The roast beast on the golden platter looked suspiciously like a chicken, except it had four legs and smelled like cinnamon and iron.
Daigo didn't seem to care. He tore a leg off with his bare hands and took a massive bite, chewing aggressively as if eating was the only way to stop himself from screaming. "It's good," he mumbled, his mouth full. "Weird, but good. You guys gotta eat. You need the protein. Ren, eat something."
Ren stared at his plate. The silverware was heavy, solid silver engraved with vines. The goblet in front of him was filled with a sparkling purple juice that tasted like grape soda mixed with mint. Everything in this room screamed wealth. The velvet tablecloths, the floating candles that dripped wax into thin air, the string quartet playing a soothing, haunting melody in the corner. It was a celebration. It felt like a funeral.
"I can't," Ren whispered, pushing his plate away. "My stomach feels like it's tied in a knot."
They were seated at a long, rectangular table near the center of the banquet hall. The King had retired to his chambers, claiming fatigue, leaving the students under the watchful eyes of the Royal Vanguard stationed at the doors. For the first time since the classroom, the adults weren't hovering directly over them.
"You have to eat, Hero," Itsuki said. He was cutting his meat into precise, identical squares, though he hadn't taken a bite yet. "Your body is under stress. Hypoglycemia will only impair your cognitive function."
"Stop calling me that," Ren snapped. It came out sharper than he intended. The table went quiet. Ren flinched, looking around at his friends. "I… sorry. I just… stop calling me Hero. I'm Ren. Just Ren."
"We know, man," Daigo said softly, dropping the chicken leg. He wiped his greasy hands on a napkin. "We're all freaking out. It's okay."
"Is it?" The voice came from across the table. Rika. She wasn't eating either. She was staring at her reflection in her spoon, twirling a lock of hair around her finger so tight the tip was turning purple. "Did you hear what Valdorn said to me?" Rika whispered. "He said 'Rogue.' He said I'm supposed to be 'deadly.'" She looked up, and her eyes—usually full of fire and attitude—were wide and glassy. "I've never even punched anyone, Ren. I cried when I stepped on my cat's tail last year. And now they want me to… what? Stab people? Slit throats?" She let out a shaky laugh. "I can't do that. I'm just a high school girl. I care about my cats and my tealife drinks. I'm not a killer."
Ayaka, sitting beside her, reached out and took Rika's trembling hand. "You won't have to do it alone," Ayaka said gently. Her voice was steady, though Ren noticed her other hand was gripping her skirt so hard her knuckles were white. "I'm a Saintess, right? That means I heal. If you get hurt, I'll fix it. If you're scared, I'll be there. We protect each other. That's how we survive."
"That's idealistic," Mei Tachibana muttered from the end of the table. She was poking a fork into a green vegetable that looked like a sorrowful broccoli. "Mei, don't start," Daigo warned. "No, let's be real," Mei said, her eyes sharp. "Ideally, we protect each other. Realistically? We're going to be fighting demons. Things that want to eat us. If we hesitate, we die. Rika, if a goblin jumps at you, you're not going to think about your nails. You're going to stab it because you don't want to die." Mei shoved the vegetable into her mouth and chewed angrily. "We don't have the luxury of being teenagers anymore."
A heavy silence settled over the group. The truth of her words hung there, heavier than the chandeliers.
"Well, look on the bright side," a lazy voice drawled from the far end of the table. Sora leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs, holding a goblet of purple juice. He swirled it around, watching the light catch the liquid. "At least you guys got the cool titles. You get to shoot fire and swing holy swords. Imagine being the guy who gets invited to the party just to be told he's the catering staff."
Ren looked at Sora. Sora was smiling. It was that same smirk he used when he forgot his homework or showed up late to class. A deflection. A mask. "Sora," Ren said, his voice thick with guilt. "I… about what happened in the throne room…"
"Don't worry about it," Sora interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "Seriously. The King did me a favor. You guys have to go out and fight the Big Bad Demon Lord. I get to stay inside the nice, safe walls and wave a stick around with the city guards. It's basically a vacation."
"It's humiliation," Riku Kamishiro corrected. Riku had pulled his chair up next to Sora. The "Prodigy" and the "Defect"—the two outcasts. Riku wasn't eating either; he was dismantling a salt shaker, examining the grinding mechanism with obsessive focus. "They treated you like garbage," Riku muttered. "Valdorn looked at you like you were a disease."
"Better a live disease than a dead hero," Sora shot back. Riku paused. He looked at Sora, then let out a short, dry snort. "You know… statistically, you're right." Riku reassembled the salt shaker with a click. "In every narrative structure, the Hero carries the highest mortality risk. The Vanguard takes the most damage. But the NPC? The background character? They usually survive as long as they stay out of the frame." Riku smirked, a genuine, twisted little smile. "You might actually outlive us all, Amano. You're insignificant. That's your armor."
Sora chuckled, clinking his goblet against Riku's salt shaker. "Here's to being insignificant."
Ren watched them. He saw the way Sora's jaw tightened when he laughed. He saw the way Sora's eyes avoided looking at the golden crest stitched onto Ren's uniform—a mark of the "Hero" that the servants had provided immediately after the audience. Sora was hurting. Ren knew it. Ren stood up. "I'm going to talk to the King tomorrow," Ren stated firmly.
Sora stopped drinking. "What?"
"I'm going to tell him that we're a team," Ren said, his voice rising with newfound determination. "I'm the Hero, right? I have the Divine Blessing. If I tell Valdorn that I want you in my party, they have to listen. I'll carry you if I have to. I'll protect you until you get strong enough."
The table went quiet again. Rika looked hopeful. Daigo nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Ren's right! Who cares about mana? We can power-level you!"
Sora set his goblet down. The sound of glass hitting wood echoed sharply. He looked at Ren. He looked at the hope in Ren's eyes. The blinding, naive, golden hope of a Chosen One. "Ren," Sora said softly. "Don't."
"Why not?" Ren asked, confused. "Because I'm not a charity case," Sora said. His voice wasn't angry, but it was firm. "And because… look at me, Ren. Look at my stats." Sora held up a hand. "Strength: 3. Mana: 0. Title: None. If you drag me into a high-level dungeon, I won't just be 'weak.' I'll be a liability. You'll be so busy trying to keep me alive that you'll get yourself killed. Or Rika. Or Ayaka."
Ren opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. "The King was right," Sora said, leaning back again, masking the pain with a shrug. "I don't belong on the front lines. Let me do my training. I'll get strong my own way. You go save the world."
"But…" Ren gripped the edge of the table. "We're supposed to do this together."
"We are," Sora lied. "Just… from different locations."
Before Ren could push further, the double doors of the banquet hall creaked open. Sir Valdorn didn't enter. Instead, a squad of palace servants walked in, followed by two distinct groups of guards. One group wore the gleaming white and gold armor of the Royal Vanguard. The other group wore dull, scratched iron armor and carried wooden batons.
A servant with a scroll stepped forward. "The banquet is concluded," he announced. "The Hero and his party will be escorted to the East Wing, to the Royal Guest Chambers." He gestured to the white-armored knights.
"The recruit," the servant continued, his tone dropping a degree, "will be escorted to the West Barracks. You are to report to Sergeant Kaelen immediately for bunk assignment."
The separation was happening. Now. The students stood up, the screeching of chairs on marble sounding loud in the quiet room. Ren looked at Sora. Sora stood up slowly, dusting crumbs off his grey jacket.
"Well," Sora said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Guess this is it for the night."
"Sora," Daigo said, stepping forward and crushing Sora in a bear hug. "Don't let those barracks guys bully you, alright? If they give you crap, just tell them your best friend is the Vanguard." Sora patted Daigo's massive back. "Thanks, big guy. I'll keep that in mind."
Rika gave him a small wave, looking guilty. "Be careful, Sora." "You too, Princess. Don't stab anyone you don't mean to."
Then Sora turned to Ren. Ren looked like he was about to cry. He looked like he wanted to grab Sora and refuse to let him go. "I'll come find you," Ren swore. "Tomorrow. After training. I'll come to the barracks."
Sora smiled. It was a sad, tired smile. "Sure, Ren. I'll be there."
Two guards in dull iron armor stepped up behind Sora. One of them, a man with a crooked nose, grabbed Sora's arm roughly. "Let's go, defect. Sergeant hates late arrivals." Sora pulled his arm away. "I can walk myself."
He turned his back on the light, the gold, and his friends. He walked toward the darkened servant's exit, flanked by the guards. Ren watched him go. He watched the grey jacket fade into the shadows of the hallway. At the other end of the room, the golden doors to the Royal Suites opened for the Hero.
As Sora walked down the cold, drafty corridor that smelled of wet dog and mildew, he finally let the smile drop from his face. His expression settled into something colder. Something darker. "Insignificant, huh?" he muttered to himself, echoing Riku's words. He clenched his fist inside his pocket. "We'll see about that."