The sun had not yet risen, casting the 7th Precinct in a cold, grey pre-dawn light. Inside the main conference room—a fishbowl of an office with floor-to-ceiling glass walls—Captain Céline Dubois was in the middle of a tirade.
"Do you three have a death wish, or are you just actively trying to shorten my lifespan?!" Céline shouted, pacing furiously in front of the three recruits.
Erwin, Domin, and Havisa stood at rigid attention. Outside the glass, the morning shift officers paused their coffee runs to watch the show, wincing sympathetically as Céline gestured wildly at the map of the Guilon estate.
"You infiltrated a hostile compound, engaged in unauthorized combat, and compromised a Chief-level operation!" She slammed her hand on the table. "You are recruits! You don't even have badges yet! If you were anyone else, I would have you expelled and thrown in a cell for obstruction!"
Domin stared straight ahead, sweating slightly. Havisa bit her lip to keep from arguing. Erwin remained stoic, accepting the storm.
The door opened, and Chief Thorne Black walked in. His right arm was in a medical sling, and he looked pale but composed.
"I think they've heard you enough, Captain," Black said quietly.
Céline stopped mid-sentence. She ran a hand through her messy hair and let out an incredulous, exhausted sigh. "Haaaa..." She looked at the clock on the wall. "Today is your inauguration. Get out of my sight. Clean yourselves up. And no more surprises."
"Yes, ma'am," the three chorused.
As they turned to leave, Black spoke up. "Erwin. Stay for a bit."
Erwin paused. He gave a subtle nod to Domin and Havisa, a silent signal that everything is going to be okay. They left, closing the door behind them.
Black turned to Céline, his tone softer. "You do know they helped us in a way, too, right? Their intrusion forced Guilon's hand. And more importantly, this case opened up something we didn't know."
"What do you mean?" Céline asked, leaning against the table.
Black gestured to Erwin with his good hand. "You have the floor."
Erwin nodded, stepping into the role of the observant detective. "The mysterious man in the veil," he began. "He fought both the Chief and me to a standstill. He controlled the battlefield, manipulated the riot to block reinforcements, and handed Guilon over on a silver platter. He wasn't protecting Guilon; he was hunting him."
Céline frowned. "You're telling me this whole time we have been in the palm of his hand? What kind of mastermind could do that?"
Erwin paused. He put a hand to his chin, furrowing his brow as if deep in thought. He let the silence hang for a few seconds, then opened his eyes wide as if something had just clicked.
"There is someone winning in tonight's act," Erwin said slowly. "We took down the gangs. Guilon is in custody. But the streets... the streets were ready for it. The question is, who is left standing?"
Black looked at Céline. "Do you have an officer who has their eyes and ears in the streets?"
Céline nodded. She walked to the door and yanked it open. "WOLFE!"
Sergeant Wolfe, who was nursing a coffee at his desk, jolted, spilling a little on his hand.
"Uuuuuu," Sergeant Lomare teased from the next desk over. "Sergeant Wolfe is in trouuuuble..."
"Uuuuu," the other officers joined in, a chorus of immature hazing.
Wolfe just rolled his tired eyes, wiped his hand, and trudged into the glass room. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Wolfe," Céline asked directly. "Is there any 'gang' that has the best situation right now? Who benefits from the Cardinal Wolves, Sharkfins, and Vultures being decimated?"
Wolfe thought for a moment, rubbing his stubble. "I'm sure all the gangs are crumbling right now. The Guilon massacre was thorough. There's a huge vacuum..." He paused. "Wait. The Hao Pavilion."
"Who is the Hao Pavilion?" Black asked sharply.
"They're a new group that overtook the Vipers' old territory," Wolfe explained. "But... they aren't exactly a gang, sir."
"What?" Céline asked.
"From what my CI told me," Wolfe continued, "they are a collective. A union of small folk—beggars, street sweepers, prostitutes, stall owners. They gathered to help each other so small businesses don't have to pay protection money. The Pavilion apparently pays off the other gangs to leave their members alone. They don't expand, they don't deal spice. They just... exist."
"It's still a possibility it is their doing," Black mused, his eyes narrowing. "A collective can be a powerful cover."
"Or," Erwin interjected, steering the suspicion slightly away from a direct strike, "the mysterious man used them as a gate. He utilized their network to enter the underworld unnoticed, manipulating a group that naturally hates the gangs."
"Haaaa," Céline sighed, rubbing her temples. "This has become complicated." She looked at Erwin. "Erwin, you can go back. You have a graduation to attend."
Erwin nodded and turned to leave.
"And Erwin?" Céline called out softly. "Congrats on being the best graduate."
Erwin offered a genuine smile, nodded once, and left the room.
A loud slurp broke the tension. Chief Black was drinking a cup of cheap station tea he'd picked up.
"You can't date someone in your chain of command, Captain," Black said casually, looking at the tea leaves.
Céline flushed, her eyes widening. "Chief..."
Black just smiled, setting the cup down. "Wolfe. Make sure the evidence against Guilon is complete. I want it airtight. And stabilize the streets. We are in preparation for the Silent Night in two days."
Wolfe nodded, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Yes, sir."
Wolfe closed the door, leaving the two senior officers alone in the glass room. Céline leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. She let out a sigh so deep and weary it seemed as if a year of her lifespan escaped with the breath.
"You'll be back to the Capital soon, then?" she mumbled into her hands.
Black raised an eyebrow, adjusting his sling. "Are you trying to get rid of me through the Silent Night, Captain?"
Céline looked up, alarmed. "That's not what I—"
"Hahahahaha!" Black laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "It's okay, Cel. I'm kidding. But I'll stay for a bit. The matter of the Royal Seal needs to be smoothed out by someone with my rank. And... I intend to see what this 'Hao Pavilion' is by the evening."
Céline stiffened slightly but hid it well. "And I assume you need to give your thanks to that officer, don't you?"
"Erwin?" Black asked, a knowing glint in his eye. "He is your golden ticket, right? Shouldn't you attend the inauguration? It's a big moment for your protégé."
"Me giving him the golden ticket was my support," Céline said, straightening her papers to avoid eye contact. "If he can't be the best graduate without me holding his hand, then I judged wrong."
Black shook his head, smiling softly. "They are your family, Céline. Good job giving your congratulations to him earlier. When you were a sergeant under me, you never even said 'thanks' to your fellow officers."
Céline paused, a rare vulnerability crossing her face. "Can we reminisce later? After we are done with the Silent Night?"
Black laughed again. "Hahahaha, sure, Captain. Last chance—you wanna come with me to the inauguration?"
"No, I can't," she said firmly, looking out at the busy bullpen. "The station still needs stabilizing. We have a city to lock down."
Black stood up, walking to the door. He looked back one last time. "Good work today, Cel."
Céline offered a tired, grateful smile. "Thank you, Chief."
…
The inauguration ceremony at the Watcher Academy was... off.
Usually, the event was a display of pristine uniforms and unblemished youth. Today, the front row looked like a hospital ward. Domin had a bandage on his cheek, Havisa walked with a slight limp, and Erwin Smith, the Valedictorian, had a split lip and a bruise blooming on his jawline.
But the biggest deviation wasn't the injuries; it was the guest speaker. Usually, a Commander or maybe a Deputy Chief would attend. Today, the Chief of Police himself, Thorne Black, walked onto the podium, his arm in a sling, his presence commanding absolute silence from the hundreds of cadets and families gathered.
He adjusted the microphone with his good hand, looking out over the sea of faces.
"Good morning, graduates," Black began, his voice projecting without effort. "I look at you all, standing there in your crisp, clean uniforms, shiny badges waiting to be pinned... and I feel a little sorry for you."
A ripple of nervous laughter went through the crowd.
"You think the hard part is over because you survived the Academy," Black continued, pacing the stage. "You are wrong. The Academy teaches you how to run, how to shoot, and how to cite the law. But out there? The streets don't care about your grades. The streets care about your grit."
He smiled, a charismatic, shark-like grin. "Get ready to be called 'Boot' for a while. Get ready for the coffee runs where the order is always wrong. Get ready for the paperwork that stacks higher than the criminals you arrest. You are entering a brotherhood and sisterhood that is tired, overworked, and underappreciated. And yet..." His face grew serious. "It is the most noble thing you will ever do."
He looked down at the front row. "We serve so others don't have to. We bleed so others can sleep."
He gestured to the bruised trio in the front. "Speaking of bleeding... our Valedictorian looks like he just wrestled a bear in the wilderness."
The crowd chuckled, eyes turning to Erwin.
"Don't let the bruises fool you," Black said, his voice swelling with pride. "Recruit Smith didn't get those tripping down the stairs. He earned them helping my operation last night. He is proof that the badge isn't what makes the Watcher. The action is."
He stepped back from the podium. "So, I'll proudly call up your best graduate. Erwin Smith."
The applause was polite at first, then thunderous as the cadets realized the rumors about Erwin were true. Erwin stood, smoothed his uniform, and walked to the podium with a stride that belonged to a general, not a rookie.
He stood behind the microphone, waiting for the applause to die down completely. He scanned the crowd, his blue eyes piercing.
"We are the line," Erwin began, his voice deep and resonant, carrying a natural command that made even the instructors straighten their backs.
"Chief Black speaks of the streets," Erwin continued. "He speaks of the grit. But I ask you to look at the bruises on my face. Do not look at them with pity. Look at them as the cost of admission."
He gripped the sides of the podium. "For too long, the Watchers have been reactive. We wait for the fire to burn before we douse it. We wait for the victim to scream before we act. My fellow graduates, that era ends with us."
The silence in the courtyard was heavy, electric.
"We are not just enforcers of the law. We are the architects of peace. When you put on that badge today, you are not just accepting a job. You are accepting a burden. The burden to run toward the scream when every instinct in your body tells you to run away. The burden to stand in the dark so that the citizens of Evercrest can walk in the light."
Erwin raised his head high. "They will call us Boots. They will call us rookies. Let them. But when the Silent Night comes, when the shadows lengthen and the monsters—both human and otherwise—crawl out from the dark, they will not look for a veteran or a rookie. They will look for a Watcher."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle on every soul present.
"So, do not just wear the uniform. Be the shield. Dedicate your hearts to the peace of this city, and let your actions speak louder than any title."
He stepped back and saluted sharp and perfect.
"For the People."
The silence held for a heartbeat, and then the academy grounds erupted in a roar of approval that shook the leaves from the trees.
…
Time passed, drifting into the late afternoon. Inside the Animus Hub, the atmosphere was thick with the weight of finality.
"This is it, then," Sebas said, adjusting his gloves, his voice calm and steady.
"Are you ready for this?" Erwin asked, sitting across from him. His inauguration uniform was still crisp, the bruises on his face a stark reminder of the reality they were manipulating.
"Are Misela and Amanzio ready, in the first place?" Gellert asked from his corner, closing his book. "They are merely human actors on a stage meant for monsters."
"They are," Sebas assured him. "After all, it is time for the Hao Sect to come to light."
Zero let out a long, frustrated sigh, leaning back in his chair. "I can't believe you guys just tell me all this after you're done with the deed. Haaaa... damn it."
"Wow," Soma said, looking at the butler. "Really. I guess it's a goodbye and good luck then, Sebas."
Sebas turned his veiled gaze to the elf. "See you later, Young Master Legolas."
"Good luck," Legolas said with a nod.
Sebas nodded to Erwin. The two masterminds exchanged a silent look of understanding. They were ready for the last act of the play.
…
In the physical world, on the 31st floor of the Hao Pavilion, Sebas opened his eyes. He stood from his meditation cushion and reached inside his suit jacket. From the inner pocket, he withdrew two cards: [V] and [Iroh].
A soft knock came at the door. Misela entered, carrying a small silver tray with two shot glasses of amber whiskey. Swirling within the liquor was a distinct crimson hue—Zero's blood.
She bowed deeply, her voice trembling slightly. "We are ready for today, Master."
Sebas took the tray and set it on the table. "Make sure no one goes inside before I come out."
Misela looked up. Her usual mask of cold composure was cracked; tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. "You're cruel, Master."
"It is the plan we talked about," Sebas said gently.
She walked closer, closing the distance between them, and pressed a kiss to his cheek—a fleeting, desperate gesture of affection and fear. Sebas sat still, accepting it.
"I'll be waiting, Master," she whispered. She turned and left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
Sebas was alone. He picked up the first glass. "To the revolution," he murmured. He downed the shot and pressed the [V] card to his chest.
His form dissolved into a swirling pool of blood and shadow. It twisted and twirled, reforming rapidly. He stood taller, leaner. He felt something rigid on his face—a mask. He reached up and took it off.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back was a map of agony—severe burn scars, raw and pink and twisted, hiding what was once a handsome face.
"Ironic," he whispered, his voice taking on the theatrical cadence of the anarchist. "A mask within a mask. A beauty masked by the burnt."
He set the mask down and picked up the second glass. He downed it and pressed the [Iroh] card to his heart.
Once again, he became a pool of liquid crimson. It expanded, growing stouter, wider. When he reformed, he was the Dragon of the West—General Iroh. He looked at his hands, calloused and strong. He felt a heat in his belly, a roaring, joyous flame. He flexed his fingers, and fire danced between them. It felt... natural. More than natural.
"Does mixing my Dragonoid race with a Firebender make it more potent?" he mused. The fire wasn't just orange; it had a core of intense, draconic heat.
He willed himself back to his base form. Sebas stood there once more, impeccable in his butler's suit. He extended a hand and tried to firebend. A stream of concentrated, roaring flame erupted from his palm, controlled instantly by his will. With the wisdom and technique from the Iroh card, combined with his Dragonoid physiology, his mastery over fire was absolute.
He walked to the window and looked down at the street below. A single, unmarked Watcher car was rolling slowly toward the Pavilion.
Sebas smiled. He walked to the door and opened it. Misela and Amanzio were standing guard outside, their faces set in grim determination.
"Misela," Sebas commanded softly. "Ready the bait."
Misela and Amanzio bowed low. "Yes, Master."
…
Chief Thorne Black arrived at the Hao Pavilion, a lone figure in a plain trench coat. He was guided past the rowdy lower levels, up the private lift to the 25th floor—one of the highest levels accessible to guests, reserved for the wealthiest patrons.
He was seated on a plush velvet sofa by Madam Seraphina. A moment later, a parade of stunning girls entered the room, giggling and carrying drinks.
Black held out his hand, his expression unyielding. "I am here solely to talk."
Madam Seraphina fluttered her fan. "Oh my. Accompaniment wouldn't hurt, don't you think? It is a long wait."
"I'll wait here alone until I see the mistress," Black stated, his tone brooking no argument.
Seraphina bowed, signaled the girls, and they left him in the opulent silence. Several minutes passed. Black sat with the stillness of a statue, his eyes scanning the room, assessing exits, assessing threats.
The door opened. Misela entered, holding a long, elegant opera holder, smoke trailing from the tip. Amanzio walked a step behind her, his eyes scanning Black with the intensity of a guard dog.
Misela sat across from him, crossing her legs. Amanzio took his position standing behind her.
"Good evening, Chief," Misela said, her voice smooth but guarded.
Black, dressed in civilian clothes, raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You know I am the Chief."
"Some people recognized you on the floors below," Misela replied, taking a drag. "Word travels up."
"You take me to a high floor to discuss the information the people below have," Black observed.
"Fufufu," Misela chuckled, though the sound lacked her usual mirth. "It is the only way we survive."
"I will not beat around the bush," Black said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the low table. It was a police sketch of the mysterious man—Sebas in his veil. "Do you know this man?"
It was subtle, a masterclass in acting. Misela's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she composed herself. Amanzio's hand twitched by his side.
Black saw it all. Recognition. Fear.
"I don't know who he is," Misela said, her voice a little too tight.
"You're answering too fast," Black pressed, leaning forward. "Is he here?"
Amanzio's stance shifted. His hand moved toward the gun concealed beneath his jacket.
"Don't think about it," Black said calmly, not even looking at the bodyguard. "Even with one hand, I can still easily take you."
Amanzio froze.
Misela suddenly held up her hand to stop Amanzio. She began to fidget with her opera holder, her composure cracking. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling with feigned desperation. "We are just small folk. We do what we can to help my girls and the small folks around the Duchy. This... this is the only way. Please, leave after you are done."
She stood up to leave, but Black reached out with his good hand, gently grabbing her wrist. "We will help you," he said, his voice earnest. "As a Chief, I guarantee it."
Misela scoffed, pulling her hand away violently. "Please. Don't bring your capital jokes to the shore," she spat, her eyes flashing with anger. "Even the dockworkers know the Watchers are never on our side."
"We are changing our ways," Black insisted.
"Do you?" Misela raised her voice, letting the frustration pour out. "The people still rely on the gangsters for safety! We help them by using my business to pay these gangsters so they leave the street vendors alone! Do you know why my Pavilion is full every night?"
Black remained silent.
"Because we need the money to pay them!" Misela shouted, tears welling in her eyes. "We sell our bodies so the baker down the street doesn't have to sell his shop! So please... leave."
Black saw the sincerity in her eyes. It was a lie built on a foundation of emotional truth, and it hit its mark.
"We are here to help the people," Black said softly. "The mysterious man... he gets what he wants. What makes you think he won't discard you at any moment?"
Misela looked away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "What else can I do?" she whispered. "These girls have no one else to protect them. Not the Knights. Not the Watchers. Not the Kingdom. So please... for one last time... leave."
She turned and walked away, entering the private lift.
Amanzio stood there for a moment. He locked eyes with Black. He sighed, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something, to ask for help... but then he held back, shaking his head. He turned and followed Misela.
Black was left alone in the silent room. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"Am I too hasty to come here?" he muttered to himself. "But now I know... they are being forced to do this."
**A/N**
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**A/N**