Umbrella lifted, Abigail strolled the rain-brushed streets of the City of Heroes. Voices ran like a swollen stream, debating how the Truth Seekers Assembly had been condemned as heretic.

And it was only talk. This is the stronghold of great Heroes, the cradle of legends. Monster sieges here feel like harvest hunts. Even talk of the Demon King leaves hearts steady, like stone lanterns under drizzle.

Yes, only talk. Ordinary talk, mixed with breakfast and next year’s crop. Talk that mattered less than the weather, light as mist.

Damn it. Heat surged like wildfire through his chest, with nowhere to burn.

Raven did so much for you. Without her, you’d be dead. And now you talk like it’s none of your business—this is how you treat a Hero?

He wanted to shout at the common folk, yet he knew it wasn’t their fault.

The Heretic Inquisition had shielded them, sealing away the fact that a member of the Hero Squad was a heretic. People only knew “some school got branded heretic.” Only a few, nobles like Abigail, could wring scraps of truth from the Inquisition under the weight of the state.

The ignorant feel no fear; the ignorant bear no guilt. The words fell cold, like ash on snow.

No foe to strike. No one to punish. His hands hung heavy.

“…Damn it. Why did the Truth Seekers Assembly drag Raven into this?”

In the end, Abigail could only curse under his breath, like wind pushing at a locked door.

A child, chasing a friend, ran straight into him—Abigail had seen it coming, and chose not to step aside.

What’s the point? Dodge or fall, it changes nothing. He stood like a mountain, rain ringing on his umbrella.

The child collided as if into a soft, bottomless bog. He staggered back, eyes wide, staring at Abigail who stood unmoving like a cliff under rain.

“Whoa—I remember you! You’re that… that guy… what’s-his-name…”

In the fine rain, the kid and four or five friends lined up, like wooden puppets posed as stage heroes.

“Right! You’re the one who gave Aunt Duo a hard time!”

Passersby glanced over, drawn by a child’s sharp voice. Seeing only kids playing at heroes, they let their eyes drift and went back to their tasks.

Abigail just stood there. He had nowhere he wanted to go, nowhere he was supposed to be.

Don’t make excuses. Maybe he envied these kids.

He envied their clumsy vigor, the way they threw effort at useless errands, then won a simple, foolish satisfaction—things too far from his sharp, rational self.

“Aunt Duo makes pretty clothes. You kept nitpicking the stitching and the pins. You were just trying to bully her!”

Ah. That time. It came back.

He’d ordered a suit from a boutique’s lady owner. The result displeased him. It was meant for Raven to wear to a noble ball. Already angry, and playing the role of the ill-mannered second prince, he’d scolded her hard.

Honestly, he thought he hadn’t crossed a line. The shopkeeper had accepted his critique. Yet in those kids’ eyes, he earned a villain’s tag. On a normal day, he might have floored a few brats and ended it. Today, something tugged at him. He listened to what those kids thought.

Was Raven condemned as a heretic like that? Misread, like me?

He knew Raven dreamed of crafting new alchemical goods, making life better. But seen from another angle, that dream could be used—or misunderstood.

Three days ago, Maki, the head of the Heretic Inquisition, had handed him a file on Raven.

“So… Raven chose the Truth Seekers Assembly herself, and betrayed us? Gods, I wish Maki were lying…”

“Hey! What are you mumbling?”

A kid scooped mud, rain-dark and gritty. He’d throw it, Abigail thought, and he didn’t move.

Even if it was hollow resonance, even if it was just self-comfort, he wanted to stand a little closer to the woman he loved.

“You… you…”

The kids saw his eyes. A muddy dusk pooled there, a darkness that stilled their hands. The mud didn’t fly.

It felt like something one must not touch—touch it, and fingers would close around your heart, dragging you down into a pit without bottom. Their bodies knew before their minds.

“Not throwing?”

Abigail’s voice cut the quiet. The kid flinched. The mud thudded back to the ground.

Abigail sighed and stepped in under the umbrella’s shadow, ruffling the hair of the boy who had hit him, smoothing the rain-tangled strands.

“Little ghost…”

He breathed the words, then walked on, steps light as mist.

He had no destination. Fine. He was only out walking.

As he walked, he remembered a girl who had irked him, and her teammates. She’d grown up here, knew every alley and doorstep, carried that hometown dust only small-town girls wear.

A bumpkin, passionate and bright.

Before the “Lust” Demon King ambushed the City of Heroes, he’d called her that in his heart. Then he heard what she’d done. At the academy assembly, the principal gave her an award. She hugged her friends and laughed like nothing in the world could bother her. A chipped canine and bandages from head to toe told how hard she’d fought.

Stini. She’s Raven’s close friend. After Raven ran away from home, the Hero household had supported her, helped her stand in the City of Heroes. Stini grew up with her, like childhood sweethearts.

Maybe she could crack this knot. Do what he couldn’t. Save Raven.

…Or not. Abigail admired Stini’s courage and sunny grit, yet her core wasn’t far from his. Both were well-behaved, rule-shaped kids at heart.

Not the kind who obeys every teacher’s command perfectly. The kind who leans toward what the crowd calls justice. She looks rebellious, longs for it, but plays straight at the core.

Like me, he thought, though he hated admitting he and that bumpkin were cut from the same cloth.

But her teammate—the Shadow Artisan Andor—maybe.

That man came from the western frontier. He grew up with the tides of monsters. He’s the vice-captain of the Hero Squad.

Abigail had wrestled in Beatrice Kingdom’s politics for years, claimed he’d read every kind of man. And yet Andor stayed unreadable.

There was a deep black in that man’s eyes.

Abigail always disliked him. Say feared. He feared Andor would drag Raven, Princess Golia, Stini, even him, down into that profound night. Abigail could face any rival in love, but not Andor. A man like that would never bring Raven happiness.

He looked reliable. And he was. In the battle to repel the “Slaughter” Demon King, they’d fought side by side. Planning, reflex, execution—Andor was sharp as a blade.

Stini was the spirit of the Hero Squad. Andor was its true lead.

But in quieter moments, through small gestures, Abigail glimpsed the shade under those eyes. He felt certain those hands weren’t clean.

His accounts were spotless, which only deepened suspicion. In the lawless western frontier, tax slips go missing as naturally as leaves fall. He’d sent people to dig. They found nothing.

Not a man to trust. That was Abigail’s final verdict on his rival.

Though, unwilling as he was to admit it, he expected something from Andor.

Maybe this true rebel could conjure some wicked trick and save Raven. Deep down, he felt Andor just might.

What good was this thinking now? Without noticing, he’d reached the Hero household… the door of Andor’s home now.

Andor, Stini, Princess Golia—three core pillars of the Hero Squad—had gone east into the mountains for their final exam. The range was too far from the City of Heroes. Reports wouldn’t reach. Even with armored train, the return would take ages.

By the time they came back, they’d be claiming Raven’s body.

Abigail waited a while. Nothing happened. He laughed at himself, turned to leave.

Chasing smoke, expecting miracles. They wouldn’t return. And if they did, so what? If someone meant to be in the eastern mountains suddenly showed up here, I would—

Abigail spun around, stunned, eyes on the house.

From inside came a loud clang, then the kind of ruckus he was sick of hearing.

“Stini, are you dumb? We’re about to go to war and you’re doing circus tricks? You’ll pay for the smashed mirrors and plates!”

“I’ll pay! Two more years of shifts, big deal! Worst case, I’ll marry you and wipe the slate!”

“What are you even saying! I know you want to look cool for your sister, but when your banquet magic gets boring and obvious, you drop the impossible dream!”

“Andor, you’re the idiot! If you can yell, you can go save Raven!”

Exactly as he remembered: dusty, clumsy, far from graceful. Whatever they touched, trouble bloomed. Wherever they walked, something blew up. The Hero Squad was a gathering of glorious fools.

Andor and Stini burst out together, grappling, both wedged in the doorframe so neither could pass.

They were torn up, head to toe. A sharp-eyed archer would struggle to find an unscarred patch of skin. The inside looked worse than the outside.

Even so, they brawled. Even so, they shouted about saving Raven.

What a flock of fools, Abigail thought, his voice dissolving into the rain.

“You weren’t taking your final exam in the eastern mountains? What, you quit early and came home? Perfect. To celebrate your failed exam, dinner’s on me.”

He taunted the Hero Squad, laughing at their clumsy courage.

He used meanness like bait, hoping someone would answer. Meet him head-on.

In the end, beat him. Knock him flat. Force him to spit out every scrap of intel about Raven.

Joy pricked him like lightning. His hand tightened around the umbrella’s grip until steel creaked, pinched into thin, white cracks.