"This is the girl's likeness."
Ayanokoji handed the sketch to Emilia. Her eyes widened as she took the paper. The artistry was far beyond anything she expected; in a matter of minutes, he had produced a portrait so lifelike it rivaled the work of a master royal painter.
The drawing was dense with detail—the specific tear in the girl's scarf, the unique stitching on her vest, the sharp curve of her canine tooth. It was an anatomical deconstruction of a human being.
"Ayanokoji... have you met this girl before?" Emilia asked, bewildered by the level of precision. "How could you remember all this?"
"I saw her for a few seconds about fifteen minutes ago," he replied tonelessly. "I simply have a good memory. It's nothing special."
To Ayanokoji, recording a face was as mechanical as a camera shutter. He had already mapped the city's layout in his mind like a GPS; why would a face be any different? He didn't wait for her to process the shock. "I suggest we head to the site of the theft immediately. If she's a professional, she'll try to move the goods quickly. Once the insignia is fenced, retrieving it will be nearly impossible."
"Right!" Emilia nodded fervently. With the portrait in hand, they bypassed the aimless wandering and headed straight for the market's information brokers.
In the classroom, the "Genius" label was starting to stick to Ayanokoji like a shadow. The students watched as his on-screen self navigated the fantasy city with the cold efficiency of a machine.
"He remembered all that in seconds?" Ike whispered. "I can't even remember what we had for lunch yesterday."
Horikita remained silent, but her internal assessment of Ayanokoji was undergoing a radical, painful restructuring.
By dusk, they had the target. The girl was Felt, a notorious thief from the slums who lived with a Giant-kin known as Old Man Rom.
'Two targets,' Ayanokoji noted. He turned to Emilia. "Can you handle them?"
"If it's just a Giant and a petty thief, they're no match for me!" Emilia declared, though her face softened as she looked at him. "Thank you, Ayanokoji. Without you, Puck and I would still be running around like headless chickens. Let's go!"
The sun was bleeding into the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows over the slums. The air here was stagnant, smelling of rot and desperation. The people they passed were hollow-eyed and skeletal—a stark contrast to the vibrant main square. Emilia's face clouded with pity; Ayanokoji's expression remained a flat line.
"Lia, we need to hurry. It's almost time," Puck yawned, stretching on her shoulder.
"Time?" Ayanokoji prodded.
"Manifesting takes energy," Puck explained. "I'm usually out from 9 AM to 5 PM. I can push it a bit longer, but I'll have to return to the crystal soon to recharge. You two better wrap this up."
Ayanokoji filed the information away: 'The spirit has a limited operational window.' A critical tactical vulnerability.
As they walked deeper into the labyrinthine alleys, Ayanokoji questioned her about the world. He learned of the Dragon's Protection and the empty throne left by the late Emperor. The kingdom was in a state of suspended animation, waiting for the Royal Selection.
"You're a noble, then?" Ayanokoji asked. Her clothes suggested status, yet the public's hatred and her lack of a retinue created a paradox. He caught a micro-flicker in her expression when he mentioned the Selection.
"Not exactly a noble..." she bit her lip. "But my status is... complicated."
"Complicated enough to avoid the guards?" Ayanokoji pressed. "You could have asked for official help. Why didn't you?"
Emilia went quiet for several seconds. "I'm not trying to hide things from you... but I am one of the Royal Candidates. I didn't want to drag an ordinary citizen like you into this. That insignia is my proof of candidacy. If the public found out it was stolen, it would cause a political scandal. I can't afford to let anyone else know."
Ayanokoji's brow twitched—the closest thing to a surprised expression he possessed. Her value had just skyrocketed. 'A candidate for the throne. That means she has political leverage.'
"If you're a candidate, you must have a benefactor," he said. In his mind, he equated it to a political campaign. Every candidate had a machine behind them.
"Yes. Margrave Roswaal L. Mathers is my supporter."
'Roswaal...' Ayanokoji memorized the name. But a question remained: Why was a Royal Candidate wandering the slums alone without a single guard? Was this Roswaal incompetent, or was he testing her?
'Regardless, Emilia is an ideal asset. As a candidate, she holds future authority. If I can secure her absolute trust, my survival and comfort in Lugunica are guaranteed. And this Roswaal... he might be another tool I can use.'
"Ayanokoji Kiyotaka... you are a dangerous man," Roswaal murmured, staring at the sky.
His teacup was empty. The Margrave's fox-like eyes narrowed. If not for the broadcast's narration, he wouldn't have sensed the boy's predatory nature. From the moment they met, Ayanokoji hadn't seen a girl in distress; he had seen a high-yield investment.
"How will you play the rest of the hand?" Roswaal smiled.
They reached a dilapidated wooden storehouse. Before Ayanokoji could suggest a tactical approach, Emilia blew the door off its hinges with a blast of frost.
"A knock might have been more diplomatic," Ayanokoji said dryly. Her directness had eliminated any chance of a peaceful negotiation. But he was used to things not going smoothly.
"Who's there?!" A massive silhouette emerged from the debris. Old Man Rom, wielding a spiked club the size of a tree trunk.
'Over two meters tall. The Giant-kin,' Ayanokoji observed. Compared to Rom, Ayanokoji looked fragile, yet his heart rate didn't budge. He scanned the weapon: 'Homemade mace. Improvised but lethal. Giant-kin strength compensates for the lack of balance.'
"You're with Felt, aren't you!" Emilia demanded. "That insignia is vital to me! Return it, and I'll let this go!"
"Stolen goods are bought back with coin, girl! You think you can break down my door and threaten me?!" Rom roared. He swung the massive club in a horizontal arc at the nearest target: Ayanokoji.
'I wasn't the one who broke the door,' Ayanokoji thought. He stepped back exactly one pace. The spiked club whistled past his chest, the wind pressure ruffling his hair. It slammed into the floor, cratering the wood. Rom's eyes widened; he hadn't expected the plain-looking boy to dodge a strike with such minimal effort.
"Ayanokoji!" Emilia cried out, her hands glowing with mana. Seeing him unharmed, she let out a breath of relief. She realized then that he wasn't just smart—his reflexes were elite.
She didn't hesitate. A magic circle flared behind her, manifesting a hail of ice spears. Her eyes were fierce. She wouldn't let an innocent bystander pay for her mission. "This is your last warning!"
"I'd listen to her," Puck added, floating lazily in the air. "Dying over a little scrap of metal isn't worth it."
Rom looked at the ice, then at the spirit. He was a survivor; he knew when he was outmatched. He lowered the club. He wasn't about to die for a commission.
Then, the sound of light footsteps came from behind them. A small, familiar figure skidded into the room.
"What's going on—?!" Felt stopped dead. She looked at the smashed door, then at Emilia. Recognition hit her like a physical blow. The target had found the nest.