Noah was seated at the long table of the Chrome Hearts base, an abandoned theater turned headquarters. The heavy red curtains still hung from the old stage, their edges frayed and faded, like forgotten dreams.

A sound of footsteps echoed.

"Boss," a teenage boy said, stepping into the hall. His hair was unkempt, his jacket torn at the sleeve. "I... found something for you."

Noah lifted his gaze slowly. "What is it?"

The boy hesitated before holding out a letter sealed in red wax. His voice dropped to a whisper. "It had your real name on it. Found it at the post office before anyone else could see."

Noah's hand froze midair. His pulse slowed.

The name Ashbourne felt foreign now, like a ghost of a person who no longer existed. He reached for the envelope, his fingers brushing the paper as if it might crumble in his grip.

"Good work," he said quietly.

The boy nodded. "Didn't want anyone connecting that name to you. Thought it was dangerous."

Noah gave a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You did well. Go back upstairs. Tell the others to continue the usual rounds."

When the boy left, silence returned. The hum of the lanterns above filled the room. Noah looked at the seal again — a familiar mark shaped like a sun enclosed by angelic wings.

St. Eldred.

He broke it open. Inside was a letter written in graceful cursive. He began to read.

Dear Noah,

It feels strange writing this after so long. I didn't know if this would reach you, but I hoped. I'm in the Southern Continent now, serving under St. Eldred as an apprentice healer. Life here is… different. Calm, almost.

The weather is warm, the people are kind, and I spend my days tending to patients and teaching children how to write their first prayers. It's peaceful — maybe too peaceful.

Sometimes I think of our days at the academy, back in the central continent.

You probably don't remember that, do you? You always forget the small things.

Anyway, I just wanted to ask… are you doing alright?

Are you eating properly? Are you safe?

You used to say you didn't believe in blessings or divine grace. But even so, I still pray for you...

There's something else I've been meaning to say, but I'll refrain for now...

Take care of yourself.

— Maya Brenthall

The words blurred for a moment as Noah's hand trembled slightly.

He then remembered something.

"See you again...Kim Hajun..."

The words Maya had said before leaving the academy as well.

He leaned back on the chair, staring at the ceiling, letting the paper rest on the table.

"How…?" he whispered.

No one in this world should have known that name.

The system that brought him here erased it completely.

Was she another transmigrator? Or… had she always known?

He rubbed his temples.

The weight in his chest deepened.

The letter smelled faintly of lilies — a flower that didn't even grow in the North.

She must've placed one in when sealing it.

For a moment, he let his mind drift back to the academy.

That version of him — that boy — was gone.

Now he was Machiavelli, the Silver-Eyed Gentleman.

The man who had crushed cartels, silenced nobles, and bent syndicates under his control.

And yet, here he was, shaking from a single letter.

Noah took a deep breath and folded the paper.

"St. Eldred…" he murmured.

That church wasn't just a religious order — it was a pillar of the Demonic Sanctuary's opposition.

And Maya had joined them.

Had she found something there?

Or was this letter a test ...bait to draw him out?

He didn't know.

He didn't trust it.

But he couldn't ignore it either.

Noah rose from his chair, walked toward the center of the stage, and stared at the blackboard where the Chrome Hearts' plans were scribbled...

... names of organizations, routes, and leaders marked for elimination.

Each red X was one less obstacle.

Each mark was another step toward his goal of finding the other transmigrator.

But the more he moved forward, the less human he felt.

That night, the Chrome Hearts gathered at the base.

Five of them sat on the old stage floor...young, rough, tired faces.

The smell of gunpowder and oil hung in the air.

Noah stood before them, silent.

His eyes distant.

"Boss," said one of them... a girl with a scar running across her cheek.

"You good? You've been staring at that wall for twenty minutes."

Noah blinked.

"I'm fine."

She frowned.

"You don't look fine.

We've been running jobs nonstop for weeks. Some of us haven't slept properly in days.

You think we're machines?"

Noah's voice dropped.

"We don't have time to rest."

"What for?!" another snapped.

"You said this was about taking down the Sanctuary and freeing the North.

But all we've been doing is bleeding and hiding in this damn theater!"

Their words cut through the silence.

Noah turned slowly to face them.

"You think freedom comes without pain?"

"We think leaders don't treat their own people like disposable tools," the scarred girl shot back.

The room thickened with tension.

Noah's jaw clenched. "You follow orders because I give them.

You're alive because of those orders. You wouldn't last a week outside without me."

"Maybe," the boy from before said quietly, "but at least we'd die on our own terms."

Noah's eyes darkened. The quiet fury in them silenced everyone.

"Listen carefully," he said.

"You joined me because you believed in the Chrome Hearts.

But this isn't a charity. It's not a dream. It's a war. You don't get to question me."

The boy stepped forward. "You're not the only one who's lost people, Noah."

The name ...Noah ... struck him sharply, like a slap.

He took a step closer, his tone low.

"I said, you don't get to question me."

For a moment, no one spoke. The flickering light from the lantern cast jagged shadows across his face, making him look more like a ghost than a leader.

Then the scarred girl muttered.

"He's losing it…"

The others looked at each other tired, uncertain and scared.

Finally, one by one, they stood and began to walk out.

Noah didn't stop them.

The boy paused by the doorway.

"You used to be different," he said softly.

"You used to care."

Then he left.

The door shut behind them with a dull echo.

The theater fell silent again.

Noah stood there, staring at the empty chairs, the letter on the table, and the maps pinned to the wall.

The sound of the wind whistled through the broken windows.

Slowly, he walked back to his chair, sat down, and let out a breath.

He pulled the letter close again. Read it once more.

"You used to say you didn't believe in blessings or divine grace. But even so, I still pray for you..."

His throat tightened.

Then a memory he never thought of at all and had buried deep resurfaced from his life back on earth.

A time before be settled on just wasting life away playing games.

Kim Hajun used to be a cadet in the South Korean Military.

He had led men then, too of mostly young cadets.

And he'd lost half of them in a border skirmish.

Noah rubbed his head a few times.

It was the same now.

The more he led them, the more he resembled the very leaders he once despised.

Noah gripped the edges of the table until his knuckles turned white.

"I'm not losing control," he muttered.

"I'm not..."