Leon took the wallet back from Willey's trembling hands.
Looking at the young man before him, Leon noted how all the previous bravado had drained from his face. Willey's lips were pale, sweat beaded on his forehead, and despite his loose-fitting pants, anyone could see his legs shaking slightly.
It made sense, of course—what aspiring thief, eager to join the Lionheart Society, would ever expect to one day pickpocket the leader himself?
Leon studied him, taking in his youthful features. "How old are you?" he asked.
"E-eighteen..." Willey stammered.
"Tell the truth," Nacho interjected sternly from the side.
Willey quickly corrected himself, "Seventeen! But my birthday's in two months! I'll be eighteen then!"
"Oh? Then shouldn't you be in school? Why drop out to become a thief?" Leon pressed.
"Brother, let me clarify: my profession isn't 'thief'," Willey replied, suddenly straightening up with a semblance of dignity.
Leon raised an eyebrow, glancing meaningfully at the wallet he'd just retrieved. "If you're not a thief, then what are you?"
"A noble bandit!"—"Ow!" Willey yelped as Nacho delivered a sharp smack to the back of his head.
"You read a couple of adventure novels and suddenly you're a 'noble bandit'? Don't make me laugh."
Willey rubbed the back of his head, offering an embarrassed grin. "Alright, alright, fine. My dad actually got me a decent job recently, so the whole 'bandit' thing is just... a side gig. Okay, fine, it's a part-time job."
Nacho scoffed and pretended to kick him, though Willey skillfully dodged.
Leon couldn't help but chuckle. He'd never heard of someone who moonlighted as a thief. People like that usually only existed in cheap fantasy serials: a struggling office worker by day who transforms into a masked vigilante or a flamboyant villain at night.
But a part-time thief? That was a new one.
"If you're this skilled at your side gig, you must be exceptional at your real job, right?" Leon joked.
Willey puffed out his chest slightly. "It's nothing special, Brother. I'm just a night watchman at a warehouse."
Before Leon could respond, Nacho chimed in with a dry snicker, "Putting you in charge of a warehouse is like asking a fox to guard the henhouse."
"Hey, Nacho, that's not fair!" Willey protested.
"Oh? How would you prefer I phrase it?"
"I'm way more trustworthy than a fox!" Willey declared with misplaced pride.
Nacho simply shook his head, covering his face in second-hand embarrassment.
This was one of the primary reasons he had been hesitant to bring Willey into the Lionheart Society. Despite the kid's potential, he was impulsive, overly enthusiastic, and treated everything with a half-serious, joking attitude.
Recently, Nacho had finally managed to dig into Willey's background. Born and raised in the Empire, he came from a family originally from the lower districts. Through his father's relentless efforts, they had managed to scrape their way into the middle district and start a small business. But as everyone knew, doing business in the Empire meant you might eke out a meager living, but the Empire itself never lost.
Without powerful connections or backing, families like Willey's were always the first to be squeezed dry by the Empire's corrupt officials and excessive taxes.
On paper, Willey was a perfect candidate for the Lionheart Society—disenfranchised, angry, and street-smart.
But this overly eager, slightly clownish kid... was just a liability waiting to happen.
"What kind of warehouse would hire you as a guard?" Nacho asked, steering the conversation back. "Isn't your reputation as the 'Phantom of the Middle District' fairly well-known around here?"
"The locals know me as a 'noble bandit', but outsiders don't," Willey explained. "This warehouse isn't run by anyone from the middle district. It's a temporary setup on land leased from the royal family, right here in our district."
He paused, his tone shifting to one of genuine indignation. "And it really ticks me off. They've taken up valuable middle district land, yet the 'rent' they pay is barely half the market rate. They have the gall to call it an 'honor to serve the Empire.' Pfft! One of these days, I'm gonna... I'll find a way to make it right."
Royalty. Middle district. Temporary warehouse.
Leon and Rossweise exchanged a quick, significant glance.
"What's stored in this warehouse?" Leon asked, his voice casual but his interest keen.
"Oh, these," Willey said, reaching into his oversized coat pocket and pulling out a neatly folded paper lantern.
Since the Lantern Festival required such vast quantities, the lanterns were designed to be collapsible for easy transport and storage. One simply had to pull the two ends to open them into their traditional spherical shape.
"Sounds like the fox has been put in charge of the henhouse," Nacho commented dryly. "And I'm guessing this isn't the only 'hen' you've helped yourself to?"
"Nacho, I swear, I only took this one!" Willey insisted, holding up the single lantern.
"Uh-huh?"
"...Okay, five."
"Keep going."
"...Alright, maybe around a dozen or so. But look, with the massive stockpile they have in there, nobody's going to notice a few missing lanterns!"
Willey explained his twisted logic, "I figured selling a few of them was just fair compensation for the Empire's pathetic 'rent' payments."
"Your mental gymnastics are truly something else," Nacho said, rolling his eyes.
"Right, Nacho?"
"Just... go stand over there, kid."
"Aww..." Willey's shoulders slumped, and he shuffled off to the side like a scolded puppy.
Nacho stepped closer to Leon, lowering his voice so only he and Rossweise could hear.
"I'm betting you're thinking exactly what I'm thinking."
Leon glanced over at Willey, who was now idly kicking a pebble on the ground.
"After you mentioned him last night, I asked Rebecca about him," Leon said quietly. "She said his background was difficult to verify. My main concern is that under real pressure, he might break and compromise the entire operation."
While he didn't dislike this brash, self-styled bandit, Leon couldn't afford to let personal sentiment cloud his judgment in matters of such critical importance.
"He won't betray us," Nacho stated with surprising conviction. "It was tricky, but I finally managed to verify his background. Other than his age and his... exuberant personality, he's clean. And his motivation is genuine."
"Is that so..." Leon mused, his gaze thoughtful.
"So, what's the call?" Nacho asked. "This is our fastest, most direct path to the lanterns."
Leon thought for a moment longer, then gave clear, concise instructions.
"Take a small, hand-picked team tonight. No more than four others. We can't risk a large-scale operation drawing attention."
"Understood. We'll bring the recording stones. We won't need to steal the lanterns; we can insert the stones directly into the ones already in the warehouse and mask them with illusion magic. It will save us a tremendous amount of time and effort."
"Good. Also, do a final tally of all the lanterns we've sourced through other channels. Our objective is blanket coverage across all five districts."
Nacho nodded firmly. "Understood. We'll have it done by 03:00."
With the plan set, Nacho walked back over to Willey, speaking to him in low, earnest tones. Willey's face lit up, and he literally leapt into the air, pumping his fists in excitement.
"Thank you, Nacho! And thank you, Brother Leon, for giving me this chance!" Willey called out, waving enthusiastically at Leon.
"Alright, enough celebrating. Let's move," Nacho said, nudging him toward the alley's exit.
"Wait, isn't Brother Leon coming with us?" Willey asked, looking back.
"Of course not. Have you ever seen a general fighting on the front lines with the scouts?"
"Oh. Right." Willey's face fell for a second before brightening again. "Makes sense!"
The two figures—one ragged and weary, the other bouncing with energy—slowly disappeared into the foot traffic of the main street.
Rossweise looked over at Leon, her silver eyes filled with amusement.
"To be honest, I thought you'd want to handle this one yourself."
Leon shrugged. "You're the one who taught me that a true leader doesn't need to personally execute every single task."
"But you also have to—" she began.
"—also be prepared to shoulder the full responsibility if the plan fails," Leon finished for her, a wry smile touching his lips.
"Hmph. It seems you've memorized my lessons quite well."
A good leader never competes with their subordinates for glory.
Take the warehouse operation, for instance.
Leon's role was strategy and decision-making. The members of the Lionheart Society were the ones who would carry it out.
If the plan succeeded, the credit would belong to everyone—to Leon's planning and to the members' execution.
But if it failed... Leon would not place the blame on Nacho's shoulders, or on Willey's, or on anyone else's.
As he had discussed with Rossweise, bearing that weight was the burden of leadership. He would accept the full consequence of any failure.
And Rossweise would be there to share that burden with him.
"So, what shall we do now?" Rossweise asked, linking her arm with his as they stepped out of the alley.
Leon thought for a moment. "Let's go see Teacher Carolyn."
.
.
.
At the Cosmod Orphanage
A line of children, supervised by several nuns, were carefully carrying two large crates filled with paper lanterns toward the main gate.
"Thank you for all your hard work, children! We're having a special meat stew for dinner tonight!" one of the nuns announced.
"Yay!"
"Teacher Carolyn is the best!"
Cheering erupted, and the kids scampered off toward the dining hall, their faces alight with anticipation for the rare treat.
Carolyn watched them go with a fond smile before turning her attention to Leon, who stood at the gateway.
"These are the paper lanterns you ordered, sir. We worked through the night to finish them for you," she said, her voice warm but carrying a formal tone for the benefit of any potential onlookers.
"Thank you, Teacher Carolyn. This is more than I could have asked for."
Carolyn looked at Leon—her former charge, her proudest student, now a man disguised and standing on the precipice of rebellion. Just seeing him here, alive and fighting, filled her with a profound, quiet sense of peace.
She didn't know the specifics of his plan.
But as Sister Sharon had whispered to her earlier, filled with giddy excitement, "Brother Leon is back. Everything will be alright now."
"Teacher Carolyn!"
They turned to see Sister Sharon running toward them, clutching a single, carefully crafted paper lantern.
"I... I just finished the final touches on this one! Please, Brother Le— I mean, sir, please take it!"
Sharon held out the lantern with both hands, as if presenting a sacred offering.
This lantern was different from the others; it was already fully opened and assembled.
And around its outer surface, written in a multitude of hands and inks, were the names of every teacher, every nun, and every child at the Cosmod Orphanage. The names were packed tightly together, a community etched in miniature, leaving barely an inch of empty space.
But at the very top, a single line had been deliberately left clear.
And on that line, only one name was written:
Leon Cosmodeous.
The handwriting was neat, precise, and unmistakably familiar.
"This lantern is..." Leon began, his voice catching slightly.
"It's a gift, sir!" Sharon explained, her words tumbling out in her excitement. "Everyone wrote their names on it! And the name at the top... that one is... well..."
Overwhelmed, she stumbled over her words, her eyes shining.
Leon's gaze was fixed on that single name at the zenith of the lantern. He knew that handwriting. Teacher Carolyn herself had written it.
In that moment, he understood everything.
They knew. They had recognized him all along.
"He is our hero, sir," Teacher Carolyn said softly, gently placing her hand over Sharon's to steady the offered lantern. Her voice was thick with emotion she could not openly show. "He was in the past, he is now, and he will be, always."
"So please, accept this lantern. It carries... the hopes of everyone here at the Cosmod Orphanage."
Leon was certain now. But this was not the time for tearful reunions; there were still too many watching eyes. Once the storm had passed, there would be time for embraces and long-overdue conversations.
Looking at the lantern, a physical manifestation of the faith and love of his first home, his gaze softened immeasurably. His hands trembled almost imperceptibly as he reached out and carefully, reverently, accepted it.
"Thank you, Teacher Carolyn," he said, his voice low and heartfelt. "And thank you, Sharon."
"You are most welcome, sir."
After a brief, weighted pause, Carolyn spoke again, her smile gentle but her tone imbued with a rare and solemn gravity.
"May you find victory on the battlefield."
As a woman of the cloth, she rarely spoke such words.
In fact, there had been only one other person in her life to whom she had ever offered such a parting blessing.
His name was Leon. The most exceptional child she had ever had the privilege to teach.