Red lavish curtains adorned the windows and walkways of the restaurant's opulent interior. Each wooden accent bore intricate carvings in French curves, mirrored by the painstakingly crafted legs of a hundred dining chairs set around round, pearl-white tablecloths. From the corner of the vast, open room echoed the gentle musings of a grand piano, set against the wall, just out of most diners' immediate sight. The air, fresh and cool, wafted with the scents of roast goose and grilled fish, which mingled but did not meld.
Not five minutes after the group had been seated, Scharf tossed his wallet down on the table and made for the exit, insistent that he'd return momentarily. Due to the proximity of a bar just a few storefronts down, however, it was clear enough to his students that their captain would be back no time soon.
"This is unbelievable..." Magnolia protested, "He drags us out under the promise of his protection, then abandons us at the earliest convenience."
Looking distraught, Max eyed the ruby-red flesh of lobster, boiled to perfection, mixed with greens and mayonnaise, and set on top of a toasted length of bread. He weakly reached out to the dish with his form before allowing the utensil to drop onto the table with a quiet clang.
Observing his friend's sickly demeanor, Sturm called out for his attention. "What's wrong, Max? You don't look good."
"Eh... you know," the boy groaned, retrieving his fork and prodding the soft, succulent meat. "I, uh... never really liked the idea of eating shellfish."
Gustavo perked up upon hearing this. "Do you mind if I try some, then? We don't have this kind of lobster in Argentina."
Max pushed the plate across the table toward his teammate and waved him on as if to say, "Go ahead."
After taking a dainty sip from her glass of red wine, Magnolia locked it between two fingers, gently swishing the liquid back and forth. "This is absolutely delectable. I have been that that, in England, you can't even purchase alcohol until your eighteenth birthday. Such a shame."
"Huh... Well, you'll be eighteen when you're there, so it's not a big deal," replied Max, tapping his fingers against the table's edge.
"Ideally, I won't ever be there," Magnolia stressed in between another taste of wine. "Perhaps for a vacation, but nothing more. Berlin is quite enough for me."
Now tapping with both hands, Max glanced up at the ceiling, scanning back and forth across the ornate crystal chandeliers. "I wonder if that Johanna girl is actually from Berlin or somewhere else?"
"My word, do not bring that vulgar creature up at the dining table. You'll spoil my appetite," hissed the blonde.
"Hey, you know, I'm getting tired of-"
Sturm interrupted the boy with haste. "Drop it, Max. We can't talk about that in public."
"Yeah... right..." sighed Max, slouching back in his chair in defeat.
Before long, the main course arrived in a shining silver cloche. The sharply dressed waiter lowered the platter onto the center of the table as the young knight candidates eagerly eyed the shrouded meal. Without further ado, the waiter then lifted the lid, and a steamy aroma poured forth from within. After a few seconds, the fragrant cloud lifted, revealing four small game birds, arranged facing inward from each corner of the platter, and surrounded by mixed vegetables.
"What the hell is this?" huffed Max, "Pigeons?"
The waiter raised an eyebrow, surprised by Max's uncouth demeanor. "No, sir. This is our finest roasted quail. However, if you would prefer squab, I would be more than happy to oblige."
Max leaned over to Sturm, eyes narrowed skeptically. "What did he just say to me?"
"Oh dear..." said Magnolia, fanning herself with her hand, "You simply must excuse my friend. He was never taught proper table manners. The dish looks exquisite and smells just as heavenly."
Forcing a smile out of politeness, the waiter offered a nod and walked off, taking the remainder of the previous courses with him. Despite his disappointment with the size of the birds, Max wasted no time snatching one from the platter and tossing into onto his plate. The others hadn't even selected their quail before Max began to savagely tear into his own with his fork and knife.
"So," Max grumbled between large mouthfuls of tender white meat, "Your friend, huh? That's new."
"Am I to say aloud in a high-class public eatery that I can't stand you and hope you choke on your supper?" Magnolia giggled, slowly cutting into her bird with surgical precision.
The table went quiet in response to her curse. Feeling isolated, Magnolia glanced around at her peers before meeting her eyes with Sturm, who offered her a simple, disapproving shake of his head.
With an exaggerated sigh, Magnolia offered an excuse for her rhetoric. "It was in jest... I'm kidding."
"Not funny," mumbled Max through a mouth full of food.
Sturm offered a quick, silent prayer before cutting a small chunk from the breast of his quail and popping it into his mouth. This was his first time appreciating such a delicacy and he was pleasantly surprised.
Not bad... he thought to himself, Stronger than our Sunday chicken, but not overpowering.
After patting her lips with a silky-smooth napkin, Magnolia turned her attention to Sturm with intrigue. "So? How do you find it?"
The young swordsman, ever-conscious of his manners, finished chewing before giving a response. "It's good. Better than I expected."
"Alright, so I got a question, buddy..." Max spoke up, his mouth hidden behind a roasted, golden-brown leg.
"What is it?"
"Have ya ever given the Destroyer Cyclone a shot?"
Caught off guard, Sturm cleared his throat to avoid choking on his meal. The Destroyer Cyclone was perhaps the most infamous technique in his father's arsenal. First, Leopold Sturm would generate a mighty tornado with a swift swipe of his massive blade. Then, he'd harness the full power of the funnel, shaping it around his fist. Finally, the Hurricane would lunge forward, directing the full force of the raging twister into the body of his enemy. Such a brutal impact often left the target impaled by his fist, while the terrible tornadic winds ravaged them with debris and raw friction. In the violent conclusion of the devastating strike, the enemy's shredded remains were often ejected into the atmosphere at breakneck speed and strewn about an area encompassing several kilometers at most.
Needless to say, the young warrior who struggled against his own hearts was not capable of such a maneuver.
"Well... once, I suppose. Though, I have no idea how to create a tornado, so..."
Max dropped the quail leg, now picked clean, onto his plate and wiped his face with his sleeve. "But that's like... the first part, man!"
"I know," Sturm replied with a nod. "That tells you just about how far I got."
"Honestly, Max, you eat like a barbarian, " Magnolia chided. "If you need to wipe your mouth, make use of the serviette. That's what they're here for."
"The... what?" said Max, tilting his head.
Upper eyelids falling with her sharp exhalation, Magnolia dangled her cloth napkin between two fingers. "This... the serviette."
Max rolled his eyes and took his napkin to his sleeve. "What're we, in France? Speak German, weirdo."
As much as the girl desired to deliver a righteous tongue-lashing, she maintained her composure. "Honestly, I'm just surprised you even knew that was French."
"Yeah, well... I know some things," scoffed Max before digging into his next quail leg.
"On the topic of your father, Sturm," Gustavo suddenly chimed in, "Is it true that he's immune to fatal toxins?"
"Immune? I don't know about that, but-"
Max, mid-bite, excitedly cut the swordsman's response short. "Mhm..." he mumbled before gulping down a barely-chewed hunk of meat. "That's what I heard! The Hurricane got bit by this snake bitch whose poison stops your heart. But get this- he just flexed his chest muscles so hard that he pumped it on his own! Then, wiped the floor with that Medusa wannabe, tied her into a knot, and wore her as a belt!"
"What?" huffed Magnolia, "That's absurd."
"Manual, self-applied chest compressions... Incredible," Gustavo awed, staring down at his plate in wonder before looking back up across the table at Sturm. "Is that true?"
"Yes," answered Sturm, placing his dining utensils on either side of his plate, "Well, the first part, anyway. I don't know where that belt thing came from. That definitely didn't happen."
"Damn it..." groaned Max before returning to his feast, "Woulda been cool if it did..."
No sooner had the group settled into a brief moment of quiet dining than a voice spoke up from behind Magnolia. "Excuse me, are you lot Iron Knight candidates from the academy?"
Magnolia pivoted in her seat and looked up to see a tall SS officer around his mid-thirties, adorned with a long, black, patent leather coat. He was particularly handsome with bright hazel eyes framed by the subtlest of tired shadow, giving the impression of a man who worked with extreme diligence but also respected his own health and wellbeing. His reddish-brown, feathered hair seemed locked in contrast with a pristine left-hand part, striking the perfect balance of wild and professional.
"Forgive the lapse in manners," the man said aloud as he stepped toward Sturm with his right hand outstretched. "Brigade Leader and Major General of the SS, Hans Dietrich, at your service."
Glancing down at Dietrich's hand, Sturm found himself lost in thought.
Dietrich... I've heard that name somewhere.
Careful to avoid coming across as rude, the boy snapped out of his reflection and took the officer's hand. Almost immediately, a spark of realization flickered in Sturm's eye.
"Oh... oh! Major General! No, Mr. Major General!" he exclaimed as he pushed out his chair, jumped up, and snapped to attention.
The rest of the Third Hunter Team was quick to follow this example. In his frantic haste, Max bumped the underside of the table with his knee, resulting in a loud bang accompanied by the rattling of plates and silverware. Seeing this, Dietrich let out a candid chuckle and shook his head gently.
"Please, enjoy your supper. I wouldn't want to leave you with a cold meal for formality's sake," he said with a smile, "Sit down, enjoy your reprieve- you've most certainly earned it."
Dietrich's voice was firm and masculine, yet consistently held a hint of genuine compassion. His tone alone was enough to fill all who heard it will a sense of warmth and safety. As the candidates returned to their seats, he quickly took hold of Magnolia's chairback and effortlessly pushed it in, despite the girl's added weight. Surprised by this gesture, she stiffened up in response.
Though made anxious by the unexpected presence of such a senior officer, Sturm worked up the courage to present a question of his own. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Mr. Major General?"
"I was just within earshot of your conversation and found myself intrigued," Dietrich explained through his soft grin. "I apologize for eavesdropping, however, as exceptionals are forbidden from joining the SS, my time spent with such fascinating individuals is quite limited. I do hope you can forgive the intrusion."
The Major General's apologetic attitude sewed discomfort within Sturm. He didn't want to come across as patronizing to a high-ranking officer, but Dietrich was putting the boy in a situation where such circumstances would be difficult to avoid. Looking around the table, Sturm attempted to gauge the comfort of his comrades. Upon laying eyes on Max, he found his friend visibly displeased with his arms crossed and brow furrowed.
"I can tell I'm putting you on the spot, here," Dietrich spoke up once more. "Such interactions aren't exactly commonplace, I do understand. My behavior hasn't exactly been professional, either. I'll leave you to your meal, soldiers."
"Wait," said Max from across the table, "Why don't you join us... Mr. Major General?"
There was obvious suspicion in Max's voice- clear enough that his very suggestion rattled Sturm's nerves more deeply than ever.
Surely... Sturm thought to himself, Max wouldn't be stupid enough to pick a fight with an SS General... Would he?
Smile widening to a flawless diamond gleam, Dietrich retrieved a chair and made himself comfortable between Sturm and Max, crossing his legs as he leaned back and folded his hands over his knee. "Thank you kindly. Might I ask your name?"
"Allemann."
"Mr. Allemann. A powerful name for one who will most certainly become a powerful Iron Knight," Dietrich asserted with confidence before turning his head toward Sturm. "And what will I call you?"
"My name is Arthur Sturm, Mr. Major General."
Dietrich's eyes widened at the revelation, his pupils dilating as if he had stumbled upon a long-lost treasure. "Sturm...? As in Hurricane Sturm? Colonel Leopold Sturm?"
"My father, yes," Sturm answered with a nod.
"My goodness..." the Major General marveled, "I had thought that's what I overheard, but still I find myself awestruck. I know your father, young Mr. Sturm."
Sturm cocked his head inquisitively. "You do?"
"Indeed," Dietrich reaffirmed before pausing briefly. "Well... perhaps it's a bit of a stretch to say I 'know' him so much as I was a fervent fan of his during the Great War. I have met him in person, however."
Somewhat disappointed at the lack of depth to the Major General's connection to his father, Sturm nevertheless urged him to continue out of politeness. "Oh... Well, when was that?"
Dietrich mulled his recollection of the circumstances. "Hm. I don't quite remember the year. What I do remember is the exceptional embarrassment- I committed a fairly grand error and made an utter fool of myself. Truth be told, part of me has half a mind to beg you to arrange for another meeting between myself and my childhood hero. Alas, the other part is likely too ashamed to show my face before the renowned Hurricane again."
Now drawn in by the story, Sturm was eager to hear the details. His father was not the sort to indulge in the humiliation of a star-struck child, regardless of the severity of the latter's misstep. Despite some concern that he might be encroaching on a sore subject, Sturm resolved to push the topic further.
"If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Major General, what exactly happened? My dad would hate to know that someone who looked up to him felt that way."
Intent on expounding greater detail, Dietrich took a breath and opened his mouth to speak. However, before he could get the first word out, two other SS officers stamped up to the table in a hurry.
"Mr. Brigade Leader, the drunken pirate is outside the door with that bitch, Luna. He roughed up a bunch of our men at the bar," explained the wider man- heavy but not obese, and wrapped in what appeared to be some sort of metal wire from collar to boot.
"This is accurate, Mr. Brigade Leader," added the second soldier, gaunt with pale, almost translucent skin. "One Captain Scharf, instructor to a 'Third Hunter Team' based out of the Eastern Iron Knight Academy, was drawn into an altercation with our formation at the Lion's Den Tavern. He was subsequently apprehended by Major Luna of this sector's Moonlight Watch."
"The Captain?! Moonlight watch?!" shouted Max in surprise, glancing down at his clutched pocket watch as he drew ire-laden glares from the restaurant's many patrons. "Shit, it's past 20:00!"
"Firstly," groaned Dietrich, rising to his feet and approaching the heavier of the two men, "You, Section Leader Eldrich, know better than to speak such ill of a lady in my presence. Secondly, I'd hope that you would know better than to curse while in the presence of a lady..."
Looking nervous, Eldrich turned to Magnolia and offered an apology. "Very sorry for the language, young lady. I didn't notice you at first."
"Thank you, Section Leader," said the Major General.
"Come on, you all," said Sturm as he pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet, "We need to go see the captain, he might be hurt."
The young swordsman began to walk away from the table when Magnolia gripped his cuff. "Not so fast, Arthur. Have you forgotten that we must pay for this extravagant meal?"
"Oh, right..." said Sturm, fishing Scharf's wallet, which he took from the table earlier, from his jacket pocket. "How much is it?" he inquired as he opened the fold where the captain stashed his money.
"Forty marks," Gustavo interjected from the other side of the table.
Max's jaw dropped. "Forty marks?! I don't make that in a week!"
Sturm flipped the wallet upside down and gave it a shake, allowing a single five-mark coin to drop onto the table and roll to a stop. Sturm blinked in surprise as his cheeks flushed red.
You're kidding me...
"That jerk-off!" cried Max, slamming his fists down on the table.
Without any other options, the boys turned to Magnolia, the only member of their team who could feasibly have such an amount on her person at any given time.
Noticing all eyes on her, the girl gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "You dogs, don't look at me! My marks are in my other purse, the captain didn't say where he was taking us!"
"Hey, keep it down, you brats!" an older gentleman called out from across the room.
"When did they begin allowing street urchins in this establishment?!" added a distraught woman.
Seeing the young knight candidates' predicament, Dietrich was quick to offer his assistance. He reached into his pocket, slipped out his wallet, and put eighty marks down on the table. Keen to diffuse the situation, the Major General then turned toward the other diners with his hands raised in the air.
"My apologies, everyone! We'll be leaving now, please enjoy your night!"
After addressing the patrons, Dietrich leaned down to the table and said to the group, "Quickly, come with us before there's any more trouble."
ns 15.158.61.5da2
