"Bastard!"
Marcos snarled under his breath. Powerless against Gojo, he spun toward the bald elder, hoping to pull the old man clear.
Too slow.
Domain Expansion moved at the speed of thought. In the span of a heartbeat, the elder's figure vanished and reappeared. But the man who returned was no longer the man who'd been sitting there moments ago. He sat rigid and vacant, a mirror of Rickert. A statue with a pulse. As though someone had reached inside his skull and scooped out everything that made him human.
Gojo smiled and gave the old man's head another pat.
"Not bad. Must've been a decent fighter in his younger days. His willpower held up a little better than the other one, at least."
He straightened and turned to face Marcos, who stood clenched with fury and helplessness in equal measure.
"Relax. I'm not going to kill them. I'm giving them time to think about what they've done. A month from now, they'll be back to normal."
His gaze shifted to the man seated beside the bald elder.
"Miklotov, sir. As the representative of the Council of Wise Men, do you have any objections?"
Miklotov McMahon regarded the scene unfolding at arm's reach with a face carved from decades of weathered composure. No panic. No alarm. Not even a flicker of unease crossed those deep-set, ancient eyes. He carried himself as though the threat simply didn't concern him.
"You don't seem worried," he said evenly, "that your actions might reflect poorly on the Royal Candidate you support."
"Reflect poorly?" Gojo laughed. "I expected something weightier from you, Miklotov. That's all you've got?"
"When someone insults the person you serve, what's the alternative? Look the other way? Swallow it in silence? I'd think even those knights you're all so proud of wouldn't stoop to that."
He clapped his hands once. Down in the hall, Beatrice gave a cold snort, and the violet crystals hovering in the air shattered into nothing.
"Felt."
One word.
Felt climbed the steps with a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, tossing a provocative glance toward Priscilla as she passed. She came to stand at Gojo's side.
"Right, the show's over." He pulled her forward and swept his gaze across every face in the hall, his smile easy and bright. "Ladies and gentlemen, the promises Lady Felt made earlier still stand. Monopoly rights, tax exemptions, hereditary title advancement. All of it."
A deliberate pause. His eyes settled on the cluster of shaken nobles and officials.
"And now you've seen it for yourselves. Supporting Lady Felt doesn't only mean tangible benefits. It means protection. Reinhard needs no introduction. The good margrave was kind enough to give you a brief overview of my contracted Great Spirit just now."
"As for me?" A grin spread across his face, wide and unapologetically arrogant. "I think what just happened speaks for itself."
"Follow Lady Felt, and you don't need to worry about anything else. Anyone who stands in our way... well." He gestured lazily toward the two frozen men. "You're looking at what happens."
Where no one could see, he jabbed Felt in the side with his finger. He'd laid out the groundwork. Time for the actual candidate to say her piece. He wasn't the one running for the throne.
"That's right!" Felt's voice rang out, clear and fierce. "I keep my word. Those who follow me won't be shortchanged. Those who stand against me won't be tolerated!"
When she'd first walked into this hall, all those eyes bearing down on her had felt like a weight she could barely carry. Now, standing at the highest point, drinking in the awe and wariness reflected in every upturned face, the feeling was intoxicating.
Especially when her gaze drifted to the two men who'd sneered at her, now slumped like wooden dolls. Anger spiked through the satisfaction. If she hadn't been at least slightly concerned about appearances, she would've marched over and stomped on them.
"Well then, problem solved." Gojo strolled down the steps, light on his feet, wearing that irreverent grin. "Carry on. Don't let me interrupt."
He wandered back into the ranks of the Royal Guard Knights with Beatrice in tow, utterly unbothered by the wall of drawn swords and suspicious glares still aimed in his direction.
Felt, basking in her advantage, lifted her chin and looked down at Marcos.
"So. Are we continuing?"
The stone armor dissolved from Marcos's frame, revealing the grim expression underneath. Things had spiraled so far beyond anyone's expectations that the air in the room still hadn't settled.
The sheer force Felt's side had displayed... no one had anticipated anything like this. Before today, nobody would have imagined this assembly could be disrupted. The most elite power in all of Lugunica was concentrated in this hall. Anyone fool enough to cause trouble here would be crushed. Reinhard alone was enough to guarantee that.
And yet.
In this room, surrounded by all that strength, Gojo had done exactly as he pleased without a shred of hesitation.
The worst part was that none of them could do a thing about it. Those strong enough to matter, Reinhard, Julius, were either bound by orders or unwilling to leave their own candidates unguarded. The entire Royal Guard Knights had been pinned down by a single Great Spirit. The only person free to act had been Marcos himself.
And Marcos, even at full power, couldn't so much as graze the man's sleeve.
The gap was staggering. Almost impossible to accept.
"Knight Commander."
Miklotov's voice cut through the tension, calm as still water. He gave Marcos a measured nod.
"Have someone escort those two back. Today's assembly is concluded."
"Yes, Lord Miklotov."
Marcos looked down at Gojo standing among the knights below, expression utterly carefree, and turned back to give the old statesman a final nod.
"Fall in."
The order carried across the hall. The knights obeyed, though bitterness and humiliation simmered behind every pair of eyes. Swords slid back into sheaths. Ranks reformed.
As the formation reassembled, the scattered nobles and officials drifted back together as well. But the way they looked at Felt now had changed. The contempt, the dismissiveness, all of it was gone.
Gojo had ground the dignity of the Council of Wise Men, of Lugunica's entire ruling class, beneath his heel, and not a single person in the room had been able to stop him. That alone was enough to make them understand. The little thief from the Slums they'd looked down on commanded power beyond their imagination.
Royalty is royalty, after all...
The thought surfaced, unbidden, in more than a few minds at once. It was the only explanation that let them swallow the truth. Easier to accept that than to admit their lofty world had been upended by a girl from the gutter.
"Today's assembly is hereby concluded."
"To the Royal Candidates..."
Marcos spoke from the platform, voice heavy, formally announcing the end of the selection conference.
Below, Subaru stood beside Gojo, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Satoru, that was incredible! Did you see their faces? Their jaws were on the floor! They never expected you'd actually do it. You scared them senseless..."
He kept his voice low, but the words poured out like water from a burst pipe.
"Gotta hand it to you, brother. Didn't think you had the guts to pull something like that here." Al sauntered over, helmet tilted in what seemed like genuine admiration.
"That so?" Gojo shrugged. "I don't see what the big deal is. Honestly, aside from Roswaal, I'm pretty sure any of you could've done the same thing. This time just happened not to involve the candidates you're backing."
He studied Al through his sunglasses, gaze lingering as though he could see straight through the helmet to the face beneath.
"Ha! Guess I'm braver than I thought." Al laughed, broad and forced, then let out a theatrical groan. "Man, I really don't want to end up on the opposite side of a fight with you guys. And it's not just you. There's Reinhard too."
"If you're that scared, tell your candidate to drop out already." Subaru didn't mince words. Priscilla, with her arrogance, her rudeness, and the way she'd nearly started a fight earlier, hadn't earned a single drop of goodwill from him.
"The princess is just like that. I'm the doorman. Not much I can do about it."
Before the conversation could go much further, Marcos wrapped up his address. The assembly, thrown so wildly off course, sputtered to an anticlimactic end.
"Finally. Time to go home." Gojo watched the nobles and officials filing hurriedly toward the exit and stretched, arms above his head, lazy as a cat in the sun. "I already miss Miss Carol's pastries."
"You said the same thing about Rem's cooking last time." Beatrice eyed him with undisguised disdain. "Fickle man."
"I think you're misunderstanding something. My love has always been for delicious sweets. Not for any particular person."
He spread his hands, perfectly shameless.
"Hey, brother, we're heading out." Al called over his shoulder as he trailed after Priscilla. "Hope the next time we meet, we can still chat like this."
Felt and Emilia approached from the other direction. Emilia stopped in front of the group and bowed, silver hair spilling forward like a curtain of silk.
"Thank you so much for today. Subaru. And you, Satoru."
"Don't worry about it, Emilia!" Subaru looked like someone had plugged him into a power outlet. "I might not be a knight, but I'll protect you too!"
"Right, right. Just thank Subaru. You can skip me." Gojo waved her off with a grin. "I didn't like those guys to begin with. Nobody gets to bully my Felt."
He pulled Felt close and ruffled her hair.
Felt rolled her eyes, smacked his hand away, and grumbled, "Watch it. I'm a Royal Candidate, you know. Show some respect."
"So cold. That's not how you were looking at me a few minutes ago, all starry-eyed and desperate..."
He affected a wounded pout so exaggerated it sent a chill down Felt's spine.
"Let's go. We'll talk about it on the way back."
She sighed, resigned. Against Gojo's particular brand of shamelessness, surrender was the only option.
"Felt."
As the two bickered, Emilia turned to Felt and bowed again, deep and earnest.
"What's this about? If you're trying to borrow money, I don't have any." Felt squinted at her, suspicious.
"People either!" she added quickly.
Because what if Emilia had taken a liking to Gojo? Knowing him, Felt genuinely worried a plate of desserts might be enough to lure him away.
"No, no, that's not it at all." Emilia waved her hands frantically. "I only wanted to ask you... please don't be angry with Subaru."
The way Emilia saw it, Subaru belonged to Felt's camp. He'd stepped forward to defend Emilia anyway. For most people in this world, that kind of disloyalty would be unforgivable, especially between competing factions.
"Angry at him? For what?" Felt blinked, confused, then caught on. "Oh, you mean him sticking up for you? That's nothing."
She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Anyone with eyes could see how Subaru felt about Emilia. Felt saw it every single day.
Besides, they'd already agreed on the terms. As long as Subaru didn't sabotage the plan, once the three of them split the money, he was free to do whatever he wanted. Help Emilia, live the good life, whatever. They'd worked it all out ages ago. Him doing something like this today wasn't the least bit surprising.
"If you're not worried about having a spy in your ranks, I'd be happy to lend him to you."
Felt delivered the line with a sweet smile, watching Emilia's eyes go wide.
"But... didn't you just say you wouldn't lend people?"
Emilia looked thoroughly confused.
"I said I wouldn't lend people. Subaru doesn't fall under that category."
"Hey! Felt, you jerk! You're saying I'm not even human?!"
...
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