Lucas.
The room reeked of whiskey and worn leather, dimly lit by the flickering lantern that sat between us. Across from me lounged Yamamoto—sharp black hair, cold slate-grey eyes, posture composed like a king holding court. I, on the other hand, looked like hell—hair messy, shirt half-buttoned, and a headache blooming behind my eyes.
"You want me to take in those Outskirts brats?" I asked, incredulous. My voice carried the weight of disbelief, edged with irritation.
Yamamoto didn't flinch. His expression remained unreadable, the same damn stoic mask I'd grown to hate over the years. He took a slow sip from his glass—each movement fluid, precise. Effortlessly elegant. He sat with one leg over the other, lounging like he owned the damn place.
This bastard… sitting like he owns my office.
He placed the glass down with a soft clink.
"Yes," he said flatly, voice as smooth and level as the surface of his drink.
I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Why not take them into your Division? You've got more recruits than you know what to do with."
He gave the smallest tilt of his head. "My Division's full. Yours has room."
"And I'm not running a daycare."
"Neither am I," Yamamoto replied coolly.
Silence stretched, thick and heavy. I stared at him, frustrated. He sipped his drink again, as if my glare was just another fly buzzing around his ear.
Eventually, I sighed. "Fine. But they'd better not annoy me."
Without a word, he slid a stack of documents across the desk. I caught them before they slipped off the edge, flipping through the top pages lazily.
"Ambitious little bastards," I muttered. "One wants to be the greatest Knight, another the strongest Swordsman... and the third's goal is just a blank page."
"They have potential," Yamamoto said. "They just need direction."
I scoffed. "They're from the Outskirts. They're already behind. Nobles and Centrals get the training and the resources. These kids are crawling uphill through mud."
"If they can't handle that," he said, "then it's my mistake."
I ran a hand through my hair, exhausted just thinking about it. "They all come with big dreams," I murmured, "but most of them quit once reality punches back."
Kenji Kimura's file caught my eye. Wanted to be the greatest Knight. I scoffed. What the hell does that even mean?
The Division Knights were the Empire's shield—elite units trained to defend against bandits, monsters, and hostile kingdoms. Once you passed the 3-star rank, the real tests began. Most never made it past that wall. The ones who did... didn't last long.
"These brats better not waste my time, Yama," I warned, meeting his gaze.
To my surprise, there was a flicker of amusement in his usually blank eyes. Then, a rare thing—he smiled. Just barely.
"You could use the exercise," he said.
I clicked my tongue and tossed back the rest of my drink, the burn washing down my annoyance. "I need better friends."
"Probably. But I'm the best one you've got," he said, far too casually.
The candlelight flickered, throwing shadows across the walls.
I had a feeling my life was about to get a whole lot more irritating. I didn't have much faith in wide-eyed idealists. But if Yamamoto saw something in them, maybe—just maybe—there was a spark worth testing.
Still, I wasn't holding my breath.