The atmosphere was thick with tension.

Oren rubbed his palms together slowly, his mind racing. He stood in an office, facing a golden-haired girl seated behind a massive desk. Her delicate face, framed by silken strands of gold, wore a gentle smile—but her cool, silver pupils never left him.

Beside her stood Fentek, the black-haired boy Oren had chatted with at the party. His grin was sharp, his gaze lingering on Oren with unsettling intensity. Oren frowned, his eyes darting away. The carpet felt plush beneath his shoes. A guest sofa and table stood nearby, and one entire wall was lined with bookshelves crammed with tightly packed files.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Oren,” the girl—Shiafa—said softly, raising a hand.

“Ah, but before that…” Oren took a breath, his expression turning serious. “I need you to properly explain this claim that someone wants Lia dead.”

Shiafa didn’t seem surprised. She rose smoothly from her chair and walked to the bookshelf. “We understand the value of exchanging information. Please, Oren-sama, come closer.” She tugged a heavy book downward. A dull *thud* echoed, followed by the grating sound of grinding wood. A hidden door slowly swung open before Oren’s eyes.

*An office with a secret passage?*

Before Oren could voice his shock, Shiafa spoke again. “Fentek, stand guard outside. Let no one in.” She turned back to Oren, gesturing politely. “After you, Oren-sama.”

Shiafa stepped into the passage. Oren muttered a curse under his breath but followed.

Regret hit him the moment he entered. This was a forgotten corner of the world—a place abandoned and despised. Beyond the wall lay gardens and birdsong; here, only a musty stench hung in the air. Evening chill seeped through cracks, whistling a mournful *whoo… whoo…* Dust swirled in the dimness, coating the narrow corridor.

“My apologies if this startles you,” Shiafa said over her shoulder, offering a smile. Oren’s lips twitched. “This chamber was built by the second Student Council president. For… *convenience* in exercising power. I doubt aesthetics were his priority.”

*Convenience for power…*

*What kind of student council is this?*

Oren held his tongue. They descended to a stone room at the passage’s end. Shiafa murmured an incantation, conjuring a small fireball in her palm. She lit two torches on the walls.

Flames flared, illuminating the room—and the thing inside a cage ahead.

A strange green creature lay in a pool of blood. Its face was broad, nose flat, ears pointed, mouth wide with jagged fangs. Its forehead sloped backward, eyes dull and yellowish-red. Arms hung down to its knees.

Oren recognized it from Dysaia’s descriptions.

“A goblin?”

“Ah, you know of them.” Shiafa’s tone was relieved—until Oren turned to her, face grim.

“Where did you find it?”

“No need to rush, Oren.” Shiafa walked behind the cage, retrieving a notebook from a desk. She flipped through pages, voice low. “My patrol caught it in the forest beyond campus. It refused to speak at first… but after applying *certain methods*, we had a productive conversation.”

*Certain methods…*

Oren’s eye twitched at the blood-soaked corpse. Goblins weren’t high-born, but they were rational beings. Shiafa seemed utterly unfazed. She scanned the notebook. “Unfortunately, our friend didn’t speak the common tongue. Just babbled in its own language. Our linguists managed a rough translation after days of work.” She handed the notebook to Oren.

Scrawled words filled the pages:

*Crimson Dragon. Investigate. Kill. Alliance woman.*

Oren read them aloud, thoughtful. Shiafa spread her hands. “That’s all my team could extract. Vague, I know—but who keeps records of goblin dialects? Still, we drew our own conclusions.” She pulled a chair forward and sat. “Frankly, we weren’t interested… until today. While reviewing archives, I stumbled upon Lia Rodni’s file.” Her fingers tapped her chin. “Let me recall: *‘Lia Rodni. Noble from the Alliance’s New Capital. Harbors deep hatred for non-humans. Actively searching for a dragon.’* That’s the relevant part.”

Shiafa watched Oren like an audience awaiting a performance. He reread the goblin’s words, then met her gaze.

“You think… Lia’s investigation exposed the Crimson Dragon. So they want her dead?”

“That’s our theory.” Shiafa clapped her hands once, a strange smile playing on her lips. “Though honestly? Whether the Crimson Dragon exists or not—we don’t care.”

“Oh? And what *do* you care about?” Oren set the notebook down.

“The Alliance of Free Cities, Oren.” Her smile widened. “They’re marching on Raging Tide City. We must prepare.”

*Humans…*

Oren sighed inwardly. *The Crimson Dragon Crown Prince, Elaer, once called humans a race that fights 365 days a year. Maybe she was right.*

Shiafa continued, oblivious to his thoughts. “Our concern is Princess Irina Elvis of the Alliance. She’ll arrive in Raging Tide City as a guest soon. The scattered Alliance students here? They’ll unite under her. And you know what happens when crowds gather.”

“Trouble.”

“Exactly.” Shiafa leaned forward. “I need someone to monitor those students. Accept this task, and we’ll share every update we get. Just report back once Irina arrives.” She settled back, still smiling. “Of course… if you want tangible rewards instead of goodwill, name your price. I doubt you’d risk life and limb for Lia over a trivial team-up during entrance exams.”

*Actually, we’ve seen each other naked… or at least I’ve seen her.*

Oren kept the thought to himself. Lia was difficult—he’d avoid this mess if he could. But the Crimson Dragon changed everything. He glanced at the goblin’s corpse. *We have no idea how many non-humans the Dragon has rallied as soldiers. If I take this job, I can wait for the Dragon to come to me. Saves me the trouble of investigating. With the Student Council’s resources, I might even uncover their strength faster.*

He inhaled deeply, then extended his hand.

“Fine. Deal.”

Shiafa’s smile deepened as she clasped his hand.

“A pleasure doing business, Oren-sama.”