"This just in—a live confirmation from the Vatican that its most influential citizens, in the form of the Count Saints, will be appearing in Loliwe for what may be a very controversial assignment: a meeting to decide the fate of the Calamity, Saikyo Akame, responsible for the mass extinction of the supercontinent Gaia, making it completely uninhabitable to most life."
The television in the corner of the waiting room flickered with the evening broadcast, its colors slightly off—too much red, not enough blue. A relic from before the waves, kept running through sheer stubbornness.
"Scientists indicate that the levels of radiation exceed those of Chernobyl in northern Midland, providing dense mutation to local fauna and flora. What can be found there nowadays isn't your typical everyday creature, but rather things that resemble Clickers from that one survival game whose name I can't remember right now."
The screen cut to a female anchor, her expression appropriately grave.
"Despite all this, residents in Nairobi and around the world are all asking the same question: why should there be a trial to decide his fate? Mass murder is still mass murder. It should be treated as such—with the death penalty. Tie that in with the fact that he's also wanted for treason, and we've already got more than enough reasons to give him the chair."
Back to the male anchor.
"I agree. But despite what the public believes, the First Count Saint was strict with his warnings, stating that we should let this meeting continue—even if the verdict is always going to be death. 'As Count Saints,' he said, 'we often don't have enough time to go out and look after our protectorates, to see to the wellbeing of the people. This might just be an excuse to go and check on their welfare following the intense battle that took place along Moi Avenue and other high-level areas within Nairobi.' But all the same, the meeting shall be discussed on live television."
The female anchor again.
"Whichever way you want to look at it, they will be taking their time with this. And smartly enough, they have managed to appease public outcry with the promise of involving them in the meeting. A system shall be made in which voters can cast how they feel about certain verdicts being passed. Not to mention there will be a decree that other concerns of the public shall be brought up and addressed during this meeting. While it has calmed them down for now, I wonder what shall take place during the gathering and how it shall affect the country moving forward."
The male anchor's final remarks:
"That being said, it's time for a commercial break. We'll be back with more staggering news later, so don't go anywhere."
FEBRUARY 1ST, COMET YEAR 5000
SORCERER ASSOCIATION HEADQUARTERS — NAIROBI
THE CHAIRMAN'S OFFICE
In the days following the official Vatican announcement, a unanimous decision had been reached: both the Count Saints and the Five Swords would convene at the Sorcerer Association Headquarters in Nairobi. The Supreme Court had ruled it acceptable, provided certain conditions were met during the meetings—sessions estimated to last anywhere from two to three months. A promise had been made to the people: only one of those months would be dedicated to determining Akame's fate.
The rest would be politics. As it always was.
Renovations had been underway for a week now, with six days remaining until the actual meetings commenced. And at the helm of these preparations sat Amanai Rika, acting leader of the Five Swords by default—Neil's youth and inexperience making him unsuitable for the administrative nightmare, despite his ego absolutely refusing to let him sit out the actual meeting.
"Just give me a basic manual," he'd insisted, his arrogance practically dripping from every syllable. "A book. A scripture. I'll revise it every day until the meeting."
His cocky attitude grated on Rika like nails on a chalkboard. But he'd built his ego to that size all on his own, and she could only pray things wouldn't collapse around them.
For now, she sat in the Chairman's office.
The space was... imposing was the kind word. Ostentatious was the accurate one.
Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a panoramic view of Nairobi's skyline—glass towers catching the afternoon sun, the distant glimmer of the port, the green smear of Uhuru Gardens in the middle distance. The windows were reinforced, layered with something that shimmered faintly when the light hit right. Protective enchantments, probably. Or just really expensive glass.
The desk itself was a monstrosity—polished mahogany the size of a small car, cluttered with papers, tablets, and three different monitors displaying overlapping schedules and security feeds. A leather chair behind it that probably cost more than most people's annual salaries. Bookshelves lined the side walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that had clearly never been read—decorative, not functional. A wet bar in the corner, fully stocked. Abstract art on the remaining wall space, the kind that cost fortunes and communicated nothing.
It belonged to Sir Benson Wamalwa, the official Chairman.
Who was, of course, still conveniently absent, leaving all his responsibilities to Rika—a fact she hated with a burning passion and would never forgive him for.
"Can I get Koji?" She pressed the phone receiver to her ear, her voice tight with barely controlled frustration. "We need all members present, otherwise our proposals will be shut down due to 'unlawful conductivity'... yes... I know it's bullshit, but I don't want to give them any chance to screw with us. FIND ME KOJI! "
She slammed the receiver down with more force than necessary, then recoiled in her chair—spinning slowly as she dragged her palm down her face in a gesture of utter exhaustion.
"This is sooooooooo exhausting."
'Ever since this became our plan of action,' she thought bitterly, 'everyone has left me here to handle the political nightmare. And I HATE it.'
Maomao couldn't help—she wasn't suited for this sort of thing, plus she was needed as secret security for Akame's currently undisclosed location. Junichi was MIA, and even if he were present, he'd be useless for anything requiring more brainpower than "punch that thing."
'Not to mention—if I don't handle this, if I hand administrative rights over to them, they'll use it against us in ways we'd never see coming.'
She sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of responsibility.
'I've got to stay vigilant. Like a hawk... or an eagle... or is it a falcon?' She frowned. 'Damn, I can't remember. In any case—I can't let anything distract me.'
RING! RING!
A phone rang.
Rika glanced at the receiver—no green light. Not the SAH channel. She turned her head, spotting her purse on the floor beside the desk. She grabbed it, fumbled inside, and pulled out her personal phone.
'Who the hell is calling me right now?'
She should have put it on Do Not Disturb. She knew she should have.
But the caller ID made her eyes widen.
This couldn't have come at a worse time.
"Germain?"
A DISTRACTION PERHAPS?
TO BE CONTINUED!