CHAPTER 111: IT’S NOT?

Mara pushed her chair back abruptly, standing up. She paced the small space between the desk and the filing cabinets, running a hand through her hair, dislodging strands from her usually severe bun.

"It’s not about him!" she insisted, her voice rising slightly. "It’s about the principle! The Association issues a kill order based on flimsy evidence, frames him for murder... They bypassed Guild authority. They lied."

"They always lie," Juna countered calmly. "That’s how they operate. You know this." She watched Mara pace, her expression unreadable. "This isn’t about principles. This is about him. Why are you protecting Fin?"

"I’m not protecting him!" she spun back, glaring at Juna. "I’m trying to understand why the Association wants him dead! There’s more to this. That Mana Cell... Project Chimera... whatever that is."

Juna tilted her head. "So you risk everything for... curiosity? For a D-rank anomaly who might be more dangerous than the Association claims?"

"He wouldn’t kill Hana!" She repeated, slamming her hand down lightly on a stack of papers. "I don’t know what happened in that dungeon, but I know he didn’t murder his team."

"You don’t know that," Juna said softly. "You want to believe it. Because if he didn’t, then the Association is lying, and if they’re lying about this..." She trailed off, letting Mara follow the thought.

Mara stopped pacing, breathing heavily. She looked at the screen, at the redacted files, at the single word: Jericho. She thought of Fin’s face in the hospital, the blankness trying to hide something immense. The impossible power she’d glimpsed. The kid who stumbled into the Guild looking for a chance.

"Maybe I did hate him at first," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Another piece of slum trash thinking he could play hero." She looked away, towards the window.

"But he survived. He keeps surviving. Against odds that should have crushed him." She turned back, meeting Juna’s gaze. "Maybe... maybe that’s worth something."

Juna took a slow sip of her coffee, studying Mara over the rim of the mug. "Or maybe," she said, her voice dropping slightly, becoming softer, more probing, "it’s not about him at all."

Mara frowned, her eyes narrowing again. "What are you talking about?"

"Fin Carver," Juna continued, setting her mug down carefully on the corner of the desk. "Scrappy kid from the slums. Awkward. Doesn’t fit in. Thinks he has something to prove." She paused, letting the words hang. "Remind you of anyone?"

Mara stiffened. Her posture went rigid, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Don’t." The word was low, dangerous.

Juna ignored the warning. "Does he?" she pressed gently. "Remind you of Leo?"

Mara flinched as if struck. Her head snapped up, eyes blazing with sudden, raw fury. "How dare you?" she hissed, taking a step towards Juna, her hands shaking slightly. "How dare you bring him up?"

"Why not?" She stood her ground, her own expression hardening slightly, though her voice remained soft. "Because it hurts? Because you still blame yourself?"

"Shut up, Juna!" Mara spat, her voice trembling with rage. "You know nothing about it! Nothing!"

"I know you practically dragged Fin into the Guild," she countered, her voice sharpening now. "Passed him when his screening was a failure. Gave him that contract when the Guild wanted him gone." She took a step closer, invading Mara’s space. "Why? Out of the goodness of your heart? Since when do you operate on charity?"

Mara stepped back, bumping against the desk, papers rustling. "He had potential! His power—"

"His power was useless!" Juna cut her off. "Everyone knew it. Absorption? A glorified party trick. Until it wasn’t. Until he survived something impossible." She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "You didn’t see potential, Mara. You saw a ghost. You saw a chance to fix the past."

"That’s not true!"

"Isn’t it?" Juna pressed relentlessly. "A lost boy you could save? Someone you could guide, protect? Someone you could keep from ending up like..." She left Leo’s name unspoken, but the implication hung heavy, suffocating, between them.

"Is that why you’re doing this? Risking everything? To ease your own guilt? To pretend you can save this one because you couldn’t save him?"

Mara snapped.

"GET OUT!" she screamed, her voice raw, cracking. She pointed a trembling finger towards the door. "Get out of my office! NOW!"

Juna held her gaze for another second, seeing the raw pain beneath the fury. She saw the truth of her words hit home. She sighed softly, the fight draining out of her posture. She stepped back, retrieving her coffee mug from the desk.

"Sorry, Mara," she said quietly, the apology sounding genuine. "I shouldn’t have." She turned and walked towards the door. She paused with her hand on the handle, looking back briefly. Mara stood stiffly behind the desk, her back ramrod straight, staring fixedly at the wall, refusing to look at her.

Juna shook her head slightly and left, pulling the door quietly shut behind her.

The click of the latch echoed in the sudden silence.

Mara remained frozen for a full minute. Her breathing was shallow, ragged. Her hands were still clenched into fists, knuckles white. She stared at the blank wall, seeing nothing.

Then, a choked sound escaped her throat. A sob, quickly suppressed. Her body began to tremble, not just her hands, but her shoulders, her legs.

Her control shattered.

With a guttural cry, she swept her arm across the desk.

Paperwork flew. Coffee cups tumbled, splashing lukewarm liquid across the floor. Datapads clattered against the wall. Pens scattered.

It wasn’t enough.

She grabbed a heavy report binder and hurled it at the filing cabinet. It hit with a loud clang, denting the metal, pages spilling out.

She kicked the sturdy office chair, sending it skidding across the room until it crashed into the opposite wall.

She swept more files off the desk, sending them cascading onto the floor. She grabbed handfuls of scattered papers, crushing them in her fists, the sound sharp in the silence.

She sank slowly to her knees amidst the wreckage, surrounded by the chaos she had created. Her shoulders shook. She buried her face in her hands, sharp, ragged gasps tearing from her throat. The sounds were muffled, broken.

The office remained silent except for her ragged breathing.

"It’s not about that..."

"It’s not about him..."

...

"It’s not?" Even she did not know.