Chapter 61 – THE ART OF TACTICAL MANIPULATION

The inn’s morning light hits like a spotlight on my worst idea yet, and I refuse to blink.

Woodsmoke hangs in the rafters, porridge steams in chipped bowls, spoons scrape and clink, and benches complain under shifting legs.

Kenji’s armor rests against the wall, Daisuke’s shadow eats half the table, Reina’s smile could curdle milk and make it beg for forgiveness.

Leo keeps his eyes down, small and quiet, grateful in a way that invites knives later, which is exactly the vibe I need.

“We need to talk about Leo.”

Kenji looks up, bright as a sunrise on a motivational poster, and instantly ready to support whatever disaster I pitch as a plan.

“This is about his training?”

I nod once, steady and calm on the outside, screaming and juggling chainsaws on the inside, because phase one needs confidence and zero bloodshed.

“He needs focused help, personalized, one-on-one.”

Reina’s spoon stops midair, cream dripping, the air thinning, the floor remembering how to be a trapdoor, because the word one-on-one is a live grenade in a teacup.

“One-on-one with who.”

I breathe through the panic, count two heartbeats, and let my face do that soft, earnest thing people mistake for empathy instead of strategy.

“With me, it makes sense, he trusts me, he talks to me, and he needs a calm space without pressure.”

Daisuke shifts, the bench mutters, his brow dips like a boulder thinking hard, and that’s my cue to stack logic bricks fast and neat.

“All of us at once is too loud, too intense, and too heroic, he’ll shut down, and we’ll waste a week smiling at his trauma.”

Kenji leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes shiny, the hero listening like the plot just put on a choir robe and started singing.

“How would it work.”

I slide the plan out like a card I definitely did not mark under the table last night while pretending to sleep and actually plotting like a goblin CFO.

“Mornings at the training grounds for basics, afternoons for errands and small wins, evenings to decompress and talk, zero pressure, steady pace.”

Reina sets the spoon down without a sound, which is worse than a slam, because silence means math, and her math involves sharp subtraction.

“Why not me, why can’t I be with you, with him.”

There it is, the blade wrapped in a bow, and I lift my hands, open and empty, the picture of harmless, which is technically true and functionally a lie.

“Because he flinches when anyone moves too fast, he mirrors whoever is closest, and he will try to impress you, then break when he can’t, then spiral, and we are back to zero.”

Reina’s eyes thin to a line, soft voice coiling like ribbon around a brick, careful, pretty, and absolutely designed to smash.

“And you will not spiral.”

I keep my gaze level, hold her stare, let the weight sit between us, and give the one thing that soothes a guardian with a hair trigger and a halo with teeth.

“I won’t, I will call if anything is off, I will report in, and I will not leave town limits.”

Kenji brightens, relief arriving early with too many suitcases, the logistics crowding the table like friendly cats.

“We can structure check‑ins.”

I nod, grateful for a moving target, because details are a maze that keeps knives from remembering they can run.

“Every three hours, morning, midday, late afternoon, short updates, location confirmations.”

Reina reaches into her pocket, pulls a small pink-glow crystal that hums like a cat in a sunbeam that will absolutely combust if you look at it wrong.

“Take this, crush it if you need me, I will be there before the dust settles.”

The crystal warms in my palm, trust and surveillance in one shiny pebble, and I file the tracking assumption under obviously, with a little heart on the tab.

“Deal.”

Daisuke grunts, which is an official certification stamp in three kingdoms and one terrifying fan club, and he gives Leo a nod that says you are under the umbrella now.

“Train hard.”

Leo glances up, quick and careful, gratitude flickering like a candle that knows the wind is real, and I could kiss the narrative for handing me a future betrayal that will hurt like art.

“Thank you.”

Kenji claps once, buoyant and infuriating, turning logistics into a pep rally with no budget and infinite sincerity.

“This frees us to drill, we got sloppy after the goblin nest, this tightens everything.”

Reina’s smile returns, sweet as frosting, sharp as glass under it, and the room exhales in relief it did not earn.

“Three hours, not three hours and a minute.”

I tuck the crystal into my pocket, feel it sit against my leg like a promise and a stopwatch, and I stand before anyone remembers they could say no.

“We’ll start now, less talk, more progress.”

Daisuke rises, the bench nearly launches, Kenji grins at Leo, the inn keeper pretends not to listen, and my escape route opens like a stage cue.

“Go, we’ll cover meals and supplies.”

I hook Leo by the elbow, not rough, not chummy, just enough to guide, and we slip through the morning bustle before the moment can grow new thorns.

“We will be at the north grounds.”

Reina’s voice follows like a shadow wearing perfume, soft and present, the kind of gentle that makes you notice how thin your shirt feels over your ribs.

“Remember the crystal.”