Jaro’s hand shot out, grabbing the gilded brand. The amber light pulsed violently against his palm, searing a phantom heat through the worn weave of Milla’s tunic. He tried to scrape it off, his nails digging into the tough cloth, but the mark felt welded to her flesh beneath. "Don't touch it!" Milla yelped, yanking backward. "It tingles!" Jaro ignored her, bile rising in his throat. He tried to tear the material, to rip the entire section of cloth away, but the moment his fingers strained against it, a blaring siren ripped through the Schola’s silent halls. A blinding scarlet overlay flashed across his vision. [WARNING! ILLEGAL TAMPERING DETECTED!] [DIVINE BLESSING INTEGRITY COMPROMISED!] [IMMEDIATE SOUL HARVEST PROTOCOL INITIATED FOR OFFENDING PARTY!] Jaro froze. He felt a sickening tug, a sensation of his very essence being stretched thin, pulled taut by an invisible fishing line. He snatched his hands back as if scalded, the siren dying instantly, the red overlay vanishing. The metaphysical hook unspooled, releasing him back onto his knees. That was too close. The entity wasn't just observing; it was actively *protecting* its traps. He couldn't physically remove it. He needed an override, an admin cipher woven into the System’s very code. Milla, oblivious to the terrifying near-miss, worried her lip. "It’s... really stuck, isn't it? But it’s okay, Jaro! An Honorary Vanguard! That means I get to train with the big kids! Maybe I can even get strong enough to help you with your cleaning duties!" Her innocent enthusiasm curdled his stomach. He knelt, forcing a weak smile. “That’s… that’s wonderful, sis.” He ruffled her hair, his gaze lingering on the blazing insignia. “Just… be careful, okay? These big kids play rough.” He had to make her stronger, make her understand without exposing her to the truth. She needed to learn to fight, to protect herself against more than just bullies, but against the very system that claimed to elevate her. “I will!” Milla beamed, puffing out her chest, the amber brand flaring brighter with her pride. “I’ll get so strong, no one will ever bother you again! You’re so good at sweeping, you deserve a break!” Jaro’s smile tightened. He deserved a break, alright. A break from the relentless pressure of keeping his sister alive in a world that saw her as just another harvestable resource. He waited until Milla was safely tucked into her bunk, the amber crest casting a low flare across the sheets. The campus was quiet, the moon a sliver above the towering battle-mansion. He slipped out, moving without sound through the hushed halls, his gray rags blending into the dark stone. His target: the subterranean vaults. They held the Schola's oldest records, pre-dating the grand design's emergence. If an override existed, it would be hidden there. He reached the records chamber's sealed entrance, a massive plasteel door marked with a skull-and-crossbones hologram. A faint hum vibrated from within, signaling active security. Jaro didn't even pause. He pressed his palm flat against a seam in the plasteel, feeling for the minuscule vibration of the internal relays. His fingers danced, a blur of motion, picking the complex locks with silent, practiced ease. The plasteel hissed, sliding open a crack. A grid of crimson laser beams shimmered within, crisscrossing the narrow corridor beyond. A single contact with these beams would trigger a full lockdown and an alarm loud enough to wake the Headmaster. Jaro yawned, a genuine, jaw-cracking yawn. He eyed the grid. It was child's play, the kind of rudimentary defense he’d seen in glorified training simulations for fresh recruits. He slipped between two closely spaced beams, his body contorting with impossible fluidity. He spun, ducked, and weaved, his movements less like a human navigating an obstacle course and more like water flowing through a sieve. He brushed a beam with the barest whisper of his sleeve, but didn’t break it, anticipating its shift, his body already in motion to avoid the next. He moved with such casual grace, it was as if the lethal grid simply didn’t exist. He entered the repository floor, a vast, echoing space filled with towering shelves of data-slates and ancient scrolls. He pulled out a small, discreet data-siphon, plugging it into a dusty terminal. His fingers flew across the holographic keyboard, a blur of precise keystrokes. He wasn’t looking for specific files; he was searching for anomalies, glitches in the Architect’s omnipresent code that might indicate a backdoor or a master override. A soft click echoed from behind him. Jaro froze, his hand hovering over the terminal. He hadn't heard anyone. He hadn't *felt* anyone. Only one person he knew moved that silently, that deliberately. “So,” a voice drawled from the shadows, thick with sharp amusement, “the talentless drudge can dance through an Arch-Security laser grid like it’s a morning stretch.” Inessa Davor stepped into the dim light, a sharp smirk pulling at her lips. In her hand, she held a compact Holo-Recorder, its lens humming with a blue pilot light. A small playback screen on its side showed Jaro, yawning, as he effortlessly navigated the crimson lasers. The undeniable, crystal-clear proof of his hidden abilities. “And here I thought you were just a lazy, bumbling idiot,” Inessa continued, her voice a low hiss. “Turns out, you’re just a lying one.” She took another step, the recorder held like a weapon. “I want to know how you did it, Tenza. How a floor-sweeper pulls off moves that would make a Blazefist Vanguard weep.” Jaro sighed, the casual facade melting away, replaced by a weary resignation. “It’s complicated, Davor. And none of your business.” “It became my business the moment you threw a mop bucket with enough force to shatter reinforced bone,” she retorted, eyes narrowed. “And it became my business again when I followed you through a dozen locked doors and an ‘unbreachable’ laser grid. Now, I have undeniable proof of a Class-S Assassin hiding in plain sight, pretending to be a janitor.” She leaned in, dropping her tone to a rasp. “I won’t turn you in, Tenza. Not if you agree to my terms.” Jaro raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his tired gaze. “And what terms would those be, Valedictorian?” “The Headmaster’s vault,” she said, gesturing toward the deeper recesses of the stacks. “It's rumored to hold the Schola’s oldest, most sensitive data—including records of the original Architect protocols, before the current ‘Benevolent’ rebranding. If there’s a cipher, it’s there. I’ll help you get in.” Jaro watched her, calculating. This was Inessa. There was always a catch. “My price,” she stated, her posture rigid, “is a sparring match. You and me. No janitor nonsense, no holding back. I want to see you fight at full power. Show me what you really are.” She tilted the recording crystal so the light caught its edge. “Or I tell Milla everything.”

Lethal Laser Grids and Forced Deals