The morning light crawled lazily through the blinds, spilling across Max's face. He blinked at the ceiling for a long moment. His body was still stiff from recovery, but at least he could move without feeling like his ribs were going to split in half.
For a moment, he lay still, unsure why the quiet felt so strange.
Then it hit him.
There was no shouting. No boots stomping down the hall. No orders from Loyalty. Just the hum of the air vents and Kaz's obnoxious snoring from the bed across the room.
He splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth, threw on his hoodie and headed for the lounge.
The whole crew was there—almost.
Rika lounged on the couch, flipping half-heartedly through a book, eyes darting occasionally at the muted TV. Mira sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, trying to meditate despite Noel pestering her with smirks and dry jokes.
Samira was sprawled on the window sill, brushing her hair, occasionally shooting a sly glance at Max. Ava sat nearby on a beanbag, sketching something in her notebook, occasionally glancing up with a small smile.
Renji was the odd one out—he was punching the heavy bag in the gym alone, slow and methodical, like he was just killing time.
Kaz wasn't around yet. Probably still nursing his bruises from his last mission.
Noel leaned on Mira's chair. "Morning, Mira. You look like you could use some company."
Mira didn't open her eyes. "Morning, Noel. And no, I don't."
He chuckled under his breath. "You sure? I can be very persuasive."
"Not interested." Her tone was flat.
Rika snorted from the couch, not looking up from her book. "Ouch. That's like the third time she's shot you down this week."
"It's called persistence," Noel said, feigning offense.
"It's called pathetic," Rika muttered.
Noel rolled his eyes and flopped into the other armchair. "Tough crowd this morning."
Max wandered in mid-conversation and dropped onto the far end of the couch without a word. He leaned back, hood up, listening to their pointless banter.
Samira smirked and whispered something to Ava, who stifled a laugh.
Meanwhile, far from Unit Twelve's dorm floor, a polished oak door closed with a solid click.
The room inside was nothing like the sterile halls of the facility. It was warm, wood-paneled, with a long table at its center. Twelve chairs surrounded it, each occupied by a figure whose very presence seemed to weigh on the air.
The Pure Virtues were having a meeting.
At the far end sat Justice — short, compactly built, with spiky crimson hair and a permanent death stare that could strip paint off a wall. His fingers tapped the table with a precise, unbroken rhythm.
Next to him sat Temperance, tall and calm, her hands folded neatly, her gaze soft but unyielding. Across from them was Love, smiling faintly, her voice warm when she spoke, though her eyes carried an edge of calculation.
Loyalty was seated midway down, white hair tied back, posture perfect, hands clasped in front of her.
Others filled the room: Courage, leaning back with arms crossed, relaxed but alert; Prudence, expression cool and sharp; Charity, hands folded in prayer-like stillness; Patience, who sat without speaking, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips; Kindness, a broad-shouldered man whose gaze carried quiet strength; Hope, whose bright eyes contrasted the serious tone of the room; Faith, composed and steady; and Humility, who sat near the end, small and unassuming, almost overlooked until she spoke.
Justice's gaze locked on Loyalty like a drawn blade.
"Loyalty, you've brought an anomaly into this facility. One who defeated Vanity — a Pure Vice — in minutes. That does not happen without reason."
"I've explained my position," Loyalty said evenly.
"And I'm telling you," Justice replied, his crimson hair catching the overhead light like a warning, "there's only one reason someone could overpower Vanity like that — he's one of them."
Courage tilted his head. "Or maybe he just got lucky."
Justice's eyes narrowed. "Luck doesn't set fire to Vanity's constructs like they're paper."
Prudence's voice was measured, cutting through. "Either the boy is cursed to a dangerous degree… or he is, in fact, a Pure Vice."
Love interjected, voice smooth. "And if he is, that does not mean he's an enemy."
"Not yet," Justice said. "But they always turn."
Kindness leaned forward slightly. "Assumptions without proof risk destroying something — or someone — that could be valuable."
"Valuable until it kills you," Justice shot back.
Hope's tone was gentle but firm. "If there's potential for good, we should not rush to condemn."
"Potential for good does not erase the potential for catastrophe," Temperance said softly.
Faith nodded. "Our duty is to protect the world, not gamble with it."
Patience finally spoke, her voice slow and deliberate. "And rushing a decision before truth is clear is also a gamble."
Humility's voice was quiet, but it cut through the air. "If you believe yourself above error, you've already made one."
The tension in the room coiled tighter.
Justice's glare didn't waver. "I'm saying this plainly: if you keep him, you'd better be prepared to take his head when the time comes."
Loyalty met his gaze without blinking. "If that day comes, I'll be the one to do it."
Back with Unit Twelve, the day was casual but charged.
Max stretched, eyeing Samira, who flicked her hair and shot him a teasing grin. "You gonna say something, or just sit there looking like you lost your favorite toy?"
He smirked, eyes narrowing. "Maybe later."
She stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. "'Maybe later' sounds like "I'm avoiding you." You know, I'm starting to think you're just scared of what I might say."
Max raised an eyebrow but didn't pull away. "Scared? Of you?"
Her smile grew wider, a slow, mischievous curve. "Oh, definitely. You should be."
She leaned in just enough for him to catch the faintest scent of her perfume, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Besides, I'm kind of enjoying having your attention."
Max glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Maybe later."
Samira laughed softly, flicking her hair again and winking. "I'll hold you to that."
The hours dragged on in a strange, uneasy quiet. Max and Noel circled each other in the training room, trading light punches and testing each other's defenses.
Noel grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "You hear about that meeting upstairs? The big one?"
Max dodged a jab and shook his head. "No one tells me anything."
Noel smirked, pressing forward with a quick combo. "That usually means it's serious. Probably about you."
Max blocked and countered, but didn't reply.
Noel backed off, crossing his arms. "Can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
Max caught his breath and said quietly, "Doesn't really matter."
Noel chuckled. "Yeah, well… hope you're ready for whatever it is."
Far above the training room, the twelve Virtues sat locked in an intense debate, their voices echoing through the halls. Meanwhile, Max stayed grounded in the present—dodging punches, facing uncertainty, and fighting battles of his own that no one else could see.