Reveli seemed to remember something.
It wasn't a sudden gesture. No surprise. No alarm. Just a slight change in his expression, almost imperceptible, followed by a slow, measured smile, as if a forgotten piece had finally fallen into place.
He snapped his fingers.
The sound was soft.
But its effect was immediate.
Two guards emerged from the side shadows of the room. They weren't carrying spears like the others. They held long swords, well-kept, with hilts worn by real use, not ceremony. They positioned themselves on either side of Reveli without a word.
That wasn't reinforcement.
It was a decision.
Now what?
The question pierced Nero's mind like a cold spike, but he didn't allow it to show on his face. He breathed slowly, with the same discipline one uses before crossing a threshold from which there is no return.
He didn't step back.
He didn't lower his gaze.
Reveli watched him with a different kind of attention now, like someone evaluating a tool before deciding how to use it.
"What are your friends' names?"
The tone was casual. Too casual.
Nero took barely a second longer than necessary to answer.
"Uh… Lux, Merlin, Kōri, and Sunday."
His voice came out steady, though inside something shifted. Not because the names were a problem, but because now they were on the table.
Reveli repeated one in a low voice.
"Sunday…"
He savored it.
"What a strange name."
He walked slowly, never breaking eye contact, as if that insignificant detail had awakened unexpected curiosity. The guards didn't move, but their hands rested naturally on the hilts.
Nero held his gaze.
Now that I think about it, he admitted to himself, Reveli is right.
Sunday wasn't a common name.
Silence settled again, dense, expectant.
Reveli smiled again.
"Guards."
The guards, standing like marble statues, began to move at their master's command.
They left the room and disappeared into the darkness.
"Nero… are you a Sinner?"
The question fell like an atomic bomb.
The women beside Reveli looked at him in confusion, as if they didn't understand the depth of those words.
Nero observed Reveli's calm expression.
Do I tell the truth?
If I say no and he discovers it's a lie, he'll kill me… and if I say yes… I don't know what he'll do.
"Yes, I am a Sinner."
"Path and rank?"
Nero thought for a second before replying:
"Path of Cunning, Rank 11: Watcher."
Reveli stayed silent for a full minute.
He snapped his fingers and grinned from ear to ear.
"Double jump, Zero stage, what else… eh… strength increase, right?"
Nero was stunned.
A Sinner skills geek?! How strange…
Also, how does he know all of this?
Are there Sinner books in this world? Academies? Institutions?
Shit… I know so little about this world.
Reveli continued watching Nero.
He leaned toward one of the women, kissed her lazily, and whispered something flirtatious in her ear. She laughed softly before pulling away.
At that moment, the door opened again.
The guards returned.
And with them, Nero's group.
Lux looked around distrustfully.
Merlin analyzed every corner.
Sunday maintained a neutral expression.
Kōri seemed tense, clutching herself as if the air could shatter her.
"Lead them to A1," ordered Reveli without looking at them.
"Treat them well."
The guards nodded.
No violence. No pushing.
That was the most unsettling part.
They guided the group through the halls to a spacious, luxurious room.
Soft carpets, real beds, hot food, light.
An obscene contrast with the work field.
The door closed behind them.
The silence lasted barely a second.
"Nero, what the hell did you do?"
Lux's voice broke the artificial calm of the room like a sharp blow. He had spun around, eyes blazing, exhaustion turned to fury.
"Necessary," replied Nero.
He let himself fall onto the sofa as if his body no longer obeyed, allowing warmth and softness to envelop him. He didn't close his eyes. He couldn't afford it.
Sunday leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His gaze was hard but not blind. There was suspicion… and something else. Partial understanding. Dangerous.
"You betrayed us, didn't you?"
The word hung in the air.
Nero let out a dry, short, bitter laugh.
"We?" he spat.
"'You betrayed them' would be more accurate."
Kōri stepped forward, trembling.
"W-why…?" she asked, voice breaking.
"Why would you do something like this?"
Nero lifted his gaze slowly.
"Because that escape was a death sentence," he said.
"Because tomorrow there would be corpses. Many."
"You weren't the one who should decide that!" Lux shouted.
"You weren't the one who had the right!"
Sunday stepped away from the wall.
"We could have chosen," he said, low but firm.
"Even if it meant dying while trying."
"Trying what?" Nero replied.
"Dragging everyone into a crack monitored by a single compassionate man?"
Lux stepped forward.
"That man died because of you!"
The blow landed hard.
Nero gritted his teeth.
"He died the moment he chose to help," he replied.
"I only accelerated the inevitable."
"You're a bastard!" Lux yelled.
"You used others as currency!"
Kōri shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes.
"I thought… I thought you were different," she whispered.
That hurt more than any shout.
Nero stood abruptly.
"I thought a lot of things too!" he exploded.
"I thought that if we escaped together, everyone would live. I thought there was a clean way out. But there isn't!"
He gestured at the room.
"See this?" he continued.
"The beds? The food? The light?"
Lux clenched his fists.
"Does that justify selling others?"
"This buys us time!" Nero replied.
"Time to think. To survive."
Sunday stared at him.
"And the cost?"
Nero held his gaze.
"Me."
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Then Merlin spoke.
He had stayed seated the whole time, observing, listening, as if the scene were a self-solving equation.
"I would have done the same."
All eyes turned to him immediately.
Lux opened his mouth.
"What…?"
"Shut up," Merlin said calmly.
"And think."
He stood slowly.
"An escape with fifteen people, exhausted, watched, guided by a single compassionate guard," he enumerated.
"Probability of success: insignificant."
He looked at Nero.
"You decided to sacrifice an external variable to ensure the core's survival."
Then he looked at the group.
"That is not betrayal," he said.
"That is strategy."
Kōri looked horrified.
"How can you say that?"
Merlin tilted his head.
"Because we're still alive," he replied.
"And because tomorrow we won't be digging graves."
Lux shook his head, furious.
"That doesn't make it right."
"No," Merlin admitted.
"But it makes it effective."
Nero breathed heavily.
"Don't ask me to apologize," he said quietly.
"Not when I know this decision gave them a better chance to live."
Kōri looked at him, broken.
"And when do you become someone we no longer recognize?"
Nero closed his eyes for a moment.
"I'm the same person you know…"
Merlin barely smiled.
"And that's why we're still here."
The following silence wasn't calm.
It was forced acceptance.
Because everyone knew it, even if no one wanted to say it:
If Nero hadn't acted…
They'd probably already be dead.
...
Days began to lose their names.
One blended into the next with no ceremony, as if time itself refused to mark the difference between surviving and enduring.
Five days.
Five days of forced labor observed from a distance.
Five days sleeping in beds too comfortable to be honest.
Five days eating hot food that tasted like guilt.
Room A1 was in the perfect spot to watch the agricultural field.
From A1, the group watched the work field as one observes a shipwreck from the shore: relieved not to be there… and ashamed to still be breathing.
Lux trained silently, venting his rage against the air.
Kōri barely spoke. She stared out the window for hours, as if hoping to recognize someone among the lines of slaves.
Sunday observed. Always observed. Didn't judge aloud, but didn't forget either.
Merlin read everything he could get his hands on. Plans, records, schedules. As if the place were a math problem still unsolved.
And Nero…
Nero counted.
Guards. Shifts. Routes. Punishments.
Counted infractions.
Counted corpses.
On the fifth day, there was a knock at the door.
Three sharp knocks.
No alarm. Just resignation.
The guards waited outside.
"Reveli sends for you."
It wasn't an order. It was a sentence wrapped in courtesy.
...
The hall was the same.
The same warm lights. The same long shadows. The same women reclining like living ornaments.
Reveli awaited, seated, a cup in hand.
He smiled upon seeing them enter.
"Five days," he said. "You've lasted longer than I expected."
No one responded.
Reveli set down the cup carefully.
"You've observed," he continued. "You've rested. You've thought."
He stood.
Walked slowly in front of them, evaluating them like merchandise whose price no longer needed to be hidden.
"It's time to pay."
Lux tensed. Kōri stepped back. Sunday narrowed his eyes. Merlin remained still.
Nero lifted his head.
"What does he want?" he asked.
Reveli smiled.
"Work."
He snapped his fingers.
A guard unfurled a scroll.
"From today," said Reveli, "your function will be to spy on the slaves."
Lux opened his mouth.
"Spy…?"
"Conversations," interrupted Reveli. "Glances. Gestures. Any deviation."
He stopped in front of Nero.
"And if you detect an infraction…"
He paused.
Smiled.
"No matter how small…"
The silence grew heavy.
"…you must kill them."
The words fell without emphasis. Without emotion. Without drama.
Like an administrative rule.
Kōri paled.
"K-kill them…?" she whispered.
Reveli tilted his head.
"Did you expect a punishment?" he asked, feigning curiosity. "That would be inefficient."
Lux stepped forward.
"This is madness."
Reveli looked at him for the first time.
"This is order."
He turned to Nero.
"You will decide," he said. "You are good at seeing what others cannot."
Nero felt the weight of all eyes.
"And if we refuse?" he asked.
Reveli smiled, as if the question amused him.
"Then you return to the field." "No rooms." "No privileges."
He leaned slightly toward him.
"And this time… there will be no one to sell you to."
The message was clear.
Nero closed his eyes for a second.
Five days. Five days bought with someone else's blood.
He opened them.
"Since when?" he asked.
"Now," replied Reveli.
The guards stepped forward.
Reveli raised his cup once more.
"Welcome to supervision."
The group left in silence.
In the hallway, Lux stopped abruptly.
"No," he said. "I'm not doing this."
Kōri trembled.
"This… this isn't surviving…"
Sunday looked at Nero.
"This time you're not sacrificing an external variable," he said. "This time… it's us."
Merlin broke the silence.
"If we don't accept," he said calmly, "we die."
He looked at Nero.
"If we accept…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Nero felt something break inside.
It wasn't fear. It wasn't guilt.
It was certainty.
"We will spy," he said.
Lux looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.
"And when the time comes," Nero added, "we will change the rules."
No one responded.
But everyone understood the same thing:
This time, there was no way out clean.
...
The following days brought no glory.
They brought routine.
Dirty routine.
The group moved like shadows poorly glued to the walls of the compound. They didn't walk: they glided. Used side hallways, gaps between warehouses, maintenance stairs that even the guards seemed to forget.
Spying wasn't observing.
It was learning not to exist.
Lux monitored open movements: shift changes, public punishments, night transfers. His rage had become precision. He didn't speak, but memorized everything.
Kōri listened. Literally. She stayed still near the barracks, eyes closed, breathing slowly, distinguishing voices, sobs, muffled arguments. Every sound pierced her like a needle.
Sunday followed the guards. Not all. Only those who smiled too much. He learned who abused their power and who simply obeyed out of fear. He didn't intervene. Took notes.
Merlin did what he did best: connect points. Schedules with names. Names with punishments. Punishments with subsequent silences. Where there was a void, there was a corpse.
And Nero…
Nero decided what information not to deliver.
Because they soon understood something terrifying:
Not all infractions were real.
Some were fabricated.
A slave who talked too much. A woman hiding bread. A man who looked at the ground when he should look forward.
Small things.
Human things.
Every report sent to Reveli returned in the form of absence.
One less body. An empty spot in the line. A name no longer spoken.
On the third day, it happened.
Kōri was the first to notice.
There was a young girl, barely older than her, who always hummed softly while working. It wasn't defiance. It was a nervous tic. A way not to break.
A guard heard her.
Kōri saw him write something down.
She ran.
Found Nero in one of the inner hallways.
"We have to say no," she whispered, desperate. "It's not a real infraction. She did nothing."
Nero looked at the record.
Name. Line. Time.
Sunday appeared behind.
"If we don't report it," he said, "someone else will."
Lux clenched his teeth.
"Then we change the report."
Merlin shook his head slowly.
"It doesn't work that way," he said. "If we alter too many data points, they'll get suspicious."
Kōri trembled.
"Then… what do we do?"
The silence was brutal.
Nero closed the scroll.
"I'll handle it," he said.
He didn't explain how.
That night, Nero followed the guard.
No fight.
No shouting.
Just a poorly calculated push near a maintenance stairwell.
An accident.
The next day, the girl's name no longer appeared in any record.
Nor did the guard's.
Lux understood.
Sunday too.
Merlin closed his eyes for a second.
Kōri cried silently.
That was the exact moment they stopped being observers.
And became something worse.
...
Two days later, they were called again.
Reveli was in a better mood.
"Efficient reports," he commented. "Creative."
He looked at Nero with renewed interest.
"You're starting to please me."
Nero didn't respond.
Reveli sipped his cup.
"But remember something," he added softly. "If you protect too much… it shows."
He leaned forward.
"And if it shows… it's punished."
The message was clear.
Upon leaving, Lux spoke for the first time in days.
"We're killing," he said. "One way or another."
Sunday responded without looking at him.
"We always were."
Kōri clenched her fists.
"I don't want to become this."
Merlin walked ahead.
"No one does," he said. "That's why it works."
Nero stopped.
Looked at them all.
"This isn't the end," he said. "It's the price of buying one."
Lux confronted him.
"And how many more are we going to pay?"
Nero held his gaze.
"Enough for the next move to be irreversible."
The following silence wasn't resignation.
It was fear.
Because everyone understood the same thing:
The observation phase had ended.
And when the opportunity came…
There would be no turning back.
...
They were allowed to retreat at dusk.
Not as a favor.
As a calculated pause.
The assigned room was higher than the others, with a single narrow window from which the black and gray stone sky turned red.
No luxury this time, just a hard bed for each and a stone table.
Nero collapsed first.
Not from physical exhaustion.
From the accumulated weight of decisions that cannot be returned.
Merlin sat afterward, adjusting his hat to the side, as if even that required unnecessary effort.
The silence stretched.
It wasn't uncomfortable.
It was honest.
"Do you think we're monsters?" Nero asked suddenly.
He didn't look at Merlin.
He looked at the ceiling.
Merlin took a moment before responding.
"I think," he finally said, "monsters don't ask that question."
Nero let out a brief, humorless laugh.
"That doesn't answer anything."
Merlin leaned against the wall.
"It answers more than it seems."
Seconds passed.
"Down there," Nero continued, "every time someone doubts, they die."
"Every time someone disobeys, they die."
"And now… every time someone does something wrong… we must kill them."
He turned to Merlin.
"When does it stop being survival and become cruelty?"
Merlin studied him with real, notanalytical, attention.
"When you start enjoying it."
Nero frowned.
"Is that all?"
"No," Merlin admitted. "But it's the clearest line."
Night fell.
"The morality," he said, "is a luxury of stable systems."
"It works when punishment isn't immediate."
"When failing doesn't mean disappearing."
Nero sat up slightly.
"So… it doesn't exist here?"
Merlin shook his head.
"It exists."
"Only it's… warped."
He turned toward him.
"Here, morality isn't measured by what's right…"
"But by what's irreversible."
Nero clenched his fists.
"That sounds like an excuse."
"It is," Merlin replied without hesitation. "All of them are."
Silence returned.
Heavier.
"Lux is never going to forgive me," Nero said quietly.
"Probably not," Merlin replied.
"Kōri looks at me as if I'm already dead."
"Because a part of you is."
Nero closed his eyes.
"And you?" he asked. "Do you see me the same?"
Merlin hesitated.
Just for a moment.
"I see you as someone who chose to carry the weight," he said. "And that doesn't make you good." "But it doesn't make you empty either."
Nero opened his eyes.
"And if I'm wrong?" he asked. "If every decision I make just makes things worse?"
Merlin sat back down.
"Then you did the only possible thing."
Nero looked at him.
"That doesn't console me."
"It shouldn't," Merlin said. "Morality isn't made to console. It's made to hurt."
Night came.
Before sleeping, Merlin spoke one last time.
"If one day you stop asking yourself whether what you do is wrong…"
"That day, you'll have become a monster."
Nero remained silent and lay back on the hard stone bed.
His mind wandered far away.
"I miss my TV."
Nero realized his mistake: in this world, electronic devices didn't exist.
"Uh…?" replied a confused Merlin.
"Nothing."
Merlin looked at Nero, then smiled and said:
"I miss my phone."