The pressure from the back of the crowd increased. Ken felt an elbow dig into his ribs. He winced but didn't say anything. He just wanted this to be over. He looked at the sky and counted the clouds, trying to ignore the chaos.

  The sound of sirens filled the air. Large, sleek black cars with magical engines floated smoothly down the empty street beyond the barrier. The police officers stood at attention, saluting the vehicles.

  The crowd roared. They pushed harder against the magical barrier and the police line. The barrier flickered under the pressure.

  "Back! Get back!" the police shouted, struggling to hold the line.

  Ken looked to his right. He noticed the old man was struggling. The pushing was too much for him. The old man’s face was pale. He tried to plant his cane on the ground to steady himself, but there was no room. A large man in front of them stepped back suddenly to take a picture, knocking into the old man’s shoulder.

  Ken saw it happen in slow motion. The old man lost his grip on his cane. His knees buckled. He wasn't just falling; he was falling forward.

  The police line was thin right at that spot. As the crowd surged, a gap opened up between two officers. The old man stumbled through the gap, tumbling out of the safe zone and onto the empty road.

  At that exact moment, the lead car of the convoy passed, and the second car—a convertible carrying the 7th Prince—was approaching.

  The old man hit the asphalt hard. Thump.

  His cane clattered away. He lay there, confused and frightened, right in the path of the Imperial procession.

  The cheering stopped instantly. It was as if someone had pressed a mute button on the entire district. Thousands of people froze. Silence descended over Iron Rose.

  Ken stopped counting clouds. His sleepy eyes opened just a little bit wider. He looked at the old man lying on the road.

  "What a drag," Ken thought, his grip tightening on his briefcase. "This is going to be trouble."

  ________________________________________

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  ----

  The silence in the street was terrifying. The old man lay on the ground, trembling. He tried to push himself up, but his arms were too weak. He looked up, and his eyes widened in fear.

  The 7th Prince’s car had stopped. It was a magnificent vehicle, hovering a few inches off the ground, glowing with soft blue mana. In the back seat sat the 7th Prince. He was a young man with sharp features and cold eyes. He looked at the old man interrupting his parade with a look of pure annoyance. He didn't look concerned; he looked insulted.

  From the side of the convoy, a Royal Guard stormed forward. This was not a regular police officer. This was an Imperial Guard. He wore heavy silver armor that clanked with every step. He was huge, towering over everyone else. His face was hidden behind a metal helmet, but his body language screamed anger.

  The guard reached the old man in three large strides. He didn't offer a hand to help. instead, he grabbed the old man by the collar of his rough shirt and hauled him up like a sack of potatoes.

  "You filth!" the guard bellowed. His voice was amplified by his helmet, booming across the silent crowd. "How dare you obstruct the path of the Imperial Prince! Do you have a death wish?"

  The old man shook violently. His feet barely touched the ground. "P-please," he stammered, his voice cracking. "I... I fell. It was an accident. I didn't mean to..."

  "Silence!" the guard shouted. He raised his other hand, which was encased in a metal gauntlet. Magic energy began to crackle around his fist. "An accident is no excuse for disrespecting the Royal Family. You commoners need to learn your place!"

  The crowd watched in horror. The woman with the baby covered her mouth to stop a scream. Everyone knew what happened when the Royal Guards got angry. They were allowed to punish commoners however they wanted. If that metal fist hit the frail old man, it wouldn't just hurt him—it could kill him.

  But nobody moved. They were all frozen by fear. To step in now would be treason. It would mean going against the Empire.

  Nobody moved, except for one person.

  Ken Eliot watched the scene from the front row of the crowd. He scratched the back of his head. He really, really didn't want to get involved. If he stepped out, he would be late for dinner. He might get arrested. He might lose his job.

  "But," Ken thought, looking at the old man's terrified face, "if I let him die here, my dinner won't taste very good."

  Ken let out another sigh, louder this time. He dropped his briefcase and his plastic bag of noodles on the ground next to the barrier.

  Then, calmly and casually, Ken ducked under the police tape.

  He didn't run. He walked. He walked with a lazy, slouching posture, as if he was just walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The sound of his cheap shoes hitting the pavement echoed in the silence.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The crowd gasped. Who was this crazy guy? Was he trying to get killed too?

  The Royal Guard heard the footsteps and turned his head. He saw a messy-looking young man in a cheap suit walking toward him. The guard was so surprised he didn't attack immediately.

  "Halt!" the guard barked. "Who are you? Get back before I—"

  Ken ignored the threat. He walked right up to the massive armored soldier. He looked tiny compared to the guard. Ken reached out and placed his hand gently on the guard's metal shoulder pad.

  "Hey now," Ken said. His voice was soft, calm, and completely unbothered. It didn't sound like the voice of a man facing death. "Let's calm down, Mr. Guard. This old man can't even stand properly. Look at his legs. They are shaking."

  The guard froze. He couldn't believe the audacity of this commoner. A peasant touching an Imperial Guard? It was unheard of.

  "Unhand me!" the guard roared, preparing to swing his glowing fist at Ken. "You dare touch me? You will pay for this insolence!"

  The 7th Prince watched from his car, raising an eyebrow. He expected the guard to crush this intruder in one second.

  Ken looked up at the guard's helmet. He needed to end this quickly. He couldn't use his flashy magic—no giant energy beams, no super speed, no explosions. That would attract too much attention. He needed something subtle. He needed something that looked like luck or persuasion.

  Ken narrowed his eyes. Underneath his messy bangs, his eyes shifted for a fraction of a second. A faint, invisible pulse of mana shot out from his pupils. It wasn't a visible beam of light; it was a pure wave of mental energy.

  This was one of Ken's secret techniques, inspired by the anime logic of "Absolute Command." It was a high-level hypnotic spell that drilled directly into the target's brain.