Crisis Resolution

Thirty minutes until final detonation.

"Report! All data backups are complete!"

"Prepare for detonation."

"Yes, sir!"

Alarm sirens blared throughout the Imperial Capital, announcing the imminent meteor strike.

With a single brief order, the Chancellor was about to reduce the century-old Central Tower to ashes.

He told himself repeatedly that it had to be done. The secret passages and mechanisms had been completely compromised; if the rebel forces counterattacked, the entire nation could be plunged into crisis.

This was no impulsive decision.

All residents around the Central Tower had been evacuated. Many had settled in nearby squares with their belongings, some bleary-eyed, others deeply worried. Those in the know mingled among them, cautiously exchanging information. They gazed from afar at the brilliantly lit Central Tower against the night sky, their whispers soon drowned out by the general murmur of the crowd.

The Chancellor hadn't slept all night, but his craving for sleep was nothing compared to his current anxiety and dread. A nerve throbbed incessantly in his brain, each pulse accompanied by sharp pain, urging him to do something—go back, return to the building, there was still unfinished work. What else? All data was backed up, all personnel evacuated. Why did he still want to return to the epicenter of the blast?

One person still hadn't been found.

The Chancellor had already turned around, taken a step, and then halted.

That taut nerve gave a vicious throb, the pain forcing him to remember: they had searched for this person for five hours straight, not a single inch of the building or its grounds left unchecked, yet there was still no trace. Going to look now was pointless.

Besides, she was the very target of this detonation, the ant to be crushed by the high-energy cannon disguised as a meteor.

Twenty minutes until detonation.

Weariness, hunger, thirst, and fear took turns tormenting the Chancellor, replaced by a state of near-numb confusion. Standing before the tower, he suddenly heard a faint snap. Then, utter silence. It wasn't the detonation; it was the sound of that thread in his mind snapping.

The Chancellor, almost uncontrollably, began walking toward the building when a mechanical voice crackled from his radio:

"Attention all citizens! Attention all citizens! Five minutes until meteor impact! Do not approach the Central Tower..."

The distant broadcast echoed the message. The Chancellor's hearing returned, but not fully.

The world spun around him; sounds seemed to fade in and out.

He heard himself ask, "Has she been found?"

His voice, transmitted through the radio, sounded strangely distorted.

"Not yet."

"Cancel it."

"Yes, sir!"

And so, everything that followed had nothing to do with him. He couldn't hear the distant cheers of the people celebrating the averted meteor crisis, nor the whispers of those in the know.

The supreme leader of this empire was utterly exhausted, tormented by fear and doubt.

With heavy steps, he walked into the cordoned-off area.

The alarm had just been lifted. The entire building and the plaza before it were completely deserted.

Where had she gone?

He dared not think about it.

Before initiating a thorough search, he wanted to bring a portable recording device. No matter what he might find—betrayal, deception, death—he wanted to capture the evidence firsthand, something to occupy him during the long, painful days to come.

So he began climbing the stairs, step by step. He didn't take the elevator; the power system hadn't been restored yet.

He walked alone through the empty corridors. Apart from the wind, only the echo of his own footsteps surrounded him.

He ascended the steps, turned a corner, and pushed open a door.

At that very moment, the power system happened to come back online.

The overused air conditioner roared to life. Lights throughout the entire building flickered on simultaneously, dispelling the darkness and illuminating a single figure.

The person he had mobilized all his forces to find for five hours.

She was slumped over a desk, sleeping soundly. Her hair was loose, her glasses off, making her appear gentler and more harmless than usual.

She was draped in a coat—his coat. Her head rested on a soft-covered notebook—also his. She sat in the seat he had previously occupied.

An act of insubordination.

At that moment, his throat tightened. His heart swelled, filling his chest, then abruptly contracted. For the first time in his life, he felt his heartbeat so intensely—nauseating, yet blissful.

All his senses came rushing back. His legs felt like they were filled with lead, a heavy, grounding solidity.

Perhaps startled by the light, she woke up, lifting her head with a dazed look in her eyes.

"Don't move." The Sovereign's voice was hoarse.

She opened her mouth, thought about standing up, but didn't dare.

He walked over, pinched this little fool's chin, lifted it, and kissed her.

A fleeting kiss.

"Unpleasant?" His hand unconsciously tightened its grip, leaving a suggestive red mark beneath her lip. The waiting time seemed to stretch on indefinitely, and he had already anticipated her refusal, wavering between letting her go and keeping her confined. Hearing no answer, he slowly loosened his hand.

Unexpectedly, the little fool shook her head. Then, bracing herself against the desk, she responded with an equally light kiss.

The Sovereign stood there, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. After a moment of silence, he felt as if another century had passed.

Then he bent over the desk, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her up.

He had a slight ringing in his ears.

But that didn't matter.

By the time he carried her back to his own room, people were only just beginning to trickle into the secured area. No one saw what had happened here.