Chapter 111: It’s Not?
Mara pushed her chair back abruptly, standing up. She paced the small space between the desk and the filing cabinets, running a hand through her hair, dislodging strands from her usually severe bun.
"It’s not about him!" she insisted, her voice rising slightly. "It’s about the principle! The Association issues a kill order based on flimsy evidence, frames him for murder... They bypassed Guild authority. They lied."
"They always lie," Juna countered calmly. "That’s how they operate. You know this." She watched Mara pace, her expression unreadable. "This isn’t about principles. This is about him. Why are you protecting Fin?"
"I’m not protecting him!" she spun back, glaring at Juna. "I’m trying to understand why the Association wants him dead! There’s more to this. That Mana Cell... Project Chimera... whatever that is."
Juna tilted her head. "So you risk everything for... curiosity? For a D-rank anomaly who might be more dangerous than the Association claims?"
"He wouldn’t kill Hana!" She repeated, slamming her hand down lightly on a stack of papers. "I don’t know what happened in that dungeon, but I know he didn’t murder his team."
"You don’t know that," Juna said softly. "You want to believe it. Because if he didn’t, then the Association is lying, and if they’re lying about this..." She trailed off, letting Mara follow the thought.
Mara stopped pacing, breathing heavily. She looked at the screen, at the redacted files, at the single word: Jericho. She thought of Fin’s face in the hospital, the blankness trying to hide something immense. The impossible power she’d glimpsed. The kid who stumbled into the Guild looking for a chance.
"Maybe I did hate him at first," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Another piece of slum trash thinking he could play hero." She looked away, towards the window.
"But he survived. He keeps surviving. Against odds that should have crushed him." She turned back, meeting Juna’s gaze. "Maybe... maybe that’s worth something."
Juna took a slow sip of her coffee, studying Mara over the rim of the mug. "Or maybe," she said, her voice dropping slightly, becoming softer, more probing, "it’s not about him at all."