Strax's office was in absolute silence, a stark contrast to the constant chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Here, however, everything was stable. Controlled. Almost… normal. The desk in front of him, wide and made of reinforced dark wood, was covered with neatly arranged stacks of documents, maps, and reports, each meticulously separated as if the very physical order could compensate for the unpredictable nature of the world beyond those walls. He sat, his body leaning slightly forward, one elbow resting on the surface while the fingers of one hand supported the weight of his head, a gesture that showed not physical fatigue, but rather a rare moment of introspection.

His eyes slowly scanned the papers in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere.

"It's time…", he murmured in a low, almost inaudible voice, as if speaking more to himself than to anything else present in that space. His gaze wandered for a brief instant, losing focus on the documents, staring at something invisible beyond them. "To go and meet the celestial emperor…"

The words hung in the air for a few seconds, laden with an intention that didn't need to be explicitly stated. There was no doubt. No hesitation. Just… calculation.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, letting out a small sigh through his nose, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he organized the thoughts that insisted on overlapping. The idea of ​​simply resolving this in the most direct way possible arose almost automatically—as it always did.

"It would be simpler…" he continued, now with a slight trace of irritation in his voice. "Much faster."

His hand slid down the side of his face to his chin, his fingers pressing lightly as his mind projected scenarios with an almost uncomfortable clarity.

"Enter… kill… take everything."

Simple.

Efficient.

Definitive.

But he already knew.

Even before he finished formulating the thought.

"…it won't happen that way."

His eyes opened again, now more focused, colder, like someone who had discarded an option not out of incapacity, but out of strategic choice. He wasn't dealing with just any opponent, nor with common territory. The "celestial emperor" wasn't merely a title—it was a position sustained by systems, alliances, political structures, and forces that couldn't simply be crushed without consequences.

Or rather…

They could.

But the consequences wouldn't be… efficient.

And efficiency, at that moment, mattered more than brute force.

His gaze then shifted to the window beside the desk, the natural light gently flooding the room, almost contrasting with the weight of the thoughts occupying his mind. Outside, the sky was clear, an intense blue stretching uninterrupted, with a few scattered clouds slowly carried away by the wind.

It was… a beautiful day.

Strangely beautiful.

Strax observed it silently for a few seconds, as if evaluating something unrelated to strategy or power.

"…irritating," he murmured, though without real displeasure.

The tranquility of that external scene didn't match what was to come.

But perhaps…

That was precisely why he noticed.

His gaze then returned to the table, focusing again on the documents that had been left there—organized, categorized, and clearly prepared with care.

Monica.

He would recognize that pattern anywhere.

Without saying anything, he pulled out the first set of papers, adjusting them slightly before beginning to read, his expression returning to its usual neutral state, but with much more focused attention now.

Most of the reports dealt with something that, not long ago, would have been irrelevant to him.

Refugees.

People.

Entire families who had crossed dangerous territories, fleeing conflicts, persecution, or simply the complete absence of stability, arrived in Asgard in search of something that, in that world, was too rare to be taken for granted.

Security.

Strax read each line slowly, absorbing the information precisely, analyzing patterns, numbers, origins.

Constant increase.

Diversification of regions.

No immediate threats identified among the newcomers.

He turned the page.

Another report.

More data.

Reception structures being expanded.

Resource distribution.

Adaptation of previously unused spaces.

Everything working.

Everything… flowing.

He remained silent for a few seconds after finishing reading that particular set, his fingers resting lightly on the paper as his mind processed it not as isolated information, but as part of something larger.

Asgard was working.

Not just existing.

Functioning.

And that… was rare.

Very rare.

He pulled out another document, this time with more technical markings—blueprints, structural diagrams, expansion proposals.

New constructions.

Residential areas being expanded.

Training sectors being reorganized.

External defenses being reinforced.

There were even suggestions for improvements in basic infrastructure—circulation, storage, resource distribution.

Strax raised an eyebrow slightly as he read some of the observations, clearly noticing the level of detail involved.

"They're taking this seriously…," he murmured, more out of observation than surprise.

And they were.

All of them.

Each in their own way.

Contributing.

Building.

Sustaining something that, in any other scenario, would probably have already collapsed under its own weight.

Six months.

He leaned back in his chair, holding one of the papers as he looked at it without actually reading it at that moment.

Less than six months.

That was the time it took for it to stop being an isolated point and become… a system.

Stable.

Organized.

Growing.

His eyes narrowed slightly, not out of distrust, but out of recognition.

"…impressive," he said softly.

And it was.

Even considering the resources, the people involved, the distributed leadership… still, there was something there that surpassed expectations.

It wasn't just structure.

It was… adaptation.

And that made everything more dangerous.

More resilient.

More… difficult to bring down.

He set the paper aside, resting both arms on the table now, interlacing his fingers as he looked at the complete set of documents before him.

Asgard was no longer just a point on the map.

It was a presence.

And that changed everything.

Especially for what came next.

The celestial emperor.

Strax closed his eyes for a brief moment again, not out of tiredness, but to organize his line of thought more precisely.

Going to him wasn't just a matter of confrontation.

It was a matter of… positioning.

He couldn't just arrive and destroy everything.

Not yet.

Not without fully understanding the surrounding system.

The alliances.

The power structures.

The potential side effects.

Because, unlike an isolated demon or a one-off threat…

This was an entire ecosystem.

And messing with it unprepared could create more problems than solutions.

He opened his eyes again, now with a much clearer focus.

"…so let's do this right."

The words were spoken naturally, but carried a firm decision.

No shortcuts.

No unnecessary impulsiveness.

At least… for now.

His hand moved again, pulling out one last set of papers, but this time he didn't read them immediately. Instead, he observed them for a few seconds, as if evaluating the complete set of everything he had absorbed so far.

Refugees.

Expansion.

Stability.

Growth. Asgard was becoming something that would inevitably attract attention.

If it wasn't already.

And that meant the time to act without being observed was… dwindling.

"The more this grows…", he murmured, looking at the documents, "…the less invisible it becomes."

And invisibility… was an advantage.

One that wouldn't last forever.

He let out a small sigh, this time lighter, almost imperceptible, before finally starting to organize the papers again, stacking them with precision, as if each gesture reflected the control he maintained over everything around him.

Or tried to maintain.

His mind was already a few steps ahead, projecting the next moves, the possible variables, the points of risk.

But, for the first time in a while… there was no immediate urgency.

There was direction.

And that was enough.

He cast one last glance out the window, the sky still blue, still calm, as if completely oblivious to the decisions being made at that moment.

"…enjoy it while you can," he murmured, without specifying to whom—or for what.

Then he stood up.

Strax remained standing for a few moments after standing, as if allowing his own body to match the slower pace of his mind in that rare moment of pause.

Then, without any hurry, he raised his arms above his head and stretched, lengthening his muscles with a controlled, almost feline movement that made his back crack slightly.

It wasn't tiredness—not in the usual sense—but there was an accumulation of tension, of restraint, of decisions that demanded more than simple brute force. And, for a brief second, he simply… existed in that space, without urgency, without immediate external pressure.

His shoulders relaxed as he slowly exhaled, his gaze automatically returning to the table, to the organized papers, to everything that represented structure, order… responsibility. An almost ironic contrast to what he was capable of doing—to what he had already done. Still, he didn't seem bothered by it. Just… aware.

"Before that…", he murmured, his low voice filling the silence of the office naturally, while his eyes drifted from the desk towards the door.

There was a brief pause.

Short.

But full of intention.

"I need to talk to Agnes."

The name came out without hesitation, but the slight narrowing of his eyes indicated that this wasn't just another practical decision like so many others he had made in the last few minutes. It was different. Not because of strategic complexity… but because of its nature.

He took a few slow steps around the office, circling the desk without looking back, as if that environment had already been completely processed, resolved—at least for now. His thoughts, however, were no longer focused on the celestial emperor, nor on Asgard, nor on power structures.

They were… on her.

Strax absentmindedly ran his hand across his neck, as he did when organizing something that wasn't purely logical, something that didn't fit perfectly into calculations or projections.

"It's time…," he said softly, more to himself than as a statement to his surroundings.

It wasn't an impulsive decision.

In fact, it was the opposite.

He had been considering it for some time—he just hadn't prioritized it. There was always something bigger, more urgent, more… destructive, demanding his attention.

But now…

Now there was room.

And he wasn't someone who ignored this kind of thing when he finally decided to face it.

His steps slowed slightly, not out of hesitation, but out of more direct, more concrete reflection.

"I like her," he stated, this time with an almost disconcerting clarity, as if he were simply stating a simple, undeniable fact.

No beating around the bush.

No dramatization.

Just… the truth.

He paused for a moment near the door, his gaze fixed on the wood in front of him, but clearly not actually seeing her. His mind was elsewhere, reorganizing recent memories, interactions, glances, responses—everything being analyzed with the same precision he applied to every other aspect of his existence.

But there was something different there.

Less calculation.

More… acceptance.

"…and she made that perfectly clear too," he continued, a slight trace of irony creeping into the corner of his mouth, almost imperceptible, but present.

The memory of Agnes's directness, the complete absence of filter, the way she simply… said things, made that small smile linger for another second.

"She offered," he finished, in a neutral, but not indifferent tone.

For Strax, this wasn't trivial—not in the common sense. It wasn't just physical. It wasn't just impulse.

It was a choice.

And choices, for him, always carried weight.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, as if adjusting his train of thought, before letting out a small sigh through his nose.

"…so the least I can do…", he murmured, with an almost absurd calm for the kind of thought he was formulating, "…is to thank her in the right way."

There was a brief pause.

And then he finished, without any embarrassment, without any need to soften or hide his intention:

"…the way she wants."