Ken chuckled, shaking his head. He had to respect a person who took their snack boundaries that seriously. He grabbed a cheap, colorful lollipop from a nearby jar for himself and followed her toward the front counter to pay. As he walked behind her, he couldn't help but wonder what was really going on inside her head. Ira was always so distant, so walled off from the rest of the loud, chaotic 13th Unit. Ken was a guy who hid behind a goofy smile, but Ira hid behind a blank wall. For the first time, the lazy slacker actually felt genuinely curious about the secret behind her emotionless mask.
----
The bell above the sweets shop door chimed cheerfully as Ken and Ira stepped back out onto the busy cobblestone street of the Iron Rose District.
Ira carried her heavy paper bag filled with premium, sea-salt dark chocolate with perfect, rigid posture. Ken walked right beside her, holding his stack of instant spicy beef noodles under one arm and happily sucking on the cheap, bright red lollipop he had just bought.
The late afternoon sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the city. The noisy market crowds were starting to thin out as merchants packed up their stalls for the day. It was a very nice, peaceful time for a walk back to the estate.
Ken dragged his feet, making his usual scuffing sound against the stones. He looked over at Ira. She was staring straight ahead, completely ignoring the people bustling past them. Her face was as flat and unreadable as a blank sheet of paper. She didn't look angry, but she certainly didn't look relaxed.
Ken pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. He usually avoided having deep, serious conversations because they required too much mental energy, but his curiosity was officially getting the better of him.
"You know, Ira," Ken said casually, kicking a loose pebble down the street. "For someone who just bought enough expensive chocolate to feed an entire classroom, you don't look very happy about it. Usually, when I buy my favorite snacks, I have a massive smile on my face. You look like you are carrying a bag of heavy homework."
Ira did not stop walking. She didn't even turn her head. "My facial expressions are not an accurate indicator of my internal satisfaction, Ken."
"Yeah, I noticed," Ken chuckled lazily, shoving his free hand into his pocket. "You are always super locked down. Even when Laxmi is setting things on fire and Naomi is screaming at the top of her lungs, you just stand there looking at the wall. Why do you hate talking to people so much? Did someone steal your favorite pillow when you were a kid?"
Ira paused.
It was a very brief, almost invisible hesitation in her steps, but Ken caught it. She blinked her eyes slowly. The perfectly flat, robotic expression on her face cracked just a tiny fraction of a millimeter. For a split second, she looked incredibly tired.
"Nobody stole my pillow, Ken," Ira said softly. Her voice lost a little bit of its usual deadpan, robotic edge. It sounded much more human, and deeply exhausted.
She kept walking, holding her bag of chocolate a little tighter against her chest.
"I do not hate people," Ira admitted, staring down at the cobblestones. "I simply do not like interacting with them. It is a learned survival mechanism."
Ken tilted his head, listening closely. He didn't make a joke. He just walked quietly beside her, letting her speak at her own pace.
"I come from a very old, very influential noble family in the Inner City," Ira explained. Her voice was steady, but there was a heavy weight behind her words. "From the absolute second I was born, my entire existence was a project for my parents. They did not want a daughter. They wanted a perfect, flawless political asset. They wanted a tool they could use to climb the social ladder of the Empire."
Ken frowned slightly. He had met his fair share of arrogant, terrible nobles recently, so he could easily imagine exactly what kind of people her parents were.
"Every single second of my life was micromanaged," Ira continued, her grip on the paper bag tightening. "I was told exactly what time to wake up. I was told exactly how many bites of food I was allowed to eat at dinner so I wouldn't ruin my figure. I had strict tutors for magic, for piano, for etiquette, and for history. If I spoke too loudly, I was punished. If I smiled at the wrong joke, I was scolded for hours."
Ira let out a very quiet, slow breath.
"I was never allowed to just be a child," she whispered, the painful memories surfacing. "My parents were constantly analyzing my face. If I looked sad, they told me I was being ungrateful. If I looked angry, they told me I was ruining our family's public image. I realized that as long as I showed emotion, they would use it against me. They would try to fix it, or control it, or punish it."
Ken stopped chewing on his lollipop. He understood completely.
"So, you just turned your face off," Ken concluded softly, his goofy attitude entirely gone. "If you don't show them any emotion, they have absolutely nothing to complain about. You became a blank wall so they would finally leave you alone."
Ira finally turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes were still flat, but there was a faint glimmer of relief in them. She was glad she didn't have to over-explain it to him.
"Yes," Ira confirmed softly. "I locked all of my feelings away deep inside my own head. It was the only way I could find any peace in that house. I stopped reacting to everything. Eventually, they got bored of trying to control a statue, and they gave up."
Ken let out a long, heavy sigh. He slouched his shoulders forward. "Man, rich people really are the absolute worst. That sounds completely exhausting. I complain when my mom asks me to take the trash out. If someone tried to micromanage my dinner portions, I would probably lose my mind."
Ira actually let out a very small, very quiet sound that almost sounded like a tiny hum of amusement.
"It was suffocating," Ira agreed.
Ken popped the lollipop back into his mouth, thinking for a moment. He looked at the tall, estate of the 13th Unit looming in the distance.
"Okay, but that brings up a massive question," Ken said, pointing his candy stick at the old mansion. "If you hate being micromanaged and stressed out, why in the world did you join the Royal Succession War? This is literally the most stressful, highly monitored, politically crazy event in the history of the Empire. Plus, people throw fireballs at us. It is the exact opposite of a quiet, peaceful life."
Ira stopped walking. They were standing just down the street from the front gates of the estate. The evening shadows were starting to stretch across the road.
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