The Vatican did not smell like incense.

  Not in the places where real decisions were made.

  Down there, the air was dry, old, filtered through stone and protocol. There were corridors without stained glass, white lights too cold to be comforting, and doors with no religious symbols on them.

  Only metal.

  Numbers.

  Locks.

  Faith was a language for upstairs.

  Down here, it was logistics.

  In a narrow room without windows, a cross hung on the wall like a formality. It was not centered. It was not illuminated. It was not an altar.

  It was a reminder of jurisdiction.

  Two screens displayed grainy photographs: an alley under rain, a body on the ground, a white blade wrapped in dark cloth. Another image: a map of Kuoh marked with red circles and traced lines, as if it were a plague chart.

  At the head of the table, an older man in a black cassock and white collar was not praying.

  He was reading.

  —Report thirty-seven —he said without looking up.— “Hostile entity: Zelzan Freed. Confirmed neutralized. Weapon: stolen Excalibur. Current status: recovered, not destroyed. Location: Kuoh City.”

  He set the paper down.

  The silence was not solemn.

  It was irritated.

  It was the kind of silence produced when a problem stops being “an incident” and becomes “a precedent.”

  To his right, a pale-faced woman with gray hair tied back spoke in a precise voice.

  —Freed was supposed to stay alive long enough to trace the source of the stolen Excaliburs. His death cuts off follow-up lines.

  —His death saves us bodies —corrected another, a broad priest with fingers stained by ink and wax.— Freed was unpredictable. A dog with a sword in its mouth.

  The man at the head of the table looked at him for the first time.

  —Freed is not the problem.

  His finger tapped the report.

  —The problem is that an Excalibur is inside devil territory and remains active.

  The word active carried weight.

  Not because of what it meant technically, but because of what it implied politically.

  An active Excalibur was not a stored weapon.

  It was a breathing provocation.

  —Confirmation of containment? —asked the gray-haired woman.

  —“Containment.” —the broad priest repeated with a grimace.— What a generous word.

  The man at the head of the table changed pages. Another photo. Another angle. The dark cloth. The hilt.

  —It is not in Vatican custody. It is not in the recovery group’s custody. It is not destroyed. It is not sealed in a relic chamber.

  He looked up.

  —It is in a Japanese school. In a city where Fallen Angels have already been detected.

  The gray-haired woman did not cross herself. She pulled out another folder and opened it.

  —Kuoh has been classified as a contact zone for weeks. Confirmed devil activity. Confirmed Fallen Angel activity. And... —she turned the page— ...confirmed presence of the Sekiryuutei.

  No one reacted with surprise.

  The Sekiryuutei was significant, yes, but it was the kind of significant that remained “expected” within supernatural chaos.

  What made several people at the table tense was the next page.

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  —Additional field report. “Anomaly observed during confrontation with Excalibur.” Non-standard reaction to holy aura. Pain, vision, instinctive response. The agent describes: “not a normal devil.”

  The man at the head of the table took the page without hurry.

  He read in silence.

  One line had been underlined in red ink:

  “The subject displayed reflexive response to Excalibur even without direct contact. Evaluation recommended.”

  —Who wrote this? —asked the broad one.

  —One of the bearers —the woman replied.— Xenovia Quarta.

  The broad priest let out a short laugh without humor.

  —She underlines like she’s writing a military report. Apparently saints are no longer enough.

  —She is not a saint —said one of the others, younger, with a sharp voice.— She is an asset. That is why she is alive.

  The man at the head of the table closed the folder.

  —The situation has changed.

  The phrase was simple.

  What it implied was not.

  They were admitting that the original plan no longer existed.

  The younger priest leaned forward.

  —I propose immediate withdrawal of the bearers. Kuoh is devil territory. Intervening before Kokabiel’s formal fall would be—

  —Prudent —the broad priest cut in with disdain.— And we do not do “prudent” when relics are involved.

  The man at the head of the table raised one hand, stopping them as if the argument were noise.

  —We are not withdrawing.

  Silence.

  The gray-haired woman did not argue. She only asked:

  —Then are we escalating?

  —We are correcting the mission —he replied.

  He stood, and with that movement the room seemed to shrink.

  Not because of physical threat.

  Because of authority.

  —Until yesterday, this was: recover the Excaliburs and eliminate the risk of their use by Fallen Angels.

  He walked to the screen and pointed at the red circle over Kuoh.

  —Since an Excalibur became “contained” by devils, the mission is something else: prevent that sword from becoming a banner of war.

  The younger priest frowned.

  —But sending them in as students—

  —Not as students —the man corrected.— Not yet. Not in the formal sense.

  The gray-haired woman completed the thought before he did.

  —Access cover.

  —Access cover —the man at the head of the table repeated.— Legal presence at the perimeter. Observation. Monitoring. And, if necessary, direct recovery.

  The broad priest tapped the table with his knuckles, satisfied.

  —At last.

  The younger one still looked uneasy.

  —And what about diplomacy with the devils? Kuoh is under the influence of a noble lineage. If the Church appears too early—

  The man at the head of the table looked at him without blinking.

  —Diplomacy? With a holy sword being held hostage?

  The question was not rhetorical.

  It was judgment.

  The younger priest lowered his eyes.

  The gray-haired woman arranged the reports, ordering the chaos.

  —There is another point. If Freed died earlier than anticipated, and his sword was recovered… it means someone in Kuoh has already physically interacted with a stolen Excalibur.

  —A devil —said the broad priest, almost savoring it.

  —Not only that —she insisted.— The report mentions a “secondary subject”: Kaelan Arverth. Reincarnated devil. European origin. Integrated into the academy. High-frequency exposure to incidents… and anomalous response.

  The younger priest looked up, alert.

  —Could he be contaminated?

  —He could be… aligned —the broad one replied with a twisted smile.— Swords have history.

  The man at the head of the table did not smile.

  —Do not speculate.

  He pointed at the map again.

  —We have three converging threats in Kuoh: Fallen Angels, young devils with unstable power, and an active relic out of control.

  He turned back toward the table.

  —And a fourth element: the Sekiryuutei.

  The broad priest grunted.

  —A dragon. Always ruining the purity of plans.

  —The dragon is not the problem —the man said.— The problem is what the dragon provokes: attention.

  The word attention was worse than war.

  Because attention meant: more actors. More agendas. More mistakes.

  —That is why —he continued— the permit is approved.

  He took a blank sheet and signed it. The ink dried in seconds.

  —Temporary authorization for supervision in Kuoh granted to Xenovia Quarta and Irina Shidou. Civil cover: “cultural exchange” under allied institution in Japan. Duration: until the contained Excalibur is recovered or destroyed and the environment stabilizes.

  The gray-haired woman took the paper and read it as if it were a sentence.

  —Rules of intervention: minimal exposure. No open confrontation with devil lineages. No use of Excalibur inside campus grounds except in emergency. Absolute priority: prevent the weapon from changing hands.

  The broad priest leaned forward, eyes hard.

  —And if Excalibur has already changed hands inside Kuoh?

  The man at the head of the table did not answer immediately.

  He looked again at the photograph of the wrapped sword.

  Then he spoke, slowly.

  —Then it is even more important that our bearers are there.

  The younger priest swallowed.

  —And the anomalous subject?

  The gray-haired woman closed the folder with a clean snap.

  —Discrete evaluation. Aura observation. Reaction confirmation. If the subject represents a risk to the mission, Xenovia is authorized to perform non-lethal “measurement.”

  The broad one raised an eyebrow.

  —“Measurement” by Xenovia… that sounds like a broken alley.

  —That is why Irina goes with her —said the man at the head of the table.— So there is a brake.

  A short silence followed.

  Not of faith.

  Of tactical understanding.

  The man at the head of the table approached the door, one hand on the handle.

  —Pray, if you want.

  He turned his face only slightly.

  —But understand this: Kuoh is no longer a city.

  It is a board.

  And someone moved a piece too early.

  He opened the door.

  The corridor light cut through the room like a blade.

  —From this moment on, every move in Kuoh will be observed.

  And not only by us.

  The door closed.

  The metallic sound of the lock echoed like a final seal.

  On the screen, the red circle over Kuoh was still there, motionless.

  But now it no longer looked like a marker.

  It looked like a wound.

  A wound that, for the first time, the Vatican was willing to accept could bleed into every side.

  And when an institution like that decides on “presence”…

  it is not to protect.

  It is because it has accepted that the disaster has already begun.

  Even if, up above in Japan, students still walk through hallways as if nothing has happened.