Two weeks had passed since that day in the training courtyard—the day Renji Aikawa shut down Daisuke Hiyama's bullying with nothing but words and his fist. Since then, the students had been subjected to a grueling routine of combat drills, magic lessons, and lectures about the world they'd been summoned to.
For most of the class, it was an exciting new beginning. Their stats rose rapidly, especially Kouki Amanogawa, who stood at the front of every formation like a textbook hero. But for Hajime Nagumo, it was a slow march through humiliation. His growth was abysmal. No matter how many times he slashed a sword or recited incantations, the results barely registered.
And so, in a quiet corner of the palace library, far from the clashing swords and cheering classmates, Hajime sat alone with a book titled "Monsters of the Northern Continent: A Picture Book." He flipped through the pages, eyes glazed, absorbing tidbits of knowledge that might one day save his life.
He wasn't alone.
Across the same table sat Renji Aikawa, eyes scanning an entirely different book—"Theories of Mana Circulation and Adaptive Channeling." He had taken to this world's logic with frightening speed, absorbing its language, magical systems, and historical context as if it were just another subject back in Japan.
Renji had not been seen in the combat yard much—not because he was avoiding it, but because Captain Meld had personally asked him to assist in advanced spell optimization sessions due to his near-perfect affinity control and tactical insight. Among the knights, Renji was already quietly respected.
Hajime let out a sigh and dropped his book onto the table with a dull thud. The librarian, who was just passing behind him, paused mid-step and gave Hajime a death glare that could freeze magma.
"Ah, s-sorry!" Hajime stammered and bowed apologetically.
The librarian huffed and returned to sorting scrolls.
Renji glanced up from his book, raising an eyebrow. "You okay, Hajime?"
"Yeah... just frustrated. Two weeks and I'm still the weakest guy in class. My stats are barely moving. I can't even get a proper spell to cast right." Hajime slumped forward, letting his forehead hit the table.
Renji closed his book gently. "Let me see your plate again."
Hajime hesitated but then handed it over. Renji examined it carefully.
"Your numbers haven't moved much, that's true... but the fact that you're even still trying despite all the garbage people have thrown at you says more than stats ever could."
Hajime blinked.
Renji slid the plate back. "Also, you're not just weak. You're uninformed you know you're limits and are trying to make up for it as much as you can. Most of these people are just brute-forcing their way forward with strength. But if you can't win in power, you win in understanding. You're already in the right place."
Hajime glanced back at the Monsters of the Northern Continent book, now feeling slightly less pathetic.
Renji leaned back, arms folded. "You know, this world's magic isn't all that different from science. It has rules. Predictable patterns. You just need to know where to look. Want a tip?"
Hajime perked up. "Please."
Renji reached into his satchel and pulled out a slim notebook he'd been compiling.
"I've been documenting magical conversion ratios and elemental affinity distortion patterns. The thing is... this world doesn't measure magic the way we think it does. It's not just about chanting. It's about shaping your intent while syncing with the mana stream. You're probably doing what everyone else is doing—following steps. But you need to understand the formula, not just recite it."
Additionally, the length of an incantation was directly proportional to how much mana one could pour into a magic circle, so the effectiveness of a spell was directly proportional to the amount of mana used to cast it. And the more complicated a spell was, or the larger an area of effect it had, the more inscriptions needed in the magic circle to complete the spell. Which naturally meant that the magic circle itself needed to be larger too.
For comparison, the standard fireball spell that appeared in most RPGs and the like normally required a magic circle about ten centimeters in diameter. Every spell needed the basic inscriptions for the element, strength, range, span, and magic absorption (the amount of mana someone needed to provide the magic circle in order to
activate the spell). If one wanted to add additional parameters such as
length the spell is maintained, then extra inscriptions were needed for
that as well
Hajime stared at him. "You actually get all this?"
"I told you. I studied, man. A lot. And I listen. And I don't let muscle-heads like Hiyama tell me how magic should work."
For the first time since being summoned, Hajime cracked a small smile.
"Thanks, Renji... You make it sound like I'm not totally useless."
"You're not. You're just not there yet. But when you do get there? You'll outthink every single one of them."
In the quiet that followed, Hajime returned to his book with renewed purpose, while Renji resumed reading his notes—two students from vastly different backgrounds, both trying to survive a world that had no time for the weak.
The late afternoon sun spilled through the arched windows of the library, casting long golden streaks across rows of parchment and old tomes. The light caught in the dust particles floating above their table, turning them into tiny stars suspended in still air.
Renji spoke again, voice calm, steady. "You know, Captain Meld told me something interesting yesterday. About how heroes like Kouki are strong not just because of talent, but because the world bends to their expectations. They believe they're strong, so the magic responds. Their will is loud."
Hajime looked up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means the world rewards certainty. Confidence. Force of will. People like Kouki don't doubt themselves—they just act, and the magic obeys. But not all of us can operate that way. Some of us need understanding before belief. Structure before power. That's where you and I differ from them."
He closed the notebook and tapped it with his knuckles. "But that's also where we become dangerous. Because once we understand how this world ticks, we can break the rules the others don't even know exist."
Hajime raised an eyebrow. "You mean like... exploit the system?"
"Exactly," Renji said, grinning. "Think like a programmer, not a player. Don't just use the magic—debug it."
The idea planted itself in Hajime's mind like a seed.
Renji stood and stretched. "Anyway. I've got a tactical mana layering session with the knights in fifteen. Captain Meld's been using me to refine their large-scale casting formations."
"You're... basically already one of them now, huh?" Hajime said, not bitterly, just matter-of-fact.
Renji paused. "I guess. But that doesn't mean I forget who I came with."
He looked at Hajime, eyes serious. "Listen, if you ever need help—really need help—you find me. Don't try to tank everything by yourself just because everyone else is pretending this world isn't terrifying."
Hajime nodded slowly. "Thanks. I will."
Renji offered a brief, rare smile. "Good. Keep reading. And don't let Hiyama get in your head again. He can swing a sword, but that's all he'll ever be."
With that, he slung his satchel over his shoulder and disappeared down the marble aisle between bookshelves, leaving Hajime alone once more.
But he wasn't the same.
For the first time, Hajime looked down at his weak stats and felt something other than despair. He felt challenge. A puzzle to solve. A system to crack.
He turned back to the section on Northern Continent monsters, now with a sharper eye. He took out his own notebook—blank and underused—and began to write.
If I can't be stronger... then I'll be smarter.
Renji Aikawa closed the thick wooden door of the library behind him, adjusting the strap of his satchel as he stepped into the palace corridor. The faint scent of ink and parchment still clung to him, a reminder of another morning spent dissecting magical theory while everyone else played soldier.
Now it was time to switch gears.
Captain Meld had requested his input again at the knights' training grounds—something about the mana stabilization runes being inconsistent during multi-caster formations. Typical. Renji couldn't even walk across the courtyard anymore without getting pulled into something technical.
He walked with purpose, boots tapping rhythmically on polished stone, but slowed just slightly when a flicker of motion caught his eye near one of the pillars lining the corridor.
He didn't turn his head, just smirked.
"Y'know," he said loud enough for it to carry, "most spies at least pretend they're not following someone."
A sharp yelp came from behind the pillar.
Renji finally stopped and leaned against the adjacent column, arms crossed, grin already tugging at his lips.
Kaori Shirasaki peeked out sheepishly, her hands clutched around a book that was most definitely not for hallway reading.
"I-I wasn't following you!" she said, cheeks bright red. "I was just... going the same way!"
"Oh? So the secret route from the library to nowhere in particular just happened to involve crouching behind a support beam?" Renji cocked an eyebrow. "Smooth. Real natural."
Kaori stepped out fully now, visibly flustered. "Okay, fine! I maybe saw you coming out and I just... wanted to know how Hajime was doing."
Renji let out a mock gasp. "Scandalous. A stalker and a liar."
Kaori groaned and gave him a glare. "I am not a stalker."
"You were sneaking behind a column, in your slippers, blushing like you got caught stealing cookies from the imperial kitchen. That's stalker 101."
Kaori buried her face in her hands. "I hate you."
"Can't blame you," Renji said, chuckling. "I'm very hateable. Especially when I'm right."
He pushed off the column and walked past her, but not without ruffling her hair in the process. She spluttered and tried to fix it immediately.
"You're the worst!"
"Yep," he called over his shoulder. "But at least I don't get caught hiding like a bad side character in a dating sim."
Kaori jogged after him, still red-faced. "You could've just let it go, you know."
"Where's the fun in that?" he replied, hands tucked into his pockets.
A few paces of silence passed before Kaori spoke again, more subdued this time. "...Is he okay, though? Hajime, I mean."
Renji glanced sideways at her, his teasing tone fading just a bit. "He's hanging in. Doing better than he gets credit for."
She nodded slowly.
"You know," he added, "you'd probably get a better read on him if you just talked to him. Maybe next time skip the whole 'ninja' act."
Kaori looked like she wanted to shrink into the floor. "Okay, okay... lesson learned."
Renji gave her a lazy smirk. "Good girl."
"Don't good girl me!"
But her tone was lighter now. Maybe next time, she would speak up.
And maybe Renji would stop teasing her.
...Maybe.
The clang of metal echoed through the palace courtyard like war drums.
Sweat glistened off training swords. Sparks burst with each clash. The students—summoned heroes of Japan—grunted and shouted through formation drills, each movement faster and sharper than the last. At the heart of it all, Captain Meld barked orders like cannon fire.
"Form up! Reset your guard! Don't let the enemy dictate your rhythm!"
Meld echoing over the sun-soaked stone. Dust rose in clouds under the feet of clashing students and knights, their drills growing fiercer with each pass.
Among them, Renji Aikawa stepped into the ring with calm precision, his wooden practice sword in hand. He hadn't even warmed up, but Captain Meld's voice had already boomed across the yard.
"Aikawa! You're up. Langdon's your opponent. Let's see if the 'tactician' can survive a brawl."
Langdon—one of the kingdom's mid-tier knights—was built like a battering ram and already rolling his shoulders eagerly as he stepped onto the mat. "No hard feelings, boy," he said with a chuckle. "But I'm not holding back."
In a world where strength and magic are everything, timing can be the difference between life and death.
"Begin!" the captain's voice called.
Langdon lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air with a speed that belied his massive frame. Renji sidestepped, letting the blade whiz past him, feeling the wind rush by. He didn't need to engage head-on. Not yet.
Temporal Sync kicked in. The subtle shifts in the flow of time were like whispers against his senses. He could feel the smallest changes in Langdon's rhythm, anticipating the veteran's next move before it even began. His reflexes were honed, pushing him into a fluid motion.
Langdon came again, this time with a heavy horizontal swing aimed at Renji's midsection. The force behind it was tremendous, and even if Renji avoided it, the sheer momentum could send him stumbling.
Instead of dodging outright, Renji used Chrono Weave to slow the flow of time just around himself. The world seemed to draw out, and Langdon's strike became sluggish. Renji stepped to the side, barely grazing the edge of the blade as it sailed past. With his enhanced reflexes, he was already positioning himself for the counter.
He struck quickly, aiming for Langdon's ribs, but the veteran anticipated it and deflected the blow with a sharp block. The clash sent a jolt up Renji's arm. No matter how precise, I can't brute-force him. Langdon was stronger, but Renji had speed and control.
Langdon smiled. "You're quick, but speed alone won't win you this fight."
Renji didn't respond, focusing instead on the moment. His mind was already running the numbers, calculating his next move. He knew his abilities wouldn't last forever; they took a toll. Overuse would make him dizzy, nausea setting in, a temporal sickness that could leave him vulnerable. He couldn't afford to rely too heavily on his powers—he needed to balance them with careful, calculated attacks.
Langdon came again, this time feinting high before dropping low with a sweeping leg kick aimed at Renji's knees. Renji's eyes narrowed as he watched the shift in Langdon's posture.
This time, Renji wasn't going to use Chrono Weave to slow down time. Instead, he rewound. His body snapped back to an earlier position, just a few seconds before Langdon's kick would've landed. The instant he rewound, Renji's feet were planted firmly again, and he struck, a quick jab aimed at Langdon's unprotected side.
Langdon grunted, stepping back just in time to block the blow with the flat of his blade. He was quick, but Renji's instincts had given him the edge.
"You're learning," Langdon said, his grin widening as he recovered. He tightened his grip on the sword, now taking a more measured stance. "Let's see how well you handle this!"
Langdon's next move was brutal—he surged forward, delivering a rapid flurry of slashes, testing Renji's defense. Renji was fast, but he couldn't block everything. He ducked under the first blow, deflected the second with a twist of his wrist, and barely managed to sidestep the third.
Keep it controlled. Don't overexert yourself, Renji. His mind raced.
With Temporal Sync, Renji could sense Langdon's movement before it happened. The veteran's rhythm was steady, predictable in its aggression. Renji waited for the precise moment when Langdon overcommitted, exposing himself just slightly. That was when Renji saw it—a brief gap in Langdon's guard.
He shifted. Using Chrono Weave, he hastened his own movements just enough to bring his blade into position, targeting Langdon's exposed flank. His sword cut through the air with a clean strike, landing with a dull thud against Langdon's arm.
Langdon staggered back, a look of surprise crossing his face as he checked his arm. "You got me," he muttered, but there was a flicker of respect in his eyes.
Renji lowered his sword, exhaling slowly. His body felt heavy, the pull of temporal sickness starting to make his head swim. That was close. A few more of those, and I'd be done for. He flexed his fingers, trying to clear the dizziness creeping into his vision. I need to end this soon.
Langdon, ever the veteran, could see the signs of fatigue in Renji's movements. He took a step back, giving Renji a moment of respite. "You're good. But you're not invincible."
Renji's eyes narrowed. He was tired, but not out. He had one final play—Rewind.
He focused, marking a spot in space—a precise moment where he was still in control. In the next second, Renji rewound his position to that point, just as Langdon charged forward for one last, desperate strike.
Langdon's sword swung through empty space. He had overestimated his reach.
Renji was behind him in an instant, already aiming his wooden blade at Langdon's exposed back. The tip of his sword stopped just an inch from Langdon's spine, the pressure enough to indicate a clear win.
Langdon froze, feeling the unmistakable pressure of Renji's wooden blade pressed between his shoulder blades. The courtyard had fallen eerily silent—no clashing wood, no barking instructors. Just the quiet whistle of the wind and the heavy breathing of two worn fighters.
A beat passed. Then another.
Langdon slowly turned his head, glancing at Renji out of the corner of his eye. "...You got me."
Langdon straightened, rubbing his neck with a grunt. " Didn't even see it coming."
"Good," Renji replied flatly, voice low, strained. "That was the point."
The murmurs among the trainees faded into nothing when Captain Meld stepped forward. He clapped once—loud, sharp—and the sound echoed across the courtyard.
"Alright, listen up!" he barked, glancing around at the stunned onlookers before settling his gaze on Renji. "That right there—that—is how you fight when you don't have overwhelming strength on your side. You use your head. Your footing. Your damn timing."
He looked Renji over, eyes narrowing slightly as if reassessing the boy. "You're burning yourself to do it, though."
Renji didn't deny it. He wiped a sleeve across his brow. "I know. I'm counting every drop I use."
Meld nodded once, serious. "Good. Because if you don't respect your limits, they'll bury you."
There was a pause.
"…Still," Meld added, voice easing slightly. "I've seen rookies come in thinking they're gods because they've got flashy stats. You? You know what you're working with. You fight smart. Keep it up and I might just throw you into the advanced drills."
Renji gave a tired chuckle and tucked the wooden sword under one arm. "Please wait until I can feel my legs again before you do that."
Meld let out a short laugh. "Fair enough, kid."
As Renji turned to walk off the training circle, the trainees instinctively stepped aside, giving him space—not out of fear, but out of respect. Meld watched him go, then looked back to the others.
"Well? What're the rest of you standing around for? Move your asses! You're not gonna learn anything gawking!"
The yard roared back to life, but Renji was already gone, steps slow but steady, fading from the center of attention like a shadow slipping back into its rightful place.
The training field faded behind him like a worn-out memory—mud, sweat, and wood-splintered bruises left in his wake. Renji Aikawa walked the stone corridors of the palace with a slight limp in his left leg, a dull ache reminding him he'd pushed too far again. Still, he didn't slow down.
He had somewhere to be.
Or more accurately—someone.
He rounded the familiar bend, past stained-glass windows where golden light pooled against the polished marble, and climbed the stairs toward the study wing. Past two palace guards who had, by now, stopped bothering to question him. He knocked once—more out of habit than necessity—before slipping into the room.
Princess Liliana was already there, seated beside a table stacked with scrolls and a half-finished tea set. Her blonde hair was pinned up with soft curls falling down her shoulders, but a stray lock escaped her usual neatness. She looked up from her notes the moment he entered.
"You're late."
"You're early," he countered with a faint grin, tossing his training jacket onto the back of a chair. "Or maybe I just exist slightly out of sync with your time flow."
She rolled her eyes at that—he was always teasing. "And here I thought I'd finally get a conversation without another cryptic time joke."
"No promises." He slumped into the seat across from her, letting out a groan as his back hit the cushion. "Meld worked us like dogs today. I might actually throw up from mana backlash if I stand too fast."
She finally looked up at him then, amusement tugging at her lips. "I heard you used one of your abilities again. That delay-strike thing?"
"Eclipse Edge," he corrected, mouth still half full. "Just a tap of it. Not even the full burst. Though I'm starting to feel the usual side effects. Headache, minor nausea. You know. The works."
Liliana frowned. "You really should be careful. If you keep stretching your magic like this, you'll burn yourself out before anything serious even starts."
Renji leaned back, propping his boot up against the edge of the desk—a move that earned a sharp glance from her.
"Relax. I've been pacing myself."
"You literally rewound yourself out of a knockdown last week."
"Strategically." He smirked.
She shook her head, but the edge of a smile betrayed her. "I still don't understand why you always come here after training."
"Free advice," he said, gesturing at the battle map spread out between them. "And because this room's warmer than the barracks."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
"Mostly." He paused. "Also, you're easier to talk to than a bunch of loud knights and overeager classmates."
Liliana blinked, a little caught off guard by that. "I—well. I suppose I'll take that as a compliment."
The air between them settled into something warm and familiar. This wasn't their first meeting—not by a long shot. What started with a chance encounter in the royal banquet had turned into routine discussions, quiet debates, and the occasional moment where Liliana forgot she was royalty and Renji forgot he was a stranger in another world.
He poured himself a cup of tea, fingers steady despite the fatigue. "So, what's on the agenda today, Your Highness? Political intrigue? Magical theory? More speculation about the northern front?"
Liliana hesitated. Then, with a knowing smile, she leaned in. "Actually... I wanted your thoughts on mana warfare doctrines. Specifically, how someone with a unique class like yours would disrupt formations from a strategic standpoint."
Renji raised an eyebrow. "You're starting to sound like Captain Meld."
"Or maybe he's finally starting to sound like me."
He laughed—a real one this time. She always had a way of pulling him out of his weariness, grounding his overclocked mind in something sharper, more playful.
As they delved into tactics and theory, papers strewn between tea cups and military maps, the line between royalty and soldier, between summoned and sovereign, blurred just a little more.
"So." Renji sipped the lukewarm tea, then gave a dissatisfied glance at the cup. "What's the palace gossip today?"
Liliana didn't look up immediately. She flipped a page in her ledger, ink-stained fingers tapping thoughtfully. "Gossip is such an inelegant word. I prefer 'high-stakes information trade.'"
"Ah. So, noble backstabbing and royal dramatics with better vocabulary."
Now she did glance at him, a smirk forming. "You're impossible."
"And you're deflecting," Renji replied, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "C'mon. You didn't ask me here just to watch me drink subpar tea."
Liliana tilted her head, strands of golden hair falling past her cheek. "Word from the upper court is that the Church is starting to exert more pressure on royal decisions. Subtle, but growing. They've been attending more war councils than usual… and not just as observers."
Renji frowned slightly. "That's new."
She nodded. "It is. And troubling. Especially because Father hasn't pushed back. Not yet."
Renji's expression sharpened as he reached for a nearby map. "They want influence over deployment strategy?"
"That's the theory. One of the bishops suggested reinforcing the western fortresses—even though everyone knows the pressure's building in the north."
"So they're trying to move forces away from the real front," Renji muttered. "Either to sabotage the response time… or to protect something in the west."
Liliana nodded. "There are old temples out there. Sealed ones. Places even we don't have full records on."
Renji let out a quiet whistle. "And here I thought I was the paranoid one."
"I didn't say you were wrong," she murmured, eyes meeting his. "Just early."
That earned a brief smile from him—half amusement, half respect.
Liliana continued, her voice lower now. "And it's not just the Church. Some of the nobles have started pushing back against the summoning project. Quietly, of course. But there's tension. They're worried about what happens when this war ends."
"They're worried about us," Renji said plainly.
She didn't argue.
Renji sat back, gaze distant. "If I were them, I'd be asking how long a group of supercharged foreigners stick around before they start questioning the chain of command."
"And if I were you," she said, leaning forward, "I'd tell me what you think happens next."
Renji considered. The candlelight flickered against the edge of the map, shadows shifting across war lines like omens. "This isn't going to be a clean war. The demons will force us into drawn-out skirmishes. Attrition, not grand battles. They're not dumb—they'll spread us thin. And if the Church keeps trying to direct things for their own agenda…"
"…we'll be fighting on two fronts," Liliana finished.
"Worse," Renji said. "We'll be bleeding ourselves without even realizing it. They'll smile and nod while we lose men by inches."
A pause settled between them. Heavy. Thoughtful.
Then Renji spoke again, voice quieter.
"If I had to bet, the Church isn't just maneuvering politically. They're preparing something. A contingency plan. Maybe even a separate peace. If they think they can cut a deal with the demons or manipulate the post-war power structure, they will."
Liliana's eyes didn't leave him. "Do you have proof?"
"Not yet." He rubbed his temple. "But the pieces are there. Old sites reactivated. Troop movements that don't make sense. Orders being delayed, not denied. And too many silences from people who used to talk."
Liliana leaned back, folding her arms. "You're dangerous when you're this quiet."
He gave her a tired smirk. "Dangerous or annoying?"
"Sometimes both."
They shared a small laugh, the tension easing just a fraction. Liliana stood and crossed to the window, the sky outside painted with the faint gold of a setting sun.
"You know," she said, without turning, "I used to think politics was just… ceremonies and negotiations. Chess pieces."
"And now?"
She looked over her shoulder at him. "Now I realize it's trench warfare in prettier clothes."
Renji stood, limping slightly as he approached. "You've gotten sharper."
"I've had help." Her tone softened, almost too quietly. Then she turned back fully, folding her hands in front of her. "You're not from here, Renji. But you see things we can't. And for whatever it's worth… I'm glad you keep coming back."
He hesitated, then gave her a quiet nod. "So am I."
For a moment, they didn't say anything.
The war outside was far away.
For now, it was just the two of them—soldier and princess, conspirator and confidante, sharing stolen time before the world called them back.
Liliana turned from the window, her eyes thoughtful. "You've been watching the others, haven't you?"
Renji let out a low breath as he leaned beside the window frame. "Hard not to. They're flashy. Loud. Some of them mean well… but most don't realize how fast this world will chew them up."
Liliana returned to her seat. "Kouki Amanogawa," she said, picking up a quill and idly twirling it between her fingers. "You've mentioned him before."
"The so-called hero," Renji muttered with a crooked smile. "He's strong. That much is obvious. Physically, I don't think there's anyone among us who can go toe to toe with him. Swordsmanship, mana reinforcement, even his instincts are sharp in a fight."
"But?"
"He's too used to winning." Renji folded his arms. "He charges in because he can, not because he should. That kind of thinking gets people killed in real war."
Liliana nodded slowly. "And the others?"
He shrugged. "Aiko-sensei is… something else entirely. Her magic's agricultural, but its potential? Game-changing. She can accelerate crop growth, purify soil, increase food yields beyond what most towns can even dream of. If she's stationed in the right region, she could end famine before it starts. Sustain an entire frontline."
"That powerful?" Liliana asked, surprised.
Renji gave a short nod. "It's not flashy, but it's civilization-tier magic. You know how many wars are lost not in battlefields, but in supply lines."
Liliana tapped the map thoughtfully. "So she's a cornerstone, not a combatant."
"Exactly. Problem is, she doesn't see herself that way. Still thinks she has to protect everyone like a teacher would children. Admirable—but she needs to understand her place in the bigger picture."
Liliana looked up. "And what about you, Renji?"
He blinked. "What about me?"
She gave a faint smile. "Your magic. Time-based, isn't it?"
Renji exhaled and rubbed his neck. "Yeah. And trust me, it's not as glamorous as it sounds. I can do small rewinds, delay momentum, snapshot moments to reset into—stuff like that. But it burns through my mana fast. If I overdo it, I blackout. Or worse."
She tilted her head. "You've used it in front of Captain Meld. He mentioned your use of 'temporal anchors' during sparring."
Renji smiled wryly. "I use those as markers. Think of it like saving a file before a boss fight—except the 'file' is me five seconds ago and the boss is a maniac with a greatsword."
Liliana chuckled under her breath. "So you're telling me our kingdom's greatest time mage is essentially just quicksaving."
"You say that like it's not smart."
She gave him a look that was half amused, half fond. "It's clever. And dangerous. Which makes you interesting."
He shrugged. "I've always been better at damage control than damage output. But paired with the right group… I can undo mistakes before they become fatal."
"Support magic of the highest caliber," she mused. "Yet invisible. I wonder how many of your classmates even understand what you do."
Renji was quiet for a second. "Not many. They think I'm lucky when I avoid hits. Or fast. I'm neither. I'm just… careful."
"And strategic," Liliana added.
"Sometimes." He leaned forward, picking up a small knight piece from the board. "But strategy means nothing if you don't know what the enemy wants."
Liliana's smile faded slightly. "You've been thinking about the demons?"
"Every day." He set the piece back down. "If I were them, I wouldn't fight head-on. Not against kids with broken abilities and divine protection. I'd spread fear. Skirmishes, ambushes, misinformation. Break morale. Make us fight each other."
Liliana's brow creased. "Divide and conquer."
"And use the Church to do it," Renji added. "They've been whispering in ears already. Imagine if someone inside the capital gets turned. A noble. A bishop. One wrong order at the right time could cripple the whole campaign."
Silence fell between them for a moment.
Then Liliana sighed and folded her arms on the table. "You make it sound like we're already losing."
Renji gave her a tired glance. "I don't think we're losing. I think we're walking blind. There's a difference."
She looked at him then, long and steady. "Then I'm glad we have someone like you watching our blind spots."
He blinked. "That sounded almost like a compliment."
"Don't let it go to your head."
He chuckled. "I won't if you don't."
A quiet warmth returned to the space between them. It wasn't flirtation—not quite—but something familiar, built not on tension, but trust.
Liliana poured him another cup of tea, steam curling gently between them.
"You'll be at tomorrow's council?" she asked.
"If I'm invited."
"You will be. I'll make sure of it."
He tilted his head. "Since when do princesses pull strings for mysterious time mages?"
She smiled over her cup. "Since they stopped seeing them as just mysterious."
The tea had long gone lukewarm, the shadows in the study stretching with the setting sun. Renji glanced toward the window, watching as amber light spilled across the rooftops of the capital—peaceful for now, but every inch of that peace felt borrowed.
Liliana closed the scroll she'd been annotating. "Tomorrow's council will be different," she said quietly. "The reports from the border outposts are growing more frequent. And vague."
"Which usually means bad news," Renji replied, his voice low. "Either someone's hiding something, or no one knows what they're dealing with."
She nodded. "Some of the high-ranking nobles will be there. The bishop representing the Church, too. And Lord Iskandar."
Renji raised an eyebrow. "The one who thinks all summoned should be treated like magical warhorses?"
"The very same," Liliana muttered with the weariness of someone who'd sat through too many of his speeches.
He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Then I should probably say something."
"You will," she said. "I've already submitted your name. As an advisor."
Renji blinked. "You what?"
Liliana met his gaze without flinching. "You've seen the battlefield from angles most of our generals haven't. You understand the stakes. And more importantly, you listen."
Renji stared at her for a long second, the weight of her words settling in like armor fitted to the chest.
"…You really are full of surprises."
Her expression softened, and she stood, stepping beside him. For a moment, the study fell quiet again. No titles. No formality. Just two people standing side by side.
"You'll need to speak carefully," she said gently. "The court listens only when it chooses to."
"I'll be careful," he replied. "But I won't be quiet."
She gave a slow smile. "Good."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "You'll sit beside me."
Renji looked at her, surprised.
She looked back, unfazed. "You'll need someone to translate the formalities anyway. And someone to give you tea when you inevitably start pacing mid-argument."
He laughed under his breath. "Deal."
A knock echoed from outside the study. One of the palace stewards.
"Your Highness," the voice came, muffled through the door. "Preparations are complete. His Majesty wishes to review tomorrow's seating."
Liliana gave a short sigh. "Back to politics."
Renji moved toward the door with her, grabbing his jacket. "You'll handle it. You always do."
As she reached the threshold, she looked back. "You'll be there early?"
He smiled. "You're early to everything."
She tilted her head. "And you always arrive just in time."
Then she was gone—her footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving Renji alone in the study once more.
He turned back for a second, eyes lingering on the war table, the maps, the tea they'd left behind. Then he slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Tomorrow, the war would shift—if not in the field, then in the minds of those meant to lead it.
And Renji Aikawa intended to make sure they were ready.
The Council of War convened at the break of dawn, summoned by royal decree. Inside the Hall of Accord within the capital's inner palace, the air was thick with formality. Intricate banners of the Kingdom of Heiligh lined the marble walls, and at the center stood an obsidian table shaped like a crescent moon—designed to symbolize unity, though few present truly trusted one another.
High-ranking nobles, generals, archbishops, and summoned advisors filled the seats. Among them was Captain Meld Logan, commander of the kingdom's knight order—stoic, iron-clad, and quietly alert even amid the tides of political maneuvering.
They stood as the grand doors opened and His Majesty, King Eliades Heiligh III, entered with a deliberate, regal pace. He was flanked by his daughter, Her Royal Highness, Princess Liliana S. B. Heiligh, and Lord Ishtar of the Holy Church of Ehit, the pontifical voice of the divine in mortal matters.
The king raised a hand and took his seat at the center, the others following suit with bows and murmurs of respect.
"Let us commence," the King began, voice somber yet composed. "The threat upon our borders grows bolder. Reports speak of the demons shifting their methods. They do not strike in open fields as before. Instead, they move unseen—disrupting, dismantling."
Princess Liliana, seated to his right, folded her hands before speaking. "Our scouts report the use of indirect assaults. Sabotaged routes. Manipulated townsfolk. The enemy no longer fights merely with brute strength, but with strategy."
The murmuring grew tense. Some exchanged knowing glances. Others glanced toward the figure seated quietly near the end of the table—the one not of noble birth nor divine office.
Renji Aikawa, summoned from another world, rose at the King's subtle nod. Though young and foreign, he carried himself with composed confidence.
"My lords, Your Majesty, Your Highness, Lord Ishtar," Renji began, offering respectful bows in sequence, "if I may speak candidly."
The King inclined his head. "You may."
Renji stepped forward, addressing the room.
"Were I in the position of the Demon King," he began, tone measured, "I would not engage our forces in open battle. Not while this kingdom commands the strength of the summoned. Not while Ehit's divine blessing lends you divine favor. Any general worth his salt would recognize such a fight as suicide."
A murmur rippled across the table.
Lord Ishtar leaned forward, fingers steepled. "An interesting observation, Mister Aikawa. But are you suggesting our divine protection has rendered the demons cowardly? Or is it perhaps fear that drives them to subversion?"
Renji met the clergyman's gaze evenly. "Not fear, Lord Ishtar. Intelligence. The demons cannot match us in strength, so they will instead attack our weaknesses—our stability, our food, our people's morale. Their aim is to make us unravel from within before they ever unsheathe their blades."
General Damore, an old warhound of the southern campaign, grunted. "Treason and cowardice, then. Let them come. Let them try to poison our fields. The army will stamp them out."
Renji inclined his head. "With respect, General, that is exactly what they want us to think. That our strength alone is our answer to every threat."
He turned to the map etched on the table. "Take the town of Ur, for instance—fertile, lightly garrisoned, and key to the kingdom's grain stores. A direct assault would cost them dearly. But sabotage? A few operatives slipping in, corrupting the wells, burning silos, spreading plague? Such a blow would cripple the kingdom's breadbasket and force you to stretch your forces thin just to contain the chaos."
Princess Liliana's gaze sharpened. "The kingdom's food supply would collapse within weeks. Trade would falter. Panic would spread."
Renji nodded. "Exactly, Your Highness. And in that chaos, the demons could strike where we are weakest, not where we are strongest."
Captain Meld Logan shifted forward slightly, his voice low but carrying weight. "You speak of infiltration, but how do you counter what you cannot see? The knights are trained for war, not shadow-hunts."
Renji looked to him respectfully. "That's why I'm suggesting we train units specifically for prevention. Not just to respond to attacks, but to read the signs before they come. Spread out—not scattered, but surgical. Let summoned operatives coordinate with knight detachments under experienced commanders like yourself, Captain. People need to see both strength and awareness."
Meld considered that, then gave a brief nod. "It has merit. But half-measures will get people killed. If we do this, it must be done right."
Lord Ishtar's eyes narrowed. "And who ensures these 'operative cells' remain loyal to Ehit and crown? The summoned, for all their gifts, are not of our world."
Renji paused, then spoke with careful precision. "I propose we shift from a reactive stance to a preventative one. Allow the summoned to act as strategic operatives, not merely shock troops. We divide our attention intelligently—maintaining military presence at the front while assigning specialists to key sectors—agricultural towns, water sources, trade hubs. We gather intelligence, prepare contingency plans, and bolster internal cohesion."
A few nobles looked intrigued. Others, skeptical.
"And who," a marquis asked, "would coordinate such... dispersed operations? Surely not mere adventurers. This is a matter of statecraft."
Renji replied coolly, "Then let it be done by those with both the strength to repel subterfuge and the clarity to predict it. The summoned were brought here not merely for muscle, but for perspective. Let us fulfill both roles."
Liliana glanced at her father, then added with gentle resolve, "It is not an insult to honor if one chooses prudence over vanity. What Advisor Aikawa suggests is not retreat, but adaptation."
The King sat silent for a time, his fingers tapping once against the table.
"Lord Ishtar," he said quietly, "your thoughts?"
Ishtar tilted his head. "If we are to involve the summoned in matters of internal security, then the Church will require oversight. A holy watcher in every contingent, to ensure no foreign corruption or heresy takes root."
A calculated move.
Renji's eyes flickered. "Of course," he said calmly. "So long as that oversight does not become obstruction."
The King raised his hand, forestalling rebuttals.
"This matter shall be deliberated further," he said. "But for now, the suggestion stands. Advisor Aikawa will submit a draft of his operational framework within the next two days. Princess Liliana, you shall oversee its review with the Ministry of Defense. Captain Meld, you will coordinate with the knight order and select operatives for initial training."
Meld nodded. "Understood, Your Majesty."
Renji bowed. "By your will, Your Majesty."
As the council adjourned and the nobles filtered out—some whispering, some brooding—Renji remained by Liliana's side. The princess turned to him, voice low.
"You've made enemies, Renji," she said. "But also, perhaps... allies."
He exhaled. "If the demons don't kill us, the court politics just might."
Meld passed by on his way out, offering Renji a brief but respectful glance. "Not bad, Aikawa. Let's see if you can back those words up."
Renji gave a nod in return. "Count on it."
The Council of War dispersed by late afternoon, leaving the Hall of Accord eerily quiet. The once-raucous chamber of nobles and generals was now a hollow echo of tense debates and veiled threats. Renji followed Liliana down the corridor, the distant clink of armor and murmurs of servants trailing behind them.
Sunlight poured in through the palace windows in slanted beams, painting the polished floors gold. The weight of everything that had been said—and unsaid—pressed down on him harder than any battlefield armor.
"Damn," Renji muttered, rolling his shoulder. "Talking like that for hours really grinds the soul. I thought wars were won with swords, not stiff backs and tight collars."
Liliana let out a soft laugh beside him, the kind only heard when she was far from prying ears and judgmental courtiers. "You're lucky you only had to speak once. I've been trained to keep my back straight and my tone precise since I could walk."
"Then I feel sorry for you," he replied, rolling his shoulders. "If I had to sit through that kind of talk every day, I'd start plotting a coup just to outlaw titles."
Renji rubbed his temple. "It's a miracle I didn't tell that marquis to shove it."
"You almost did," she said, amused. "And yet, somehow, you made them listen. Even Ishtar couldn't twist your words."
He gave her a sidelong glance. "That's only 'cause someone decided to throw me into that mess."
Liliana gave a nonchalant shrug. "You already knew I pulled the strings. I just gave you a chance. You're the one who made them sit up."
Renji slowed his steps, looking ahead at the long stretch of hallway. "It didn't feel like I changed anything."
"You did more than you know," she said, quieter now. "You gave them a reason to think. That's more than most ever manage in that room."
They reached the doors to their rooms. The palace was quieter now, the golden afternoon light fading into a soft amber hush. Renji leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes distant.
Liliana watched him for a moment, then spoke, gentler this time. "You said things no one else dared to. And you did it not to sound brave, but because it needed to be said."
She stepped closer, folding her arms. "And that's precisely why your voice mattered. You're not shackled to old politics or dogma. You see things we've grown blind to. That's why I recommended you be present in the first place."
He exhaled through his nose, still looking away. "What if none of it matters? What if they ignore everything, and the kingdom falls anyway?"
She didn't answer right away. Then, she stepped a little closer.
"It mattered to me."
Renji looked at her. She didn't flinch from the eye contact.
"You reminded everyone what this war really costs. It's not about glory or pride. It's about people. And food. And safety. And how easy it is to lose all of it."
A pause stretched between them, calm and heavy.
"Thanks for trusting me," he said, voice low.
"I didn't trust you," she replied, with a soft smile. "I believed in you. There's a difference."
Renji chuckled under his breath. "You're good at this."
"I had to be. This kingdom isn't kind to people who speak plainly."
She turned to her door, hand on the handle, then looked back.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow, they'll expect miracles from you."
Renji offered a tired smile. "They'll be disappointed."
"Maybe. But they'll listen now."
She gave him one last look—part gratitude, part something unspoken—then stepped inside.
Renji stood there alone for a moment longer. The quiet settled in like dust. Outside the window, the last light of day kissed the rooftops of the city beyond.
He didn't know what would come next. He didn't know how many would truly listen, or how many secrets would fester and plot in the shadows, behind gilded smiles and hollow promises.
But one thing was undeniable.
His words that day didn't just shift the council's thinking—they shattered their complacency and ignited something far greater.
In the days, weeks, and months that followed, as dark plots were unraveled before they could take root, as innocent lives were spared from the fires of war, Renji's vision began to unfold in ways he had never anticipated.
Raids that would have crippled their defenses were stopped in their tracks. Villages that would have been swallowed by chaos and famine stood firm, their people safe, their morale unbroken. The kingdom had, for once, been prepared—because of his foresight.
And when the story of the war was finally told, when the banners were lowered and the dust of battle had settled, it would be said that the true turning point had come not in the clash of steel, but in the quiet courage of a single, foreign voice in the Hall of Accord.
It was in that moment, in the silence after his words had echoed through the chamber, that the future had been shaped. That the kingdom had been saved—not by swords or divine favor, but by a choice, a plan, and the unyielding conviction that even the smallest spark could ignite a fire that would change everything.
And Renji would never know the full weight of what he had set in motion—but he would always carry the quiet, unspoken gratitude of those whose lives had been spared.
Because of him.