Insomniac Player

Behind him came an older man, white-haired, thin, dressed in a simple black judicial robe. He walked without a cane, unhurried, and somehow Damien found him more intimidating than half the combat players already in the room.

The old man’s eyes swept across the wreckage. Stopped on the President. Then Damien. Then John.

The President’s face went another shade paler.

Noah whispered, "Chief Justice."

Damien counted them off in his head. Prime Minister. Field Marshal. Chief Justice. President. Nearly the entire top of Region 21’s authority structure had somehow ended up crammed inside one destroyed meeting hall.

And he was standing right in the middle of it, still wearing player restraints. How did today turn into this.

The Prime Minister crossed the room toward him. John watched him carefully, and Martin stepped clear to make room.

The whole room went still. Not a nod. A proper bow.

"Mr. Damien."

Damien blinked.

"I apologize." The Prime Minister stayed bent at the waist. "For the treatment you received inside this Secretariat today."

He straightened, turned toward John, and bowed again. "Sir John. My apologies to you as well."

John kept his arms crossed, the anger still visible on his face, but he listened.

"This should never have gotten anywhere near this far."

The Prime Minister kept going. "An investigation into the circumstances of a Legendary gatebreak was reasonable. Detaining a player without evidence of wrongdoing was not."

The Chief Justice finally spoke. "Correct." One word. The President flinched visibly.

The old man walked to the table, picked up one of the documents, read a few lines, then looked at the cuffs still on Damien’s wrists.

"Under which provision was confinement authorized?"

The President stood slowly. "I invoked regional emergency authority."

"Which subsection."

The President didn’t answer right away, and that pause said everything on its own.

The Chief Justice set the document back down. "Emergency authority permits temporary detention only where an immediate threat can be reasonably demonstrated." His eyes hardened. "Where is your evidence?"

"The Hollow Giants recognized his class."

"That establishes unusual circumstances," the Chief Justice said. "It does not establish criminal intent."

The President’s jaw tightened. "With respect."

The Prime Minister was already walking toward him.

"Prime Minister, I."

SLAP!

The sound cracked through the room. Damien’s eyes went wide. So did Noah’s. The President’s head snapped sideways.

Nobody moved. Nobody dared.

The Prime Minister lowered his hand. "You embarrassed this government."

The President stared at him, too shocked to hold onto whatever anger he’d had left.

"In front of the highest-ranking military players in this region," the Prime Minister went on, "you detained someone who had just helped defend Tycho. You ignored the Iron Marshal’s direct objection. You acted before either the Field Marshal or I could review anything. And you tried to justify all of it by citing emergency authority you clearly don’t understand."

The President’s face burned red. "I was protecting Region 21."

"No." The Prime Minister’s voice went cold. "You were protecting your pride."

Damn, Damien thought.

John’s mustache twitched, and something in the room shifted. The crushing pressure that had been sitting over everyone slowly began to ease. His mana pulled back, the fresh cracks stopped spreading, and everyone in the room finally managed a full breath.

A few ministers nearly sagged against the table in relief. Martin glanced over. "Finished?"

"For now." John shrugged.

Martin sighed and turned to the guard standing nearest Damien. "Remove his restraints."

No hesitation this time. The blue symbols along the cuffs went dark.

Click.

They opened. Damien rubbed his wrists. "Much better."

The Prime Minister faced him again. "Mr. Damien. You’re free to leave."

"Thanks."

The plainness of that answer visibly surprised a few people in the room. What else was he supposed to say? He wanted to leave, ideally before someone found another law they wanted to try out on him.

Then Martin spoke. "Before you go."

Damien stopped. John glanced over.

Martin crossed to him and studied his face for a few seconds. "You identified Predatory Adaptation yourself?"

"Yes."

"And the Collective Evolution mechanic?"

"After someone killed the first Giant."

"You built the simultaneous-elimination strategy?"

"Not alone." Damien glanced toward Noah. "Everyone helped make it work."

Martin looked at Noah. Noah nodded once. "He coordinated the core plan."

Martin’s attention came back to Damien. "Level Twenty."

Damien sighed. "People keep bringing that up."

"Because it matters." Martin’s expression stayed dead serious. "Tycho had hundreds of players stronger than you on that field. You’re the one who spotted the actual mechanic first."

Damien had nothing useful to say to that. His own system had thrown a corrupted warning at him the moment the quest triggered. Nothing about any of this had felt earned so much as forced on him.

"You’re also First Generation," Martin continued. "Same as Sir John. Same as me."

John’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Martin caught it. "Relax. That’s a compliment."

"You’re terrible at giving them."

Martin ignored that entirely. "You have almost no formal combat training."

"I have none," Damien corrected.

"Even more interesting." Martin’s eyes moved to the Iron Marshal, then to Noah, then back to Damien. "Join the regional army."

Damien blinked. Noah’s eyes went wide. John’s frown arrived instantly.

Martin kept going before anyone could jump in. "Not through ordinary recruitment. Direct commission."

"As what?"

"Major."

Silence dropped over the room. Noah’s head snapped toward Martin.

Damien caught the reaction. "...What?"

"I’m a Captain," Noah said, flat.

Damien looked back at Martin, then at Noah again, and a slow smile spread across his face. "So I’d outrank him."

Noah’s expression darkened. "Don’t."

The smile only grew. Martin looked almost amused. "You would."

Noah exhaled hard. "This is already a terrible idea."

Martin pressed on. "You’d have command of a player unit."

The amusement drained straight out of Damien’s face. "How many."

"Three hundred soldiers."

Even John looked surprised at that. Three hundred people. Under his direct command.

Damien went quiet. Martin noticed. "Your level is low. Your combat ability is undeveloped. You have zero military experience."

"You’re really selling this hard," Damien muttered.

"But." Martin kept going. "Tycho showed me something I value more than someone who can make a bigger explosion." His eyes flicked briefly toward the ruined wall. John pretended not to notice. "You observe. You adapt. You actually understand mechanics before you act on them. And when players far stronger than you were panicking, you stayed calm and kept thinking."

He extended his hand. "I can teach you everything else."

Damien looked at it, and for the first time actually weighed the offer seriously. Major. Three hundred players under him. Government resources. Real military training. Access to information most players never touched. Equipment. Maybe even classified knowledge about gates and the system itself, things the government almost certainly knew that ordinary players never would.

He needed strength. Tycho had made that painfully clear. This looked like a fast road toward getting it.

Tap.

A massive hand landed on his shoulder, hard enough to nearly stagger him.

John stood beside him. "No."

Martin looked over. "I wasn’t asking you."

"Good." John smiled without any warmth in it. "Because my answer would’ve been no anyway."

Damien glanced up. "Mr. John."

John turned him around bodily. "Come."

Damien looked back at Martin once as John steered him toward the wrecked doorway.

"He’ll join no army."