Gojo let out a heavy sigh of exasperation, tilting his head toward Subaru—who was still watching the crimson carriage roll into the distance, Wilhelm perched stoically at the reins.
Subaru's gaze snapped back to the sorcerer, his eyes wide and sparkling with a fresh, frantic kind of awe.
"Dude… did you see that?! There are actually cat-girls in this world! The legends were true!"
Gojo raised a brow, glancing sideways with a look of pure judgment.
"Wasn't your heart supposedly stolen by 'Emilia-tan' not even two hours ago? You're a fickle one, aren't you?"
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a register of mock seriousness.
"Also… about that 'cat-girl'——"
He stopped mid-sentence. A devious thought took root.
Well… letting that little misunderstanding fester could be hilarious. I just hope I'm around to see the look on his face when he finds out that 'cat-girl' is a cat-boy who can probably out-sass him in four different languages.
Gojo chuckled to himself, closing his eyes with a toothy, mischievous grin.
Subaru's expression soured, a bead of nervous sweat rolling down his temple.
"O-Oi… what? That reaction was crazy ominous, you know! What do you know that I don't?!"
Gojo just waved a dismissive hand.
"Don't worry your little head about it. Anyway—I almost forgot that I, too, am technically a 'Royal Candidate.' Which means I've gotta head to the capital and dazzle some crusty old nobles with my winning smile and overpowering charisma."
He scowled slightly, the playfulness dipping into genuine annoyance.
"Ugh. Politics. Truly the greatest curse of all."
"Wait, what? So… this is it? Goodbye?"
Subaru's voice dipped, the sudden weight of the training and the responsibility feeling heavier without his eccentric mentor standing there.
"What if I, I dunno, slack off while you're gone? Who's gonna flick my forehead?"
Gojo smiled. Slowly. It was the kind of smile that didn't just reach his eyes—it felt like it reached into Subaru's soul to leave a permanent mark.
"Well, that's your choice in the end, your own fault if you turn out pathetic too…"
"But remember: you're the one who wants to get stronger. I'm just the guy who knows how to make it happen. If you want to be the guy who watches from the sidelines while everyone else does the heavy lifting, be my guest."
He stretched lazily, the fabric of his dark uniform straining.
"Anyway, see you soon. Tell the maids and the clown I'll be back before they miss me. As for Emilia—well, I'll be seeing her at the capital anyway."
He clapped his hands together once.
The air around Gojo shattered like a sheet of ice hitting the floor.
Reality warped as he utilized his Limitless to compress the distance between the manor and his location.
In a heartbeat, he was simply... gone.
Only a faint shimmer of residual Cursed Energy lingered in the empty space.
"…See you then, dude."
Subaru muttered to the empty air. He stood frozen for a long moment, the silence of the garden feeling much larger than it had seconds ago.
He turned his eyes skyward, squinting into the bright Lugunican sun as his thoughts began to churn.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped wide, lit by the fire of a sudden, reckless revelation.
"Wait a minute... if I'm learning how to channel negative energy... I just had an idea above all ideas! If Gojo-sensei isn't here to watch me, it's time to take this training into my own hands!"
——————————————
Satoru warped in a blink—a fissure in reality tearing open for a breathless moment, the air screaming as space-time was forcibly displaced, before sealing shut the instant he materialized.
He was back in his quarters at the Astrea Estate. Exhaling slowly, he leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. His eyes scanned the endless manicured green of the fields and the dark treeline beyond.
"I'd bet good money Reinhard's already felt my return and is currently speed-walking his knightly ass over here…"
He sighed, letting his head roll back to stare at the ceiling, then turned toward the door just as he heard the inevitable—
Knock—knock.
"Come in, buddy-old-pal Reinhard!"
He called out, the smirk already fixed on his face.
Right on cue, the door creaked open. In stepped the red-haired knight, Reinhard van Astrea. He was the literal definition of "perfect"—not a single thread of his knight uniform was out of place, and he radiated a level of pure, unadulterated strength that would have made a lesser sorcerer choke.
"Satoru…"
Reinhard said. His voice was calm, but his eyes were strained with a very specific kind of "babysitting" fatigue.
"I am relieved to see you have returned safely. However... don't you think this is cutting it a bit close?"
Gojo just grinned, shrugging as if he'd merely overslept a nap instead of vanishing for days before a world-altering political summit.
"Relax, Rein! We'll be fine. I mean, you're the Sword Saint. You've probably got, like... the Divine Protection of Instant Teleportation to the Capital or something, right?"
He shot the knight a pair of finger guns for good measure.
Reinhard's brows drew down, his lips tightening.
"...Unfortunately, it does not quite work like that. While I have many blessings, moving others across space instantaneously is not among them."
Satoru blinked. His smile froze.
"...R—right. Obviously. I was joking. Kinda. Surprised you have limits, to be honest."
A beat of awkward silence followed. Satoru turned back toward the window, scratching the back of his head vigorously.
"Anyway, even if we're late, it'd look pretty damn badass, don't you think, Reinhard dude? The two strongest guys in the world walking in while the commoners are already seated? That's called theatricality."
Reinhard's lips curled into a faint, confident smile. "Perhaps," he conceded thoughtfully.
"But in Lugunica, punctuality is equated with respect for the Sages. Arriving early tends to make a better impression on the people. First impressions matter more than you think when you are asking a nation to follow you."
Satoru grimaced, running a hand through his white hair in mild frustration.
"Argh... why do you have to make such a valid, boring point?"
He shook his head, then raised a finger with a playful wag.
"No worries! I didn't mention it earlier, but I can actually teleport us straight there. Just... not right now. Can't exactly show up looking like a mess."
He nodded toward the dark, impeccably tailored suit laid out neatly on his bed—a custom piece designed to bridge the gap between Jujutsu high fashion and Lugunican nobility.
"I'll come find you when I'm ready, alright? Give me thirty minutes to look like the King I'm supposed to be."
Reinhard closed his eyes, letting out a quiet, weary sigh.
"Satoru... it seems you've also forgotten the most basic detail. The Royal Selection ceremony isn't until tomorrow morning."
Satoru froze.
He whipped around with theatrical speed, pivoting on his heel to face Reinhard. Even behind his dark lenses, his eyes were visibly wide with disbelief.
"EH?! You made it sound like the carriage was leaving the driveway! You're telling me it's not even today?!"
"My apologies if I gave that impression."
Reinhard replied, his face a mask of perfect, infuriating composure.
"I simply wanted to ensure you were present for the final briefing tonight."
Satoru let out a low groan, rubbing the back of his neck as the tension left his body.
"Man, you're a real piece of work, Rein. But actually... that works out perfectly for me."
Reinhard tilted his head, his curiosity piqued.
"Oh? And why is that, if I may ask?"
Satoru's grin turned sharp, almost predatory.
"Because I'm going people-hunting."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"...To, uh, join the Gojo camp, I mean, before you try throw me behind bars."
Satoru added quickly.
"——I wouldn't dare."
Reinhard commented before Gojo continued.
"Recruitment! You know? I need a team. A crew. A couple of interesting weirdos to keep things lively."
Reinhard blinked, his posture relaxing into a state of mild bewilderment.
"Ah. I see. I suppose every candidate requires a following."
"Exactly!"
Gojo clapped his hands together.
"Now, stay out of my way for a bit. I've got twenty-four hours to find someone with enough 'main character energy' to fit in with me. It's a high bar, Reinhard. A very high bar."
—————————————
The Slums...
Satoru strolled through the winding filth of the Capital's lower district, his polished shoes squelching softly against mud-caked cobblestones.
Crumbling stone walls, rusted tin roofs, and the suffocating reek of stagnant water and unwashed bodies clung to the humid air.
Around him, beastkin and humans alike—cloaked in rags that had seen better decades—glared from the safety of rotting doorways and jagged alley shadows.
Their eyes held no fear. There was no awe for his expensive uniform or his striking appearance.
There was only the dull, jagged edge of contempt.
They probably think I'm some noble out slumming for amusement. I mean, they would only be half wrong, technically… I am technically a candidate for the throne, after all.
He sighed internally, his Six Eyes processing countless data points of misery.
He saw the stunted growth of the children, the jagged scars on the fighters, and the hollow, lightless gaze of the elderly.
Yeah... poverty really is universal. No matter what world you're in, the bottom looks the same. A total lack of cursed energy, yet the atmosphere is thick with the 'stink' of collective misery. If this were Tokyo, this place would be crawling with Grade One Curses by now.
He stopped in the middle of a particularly narrow crossing. A few thugs, sensing his hesitation, began to peel themselves off the walls, cracking their knuckles.
"Hey, Pretty Boy…" one scarred beastkin growled, hefting a rusted pipe. "You look like you're carrying more gold than sense. Why don't you leave the coat and the wallet before we decide your face looks better with a few extra holes?"
Gojo didn't even look at him. He just stared at the gray sky.
"Tch. You know, I was going to try and 'network' like a normal person. Hand out some flyers, maybe a few business cards... but I'm really not built for the slow burn."
He lowered his hands, a sharp, dangerous grin spreading across his face.
"Screw formalities."
He turned to the thugs, his blue eyes shimmering behind the lenses.
"Tell me something, boys. You ever seen a miracle in a trash heap~?"
"What the hell are you—?"
In a flash of crackling, violet light, Satoru clapped his hands together—the sound echoing like a thunderclap between the cramped buildings.
Before the thugs could even blink, space itself seemed to fold inward, and Gojo vanished.
Gasps erupted from the shadows.
A child dropped their rock-hard crust of bread into the mud. The thugs stumbled back, swinging their pipes at empty air. Adults murmured in shock, some shielding their eyes as if they'd seen a ghost evaporate in broad daylight.
"——Where'd he go?!"
———————————————
Within the Loothouse...
The room was dim, lit only by the subtle rays of the sun seeping through the gaps in the floorboards above. Dust danced through shafts of amber light leaking through warped gaps in the wooden walls.
From the outside, the place might've looked abandoned—if not for the bickering echoing from within.
A small figure sat atop a barstool, legs kicking rhythmically. A red scarf hung from her neck, and her golden hair spilled out like straw.
"Oi, old man Rom! What's wrong with this drink?!"
She barked, slamming a tiny wooden cup against the counter.
Behind the bar stood a towering slab of a man—muscle layered upon muscle, a jagged scar across his nose, eyes wary but warm.
"You ungrateful little gremlin."
Rom muttered as he wiped a glass with a rag that had seen better decades.
"I gave you that milk out of kindness. Least you could do is not yell about it."
Felt scowled.
"I know what milk is! But this stuff's either waterlogged or gone bad! How am I supposed to grow if you're stunting me with some off-brand sludge?!"
Rom snorted and reached over, ruffling her hair with a massive hand.
"You should be grateful you've got anything at all, kid. Times are lean."
Then—another voice cut in, echoing from the shadows behind them. Smooth. Teasing. Perfectly relaxed.
"Aww, that's just adorable, man! I didn't think you had such a soft side the last time I dropped by."
Felt flinched, her hand instinctively diving for the knife at her hip. Rom's muscles immediately tensed, his hand dropping beneath the counter to grip his massive club. Fear spiked in the room. After what Elsa Granhiert had done, caution wasn't a luxury——it was survival.
They both snapped toward the voice. Felt blinked, a spark of recognition cutting through her panic.
"Wait—it's you!"
Satoru Gojo stepped into the candlelight, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Yup. Don't worry, I—"
——BOOM!
A colossal wooden club came down with the force of a landslide—directly onto Satoru's head.
"Felt! Back, now!"
Rom shouted, his voice a guttural roar.
Felt jolted from her seat—but didn't run. She stared at the point of impact, her eyes bugging out.
"WAIT! WAIT!! HE'S THE ONE WHO SAVED US, YOU FREAKING IDIOT!"
Rom blinked, sweat beading along his temple as the vibration of the hit traveled up his arms. Slowly, he looked at his club.
It was pressed against the top of the white-haired man's head, but it hadn't moved a single strand of hair.
It was as if he had hit a wall made of absolute, unyielding diamond.
Satoru stood perfectly still. Not a scratch. Not a crease in his jacket. Just an unimpressed tilt of the head.
"Heh, you done?"
Satoru asked, his voice muffled slightly by the club.
Rom exhaled, lowering the weapon immediately, his face pale.
"I—I'm sorry for that… I wouldn't dare treat our savior like this, but after everything with the Bowel Hunter, I'm jumping at shadows."
Satoru waved a hand casually.
"Don't even worry about it. Totally get the 'stranger danger' vibe."
He walked over with his hands in his pockets and took a seat at the stool next to Felt.
"Your finest cup of milk, barkeep!"
Rom raised a bushy brow.
"You sure? I could treat you to a cup or two of beer. On the house."
Satoru shook his head. "I don't and won't ever do alcohol. Messes with the vision, and being the 'Strongest' requires a clear head."
He shrugged, waving the mug around.
"Milk!"
Rom poured a glass of the questionable white liquid. Felt watched Satoru take a long, brave gulp.
Oh god, that's really bad—
Fighting the sensation to gag, he lowered the glass and wiped his mouth.
"Ergh... right. Straight to business. I want you both to... join me!"
Rom and Felt shared a look of pure confusion.
"Meaning..?"
"I want you to join my camp for the Royal Selection. I'm sure word about it has spread even down to this place."
He gave a dramatic raise of his hand.
"The Gojo Camp—currently boasting a massive membership of two! Me and a guy who looks like a superhero but talks like a butler and has a right hook stronger than anyone I've ever seen."
Rom frowned, his arms crossing over his chest like oak beams.
"You're... a royal candidate? You don't exactly look like the ruling type."
"That's the rumour~"
Satoru replied, adjusting his shades.
"Honestly, I don't care about thrones or power struggles, but a certain red-haired knight makes me feel all guilty if I don't bother. Plus, the snacks at the palace are probably way better than this milk."
He turned to Felt, smirking.
"Which brings me here."
Felt raised an eyebrow, her golden eyes suspicious.
"You want me to join? I'm a thief from the slums. I hate the kingdom, I hate the knights, and I especially hate the stuck-up nobles."
"Why not?"
Satoru shrugged.
"You've got a Divine Protection—even if you haven't realized how to fully kick it into gear yet—you're scrappy, and you don't let anyone talk down to you. That's exactly the kind of 'disruptor' energy I need."
Felt looked shocked that he knew about her blessing, but Rom stepped forward, towering like a shadow over the girl.
"She's not for sale. Not for politics. Not for war."
Satoru waved a hand again.
"Relax, relax. This isn't a draft or anything~ gosh, what do you take me for?! I'm offering you both a chance to do more than rot in a back alley drinking spoiled milk and alcohol. You think I'm going to be a 'traditional' King?"
He leaned in, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.
"When I become ruler, I'm going to flip the whole damn board. I'll tear down the system that keeps people in holes like this. Real equality, from the top to the bottom. My win is pretty much confirmed anyway, since might-makes-right, and with the teo strongest in the damn world on the same team, it'll be a cinch.But that's boring, I need people who know what the bottom actually looks like."
Felt glanced between the two men—Rom's unwavering stare and Satoru's easygoing, yet strangely intense grin.
"...And what do I get out of it?" she asked.
"Freedom. Resources. Money—if that's your thing. But more importantly…"
Satoru's eyes gleamed behind his lenses.
"A front-row seat to the chaos. You want to see those smug nobles and bootlicking knights watch their world crash down? I'm the guy holding the hammer."
Silence hung in the air, heavy with the weight of a choice that could change the history of Lugunica.
"...Fine." Felt said suddenly.
"Felt...?" Rom raised a brow.
She stepped forward, arms crossed, fire in her eyes.
"If you're actually serious—if you're really gonna blow this whole corrupt system to pieces and fix it——then yeah. Count me in. I want to see the looks on their faces."
Satoru's smirk deepened. He looked at Rom.
Rom held the stare for a long beat. He saw the power in Gojo—a power that stunned even the Sword Saint, a man well-known as one of the strongest in the world.
Then, he let out a long sigh.
"If Felt's in... so am I. Someone's gotta make sure she doesn't kick a Sage in the shins."
Satoru gave a single nod.
"Good. A carriage'll be by later. Pack light."
He turned to leave, his boots clicking on the dusty floor. He paused at the doorway, glancing once more over his shoulder.
"...By the way, the milk really sucked. But thanks anyway."
Then—with a whisper of static and a shimmer of distortion—he vanished.
"Rude little brat."
The room fell into silence. Rom looked down at the tiny girl.
"You sure about this, kid? This guy... he's more dangerous than a thousand Bowel Hunters."
Felt tightened her scarf and gave him a wicked, toothy grin.
"If it means I get to piss off the nobility? Heck yeah."
——————————————
The day of the Royal Selection...
The ornate carriage rattled softly over the cobblestone streets of the upper district, its suspension absorbing the bumps with a grace only money could buy. Sunlight glinted off the polished lacquered wood and the Astrea family crest.
Satoru sat with his legs crossed, reclining into the plush velvet cushions with his signature brand of cool detachment.
Beside him, Reinhard sat perfectly vertical—a statue of knightly virtue.
Across from them sat Felt.
She looked a lot less how she did before and more like a cat that had been forced into a bathtub.
Dressed in a stunning, layered orange gown that complemented her golden hair, she sat with her arms folded tightly, her face scrunched in visible discomfort.
So Rom's staying back at the estate, eh...
Satoru thought, glancing at the empty space beside the girl.
Probably for the best. A giant like him in a room full of porcelain-skinned snobs? The nobles would've spent the whole time clutching their pearls and screaming for the guards. Still... the kid looks lonely without her mountain.
He turned his head toward Reinhard, a brow quirking behind his dark lenses.
"Okay, seriously. How the hell did you even get her an outfit this fast? Did you use a Divine Protection of Tailoring, or do you just keep spare gowns in your closet for 'emergency princesses'?"
Reinhard chuckled softly, his voice a soothing balm compared to the tension in the carriage.
"Nothing so dramatic, Satoru. The Astrea household maintains a staff capable of... rapid adjustments. Though I must say, Lady Felt wears it with more grace than she admits."
"——Grace?!"
Felt scoffed, tugging violently at the stiff fabric of her bodice.
"I feel like a stuffed turkey! Every time I move, something pinches, and don't even get me started on the shoes. If I was part of the actual Selection and not just your 'secret weapon,' I'd kick you right across the bridge of your nose, you damn knight!"
Reinhard didn't flinch, merely nodding.
"I would accept the strike as a fair critique of my fashion sense, Felt-san."
Satoru leaned back, propping an elbow on the window sill as they passed over the royal bridge. Below, the Capital glittered—a sea of white stone and blue banners.
"Soooo~"
Gojo drawled, his voice dropping into a bored cadence.
"The plan is: show up at the castle, pretend to care about the 'sacred traditions,' kiss up to some bootlicking knights, and charm the so-called 'Wise Men' until they give us the keys to the kingdom, right?"
Reinhard gave a patient, practiced smile.
"That is... a very abbreviated, and somewhat cynical, way to describe the inauguration of a new era. But essentially, yes."
"Tch. Old men are the same in every world…"
Gojo muttered, his expression souring.
"I've dealt with enough crusty, power-hungry fossils in the Jujutsu world to last me three lifetimes. If these Sages start talking about 'the greater good' while sitting on gold chairs, I might actually fall asleep mid-ceremony. Or just fling them into orbit… heh, that's be something~"
Reinhard gave a polite, slightly nervous cough.
"Please, Satoru... for the sake of the kingdom's stability, try not to refer to the Council of Sages as 'crusty old men' to their faces. They value decorum above almost all else."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be a good boy~!"
Gojo sighed, tugging slightly at the high collar of his sleek black-and-purple suit. It was a sharp, modern silhouette that stood out like a sore thumb against the medieval fluff of the Capital.
"But if they try to touch my hair or ask to see my eyes like I'm some kind of circus attraction... well, no promises."
Felt looked up, a wicked glint returning to her eyes.
"If you start a fight with the Sages, I'm helping. I've wanted to spit on those old bats since I was five."
"See?"
Gojo grinned, pointing a thumb at Felt.
"That's why I recruited her. She gets the vision."
Reinhard looked out the window, a look of profound resignation crossing his handsome features.
"I fear the history books will struggle to categorize this day."
"History is written by the winners, Rein~"
Satoru said, his voice suddenly sharp and clear as the carriage pulled up to the massive palace gates.
"And looking at this carriage? We're definitely not the losers."
———————————————
Subaru stepped into the enormous hall, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The sheer scale of the room was suffocating—gold-leafed pillars stretched toward a ceiling painted with the history of a kingdom, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive incense and centuries of ego.
"So, these are the heavy hitters huh..."
He whispered, his eyes darting across the formation of knights toward the women standing before the empty throne.
His gaze settled on each figure, the weight of their presence hitting him like a physical force.
There was Emilia, radiant as ever, her silver hair shimmering under the magilith lamps. She looked poised, though Subaru could see the slight tension in her fingers.
Then Priscilla Barielle, wrapped in black and scarlet; she didn't just stand there, she seemed to look down on everyone around her.
Crusch Karsten stood like a spear driven into the ground—upright, steely, and radiating a military discipline that made Subaru want to stand at attention.
Finally, Anastasia Hoshin, draped in white furs, her lilac scarf tucked neatly and a smirk on her face that suggested she already knew the contents of everyone's pockets.
But then, the math didn't add up.
"Wait... where's——?"
"Ah, Subaru! I had a feeling your curiosity would lead you here."
Subaru nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around to find Reinhard van Astrea standing beside him, his presence so calm it was almost eerie amidst the political storm.
"Yo, Reinhard! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
Subaru hissed, clutching his chest.
"I've been looking for you guys. I thought you'd be at the front with the big shots."
"I was merely ensuring our newest arrival was settled."
Reinhard said, stepping aside to reveal the figure standing just behind him.
Subaru's eyes went wide. It was the feline "girl" from the garden—the one who had occupied at least forty percent of his thoughts since their last meeting. She was dressed in pristine white knightly attire, the blue ribbons in her hair fluttering as she offered a playful, two-fingered salute.
"It's you—!"
Subaru stammered, his face heating up.
"I mean, I didn't get to properly say hi before, but you look... uh, great in that uniform! Really fits the whole 'knight' vibe!"
The cat-eared figure gave a slow, deliberate wink, her—his—ears twitching with suppressed mirth.
"Nyep! Glad you like it, Subaru-kyun. It's custom-tailored for maximum flexibility, nyo?"
Reinhard cleared his throat, his expression the definition of 'polite pity.'
"Subaru... allow me to introduce Felix Argyle. He is one of the kingdom's finest knights and the greatest healer in Lugunica. And despite his charming appearance, he is quite undeniably male."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Subaru's jaw didn't just drop; it hit the floor.
The comments, the laughter, Gojo's weirdly ominous smirk back at the manor—it all came crashing down in a wave of horizontal-striped realization.
"Ah yeah… we've already met but… a guy?"
Subaru choked out, his voice cracking.
"But the... the ribbons! The 'nyas'! The... everything!"
"So that's why Gojo-sensei kept laughing his head off!"
Subaru groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"He knew! That white-haired troll knew the whole time!"
Felix purred, leaning in close enough for Subaru to smell the faint scent of medicinal herbs.
"Don't look so heartbroken, Subaru-kyun. You're not the first to fall for the 'Blue' charm, and you certainly won't be the last. See ya later~!"
With a flick of his tail and a mischievous grin, Felix turned and glided toward the rows of uniformed knights, leaving Subaru staring at his back in a state of catatonic shock.
"I hope you won't take it too personally."
Reinhard said, placing a comforting hand on Subaru's shoulder.
"Satoru has a unique way of letting people learn their own lessons. Speaking of which..."
Reinhard looked toward the massive doors at the far end of the hall.
"The ceremony is about to begin."
——————————————
"I, Marcos—leader of the Imperial Knights—will oversee today's Royal Selection proceedings. It began half a year ago. One by one, the royal family vanished——beginning with the king himself... a tragedy that left our throne hollow."
Anastasia Hoshin adjusted her white fox-fur scarf, her lilac eyes dancing with a merchant's greed.
"Liiiisten, I get it——you wanna give us the full drama. But I'm a busy woman. In Kararagi, we've got a saying: 'Time is money.' And right now, the exchange rate for this history lesson is lookin' pretty poor."
Crusch Karsten nodded in agreement.
"Agreed. Our time is precious. Let's get to the point of why we're actually here. We aren't children to be lectured on what we already know."
Miklotov McMahon, the eldest of the Sages, leaned forward, a brow raised.
"You believe you already understand why you've been summoned today, Lady Crusch?"
Crusch smirked, a rare flash of playfulness in her steel-trap mind.
"Is it not a drinking party?"
Miklotov blinked, his jaw going slack.
"No. Absolutely not. This is a matter of national survival——"
Crusch turned, her eyes narrowing at the cat-eared knight behind her.
"Felix... this isn't what you said."
Felix—the newly revealed boy—hummed sweetly, swaying his hips.
"All I said was 'maaaaybe,' Crusch-sama! A little optimism never hurt anyone, nyo?"
"... Then I retract everything I said. My apologies."
Crusch muttered, rubbing her temples.
Anastasia raised a finger, her smirk widening as she looked at Emilia.
"Hold up. Just because she's backing off doesn't mean I am. Skip the recap—most of us know how this works. Except maybe the half-elf? She looks a bit lost."
Emilia spoke gently, her voice like silver bells despite the insult.
"Still... it might be helpful for some to hear the official record—"
"Yeah, but nobody asked you, sweetheart, mkay?"
Anastasia interrupted, her tone sharp as a ledger's edge.
Subaru's fists clenched so hard they shook.
"Why you little—"
A muffled voice echoed from behind him—Al, the man in the iron helm, leaned against a pillar.
"Hey, I'm new here! I'd actually like to hear the whole thing! Give the big man a chance to speak."
Marcos glanced toward Al, his expression pinched with irritation.
"Is this your knight, Lady Priscilla?"
Priscilla didn't even open her eyes, her fan covering the lower half of her face.
"Whether I informed him or not is irrelevant. You would have rambled regardless. Now continue, before I grow bored enough to leave."
Marcos cleared his throat.
"Very well. The reason we've summoned the Dragon Priestess candidates is due to a new prophecy—one etched into the Dragon Stone. It names five candidates. And one among you will forge a covenant with the Dragon itself... and ascend as ruler."
Subaru blinked, his head spinning.
"Five... then.. where's Satoru? Knowing him, he's probably late on purpose…"
Reinhard turned toward him, his blue eyes gleaming with a strange, proud light.
"You're right, Subaru. Only four are here. But today, that will change. The prophecy is finally complete."
As Marcos called his name, Reinhard stepped forward. Every movement was refined, certain—knightly perfection in motion. He lowered his head with respectful grace, hand placed flat over his chest.
"Honored members of the Council of the Wise, Imperial Knight Reinhard van Astrea reports the successful completion of my assignment. The Fifth contender—the final candidate spoken of in the prophecy—has been found."
The air shifted. A low murmur rippled across the grand hall, reaching even the rows of knights. Then—the massive, ornate doors creaked open with deliberate ceremony.
Satoru Gojo strolled in.
His hair was white as fresh snow, glowing in the sunbeams as if the light itself were privileged to touch him. The bottom of his custom-tailored suit flowed behind him, the purple silk lining catching the light. Dark shades shielded his eyes, but his aura—unapologetically relaxed and terrifyingly vast—filled the room until the knights felt like they were standing in the path of a tidal wave.
He didn't bow. He didn't even take his hands out of his pockets.
Reinhard's voice rang out, unwavering and clear.
"The one to whom I have pledged my sword. The one I believe worthy of leading this nation into a realization of its true potential."
"Satoru Gojo-sama."
Satoru stopped right beside the other candidates, towering over them. He tilted his head toward the Sages, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Yo~ Is this the part where I'm supposed to say something inspiring, or can we just get to the part where you tell me where the best sweets in the palace are?"
Talk about talking me up, huh? Thanks, my trusty red-haired knight… However!
Reinhard lowered his head again, palm to chest in that ever-graceful bow.
"Satoru-sama, I merely spoke the truth. Though, I must admit, thank you for gracing us with your presence. But as for the sweets... surely they can wait until after the ceremony?"
Satoru's brow twitched behind his shades.
Honorifics now? Well, considering all the eyes in here, I guess that tracks. Still... what a pain.
He raised his voice suddenly, his finger snapping up to point accusingly at Reinhard's nose.
"Reinhard... you—!"
The room tensed. Several knights shifted their weight, expecting a royal fallout. Satoru's tone shifted—dramatic, wounded, as if he'd been stabbed in the back.
"You never told me they'd start messing up my hair! Do you know how long it takes to get this 'naturally' gravity-defying look? It's a delicate ecosystem, Rein!"
Reinhard, ever composed, didn't even blink. He only offered a small, knowing smile.
"My apologies. I believed it was the only way we could prepare you properly according to the palace's standards… so I chose to stay silent on the matter of the stylists."
Satoru sighed, dragging a hand through the aforementioned white locks, effectively ruining whatever neatness the servants had struggled to achieve. He turned his head, his gaze cutting through the crowd until it locked onto a familiar tracksuit. His grin returned, sharp and teasing.
"Yo, Subaru. Didn't think I'd see you here. Though, you look like you're trying to blend into the wallpaper~ try stick out a little dude, it's pathetic otherwise."
"Well, atleast it looks like you've kept up your training for a whole day without me. Good job. It would've been embarrassing if I had to flick you in front of all these big shots."
Subaru's shoulders jumped back instinctively, his hands flying up to cover his forehead.
"O-Oi! Keep your damn flicks to yourself, sensei! One more of those and I'll be permanently disfigured! I'm here as a legitimate guest, thank you very much!"
A few stifled chuckles erupted from the younger knights nearby, breaking the suffocating tension of the room for a fleeting second.
Then—Marcos, the stern conductor of order, stepped forward.
"Satoru-sama. If you are quite finished rekindling your... unique friendships, please come forward. The Dragon Stone does not wait for comedy acts."
Satoru huffed, a long and low sound of boredom, his hands slipping back into his pockets. With a slow, deliberate stride—a walk that screamed I own the air you're breathing—he moved toward the front.
He stopped beside the other candidates, towering over them like an anomaly from a different dimension.
He gave a small, subtle nod to Emilia—a 'we'll talk later' gesture—before turning to the council.
"Well then? Let's see the goods."
Reinhard stepped forward, producing a velvet-lined case containing the Insignia. The crowd held its breath. Without a word, Satoru reached out and took it.
Then——there was light.
It wasn't a mere glow. It was a brilliant, blinding flash of crimson radiance that surged upward, illuminating every dark corner of the vaulted chamber.
Gasps echoed throughout the hall.
Satoru raised it overhead casually, as if he were checking the time.
"Yup. See? It's glowing and all that jazz. I assume this means I pass the audition? Can I go home now?"
Reinhard rose to his full height, his voice carrying the weight of a decree.
"As you all can see, the Dragon Stone has recognized Satoru-sama as a chosen one. With this, his participation in the Royal Selection is officially valid. I believe it is time we formally begin the process of determining Lugunica's future."
In an instant, the room shifted. Following the lead of the Royal Guard, every knight in the chamber leaned forward in perfect, practiced unison.
But silence is a fragile thing in a room full of people who think money equals wisdom.
"Let's assume the Dragon Stone recognized him for a moment…"
An unfamiliar voice sneered from the noble gallery. It was a middle-aged man with a bloated face and far too many rings.
"But look at him! Is this what we've come to? A candidate with no decorum? No punctuality? He looks like a street performer who stole a tailor's best work!"
Satoru's smile didn't fade, but it changed. It became something colder.
Great. Here we go. The 'Old Noble' is feeling threatened.
The scoffing tone—the one nobles mastered from birth—began rippling across the chamber. Murmurs turned into jagged, mocking jabs.
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"The Fifth candidate is a jester?"
"He can't even button his collar properly. How can he lead a council?"
It was just a bit tight around the neck, damn it!
Then came the pivot. Satoru slowly stepped forward. Each step up the stone stairs leading toward the Wise Men.
Marcos who was stood nearby instant moved a hand to his sword hilt.
"——Lets calm down."
The tip of his boot touched the top step. He turned to face the assembly, standing on equal footing with the Sages. And then, he let his Limitless presence breathe.
He didn't use a technique. He didn't move a muscle. He simply stopped holding back the sheer weight of his existence.
An invisible pressure dropped into the room—a crushing, suffocating vacuum. It wasn't mana. It wasn't gravity. It was pure, unfiltered Dominance.
The air felt like it became lead.
The nobles choked on their own breath, their faces turning pale as they staggered back. Some stumbled in an attempt to remain on their feet.
Every knight—Reinhard, Julius, Marcos—remained purposefully unscathed, though even they felt the hairs on their necks stand up.
"Satoru-sama..."
Reinhard whispered, a warning and a plea.
Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure vanished. The air returned. Satoru tilted his head, the sunlight catching his dark shades. His voice was low, calm, and terrifyingly clear.
"You think I want to be up here?"
He gave a half-laugh that held zero warmth.
"Because hell no, I don't. The throne looks uncomfortable as hell and the paperwork sounds like a nightmare."
Not a single noble dared to interrupt. The man who had mocked his collar was currently trying to remember how to breathe.
"But you mocking me? That's not about my fashion sense anymore. You're questioning the choice of the Dragon your entire kingdom is built on. You're not doubting me—you're going against your own god. Now..."
He turned his head slightly, his smirk returning to its usual playful, yet razor-sharp edge.
"Reinhard, my knight... come on up. Let's get this party started, yeah? I'm starting to get hungry."
At the rear, Miklotov—one of the oldest and most respected—finally nodded, silent approval in his eyes.
Marcos cleared his throat and stood straight, speaking with measured authority.
"——Satoru Gojo-sama… and his knight, Reinhard van Astrea…"
Satoru adjusted his collar, pushing his sunglasses down just a touch to let his brilliant blue eyes flicker into view.
"Now then..."
He glanced across the room——Reinhard beside him, Crusch and the grinning Felt for a moment as if knowing what he was planning.
"I've got two of the best lie detectors in the kingdom standing right here~"
Gojo said, his voice carrying effortlessly to the back of the hall.
"One's a Sword Saint and the other is a Duchess who nothing to do with me——so, anything I say? You can bet those pockets it's the truth."
Then came the bombshell.
Satoru leaned forward, his grin curling across his lips with the predatory grace of a shark.
"I'm not from around here. In fact, I'm not from this world at all. I think you all call it... 'Beyond the Waterfall,' right? I'm an outsider. A stranger. A traveler from a place where your magic doesn't exist and your Dragon is just a myth."
The hall exploded. It was as if a physical shockwave had rippled through the nobility.
"Impossible—!"
"Blasphemy! The Fifth Candidate is a liar!"
"He mocks the holy ceremony with fairy tales!"
"Guards! Seize this madman!"
Bordeaux scoffed, his voice rising.
"Quiet! Silence in the chamber!"
He turned his gaze toward the white-haired man, then shifted it to Reinhard.
"Sword Saint. You have pledged your soul to this man. Speak. Is this some twisted riddle?"
Reinhard stepped forward, his expression unwavering.
He didn't hesitate. He bowed slightly to the council, then spoke with a voice that brooked no argument.
"He is telling the truth. My various Divine Protections confirm it. Satoru Gojo does not hail from any land within the four nations, nor any known territory of this world."
The nobles turned as one toward Crusch Karsten. The Duchess didn't wait for the question. She closed her eyes for a moment, sensing the airflow around the candidate.
"…Co…Confirmed."
Crusch said in a tone that could hardly contain her disbelief.
"The wind did not stir… Satoru Gojo is telling the absolute truth. He is a visitor from beyond this world."
The silence that followed was suffocating. It was a silence born of pure, unadulterated shock.
A being from beyond the Waterfall—a place of myth—was standing in their throne room, recognized by the Dragon Stone as their potential ruler.
Satoru let the silence sit, savoring it like a fine wine. He straightened up, his hands slipping back into his pockets, his grin widening into something that promised beautiful, absolute chaos.
"Now then… now that we've established that I'm the biggest anomaly you've ever met—no shock there—let's talk about how I'm going to change every single thing you think you know about power."