The teleportation back was rough. Even as Dawn’s feet hit the ground, her stomach lurched, and her body felt weightless for a brief moment before gravity pulled her down. She staggered but caught herself against the wall, her breathing heavy. Around her, the others weren’t faring much better. Satoshi let out a curse as he steadied himself, and Soo-Hun groaned, rubbing her temple from the aftermath of her blood magic.

  Nanami stood perfectly still. Her pitch-black eyes flickered across them, unreadable but focused. It was as if she were looking through them rather than at them. Something was wrong.

  Dawn’s instincts screamed at her. Nanami wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking, wasn’t sighing in frustration like she usually did. The weight in her expression was different. It was colder. A storm was coming.

  “Alright,” Satoshi muttered, stretching out his sore arms. “I think we can all agree that was a disaster.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Soo-Hun grumbled, rolling her shoulders. “We won.”

  Celestial spun one of her pistols idly before holstering them. “Yeah, but it wasn’t exactly pretty, now, was it?”

  Dawn exhaled sharply. Her arms still ached from trying to swing the sword. Her mind replayed everything—the weight of it in her hands, the sluggishness of her movements. She had been slow. Too slow. But beyond that, there was something else sticking in her thoughts.

  “One of you is a God.” The words Enmei had said still echoed in her skull.

  Nanami’s voice suddenly cut through the room. “Emergency meeting. Now.” A thick silence fell over the room. Miu and Soo-Jin, who had been in the other room, only doorframe separating them turned.

  Miu raised an eyebrow, setting her cup of tea down. “Huh? What the hell happened while you were gone?” Nanami ignored her, stepping forward with a controlled yet sharp movement. Her gaze darkened.

  “One of you is going to explain something to me.” A pause. Then she lifted her gaze, sharp and unwavering. “Who,” she hissed, “is the God?”

  The tension turned suffocating. Dawn felt her heart slam against her ribs.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Miu’s eyes widened. “What?” Nanami’s fingers twitched. She was barely holding herself back. Dawn looked around. Soo-Hun’s eyes narrowed in irritation. Satoshi looked confused but also slightly offended at the accusation. But Celestial—

  Celestial looked different. The usual smugness was gone. And then— She sighed. A quiet, almost reluctant sound.

  “It’s me.”

  The weight of those words sent a ripple through the group. Miu’s mouth fell open slightly. “What?”

  Satoshi took a slow step back, eyes wide. “No way.” Dawn’s breath caught in her throat. Celestial, still serious, lifted her chin slightly, her yellow eyes glowing just a little.

  “I am Celestial Marianne Seigneur Neuville, Goddess of Freedom.” For a long moment, no one spoke. Then—

  Nanami moved. She grabbed Celestial by the collar and slammed her into the wall. “YOU—!”

  Celestial didn’t resist. She didn’t even blink. “How DARE you stand here and act like one of us?!” Nanami’s voice cracked. “After everything they’ve done?!”

  Her grip was tight—too tight. Celestial didn’t fight back.

  “I know,” Celestial whispered. “I know what they did. And I’m sorry.”

  Nanami’s hands trembled. “Sorry?” Her voice was thick with rage. “Sorry isn’t enough. Sorry won’t fix the millions of lives they ruined. Sorry won’t bring back the people they killed.”

  Celestial remained silent. Nanami’s body was shaking. For the first time, Dawn saw true anger in her—anger that wasn’t just cold calculation, but pure, unfiltered hate. Then another voice entered the conversation.

  “She’s not part of that.” It was Soo-Jin. The room turned toward her.

  Miu’s eyes snapped at her. “Soo-Jin, what—?”

  Soo-Jin exhaled deeply, stepping forward. “Celestial isn’t like those other ‘Gods’.”

  Nanami’s grip didn’t loosen. “How the hell do you know that?”

  Soo-Jin’s voice was firm. “Because she’s the old woman who owned that reformatory when we were younger.” Silence. Nanami’s fingers slackened.

  Miu’s entire body stiffened. “That’s not—” She swallowed. “No way.”

  Soo-Jin continued, her expression unchanged. “When we were in the Reformatory School. She was there. She was the one who fought for us to stay.”

  Dawn blinked in confusion. “What…?”

  Soo-Jin looked directly at Nanami. “She was the one who took care of us when no one else did. Made sure we all had a home when our so-called families gave up on us.” Nanami let go. Celestial stayed against the wall, watching her with an unreadable gaze.

  Miu took a small step back, shaking her head. “No way. That’s—Celestial doesn’t even look like—”

  Celestial sighed, closing her eyes. “Gods don’t age. I made myself older back then.” Dawn felt her head spin. Everything was too much. Nanami took a shaky breath. She looked down at her own hands, her mind clearly spinning with emotions she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  Then, Ramira, still silent, finally spoke. “She is part human, you know. So not too surprised she isn’t associated with them.”

  The room turned again. Miu, still struggling to process, snapped her gaze at Ramira. “What?!”

  Ramira shrugged. “Celestial. She’s not fully divine. She’s half-human.”

  Dawn’s chest tightened. Celestial clicked her tongue. “Tch. Should’ve known you’d figure that out.”

  Soo-Hun, who had been quiet for most of this, groaned. “Okay, seriously. How the hell do you know all this information?”

  Ramira smirked faintly. “Because I was cursed.”

  Satoshi furrowed his brows. “You keep saying that. Cursed how?”

  Ramira’s smirk didn’t fade. “To know things.”

  Dawn narrowed her eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

  Ramira simply chuckled. “And you’re not getting one.”

  Soo-Hun, at her limit, groaned and rubbed her temple. “I don’t have the energy for this. I already have a headache from that damn fight.” She turned and walked off. Soo-Jin followed silently, not looking back. The air in the room was still heavy. Dawn didn’t know how to feel. Nanami… Nanami looked lost.

  The TV flickered, static crackled, the screen flashed, and the entire room went dark.