pirated stuff

Marianne vi Britannia represented an anomaly in the rigid Britannian hierarchy—a commoner who ascended to imperial consort not through the traditional pathways of nobility or courtly manipulation, but through combat excellence.

In my previous life as a salaryman, I would have classified her as the dangerous outlier: the factory floor worker who leveraged technical brilliance into an executive position while maintaining operational expertise. The type who could see through management double-speak because they'd done the actual work.

I sank into the indicated chair with deliberate poise, conscious of every micro-expression crossing my face. Imperial etiquette had drilled the appropriate posture into muscle memory, but strategic assessment never ceased. This confrontation required delicate handling.

"I appreciate the directness, Your Majesty," I said, opting for a calculated risk. Continued denials would only undermine my position. "Security assessment falls within my areas of interest."

"A rather specific interest for a child," Marianne observed, one eyebrow lifting slightly. Her fingers ceased their rhythmic drumming, now folding together as she leaned forward with increased attention. "Cornelia mentions you've demonstrated similar… extraodinary capabilities in your tactical simulations. Combat instincts that shouldn't exist in someone your age."

I barely managed to mask my surprise. Cornelia had been impressed? By that substandard performance? I had deliberately restrained myself during the most recent Knightmare simulations, intentionally making "beginner mistakes" while still demonstrating enough aptitude to justify future training. In our most recent lesson, I had calculated my performance to show potential without triggering suspicion—not more than 60% of my actual ability, well within acceptable parameters for a 'gifted child.'

Had I miscalibrated so severely? If Cornelia found even my intentionally hampered performance exceptional enough to report to Marianne, I needed to reassess my baseline for "normal childhood development" in this world. This represented a significant intelligence failure on my part.

"I believe in practical application of theoretical knowledge," I replied. "Books only teach so much."

"Indeed." Her eyes studied me with unsettling intensity. "Though most children your age don't apply 'practical knowledge' to professional-grade security evaluations of imperial residences."

"Most children don't have my responsibilities," I countered, a calculated appeal to our shared understanding of the imperial family's brutal competition. As a former commoner who rose through merit rather than birth, Marianne should appreciate better than most the necessity of survival instincts in Britannia's ruthless hierarchy. Her own ascension had likely required similar strategic foresight.

A slight smile crossed Marianne's face—the first expression that appeared genuinely unguarded. "No, I suppose they don't." She tilted her head slightly. "What I still don't understand is why my residence specifically prompted such urgent attention. Jeremiah's report of your movements over the last few weeks was detailed—your methodical examination of lock mechanisms, your analysis of camera blind spots, your tracking of guard rotation patterns. That wasn't mere childish curiosity, Tanya."

I stiffened. Complete mission compromise. Humiliating.

As Marianne said, the core question remained. Why investigate Aries Villa? I weighed my response options carefully, calculating risk factors against potential information gain. Admitting Being X's warning would expose vulnerabilities I couldn't afford. Each potential response carried risks I couldn't fully quantify.

"I had concerns about potential security vulnerabilities," I said carefully, keeping my explanation deliberately vague.

"Concerns," Marianne repeated, studying me with increased intensity despite her continuing warm smile. "From what source?"

"…I can't precisely explain the source," I replied truthfully. "Only that they felt significant enough to warrant investigation."

Marianne's expression shifted subtly—still warm but somehow more focused. "Impressions that come without clear source can be significant, Tanya. Particularly if they prove accurate."

Something in her phrasing caught my attention. She hadn't dismissed my "concerns" as childish imagination or delusion. Instead, she seemed to be probing for something specific. But what?

"You found vulnerabilities in the eastern entrance," she continued. "Camera blind spots, optimized approach vectors, simplified locking mechanisms. What did you make of those discoveries?"

"They suggested intentional design rather than oversight," I replied cautiously. "A deliberate access point created outside normal security protocols."

"Very observant." Marianne nodded slightly. "And what purpose did you imagine such accommodations might serve?"

"Initially, I considered covert entry set up by unauthorized personnel," I admitted. "Though that theory was complicated by subsequent events."

"You mean your encounter with a certain green-haired girl," Marianne said, her smile widening with genuine amusement.

I couldn't hide my surprise. "You've been in contact?"

"C.C. tells me most things," Marianne replied with a dismissive wave. "When properly bribed with free pizza coupons."

As if summoned by the word, the study door swung open without announcement or knock. The green-haired woman from my midnight encounter strolled in, carrying a flat box and wearing the same practical clothing I'd seen before. Her golden eyes met mine briefly before dismissing my presence entirely.

"You're taking too long," she announced to Marianne without any form of address or honorific. "And there was a queue at the stand."

I struggled to contain my shock. Not only at her casual disregard for imperial protocol, but at the confirmation that she genuinely had access to the Empress. She hadn't been lying about their connection.

"C.C., your timing is impeccable as always," Marianne said with evident affection. "Is that from the Imperial kitchen?"

"Weren't you the one to suggest it?" C.C. replied flatly, setting the box on Marianne's desk directly atop what looked like classified military documents. I winced as grease began seeping through the cardboard onto what appeared to be operational deployment charts. Two lifetimes of ingrained respect for intelligence handling procedures screamed in protest. It was a breach of document security protocol that would have resulted in severe disciplinary action in any properly functioning military organization. It was physically painful to witness.

She turned those disturbing golden eyes toward me. "The tiny spy is here."

"You were telling the truth," I stated rather than asked, unable to completely mask my disbelief.

"I had no reason to lie," C.C. replied, opening the box to reveal what I now recognized as pizza. She took a slice without ceremony and bit into it with evident satisfaction.

"I see you've already met my friend," Marianne observed, selecting a slice for herself with the same casual grace she might use at a formal state dinner. "C.C. likes to come and go without fanfare."

You don't say.

I stared between them, utterly thrown off balance. The security vulnerability I'd discovered wasn't an assassination vector but a special arrangement for the Empress's pizza-eating friend with the unnatural eyes and coded name.

"You're the source of those vulnerabilities. Those deliberate security gaps are meant for her," I realized aloud, the pieces clicking into place.

"She caught on eventually," C.C. added around a mouthful of cheese.

"I think she's just voicing disbelief," Marianne replied, offering me the pizza box with surprising informality. "Would you like a slice, Tanya?"

I eyed the offered food with calculated wariness. I recognized this tactic—offering refreshments during interrogation creates false comfort and social obligation. Standard procedure: subjects who accept food are more likely to demonstrate cooperative behavior; guilty parties reject offerings at a rate three times higher than innocent ones.

Textbook psychology.

Of course, refusing would signal unnecessary defensiveness and would implicate myself as guilty. Strategic evaluation indicated acceptance as the optimal response—establish rapport, appear at ease, gather intelligence while seeming cooperative.

I carefully selected a slice with the fewest toppings while maintaining eye contact at precisely the appropriate level for respectful engagement without subordination.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I accepted the casual hospitality after what I'd expected to be a severe reprimand. My mind executed parallel processing—analyzing her unexpected hospitality, formulating response strategies, and evaluating the room for potential assets or escape routes should this amicable atmosphere prove deceptive.

"That still doesn't explain why you were investigating so thoroughly in the first place," Marianne continued, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. "Why was it so significant that you were made you believe my safety might be compromised?"

I took a bite of pizza to buy time, surprised to find it genuinely excellent.

"It was… a warning," I said finally, choosing my words with extreme care.

"A warning," Marianne repeated, exchanging a swift glance with C.C. "Again, from what source, exactly?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose the specifics," I replied diplomatically.

C.C. tilted her head slightly. "Has she been Geassed?" she asked Marianne, the casual nature of the question belied by the intensity of her gaze.

Geassed? The unfamiliar term sounded like some form of code. My mind ran through possible meanings. Had I been vetted? Contacted? Recruited by an unknown faction? The imperial court thrived on such machinations. Had I spent too little time in the library to recognize such a term?

"I don't believe so," Marianne replied, studying me with renewed intensity. "Though it would explain her odd behavior."

"What an unusual child," C.C. remarked flatly.

"We don't often get the chance to speak properly, do we, Tanya?" Marianne mused, her tone shifting just enough to suggest deeper intent. "Since you're here, I've been meaning to ask—what are your thoughts on the imperial system?"

The abrupt change in topic triggered immediate caution. Was this a loyalty test? A probe for seditious thinking? In a Darwinian empire where strength determined succession, even questioning the system could be perceived as weakness.

"It's an efficient mechanism for ensuring capable leadership," I replied carefully, observing their reactions.

"Is it, though?" Marianne challenged gently. "Or does it simply ensure that the most ruthless rise to power, regardless of their capacity for true leadership?"

My tactical alarms began blaring. An empress questioning the imperial system—this was dangerous territory. It had to be a test.

"There are always merits and limitations with these things," I hedged, unwilling to commit to either criticism or defense. "No system is ever perfect, as history has shown."

"She speaks like a politician already," C.C. commented with a hint of amusement.

"A system which serves those with power," Marianne continued, her voice softer. "But what if that power is built on foundations of deception? What if the authority that governs us all is fundamentally… flawed?"

I froze, trying to decode her meaning. The authority that governed us all…? Was she speaking of the Emperor himself? Charles zi Britannia, who styled himself almost as a god to his subjects, demanding absolute loyalty and faith?

"A flawed authority can lead to systemic inefficiency and unnecessary conflict," I offered neutrally, still probing for her true meaning. "Just as a competent authority can lead to the opposite."

"Precisely," Marianne said, leaning forward slightly. "And what if the highest authority is the most flawed of all? What if the one who leads according to natural law is actually manipulating humanity for its benefit?"

My breath caught. Was she truly suggesting what I thought? Was the Empress openly criticizing Emperor Charles—her husband and the supreme ruler of Britannia? This was beyond dangerous—it was absolutely treasonous.

But wasn't this exactly what Being X had warned me about? The threat to Marianne wasn't external but of her own making—a conspiracy against the Emperor himself. Just hearing those words from the empress's mouth implicated me. I had a creeping suspicion that if I didn't answer exactly as they wanted, there was little chance of me leaving this room alive.

"Your Majesty," I replied carefully, watching their reactions closely. "You cannot possibly be suggesting—"

"—And when authority claims divinity while perpetuating only human flaws and suffering?" she continued, those terrifying eyes fixed on me. "When a system demands complete submission without providing value in return?"

I paused.

The phrasing struck a chord. It echoed my own bitter thoughts about Being X across three lifetimes. But in this context, she referred to the pseudo-religious authority of Emperor Charles, who demanded devotion from his subjects while ruling through fear and power. Coming from a commoner who rose to such heights, the sentiment was perhaps not as surprising as it should've been.

"Then that system would represent a fundamental misalignment of incentives," I replied, my voice hardening slightly despite my efforts to maintain neutrality. "Any system demanding faith without providing value creates an unstable equilibrium."

Marianne and C.C. exchanged a look that confirmed my suspicions. They were indeed discussing the Emperor, using theological language as a thin veil, to test me.

"What if I told you," Marianne said, her voice dropping to just above a whisper, "that what you describe is actually a fraud? A system that maintains power through deception and separation rather than true authority?"

That's it. I'm dead.

There was no mistaking it. She was talking about Charles and his empire. The "fraud" was his claim to divine right to rule, the "deception" his portrayal of strength as virtue, and the "separation" his deliberate fostering of competition among his children and nobles, and potentially the world at large.

"And what would Your Majesty suggest if that were the case…?"

"Such fraud deserves to be exposed. Perhaps even… eliminated."

There it was—open discussion of regicide. They were testing my reaction to the concept of removing the Emperor from power. The infamous 'Emblem of Blood' era had featured precisely such royal assassinations in the struggle for succession.

"Elimination of systemic flaws must be approached carefully," I warned. "Hasty correction often creates greater instability."

"Wisdom beyond your years," Marianne commented with approval. "Most rush headlong into change without considering consequences."

"But sometimes," C.C. countered, "dramatic action is necessary when systems prove resistant to reform."

"And when those systems suppose divine authority while encompassing only human pettiness," Marianne added, watching me carefully, "the need for correction becomes even more urgent."

This was becoming dangerously explicit. What I couldn't fathom was why they were including me—a six-year-old princess with limited political influence—in such dangerous discussions.

Were they recruiting me? Testing me? Setting me up? Had I truly looked so suspicious investigating Aries Villa that they had to ensure I wasn't attempting to assassinate the Emperor herself?

The strategic possibilities multiplied with each exchange. I desperately tried searching for a way to weasel my way out of the discussion.

"Divine authority without divine wisdom has the potential to create significant suffering," I noted, my inherent bitterness toward Being X coloring my tone despite my caution.

"You speak as if from personal experience," C.C. observed dispassionately.

I paused.

Something in her phrasing triggered a cascade of suppressed rage. After three lifetimes of Being X's manipulations, the careful restraint I'd maintained suddenly wavered.

"Personal experience is a compelling educator," I replied, my voice tighter than intended.

"Tell me," Marianne asked, her expression intensifying, "what is your perspective on entities that claim godhood while demonstrating behavior inconsistent with truth?"

Being X.

I couldn't completely suppress my reaction. Being killed as a salaryman for refusing to acknowledge it, forced into a child soldier's body, sent to die on the frontlines, then reincarnated yet again—the bitterness I'd suppressed for six years in this life suddenly threatened to surface.

"My perspective?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a precise, measured tone.

"Yes," Marianne confirmed, watching me with increasing interest. "Feel free to speak your mind."

When I spoke, my voice was clinically analytical, as if delivering a particularly damning performance evaluation.

"Any entity demanding worship without providing demonstrable value represents catastrophic inefficiency in spiritual resource allocation," I began, my words crisp and methodical. "Divine authority that demonstrates pettiness, manipulation, and cosmic extortion fails to meet even the most basic standards of competent leadership."

I folded my hands in my lap, posture impeccable despite the intensity building behind my careful facade. My voice remained level, though each word carried increasing weight.

"Such leadership implements devotion as a performance metric without proper consideration for regional variables or resource limitations. It prioritizes blind loyalty over productive outcomes, often at the cost of conflict—all hallmarks of incompetence."

I noted Marianne and C.C. exchanging glances, clearly surprised by the clinical deconstruction emerging from what appeared to be a royal kindergartener. Rather than dampening my assessment, their reaction only sharpened my focus.

"From an efficiency standpoint," I continued, my analytical tone taking on a subtle edge, "the approach demonstrates catastrophic misunderstanding of basic motivational principles. You don't generate genuine belief through coercion and punishment—that creates compliance, not commitment."

I rose from my chair with controlled precision, maintaining perfect composure as I began to pace with measured steps.

"Furthermore, the arbitrary enforcement of consequences demonstrates profound procedural inconsistency. If judgments applied equitable standards across cases, one might at least acknowledge systematic governance. But instead—" here my voice took on the faintest tremor of intensity "—it operates on personal grievance rather than basic principles, targeting specific individuals with disproportionate attention."

My child's voice remained steady, but my eyes had grown cold and focused with each word, betraying the depth of my conviction.

"Any competent leader would recognize—" I inhaled sharply, hands curling into tight fists at my sides, nails biting into my palm. "—that loyalty based on evidence and reciprocal value creates stronger adherence than loyalty extracted through existential threats!"

The final words escaped with unexpected force, my composed analysis momentarily giving way to genuine conviction as I jabbed my finger upward for emphasis.

"It's not only immoral—it's illogical."

As silence stretched between us, my gaze flickered downward. My hands—so small, so delicate—were clenched into white-knuckled fists. For the first time in six years, I had forgotten the body I was in.

A child was not supposed to speak like this. A child was not supposed to understand these things. And yet, as I looked up, I saw it in their eyes. They knew.

Marianne stared at me, her teacup frozen halfway to her lips. C.C. had completely stopped eating, her pizza slice suspended in mid-air, those golden eyes wide with what appeared to be genuine shock.

"That was…" Marianne began, then stopped, apparently at a loss for words.

"Are we sure she isn't Geassed?" C.C. finished for her, still staring at me as if I'd sprouted another head.

I quickly reasserted control, smoothing my expression. "I-I apologize for the intensity," I said, attempting to sound like a contrite child rather than a bitter former salaryman with PTSD from divine persecution. "I got carried away with philosophical questions."

"No," Marianne said quickly, setting down her teacup with a decisive click. "Don't apologize. That was…" She glanced at C.C., who nodded slowly. "…everything we needed to hear."

I started sweating. Cold, prickling fear crawled up my spine after an analysis of the situation. Had this entire encounter been an elaborate counterintelligence trap? My midnight security assessment followed by this "casual" conversation—was it all designed to expose me as a foreign operative? Perhaps they suspected I was an assassin planted by a rival country, conducting reconnaissance for a strike against Marianne and Charles herself.

The timing was too convenient—Being X warns me about a threat to Marianne, I investigate, and suddenly I'm in a private meeting ranting about overthrowing divine authority. The strategic implications were horrifying. Being X had manipulated me again, playing on my paranoia to make me appear guilty of the very crime I was trying to prevent!

My mind raced through emergency response options. Denial would appear suspicious. Attempting to flee would confirm guilt. Pleading my youth and inexperience might—

Wait. 'Everything we needed to hear'? Not 'evidence of your treason' or 'confirmation of our suspicions'?

The wording gave me a glimmer of hope. They hadn't caught on to my reincarnated nature but instead seemed to interpret my rant as a veiled criticism of Emperor Charles—his semi-divine authority as ruler of the 'Holy' Britannian Empire. Their understanding wasn't entirely wrong; my contempt for Being X could easily transfer to any authority claiming divine right without demonstrating divine wisdom.

Marianne and C.C. seemed to notice my panic.

"You will find there are others who share your perspective," Marianne said smiled disarmingly. "Those who see the current… divine authority as you put it… as fundamentally flawed and in need of correction."

"Dismantlement, even," C.C. added, studying me intently.

I studied their expressions, searching for signs of deception or manipulation. In my previous lives, I'd sat through countless negotiations and interrogations, developing a finely-tuned radar for insincerity. What I saw shocked me. Their expressions contained none of the micro-tells of deception—no excessive blinking, no overcompensating stillness, no subtle tension in facial muscles.

They were completely serious. The Empress of the Holy Britannian Empire and her mysterious companion were genuinely plotting to kill Emperor Charles zi Britannia.

The strategic implications cascaded through my mind. This wasn't a trap at all. From the start, I had misunderstood Marianne's intentions completely. They were checking my suitability as a potential ally in what had to be the most dangerous conspiracy in the Empire. Or potentially they were simply fulfilling their alliance obligations and giving me a heads-up for the chaos about to ensue.

"Such an upheaval would require significant power."

"Yes," Marianne agreed. "Power that could challenge even divine authority"

"Power beyond ordinary human capacity.," C.C. added, watching me carefully.

I felt my muscles tense involuntarily. Did they possess some weapon or technology capable of challenging the Emperor directly? Was this why Being X had involved itself? Or was Marianne simply gathering allies for a traditional palace coup?

"And such a will truly exists?" Throughout history, I've seen that upheaval without succession planning breeds dangerous power vacuums. "Only a group with absolute conviction could execute this."

"Wisdom beyond your years, again," Marianne observed with approval. "But what if the system itself is the problem? What if 'divine authority' as currently constituted needs not reformation but complete replacement?"

I see. The true scope of their plot came into view.

They were talking about not just removing Charles but fundamentally restructuring the Britannian Empire itself—perhaps ending the Darwinian ideology entirely.

"Replacement with what alternative?" I asked carefully.

"A world of truth rather than lies," Marianne replied, her voice vibrating with unexpected intensity. "Where masks are unnecessary and understanding replaces deception. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Where barriers between people are eliminated," C.C. added.

I tried to parse their somewhat convoluted meaning. A more democratic system, then? The political foundations existed in this world—Europians relied upon a governing republic. Or some idealistic vision of a transparent monarchy without the backstabbing court politics?

"A world without separation," Marianne continued passionately. "Where connection replaces division, and a true, unifying understanding eliminates the need for conflict."

Her vision sounded simultaneously appealing and naively idealistic. A Britannian Empire without the vicious competition and manipulation that defined it? Without the artificial divisions between Areas and Numbers, without the constant power struggles between royal factions? It would certainly be a less stressful place to live, if nothing else.

"An ambitious vision," I noted cautiously.

"One that requires significant change at the highest levels," C.C. added pointedly.

Based on their careful inclusion of me in this conversation, they seemed to already consider me as a collaborator in this conspiracy. I had seemingly passed their test.

"Would you like power, Princess Tanya?" C.C. asked abruptly. "Real power. Not the borrowed authority of royal birth or limited influence of military rank. Power to reshape reality according to your will."

"C.C.?" Marianne's voice held a note of surprise. "We haven't fully—"

"Haven't we discussed this already, Marianne?" C.C. cut her off with the casual disregard that seemed to characterize their relationship.

I felt my jaw physically slacken before military discipline reasserted control. Reshape reality? The phrasing triggered immediate suspicion. Was this the "power" they'd been alluding to? Not military technology or political leverage, but something… supernatural?

It had to be a joke. They were teasing me, surely.

Because if they weren't… the implications completely upended my fundamental understanding of this world. I had assumed Britannia operated purely on technological advancement and Darwinian politics—a world without the magical elements of my second life or the divine interference that had plagued me across three existences.

Could I have been so wrong? I was wrong before. Catastrophically wrong.

"…What kind of power?" I asked, my voice steadier than the sudden vertigo in my mind. Decades of negotiation experience kicked in, searching for the trap beneath this impossible offer.

"The power of kings," C.C. replied enigmatically. "Geass. An ability manifested through a contract with me. Each bearer's power is unique to them, shaped by their deepest desires and needs."

I felt the blood drain from my face as my body went rigid with instinctive revulsion.

Not again

If my continued existence had taught me one fundamental truth: supernatural power always came with manipulative intent. Being X had destroyed my first life for refusing its demands, forced me into war as a child soldier in my second, and now—when I'd finally found a world I believed operated on rational principles—another supernatural entity emerged to offer "power."

But that name… Geass.

It was the term they mentioned before. They suspected I had been 'Geassed', and my investigations were motivated under the influence of this power. That meant they knew of others who bore this ability. People I've likely come in contact with.

"What would this power cost?" I pressed, corporate instinct making me search for the hidden clause.

"The price is fulfilling my wish," C.C. stated without inflection.

"Which is?"

"You don't need to worry about it," she replied.

"Demonstrate," I requested flatly, borrowing the tone I once used with subordinates presenting implausible budget projections. "If such power exists, surely you can provide empirical evidence."

C.C. merely raised an eyebrow. "The contract comes first. The power after."

It was as she said, C.C. really didn't have a reason to lie. If she was telling the truth, then Being X wasn't the only supernatural entity I had to worry about. If supernatural powers were obtainable so effortlessly, that introduced variables I hadn't accounted for in my assessment of Britannian politics.

"And how many others possess this… Geass?" I asked, keeping my voice steady while cataloging everyone who might already wield such power. Charles? Schneizel? The strategic calculus of the entire empire would be upended if key players had access to reality manipulation.

"That would ruin the fun, wouldn't it?" C.C. replied.

I recognized the negotiation tactic immediately—limited disclosure to force commitment before full understanding. I'd employed it myself in corporate acquisitions. The rational choice was to withhold commitment until verification was possible.

"I don't make contracts without understanding the terms," I stated firmly.

Surprisingly, C.C. shrugged her shoulders. "Well, the offer remains open should you change your mind."

"And how would I go about doing that?" I asked, more out of strategic information gathering than immediate interest.

"Whenever we meet in the future," C.C. replied simply. "You can just ask."

Before I could question this cryptic instruction, a knock interrupted our increasingly surreal conversation. The door opened to reveal Jeremiah Gottwald, who bowed formally.

"Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion. The Emperor requests your presence for the security council meeting."

"Thank you, Jeremiah," Marianne acknowledged, imperial composure instantly replacing the revolutionary fervor of moments before. "Inform His Majesty I'll join shortly."

As he withdrew, Marianne turned back to me, her expression once again the warm, maternal one she had worn at the beginning of our conversation. The transition was so seamless it was almost more unsettling than the intensity of moments before. So, this was the face of someone plotting against the most powerful man in the world.

"I enjoyed our conversation, Tanya. You're going to be part of a group that will change the world," she said softly. "Think carefully on what we've discussed. Continue your studies—you don't need to do anything right now. C.C. will contact you when the time is right."

I rose and offered a perfect curtsy, muscle memory from six years of imperial etiquette taking over while my mind raced with implications. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Until our next meeting, Princess Tanya," Marianne said, the perfect imperial dismissal delivered with genuine warmth.

I stepped out into the corridor feeling sick to my stomach. I had been unwittingly recruited into a grand conspiracy against Emperor Charles, with Empress Marianne at its center. She and her mysterious companion seemed to be planning not merely to assassinate the Emperor but to fundamentally restructure the Britannian Empire itself.

Only then did I register my body's physiological response to the situation—elevated pulse, noticeable pallor, cortisol flooding my system triggering cold sweat along my hairline. My small hands trembled with adrenaline. In all three of my lifetimes, I had never found myself in such a precarious position.

Most disconcerting was Being X's role in all this. I had been confused why it had warned me about threats to Marianne, but only now I understood. Being X wasn't protecting Marianne out of the goodness of its cold, non-existent heart; it was using me to protect the agent of Charles' destruction. Why else would a self-proclaimed deity care about a mortal empress?

Charles's claim to divine authority threatened Being X's own position. That much was clear.

The Emperor of Britannia styled himself as a god among men, demanding the faith and devotion that Being X craved. Being X saw Charles as a rival for humanity's worship, a false god stealing what it considered its rightful tribute.

The warning made sense. In that case, to inflict the most grievous wounds upon my greatest nemesis, shouldn't the optimal choice be to keep Charles 'the God-King' alive at all costs? To keep redirecting the millions of Britannian prayers to a mortal man who can't hear them? I feel a headache developing.

"You look troubled, sister."

I nearly jumped at Lelouch's voice. The boy stood at the intersection of corridors, one shoulder propped against the wall in a carefully casual pose that didn't quite hide his scrutiny. Those violet eyes—his mother's eyes—studied me with unsettling perception.

"Security discussions are rarely pleasant," I replied, adopting the slightly stiff formality I'd found effective for deflecting his curiosity.

Lelouch fell into step beside me. "Strange. When most people leave Mother's presence, they look intimidated. You look… angry. Now that's a rare expression."

A tactical error on my part. I'd been so consumed by the implications of Marianne's conspiracy that I'd neglected basic facial control. I adjusted my expression immediately, relaxing my brow and softening my jaw.

"Not anger, brother. Concentration." I waved a hand dismissively. "Your mother asked complex questions."

"Too complex even for the la Britannia genius?" A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Mother said something interesting yesterday. She said some people wear masks so long they forget what's underneath, while others never forget the difference."

I missed a step. The observation was too pointed, too relevant to my situation to be coincidental. Was Lelouch part of his mother's conspiracy? Had Marianne discussed me with him? Or was this merely the boy's own perceptiveness at work?

Before I could formulate a response, we rounded the corner to find Nunnally and Euphemia waiting in the garden. The contrast between their innocent excitement and the treasonous plotting I'd just witnessed was jarring enough to momentarily derail my thoughts.

"Tanya!" Nunnally called out. "We thought you'd never come back!"

"Your mother had questions about our camping adventure," I lied, the words coming automatically while my mind continued processing the conspiracy I'd uncovered.

"Boring grown-up talk," Euphemia declared with absolute certainty. "We've been waiting for ages! Cook made blueberry pancakes with faces, but they're getting cold!"

I let myself be pulled toward the breakfast table, grateful for the children's chatter that required minimal engagement from me. My mind was still reeling from Marianne's revelation—from the impossible reality that this world contained supernatural powers called "Geass." That not only Charles zi Britannia was to be overthrown, but the whole Britannian Empire as I currently knew it. That Being X had manipulated me into protecting the very woman planning to destroy his rival.

The blueberry face on my pancake stared up with an absurd cheerfulness that felt like mockery.

"Tanya told us the best ghost stories," Nunnally was informing Lelouch as a maid poured juice. "About soldiers who hear battle sounds even after they die!"

"That sounds rather grim for children," Lelouch remarked, his gaze finding mine across the table.

"It was too scary!" Euphemia insisted, drowning her pancake in syrup. "But terrifying in the best way."

I rolled the berries around my plate, buying time while I considered my impossible position. I had uncovered a conspiracy against the Emperor—a crime punishable by execution. Yet Being X had directed me to protect the conspiracy's leader. Charles demanded absolute loyalty, yet his wife plotted his destruction.

"Britannia demands clarity of purpose, princess," Charles had told me during our last meeting, his massive frame making even his casual movements intimidating. "The weak vacillate; the strong choose."

The memory surfaced with unexpected clarity. I'd spent six years in this life carefully avoiding commitment to any faction, maintaining strategic flexibility while I gathered information. Charles had seen through this immediately, identifying it not as prudent strategy but as weakness.

And he was right.

"Tanya, you haven't touched your pancake," Nunnally observed. "Don't you like blueberries?"

"I was just admiring the artistry," I replied automatically, cutting a precise section while my thoughts continued their churning.

"Ah! As expected of the sister of Brother Clovis!"

The stark reality was that I had already been pulled into Marianne's conspiracy. My midnight reconnaissance, my presence at her meeting, my outburst against "divine authority"—any one of these would be enough to implicate me. There was no neutral ground left to occupy.

And perhaps that was the opportunity I'd been waiting for without realizing it.

For too long, Being X had manipulated me, moving me across the cosmic board like a pawn. I had raged against its interference but lacked the leverage to oppose it effectively. Now, suddenly, I'd discovered entities with power that might rival my tormentor. Charles styled himself as divine; Marianne possessed abilities that could challenge such authority.

If divine power could be challenged in this world, perhaps it could be defeated.

"Is your pancake telling you secrets?" Euphemia giggled, breaking into my thoughts. "You're staring at it like it might jump off the plate."

I manufactured a smile. "Just thinking about ghost stories for our next adventure."

"Next week?" Nunnally asked eagerly.

"Perhaps," I replied, finally taking a bite of pancake that tasted like nothing at all as my mind reached its conclusion.

I would align with Marianne's conspiracy—not as Being X's puppet, but as an independent agent pursuing my own objectives. I would investigate this "Geass" power C.C. had offered, evaluate its strategic value, and determine whether it might provide leverage against not just Charles but Being X itself.

Finally, it was time to pursue a counter-strategy. The path was dangerous—treasonous—but it offered something I had never possessed before: a weapon against a god.

Next time, C.C. had said. Next time we meet, she could form a contract with me.

I stabbed a blueberry with my fork, picturing Being X's smug face as the juice bled across my plate. I twisted the tines, watching the pulp tear apart.

As the door closed behind Tanya, C.C. reached for another slice of pizza, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

"She's very enthusiastic about this," C.C. remarked, watching as Marianne gathered the classified documents that had suffered pizza grease casualties. "I don't think I've ever seen someone with such hatred for the collective unconscious."

Marianne's lips curved into a genuine smile. "I knew she was intelligent, but this was even better than I hoped. To think my most promising and capable step-child would agree with our vision. I really didn't want Charles to have her memories wiped after our conversation."

"Her outburst," C.C. added, golden eyes gleaming with curiosity. "It was personal."

"Precisely what struck me," Marianne nodded, settling back into her chair. "The way she spoke… that's not language a child learns from books. But what fascinates me is how she knew to investigate Aries Villa's security in the first place. Before we had even spoken with her."

"Either she has remarkably strong intuition," C.C. mused, "or there's something more at work here."

"Cornelia's assessment suggests the former," Marianne replied. "It's possible the girl's instinctive reactions translate well from combat matters elsewhere."

"Or," Marianne continued, her expression growing more serious, "the collective unconscious has directly interfered with her at some point."

C.C. continued devouring her pizza slice. "That would be… quite unprecedented."

"But so is her level of awareness," Marianne countered. "A child her age shouldn't have such a comprehensive understanding of how the collective unconscious manipulates humanity, let alone such visceral hatred for it."

"And if you're right…" C.C. began, the implications settling between them.

"It would explain both her extraordinary animosity, as well as her spontaneous investigations," Marianne finished. "Those were the words of someone with direct experience of being manipulated by the collective will."

Both women fell into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the quiet munching of expensive stuffed crust.

"And regarding manipulation," Marianne continued, her tone shifting slightly, "was offering her a contract really necessary?"

C.C. shrugged. "I didn't expect her to accept anyway."

"Then why offer at all?" Marianne pressed.

"Because she deserved to know the option exists," C.C. replied simply. "You seem to forget that she's a rather helpless child despite all that bravado. She should know all the tools available."

Marianne raised an eyebrow. "You've always been generous with your contracts, haven't you?"

"I'm selective, not generous," C.C. countered. "And she refused immediately, which proves she's not ready."

"And when exactly will she be ready?" Marianne asked.

C.C. took her time before responding. "When she stops calculating risks and starts seeing the contract as her only option." She met Marianne's gaze directly. "You know how it works, Marianne. The contract requires desperation, not strategy." She paused. "But there's something different about that girl."

Marianne nodded slowly. "If the collective unconscious is directly intervening with individuals now, rather than merely shaping humanity through the unconscious…"

"It means your theories are incorrect," C.C. said quietly. "Or at least, incomplete."

"There are more pieces to this puzzle than previously thought," Marianne added, her eyes filled with intensity.

C.C. hummed noncommittally.

"Either way," Marianne replied with quiet confidence, "she clearly understands what we're truly fighting against."

"Does she?" C.C. murmured, more to herself than to Marianne. "Not even we fully comprehend what unraveling the collective unconscious will ultimately entail."

Marianne smiled, the expression both warm and determined. "We'll find out together just as we promised all those years ago. And it seems we'll have found an ally in my remarkable little step-daughter."

"The tiny spy…" C.C. echoed her earlier description, but this time with something almost like respect in her voice. "…I wonder what kind of Geass it'll be."