"Lower your heads. All of you."
Nemesio appeared beside the old man in an instant, his presence abrupt and unmissable. The calm that usually marked his tone was gone, replaced by something firm, commanding.
"You stand in the presence of a Prime Minister."
They exchanged brief glances before the weight of his words settled. Understanding followed quickly, and they bowed in unison.
A loud, booming laugh broke through the moment, echoing across the open space. The old man seemed thoroughly amused, his expression free of offense. No one could fault them for their ignorance.
"Don't be too hard on them… Iron Head."
"Oi… you damn old man… stop calling me that. I've outgrown it."
The words slipped out under Nemesio's breath, his head twitching slightly toward him. His movements turned restless, restrained, as though trying to keep the exchange from drawing attention.
"Not to me. You're still my little Aurelius."
The old man's voice rose without restraint, his laughter carrying even further, heedless of Nemesio's subtle attempts to quiet him.
A few of the bowed heads lifted just enough to steal a glance, surprise flickering across their faces. The old man was far from a trivial figure.
Nemesio's hands lifted briefly, curling in frustration before dropping again. At this point, he was certain the old man was doing it on purpose.
The female assistant stepped forward with the documents held neatly in hand. Her composure was steady, unshaken, and her presence carried a quiet authority of its own. Her long black hair was tied back in a firm ponytail, accentuating a professionalism that did not invite interruption.
"Your match result has already been recorded and submitted by High Chief Commander Rudolph."
The statement landed like a sudden blow.
Shock rippled across their faces — most notably Jurgen and Viktor. Viktor snapped his head up at once, confusion sharpening his expression. Already recorded? Already submitted? He could not reconcile her words with what he remembered. During the match, he had seen no sign of Kimura handling anything of the sort. And yet, somehow, it had been finalized without their awareness.
Jurgen's reaction was no less visible. The disbelief lingered plainly in his features, unmasked and unfiltered.
"What the hell is wrong with these people?"
The words came low, edged with frustration. Too much of this made no sense. His gaze lingered on the assistant, then shifted to the old man, and finally to Nemesio, who stood with unsettling calm.
After a moment, his attention drifted past them all — to the entrance of the hall behind. Whatever lay inside had begun to draw his curiosity more than their explanations ever could.
The assistant cleared her throat softly before beginning. One by one, she called their names, distributing the corresponding documents with practiced efficiency.
The moment Viktor received his, he turned without hesitation, already making for the exit, disregarding everyone else as though they no longer existed in his immediate concern.
"Young man, why not remain until the first break of dawn?" Nemesio's tone carried a rare invitation, almost courteous in its restraint.
Viktor offered no response. He had no intention of lingering in a place such as this any longer than necessary. Judging by the silence that followed, the sentiment was not entirely his alone.
"What a bastard."
Moshi clicked his tongue in open disdain.
And yet, for all their differing reactions, the reality remained unchanged—this was where their futures were decided, distilled into a single sheet of paper, irrespective of what any of them might have preferred.
Still, Jurgen could not understand why he remained here at all. He had no expectation of receiving anything, nor any clear reason to be part of this exchange in the first place.