Chương 436: 206.Masterful Acting 1

When the bus stopped at the checkpoint, it suddenly struck me that the most thrilling thing in this world isn't assassination, and isn't taking a bullet. It's dressing three hundred Federation second-years fresh out of a firefight as Imperial cadets, to con the real Imperial military. And to fool all six buses at once. If this ever made it into the student council's annual report, the title could only be "Practicum in Emergency Response: Off-Campus Study."

As for the appendix, my recommendation was to burn it outright, so it couldn't take an audit committee down with it. I stood by the front door of the Class A bus, one hand on a seat back, my gaze traveling over a cabin full of classmates hastily wrapped into wounded soldiers, toward the metal barrier ahead. The warning lights on either side turned slowly, slicing the grey-white morning fog into a grid. The Imperial military port's checkpoint didn't bother with the civilian fondness for dressing things up.

Steel beams, weapons platforms, sensor towers, interception bollards — everything laid out with total honesty, honest enough that the only thing missing was a wall sign reading "Cause trouble and we'll blow you apart." Good. I've always admired places that make their malice into an architectural style. Once our speed dropped fully, the sentry ahead raised a hand to signal a stop. The other man — an officer, by the look of him — had already turned our way.

His gaze swept the windshield, then the bullet scars and dust on the hull, and finally came to rest on Hedwig in the front row. The pause lasted only an instant. But I could see he'd already recognized her. Nobody inside said a word. Even the girl who'd just been complaining that her corset was laced like Imperial taxation had gone quiet. Everyone was still. So still that whoever swallowed first might kill everyone in the bus. Maki stood behind me to the left, already changed into that Imperial uniform.

High collar, dark cloth, sharp shoulder line — it folded her whole silhouette into a blade. She didn't look at me; her gaze sat cold on the bus door, as though calculating how many seconds she'd need to take apart the joints of the first man to rush in, if it came to that. Hedwig sat in the front row, spine very straight. I bent down and said one line to her, low.

"Your Highness. From here on, it's on you." Hedwig didn't answer at once. She took a very light breath. The fingers on her knees tightened first, then slowly loosened. That wasn't hesitation — it was more like forcing something that belonged to the princess, to the Empire, to order itself, back onto her own face. Then she lifted her head. In that instant, I thought: this woman really is trouble.

Because normally she looked like some Imperial clerk worn down by oversized portraits, ceremony, and higher education — and the moment it counted, she could actually put the word "princess" back on. A knock came at the bus door. One Imperial guard stood beside it; another man, a major by his insignia, came to the window and swept the interior with a hard stare. Blood, antiseptic, sweat — some of it carried through the door, which pleased me.

The moment humans smell blood, their imagination automatically fills in the grimmest version. The officer spoke, low, in Imperial: "Identifizieren Sie sich und schildern Sie die Lage." (Identify yourself and report the situation.) Good. Here came the real show. I didn't answer first. Answer too fast, and I'd only look guilty. So the next second, Hedwig raised a hand and dropped the front window panel a notch. Cold morning air poured in and stirred the hair at her brow.

She looked at the officer, her voice not loud, yet steady enough to press everyone's heartbeat in that bus down by half.

"Ich bin Hedwig von Wittelsbach." (I am Hedwig von Wittelsbach.) Outside, the two guards visibly flinched. The officer snapped to attention at once, right hand up, tone transformed.

"Eure Hoheit." (Your Highness.) Hedwig gave him no room to breathe — she pressed straight down.

"Das Hotel wurde von Bewaffneten angegriffen, und Studenten der Militärakademie haben mich beim Durchbruch eskortiert. Es gibt viele Verwundete, die sofort in die internen Einrichtungen des Militärhafens verlegt und dort versorgt werden müssen. Ich verlange die Öffnung der Durchgänge sowie die unverzügliche Benachrichtigung der internen medizinischen und Sicherheitskräfte, um uns in Empfang zu nehmen." (The hotel came under armed attack, and military academy students escorted me through the breakout. There are many wounded who must be transferred immediately into the military port's internal facilities for treatment. I demand the passages be opened and internal medical and security units be notified at once to receive us.) She spoke fast without a single stumble. Formal wording, precise rhythm, carrying that habit of high rank which doesn't permit you to waste her time on nonsense. The worst part was that there wasn't a trace of acting in it. Which made me realize something.

That person who normally grumbled, quietly, about her portrait being hung too large — maybe she really had just been running in power-saving mode. This was the factory output. The officer was plainly cowed by her pressure, and still instinctively glanced deeper into the bus.

"Diese Studenten..." (These students...) Hedwig's voice went colder.

"Sie sind diejenigen, die mich vom Tatort eskortiert haben." (They are the ones who escorted me out of the scene.) She paused, her gaze fixed straight on him.

"Einige von ihnen wurden schwer verletzt, als sie die Angreifer aufhielten. Major, wenn Sie jedes einzelne Gesicht hier überprüfen wollen, kann ich gerne hier stehen bleiben, bis Sie fertig sind. Sollte jedoch auch nur einer von ihnen sterben, weil die Behandlung verzögert wurde, können Sie mir gleich jetzt einen Bericht darüber schreiben, wer die Verantwortung dafür trägt." (Some of them were gravely wounded holding off the attackers. Major, if you want to check every single face here, I'm happy to stand here with you until you're finished. But if even one of them dies because treatment was delayed, you may write me a report right now on who bears the responsibility.) Beautiful. Too beautiful. This wasn't clearing a gate anymore — it was stamping official paperwork onto the man's forehead using nothing but her identity. The major's expression shifted slightly.

He was clearly weighing "procedural justice" against "I do not want my military career to end because I let a princess lose her temper at a checkpoint." I was just wondering whether to add a finishing stab when Bus B, very obligingly, started its fit. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. First a wail, piercing and finely layered; then several voices piling on top of one another.

"Wo bleiben die Sanitäter!" (Where are the medics!)"Es geht zu Ende mit ihr!" (She's fading fast!)"Halte durch, schlaf jetzt nicht ein!" (Hold on, don't fall asleep!) Good. I could tell the most technically accomplished crying belonged to Nikaido. When that woman turns her arguing talent to proper work, the results are genuinely good. That cry wasn't fake, and it wasn't greasy — it carried exactly the right amount of collapse to make anyone want to shove the problem down the line.

Forget the checkpoint soldiers; even I nearly wanted to hand her a towel. The officer's attention duly got dragged over. He turned to look at the buses behind, just in time to catch a bloodstained gauze strip dangling by Bus B's door, with people thrashing in there, thrashing convincingly — so convincingly the whole bus looked about to fall apart. He frowned, muttered two lines to the guard beside him, then turned back.

"Eure Hoheit, laut Vorschrift muss ich zumindest die Formation der Eskorte und deren Verbleib bestätigen." (Your Highness, per regulations I must at minimum confirm the escort's formation and its destination.) There it was. Procedure is like a cockroach: no environment, however hostile, ever manages to kill it off clean. Hedwig didn't turn to look at me, but I knew she was waiting. If I stayed tucked behind her now, that would just be poor form.

So I stepped forward and deliberately planted myself half a body behind her shoulder. A very delicate position — part bodyguard, part senior academy officer leaning in to fill the gaps. I spoke in the most restrained, most minimal, most Imperial-accented way I could manage:"Die Königliche Militärakademie und die unterstützenden Studenten haben die Eskortformation vor Ort vorübergehend neu formiert.

Fahrzeug A fungiert als Vorhut, Fahrzeug B konzentriert die Schwerverletzten, und die nachfolgende Kolonne transportiert die mittelschwer Verletzten sowie die unverletzten Studenten. Das Ziel sind die internen Sicherheitszonen und medizinischen Stationen des Militärhafens. Zuerst wird der Transfer Ihrer Hoheit abgeschlossen, danach erfolgt die Überprüfung." (The Royal Military Academy and the attached support students temporarily re-formed the escort on site. Vehicle A serves as vanguard, Vehicle B concentrates the critically wounded, and the following column carries the moderately wounded and the uninjured students. Destination: the military port's internal security zones and medical stations. Transfer of Your Highness will be completed first; verification follows.) I hadn't lied. I'd just wrapped several genuinely dangerous things to look like a dull on-site status summary. It's one of the things I'm best at.

The officer watched me, holding on my face for half a second, as if deciding whether it appeared on any Imperial cadet roster in his memory. Fair enough — in my current state, Imperial uniform, hair bound back, shoulder line flattened, plus the whole "too many people died today, don't bother me" irritation produced by the ride over, I probably did resemble something the Imperial system would raise. Unfortunately, I've always had a talent for playing that role.

He was about to ask again when a very faint sniffle came from the back of the bus. I caught it in the corner of my eye and nearly laughed. It was a boy in Bus A who normally never stopped talking — now scared to the edge of real tears, but still remembering my orders, so all he could do was work himself into a plausible Imperial casualty. Good. At least someone had remembered the lesson from class.

The guard outside peered in twice more, and the look on his face visibly slid toward "this is such a pain in the ass, just let them through." Which was exactly the effect I wanted. People aren't persuaded by evidence. Most of the time, they're persuaded by not wanting the hassle. Hedwig added one more line.

"Wenn Sie eine Verifizierung benötigen, können Sie die Nachricht an das Hauptquartier weiterleiten lassen, um meine Identität und die Berichte über den Angriff direkt zu bestätigen." (If you need verification, you may have the message forwarded to headquarters to confirm my identity and the attack reports directly.) She paused, her voice colder still.

"Aber die Durchgänge müssen jetzt geöffnet werden." (But the passages open now.) The major finally couldn't hold. He snapped to attention and barked at the men beside him: "Schranken hoch, interne Kräfte benachrichtigen, Prioritätskorridor!" (Barriers up, notify internal forces, priority corridor!) The metal barrier began to rise. The side weapons platform swung away quickly, unlocking from dead ahead of the column. Two soldiers behind ran for the control desk; another sprinted off to contact the next gate.

Thanks to one sentence from Hedwig, the entire checkpoint flipped from "we're going to check you" to "get Her Highness through, fast." That was the power of rank. And also the thing I hated most — and most had to use. Just as the first interception bollard dropped fully, the major seemed to want to patch a little professional completeness onto himself, and asked, low.

"Eure Hoheit, ist es erforderlich, dass ein Sicherheitsdetachement Sie als Eskorte begleitet?" (Your Highness, is it necessary to assign a security detachment to accompany you as escort?) The back of my neck went tight. If a security detachment actually tagged along, the whole rest of our act was finished — better to ascend collectively and be done with it. Hedwig clearly knew that too. She answered with almost no pause:"Nicht nötig." (Not necessary.) Then she tilted her face slightly, her gaze landing on the major.

"Ich wurde gerade erst aus dem Angriff herausgeholt und möchte nicht noch mehr Leute sehen, die zwar Waffen tragen, aber am Tatort nicht rechtzeitig zur Stelle waren. Lassen Sie Ihre Soldaten auf den Posten, die sie sichern sollen, und sorgen Sie dafür, dass im Militärhafen kein zweiter Zwischenfall passiert." (I have just been pulled out of an attack, and I don't want to see any more people who carry weapons but failed to reach the scene in time. Keep your soldiers at the posts they're supposed to hold, and make sure the military port doesn't see a second incident.) That line was viciously precise. The major's face went a shade whiter, and he didn't dare drag out his reply.

"... Zu Befehl, Eure Hoheit." (... Yes, Your Highness.) I nearly wanted to applaud her. As expected of an Imperial princess — she could leave a man standing at attention without firing a shot. The soldiers outside backed off and signaled us through. The driver, who'd clearly been white-knuckled on the wheel, finally got the go and hit the accelerator.

As Bus A started rolling again, the whole cabin seemed to exhale the half-breath it had been holding — and still didn't dare exhale too loudly, for fear of coughing luck out along with it. The bus crawled through the checkpoint. I didn't turn to look back at Hedwig at once, just fixed my eyes on the second internal control gate ahead and said one line, low.

"Nicely done, Your Highness." Hedwig, in the front row, took two seconds to answer.

"I feel more like an accomplice now."

"Congratulations. You've finally entered the practical phase." Maki, standing beside us, said flatly: "Vice President, your choice of occasions for congratulating people is impressively consistent in being strange."

"Thank you, President, for the compliment."

"I wasn't complimenting you."

"I can take it as one." Maki ignored me and just gave Hedwig a very light look. There was less wariness in it than before, and something else instead. Not trust — not that soon. More like she'd finally conceded that Hedwig wasn't just a princess who stood awkwardly in front of portraits, and wasn't a simple political symbol either. She was someone who could, at certain moments, actually walk an entire column of buses past the muzzle of the Imperial military. That mattered.

Because from this moment on, she wasn't only the one being escorted — she was a co-signatory to the whole attempted ship seizure, or rather, to a seizure about to succeed. I glanced back at the rearview mirror. The five buses behind were following one after another. Bus B still looked convincingly dire; C, D, E, and F kept up that state somewhere between bedraggled and barely intact.

The checkpoint soldiers were busy raising barriers, making calls, clearing lanes — nobody had the appetite to actually board and flip through every face. Good. Humans really are easy to persuade with stories they fill in themselves. Especially when the story has a princess, an attack, blood, casualties, and accountability in it. Put those elements together, and procedure kneels on its own.

When the last bus cleared the first checkpoint without trouble, I finally let go of the seat back and found a thin layer of sweat had formed on my palm at some point. Nervous? Of course. I'm just better at wrapping nerves inside a smile that really wants to do someone harm. Maki stepped half a pace closer and dropped her voice very low.

"If you'd been half a sentence slower just now, I was going to cut in on you."

"Then I'd be deeply moved." I lowered my voice too.

"Because it would mean the President is finally willing to formally join me in attempted treason."

"Say one more dumb thing and I'll throw you out the window right now."

"This is an Imperial military port. Doing that would create a diplomatic incident."

"You care about diplomatic incidents now?" That face of Maki's was as cold as ever, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that she was no longer looking at the student council vice president — she was looking at a bomb with an intact exterior and an internal structure that only got worse the more you dismantled it. I answered her with great humility.

"I've always cared. My methods of implementation are just more avant-garde." Maki closed her eyes for a moment. Which probably meant she was seriously considering whether to dump me, avant-garde methods included, out of the bus before the door sealed. In the end she restrained herself. This is what makes her slightly frightening. Rather than strangling me on the spot, Kushima Maki is better at writing it into the ledger first and collecting slowly once everything's over.

That kind is the most terrifying, because she isn't emotional. She's patient. Hedwig, sitting up front, listened to this thoroughly unnutritious low-volume squabble of ours and actually laughed, very lightly. The laugh was as brief as a hallucination, but I still caught it. Good — the first side effect of an Imperial princess nearing treason turns out to be a partial recovery of her sense of humor. The bus crawled through the first checkpoint.

Through the windshield I caught the major still standing there, watching us into the port's interior. He was probably still wondering whether he'd done his duty today, or whether, out of fear for his career, he'd just opened a back door for a whole column of problem vehicles. The answer was both. And I've always respected that kind of half-hearted institutional struggle. Because the more half-hearted it is, the easier it is to use.

The moment the bus slid into the internal service lane, I reconnected the terminal to the six-bus open channel.

"All squad leaders, attention. We're splitting roles now."