Chapter 321: The Room Where It Happens [1/2]

The VHC administrative complex on the mainland looked exactly like you’d expect from an organization that controlled the fate of nations. Marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood. Paintings of heroic Hunters in dramatic poses, all of them conveniently dead and unable to complain about the artistic liberties taken with their jawlines.

I hated it immediately.

"You’re limping," Natalia observed as we walked through the main atrium.

"I’m not limping. I’m walking with character."

"You’re limping."

"It’s called swagger, Natalia. Look it up."

She rolled her eyes but stayed close, her shoulder brushing mine. We’d agreed she would wait in the main lobby during my little pre-meeting chat. Backup, in case things went sideways.

Not that I expected them to.

Julian Valerius was many things. Arrogant. Entitled. The kind of guy who probably had servants to put on his shoes. But above all else, Julian was predictable. His type always was. When you’ve spent your whole life having problems solved by money and connections, you never develop the instincts to handle real adversity.

And what happened in that dungeon?

That was the realest adversity Julian would ever face.

I found the private antechamber exactly where Braxton said it would be. Third floor, east wing, behind a door so ornate it probably had its own security detail.

Inside, the room screamed old money so loud my ears rang. Dark wood paneling. Leather furniture that looked older than the Rupture. A crystal decanter of something amber and expensive on a side table.

Professor Anya Petrova stood by the window, her back to the room, spine so rigid you could use it as a straightedge. Her reflection in the glass showed a face carved from ice, not a single emotion permitted to crack the surface.

I didn’t wait for an invitation.

The leather chair behind the antique desk was probably reserved for Important People with Important Titles. I dropped into it anyway, propping my injured arm on the armrest and letting out a theatrical sigh of relief.

"Love what you’ve done with the place," I said. "Very ’evil corporation boardroom.’ Really captures the whole soul-crushing bureaucracy vibe."

Petrova didn’t turn around. "You’re early."

"Time is money. And I’m not getting paid for this."

The door opened again.

Julian Valerius entered like a man walking to his own execution. His posture was perfect, his suit immaculate, his golden hair styled to aristocratic perfection. But his eyes told a different story. Red-rimmed. Slightly wild. The eyes of someone who hadn’t slept in days.

Behind him, I caught a glimpse of his family in the hallway. His father looked like someone had sculpted him from marble and disappointment. His mother possessed the kind of beauty that came with a price tag and an expiration date. Neither of them looked at their son as he excused himself.

"I need to speak with a colleague," Julian said, his voice admirably steady.

The door closed.

Julian and I stared at each other across the room.

I didn’t stand up. Didn’t offer a handshake. Just leaned back in my chair and smiled.

"Nice suit, Julian. Hides the shaking well."

His jaw tightened. "Nakano."

"Valerius."

"I see you survived your injuries."

"Sorry to disappoint."

The tension in the room could have cut glass. Petrova finally turned from the window, her icy blue eyes sweeping over both of us with obvious distaste.

"Can we dispense with the posturing?" she said. "We have fifteen minutes before the official inquiry begins."

"Fifteen minutes is plenty of time." I gestured to the chair across from me. "Sit down, Julian. Let’s talk about the future."

He didn’t move. "I’d prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself. Your legs are going to give out in about five minutes anyway."

"Is that a threat?"

"It’s an observation. You look like hammered garbage, Julian. No offense."

His hands curled into fists at his sides. I watched the muscle in his jaw jump.

Beautiful.

"We both know what happened in that dungeon," I continued, my voice dropping into something more conversational. More intimate. "You froze. You used Monica as a shield. You watched two of your teammates die while you cowered behind a pillar."

"That’s not—"

"I have combat recorder footage, Julian. Multiple angles. Crystal clear audio. The whole thing."

The color drained from his face.

Petrova stepped forward. "That footage is classified VHC property."

"Is it? My understanding is that squad leaders have access to their own team’s recordings. And since the Onyx Hounds breached into the Argent wing during the incident, technically we were operating as a combined unit. Our footage is our property."

Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "You’re playing a dangerous game, boy."

"I’m seventeen. I don’t play games. I win them."

Silence.

Julian’s breathing had gone shallow. His perfect composure was cracking, hairline fractures spreading across the mask he’d worn his entire life.

"What do you want?" he asked finally.

There it was. The magic words.

"Right now? That chair looks pretty comfortable. You sure you don’t want to sit?"

"Nakano—"

"Fine, fine. Straight to business. I respect that." I folded my hands across my stomach, the picture of casual confidence. "Here’s the situation, Julian. If the real story of what happened gets filed in the official report, the House of Valerius is finished. Your father’s reputation. Your mother’s social standing. Your own career. All of it, gone. Burned to ash by the simple truth that the golden prince of Valoria is a coward who sacrificed his teammates to save himself."

Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

"But," I continued, letting the word hang in the air, "history is written by the victors. And I’m feeling generous today."

Petrova’s expression didn’t change, but I caught the slight shift in her posture. Interest, hidden beneath layers of aristocratic disdain.

"We submit a joint report," I said. "The official story becomes: when the Anomaly appeared, both teams combined their efforts in a desperate battle. Through cooperation and tactical brilliance, the threat was neutralized. Julian Valerius showed exceptional leadership in coordinating the retreat while Satori Nakano led the counterattack. Everyone walks away a hero."

"And in exchange?" Petrova’s voice could have frozen lava.

"I want a transfer."

"Absolutely not." The words came out fast, a rare crack in her perfect composure. "We have already lost two students to death. Kenjiro Kobayashi has submitted his transfer request to the Cobalt Vipers. The Argent Sentinels are down to ten active members. Giving you more is suicide for our program."

"Then I release the unedited combat logs. Today. To every news outlet in Valoria."

The temperature in the room dropped about fifteen degrees. Petrova’s eyes blazed with cold fury.

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Try me."

Julian stepped between us, hands raised. "Wait. Just... wait." He turned to me, desperation bleeding through his voice. "What transfer are we talking about? One person? Two?"

"Two."

"Who?"

"Monica Von Astrom. And Celeste Vance."