Dawn's light seeped through the silk walls of Itsuki Hiroto's pavilion, stirring him from a reluctantly earned nap. His head throbbed from yesterday's "Chair‑Fu" demonstration and trailing tear‑gas mishap, but already fate pounded at the door with fresh absurdity.
A soft knock preceded Sera's head popping inside. "Captain! You've got visitors."
Hiroto blinked blearily. "Visitors? I can't even visit my own breakfast table without ceremony."
Sera swept in, arms full of parchments. "Demon nobles. They've crossed into the neutral quarter—claimed they'd walk the human market to witness true hero worship." She thrust the papers at him. "Invitations."
He squinted at the ornate summons:
> To the Esteemed Chair‑Sage, Itsuki Hiroto
You are cordially requested to honor us with your presence at the Silver Lotus Pavilion tonight.
Hosted by Lady Azara of House Varn.
Attire: Formal robes, token of respect accepted.
Hiroto groaned. "House Varn? They're the ones who tried to recruit me as a war‑god last month."
Sera tapped her chin. "Yes, and now they want to thank you privately. I'd say it's flattering—if it didn't scream 'political maneuver.'"
Virelya Arkwright strode in, armor glinting like polished obsidian. "Demon nobles treating you as a demigod? This can't end well. They'll demand oaths of fealty next."
Hiroto sat up, hair mussed. "I need to hide."
Virelya drew her sword. "Then we prepare for extraction—stealth exit, emergency smoke, whatever it takes."
Hiroto exhaled, rising. "All right—tonight, we brave the Silver Lotus, accept the risk, and politely refuse…" He trailed off, picturing demon courtiers fawning over him.
Sera grinned. "Let's call it 'diplomatic overlap.'"
Evening, Silver Lotus Pavilion
The pavilion's silvery lanterns gleamed against ebony drapes. A gentle waterfall tinkled in one corner; ivory chairs circled low tables strewn with spiced confections.
Hiroto and Virelya entered under reluctant escort of demon guards in polished armor. Courtiers paused their hushed conversations, and all eyes turned—human and demon alike.
At the head table sat Lady Azara Varn, a statuesque demoness whose crimson skin shimmered beneath flowing silver robes. Her ebony hair was braided with moonstone beads. She rose to greet them, eyes glowing softly.
"Chair‑Sage," she intoned, voice like wind through chimes. "We honor you."
Hiroto bowed awkwardly. "Lady Azara. Thank you for… the honor."
Azara waved a hand; a servant placed a small silver mask in his palm—an insignia of House Varn. "Accept this token. Tonight, we share stories and tea in your praise."
Hiroto forced a smile. "I'm… flattered."
Beside Azara, two demon princes—Prince Marrek and Ser Phaela—curtsied and bowed. The assembled nobles applauded lightly, then resumed sipping amber tea. Human envoys watched wide‑eyed, unsure whether to join or flee.
Virelya hovered at Hiroto's elbow, scanning the crowd for extraction routes. Sera distributed "emergency stabilization toffee" from her satchel. The hostess approached with a tray of glimmerleaf pastries.
"Please, Chair‑Sage," Azara said, offering Hiroto a pastry. "We made these in your honor—light as a flick."
Hiroto bit inward on his cheek. "I—thank you," he said, nibbling cautiously. The pastry melted on his tongue, surprisingly delicious.
Marrek interjected, swirling his goblet. "We've heard of your legendary calm under siege. Teach me to remain unflappable when my generals attack my own policies."
Hiroto blinked. "I… usually just trip over my emotions."
Laughter rippled around the table. Azara's smile widened. "Your humility is our treasure. Tonight, we wish to know the man behind the Silent Hand."
Hiroto swallowed. Please don't ask for personal anecdotes. He pointed at the waterfall. "Is that… real water?"
The conversation pivoted to hydrodynamics. Virelya exhaled.
Half an hour later, as demons mingled with humans under lantern glow, a velvety voice whispered at Hiroto's ear: "Chair‑Sage, a word?"
He turned to see Lady Elysra, Azara's younger sister—delicate horns curving like moon crescents, eyes pools of violet smoke. She guided him to a secluded alcove.
Hiroto's pulse hammered. "Lady Elysra, forgive me—"
She brushed back a curl. "Your exploits saved lives—mine among them." She produced a slender goblet of silver‑tinted tea. "I wanted to thank you… personally."
Hiroto's cheeks flushed. "Thank me… personal—?"
Elysra stepped close, perfume drifting like night‑bloom jasmine. "Sit with me." She patted the cushion beside her. "I find your awkward honesty… endearing."
He swallowed hard, gaze flicking to the crowd and Virelya's stern silhouette. "I'm… honored… but I—"
Elysra's hand brushed his. A faint warmth pulsed at her touch. "Stay," she whispered. "Just for a moment."
Hiroto's brain short‑circuited. His mouth said, "I—uh—"
A trumpet blast cut through the pavilion, signaling the banquet's next course. Elysra sighed, withdrawing her hand. "Duty calls." She offered a soft bow. "Thank you, Chair‑Sage."
Hiroto nodded numbly. That almost felt like… He shook his head.
As the main hall doors swept open for the final course—flame‑kissed pheasant and ember‑roasted yams—Hiroto rejoined the head table beside Virelya. Azara rose, raising her goblet.
"To the Silent Hand that unites us all!"
Glasses chimed. Hiroto lifted his own cup—then froze as the pavilion's outer doors swung wide.
King Gerald strode in, flanked by his personal guard. His cloak swirled like dusk; his silver horns glinted in torchlight. Every head turned.
Azara stepped forward. "Your Majesty, welcome."
Gerald inclined his head. His gaze locked on Hiroto's baker disguise. A slow smile curved his lips.
"To my friend," Gerald began, "whose humble heart and—shall we say—unconventional methods have brokered peace at summit and prevented chaos… I must ask—are you truly the fabled Chair‑Sage, or is your name something more… human?"
Hiroto's heart tumbled. He glanced at Virelya, eyebrows raised: He knows?
Gerald's eyes sparkled. "Itsuki Hiroto—warehouse clerk, accidental hero, silent variable—tonight, I honor you not as a sage, but as my friend."
Azara and the nobles gasped, then chairs clattered as everyone rose. The pavilion fell into a hush.
Hiroto cleared his throat, pale but steady. "Your Majesty… friends?" He managed a small bow. "I—thank you."
Gerald clasped his shoulder, voice warm. "Let this banquet be our testament—not to chairs or scribbles, but to the bond we share."
The assembled crowd cheered. Human and demon nobles raised goblets together, voices blending into a toast:
"To friendship beyond fate!"
Hiroto lifted his cup, heart pounding in wonder and relief. Maybe… this is the real unity I can help forge.
And as the flickering lanterns glowed around him, Captain Hiroto—clerk, sage, accidental hero—realized that sometimes the greatest power lay not in chairs or prophecy, but in the friendships born from the most unlikely moments.