Fitran woke up earlier than anyone else, moving through the hallway with almost silent steps. He offered a faint smile to the servants on duty, pondering silently, "Do they know?" A dark shadow lurked at the back of his mind. Behind that smile, his thoughts raced—ensuring that all scenarios remained under control, even as he acknowledged the unsettling truth: the thin veil of lies would soon be tested.

  As the morning unfolded, Kenji entered the study, a report in hand. His eyes darted around, alert, and his voice wavered under the weight of unease. “Fitran-dono, are we truly prepared for this?” he asked, barely masking the tremor of panic that clung to his words.

  “Indeed, Fitran-dono,” Kenji continued, urgency spilling from his lips. “Last night, a new soldier named Hayato reviewed the logistics and uncovered discrepancies in the food and ammunition shipment records. He fears there’s been manipulation within the defense logistics.”

  Fitran clenched his jaw, fighting to maintain composure as his heart raced. “This discovery could be our undoing,” he murmured, his throat dry. He was all too aware of the truth: he had altered the distribution routes of food and weapons—some for secret operations, others meant to weaken suspected factions. But the shadow cast over his thoughts darkened further, prompting him to wonder, “How far can I go before everything collapses?” The thought of this data falling into the hands of the elders, or worse, the general populace, sent a chill down his spine.

  Fitran held back his expression, but inside, his heart raced. He knew exactly: he had indeed altered the distribution routes of food and weapons—some for secret operations, some to weaken suspected parties. But if this data fell into the hands of the elders or even the people, all control schemes could crumble.

  “If they find out, Fitran, are you ready to face their wrath?” the voice in his head whispered, growing more frightening. “I won’t let that happen,” he murmured to himself, seeking reassurance.

  “Who else knows?” he asked quietly, scanning Kenji’s face for clues.

  Kenji shook his head, his tone serious. “Two guards. They seem suspicious, Fitran. You don’t want them asking too many questions, do you?”

  “Just Hayato,” Fitran responded, a hint of unease creeping in. “But he spoke with those two guards in the kitchen. They promised to keep it a secret until you intervene.”

  Fitran took a deep breath, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “They know more than you think. Can they be trusted?” The voice in his mind taunted him again, sounding closer. “What if they betray us?” he asked Kenji, anxiety lacing his voice.

  “Take Hayato to the upper tower. I will speak with him. Don’t let him meet anyone else for now,” Kenji instructed firmly, his gaze unwavering.

  In the tower, Fitran greeted Hayato—a young man with an honest face, brimming with enthusiasm but also a touch of naivety. He welcomed him warmly, pouring him a cup of tea, then spoke slowly, choosing his words delicately: “You know, Hayato, in war, sometimes the truth must be bent for the safety of many. If everyone knows your original plan, then the enemy will know it too.”

  Hayato menunduk, mempertanyakan pilihan di hadapannya. Ia bergetar di antara keteguhan dan ketakutan. "Tapi... itu salah bagiku untuk menipu," katanya dengan suara lemah.

  "Memang benar," Fitran menjawab pelan, "kadang kebenaran itu bagaikan pedang tajam; bisa melukai jika tidak dipegang dengan benar. Kamu telah menemukan sesuatu, tapi aku ingin kamu menyimpannya untuk diri sendiri sementara waktu, demi keselamatan orang-orang yang kamu cintai."

  Hayato ragu-ragu, meskipun ia menghormati Fitran. "Tapi jika menyembunyikannya justru menyebabkan lebih banyak penderitaan bagi mereka?" tanyanya, bergumul dengan bayang-bayang rasa bersalah yang menekan hatinya.

  "Tapi... jika ada yang kelaparan, atau jika pasukan kehabisan amunisi, siapa yang akan bertanggung jawab?" Fitran menatapnya tajam, meski senyumnya tetap hangat, seakan-akan kedamaian palsu menutupi kegelapan yang lebih dalam. "Aku akan. Semua kesalahan, semua kekurangan, ada di pundakku. Kau ingin menjadi pahlawan, kan? Tapi pahlawan yang bisa mengorbankan hatinya untuk sesuatu yang lebih besar, meskipun itu melukai jiwa.

  "Tapi jika aku terus berbohong, bukankah aku sama saja dengan musuh kita?"

  Fitran menggeleng pelan. "Kau tidak berbohong untuk kepentinganmu sendiri, Hayato. Ini tentang menghindari kehampaan yang bisa kita ciptakan. Jika kau ingin menjadi pahlawan, jadilah pahlawan yang tahu kapan harus berbicara dan kapan harus menunggu."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Untuk meyakinkan Hayato, Fitran mengeluarkan "rekaman palsu" – seolah-olah rute untuk makanan dan amunisi memang sudah dipisahkan secara diam-diam demi pertahanan, sambil meminta Hayato untuk menjaga rahasia itu demi keselamatan orang-orang. Sebuah ketidaknyamanan mulai merayap ke dalam hati Hayato, seperti halaman terlarang yang menyimpan lebih banyak kegelapan daripada yang tampak. "Jadilah pengamat rahasia di dapur," Fitran mengisyaratkan, "Jika kau melihat ada kejanggalan lain, laporkan hanya padaku." Hayato akhirnya mengangguk, merasa dihargai. Namun, di dalam hati Fitran, lonceng peringatan terus berdering: semakin banyak kebohongan, semakin besar risiko tirai itu robek. "Apa yang akan terjadi jika mereka menemukan semua ini?" pikirnya, "Apakah semua ini akan kembali menghantuiku?"

  Sementara itu, saat Fitran sibuk menutup kekurangan, laporan baru muncul: di dapur, dua penjaga lain mulai berbisik tentang logistik, menyalahkan seorang prajurit tua—Yusuke—yang memiliki sejarah mencuri. Tanpa ragu, Fitran segera memanfaatkan kesempatan ini untuk mengalihkan perhatian. "Apakah ini jalan yang benar?" dia bertanya-tanya, "Atau justru membuat keadaan semakin buruk?"

  "Kumpulkan semua penjaga dapur di halaman," perintahnya tegas. "Beritahu mereka bahwa malam ini Yusuke akan diinterogasi tentang logistik. Siapa pun yang membantu akan diawasi dengan ketat."

  In front of the people, Yusuke was humiliated—considered the mastermind behind the logistics changes and accused of stealing for his own family. "They believe this lie," Fitran murmured to himself, a shadow of despair casting over his features, "But will it be enough to save me?" The crowd's whispers escalated into a cacophony of belief, rumors shifting like sand, and some even clung to the notion that they had finally "found" the source of the hunger and ammunition shortage. "Maybe this isn't just about me," he thought bitterly, "But about everything that is lost and will never return."

  Yusuke himself could only bow his head, knowing there was no way to defend himself amidst the whirlpool of slander and anxiety. "What will happen to me?" he wondered, haunted by the question, "Is this all truly destined?"

  In her room, Nobuzan watched from the window the turbulent scene in the courtyard. She felt increasingly alien in her own home—each piece of bad news and every gloomy face added weight to her already burdened shoulders. "Will I ever be able to go home? All of this feels like an illusion," she murmured softly, her voice barely breaking through the heaviness surrounding her.

  Hana came in with warm water and a blanket, her movements deliberate. "Nobi, we must stay united," she urged, trying to infuse strength into her words. "If not, this darkness will swallow us." She forced a smile, but her eyes betrayed the concern that clung to her heart. "But what if that darkness is already too thick?" Nobuzan replied, her voice colored with doubt, a ripple of uncertainty threading through their conversation.

  "Sometimes, Nobi," Hana began thoughtfully, "a home can only endure because we pretend not to know the true wounds. But you still have a choice: to be the light behind the veil, or to be the voice that shakes the silent walls." She emphasized each word, hoping to ignite a spark of hope.

  Nobuzan simply stared at the floor, tears falling silently. "The light exists, Hana," she said, her voice trembling, "but I feel trapped in my own shadows." A deep sorrow lingered in her tone as she spoke.

  "I don’t want to be a symbol of falsehood, Hana," she continued, looking up with a glimmer of desperation in her eyes. "But I also don’t want to lose everything..."

  With a frown, Hana stepped closer, her gaze steady. "But what do you consider everything, Nobi? Is this all you want? This existence?" Her voice softened, burdened with empathy. "Or are we trapped in a game that is far too confusing?

  Outside the room, whispers floated through the air as rumors continued to spread. The servants, their faces etched with fear, exchanged anxious glances, afraid of making mistakes. Soldiers observed one another with wary eyes, while curious children wondered aloud about the imprisoned, why the kitchen was now guarded more tightly than usual. "Are we all not erased from history? Or are we just part of a dark story written by those in power?" one servant whispered to a friend, their expression pale and full of dread.

  Fitran, though victorious today, felt the weight of knowledge pressing down on him. The war against the truth, he mused, was far more daunting than battles fought against enemy forces. "To dare to ask," he thought, flicking through maps in a state of anxiety, "means you can already be considered a traitor. But if I don’t ask, how many souls will be trapped in silence?"

  Night fell more quietly than usual. Small fires were lit in every room, but the air remained cold—as if the Oda home now stood on a thin fog that could collapse at any moment.

  Fitran sat in the study, writing a new note. "The more veils there are, the harder it is to distinguish between enemy and friend. But the world does not make room for those who hesitate… only for those who can lie the longest."

  "If all of this is just an illusion, how can I trust what is visible?" he whispered, his voice strained, as though the weight of his thoughts filled the room with unease.

  Nobuzan closed the curtains gently, leaning closer to her baby. "Hold on, dear. May tomorrow bring honesty, or at least… one more reason to hope," she murmured softly, brushing her hand over the child's head.

  "But what if that honesty only kills us more slowly?" Fitran's voice quivered as he pointed out, trembling hands resting on the paper. "It's like letting a wolf into the pen."

  Nobuzan bowed her head, her breath shaking. "Sometimes, I feel like we are just waiting for the decision on who will destroy us first," she shared quietly, her eyes averted from his. "Is it from the outside or from within ourselves?"

  "If we are not vigilant, we will find ourselves among the worst," Fitran replied, doubt lining his words, as if no one could be trusted—not even himself.

  "We are trapped in this game; how much longer can we endure?" he pondered, his tone heavy with sorrow. "Or are we simply deceiving ourselves with hope?"