"It's been a while since we last met Brother Clovis, sister. Should we accept his invitation to attend our half-sister's coming-of-age celebration in his place?"
The speaker was a breathtakingly beautiful girl with long, slightly wavy pink hair that flowed gracefully down to her waist. She wore an elegant aristocratic gown that perfectly complemented her youthful, innocent charm. Her voice was soft but tinged with uncertainty as she turned to her older sister, who stood beside her—a woman just as beautiful, but far more composed, mature, and radiating the commanding aura of a queen. While Euphemia carried herself with the grace of a princess raised in a gilded palace, Cornelia was the embodiment of a battle-hardened dominatrix, regal and fierce.
"We don't have the time to visit Clovis, Euphemia," Cornelia said bluntly, rejecting the idea without a hint of hesitation. "Attending his party is impossible—unless he has something genuinely important to tell us."
"Besides," she added, eyes narrowing, "Area 18 still hasn't stabilized."
Her tone left little room for argument. But after a brief pause, Cornelia relented just slightly. "If you really want to go, I won't stop you."
Euphemia understood. It made sense that her sister couldn't leave. Area 18 was a mess, and their father had explicitly ordered Cornelia to restore control. There was nothing Euphemia could do to change that.
To both sisters, Clovis was still the same incompetent fool they remembered—the pampered prince who squandered national funds on meaningless parties and superficial projects. That was exactly why Cornelia had shut down the invitation so quickly. She had no time for Clovis' hedonistic distractions, not when the empire was bleeding from its edges.
But would Euphemia simply give up?
No.
She wanted her sister to unwind, even if only for a short while. Cornelia had carried the weight of the nation for too long, throwing herself into battles, negotiations, and cold politics. Euphemia wanted her to breathe—to be human again.
And what better excuse than a banquet thrown by their ever-frivolous brother?
"But I heard Lelouch and Nunnally were found... and that they might attend the banquet, sister," Euphemia said, her voice laced with hope. "Even if it's just a rumor... don't you want to know if it's true?"
That made Cornelia pause. Her eyes narrowed, but not in irritation—this time, it was something else.
"We're going," she declared, her voice steely with resolve. "Prepare a proper dress, Euphemia. We leave for Area 11 tomorrow."
Even if the chance was small, even if the rumor was unfounded, Cornelia could not let it pass. Not this time.
The guilt gnawed at her—the years of silence, of inaction, of watching Lelouch and Nunnally vanish into obscurity while she obeyed imperial commands like a loyal weapon. She had been too weak to help them before. But now?
Now, things would be different.
She would show the Emperor that his discarded children were no longer tools to be used and thrown away. Under her protection, they would be safe.
The die was cast. There was no turning back.
...
The storyline of Code Geass had changed drastically. The revolution that was supposed to erupt in Area Eleven never came to pass.
Lelouch had been quietly subdued, showing no animosity toward Clovis—for now, at least. It was clear that Lelouch wasn't making any hostile moves against his half-brother, not unless Clovis laid a finger on Nunally.
Their unexpected meeting shifted things. It didn't fix everything, but it was enough for Lelouch to scratch Clovis off his death list.
His focus wasn't on revenge anymore—it was about uncovering the truth. The mystery behind his mother's death, the cold indifference of his father despite knowing Lelouch and Nunally were alive… something about all of it reeked.
Was Charles intentionally ignoring them? Was he planning something more sinister?
Lelouch had questions, and he needed answers.
As much as he hated Clovis's usual lavishness—especially the absurd banquet he was throwing in honor of their sister—Lelouch still attended.
He couldn't ignore an opportunity, especially when Clovis mentioned that Schneizel and Cornelia would be attending as well. That was enough to keep Lelouch's interest.
He didn't believe they knew everything about what happened to his mother. Schneizel, perhaps, knew more than he let on—but Lelouch doubted he gave a damn. Still, even scraps of information could be useful.
Clovis suggested something bold. If Lelouch truly wanted to dig deep into the truth, then he needed power—real power. Clovis proposed that Lelouch borrow some manpower and resources from Cornelia's forces stationed in Area 18, the Middle East.
According to him, it was a doable request.
Cornelia cared about Lelouch, in her own intense and conflicted way. Between the guilt she carried over his mother's fate, the respect she still held for her, and the affection she had for her little sister Euphemia, Cornelia had reasons to support him—even if indirectly.
All Lelouch had to do was tell her it was a temporary arrangement to help him investigate the truth behind his mother's death.
Maybe—just maybe—she would be willing to hand over the entirety of Area 18 to him temporarily, if they played their cards right.
Upon hearing this, Lelouch went quiet. The two brothers sat across from each other, the chessboard between them, thinking several moves ahead.
"What do you get from all this, Clovis?" Lelouch finally asked, his voice calm but calculating.
He didn't bother asking how Clovis had gathered all this information or why he was so confident Cornelia would just hand over resources without resistance. That wasn't what mattered. What Lelouch wanted to know was simple: What was Clovis getting out of this? Why push Lelouch toward rising in power? What was his real angle in encouraging him to uncover the truth about his mother?
There was something different about Clovis now. Gone was the pathetic, incompetent prince who spent more time on art than politics.
The man in front of him had changed—and Lelouch could feel it. He didn't dare underestimate this new Clovis. He listened. He considered his words carefully.
And most importantly… he began to take the suggestion seriously.
"Hah, that's just like you, Lelouch—classic move." Clovis chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Always asking, always thinking, always calculating what benefit you can get before even lifting a finger. You don't act unless there's something to gain."
He leaned back slightly, relaxed. "Not that I'm any different. I don't bother doing anything diligently unless there's something in it for me. Though… a little bit of fun here and there isn't so bad—just don't expect me to put effort into it. Most of the time, I'll half-ass it unless it pays off."
After all, that's how the world really worked, didn't it? People think they act for others, but deep down, it's always self-interest first—their own safety, their own comfort, their own goals.
Only after that do they start pretending to care about what others need.
"Unfortunately for me," Clovis continued without missing a beat, "the best and most immediate outcome that benefits me right now is her handing over Area 18 to you. Everything else is just investment—an uncertain gamble. Who knows if it'll ever turn a profit for me? Maybe it will. Maybe it won't."
He answered Lelouch's silent doubt directly, without even blinking.
No hesitation, no sugarcoating.
And Lelouch understood perfectly well what Clovis was implying.
It was all just one part of a much bigger game. A long game.
A game full of strategic investments—people, territories, favors—things planted now with the hope that they'd bloom into something profitable later.
Whether or not they'd bear fruit… only time could tell.
Then Lelouch stood up, his posture firm, his voice calm but resolute.
"I'll make sure she hands over Area 18 to me, at least temporarily. After this, there'll be no more favors owed between us, Clovis. I want this to settle the debt between us. Completely."
Clovis gave a small nod and offered a final parting word.
"Good luck, then, brother."
That made Lelouch pause.
Brother.
Since when had anyone in the royal family last bothered to call him that?
He let out a quiet scoff, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.
Hah…
In the end, he said nothing else. He turned around, letting the silence stretch, and walked away from the scene.