People learn from failure; from crushing defeat, they gain costly lessons. Major Mustang was a master of fire, but nothing in this world is absolute. Being good at playing with fire didn't mean he could douse it faster than others. In pure oxygen, the flames overhead had slipped all control, tongues of fire whipping toward Mustang and Riza Hawkeye.
Allen glanced at Mustang's stern face and sighed. Killing a real power-holder in the army at a moment this sensitive would end his future before it started. A major could move troops at will; whatever colonels and generals might outstrip him in rank, that was real leverage.
The instant Allen released the pure-oxygen extraction circle beneath his feet, an explosion burst from within the blaze. The shockwave scattered much of the oxygen in the air; the fire burned off the last of it and guttered out.
From an emergency passage behind Mustang stepped a man in a brown cap with a white rim. His face was hard to see. He looked a bit slight, wore no uniform—just casual clothes—carrying a paper sack in one hand. With the other he now and then fished something bean-sized from the bag and popped it into his mouth.
Strictly speaking, Allen stood beyond the bounds of ordinary humanity now, and he'd seen it clearly: the blast had come from the "bean candy" in that man's hand. He couldn't help a flicker of curiosity. No transmutation circle on the man's hands—so how had he turned candy into an explosive?
"Major Mustang, you look awfully ragged."
Riza forgot her helpless fear in the flames, shot the newcomer a glare, then cut her eyes back to Allen. She started to raise her pistol, thought better of it, and looked to Mustang instead.
Mustang had the poise of a future general. His face calm, he straightened his rumpled coat and said to Allen, "My apologies. I was mistaken. The Ishvalans would never use alchemy. May I ask what brings you to the capital?"
Allen blinked, then recovered fast. He shrugged, spread his hands. "I just want to serve the nation. I hear the eastern front looks bad. Those damned Ishvalans actually resist the glorious rule of this country—an unforgivable crime. They're obstructing world peace!" He shamelessly painted the Ishvalans as villains and himself as a savior. And Mustang bought it. After seeing Allen's uncanny methods—and the mark on his shoulder—Mustang was already thinking to bring him under his banner, a hidden blade for the power struggle to come.
"Heh. We've talked this long, but I still don't know your name?"
…Name? Allen couldn't give his real one. He wasn't stupid: once a name was on record, even if the government didn't investigate, Mustang would. A "mystery man" with a paper trail invited too many risks. He didn't like his safety in anyone else's hands. He'd have to improvise something that fit local naming habits.
"I'm a wandering orphan. My master named me 'Yuwen—Chu Caesar.' You can call me Caesar… or Chu." He came up empty after thinking far too long, and added, "Most of my friends call me Chu. You can too."
"Yuwen… all right, I'll call you Chu." Mustang murmured it once. At his side, Riza frowned; she didn't like this man—he felt dangerous. With a resigned breath she took a small notebook and pen from her pocket and handed them to Mustang. He scribbled quickly, tore out a page crammed with tight script, and strolled up to Allen to pass it over. "This is my letter of introduction. State Alchemist testing ended a month ago. I doubt they'll reopen it before Ishval stands down. Take this to Captain Hughes—he'll arrange everything."
Allen glanced at it, slipped it into his trouser pocket, and nodded. Mustang nodded back. "Then I'll be off. Ishval is deteriorating by the hour. I hope you can finish your certification soon and come to Ishval to help me." He paused, eyes drifting—apparently idly—past Allen's shoulder. "That's a beautiful tattoo you have."
Allen smiled. "Isn't it? I once peeked at my teacher's alchemy notes and found this pattern. Thought it looked great. Not bad, right? Cost me good money to hire a professional to ink it."
Mustang studied him as if to pierce through to the truth. Allen's eyes stayed clear and lively, nothing like a liar's. "Is that so?" Mustang said lightly, used the moment to school his face, then lifted his chin and offered his hand. "In that case, Chu, I'm heading east. I look forward to seeing you again—soon."
Allen laughed and took it. Their hands clasped tight.
Watching the three of them go, Allen smiled for reasons of his own. Mustang smiled too. They were both smart. This was naked mutual exploitation. Mustang needed leverage. He didn't know where this "Yuwen Chu Caesar" came from or what he wanted; it didn't matter. One man, no matter how strong, couldn't shake a nation—he could only cause trouble. Mustang not only didn't fear Allen making waves; he wanted him to. If all went well, when Mustang returned from Ishval, he wouldn't be a major anymore—he'd be on the cusp of brigadier general. Then he could use Allen as a broom to sweep away rivals. Even if the Führer intervened, Allen could be tossed to the wolves to preserve Mustang's power. As for Allen's smile—only he knew why.
Two days later, worn to the bone, Allen stopped before a palatial official residence. A wall to one side bore a transmutation circle traced in pure gold, the national emblem—a rampant lion—at its center. This was the State Alchemist certification center.
Allen slung his coat over one shoulder and took the side gate to the reception desk. He drew out Mustang's note and passed it across. "I've been referred for special testing by Major Mustang and Captain Hughes. Please forward this to the proper office."