"…'Forward their file to Wade personally,'" Robin's voice was calm yet edged with amusement, his low chuckle echoing faintly through the air like a subtle note of mockery.

For a fleeting moment, the name Holak almost left his lips. But then he remembered—Holak, who had only recently been assigned the delicate mission of assembling the Fourth Guard Division, the Gravity division, had far more pressing concerns than to waste time meddling in such insignificant, peripheral matters. The man had no leisure for trivial politics.

So, who among the remaining guards could handle this task? Latania, Wade, and Malek…

Latania would have been an excellent choice if what he sought was the outbreak of an open war. She was brilliant in combat, a storm given form, but that battle-obsessed woman would never grasp the nuance of a mission rooted in stealth, disruption, and the art of looting. She would charge through the gates before even hearing the plan.

That left only Malek and Wade.

Malek was steady, level-headed, and calculating—one of those rare individuals who examined every step with cold precision. He weighed outcomes, tallied risks and rewards, and never acted on impulse. In situations like this, he would be the perfect man for the job.

But…

That Gragnakh had insulted him more than once. Robin could still recall the man's arrogance, his sneering tone. No—he didn't deserve a diplomat's patience or a strategist's guidance. He deserved chaos.

He deserved Wade and his mad, unruly band!

"P-Professor…" Mirena murmured timidly. She was still seated beside her family, fingers clasped tightly in her lap, as if bracing herself. "…Marshal Aro… do you mean… the Marshal of the Grave Centennial Empire?"

"...."

All the families who had been preparing to leave stopped instantly. Every pair of eyes turned toward Robin—expectant, uncertain, almost fearful.

"Of course," Robin replied with an easy smile. "Is he famous now?"

"Of course!!" Mirena blurted, excitement coloring her voice. "He's younger than I am, he is at my level of cultivation—and they say he can strike down World Cataclysms with lightning that splits the heavens! Marshal Aro, even at such a young age, is praised across the sectors as a genius of politics and war alike!"

Another student, unable to hold back his enthusiasm, leaned forward. "Marshal Aro is the symbol, the very face of the Grave Centennial Empire—an empire that's conquered more than a hundred and ninety planets in just a few centuries! His name—and that empire's—are spoken everywhere!"

"Everyone across Sector 99 Mid talks about the Grave Centennial Army," another student added, eyes shining. "They say it's a force that cannot be defeated—invincible! They speak of their endless, legendary armor sets; of their magnificent fleets known as the Note Group; of their Wing System that topples powers one after another!"

A third student, voice brimming with excitement, exclaimed, "Everyone says the Grave Centennial Empire is destined to become a Millennial Empire, it's only a matter of time—so right now—"

"Shhh—" one of his relatives hushed him quickly, patting his mouth a few times in warning.

Then a tall green-skinned man folded his arms behind his back and narrowed his eyes at Robin, his voice dripping with suspicion. "How can the professor here not know how famous Marshal Aro is, yet boast about his name so casually? He and that odd student beside him are just trying to intimidate us!"

"Professor Robin," said another man, one with a proud pair of stag-like horns, waving a hand dramatically, "don't you think it's shameful to invoke the name of a Centennial Empire in an attempt to suppress the pride of seven other Centennial Empires? Even with all the might and reputation of the Grave Centennial Empire—we are still who we are!"

"Hmm?" Robin raised an eyebrow, then burst out laughing, a soft, confident laugh that carried no hint of threat. "Intimidate you? With what? Suppress you—with whom? You can leave freely and live however you wish, my friends. Just don't use my techniques. What's so strange about that?"

"The strange thing," said one of the women wearing a bright feathered crown, her tone sharp and indignant, "is that you're lying—and trying to hide behind famous names to scare us! Do you truly think that's enough to stop us from using the laws our children rightfully possess?"

"Your way of pressuring us is utterly absurd—it defies reason and offends logic itself! You call yourself a professor, yet you stand there spinning lies so shamelessly, as if truth itself were beneath you!" barked a man whose entire body was laced with pulsating, glowing veins that throbbed with barely contained anger. He jabbed a trembling finger toward Robin, his tone a mix of fury and disbelief.

"Heh~" Robin gave a faint, weary chuckle, then slowly shook his head before exhaling a long, quiet sigh. His eyelids fell shut, and he tilted his head back against the chair, the gesture exuding both exhaustion and indifference—as if he no longer deemed their words worthy of response.

Truth be told, even though he hadn't come out of the Armament Bath completely crippled, the ordeal had drained him far more than he let on. Every single muscle in his body twitched restlessly, contracting and relaxing without rhythm, still carrying faint echoes of the energy that had once burned through his veins. It felt as if his body was still fighting a battle long after the war had ended.

"Hey! All of you—lower your voices already!" Jabba's roar cut through the murmurs like thunder. "What more do you people want from the professor? He's already given your children everything—gifts that will define their destinies for the rest of their lives! He handed you legacies, techniques, and bloodlines you could never have even dreamed of obtaining on your own—and he asked for nothing in return!" Jabba spread his arms wide, his tone booming with defiance. "All he asked for was a little respect, from you and for your children! That only they—not you—use those techniques!"

Then, jabbing a finger toward Robin, Jabba's voice grew sharp and fierce. "And instead of kneeling before him as your savior, you spit venom at him? The professor has said what needed to be said. His part is done. The techniques are in your hands now—so go on, use them if you have the guts, if you dare defy the one who gave them to you!"

Even Jabba himself had been shaken when the name Aro surfaced. The last he'd known, Aro was the fiery leader of the Opposition on Orphan's Blood Planet—a troublemaker, a rogue. But now… how had that same name become one that made emperors flinch and seasoned warriors pale? How had he become someone under the master's command?

"....!!" The nobles and envoys wanted to shout back, to storm out in pride, to end this humiliation—but their bodies refused to move. Their hands clenched so tightly that veins bulged beneath their skin, their pride battling against a creeping, inexplicable fear.

"Exactly," Shaddad said firmly, thumping his chest. "The master is exhausted. If you don't wish to make a deal with him, then by all means—leave at once."

"...."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"…?!" Morgana's brows furrowed slightly as she scanned their faces. For people who had just accused His Majesty of lying so boldly, their expressions told a different story—fear, hesitation, and confusion mingled in their eyes. It was as if every instinct screamed that walking away from this place so easily… would be a mistake.

Something in the air had shifted, heavy and tense.

"Professor Robin…" Mirena's father finally broke the silence, his voice trembling, uncertain. "That name you mentioned earlier… W-Wade… how did you hear of that name?"

"Wade?" Robin blinked slowly, as if pulling himself from a light sleep. He tilted his head toward the man and replied in the calmest, most casual tone possible: "He's my personal guard."

"You deceitful fraud!!" three of the nobles exploded at once, shouting in disbelief. Their eyes burned with hostility, a mix of outrage and wounded pride, as though Robin had spat in their ancestral banners.

"Hmm…" Robin grimaced for a heartbeat, then lazily lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug.

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