Chapter 286: Fall Of The Council

By the end of it all, the room looked like a battlefield of brilliance and exhaustion.

Fauna slumped face-down against the desk, her wings drooping like wilted petals. Mika leaned back in his chair with a long stretch that made his spine pop.

Even the owlfolk, who had worked in flawless coordination moments ago were now lazily shaking their heads and preening their ruffled feathers, their quills dangling loosely in their talons.

But—

In the center of the room stood more than a dozen neat boxes, each overflowing with finished documents—the finalized foundation of the new realm laws and regulations.

What would’ve taken teams of bureaucrats weeks to assemble had been finished in an hour.

The impossible was done.

Fauna blinked at the mountain of boxes in disbelief, then slowly smiled.

"We really did it." She said breathlessly. "We actually did it."

Mika chuckled, brushing his hair as he approached the owlfolk.

"Yeah." He said softly, pride lacing his tone. "We really did."

Then, with a small smile, he added,

"Now it’s time to send them off."

A blue portal opened beside them, humming gently with energy.

"But before we do, we should thank them properly." Mika continued. "Can’t have them leaving empty-handed after all that effort."

Fauna perked up, curiosity lighting her exhausted face.

"Ooh, what are we giving them? It has to be something grand, right? Like...a chest full of gold? Or an artifact from the ancient past? Maybe a priceless relic imbued with holy energy?"

Mika simply smiled and shook his head.

"Nothing like that. Actually..."

He lifted his hand, and with a faint shimmer, a small plastic container materialized in his grasp.

Fauna blinked. "A...lunchbox?"

She bent down—and immediately yelped, stumbling backward and clutching Mika’s arm.

"M-Mika! What in the world—why are there worms in that box?!"

Inside the container, thick, pinkish earthworms wriggled lazily against the clear plastic. Fauna looked utterly horrified.

"You’re giving them worms? They worked their feathers off for us and this is what you’re rewarding them with?! That’s—that’s insulting!"

Mika laughed softly.

"It’s not what you think, Fauna." He held the box up. "These earthworms are actually a delicacy in their realm. They don’t exist there at all, and whenever I bring them some, they lose their minds. Just look."

Fauna blinked, skeptical—until she looked at the owlfolk.

Moments ago, they had looked like noble sages from an ancient order.

Now their golden eyes were wide and glimmering, wings twitching with childlike excitement. One of them even let out a soft, eager hoot, its feathers puffing up like a chick begging for treats.

"See?" Mika said with a smirk. "They’re ecstatic."

He handed the box to Fauna.

"Go on, give it to them."

Fauna hesitated, then grinned and marched toward the group.

"Alright, here you go, my adorable bird geniuses!"

The leader of the owlfolk—tall, cloaked in indigo robes—accepted the box with reverence and the moment he did, the entire group began flapping their wings, their eyes glowing in delight.

Then, almost in unison, they started turning their heads around—rotating them in full circles as their version of a thank-you bow.

Fauna burst out laughing.

"Oh heavens, I don’t even need to know their language anymore to know that their happy. This is the best thing I’ve ever seen!"

She tried to imitate them, spinning her head from side to side, but since she couldn’t twist it fully, she ended up wobbling her shoulders and moving her neck awkwardly like a dancing bird.

Mika couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. Even a few owlfolk hooted approvingly at her attempt.

After a few more bows, the owls gathered their scrolls, gave one last unified flap of their wings, and stepped into the glowing portal.

One by one, they vanished back into their realm, leaving the room behind in utter disarray—papers, ink stains, and stray owl feathers scattered everywhere.

Mika sighed fondly.

"Well...mission accomplished."

He snapped his fingers once, and the sealed boxes of completed files shimmered briefly before vanishing, sent straight to the central legislative office for verification.

He turned to Anya, a grin on his face.

"See, Anya? What did I tell you? In one hour, everything’s do—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

Anya wasn’t answering.

Instead, she was slumped over her desk, head resting on her folded arms, breathing soft and steady.

She had fallen asleep right there, surrounded by the aftermath of her work.

The exhaustion that she’d been fighting all this time had finally caught up to her.

Fauna walked over quietly, her expression melting into gentle affection. She reached down and brushed a few strands from her daughter’s face, whispering tenderly.

"Poor Anya...she must’ve been so tired. She finally got to rest."

"Yeah. She earned it." Mika smiled faintly.

Fauna looked at her fondly, then frowned softly.

"But she’ll wake up with terrible neck pain if she sleeps like this."

Mika nodded, stepping forward.

"I’ve got her."

He carefully slid one arm beneath Anya’s knees and another around her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She stirred faintly, murmuring something incoherent before nuzzling against his chest.

Fauna, of course, couldn’t resist.

"Wait, wait—hold it right there!" She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo. "There! I’ll show her later when she wakes up—she’ll love this!"

Mika rolled his eyes but smiled as they quietly made their way to Anya’s room.

The moment they entered, the atmosphere changed.

Unlike the messy library, her room was spotless—soft colors, organized shelves, and a surprisingly girlish charm.

Plushies sat neatly on her bed, and to Mika’s faint embarrassment, several framed photos of him decorated her nightstand and dresser.

But he pretended not to notice and laid her gently on the bed, adjusting the pillow beneath her head, and Fauna tucked the blanket over her shoulders.

As soon as the warmth of the covers enveloped her, Anya’s lips curled into a small, content smile.

Fauna’s voice softened.

"I wonder what she’s dreaming about...to smile like that."

"She’s probably not smiling because of a dream. Rather..."

He said as he looked toward the window, where the moonlight spilled across the floor.

"She’s probably just thinking about the parliament members who dumped all that work on her."

His smirk deepened, something sly glinting in his eyes.

"They’re probably having a very rough night right about now."

Fauna blinked.

"Wait, what do you mean by that? Are they in trouble?"

"Oh, definitely. Let’s just say from this moment on, they won’t have the time or the power or their lives to ever try something like that again."

A cool breeze drifted through the window as he added quietly, almost to himself,

Fauna’s eyes trembled at Mika’s words.

"Oh no...don’t tell me you did something, Mika." She said, her tone caught between worry and exasperation. "I know how protective you get when it comes to your family. But please don’t do anything extreme to punish them for what they did."

"You can be a bit...brutal sometimes."

Mika looked down at her, amusement glinting faintly in his eyes.

"I didn’t lift a finger. Okay maybe I wiggled them around a little bit...But it’s what they did that matters"

A knowing smirk curled his lips.

"Their own arrogance is going to bite them in the ass right about now. Even if I didn’t act, they’ve already written their own downfall."

The casual way he said it sent a small chill down her spine. Fauna didn’t fully understand what he meant.

But she knew his words were never empty. And if Mika said those people were doomed, then their fate was already sealed.

—

Meanwhile, elsewhere...

High above the sleeping city, atop a rooftop wrapped in bright neon light and laughter, a party was underway.

The terrace of a luxury building was filled with men in expensive casual suits—middle-aged, loud, and self-satisfied. The table was stacked with fine liquor bottles, plates of food, and half-empty glasses.

"To us!" One of them shouted, raising his drink.

"To us!" The others echoed, clinking glasses.

The leader of the group—a heavyset man with greying hair and a smug smirk lifted his drink again.

"Congratulations, gentlemen. With this, we’ve finally done it. That little girl won’t be able to keep up this time."

Another man, barked a laugh.

"You mean the Battle Angel’s brat? Oh, I can’t wait to see her face when the review board kicks her out!"

"After the workload we dumped on her..." Said another, swirling his glass. "...there’s no way she’ll finish it before the deadline."

"And even if she does, it’ll be a mess—errors everywhere. The Judicial Council will shred her reputation themselves."

The group erupted into laughter, their voices echoing in the night air.

These were no ordinary men—they were high-ranking members of the Parliament of Heroes.

The so-called council membera from various organizations—nobles, ministers, and bureaucrats who had banded together out of jealousy and spite.

Their goal? To remove Anya, the youngest, most promising member of the Parliament from her position.

"She thought she could just waltz in here at her age and play politics with us."

Sneered one of them, slamming his glass down.

"She’s smart, sure, but she’s naive. Doesn’t know how this world really works."

"Exactly!" Another agreed. "She’s too arrogant—thinking she can take everything on herself like her mother. Well, she’ll learn soon enough."

"But..." One of the quieter men at the far end spoke hesitantly, adjusting his glasses. "Still, that girl really is talented. Even at her age, she handles her duties better than most of us. She’s disciplined, dedicated...she has potential."

His words hung in the air.

The others glared at him.

"Potential?" The heavyset leader scoffed. "Talent means nothing when you’re on the wrong side. Don’t let her innocent act fool you—she’s still one of them. The daughter of a Battle Angel. The blood of arrogance runs through her veins."

"Exactly." Said another, sneering. "It’s her fault for thinking she can stand alone. She deserves what’s coming."

Their laughter resumed, louder and crueller than before—until a sharp ping cut through the noise.

The man who had spoken last paused, pulling his phone from his pocket.

He smiled lazily at first—until his eyes fell on the screen.

"Wh-What the...?" He whispered.

The others looked at him, irritated.

"What’s wrong with you, Derrel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Derrel didn’t answer. His eyes were wide, trembling slightly as he stared at the message on his screen.

He swallowed hard and turned the phone around.

On the glowing display was a single alert from the Central Legislative Office’s internal network:

"Submission Received: Complete Draft and final manuscript of the Cross-Realm Policy Act—Submitted by Councilwoman Anya Chernovskaya. Verified. Approved for Review."

The rooftop fell silent.

For a few seconds, no one moved. The only sounds were the faint hum of the city below and the distant buzz of the speakers.

Then the mustached man leaned forward, blinking furiously.

"T-That’s impossible..."

Derrel’s voice shook. "It was timestamped one hour ago."

The men looked at one another in disbelief.

"She finished it?"

"Already r?!"

"That can’t be right—she’s one person!"

Another message pinged. Then another. And another.

One by one, their phones buzzed with alerts—confirmations from the Parliament server, notifications from their assistants, and, finally, the most devastating one of all:

"Internal Audit: Submitted Document found flawless. Zero inconsistencies detected. Integration pending."

Someone dropped his glass. It shattered on the rooftop tiles.

The mustached man’s voice trembled with fury.

"How the hell did she do that...?"

Then, chaos erupted.

"How?!" One of them shouted, slamming his drink onto the table so hard that the glass shattered. "How the hell did she do it?!"

"This shouldn’t even be possible!" Another yelled, his voice breaking. "The workload we dumped on her was enough to drown a team of forty! There’s no way she could’ve finished it!"

"There has to be a mistake."

Someone said frantically, scrolling through his phone. His fingers trembled as he scrolled faster, his breathing erratic.

"Some kind of system glitch—maybe the verification system got hacked or something—"

But before he could finish, another voice cut through the panic.

"No! There’s no mistake!" the man barked, his face pale as snow. "It’s been verified—officially verified!"

"What?!"

"Yes!" the man shouted, his hand shaking as he turned his phone toward them. "Look for yourselves! The status isn’t ’Pending’ or ’First Draft.’ It’s Finalized and Approved! The final draft’s been submitted and logged!"

"What?! That’s bullshit!"

Another screamed, grabbing the phone from his hand to see it for himself. His eyes went wide with disbelief.

"She couldn’t have finished the final draft—hell, we haven’t even finished the preliminary framework yet!"

Panic spread like wildfire. Voices overlapped, curses filled the air, and every man around the rooftop table was on his feet, shouting, pacing, or clutching his head.

One of them suddenly stopped mid-rant, eyes widening. "Wait...hold on."

Everyone froze and looked at him.

"If the final draft has been submitted..." He said slowly, his face draining of all color. "Doesn’t that mean...our deadline has already started?"

A heavy silence fell over them.

Then realization hit and it was like a slap to their face.

"Oh no..." Someone whispered. "No, no, no!"

"We’re dead!" Another shouted, his voice shaking. "We’re fucking dead! We’re going to lose everything—our positions, our pensions—oh gods—!"

The group devolved into panic once again.

They knew the law better than anyone—the Legislative Council’s Efficiency Mandate, a system designed to prevent bureaucratic laziness and ensure equal accountability.

It dictated that when multiple divisions submitted work for the same policy framework, the larger workload parties—like Anya’s—were granted a longer deadline.

Meanwhile, minor factions like theirs had to submit within twelve hours of the major party’s submission—or risk formal scrutiny by the Judicial Council.

And failing that deadline didn’t just mean a slap on the wrist—it meant full-scale audits, suspension, and, in severe cases, dismissal from the Parliament.

And Anya hadn’t just submitted her first draft four days early.

She’d submitted the finalized, verified version—something that usually took weeks of review and multiple internal sessions to confirm, which she herself didn’t know about and was something Mika did on his own and added in.

Which meant every single one of them—who hadn’t even started their drafts yet, laughing and drinking under the city lights—was now in direct violation of the Council’s efficiency code.

Their smiles were gone. The color had drained from their faces.

One man slumped into his chair, whispering.

"We’re done...all of us..."

The leader slammed his glass to the ground, trembling.

"How...How did she pull this off?! She’s just a girl! There’s no way she could’ve finished it all by herself—"

"Maybe she didn’t." Muttered another. "Maybe...someone helped her."

They all exchanged uneasy glances.

And then—ping!

A new notification flashed across every single phone.

No one dared to check it. The air was filled with dread.

But slowly, one man raised his trembling hand, unlocked his phone...and the moment he saw the message, his eyes went wide in horror.

His knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor.

Another opened his phone. Then another.

And within seconds, the rooftop was filled with screams.

"NO—NO, THIS ISN’T REAL—!"

"What the hell—how did this get leaked?! I hid everything—every transaction, every record!"

"MY LIFE—MY FAMILY—MY DAUGHTER WON’T EVEN BE ABLE TO LOOK AT ME ANYMORE!"

The men were falling apart—some pacing frantically, others clutching their heads, some breaking down entirely, wailing in disbelief.

Because every secret they thought buried had just been unearthed.

The new notifications weren’t from the Parliament—they were from public media networks. Dozens of headlines, reports, and files were spreading across the web at lightning speed.

"Members of the Parliament of Heroes Linked to Illegal Financial Manipulations."

"Bribery and Policy Sabotage Against Young Councilor Exposed."

"Evidence Confirms Collusion Among Faction Leaders."

"Council member found engaging in prostitution with minors."

Screenshots of their messages. Copies of falsified invoices. Secret recordings. Bribery logs. Pictures of them cheating on their partners.

Everything they had done—their entire web of corruption was out in the open.

It was as if every lock in their system had been neatly undone at once, every hidden file dragged into the light.

One of them fell to his knees, sobbing hysterically.

"It’s over...it’s all over..."

Another tried to throw his phone off the roof, screaming.

"WHO DID THIS?! HOW?!"

And somewhere far away, a young woman slept peacefully in her bed.

And the man standing by her window smiled faintly, watching the city lights flicker below...

...as the rot in the Parliament began to crumble from within.