The second day without Itami was heavier than the first. Ren arrived at school with a knot of dread in his stomach, his gaze automatically sweeping the gate, the courtyard, the usual meeting spots. Still empty. The absence of his friend, his guide in this bewildering modern world, was a gaping void that made every lesson, every social interaction, feel even more alien and difficult to parse.
He sat through homeroom, Itami's chair still conspicuously vacant. Mrs. Albright mentioned his absence briefly, something about a "family emergency," but the words offered no comfort to Ren. He knew "family emergency" could be a convenient cover for something far more sinister. He felt the subtle, cold hum of Valerius's presence in the school, a constant reminder that danger lurked beneath the surface of normalcy.
During history class, Ren found his mind wandering, replaying Itami's hurried departure from the library, the strained look on his face. He tried to focus on the teacher's lecture, but the words blurred. He glanced around the classroom, his eyes scanning the familiar faces, searching for any clue, any hint. His gaze drifted to the back, to a corner desk near the window.
Sakura's seat.
It was empty.
A jolt, colder and sharper than any physical blow, shot through Ren. He hadn't even noticed until now, so consumed was he by Itami's disappearance. But now that he saw it, the absence was glaring. Sakura, the quiet observer, the girl Li Wei had confronted, the one who spoke with the voice of an ancient, malevolent entity – she was also gone.
His mind raced, connecting the dots with chilling speed. Li Wei's confrontation. Sakura's terrifying transformation. Her desperate, haunting words about being Valerius's vessel. And now, her disappearance. It couldn't be a coincidence.
He recalled the conversation with Li Wei about Sakura, the general's grim determination to ascertain Sakura's true allegiance. Had Li Wei's intervention provoked Valerius? Had Sakura been removed, either by Valerius himself for her failure, or by some other, unknown force? Or, more chillingly, was Sakura's absence a deliberate move, a trap set by Valerius?
The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through Ren. Two key figures in his nascent understanding of this world, both gone. Itami, his innocent, loyal friend, and Sakura, his enigmatic, terrifying potential enemy. The chessboard was shifting, pieces being removed, and Ren felt a growing sense of isolation.
He sought out Li Wei during the next break. He found her in the student council office, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on something unseen. She looked more weary than he had ever seen her, the perfect composure strained.
"Sakura is also absent," Ren stated, his voice low, confirming his discovery.
Li Wei's eyes met his, a flicker of grim understanding passing between them. "I know," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "I checked the attendance records this morning. No official reason given for her absence either." She paused, then added, "I suspect it is connected to our encounter."
Ren felt a cold certainty settle over him.
Valerius was making his moves. He was not merely observing; he was acting. The chess champion's quiet dominance in the school, his effortless academic prowess, was just one layer of his game. The disappearance of Itami and Sakura was another, far more dangerous one.
"What do we do?" Ren asked, the question laced with a rare note of desperation. He was an emperor, a strategist, but he felt blind, disarmed, and increasingly alone in this alien world.
Li Wei closed her eyes for a moment, a deep sigh escaping her. When she opened them, the general's resolve had returned, though the weariness remained. "We continue to prepare for the midterms, Kaelen. It is our cover. And we continue to search. For Itami. For answers about Sakura. And for any other echoes of our past that Valerius might be targeting." She looked at him, her gaze firm. "The board is indeed changing, Emperor. But we are still in the game."
As the school day drew to a close, Ren walked home with a heavy heart. The absence of Itami and Sakura weighed on him, two empty seats that spoke volumes. The midterms, once a terrifying academic gauntlet, now felt like a mere distraction, a thinly veiled facade for the real, escalating war being waged in the shadows of their modern lives. The game had just become far more personal, and far more dangerous.