A Plan No One Could Accept

That won't work well, she stated after a pause, her words steady yet hollow, as if pulled from a time beyond now. It carries too much risk. Chances are it will fail

Quietly, the words settled - less a shout, more a sentence passed. Not loud, but certain.

A silence grew there - light but tight.

That was when she looked straight at him.

She paused, then spoke again, voice lowering slightly. If there's more to this story, now would be the time. Her words hung without pressure, yet carried weight. Something unspoken might still linger between them

Stillness returned - though now, not from surprise. Quiet settled, shaped by something deeper than before.

It was waiting.

Heavy. Intentional.

Each one stared his way just then.

Far beyond mere reaction now.

Finding it tough to get what he means.

Trying to read him.

Breath came harder now, as if stone had shifted without sound.

Mia moved a step ahead, her hands gripping the edge of her sleeve like it might keep her steady. Frowning just a bit, she studied his expression - less about finding truth, more about feeling safe. A quiet breath came before she looked away.

"That's risky," she whispered, words nearly stumbling until she pulled them straight. You act as if it means little - yet that isn't true at all

Almost retreating, she moved forward instead. One small step brought her nearer again.

"You don't always have to carry everything alone."

Cassidy moved next to her, softer now - yet just as steady. Not once did she look away.

Not alone in this, she said, voice quiet yet steady, as if planting words into the ground. Here we stay, whether welcome or not

A soft breath slipped out, nearly a snort.

"Or are you planning to ignore all of us again?"

Now Tsubaki stood a little different. The way she held herself had changed.

Subtle - but unmistakable.

Into the space she moved, spine lifting like drawn steel. A quiet shift in her stance - shoulders drawing close without warning. Her fingers hovered by the weapon's grip, not because danger called, but because old habits answer before thought.

"My king… this is not a battlefield you enter without preparation."

Her voice was steady, disciplined—but there was something under it. Not fear.

Concern.

Measured. Controlled. But real.

"You are not facing an opponent you can read with a blade alone."

Ronan stepped forward again.

This time, slower.

More deliberate.

His usual sharp presence felt… quieter. Grounded.

His voice lowered, not out of hesitation—but weight.

"My king… this is not a matter of pride."

He held his gaze, unwavering.

"If it were, I wouldn't speak."

A beat.

"But this?" His jaw tightened slightly. "This is something else."

Black didn't step forward.

He didn't need to.

The moment he spoke, the air itself seemed to harden.

"This is strategy."

No emotion. No softness. Just truth, stripped bare.

"You don't gamble assets like this."

A slight tilt of his head, eyes narrowing just enough.

"Not unless you've already accounted for every possible loss."

Johny let out a quiet breath, arms crossing as he leaned back just slightly—but his eyes stayed sharp, locked onto Leon.

"Numbers matter," he added, almost casually—but the weight behind it wasn't casual at all.

"Risk. Return. Probability."

A faint shake of his head.

"Right now? The numbers aren't on your side."

Silence returned—but not empty.

Not uncertain.

This time, it was full.

Filled with echoes of words once said - alongside those forever kept silent.

No one moved.

Everyone kept their eyes right there.

It wasn't resistance they showed. Instead, quiet acceptance settled in their silence.

It wasn't about defiance. Their actions simply moved elsewhere.

He stood there, they beside him

Though they were asking their questions.

In that hush, time seemed to linger…

He took his time before speaking. The silence stretched while they stayed still.

Something tight hung in the space between them, almost like a thread pulled too far. Not loud, yet impossible to ignore - this quiet filled up every corner without making a sound. Each breath waited longer than the last. Words stayed put behind closed lips, piling up slowly.

A slight movement came from one elder as he adjusted himself, grip hardening on the chair's edge just before words left his mouth - quiet yet firm.

"…You're asking us to trust a path that could break everything we've built."

A sound broke through, edged with urgency, spilling out before it could be stopped.

"And if it fails?"

A silence fell. After that, softer - closer to the bone.

"What happens to the people who believe in us?"

A breath slipped out as she stood distant, arms crossed. Her gaze stayed fixed on Leon. Slowly, air left her lungs. There, by the edge, she waited.

"You're not wrong," she admitted. "That's what makes this harder. If you were wrong, we'd already be fighting you."

Some quiet voices moved across the space - not quite sure, leaning into silence, heavy with caution. Then came nods, slow, almost hidden beneath lowered eyes.

A figure near the front shifted a little ahead, arms resting on thighs, eyes locked straight ahead.

"We're not your enemies, Leon."

A brief pause.

"But don't mistake our silence for blind faith."

The entire room -

Opposed him.

Just not because they refused. Instead, something quieter moved them.

Yet knowing the danger changed nothing. Still they moved ahead, aware of what could go wrong.

If he was correct, they grasped the weight of that truth. It settled in slowly, like cold air through a cracked window.

If he didn't, here's the price of that choice.

A sound slipped out from one, soft like breathing, nearly a chuckle - yet empty of joy.

"You're asking us to gamble everything on something we can't see yet."

Now his gaze jumped, tracing the lines on Leon's skin. Then it paused, caught somewhere near the mouth.

"So say it clearly… why should we follow you into that?"

Through everything that happened -

Leon didn't move.

His eyes stayed on them without moving.

Listened.

Let them speak.

Still fixed, his eyes stayed unchanged - not sharpening nor easing. They simply remained, taking in each phrase, each hesitation, all the quiet worries hidden just beneath what was said.

Stillness held him through every word. Never a break in that quiet attention.

Because this—this mattered.

Not their agreement.

But their honesty.

The room slowly quieted again, voices fading one by one until nothing remained but the weight of what had been said.

It wasn't just silence—it was the kind that pressed against the chest, heavy and expectant. No one shifted. No one spoke. Even the air felt still, like the room itself was waiting.

Then—

He raised his hand.

Just slightly.