12.

"Frankly, you can't pin Uncle Russet's wariness about the Empire on mere whim. Bowser snatched Peach—my cousin—three times, each abduction a calculated jab to force the Mushroom Kingdom to the table. The Third Mushroom-Imperial War closed with a twenty-year truce, yet that didn't deter Bowser's schemes. So, a peace summit? Naturally, Russet's hackles were up. None of us could've foreseen Mario, of all people, brokering for the Empire. Looking back… Peach's hope to shield that truth from her father was brave, but perhaps too trusting."

Daisy Saffron, Empress of Sarasaland, Reflections on a Fractured Era, 1045 SV

The burdens of Princess Peach's dual roles clung to her like a second skin, the weight of Prime Minister and royal heir an unrelenting pressure that followed her even into rare moments of reprieve. She had wrested this hour from the Senate's iron grip, persuaded by Tari's quiet insistence that she step away from the endless scroll of decrees and the cold, echoing chambers of power. Was it ambition or folly, Peach wondered, that had led her to seize the mantle of Prime Minister, a title unclaimed by a royal since the shadowed reign of Valessa the Damned? The question hung in her mind, sharp and unanswered, as she sought clarity in the solitude of the firing range.

She cradled the rifle, its sleek, steam-polished stock smooth against her calloused palm, and aligned the sights with a precision born of years spent honing her skill. The target stood stark against the range's gray backdrop, a silhouette that seemed to embody her doubts—intangible yet demanding to be faced. Her breath steadied, and with a gentle pull of the trigger, the rifle barked, its recoil a sharp nudge against her shoulder. The bullet's path was true, slicing through the bullseye with surgical accuracy. A fleeting warmth of triumph stirred within her, and for that brief moment, she was not the Prime Minister, not the Princess—just Peach, unencumbered and sure.

Lowering the rifle, she felt the faint buzz of the shot linger in her muscles and glanced at Tari, who stood a few paces off, her slate-gray binoculars pressed to her eyes. The Chief of Staff's face was alight with unguarded glee, a sight that tugged a subtle smile from Peach's lips, cracking the polished mask of her regal bearing. Tari's earnest joy, raw and unfiltered, cut through the haze of Peach's responsibilities like a blade.

"Dead-on, Peach!" Tari called, her voice bright but faltering as if startled by its own boldness. She lowered the binoculars, her fingers twitching nervously at the strap.

Peach tilted her head, propping the rifle's stock against her hip. "Peach, is it? I see we're dispensing with formalities when the Senate's not watching."

Tari's cheeks reddened, and she ducked her gaze, fumbling with the binoculars. "Sorry—force of habit. But that shot… you're making it look easy."

"Practice," Peach said, her voice dry but laced with a playful edge. "Which, if I recall, you've been rather insistent I make time for."

Tari puffed out her cheeks, feigning indignation. "Insistent? I'm just keeping you from drowning in reports and stress. You'd chain yourself to that office if I didn't pull you out."

A low chuckle escaped Peach, warm and unguarded, as she shifted her grip on the rifle. "And yet, here I stand, trading bullets for bureaucracy. I suppose you've won this round."

"Not a win," Tari shot back, her usual shyness giving way to a flicker of defiance. "Just sense. The Kingdom needs you sharp, not frayed. Plus, it's nice seeing you smile. Doesn't happen often."

Peach stilled, her gaze softening as she studied her Chief of Staff. Tari's awkward candor was a rare gift, a reminder of why she'd elevated the young woman despite her self-doubt. "You've more courage than you credit yourself," she said softly. "Not many would dare drag a princess from her duties."

Tari blinked, then flashed a grin, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Maybe. But someone's got to stop you from waging war on your desk."

Peach's laughter rang clear across the range, a sound as sharp as the rifle's report. "Well played. Now, pass me another magazine. Let's see if I can earn another cheer."

Tari handed over the magazine, and Peach slotted it into place with a practiced flick. Crouching, she raised the rifle, her breath a slow, controlled exhale as she fixed her sights on a distant target. The trigger yielded under her finger, and the bullet sang, striking the mark dead-center. A quiet smile curved her lips as she rose, the weight of her titles momentarily forgotten.

Peach engaged the rifle's safety with a soft click, rising from her crouch and brushing errant blades of grass from her trousers. A sigh escaped her, heavy with the weight of truths unspoken. The old adage—heavy is the crown—cut deeper now, its truth magnified tenfold in the six months since she'd claimed the mantle of Prime Minister alongside her birthright as Crown Princess. Her lips pressed into a faint, pensive frown as she collapsed the rifle with a practiced motion, slinging it across her shoulder. She turned to Tari, her head tilting slightly, a silent question in her gaze.

A soft quack, barely audible, broke the moment—Tari's slate, chiming its peculiar alert. Tari's eyes flicked to the device, her fingers dancing across its surface with a deftness that belied her usual hesitance. She glanced up, catching Peach's raised brow.

"Lemuel Renard," Tari said, her voice tinged with a mix of relief and exasperation. "He's finally responded about that meeting you requested. Took him long enough."

Peach's laughter, light and unguarded, broke the quiet of the range. "Give him some leeway, Tari. Lemuel's been savoring his retirement since the Smithy crisis." A faint smile curved her lips, softening the weight of her earlier thoughts. "So, what's he saying about our little sit-down?"

Tari's fingers paused on the slate, her smile bright but tinged with her usual self-conscious edge. "He's game to meet, whenever suits you." She tapped the screen, dismissing the quack of the alert with a flick. "Sounds like he's curious, honestly."

"Curious, hm?" Peach arched a brow, adjusting the rifle strap on her shoulder. "Invite him here. A restaurant's too open—someone's always eavesdropping—and the Senate's a nest of prying ears. Ten times worse."

Tari nodded, already drafting the message on her slate. "Smart. The range is private, and, well, you're armed." She glanced at the rifle, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Poor Lemuel won't know what hit him."

Peach snorted, a rare, unpolished sound. "Don't tempt me. I'd rather not scare the man into hiding again." She tilted her head, studying Tari. "You're enjoying this too much. Plotting my meetings now, are you?"

"Hardly!" Tari protested, though her grin betrayed her. "I'm just… facilitating. Someone's got to keep your schedule from eating you alive."

"Facilitating," Peach echoed, her tone dry but warm. "Is that what we're calling it when you nudge me into line?"

Tari's cheeks flushed, but she held Peach's gaze, emboldened. "Call it what you want. If I don't nudge, you'll be buried in slates and Senate debates till you forget what sunlight looks like."

Peach chuckled, shaking her head. "You're relentless. Fine—send the invite. Let's see if Lemuel's as sharp as he was back then." She paused, her smile softening. "And thanks, Tari. For the nudging."

Tari blinked, then ducked her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Anytime, Peach. Now, let's not keep the old man waiting."

Peach leaned back in her chair at the range's shaded table, the rifle resting against the armrest, its barrel cool and silent. A half-eaten sandwich sat before her, crumbs scattered across the plate, while Tari nibbled at her own meal, her slate propped nearby, its screen dim. A faint crunch of gravel signaled an approach, and Peach's gaze flicked up, sharp but unguarded. Lemuel Renard ambled into view, his frame compact yet spry, the light green spots on his mushroom cap catching the midday sun. His bushy mustache twitched as he offered a broad, easy grin, one hand raised in a lazy wave.

"Peach, Tari," he called, his voice warm with a hint of gravelly charm. "Hope I'm not interrupting a feast."

Peach's lips curved into a welcoming smile as she gestured to an empty chair. "Only if you count sandwiches as a banquet, Lem. Sit—good to see you."

Tari scooted her slate aside, flashing a shy but genuine smile. "Took you long enough to get here. Thought you'd retired to a cave or something."

Renard chuckled, easing into the chair with a theatrical groan. "Caves are too damp for my old bones. Besides, when the Princess calls, I don't dawdle." He winked at Peach, his mustache quivering. "So, what's this about? Not dragging me back into politics, are you?"

Peach laughed softly, nudging her plate aside. "Not a chance. Just wanted your take on a few things—off the record. Hungry? We've got spares." She nodded toward a basket of sandwiches, her tone as easy as the breeze stirring the tablecloth.

Lemuel Renard's eyes twinkled as he snagged a sandwich from the basket, his fingers deft despite the years etched into his frame. He settled back, the light green spots on his mushroom cap glinting faintly, and flashed a roguish grin. "So, what's an old toad like me got to offer you, my lady?"

Peach groaned, rolling her eyes with exaggerated exasperation. "Lem, it's Peach. I've been drilling that into you for years."

Renard's mustache quivered with mirth as he waved the sandwich like a conductor's baton, undeterred. "Old dogs, new tricks—tough sell, Princess." The title dripped with playful defiance, his grin widening at her mock scowl.

Tari stifled a giggle, her sandwich paused halfway to her mouth. "He's got you there, Peach. You might as well knight him for stubbornness."

Peach shot Tari a sidelong glance, her lips twitching. "Don't encourage him. He's incorrigible enough." She leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table, her tone light but pointed. "Lem, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're dodging my summons just to rile me."

"Dodge? Me?" Renard pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense, though his eyes danced with mischief. "I'd never dream of it. Took my sweet time getting here, maybe, but only to build the suspense." He took a theatrical bite of the sandwich, chewing with exaggerated relish. "Mmm. Worth the trek."

Peach chuckled, shaking her head. "You're impossible. I ought to make you run laps around the range for that."

"Cruelty unbecoming a princess," Renard quipped, wagging a finger. "Besides, you'd have to catch me first, and these old legs still have some spring." He leaned back, his grin softening into something warmer. "But fine, you've got me cornered. What's on your mind, Peach?"

Her expression sobered slightly, though the ease of their banter lingered. "I wanted your take on someone—Lord Graemon, specifically." She spoke slowly, measuring her words. "You've called him potent before, but not the sort for routine legislative squabbles. I need to know where he stands."

Renard's brows lifted, and he set the sandwich down, brushing crumbs from his mustache with a thoughtful air. "Graemon, eh? Straight to the heavy hitters." He nodded, his tone shifting to match her seriousness. "Your New Society project, I'm guessing. Got to say, Peach, the scope of those reforms? Bold. Even I'm impressed, and I've seen my share of grand plans."

Peach's voice took on a measured cadence, her gaze steady as she leaned forward, fingers lightly clasped on the table. "Tari and I have been wondering if we've leaned too hard on Graemon's support." She glanced at Tari, a subtle nod passing between them. "You spotted the pattern, Tari. Care to break it down?"

Tari straightened, her fingers tightening briefly on her slate before she turned to Renard, her usual hesitance tempered by conviction. "Back when I interned for you, Lem, I noticed something about Graemon. Any bill he opposed you on seemed to… linger in the Senate. At first, I chalked it up to standard politicking." She tapped her slate awake, its screen flickering to life as she pulled up a meticulously organized spreadsheet. "But under Her High—Peach's reforms, it's gotten sharper. Bills they align on glide through without a hitch. Ones they clash on? They stall, sometimes for weeks."

She slid the slate across the table to Renard, who let out a low whistle, his bushy mustache twitching. "Still taking notes like a scholar, Tari." His eyes flicked to Peach, a glint of approval in them. "You've put her talents to good use, haven't you?"

Peach's lips curved faintly, but her focus remained sharp. "She sees what others miss. Go on, Lem—what do you make of it?"

Renard's fingers traced the slate's edge as he studied the data, his expression growing pensive. "The exceptions stand out. Your banking reform, for one—Graemon pushed for full nationalization, didn't he? Far heavier than your plan." He tapped a line on the spreadsheet, humming softly. "And the defense budget. He backed you there, yet it still crawled until you cut deals with Geddes, Mycroft, and Carmine." He leaned back, his gaze narrowing as it met Peach's. "You're thinking he's pulling strings, aren't you? Not just opposing—steering."

Peach exhaled, a thread of tension woven into the sound as she raked a hand through her hair, dislodging a stray lock. "Something tells me he's not just steering—he's rigging the game." Her voice carried a quiet edge, and her gaze darkened. "There's another piece you've likely heard about: the inquiry into the Mario Brothers."

Renard's mustache bristled as he scoffed, his tone thick with disdain. "Utter nonsense. Mario's carried the Kingdom's defense on his shoulders—saved you more than once, too." He tapped Tari's slate, then froze, his eyes widening as he leaned closer to the screen. "Hold on. Am I reading this right? Graemon's aligned with Lord Kiramman to block the inquiry?"

Peach nodded, her expression grim, lips pressed into a thin line. "Exactly. I've told Father that Graemon's been bending over backward to stay in my favor. He's even made noises about redeeming himself over the Scapelli Construction debacle." Her fingers tightened briefly on the table's edge. "But Oliver—Lord Kiramman—has been vocal about despising him. That feud's no secret, not after Scapelli's dig collapsed and took Alexander Kiramman with it."

Renard's brow furrowed, a shadow of unease creeping into his features as he set the slate down. "Good graces, you say? That's… off." He leaned back, folding his arms, his voice dropping to a murmur. "When I was Prime Minister, Graemon was forever railing against the Mario Brothers—long, venomous speeches about them being a threat to the Kingdom's stability. Convinced half the Senate they were loose cannons."

Tari's eyes flicked between them, her fingers hovering over her slate. "But now he's blocking an inquiry that could hurt them? That's… not just inconsistent. It's weird."

"Weird doesn't cover it," Peach said, her tone low, almost biting. "Graemon's not the type to flip loyalties without a reason. And working with Kiramman? After the bad blood over Scapelli?" She shook her head, her unease mirrored in the tightening of her jaw. "It's like he's playing both sides of the board."

Renard's mustache twitched, his gaze distant as he sifted through memories. "Back in my day, Graemon was slippery—always had an angle. But this? Teaming up with Kiramman, of all people, when their families have been at daggers drawn since Alexander's death?" He rubbed his chin, the motion slow, deliberate. "He's not just maneuvering. He's weaving something bigger."

Tari leaned forward, her voice quieter now, laced with suspicion. "Bigger how? Like, orchestrating votes? Or… more than that?"

Renard's eyes narrowed, and he tapped the slate again, almost absently. "More. Graemon doesn't do half-measures. If he's cozying up to you, Peach, and siding with Kiramman while still pulling strings to stall your reforms…" He trailed off, then met Peach's gaze, his unease palpable. "He's not just manipulating the scene. He's rewriting the stage."

Tari's voice was a soft murmur, her brow creased as she stared at the slate, its faint glow reflecting her unease. "But for what? All he's doing is bolstering Peach's position…"

Renard's mustache twitched, his huff sharp with skepticism. "If I were in your shoes, Peach, I'd wager he's trying to chip away at my standing as Prime Minister—make me look unsteady, unreliable." He leaned back, arms crossed, his eyes glinting with the weight of old political battles. "Graemon's not one for open loyalty. There's always a hook."

Peach's fingers stilled on the table, her gaze sharpening as she sifted through his words. "He did say something that's been nagging at me. When I took the appointment, Graemon called it a chance to 'reshape the Senate's relationship with the monarchy.'" Her voice was steady, but a shadow of doubt flickered in her eyes. "At the time, I thought he meant streamlining things—stronger unity. But now…"

Renard's expression darkened, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the table. "Reshape, hm? That's a loaded word. Last time the Senate and monarchy got 'reshaped' was under Valessa the Damned." He paused, his gaze locking with Peach's, the weight of history hanging between them. "Her push for absolute royal control sparked the first civil war. The Senate still bristles at her name."

Tari's eyes widened, her slate forgotten as she leaned forward. "You think Graemon's angling for something like that? Stirring up that kind of chaos?"

Renard shook his head, though his skepticism didn't fully mask his unease. "A second civil war? Even Graemon's not that reckless. He'd need more than clever speeches and stalled bills to pull that off." He rubbed his chin, his voice dropping. "But he could be testing the waters—nudging the Senate to see how far they'll bend, using your appointment as the lever. If he makes you look too powerful, or worse, too weak…"

Peach's lips pressed into a thin line, her mind racing. "He could paint me as another Valessa—either a tyrant or a failure. Either way, it frays the Senate's trust in the crown." She leaned forward, her voice low, intense. "But why? What's his endgame? Power for himself?"

"Maybe," Renard mused, his tone cautious but grim. "Or he's playing for someone else. Graemon's always been a spider—webs within webs. If he's reshaping the Senate's view of the monarchy, it's not just about you. It's about what comes after you." He glanced at Tari, then back to Peach. "You're the first royal Prime Minister in a century and a half. That's a precedent. He could be setting the stage for something we can't yet see."

Peach's frown deepened, her fingers tracing the edge of the table as she spoke, her voice laced with unease. "That move we pulled on the Senate… compelling attendance through the sergeant-at-arms. It was legal, no question. But…" She hesitated, her gaze flicking to Renard, searching for confirmation of her growing doubt.

Renard's mustache twitched, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his tone grim. "You may have handed Graemon a dagger for your back." He tapped the table, the sound sharp in the quiet. "It was a bold play, Peach, but bold plays cast long shadows. He'll spin it—make you look like you're tightening the crown's grip."

Tari's brow furrowed, her fingers tightening on her slate. "Spin it how? Most of the Senate grumbled, sure, but they showed up. It worked." Her voice wavered slightly, betraying her unease. "Didn't it?"

Peach's lips pressed into a thin line. "It worked in the moment. But Graemon's not playing for moments. He's playing for years." She glanced at Renard, her voice quieter now. "If he's framing me as another Valessa, that stunt just gave him fuel—proof I'm willing to strong-arm the Senate."

Renard nodded, his expression a mix of grudging admiration and concern. "Exactly. He'll whisper it in the right ears: the Princess is overreaching, just like the Damned. Never mind that you had the law on your side. Perception's what matters, and he's a master at twisting it."

Tari shifted in her seat, her eyes darting between them. "Then we need to know what he's planning. I could dig into him—check his voting records, his meetings, anything that's public." Her voice gained a spark of determination, though her fingers fidgeted with the slate's edge. "I'm good at spotting patterns. If he's weaving something, I'll find the threads."

Renard's gaze softened, but he shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You're sharp, Tari, but that's too loud. Graemon's got eyes everywhere—digging straight into him would be like waving a flag. He'd know you're onto him before you found anything solid."

Peach tilted her head, studying Renard with a faint, calculating glint. "You sound like you've got another idea, Lem. Care to share?"

Renard's smile widened, a touch of his old roguish charm surfacing. "Oh, I've got a few tricks left from my Prime Minister days. Subtle ones." He leaned back, folding his arms with a conspiratorial air. "Let me poke around—quietly. Old contacts, back channels, the sort of thing Graemon won't see coming. If he's spinning webs, I'll find a strand or two without tripping his alarms."

Tari blinked, her expression a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "You sure you can still play that game? You've been retired for a while, Lem."

Renard chuckled, his mustache quivering. "Ouch, Tari. I'm not that rusty. Besides, a toad like me never forgets how to hop through the muck." He glanced at Peach, his tone sobering. "Give me a week. If Graemon's setting you up to look like Valessa—or worse—I'll sniff it out."

Peach's eyes met his, a flicker of gratitude softening her resolve. "A week, then. But be careful, Lem. If he's as slippery as we think, he won't take kindly to being sniffed." She paused, then added with a wry smile, "And don't go enjoying the muck too much."

Renard's laugh was low and warm. "No promises, Peach. No promises."

Nero leaned back in the shadowed chamber, the faint hum of the slate before him casting a cold glow across his angular features. His fingers, long and deliberate, sifted through encrypted files, each tap a calculated step in a dance only he and his master understood. A thin smile curled his lips, satisfaction coiling in his chest. Everything was unfolding as planned—Peach's reforms, the Senate's fractures, the delicate threads of influence he'd woven through the Mushroom Kingdom's heart. He allowed himself a moment of pride for the sergeant-at-arms gambit. Whispering that idea into Peach's ear, veiled as loyal counsel, had been a masterstroke. The senators' compelled attendance had painted her as forceful, perhaps overreaching—a step closer to the specter of Valessa the Damned.

The air shifted, a subtle chill heralding the presence of Vexilus. Nero's smile faded, his posture stiffening as he turned toward the darkened alcove where his master preferred to linger. No feature of Vexilus was visible, his form cloaked in shadow, save for the faint glint of his hands—unnatural, with dual thumbs bracketing each palm, a silent testament to his inhumanity. The slate's glow dimmed as if cowed by his arrival.

"Report," Vexilus's voice rasped, low and precise, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Nero inclined his head, his tone smooth but deferential. "The Princess plays her part flawlessly. The sergeant-at-arms maneuver worked as intended—her reforms push forward, but the Senate grows wary. Whispers of Valessa stir, just as we desired." He paused, his fingers brushing the slate. "Mario's disappearance continues to unsettle them. Luigi's too distracted, shuttling between Sarasaland and the Kingdom to pose any real threat."

Vexilus's hands shifted, the dual thumbs flexing in a way that sent a prickle of unease down Nero's spine. "And the Koopa Empire?" The question hung heavy, edged with impatience. "Arakis remains silent. Horus and Anubis have failed to reestablish contact."

Nero's jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration breaking his composure. "The Empire's silence persists—seven months now. Arakis was our linchpin there, but…" He hesitated, choosing his words with care. "Something's amiss. Horus and Anubis are capable; their failure suggests interference, not incompetence."

"Speculation," Vexilus said, the word sharp, dismissive. "Arakis's disappearance threatens our broader design. The Empire's silence is a variable we cannot afford." His shadowed form leaned slightly forward, the air growing heavier. "Your focus on the Princess is commendable, but the larger board demands attention. What of the Senate's fractures? Are they deep enough to exploit?"

Nero's smile returned, sly and confident. "Deeper by the day. I've ensured key bills stall—her New Society reforms teeter on the edge of collapse. Kiramman's feud with me serves as a useful distraction, and aligning with him on the Mario inquiry keeps Peach off balance. She suspects manipulation but lacks proof." He tapped the slate, pulling up a encrypted chart of Senate votes. "The senators are divided, distrustful. A few more nudges, and they'll turn on her—or the monarchy itself."

Vexilus's hands stilled, the dual thumbs curling inward, a gesture Nero had learned to read as approval, however grudging. "Adequate. But do not grow overconfident. Peach is no pawn—she sees more than you credit." A pause, then his voice lowered, almost a hiss. "And your name, Nero? You guard it still?"

Nero's eyes gleamed, a spark of amusement flickering within them. "Always. To them, I am Lord Graemon, loyal servant of the Kingdom." His voice dripped with irony, a private jest at the mask he wore so well. "Nero remains a shadow, known only to you."

Vexilus's shadowed form seemed to nod, a faint rustle of fabric the only sound. "See that it stays so. The board is vast, Graemon. Fail me, and you will find no shadow deep enough to hide you."

Graemon's smile held as he inclined his head, the gesture polished and deferential. "I understand, my lord." His voice was steady, a perfect mask of compliance, but beneath it, his mind churned, already mapping the next moves in the intricate game he played.

The air grew lighter, the oppressive weight of Vexilus's presence receding as his shadowed form dissolved into the alcove's darkness, leaving only the faint echo of rustling fabric. Graemon's smile faded, his gaze dropping to the slate's encrypted charts, its cold light illuminating the sharp planes of his face. The Empire's silence gnawed at him—seven months of nothing, a void where intelligence should have flowed. Arakis, their operative embedded deep within the Empire's ranks, had vanished too neatly alongside it. The coincidence was too precise, too deliberate, and it stirred a rare flicker of unease in Graemon's calculating mind.

His thoughts drifted to Mario's disappearance, a thorn in his plans that had sprouted six months into the Empire's silence. The timing was no accident—he was certain of it. Mario, the Kingdom's relentless champion, gone without a trace, and the Empire's sudden reticence… the threads were tangled, but connected. How, he couldn't yet fathom, and that lack of clarity rankled him. His fingers tapped the slate, a restless rhythm, as he sifted through possibilities. A power shift within the Empire? A betrayal? Or something larger, something even Vexilus hadn't foreseen?

Graemon's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. Arakis's silence was the sharper concern. The operative had been meticulous, a shadow within shadows, yet now—nothing. Horus and Anubis, sent to reestablish contact, had vanished into the same void. The pattern was clear, and it was a pattern that worried Vexilus, though his master would never admit it. Graemon could sense it in the edge of Vexilus's voice, the subtle flex of those unnatural dual thumbs. The Empire held a piece of the puzzle, and without it, their broader design teetered on a knife's edge.

Note from the Author:

Hey folks, we're diving into some juicy chaos here, and I'm stoked to see it unfold! Peach is starting to pull at the threads Tari flagged back in Chapter Four, and it's definitely casting some serious shade on her so-called Senate ally. Writing Lemuel Renard was a blast—getting two political heavyweights to bounce ideas and scheme together felt like a chess match with extra flair. Now, about Peach being a sharpshooter… why? Honestly, it just hit me as a cool, unexpected twist. I thought, "Why not give her a badass edge?" and rolled with it.

Oh, and Nero's big reveal as Graemon? Yeah, I toyed with stretching that mystery longer, but with everything heating up—especially after that hint I dropped in Chapter Ten—it felt right to lay it bare now. Keeping it hidden any longer would've been tough with all the moving pieces. So, the stakes are climbing, and I'm pumped to see where this ride takes us. Hope you're all strapped in for what's next!