Outside the Central Hospital of the Grand Knight Territory, Centaurea—holder of the Platinum rank in the Armorless Union—felt even more exhausted than your average wage slave in Kazimierz.
At least those corporate drones could drag their tired bodies ho at night to get so rest.
But her? She was stuck here, in this hospital reeking of disinfectant, just to keep watch over that damn Whislash Knight from the Nearl family who was lying comfortably in a deluxe hospital bed.
And who knew how much longer this miserable routine would drag on?
With the lifeless eyes of a dried-up fish, Centaurea arranged the patrol routes and recon assignnts for her subordinates. Then she plopped down onto one of the seats at the hospital's front desk, looking for all the world like an overworked receptionist.
The task had ultimately been dumped on her shoulders.
Why? Because every higher-up in this organization had a talent for ducking responsibility.
They loved barking orders but couldn't be bothered to lift a finger themselves.
The only one among the Lazurites who actually showed so motivation and initiative had apparently hit a run of catastrophic luck.
The girl went out on a simple mission, ran into trouble, and now she was lying in a hospital bed too—rumor had it a few of her ribs had been broken.
So now, even this trivial task of watching the Whislash Knight had ended up on her desk.
"Why don't they just create a Diamond rank already?" she muttered darkly. "Give a proper subordinate or sothing. Don't tell all three squads literally have no one left, so they're piling everything on ?"
Her grumbling wasn't sothing she worried about others overhearing.
Centaurea had a reputation for voicing complaints; as long as she didn't screw up the mission, the higher-ups usually let her say whatever she wanted.
But what truly frustrated her… was how utterly pointless all of this felt.
The entire setup by the Armorless Union—patrols, surveillance, coordination—was all just to locate that weirdly armored knight who appeared during the day.
But the thing was, Centaurea already knew who that guy really was.
In fact, if she wanted to, she could probably just call him up for a casual dinner. It really wasn't that hard.
But she couldn't reveal that.
Not just because of the mutual trust between her and Steven, but also because, at this point, coming clean would be way too late.
If the Armorless Union ended up dealing with Steven, then she'd be next in line for "cleanup."
So what was the point in working herself to death for them? Far better to play dumb and quietly do the bare minimum.
Just keep appearances up—that's enough.
She had just decided to sneak in a quick nap, maybe catch a few minutes of rest while no one was watching… when suddenly, a group of people walked in through the hospital's main entrance, shattering any hope of a peaceful break.
The bearded man, the towering white bear of a fellow, and the bald bartender trailing behind them—every single one of them had records in the Armorless Union's database. As forr retainers of the Nearl family, it made perfect sense for them to co and check on the condition of the Whislash Knight.
But the real problem… was that Steven is walking behind them.
Centaurea's expression soured in an instant.
She had just told him—literally monts ago—that if he wanted to stir up trouble, at least go sowhere far away from her.
And yet, here he was, strutting right into her line of sight like fate itself was conspiring against her peace of mind.
Was he following her on purpose just to ss with her ntal state?
Expression flat and deadpan, Centaurea locked eyes with the boy who had clearly noticed her the mont he stepped in.
She didn't say a word. But sohow, in that silent exchange, it felt like everything had been said.
Steven noticed the glare from the little white horse and could only offer a helpless, sheepish smile.
His eyes silently said: Sorry. Total coincidence.
He honestly hadn't expected to run into her here of all places.
Sure, he had figured the General Chamber of Comrce would dispatch soone from the Armorless Union to keep an eye on Zofia.
But of all people, why did it have to be Centaurea, the poor Platinum who already had the worst luck?
Did the Armorless Union have no one else available? Why was a Platinum handling everything? Or maybe there were tons of Platinums and they were just glorified white-collar workers?
Strangely enough, he and Centaurea shared the exact sa thought.
He found himself feeling genuinely sorry for her.
Sure, she was a cog in the machine, but this level of overwork was criminal.
Were Armorless Union's higher-ups even aware that employees were still human beings?
Still, as much as he sympathized, Steven had no intention of turning back.
He was already here—and he wasn't here to cause trouble this ti.
What could possibly go wrong?
Instead of pretending not to see her, he gave a casual nod, the kind you'd give an acquaintance you ran into at the market, and walked right past her without a hint of awkwardness.
"Yo, little bro, got a friend working in the hospital? Not bad, not bad," the old knight beside him nudged Steven with an elbow and gave him a teasing grin.
"Sothing like that. But it's just a friend, so don't get any weird ideas," Steven brushed it off with a vague answer, clearly in no mood to explain the tangled ss that was his and Centaurea's… well, "fate" was probably the kindest word for it.
Without sparing the other hidden Armorless Union operatives even a glance, Steven strolled right into Zofia's private hospital room, acting as if he didn't even see the killers lurking in the shadows.
He was just here to visit a patient—what, were they expecting him to crawl in through the air vents?
And honestly, if anyone should be panicking right now, it wasn't him—it was the Armorless Union people.
. . . . . . . . .
Inside the lavishly appointed VIP room, Maria was peeling an apple with quiet concentration, while Zofia lay on the bed, thoroughly enjoying being pampered by her niece. Both won looked up the mont the group of large, broad-shouldered n started pouring into the room like a dam had burst.
Zofia pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation.
"I an seriously, was this necessary? I'm not dead, you know. Why'd all of you co at once? It's not like we're holding a morial service. You could've just sent one person."
She'd specifically chosen a high-end room for her hospital stay—an expensive, private suite to enjoy so peace and quiet.
But that plan clearly didn't account for four full-grown n barging in all at once.
One of them being an enormous furball of a bear certainly didn't help with the space issue either.
"Heh, we were just worried about you, that's all!" the old knight chuckled. "Besides, no way we were letting just one guy co. You should've seen Maria earlier—she was way more anxious than any of us."
Zofia looked sideways at Maria, who quickly turned her face away and focused even harder on peeling that apple.
Squeezed into the very front of the group, the old craftsman scratched his head sheepishly.
After offering a clumsy explanation, he nudged the old knight behind him and took a fruit basket from his arms.
"It's not much, just a little sothing," he said with an honest smile, handing it over. "Eat it if you want."
As the fruit basket changed hands, Steven suddenly felt a different kind of pressure fall squarely on his shoulders.
'Wait a second—when did these three have ti to coordinate and bring a gift?!'
No one told him this was a bring-your-own-gift kind of visit!
Luckily for him, Zofia didn't imdiately notice his presence. She simply waved to Maria to accept the fruit basket, then gave the trio a stern glance.
"Alright, alright, I get it. You're all very concerned. But I'm fine, okay? Stop crowding the door like a pack of lost puppies. Either co in and sit, or if you've got questions, just ask."
Everyone in the room was an old friend, so Zofia saw no need for formalities.
"What would we even ask?" the old knight laughed, smoothly taking over the conversation. "We were just worried you got seriously hurt. But judging by how you're scolding us at full volu, we might've overreacted."
Zofia gave a snort of amusent.
"Exactly. I'm eating well, drinking well. Honestly, I feel great. That said…" she leaned back a little, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. "Looks like this year's Major's going to be my last. I'm thinking maybe it's ti to retire. I've already made enough money anyway. Not the worst mont to bow out, right?"
Her tone was light, as if the decision had been made on a whim—but everyone who knew her well could tell there was more beneath the surface.
The real reason was what happened during the match.
The way the judges and fellow knights had singled her out… it left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Sure, thanks to that strange, armored knight who had appeared out of nowhere, her hand had been saved—but what if next ti, no one ca to help?
The truth was painfully clear: as long as she remained on the field, the Knights' Association's sches would keep targeting her.
Just like what happened to Margaret.
Only, unlike her, Zofia lacked that final bit of strength to stand against it all.
She quickly buried the fleeting sorrow in her eyes, replacing it with the usual sharp, spirited expression she wore like armor.
Then, as her gaze scanned the room, she finally noticed the one person squeezed into the corner—soone who wasn't part of the bar trio.
"Oh? Steve, you ca too?"
Compared to her rough, teasing tone with the others, Zofia greeted Steven with unexpected warmth.
A polite nod and an invitation to sit made it clear she appreciated his visit.
Steven smiled in return, caught slightly off guard by her friendliness.
"I just tagged along with them to see how you were doing. Didn't even have ti to bring anything proper. Just a little sothing—hope you don't mind."
He stepped forward, pulled sothing out of his pocket after a mont of digging, and placed it lightly on the table.
A gold nugget.
Because when all else fails—gold never does.
He had briefly considered picking up so fruit to match the others' gift… but then he rembered sothing important: Zofia was a Kuranta. A race modeled after horses.
Sure, the others could get away with gifting her apples. But him? If he pulled an apple from his inventory?
Yeah, no. Considering what happened with Yelena, pulling an apple out could end very badly.
The last thing Steven wanted was to trigger so weird, deeply uncomfortable misunderstanding involving Zofia and Maria—who, let's not forget, was also equine-based in physiology.
So in the end, he went with the safest, most foolproof option: good ol' shiny gold. No questions, no innuendo, no risk.
Just… gold.
Solid, dependable gold.
< >
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