As soon as Gabriel stepped out into the cold Moscow air, a deep frown smeared over his face. The chill bit through his coat, but it wasn't the weather that bothered him. It was Julius. Or rather, the man Julius was forcing himself to become.

He replayed their earlier conversation in his mind. There had been moments when Julius no longer reacted to his actual name. The titles he had answered to his whole life, "Julius" and "Young Master," had fallen on deaf ears.

Yet the moment Gabriel addressed him as "Dimitri," Julius responded, as if that were the name he had lived with since birth.

That was the part that bothered him the most.

The disguise itself wasn't the problem. Julius had undergone many identities before. What troubled Gabriel was that this time, it felt as though Julius was slowly beginning to forget who he truly was.

"...No one asked you to do this."

Julius's ethical boundaries had always been flexible at best, yet this time he wasn't doing any of it for profit or leverage. He was risking his life. Risking Germany's political position. Risking an international incident that could ignite into something far worse.

If the Soviets discovered who he truly was, only God knew what they would do to him.

And worse, what the consequences would be between the USSR–German relationship.

* * *

Clang! Clang!

The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the usual monotony of Zima-12. Julius had just stepped inside when the noise made him stop mid-step. It was far louder than the typical machinery he had grown accustomed to over the past weeks.

"What's going on?"

A researcher passing by slowed, glanced at him, then placed a hand on his shoulder.

"New guy, right? Come, come. You'll want to see this."

Julius followed him down a side hall he had never entered before. As the sounds grew louder, they stopped before a reinforced viewing glass, and Julius immediately understood why.

Inside the clearing, two robots were engaged in a full combat simulation. One was a compact humanoid frame. The other was a taller, more experimental model with elongated limbs and a fluid motion pattern. Sparks burst each time their limbs collided.

The smaller unit dashed forward with a rapid series of jabs. The larger one countered by dodging, as if its joints bent past human limits, and slammed its arm down with enough weight to dent the reinforced floor.

Julius watched the blow connect, watched the smaller robot skid back, and watched its internal stabilizers struggling to recover.

The researcher leaned closer to the glass. "We're pushing them harder today. The Director wants data on stress thresholds before the next phase."

Julius nodded slowly, though he couldn't pull his eyes away from the spectacle. In the German underbelly, there were illegal betting grounds that hosted robot fights, but this was entirely different. Here, inside Zima-12, such a scene was treated not as entertainment but as legitimate research.

"Huh…?"

In the next phase of testing, the robot was subjected to magic. Explosive bursts of energy struck its frame, yet not a single dent appeared. The surface didn't even show scorch marks.

"Impressive, right?" the researcher beside him said with a proud grin. "That's what happens when you apply Glassheart shards to the plating. Once fused, the metal becomes nearly immune to any form of magic."

Julius watched as a photon saber was pressed against the robot's armor. The blade hissed and sparked, but the metal refused to yield.

Not even a photon saber could cut through it.

"What do you know about Glasshearts, Mikhailov, was it?"

A subtle frown creased Julius's expression. "They're a growing problem. If not treated appropriately, their relevancy could dictate the course of our world."

"Wow, such a passionate answer. You know, many here would argue with your conjectures. They'd say Glasshearts are just another hazard the military can wipe out once someone figures out the proper method."

"They would be wrong."

The researcher raised a brow in amusement. "Confident, aren't you?"

"In science-fiction movies," Julius began, "they like to show robots rising up and taking over the world. But that isn't realistic. Not unless every safeguard failed and every engineer working on them was a complete fool."

Julius kept his gaze on the testing chamber as the robot absorbed another wave of magic without so much as a mark.

"Robots can process information, learn patterns, and mimic behavior, but emotions are different. Even if they imitate emotion, the response still comes from hardware. It isn't real. They wouldn't have the motive to destroy the world unless something far greater pushed them to it."

"...."

Julius continued. "Glasshearts are different. A race that has been oppressed for generations doesn't forget. No matter how tightly you cage them, resentment grows, and pressure builds up. Eventually, they will retaliate. Unless, of course, someone wipes them out first."

The researcher crossed his arms as he regarded Julius with new interest.

"You talk as if you've seen the end already."

"I've only stated the obvious," Julius replied. "Anyone who thinks long enough about the world would come to the same conclusion."

The researcher snorted. "No one here talks like that. You might want to be careful, Mikhailov. That kind of insight gets attention."

Julius gave no reaction. His gaze remained fixed on the shards welded into the robot's armor. The machine itself clearly resembled the new German mech line, but unlike Germany, which still relied on human pilots, these units were entirely AI-driven.

He narrowed his eyes. Glassheart fragments embedded into metal, controlled by an artificial brain. If one stretched the definition, these things could be considered mechanical Glasshearts.

"...."

The thought sent a chill down his spine. Yet in the future he knew, none of these ever appeared. Perhaps the research was abandoned. Perhaps when Zima-12 collapsed, everything related to this project was erased with it.

"By the way," the researcher said. "I'm Vladimir. You can call me Professor Abramov if you like."

"...."

Julius froze for a moment. His eyes widened just enough to hide the shock he tried to suppress. His fingers twitched at his sides.

Vladimir Aleksandr Abramov.

According to Emil Bauer, when Joachim fled to the USSR, he adopted an older alias he once used.

And that was the name standing right in front of him.

This man… he was Joachim.

"Professor Abramov."

"Yes?"

Julius held his expression steady, but his mind raced with possibilities. His earlier words about Glasshearts had been careless. He wanted to slap himself for speaking so freely.

If this man was truly Joachim, then he was… a Glassheart researching Glasshearts.

And Julius had just said enough to make himself memorable.

Worse, he had probably drawn Joachim's attention.

"What about you?" Julius asked. "What is your opinion on Glasshearts?"

"...."

Professor Abramov's expression did not change at first. He simply watched the robots in the chamber clash again. For a moment, Julius wondered if the man had even heard him, but then Abramov let out a breath and placed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.

"My opinion?" he repeated. "That depends on what you expect to hear. I'm a people pleaser. And you clearly have very strong beliefs."

"I only asked for your thoughts."

"Well, since you insist, I will tell you this much. Glasshearts are not a mystery to be solved. They are not tools to be mined. They are not enemies to be erased. They are simply… inevitable."

"...."

"Humans tend to fear what evolves faster than they do."

Julius felt a chill press against his spine at the wording. "Then you believe they will eventually surpass us?"

"I believe," Abramov said slowly, "that nature has a habit of correcting imbalances. If a species is pushed into a corner for long enough, it changes. Sometimes it adapts. Sometimes it breaks. Sometimes it becomes something else entirely."

His gaze turned back to Julius with a hint of curiosity.

"Tell me, Mikhailov. If you were a Glassheart, and the world had hunted you for generations, what would you become?"

Julius remained silent. Abramov seemed pleased by that silence, as if it confirmed something.

"You see," Abramov said, turning back toward the observation glass, "opinions do not matter. Only outcomes. And outcomes rarely align with human intentions."

Julius watched him closely. If this man truly was Joachim Pascal Beißwenger, then every word was a double-edged sword. And every moment Julius opened his mouth risked exposing too much.

"I appreciate your insight," Julius said.

Professor Abramov turned, leaving off with a few words.

"Words are a powerful weapon, Mikhailov. Say the wrong thing at the wrong time and in the wrong place, and the consequences will be astronomical. Remember that. Researcher to researcher."

He left without waiting for a reply. Julius stood in silence, suppressing the boiling rage inside him.

Joachim Pascal Beißwenger. The architect of everything that would one day lead to Lara's death.

His fingers curled slowly into fists.

"Ha."

It wasn't time to act yet.

"Dimitri, there you are. Father's been looking everywhere for you."

Julius turned toward her voice. "Ah, Miss Yuliya. My apologies. I was a bit engrossed. Have you ever seen this before?"

"Hm? The Knightframes?"

"Knightframes…"

"Yes. It's what Division Three is working on. They're prototypes that use Glassheart parts."

"Is that so?"

Yuliya leaned close to his ear, lowering her voice until only he could hear. "Don't be fooled by the meticulous work. Remember what I told you about anomalies?"

"Yes?"

"This is only a byproduct of that research."

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