Location: Solencia Summit Hall – Dawn
Blazing torches lined the aisles of Solencia's vast Summit Hall as Itsuki Hiroto stepped inside, clad in his signature baker's cloak—now rebranded with the insignia "Guardian of the Seal & Slap Savior." The carved stone benches were filled to bursting with representatives from every realm: humans, demons, elves, dwarves, beastfolk, merfolk, sky riders, even emissaries of distant nomad tribes.
Chancellor Beltram rose from the head dais, voice echoing off vaulted ceilings. "Guildmaster Hiroto, on behalf of the World Alliance, we convene this extraordinary assembly to forge a lasting pact—one that ensures no calamity shall ever threaten our realms again."
A scroll the size of a tapestry unfurled behind him, listing the World Alliance Accord:
Article I: Unified defense against supernatural threats.
Article II: Shared resources in times of magical disaster.
Article III: Centralized cultivation of serenity tea.
Hiroto ran a hand through his flour‑dust hair. He exchanged a look with Virelya—who simply shrugged—while Sera's eyes sparkled at the promise of unlimited tea.
Beltram gestured grandly. "We request the guidance of our Silent Savior. Please, take the lectern and address the assembly."
Murmurs filled the hall as dozens of pairs of eyes zeroed in on him. The weight of destiny pressed on his shoulders.
Hiroto swallowed. "Esteemed delegates… Guildmaster has a stomachache."
A stunned silence fell. Beltram's mouth twitched. Elven delegates blinked. Even the demon envoy's horns tilted in confusion.
He cleared his throat. "In truth, I—" he glanced at Sera, who gulped and nodded—"I am honored, but I cannot preside over this accord. I'm a clerk, not a statesman. My… interventions have been accidents. I respectfully decline."
Shocked gasps reverberated. Beastfolk elders sputtered. A merfolk herald fainted. One sky rider winged away in disbelief. Beltram's gavel hovered mid‑air.
Before he could recover, the hall doors slammed open. A phalanx of armored envoys—bearing the combined seals of every kingdom—marched in, pistols and halberds at the ready.
Beltram paled. "You—Who—?"
The lead envoy—a stern woman cloaked in midnight blue—spoke with icy calm. "Captain Hiroto, you are hereby summoned to join the World Alliance Council in permanent session. Resistance is inadvisable."
---
Location: Golden Plaza – Midday
Refusing to be coerced, Hiroto slipped away into Solencia's Golden Plaza, a sprawling square paved in gilded stone. Virelya and Sera followed at his heels, scanning the crowds of cheering citizens, now waving banners reading "Our Slap Savior!" and "No Alliance Without Our Clerk!"
Hiroto dodged through market stalls: spice merchants hawked "Calamity‑Repel Tea," dwarven blacksmiths forged commemorative spatulas, and elves sold MP3 scrolls of his greatest yawns. He ducked into a narrow alley, exasperated.
"I just want to go home," he groaned.
Virelya caught up, hand on her sword. "You can't run forever."
Sera offered him another teacup. "Maybe if you sign a copy of the Accord as an apology, they'll let you."
Hiroto shook his head. "I refuse." He vaulted over a barrel, knocking Virelya's boots askew. "I won't be yoked to politics!"
They rounded a corner into a quiet courtyard—only to be confronted by a ring of Alliance envoys, shields locked, summoning wards humming at their feet.
The envoy in midnight blue stepped forward once more. "Hiroto, your refusal is recorded. You have one chance to comply."
Hiroto raised his hands. "Do your worst."
---
Location: Council Caravan Departure – Afternoon
Dragged—quite literally—by the Alliance envoys, Hiroto found himself strapped into a gilded carriage at the city gate. The Alliance Banner fluttered above, and soldiers from every nation stood guard as the carriage doors clanged shut.
Virelya dashed to the window, fists pounding the wood. "You can't lock him up!" she protested.
A demon envoy sneered through the barred grill. "We can, and we will. It's for the safety of all realms."
Inside, Hiroto slumped onto a velvet bench. Sera sat beside him, brewing "Diplomatic Detox Tea" in a portable samovar.
He took a trembling sip. "Well… at least the tea's good."
Sera offered a sympathetic shrug. "Hey, it's better than calamity‑stew."
The carriage rattled forward, the city walls falling away in a blur of gold and stone. Beyond them lay the road to the Citadel's High Tower—site of the permanent World Alliance Council.
Hiroto closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. Every time I run, they drag me back.
---
Location: Hidden Escort Passage – Early Dusk
As the carriage sped along a concealed lane beneath the Citadel cliffs, Virelya and Sera rode alongside in a discreet escort wagon. Gerald, still in disguise, intercepted the caravan's commander in the darkness.
He returned with a grim nod. "They've sealed the route—no detours. The only way out is cooperation."
Virelya drew her sword. "Then we'll bust him out."
Gerald laid a palm on her arm. "Patience. For once, let him see why they need him—and maybe, just maybe, he'll want to stay."
---
Location: Citadel High Tower Bridge – Sunset
The carriage reached the suspended bridge leading to the High Tower—its massive chains creaking in the wind. Torches flared; Alliance envoys lined the parapets, ready to escort Hiroto inside.
Hiroto peered through the barred window, heart pounding. He watched Virelya step onto the bridge, blade gleaming.
"Sera! Tea!" he whispered, pointing at the empty cup.
Sera rushed forward. "Drink up. You'll need courage."
He drained the last drop. "I'll do it," he said quietly. "Not because they forced me…but because maybe…maybe I can help."
The carriage halted. The doors swung open. Alliance envoys prodded him out, forming a protective cordon.
Hiroto straightened his shoulders. He faced the bridge, its length stretching to the looming High Tower.
He inhaled the torchlit air—smoke, spices, and a hint of lavender.
Then, with Virelya at his right and Sera at his left, he stepped forward, crossing the bridge into his reluctant destiny.
And though every fiber of him screamed for a nap, he knew that tomorrow's council would demand more than words—it would demand his choice.