Prologue – Part IV: The Smile That Never Sleeps
In the heart of the Kingdom of Zombo, among the white towers and the fields of study gilded by the constant magical light, stood the most prosperous institution in the modern world: Tronozo Royal Intellectual Academy.
Founded after the bloody independence of the Zombians, Tronozo did not teach only formulas or magic. It trained minds to win wars before they were fought, languages to seduce allies and strategies to conquer worlds with a pen before the sword.
In the most prestigious room, the legendary Room A Tronozo, young people of noble blood, sons of influential families and minds with advanced IQs designed the future of the Kingdom.
And there, between haughty eyes and false laughter, was Houka Esnefe.
19 years old. Pale yellow hair like dry leaves. Red eyes like rubies stained with sin. Flawless white skin. Immaculate uniform: white military-cut blazer, sharp crimson tie, black pants like silence, and white sneakers that never got dirty.
And the smile.
Oh, that smile.
All the children of Zombo learned to smile early on. A cultural trait. A symbol of pride. But Houka's was different.
It was wicked, but polite. Deep, but empty. A riddle stamped on ivory.
It never faded.
Never.
He walked between the crystal benches, observing each student, each gesture. He read the equations and the hearts. He studied his classmates like pieces in a larger game—the real game. One that no one else seemed to know was being played.
The girls sighed for him.
The teachers respected him.
The rivals feared him.
But no one, absolutely no one, was his friend.
And Houka… smiled.
— "The pieces don't know they're on the board yet." — he thought, while pretending to copy a formula on channeling purchasing energy for magical strategies of national influence.
He was a genius, yes. But it was also a risk.
Because Houka wanted war.
Not a war of swords. Not a war of the undead. A war of minds, of nations and ideologies. A war that would transform the Kingdoms of Zerk forever.
— Today we have a new order of political updates, said Professor Rënetha, with her voice of sharp satin. — About the emergence of a new advisor to King Hjlpkik. A man from an unknown origin. A "Lucky One."
The room murmured. The term Lucky One made the most sensible students shudder.
But Houka smiled wider.
— Ah... so he appeared. — he thought, tapping his fingers on the black marble table.
The girl next to him, Aisyl Vargem of Krull, leaned in.
— Do you know this man, Houka?
"No," he said, still smiling. "But he's playing. And if he's playing… then I can play too."
The class turned to face the front as the holographic image of the new counselor appeared on the central stage.
A face covered in shadows. A distorted voice. An aura that reminded him of something too ancient.
Houka narrowed his eyes. Something about that presence touched the deepest chords of his soul. Something… dangerous.
He leaned back in his chair, slowly snapping his fingers.
"So, Lucky… let's see if your luck can withstand my chaos."
And his smile grew.