
---
Stark turned to the girl—Maya—and gave her a curt nod.
"Make her a fake ID. Cover everything. That was the 30th assassination attempt on me this year."
He turned to someone offscreen.
"Oi, Xaio! When is Father coming to this base?"
Henry turned his head toward Lauran, hands casually tucked in his pockets as he leaned against the doorway. His presence was calm, but commanding.
"The name's Henry Stark Sasaki," he said with a lopsided smile. "The quiet kid in class... the one who actually listens while you're out here causing interdimensional trouble."
Lauran blinked, unsure how to respond.
Henry nodded toward Maya. "Show her around. Get her a fake ID. She needs a proper disguise if she plans to sneak around again." He glanced back at Lauran. "We'll talk later. I need to find my sorry excuse of a best friend before he causes another mess."
With that, he turned and walked down the hallway, cape-like coat trailing behind him as if the air respected his authority.
Lauran stood there, frozen.
He looked even better than the AI-generated images they had of him on her world.
Maya, the blue-haired girl, gave her a small smile and stepped closer. "So, that was... dramatic. Come on, I'll show you where we do all the fake ID stuff."
Everyone else returned to their work, but some still glanced up occasionally—curious, awestruck, or maybe unsure.
Lauran took a breath and gave a polite nod. "You don't have to be formal. Just... go on with whatever you were doing."
Maya seemed to pick up on her nervous energy and gently guided her toward a side room. "Don't worry. It's not always this intense."
---
Meanwhile…
Henry walked through the stone hallway with measured steps, his usual easy confidence hiding the storm behind his eyes.
He entered a dim corridor and slipped into the back of the old underground library—where no one dared to follow unless invited. Books lined the walls, dust curling off the spines like forgotten memories.
He moved to a deep corner shelf, touched the worn wood, and leaned against the cold stone wall. The leader mask dropped from his face as he slowly sat down on the floor.
Then it hit.
The visions returned—sharper than before. Shards of memory. Whispers of voices he almost recognized. Hands reaching. A face—her face—but distorted.
He gripped his head with one hand, breathing ragged.
Why now? Why clearer?
But the answers stayed just out of reach—taunting him like ghosts behind a veil.