Chapter 17 - Royal Parade

Leader: “It’d be nice to have Omine around for the big parade.”

“Are you kidding? Omine wouldn’t have a chance to watch -- she’d be scouted to be a lead singer before we could blink. Besides, no amount of parades holds a candle to the nighttime parties.”

“Truer words have never been said. Let’s throw one when we hear the news on her Nation Elite exam.”

The foyer is chirpy, and the visitors are loud with anticipation as they stir in greeting and move to settle into their seats. This is the Orchestra Hall on Central Street, adorned with chandeliers, arches, and cascading velvet curtains. Leader and I weave through the gathered crowds, pausing occasionally to admire the sheer opulence of it all. A magnificent royal family portrait, like many of the massive ones that line the streets outside, is in here too, one of King Clovis in his Golden Age.

Near the gilded staircase leading to the performer’s entrance, we spot Conrad, slumped on a bench. His ornate performance attire -- a crisp jacket with violet cufflinks -- seems at odds with his hunched posture and pale face. “I can’t do this.” His lute rests beside him, gleaming under the hall’s bright lights. “The crowd’s too big. The stage is too open. Why do I have to go through this every year?”

Leader crouches in front of him, his manner calm and steady. “Conrad, this is your moment. You’ve practiced for weeks. Nobody plays the lute like you do.”

“Yeah! Who cares about the crowd? They’re lucky to hear you play. Get out there and own it, Conrad!”

He glances between us, his face a mix of gratitude and terror. He starts to rise, but halfway up, his knees wobble, and he collapses onto the bench. “Nope. Can’t do it. I’ll faint. Or worse, puke right in front of everyone. I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Before we can offer more encouragement, Rovena strides up. She’s dressed in a tailored performance gown shimmering with silver-threaded patterns, her platinum flute tucked elegantly under one arm. “Conrad. Get up. We’re due on stage in ten minutes.”

“No! Rovena, please! I can’t do this!”

Rovena barely spares us a glance as she starts with Conrad toward the auditorium, pulling him like a balloon behind her. “He’ll be fine. See you after the performance.”

“I won’t be fine! This is the opposite of fine! Help me!”

“Conrad, you’re an Omine! You’ve got this! Show them what real class looks like!”

Leader offers a subdued but equally supportive nod. “You’ll be great. Trust in yourself.”

Conrad’s wide, panicked eyes soften slightly at our words. “You guys… You’re the best. I’ll--”

Short-lived, Conrad lurches, clutching his stomach as his face turns a sickly shade of green. He retches violently, narrowly missing the tomboyish noble lady who has asked him out multiple times over.

“Conrad! You’re disgusting!” Rovena whirls, her fury radiating. “Do you know how much this dress costs?!”

Leader hides his laughter behind his hand, but I can’t help bursting into a fit, drawing curious stares from the crowd. “Classic Family chaos. You can’t make this stuff up!”

As Rovena hauls Conrad away, her unique encouragement echoing through the fancy hall, Leader watches them with a quiet smile. “They’ll be fine. No matter what happens, our Family always makes it work.”

“He emptied himself already. He’ll steal the show.”

Somewhere backstage, Conrad is probably still panicking, but deep down, we both know he’ll find his rhythm when it counts. He always does.

We won’t hear the first notes though. Leader and I stick out like sore thumbs in this mass of nobility.

Yet, rescue appears.

As we exit, we practically stumble into Leader’s parents -- two people who seem incapable of existing without a level of lively chaos.

Leader’s mother claps her hands together the moment she sees us. “There you are! I told your father we’d run into you eventually. My instincts are never wrong.”

“Gahaha! Poor kid, still getting chased by your mother’s sixth sense.” He elbows Leader in the ribs. “You know, she once predicted I’d lose my hair by thirty? I didn’t believe her. Look at me now.”

Leader groans. “Gods, please don’t start.”

His mother waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, hush, I didn’t say when we’d run into you. Anyway, the servant life is tough, but we get a short break because our masters are busy showing off in the parade.”

His father grins. “And yet they still expect us to stand around and cheer for them. Some break, huh?”

Before we can even react, two tickets are thrust into our hands.

“Here,” his mother says, with all the authority of a woman who refuses to take ‘no’ for an answer. “We managed to grab a couple extra. You two should enjoy yourselves.”

Leader looks inquisitive. “Extra? How’d you manage this?”

“You two are seriously my favorite people.”

His mother beams. “Of course we are, dear. Now let’s enjoy the symphony. And for the love of all that’s holy, Leader, at least try to have fun. You’re making your father look bad.”

“You mean worse.”

His father slaps him on the back. “That’s the spirit, son!”

After we settle in to cheer for Conrad and Rovena’s performance, Leader decides to tag along with his thoughtful parents while I head outside to snag a prime viewing spot for the public parade.

…

Through the crowds of Central Street, Hermes of Freedom, a Deity, paces a few steps ahead of Luka, who carries his Armament. To anyone, it appears as if a deadbeat father is taking his grown son for a stroll. Luka swigs festive liquor as he derides the smaller frame in front. “Have you purchased a map of Rosebell?”

“Not yet.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Cussing doesn’t make you more right, you alcoholic. Do you really think I’d lose my path, here, on a straight street?? Who do you think I am? I’m free as a bird! I’m Hermes of Freedom~.”

“Exactly. You’re nothing but my tool with wings, flying off with a goddamn mind of its own.”

Hermes is about to retaliate, but as Luka takes another swig of his liquor and passes through a crowd, Hermes manages to get lost again.

The two of them never quite get along. As it so happens, Luka slew the original person Hermes had sworn himself to. He sees their relationship as nothing but transactional.

“Good, I’m solo again.”

Finley spots Luka amongst the throngs lined up on the streetside and approaches him, only to get quickly scorned. “Another one? I didn’t come out here for the chats, Figura. I’m here for the drinks.”

“So rude. Even though I changed into a female form and we look like a couple.”

“When was the last time I socked you?”

“Kyahaha~, none. Woah! Calm down, Luka! Are you drunk?”

“Don’t fucking follow me.” Luka breaks away from the crowd.

He’s already killed over two dozen people behind the scenes, a mix of Conquerors and aristocratic soldiers accountable for the defiling of Burrya. He is probably heading off to find another target, another life that Figura will have to heavily pressure and convince Luka to hold off on taking.

Figura remains stunned and slightly amused by Luka’s easy annoyance. “What a grouchy idiot. He’s going to miss the parade.”

…

Leviathan and I push through the bustling streets, carving a path through the crowd like a pair of champions on a mission. Music thunders in the air, flags whip against the wind, and cheers rise like the roar of an audience at a climactic showdown.

When we finally spot Finley along the packed sidelines, she greets us with her usual sharp, playful smile, and the three of us settle into place to enjoy the parade together.

Rovena and Conrad reappear harmoniously, and behind them at intervals, the mass of marching soldiers and rolling weaponry feels like the whole of Maltrex’s army is storming the capital streets.

Soon behind, First Lieutenant Eliza spots and waves at me from her Nation Elite caravan.

At the pinnacle of the show, the royal family comes into view, drawing waves of cheers and applause. King Clovis, Queen Minerva, and Princess Glace waving gracefully, their poised smiles radiating an air of regal perfection. Swelling like a tide, the crowd erupts with wholesome praises. The large Commander Perrick, a commendable warrior and aristocrat second in command of all of Maltrex after the royal family, stands as bodyguard atop this caravan, opposite to Nation Elite Captain Brutus, both scanning the crowds.

Amidst the noise and spectacle, Finley cuts through, her tone thoughtful as she fixes on the cart. “I wonder… What does it mean to be royalty?”

I fold my arms, watching the procession roll past. The answer should be simple, but the question tugs at me. “…Don’t know. But I read once that a true king can grab a mirage if he wants to.”

“Really? Ohhh…” Finley’s lips twitch upward, amusement dancing in her gaze. “You must be talking about Mirage Castle.”

I whip toward her, stunned. “No way! You know that story? I didn’t think anyone outside the Village cared about it!”

She chuckles, a soft, rolling sound. “Of course I do. Back in Burrya, my sister and I used to read that folk tale all the time. Kyahaha~, it’s nostalgic hearing you bring it up.”

That laugh -- it’s different from usual. Lighter. Less burdened. For once, she isn’t the sharp-witted Finley, always two steps ahead of the conversation. She’s only… someone remembering something good.

I let her enjoy the memory.

And as the parade moves on, as the golden banners snap in the wind, as the drums shake the streets, a stray thought catches me.

“One day, I’ll surpass our king.”

Beside me, Leviathan shifts. The crowd presses in, forcing her closer, her thigh against mine.

There’s something about the way she looks at me, soft and uncertain, that makes my pulse thrum harder. “Brawler…”

“What’s up?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, she lingers, green eyes flicking toward me, then away. Her hand hovers near my sleeve, fingers poised like she’s considering something.

“What’s wrong? Too captivated by my brilliance to speak?”

Her gaze snaps back to mine, sharper now. “Please. If I were captivated, you’d already know it.”

The words are easy, confident. I smirk, shifting enough so that our arms brush, testing her. “You hesitating for a reason, princess? If you wanna hold on, do it. This crowd’s not getting any smaller.”

She arches a brow, lips curving into something smug. “How generous of you.”

But after a beat -- after the barest flicker of something unreadable in her gaze -- her fingers curl around my arm.

Not hesitant.

Not soft.

Deliberate.

She knows what she’s doing.

And fuck, does she know what it does to me.

“What?” I say, keeping my voice steady.

She hums. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how funny it is that you’ve gone completely still.”

I haven’t.

I won’t.

I grin, teeth and sharp edges, pressing forward. “You sure you wanna play this game with me?”

She pushes back ever so slightly.

“I don’t play games I can’t win.”

My pulse kicks, slamming into double-time like I’m already three steps into a fight with no plan.

I’m unwilling to let her see that she’s actually getting to me. “Careful. I might get ideas.”

She chuckles, tilting her head. “Might? A king of ours should be pure. Only the right amount of impure.”

The parade marches on, firelight catching in her eyes, the roar of the city swelling around us.

For a moment, everything -- the crowd, the chaos, the goddamn kingdom -- shrinks down to just this.

Her presence, so close.

The way neither of us backs down.

Up close, those eyes -- long-lashed, deep -- could stop the army in its tracks. And her smile… It’s not smug, not a taunt. It’s soft. Sweet. Completely disarming.

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

The words shouldn’t hit like they do.

I should throw them right back at her, make a joke, keep this power struggle balanced where it belongs.

But for a second -- a single, fleeting second -- she isn’t teasing.

She means it.

I rip my gaze away, fixing it back on the parade so I can physically wrestle my thoughts into place.

“Don’t get all clingy now, Levee. I’ve still got plans to conquer the world, you know.”

Leviathan giggles softly. “And here I thought you already had.”

Maybe I’m imagining things, but it feels like the entire world’s come together for this one moment.

This parade. This crowd.

This ridiculous, insufferable, perfect noblelady and her best friend beside me.

And dang if it isn’t the best feeling in the world.

…

By the time the processions end and Brawler agrees to meet up later, Finley and Leviathan walk down the street together.

“That cutie who sells us the newspapers. The two of you almost looked like a couple. You took a real liking to Brawler, didn’t you?”

“It looks like I did.” Leviathan isn’t ashamed to admit her feelings, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks -- just enough to outmatch the warmth that had been rising in Brawler’s own as she remembers Figura had been right there with them. “I think. I’ve liked him for some time now…”

“Encore! If he hurts you, he’s dead. But I’m happy for you. Encore, encore!”

“Shut up. And don’t kill him.”

“I’m joking.”

A little girl holding her older brother’s hand passes by Leviathan and Figura, in the opposing direction of the street. The girl skips emphatically, hurrying her big brother along. “That parade was so much fun! I can’t wait till next year!”

“Hey, don’t go so fast, hahaha~.”

Figura’s eyes hone in slight distress. Leviathan’s tenor is uneasy. “Figura…”

But they wave off whatever emotion they might’ve felt and continue without missing a single step. “Don’t worry. Let’s keep going.”

Leviathan tugs on Figura’s wrist and smiles at them, more than gratified. Enough to make them smile too. “Thank you, Leviathan. I’m glad you’re not Mia.”