"Hey, do you think that girl fighting Lily is still alive?" asked a man, his eyes glued to the brutal scene unfolding below.
His voice was calm, but his fingers tapped nervously against the rooftop ledge.
"Don't ask me, or this guy beside me," another replied, his tone laced with curiosity and a hint of unease. "Neither of us has any idea how that girl's holding up."
"That's right," chimed in a third voice from behind them, low and steady.
The group perched on the rooftop of a high-rise building were no ordinary spectators. They were members of the Bureau of Internal and External Protection—B-Protectors for short.
No fancy titles, no grand aliases like "Night Crow of the Outer Ring" or "Royal Hunter of the Central Government." Just B-Protectors. Simple, direct, and unyielding in their duty.
Their mission was clear: protect those deemed worthy, no matter the cost. Their uniforms bore the mark of their allegiance—a white feather imprinted on the back.
