Nanami Kento

I have been Taejo's mentor for several years now—and, I must admit, it is not the easiest job. The boy is gifted, with potential, but at times he behaves as if all the rules were written for everyone but him.

I always tried to be strict but fair. I understood that youth is a time for mistakes, and more than once I forgave his antics: whether he'd be late for training, pull some foolish stunt during lessons, or ignore my instructions, deciding he knew better. Each time, I reminded him of discipline, explained where he was wrong—and gave him a chance to make it right.

But today, everything went too far.

Taejo managed to do more than just disrupt the order—he was rude to an influential person, a representative of the Council. And he didn't just "answer impolitely"; he allowed himself blatant insolence, almost a challenge. I stood aside, hoping at first that he would come to his senses, apologize, and realize what consequences this could lead to. But no—he stood there, head stubbornly held high, and seemed to even be proud of his stunt.

Everything inside me boiled over. I approached him with long strides. Without saying a word, I grabbed the hair at the back of his head and gave a sharp, though not excessively cruel, tug, forcing him to turn toward me. Taejo's eyes widened—he clearly hadn't expected such a reaction from me.

"To my office. Right now," I said in a low, steady voice that left no room for argument.

He didn't resist. I led him down the corridor, feeling the muscles of his neck tense under my fingers. He tried to say something, began to mutter excuses, but I cut him off:

"Silence. Not until we are in the office...!"