A few days passed with Isaac checking up on the other members of the suitcase.
So far, he was glad that Sotheby and Regulus weren't being mistreated in their respective branches. Even so, Isaac kept reminding them that if something suspicious were to arise that requires them to participate in anything dangerous, then they should immediately call him and Druvis.
Speaking of Druvis, he also checked up on her. True to her words, she began to socialize and make connections, gradually forming a loose but effective network where she can gather information and implant ideas — even managing to convince some people to resist the human supremacists.
Although she didn't particularly like the idea of socializing itself — and very much prefers to tend to her plants — she still did so for the benefit of everyone.
Isaac naturally supported her in this matter as much as he could, and didn't let himself fall short behind her.
His promise to Vertin to protect everyone and win against the cold bureaucracy of the Foundation still stands.
He will stay true to his words... Especially after what had transpired in SPDM...
He — no, they will win.
No matter what.
Gazing at his reflection in the full-body mirror across the room, Isaac sat motionless at the edge of his bed. The soft, golden rays of sunlight filtering through the window framed his silhouette, his dark, murky eyes glinting like a pair of still ponds, hiding undercurrents beneath their calm.
'Soon, the cacophony of restless voices would steeply rise in the following months... And so will the power struggle.'
And when it crests — as all storms do — everyone who failed to secure ground would be swept away in its undertow.
He clenched his jaw. "I can't allow that to happen..."
Not when he still has a promise to maintain.
His fingers curled tightly into his palms. He breathed deeply, trying to find stillness, but the pressure in his chest wouldn't subside. It only grew heavier, more urgent, like an alarm deep within that never stopped ringing.
He wrestled with his thoughts for a bit more, going back and forth with a personal creed he made for himself. "I... have a solution, but..."
It wasn't one he liked.
Because to follow it meant returning to who he used to be — to that version of himself he detested. The Isaac who made cold decisions like breath, who moved people like game pieces, who didn't hesitate if hesitation meant losing.
He'd buried that self long ago — or so he thought.
But the recent events had reminded him that he needed to adjust. The board wasn't theoretical anymore. And the players... they were real, dangerous, and moving in the shadows.
He bowed his head and gripped his forearms, his muscles tense. For a moment, he simply sat there — trying to breathe past the weight of who he used to be.
"…No." He finally whispered, eyes opening. "This is for the best."
"To protect them… to make sure none of them get dragged under…"
His lips curled into a bitter smile.
"I'll go back."
Back to the cold self. The indifferent tactician. The one who didn't ask whether it felt right — only whether it worked.
The cost didn't matter anymore.
Only the outcome.
---
The corridor outside Madam Z's office was quiet — perfect for Isaac's fog to infiltrate. He stood before her door, the silence pressing against him like a question.
He raised his hand and knocked twice.
A pause. Then her voice reverberated, cool and composed. "Enter."
Isaac stepped in.
Madam Z's silhouette was highlighted by the sunlight from her window as she sat behind her desk, papers in neat stacks, a cup of untouched tea beside her. Her eyes flicked up to him — perceptive, sharp as ever — and she folded her hands together.
"You've learned how to knock now." She nudged her glasses. "Impressive."
He smirked faintly. "Well, I do keep hearing complaints. I ought to comply, no?"
Isaac gave a short bow. "I assume Lilya has delivered her report?"
"She has." Her gaze lingered on him, becoming serious for a moment. "You can't do that again, Isaac. We might be in cooperation, but using my name without my authority is a serious violation. Don't do that again or else you and I might be called in by the higher-ups."
He took a deep breath, his smile faltering. "Yes... I'm sorry, Ms. Z. I'll try my best to not repeat it... No promises, though."
Then, pausing for a moment, he continued. "But regarding that report... I want to talk about something, Ms. Z."
Sensing the solemnity in his voice, Madam Z lingered for a bit before silently nodding. "What is it?"
Isaac didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and laid it neatly on the desk between them. Not a report — no trick, no clever excuse.
Just a proposal.
"I want in. Officially." He said.
Madam Z's gaze sharpened behind her glasses. She looked at the paper then at him. "...a résumé? Elaborate."
"I want to be your assistant. No more half-truths, no more unofficial errands or covert tasks labeled as 'favours.' I want a position with weight — authority. Not just to act, but to influence."
Madam Z said nothing for a while. She merely leaned back, arms crossed, eyes piercing through him like she was reading every change in his expression, every flicker of doubt.
"You've rejected this idea before." She finally said. "Why now?"
Isaac exhaled, quiet and steady. He wasn't smiling anymore.
"Because I see what's coming."
He looked out the window, toward the stretch of clouds and the faint outline of the rest of the Foundation below.
"Chaos is brewing beneath our feet. With what's happening recently… the tension's been growing. The Mankind Caucus isn't just a fringe group — they're embedded inside the Foundation now. And if they're planning something from within, that means we're going to be hit from both sides — the surface and the core."
He turned back to face her. "We can't afford to react anymore. We need to move first."
Madam Z remained silent.
"And another reason is that... I..." Isaac's voice lowered. "...I've run from my past for years — the version of me who saw the world as variables and outcomes who didn't care what was sacrificed if it meant we won. I hated being that person, but…"
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"…I'm starting to realize that I might need him again. For a better cause now."
Her expression didn't soften, but it shifted — a faint note of understanding beneath the steel.
"You're saying you're ready to make decisions that won't let you sleep at night." She said. "Is that right?"
Isaac nodded once.
"If it means protecting the ones that still have warmth left in them... yes."
Another pause stretched, and then Madam Z slowly reached into her drawer. From it, she pulled out a sealed document — a formal assistant contract, bearing her signature on the top right corner, blank below.
"I had this drafted just recently." She said, placing it before him. "I didn't think I'd use it so soon."
She slid a pen across the desk.
"You understand what this means, don't you? You won't be a shadow anymore. Every move you make will reflect on me. Your decisions, your failures… they'll all be watched. Closely."
Isaac picked up the pen without hesitation.
"I'm done hiding." He said quietly.
He signed the paper, stroke by stroke, until the ink dried on his name — bold and final.
When he set the pen down, he let out a deep sigh — so heavy that it felt like it carried an unbearable weight behind it.
Madam Z leaned forward slightly, folding her hands again.
"Welcome aboard, Isaac. From this moment on, you're not just playing at politics." Her eyes met his, unwavering.
"You're part of it."
Isaac simply nodded, calm settling over him like a second skin. He stood taller and straighter. The warmth in his eyes dimmed just slightly, replaced by something steadier — sharper.
Confidence, yes.
But more than that — resolve.
And beneath it all, an old name stirred from the depths of memory.
"Attaché-Conseiller Isaac…" He murmured to himself, the words barely more than breath. "Still rolls off the tongue."
One of the many titles he once wore like armor — cold, calculated, and full of anguishing memories.
It had returned.
Let the tumultuous storm come... Let the board flip.
Because this time, he wouldn't be a pawn anymore. He will be a consultant to the players.
...again.