________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Herole, Military Kingdom of Marley
Year: 850
Time: Morning
The sound of boots echoed against marble flooring as Shiro and the rest of the upper gallery patrons were briskly ushered out of the Marleyan Assembly.
The emergency session that followed the declaration of war was behind locked doors and that was fine for Shiro.
As the cold winter wind greeted him on the steps of the Assembly building, Shiro blinked, then deadpanned.
"Right... so... What do I do now?"
He glanced up and down the street—Herole's ornate architecture was all pomp and polished stone, gold-plated plaques boasting old names from bloodlines that hadn't lifted a finger in generations.
With little else to do, he tucked his coat in tighter and crossed the street to a modest but upscale cafe tucked between a hat shop and a book vendor. Its warm-looking lighting looked inviting enough from the outside—sleek, slate-grey signs with gold cursive lettering read "Cafe Du Lys."
'When was the last time I needed French?'
He stepped inside.
The interior chatter faded the moment he passed through the door.
The bell above barely had time to finish ringing before heads turned toward him.
Shiro's expression didn't change.
He didn't need to guess why the room suddenly felt like it was made of glass.
Despite being dressed as sharply as anyone else, his facial features stood out.
Almond eyes, high cheekbones... And the violet hair didn't help at all, either.
It was clear he was Hizurian.
And in Marley... that alone was enough.
His eyes flicked across the room. A few couples sat whispering behind porcelain cups. Two officers in military garb turned their heads, sizing him up. One older woman in pearls wrinkled her nose, her distaste barely concealed.
Shiro exhaled quietly through his nose.
'Here we go again.'
He approached the counter calmly. The barista, a man in his late twenties, glanced at him with the professionalism of someone barely holding it together.
"Sir?" he asked.
"Just tea. Black. Loose leaf if you have it," Shiro replied casually, brushing a few snowflakes off his coat sleeve.
The man nodded and rang it up without a word.
Shiro turned and picked a seat by the window. He didn't feel like hiding. If they wanted to stare, they could stare. He slid into the chair, crossed one leg over the other, and gazed out at the street where snow fell gently. A few flakes melted on the sill.
His fingers drummed idly on the table.
About ten minutes passed. The hum of the room returned, although quieter now, like they didn't want him to forget they were still watching.
Then footsteps approached.
A man—mid-40s, tall, slicked-back blond hair and a heavy coat with the faint crest of a merchant guild on the lapel—stood beside Shiro's table.
A fake smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
"Excuse me," the man said politely.
Too politely.
BINABASA MO ANG
Classroom of The Elite x AOT: Wax Wings
Fanfiction[Crossposted onto A03 under the same name] Ayanokouji Kiyotaka, the Masterpiece of the White Room has gone missing, disappearing into thin air one night before the end of spring break. His whereabouts are unknown, his condition even less so. In his...
