The conference room of the Spartacus hideout was unusually quiet.
Some sat slouched in their chairs, exhaustion hanging from their shoulders. Others remained upright, alert but anxious. No one was speaking at first. The air felt thick, as if the walls themselves were waiting.
Boss stood near the head of the table, arms crossed, then uncrossed. He exhaled through his nose.
"His impulsion does get on my nerves sometimes," he muttered, waving both palms as if brushing the thought aside. "But oh well. He gets the job done."
Roof leaned back in his chair, tilting it dangerously on two legs. "That's one way to put it."
Jaz kept her head down, fingers intertwined tightly on her lap.
"He's about to fill the dungeon, right?" she asked quietly.
Her voice sounded fragile.
But her knuckles were white.
Boss and Roof exchanged a glance.
"He's only targeting one," Roof replied. "Let's hope the traitor just complies."
Jaz's jaw tightened. Her shoulders trembled for a brief second.
Boss noticed.
"Remember," he said gently, standing and placing a hand on her head, "we're changing that. Let them do them for now."
Jaz exhaled. A slow, controlled breath. The tension in her hands loosened slightly.
Before anyone could continue—
The door burst open.
"Hey, hey! How ya doing, Uncle Roof?"
A girl with white hair skipped inside as if the atmosphere meant nothing to her.
Roof's face twisted immediately. "I said don't call me uncle!"
He grabbed a nearby newspaper, rolled it into a stick, and raised it dramatically as if to strike her.
He paused mid-swing.
"Hmph. You're lucky you're Pres's little sister," he grumbled.
Boss covered a faint smile. Jaz stared, confused.
The girl tilted her head at them. "Uh… I don't know you."
She pointed at Boss.
"You look important."
Then at Jaz.
"You look sad."
Silence.
Roof cleared his throat. "They're family."
"Oh." She blinked. "Where's Big Bro?"
"He just went to talk with a friend, Lana," Roof replied.
The girl stopped smiling.
She looked at Boss.
Then at Jaz.
Then back at Roof.
"…Did he go and kill somebody again?"
No one answered.
Her lips trembled.
"I told him not to kill people," she whispered.
Then louder—
"No. No. NO!"
She burst into tears, fists pounding against Roof's arm.
"Why doesn't he listen to me?!"
Roof dropped the newspaper. He didn't know what to do with crying children.
Boss crouched to her level.
"Lana," he said calmly, "your brother protects people."
She shook her head violently. "By killing them!"
Jaz finally spoke.
"Sometimes," she said softly, "it's not that simple."
Lana glared at her through watery eyes.
"Then make it simple."
No one had an answer.
Meanwhile…
The President crouched behind a large wooden crate on the upper floor of an abandoned facility in a suburban district of Indorussi.
A golden revolver rested at his hip.
Two men were tied and hidden near the garbage pile outside the back exit — insurance pieces. Radius anchors. Tools.
The building was dark. No cameras. Dust layered the floor.
He closed his eyes.
His magic spread.
A thread of perception latched onto a man nearby.
—
"Guys," the man muttered nervously, scanning an empty corridor. "I can't see anything."
President couldn't hear the words, but he read the lips.
He scanned deeper.
The man's eyes darted left and right.
Then someone shouted—
"Close your eyes! He'll see us through you!"
The vision snapped to black.
President exhaled lightly.
So they knew.
Interesting.
He shifted strategies.
Ground floor.
Nothing.
Utility rooms.
Empty.
Top floors.
Panic everywhere.
Everywhere he peeked through, people were reacting. Moving. Whispering. Hiding.
Good.
Fear created mistakes.
He scanned downward.
Basement.
There.
A room.
A flame mage — bound heavily with mana-suppressing plaster, tied to a chair.
Three men.
One with a rifle.
One with a pistol aimed lazily at her head.
One pacing.
President latched onto the rifleman's vision.
Mana cost surged sharply.
He swapped.
His consciousness slammed into the rifleman's body.
His original body remained upstairs, hidden and motionless.
Mana drained fast. Too fast.
No hesitation.
He picked up the rifle beside him and fired.
Relentless.
Precise.
He cut through the room in controlled bursts, avoiding the hostage's position instinctively.
Screams.
Splintering wood.
Ricochets.
When the magazine ran dry, two enemies had collapsed. One hid behind a flipped table. Another with a pistol retreated deeper into a metal corner alcove.
President walked forward calmly.
"Come out," he said coldly. "Or I'll come to you."
No response.
He stepped closer to the table.
A click.
Pistol primed.
He unholstered his golden revolver and fired straight through the wood.
A body dropped.
Another gunman emerged from cover, aiming wildly.
President swapped instantly.
The shooter fired—
Into his own ally's back.
Confusion.
Before they could react—
A metallic object flew toward him.
Contact mine.
Time slowed.
Swapping blindly into the pistol man's position would trap him in the metal alcove. Explosion localized. Fatal.
He waited.
Last second—
Swap.
He became the pistol man.
The mine detonated.
The alcove absorbed the blast.
The explosion tore through the room — killing the last two enemies instantly.
Silence returned.
Smoke lingered.
President breathed once.
Mana reserves dangerously low.
He moved to the hostage and ripped off the suppressive plaster.
"May I ask you to burn this entire basement?" he said calmly.
The flame mage blinked at him.
"Are you insane? I have no mana left. And I'm not your target."
He cracked an elongated vial and poured the contents into her mouth.
Mana flooded her system.
Her eyes widened.
"Why are you helping me?"
"To simplify things," he replied. "Chord is waiting."
Realization struck her face.
"…You're Spartacus's President."
He didn't deny it.
He retrieved the remaining contact mines, carefully collecting the traps meant for him.
Then he closed his eyes again.
Scanning.
Ground floor — empty.
Upper floor — empty.
They evacuated sightlines to prevent swaps.
Expected.
He scanned outside.
The garbage pile.
He swapped with the first tied man.
Then the hostage.
As he prepared to swap the second anchor—
He looked at the first man.
"You're the one who takes care of a schoolgirl, right?"
The man's eyes filled with tears.
He nodded.
"Okay," President said calmly. "You get to live. Wait."
He swapped with the second anchor instead.
They appeared at a safer distance.
The building behind them shimmered faintly.
Magic bombs.
A full collapse trap.
"You owe me your life now," President told the flame mage.
She stared at the rigged structure in horror.
"They were trying to trap you."
"They were," he agreed.
He scanned the trees.
No snipers.
"Playing it safe," he murmured.
His phone vibrated.
He answered.
"I see the queen's out," the voice said. "Checkmate to Kard. Six million transferred."
President's tone remained cold.
"We're not done. I'll escort your princess properly. And send me the bastard alive."
"…Deal."
Call ended.
President's expression hardened.
"That f***** gator Elemis," he muttered. "Trying to push me into war with Chord."
Hours Later
A video was sent directly to Elemis — leader of Kard.
The footage showed Spartacus members surrounding the President, the flame mage, and the captured Chord traitor.
President stepped forward in frame.
"See this, Elemis?" he said, forming a square with his fingers like a camera frame. "Want to frame me? I've already got yours reserved."
He stepped aside.
The traitor was forced to kneel.
"Send my regards."
The blade fell.
The video ended.
In a separate location, Elemis watched calmly.
"I must be quite famous in your eyes now, Pres," he murmured.
He turned to a trembling man before him.
"You won," Elemis said lightly. "You'll get your daughter back."
The man's eyes widened in relief.
"After three days," Elemis added.
Rage replaced fear instantly.
"You son of a—"
"Take him," Elemis ordered.
Guards grabbed the man.
"Make sure the daughter can walk," Elemis continued casually. "Four limbs intact. Able to eat."
The elevator doors closed on the man's furious screams.
Back at Spartacus
The conference room was tense again.
Footsteps approached.
The President entered.
Lana saw him first.
She ran forward and punched his chest weakly.
"Did you kill someone?!"
He looked down at her.
"…Yes."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Why don't you listen to me?"
He knelt.
"I protected someone today."
"That's not the same!"
Boss watched quietly.
Roof stayed silent.
Jaz studied his face.
President looked at Lana carefully.
"I spared someone," he added.
She blinked.
"Why?"
"Because he takes care of a little girl."
Silence.
Lana's voice softened.
"…Like me?"
He nodded once.
Her anger cracked.
She hugged him tightly.
"Don't die," she whispered.
He didn't promise.
Later That Night
Alone in his room, President leaned back in his chair.
"Oh yeah," he muttered quietly. "The poor guy with the schoolgirl."
He tapped his desk.
"Might as well give that child one million. Set up foster parents."
Not charity.
Balance.
He closed his eyes.
Plans already forming.
Because war wasn't just bullets and magic.
It was leverage.
Protection.
Reputation.
Frames within frames.
And he intended to control the picture.