"What… are you?" the Executioner whispered, staring at me as if I were an alien.
"I'm just a seventeen-year-old cadet trying to graduate in one piece," I replied flatly.
"That's not what I'm asking, kid."
"I know. But I'm just someone who wants to stop the apocalypse. Let's leave it at that."
I couldn't exactly tell him I was a shut-in gamer who spilled soda on a keyboard and transmigrated into this world. So, I would thoroughly hide my origins. Instead, I had to prove our goals aligned. I just had to hope he'd believe my intentions, even if he didn't know my source.
The Executioner closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opened them, the intense pressure in the room vanished.
"Fine, then. It can't be helped. We all have our ghosts," he sighed. "Thank you for the information."
The Executioner reached into his heavy coat, pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen, and tossed them onto the ruined tea table.
