People sometimes wield words like weapons—deliberately, repeatedly, and with precision—targeting others with actions meant to humiliate, isolate, and chip away at their well-being. It's not always physical. Often, it's far crueler than that.
For the victim, it's a degrading experience. A silent torment. They dread the thought of anyone discovering what's being said behind their back—true or not. Because once it's out in the open, it becomes real. And worse, they fear judgment, rejection, and punishment from the very people whose acceptance they crave.
Tanaka understood this all too well.
In his case, it wasn't about looking weak—he simply couldn't bear the thought of appearing powerless in front of others.
What unfolded before him now, right before his eyes, was unmistakable. This was bullying—malicious, calculated, and cruel.
And Tanaka recognized it. He had known it, lived it.
As he watched the situation unravel, pieces clicked into place. The tension in Emilia's expression, the awkward way she'd deflected earlier, her insistence that they not attend the event—it all made sense now.
Yes, the royal selection was a matter far removed from them. The heightened security alone made any participation reckless. But there was more to it.
Emilia didn't want them to see this.
She knew it would happen.
There are two reasons people avoid being seen in their most vulnerable moments. One is pity—no one wants to be looked at with sympathetic eyes, especially when drowning in a situation they can't control. Tanaka knew that well; if anyone pitied him, it would tear him apart.
The second reason runs deeper. It's the fear that once someone sees them this way, their perception will shift. They'll no longer be seen as strong, capable, admirable. Instead, they might be viewed with fear, disgust, or contempt.
If Tanaka had to guess, Emilia feared the latter.
Still, he chose to step forward.
It wasn't out of pity. He knew better than anyone how hollow and insulting that could feel. And it wasn't because his opinion of her had changed—if anything, it remained steadfast.
No. He cared about her. Deeply. But that wasn't what drove him in that moment.
It was the surge of emotion that silenced the gnawing emptiness inside him—if only briefly.
Irritation.
Anger.
Disgust.
Not at her.
At them. At the way they stared. At the way they sneered. At how normal it all felt to everyone watching.
He didn't want to feel any of it. He preferred the numbness. But since it wouldn't return on its own, he needed to force it out.
So he raised his hand.
"Excuse me, I have a question."
The moment Emilia and the others stepped forward to return to the line, the question was uttered by Tanaka.
The old man raised one eyebrow, a malicious glint in his eyes, and directed his gaze at that person - in other words, at Tanaka, who had stepped forward.
Tanaka stood still, his hand raised, his face unreadable. Calm. Detached.
An old man with a long white beard, nearly trailing across the polished floor, raised an eyebrow. A cruel glint shimmered in his eyes as he fixed his gaze on Tanaka with quiet amusement.
"By the way… what exactly is that young man's position, Lady Emilia?"
Caught off guard, Emilia blinked, momentarily unsure of what to say.
"Huh? It's not that… I mean, this person—hey, what are you doing? This isn't the time for that, so just behave, okay?"
Tanaka didn't lower his hand.
"Just to clarify, I do not hold any position or affiliation with Lady Emilia's camp. Or with any faction, for that matter. I'm simply an ordinary citizen of Lugunica."
A ripple of murmurs moved through the room, curiosity piqued. That curiosity quickly turned hostile.
A bald man with thick, bushy blue eyebrows—his face a map of deep scowls and scorn—sneered across the chamber.
"Then how in the world did you even get into the castle?"
Tanaka gave a light shrug, tilting his head.
"Bad luck, I suppose."
Despite the gilded walls, the high ceilings, and the hall packed with power, he looked and spoke like someone addressing a neighbor at a local tavern. Unfazed. Detached.
Many in the room exchanged looks of disbelief. But in the far corner, laughter erupted.
"He did it—!!"
"I told you this would be fun, Al! Look at him!"
One person held his head in dismay. The other was doubled over, laughing as if they'd just witnessed the best performance of the year.
The bald man turned sharply toward a knight standing at attention near the throne.
"What's the meaning of this, Marcos?"
"He arrived as an attendant of Priscilla-Sama," the knight responded. His voice was clipped, restrained. Then he turned toward the red-clad woman in question. "Please, control your subordinate."
Priscilla lifted her fan with a graceful snap and smirked.
"I said he was a jester I picked up on a whim. If he's acting outside of my expectations, then he's doing his role perfectly."
Tanaka took a step forward.
"I think it's clear she follows her own rhythm. But to set the record straight—I'm not a clown. Nor do I serve anyone. As I said, I have no ties to power. I am here because of a series of events beyond my control."
He paused, letting the air settle before continuing, voice steady and resolute.
"But regardless of my status—or lack thereof—I am still a citizen of this country. And as a citizen, I believe I have the right to ask questions. The decisions made in this hall won't just affect the noble houses. They'll shape the lives of everyone, including mine."
Soft footsteps approached him. Emilia's voice came in a whisper, trembling with concern.
"Tanaka… I don't know what happened, but please. Just stop."
He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze with eyes devoid of warmth.
"Emilia, this has nothing to do with you."
And then he stepped forward.
A lie.
It had everything to do with her.
The room, the ceremony, the future of the kingdom—none of it truly mattered to him. He could watch it all burn and not feel a thing. But watching her suffer in silence? That, he couldn't ignore.
Tanaka hated politics, It was the noble sport of professional finger-pointing. A game where hypocrisy earns applause and honesty gets laughed off the stage.
People pretend that they want problems to be fixed but in reality, they just want to find someone else to blame for them.
And Emilia? She didn't belong here. Not because she was weak—but because she was kind.
Too kind.
Kindness in this room was blood in the water.
He knew she wouldn't survive this. And he couldn't stand to watch her be torn apart by wolves dressed in silks.
So he made a choice.
He would be the bait.
"You indeed have a point, state your name."
"My name is Kazuki Tanaka, I'm a humble craftsman."
"I see, so young man, what do you want to know?"
"I have two questions," Tanaka said calmly. "First, I'd like to know why this event wasn't made public. After all, the people are the ones who will ultimately choose their next ruler. I believe it would've been in their best interest to see what values the candidates represent—what promises they're prepared to make—even if this is only the beginning."
The elder leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him.
"It's a precaution," he said, his voice slow, deliberate. "As you must be aware, the Lugunican Royal Family met a tragic end. A mysterious illness took them, one by one. We cannot afford further instability. This gathering is held in private to ensure the safety of the candidates. You are correct—the people will choose their leader. But actions speak louder than words. There will be time for speeches, rallies, and promises. This, here, is the stage before the performance."
Tanaka offered a shallow bow.
"I see… Thank you for your answer."
Of course, he knew all of that already. The death of the royal family was practically carved into the consciousness of this nation. But he hadn't asked out of ignorance. He'd asked out of necessity.
Because had this event been made public, it would have been a massacre—not of bodies, but of reputations. Specifically, Emilia's.
Her resemblance to the Witch of Envy—an echo of a nightmare etched into the hearts of the people—would have made her a symbol of fear. No speech, no kindness, no campaign could have saved her from that.
And so he asked the question anyway. To make it clear: he wasn't her servant. He wasn't part of her camp. If his earlier declaration wasn't enough, this would sever that thread.
His gaze shifted, sharp and unwavering.
"My second question," he said, "is for the man sitting beside you."
The old noble's brow furrowed. "You mean Bordeaux?"
Tanaka gave a respectful nod. "Yes. Forgive my ignorance—being a commoner, I'm not very adept at matching faces to names. I hope you'll excuse the oversight."
A faint scoff broke the air, followed by an impatient wave of a wrinkled hand.
"Very well," Bordeaux sneered. "Go ahead and speak."
"As Miklotov-sama just stated, the election has yet to begin. None of the candidates have had the opportunity to prove their merits—or their flaws, for that matter. Yet, despite that, you seem to have reacted very differently toward each of them. Specifically, the comments you made toward Felt-sama… and toward Emilia-sama." His eyes narrowed slightly, his next words hitting the room like an arrow leaving its bow. "What exactly did you mean by 'half-devil?'"
A dense silence rippled across the chamber.
For a moment, Bordeaux simply stared at Tanaka, as though expecting him to back down. When he didn't, the nobleman's lip curled into a scowl, his voice dripping venom.
"What do I mean?" His tone was mocking, as if astonished he even needed to clarify. "Does it truly require explanation? That silver haired half-devil matches the appearance of the Witch of Envy, as it has been described for generations! The fact that she was even allowed in the throne room is dreadful!"
The weight of his words seemed to pull the room into uneasy silence. Tension coiled thick in the air, until Tanaka finally spoke again—soft, measured, dangerously calm.
So… you're saying Emilia-Sama is Satella?"
A sharp intake of breath swept across the hall. Gasps emerged from those who had, moments before, quietly enjoyed Bordeaux's bravado. Now, all eyes turned toward him—nervous, expectant.
Insulting Emilia was one thing. Plenty of nobles had done it in whispered corners or veiled jabs. But what Tanaka had just pointed out… that was different. That was dragging Bordeaux's baseless hatred into the light—a hatred dangerously close to accusation.
A bead of sweat rolled down the old man's temple.
"I—I never said such a thing," Bordeaux snapped, his bravado faltering beneath the weight of countless gazes.
"I see," Tanaka replied with a faint nod, his voice as smooth as glass. "So your words were based purely on resemblance?"
Bordeaux's chest puffed out slightly, as if reclaiming lost ground. "You seem to understand now."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Tanaka's lips—one that didn't reach his eyes.
"Yup. I completely understand… that you're a complete imbecile."
The noble froze.
"What? How dare you—"
"What you've just said." Tanaka cut in, his tone dropping to a colder register, "Is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it."
Bordeaux's face twisted in indignation, rage burning behind his eyes.
"Why are you angry?" Tanaka tilted his head, feigning innocence. "I'm simply stating a fact. Despite this country being without a ruler—and despite the importance of these proceedings to secure a future for the kingdom—you've chosen to prioritize your personal prejudices over objectivity." His gaze hardened, unflinching. "A candidate's worth decided by mere appearance. Disgraceful, given your position."
The room was suffocatingly silent; even the air seemed to hold its breath.
"Therefore," Tanaka finished, his voice casual yet unforgiving, "I came to the logical conclusion that you're stupid."
Gasps fluttered like wings across the chamber.
"You degrade people by calling them gutter rats. You mock them because of their race. If there's anyone whose presence in this chamber should be considered an outrage…" He glanced sideways at Bordeaux with cold disdain. "It's you."
Before Bordeaux could even sputter a reply, another voice cut through the heavy silence.
"Alright, that's enough. I think you're taking it too far," came a firm voice from across the room.
From between the guards stepped a cat-person—unlike Felix, this one bore no human features. His fur was black and white, like a tuxedo suit wrapped around a warrior's frame. His eyes were gold and narrowed, his muscular build wrapped in a crisp, tailored knight's uniform. He stepped forward, tail flicking behind him in irritation, expression sharp and weary—like a man who had already lost his patience.
"That's enough out of you," he said. "Watch your next words carefully."
Tanaka turned to him, entirely unfazed. In fact, a crooked smirk formed across his lips.
"At ease, Sylvester. I happen to not give a crap about you."
The cat-man's brow twitched. "Who the hell is Sylvester? My name is Tristan Priam, I serve as Bordeaux-Sama's knight."
"Oh, of courthe you do," Tanaka said with a deliberately exaggerated lisp.
Tristan narrowed his eyes. "Are you mocking me?"
Tanaka smiled innocently. "Mock you? I would never do thuch a thing."
A chuckle cracked the tension like a dropped wine glass. All eyes turned.
It was Al.
He quickly cleared his throat. "What?" he shrugged. "That was funny."
"Hey Al! Al! What does that mean? Explain it!" Priscilla smiled as she expressed her curiosity.
"It's a lot to explain Princess, I will tell you later."
___
____
____
Tristan's tail twitched, his patience hanging by a thread. "What makes you think you even deserve to be here?"
Tanaka's expression shifted slightly. He straightened, losing the playfulness in favor of something sterner.
"I keep hearing that word—deserve. As if standing in this room is some grand reward handed out for hard work."
Tristan folded his arms. "That's because it is."
Tanaka stared at him flatly. "No, it's not, you dumbass. Being here isn't a reward. It's a responsibility. The decisions made in this hall will ripple through every village, every family, every child born in this kingdom. If you treat it like a prize, then you have no business being here."
He took another breath, his voice even. "Yes, attending this gathering requires certain qualifications—but if the behavior I've witnessed so far is any indication, half the people in this room don't meet them."
Tristan scowled. "And you think you do?"
"I never said that." Tanaka shrugged. "It's subjective. Everyone's got an opinion. In the end, a decision will be made… and that decision should belong to the people."
He paused, then leaned in slightly.
"But since we're so generously throwing opinions around… mine is that you shouldn't even have one."
"Huh?"
The cat-like knight—Tristan—blinked in visible confusion, his feline ears twitching, not entirely sure if he'd heard right.
"You're a knight," Tanaka said bluntly, his voice sharpening, "and as a knight, your only redeeming quality is your strength. Your sole purpose is to protect. Beyond that? I don't see a single reason why you should be speaking."
Tristan's ears flattened back in restrained fury, but before he could respond, a new voice rang across the marble-floored hall.
"Forgive the interruption," came a cool, refined tone. "But I'm afraid I can't stay silent after what I just heard."
Across the room, stepping forward with practiced elegance, was Julius—his white and violet catching the light, his posture immaculate, his expression unreadable.
Tanaka sighed heavily the moment he saw him. "They just keep coming one by one." he muttered under his breath. Then louder, with exaggerated politeness, "Yeah, sure. What do you want?"
Julius's tone was composed, yet carried the weight of restrained offense. "Do you realize what you've just done? You degraded the entire knighthood—and not in some back alley, but here, before the Royal Guard of Lugunica."
"Did I?" Tanaka tilted his head in mock reflection. "Yeah, I guess I did. But see, I also insulted that guy over there with the eyebrows so thick they could cast a shadow—who, unfortunately for me, holds an even higher position than a knight. So... I think it's a bit too late to start caring."
With a single fluid motion, Julius gestured behind him.
The entire line of knights—cloaked in shining armor and adorned with the crest of Lugunica—straightened at once. In perfect synchronization, they stomped the floor with their boots, raised their swords high, and saluted as one.
The chamber trembled ever so slightly with the force of their gesture.
Emilia flinched, stepping forward on instinct to pull Tanaka back, but Roswaal gently raised a hand in front of her, stopping her with an unreadable smirk. Subaru swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the knights and Tanaka.
But Tanaka? He simply blinked, unimpressed.
"Wow," he said flatly. "You all stomped at the same time. The synchronization was perfect. Truly, this moment has elevated the kingdom to new heights. I feel so safe and inspired now. Thank you for your invaluable service."
A few scattered gasps followed. Someone bit back a laugh. Most stood frozen.
Julius's lips tightened into a thin line. "Don't you think your clownish attitude is a bit much?" he said sharply. "A knight pays attention to even the smallest of details because he understands the value of what he protects."
Tanaka's smirk faded slightly. His voice turned cool and measured. "I don't know what exactly you're trying to do, but I'm not a recruiter from the military. You don't need to list your qualifications to me like I'm here to endorse your job title."
Julius raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in tone, slightly thrown off.
Tanaka didn't let up.
"And if you're waiting for an apology, forget it. My ego's too big."
Julius let out a breath. "I can see that."
"Good," Tanaka replied without missing a beat. "Second I didn't say what I said out of a petty spite, I meant every single word."
Their gazes locked—Tanaka's unflinching, unwavering. There wasn't even a flicker of doubt behind his eyes.
Julius studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of hesitation… but found none.
"I see," he said slowly. "Then let me ask you—do you realize your words and actions could very well lead to your execution?"
He stepped forward, just enough for his shadow to cross Tanaka's boots. "So tell me… what exactly do you gain from all of this? From acting out like this?"
Tanaka looked around the room slowly—at the nobility, the knights, the cloaked prejudice, the tension masked as protocol.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Maybe I just needed to vent. Maybe there's a small part of me that hopes something I said will rattle a few skulls—make people reevaluate what truly matters. Not egos. Not bloodlines. Not one's hair color or eye shade. But the people."
He let the words settle.
"And if I get executed here, just because I scratched someone's pride…" He looked back at Julius, calm and ready. "Then I'll have proven my point."
This wasn't his country.
None of this concerned him. The politics, the posturing—it was the same everywhere. Tanaka had no loyalty to these walls or these men.
But still… a part of him pitied the people who did.
Tanaka only wanted to antagonize that council member and the nobles that were insulting Emilia, making them appear like idiots.
"I can't say I agree with everything you've said," he admitted, voice low and measured. "But there's truth and wisdom behind your words. And more importantly…"He exhaled. "I can sense your resolve."
He turned to the fuming demi-human beside him. "Forget it, Tristan. Let's back off."
Tanaka had made his point. There was nothing left to say.
But Tristan wasn't ready to walk away.
"I'm sorry, Julius," he said, his tone strained. "But he shouldn't be allowed to walk away without apologizing."
Tanaka glanced at him sideways, his hands on his waist. "That won't happen, Puss in Boots."
The insult snapped something.
In a blink, Tristan moved. One moment he was several feet away—the next, he was in front of Tanaka, fist clenched in the front of his collar. He lifted him clean off the ground with a single arm. The speed was blinding, inhuman.
Tanaka's eyes widened briefly—just a flicker of surprise—but it vanished almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a slow, cold glare.
"Tristan!" Julius stepped forward, alarmed. "Stop! What are you doing?!"
The demi-human didn't even look back. "You know I can't, Julius. Not after he insulted my master."
He turned his golden, feline eyes to Tanaka. "You made some valid points. I'll even admit that. But rules are rules. You're an outsider—technically a trespasser."
Tanaka's expression shifted entirely. The sarcasm, the smirk—it all vanished.
His voice dropped into a razor-thin chill.
"Hands. Off."
Tristan's grip tightened. "That's all you are, a talker. You talk a lot, You insult my master, my colleagues and the knighthood. All that and yet, I don't sense any remorse or worse, I don't sense any strength."
Tanaka didn't blink. "I won't ask again, hands off..."
"I'm giving you a choice," Tristan hissed. "Apologize, and you'll get out of here without—"
"Tristan! Be careful!"
Julius's voice cut through the tension like a whip—but it was too late.
A sharp crack of energy exploded between them.
A red beam of light—thin at first—pierced the space between Tanaka and Tristan. In a flash, the light intensified into a blinding arc, humming with power.
BAM.
A concussive shockwave erupted outward, shaking the air with a deep, thunderous boom.
Smoke erupted from the center of the explosion, thick and choking. It swallowed the scene whole.
Nothing could be seen. Just the low murmur of gasps—Boots scraping as guards closed in—And the faint crackling of residual energy.
For several long seconds, no one breathed.
Then, as the dust began to settle and the swirling haze parted—
A lone figure stood in the center of it all, completely unscathed.Tanaka. Calm. Upright. His shirt fluttered gently around him in the aftershock.
Across from him, a figure groaned on the ground.
"Gahh…"
Tristan clutched his hand, now blackened and burned, the skin cracked like scorched leather. His face was twisted in agony.
Tanaka stepped forward, his voice level—cold.
"Next time… your hand won't be intact."
Steel hissed from sheaths.
Dozens of knights—previously stunned into inaction—now surged forward with weapons drawn, swords gleaming in the dim light. Each one leveled their blade at Tanaka, eyes narrowed, posture tense.
But Tanaka didn't even glance at them.
His gaze remained fixed on the floating lights that danced above his open palm—six glowing motes, each one a distinct color: red, blue, green, yellow, white, and black. They pulsed softly, rotating like planets in orbit.
The sight was surreal—utterly captivating.
A stunned voice whispered from the crowd: "Spirits…? He can control spirits?"
A ripple of gasps and hushed murmurs spread through the hall like wildfire.
The air buzzed with disbelief.
Then, a hoarse but composed voice rang out from the central podium:
"—Could everyone please calm down?"
All heads turned.
The voice belonged to Mycroft, one of the Council of Sages. While the other council members looked visibly shaken, Mycroft remained still—hands folded, eyes gleaming with intellectual curiosity.
His gaze shifted to the center of the chaos.
The aftermath left no room for denial:
A respected knight had been decisively overwhelmed by a man with no title, no known affiliation, and no reputation.
An outsider.
A nobody.
Or so they had assumed.
But the power he displayed—spirit magic, and not just one element—was anything but ordinary.
The room buzzed with confusion. Except for one person, who seemed more shaken than any other.
Julius.
He stared at Tanaka, wide-eyed.
Floating around Tanaka were the six quasi-spirits, each with a faint humanoid shape within their colored glow. They lingered protectively, forming a softly flickering multi-elemental barrier around him—now beginning to fade like mist in sunlight.
Ia , Kua , Aro , Iku , In and Nes.
Those were the names of the quasi-spirits he was contracted with, his partners, his buds.
Tanaka switched his gaze between Julius and the spirits.
"Is he your contractor?"
Then he turned toward the red spirit—the one that had lashed out.
"You name is Ia, right?" he said, addressing it directly. "I appreciate the help. But in the future, don't act without your contractor's permission."
Ia pulsed, as if in response, then slowly drifted backward.
Julius finally found his voice, though it cracked with disbelief.
"You… you can speak to them?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. I can. Sorry for borrowing them… well—" he rubbed the back of his neck, "they sort of jumped in on their own."
Julius looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.
All the weight of what had just happened—what had just been revealed—settled into his chest like stone.
He whispered, more to himself than anyone else:
"…Who are you?"
Before the tension could thicken further, a booming voice rang out like a war drum across the chamber.
"Knights—stand down!" The order came from Commander Marcos, the armored mountain of a man standing near the council's dais. His voice carried the kind of authority that left no room for hesitation.
"Put away your blades!" he barked. "Stop this disgrace!"
The knights froze—then slowly, reluctantly, lowered their swords. The scrape of steel sliding back into scabbards echoed through the hall like a series of reluctant apologies.
Marcos turned to Julius, his brows furrowed beneath his battle-scarred helmet. "Those spirits… They're yours, Julius. What is going on?"
Before Julius could speak, Tanaka's voice cut through.
"He didn't give them any orders," Tanaka said, his tone firm. "They acted on their own."
He turned his gaze downward—toward Tristan, who was now curled up slightly, clutching his injured hand. The fur that had once covered it was scorched away, leaving charred, raw flesh behind. It barely resembled a hand anymore.
Tanaka let out a quiet sigh, his voice almost a whisper.
"…Kua. Treat him."
One of the glowing orbs—blue-hued and softly pulsing—brightened. Then, in a streak of sapphire light, it darted forward and hovered above Tristan.
The healing was almost immediate. Faint light laced across the burned flesh, knitting tissue together in seconds.
Tristan groaned, trying to push himself up. "Don't…"
"Shut up," Tanaka said, eyes cold. "Unless you don't want to hold a sword ever again."
Marcos's eyes narrowed. "From what I'm seeing… they're following your orders. Not Julius's."
Tanaka looked up, gaze level.
"That wasn't an order. It was a request."
He stepped forward, the spirits trailing behind him like stars caught in orbit.
"They acted earlier on their own will. Spirits are his contractors—but they're not slaves."
Marcos took a moment, clearly processing. Beneath his armor, his posture softened slightly.
"…I see," he muttered. "My apologies. I'm not well-versed in the spirit field."
Tanaka's attention drifted back to Tristan, who was still on the ground, his wound now rapidly healing. The skin still looked raw, but the worst had passed.
Earlier… Tanaka had been planning to freeze his hand—to absolute zero.
He didn't know the limit of Tristan's durability.
That's why… he didn't hold back.
If the spirits hadn't interfered, Tristan would've lost his hand. Nerve damage, irreversible frostbite, amputation… it would've been over.
He looked at his own hand, flexed his fingers slowly. These spirits… they weren't ordinary.
Still… that wasn't what unsettled him.
Not truly.
Why… why didn't I hesitate?
The realization hit him like ice water to the chest.
'What the fuck is wrong with me?'
For the first time, it sank in.
This wasn't a spar. It wasn't a scuffle or a reckless brawl. He had genuinely injured someone—seriously. A burned hand. A ruined limb.
And it didn't even register.
He had barely felt anything.
That scared him.
His thoughts spiraled, a storm of noise in his head. The world around him faded into static—he couldn't hear the murmurs, the clamor of voices, or the movement of boots.
It was all muffled.
Until—
"▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓"
He blinked. Someone was speaking to him. He turned, dazed, and saw Marcos, lips moving—but no sound.
"What…?" Tanaka said, barely audible.
Then—
Pop.
It was like his ears finally reconnected to reality, like descending on a plane.
Marcos's voice came through clearly now.
"I sincerely apologize for what my subordinate did—and for the behavior of the knights. Especially after you showed him mercy."
Tanaka opened his mouth, then closed it. His stomach churned.
He covered his mouth with one hand, muttering faintly.
"…I feel sick."
A moment of silence fell. Then—
"Young man."
The voice was quiet, yet somehow cut clean through the noise.
It belonged to the old council member seated in the middle—the one who hadn't flinched since the start. Mycroft.
"You said your name was Kazuki Tanaka, correct?"
Tanaka turned to him slowly, still pale.
"…Yes," he said, barely audible.
"For someone so young," the elder said, "you carry yourself with a wisdom far beyond your years."
His words hung in the air like incense—unexpected and grounding.
Then, slowly, he shifted his gaze toward the two young women standing quietly to the side, their eyes, just like everyone else, completely fixed on Tanaka: Emilia and Felt.
"My deepest apologies, Emilia-Sama. Felt-Sama," he said, bowing his head with solemn respect. "What transpired here was unbecoming of this court, and I regret that you were subjected to it."
Bordeaux's voice snapped like a whip. "Miklotov!?"
The older man—his full name, Miklotov Mycroft, known to those in power—didn't even glance in Bordeaux's direction. His tone, however, was firm.
"You must learn to accept the weight of truth, Bordeaux," he said. "You've been warned more than once to let go of your prejudice toward demi-humans."
Bordeaux bristled, jaw clenched. But after a moment of strained silence, he lowered his head, if stiffly.
"…My apologies, Emilia-Sama. Felt-Sama. I was… out of line."
Neither girl responded. The tension still lingered, but the apology hung in the air like an awkward truce.
Mycroft's eyes returned to Tanaka. He noticed the boy's shallow breathing, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly.
"…You don't look well. Is something wrong?"
Tanaka didn't lift his head. He just closed his eyes for a moment, then whispered hoarsely,
"I want to get out of this place… right now."
Silence followed.
The old man regarded him a moment longer, his eyes narrowing—not in suspicion, but in understanding.
"…Marcos," Mycroft said softly, "see to it he is escorted outside. Gently."
The knight commander bowed in acknowledgment.
"Yes, sir."
Tanaka didn't wait for a response. As the soldiers began guiding him toward the exit, the grand chamber faded behind him—stone, torchlight, whispers.
He was halfway to the door when he passed by Subaru, standing alone among the crowd.
He slowed his pace just enough to speak without turning his head.
"Subaru," he muttered, "do whatever the hell you want. I honestly don't care."
Then, after a brief pause, his voice dropped lower—almost strained.
"But don't get yourself killed. I don't want to come back here again."
And with that, Tanaka stepped out of the hall, flanked by knights but swallowed by silence.
The doors closed behind him.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Author note:
So, a quick correction—earlier in the story, I might've described Tanaka as "average-looking." Scratch that. He's actually a handsome man, though his appearance is often overshadowed by his mental state. By default, Tanaka walks around either stressed out or quietly depressed, which gives him a stern and unapproachable air. Even back on Earth, people rarely initiated conversation unless they had to.
But when things are going well—when he's around people he genuinely likes—he softens. His expression becomes gentle. On Earth, that side of him only came out around his little sister, his mother or a certain girl from his class.
Surprisingly, in the world of Re: Zero, he's smiled more than expected. Around Beatrice, Emilia, Ram, Rem, and the villagers, he's been able to lower his guard
However, that isn't the case with Puck and Roswaal.
In Roswaal's case, one time, him and Tanaka were the last to remain at dinning table. Roswaal was complementing him on how the food was delicious. However, Tanaka got annoyed and questioned if there was anything about him that wasn't fake (Roswaal L. Mathers stated he has no sense of taste since a long time ago).
As for Puck—well, in a side story, Puck once told Emilia and Beatrice, "I have a feeling Tanaka hates me." Tanaka later confirmed it himself. When asked why, he simply shrugged and said, "I don't know. For some reason, he gets on my nerves."Beatrice and Emilia were dumbfounded.
I'm generally satisfied with this chapter, but I do feel there are areas that could be better polished.
Aspects that, I think could be polished would be showing that how all the royal candidates showed interest in him but specifically:
-From the moment Crusch saw Tanaka talking, she was tripping, he reminded her of someone, however his attitude, appearance were different. But he would have acted exactly the same if he was here.
-Priscilla was the one who enjoyed the spectacle the most, and after this event, her interest in him grew a lot. Also, when Tristan was holding Tanaka, she was going to step in.
-Another thing, that guy Bordeaux, you might think that it's contradictory for me to make his personal knight a demi-human, when he's racist against demi-human, you can say the reason he assigned him as his knight was to prove he's not racist, something like, 'I can't be racist, I have a black friend.'[1]
[1] This is a fact, he became racist towards them after the demi-human war.