It had been a week since Levi’s return from rehab. Yet, the looming specter of the presidential election persisted, casting a long shadow over our tentative peace. Levi was tirelessly in his study, wrestling with complex economic models and the daunting task of identifying a viable leader for our fractured nation.

One afternoon, I was in my room, attempting to lose myself in the pages of various scripts for a small acting gig, when a deafening crack reverberated across the hallways. My blood ran cold. Had the... peace shattered? Had he finally succumbed to the darkness? A primal fear seized me, propelling me towards his study. My fingers fumbled on the keypad before I punched in the six-digit passcode.

Stepping into Levi’s study always felt like entering the labyrinthine depths of his mind. Towering stacks of overflowing boxes crammed with documents threatened to topple from every corner, reaching towards the ceiling. Bookshelves, overflowing with leather-bound volumes and scattered papers, lined the walls. The only source of light was the two large monitors on his cluttered desk. And then I saw him. Levi, his chest heaving, a shattered glass clutched in his hand, droplets of blood blooming against his pale skin.

“Levi! Are you alright? What in God’s name happened?”

Levi slowly lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes dark and turbulent. “It appears, that I need to pay a visit to the office.”

“Okay, my dear Levi…” I said softly, a desperate plea for reason. “Instead of envisioning the fiery demise of the government staff of this crumbling nation, let’s focus on this immediate crisis, alright? Let’s bandage your hand first.”

Levi lifted his hand, examining the bleeding gash with a detached interest. “Bandaging will be a futile gesture, Raphael. This requires stitches. Much like the lacerations the government staff will be requiring in approximately one hour.”

“Do you want me to call a doctor for your hand, Levi?”

“No need for such dramatics, Raphael,” he replied, his tone calm. “Would you be so kind as to bring me the first aid kit from the kitchen?”

I nodded quickly, and sprinted out of his study. I took the stairs two at a time, grabbing the white box of the first aid kit from its place in the kitchen cupboard. What if this fury, truly explodes when he’s confronted with the perceived incompetence of his staff? At least he’s here, contained within his study, for now.

I placed the first aid kit on his desk with a soft thud. Levi immediately opened it. “Please pour the hydrogen peroxide solution onto that gauze,” he instructed. My hands trembled slightly as I did as he asked, the fizzing liquid soaking the white cotton. He selected a pair of tweezers from the kit and began extracting the embedded shards of glass from his palm. Not a flinch, not a wince, not even the slightest grimace marred his impassive features. It was as if he were removing splinters.

“Thank you, Raphael,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, “although the effervescence might produce a sound that will, no doubt, make your stomach churn.” He took the saturated gauze from my hand and firmly pressed it against his bleeding palm. He was right. That chsss sound of the hydrogen peroxide made me flinch.

“I will attend to this laceration myself,” he stated, as he reached for the surgical needle and thread within the kit. “The process, I assume, might be rather… unpleasant for you to witness.”

“T-The fuck, Levi? You’re actually going to stitch yourself up?”

“Yes, Raphael.” He looked directly into my wide eyes, the question in mine apparently as baffling to him as asking what two plus two equals.

Okay… Let’s think. This is Levi. It will be gruesome, undoubtedly, and witnessing him deliberately inflict more pain on himself will be… heartbreaking in its own way. But perhaps, by staying present, I can keep him here.

“It’s fine, Levi,” I managed, my voice a little shaky. “I… I’m not particularly squeamish about blood. But… tell me what happened, alright? What triggered this anger?”

Levi poured rubbing alcohol over his uninjured hand and then doused the needle with the antiseptic. Without the slightest hesitation, he made the first piercing contact with his torn flesh. A wave of nausea washed over me, a tremor seized my legs. It wasn’t fear, but unease, a violation of the natural order.

“You see, Raphael,” Levi explained, his voice steady despite the needle piercing his skin, “I am tasked with the unenviable endeavor of identifying suitable presidential candidates. A seemingly insurmountable obstacle, given the alarmingly low number of individuals within Ascaria possessing the requisite administrative acumen. That deficiency alone is a veritable boulder obstructing progress.” He made the second precise insertion of the needle. “What presents an even more formidable geological obstruction, however, is the current body of laws, Raphael. This legislative framework displays a breathtaking lack of comprehension regarding the realities reflected in these documents.” The third stitch was drawn taut. “Consequently, I find myself in the unenviable position of needing to devise a strategy to prevent the further depreciation of Ascaria’s currency while simultaneously scouring the nation for viable presidential candidates, all while attempting to draft entirely new laws and bills.” He completed the fourth stitch with an almost casual flick. “Hm,” he hummed, examining the closure, “the laceration wasn’t as deep as I initially assessed.” He neatly tied off the stitch.

His voice… so calm. As if he’s discussing the weather, not sewing his own hand back together.

Pull him back… from the brink of what? Incineration? Madness? That fury in his eyes… it’s terrifying. But the alternative… letting him descend into that darkness… I can’t. I have to try something, anything, even if it sounds utterly absurd.

“Levi…” I began. “I have a… rather unconventional solution. What if… instead of relying on the same stagnant minds in the government staff, you asked for help from law students? Fresh, progressive perspectives, unburdened by the old ways of thinking. Most of their ideas will probably be utter bullshit, yes, a complete waste of time. But… what if one, just one truly innovative solution sticks? What if one of them sees a way through this legal and economic quagmire that you haven’t considered?”

Levi leaned back on his chair, watching the ceiling.

“Hm… Interesting. From incinerating bureaucrats to soliciting legal advice from undergraduates. Your repertoire of solutions is… remarkably diverse, Raphael. A testament to a truly lateral, if somewhat eccentric, mind. Present me with a framework. How would this… 'legal spiderweb' be implemented?"

“Implementing it would be straightforward, Levi,” I explained, a flicker of hope igniting within me. “You issue a call, asking law students from across Ascaria to submit their proposals. The digital age makes it easy; they can send their ideas directly to your study. Also,” I added, “do you need a painkiller for your hand, Levi? It can’t feel pleasant.”

Levi retrieved a small vial from his desk drawer. “I will apply a mild analgesic. Law students, inundating me with their untested theories… It seems my dear Raphael envisions a scenario where I am compelled to unleash my more… colorful vocabulary upon these poor, unsuspecting souls over a dinner table. But,” a faint smile touched his lips, “sure, dear one. Why not introduce a little chaos into the order? Let us proceed with this… experiment.”

He’s… intrigued. The image of him, all polite civility masking a razor-sharp intellect, dissecting the earnest, if perhaps naive, legal theories of those students is indeed both terrifying and darkly amusing. And yet… a disturbing warmth unfurls within me. Pride? Oh, gods, no. Not now. Not after witnessing that brutal display of self-inflicted pain. How can my mind even wander down this twisted path? How can I feel a perverse sense of… pride after seeing him calmly stitch his own hand? Damn it all.

“Y-yeah… so, no… no burning the government staff then?”

Pathetic, horny idiot. My brain is a cesspool.

“Not today, no,” Levi replied, a hint of that smile still lingering. “I have a rather… interesting appointment.”

“What appointment?”

“That fascinating interplay of happiness and shame, coexisting in the span of mere seconds, much like our exchange just days ago… Tell me, dear Raphael, what intricate tapestry of thought is currently being woven within that intriguing head of yours?”

Fuck. How does he do that? With his own hand still bleeding, still bearing the crude stitches he inflicted? Does he actually read thoughts? Gods, what do I say? What plausible, non-humiliating explanation can I possibly conjure? Work, you stupid, lovesick, utterly compromised brain.

“Stop analyzing me, Levi,” I blurted out, a flush creeping up my neck. “What… what appointment are you even talking about?”

Levi’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Ah, yes. My appointment dedicated to the intricate and often contradictory workings of my dear Raphael’s heart and mind. I was, as you observed, rather consumed by a fit of pique mere moments ago. I now find myself in need of a comforting cup of hot chocolate, preferably prepared by your own fair hands, whilst we delve into the fascinating complexities of your rich internal tapestry.”

Gods… no. That sugary concoction will only amplify the processing power of his brain. The entirety of Ascaria should collectively pray that Levi’s appreciation for sugar remains intact. But the immediate, pressing issue is… he will observe me. Intently. Microscopically. He might… he might actually see it. Fuck. How in the deepest circles of hell do I conceal these ridiculous daddy issues from his unnervingly perceptive gaze?

“No hot chocolate for you, Levi,” I said, trying to sound firm. “Your hand is… injured. But perhaps a milkshake? You’d be able to hold the glass easier, wouldn’t you? You just… wait here. I’ll go make it for you.”

What a transparently pathetic attempt at distraction. Gods, please, please don’t let him see the embarrassing mess that is my inner world right now.

Levi’s right eye crinkled at the corner. Shit.

“Hm… Fascinating, Raphael,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “It’s like observing the full spectrum of the rainbow. Happiness, then a wave of shame, and now… a rather palpable embarrassment. I even detect delicate trickles of perspiration beading upon your forehead. But who am I to deny my devoted husband’s rather transparent attempt at feigning innocence and preparing me a… milkshake?”

Gods, this man. There’s no hiding anything from him. I might as well just wear a neon sign flashing ‘Daddy Issues Here.’ Just make the damn milkshake, Raphael. Maybe the cold will somehow freeze this mortifying awareness in its tracks.

After that… interrogation, my brain felt like a scrambled egg. Coherent thought was a distant memory; all I could manage was a series of unintelligible sounds before retreating to kitchen.

Blender, please, just make this incessant mental noise stop. At least grant me a temporary reprieve from this internal cacophony, even if it’s just through temporary deafness.

Honey, milk, ice cream, strawberry, honey, honey. Yeah. Levi’s favorite concoction. A single sip I took months ago nearly sent me spiraling into a sugar-induced oblivion. I carried the frosty glass back to his study, where he was now hunched over his keyboard.

Wait… that’s it. The furious typing, the sheer volume of work he’s trying to juggle – single-handedly.

“Levi…” I said, placing the milkshake gently on the edge of his desk, careful not to disturb the stacks of documents. “You need… assistants.”

“Hm,” Levi hummed, his fingers still working. “My Raphael is displaying a rather uncharacteristic streak of… pragmatism, bordering on cruelty towards his fellow humans, I assume? Do elaborate on this unexpected suggestion.”

It’s not cruelty; it’s… concern, desperation even. He’s drowning in this self-imposed isolation.

“I mean,” I clarified, trying to choose my words carefully, “being an assistant under your guidance, Levi, is not a form of suffering. I’ve observed how you interact with Holden and Annie; you treat them with respect, you value their contributions. ‘Assistant’ feels inadequate. What you need is a support system, a dedicated team of individuals. Perhaps as many as ten people, to at least alleviate a fraction of this overwhelming workload that you’re carrying entirely on your own.”

“Holden and Annie are competent individuals, which is why they are currently entrusted with the ongoing operations of my entire pharmaceutical empire.” He finally ceased his furious typing, his gaze drifting down to his crudely stitched hand, a flicker of self-reproach in his eyes. “This… this display of unrestrained anger, this momentary lapse in composure, is a regrettable anomaly. Truly, this newfound sobriety has unearthed a rather… inconveniently visceral undercurrent within me.” He leaned back in his chair. “Finding ten individuals with the requisite intellect and… adaptability… Training them, educating them to my standards, overseeing their inevitable learning curves… Ah…” he sighed.

Maybe… maybe the idea wasn't entirely repulsive to him after all.

“It’s the lesser of two evils, Levi,” I said softly, my gaze fixed on his weary face. “You bleeding and stitching yourself up in your study, or… investing in training ten people. And frankly,” I continued, my voice gaining a touch more firmness, “watching you stitch your own hand wasn’t disgusting because of the blood, not at all. It was… sad, Levi. Seeing you this utterly exhausted, this worn down, it’s not easy to witness. And honestly, given the monumental weight of your responsibilities, the pressure you’re constantly under… getting angry and crushing a glass? It’s almost… expected.”

He smiled wryly. "'Almost expected'? My dear Raphael, are you lowering your expectations of my self-control? A dangerous precedent indeed. However," he sighed, running a weary hand over his face. "The sheer inefficiency of relying solely on one's own capabilities… it is becoming increasingly apparent, even to my stubborn intellect. Those… bugs. A mere two months of my absence, and they have managed to bring this entire nation to the precipice of collapse. I am not only attempting to build anew from the ashes, but also to painstakingly stitch the wounds of their profound ineptitude."

“Well,” I said, trying to inject a touch of lightness, “in a fit of considerably less controlled fury, I did break your ribs, Levi. So, yes. I believe I possess a rudimentary understanding of frustration. I will call Finn immediately and convey your urgent need for ten… highly capable individuals, alright?”

This is a half-truth. The primary reason for calling Finn it's to let him know I managed to prevent Levi from enacting his… more drastic plan for the government staff.

“Indeed, Raphael. Utmost discretion is paramount. The last thing this already fractured nation needs is a descent into internecine paranoia amongst the existing staff, butchering each other in some misguided attempt at self-preservation. That would be… remarkably inefficient.” He paused his furious typing, taking a sip of the milkshake before his fingers resumed their dance across the keys. “Thank you. For both the milkshake and your constructive suggestions.”

...

I retreated to my own room and immediately dialed the number. “Finn,” I began, my voice still carrying a tremor of the earlier events, “I managed to… dissuade Levi from his visit to the office. Milkshake was involved. It was bad, Finn. He crushed a glass in his hand, then proceeded to… sew the wound himself.”

"Sewed himself? Like… with a needle and thread? Please tell me you're exaggerating, Raphael. My morning coffee hasn't even fully kicked in, and you're painting a mental image that's going to haunt my nightmares. What's the immediate directive? Because frankly, my stress levels were already high before you started describing DIY surgery."

“I wish to all the gods I were exaggerating, Finn. The sliver of good news is that I managed to… redirect his focus. He’s actually agreed to the concept of a support system. Ten… assistants. His only non-negotiable condition? Absolute discretion. Finn, can you even fathom finding ten people?”

A humorless chuckle echoed through the phone. “This is going to be… an adventure. Look, I'll tap every contact I have, shake every tree in the intellectual undergrowth. No promises on the 'capable' part aligning with Levi's definition but I'll find ten individuals who can at least maintain eye contact and feign comprehension. Discretion? We'll start with those who have a proven track record of keeping secrets… like, say, those currently in witness protection. That's a solid foundation, wouldn't you agree?"

A shaky laugh escaped me, a nervous release of the tension that had been coiled tight in my chest since I’d seen that shattered glass. “Wow, Finn. Government service have truly honed your appreciation for dark humor. Look, Levi even considering the existence of another human being; it’s moon landing. I am warning you, Finn. Today was a fragile bribe by milkshake. What about next week? What happens when the sugar rush fades?”

"Moon landing? Please. This is more like discovering intelligent life on Mars. But you are right about next week, Raph."

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“Yeah… It was so heartbreaking to watch, Finn. The casual way he just… stitched himself. It wasn't anger; it was just… grim efficiency. Did something catastrophic happen? I’ve never seen him lose that level of control…” The memory made my stomach churn.

A heavy sigh traveled across the line. "Nothing that will make the evening news headlines, Raphael, just the usual decay of governance reaching critical mass. Think of Ascaria as a patient with a terminal illness. His absence for two months? That was like the patient being left unattended in a back alley. Today, he probably just saw the full extent of the gangrene. It was bad, Raphael. Real bad.”

“Shit… Okay, Finn,” I said, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “Before we both succumb to stress-induced heart attacks… Let’s pray that your unconventional network can deliver a miracle.”

...

I tried to distract myself, flipping through channels and landing on some vapid action movie. Yet, a nagging worry burrowed its way into my thoughts. What if… what if I hadn't gone into his study? Would he have just continued to bleed?

On the other hand, he hadn't seemed to relish the pain. There was determination in his actions, not pleasure. And he had mentioned it, that his sobriety had made his body… more resilient, stronger. But the mental toll… that was a different beast entirely. The image of him calmly sewing himself up, the utter detachment in his eyes, haunted me far more than any spilled blood.

While I was sprawled on the sofa, Levi finally emerged from his study. He descended the stairs, and like a toddler demanding attention, positioned himself directly between me and the television screen.

I tilted my head from side to side, a chuckle escaping me. “Look at you acting like a toddler throwing a tantrum, Levi.”

“Ah,” he smirked, a glint of something sharp in his eyes. “I thought this was the most effective way of getting your undivided attention. You see, Cassiel is… incandescently furious with you, Raphael. For daring to be a rival to his exquisite art collection.”

“Furious? You… Whatever childish game you’re playing, Levi, just spit it out. What do you want from me?”

“Let’s have dinner with Cassiel,” he purred. “While I bask in the radiant glory of my rather delicious victory in this… artistic skirmish.”

Gods, what a petty, grudge-holding man, he is.

“Levi…” I began, trying to inject a playful tone to mask the lingering unease from my call with Finn. “Oh my god, where do I even start with you? You have this… smug look on your face, like a cat who just managed to secure an entire bowl of the most expensive tuna. It’s infuriating.” I paused, then admitted, a touch of heat rising in my cheeks, “Also, as you already know, I get… unreasonably jealous of Cassiel, okay? He is, undeniably, objectively hotter than I am. And last time you two were locked in one of your intellectual sparring matches, I… well, I kind of checked out. My brain just politely ejected itself from the vicinity.”

He smirked again, that infuriatingly self-assured expression softening ever so slightly as he closed the distance between us. “What a remarkably subjective notion, Raphael. ‘Hotter’? Not in the slightest, not to my eyes.” A beat of silence hung in the air before he continued, his voice taking on a lower tone. “Regarding your… mental retreat, I understand. I cannot, force you to have a dinner with him.”

“Y-you mean that, Levi?” I stammered, the heat in my cheeks intensifying. “You… you really think I am more attractive than the late King’s notoriously handsome consort?”

He placed his large palm gently over the top of my head. “I do not utter sentiments devoid of meaning, Raphael. If you do not wish me to engage with Cassiel further, you possess the agency to simply articulate that desire.”

Fuck. I am really this pathetic, aren't I? Telling my husband to potentially sever ties with what might be his only friend in this world?

“Levi…” I began, the words tumbling out in a rush. “That… that’s so incredibly toxic of me to even think, let alone say. I feel insecure, yes. It’s not just that he’s attractive, though that certainly doesn’t help my already fragile ego. It’s also… you both have this shared history, these similar tastes in art that I often don’t even grasp, your conversations just seem to flow, and you have at least a decade of shared experiences… It makes me feel like… like there’s this whole part of you, that I can never truly access, the way Cassiel does.”

“I understand your insecurity regarding the shared history, Raphael.” Levi’s voice was soft, his fingers gently stroking my hair. “Cassiel is merely an ally. But do not for a moment believe that a shared appreciation for a particular shade of paint equates to a deeper understanding of the complexities within me.” His touch lingered for a moment longer. “We share far more than fleeting aesthetics, Raphael. We toppled a nation together, hand in hand. We have spent countless days and nights lost in conversations that spanned the profound to the utterly trivial. And,” he added, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch, “on a completely separate, but equally important note, there is truly no one in this world I find more attractive than you.”

A truly scorching blush bloomed across my face, spreading with alarming speed to my neck and the tips of my ears. It felt like my entire head was radiating heat.

“T-thanks, Levi,” I stammered. “Okay. I will… not descend into fits of jealous pique over a billionaire former King’s consort.”

Levi’s right eye crinkled at the corner.

“Hm… Interesting,” he murmured. “So, there was a flicker of… attraction directed towards Cassiel.”

It was only for a second, okay? A purely aesthetic appreciation for a man who looked like he’d been personally sculpted by angels during a particularly inspired moment. That didn’t count as genuine attraction.

“Where in the nine circles of hell did you even conjure that from?”

A pathetic, transparent deflection. I mentally cursed myself.

Both of his eyes narrowed now.

“Hm… Deflection,” he murmured, his voice laced with a knowing amusement that sent a shiver down my spine. “So, my initial assessment was… accurate, wasn’t it?”

“Handsome is handsome, and he is undeniably handsome,” I conceded. “Also… really tell me, how did you even… I don’t know… think that, Levi?”

“Subtle observation, Raphael. You kept pointedly referring to his formal title, even in casual conversation. You did blush at my compliment, which was… gratifying. But the deeper flush that followed, that wasn’t the primary tell, no. It was your repeated emphasis on Cassiel’s ‘attractiveness.’ An unnecessary affirmation often betrays a lingering thought.”

Fuck… He usually reserved this level of intense scrutiny for dissecting the motives of scheming nobles. Now, all of that laser focus is directed squarely at my own perpetually ‘honest’ face.

“It was for a fleeting second, okay, Levi? Just a single, insignificant second. Obviously, purely due to his… undeniable visual appeal. Nothing more to it than that.”

“Hm… So, now you are attempting to convince me that you did not experience even the faintest flicker of… connection? This conversation, my dear Raphael, continues to escalate in its fascinatingly disingenuous nature.”

Fuck… Raphael, you utter, blithering idiot. You just keep digging yourself deeper.

“I am being honest with you. He was attractive, in a purely visual sense. That is the beginning and the end of it. I have no desire to pursue any form of relationship with him.”

"Raphael," Levi said. "Your fleeting moments of… appreciation for individuals do not threaten the foundations of our relationship. My concern lies not in your momentary acknowledgment of another's appeal, which is, after all, a rather universal human experience. It is the subsequent need for such fervent and repeated denial that piques my interest. What is it you fear acknowledging, even to yourself, that necessitates such a strong defense?"

“Because it feels… disgusting to even entertain the thought, Levi,” I confessed, the shame I’d been trying to suppress finally bubbling to the surface. “Being in a relationship with you, with the depth of what we share, and then being attracted to somebody else… I know you possess a more… expansive view on such matters, but I don’t. It feels like a betrayal, a fundamental failing on my part. I wasn’t trying to mask my attraction, not entirely. I was trying to bury my shame.”

He placed his hand on my cheek. "The capacity to acknowledge beauty in another does not negate the profound relationship we share. Think of it as appreciating a finely crafted sculpture – it does not diminish the value of the masterpiece you hold within your own hands."

“What an analogy, Levi,” I murmured, a genuine warmth spreading through me. “How did you even conjure that up on the spot? It was… surprisingly lovely.”

“Years of noble education and the ill-advised habit of devouring countless volumes, dear Raphael,” he replied, a hint of his usual dry wit returning, though softened by the lingering tenderness of the moment.

I patted my chest insistently. “Come here, you, hug.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Raphael, I rather suspect you are underestimating my… density.”

I kept patting my chest.

He considered me for another beat, then, with a low chuckle, he laid down on my chest. Fuck! He was significantly heavier than I had anticipated. I gasped, trying to force a deep breath into lungs that felt constricted.

“Respiratory distress, Raphael?” Levi’s voice, muffled against my chest, held a note of amusement.

Distress? That was a monumental understatement. It felt like an elephant had decided to take a nap on my rib cage. Deep breaths were a mythical concept at this point.

Then I caught sight of his arm, braced against the couch. This crushing weight wasn’t even his full mass; the considerate bastard was subtly supporting himself.

...

So… The insistent buzzing of my phone dragged me from a fitful sleep in the early hours. Ten frantic text messages from Finn had flooded my screen in less than sixty seconds.

‘Stop Levi. Small riot erupting in the capital.’

My blood ran cold. A small riot? Coming on the heels of everything else? This was spiraling out of control faster than I could possibly have imagined.

I shot out of bed, and bolted towards the door. From the mezzazine overlooking the kitchen, I spotted Levi, his back to me, preparing his morning oatmeal. Okay, he likely hasn’t seen the news yet… I need to be upfront with him. Play it straight.

“Levi…” I called out, my voice urgent, as I raced down the stairs, my bare feet pounding on the cool stone. “Finn just texted. There’s… there’s a small riot breaking out in the capital.”

His movements in the kitchen stilled instantly. His entire body seemed to freeze, as if someone had flicked an off switch. The spoon he held hovered motionless above the bowl of oatmeal. For a moment, the silence stretched, taut and thick. My breath hitched in my throat. I braced myself, every muscle in my body tensing, expecting the eruption. I imagined the oatmeal bowl shattering against the wall, the kitchenware flying.

He placed his spoon back onto the edge of the bowl, the ceramic clinking softly in the sudden stillness. “Why didn’t I think of this?” he mumbled, more to himself than to me, a frown creasing his brow.

What? He… wasn’t erupting in fury.

He just stood there, staring blankly at the oatmeal, a rhythmic muttering escaping his lips. “Ah… This is it… The logical next step… Why didn’t I even consider this…”

What in the seven hells was going on?

“L-Levi?” I stammered, my confusion overriding my apprehension. “Are you not… angry?”

He finally looked up. “Angry, Raphael? Perhaps at my own oversight. Why would I direct anger at citizens for exercising their fundamental rights to protest injustice? No, my frustration lies in my own lack of foresight. How did I not even consider the strategic advantage of… staging a controlled demonstration to apply pressure?” He ran a hand through his hair, a strange light dawning in his eyes. “Blast. So obvious, in retrospect.”

Is he… actually upset that he didn't think of inciting this chaos first? This is beyond twisted.

He took several breaths, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the kitchen window. “Yes… that riot should be allowed to… develop further. Why didn’t this occur to me sooner?”

What the actual fuck was happening?

“A riot should continue, Levi? The hell are you talking about?” I demanded, my voice rising in alarm.

“Economic upturns often follow periods of conflict, albeit on a larger scale,” he murmured absently. “This… this will be a more localized effect, a necessary recalibration. Ah… the solution was staring me in the face all along. I should inform the relevant policing departments to… exercise restraint.” He reached for his phone.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” I yelled, my voice raw with disbelief and a dawning horror. “There are people in the streets, terrified, potentially getting hurt, and your first goddamn thought is… to let it continue? Not even try to stop it?” I practically lunged at him, grabbing his arm, my fingers digging into his sleeve.

“Raphael,” he calmly replied. “I am actively trying to prevent unnecessary police brutality. Think pragmatically, for once. Make a choice. The stability of Ascaria’s currency, or a relatively contained, localized… expression of civic unrest?” He looked down at my hand. “Choose wisely.”

“Fine, Levi,” I spat out, my voice trembling with a mixture of fury and disgust. “Stop the damn police brutality. And you know what? I’m going. I’m going to that riot, you calloused, heartless asshole.” Without waiting for a response, I turned sharply and stormed out of the kitchen.

Levi followed me to the hallway.

“Riot doesn’t necessarily equate to widespread harm to safety, Raphael. Your impulsive nature, while often… chaotic, is undeniably endearing to observe,” Levi countered. “What would you have wished me to do? Deploy the full might of the Ascarian military to the capital, resulting in a wholesale butchering of our own citizens? Instead, I am attempting to navigate a volatile situation and ultimately make it work for the very people who are currently marching in protest.”

That logic is so twisted it could tie itself in a pretzel.

“I am leaving, Levi. I am going to see what’s happening with my own eyes. And no, Levi. It is not some impulsive whim. It is my fundamental right as a citizen of this nation to attend a peaceful protest, isn’t it?” I glared at him, daring him to contradict me.

“Go on, then, Raphael. By all means, attend your civic engagement. Then, when the adrenaline fades and the reality of the situation dawns on you, come back home. Enlighten me with your firsthand account of how this peaceful protest was nothing more than a leisurely stroll down the streets accompanied by some spirited shouting. Perhaps, in your newfound wisdom, you might even find it within yourself to offer a small apology for your departure. Go.”

Asshole.

I slammed the door behind me. I pulled a mask over my face, to blend into a crowd. I started the engine of my car and sped towards the highway, the tires protesting slightly as I merged onto the road, to capital’s busiest boulevard.

According to the initial press reports flickering on my phone, the crowd already numbered over two thousand souls. Considering Ascaria’s modest size, especially for an event unfolding in the early hours of the morning, that was a significant turnout. Their anger, the reports stated, was focused on the recent and drastic devaluation of our currency. As I finally reached the edge of the boulevard, I could see the flashing blue and red lights of the police vehicles lining the perimeter.

Slipping out of my car a few blocks away, I melted into the edge of the growing throng. The rhythmic banging of makeshift drums and the angry blare of horns created a chaotic soundtrack to the unfolding scene. People of all ages were here, their faces etched with worry and frustration. I kept my head down, moving with the flow of the crowd, trying to absorb the atmosphere.

Then, a new wave of sound joined the cacophony. People in the houses lining the boulevard began to appear at the windows, banging pots and pans together with a fierce rhythm. The police, however, remained impassive. Their focus seemed to be on forming protective lines in front of the storefronts. They were bracing for a worst-case scenario, not actively trying to quell the noise or disperse the crowd. Levi's instructions to "exercise restraint" were clearly being followed, for now.

A palpable wave of motion rippled through the mass as they began to move, a unified front marching directly towards the line of police officers. Shit. This was the tipping point, the moment where simmering frustration threatened to boil over. As the distance closed, individuals started to bang on the police shields with their fists and any instruments they carried. Some began kicking at the reinforced barriers. I could feel the tension in the air thicken, becoming almost suffocating. The police remained stoic, a wall of armored figures, but the sheer force of the approaching anger felt like it could shatter their composure at any moment.

The police line, as one, began a retreat, like a withdrawing turtle shell. They were yielding ground, yes, but in doing so, they were effectively creating a human dam, a strategic bottleneck designed to channel and contain the surging outpouring of the crowd's anger.

As the minutes ticked by, the crowd swelled. The beginning of the early work shifts brought a fresh wave of people, salary workers joining the throng. In the span of a mere fifteen minutes, it felt like another thousand bodies had been absorbed into the mass. I remained on the periphery, a silent observer. My attention wasn't fixed on the surging crowd. Instead, my gaze was locked on the stoic line of police officers.

The officers remained a study in impassivity. Yet, as I observed their positioning, a different picture began to emerge. They weren't arrayed in a formation designed for aggressive crowd suppression. Instead, their lines were creating a protective barrier not around government buildings, but around the entrances of shops, the glass fronts of malls, and the perimeters of several key historical monuments that dotted the area.

To be candid, observing the scene unfold, it became apparent that neither the protestors nor the police were actively instigating vandalism or brutality. The tension was palpable, a heavy undercurrent of frustration, but it hadn't yet erupted into violence. But... The press was a swirling vortex around the demonstration – choppers thrumming overhead, cameras flashing relentlessly, interviewers shoving microphones into the faces of bewildered protestors…

Fucking manipulative asshole… He wasn’t just allowing this to happen; he was actively shaping it, using the voracious appetite of the media to amplify the protest's size and message. He was turning genuine public discontent into a carefully orchestrated spectacle. He truly is a master manipulator, isn’t he?

How… How can his mind even conceive of such a thing? My own logic circuits feel overloaded, unable to process the sheer audacity of it. Ordering the police to stand down, while simultaneously orchestrating the press to amplify the protest, to draw more people in… How?

My phone buzzed urgently in my pocket, Finn’s name flashing across the screen.

“Where the hell are you, Raph? Levi hasn’t shown up at the office, and with everything going on… he’s not planning to just torch us, is he?”

“I’m at the protest, Finn. And no, surprisingly, Levi isn’t going to ‘burn’ anyone. In fact… he’s actually pleased about this. He’s actively encouraging it, using the media to amplify the crowd. His reasoning? He thinks it’ll somehow ‘bubble’ the economy.”

"Protest? Gods, Raph, are you alright? Please be careful out there, okay? 'Bubble up'… Damn it, I think I know that twisted logic of his. All those people out on the streets, Raph? What the hell do you think they're going to do when they get tired of shouting and waving signs?"

A cold dread washed over me, the pieces of Levi's disturbing puzzle clicking into place with sickening clarity.

"Spend money…”

"Yeah, Raph. It’s not an effective solution, just a temporary fix, a band-aid at best. But… it might buy us some precious time. Look, man, I’m being dead serious here. Considering everything that’s been happening, please, just go home. It might look calm on the news feed, but all it takes is one volatile person, one spark of real anger in that crowd, and everything could explode."

Where does one even begin to unravel the layers of his convoluted thinking? It’s undeniably brilliant, a stroke of economic and social engineering. But it’s so profoundly twisted that it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I know he lacks empathy, I know he lacks guilt… But this… this feels like a chasm opening up between the man I… care for, and the calculating strategist who seems capable of anything. It’s not just one person’s emotions he’s toying with; he’s actively manipulating the hopes, fears, and anger of an entire goddamn country. And the sheer scale of it… orchestrated with a few well-placed phone calls from the comfort of his study. It’s one thing to intellectually grasp his lack of conventional morality, but witnessing its manifestation on this scale… it’s unbearable.