In which you jump out of a moving car to spite Boyfriend!Sukuna
“—because he was just making conversation!”
Sukuna scoffs, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Bullshit. That guy wanted to fuck you.”
“Oh my god. So what!” you yell. “It’s not like I was gonna fucking let him!”
“Coulda fooled me.”
Just like that, your angry face, which matches his, warps into one of calm decision. With speed he doesn’t see coming, you unbuckle your seatbelt, push open the passenger door and jump out of the moving car into the dead of night.
The car screeches to a halt not even a second later.
You’re pushing yourself up and testing the soreness in your ankle when a car door slams shut and Sukuna comes marching over to you. “You crazy, fucking bitch!” he snaps. Sukuna grabs your face, growling when you try to pull away. He inspects every inch of you, brows furrowed, and piercings glinting under the streetlights. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“I got a bitch ass boyfriend, that’s what’s wrong with me,” you grumble.
He ignores that. “You break anything? Wrist? Ankle? Dislocated your shoulder?” You shake your head. “Well, that’s a fucking shame.” Though as he says that, he can’t quite hide the tremors in his hands. Quieter now, he mutters with a tight frown, “Scratched your pretty face up. Fuck. Lost your one redeeming quality.”
“Okay, so I’m gonna walk home,” you say, deadpan. “I’ll see you around, asshole.”
Sukuna runs a hand through his hair with a frustrated noise. Then he smacks his lips against yours before you can actually start walking away (not that he’d let you get very far). “Alright, alright. You fucking win. Congrats. Christ. Get back in the car — we’re going to the hospital to get you checked out. Fucking dumbass.”
A hospital visit later, you’re in bed with him, cuddled up like nothing happened. It’s how arguments with him tend to go; neither of you really hold grudges against each other. Not when you’ve fucked any grievances out after. The last mention of today’s incident, however, comes in his sleepy mumble against the top of your head: “push me out instead.”
“Hmm?”
Sukuna’s hold around your body tightens, threatening to suffocate you with his hard chest. “Don’t jump out of the car. It’s stupid. Your body’s weak. Skin bruises easily. Cuts easily too. Just kick me out instead. I deserve it, I know... bonus points if it's into oncoming traffic.”
tags: reader is the prefect, possible ooc, all their egos get bruised
a/n: i wish ortho was in the photo with the first years! i get why they put him with the third years but it would've been nice to just see him w/ the first years. he's rarely included with them in official art. breaks my heart fr. anyways, i hope you enjoy :>
ace trappola
Definitely a blow to his confidence. He'll laugh it off but don't let this man fool you. He's going to be thinking about this for weeks. This is his shameful secret that he'd never tell anyone, but he's going online and looking up "Ways to woo your crush" or "How to escape the friend zone". Except he's not in the friendzone. He's in the brotherzone which is arguably so much worse. But Ace Trappola is not a quitter. This man didn't back down when his housewarden was acting like a tyrant. What makes you think he'd back down after this... small bump in the road. He'll turn up the charm, pivoting his teasing from making fun of you to more flirtatious jabs. You'll notice him doing more acts of service for you too. You're sleeping in on the weekend? He's heading over to Ramshackle and making you breakfast. Feeling stressed? He just watched a 2 minute How To Give A Massage video on the internet, sit down he's got you. You need something from Sam's shop? He was just heading over, he could grab it for you. Better yet, why don't you guys go together? He'll try to take over boyfriend-like duties by holding your bags or paying for you when you guys hang out. Call him out for doing these things and he'll call you crazy. Male gaslighter right here. "What? I'm not being nicer than usual. This is my usual. Why are you reading into it so much? You wanna date me or something?" Never call him a brother again though. Please. He recovered once but he doesn't think he'll be as graceful the second time around.
deuce spade
His mood is ruined. He's crying on the inside. Now he's going to go home and rethink every interaction you've had. It is kinda brotherly how he lends you his stuff, always asking if you need anything. UGH. Stupid! Why did he think that was romantic?! Poor Deuce is going to berate himself. A lot. He doesn't know how to flirt. Romance was never something he was super interested in until now. But damn it, he's going to try because he really likes you. He'll start slipping in more compliments. They're awkward and unnatural at first, to the point you almost think he's being sarcastic. But he's not, he's just nervous. With time, he'll stop being so awkward with it and his compliments will actually get pretty smooth. Deuce is always genuine with his praise; how could he not be? There's so many great things about you, he doesn't think he could ever run out of ideas. "I don't know if I've said this before, but your smile is really cute. It's so contagious, just seeing it makes me happier." "You always smell so good. Whatever you use makes my head spin a bit." The other first years notice this and poke fun at him. Especially Ace. He'll try to deny it, a bit embarrassed that they noticed. But if they noticed, then does that mean you've noticed his efforts too? Deuce really hopes so. Compliment him back and his heart will actually starting beating out of his chest. His face will go red as he thanks you, a giddy smile on his lips.
jack howl
He's prideful that you consider him that close to you... but obviously he was hoping to be something entirely different. Jack couldn't grasp how you could view him like a brother, but he supposes he's biased considering the fact that he likes you. It won't bother him too much, but he's definitely going to up his game and try to show off in front of you. Jack will invite you out more to watch his Spelldrive games or workouts. It's then that he goes full on try-hard mode. If he looks over and sees you watching him— which is basically all the time— he gets fired up. Don't point out the way his tail starts wagging. He'll die of embarrassment and start actively stopping it from moving. You'll catch wind of what he's trying to do with Ruggie or Epel encouraging you to keep coming. "Jack's on his A-game when you're around. Wonder why, huh? Shi shi shi~! Doesn't matter to me. As long as we keep winning." During his breaks, he'll talk about how tense his muscles are and subtly asks if you want to feel them. When you do, he's fighting to conceal the wild blush threatening to appear on his cheeks. Your hands against his skin actually makes him go dizzy. Jack will stutter like crazy and then apologize for stuttering so much. Very cute sight to see. And with the way you're smiling at him, he's starting to think that his silly little tactics are working.
epel felmier
"Brother?! What about me screams, brotherly!?" Possibly one of the worst moments of his life. He's offended and isn't afraid to say it in his southern accent. Epel finds it emasculating that you see him that way and gets a little pissy about it. Was it really that hard to try and view him in a romantic light? This guy is mumbling under his breath for the rest of the day, getting snappy if someone calls him out. Yeah, Vil is reprimanding him for it. "Your poor behavior reflects bad on Pomfiore as a whole. Instead of whining, you should use this as an opportunity to better yourself in order to win their affections." Epel hates the fact that Vil is right. But he's man enough to admit it. So he takes the advice in stride and works to be more boyfriend-material towards you. He'll get bolder with his touches, offering to hold your hand when you walk together, brushing your hair back when he sees it fall in front of your face, whispering sweet words into your ear, etc. He gets his charm from Vil. I mean, if he has a world-class actor that thousands of people fall for at his disposal, of course he's going to ask him for advice! It's embarrassing, sure, but he really does like you. And he'll do it for you. His touch is featherlight, allowing you to pull away if you wanted to. But it's enough to get his point across. If you don't pull away and maybe even reciprocate his advances, Epel will be over the moon. He might even be spurred on to take another, bolder step by kissing your hand. "How's that for brotherly?" He'll tease when he spots a faint blush on your face.
ortho shroud (platonic)
A complete 180° from Epel— this might just be the best moment of his life. He already has a brother and knows how tight-knit a bond like that is. The fact that you consider him to be that close to you has him spinning in the air doing happy little circles. Family is something Ortho has always held near and dear to his heart, and now that you've called him a brother you are basically an unofficial Shroud now! He'll make Idia spend more time with you, wanting you to see him as a brother too! He's not going to stop talking about you to everyone. His parents, his brother, the other first years. Your friendship makes him feel more human and further solidifies his place in NRC. Sure, he's still going to school mainly to accompany Idia, but now he's also attending to see you! Just like how he's protective of Idia, he'll get protective of you too. This boy's got a mischievous side. He'd stand up for you before he if saw you getting picked on for being magicless. But now? Oh, he's going to make those bullies regret it so much more. They're getting their internet search history displayed on a projector during a presentation. He doesn't mind getting in a little trouble if it's for you. The bond that the two of you have really means the world to him. Ortho knows he's more than just bolts and wires, but being around you reassures him of the fact that he's worth more than his mind might tell him.
sebek zigvolt
HIM? A BROTHER TO YOU!? How dare you think the two of you have such a bond, human! Silver hardly counts as a brother! And you expect him to view you in such a close light!? Disgraceful!... He's totally not butt-hurt because you think of him in a way that was the complete opposite of what he wanted. Sebek goes into denial about his feelings for you after this. Funnily enough, his denial makes it all the more obvious to the people around him that he likes you. Mainly because he won't shut up about you. Lilia's gonna hear about you, the first years are gonna hear about you, Silver's gonna hear about you, Sebek might even mention you to his liege! "Stupid human, thinking they're anything more than a nuisance. Ridiculous! Can you even believe their audacity, Silver!?" "... I don't know. They seem to be on your mind a lot." He'll be a bit insufferable around you— constantly yelling about how the two of you could never have a familial bond, or sevens forbid anything more when you literally just asked what he had for breakfast. It's his automatic nervous reaction, please forgive this man. Lilia's going to have to talk him through the emotions, basically saying, Hey! I think this is copium! Then followed by Sebek learning how to process his emotions better. This guys going to take a while, especially with the set back, but he'll come back stronger with renewed motivation and possibly a rose in his hand.
Summary: In your younger years, you paid them no mind. Now you've reunited years later and you can't seem to keep your eyes off them. How would they react to their childhood friend ( and crush )'s sudden interest in them?
Warnings: Author is fresh off of Book 5 ( and is currently playing through Book 6 ) so inaccuracies in both setting and personality is abound. Jade and Floyd's parts were written in a slightly suggestive way to fit the vibe of the song better ( again nothing to crazy ), but I mainly focus on Azul in his part. That said, he has a silent panic attack so tread lightly if things like that make you uncomfy! Once again, this is Author Ari's attempt at being comedic so don't take this shit seriously please I swear I can write better than this usually 💀 That aside, enjoy reading! <3
A/N: Don't ask why I left this to rot in my draft for almost an entire week ( I was lazing around, that's why ). Idk what the hell this is and I'm kinda disappointed with what I did with Azul's part but at the same time I really like it? Same with Jade and Floyd's?? It's weird but literally they were my reason for this idea in the first place because this song literally describes the switch up I had with all three of them by the end of Book 3 ( They're my biggest hear me outs now 😭)
Song & Formatting Inspo: When Did You Get Hot? - Sabrina Carpenter - @fqntqsy's
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Wanna check out how the other dorms reacted? Here's Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw! Wanna check out what other Twisted Wonderland-related things I've written? Then click here!🔮🏫
Azul Ashengrotto
↬ You two ran into each other during the National Arcane Academy Culture Fair. He immediately noticed you, but the same couldn't be said the other way around even when you had a full blown convo with him at the Board Game Club's booth while your haggle of friends poked at expensive equipment behind you.
↬ You were always a sore thumb amongst those school of misfits. You never laughed when they'd make crude jokes about his many tentacles or his roundish figure. Never found humor or fun in pulling his hair or throwing him into embarrassing situations. There were even times you were outcasted by them for sticking up for him. You'd always end up right back in their circle a mere day later — the perks of growing up with the leader of that pathetic group — but you never actively sought out to rejoin them. It seemed like you were perfectly content and even relieved to be away from the immoral chaos they caused.
↬ It's what made you stick out in his eyes. What made you a nonexistent variable when he recounts the resentment he felt ( and still feels ) towards the hell he was put through and the faces of who put him through it. One could say it's what made him...fall for you, but he wouldn't nearly go so far as to agree to such a statement.
↬ With that said, he couldn't have been happier when he realized that you hadn't recognized him in the slightest and, for no reason at all, he used it to his advantage in order to get you alone with him.
↬ Azul, knowing his way with words better than any siren in the sea, spoke lengthy explanations and juggled big and particularly foreign words he knew your group only half understood and they quickly grew bored and left without you — who seemed incredibly interested in what he had to say. It was truly an excellent, expected result of his genius strategy.
↬ And so, whilst mentally stroking his own pride, he went on to show off everything the Game Club offered, perfectly balancing sophistication, suave, and a little bit of practiced demure to keep you thoroughly wrapped around his fingers. Everything was going oh so well! ....Until it wasn't.
↬ With a singular call of his name, his multi-leveled plan ( ...to toy with you of course! Nothing more, nothing less! ) came crashing down.
"Wait...Azul? As in, Azul Ashengrotto, Azul?" Your voice broke through the silence that was forced upon the room by both you and Azul's collective surprise. You eyed the man before you — really took a minute to take in his features — and, you'll admit, something did seem familiar about him now that you get a good look at him.
Azul, whose glasses were a bit lopsided from the way he physically jumped at the robotic call of his name, stayed turned away from you for a handful of seconds to long. Completely frozen as he watched his plan — that he had so quickly yet so carefully come up with — and the desired result evaporate and be swept away by the gentle, warm breeze the heaters in the room admitted.
"Ah..." He begins with the intent of playing it off by ignoring the call of his name but the possibility of that succeeding in fooling you dwindles to the negatives when he spots Ortho entering the classroom.
They lock eyes and immediately upon spotting him, his name is called in a clear, synthetic voice. And, just like that, an unexpected factor in his plan ( that intent may or may not have been to get you securely wrapped around his finger ) had completely reduced it to ruins.
He had been so eager — so impatient — to reap that he had sown the seeds without his usual precautions. Him, Azul Ashengrotto, Housewarden of Octavinelle, who was known all over NRC for his cunning intellect had used not an ounce of it when concocting this plan because of his own eagerness to indulge in fantasies he's had since he was a small fry.
He would throw his head back and laugh about how ridiculous and inconceivable it to occur to such a calculated man like himself if he weren't so focused on the unnerving feeling of your eyes — that were surely blown wide like a pufferfish — burning holes into his back.
He turned to you at last only to quickly freeze like a deer in headlights. Your pupils, they went at a turtle's pace going from his eyes to his chin down his neck and chest and stomach and it was like he was being tied down by algae while wild sea urchins explored him. It was like a wild rash that spread across every inch your gaze touched and it felt like he was being picked apart at the seams and he couldn't bear it.
And so, he went with plan b; make a swift, polite retreat and avoid you for the rest of the festival.
"I- It... It seems as though I'm needed elsewhere.. Please excuse me," He tries to force a smile, but it's tight and he could only manage to keep it on his face for the second longer he stayed turned to you. Nevertheless, it was a sight you could — and did — play over and over again in your head until the day you met your maker.
"...So it is you," You said without much thought to it, still in shock, and Azul stops in his tracks just as he began making his escape. He didn't look back because, quite frankly, he couldn't. Not with his pride wounded and his face sweating profusely and stained in red. He'd rather dissolve into sea foam.
He takes a step, already crunching numbers in his head of all the booths offered to outsiders during the festival and the likelihood of your interest in them — as well as taking into consideration your interest in revisiting any of the ones you've already seen — and running them through a program in his head to figure out which route would keep you two from crossing paths, when you continue.
"You've changed so much. I didn't even recognize you...which I'm assuming was the point since..." You trail off, no intention of finishing your sentence as you start a new one, "It's a drastic difference, but I like it. I like it a lot. You look...well.."
At this point, sweat is rolling down his neck and staining his collar. In the span of five minutes, he's been reduced to a mortified, speechless fool by someone of the past and that realization was a heavy one to swallow down.
It was then that he came to another realization; he hadn't been breathing since the second call of his name. He had held his breath unconsciously and he hadn't been able to take notice of his trembling, gloved hands or his spinning head until nausea crept up the back of his throat.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're b—" As you puckered your lips to form your next word, Azul was out of your sights and you heard the whine of the wooden doors to the classroom as they were thrown open. You then heard the robotic from earlier call after him as the doors were swung open again, but the only response that was given were the housewarden's hurried footsteps trouncing the halls.
You blink — once at the spot he once stood, twice when you swung your head around just in time to see the doors close on a fiery blue-haired boy ( who seemed to be....floating? ) making his swift exit, likely to follow after Azul, who looked noticeable panicked from the glimpse you caught of him as he ran past you.
It made many things like nervousness — and a bit of guilt that you were probably the cause for such distress — swell within you, but none of it held a candle to how your heart has been doing acrobatics since you came in here and took your first glance at him.
...Who knew someone could change so much? So marvelously? Who knew such a pearl could be hidden in such blotched plumpness?
You sigh dreamily, wishing with your whole being for a chance to see him again and soon. You'd pay anything for such luck. Money, the rest of your time here...maybe even your soul if the second encounter happened to turn into an impromptu date.
Jade Leech
↬ You reunited by chance. A fish out of water would naturally grow overwhelmed by the dry sea of land and the humans that mingle amongst it and in an attempt to find a secluded place to catch your breath, you happened into Jade's club of one.
↬ You two recognized each other immediately — though your reactions to each other were very different; his being pleasant surprise and yours being horrified whiplash.
↬ Growing up, Jade was many things — intimidating, conniving, and sly amongst many other things — but as your eyes trailed up his towering figure and his gloved hands slid down yours to help you back on your feet ( you had taken quite the tumble when you saw him, screamed, and jolted backwards ), none of those words came to mind.
↬ Well, he was still as intimidating as he was when you were kids and his smile was toothy and filled you with slight dread, but you couldn't deny how feverish you became alongside that sinking feeling nor the trenches your mind went to when he did the smallest things.
↬ When Jade noticed, he was amused and immediately found fun ways to poke and prod your clearly electrified nerves in both subtle and direct ways.
"Here's some water. I advise you drink it slowly," He instructed. One would presume his words were spoken with some underlying threat. That one sip of this deliciously cold-looking beverage in his hand would have your tongue blowing up like a blowfish and your skin turning colors and while the thought did cross your mind for a moment, one look at him had all of your reason disappearing in an instant.
Maybe that was a warning sign that you were already roped in — that the moment he propped you up on one of the desks and made you practice some breathing techniques while being a guppies length away from your ear was a telltale sign that you were thoroughly wrapped around his slender fingers.
Maybe you don't entirely mind that.
You're sure it can't be all bad of a fate, you try to reason with the imaginary people in your head staring you down with judgement-filled eyes. With such delicate fingers, you're sure they can't be used for vile, underhanded tactics all the time. In fact, you bet they'd feel great running across your skin or—
"Y/n?" He calls and for a brief second, you were tragically snapped away from your thoughts before they hit a climax and it's then that you finally realize that the bottle was still snug in his grasp.
Embarrassment rises up within you and colors your face in a rosy tint that you hope isn't as obvious to see as it feels and you sit there, flustered and staring with no intention of moving.
You watch him in silence, and yet, Jade doesn't rush you in anyway. His fingers don't twitch or tighten around the plastic with impatience. His face doesn't contort sourly. His leg doesn't bounce with the minutes that pass by... He remained still as a statue, waiting for the moment you felt ready to grab the bottle from his hand.
And, to further your mortification, that did things to you. At first, it made you fearful of the consequences of making him wait for more than ten seconds, but then those thoughts clouded your brain again. They showed you fantastical images — fed delusions of Jade's hands curved around your hips, your shoulders, the cusp of your thigh. How delicate he'd treat your skin and the ways he'd show adoration to he many parts that make up you body. How it'd feel to be truly pampered by him and the bliss you'd feel to be reduced to relaxed mess in his arms.
When your imagination begins to die down for a second time and reality sets in, you bite down on your bottom lip. Shamefully enough, you were starting to grow envious of that bottle.
You blink, pretending to snap out of a trance before finally taking the water from his hands. You murmur a quiet thanks as you twist the cap. Your movements slow as you bring it to your lips..
"You're quite flushed. It's quite the adorable sight."
In seconds, water was all over your pants and the floor under your feet and you were sputtering between wheezes and coughs.
You turn away as you continue to choke, shock settling into you like a match to wood and it sets agitation ablaze in your chest. Your first thought is that his comment was planned with a purpose. That he was finally dropping the false act of concern for you and was deciding to show his true colors — specifically the sick joy he felt in watching people flounder and flop around.
The anger bubbled, but just as quickly fizzed out when one of his hands found the small of your back whilst the other laid across your thigh.
"My apologies. My intentions weren't to startle you," He says, but his words came off only half sincere due to the grin that made its way onto his face and the laugh that warmed his words — which he made sure you heard when he purposefully leaned close again.
Despite the obvious glee he took in watching your composure snap into pieces, you couldn't deny that your earlier thoughts weren't entirely off the mark and that being in his arms felt as heavenly as it did humiliating.
You look up at him, winded and uncomfortably soaked. You hate how easily you swoon when you notice the mysterious twinkle in his mismatched hues — which couldn't have meant anything good for you — or how much you miss them when he closes his eyes to present a more convincing, but still obviously pitying look.
He's totally toying with you right now, but as he moves to find you something to dry yourself with, you find yourself sighing as you realize that you don't mind that as much as you probably should.
Floyd Leech
↬ You met again when you visited the Mostro Lounge you had been hearing talk about all afternoon.
↬ Normally, you wouldn't have been pleased to see the face of your frenemy ( which was definitely more enemy than friend to you ) greet you after you sat down, but when you saw him you were definitely roused in more ways than one.
↬ That said, you played up your annoyance with a few groans, an abundant amount of eyerolls, and a plethora of snarky words. I mean, it's not like a growth spurt and a nice body and a pair of breathtaking eyes that you could stare at until the earth's land returns to the bottom of the seabed could seriously make you like Floyd Leech. Hell will freeze over before that possibility is ever entertained!
↬ Despite that, your eyes can't help but follow after him and your thoughts can't help but take lefts into heated waters and while Floyd notices, he didn't really care enough to connect all ( or any ) of the dots. Instead, he focused on entertaining himself with an old acquaintance. ( Which made things 10x worse for you )
"Little Guppy! It's been a while!" An excitable chime deafened the elegant serenade that was playing in the lounge and as a sudden weight was dropped on you from behind.
Floyd had thrown himself over you as if you were the best of pals. It was as if the last encounter you had with one another didn't almost end up in a fight. Like the last time you looked at him wasn't with utter resentment.
You bend your head back abnormally to look at him and Floyd's smirk widens. It's a pretty sight. You surprise yourself with that thought — even more so when your eyes narrow but your heart doesn't shrivel in your chest alongside it and instead pumps with vigor as you take notice of his pointy teeth peeking out to say hi.
He looks dumb. You try and convince yourself, but unfortunately that insult doesn't linger for long before it morphs into a half-compliment in your head. ( Because, damnit, was it kinda adorable at the same time )
You groan and straighten yourself.
"I suppose it has," You say as you pretend to take interest on the spread he brought to your table that definitely didn't belong to you, "You a waiter for Azul's flat now? 'Always knew you'd end his lapdog."
"Nah, it's not like that. I just hang around cause its a fun," He brushes your comment off as casually as he pulls strands of your hair back behind your ear. You stiffen and spin your head around to look at him with surprise and that earns the goofiest laughter you've ever heard in your life.
It's a coincidence that you start hearing your heart beat in your ears shortly after that. Yep, that's all it could be; coincidence — you tell yourself that even as you zone in on the way the corners of his eyes scrunch and the gentle twitch of his lashes and you sigh out as if your breath's been stolen away.
"You're still as fun to poke at and play with as you were when you really were a little guppy — that's good!" He says after his brief laughing fit finally dies and, before you can will yourself to complain about his behavior, he's pulling you close again.
"Hey!" You snap instinctively when your noses nearly brush, but not enough of you truly committed to the anger in your tone even when he grabbed at your sides and forced your body in his direction.
So now you completely face him, knees digging into the cushion of the seat as you glared up at Floyd — who fully stood up now. You could feel the eyes of onlookers on your back like seaweed itching your skin and it only adds to fire pooling in your gut.
Despite that, your eyes skim his frame once, twice, thrice, even a fourth time in silence before you finally realize what you're doing and force your gaze off him.
This had to be some kind of cruel and unusual punishment. It's nothing short of a crime that his clothes, which clearly looked slapped on and lazily put together with just as much intention behind it, to compliment the lean of his body so well. For the lavender-gray scarf that hangs on his shoulders to bring out the only article of clothing that seemed to be buttoned correctly — his purple undershirt — to your attention.
You sneak another glance — you stand corrected, the top button is unclasped. Somehow though, it gives his look a certain charm. Sevens, why couldn't the rest of his shirt be like that — wait, no! No, no that's not what you meant! ( At least not in that way! )
"What's with all the starin' all of a sudden, little guppy?" His voice is as shit-eating as the twinkle in his eyes and the obvious enjoyment he feels in the moment....but then he suddenly pouts, yes, pouts at you.
"You used to have more bite than this.." He almost whines his words as he crosses his arms and closes his eyes. The next time they're open, he's letting out a long, and oh so exasperated sigh and the glimmer in his mismatched irises are gone, "Turns out your as boring as I thought you'd be."
That was your last straw. Within seconds, your hands were behind you and you were grabbing the first thing you made contact with.
"I'll show you boring!" You yelled before splat! Frosting went everywhere on Floyd as a cupcake slid down his head. His turquoise hair, pointed nose, flawless skin, and wrinkly attire were ruined and you smirked to yourself as you watched the shock flash on not just Floyd's face, but the bystanders who nervously watched.
But just as quickly as it comes, your expression flips as, once again, that ugly laugh rings out in the lounge.
"Hahaha~! We havin' a food fight now? Maybe I was wrong about you bein' no fun!" He says between his hysteria and your face heats...from vexation...you think. Honestly, you're not sure why your face is so hot but you don't have much time to figure it out before your focus shifts back to Floyd, who's recovered from his surprise and was now running to grab a dish to throw back at you.
You groan again, knowing that this won't end in your favor no matter what you did at this point. It was almost nostalgic in a way. Predicting the punishment yet still causing trouble just to keep your pride and tact and knock a certain smiley idiot eel down a peg in the process....except this time the idiot is taller than you and has a kinda sorta incredibly hot face and body now.
You groan a third time, feeling the urge to bash someone's head in now as you turn in your seat and pick up the entire tray of perfectly frosted cupcakes. Floyd seems to beam at this, his own tray of pizza ready and raring to go.
A grin makes it's way on your face. You hate him so, so much.
Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx
Masquerade! hide your face so the world'll never found you
SUMMARY: You're always supposed to travel with the delegation, whether you want to or not. This time, you did want to attend the festival—but Crowley decided your name wasn't on the official list.
Naturally, you ignored him. With Grim at your side and a plan held together by stubbornness alone, you slipped into Fleur City and its dazzling masquerade—the most colorful, musical night the city had to offer.
The only problem? You hadn’t planned on running into the seven dorm leaders of NRC…or on being personally escorted by them straight to the gates of Noble Bell College.
TAGS: crack, humor, drama, flirting without knowing.
WORD COUNT: 23k
COMMENTS: this is hella long, so buckle up!! I took some narrative liberties, maybe not entirely event canon but oh well, there's full chaos.
Soundtrack recommendation: God help the outcast - Topsy Turvy - The Bell Tower - Paris Burning - Make a Wish - Masquerade - Bells of Notre Dame
What does one have to do to get a little peace in the middle of a haunted dormitory that’s almost crumbling down to its foundations, with a cat shooting fire left and right?
That was what you were thinking when a letter showed up carried along by a cascade of black feathers. It was as if peace and order didn’t exist in the vocabulary of this magic-filled school.
One moment Ramshackle was quiet, or as quiet as it could get with Grim arguing with one of the ghosts, who had stolen a can of tuna just to mess with him, and the next, a whirl of glossy black feathers burst in through the broken window and spiraled dramatically down onto the first steps of the lounge staircase.
“HEY! We’re under attack!” Grim growled, jumping back when the envelope landed with an unnecessarily theatrical thump on the coffee table. “Protect me, Henchman!”
You sighed, keeping Grim upright as he climbed up your arm until he settled on your shoulder. You picked up the letter and looked it over; burgundy-colored, with a wax seal faintly gleaming in gold.
A letter that screamed official and important no matter how you looked at it.
It definitely wasn’t a bill or some annoying request from the administration. Crowley never handed those out in person, much less with a flock of black feathers; which meant the bird-brained headmaster was nearby.
And with that, the front door swung wide open on its own with a creak.
“Well, well, my most honorable and dependable residents!” he said in a voice far too cheerful and far too polished, stepping into the dorm as if it belonged to him and not like he had dumped it on you in terrible condition. “What fortune to find both of you at home! Truly, the stars themselves align for the diligent!”
Grim shot him a flat look and narrowed his eyes. “When you talk like that it means nothing good”
Crowley brushed off the comment with professional skill. “My dear prefect,” he continued, turning toward you with a wide smile, his cape swishing as if he had practiced the move in the mirror about ten times. “I require your presence in my office immediately. It concerns a matter of prestige, honor, and, naturally, inter-academic relations”
In other words… trouble.
You glanced sideways at Grim; the cat met your look, and you murmured to him when you saw Crowley turn to head out of the lounge without even checking whether you were following or not. “Yeah, nothing good ever comes from him”
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The office gleamed and buzzed more than usual, once again showing off dear Headmaster Crowley’s vanity.
The dorm leaders were gathered around the table, composed, radiating different levels of authority, boredom, or barely-contained chaos. Kalim was practically vibrating with happiness, just like Idia… although he was probably vibrating because he wanted to go back and lock himself inside his room; the fact that he was here, surrounded by people, was already an achievement.
Yes, obviously something was about to go down.
There were expectant looks from the others—except Leona, obviously. He was one step away from turning around and heading off to sleep in his usual spot in the botanical garden. The atmosphere had that specific tense shine that meant the announcement about to drop was going to be, indeed, catastrophic.
You took your place beside Kalim, who bumped your hip in greeting and grinned from ear to ear. You returned the gesture, lightly bumping his hip back, and let Grim settle himself on top of your head.
Crowley cleared his throat, which was always the beginning of one of his boring, overly theatrical, and unbearable monologues.
“My dear dorm leaders,” his eyes gleamed at the sight of the seven young men waiting in front of him. Grim coughed, and Crowley’s expression tightened slightly. “And prefect,” he continued. “Today we have received an extraordinary honor”
With a flourish, he raised seven invitations, seven burgundy letters with shining golden seals.
“Noble Bell College has kindly sent official invitations requesting the presence of representatives from Night Raven College at their upcoming cultural festival”
Your eyes widened. An event outside NRC, allowing you to explore more of this world and see another school; considering they barely let you leave for the nearby town on the Island of Sages, and RSA was still out of the question— that school was still a mystery to you.
So Noble Bell College would be your next magical stop.
Grim looked excited too, gripping your hair tightly and whispering to himself all the things he was already plotting in his small and chaotic head about what he was going to do: eat lots of tasty things, maybe sweets or bread, or tuna made in some way he had never tried before; the possibilities were endless for your little cat.
“And to enhance the experience, the school will treat this event as a masquerade. Isn’t that fascinating?”
Okay, the pinnacle of dramatics—very Twisted Wonderland and very Crowley… you like it.
Crowley was smiling like a man who definitely intended to send teenagers straight into imminent student chaos. He opened one of the invitations and read the contents in his characteristic dramatic voice.
“The event celebrates unity, refinement, and the highest traditions of academia. Naturally, they have requested our… most distinguished students. And of course this dear and most generous headmaster”
And that was where the seven invitations came into play. Seven letters addressed to each of the seven dorm leaders… and to no one else. He didn’t mention the vice leaders’ names, nor your name, nor Grim’s.
Crowley lowered the letter with a satisfied nod. “And with that, the official delegation is concluded”
On your end, silence. A small, polite silence, while the others were already straightening their postures, ready to hear when they would depart and how they should present themselves.
Then Crowley’s head tilted, looking forward, not directly at you, nor at Grim, as if remembering something slightly inconvenient. His eyes were fixed firmly on the office door.
“Ah! But of course… our reliable prefect!” he turned toward you with a bright, performative smile. “As the head of Ramshackle dorm, it would be inappropriate not to include you in this announcement. Transparency is the hallmark of this benevolent administration, after all.”
You heard Leona snort loudly, as if the words “benevolent administration” were completely accurate. If you weren’t harboring a bad feeling right then and there, you would have snorted along with him.
Grim puffed out his chest when he saw that the headmaster was now addressing his beloved henchman. “I knew it! We’re going to—”
“However…” Crowley cut him off, and you felt Grim’s tail deflate against the back of your head. The bird-brain laced his fingers together in front of him. “The invitation, unfortunately, extends specifically to recognized magical students who participate in the official exchange. As you do not possess any measurable magical ability…”
Grim opened his mouth to argue back, ready to launch a fireball that would leave him flat on his back after such humiliation.
“Master Grim, you and the prefect are essentially one student,” he cut him off again. “And given that Ramshackle is, shall we say, administratively… unique…” he made a vague motion with his hand, annoyed at having to find the word that best fit the situation without making it more tense than it already was.
Reading between the lines: you’re not invited, and neither is the cat. It’s not negotiable. Not even by accident.
Crowley gave a sympathetic nod, his eyes showing a very well-acted sadness. “How unfortunate! Truly unfortunate. Perhaps next time”
Next time… like being told there was no more of the cake you liked in the cafeteria and you’d have to wait until tomorrow to eat it. Or like being told you had to try a little harder on the next assignment.
As if you hadn’t literally fought overblots throughout the school year, monsters, ghosts, and whatever the hell lives in the school’s ventilation ducts.
Life isn’t fair, right?
The other leaders didn’t react strongly, but they didn’t give you the reactions you expected either. A couple of shrugs, Kalim looking at you with genuine sadness at not being able to enjoy the evening by your side.
Crowley broke the silence, and the damn spell, with a clap. “Very well then! Preparations begin immediately!”
The meeting dissolved into excited chatter from the headmaster and completely formal, rather critically thought-out discussion from the leaders. Malleus, in particular, looked especially fascinated by the idea of having been invited.
Grim’s tail flicked over your shoulder. “…they’re really not taking us”
The office suddenly felt a little louder… and a little farther away while the two of you watched the others discuss travel plans, formal attire provided by the school, speculation about the festival, music, foreign food.
“Make sure to keep the dorm in order while we’re away, prefect! Such an important responsibility!” Crowley waved a hand at you, signaling you were already dismissed from the meeting.
Grim’s ears flattened against his small head as you headed for the exit.
“…this is bullshit.”
“Yeah,” you huffed. “Yeah, it really is.”
The murmuring followed you out of the office like static.
Crowley was talking louder than usual, Vil was already arguing about the weight of the luggage and the makeup he’d have to do for everyone, yes, even Leona, whom you heard growl when Vil so much as mentioned it. Azul was bringing up the odds of expanding NRC’s prestige to other cities and colleges.
None of it helped.
Grim walked beside you on two legs, stomping down the hallway, his tail bristling, the claws of his hind paws visible and tapping against the stone.
“This is a total scam!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stone corridor. “We beat ghosts, monsters, more overblots than I can count—”
“—and we still aren’t ‘official’ enough for a school trip,” you finished with the same level of offense.
“EXACTLY!” Grim threw his paws into the air.
You shoved the castle doors open harder than necessary, grumbling under your breath. That damn bird-brain was really getting under your skin; any moment now you’d kick him in the rear so hard you’d send him flying… if it weren’t for the small amount of money the school administration paid you.
The cool afternoon air hit your face, but it didn’t loosen the tight knot in your chest. The voices continued behind you, just as enthusiastic; a glance over your shoulder was enough to make you blow out a breath and start walking down the steps.
“Even Idia’s going,” you muttered.
Maybe bringing up the most antisocial and anxious guy in the school wasn’t the fairest or most honorable move right now, but you were really angry. Not at him, obviously, you were angry at the damn headmaster.
“RIGHT?!” Grim went down the steps jumping two at a time, ears pointed up and seconds away from shouting all the injustices he had suffered thanks to our beloved headmaster. “That guy considers opening his bedroom door a major life event!”
You flinched. “Okay, that was too much, Grim,” you said, your voice a little sharp, staring at the steps because you knew that the moment you took your eyes off the stone it was statistically likely you’d trip, considering the anger leaking out of every pore.
“Hey! You started it” He raised a paw and pointed at you.
“Yeah, well…” you continued, “I didn’t mean it to put him down. Idia comes from a prestigious family and has plenty of money...of course he got an invitation.” You crossed your arms as you reached the last steps. “What’s surprising is that he’s physically going”
Grim kicked a pebble down the steps and jumped the last stretch again.
“He’s physically going and we’re stuck here doing… what. Guarding our dorm from the ghosts we already live with?”
You crossed your arms tighter and rolled your eyes. “I can’t even step off campus without paperwork, supervision, or a miracle,” your voice came out laced with venom, and with every second you were losing what little patience you had left. Spiraling with a grumpy cat wasn’t helping the situation. “But sure, let’s send the entire walking disaster of NRC abroad”
“I should be famous,” he growled. “Hero Grim saves the day again! Where’s my cultural exchange, huh?”
You snorted a laugh despite everything. “Apparently saving the school multiple times doesn’t count as an extracurricular activity”
You crossed the courtyard, the fountain, the last stretch of stone that led toward the castle’s back doors and the path back to Ramshackle. The words kept coming out—half complaints, half that tired bitterness that shows up when something unfair hits a little too close.
When you reached the door, the bridge visible connecting the next stretch of poorly kept land, you stopped. Grim kept walking, now on four paws, and lifted his tail when he realized you had stopped and he was crossing the bridge alone.
You looked at the horizon, spotting the haunted house in the distance and the perfect midday sun over the skyline.
The idea began to take shape slowly, putting down roots little by little, but decisively. The solution to both your frustrations was right there; simple, obvious, both stupid and perfect.
“Why did you stop?” Grim asked, walking back toward you.
You didn’t answer right away. You let the idea keep forming in your mind, running through all the chances of it going right and the ones where it wouldn’t, mapping out everything needed for it to actually work.
Your fingers tapped against your arm. “…it’s a masquerade”
Grim tilted his head. “…yeah?”
Your eyes met his, now wide as he looked at you in a way he hadn’t all year. Your face carried an expression that meant trouble; the kind of trouble that historically ended in explosions, rule violations, accidental heroics, and at least three disciplinary reports from Crewel.
“A masquerade ball,” you repeated slowly, tilting your head toward him, silently urging him to catch on quickly. “Everyone wears masks”
Grim’s ears twitched.
“No one’s supposed to stand out,” you crouched down so you were closer to him. “No one’s supposed to know who’s who”
You let the words settle in his mind, letting the silence guide the realization. One second passed, two, three—until Grim’s eyes flew open wide, pupils dilating and his tail shooting upright as your words finally clicked.
“Oh… you’re kidding”
Your lips curled into a dangerous smile, the kind that promised a thousand reprimands if you got caught, but that would be worth every damn second.
“If no one knows who’s who,” you said quietly, making sure the conversation stayed between the two of you, “then no one knows who wasn’t invited either”
Grim gasped like someone had just handed him the keys to a kingdom made entirely of cans and cans of fresh tuna.
“Prefect… who would’ve thought you could be so devious”
“We definitely shouldn’t do this,” you said, staring at him.
“…but we’re going to do it anyway,” he shot back.
A second of silence passed. Then another. And a third.
“Yeah.”
“HEIST MODE!” Grim threw his paws in the air, jumping with excitement.
You shut the castle door, not a trace of frustration left on your face. No, that had disappeared, replaced by determination. Who would’ve thought your mind could be just as troublesome as Ace’s?
Your steps were decisive, and you didn’t head toward Ramshackle. If you were going to sneak into a cultural event where formality and proper attire were the currency, nothing in that dusty shack would do. No; there weren’t any clothes formal enough or well-made enough there without getting you exposed the moment you set foot, or paw, into the cultural event.
“We need supplies,” you said, veering off the path to the right, following the dirt road.
“Supplies to commit a crime?”
“Supplies to attend formally without prior authorization”
“…crime then,” Grim confirmed, running after you.
The path to Sam’s shop felt like walking deeper and deeper into a very bad idea; and at the same time, a very promising one. The campus stretched around you, wrapped in that late-afternoon haze where the stone towers glowed gold and the buzz of excitement over the news drifted through the cool air.
“Okay, but... I can’t just put on a mask and call it a day. I’m a talking, flame-shooting, very handsome cat”
“Yes, that’s the main problem” Sam’s shack was already in sight—just a few more yards and you’d step into territory both familiar and unknown, ready to show off its haunted wonders.
“My ears! My tail! My flames! My incredible natural charisma, nya!”
“Mostly the flames” you gave him a look.
Grim deflated a little. “…yeah, okay, the flames”
A few more steps and you were already standing in front of the shack. That mystical atmosphere around it always made the hairs on your arms stand on end.
You pushed open the crooked wooden door and a small bell chimed. The air inside the shop wrapped around you like warm smoke, carrying a faint scent of cinnamon, something that made the place feel both comforting and creepy. The shelves were stacked to the top with all kinds of things: enchanted fabrics, suspiciously labeled bottles, and objects that definitely moved when you weren’t looking straight at them. You could swear a pearl necklace you had seen on a shelf near the door was now resting on a display in the main window.
“Well, well,” Sam’s smooth, enchanted voice echoed through the shop from behind the counter. When he had gotten there, you had no idea—five seconds ago the counter had been completely empty. “If it isn’t my favorite prefect… and judging by the look on your face and on your cute and definitely not troublesome cat…” he leaned forward, “…you’re not here for anything legal.”
Grim puffed out his chest, slightly offended by the comment, but he was still the first to speak, or rather, yell.
“We need stealth!”
You’re never going to get that by shouting
Sam’s smile widened, as dangerous as someone could look while being the entrepreneur running one of the most useful and necessary shops on a school campus. “Say no more”
With a snap of his fingers, the counter suddenly looked like the backstage of a theatrical crime, or a theater dressing room, which worked better for carrying out the plan.
Masks, capes, gloves, fabric samples, a monocle that Grim definitely tried on and that you definitely didn’t let him keep; with the way he walked he’d break it any second.
Sam tapped the counter thoughtfully with one finger.
“So,” his voice sounded as soft as velvet, but you knew underneath it hid the layer of a hardened entrepreneur who always kept an enchanted clause up his sleeve, “you need formal masquerade outfits convincing enough… while hiding the presence of a highly combustible feline”
Grim bristled. “HMNYA! I’m not combustible—!”
“How did you know we needed masquerade outfits?” you cut in. Your eyes narrowed at Sam suspiciously.
“My Queen… nothing happens in this school without me hearing about it.” It was a vague answer, but also a very unsettling one. But this wasn’t the moment to stop and argue, so for now you let it slide.
“He’s the real problem. I can blend in with a dress—”
“And masking your scent.” You still weren’t used to the way Sam interrupted conversations to drop information as if you were already supposed to know what it meant.
“Excuse me?”
“If my informants haven’t failed me,” Sam drummed his fingers on the counter and gave you a sly look, “a certain lion and a high fae will be attending the event, meaning they would be the first to spot both of you just by catching your scent.”
Damn it. He was right.
“…okay, point taken” You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact that you’d have to pay for more than just fancy clothes. “With something to mask my scent, a dress, and a mask, I can blend in. But him…” you pointed at Grim without looking at him, “he needs to look… like a normal familiar.”
Sam hummed and gave Grim a full look from head to toe—and if it had been biologically possible, he would’ve circled him with his eyes.
“Not normal,” he corrected at last. “Expected”
“…expected?” you repeated, frowning.
Sam opened a drawer and pulled out a violet velvet cloak with a hood; deep, formal, the kind that screamed ceremonial elegance. Another of the great mysteries of Sam’s shop: who knows why the entrepreneur had a cloak exactly Grim’s size waiting inside a drawer.
“Cultural events in magical academies bring familiars all the time,” Sam commented as he adjusted the hood over Grim’s ears. “Magical creatures, bound spirits, enchanted companions. Half the time nobody even knows what species they are”
The cloak, now arranged over Grim’s small body, wrapped around him completely, barely showing his shape. The fall of the fabric looked heavy and dramatic; the flames of his ears illuminated the inside in a way that felt very theatrical and very on-theme. Then Sam added a carved masquerade mask, elongated, elegant, slightly decorated with claw-like details but still stylized enough to look ceremonial rather than suspicious.
Only Grim’s bright eyes were visible beneath the shadow of the hood and mask. Sam stepped back, admiring his work.
“With the hood down, the mask set properly forward, and strict instructions not to shout…”
Grim shifted his posture. Now almost none of his face showed and his tail was hidden neatly beneath the cloak. Suddenly he looked less like “chaotic campus threat” and more like “arcane familiar belonging to someone extremely important.”
“…wow,” Grim whispered when he saw his cloaked figure reflected in the glass of the counter.
“Pretty convincing,” you added.
Sam’s smile widened as he leaned over the counter, both hands holding up his head. “Exactly”
“I look expensive” Grim spun in a small circle to admire himself, the heavy cloak barely making a dramatic swirl and giving no hint that he might be exposed when he moved.
“You are expensive,” you shot back. “You eat like you’ve got a black hole in your stomach”
Grim decided to ignore you and kept spinning around admiring himself. Sam, meanwhile, straightened and clapped his hands once, making your attention snap back to him.
“Now for you, prefect”
Another snap of his fingers and a dress slid onto the counter—dark, outrageously expensive fabric, black brocade with elegant lace details and a red overlay that made the black stand out even more. Off-shoulder, low-cut, with a skirt that would obviously require a crinoline.
Elegant wasn’t the right word, it was more than that. It was refined, breathing opulence and formality. Semi-transparent sleeves, ruffles and lace layered over more lace.
“A mask that hides, not dazzles” Sam placed a light black fabric mask on the counter, decorated with brocade and gothic embroidery, soft to the touch and perfect for covering half your face. “The best disguise isn’t the loudest one…”
He set the last pieces down on the counter: a choker of black pearls with a rose in the center, the strands long enough that when worn they would drape over the shoulders; a pair of short black lace gloves; and a very gothic-style hat, pompous, with a fall of fabric that resembled a veil.
A very gothic set… perfect for a masquerade.
“…but the one no one remembers”
You lifted the dress carefully with both hands, making sure not to snag the lace on anything, not even the buttons of your uniform.
“…how much is this going to hurt?” you asked cautiously. You knew a dress this extravagant wasn’t cheap.
Sam leaned on the counter again. “Oh, don’t worry” He paused dramatically, clearly fascinated by how your whole body tensed as you worried internally. “This goes on credit”
“Oh… that’s worse,” Grim whispered in horror.
Sam burst out laughing and straightened again, quite satisfied with himself at the sight of the desperate, horrified expressions on both your faces.
“Relax. Consider it… an investment in the chaos the two of you are about to unleash at an international diplomatic event”
You and Grim exchanged a knowing look.
Yeah… that sounded about right.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
Fleur City shone as if it had stepped straight out of a Renaissance painting.
The warm glow of lanterns spilled across the white stone streets, reflecting in long ribbons of gold and amber. Garlands of flowers hung from the balconies, woven so densely that the scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, sweet and heavy. From somewhere along the cobblestone corners came music: violins, laughter, the slow rhythmic pulse of festival trumpets.
Around you there were people, so many people. It was barely possible to walk peacefully through the streets. Carnival decorations and food and trinket stalls made both you and Grim stop every five steps.
And everywhere… masks. White porcelain, golden filigree, feathers, silks, velvet. Cloaks gliding over the stone and polished shoes gleaming in the lanternlight. There were no faces, no questions, no names.
You adjusted the delicate fabric mask slightly as you moved with the crowd, letting the flow of festival guests carry you naturally along the wide avenue leading to the central plaza. In the daylight the dress blended in exactly as Sam had promised: elegant and formal, perfectly matching the spirit of the festival—just another face in the tide.
Beside you, a small hooded figure walked with a rather exaggerated air of importance, little paws tapping lightly against the stone as he took one step, then another. Grim walked as if he were leading his own theatrical march toward the main stage.
“This is the best thing we’ve ever done in our lives” Even though his steps were determined, and fairly amusing to watch from your taller perspective, Grim’s words came out in a whisper; for once he had understood he needed to keep his voice down.
“You also said that when you stole extra pudding from the cafeteria” You gathered your skirt with one hand, adjusting it so you wouldn’t end up face-first on the ground. The dress was beautiful, yes, but the crinoline made walking a bit difficult.
“THAT WAS HISTORIC TOO!” Apparently his lesson in stealth hadn’t lasted long. You hid a smile behind the back of your hand.
Grim looked around at the glowing towers, the decorated bridges, the endless swirl of masked students and nobles. Your gaze drifted to the pink and violet decorations hanging between the rustic, colorful houses. One more step and you nearly collided with the long leg of someone obviously walking on stilts. You managed to turn in time and grabbed Grim so he wouldn’t get crushed under the wooden stilts.
“Woow” Grim settled into your arms and lifted his head to watch the person gracefully walking toward the end of the avenue. “This place is insane”
He wasn’t wrong.
Farther ahead there were people dressed in multicolored outfits—diamonds and pompoms, ribbons and exaggerated patterns showing off immense amounts of fabric in sleeves and trousers. Orange and red jesters, violet and burgundy ones too, with painted faces and five-pointed hats tipped with bells. The lantern lights flickered along the walls of the houses and the stone structures, turning the shop windows into vivid, deep colors. In the main plaza, dancers spun—skirts and cloaks flashing in carefully choreographed circles.
Everything around you looked mundanely normal, peaceful within the limits of what a carnival could call “peaceful.” No fire, no chaos, no problems to solve.
“With this many people, it’ll be impossible for them to find us,” Grim said as he jumped back down to the ground to keep walking.
“If you say it out loud, you’ll jinx it”
“Right. Silence. Stealth mode”
You moved deeper into the plaza, letting the enormous scale of the festival unfold around you. Masked performers breathed streams of colored fire, puppeteers staged small dramatic and amusing shows for the children, and the food stalls now had floating lanterns illuminating them in orange and ochre tones, making the shine of the food look even more appetizing.
Grim sniffed as he stopped in front of one of the stalls.
“…is that roasted meat?”
You sighed and grabbed him by the sides, lifting him until he was level with the food on the stall.
“One stall. And eat quietly”
“BEST HENCHMAN IN HISTORY!”
He jumped toward the vendor, still trying to look dignified in the ceremonial cloak—and failing completely the moment food entered the equation.
You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the slow, dangerous smile spreading across your face as you watched him try to cram two roasted meat skewers into his mouth in one bite.
For the first time since the invitation announcement, the pressure in your chest eased. You hadn’t been left behind. You hadn’t been left out. This might not be entirely legal—and if you got caught the punishment would probably be worse than anything Ace and Deuce had ever gotten—but seeing Grim enjoy himself was worth every second you spent outside Ramshackle.
You’d do it again a thousand times. To hell with Crowley and his official invitations. You had the right to enjoy an event without worrying about running errands for the headmaster.
“Target located” Grim sniffed the air again after finishing the meat. “Honey buns with a light sugar glaze, ten steps ahead”
What a remarkable nose
“Grim, slow down,” you said, walking after him at a reasonably quick pace.
“You’re the slow one” Unfortunately, he had a point about the damn crinoline. You were starting to hate it a little more with every step.
You lifted the skirt with both hands, mentally calculating how much more you could afford to spend at the festival. Considering how much this cat ate, and how little you had managed to eat thanks to the nerves from traveling through the mirror, you’d have to find some way to stop Grim from devouring everything in sight.
“I said one stall!” You barely raised your voice, but Grim ignored you, as always when he didn’t want to hear that you were right.
As you followed him, out of the corner of your eye you spotted a pair of figures you absolutely did not want to spot heading your way.
On the other side of the plaza, near the staircase leading to the main road toward the cathedral, a very specific formation of figures held a perfect alignment: Crowley at the front, with seven leaders behind him, each displaying different levels of diplomacy, excitement, or boredom.
Riddle walked with a rigid posture even in this festive setting, though he wasn’t oblivious to the fun happening around him. Leona was slouched, visibly bored at being dragged into an official event. Azul carried himself with a calculating air, probably already visualizing his next clients. Kalim was the most energetic of them all, practically glowing even while standing still. Vil was sculpted perfection, every step immaculate. Idia was trying to occupy the smallest possible amount of physical and emotional space. And Malleus simply followed the flow of people, hands behind his back, looking around with complete fascination.
Crowley, meanwhile, walked with an annoyingly radiant and pompous stride while speaking with another figure: tall, composed, with a firm and controlled posture. If you had to guess, that person wrapped in an air of ceremonial authority must have been someone important from Noble Bell College.
Your throat let out a tiny squeak and your shoulders curled inward. You were in danger mode.
You stepped sideways, avoiding turning your back on them all, but also not walking backward so obviously that it would make it clear your focus was on those figures who weren’t threatening at first glance—but were extremely inconvenient for your enjoyment. You reached Grim just as he was about to buy a small honey bun and crouched to whisper in his ear.
“Don’t even think about moving”
Grim’s small body went completely rigid. “What’s going on?”
“If you turn two degrees to the left,” you continued, the dorm leaders getting closer and closer, “you’ll be in their direct line of sight”
Grim, completely ignoring your instruction, slowly followed your gaze, barely turning his body to get a good look. Then he inhaled so sharply he nearly vacuumed the honey bun straight into his mouth.
You clamped a hand over his mouth and grabbed his cloak, dragging him behind the stall and hiding behind the side canvas. The vendor shot you both an irritated look but said nothing, another customer was already asking for an entire bag of buns.
“Okay, new plan” You let go of Grim’s mouth but still signaled for silence. Now he had to act like a normal familiar. “We walk calmly in the opposite direction, and you… quiet”
Grim nodded with the intensity of someone trying very hard to be stealthy and stay out of trouble, still holding the sweet in one paw. You adjusted him on your arm and stepped away from the stall.
One step. Then another. And a third.
Someone in the crowd suddenly turned toward your direction. You bumped their shoulder, jolting back in surprise.
“—Sorry!” you blurted automatically, trying to step backward.
Exactly the wrong move.
Because stepping back made you collide with someone else in the crowd. Your shoe stepped on an expensive, heavy cloak, and as you lifted your foot to avoid ruining it further, your heel caught on the uneven stone. You felt your balance tip backward.
For one horrible second, the world tilted; the lantern light, the masks, the people, the realization of oh yes, this is how we die… physically or from embarrassment, falling face-first in front of a crowd.
But the fall never came.
A gloved hand shot forward and caught your wrist just in time, stopping you a few inches before disaster.
“…please be careful,” a smooth, composed voice said. “These festival streets can be treacherous if one isn’t paying attention”
You turned your head toward the voice and saw Azul looking at you with concern...but without the slightest hint of recognition. Your disguise was working perfectly, even in a situation as dangerous as the one you were currently in.
You straightened carefully, pulse hammering, but posture controlled. Out of nervous reflex you adjusted Grim’s hood so his face was completely hidden, forcing his body to hunch so he’d look like an ordinary cat.
“Thank you,” you said in a neutral voice, though anyone paying attention might have noticed the nervous edge and the faint grinding of teeth as you forced yourself not to scream.
Azul released your wrist slowly, waiting for you to fix your dress before stepping back to a polite distance, still close enough while observing you with that sharp, polite curiosity so characteristic of someone whose entire life ran on information.
Behind him, the others had already turned, abandoning whatever conversation they had been having. Six new pairs of eyes locked onto you—the young lady unlucky enough to collide with the octopus entrepreneur.
Grim made a small strangled noise inside his hood, and you felt a tiny vibration against your arm. It was obvious he wanted to bolt as fast as his four paws could carry him, and if you were honest with yourself… you wanted to do the same.
You didn’t look at anyone in particular; certainly not at Crowley, nor at the tall, composed figure representing Noble Bell College in this diplomatic procession. You made the smallest formal bow of your head, the kind appropriate for slipping by unnoticed even after such a collision. You even tilted your hat slightly lower to cover more of your face.
“Apologies for the collision. The crowd is… lively tonight”
Vil’s gaze traveled over you from head to toe. Knowing him, he was evaluating the outfit the way an art critic would analyze a gallery piece; or in this case, the way Vil always did, searching for wrinkles, imperfections, or cracks.
That crack was about to split wide open if he didn’t stop looking at you so intently.
“Finally someone who knows how to dress appropriately,” he murmured loud enough that everyone else heard.
“Hey! We’re all dressed for the occasion,” Kalim huffed, though he didn’t sound offended.
“Yes, because we were dressed” Vil replied.
If that was the case, then point to Vil.
“Watch where you’re stepping next time” Leona exhaled through his nose.
“That is no way to address a young lady!” Vil snapped back, shooting him the most venomous look imaginable without losing an ounce of grace or letting a single wrinkle touch his face.
Leona simply crossed his arms and held Vil’s stare. The tension between rivals was thick enough to feel.
Azul took the opportunity to cut through that tension and prevent an international incident. He inclined his head toward you again, adjusting his glove.
“Well then,” he said, extending his hand toward you, palm open and facing up, “please be careful, miss—”
Your entire body went rigid in a single heartbeat. On your arm, Grim was seconds away from combusting from the stress this situation was causing him.
You returned the slight bow of your head, just formal enough not to raise suspicion despite your heart pounding at a thousand beats per minute.
“Isn’t the whole point of tonight that we don’t ask those kinds of questions?”
There was a pause long enough for you to offer a sideways smile, hoping you hadn’t sounded rude.
Vil’s lips curled upward slightly, approving, almost amused, mentally acknowledging that at least someone knew the rules of the evening.
Azul’s smile changed immediately, shifting from his usual interrogation-ready expression to one suited for social performance.
“Ah,” he murmured. “Quite right. My mistake. A masquerade loses its charm when identities come to light”
Okay. The plan was working beautifully—far better than you had expected. You made a mental note to thank Sam for that potion masking your essence, since neither Leona nor Malleus seemed suspicious of anything.
“If it helps,” you said, testing the waters a little more to confirm your theory, “I’ve never seen figures quite so… unique” Your gaze drifted across each of them. “So your identities would remain a mystery—with or without masks”
Riddle gave a small nod at your comment. “Indeed. The evening discourages such personal revelations unless they are formally necessary”
Thank the Seven that Riddle bought it. And luckily for you, it seemed Idia had too, he was muttering in the background nonstop.
“Thank the gods… minimal social interaction with anonymity settings enabled…”
You let out a quiet breath through your nose, trying to keep it as subtle as possible despite the pressure tightening in your chest during such a surreal interaction. You bowed your head again, ready to give your farewell and move along, taking your first steps toward the plaza.
That should have been the end of it.
“Although…”
Damn it, Azul.
His voice rose again, smooth and composed, turning just enough to place himself at your side as you began to walk.
“It would be negligence on my part not to ensure the safety of the young lady I nearly caused to fall”
Vil moved at the same time, with a grace so natural it was almost insulting; suddenly you had two impeccably dressed elites flanking you like the most elegant bodyguards in the world.
“Cobblestone streets tend to be uneven—especially in heels,” Vil commented, evaluating your posture. Of course he would notice that beneath all those meters of expensive fabric you were wearing heels. Not very high, but high enough to alter your height. “And the crowd is quite enthusiastic, as you mentioned earlier. You shouldn’t be wandering alone”
Azul nodded slightly, adjusting his glasses. “Particularly when a certain tendency toward accidents has already been demonstrated”
The arm holding Grim tightened slightly, drawing a faint squeak from him that only you heard. You looked from side to side, first at Azul, then at Vil, and your gaze dropped straight to the cobblestones.
Oh no. This is very bad.
Behind you, Leona’s voice sounded rough.
“Hey. Don’t crowd her”
All three of you turned to look at him. Leona was dragging a hand down his face, visibly irritated by the situation.
Vil arched a brow, stopping with runway elegance.
“I beg you pardon?”
Azul did the same, forcing you to stop as well and remain right between them. The height difference, privately, was a little funny, if you hadn’t been the center of attention for a very irritated lion.
“Courtesy…” Leona scoffed. “That’s what they call it now?”
You heard Kalim whisper, “Are they flirting?”
And Riddle respond, sounding slightly tired of his classmates, “Knowing them… yes. They are flirting”
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.
Leona shoved both hands into his pockets, leaning back slightly as he approached, glancing sideways at your two escorts.
“The girl almost fell. You caught her. End of story. You don’t need to start an escort mission for every stranger you run into”
Vil crossed his arms and offered him a sharp smile. “And since when do you care about social manners?”
“Since watching you two circle her like peacocks in heat started giving me a headache,” Leona shot back.
You let out a quiet snort, covering your mouth with your free hand. Grim seemed to snort too, barely holding back laughter, the vibration against your chest made it obvious.
Azul released a soft sigh and pressed his fingers to his temple. “Honestly, is it necessary to reduce every refined interaction to such vulgar interpretations?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, flashing them a half-smile, fangs included. “It’s funny and irritating at the same time watching you act so confident about something that isn’t one of your contracts”
The situation would have been comedic if you weren’t still stuck in the middle of it—and if you weren’t one wrong sentence away from catastrophic exposure.
Unfortunately, you locked eyes with Malleus.
He looked taller than the last time you’d seen him. A glance down confirmed it—he was wearing heeled shoes. This fae added a few extra inches whenever he felt like it, and in the process made you look even smaller.
From his height, Malleus observed you in silence. One arm rested over the other, a finger beneath his chin, studying you. As if he were chasing an echo, something about your voice, your posture, the way you held your shoulders like someone used to dealing with chaos every day.
Your heart thumped harder in your chest.
You looked away and gave another small nod, taking a step back, hoping this time you could finally continue your evening.
“I appreciate the concern, gentlemen,” you said, keeping your voice calm and neutral even though internally you were screaming. “But I assure you I would hate to delay such distinguished guests during their evening”
Both Azul and Vil inclined their heads, accepting the farewell with grace. Leona simply clicked his tongue and turned back toward the others—he had been ready to leave five minutes ago.
With elegance you weren’t even sure where you pulled from, you stepped toward the crowd, letting the skirt spin slightly as the crinoline gave the movement the air of something taken straight from a royal etiquette manual.
“Ah…”
Just that single word was enough to cut off your second escape attempt and push your frustration even higher.
The same notable figure Crowley had been speaking with earlier approached the group. The Noble Bell College uniform was immaculate. Perfect posture, perfect alignment, an expression composed, though clearly carefully practiced to appear so.
“Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “if you would be so kind as to proceed. The welcoming is prepared at the academy, and the festival program is… quite structured”
Crowley, who five minutes ago hadn’t been remotely in sight, reacted immediately, suddenly appearing from behind you and making you jump.
“Ah! Of course, of course! We wouldn’t wish to delay such a beautiful evening!”
Then the student’s eyes shifted toward you, finally registering why the seven leaders had stopped or drifted away from their intended path instead of following him.
And in that precise moment, his gaze changed to recognition.
Recognition that didn’t look good.
Not good for you, anyway.
“I must apologize,” he said, stepping toward you and placing a hand over his chest. “It seems I have committed an unforgivable lapse in courtesy”
The student bowed in a formal, precise, respectful greeting.
“I have spoken with these distinguished guests,” he continued, voice calm and controlled, “and yet I have neglected to acknowledge the presence of a lady among us. Such negligence falls below the standards of Noble Bell College… and my own.”
He straightened with the same refinement with which he had bowed and extended his hand toward you. In your stunned state, you noticed Grim become so perfectly still he could have won a gargoyle contest.
“I am Rollo Flamme,” he said. Now you could finally put a name to the face. “President of the Student Council and host of tonight’s ceremony”
Of all the people you could have drawn attention from at this event, it had to be the highest authority in the entire academy. The host himself. The worst possible person.
“And regardless of the anonymity permitted at this celebration,” Rollo continued, “it remains my responsibility to ensure that every guest within our city is treated with dignity and appropriate protection”
With his palm still extended, he took your hand and bowed again slightly, pressing a kiss against your gloved knuckles. His eyes remained locked onto yours, sharp, observant enough to make you swallow hard.
“Welcome to the festival”
Rollo straightened again and folded his hands in front of him.
“You have indicated that you do not wish to delay these gentlemen,” he continued solemnly. “A considerate sentiment”
There was a pause—and it felt heavy, considering this man still hadn’t taken his eyes off you. If you ran now he would notice. Obviously he would notice your nerves and terrible manners, and you’d look incredibly suspicious.
“But allowing a lady to wander the festival without escort amid such a crowd would be an equivalent lapse in decorum”
Vil offered him an approving smile, and judging by the look Leona was giving the blond from behind, your escape plan was now miles away from happening.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Leona muttered.
Rollo turned halfway toward the dorm leaders and Crowley. “I trust one of you would be willing to provide a brief escort to guarantee her safe passage before rejoining us at the academy”
Kalim, being the sweet, trusting, hyper-energetic Kalim, immediately raised his hand.
“Oh! I can—”
“Absolutely not,” whispered Idia in a panic. “You’ll get lost in these weird streets and probably end up buying the entire festival”
Kalim pouted but didn’t argue.
Azul stepped forward, trying to appear smooth but looking a little too eager to close this contract. “As it happens, I’m already somewhat familiar with the young lady—”
Vil moved at the same time and cut him off. “And I, naturally, would never allow someone dressed so exquisitely to be abandoned to the chaos of the central plaza”
Why do I always have to deal with the chaos? Why?
The plan had been simple: jump through the mirror without the academic staff noticing, lose yourself in the cobblestone streets, avoid eight walking disasters of charisma and complications, eat festival food, take a couple of pictures with Grim, and go home.
The universe really hates me
Crowley, watching the scene half-delighted and half-offended that he wasn’t the center of attention, fanned himself dramatically. “Ah, such gallantry among my students! How my heart swells! You seven are the pride of Night Raven College!”
Rollo folded his hands behind his back, perfectly composed.
“There you have it,” he said calmly. “A simple solution”
And with that, Crowley and Rollo continued on their way toward who knows where—leaving you with seven distinguished students and one problematic cat who was internally seconds away from exploding or fainting.
The procession moved forward...there really was no other word for it.
The dorm leaders walked in immaculate formation along the lantern-lit avenues, and in the middle of that flock you were trying with all your strength not to implode from stress. Grim shifted into both your arms, leaning against you; it was safer that way in case he wanted to whisper something instead of accidentally yelling something incriminating. Now he sat like a very tense, very judgmental decorative accessory beneath his velvet hood.
Kalim bounced closer first. “So! You’re from another school?” he asked cheerfully.
Alright. Time for lies—and the greatest skill for stealth missions: improvising without hesitation.
“I’m not part of the official exchange,” you said calmly, which was technically true. “I came with my family”
Which wasn’t entirely true… though if you counted Grim and the seven people around you who apparently didn’t know the definition of personal space, then maybe it was a… creative reinterpretation.
Azul also approached, much closer than necessary. “I see. Attending an event of this scale independently suggests either excellent connections… or excellent planning”
Vil added lightly, adjusting his sleeve where a button had come undone. The small imperfection clearly offended him. “Or excellent taste”
The button snapped back into place and his gaze returned forward, specifically toward you. “No one assembles such an outfit without understanding the magnitude of the evening”
You turned slightly and offered a half-smile. “I had help.”
Extremely true. Sam deserved several medals, and probably hazard pay.
Grim shifted in your arms, trying to lean closer to whisper something, but halfway through his cloak snagged on your sleeve and you had to adjust him quickly before the hood slipped and exposed him.
Of course Azul noticed the movement beneath the cloak. “And that little companion?”
Dangerous question.
“This?” you tightened your grip slightly. “He’s my brother’s familiar. I’m taking care of him while he’s away at Night Raven College”
Malleus finally joined the conversation. One step brought him only inches behind you. “A creature temporarily bound under your supervision”
His voice was so deep you almost felt it rather than heard it. A chill ran down your spine. “That explains such an elaborate cloak. A responsible choice on your part. You understand how to present the creature with the dignity it deserves”
Grim puffed up slightly beneath the fabric.
“He appears loyal,” Malleus added, his voice calm and serene now, still close, but with the strange sense of omniscience that came from his towering height.
At the comment, Grim let out a small emotional squeak and fought very hard not to respond. You rested a hand over his back through the hood. “He is,” you nodded.
Also extremely true… sometimes… when it suited him… especially when food was involved.
“What kind of creature is the familiar?” Kalim asked, leaning closer again, dangerously close to stepping on your skirt.
You grabbed the fabric with one hand while adjusting Grim onto your shoulder. “He’s a cat. A bit grumpy, especially in the mornings.”
No lie there. Grim tried to object, maybe by digging his claws slightly into your shoulder, but before he could you bounced him upward a little. He made a tiny complaint and stayed still.
“So cute!” Kalim said excitedly. “Hey! Does he need something to eat?”
“No! No!” you answered quickly. “He’s fine, he already ate a lot a few minutes ago.”
The last thing you needed was for this ray of sunshine to feed him the way he had with cookies back in Scarabia.
“Your familiar eats human food?” Riddle asked, clearly puzzled.
“…sometimes”
You wobbled slightly as if thinking, though really you were scrambling for the right words to fix the mistake you’d just made. “Not much—mostly fish. But there was a familiar food stall a few blocks from the central plaza, so I bought him a little treat”
You patted him gently to demonstrate how well-behaved he was.
“Aww, what a shame,” Kalim deflated. “I would’ve liked to feed the little guy”
The little guy shifted slightly, probably remembering the same thing: the time Kalim had stuffed him with endless cookies. Grim shrank into your shoulder and whispered barely audibly.
“Prefect… when we’re done, I want another snack”
That sounded so Grim you had to pinch him to keep the humiliation of staying quiet from going to his head.
“Don’t be discouraged,” Azul said, stepping beside Kalim. “We were allowed to enjoy the festival, so we may indulge a little in the culinary arts of this city”
“You’re right!” Kalim brightened instantly. “We can try the éclairs! Or croissants! Baguettes! The honey buns from that stall behind us!”
What a combination of flour and carbohydrates. But it sounded so good...and sooo necessary.
All day Grim hadn’t let you eat in peace except for breakfast, the little gremlin had devoured snack after snack. You, on the other hand…you were actually starving.
Maybe the discomfort showed on your face, or maybe your stomach growled beneath all those layers of fabric. Either way, Vil noticed.
“Perhaps we could offer our escorted young lady something sweet?” His hands folded behind his back as he leaned slightly toward you.
“That seems appropriate, although…” Riddle added thoughtfully, “young lady, would you actually like us to treat you to something?”
In theory, yes. In practice… was it sensible to let them buy you something? You really did want to eat, and you hadn’t brought much money. Well...Grim had already spent more than half of it on everything he’d devoured, plus a small trinket he bought from a craft stall.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you with such a triviality,” you began calmly. “It would be imprudent—”
“Nonsense!” Kalim cut you off. “We can buy you anything you want!”
Before you could even think of a counterargument, he had already rushed to a nearby stall and paid for five different types of sweets. The others stopped to wait for him, and you took the moment to adjust your skirt and Grim on your shoulder. Standing still, Grim quietly stretched himself across both shoulders like a scarf and settled there, balanced enough for when you started walking again.
“Can I eat some of what he brings?” he whispered.
“No,” you whispered back, barely moving your lips.
When Kalim returned, he carried two paper bags in both hands.
In one bag he had bought eight different flavors of macarons—some common ones like chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. Others were bizarre flavor combinations you would have preferred to donate to the ghosts of Ramshackle.
In the other bag were two chocolate éclairs, two pains au chocolat, two crescent pastries with a bright glaze, and two honey-cinnamon puff pastries.
A direct trip to diabetes.
The bag with the assorted sweets he handed to Riddle with such enthusiasm that the redhead actually leaned back a little from the force. Riddle blinked once, twice, then opened the bag and tilted his head to inspect the contents. He passed an éclair to Idia, who took it with a trembling hand and immediately retreated to eat it where no one could see him.
With the other bag still in hand, Kalim offered you a strawberry macaron. “Here! Take it! My treat!” he said with the brightest, warmest smile you had ever seen at NRC.
You hesitated for a second, but the sweet was so perfectly made, round and glossy, that refusing it would have felt like a crime. You took it delicately with your fingers and gave it a small bite instead of shoving the whole thing into your mouth out of habit. You might have been hungry, but manners and appearances mattered right now.
“How is it? Is it good?” Kalim was already handing out the other macarons to the rest, even to Leona, who took one between two fingers and inspected it with mild disinterest.
“It’s delicious. Thank you for such a generous gesture” You took another bite and the macaron was gone. You brushed your hands together and were about to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, but stopped yourself, licking your lip to catch any crumbs.
Riddle pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to you. “Here”
You took it with slight embarrassment and wiped the corners of your mouth. When you tried to return it, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. You can keep it”
You looked down at the handkerchief, delicate, red with black embroidered details. His initial stitched neatly in one corner. It had the look of something personal, perhaps a gift from his mother or something he had commissioned himself.
“Are you sure?” you asked, uneasy about keeping something so personal.
“I’m sure. It’s a handkerchief, it doesn’t carry emotional weight” He accepted the bag of sweets back from Kalim as the other boy handed him a macaron.
You looked at the handkerchief again and folded it neatly in four. The only problem now was where to put it. A mischievous idea crossed your mind for less than a second: tuck it between your breasts the way people used to do to tease admirers.
But no. You absolutely could not do that...though it would have been hilarious.
Instead, you slipped it into the folds of your skirt, improvising a small pocket. After adjusting the dress and crinoline again, you waited for the group to resume walking. The sun was beginning to dip, the first orange rays of evening spreading across the sky.
This time Leona resumed walking beside you.
His stride was heavy, hands in his pockets, his expression carrying such profound boredom it could qualify as an art form. You had no idea what he had done with the macaron; whether he ate it or casually discarded it somewhere with stealth so refined that no one noticed.
All the while he had been watching you fuss with your skirt, holding it with one hand so it wouldn’t tangle around your feet.
Then, with the faintest sigh, as if remembering he shouldn’t be too obvious about observing others, he stepped a little closer.
“Watch your step,” he murmured low enough that only you could hear. “These streets are uneven”
It sounded suspiciously like Azul’s earlier warning, but filtered through Leona’s flavor of bluntness.
Before you could answer or adjust your pace properly, he extended his arm, wiith no ceremony, as if it meant absolutely nothing to him.
But the gesture itself was pure etiquette.
“If you trip again,” he added in a flat tone without even looking at you, “that bird’s going to make us repeat this whole escort nonsense. I’m not dealing with that again”
In simple terms: take Leona’s arm so this ends faster.
Your eyes drifted to his face, half-hidden behind a mask, his hair tied in a simple ponytail. His lazy aura was still there, but layered beneath it.
Even if he showed little interest in events like this, the fact that he was wearing a mask at all was already significant. To you—the mysterious, nameless young lady—he was simply another stranger. You had no reason to recognize the second prince of Sunset Savanna.
And that gave him the advantage. If he wanted to act with the princely manners he had unfortunately been taught, he would use them, especially if it earned him a few points in front of the others. If everyone else was interacting with you, he wasn’t about to sit out.
To the passing crowd, it simply looked like a stranger offering steady support to a young woman in a crowded foreign city whose shoes were poorly suited for cobblestones.
You gently hooked your hand around his arm. “Thank you”
Leona said nothing, just clicked his tongue and gave the faintest nod.
The streets narrowed as you moved toward the academy district. The lanternlight softened. The crowd thinned just enough that conversation no longer sounded like shouting over the festival and began to feel… almost private.
Which unfortunately meant questions; Polite ones, curious ones, persistent ones.
Kalim, as usual, took it upon himself to begin. “So how did you arrange this visit?” he asked. “You said you didn’t come with the official delegations”
“That’s right,” you replied—truthfully. “My family organized the trip. I’m mostly… exploring while they attend to their obligations.”
Which, technically, was also true.
Azul slipped smoothly into the conversation. “Exploring an unfamiliar city suggests remarkable confidence,” he said, adjusting his glasses and smiling the way he did just before landing a new client. “Or considerable experience”
“A bit of both”
“Have you attended events of this scale before?” Riddle asked next, his tone measured but curious rather than strict. “The protocol at gatherings like this can be… overwhelming”
“Not exactly like this,” you admitted. “But I’ve dealt with large gatherings. And… unpredictable situations”
Behind everyone, you heard Idia mutter quietly: “…that sounds like nightmare difficulty in social interactions…”
Frankly, the poor guy already looked like he was about to log out of the event if they didn’t reach their destination soon.
“Yet you don’t seem intimidated,” Malleus said, speaking over Idia’s murmuring.
“I learned that most disasters start the same way,” you replied, pausing to choose your words carefully. “If nothing is exploding yet and no one is screaming… things are usually going well”
That comment earned you seven pairs of eyes.
Because what you had just said perfectly summarized life at a certain academy where mornings often began with students yelling, magic spiraling out of control despite professors supposedly teaching discipline, and overblots happening far too often.
Leona glanced sideways at you and huffed thoughtfully. Azul simply folded his arms and seemed to consider your answer.
“An interesting philosophy,” he said, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Quite pragmatic… and resilient”
Grim shifted slightly on your shoulders, practically vibrating with the effort not to shout HNYA, we’ve fought literal overblots every month, you have no idea!
You scratched his head lightly over the hood as a warning, and the trembling stopped. Riddle stepped forward slightly and inclined his head toward the gesture, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
“Your brother must trust you greatly if he left his familiar with you”
“He does,” you nodded.
Riddle responded with a thoughtful hum. “Responsibility reflects well on both of you”
You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and smiled.
If he knew how responsible you really were—sneaking into a festival and academic event without authorization, in a country far from the island, in a world you barely understood—well… that comment would collapse like a badly built card tower.
But as you watched him, you also noticed something else.
The way Riddle politely guided passersby out of your path. Azul adjusting his pace so you wouldn’t have to walk faster. Vil subtly steering the group away from the rougher patches of cobblestone without saying a word. Even Idia hovered closer than usual, like some socially terrified wizard who had nonetheless decided he was the party’s defensive mage in a DnD campaign.
Leona kept his stride steady beside you, perfectly matching your pace. And Malleus remained watchful, hands ready to guide a passerby aside or catch you if you stumbled.
The shift was obvious, they weren’t escorting a random girl anymore...They were engaging with her.
“It’s unusual to meet someone at this sort of event who speaks as directly as you do,” Azul said, almost as if the conversation he wanted was simply… a conversation.
Vil nodded from the front of the group. “Most attendees here are desperately trying to impress,” he said, turning his head toward you. “Whereas you, my lady, manage to impress simply by walking”
“And you’re easy to talk to too! It’s really nice!” Kalim added brightly.
From behind you, Idia muttered: “…low-pressure NPC with unexpectedly high dialogue quality…”
Oh. My. Sevens.
They’re flirting.
They are actually flirting.
And they have absolutely no idea that the person they’re flirting with is you—the extremely human, magicless prefect who attracts catastrophic overblot-level disasters like seasonal colds. All you needed was a mask, an expensive dress, and no identity.
Suddenly the seven of them were treating you like royalty.
Your cheeks flushed faintly pink. Part of you wondered—just for a second—if you could take advantage of this a little longer. It wasn’t every day these well-trained disasters behaved like gentlemen.
Another part of you was on the verge of imploding because the same seven who usually competed in ego wars (Kalim excluded) now seemed oddly invested in your company.
Please do not let this night end with all seven of them having a crush on me.
You would never survive looking them in the eye tomorrow. One or two you could handle.
Seven? That would end in a battlefield.
Ahead of you, the academy gates came into view. Tall. Ornate. Illuminated by elegant lanterns while guests streamed inside.
The perfect place for this illusion to end, before their gazes got any more intense. Your steps slowed slightly, and the others adjusted automatically.
Beyond the gates, upper balconies glowed with light and stained-glass windows scattered multicolored shards across the courtyard.
Vil glanced toward them. “A beautiful aesthetic, exactly what one would expect from the student council president,” he commented, violet eyes bright with approval. “Fleur City always delivers the finest spectacles”
Leona exhaled softly beside you. “Tch. If this thing runs longer than it should, I’m leaving”
Your lips curled faintly upward. That was such a Leona comment.
And then Idia, apparently unusually chatty tonight, talked loud enough for everyone to hear. “…pretty sure this ends with a final boss spawning in the middle of the hall at biblical difficulty…”
You couldn’t stop the laugh.
You tried to make it sound like a small huff—but the laugh slipped out naturally. Bright, familiar, too familiar.
The sound hung in the air like a memory someone had just pulled out of a locked drawer. Leona’s arm stiffened under your hand; Azul’s eyes sharpened; Vil tilted his head; Kalim blinked; Riddle froze; Idia looked like someone who had just connected two impossible dots; And Malleus’s gaze deepened.
Your pulse skyrocketed, you closed your eyes for half a second and pressed your lips together.
Idiot.
You cleared your throat quickly and stepped back. “I'm sorry,” you said lightly, smoothing your tone. “Just… the moment”
You released Leona’s arm. Another step back gave them space as the academy gates loomed only a short distance away.
“I believe this is where our paths separate,” you said with an elegant bow. “You have fulfilled your duty admirably”
Azul recovered first. “Well,” he said, though his eyes were still attentive, “this has been… unexpectedly pleasant.”
Kalim waved energetically. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the festival!”
Leona looked at your hand, then folded his arms again. “Watch where you step.”
Malleus returned your bow with one hand over his chest. “If fate allows it, I would welcome another conversation.”
You straightened. “Then perhaps fate will be kind.”
You picked Grim up in both arms, because you needed something to do with your hands, and turned toward the academy entrance.
One step...then another. Trying to look composed, just another guest entering the celebration.
Internally? You were about three seconds away from completely losing your nerve.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The moment the academy doors swallowed you, you didn’t stop, nor you didn’t slow down; in fact, you sped up.
You didn’t admire the architecture, the vaulted stone corridors, the candlelit banners, the elegant streams of guests drifting toward the grand hall.
You took a side corridor, then another, then passed through an open arch into a quieter cloister, with tall windows and ivy climbing the walls. Only when the distant noise of the courtyard softened into a manageable murmur did you finally exhale.
“…Okay,” Grim whispered from your arms. “…we’re still alive.”
“Barely.” Your lips tightened, the pressure in your chest still fighting to break free.
“That laugh almost killed us.”
“I know, Grim.” You leaned against the cold stone column and adjusted his hood so you could see his face.
“…those idiots seemed to like you, huh?” His eyes bulged slightly, and judging by his posture he was as close to a stress-induced meltdown as you were.
You shut your eyes at the memory. “Don’t remind me… that’s a problem”
“I’m glad to see my earlier concern wasn’t unfounded”
The lantern light flickered softly across the cloister floor. Somewhere deeper inside the academy, the music began again, more structured now, more ceremonial.
Why? Why can’t I have one moment of peace?
Your spine stiffened instantly, you turned.
At the entrance of the cloister stood Rollo with a posture so perfect it could belong to a movie villain. Hands clasped behind his back, expression calm and attentive. The lanternlight traced a warm outline around him… almost like flames.
“I trust the escort provided by Night Raven College proved sufficient,” he said calmly. Grim froze again like a gargoyle—after ducking his head and burrowing into your chest.
You inclined your head politely. “More than sufficient, President Flamme. Your hospitality is… thorough”
“It is my responsibility,” he replied. “A host must ensure that no guest experiences discomfort within our city”
He stepped closer, not intruding, simply shortening the conversational distance with careful etiquette. “I must admit,” he continued, thoughtful rather than stern, “it is rare to encounter attendees whose affiliation is not immediately apparent”
Another step forward. You stayed exactly where you were, clutching Grim like a plush toy.
“May I ask…” he said, choosing his words carefully, as if trying to avoid creating a scene, “whether you come from another academy?”
You didn’t allow yourself to hesitate. “My family travels frequently. I accompany them this season” The answer came out quickly, too quickly to sound completely natural.
Which, technically… wasn’t entirely false.
If one ignored the circumstances of that accompaniment.
“And do you personally practice magic?”
A simple question. Simple—and judging by the atmosphere this man radiated, a dangerous one. You didn’t know why, but the way Rollo always remained composed and asked such direct questions made something in your instincts prickle.
Your gaze dropped briefly to Grim as you scratched his head, forcing a small smile like you were remembering a relative who didn’t actually exist.
“My brother is the gifted one in the family” You looked back at him. “He’s the one formally enrolled at Night Raven College”
Rollo’s eyes sharpened slightly. “I see” His gaze lowered toward Grim’s hood. “And that bundle is a familiar, I assume?”
“Correct,” you replied, adjusting Grim again; your arms were starting to ache. The cat was definitely getting fat. “He belongs to my brother, I care for him while he’s occupied.”
His eyes studied you for a moment, like someone inspecting the symmetry of a cathedral window. If he was looking for something suspicious, he didn’t say it aloud.
But he made you sweat. A cold drop slid down your spine, you were getting tired of this much stress.
“How fortunate,” he said at last, allowing you to breathe again. “To have family capable of assuming such responsibility”
He and Riddle would probably get along, you thought. Both had that particular pride in responsibility and decorum. Which made it odd that Rollo wasn’t currently with the NRC delegation discussing formalities with Riddle.
Why wasn’t he there with them?
“In my experience,” Rollo continued quietly, walking past you to look toward the garden beyond the cloister, “those born without magic often develop… a clearer perspective on consequences”
You frowned slightly, unsure where that comment was going. “Perhaps,” you replied neutrally.
His gaze returned to you. Now he stood directly in front of you, but his posture wasn’t interrogative, although something about the moment felt like the beginning of a tense conversation.
Great. Add another person to the list of people you had to be careful speaking around. As if dealing with every student at NRC wasn’t already exhausting enough.
“At Noble Bell, we place great value on the upbringing of our guests,” he said. His voice remained firm and formal. “Often, that reveals more than titles or affiliations”
A polite way of saying tell me about your background.
And what a background that was.
“What does your family do, if I may ask?”
Your eyes widened slightly. You remembered questions like this from your own world...a little classist, a little creepy, if you were being honest.
Your mind started spinning. Whatever you said now would have consequences—and could unravel your lie instantly.
Rich merchants? Too easy to verify.
Minor nobility? Far too risky.
Foreign lineage? Absolutely not.
You needed something visible, difficult to check, socially plausible… and open to interpretation.
“…performance,” you said finally, tilting your head with a small smile.
Rollo narrowed his eyes slightly, mirroring the tilt of your head. “Performance”
“My family works within musical circles.” You stepped toward the cloister columns, letting your eyes drift toward the small garden to buy yourself a breath of space from his scrutiny. “Ceremonial events, private patronage, festivals like this… occasionally.”
Technically…not entirely false.
If one counted the endless chaos-filled performances NRC dragged you into cleaning up afterward.
“And you?” he asked, moving to stand beside you.
“Me… what?” You had been staring at a flower you thought was an orange lily-of-the-valley and hadn’t processed the question. Your body turned slightly toward him, hip angled casually.
“What do you practice?”
“Ah…” Your expression faltered for half a second in embarrassment. You hadn’t prepared that answer.
“Vocal training.” Your eyes returned to the garden. “Beginner”
If yelling at Grim every morning so he wouldn’t make you late for class counted as vocal training. Or shouting at Ace and Deuce when their clown-level stupidity dragged you into disasters. Enough practice to develop excellent lungs.
“Singing,” you finished.
For one terrible second you thought you had overplayed it. But Rollo didn’t react, he simply nodded.
“A disciplined art,” he said. His brows lifted slightly, careful not to appear judgmental. “Music, when practiced with devotion, reflects order.”
He extended his hands in front of him, left hand outward. “Structure” Right hand outward. “Harmony” His palms opened, fingers long and precise. “The sacred ceremonies of this city rely greatly on vocal precision.” His head turned toward the distant sound of a choir rising from the main hall. “A poorly trained chorus can ruin an entire liturgical sequence”
You followed his gaze toward the archway leading to the side corridor and listened to the choir for a few seconds. “I prefer small audiences.”
“A wise preference,” Rollo nodded, exhaling softly in time with the rising harmony of the chorus. “True refinement rarely requires spectacle”
You leaned slightly to study his face—pure curiosity. His expression softened for a moment under the layered voices of the choir, as if the music were something sacred to him.
The moment lasted only a few seconds. Then he composed himself again, hands folded neatly before him, his attention returning to you. You straightened as well.
“You speak with unusual composure for someone outside the academic delegations,” he said, stepping closer. “Most visitors tonight are eager to attract attention”
You pressed your lips together in a small thoughtful pout, tilting your head toward the music as if weighing the idea. Thinking, and thinking.
“It’s easier to listen first…” You gave him a crooked smile. “Attention can be exhausting sometimes”
Rollo exhaled again—subtle, but visible. “Yes…” His eyes lingered on yours. “…it certainly can be”
Then, like a dramatic punctuation mark in a poorly timed story, a massive bell rang out. The sound cracked through the academy like thunder; deep, heavy and close. The vibration rolled through the stone around you.
“It seems the ceremony is about to begin.”
You turned toward the corridor as the footsteps of guests echoed more strongly through the halls, a tide moving toward the grand hall.
Rollo adjusted his attire, the robe, even the large hat, then extended his hand to you exactly as he had earlier in the plaza, the other hand behind his back.
“It would be improper to allow a guest unfamiliar with the academy to navigate the inner corridors alone during a formal assembly”
Ah… damn
“I will escort you personally.” There was no room for debate. Decision made. End of discussion.
Refusing now would be far more suspicious than accepting.
“You are very thorough, President Flamme,” you said with a bow that nearly reached the floor, holding Grim with one arm and your hat with the other so it wouldn’t slip.
“Thoroughness prevents disorder,” he replied calmly.
He waited patiently for your hand. When you placed it in his, his fingers closed gently around yours. The cold edge of his ring brushed your skin even through the glove. “This way”
The academy corridors unfolded ahead of you. Candles lined the walls in strict rows, the stained glass windows were fading under the last rays of sunset. Immaculate white columns framed the space while the ceremonial atmosphere gathered like a curtain before a stage performance.
“For someone outside the formal delegations,” Rollo commented as you approached the reading hall entrance, “you carry yourself with remarkable composure”
“I’ve learned to adapt quickly,” you said, tilting your head slightly. That, at least, was the most honest thing you had said all day.
“A valuable skill.”
Grim’s small claws pressed into your sleeve, his silent signal that things were going very wrong.
Ahead, the corridor opened. Golden light from enormous chandeliers flooded the hall, marble floors gleamed beneath towering stained-glass pillars, the ceremonial music swelled as hundreds of voices gathered at the center.
Rollo slowed his pace as you approached and gently guided you closer so the entire hall opened before your view.
“The seating is organized by delegation,” he explained, gesturing upward with his free hand. “However, independent guests may observe from the upper galleries”
Translation: He was personally installing you in the best observation point in the building.
Most likely surrounded by staff, highly visible, no escape routes.
Wonderful.
He pointed toward a marble staircase rising along the hall wall. “From there you will have a perfect view”
You lifted your gaze toward the upper gallery, marble and stone just as ornate as the rest of the hall, and quite spacious.
“If you require anything, attendants will be nearby” Then he released your hand.
Standing straight as a ceremonial statue, he bowed once more—legs aligned perfectly like a prince finishing a formal greeting. “I trust the presentation will justify your attendance”
And with that, he left.
Once again, you were alone with Grim.
“…hey… henchman…” a small whisper came from inside the cloak.
“…yeah?” You still hadn’t taken your eyes off Rollo’s retreating figure down the corridor.
“We have VIP seats”
“…yeah”
Grim sighed. You felt his tail go limp across your shoulder. “…this night is going spectacularly”
You released a long breath. “…absolutely.”
Then you turned and started up the stairs.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The bell never finished its final resonance.
One moment the reading hall was perfectly synchronized with the ceremony, waiting for the famous magical bell artifact to sound… and the next moment fire.
Not the warm glow of decorative candles lining the hall. Not a ceremonial brazier. Not a controlled magical flame meant to add theatrical flair.
These were real flames, hungry ones, full of magic—and disturbingly selective.
They burst upward along the cathedral columns in violent ribbons of orange while the massive bell roared like a living thing. Heat tore through the hall, guests screamed, the polished order of the ceremony collapsed instantly into panic.
“My magic—!”
“It’s not activating!”
“What’s happening?!”
The sound spread in waves, confusion becoming fear, fear becoming absolute chaos.
From the upper gallery, smoke already curling over the carved railing, you clutched Grim tightly to your chest.
“This has officially turned into a disaster!” you inhaled as deeply as you could, staring down at the inferno rising below.
“HNYA!! FOO! FOO!” Grim tried blowing at the approaching flames. “PREFECT, THE FIRE’S GETTING CLOSER!”
“I CAN SEE THAT!”
Guests surged toward exits in disorganized waves, assistants shouted directions nobody followed, sparks rained down as part of the decorative canopy collapsed in a burst of embers.
You backed against the stone wall, keeping distance from the fire. The flames were climbing quickly now, you could feel them licking the hem of your skirt. You yanked the fabric away and moved sideways along the wall toward the corridor exit.
“If this dress burns,” you said with deadly seriousness, even as the smoke made your breathing ragged, “I swear by the Seven, Grim, I will make you work overtime to pay off our debt to Sam”
“THAT’S YOUR PRIORITY RIGHT NOW!?”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THIS FABRIC COSTS?!”
A small explosion cracked beside you and you hurried your steps. You pulled off your hat and held it over your nose, shielding both you and Grim from the smoke.
The bell thundered again. But now it wasn’t announcing a ceremony, or the hour, or the arrival of magic into a new era.
It was weaponized.
“…Okay,” you muttered, forcing yourself to stay calm and conserving oxygen as best you could. Your eyes scanned the gallery exits, fallen chandeliers, and the storm of wildflower petals drifting through the hall. “Time to save their asses… again.”
The bell roared, the metallic blast split the air so violently the stained-glass windows trembled, and with that resonance, more petals erupted into the burning air.
At first it looked almost beautiful, orange petals floating down toward the flames, dozens, then hundreds. A storm of glowing flowers falling from the bell tower like drifting embers.
One brushed the sleeve of a fleeing mage, the flower ignited bright red on contact, its petals burned from within. Smoke rose as the student’s spell collapsed instantly, magic ripped out of the air like someone unplugging reality itself.
“My magic—! It’s gone!”
Another flower fell, another flare, another failed spell. Understanding spread faster than the fire.
“They’re draining it—!”
“Don’t let them touch you!”
More petals rained down, brushing cloaks, masks, bare hands, triggering bursts of flame wherever they landed, leaving scorched fabric and a dead silence where magic should have answered.
The grand hall—seconds ago filled with the most skilled magical students from several academies—was now packed with people who couldn’t conjure a single spark.
Grim twisted in your arms. “PREFECT THIS IS BAD—REALLY BAD—”
You saw one flower drifting toward you and flattened yourself against the wall. The corridor behind you was already engulfed in flames, the staircase was starting to burn. You couldn’t stop the petal gliding over the gallery railing straight toward your sleeve.
It touched the fabric…Nothing happened. No flame, no burn, no magic drain. Because there was nothing to drain, the petal simply slid off your sleeve and landed harmlessly on the floor.
You lifted your arm, no damage. You squeezed Grim tighter against your chest and turned toward the stairs.
“It only drains magic!” you shouted over the roar of the fire.
“That means—”
“That means,” you snapped, voice sharp with the absolutely terrible decision you were about to make, “while everyone else is getting drained—”
You took the stairs two at a time, dodging small flames licking across the marble. “—someone without magic is the most useful person in the entire building!”
Grim’s eyes went wide, he realized it instantly. The only one who could move freely through this chaos…was you.
Without thinking twice you leapt the final stretch of stairs, landing inelegantly on the main floor. Before the flames could reach the hem of your dress you yanked the fabric aside and bolted across the hall.
“Hot! Hot! Hot!” Yes, talking while running through a smoke-filled hall was stupid, but it was the only way to vent the stress as you sprinted through the wide arches.
And at the center of the inferno...the seven dorm leaders stood in formation, imposing order on chaos the only way they knew how; loudly, stubbornly.
“Clear evacuation routes!” shouted Riddle. “We need civilians out—now!”
Idia was shouting too, panic turning his brain into a rapid-fire analysis machine. “The flowers are linked to the bell! It’s a distributed power source!”
Kalim and Azul were already dousing nearby flames with water magic. Even Malleus, with his power weakened, had air swirling around him like a contained cyclone, deflecting falling petals.
All seven were staring upward toward the tower. Where the bell still rang, where more flowers kept falling, and where one man stood watching the chaos below with chilling superiority.
Rollo.
“This world has suffered too long under the rule of magic!” he shouted, completely unhinged. His staff swung wildly, sending waves of burning flowers across the hall. “Power brings only arrogance! Destruction! Chaos!”
Another bell strike, more petals, the last scraps of magic began to fail.
“I will end this suffering!” His voice cracked into something almost like a sob. “Even if the flames must purify this city!”
Grim buried his face deeper in the cloak against your shoulder. “…yeah okay… he’s lost it”
The leaders moved before you could blink. All seven redirected the remaining magic they could muster, pushing the falling flowers away in bursts of wind—though the currents also fed the fire.
“Watch the flames!” shouted Vil, already extinguishing a decorative banner that had caught fire.
Leona had launched himself toward a pillar, dodging both the flames and the falling flowers with the kind of speed he only used during Magift. With King’s Roar, he turned every piece of furniture already on fire into sand.
Tiny grains scattered through the air as more flowers fell from the bell tower, only to dissolve the moment they touched the drifting sand.
“NO!” shouted Rollo, staggering slightly. “Magic must disappear! Even if I must burn this city to its foundation, I will finish what I started!”
The flames burst upward again, bathing the entire reading hall in violent orange and red light, smoke was already swallowing the last breathable air.
You ducked as a piece of the structure collapsed, crushing a bench beneath it, splinters of wood scattered everywhere.
“Henchman!” Grim coughed. “This is the part where the villain stops being organized and becomes erratically dangerous!”
“…good call, Grim.” He was right. After dealing with multiple overblots, both of you knew the pattern by heart.
And if there was something else you’d learned after months inside a school full of wildly irresponsible magic users, and a few outright fanatics, it was this: You don’t argue with them.
Especially not a fanatic who’s currently burning down a city.
You placed Grim beneath the archway entrance of the hall, hiding him from the flames under a stretch of marble structure, the doors were already open where civilians had escaped.
Then you ran straight toward the fire, toward the seven idiots fighting inside it. Or maybe you were the idiot for charging into an inferno wearing a highly flammable dress with zero magic.
But hey—adrenaline does wonderful things to a person’s judgment.
“WAIT—!” you heard Grim squeak over the crackling fire.
You didn’t look back, your eyes were locked on the chaos ahead. You didn’t think rationally either—because sometimes the optimal solution…is interrupting a villain’s speech with physical violence.
You ran, and ran and ran. You rushed past Riddle, who only caught a glimpse of a swirl of black and red fabric from the corner of his eye, unable to see clearly through the heat distortions.
But when you planted your foot, twisted your body, and raised your arm—every dorm leader became very aware of your presence in the flames.
Crack.
Your fist slammed directly into Rollo’s face. A solid human punch, powered by frustration and adrenaline. His head snapped sideways, the speech he was about to shout died halfway up his throat.
He staggered back a step, hand flying to his cheek, his eyes went wide, pure disbelief flooding his expression. No one in his perfectly ordered life had ever punched him.
The fire flickered, then slowly began to die down. The hall inhaled again, tThe room seemed to exhale with it.
You lowered your hand slowly, breathing hard, then bent forward as the pain finally hit your knuckles.
“…ow”
The pain shot up your arm, you shook your hand violently, hopping slightly on your feet.
“Shit,” you muttered, clutching your hand for a moment before shaking it again. “That hurts...oh hell that hurts”
You looked at Rollo, voice rough from the smoke. “Could you maybe not burn down a city over your personal issues for five minutes?!”
You bent forward again. “Damn! Your bones are hard!”
Behind you—
“SHE JUST DEFEATED THE FINAL BOSS WITH A HOOK PUNCH!” shouted Idia, unable to contain what he had just witnessed.
“…okay,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “That was one of the worst decisions of my life” Under the glove, your knuckles were already swelling.
“Don’t move” The voice of Vil arrived calm, sharp, perfectly controlled now that the end-of-the-world situation had paused.
He gently took your wrist and carefully removed your glove. The skin around your knuckles was red and throbbing, you could barely move your fingers without a stab of pain running all the way to your shoulder.
“That impact could have fractured something,” he said, lifting your hand and examining it. He turned it carefully in different directions, moving your fingers slightly, visibly irritated. “Honestly. Barbaric… effective, but barbaric”
Azul stepped beside him, his tone smooth but edged with concern. “Allow us to help. We can perform basic healing spells”
Riddle was already clearing space nearby, dragging charred furniture aside. “Give the young lady air!”
Kalim rushed over as well, dodging debris and wilted flowers. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” he asked, leaning in beside Vil to inspect the damage.
You tried to pull your hand away. “I’m fine—”
Vil didn’t allow it, tightening his hold slightly, though not painfully. “Do not argue while you are injured”
“…okay”
Azul placed his fingers lightly against your knuckles. A faint spell flickered between them, much weaker than his magic normally shone. A soft blue glow wrapped around your hand, cold, like pressing an ice pack against the injury.
The swelling eased slightly, the pain dulling from a sharp stab to a manageable ache.
“This is only temporary relief,” Azul said, withdrawing his hand. Vil released your wrist as well. “You will require proper treatment later”
You flexed your fingers carefully, the muscles moved without too much resistance.
“…thanks” You slowly pulled the glove back on. The soft fabric brushed the injury and you winced faintly.
Leona had been watching the entire time with narrowed eyes, arms crossed. “Do you usually run into burning buildings?”
His tone was flat, not mocking, nor scolding, just… curious. You tilted your head, thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Seemed like the fastest way to stop him.”
“Speed is not always the most efficient method,” remarked Malleus as he stepped closer, checking if you’d been injured anywhere besides your hand. “Do you require further assistance, miss?”
“I’m fine now, really. Thank you” Malleus inclined his head and didn’t press further.
Instead he stepped back and cast a small spell—simple for him even in his weakened state, but still effective. The air cleared instantly, smoke and ash were swept away. At last, the reading hall could breathe again, even with the aftermath of the fight still hanging in the air.
Without the smoke, the damage was impossible to ignore. Several pieces of furniture had been reduced to ash, none of the decorative fabrics had escaped the flames, some burned down to their first threads, others halfway through their tapestry. Black scorch marks stained the marble floor, several stained-glass windows were cracked. A few more seconds and the glass would have exploded.
“…I…” Behind you, a trembling voice finally broke free from its daze.
Rollo was still standing exactly where the punch had left him, his hand pressed to his cheek, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. His voice was faint—barely more than a whisper. The fury that had filled it minutes ago had collapsed entirely.
“…I only wanted…” His voice cracked. “…to stop everything tied to magic… to remove the world’s pain”
His gaze drifted across the ruined hall, the ashes, the chaos his plan had unleashed. “This… is…”
His knee buckled and he nearly collapsed to the floor if you hadn’t moved quickly and caught his arm. The others stiffened immediately, stepping forward, ready to protect you from the suddenly fragile fanatic. You raised your hand to stop them.
Then you guided him toward the small central step and let him sit. Silence stretched as you allowed him time to breathe normally again.
On the floor beside you lay a violet handkerchief, scattered with ash. You picked it up, shook off as much dirt as possible, and held it out to him. Rollo stared at your hand, then at your eyes, then at the hand again.
His jaw tightened as he swallowed before finally taking the cloth and pressing it against his cheek, which was already darkening into a bruise.
His shoulders slumped. “…I have failed,” he whispered. “My obsession endangered thousands of citizens… and my students”
He took a shaky breath and bowed his head where he sat. “…I offer my most sincere apologies.”
The apology wasn’t just meant for you, or the seven standing behind you. It was for every guest, for his city, for his school, for the entire world he had nearly burned to the ground.
“The evening is ruined,” he said before trying to stand, you helped him again, slipping your arm under his. “The ceremony cannot continue under these conditions.”
He looked genuinely distressed, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. You kept your grip steady and glanced toward the entrance. Grim was still waiting there, sitting quietly—but clearly trying not to vibrate from the tension. The doorway itself was intact, and the area around it too.
Yes, the hall was wrecked…but wasn’t magic also meant to help, not just destroy?
Also… where the hell was Crowley when someone actually needed him? Of course. Useless bird.
“…is it?” you said, breaking the thick tension.
Rollo turned toward you, startled, and you gave him a small, almost amused look and shrugged again.
“The structure is still standing, fortunately” Your gaze swept the damaged hall. “And the guests are safe”
It seemed Malleus shared your thinking, he stepped forward. “A ceremony is not defined by perfection,” he said, extending his arms slightly toward the hall. “But by those who gather within it… and choose to remain”
Rollo blinked, slightly disoriented. Malleus stepped closer, now standing in front of both of you.
“If the host permits,” he continued, his eyes sincere and calm, “Night Raven College would be willing to offer a performance in place of the interrupted program”
Kalim’s eyes lit up instantly as he joined the circle. “Oh! We can do that!”
From further back, Idia fiddled nervously with the sleeves of his very extravagant suit. “…are we activating emergency concert mode…?” His face looked like someone ready to teleport back to his room and lock the door for the next week.
Azul removed his hat and tapped it against his leg, knocking loose a few ash particles clinging to its ocean-themed decorations. “A collaborative performance would calm the guests and stabilize the atmosphere”
Leona let out a loud grunt. “You guys are annoying”
Clearly uncomfortable with the resolution, he turned and walked down the hall, but not toward the exit. Instead he kicked a fairly intact bench and dropped onto it.
“…you’re not going to help, are you?” snapped Vil, arms crossed.
“I’m not singing if that’s what you’re asking, pretty boy” Leona leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes closing as if savoring what little peace remained before chaos resumed.
You snorted softly and turned your head away, covering your mouth to hide a smile.
“This night does not have to end in ashes,” Malleus said again. “Not if you decide otherwise.”
Rollo studied Malleus carefully, perhaps searching for resentment, disgust, or superiority. But Malleus didn’t look at people like that; you knew that. But that was something only you understood… and something you’d keep very quiet.
No, Rollo found none of those things. He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
When he exhaled, his composure had returned. “…very well”
He slipped his arm free from yours and stood straight again. “If your school truly wishes to offer such generosity… Noble Bell College will be honored.”
The decision spread through the room like a spark catching dry wood.
Rollo moved toward the doors with renewed purpose, you followed at a slight distance, your good hand lightly touching the knuckles of the injured one through the glove. When you reached the doorway, you crouched and picked Grim up. Rollo was already speaking to the attendants, directing them into motion.
Lanterns were relit, broken furniture beyond repair was carried outside, pieces that could still stand were pushed aside, some attendants used magic to clean the soot-darkened marble. Malleus helped with that as well.
Within minutes the hall had nearly returned to its original state. The musicians who had once prepared the ceremonial music brought out instruments again, students from Noble Bell College hurried to reconstruct something resembling a formal—if now acoustic—evening.
Rollo stood at the center of it all, overseeing the work, ensuring nothing was misplaced, watching the Night Raven College delegation help, issuing calm instructions to his students.
His gaze moved across the entire hall, until it returned to you.
“I wish to offer my most sincere apology,” his voice carrying clearly across the room, the bruise on his cheek was now unmistakable. “I failed my guests… and those who showed the courage I lacked in that moment.”
His bow was so deep he nearly folded in half. You tightened your grip around Grim against your chest as you watched him straighten again.
“You intervened when reason could no longer reach me,” he continued. “And for that… you have my sincere gratitude. And my apology”
How many times had people bowed or inclined themselves before you tonight? Five? Six? Who knew.
It certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“I placed you in danger inside my own academy.” You held his gaze, but this time you didn’t bow. Your neck was already starting to ache from all the earlier ones.
“I’m just glad the city isn’t on fire.”
Rollo simply nodded and looked around again. The students of Noble Bell were nearly finished restoring the hall, and the seven dorm leaders had regrouped in their usual cluster of dramatic personalities.
Their attention was now very clearly fixed on you, you could practically feel their eyes drilling into your back. Behind the thin mask you gave yourself a completely deadpan look. They couldn't possibly be more obvious. You huffed quietly and waited while the last details were set in place, a student lit the final candle on a low chandelier.
“Earlier you mentioned that your family works in the field of musical performance,” Rollo said. You turned your head so quickly your neck nearly cracked.
“And… that you yourself train your voice.”
Out of the corner of your eye you saw Kalim elbow Azul so he would stop talking to Idia and pay attention. Vil's eyes sharpened with sudden artistic interest...That was definitely not a good sign.
Rollo clasped his hands together near his chest, almost pleading. “The choir scheduled for tonight has been… interrupted”
He then extended his hands toward you. “If the young lady who helped save this ceremony would be willing—even a brief performance—” His palms opened upward. “…it might help restore calm among our guests.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop a tiny panicked squeak.
Kalim suddenly jumped forward, stopping far too close to your face. “That sounds fantastic!” He grabbed both your hands enthusiastically. You flinched slightly at the stab of pain in your knuckles. “Oh! Right, sorry!”
He released the injured one immediately, though his excitement didn’t dim in the slightest. “You can sing? You didn’t mention that earlier!”
You tried to respond, anything, but your mouth stayed half-open when Azul stepped closer too, wearing an expression of dangerously genuine curiosity.
“How convenient,” he said smoothly. “It seems the young lady possessed hidden talents” His sincere smile somehow made you even more nervous.
At lightning speed your eyes scanned the seven dorm leaders and Rollo, completely unable to form a single word. Every possible response in your head was immediately replaced by another, or interrupted by something someone in front of you said.
“…this is either the best narrative resolution ever or the beginning of a catastrophic post-credits scene,” Idia whispered to Riddle, he rolled his eyes and ignored the comment.
“Well then…” Vil crossed his arms, visibly expectant. “Can you?”
His smile looked like that of a film director who had just discovered his next muse and was about to shoot the best scene of his career.
“Here we go again,” groaned Leona, pinching the bridge of the nose. “Stop crowding her again” Vil gestured for him to be quiet.
You closed your mouth...Opened it again...Closed it again; then slowly inhaled. Honestly… it had already been a very long day: You had snuck into an international festival without an official invitation; dodged lethal magic-draining flowers; lied to the host of the entire event and punched him in the face in the middle of a burning hall.
At this point…
what was one more bad decision?
“…I can try”
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
From one of the tall windows of the hall, you had a perfect view of the performance unfolding below.
Malleus stood right at the center of the marble circle—calm, steady, almost statuesque. When he sang, his voice carried through the entire hall with a strength that everyone could feel. Beside him, Azul and Idia accompanied the song with suspicious precision; you had never seen them rehearse this performance, and you were fairly certain you had never heard this song echoing through the dorm corridors either.
“…wow,” Grim whispered from your arms, barely peeking out to watch. “They’re actually killing it”
“Yeah…” You leaned forward a little more.
The other dorm leaders stood off to one side of the hall watching the performance unfold, and just as he had promised, Leona had absolutely no intention of participating.
You leaned a little farther when you noticed something odd about Idia’s performance in front of the guests. “…Is Idia using a voice device?”
“…that guy really can’t live without technology,” Grim muttered, crossing his arms. His expression flattened when he spotted the small device Idia was clearly using to sing for him.
And even so…The performance was magnificent.
Malleus’s voice sounded so majestic it was both deep and almost angelic, probably one of the many perks of being a high fae and future prince. Idia’s voice—unexpectedly delicate despite being technological—and Azul’s tone blended perfectly together.
You rested your arms on the stone window frame and closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to enjoy the evening the way you had originally planned. Grim climbed onto the window ledge beside you, adjusting his mask so he could see better. Both of you swayed gently with the rhythm of the music, and a smile slowly spread across your face.
“They’ve got this,” you murmured quietly, tapping a finger against your arm in time with the music. “Bastards… is there anything they can’t do well?”
Grim snickered, covering his mouth with his paw to keep the sound down. “They’re totally showing off.”
You laughed quietly along with him. When you opened your eyes again, you found Grim staring at you. “You’re next.”
Your smile, which had started out sarcastic, shifted into something more mischievous.
You looked back down toward the hall. The voices still flowed together in harmony, moving around the marble circle with a grace that Vil was probably mentally approving from somewhere nearby. The second chorus was about to begin.
“Well…” you straightened up, adjusting the fall of your skirt and the lace miraculously still intact over the red brocade. “I suppose it’s time to close the night with a golden finish”
Grim looked up at you, eyes narrowing skeptically, his little paws stretching toward you to be held again.“You know how to sing?”
You lifted him and settled him onto your shoulder, both of you looked down toward the stage one last time. Your voice obviously wouldn’t sound as perfect as Malleus’s, but at least it would sound human, warm.
Or so you hoped.
You adjusted your mask and stepped toward the staircase, running your hand along the stone edge of the window and grabbing a small black fan.
“…Where did you get that fan?” Grim asked.
You opened it, revealing a simple design of floral embroidery and delicate lace. “It was on one of the benches”
“Hng… you’re adding more drama.”
Right then, Malleus’s voice surged through the entire hall structure as he reached the final note. The sound vibrated through the room, leaving behind a faint but powerful echo.
You paused mid-step and glanced upward as if your eyes could follow the note sliding through the air, then you gave Grim a playful look. “Come on” You turned toward the stairs. “We’ve got to compete with our prince”
The final chord echoed for a few seconds, applause followed, warm and energized, proof that the performance of those three had worked. The night had been saved.
You set Grim down at the top of the stairs, placing him beside a small decorative window at his height so he could watch the next act. When your heel touched the first step, the lighting along the staircase dimmed slightly, casting a softer contrast around your silhouette.
Fan open, one hand resting lightly on the railing, your heart racing a mile a minute. This would either go spectacularly well…
or become the most embarrassing moment of your life.
You glanced once more at Grim for support, he lifted one paw in a tiny thumbs-up; that was apparently the feline version of encouragement.
And so you began your descent, slow steps, measured, careful. Falling now would be catastrophic. No one wanted to watch the mysterious masked woman who had saved the evening tumble down twenty marble steps.
“Masquerade
Paper faces on parade
Masquerade
Hide your face, so the world will never find you…”
The applause died instantly, your voice wasn't loud nor powerful like Malleus’s, it didn’t have Azul’s precision, nor Idia’s delicate tone...But hopefully it was unmistakably human, and familiar. Almost… comforting.
Each step down the marble curved with the melody, the lace of the dress catching the candlelight, the fan tilting slightly, slow movements as if you were stepping into a courtship circle.
Below in the hall, the seven leaders stood still. Malleus, Idia, and Azul had returned to stand with the others and now the entire group once again had their eyes fixed on you.
Both Azul and Riddle tensed in unison, not expecting your voice to emerge so soft. Singing while descending a staircase could be rather complicated if you didn’t have proper vocal control; walking while singing alone could already be tiring and might make your voice tremble.
Kalim, who stood on the opposite side of Riddle, grabbed his sleeve and began shaking it, pointing at you as you continued your descent. His mouth hung open, nearly reaching the floor, forming a small wow while you fanned yourself with each descending step.
“Masquerade
Every face a different shade
Masquerade
Look around, there’s another mask behind you”
You continued downward, slow but steady, each step landing precisely with the tempo of the lyrics. Now the fan moved a little faster.
Vil followed your figure with every step, every movement of your dress flowing smoothly over the stairs; your posture perfectly straight, your weight settling properly onto each foot as it should, the heels striking neatly in time with the tempo. He watched how you moved the fan, as if it were a supporting actor that required very little to be perfect.
Idia stood behind Vil, slightly hunched with his mask poorly positioned; it looked like he had removed it for a moment after the performance, or rather, like he had deflated after carrying out such an intense social activity in front of so many people. His head barely leaned past Vil’s shoulder as he watched how you didn’t need much to sound… simple, soothing.
The last curve of the staircase opened beneath your feet. The light framed you warmer there, spilling gold across the newly polished floor. You extended the hand holding the fan slightly to the side as the verse neared its end, and when your foot touched the final step…the music swelled, the violins accompanying the delicate chimes while a few percussion instruments followed.
“Flash of mauve,
Splash of puce,
Fool and king,
Ghoul and goose,
Green and black,
Queen and priest,
Trace of rouge,
Face of beast”
You advanced farther into the open hall, guests stepped aside to give you room, as if the song itself were clearing a path for you. The warmth of your voice filled the space the fear had left behind earlier, moving through the hall softer than magic, steadier than the ceremony.
Leona had remained leaning against a pillar, watching without making any visible movement or comment toward the others. His arms rested at his sides, palms against the pillar, his gaze moving up and down your figure as he watched you walk through the crowd. But he wasn’t looking at you the way Vil was.
No. He observed you as if trying to solve a puzzle that had been gnawing at him since the afternoon in the plaza. The mysterious masked girl who had stumbled into the group and carried herself with a natural ease almost humiliating for the seven of them clearly had an ace up her sleeve… an ace that felt strangely familiar, though he couldn’t remember from where.
And Malleus…was doing exactly the same. Watching you; but with a softer gaze, as though he were seeing a nymph within her own spring and he were merely a mortal fortunate enough to stumble upon her, fate too generous to allow him to witness such a spectacle.
Then…more voices joined, almost by accident. A voice close to you murmured quietly, then a couple near the edge of the circle, just above the violins, then another pair, cautious but slightly more confident.
All of those voices testing whether they were allowed to join—as though they were forming a chorus to accompany your performance. And you allowed it.
A performance so human was always better when accompanied, wasn’t it?
“Faces
Take your turn, take a ride
On the merry-go-round
In an inhuman race…”
A pair of masked dancers stepped onto the open floor, slowly and cautiously at first; no choreography, only instinct, their movements catching the rhythm just as the candlelight caught the stained glass.
More joined. It wasn’t a full dance yet—just a movement here, another there. And gradually, what had begun with only your voice started turning into a complete spectacle.
You moved the fan in flowing motions upward with the rhythm of the lyrics—the dramatic courtship play Grim had mentioned.
“Eye of gold,
Thigh of blue,
True is false,
Who is who?
Curl of lip,
Swirl of gown,
Ace of hearts,
Face of clown”
The chorus of guests was unmistakable now, harmonizing with yours—not raising their voices to compete with you, but filling the space so the performance reverberated just as powerfully as Malleus’s voice alone had earlier.
Dozens of voices intertwined softly beneath yours; it was like watching the masquerade itself sing to close the night. Silk skirts began to spin, cloaks gliding across the floor, candlelight casting soft shadows over every figure and across the marble.
“Faces
Drink it in, drink it up
Till you’ve drowned in the light, in the sound
But who can name the face?”
You turned your head toward a woman dressed exquisitely, wearing an immaculate violet gown, a mask almost identical to yours covered her eyes, she also carried a fan matching her dress.
With a movement that seemed rehearsed, the two of you raised your fans in front of your faces at the same moment. Everyone nearby who held a fan did exactly the same.
And for the third time that evening—after an inconvenient encounter, after an infernal chaos—the event finally felt like a masquerade again.
Right there, at the center of everything, this time a center you had actually sought, you found yourself surrounded by a ballroom that had willingly become part of your song.
“Masquerade!
Grinning yellows, spinning reds
Masquerade!
Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you!”
The dance burst to life.
No longer were there hesitant couples barely swaying, now they spun with confidence to the sound of the violins, gowns and suits tracing wide arcs across the marble floor. You moved among the turns like a master of ceremonies, your skirt’s movement blending with the others, spinning not to dance but to carry your voice to every corner of the hall.
Kalim’s eyes widened as he watched the sea of fabrics spinning and spinning—it was dizzying just to see so much coordination. “Oh! People are really joining in!”
Azul watched keenly. “Fascinating… she’s stabilizing the entire room”
A few steps away, a Noble Bell student, tall, immaculate, his uniform pristine and untouched by ash, walked directly toward you.
Closer, closer still, until he stood only a single step away, moving in rhythm with the crowd, following your steps before bowing and extending his hand.
A formal invitation, a very legitimate one, the kind of official invitation you had hoped for ever since the festival had been announced. All afternoon you had hesitated about where to walk, hesitated about what to say so you wouldn’t be discovered. Now…
you simply wanted to dance, and you accepted the invitation without stopping your singing.
You snapped the fan closed softly against your hip while allowing him to guide you into the swirling mass of couples turning across the floor. Some dancers even lifted their partners into the air, far too bold a movement for you, so you wisely didn’t attempt it.
Your dance was coordinated and fairly simple compared to the others, whose steps already carried the etiquette of ballroom tradition, yours remained softer, movements that allowed the dress to breathe and form dark circles trimmed with red, and enough stillness that your voice could continue floating above the chorus.
The student spun you once just as the orchestra swelled, your dress opened in a dark flare that caught the golden light like a glowing ember refusing to fade.
Across the floor, the seven dorm leaders watched as the performance had truly become that— a performance.
Dance, music, lead voice, chorus. Had you really not planned this from the start?
Vil murmured more to himself than the others, captivated by the way your dress followed every turn. “Control, breath rhythm, audience integration.” He adjusted both sleeves before adding his final verdict. “She has stage instinct”
He walked straight into the crowd and invited the first person he saw waiting near the edge of the dance floor. The others stared in silence for a few seconds before Kalim burst into laughter and strode toward the center as well, inviting a Noble Bell student to dance.
The hall had fully surrendered now, no more uncertain steps or scattered movements—only a sea of silk and velvet, feathered hats swaying in the air, lace glimmering beneath the softened lights.
Couples changed hands in coordinated turns, everyone pulsed with the rhythm of the music.
“You can fool
Any friend who ever knew you”
The student guiding you spun you once more, then another step, then he released your hand with elegant timing within the flow of the dance, allowing another guest to take it. Then another, and another; You remained on the dance floor as if you had been born to dance until sunrise.
The orchestra never truly stopped after that.
One song melted into the next, the tempo rising and softening in waves while the lantern light grew warmer, as though the night itself had finally remembered what it was meant to be.
And you danced, and danced, and danced. Occasionally glancing upward toward the window where Grim watched from his hiding place, until he grew bored and hurried down the stairs toward a small table where snacks and drinks had been arranged.
And Grim, being Grim, went straight for the snacks. You shook your head, amused, unable to suppress the smile at the irony of it all: Grim worrying only about food, completely forgetting the stealth part…while you danced with strangers.
At first.
Because in the middle of another turn, Kalim arrived. He practically bounced his way over, bowing with an enthusiastic sincerity that somehow remained perfectly polite.
“May I?” he asked, already smiling as though the answer could only be yes.
His dancing was open, slightly less precise than the formal protocol demanded, but relaxed enough that the turns felt light and smooth rather than rigid and ceremonial.
If the music hadn’t dictated the style, Kalim probably would have dragged you into a dozen far more energetic moves across the entire floor.
“Best night ever,” he laughed softly as you spun together. His laughter was so contagious it made you laugh too—though you kept it much more controlled this time.
“I’m really glad you stayed” He spun you again in a partner exchange.
Next came Riddle. He stepped forward with impeccable posture, offering his hand with textbook ceremonial formality. “I would like to request this dance,” he said, composed, but unmistakably sincere.
His steps were perfect, structured, exactly as ballroom manuals likely instructed for someone leading a partner. Not stiff, simply precise—as if every movement had been practiced until he could guide another person with absolute confidence.
“You handle chaos surprisingly well,” he admitted quietly during a turn.
Ah…if only you knew
Then came Azul. He bowed with a touch of theatrical flair, though still formal, like a merchant about to greet a valuable soul. “It would be a tragedy not to experience a dance with you”
He guided you effortlessly, every step deliberate, every movement calculated so that you appeared exquisite, as though you were a rare piece in an impossibly expensive collection. And he remained in the background…letting you shine.
Vil arrived afterward as if the night itself had set a timer so he would appear at the exact right moment, balancing the aesthetic of the three who had gone before him.
His hand was firm, confident; the dance elegant without effort, posture impeccable, movement fluid—the kind of partner who doesn’t just dance but shapes the entire image of the ballroom around him.
“You understand presentation,” he murmured near your ear. “Presence. That’s rare to find” He released your hand for an open step, ending with you spinning on yourself and landing briefly in the blond’s arms before he let you go again.
You were surprised when Idia came next. His expression showed he was fighting every ounce of his anxiety and preparing himself like someone about to face a hidden final boss.
“…okay.” He took your hand in his, visibly trembling and a little hesitant. “Statistically speaking I’m going to regret this—or die—if I don’t at least try once…”
His steps were clumsy, but not enough for you to step on his feet, nor for him to step on yours. Idia had more secrets tucked up his sleeves than he liked to show the world.
One step, then another, and then, surprisingly, he became careful, mentally counting the next movements so you could continue looking radiant in your dress. “It’s easy… being next to you,” he admitted quietly, placing a hand on your waist. “That… that’s not common for me.”
Leona came next. He didn’t arrive in a spin, handing you off to the next dancer. No; he simply appeared when the music slowed slightly, one brow raised and the corner of his mouth faintly lifted, refusing you the honor of seeing a full smile.
His hand extended with the same casual inevitability he had shown in the plaza. “Come on. You already survived the worst of it”
His grip was firm, steady, strong enough that dancing with him felt like walking beside someone who had temporarily decided not to bite anyone.
Like with Idia, you were surprised by how careful Leona could be while dancing. Of course, as a prince he had been forced to learn etiquette and ballroom lessons. And now you were witnessing the results of that irritating education.
Very good results, to be honest.
Because when the choreography called for the lead to lift his partner again, Leona didn’t hesitate, nor did he give you a warning, he lifted you by the waist. You let out a small yelp before touching the floor again, Leona steadied you against him so you wouldn’t stumble during the next steps.
“You don’t show panic,” he said quietly, leaning closer to whisper near your ear. “Didn’t expect to find someone like that at an event this pompous.”
And finally...Malleus.
He appeared without hurry, not interrupting the moment you had with Leona until the partners changed naturally. He stepped forward as the music reached the last measures of the slow dance, transitioning toward something deeper and more intimate, an instant carved into midnight itself as the first rhythm came to a close.
“May I share this dance?” he asked softly, bowing slightly before taking your hand and guiding you through the final movements of that first rhythm with the other dancers.
His hand was warm around yours, his steps slow, deliberate, impossibly gentle for someone so tall and imposing, as if the music being played had been written specifically for the two of you.
“You brought light back to this hall tonight,” he said quietly so only you could hear him, ignoring everyone else around you. “Whether you intended to or not”
Laughter floated through the air as the first rhythm of the night ended. Seven dances, with seven boys, all stepping away from you carrying the same strange feeling, that they had just spent time with someone important… and somehow familiar.
And you allowed yourself to keep smiling and dancing. For once, you allowed yourself to have the night Crowley had stolen from you.
One dance became two; two became five.
At some point the evening stopped feeling like something you had infiltrated and barely survived, and became something you were simply living. Living far from the cold walls of Ramshackle, far from the magic-soaked stone of NRC.
In the distance, the spell of the moment broke with a bell chime, small and practical. A bell announcing that it was already very late.
Your eyes shot toward the tall clock mounted against the marble wall. “…oh no.”
You had approached the snack table, where Grim had apparently devoured everything edible and was now curled up beside it waiting for you.
When he heard you mutter, he lifted his head. “Mm?”
“We’re out of time,” you said, looking at him in horror.
“HMNYA?!” he jumped up.
“If we don’t leave now,” you whispered in his ear, avoiding attracting attention, the earlier squeak had already made several guests glance toward the table, “we won’t get back to campus before they do”
You scanned the crowd, searching for an escape route. “And if Crowley gets there first—”
Grim gasped and jumped into your arms. “We’re dead”
“Exactly”
The music swelled again and several people stepped back into the center of the hall for another round, perfect cover. You adjusted Grim in your arms and reopened the fan, hiding him slightly as you began walking quickly.
“Okay, we walk fast,” you said quietly while heading toward the reading hall doors. “No running. We blend in with the people leaving and slip out before anyone notices.”
You pushed your way step by step through the living sea of masks, guests, and students, gliding between couples mid-turn, passing laughing students.
Every movement controlled to avoid suspicion, but urgent.
You were only a few steps away, close enough to feel the cool night air slipping through the carved gap in the wooden door, close enough that one more step would take you out of the lantern light, the music, the masquerade entirely.
And you pushed the enormous door open, stepping straight into the outer corridor.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
“This was probably the most fun disaster I’ve ever attended.” Kalim had his hands behind his head, still smiling as if the night hadn’t stopped being magical.
The dorm leaders had gathered near one of the marble pillars. The music from the hall drifted faintly just a few meters away.
Riddle adjusted his gloves, nodded, and placed his hands behind his back. “The structural damage was severe, but the response was… effective.”
Azul had picked up a glass from the table, apparently unaware that Grim had already raided the food there. He swirled it in his hand, watching the liquid spiral slightly.
“Indeed” He took a small sip and looked toward the hall doors. “Although there is still one clause unresolved”
Vil had followed him and taken a glass of wine, sipping occasionally. He hadn’t even finished half of it. “The mysterious lady”
Idia nodded, by now he had removed his mask. “Mysterious young woman, SSR-tier character who punches the main villain with maxed-out stats.”
Kalim, who had only half been listening, glanced around—the others, the muffled music beyond the door, the outer corridor—his gaze bounced everywhere for a moment, then he suddenly straightened, exhaling through his nose.
“She said her brother studies at NRC.” That made the others turn toward him.
Vil lifted the glass to his lips thoughtfully, his eyes sharp though his mind clearly elsewhere. “Yes… that detail is useful”
“The NRC enrollment is not infinite,” Riddle said with a slight frown. “Establishing familial connections may take time” He sighed. “But it will not be impossible”
Vil set the glass carefully on a stone bench. “A voice like that won’t remain hidden for long.”
“Yes,” Malleus added calmly, his eyes drifting toward the hall. “Fate rarely introduces someone only once” Vil crossed his arms at that remark, giving a small nod before following the direction of Malleus’s gaze.
Leona had remained leaning against the column beside Kalim the entire time, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the hall doors—still listening to the distant music and the crowd dancing, laughing, talking.
“Maybe we’ll see her again before the night ends—” Kalim started.
But Leona’s ears sharpened, his eyes narrowed toward the distance.
“…Oi” That was all he said to make the others pay attention.
On the other side of the outer corridor, the great doors of the hall opened—and there you were, moving quickly. The black and crimson dress was unmistakable even under the dim light of the corridor, the small creature tucked in your arms as you hurried toward the outer doors.
That alone was enough for the seven of them to straighten in unison, watching your figure cross the corridor. Kalim pointed at you and barely raised his voice to say, “There she goes!”
Vil stepped forward immediately, then another step, Azul set his own glass beside Vil’s, adjusted his suit, and followed him. The seven of them began to move closer, like a flock of crows closing in on a small prey, or rather… their little dove.
They were close enough to see you, but not close enough for you to notice them. Your figure passed beside a guest whose decorations stuck out everywhere, especially along the sleeves and shoulders.
And then the most cliché, ridiculous thing that could possibly happen at an event like this happened.
A strand of your hair snagged as you rushed past, and the ribbon of your mask caught on the guest’s decorations.
“Ah—sorry!” the guest said, quickly freeing your hair and the ribbon when your head jerked backward. The tug made you drop Grim, and he jumped to the floor.
“It’s nothing,” you replied, continuing forward once your hair came loose. The guest went his way while you headed straight for the outer doors.
The ribbon slipped free, the mask fell one step later. You instinctively turned, bringing a hand to the back of your head, startled as the fabric mask dropped to the ground.
One second, one undeniable second was all it took for your face to be completely revealed under the moonlight. The mystery shattered, and before the seven leaders of NRC, the young lady was revealed:
The Prefect of Ramshackle.
Meanwhile you were far too busy picking up the fallen mask, your heart pounding like you had just run a marathon when the realization hit you all at once.
“…oh shit—” You snatched the mask off the floor and bolted toward the door.
“GRIM!” you shouted, your voice now unmistakably clear in the night air and the quiet city. “MOVE OR YOU’RE SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR WITHOUT TUNA FOR A WEEK IF WE’RE LATE!”
The small hooded creature shrieked in terror. “YES, PREFECT—!”
The two of you ran like a princess racing back to her tower before the spell wore off...except you looked more like two idiots sprinting full speed toward the city lights as if your lives, and possibly your financial privileges, depended on it. Within seconds the darkness swallowed you both, disappearing down the outer corridor toward the main gates.
Silence followed, and the ones who had been pursuing you with steady steps… were left stunned by the revelation.
Kalim’s jaw dropped, not caring how dramatic or over-the-top he looked; Riddle’s eyes widened and a faint blush colored his cheeks; Azul removed his glasses to clean them with trembling hands, an entirely pointless gesture, as he pinched the bridge of his nose; Idia made a strangled sound, like his system had just crashed into a blue screen he couldn’t reboot; Leona and Vil blinked at the same time, shooting each other a sidelong glance; Malleus simply watched as the final piece of the puzzle clicked neatly into place, confirming that lingering sense of familiarity.
A pause followed...A long pause, far too long.
Vil didn’t know what to do with his hands, or with his entire existence. He pressed his lips into a thin line, moved his hands aimlessly for a moment, and was just about to turn away in frustration. “…oh for fuck’s sake.” The fact that he had sworn meant you had played your move perfectly.
Idia crouched down and buried his face in his hands. “I want to die”
Azul, still pinching the bridge of his nose, let out a long breath. “We should have known”
And honestly, yes.
They had been idiots not to realize; inside their minds the gears finally started turning: The voice, her composure in danger, that laugh, the ridiculous courage, the familiar, the way she handled chaos without magic.
Leona dragged a hand down his face and let out a deep, irritated growl. “She masked her scent so we wouldn’t notice”
Kalim, whose mouth had still been hanging open, suddenly burst into a small laugh as he looked toward where you had disappeared. “Oh! That makes so much sense!” He laughed freely.
“No wonder we could flirt with her so naturally”
“FLIRT?!”
“NOBODY HERE FLIRTED WITH ANYONE!”
“MY CHARISMA STAT IS NOT THAT HIGH!”
Several voices erupted at once, some embarrassed, some shy, some in complete denial. Malleus, still perfectly composed in the middle of the chaos, simply closed his eyes and allowed his companions to argue, offering the night a small smile.
Leona didn’t even stay to watch the end of the debate over who had flirted more. He simply closed his eyes, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked back toward the hall, he shouting was already giving him a headache.
Masquerade! hide your face so the world'll never found you
SUMMARY: You're always supposed to travel with the delegation, whether you want to or not. This time, you did want to attend the festival—but Crowley decided your name wasn't on the official list.
Naturally, you ignored him. With Grim at your side and a plan held together by stubbornness alone, you slipped into Fleur City and its dazzling masquerade—the most colorful, musical night the city had to offer.
The only problem? You hadn’t planned on running into the seven dorm leaders of NRC…or on being personally escorted by them straight to the gates of Noble Bell College.
TAGS: crack, humor, drama, flirting without knowing.
WORD COUNT: 23k
COMMENTS: this is hella long, so buckle up!! I took some narrative liberties, maybe not entirely event canon but oh well, there's full chaos.
Soundtrack recommendation: God help the outcast - Topsy Turvy - The Bell Tower - Paris Burning - Make a Wish - Masquerade - Bells of Notre Dame
What does one have to do to get a little peace in the middle of a haunted dormitory that’s almost crumbling down to its foundations, with a cat shooting fire left and right?
That was what you were thinking when a letter showed up carried along by a cascade of black feathers. It was as if peace and order didn’t exist in the vocabulary of this magic-filled school.
One moment Ramshackle was quiet, or as quiet as it could get with Grim arguing with one of the ghosts, who had stolen a can of tuna just to mess with him, and the next, a whirl of glossy black feathers burst in through the broken window and spiraled dramatically down onto the first steps of the lounge staircase.
“HEY! We’re under attack!” Grim growled, jumping back when the envelope landed with an unnecessarily theatrical thump on the coffee table. “Protect me, Henchman!”
You sighed, keeping Grim upright as he climbed up your arm until he settled on your shoulder. You picked up the letter and looked it over; burgundy-colored, with a wax seal faintly gleaming in gold.
A letter that screamed official and important no matter how you looked at it.
It definitely wasn’t a bill or some annoying request from the administration. Crowley never handed those out in person, much less with a flock of black feathers; which meant the bird-brained headmaster was nearby.
And with that, the front door swung wide open on its own with a creak.
“Well, well, my most honorable and dependable residents!” he said in a voice far too cheerful and far too polished, stepping into the dorm as if it belonged to him and not like he had dumped it on you in terrible condition. “What fortune to find both of you at home! Truly, the stars themselves align for the diligent!”
Grim shot him a flat look and narrowed his eyes. “When you talk like that it means nothing good”
Crowley brushed off the comment with professional skill. “My dear prefect,” he continued, turning toward you with a wide smile, his cape swishing as if he had practiced the move in the mirror about ten times. “I require your presence in my office immediately. It concerns a matter of prestige, honor, and, naturally, inter-academic relations”
In other words… trouble.
You glanced sideways at Grim; the cat met your look, and you murmured to him when you saw Crowley turn to head out of the lounge without even checking whether you were following or not. “Yeah, nothing good ever comes from him”
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The office gleamed and buzzed more than usual, once again showing off dear Headmaster Crowley’s vanity.
The dorm leaders were gathered around the table, composed, radiating different levels of authority, boredom, or barely-contained chaos. Kalim was practically vibrating with happiness, just like Idia… although he was probably vibrating because he wanted to go back and lock himself inside his room; the fact that he was here, surrounded by people, was already an achievement.
Yes, obviously something was about to go down.
There were expectant looks from the others—except Leona, obviously. He was one step away from turning around and heading off to sleep in his usual spot in the botanical garden. The atmosphere had that specific tense shine that meant the announcement about to drop was going to be, indeed, catastrophic.
You took your place beside Kalim, who bumped your hip in greeting and grinned from ear to ear. You returned the gesture, lightly bumping his hip back, and let Grim settle himself on top of your head.
Crowley cleared his throat, which was always the beginning of one of his boring, overly theatrical, and unbearable monologues.
“My dear dorm leaders,” his eyes gleamed at the sight of the seven young men waiting in front of him. Grim coughed, and Crowley’s expression tightened slightly. “And prefect,” he continued. “Today we have received an extraordinary honor”
With a flourish, he raised seven invitations, seven burgundy letters with shining golden seals.
“Noble Bell College has kindly sent official invitations requesting the presence of representatives from Night Raven College at their upcoming cultural festival”
Your eyes widened. An event outside NRC, allowing you to explore more of this world and see another school; considering they barely let you leave for the nearby town on the Island of Sages, and RSA was still out of the question— that school was still a mystery to you.
So Noble Bell College would be your next magical stop.
Grim looked excited too, gripping your hair tightly and whispering to himself all the things he was already plotting in his small and chaotic head about what he was going to do: eat lots of tasty things, maybe sweets or bread, or tuna made in some way he had never tried before; the possibilities were endless for your little cat.
“And to enhance the experience, the school will treat this event as a masquerade. Isn’t that fascinating?”
Okay, the pinnacle of dramatics—very Twisted Wonderland and very Crowley… you like it.
Crowley was smiling like a man who definitely intended to send teenagers straight into imminent student chaos. He opened one of the invitations and read the contents in his characteristic dramatic voice.
“The event celebrates unity, refinement, and the highest traditions of academia. Naturally, they have requested our… most distinguished students. And of course this dear and most generous headmaster”
And that was where the seven invitations came into play. Seven letters addressed to each of the seven dorm leaders… and to no one else. He didn’t mention the vice leaders’ names, nor your name, nor Grim’s.
Crowley lowered the letter with a satisfied nod. “And with that, the official delegation is concluded”
On your end, silence. A small, polite silence, while the others were already straightening their postures, ready to hear when they would depart and how they should present themselves.
Then Crowley’s head tilted, looking forward, not directly at you, nor at Grim, as if remembering something slightly inconvenient. His eyes were fixed firmly on the office door.
“Ah! But of course… our reliable prefect!” he turned toward you with a bright, performative smile. “As the head of Ramshackle dorm, it would be inappropriate not to include you in this announcement. Transparency is the hallmark of this benevolent administration, after all.”
You heard Leona snort loudly, as if the words “benevolent administration” were completely accurate. If you weren’t harboring a bad feeling right then and there, you would have snorted along with him.
Grim puffed out his chest when he saw that the headmaster was now addressing his beloved henchman. “I knew it! We’re going to—”
“However…” Crowley cut him off, and you felt Grim’s tail deflate against the back of your head. The bird-brain laced his fingers together in front of him. “The invitation, unfortunately, extends specifically to recognized magical students who participate in the official exchange. As you do not possess any measurable magical ability…”
Grim opened his mouth to argue back, ready to launch a fireball that would leave him flat on his back after such humiliation.
“Master Grim, you and the prefect are essentially one student,” he cut him off again. “And given that Ramshackle is, shall we say, administratively… unique…” he made a vague motion with his hand, annoyed at having to find the word that best fit the situation without making it more tense than it already was.
Reading between the lines: you’re not invited, and neither is the cat. It’s not negotiable. Not even by accident.
Crowley gave a sympathetic nod, his eyes showing a very well-acted sadness. “How unfortunate! Truly unfortunate. Perhaps next time”
Next time… like being told there was no more of the cake you liked in the cafeteria and you’d have to wait until tomorrow to eat it. Or like being told you had to try a little harder on the next assignment.
As if you hadn’t literally fought overblots throughout the school year, monsters, ghosts, and whatever the hell lives in the school’s ventilation ducts.
Life isn’t fair, right?
The other leaders didn’t react strongly, but they didn’t give you the reactions you expected either. A couple of shrugs, Kalim looking at you with genuine sadness at not being able to enjoy the evening by your side.
Crowley broke the silence, and the damn spell, with a clap. “Very well then! Preparations begin immediately!”
The meeting dissolved into excited chatter from the headmaster and completely formal, rather critically thought-out discussion from the leaders. Malleus, in particular, looked especially fascinated by the idea of having been invited.
Grim’s tail flicked over your shoulder. “…they’re really not taking us”
The office suddenly felt a little louder… and a little farther away while the two of you watched the others discuss travel plans, formal attire provided by the school, speculation about the festival, music, foreign food.
“Make sure to keep the dorm in order while we’re away, prefect! Such an important responsibility!” Crowley waved a hand at you, signaling you were already dismissed from the meeting.
Grim’s ears flattened against his small head as you headed for the exit.
“…this is bullshit.”
“Yeah,” you huffed. “Yeah, it really is.”
The murmuring followed you out of the office like static.
Crowley was talking louder than usual, Vil was already arguing about the weight of the luggage and the makeup he’d have to do for everyone, yes, even Leona, whom you heard growl when Vil so much as mentioned it. Azul was bringing up the odds of expanding NRC’s prestige to other cities and colleges.
None of it helped.
Grim walked beside you on two legs, stomping down the hallway, his tail bristling, the claws of his hind paws visible and tapping against the stone.
“This is a total scam!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stone corridor. “We beat ghosts, monsters, more overblots than I can count—”
“—and we still aren’t ‘official’ enough for a school trip,” you finished with the same level of offense.
“EXACTLY!” Grim threw his paws into the air.
You shoved the castle doors open harder than necessary, grumbling under your breath. That damn bird-brain was really getting under your skin; any moment now you’d kick him in the rear so hard you’d send him flying… if it weren’t for the small amount of money the school administration paid you.
The cool afternoon air hit your face, but it didn’t loosen the tight knot in your chest. The voices continued behind you, just as enthusiastic; a glance over your shoulder was enough to make you blow out a breath and start walking down the steps.
“Even Idia’s going,” you muttered.
Maybe bringing up the most antisocial and anxious guy in the school wasn’t the fairest or most honorable move right now, but you were really angry. Not at him, obviously, you were angry at the damn headmaster.
“RIGHT?!” Grim went down the steps jumping two at a time, ears pointed up and seconds away from shouting all the injustices he had suffered thanks to our beloved headmaster. “That guy considers opening his bedroom door a major life event!”
You flinched. “Okay, that was too much, Grim,” you said, your voice a little sharp, staring at the steps because you knew that the moment you took your eyes off the stone it was statistically likely you’d trip, considering the anger leaking out of every pore.
“Hey! You started it” He raised a paw and pointed at you.
“Yeah, well…” you continued, “I didn’t mean it to put him down. Idia comes from a prestigious family and has plenty of money...of course he got an invitation.” You crossed your arms as you reached the last steps. “What’s surprising is that he’s physically going”
Grim kicked a pebble down the steps and jumped the last stretch again.
“He’s physically going and we’re stuck here doing… what. Guarding our dorm from the ghosts we already live with?”
You crossed your arms tighter and rolled your eyes. “I can’t even step off campus without paperwork, supervision, or a miracle,” your voice came out laced with venom, and with every second you were losing what little patience you had left. Spiraling with a grumpy cat wasn’t helping the situation. “But sure, let’s send the entire walking disaster of NRC abroad”
“I should be famous,” he growled. “Hero Grim saves the day again! Where’s my cultural exchange, huh?”
You snorted a laugh despite everything. “Apparently saving the school multiple times doesn’t count as an extracurricular activity”
You crossed the courtyard, the fountain, the last stretch of stone that led toward the castle’s back doors and the path back to Ramshackle. The words kept coming out—half complaints, half that tired bitterness that shows up when something unfair hits a little too close.
When you reached the door, the bridge visible connecting the next stretch of poorly kept land, you stopped. Grim kept walking, now on four paws, and lifted his tail when he realized you had stopped and he was crossing the bridge alone.
You looked at the horizon, spotting the haunted house in the distance and the perfect midday sun over the skyline.
The idea began to take shape slowly, putting down roots little by little, but decisively. The solution to both your frustrations was right there; simple, obvious, both stupid and perfect.
“Why did you stop?” Grim asked, walking back toward you.
You didn’t answer right away. You let the idea keep forming in your mind, running through all the chances of it going right and the ones where it wouldn’t, mapping out everything needed for it to actually work.
Your fingers tapped against your arm. “…it’s a masquerade”
Grim tilted his head. “…yeah?”
Your eyes met his, now wide as he looked at you in a way he hadn’t all year. Your face carried an expression that meant trouble; the kind of trouble that historically ended in explosions, rule violations, accidental heroics, and at least three disciplinary reports from Crewel.
“A masquerade ball,” you repeated slowly, tilting your head toward him, silently urging him to catch on quickly. “Everyone wears masks”
Grim’s ears twitched.
“No one’s supposed to stand out,” you crouched down so you were closer to him. “No one’s supposed to know who’s who”
You let the words settle in his mind, letting the silence guide the realization. One second passed, two, three—until Grim’s eyes flew open wide, pupils dilating and his tail shooting upright as your words finally clicked.
“Oh… you’re kidding”
Your lips curled into a dangerous smile, the kind that promised a thousand reprimands if you got caught, but that would be worth every damn second.
“If no one knows who’s who,” you said quietly, making sure the conversation stayed between the two of you, “then no one knows who wasn’t invited either”
Grim gasped like someone had just handed him the keys to a kingdom made entirely of cans and cans of fresh tuna.
“Prefect… who would’ve thought you could be so devious”
“We definitely shouldn’t do this,” you said, staring at him.
“…but we’re going to do it anyway,” he shot back.
A second of silence passed. Then another. And a third.
“Yeah.”
“HEIST MODE!” Grim threw his paws in the air, jumping with excitement.
You shut the castle door, not a trace of frustration left on your face. No, that had disappeared, replaced by determination. Who would’ve thought your mind could be just as troublesome as Ace’s?
Your steps were decisive, and you didn’t head toward Ramshackle. If you were going to sneak into a cultural event where formality and proper attire were the currency, nothing in that dusty shack would do. No; there weren’t any clothes formal enough or well-made enough there without getting you exposed the moment you set foot, or paw, into the cultural event.
“We need supplies,” you said, veering off the path to the right, following the dirt road.
“Supplies to commit a crime?”
“Supplies to attend formally without prior authorization”
“…crime then,” Grim confirmed, running after you.
The path to Sam’s shop felt like walking deeper and deeper into a very bad idea; and at the same time, a very promising one. The campus stretched around you, wrapped in that late-afternoon haze where the stone towers glowed gold and the buzz of excitement over the news drifted through the cool air.
“Okay, but... I can’t just put on a mask and call it a day. I’m a talking, flame-shooting, very handsome cat”
“Yes, that’s the main problem” Sam’s shack was already in sight—just a few more yards and you’d step into territory both familiar and unknown, ready to show off its haunted wonders.
“My ears! My tail! My flames! My incredible natural charisma, nya!”
“Mostly the flames” you gave him a look.
Grim deflated a little. “…yeah, okay, the flames”
A few more steps and you were already standing in front of the shack. That mystical atmosphere around it always made the hairs on your arms stand on end.
You pushed open the crooked wooden door and a small bell chimed. The air inside the shop wrapped around you like warm smoke, carrying a faint scent of cinnamon, something that made the place feel both comforting and creepy. The shelves were stacked to the top with all kinds of things: enchanted fabrics, suspiciously labeled bottles, and objects that definitely moved when you weren’t looking straight at them. You could swear a pearl necklace you had seen on a shelf near the door was now resting on a display in the main window.
“Well, well,” Sam’s smooth, enchanted voice echoed through the shop from behind the counter. When he had gotten there, you had no idea—five seconds ago the counter had been completely empty. “If it isn’t my favorite prefect… and judging by the look on your face and on your cute and definitely not troublesome cat…” he leaned forward, “…you’re not here for anything legal.”
Grim puffed out his chest, slightly offended by the comment, but he was still the first to speak, or rather, yell.
“We need stealth!”
You’re never going to get that by shouting
Sam’s smile widened, as dangerous as someone could look while being the entrepreneur running one of the most useful and necessary shops on a school campus. “Say no more”
With a snap of his fingers, the counter suddenly looked like the backstage of a theatrical crime, or a theater dressing room, which worked better for carrying out the plan.
Masks, capes, gloves, fabric samples, a monocle that Grim definitely tried on and that you definitely didn’t let him keep; with the way he walked he’d break it any second.
Sam tapped the counter thoughtfully with one finger.
“So,” his voice sounded as soft as velvet, but you knew underneath it hid the layer of a hardened entrepreneur who always kept an enchanted clause up his sleeve, “you need formal masquerade outfits convincing enough… while hiding the presence of a highly combustible feline”
Grim bristled. “HMNYA! I’m not combustible—!”
“How did you know we needed masquerade outfits?” you cut in. Your eyes narrowed at Sam suspiciously.
“My Queen… nothing happens in this school without me hearing about it.” It was a vague answer, but also a very unsettling one. But this wasn’t the moment to stop and argue, so for now you let it slide.
“He’s the real problem. I can blend in with a dress—”
“And masking your scent.” You still weren’t used to the way Sam interrupted conversations to drop information as if you were already supposed to know what it meant.
“Excuse me?”
“If my informants haven’t failed me,” Sam drummed his fingers on the counter and gave you a sly look, “a certain lion and a high fae will be attending the event, meaning they would be the first to spot both of you just by catching your scent.”
Damn it. He was right.
“…okay, point taken” You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact that you’d have to pay for more than just fancy clothes. “With something to mask my scent, a dress, and a mask, I can blend in. But him…” you pointed at Grim without looking at him, “he needs to look… like a normal familiar.”
Sam hummed and gave Grim a full look from head to toe—and if it had been biologically possible, he would’ve circled him with his eyes.
“Not normal,” he corrected at last. “Expected”
“…expected?” you repeated, frowning.
Sam opened a drawer and pulled out a violet velvet cloak with a hood; deep, formal, the kind that screamed ceremonial elegance. Another of the great mysteries of Sam’s shop: who knows why the entrepreneur had a cloak exactly Grim’s size waiting inside a drawer.
“Cultural events in magical academies bring familiars all the time,” Sam commented as he adjusted the hood over Grim’s ears. “Magical creatures, bound spirits, enchanted companions. Half the time nobody even knows what species they are”
The cloak, now arranged over Grim’s small body, wrapped around him completely, barely showing his shape. The fall of the fabric looked heavy and dramatic; the flames of his ears illuminated the inside in a way that felt very theatrical and very on-theme. Then Sam added a carved masquerade mask, elongated, elegant, slightly decorated with claw-like details but still stylized enough to look ceremonial rather than suspicious.
Only Grim’s bright eyes were visible beneath the shadow of the hood and mask. Sam stepped back, admiring his work.
“With the hood down, the mask set properly forward, and strict instructions not to shout…”
Grim shifted his posture. Now almost none of his face showed and his tail was hidden neatly beneath the cloak. Suddenly he looked less like “chaotic campus threat” and more like “arcane familiar belonging to someone extremely important.”
“…wow,” Grim whispered when he saw his cloaked figure reflected in the glass of the counter.
“Pretty convincing,” you added.
Sam’s smile widened as he leaned over the counter, both hands holding up his head. “Exactly”
“I look expensive” Grim spun in a small circle to admire himself, the heavy cloak barely making a dramatic swirl and giving no hint that he might be exposed when he moved.
“You are expensive,” you shot back. “You eat like you’ve got a black hole in your stomach”
Grim decided to ignore you and kept spinning around admiring himself. Sam, meanwhile, straightened and clapped his hands once, making your attention snap back to him.
“Now for you, prefect”
Another snap of his fingers and a dress slid onto the counter—dark, outrageously expensive fabric, black brocade with elegant lace details and a red overlay that made the black stand out even more. Off-shoulder, low-cut, with a skirt that would obviously require a crinoline.
Elegant wasn’t the right word, it was more than that. It was refined, breathing opulence and formality. Semi-transparent sleeves, ruffles and lace layered over more lace.
“A mask that hides, not dazzles” Sam placed a light black fabric mask on the counter, decorated with brocade and gothic embroidery, soft to the touch and perfect for covering half your face. “The best disguise isn’t the loudest one…”
He set the last pieces down on the counter: a choker of black pearls with a rose in the center, the strands long enough that when worn they would drape over the shoulders; a pair of short black lace gloves; and a very gothic-style hat, pompous, with a fall of fabric that resembled a veil.
A very gothic set… perfect for a masquerade.
“…but the one no one remembers”
You lifted the dress carefully with both hands, making sure not to snag the lace on anything, not even the buttons of your uniform.
“…how much is this going to hurt?” you asked cautiously. You knew a dress this extravagant wasn’t cheap.
Sam leaned on the counter again. “Oh, don’t worry” He paused dramatically, clearly fascinated by how your whole body tensed as you worried internally. “This goes on credit”
“Oh… that’s worse,” Grim whispered in horror.
Sam burst out laughing and straightened again, quite satisfied with himself at the sight of the desperate, horrified expressions on both your faces.
“Relax. Consider it… an investment in the chaos the two of you are about to unleash at an international diplomatic event”
You and Grim exchanged a knowing look.
Yeah… that sounded about right.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
Fleur City shone as if it had stepped straight out of a Renaissance painting.
The warm glow of lanterns spilled across the white stone streets, reflecting in long ribbons of gold and amber. Garlands of flowers hung from the balconies, woven so densely that the scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, sweet and heavy. From somewhere along the cobblestone corners came music: violins, laughter, the slow rhythmic pulse of festival trumpets.
Around you there were people, so many people. It was barely possible to walk peacefully through the streets. Carnival decorations and food and trinket stalls made both you and Grim stop every five steps.
And everywhere… masks. White porcelain, golden filigree, feathers, silks, velvet. Cloaks gliding over the stone and polished shoes gleaming in the lanternlight. There were no faces, no questions, no names.
You adjusted the delicate fabric mask slightly as you moved with the crowd, letting the flow of festival guests carry you naturally along the wide avenue leading to the central plaza. In the daylight the dress blended in exactly as Sam had promised: elegant and formal, perfectly matching the spirit of the festival—just another face in the tide.
Beside you, a small hooded figure walked with a rather exaggerated air of importance, little paws tapping lightly against the stone as he took one step, then another. Grim walked as if he were leading his own theatrical march toward the main stage.
“This is the best thing we’ve ever done in our lives” Even though his steps were determined, and fairly amusing to watch from your taller perspective, Grim’s words came out in a whisper; for once he had understood he needed to keep his voice down.
“You also said that when you stole extra pudding from the cafeteria” You gathered your skirt with one hand, adjusting it so you wouldn’t end up face-first on the ground. The dress was beautiful, yes, but the crinoline made walking a bit difficult.
“THAT WAS HISTORIC TOO!” Apparently his lesson in stealth hadn’t lasted long. You hid a smile behind the back of your hand.
Grim looked around at the glowing towers, the decorated bridges, the endless swirl of masked students and nobles. Your gaze drifted to the pink and violet decorations hanging between the rustic, colorful houses. One more step and you nearly collided with the long leg of someone obviously walking on stilts. You managed to turn in time and grabbed Grim so he wouldn’t get crushed under the wooden stilts.
“Woow” Grim settled into your arms and lifted his head to watch the person gracefully walking toward the end of the avenue. “This place is insane”
He wasn’t wrong.
Farther ahead there were people dressed in multicolored outfits—diamonds and pompoms, ribbons and exaggerated patterns showing off immense amounts of fabric in sleeves and trousers. Orange and red jesters, violet and burgundy ones too, with painted faces and five-pointed hats tipped with bells. The lantern lights flickered along the walls of the houses and the stone structures, turning the shop windows into vivid, deep colors. In the main plaza, dancers spun—skirts and cloaks flashing in carefully choreographed circles.
Everything around you looked mundanely normal, peaceful within the limits of what a carnival could call “peaceful.” No fire, no chaos, no problems to solve.
“With this many people, it’ll be impossible for them to find us,” Grim said as he jumped back down to the ground to keep walking.
“If you say it out loud, you’ll jinx it”
“Right. Silence. Stealth mode”
You moved deeper into the plaza, letting the enormous scale of the festival unfold around you. Masked performers breathed streams of colored fire, puppeteers staged small dramatic and amusing shows for the children, and the food stalls now had floating lanterns illuminating them in orange and ochre tones, making the shine of the food look even more appetizing.
Grim sniffed as he stopped in front of one of the stalls.
“…is that roasted meat?”
You sighed and grabbed him by the sides, lifting him until he was level with the food on the stall.
“One stall. And eat quietly”
“BEST HENCHMAN IN HISTORY!”
He jumped toward the vendor, still trying to look dignified in the ceremonial cloak—and failing completely the moment food entered the equation.
You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the slow, dangerous smile spreading across your face as you watched him try to cram two roasted meat skewers into his mouth in one bite.
For the first time since the invitation announcement, the pressure in your chest eased. You hadn’t been left behind. You hadn’t been left out. This might not be entirely legal—and if you got caught the punishment would probably be worse than anything Ace and Deuce had ever gotten—but seeing Grim enjoy himself was worth every second you spent outside Ramshackle.
You’d do it again a thousand times. To hell with Crowley and his official invitations. You had the right to enjoy an event without worrying about running errands for the headmaster.
“Target located” Grim sniffed the air again after finishing the meat. “Honey buns with a light sugar glaze, ten steps ahead”
What a remarkable nose
“Grim, slow down,” you said, walking after him at a reasonably quick pace.
“You’re the slow one” Unfortunately, he had a point about the damn crinoline. You were starting to hate it a little more with every step.
You lifted the skirt with both hands, mentally calculating how much more you could afford to spend at the festival. Considering how much this cat ate, and how little you had managed to eat thanks to the nerves from traveling through the mirror, you’d have to find some way to stop Grim from devouring everything in sight.
“I said one stall!” You barely raised your voice, but Grim ignored you, as always when he didn’t want to hear that you were right.
As you followed him, out of the corner of your eye you spotted a pair of figures you absolutely did not want to spot heading your way.
On the other side of the plaza, near the staircase leading to the main road toward the cathedral, a very specific formation of figures held a perfect alignment: Crowley at the front, with seven leaders behind him, each displaying different levels of diplomacy, excitement, or boredom.
Riddle walked with a rigid posture even in this festive setting, though he wasn’t oblivious to the fun happening around him. Leona was slouched, visibly bored at being dragged into an official event. Azul carried himself with a calculating air, probably already visualizing his next clients. Kalim was the most energetic of them all, practically glowing even while standing still. Vil was sculpted perfection, every step immaculate. Idia was trying to occupy the smallest possible amount of physical and emotional space. And Malleus simply followed the flow of people, hands behind his back, looking around with complete fascination.
Crowley, meanwhile, walked with an annoyingly radiant and pompous stride while speaking with another figure: tall, composed, with a firm and controlled posture. If you had to guess, that person wrapped in an air of ceremonial authority must have been someone important from Noble Bell College.
Your throat let out a tiny squeak and your shoulders curled inward. You were in danger mode.
You stepped sideways, avoiding turning your back on them all, but also not walking backward so obviously that it would make it clear your focus was on those figures who weren’t threatening at first glance—but were extremely inconvenient for your enjoyment. You reached Grim just as he was about to buy a small honey bun and crouched to whisper in his ear.
“Don’t even think about moving”
Grim’s small body went completely rigid. “What’s going on?”
“If you turn two degrees to the left,” you continued, the dorm leaders getting closer and closer, “you’ll be in their direct line of sight”
Grim, completely ignoring your instruction, slowly followed your gaze, barely turning his body to get a good look. Then he inhaled so sharply he nearly vacuumed the honey bun straight into his mouth.
You clamped a hand over his mouth and grabbed his cloak, dragging him behind the stall and hiding behind the side canvas. The vendor shot you both an irritated look but said nothing, another customer was already asking for an entire bag of buns.
“Okay, new plan” You let go of Grim’s mouth but still signaled for silence. Now he had to act like a normal familiar. “We walk calmly in the opposite direction, and you… quiet”
Grim nodded with the intensity of someone trying very hard to be stealthy and stay out of trouble, still holding the sweet in one paw. You adjusted him on your arm and stepped away from the stall.
One step. Then another. And a third.
Someone in the crowd suddenly turned toward your direction. You bumped their shoulder, jolting back in surprise.
“—Sorry!” you blurted automatically, trying to step backward.
Exactly the wrong move.
Because stepping back made you collide with someone else in the crowd. Your shoe stepped on an expensive, heavy cloak, and as you lifted your foot to avoid ruining it further, your heel caught on the uneven stone. You felt your balance tip backward.
For one horrible second, the world tilted; the lantern light, the masks, the people, the realization of oh yes, this is how we die… physically or from embarrassment, falling face-first in front of a crowd.
But the fall never came.
A gloved hand shot forward and caught your wrist just in time, stopping you a few inches before disaster.
“…please be careful,” a smooth, composed voice said. “These festival streets can be treacherous if one isn’t paying attention”
You turned your head toward the voice and saw Azul looking at you with concern...but without the slightest hint of recognition. Your disguise was working perfectly, even in a situation as dangerous as the one you were currently in.
You straightened carefully, pulse hammering, but posture controlled. Out of nervous reflex you adjusted Grim’s hood so his face was completely hidden, forcing his body to hunch so he’d look like an ordinary cat.
“Thank you,” you said in a neutral voice, though anyone paying attention might have noticed the nervous edge and the faint grinding of teeth as you forced yourself not to scream.
Azul released your wrist slowly, waiting for you to fix your dress before stepping back to a polite distance, still close enough while observing you with that sharp, polite curiosity so characteristic of someone whose entire life ran on information.
Behind him, the others had already turned, abandoning whatever conversation they had been having. Six new pairs of eyes locked onto you—the young lady unlucky enough to collide with the octopus entrepreneur.
Grim made a small strangled noise inside his hood, and you felt a tiny vibration against your arm. It was obvious he wanted to bolt as fast as his four paws could carry him, and if you were honest with yourself… you wanted to do the same.
You didn’t look at anyone in particular; certainly not at Crowley, nor at the tall, composed figure representing Noble Bell College in this diplomatic procession. You made the smallest formal bow of your head, the kind appropriate for slipping by unnoticed even after such a collision. You even tilted your hat slightly lower to cover more of your face.
“Apologies for the collision. The crowd is… lively tonight”
Vil’s gaze traveled over you from head to toe. Knowing him, he was evaluating the outfit the way an art critic would analyze a gallery piece; or in this case, the way Vil always did, searching for wrinkles, imperfections, or cracks.
That crack was about to split wide open if he didn’t stop looking at you so intently.
“Finally someone who knows how to dress appropriately,” he murmured loud enough that everyone else heard.
“Hey! We’re all dressed for the occasion,” Kalim huffed, though he didn’t sound offended.
“Yes, because we were dressed” Vil replied.
If that was the case, then point to Vil.
“Watch where you’re stepping next time” Leona exhaled through his nose.
“That is no way to address a young lady!” Vil snapped back, shooting him the most venomous look imaginable without losing an ounce of grace or letting a single wrinkle touch his face.
Leona simply crossed his arms and held Vil’s stare. The tension between rivals was thick enough to feel.
Azul took the opportunity to cut through that tension and prevent an international incident. He inclined his head toward you again, adjusting his glove.
“Well then,” he said, extending his hand toward you, palm open and facing up, “please be careful, miss—”
Your entire body went rigid in a single heartbeat. On your arm, Grim was seconds away from combusting from the stress this situation was causing him.
You returned the slight bow of your head, just formal enough not to raise suspicion despite your heart pounding at a thousand beats per minute.
“Isn’t the whole point of tonight that we don’t ask those kinds of questions?”
There was a pause long enough for you to offer a sideways smile, hoping you hadn’t sounded rude.
Vil’s lips curled upward slightly, approving, almost amused, mentally acknowledging that at least someone knew the rules of the evening.
Azul’s smile changed immediately, shifting from his usual interrogation-ready expression to one suited for social performance.
“Ah,” he murmured. “Quite right. My mistake. A masquerade loses its charm when identities come to light”
Okay. The plan was working beautifully—far better than you had expected. You made a mental note to thank Sam for that potion masking your essence, since neither Leona nor Malleus seemed suspicious of anything.
“If it helps,” you said, testing the waters a little more to confirm your theory, “I’ve never seen figures quite so… unique” Your gaze drifted across each of them. “So your identities would remain a mystery—with or without masks”
Riddle gave a small nod at your comment. “Indeed. The evening discourages such personal revelations unless they are formally necessary”
Thank the Seven that Riddle bought it. And luckily for you, it seemed Idia had too, he was muttering in the background nonstop.
“Thank the gods… minimal social interaction with anonymity settings enabled…”
You let out a quiet breath through your nose, trying to keep it as subtle as possible despite the pressure tightening in your chest during such a surreal interaction. You bowed your head again, ready to give your farewell and move along, taking your first steps toward the plaza.
That should have been the end of it.
“Although…”
Damn it, Azul.
His voice rose again, smooth and composed, turning just enough to place himself at your side as you began to walk.
“It would be negligence on my part not to ensure the safety of the young lady I nearly caused to fall”
Vil moved at the same time, with a grace so natural it was almost insulting; suddenly you had two impeccably dressed elites flanking you like the most elegant bodyguards in the world.
“Cobblestone streets tend to be uneven—especially in heels,” Vil commented, evaluating your posture. Of course he would notice that beneath all those meters of expensive fabric you were wearing heels. Not very high, but high enough to alter your height. “And the crowd is quite enthusiastic, as you mentioned earlier. You shouldn’t be wandering alone”
Azul nodded slightly, adjusting his glasses. “Particularly when a certain tendency toward accidents has already been demonstrated”
The arm holding Grim tightened slightly, drawing a faint squeak from him that only you heard. You looked from side to side, first at Azul, then at Vil, and your gaze dropped straight to the cobblestones.
Oh no. This is very bad.
Behind you, Leona’s voice sounded rough.
“Hey. Don’t crowd her”
All three of you turned to look at him. Leona was dragging a hand down his face, visibly irritated by the situation.
Vil arched a brow, stopping with runway elegance.
“I beg you pardon?”
Azul did the same, forcing you to stop as well and remain right between them. The height difference, privately, was a little funny, if you hadn’t been the center of attention for a very irritated lion.
“Courtesy…” Leona scoffed. “That’s what they call it now?”
You heard Kalim whisper, “Are they flirting?”
And Riddle respond, sounding slightly tired of his classmates, “Knowing them… yes. They are flirting”
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.
Leona shoved both hands into his pockets, leaning back slightly as he approached, glancing sideways at your two escorts.
“The girl almost fell. You caught her. End of story. You don’t need to start an escort mission for every stranger you run into”
Vil crossed his arms and offered him a sharp smile. “And since when do you care about social manners?”
“Since watching you two circle her like peacocks in heat started giving me a headache,” Leona shot back.
You let out a quiet snort, covering your mouth with your free hand. Grim seemed to snort too, barely holding back laughter, the vibration against your chest made it obvious.
Azul released a soft sigh and pressed his fingers to his temple. “Honestly, is it necessary to reduce every refined interaction to such vulgar interpretations?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, flashing them a half-smile, fangs included. “It’s funny and irritating at the same time watching you act so confident about something that isn’t one of your contracts”
The situation would have been comedic if you weren’t still stuck in the middle of it—and if you weren’t one wrong sentence away from catastrophic exposure.
Unfortunately, you locked eyes with Malleus.
He looked taller than the last time you’d seen him. A glance down confirmed it—he was wearing heeled shoes. This fae added a few extra inches whenever he felt like it, and in the process made you look even smaller.
From his height, Malleus observed you in silence. One arm rested over the other, a finger beneath his chin, studying you. As if he were chasing an echo, something about your voice, your posture, the way you held your shoulders like someone used to dealing with chaos every day.
Your heart thumped harder in your chest.
You looked away and gave another small nod, taking a step back, hoping this time you could finally continue your evening.
“I appreciate the concern, gentlemen,” you said, keeping your voice calm and neutral even though internally you were screaming. “But I assure you I would hate to delay such distinguished guests during their evening”
Both Azul and Vil inclined their heads, accepting the farewell with grace. Leona simply clicked his tongue and turned back toward the others—he had been ready to leave five minutes ago.
With elegance you weren’t even sure where you pulled from, you stepped toward the crowd, letting the skirt spin slightly as the crinoline gave the movement the air of something taken straight from a royal etiquette manual.
“Ah…”
Just that single word was enough to cut off your second escape attempt and push your frustration even higher.
The same notable figure Crowley had been speaking with earlier approached the group. The Noble Bell College uniform was immaculate. Perfect posture, perfect alignment, an expression composed, though clearly carefully practiced to appear so.
“Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “if you would be so kind as to proceed. The welcoming is prepared at the academy, and the festival program is… quite structured”
Crowley, who five minutes ago hadn’t been remotely in sight, reacted immediately, suddenly appearing from behind you and making you jump.
“Ah! Of course, of course! We wouldn’t wish to delay such a beautiful evening!”
Then the student’s eyes shifted toward you, finally registering why the seven leaders had stopped or drifted away from their intended path instead of following him.
And in that precise moment, his gaze changed to recognition.
Recognition that didn’t look good.
Not good for you, anyway.
“I must apologize,” he said, stepping toward you and placing a hand over his chest. “It seems I have committed an unforgivable lapse in courtesy”
The student bowed in a formal, precise, respectful greeting.
“I have spoken with these distinguished guests,” he continued, voice calm and controlled, “and yet I have neglected to acknowledge the presence of a lady among us. Such negligence falls below the standards of Noble Bell College… and my own.”
He straightened with the same refinement with which he had bowed and extended his hand toward you. In your stunned state, you noticed Grim become so perfectly still he could have won a gargoyle contest.
“I am Rollo Flamme,” he said. Now you could finally put a name to the face. “President of the Student Council and host of tonight’s ceremony”
Of all the people you could have drawn attention from at this event, it had to be the highest authority in the entire academy. The host himself. The worst possible person.
“And regardless of the anonymity permitted at this celebration,” Rollo continued, “it remains my responsibility to ensure that every guest within our city is treated with dignity and appropriate protection”
With his palm still extended, he took your hand and bowed again slightly, pressing a kiss against your gloved knuckles. His eyes remained locked onto yours, sharp, observant enough to make you swallow hard.
“Welcome to the festival”
Rollo straightened again and folded his hands in front of him.
“You have indicated that you do not wish to delay these gentlemen,” he continued solemnly. “A considerate sentiment”
There was a pause—and it felt heavy, considering this man still hadn’t taken his eyes off you. If you ran now he would notice. Obviously he would notice your nerves and terrible manners, and you’d look incredibly suspicious.
“But allowing a lady to wander the festival without escort amid such a crowd would be an equivalent lapse in decorum”
Vil offered him an approving smile, and judging by the look Leona was giving the blond from behind, your escape plan was now miles away from happening.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Leona muttered.
Rollo turned halfway toward the dorm leaders and Crowley. “I trust one of you would be willing to provide a brief escort to guarantee her safe passage before rejoining us at the academy”
Kalim, being the sweet, trusting, hyper-energetic Kalim, immediately raised his hand.
“Oh! I can—”
“Absolutely not,” whispered Idia in a panic. “You’ll get lost in these weird streets and probably end up buying the entire festival”
Kalim pouted but didn’t argue.
Azul stepped forward, trying to appear smooth but looking a little too eager to close this contract. “As it happens, I’m already somewhat familiar with the young lady—”
Vil moved at the same time and cut him off. “And I, naturally, would never allow someone dressed so exquisitely to be abandoned to the chaos of the central plaza”
Why do I always have to deal with the chaos? Why?
The plan had been simple: jump through the mirror without the academic staff noticing, lose yourself in the cobblestone streets, avoid eight walking disasters of charisma and complications, eat festival food, take a couple of pictures with Grim, and go home.
The universe really hates me
Crowley, watching the scene half-delighted and half-offended that he wasn’t the center of attention, fanned himself dramatically. “Ah, such gallantry among my students! How my heart swells! You seven are the pride of Night Raven College!”
Rollo folded his hands behind his back, perfectly composed.
“There you have it,” he said calmly. “A simple solution”
And with that, Crowley and Rollo continued on their way toward who knows where—leaving you with seven distinguished students and one problematic cat who was internally seconds away from exploding or fainting.
The procession moved forward...there really was no other word for it.
The dorm leaders walked in immaculate formation along the lantern-lit avenues, and in the middle of that flock you were trying with all your strength not to implode from stress. Grim shifted into both your arms, leaning against you; it was safer that way in case he wanted to whisper something instead of accidentally yelling something incriminating. Now he sat like a very tense, very judgmental decorative accessory beneath his velvet hood.
Kalim bounced closer first. “So! You’re from another school?” he asked cheerfully.
Alright. Time for lies—and the greatest skill for stealth missions: improvising without hesitation.
“I’m not part of the official exchange,” you said calmly, which was technically true. “I came with my family”
Which wasn’t entirely true… though if you counted Grim and the seven people around you who apparently didn’t know the definition of personal space, then maybe it was a… creative reinterpretation.
Azul also approached, much closer than necessary. “I see. Attending an event of this scale independently suggests either excellent connections… or excellent planning”
Vil added lightly, adjusting his sleeve where a button had come undone. The small imperfection clearly offended him. “Or excellent taste”
The button snapped back into place and his gaze returned forward, specifically toward you. “No one assembles such an outfit without understanding the magnitude of the evening”
You turned slightly and offered a half-smile. “I had help.”
Extremely true. Sam deserved several medals, and probably hazard pay.
Grim shifted in your arms, trying to lean closer to whisper something, but halfway through his cloak snagged on your sleeve and you had to adjust him quickly before the hood slipped and exposed him.
Of course Azul noticed the movement beneath the cloak. “And that little companion?”
Dangerous question.
“This?” you tightened your grip slightly. “He’s my brother’s familiar. I’m taking care of him while he’s away at Night Raven College”
Malleus finally joined the conversation. One step brought him only inches behind you. “A creature temporarily bound under your supervision”
His voice was so deep you almost felt it rather than heard it. A chill ran down your spine. “That explains such an elaborate cloak. A responsible choice on your part. You understand how to present the creature with the dignity it deserves”
Grim puffed up slightly beneath the fabric.
“He appears loyal,” Malleus added, his voice calm and serene now, still close, but with the strange sense of omniscience that came from his towering height.
At the comment, Grim let out a small emotional squeak and fought very hard not to respond. You rested a hand over his back through the hood. “He is,” you nodded.
Also extremely true… sometimes… when it suited him… especially when food was involved.
“What kind of creature is the familiar?” Kalim asked, leaning closer again, dangerously close to stepping on your skirt.
You grabbed the fabric with one hand while adjusting Grim onto your shoulder. “He’s a cat. A bit grumpy, especially in the mornings.”
No lie there. Grim tried to object, maybe by digging his claws slightly into your shoulder, but before he could you bounced him upward a little. He made a tiny complaint and stayed still.
“So cute!” Kalim said excitedly. “Hey! Does he need something to eat?”
“No! No!” you answered quickly. “He’s fine, he already ate a lot a few minutes ago.”
The last thing you needed was for this ray of sunshine to feed him the way he had with cookies back in Scarabia.
“Your familiar eats human food?” Riddle asked, clearly puzzled.
“…sometimes”
You wobbled slightly as if thinking, though really you were scrambling for the right words to fix the mistake you’d just made. “Not much—mostly fish. But there was a familiar food stall a few blocks from the central plaza, so I bought him a little treat”
You patted him gently to demonstrate how well-behaved he was.
“Aww, what a shame,” Kalim deflated. “I would’ve liked to feed the little guy”
The little guy shifted slightly, probably remembering the same thing: the time Kalim had stuffed him with endless cookies. Grim shrank into your shoulder and whispered barely audibly.
“Prefect… when we’re done, I want another snack”
That sounded so Grim you had to pinch him to keep the humiliation of staying quiet from going to his head.
“Don’t be discouraged,” Azul said, stepping beside Kalim. “We were allowed to enjoy the festival, so we may indulge a little in the culinary arts of this city”
“You’re right!” Kalim brightened instantly. “We can try the éclairs! Or croissants! Baguettes! The honey buns from that stall behind us!”
What a combination of flour and carbohydrates. But it sounded so good...and sooo necessary.
All day Grim hadn’t let you eat in peace except for breakfast, the little gremlin had devoured snack after snack. You, on the other hand…you were actually starving.
Maybe the discomfort showed on your face, or maybe your stomach growled beneath all those layers of fabric. Either way, Vil noticed.
“Perhaps we could offer our escorted young lady something sweet?” His hands folded behind his back as he leaned slightly toward you.
“That seems appropriate, although…” Riddle added thoughtfully, “young lady, would you actually like us to treat you to something?”
In theory, yes. In practice… was it sensible to let them buy you something? You really did want to eat, and you hadn’t brought much money. Well...Grim had already spent more than half of it on everything he’d devoured, plus a small trinket he bought from a craft stall.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you with such a triviality,” you began calmly. “It would be imprudent—”
“Nonsense!” Kalim cut you off. “We can buy you anything you want!”
Before you could even think of a counterargument, he had already rushed to a nearby stall and paid for five different types of sweets. The others stopped to wait for him, and you took the moment to adjust your skirt and Grim on your shoulder. Standing still, Grim quietly stretched himself across both shoulders like a scarf and settled there, balanced enough for when you started walking again.
“Can I eat some of what he brings?” he whispered.
“No,” you whispered back, barely moving your lips.
When Kalim returned, he carried two paper bags in both hands.
In one bag he had bought eight different flavors of macarons—some common ones like chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. Others were bizarre flavor combinations you would have preferred to donate to the ghosts of Ramshackle.
In the other bag were two chocolate éclairs, two pains au chocolat, two crescent pastries with a bright glaze, and two honey-cinnamon puff pastries.
A direct trip to diabetes.
The bag with the assorted sweets he handed to Riddle with such enthusiasm that the redhead actually leaned back a little from the force. Riddle blinked once, twice, then opened the bag and tilted his head to inspect the contents. He passed an éclair to Idia, who took it with a trembling hand and immediately retreated to eat it where no one could see him.
With the other bag still in hand, Kalim offered you a strawberry macaron. “Here! Take it! My treat!” he said with the brightest, warmest smile you had ever seen at NRC.
You hesitated for a second, but the sweet was so perfectly made, round and glossy, that refusing it would have felt like a crime. You took it delicately with your fingers and gave it a small bite instead of shoving the whole thing into your mouth out of habit. You might have been hungry, but manners and appearances mattered right now.
“How is it? Is it good?” Kalim was already handing out the other macarons to the rest, even to Leona, who took one between two fingers and inspected it with mild disinterest.
“It’s delicious. Thank you for such a generous gesture” You took another bite and the macaron was gone. You brushed your hands together and were about to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, but stopped yourself, licking your lip to catch any crumbs.
Riddle pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to you. “Here”
You took it with slight embarrassment and wiped the corners of your mouth. When you tried to return it, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. You can keep it”
You looked down at the handkerchief, delicate, red with black embroidered details. His initial stitched neatly in one corner. It had the look of something personal, perhaps a gift from his mother or something he had commissioned himself.
“Are you sure?” you asked, uneasy about keeping something so personal.
“I’m sure. It’s a handkerchief, it doesn’t carry emotional weight” He accepted the bag of sweets back from Kalim as the other boy handed him a macaron.
You looked at the handkerchief again and folded it neatly in four. The only problem now was where to put it. A mischievous idea crossed your mind for less than a second: tuck it between your breasts the way people used to do to tease admirers.
But no. You absolutely could not do that...though it would have been hilarious.
Instead, you slipped it into the folds of your skirt, improvising a small pocket. After adjusting the dress and crinoline again, you waited for the group to resume walking. The sun was beginning to dip, the first orange rays of evening spreading across the sky.
This time Leona resumed walking beside you.
His stride was heavy, hands in his pockets, his expression carrying such profound boredom it could qualify as an art form. You had no idea what he had done with the macaron; whether he ate it or casually discarded it somewhere with stealth so refined that no one noticed.
All the while he had been watching you fuss with your skirt, holding it with one hand so it wouldn’t tangle around your feet.
Then, with the faintest sigh, as if remembering he shouldn’t be too obvious about observing others, he stepped a little closer.
“Watch your step,” he murmured low enough that only you could hear. “These streets are uneven”
It sounded suspiciously like Azul’s earlier warning, but filtered through Leona’s flavor of bluntness.
Before you could answer or adjust your pace properly, he extended his arm, wiith no ceremony, as if it meant absolutely nothing to him.
But the gesture itself was pure etiquette.
“If you trip again,” he added in a flat tone without even looking at you, “that bird’s going to make us repeat this whole escort nonsense. I’m not dealing with that again”
In simple terms: take Leona’s arm so this ends faster.
Your eyes drifted to his face, half-hidden behind a mask, his hair tied in a simple ponytail. His lazy aura was still there, but layered beneath it.
Even if he showed little interest in events like this, the fact that he was wearing a mask at all was already significant. To you—the mysterious, nameless young lady—he was simply another stranger. You had no reason to recognize the second prince of Sunset Savanna.
And that gave him the advantage. If he wanted to act with the princely manners he had unfortunately been taught, he would use them, especially if it earned him a few points in front of the others. If everyone else was interacting with you, he wasn’t about to sit out.
To the passing crowd, it simply looked like a stranger offering steady support to a young woman in a crowded foreign city whose shoes were poorly suited for cobblestones.
You gently hooked your hand around his arm. “Thank you”
Leona said nothing, just clicked his tongue and gave the faintest nod.
The streets narrowed as you moved toward the academy district. The lanternlight softened. The crowd thinned just enough that conversation no longer sounded like shouting over the festival and began to feel… almost private.
Which unfortunately meant questions; Polite ones, curious ones, persistent ones.
Kalim, as usual, took it upon himself to begin. “So how did you arrange this visit?” he asked. “You said you didn’t come with the official delegations”
“That’s right,” you replied—truthfully. “My family organized the trip. I’m mostly… exploring while they attend to their obligations.”
Which, technically, was also true.
Azul slipped smoothly into the conversation. “Exploring an unfamiliar city suggests remarkable confidence,” he said, adjusting his glasses and smiling the way he did just before landing a new client. “Or considerable experience”
“A bit of both”
“Have you attended events of this scale before?” Riddle asked next, his tone measured but curious rather than strict. “The protocol at gatherings like this can be… overwhelming”
“Not exactly like this,” you admitted. “But I’ve dealt with large gatherings. And… unpredictable situations”
Behind everyone, you heard Idia mutter quietly: “…that sounds like nightmare difficulty in social interactions…”
Frankly, the poor guy already looked like he was about to log out of the event if they didn’t reach their destination soon.
“Yet you don’t seem intimidated,” Malleus said, speaking over Idia’s murmuring.
“I learned that most disasters start the same way,” you replied, pausing to choose your words carefully. “If nothing is exploding yet and no one is screaming… things are usually going well”
That comment earned you seven pairs of eyes.
Because what you had just said perfectly summarized life at a certain academy where mornings often began with students yelling, magic spiraling out of control despite professors supposedly teaching discipline, and overblots happening far too often.
Leona glanced sideways at you and huffed thoughtfully. Azul simply folded his arms and seemed to consider your answer.
“An interesting philosophy,” he said, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Quite pragmatic… and resilient”
Grim shifted slightly on your shoulders, practically vibrating with the effort not to shout HNYA, we’ve fought literal overblots every month, you have no idea!
You scratched his head lightly over the hood as a warning, and the trembling stopped. Riddle stepped forward slightly and inclined his head toward the gesture, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
“Your brother must trust you greatly if he left his familiar with you”
“He does,” you nodded.
Riddle responded with a thoughtful hum. “Responsibility reflects well on both of you”
You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and smiled.
If he knew how responsible you really were—sneaking into a festival and academic event without authorization, in a country far from the island, in a world you barely understood—well… that comment would collapse like a badly built card tower.
But as you watched him, you also noticed something else.
The way Riddle politely guided passersby out of your path. Azul adjusting his pace so you wouldn’t have to walk faster. Vil subtly steering the group away from the rougher patches of cobblestone without saying a word. Even Idia hovered closer than usual, like some socially terrified wizard who had nonetheless decided he was the party’s defensive mage in a DnD campaign.
Leona kept his stride steady beside you, perfectly matching your pace. And Malleus remained watchful, hands ready to guide a passerby aside or catch you if you stumbled.
The shift was obvious, they weren’t escorting a random girl anymore...They were engaging with her.
“It’s unusual to meet someone at this sort of event who speaks as directly as you do,” Azul said, almost as if the conversation he wanted was simply… a conversation.
Vil nodded from the front of the group. “Most attendees here are desperately trying to impress,” he said, turning his head toward you. “Whereas you, my lady, manage to impress simply by walking”
“And you’re easy to talk to too! It’s really nice!” Kalim added brightly.
From behind you, Idia muttered: “…low-pressure NPC with unexpectedly high dialogue quality…”
Oh. My. Sevens.
They’re flirting.
They are actually flirting.
And they have absolutely no idea that the person they’re flirting with is you—the extremely human, magicless prefect who attracts catastrophic overblot-level disasters like seasonal colds. All you needed was a mask, an expensive dress, and no identity.
Suddenly the seven of them were treating you like royalty.
Your cheeks flushed faintly pink. Part of you wondered—just for a second—if you could take advantage of this a little longer. It wasn’t every day these well-trained disasters behaved like gentlemen.
Another part of you was on the verge of imploding because the same seven who usually competed in ego wars (Kalim excluded) now seemed oddly invested in your company.
Please do not let this night end with all seven of them having a crush on me.
You would never survive looking them in the eye tomorrow. One or two you could handle.
Seven? That would end in a battlefield.
Ahead of you, the academy gates came into view. Tall. Ornate. Illuminated by elegant lanterns while guests streamed inside.
The perfect place for this illusion to end, before their gazes got any more intense. Your steps slowed slightly, and the others adjusted automatically.
Beyond the gates, upper balconies glowed with light and stained-glass windows scattered multicolored shards across the courtyard.
Vil glanced toward them. “A beautiful aesthetic, exactly what one would expect from the student council president,” he commented, violet eyes bright with approval. “Fleur City always delivers the finest spectacles”
Leona exhaled softly beside you. “Tch. If this thing runs longer than it should, I’m leaving”
Your lips curled faintly upward. That was such a Leona comment.
And then Idia, apparently unusually chatty tonight, talked loud enough for everyone to hear. “…pretty sure this ends with a final boss spawning in the middle of the hall at biblical difficulty…”
You couldn’t stop the laugh.
You tried to make it sound like a small huff—but the laugh slipped out naturally. Bright, familiar, too familiar.
The sound hung in the air like a memory someone had just pulled out of a locked drawer. Leona’s arm stiffened under your hand; Azul’s eyes sharpened; Vil tilted his head; Kalim blinked; Riddle froze; Idia looked like someone who had just connected two impossible dots; And Malleus’s gaze deepened.
Your pulse skyrocketed, you closed your eyes for half a second and pressed your lips together.
Idiot.
You cleared your throat quickly and stepped back. “I'm sorry,” you said lightly, smoothing your tone. “Just… the moment”
You released Leona’s arm. Another step back gave them space as the academy gates loomed only a short distance away.
“I believe this is where our paths separate,” you said with an elegant bow. “You have fulfilled your duty admirably”
Azul recovered first. “Well,” he said, though his eyes were still attentive, “this has been… unexpectedly pleasant.”
Kalim waved energetically. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the festival!”
Leona looked at your hand, then folded his arms again. “Watch where you step.”
Malleus returned your bow with one hand over his chest. “If fate allows it, I would welcome another conversation.”
You straightened. “Then perhaps fate will be kind.”
You picked Grim up in both arms, because you needed something to do with your hands, and turned toward the academy entrance.
One step...then another. Trying to look composed, just another guest entering the celebration.
Internally? You were about three seconds away from completely losing your nerve.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The moment the academy doors swallowed you, you didn’t stop, nor you didn’t slow down; in fact, you sped up.
You didn’t admire the architecture, the vaulted stone corridors, the candlelit banners, the elegant streams of guests drifting toward the grand hall.
You took a side corridor, then another, then passed through an open arch into a quieter cloister, with tall windows and ivy climbing the walls. Only when the distant noise of the courtyard softened into a manageable murmur did you finally exhale.
“…Okay,” Grim whispered from your arms. “…we’re still alive.”
“Barely.” Your lips tightened, the pressure in your chest still fighting to break free.
“That laugh almost killed us.”
“I know, Grim.” You leaned against the cold stone column and adjusted his hood so you could see his face.
“…those idiots seemed to like you, huh?” His eyes bulged slightly, and judging by his posture he was as close to a stress-induced meltdown as you were.
You shut your eyes at the memory. “Don’t remind me… that’s a problem”
“I’m glad to see my earlier concern wasn’t unfounded”
The lantern light flickered softly across the cloister floor. Somewhere deeper inside the academy, the music began again, more structured now, more ceremonial.
Why? Why can’t I have one moment of peace?
Your spine stiffened instantly, you turned.
At the entrance of the cloister stood Rollo with a posture so perfect it could belong to a movie villain. Hands clasped behind his back, expression calm and attentive. The lanternlight traced a warm outline around him… almost like flames.
“I trust the escort provided by Night Raven College proved sufficient,” he said calmly. Grim froze again like a gargoyle—after ducking his head and burrowing into your chest.
You inclined your head politely. “More than sufficient, President Flamme. Your hospitality is… thorough”
“It is my responsibility,” he replied. “A host must ensure that no guest experiences discomfort within our city”
He stepped closer, not intruding, simply shortening the conversational distance with careful etiquette. “I must admit,” he continued, thoughtful rather than stern, “it is rare to encounter attendees whose affiliation is not immediately apparent”
Another step forward. You stayed exactly where you were, clutching Grim like a plush toy.
“May I ask…” he said, choosing his words carefully, as if trying to avoid creating a scene, “whether you come from another academy?”
You didn’t allow yourself to hesitate. “My family travels frequently. I accompany them this season” The answer came out quickly, too quickly to sound completely natural.
Which, technically… wasn’t entirely false.
If one ignored the circumstances of that accompaniment.
“And do you personally practice magic?”
A simple question. Simple—and judging by the atmosphere this man radiated, a dangerous one. You didn’t know why, but the way Rollo always remained composed and asked such direct questions made something in your instincts prickle.
Your gaze dropped briefly to Grim as you scratched his head, forcing a small smile like you were remembering a relative who didn’t actually exist.
“My brother is the gifted one in the family” You looked back at him. “He’s the one formally enrolled at Night Raven College”
Rollo’s eyes sharpened slightly. “I see” His gaze lowered toward Grim’s hood. “And that bundle is a familiar, I assume?”
“Correct,” you replied, adjusting Grim again; your arms were starting to ache. The cat was definitely getting fat. “He belongs to my brother, I care for him while he’s occupied.”
His eyes studied you for a moment, like someone inspecting the symmetry of a cathedral window. If he was looking for something suspicious, he didn’t say it aloud.
But he made you sweat. A cold drop slid down your spine, you were getting tired of this much stress.
“How fortunate,” he said at last, allowing you to breathe again. “To have family capable of assuming such responsibility”
He and Riddle would probably get along, you thought. Both had that particular pride in responsibility and decorum. Which made it odd that Rollo wasn’t currently with the NRC delegation discussing formalities with Riddle.
Why wasn’t he there with them?
“In my experience,” Rollo continued quietly, walking past you to look toward the garden beyond the cloister, “those born without magic often develop… a clearer perspective on consequences”
You frowned slightly, unsure where that comment was going. “Perhaps,” you replied neutrally.
His gaze returned to you. Now he stood directly in front of you, but his posture wasn’t interrogative, although something about the moment felt like the beginning of a tense conversation.
Great. Add another person to the list of people you had to be careful speaking around. As if dealing with every student at NRC wasn’t already exhausting enough.
“At Noble Bell, we place great value on the upbringing of our guests,” he said. His voice remained firm and formal. “Often, that reveals more than titles or affiliations”
A polite way of saying tell me about your background.
And what a background that was.
“What does your family do, if I may ask?”
Your eyes widened slightly. You remembered questions like this from your own world...a little classist, a little creepy, if you were being honest.
Your mind started spinning. Whatever you said now would have consequences—and could unravel your lie instantly.
Rich merchants? Too easy to verify.
Minor nobility? Far too risky.
Foreign lineage? Absolutely not.
You needed something visible, difficult to check, socially plausible… and open to interpretation.
“…performance,” you said finally, tilting your head with a small smile.
Rollo narrowed his eyes slightly, mirroring the tilt of your head. “Performance”
“My family works within musical circles.” You stepped toward the cloister columns, letting your eyes drift toward the small garden to buy yourself a breath of space from his scrutiny. “Ceremonial events, private patronage, festivals like this… occasionally.”
Technically…not entirely false.
If one counted the endless chaos-filled performances NRC dragged you into cleaning up afterward.
“And you?” he asked, moving to stand beside you.
“Me… what?” You had been staring at a flower you thought was an orange lily-of-the-valley and hadn’t processed the question. Your body turned slightly toward him, hip angled casually.
“What do you practice?”
“Ah…” Your expression faltered for half a second in embarrassment. You hadn’t prepared that answer.
“Vocal training.” Your eyes returned to the garden. “Beginner”
If yelling at Grim every morning so he wouldn’t make you late for class counted as vocal training. Or shouting at Ace and Deuce when their clown-level stupidity dragged you into disasters. Enough practice to develop excellent lungs.
“Singing,” you finished.
For one terrible second you thought you had overplayed it. But Rollo didn’t react, he simply nodded.
“A disciplined art,” he said. His brows lifted slightly, careful not to appear judgmental. “Music, when practiced with devotion, reflects order.”
He extended his hands in front of him, left hand outward. “Structure” Right hand outward. “Harmony” His palms opened, fingers long and precise. “The sacred ceremonies of this city rely greatly on vocal precision.” His head turned toward the distant sound of a choir rising from the main hall. “A poorly trained chorus can ruin an entire liturgical sequence”
You followed his gaze toward the archway leading to the side corridor and listened to the choir for a few seconds. “I prefer small audiences.”
“A wise preference,” Rollo nodded, exhaling softly in time with the rising harmony of the chorus. “True refinement rarely requires spectacle”
You leaned slightly to study his face—pure curiosity. His expression softened for a moment under the layered voices of the choir, as if the music were something sacred to him.
The moment lasted only a few seconds. Then he composed himself again, hands folded neatly before him, his attention returning to you. You straightened as well.
“You speak with unusual composure for someone outside the academic delegations,” he said, stepping closer. “Most visitors tonight are eager to attract attention”
You pressed your lips together in a small thoughtful pout, tilting your head toward the music as if weighing the idea. Thinking, and thinking.
“It’s easier to listen first…” You gave him a crooked smile. “Attention can be exhausting sometimes”
Rollo exhaled again—subtle, but visible. “Yes…” His eyes lingered on yours. “…it certainly can be”
Then, like a dramatic punctuation mark in a poorly timed story, a massive bell rang out. The sound cracked through the academy like thunder; deep, heavy and close. The vibration rolled through the stone around you.
“It seems the ceremony is about to begin.”
You turned toward the corridor as the footsteps of guests echoed more strongly through the halls, a tide moving toward the grand hall.
Rollo adjusted his attire, the robe, even the large hat, then extended his hand to you exactly as he had earlier in the plaza, the other hand behind his back.
“It would be improper to allow a guest unfamiliar with the academy to navigate the inner corridors alone during a formal assembly”
Ah… damn
“I will escort you personally.” There was no room for debate. Decision made. End of discussion.
Refusing now would be far more suspicious than accepting.
“You are very thorough, President Flamme,” you said with a bow that nearly reached the floor, holding Grim with one arm and your hat with the other so it wouldn’t slip.
“Thoroughness prevents disorder,” he replied calmly.
He waited patiently for your hand. When you placed it in his, his fingers closed gently around yours. The cold edge of his ring brushed your skin even through the glove. “This way”
The academy corridors unfolded ahead of you. Candles lined the walls in strict rows, the stained glass windows were fading under the last rays of sunset. Immaculate white columns framed the space while the ceremonial atmosphere gathered like a curtain before a stage performance.
“For someone outside the formal delegations,” Rollo commented as you approached the reading hall entrance, “you carry yourself with remarkable composure”
“I’ve learned to adapt quickly,” you said, tilting your head slightly. That, at least, was the most honest thing you had said all day.
“A valuable skill.”
Grim’s small claws pressed into your sleeve, his silent signal that things were going very wrong.
Ahead, the corridor opened. Golden light from enormous chandeliers flooded the hall, marble floors gleamed beneath towering stained-glass pillars, the ceremonial music swelled as hundreds of voices gathered at the center.
Rollo slowed his pace as you approached and gently guided you closer so the entire hall opened before your view.
“The seating is organized by delegation,” he explained, gesturing upward with his free hand. “However, independent guests may observe from the upper galleries”
Translation: He was personally installing you in the best observation point in the building.
Most likely surrounded by staff, highly visible, no escape routes.
Wonderful.
He pointed toward a marble staircase rising along the hall wall. “From there you will have a perfect view”
You lifted your gaze toward the upper gallery, marble and stone just as ornate as the rest of the hall, and quite spacious.
“If you require anything, attendants will be nearby” Then he released your hand.
Standing straight as a ceremonial statue, he bowed once more—legs aligned perfectly like a prince finishing a formal greeting. “I trust the presentation will justify your attendance”
And with that, he left.
Once again, you were alone with Grim.
“…hey… henchman…” a small whisper came from inside the cloak.
“…yeah?” You still hadn’t taken your eyes off Rollo’s retreating figure down the corridor.
“We have VIP seats”
“…yeah”
Grim sighed. You felt his tail go limp across your shoulder. “…this night is going spectacularly”
You released a long breath. “…absolutely.”
Then you turned and started up the stairs.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The bell never finished its final resonance.
One moment the reading hall was perfectly synchronized with the ceremony, waiting for the famous magical bell artifact to sound… and the next moment fire.
Not the warm glow of decorative candles lining the hall. Not a ceremonial brazier. Not a controlled magical flame meant to add theatrical flair.
These were real flames, hungry ones, full of magic—and disturbingly selective.
They burst upward along the cathedral columns in violent ribbons of orange while the massive bell roared like a living thing. Heat tore through the hall, guests screamed, the polished order of the ceremony collapsed instantly into panic.
“My magic—!”
“It’s not activating!”
“What’s happening?!”
The sound spread in waves, confusion becoming fear, fear becoming absolute chaos.
From the upper gallery, smoke already curling over the carved railing, you clutched Grim tightly to your chest.
“This has officially turned into a disaster!” you inhaled as deeply as you could, staring down at the inferno rising below.
“HNYA!! FOO! FOO!” Grim tried blowing at the approaching flames. “PREFECT, THE FIRE’S GETTING CLOSER!”
“I CAN SEE THAT!”
Guests surged toward exits in disorganized waves, assistants shouted directions nobody followed, sparks rained down as part of the decorative canopy collapsed in a burst of embers.
You backed against the stone wall, keeping distance from the fire. The flames were climbing quickly now, you could feel them licking the hem of your skirt. You yanked the fabric away and moved sideways along the wall toward the corridor exit.
“If this dress burns,” you said with deadly seriousness, even as the smoke made your breathing ragged, “I swear by the Seven, Grim, I will make you work overtime to pay off our debt to Sam”
“THAT’S YOUR PRIORITY RIGHT NOW!?”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THIS FABRIC COSTS?!”
A small explosion cracked beside you and you hurried your steps. You pulled off your hat and held it over your nose, shielding both you and Grim from the smoke.
The bell thundered again. But now it wasn’t announcing a ceremony, or the hour, or the arrival of magic into a new era.
It was weaponized.
“…Okay,” you muttered, forcing yourself to stay calm and conserving oxygen as best you could. Your eyes scanned the gallery exits, fallen chandeliers, and the storm of wildflower petals drifting through the hall. “Time to save their asses… again.”
The bell roared, the metallic blast split the air so violently the stained-glass windows trembled, and with that resonance, more petals erupted into the burning air.
At first it looked almost beautiful, orange petals floating down toward the flames, dozens, then hundreds. A storm of glowing flowers falling from the bell tower like drifting embers.
One brushed the sleeve of a fleeing mage, the flower ignited bright red on contact, its petals burned from within. Smoke rose as the student’s spell collapsed instantly, magic ripped out of the air like someone unplugging reality itself.
“My magic—! It’s gone!”
Another flower fell, another flare, another failed spell. Understanding spread faster than the fire.
“They’re draining it—!”
“Don’t let them touch you!”
More petals rained down, brushing cloaks, masks, bare hands, triggering bursts of flame wherever they landed, leaving scorched fabric and a dead silence where magic should have answered.
The grand hall—seconds ago filled with the most skilled magical students from several academies—was now packed with people who couldn’t conjure a single spark.
Grim twisted in your arms. “PREFECT THIS IS BAD—REALLY BAD—”
You saw one flower drifting toward you and flattened yourself against the wall. The corridor behind you was already engulfed in flames, the staircase was starting to burn. You couldn’t stop the petal gliding over the gallery railing straight toward your sleeve.
It touched the fabric…Nothing happened. No flame, no burn, no magic drain. Because there was nothing to drain, the petal simply slid off your sleeve and landed harmlessly on the floor.
You lifted your arm, no damage. You squeezed Grim tighter against your chest and turned toward the stairs.
“It only drains magic!” you shouted over the roar of the fire.
“That means—”
“That means,” you snapped, voice sharp with the absolutely terrible decision you were about to make, “while everyone else is getting drained—”
You took the stairs two at a time, dodging small flames licking across the marble. “—someone without magic is the most useful person in the entire building!”
Grim’s eyes went wide, he realized it instantly. The only one who could move freely through this chaos…was you.
Without thinking twice you leapt the final stretch of stairs, landing inelegantly on the main floor. Before the flames could reach the hem of your dress you yanked the fabric aside and bolted across the hall.
“Hot! Hot! Hot!” Yes, talking while running through a smoke-filled hall was stupid, but it was the only way to vent the stress as you sprinted through the wide arches.
And at the center of the inferno...the seven dorm leaders stood in formation, imposing order on chaos the only way they knew how; loudly, stubbornly.
“Clear evacuation routes!” shouted Riddle. “We need civilians out—now!”
Idia was shouting too, panic turning his brain into a rapid-fire analysis machine. “The flowers are linked to the bell! It’s a distributed power source!”
Kalim and Azul were already dousing nearby flames with water magic. Even Malleus, with his power weakened, had air swirling around him like a contained cyclone, deflecting falling petals.
All seven were staring upward toward the tower. Where the bell still rang, where more flowers kept falling, and where one man stood watching the chaos below with chilling superiority.
Rollo.
“This world has suffered too long under the rule of magic!” he shouted, completely unhinged. His staff swung wildly, sending waves of burning flowers across the hall. “Power brings only arrogance! Destruction! Chaos!”
Another bell strike, more petals, the last scraps of magic began to fail.
“I will end this suffering!” His voice cracked into something almost like a sob. “Even if the flames must purify this city!”
Grim buried his face deeper in the cloak against your shoulder. “…yeah okay… he’s lost it”
The leaders moved before you could blink. All seven redirected the remaining magic they could muster, pushing the falling flowers away in bursts of wind—though the currents also fed the fire.
“Watch the flames!” shouted Vil, already extinguishing a decorative banner that had caught fire.
Leona had launched himself toward a pillar, dodging both the flames and the falling flowers with the kind of speed he only used during Magift. With King’s Roar, he turned every piece of furniture already on fire into sand.
Tiny grains scattered through the air as more flowers fell from the bell tower, only to dissolve the moment they touched the drifting sand.
“NO!” shouted Rollo, staggering slightly. “Magic must disappear! Even if I must burn this city to its foundation, I will finish what I started!”
The flames burst upward again, bathing the entire reading hall in violent orange and red light, smoke was already swallowing the last breathable air.
You ducked as a piece of the structure collapsed, crushing a bench beneath it, splinters of wood scattered everywhere.
“Henchman!” Grim coughed. “This is the part where the villain stops being organized and becomes erratically dangerous!”
“…good call, Grim.” He was right. After dealing with multiple overblots, both of you knew the pattern by heart.
And if there was something else you’d learned after months inside a school full of wildly irresponsible magic users, and a few outright fanatics, it was this: You don’t argue with them.
Especially not a fanatic who’s currently burning down a city.
You placed Grim beneath the archway entrance of the hall, hiding him from the flames under a stretch of marble structure, the doors were already open where civilians had escaped.
Then you ran straight toward the fire, toward the seven idiots fighting inside it. Or maybe you were the idiot for charging into an inferno wearing a highly flammable dress with zero magic.
But hey—adrenaline does wonderful things to a person’s judgment.
“WAIT—!” you heard Grim squeak over the crackling fire.
You didn’t look back, your eyes were locked on the chaos ahead. You didn’t think rationally either—because sometimes the optimal solution…is interrupting a villain’s speech with physical violence.
You ran, and ran and ran. You rushed past Riddle, who only caught a glimpse of a swirl of black and red fabric from the corner of his eye, unable to see clearly through the heat distortions.
But when you planted your foot, twisted your body, and raised your arm—every dorm leader became very aware of your presence in the flames.
Crack.
Your fist slammed directly into Rollo’s face. A solid human punch, powered by frustration and adrenaline. His head snapped sideways, the speech he was about to shout died halfway up his throat.
He staggered back a step, hand flying to his cheek, his eyes went wide, pure disbelief flooding his expression. No one in his perfectly ordered life had ever punched him.
The fire flickered, then slowly began to die down. The hall inhaled again, tThe room seemed to exhale with it.
You lowered your hand slowly, breathing hard, then bent forward as the pain finally hit your knuckles.
“…ow”
The pain shot up your arm, you shook your hand violently, hopping slightly on your feet.
“Shit,” you muttered, clutching your hand for a moment before shaking it again. “That hurts...oh hell that hurts”
You looked at Rollo, voice rough from the smoke. “Could you maybe not burn down a city over your personal issues for five minutes?!”
You bent forward again. “Damn! Your bones are hard!”
Behind you—
“SHE JUST DEFEATED THE FINAL BOSS WITH A HOOK PUNCH!” shouted Idia, unable to contain what he had just witnessed.
“…okay,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “That was one of the worst decisions of my life” Under the glove, your knuckles were already swelling.
“Don’t move” The voice of Vil arrived calm, sharp, perfectly controlled now that the end-of-the-world situation had paused.
He gently took your wrist and carefully removed your glove. The skin around your knuckles was red and throbbing, you could barely move your fingers without a stab of pain running all the way to your shoulder.
“That impact could have fractured something,” he said, lifting your hand and examining it. He turned it carefully in different directions, moving your fingers slightly, visibly irritated. “Honestly. Barbaric… effective, but barbaric”
Azul stepped beside him, his tone smooth but edged with concern. “Allow us to help. We can perform basic healing spells”
Riddle was already clearing space nearby, dragging charred furniture aside. “Give the young lady air!”
Kalim rushed over as well, dodging debris and wilted flowers. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” he asked, leaning in beside Vil to inspect the damage.
You tried to pull your hand away. “I’m fine—”
Vil didn’t allow it, tightening his hold slightly, though not painfully. “Do not argue while you are injured”
“…okay”
Azul placed his fingers lightly against your knuckles. A faint spell flickered between them, much weaker than his magic normally shone. A soft blue glow wrapped around your hand, cold, like pressing an ice pack against the injury.
The swelling eased slightly, the pain dulling from a sharp stab to a manageable ache.
“This is only temporary relief,” Azul said, withdrawing his hand. Vil released your wrist as well. “You will require proper treatment later”
You flexed your fingers carefully, the muscles moved without too much resistance.
“…thanks” You slowly pulled the glove back on. The soft fabric brushed the injury and you winced faintly.
Leona had been watching the entire time with narrowed eyes, arms crossed. “Do you usually run into burning buildings?”
His tone was flat, not mocking, nor scolding, just… curious. You tilted your head, thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Seemed like the fastest way to stop him.”
“Speed is not always the most efficient method,” remarked Malleus as he stepped closer, checking if you’d been injured anywhere besides your hand. “Do you require further assistance, miss?”
“I’m fine now, really. Thank you” Malleus inclined his head and didn’t press further.
Instead he stepped back and cast a small spell—simple for him even in his weakened state, but still effective. The air cleared instantly, smoke and ash were swept away. At last, the reading hall could breathe again, even with the aftermath of the fight still hanging in the air.
Without the smoke, the damage was impossible to ignore. Several pieces of furniture had been reduced to ash, none of the decorative fabrics had escaped the flames, some burned down to their first threads, others halfway through their tapestry. Black scorch marks stained the marble floor, several stained-glass windows were cracked. A few more seconds and the glass would have exploded.
“…I…” Behind you, a trembling voice finally broke free from its daze.
Rollo was still standing exactly where the punch had left him, his hand pressed to his cheek, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. His voice was faint—barely more than a whisper. The fury that had filled it minutes ago had collapsed entirely.
“…I only wanted…” His voice cracked. “…to stop everything tied to magic… to remove the world’s pain”
His gaze drifted across the ruined hall, the ashes, the chaos his plan had unleashed. “This… is…”
His knee buckled and he nearly collapsed to the floor if you hadn’t moved quickly and caught his arm. The others stiffened immediately, stepping forward, ready to protect you from the suddenly fragile fanatic. You raised your hand to stop them.
Then you guided him toward the small central step and let him sit. Silence stretched as you allowed him time to breathe normally again.
On the floor beside you lay a violet handkerchief, scattered with ash. You picked it up, shook off as much dirt as possible, and held it out to him. Rollo stared at your hand, then at your eyes, then at the hand again.
His jaw tightened as he swallowed before finally taking the cloth and pressing it against his cheek, which was already darkening into a bruise.
His shoulders slumped. “…I have failed,” he whispered. “My obsession endangered thousands of citizens… and my students”
He took a shaky breath and bowed his head where he sat. “…I offer my most sincere apologies.”
The apology wasn’t just meant for you, or the seven standing behind you. It was for every guest, for his city, for his school, for the entire world he had nearly burned to the ground.
“The evening is ruined,” he said before trying to stand, you helped him again, slipping your arm under his. “The ceremony cannot continue under these conditions.”
He looked genuinely distressed, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. You kept your grip steady and glanced toward the entrance. Grim was still waiting there, sitting quietly—but clearly trying not to vibrate from the tension. The doorway itself was intact, and the area around it too.
Yes, the hall was wrecked…but wasn’t magic also meant to help, not just destroy?
Also… where the hell was Crowley when someone actually needed him? Of course. Useless bird.
“…is it?” you said, breaking the thick tension.
Rollo turned toward you, startled, and you gave him a small, almost amused look and shrugged again.
“The structure is still standing, fortunately” Your gaze swept the damaged hall. “And the guests are safe”
It seemed Malleus shared your thinking, he stepped forward. “A ceremony is not defined by perfection,” he said, extending his arms slightly toward the hall. “But by those who gather within it… and choose to remain”
Rollo blinked, slightly disoriented. Malleus stepped closer, now standing in front of both of you.
“If the host permits,” he continued, his eyes sincere and calm, “Night Raven College would be willing to offer a performance in place of the interrupted program”
Kalim’s eyes lit up instantly as he joined the circle. “Oh! We can do that!”
From further back, Idia fiddled nervously with the sleeves of his very extravagant suit. “…are we activating emergency concert mode…?” His face looked like someone ready to teleport back to his room and lock the door for the next week.
Azul removed his hat and tapped it against his leg, knocking loose a few ash particles clinging to its ocean-themed decorations. “A collaborative performance would calm the guests and stabilize the atmosphere”
Leona let out a loud grunt. “You guys are annoying”
Clearly uncomfortable with the resolution, he turned and walked down the hall, but not toward the exit. Instead he kicked a fairly intact bench and dropped onto it.
“…you’re not going to help, are you?” snapped Vil, arms crossed.
“I’m not singing if that’s what you’re asking, pretty boy” Leona leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes closing as if savoring what little peace remained before chaos resumed.
You snorted softly and turned your head away, covering your mouth to hide a smile.
“This night does not have to end in ashes,” Malleus said again. “Not if you decide otherwise.”
Rollo studied Malleus carefully, perhaps searching for resentment, disgust, or superiority. But Malleus didn’t look at people like that; you knew that. But that was something only you understood… and something you’d keep very quiet.
No, Rollo found none of those things. He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
When he exhaled, his composure had returned. “…very well”
He slipped his arm free from yours and stood straight again. “If your school truly wishes to offer such generosity… Noble Bell College will be honored.”
The decision spread through the room like a spark catching dry wood.
Rollo moved toward the doors with renewed purpose, you followed at a slight distance, your good hand lightly touching the knuckles of the injured one through the glove. When you reached the doorway, you crouched and picked Grim up. Rollo was already speaking to the attendants, directing them into motion.
Lanterns were relit, broken furniture beyond repair was carried outside, pieces that could still stand were pushed aside, some attendants used magic to clean the soot-darkened marble. Malleus helped with that as well.
Within minutes the hall had nearly returned to its original state. The musicians who had once prepared the ceremonial music brought out instruments again, students from Noble Bell College hurried to reconstruct something resembling a formal—if now acoustic—evening.
Rollo stood at the center of it all, overseeing the work, ensuring nothing was misplaced, watching the Night Raven College delegation help, issuing calm instructions to his students.
His gaze moved across the entire hall, until it returned to you.
“I wish to offer my most sincere apology,” his voice carrying clearly across the room, the bruise on his cheek was now unmistakable. “I failed my guests… and those who showed the courage I lacked in that moment.”
His bow was so deep he nearly folded in half. You tightened your grip around Grim against your chest as you watched him straighten again.
“You intervened when reason could no longer reach me,” he continued. “And for that… you have my sincere gratitude. And my apology”
How many times had people bowed or inclined themselves before you tonight? Five? Six? Who knew.
It certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“I placed you in danger inside my own academy.” You held his gaze, but this time you didn’t bow. Your neck was already starting to ache from all the earlier ones.
“I’m just glad the city isn’t on fire.”
Rollo simply nodded and looked around again. The students of Noble Bell were nearly finished restoring the hall, and the seven dorm leaders had regrouped in their usual cluster of dramatic personalities.
Their attention was now very clearly fixed on you, you could practically feel their eyes drilling into your back. Behind the thin mask you gave yourself a completely deadpan look. They couldn't possibly be more obvious. You huffed quietly and waited while the last details were set in place, a student lit the final candle on a low chandelier.
“Earlier you mentioned that your family works in the field of musical performance,” Rollo said. You turned your head so quickly your neck nearly cracked.
“And… that you yourself train your voice.”
Out of the corner of your eye you saw Kalim elbow Azul so he would stop talking to Idia and pay attention. Vil's eyes sharpened with sudden artistic interest...That was definitely not a good sign.
Rollo clasped his hands together near his chest, almost pleading. “The choir scheduled for tonight has been… interrupted”
He then extended his hands toward you. “If the young lady who helped save this ceremony would be willing—even a brief performance—” His palms opened upward. “…it might help restore calm among our guests.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop a tiny panicked squeak.
Kalim suddenly jumped forward, stopping far too close to your face. “That sounds fantastic!” He grabbed both your hands enthusiastically. You flinched slightly at the stab of pain in your knuckles. “Oh! Right, sorry!”
He released the injured one immediately, though his excitement didn’t dim in the slightest. “You can sing? You didn’t mention that earlier!”
You tried to respond, anything, but your mouth stayed half-open when Azul stepped closer too, wearing an expression of dangerously genuine curiosity.
“How convenient,” he said smoothly. “It seems the young lady possessed hidden talents” His sincere smile somehow made you even more nervous.
At lightning speed your eyes scanned the seven dorm leaders and Rollo, completely unable to form a single word. Every possible response in your head was immediately replaced by another, or interrupted by something someone in front of you said.
“…this is either the best narrative resolution ever or the beginning of a catastrophic post-credits scene,” Idia whispered to Riddle, he rolled his eyes and ignored the comment.
“Well then…” Vil crossed his arms, visibly expectant. “Can you?”
His smile looked like that of a film director who had just discovered his next muse and was about to shoot the best scene of his career.
“Here we go again,” groaned Leona, pinching the bridge of the nose. “Stop crowding her again” Vil gestured for him to be quiet.
You closed your mouth...Opened it again...Closed it again; then slowly inhaled. Honestly… it had already been a very long day: You had snuck into an international festival without an official invitation; dodged lethal magic-draining flowers; lied to the host of the entire event and punched him in the face in the middle of a burning hall.
At this point…
what was one more bad decision?
“…I can try”
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
From one of the tall windows of the hall, you had a perfect view of the performance unfolding below.
Malleus stood right at the center of the marble circle—calm, steady, almost statuesque. When he sang, his voice carried through the entire hall with a strength that everyone could feel. Beside him, Azul and Idia accompanied the song with suspicious precision; you had never seen them rehearse this performance, and you were fairly certain you had never heard this song echoing through the dorm corridors either.
“…wow,” Grim whispered from your arms, barely peeking out to watch. “They’re actually killing it”
“Yeah…” You leaned forward a little more.
The other dorm leaders stood off to one side of the hall watching the performance unfold, and just as he had promised, Leona had absolutely no intention of participating.
You leaned a little farther when you noticed something odd about Idia’s performance in front of the guests. “…Is Idia using a voice device?”
“…that guy really can’t live without technology,” Grim muttered, crossing his arms. His expression flattened when he spotted the small device Idia was clearly using to sing for him.
And even so…The performance was magnificent.
Malleus’s voice sounded so majestic it was both deep and almost angelic, probably one of the many perks of being a high fae and future prince. Idia’s voice—unexpectedly delicate despite being technological—and Azul’s tone blended perfectly together.
You rested your arms on the stone window frame and closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to enjoy the evening the way you had originally planned. Grim climbed onto the window ledge beside you, adjusting his mask so he could see better. Both of you swayed gently with the rhythm of the music, and a smile slowly spread across your face.
“They’ve got this,” you murmured quietly, tapping a finger against your arm in time with the music. “Bastards… is there anything they can’t do well?”
Grim snickered, covering his mouth with his paw to keep the sound down. “They’re totally showing off.”
You laughed quietly along with him. When you opened your eyes again, you found Grim staring at you. “You’re next.”
Your smile, which had started out sarcastic, shifted into something more mischievous.
You looked back down toward the hall. The voices still flowed together in harmony, moving around the marble circle with a grace that Vil was probably mentally approving from somewhere nearby. The second chorus was about to begin.
“Well…” you straightened up, adjusting the fall of your skirt and the lace miraculously still intact over the red brocade. “I suppose it’s time to close the night with a golden finish”
Grim looked up at you, eyes narrowing skeptically, his little paws stretching toward you to be held again.“You know how to sing?”
You lifted him and settled him onto your shoulder, both of you looked down toward the stage one last time. Your voice obviously wouldn’t sound as perfect as Malleus’s, but at least it would sound human, warm.
Or so you hoped.
You adjusted your mask and stepped toward the staircase, running your hand along the stone edge of the window and grabbing a small black fan.
“…Where did you get that fan?” Grim asked.
You opened it, revealing a simple design of floral embroidery and delicate lace. “It was on one of the benches”
“Hng… you’re adding more drama.”
Right then, Malleus’s voice surged through the entire hall structure as he reached the final note. The sound vibrated through the room, leaving behind a faint but powerful echo.
You paused mid-step and glanced upward as if your eyes could follow the note sliding through the air, then you gave Grim a playful look. “Come on” You turned toward the stairs. “We’ve got to compete with our prince”
The final chord echoed for a few seconds, applause followed, warm and energized, proof that the performance of those three had worked. The night had been saved.
You set Grim down at the top of the stairs, placing him beside a small decorative window at his height so he could watch the next act. When your heel touched the first step, the lighting along the staircase dimmed slightly, casting a softer contrast around your silhouette.
Fan open, one hand resting lightly on the railing, your heart racing a mile a minute. This would either go spectacularly well…
or become the most embarrassing moment of your life.
You glanced once more at Grim for support, he lifted one paw in a tiny thumbs-up; that was apparently the feline version of encouragement.
And so you began your descent, slow steps, measured, careful. Falling now would be catastrophic. No one wanted to watch the mysterious masked woman who had saved the evening tumble down twenty marble steps.
“Masquerade
Paper faces on parade
Masquerade
Hide your face, so the world will never find you…”
The applause died instantly, your voice wasn't loud nor powerful like Malleus’s, it didn’t have Azul’s precision, nor Idia’s delicate tone...But hopefully it was unmistakably human, and familiar. Almost… comforting.
Each step down the marble curved with the melody, the lace of the dress catching the candlelight, the fan tilting slightly, slow movements as if you were stepping into a courtship circle.
Below in the hall, the seven leaders stood still. Malleus, Idia, and Azul had returned to stand with the others and now the entire group once again had their eyes fixed on you.
Both Azul and Riddle tensed in unison, not expecting your voice to emerge so soft. Singing while descending a staircase could be rather complicated if you didn’t have proper vocal control; walking while singing alone could already be tiring and might make your voice tremble.
Kalim, who stood on the opposite side of Riddle, grabbed his sleeve and began shaking it, pointing at you as you continued your descent. His mouth hung open, nearly reaching the floor, forming a small wow while you fanned yourself with each descending step.
“Masquerade
Every face a different shade
Masquerade
Look around, there’s another mask behind you”
You continued downward, slow but steady, each step landing precisely with the tempo of the lyrics. Now the fan moved a little faster.
Vil followed your figure with every step, every movement of your dress flowing smoothly over the stairs; your posture perfectly straight, your weight settling properly onto each foot as it should, the heels striking neatly in time with the tempo. He watched how you moved the fan, as if it were a supporting actor that required very little to be perfect.
Idia stood behind Vil, slightly hunched with his mask poorly positioned; it looked like he had removed it for a moment after the performance, or rather, like he had deflated after carrying out such an intense social activity in front of so many people. His head barely leaned past Vil’s shoulder as he watched how you didn’t need much to sound… simple, soothing.
The last curve of the staircase opened beneath your feet. The light framed you warmer there, spilling gold across the newly polished floor. You extended the hand holding the fan slightly to the side as the verse neared its end, and when your foot touched the final step…the music swelled, the violins accompanying the delicate chimes while a few percussion instruments followed.
“Flash of mauve,
Splash of puce,
Fool and king,
Ghoul and goose,
Green and black,
Queen and priest,
Trace of rouge,
Face of beast”
You advanced farther into the open hall, guests stepped aside to give you room, as if the song itself were clearing a path for you. The warmth of your voice filled the space the fear had left behind earlier, moving through the hall softer than magic, steadier than the ceremony.
Leona had remained leaning against a pillar, watching without making any visible movement or comment toward the others. His arms rested at his sides, palms against the pillar, his gaze moving up and down your figure as he watched you walk through the crowd. But he wasn’t looking at you the way Vil was.
No. He observed you as if trying to solve a puzzle that had been gnawing at him since the afternoon in the plaza. The mysterious masked girl who had stumbled into the group and carried herself with a natural ease almost humiliating for the seven of them clearly had an ace up her sleeve… an ace that felt strangely familiar, though he couldn’t remember from where.
And Malleus…was doing exactly the same. Watching you; but with a softer gaze, as though he were seeing a nymph within her own spring and he were merely a mortal fortunate enough to stumble upon her, fate too generous to allow him to witness such a spectacle.
Then…more voices joined, almost by accident. A voice close to you murmured quietly, then a couple near the edge of the circle, just above the violins, then another pair, cautious but slightly more confident.
All of those voices testing whether they were allowed to join—as though they were forming a chorus to accompany your performance. And you allowed it.
A performance so human was always better when accompanied, wasn’t it?
“Faces
Take your turn, take a ride
On the merry-go-round
In an inhuman race…”
A pair of masked dancers stepped onto the open floor, slowly and cautiously at first; no choreography, only instinct, their movements catching the rhythm just as the candlelight caught the stained glass.
More joined. It wasn’t a full dance yet—just a movement here, another there. And gradually, what had begun with only your voice started turning into a complete spectacle.
You moved the fan in flowing motions upward with the rhythm of the lyrics—the dramatic courtship play Grim had mentioned.
“Eye of gold,
Thigh of blue,
True is false,
Who is who?
Curl of lip,
Swirl of gown,
Ace of hearts,
Face of clown”
The chorus of guests was unmistakable now, harmonizing with yours—not raising their voices to compete with you, but filling the space so the performance reverberated just as powerfully as Malleus’s voice alone had earlier.
Dozens of voices intertwined softly beneath yours; it was like watching the masquerade itself sing to close the night. Silk skirts began to spin, cloaks gliding across the floor, candlelight casting soft shadows over every figure and across the marble.
“Faces
Drink it in, drink it up
Till you’ve drowned in the light, in the sound
But who can name the face?”
You turned your head toward a woman dressed exquisitely, wearing an immaculate violet gown, a mask almost identical to yours covered her eyes, she also carried a fan matching her dress.
With a movement that seemed rehearsed, the two of you raised your fans in front of your faces at the same moment. Everyone nearby who held a fan did exactly the same.
And for the third time that evening—after an inconvenient encounter, after an infernal chaos—the event finally felt like a masquerade again.
Right there, at the center of everything, this time a center you had actually sought, you found yourself surrounded by a ballroom that had willingly become part of your song.
“Masquerade!
Grinning yellows, spinning reds
Masquerade!
Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you!”
The dance burst to life.
No longer were there hesitant couples barely swaying, now they spun with confidence to the sound of the violins, gowns and suits tracing wide arcs across the marble floor. You moved among the turns like a master of ceremonies, your skirt’s movement blending with the others, spinning not to dance but to carry your voice to every corner of the hall.
Kalim’s eyes widened as he watched the sea of fabrics spinning and spinning—it was dizzying just to see so much coordination. “Oh! People are really joining in!”
Azul watched keenly. “Fascinating… she’s stabilizing the entire room”
A few steps away, a Noble Bell student, tall, immaculate, his uniform pristine and untouched by ash, walked directly toward you.
Closer, closer still, until he stood only a single step away, moving in rhythm with the crowd, following your steps before bowing and extending his hand.
A formal invitation, a very legitimate one, the kind of official invitation you had hoped for ever since the festival had been announced. All afternoon you had hesitated about where to walk, hesitated about what to say so you wouldn’t be discovered. Now…
you simply wanted to dance, and you accepted the invitation without stopping your singing.
You snapped the fan closed softly against your hip while allowing him to guide you into the swirling mass of couples turning across the floor. Some dancers even lifted their partners into the air, far too bold a movement for you, so you wisely didn’t attempt it.
Your dance was coordinated and fairly simple compared to the others, whose steps already carried the etiquette of ballroom tradition, yours remained softer, movements that allowed the dress to breathe and form dark circles trimmed with red, and enough stillness that your voice could continue floating above the chorus.
The student spun you once just as the orchestra swelled, your dress opened in a dark flare that caught the golden light like a glowing ember refusing to fade.
Across the floor, the seven dorm leaders watched as the performance had truly become that— a performance.
Dance, music, lead voice, chorus. Had you really not planned this from the start?
Vil murmured more to himself than the others, captivated by the way your dress followed every turn. “Control, breath rhythm, audience integration.” He adjusted both sleeves before adding his final verdict. “She has stage instinct”
He walked straight into the crowd and invited the first person he saw waiting near the edge of the dance floor. The others stared in silence for a few seconds before Kalim burst into laughter and strode toward the center as well, inviting a Noble Bell student to dance.
The hall had fully surrendered now, no more uncertain steps or scattered movements—only a sea of silk and velvet, feathered hats swaying in the air, lace glimmering beneath the softened lights.
Couples changed hands in coordinated turns, everyone pulsed with the rhythm of the music.
“You can fool
Any friend who ever knew you”
The student guiding you spun you once more, then another step, then he released your hand with elegant timing within the flow of the dance, allowing another guest to take it. Then another, and another; You remained on the dance floor as if you had been born to dance until sunrise.
The orchestra never truly stopped after that.
One song melted into the next, the tempo rising and softening in waves while the lantern light grew warmer, as though the night itself had finally remembered what it was meant to be.
And you danced, and danced, and danced. Occasionally glancing upward toward the window where Grim watched from his hiding place, until he grew bored and hurried down the stairs toward a small table where snacks and drinks had been arranged.
And Grim, being Grim, went straight for the snacks. You shook your head, amused, unable to suppress the smile at the irony of it all: Grim worrying only about food, completely forgetting the stealth part…while you danced with strangers.
At first.
Because in the middle of another turn, Kalim arrived. He practically bounced his way over, bowing with an enthusiastic sincerity that somehow remained perfectly polite.
“May I?” he asked, already smiling as though the answer could only be yes.
His dancing was open, slightly less precise than the formal protocol demanded, but relaxed enough that the turns felt light and smooth rather than rigid and ceremonial.
If the music hadn’t dictated the style, Kalim probably would have dragged you into a dozen far more energetic moves across the entire floor.
“Best night ever,” he laughed softly as you spun together. His laughter was so contagious it made you laugh too—though you kept it much more controlled this time.
“I’m really glad you stayed” He spun you again in a partner exchange.
Next came Riddle. He stepped forward with impeccable posture, offering his hand with textbook ceremonial formality. “I would like to request this dance,” he said, composed, but unmistakably sincere.
His steps were perfect, structured, exactly as ballroom manuals likely instructed for someone leading a partner. Not stiff, simply precise—as if every movement had been practiced until he could guide another person with absolute confidence.
“You handle chaos surprisingly well,” he admitted quietly during a turn.
Ah…if only you knew
Then came Azul. He bowed with a touch of theatrical flair, though still formal, like a merchant about to greet a valuable soul. “It would be a tragedy not to experience a dance with you”
He guided you effortlessly, every step deliberate, every movement calculated so that you appeared exquisite, as though you were a rare piece in an impossibly expensive collection. And he remained in the background…letting you shine.
Vil arrived afterward as if the night itself had set a timer so he would appear at the exact right moment, balancing the aesthetic of the three who had gone before him.
His hand was firm, confident; the dance elegant without effort, posture impeccable, movement fluid—the kind of partner who doesn’t just dance but shapes the entire image of the ballroom around him.
“You understand presentation,” he murmured near your ear. “Presence. That’s rare to find” He released your hand for an open step, ending with you spinning on yourself and landing briefly in the blond’s arms before he let you go again.
You were surprised when Idia came next. His expression showed he was fighting every ounce of his anxiety and preparing himself like someone about to face a hidden final boss.
“…okay.” He took your hand in his, visibly trembling and a little hesitant. “Statistically speaking I’m going to regret this—or die—if I don’t at least try once…”
His steps were clumsy, but not enough for you to step on his feet, nor for him to step on yours. Idia had more secrets tucked up his sleeves than he liked to show the world.
One step, then another, and then, surprisingly, he became careful, mentally counting the next movements so you could continue looking radiant in your dress. “It’s easy… being next to you,” he admitted quietly, placing a hand on your waist. “That… that’s not common for me.”
Leona came next. He didn’t arrive in a spin, handing you off to the next dancer. No; he simply appeared when the music slowed slightly, one brow raised and the corner of his mouth faintly lifted, refusing you the honor of seeing a full smile.
His hand extended with the same casual inevitability he had shown in the plaza. “Come on. You already survived the worst of it”
His grip was firm, steady, strong enough that dancing with him felt like walking beside someone who had temporarily decided not to bite anyone.
Like with Idia, you were surprised by how careful Leona could be while dancing. Of course, as a prince he had been forced to learn etiquette and ballroom lessons. And now you were witnessing the results of that irritating education.
Very good results, to be honest.
Because when the choreography called for the lead to lift his partner again, Leona didn’t hesitate, nor did he give you a warning, he lifted you by the waist. You let out a small yelp before touching the floor again, Leona steadied you against him so you wouldn’t stumble during the next steps.
“You don’t show panic,” he said quietly, leaning closer to whisper near your ear. “Didn’t expect to find someone like that at an event this pompous.”
And finally...Malleus.
He appeared without hurry, not interrupting the moment you had with Leona until the partners changed naturally. He stepped forward as the music reached the last measures of the slow dance, transitioning toward something deeper and more intimate, an instant carved into midnight itself as the first rhythm came to a close.
“May I share this dance?” he asked softly, bowing slightly before taking your hand and guiding you through the final movements of that first rhythm with the other dancers.
His hand was warm around yours, his steps slow, deliberate, impossibly gentle for someone so tall and imposing, as if the music being played had been written specifically for the two of you.
“You brought light back to this hall tonight,” he said quietly so only you could hear him, ignoring everyone else around you. “Whether you intended to or not”
Laughter floated through the air as the first rhythm of the night ended. Seven dances, with seven boys, all stepping away from you carrying the same strange feeling, that they had just spent time with someone important… and somehow familiar.
And you allowed yourself to keep smiling and dancing. For once, you allowed yourself to have the night Crowley had stolen from you.
One dance became two; two became five.
At some point the evening stopped feeling like something you had infiltrated and barely survived, and became something you were simply living. Living far from the cold walls of Ramshackle, far from the magic-soaked stone of NRC.
In the distance, the spell of the moment broke with a bell chime, small and practical. A bell announcing that it was already very late.
Your eyes shot toward the tall clock mounted against the marble wall. “…oh no.”
You had approached the snack table, where Grim had apparently devoured everything edible and was now curled up beside it waiting for you.
When he heard you mutter, he lifted his head. “Mm?”
“We’re out of time,” you said, looking at him in horror.
“HMNYA?!” he jumped up.
“If we don’t leave now,” you whispered in his ear, avoiding attracting attention, the earlier squeak had already made several guests glance toward the table, “we won’t get back to campus before they do”
You scanned the crowd, searching for an escape route. “And if Crowley gets there first—”
Grim gasped and jumped into your arms. “We’re dead”
“Exactly”
The music swelled again and several people stepped back into the center of the hall for another round, perfect cover. You adjusted Grim in your arms and reopened the fan, hiding him slightly as you began walking quickly.
“Okay, we walk fast,” you said quietly while heading toward the reading hall doors. “No running. We blend in with the people leaving and slip out before anyone notices.”
You pushed your way step by step through the living sea of masks, guests, and students, gliding between couples mid-turn, passing laughing students.
Every movement controlled to avoid suspicion, but urgent.
You were only a few steps away, close enough to feel the cool night air slipping through the carved gap in the wooden door, close enough that one more step would take you out of the lantern light, the music, the masquerade entirely.
And you pushed the enormous door open, stepping straight into the outer corridor.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
“This was probably the most fun disaster I’ve ever attended.” Kalim had his hands behind his head, still smiling as if the night hadn’t stopped being magical.
The dorm leaders had gathered near one of the marble pillars. The music from the hall drifted faintly just a few meters away.
Riddle adjusted his gloves, nodded, and placed his hands behind his back. “The structural damage was severe, but the response was… effective.”
Azul had picked up a glass from the table, apparently unaware that Grim had already raided the food there. He swirled it in his hand, watching the liquid spiral slightly.
“Indeed” He took a small sip and looked toward the hall doors. “Although there is still one clause unresolved”
Vil had followed him and taken a glass of wine, sipping occasionally. He hadn’t even finished half of it. “The mysterious lady”
Idia nodded, by now he had removed his mask. “Mysterious young woman, SSR-tier character who punches the main villain with maxed-out stats.”
Kalim, who had only half been listening, glanced around—the others, the muffled music beyond the door, the outer corridor—his gaze bounced everywhere for a moment, then he suddenly straightened, exhaling through his nose.
“She said her brother studies at NRC.” That made the others turn toward him.
Vil lifted the glass to his lips thoughtfully, his eyes sharp though his mind clearly elsewhere. “Yes… that detail is useful”
“The NRC enrollment is not infinite,” Riddle said with a slight frown. “Establishing familial connections may take time” He sighed. “But it will not be impossible”
Vil set the glass carefully on a stone bench. “A voice like that won’t remain hidden for long.”
“Yes,” Malleus added calmly, his eyes drifting toward the hall. “Fate rarely introduces someone only once” Vil crossed his arms at that remark, giving a small nod before following the direction of Malleus’s gaze.
Leona had remained leaning against the column beside Kalim the entire time, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the hall doors—still listening to the distant music and the crowd dancing, laughing, talking.
“Maybe we’ll see her again before the night ends—” Kalim started.
But Leona’s ears sharpened, his eyes narrowed toward the distance.
“…Oi” That was all he said to make the others pay attention.
On the other side of the outer corridor, the great doors of the hall opened—and there you were, moving quickly. The black and crimson dress was unmistakable even under the dim light of the corridor, the small creature tucked in your arms as you hurried toward the outer doors.
That alone was enough for the seven of them to straighten in unison, watching your figure cross the corridor. Kalim pointed at you and barely raised his voice to say, “There she goes!”
Vil stepped forward immediately, then another step, Azul set his own glass beside Vil’s, adjusted his suit, and followed him. The seven of them began to move closer, like a flock of crows closing in on a small prey, or rather… their little dove.
They were close enough to see you, but not close enough for you to notice them. Your figure passed beside a guest whose decorations stuck out everywhere, especially along the sleeves and shoulders.
And then the most cliché, ridiculous thing that could possibly happen at an event like this happened.
A strand of your hair snagged as you rushed past, and the ribbon of your mask caught on the guest’s decorations.
“Ah—sorry!” the guest said, quickly freeing your hair and the ribbon when your head jerked backward. The tug made you drop Grim, and he jumped to the floor.
“It’s nothing,” you replied, continuing forward once your hair came loose. The guest went his way while you headed straight for the outer doors.
The ribbon slipped free, the mask fell one step later. You instinctively turned, bringing a hand to the back of your head, startled as the fabric mask dropped to the ground.
One second, one undeniable second was all it took for your face to be completely revealed under the moonlight. The mystery shattered, and before the seven leaders of NRC, the young lady was revealed:
The Prefect of Ramshackle.
Meanwhile you were far too busy picking up the fallen mask, your heart pounding like you had just run a marathon when the realization hit you all at once.
“…oh shit—” You snatched the mask off the floor and bolted toward the door.
“GRIM!” you shouted, your voice now unmistakably clear in the night air and the quiet city. “MOVE OR YOU’RE SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR WITHOUT TUNA FOR A WEEK IF WE’RE LATE!”
The small hooded creature shrieked in terror. “YES, PREFECT—!”
The two of you ran like a princess racing back to her tower before the spell wore off...except you looked more like two idiots sprinting full speed toward the city lights as if your lives, and possibly your financial privileges, depended on it. Within seconds the darkness swallowed you both, disappearing down the outer corridor toward the main gates.
Silence followed, and the ones who had been pursuing you with steady steps… were left stunned by the revelation.
Kalim’s jaw dropped, not caring how dramatic or over-the-top he looked; Riddle’s eyes widened and a faint blush colored his cheeks; Azul removed his glasses to clean them with trembling hands, an entirely pointless gesture, as he pinched the bridge of his nose; Idia made a strangled sound, like his system had just crashed into a blue screen he couldn’t reboot; Leona and Vil blinked at the same time, shooting each other a sidelong glance; Malleus simply watched as the final piece of the puzzle clicked neatly into place, confirming that lingering sense of familiarity.
A pause followed...A long pause, far too long.
Vil didn’t know what to do with his hands, or with his entire existence. He pressed his lips into a thin line, moved his hands aimlessly for a moment, and was just about to turn away in frustration. “…oh for fuck’s sake.” The fact that he had sworn meant you had played your move perfectly.
Idia crouched down and buried his face in his hands. “I want to die”
Azul, still pinching the bridge of his nose, let out a long breath. “We should have known”
And honestly, yes.
They had been idiots not to realize; inside their minds the gears finally started turning: The voice, her composure in danger, that laugh, the ridiculous courage, the familiar, the way she handled chaos without magic.
Leona dragged a hand down his face and let out a deep, irritated growl. “She masked her scent so we wouldn’t notice”
Kalim, whose mouth had still been hanging open, suddenly burst into a small laugh as he looked toward where you had disappeared. “Oh! That makes so much sense!” He laughed freely.
“No wonder we could flirt with her so naturally”
“FLIRT?!”
“NOBODY HERE FLIRTED WITH ANYONE!”
“MY CHARISMA STAT IS NOT THAT HIGH!”
Several voices erupted at once, some embarrassed, some shy, some in complete denial. Malleus, still perfectly composed in the middle of the chaos, simply closed his eyes and allowed his companions to argue, offering the night a small smile.
Leona didn’t even stay to watch the end of the debate over who had flirted more. He simply closed his eyes, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked back toward the hall, he shouting was already giving him a headache.
Incluso después de la aparición de Yuu en la ceremonia de admisión, Ace está bastante escéptico respecto a todo lo de “ser una superheroina” en su mundo, si como no, esas cosas solo pasan en comics, no tenía que mentir para destacar—eso fue lo que pensó hasta que 1- Yuu le colgó cabeza abajo con sus telarañas cerca de las estatuas de los 7 y 2- todo el incidente de las minas, incluso Ace tenía que reconocer que de no haber sido por Yuu, quien tuvo la iniciativa y experiencia para pelear con ese tipo de monstruos, no la habrían contado. Deja de verla como una broma y más como alguien…cool.
Obviamente sigue siendo Ace, y no entiende todo esto de “un gran poder conlleva una gran responsabilidad” porque seamos honestos, si Ace tuviera ese tipo de poderes en un mundo no mágico, tomaría ventaja de ello, pero Yuu no lo hace, es más, ayuda a la gente, y no sabe si eso es o muy noble o muy estúpido. Dicho sea eso, Ace defiende los valores de Yuu indiferentemente de si los comparte o no, después de todo ¿Qué harían ellos en su lugar? Yuu ya es una mejor persona que todos en NRC al usar sus poderes para el bien y no para ganancia personal, por lo que no dejara que la gente trate de echarla abajo cuando él SABE que Yuu no se lo merece. (¿Por qué siento que Ace odiaría con pasión a J. Jonah Jameson?)
Deuce Spade
A diferencia de Ace, Deuce es más crédulo, o mejor dicho, cree más fácilmente todo el asunto de ser heroína al ver, bueno 1- Yuu no tiene magia, pero de alguna manera tiene poderes, 2- el traje de super héroe que Yuu lleva desde que llego a TWST y 3-Yuu tiene nervios de acero, incluso cuando se toparon con el monstruo de las minas, ella no solo mantuvo la cabeza fría, sino que hasta bromeaba con la situación??? ¿¿Quién es esta chica?? aunque sigue siendo mucho mas respetuoso que Ace (no es como que eso sea la gran cosa...)
Deuce definitivamente cree que toda la filosofía de “un gran poder conlleva una gran responsabilidad” es muy acertado, y en parte quiere aplicarlo él mismo, tanto para mejor como persona después de su pasado como delincuente, como por querer ser un estudiante de honor hecho y derecho. Deuce respeta muchísimo a Yuu, en parte por las mismas razones que Ace, pero también por lo que ella representa, un faro de esperanza para la gente de su mundo, alguien que puedes confiar que salvara el día. Claro, no tendrán algo asi en NRC (o en todo TWST), pero Deuce cree que la gente debería aprender de ella.
Jack Howl
Otro escéptico, pero sin ser condescendiente al respecto como Ace. Jack es alguien que trata de pensar de forma lógica (incluso si los de primer año hacen que sus neuronas se apaguen) por lo que toda la idea de tener una súper heroína en NRC suena demasiado fantasiosa para su gusto (Yuu: Bruh, eres un ADOLECENTE LOBO, cuyo poder es transformarse en un LOBO GIGANTE ¿y YO te parezco sacada de una fantasía?) ejem- bueno, pero eventualmente cuando se da cuenta de su error, al menos tiene la decencia de disculparse con Yuu por minimizar su “trabajo” y tienen una relación amistosa de Gym Buddies (Jack nunca superara ver a Yuu levantar toda la máquina de ejercicio LOL).
Al igual que Deuce, cree que toda la filosofía de “un gran poder, conlleva una gran responsabilidad” como algo no solo acertado, pero que varias personas que conoce (EJem Ejem LEONA ejemejem) podrían aplicar a sus vidas para mejorar. Jack y Yuu son de las pocas personas en NRC que genuinamente creen en la justicia, solo que lo aplican de formas diferentes, lo cual no es malo. Jack respeta mucho a Yuu por ser el cambio que ella deseaba ver en su mundo, y Yuu aprecia que no todos los chicos de NRC son tan malos como se ven, se ve que aún hay esperanza para la juventud de este mundo.
Epel Felmier
Teniendo en cuenta que Epel ya se une al grupo de primer año cuando Yuu ya está establecida en la escuela, ¡diría que él definitivamente cree que ella es una ESTRELLA DE ROCK! Absolutamente adora toda la idea de los vigilantes y hacer justicia por mano propia, por lo que todo el concepto de Yuu le parece genial en extremo. Claro, no le termina de gustar sus bromas o su pacifismo, pero Yuu no tiene reglas de “no matar” lo que hace que las veces en las que se toma las cosas enserio MUCHO mas emocionantes (o aterradoras, depende de si esta haciendo bromas o no. Aunque Epel mentiría si dijera que no le dio gracia lo fácil que Yuu derroto a OB!Vil).
Tiene sentimientos mixtos con lo de “un gran poder conlleva una gran responsabilidad” no lo malentiendas, el lo respeta, lo respeta mucho, pero al mismo tiempo le preocupa que Yuu termine tomando responsabilidades que no le convienen por sentir que es causa directa o indirecta de estas (como pasa con varios de sus villanos, que fueron/son conocidos de ella o incluso ex amigos). Epel no quiere desalentarla, solo quiere que recuerde que ella no es responsable de todo el mundo, no siempre puedes salvar a todos y eso no es tu culpa. Solo quiere que Yuu no se deje carcomer por todo esto.
Ortho Shroud
De forma similar a Idia, Ortho esta EMOCIONADISIMO con la idea de conocer a un héroe real de carne y hueso, más aún si ese héroe es Yuu. Ortho a veces tienden a hacer preguntas –ya sea de Yuu como héroe o sobre sus poderes- que no son maliciosas, pero a veces, por la emoción, no se da cuenta que está siendo invasivo, aunque en cuanto le señalan eso se disculpa sinceramente y trata de bajarle la intensidad ¡es solo que está muy emocionado!
Incluso si Ortho entiende el principio moral de “un gran poder conlleva una gran responsabilidad” le preocupa que cada vez que escanea a Yuu o hace algún examen físico, sus resultados muestra niveles ELEVADISIMOS de estrés, así como heridas de anteriores peleas que no cerraron bien (o que sanaron mal pese al factor curativo) y en general una alimentación y horarios de sueño casi tan malos como los de Idia (eso ya es muy preocupante). Ortho trata de sutilmente sugerirle a Yuu que cuide mejor de sí misma, pero no está por arriba de HACERLA cuidar mejor de si misma llegado el caso de una emergencia (Ortho, con un rayo láser: Duerme 8 horas seguidas Yuu J).
Sebek Zigbolt
Sebek encuentra a Yuu IRRITANTE casi desde el inicio, claro, podrá ser una dama inteligente y fuerte, eso lo puede respetar, pero lo que no puede soportar es lo casual que Yuu es con todos, al punto de hacer bromas sin sentido TODO-EL-TIEMPO. De por si Sebek no entiende la mayoria de estas bromas y se las toma literal, lo cual añade otra capa de furia hacia Yuu al creer que lo esta insultando. Toma MUCHO trabajo que él y Yuu se hagan amigos, lo cual se logra mas por principios de batalla y respeto en la inteligencia del otro.
Sebek cree firmemente en la filosofía de “Un gran poder conlleva una gran responsabilidad” es de las pocas cosas en las que él y Yuu tienen algo en común, pero por diferentes razones. Sebek tiene la posibilidad de hacer algo con su magia, proteger a Malleus, Lilia (y en menor medida Silver), la gente que el aprecia, por lo que siente que es su RESPONSABILIDAD hacerlo, por lo que entiende mucho a Yuu al escuchar su razonamiento para hacerlo. La empieza a ver bajo otra luz, no como la payasa con super poderes, sino una chica que, igual que él, solo busca proteger lo mas preciado para ella; la gente que no puede defenderse. Y ESO es honorable.
I'm doing nothing right now, and to kill time (because I can't write requests from here), I decided to bring up this TWST idea that's been plaguing my mind.
A Yuu who's a parent
And I'm not talking about a Yuu who's a teenage or young parent, no, I'm talking about an adult Yuu, of legal age, who has had a job for YEARS, EVEN HAVE MULTIPLE CHILDREN!!
Who had the bad luck of being run over by the black carriage while doing something mundane like taking out the trash or coming home from work😅
Can you imagine the characters' reactions to an adult man/woman appearing out of nowhere at the entrance ceremony? Not even a member of the staff, just a random human without magic who is suddenly surrounded by teenage boys (almost the same age as their children).
An adult Yuu can probably "make themself understood" better by Crowley than a minor Yuu, since they understand the gravity of the situation and their basic civil rights, especially how to negotiate. Of course, that doesn't mean the Ramshakle dorm room is spotless, but at least it's fixed faster than in canon.
OH GOD, GRIM! Part of me thinks Grim would have more patience/respect for an adult Yuu, and the other part knows that's a complete lie. Although at least Grim seems to have more trust in this new maternal/paternal figure in his life.
Did you see how Inosuke gets when Tanjiro is friendly to him? That's Grim every time YuuMom/Dad says something maternal/paternal to him or is friendly/patient with him.
Ace is still a little shit at first, obviously, but I think he softens quickly, just like in canon. DEUCE, on the other hand, is almost immediately bland. Yuu reminds him so much of his mother that it's not even funny. If you thought these two were protective of the normal Yuu, brace yourself. This is THEIR PARENT NOW, AND THEY'RE THE ONLY ONES WHO DISRESPECT THEM>:(
Their relationships with the other dorm leaders would be just as funny and/or cute.
Riddle DEFINITELY needs a Yuumom/Dad in his life the most. Even though their first interaction was probably fatal (no parent, ESPECIALLY a JAPANESE one, would put up with Riddle's tantrums), I can see Riddle being naturally drawn to them these days.
This kid needs a father/mother figure who makes him understand that making mistakes is a way of learning, and Yuumom/Dad help make learning fun! Just like the Robinson family.
I also get the feeling Riddle would like to know the basics of the original work/world of Yuu (especially if they work in a field like a doctor or lawyer) and it ends up being a two-way street, with Riddle learning about Yuu's world and them learning about Twisted Wonderland.
Leona, another who needs someone to recognize him as his own person and not as a hindrance or a lesser version of his brother. It's obviously one of the hardest to have a positive relationship, but not impossible. Especially after Book 3, where Leona sees Yuu in a more respectful light instead of annoying.
They do the typical things you'd think of as a parent-child relationship, like when Yuu does certain things like scold Leona for sleeping too much, skipping classes, and straightening his uniform—things Leona complains about but doesn't stop them. It's a rare kind of positive attention.
Or when Yuu congratulates him on something specific they NOTICED he's improved, when they let him wander around the ramshakle dorm, etc. Let's just say it's an unwritten rule in Savanaclaw not to mess with Yuumom/dad from now on.
Azul also has a certain trick. He probably had more trouble with an adult Yuu than a student due to, well, life's advantages (any adult knows that contracts made by minors aren't valid—) and ends up having a mixture of fear and respect for them.
Fortunately, there's also a certain soft spot for Yuu, especially because of his age and paternal/maternal attitude. they probably reminds him of his mom.
For that reason, it's not unusual for Yuu to end up going to the Monster Lounge from time to time just to catch up with Azul, make sure he's not doing anything suspicious, and get something to eat. The usual.
KALIM. LOVES. YUUMOM/DAD. Yuu can barely keep up with all his energy, but it's contagious.
Jamil will have to get Kalim to tone down the intensity a few notches for the sake of Yuu's blood pressure, especially if he wants to surprise them with a magic carpet ride. they liked it! they swears! Just let them know next time!
they are also a great source of comfort after Jamil's Overplot. Let's just say that with their help, Kalim is trying to learn a few things about social norms.
Have you seen that typical mom/dad style of dress? Mothers in plain/patterned blouses and fathers in knee-length pants? Yep, that's Yuumom/dad. And Vil won't STAND IT. Practically their first interaction is picking out a new wardrobe for them. IT BURNS HIS EYES--
Aside from that, I can see Vil being genuinely flustered when Yuu criticizes his behavior, whether out of habit or because, well, parents are good at making points (and knowing the entertainment industry, very few adults care THAT much).
There's also the fact that Yuu's compliments are painfully sweet and genuine, like that "you're such a handsome young man!" meme, and Vil can't help but feel more arrogant than usual when Yuu compliments him like that. Parental stuff.
Idia ironically has a good relationship (within reason) with his parents, but that doesn't mean he's scared of Yuu at first, precisely because there's nothing more terrifying than seeing them angry.
He's also bothered by Yuu trying to get him out of his room so often, or by joining Ortho in bringing him food that isn't fast food. Damn it, he gets it!
He's a huge tsundere, which is why he hasn't banned them from Ignihide after all.
Malleus is definitely the one who most relies on Yuumom/dad's positive attention. Not only does this human lack fear of him, but they treats him like a normal teenager, with normal problems, even going so far as to scold him when he deserves it. What does Yuu care if he's a prince? He speaks to people with respect!
Yuu has so much power that he can make Malleus apologize by sounding arrogant, stop him from electrocuting people, or make him think about his actions, all because Malleus would rather put aside his ego than think that his new friend/father/Mother figure is angry with him :(
Thanks to this, Malleus goes to the ramshakle dorm even more often than expected, whether it's to tell Yuu something new he learned about the school's gargoyles, ask for advice on how to make friends, etc.
I like to think that this Yuu is very homesick for being around the kids, especially if they have children at home waiting for them. Which probably does something unusual: it causes the principals to unite to pressure Crowley to return home as soon as possible.
They have grown attached to Yuumom/dad, yes, but the thought that Yuu's children don't have their parent, that they are waiting for their return, that they are suffering, twists their stomachs.
Until then, They'll be in charge of protecting Yuu as much as possible until they can return home to their family!
__________
(ESPAÑOL)
Estoy haciendo nada en este momento, y para matar el tiempo (porque no puedo escribir pedidos desde aqui) decidi sacar esta idea de TWST que ha estado plagando mi mente.
Un Yuu que es padre/madre
y no estoy hablando de un Yuu que es padre/madre adolecente o joven, no, estoy hablando de un Yuu adulto, mayor de edad, que tiene un trabajo de AÑOS, HIJOS INCLUSO!!
Que tuvo la mala suerte de ser arroyado por el caruaje negro mientras hacia algo cotidiano como sacar la basura o volver del trabajo😅
¿te imaginas las reacciones de los personajes a un señor/a adulto apareciendo de la nada en la ceremonia de ingreso? nisiquiera alguien del Staff, solo un humano sin magia cualquiera que de la nada esta rodeado de chicos adolescentes (de la edad de sus hijos casi).
probablemente un Yuu adulto pueda "hacerse entender" mejor con Crowley que un Yuu menor de edad, ya que entienden la gravedad de la situación y sus derechos civiles basicos, sobretodo como negociar. claro, no significa que el dormitorio destartalado este impecable, pero al menos es arreglado mas rapido que en el canon.
¡AY DIOS, GRIM! una parte de mi cree que Grim tendria entre mas paciencia/respeto por un Yuu adulto, y la otra parte sabe que eso es una mentira absoluta. aunque por lo menos Grim parece tener mas confianza en esta nueva figura materna/paterna en su vida.
¿viste como se pone Inosuke cuando Tanjiro es amigable con el? ese es Grim cada vez que YuuMom/Dad le dicen algo maternal/paternal o es amigable/paciente con el.
Ace sigue siendo una pequeña mierda al principio, obviamente, pero creo que se ablanda rapido igual que en el canon. DEUCE, por otro lado, es blando casi de inmediato, Yuu le recuerda tanto a su madre que no es nisiquiera divertido, si creias que estos dos eran protectores con el Yuu normal, prepárate, este es su PADRE/MADRE AHORA, Y SOLO ELLOS LE FALTAN EL RESPETO>:(
Las relaciones con los otros lideres de dormitorio serian igual de graciososas y/o tiernas.
Riddle DEFINITIVAMENTE es quien mas necesita a un Yuumom/Dad en su vida. Aun si probablemente su primera interaccion fue fatal (ningun padre ESPECIALMENTE JAPONES soportaria los berrinches de Riddle), en la actualidad puedo ver a Riddle naturalmente atraido hacia ellos.
este chico necesita una figura paterna/materna que le haga entender que cometer errores es una forma de aprender ¡y Yuumom/dad ayudan a hacer el aprendizaje divertido! como la familia Robinson.
tambien me da vibras de que Riddle le gustaria saber las bases del trabajo original de Yuu(especialmente si trabajan de algo como medico o abogado) y termina siendo algo de doble via, con Riddle aprendiendo del mundo de Yuu y ellos de Twisted Wonderland.
Leona, otro que necesita alguien que lo reconozca como su propia persona y no como un estorbo o la versión inferior de su hermano. obviamente es de los que mas cuesta tener una relación positiva, pero no imposible. especialmente después del libro 3. donde Leona ve a Yuu con una luz mas respetuosa en vez de fastidiosa.
hacen las tipicas cosas que uno pensaria de un padre-hijo, como cuando Yuu hace ciertas cosas como regañar a Leona por dormir demaciado, saltar clases, acomodarle el uniforme, cosas de las cuales Leona se queja pero no los detiene. es un tipo de atención positiva no muy común.
o cuando Yuu le felicita por algo en específico que NOTARON que mejoro, cuando le dejan pasearse por el dormitorio destartalado, etc. digamos que es una regla no escrita ee Savanaclaw no meterse con Yuumom/dad apartir de ahora.
Azul tambien tiene cierto truco, probablemente tuvo mas problemas con un Yuu adulto que un estudiante por, bueno, ventajas de la vida (cualquier adulto sabe que los contratos hechos por menores no son validos---) termina teniendole una mezcla entre miedo y respeto.
afortunadamente tambien hay cierto punto suave por Yuu, especialmente por su edad y actitud paternal/maternal. probablemente le recuerda a su mamá-
por lo mismo, no es raro que Yuu termine yendo al Monstee Louge de vez en cuando simplemente a ponerse al dia con Azul, asegurar que no este haciendo nada sospechoso y comer algo. lo normal.
KALIM. AMA. A. YUUMOM/DAD. Yuu apenas puede mantenerse al dia con toda su energia, pero es contagioso.
Jamil tendra que hacer que Kalim le baje un par de rajitas a su intensidad por el bien de la presión arterial de Yuu, especialmente si quiere llevarlos de sorpresa a un viaje de alfombra magica ¡le gusto!¡lo jura!¡solo avisa la proxima vez!
tambien es una gran fuente de consuelo después del Overplot de Jamil, digamos que con su ayuda Kalim esta tratando de aprender algunas cosas sobre las normas sociales.
¿viste ese estilo tipico de los padres de vestir? madres con bluzas planas/de patrones y padres con pantalones hasta la rodilla? sip, ese es Yuumom/dad. y Vil no LO SOPORTARA. prácticamente su primera interacción es elejirle un nuevo guardarropa. LE QUEMA LOS OJOS--
Aparte de eso, puedo ver a Vil genuinamente aturdido cuando Yuu critica sus actitudes, ya sea por costumbre o porque bueno, los padres son buenos haciendo puntos (y conociendo la industria del entretenimiento, muy pocos adultos les importa TANTO).
tambien esta el aspecto que los cumplidos de Yuu son dolorosamente dulces y genuinos, como ese meme de "youre such a Handsome young man!" y Vil no puede evitar sentirse mas arrogante de lo normal cuando Yuu lo halaga asi. cosas de padres.
Idia irónicamente tiene una buena relación (dentro de lo que cabe) con sus padres, pero eso no quita que Yuu al principio le es mucho miedo, justamente porque no hay nada mas aterrador que verle enojado.
tambien le molesta que Yuu trate de sacarlo de su cuarto tan seguido, o que se sume a Ortho en traerle comida que no sea comida rapida ¡ya entendio maldita sea!
es un gran Tsundere, por eso mismo no les ha prohibido la entrada a Ignihide después de todo.
Malleus definitivamente es quien mas se apega a la atención positiva de Yuumom/dad, no solo este humano carece de miedo hacia el, sino que lo trata como si fuera un adolescente normal, con problemas normales, incluso llegando tan lejos como para regañarlo cuando se lo merece ¿que le importa a Yuu si es un príncipe? ¡a la gente le habla con respeto!
Yuu tiene tanto poder que puede hacer que Malleus se disculpe al sonar arrogante, evitar que electrocute a la gente, o hacer que piense en sus acciones, todo porque Malleus prefiere mil veces dejar de lado si ego que pensar que su nuevo amigo/figura paternal esta enojada con el :(
gracias a esto, Malleus va aun mas seguido de lo esperado al dormitorio destartalado, ya sea para contarle a Yuu algo nuevo que aprendio sobre las gargolas de la escuela, pedir consejos sobre como hacer amigos, etc.
me gusta pensar que este Yuu tiene mucha nostalgia al estar rodeado de los chicos, especialmente si tienen hijos en casa esperandolos. lo que probablemente hace algo insolito, causa que los rectores se unisen para presionar en conjunto s Crowley para que vuelvan a casa lo mas pronto posible.
ellos han aprendido a encariñarse con Yuumom/dad, si, pero pensar que sus hijos no tienen a su padre, que estan sufriendo, les retuerce el estomago.
hasta entonces, se encargaran de proteger a Yuu lo mas posible hasta que puedan regresar a su casa con su familia!
Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!
Let me know if you want me to share any more ideas I have for Yuus!
Insecurities don’t fit your beauty pt. 2. [One Piece x gn! reader]
You have been insecure about some features about yourself. The guys think otherwise about your insecurities.
tags: one piece x reader (separate scenarios), different types of insecurities, fluff, comfort, gn! reader, kid x reader, ace x reader, sabo x reader.
ave's corner of masterlist // [part 1]
I. Eustass Kid [I'm too much]
You had been told this your whole life: too loud, too opinionated and too sharp at the edges. Men wanted you to be smaller so they could feel larger. There were bosses who wanted you agreeable so they could be lazy. Or even lovers who wanted you easy so they didn't have to learn.
Kid met you in a dockside brawl where your laugh was a challenge and punches that were better than your aim. He liked you immediately, of course he did. It was like you showed up with gasoline to his bonfire.
Months later, you were on his ship with stained hands of grease and wild hair everywhere as your yelling were overwhelming the music. Even though you were like that on the outside, there were still nights when the old voices get in. When a glare from some stranger or a scoff from a softer soul had you curling inward.
You caught yourself mid-rant and clamped your mouth shut, muttering: "Sorry, I know I'm a lot".
Kid, who had never apologised for taking space in his life, stared at you like you had spoken a foreign language. "The hell are you sorry for?"
"Being... me".
The answer alone made him snort. "That's the whole point".
"People get tired".
"Then they can sleep somewhere else", he sauntered closer as he cupped your jaw with rough care. "Listen, I don't want tame. I want teeth", he said while his thumb dragged over your lower lip and smearing grease across it.
Even though he seemed slightly crazy, you saw his endearing grin as he said: "Bite".
You rolled your eyes, but something in your chest loosened. "You're impossible".
"I'm consistent", he corrected you. "You think I built this crew by shrinking? You think I survived by making myself palatable?" he said while gesturing to himself and showing his scars, rivets and his red hair like a warning flare. "I am the warning".
"I don't want to be a problem", you muttered and looked down.
"You are not a problem. You are a force and problems get solved. Forces get harnessed", he jabbed a finger at the half-finished contraption on your workbench.
"You see that engine? Too much power if you don't give it a channel. We don't rip it out. We build it a body".
His words took you out of your shadows for a bit, but it took you some time to fully process it. So the next day, he showed up with scrap and a swagger. "Project", was the only word he declared.
You ended up spending hours making something ridiculous and beautiful. It was a set of magnetic rings that clicked together in a satisfying clatter, like a fidget for storms. He slapped them onto your wrist like a cuff. "When you're buzzing, buzz. Don't burn".
He also learnt your heat map. He knew when to throw you into a fight you could win and when to drag you out of one that would just bruise. He knew when to put you on a crate in the middle of the deck and say: "Tell them what we're doing", because your voice made people move.
He knew when to press you into the wall with his mouth, eating your apologies like they were made of sugar. "Say you're too much again", he growled. "And I'll make you louder".
You did still worry. You did still shrink sometimes, but then there was Kid. He was loud enough for both of you, laughing as if he could drown out every voice that ever told you to hush.
"Turn it up", he said as he cranked an imaginary dial next to your ear. "All the way".
You did. The world didn't end. It expanded.
II. Portgas D. Ace [I'll be left behind]
Abandonment was a ghost that sat on the end of your bed. It wasn't dramatic. It was patient. It waited for the door to click and then whispered: "See? Told you".
It counted the days when Ace was away either on errands, missions or whatever responsibilities a second division commander carried in his bones.
He caught you packing light. You always did like you could make leaving easier by having less to carry. He leaned in the doorway with hair like a halo of sunlight and freckles that looked like constellations you had memorised.
"Running?"
"Preparing", you said as you shrugged your shirt off one shoulder. "In case".
"In case what?"
"In case you wake up and realise I'm extra weight".
The hurt on his face was quick and raw. It was a silence of moment before he breathed through it, stepped close and sat you back down on the edge of the bed. His hands were warm where they cradled your knees. "I don't wake up without thinking of you", he said. "Ever".
"You say that now".
"I'll say it always", he smiled crooked. "I'm forgetful about meals and schedules and sunscreens, not about you".
You stared at your hands. "People leave".
"People do", he agreed to your comment softly. "They die, they get taken, they choose other paths", he swallowed. You both heard the names he didn't say. "But leaving isn't the same as not loving and I'm not going anywhere on purpose", he pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
"I learned the hard way that love isn't proof against the world, but it is a reason to fight it".
He made you a promise that wasn't pretty and therefore you trusted it. "I will not promise I'll never be gone. I will promise I'll always come back if I can and when I cant, I'll send word. When I can't send word, I'll have told you enough times before that you won't doubt", he said with the most loving face you had ever seen on this man.
It sounded like a sailor's vow. It sounded like survival. You wanted something shinier. He gave you something truer.
Then he changed habits. It wasn't grand gestures, though he was capable of those too, but it was more like rituals between you two. It was a bead he threaded onto your bracelet before every departure. The beads were colour-coded so you could track how long he planned to be.
There was a note tucked under your pillow that said something dumb like "Remember to eat" and something soft like "My fire knows your name". There was a place in his hammock that was yours even when he wasn't there, with blanket smelling like sun and smoke.
When nightmares tripped you, he didn't tell you to be brave. He let you shake. He lit a little flame in his palm, small and steady, like the size of a heartbeat and he held it where you could see. "Here", he said. "Proof".
"Of what?"
"That I'm here", the light wavered. "That I'm not going to let the dark make a liar out of me".
You learned to ask for reassurance without apologising. He learnt to offer it without you asking.
When he did have to go, he cupped your face like he was framing a photo he wanted to keep. He studied you like a map he knew by heart and said: "See you soon".
It wasn't goodbye. It was never goodbye.
And when he returned covered with smoke, sweat and laughter, you learned that the ghost at the end of the bed didn't vanish.
It just got bored eventually of being wrong.
III. Sabo [I'm embarrassed I struggle to read]
You hid it well. You had gotten by on context clues and charm and memorised shapes. Menus were manageable. Maps were guesswork. Letters were landmines. In a world of revolutionaries passing coded notes, you felt like a cracked cipher.
Sabo caught you the way Sabo caught everything: quietly and kindly. He didn't announce it to the room. He sat beside you with two mugs and a book with big margins and said like it was the most casual thing: "Want to help me practice?"
You narrowed your eyes. "Practice what? Being insufferable?"
"Always", his smile was soft. "And reading out loud".
You bristled. "I can read".
"I know", he tapped the page. "And you deserve to read with ease".
"It's embarrassing".
"It's human", he rested his gloved hands on the table, palms up. "We all have gaps. Some are just quieter".
You wanted to bolt, but instead you sank. The chair held and so did he.
He didn't pick a dense treatise. He picked a pirate's log with short entries and too many jokes. He pointed to a word and waited. When you stumbled, he didn't correct you immediately. He asked: "What do you see?" and listened to your brain work.
When you got it, he looked absurdly proud like you had just toppled a tyrant.
He knew when to stop. When your shoulders creeped up and your jaw locked, he closed the book and said: "Walk?"
Sometimes you ended up at a street vendor where he ordered slowly so you could read the hand-painted board. Sometimes you ended up in a square where he danced you clumsy across cobblestones while calling out step names like they were syllables. "One, two, three, turn", he laughed. "See? Rhythm and language are cousins".
He also armed you, because he was a revolutionary and that was what he did. He taught you to say: "I can't read that, can you?" like a request and not an apology. He showed you how to leverage people's desire to be helpful.
"Point, smile and ask", he said while he did the voice of a flustered bureaucrat so well you wheezed.
On a rainy afternoon, he unfolded a letter you had been avoiding. Your name on the front made your stomach drop. "From your aunt", he said gently. "I can read it to you or we can read it together".
"Together", you said and you did, halting and brave. When the sentences turned barbed, you faltered. Sabo didn't add sugar. He paused with eyes warm.
"Her words say more about her than you", he murmured. "We can stop".
"No", you said. "I want to finish".
You did. Afterwards, he burned the letter in a tin cup of a considerate and tidy flame. "Recycling", he joked. "Fuel for the next try".
When you read a page smoothly, he celebrated like a man who just outwitted a noble at a gala. It was a quiet fist pump and bright eyes. He never made it a spectacle. He made it a practice. He left labels on the base's storage in clear block letters. He wrote you notes with silly drawings so the words have friends. He took you to markets where the signs were beautiful and the stakes were low.
And the first time you picked up a book without fear and reach the end, he didn't say "Finally".
He said: "Again?" like joy was a thing you were allowed to repeat.
In which Rengoku Kyojuro’s ghost tries to set you up with his reincarnation.
‘“No descendant of the Rengoku lineage is supposed to be this dispassionate!” He folds his arms. “Tojuro is missing a spark!”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone from my family always needed to have something to strive toward. My brother— he was exceptionally kind and determined for the family. My father— he fought for my mother!” He turns toward you. “You must be able to see me because you’re destined to be Rengoku Tojuro’s spark!”’
--------
THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF THE KIMETSU NO YAIBA SERIES !!
This fic takes much inspiration from Thousand Needles by harisenbon on AO3, a collection of fics centered around Kyojuro.
!! Please DO NOT continue any further if you want to enjoy the anime in its entirety !!
* There is sort-of canon-divergence/OOC. It is never explicitly stated in the series how old Rengoku Tojuro is, thus in this story, he is also in his final year of high school with reader. With disclaimers out of the way, please enjoy!
“Hello! Would you kindly tell me where I am?”
The corone slips from your fingers. It lands on the ground with a pitiful splat!— creamy contents burst from its shell inside the plastic wrapping, spilling over the ground. Your mouth is left hanging open— you slowly turn to face the man that’s just materialized in the middle of your hallway.
He was not there five seconds ago— you know because you’d just walked through the exact spot that this fiery-looking stranger currently stands in. Clearing your throat, you tighten your hold on the doorknob of your front door, opening it further. Three thoughts run through your head.
One, there is quite possibly, a cryptid that has just manifested itself in your house.
Two, said cryptid does not appear to be threatening— but you are beginning to feel uneasy under his unblinking stare.
Three, huh?
“Um,” you cough, hand still on your doorknob, never breaking your line of sight with the entity. “Yeah— hey, um… how… exactly did you get in here…?”
He— it?— blinks owlishly at you, before it turns its head to survey your apartment. Of all the times some supernatural being decides to appear before you, or maybe arguably better, a hallucination, it had to be when your parents had just left for a business trip, and on the day you were running late for school.
You carefully lower yourself to pick up your squashed breakfast, but having to maintain eye contact with it meant you were essentially just fumbling around the general area you’d thought you heard the plastic rustle— and after a few more moments of fruitlessly patting at the ground, you return to standing.
“It seems as if we are both confused!” It booms, “Do not be afraid! I mean no harm!”
It’s hard to not be afraid— sudden appearances aside, this being spoke with volume that shook the whole house with each syllable. His very presence was demanding, hair like wild locks of untamed flames, fire-patterned haori draped around his broad shoulders, and his bright, piercing gaze — all of which, by all known laws of nature, are as good as neon signs pointing to danger. It was unfortunate that he was instead something beyond nature’s comprehension.
You shuffle around to face him— but your shoe catches on the splattered cream, causing you to slip and tilt backward — and as if to add insult to injury, your head strikes against the doorknob with such forcefulness it shuts the door behind you with a bang. You land straight on your rear— bringing forth a yelp as you feel the corone squash itself below you.
Dude. Just put me out of misery.
The cryptid doesn’t. He extends his right arm toward you, the corners of his mouth upturned. Your eyes flit toward it. His palms were calloused, uneven and littered with varying lengths of pale scars— unusual in this day and age, but at the very least, it makes him look human. Hesitantly, you reach out, accepting his offer.
Except— your hand phases right through his. Where your fingers overlapped, you feel a light buzzing at the very tip, as if you’d fallen asleep on your nails. Your arm falls limply to your side, and you stare agape at him. It looks like he doesn’t expect it either. The smile on his face freezes.
With a nod, he retracts his arm and folds it across his chest.
“Hm! Looks like I may be a ghost!”
You fling open the door and slam it shut behind you.
You’re still pressed against the front door, arms splayed out, holding it shut as if a ghost couldn’t just phase through it. Your mind races, nausea threatening to overtake your body as the ground shifts beneath your feet.
Two sharp raps sound from behind you. You jump so high you nearly feel your soul leave your body— perhaps it would be better that way, then you could finally shake hands with the ghost in your home. From behind you, a muffled voice. “It looks as if I am able to interact with objects, still!”
The knob twists, and the door flies outward with such force you’re sent flying forward, slamming straight into the parapet. Your stomach makes harsh contact with the railing. All wind escapes your lungs upon impact— a shrill ring bursts in your eardrums and your hand flies to your chest, gasping for air— until breath enters your body again. You swing yourself around, heaving, staring at the ghost-man.
He at least has the decency to at least look somewhat apologetic. Releasing his hold on the knob, he reaches out again— but pauses, thinking better, retracting his hand.
“Sorry! I was not aware that you were leaning against the door!”
The ghost straightens back up, shifting to the side, as if trying to coax you back into the house. “It was rude of me to not start of with an introduction. My name is Rengoku Kyojuro! Allow me to ask for yours!”
You fumble around your words a little bit, but finally manage to introduce yourself with minimal stuttering. He grins, exclaiming, “it is nice to meet you!”
“Uhh, it’s nice to meet you too, Rengoku-san…” you scramble to stand up, ignoring the throbbing pain radiating from the your stomach, around to your tailbone. With your names introduced, you’re slightly less apprehensive regarding this ghost named Rengoku. For one, he doesn’t seem to desire any bodily harm upon you.
You narrow your eyes at the man. Now that you think about it, he did look strangely familiar. An odd sensation nips the back of your mind, as if pulling at your cheek and admonishing that you’ll soon feel like a complete fool once you figure out exactly why this he gave you such a strong feeling of déjà vu.
No time for tomfoolery, you shake your head. You’d be late for school if you dallied any further. You twist around to see the smear of pastry cream on the back of your uniform. Groaning, you charge back into the house and turn around to cast a wary glance at Rengoku, who now stands stock still at your genkan, as if awaiting for an invitation to enter your abode once more. He’s dressed in an outfit that looks rather out-of-fashion, and— is that a katana on this belt?
“I have absolutely zero idea if you’re a ghost or a hallucination. But— how about this,” you glance at the clock again. “Are you, like, a vampire? Can you go outdoors?”
The creature yells spiritedly, “I have no clue!”
“—alright, then I’ll grab a change of clothes, you follow me to class. If you are real, you would be a great explanation to my homeroom teacher,” you pull off your shoes and sprint toward your room. “Stay there!”
“What is a ‘homeroom’!” He yells back at you, but you’ve already shut your door behind you.
Rengoku is oddly quiet as you briskly walk down the hallways, dodging groups of students making similar beelines toward their classrooms before the first bell chimes. Nobody seems to notice his presence, with a handful of them even walking through him. He doesn’t seem to mind it, though— at least, not that you could tell.
You sprint into class, barely making it into your seat before your homeroom teacher enters. The ghost stands beside you somewhat awkwardly, and you pull out your Campus notebook, scribbling on the corner of the page and subtly sliding it toward him.
‘You okay?’
Rengoku stares at your notebook, then your face. “Where is this? What year is it?”
More scribbling. ‘Tokyo. 2020.’.
He pinches his lips together. “There’s… there’s so many things different about this place. It’s incomprehensible to me that this is Tokyo.”
Your teacher calls out your name for attendance. You raise your hand, then quickly return to writing on your notebook. ‘Are you from the past?’
After thoughtful deliberation, he opens his mouth—
“Rengoku!”
Both of you jolt, heads snapping up.
On the other side of the classroom, by the window— just out of your field of view, a very familiar figure turns to face the front. His golden hair shifts, crimson ends catching the sunlight streaming through the glass panes—
“Rengoku Tojuro!”
The splitting image of your spectre slowly raises his hand. Your homeroom teacher raps sharply against the teacher’s desk.
“How many times have I told you to cut your hair, Rengoku-san? Already in your third year and still asking for trouble?”
Of course— this ghost…! You slap your hand over your mouth. It echos loudly throughout the room, and the entire classroom turns to stare at you. Rengoku— both of them, shoot you a look. Mortified, you slowly retract your hand.
“Do you have something to say about Rengoku-san’s haircut?” Your teacher curtly asks, but you shake your head vigorously, lowering your gaze to the notebook in front of you. The classroom ripples with murmured laughter. In front you, Agatsuma Toko snickers as well. You kick the back of her chair. Quietly, alive-Rengoku speaks from the back of the classroom. “I’ll see to it.”
It was still a little absurd, but you had to be given some leeway for forgetting that Rengoku Tojuro existed in your classroom. He’s withdrawn and reticent, not quite all there in the few times you’ve spoken to him. The only piece of information you knew regarding him was that he is apparently part of the the school's acclaimed kendo club, but even then, he didn’t seem to stand out.
Once the teacher leaves the classroom, Toko leans back, her silky hair cascading down like a stage curtain, spilling over your desk. “Someone got a crush on the quiet kid?”
“Shut up,” you hiss, kicking her chair again. Your best friend only rolls her eyes, but you know from her smile that she’s just getting a kick out of teasing you. You return to furiously scribbling in your notebook, eyes darting up to meet the ghosts’ when you notice him staring.
‘Are you supposed to be some manifestation of his ego?’
Ghost-Rengoku shakes his head, arms folded across his chest. “No!” A pause. Quieter, he adds. “He has my brother’s eyes.”
A quick glance at Tojuro proves that you have no clue what the ghost is on about, because they quite literally have the same set of eyes— just that the alive-guy’s spiritless pair happens to look more like it should belong to the dead-guy’s. But then again, who are you to say such things when it sounds like this ghost knows your classmate better than you do?
The door slides open, and your math teacher walks in. Hastily, you scribble in the corner again. ‘I’m sorry. I really gotta pay attention to this class. Do you want to walk around the school, or something?’
Rengoku nods, suddenly quiet. It unnerves you, if only just a little, but you leave him to it, eyes trailing him as you watch his attempts to squeeze through the narrow corridors of student desks and bags— pausing when he realizes he can simply phase through the items, then slowly making his way to the other side, eyes scanning the blackboard in the back of the class, the lockers below it— darting back when he hears the yawn Toko lets out, before coming to a stop.
For the entirety of the day, he doesn’t leave Tojuro’s side.
“I think I’ve got it!” Rengoku suddenly speaks up. You jolt at his volume, your shoulders only easing when you remember that nobody else could hear him.
You’re huddled away in some couch in the corner of the school library, flipping through as many accounts of battles from 1900s, 1910s, 1920s— all to figure out if this ghost-man really was who he claimed to be.
“No descendant of the Rengoku lineage is supposed to be this dispassionate!” He folds his arms. “Tojuro is missing a spark!”
“What do you mean?” You murmur, hoping that you’re tucked away far enough that nobody can hear you.
“Everyone from my family always needed to have something to strive toward. My brother— he was exceptionally kind and determined for the family. My father— he fought for my mother!” He turns toward you. “You must be able to see me because you’re destined to be Rengoku Tojuro’s spark!”
“Me!?” You blurt, before covering your mouth. Someone shushes you from behind a bookshelf, and you mutter an apology before shoving your face into the third journal of your search. Your hope is dwindling steadily— you’ve been chasing vague stories told from numerous perspective, yet none have been clear enough to give you a lead just yet.
Your eyes widen as you flip to the last page of the journal. “Rengoku-san, look. Is this you?”
You point to an image of a messy-haired boy in the bottom corner of the image. It is in black-and-white, but his hairstyle undeniably matched your ghost's, nearly a carbon copy. Though the boy has a considerably softer expression than Rengoku does, his big smile is the ultimate proof of their relation. Above him is an older clone of himself, a small smile on his face and the same haircut as well. You nearly miss the stubble beneath his jaw, obscured by the grain of the picture. Rengoku leans in, scrutinizing the image, lips parted. You hear his breath hitch— the corner of his jaw twitches, words caught in his throat.
After a silence too long, he finally speaks.
“Senjuro. Father. They did it,” he croaks. “I knew they did— they had to have. But—” he leans in further to hold the book, phasing halfway into your body. It leaves your arm tingly and numb. “Mitsuri-san. Obanai— Gyomei, Lady Shinobu, Muichiro…”
You’re not sure who he’s listing, but it must be his comrades from back then. You’ve heard tales of this group before— it wasn’t taught in history class, but every Japanese citizen knows the folklore of the devastating battle against the Demon Progenitor that took place a hundred years ago, and the stories that arose of it. Slayers that walked around wielding nichirin blades, demons who would prowl at night to feast on unsuspecting humans.
A teardrop falls onto the book— phases through it, rather.
You glance up, Rengoku’s eyes are glossy, tears rolling down his cheeks in large, round droplets. His mouth is pursed, but you can see the slivers of his canines peeking out, biting down on his lip as he fights to hold back his tears. His exhales comes out in unsteady, shaky rhythms, shoulders quivering with each breath. He blinks once — cheeks turning red as more tears spill from his flaming eyes.
“It’s okay, Rengoku-san,” you’re compelled to whisper. “Nobody else can hear you.”
As if given permission, the Slayer lowers his head into his hands and weeps. Not wail, nor sob — but quiet, mournful hiccups, as if he was finally relieved of a great burden, released from the shackles of his duty— his lineage. Rengoku grasps the book in his hands, holding it with such tenderness that his thumbs only gently press against the paper, brushing over the image of his brother.
“Senjuro… did you live a happy life? Were you fulfilled?” He rasps. Slowly, his thumb traces upward to the older man, touch growing slightly firmer. “Father— I hope you were able to find solace. I did my best to fulfill my role.”
You gingerly place your hand on his shoulder, but it dips into his spectral visage, so you’re left awkwardly patting the air.
Rengoku Kyojuro weeps for a long, long while.
The sun is beginning to set by the time he’s regained his composure. He apologizes to you with red eyes, but you shake your head, horrified that he even thought of himself as bothersome. This guy clearly had some weight he needed off, and you were just glad you could give him some closure.
You’d stopped by a 7/11 on the way home to grab a quick bento, effectively short circuiting his brain in the process— Rengoku was astounded by the sheer quantity of food lining the shelves, salivating over every displayed row of onigiri (’I did not know there were so many variations of them!’, he had exclaimed.). You offered to buy him a meal, but he turns you down politely, saying he doesn’t seem to feel hunger.
You pick at your dinner with thoughts racing through your head. Seated on the opposite end of your dining table, Rengoku eyes the egg mayo sandwich you’d bought as an à la carte to your microwaved pasta.
“Rengoku-san,” you put aside the chopsticks you’ve been fidgeting with. “Do you have anything you wish for? Maybe if I helped you, you’d be able to move on.”
“We would not know unless we tried!” Rengoku nods. Then he closes his eyes, thinking.
You reach over to your bag and pull out the Campus notebook that’s basically designated for him. You flip it open to a new page, scrawling the date down at the very top of the page. “What’s the number one thing you want to do right now?”
“I would like to eat!” He replies without hesitation. You jot it on the notebook.
Rengoku’s Wish: Eat.
Wait. That’s all?
You snap your head up to him with a look of disbelief. He merely laughs, a loud, hearty bark that almost makes you forget he'd just been dealt life-changing news of the fate of his family hours earlier. His attention quickly diverts to the sandwiches beside your meal with clear intrigue.
“If that’s really all… try this?” You slide them over.
He’s more than happy to pick up one of the sandwiches and take a bite. The ghost chews on it for a bit, an unreadable expression on his face. You’re oddly tense as you await his verdict, the silence that stretches only making it worse.
Then, he takes another bite. And another.
He looks back down at the bread in his hands, turning it around, before placing the last bite into his mouth. Rengoku looks up at you with a grin. “This is not good! I can’t taste anything!”
Your mouth goes dry at the remark.
“Can't taste anything?” You put your pen down. “At all…? Are you okay?”
“Yes! I am disappointed!” He laughs, seemingly unbothered. “However, it is of a small matter. I lived a good life appreciating all my meals! You never know when it will be your last!”
You look at him with a expression equivalent to that of a kicked puppy. He panics. “Have I upset you?”
“I’m upset for you, if anything,” you murmur, poking at your own food. You don’t think you could stomach anything— not in front of him, at least. You look back up. “What’s your favourite food?”
He thinks for a moment. “Sweet potatoes! Even better with miso soup!”
Seemed simple enough. You think you could probably make it at home— perhaps the smell alone might bring him some comfort. But for now, you put away the remaining pair of the egg mayo sandwich into the fridge, your appetite gone for the day.
That night, you offer Rengoku your bed, insisting that you could sleep in your parent’s room for the duration. He’s reluctant to even step foot in your room at first, but when he rests his weight onto your mattress, you see his entire body immediately droop to one side as if the poor spirit hasn’t had a day of proper sleep in his life. You leave to grab a glass of water— and when you re-enter the room, Rengoku is passed out cold on your bed.
You pull the blanket over his shoulders— watching as it phases over his ghostly silhouette, flattening over your sheets, like a grim reminder of his existence.
Rengoku’s Wish, again: Eat miso soup with sweet potatoes.
In an incredible stroke of luck, the bright, bold words ‘MISO SOUP WITH SWEET POTATOES’ are penned across the school cafeteria's signboard the very next day. Rengoku is delighted to see as such, so you buy two sets for take-out, making up some excuse to Toko and your group of friends about unfinished homework — sprinting out of the cafeteria before anyone could question you.
“Does miso soup in the future taste any different?” He asks as you wheeze up the steps to your classroom. It makes you pause as you consider that very real possibility— but how different could it really be? Hopefully not that much, fingers crossed. You slide the door open —
— Rengoku Tojuro sits alone in the classroom, head turned toward the window, watching the clouds float by. You curse under your breath— you didn’t think there’d be anyone here, since the cafeteria always had more than enough space to accommodate the entire school. Tojuro turns his head to look toward you, gaze apathetic.
“Are—” you force a smile. “Are you not going to have lunch?”
A slow blink. “Hm,” Tojuro mutters. “I don’t think so.”
From beside you, Rengoku sucks in a sharp inhale. That answer must be all sorts of sacrilegious to him, you’re sure— you quickly rush to Tojuro’s seat, placing the bento on his table.
“Nonsense!” You cut in, casting a quick glance at Rengoku’s bewildered face. “Don’t you have kendo later today? You must eat something, I bought an extra bento!”
The boy is clearly taken aback at your sudden insistence. It’s only natural— you’ve barely spoken to him for the entirety of high school, and you’re suddenly asking to have lunch with him. He nods cautiously, and you happily hand the extra miso and sweet potato meal over to him, cheeks beginning to ache from the smile you’ve plastered smile over your face. You pull a chair from the table in front of him, seating yourself on the opposite side.
You’re too far in to back out now — but you remind yourself. This is for the sake of Rengoku’s spirit. There’s still no definite answer, but you were both certain that Tojuro had something to do with it.
“Rengoku-san,” you start, and suppress a wince when both of them turn to you at once. “What’s the kendo club like? You guys train a whole bunch, right?”
He prods at the rice with the pair of wooden chopsticks in his hand. “It’s okay.”
The wind outside blows, rustling the tree leaves by the window. You take a sip of your miso soup and munch down on the sweet potato cubes. From the corner of your eye, you spot Rengoku watching, arms folded across his chest. His smile has gone— clearly disappointed at the lack of Tojuro’s vigor. The subject of his stare only nudges his food around lackadaisically, placing singular grains of rice in his mouth.
“W— What’s fun about kendo?” You laugh uncomfortably. You raise your hand in the air, mimicking a strike. “Like this? Hidari-Men!” You swing down on an imaginary helmet.
He glances at you, the chopstick in between his teeth. “That’s straight down. Hidari-Men would be skewed to the left a little more.”
That was the longest response you’ve ever gotten from him. Another laugh slips out from your lips, shifting your arm toward the left and swinging, the tension making your shoulders stiff. Tojuro picks up a cube of sweet potato, turning it over in this chopsticks, observing it. Then places it into his mouth.
The air around him shifts ever so slightly. Both you and Rengoku catch it. Tojuro’s eyes widen, glancing down at this bento with an expression you’ve never seen before on his face— almost like one of astonishment.
“What’s this? It’s really good,” his irises flit back to you. You finally make proper eye contact with him — have they always been such a dazzling shade of crimson? Your breath catches in your throat as he picks up the miso bowl, sipping on it. “This miso tastes different. Is it because of the sweet potatoes?”
You exchange glances with Rengoku, before turning back to nod enthusiastically. “The potatoes sweeten the taste of the miso soup! It’s yummy, isn’t it?” Your hands return to your own meal, picking up a chopstickful of rice. “Try it with the rice too!”
Tojuro eats with an eagerness you’ve never spotted on his face before. For once, he seems to genuinely enjoy his food, chewing intently as his blazing eyes rests upon the sweet potato chunks. The silence that ensues between the both (or, three) of you doesn’t feel as awkward as it did earlier, your thoughts occupied with Tojuro’s sudden switch in personality. Your mind races— this could actually be the key to helping Rengoku. You just had to figure out the full puzzle. Was it food? Should you talk more about kendo?
“Thank you for the meal,” he says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You startle, noticing his empty container. Tojuro reaches into his bag, pulling out his wallet. “How much was it? Let me—”
“No!” You cut him off, hand in front of his face. “Don’t worry about it!” A thought enters your mind— you grin. “Actually, you can repay me by getting lunch next time!”
Tojuro’s lips part, clearly not expecting the trade. He deliberates it for a moment, before yielding to the suggestion with a nod. Suddenly— a shout for your name cuts through the air. Before you have the chance to even react, Toko bursts through the front door. “We wanted to ask—”
She freezes. You’re frozen, too, stuck between thinking if you should fling yourself as far away as possible, or the fastest way to explain your situation without sounding like a maniac.
Toko glances between the both of you. “Right.” She turns to you. “Staircase?”
You knew your best friend would never believe your explanations regarding Rengoku Kyojuro— she had always scoffed at the tales of the Slayers, saying that those were just superstitions of the past. You couldn’t blame her; there was never any concrete evidence of demons having ever existed— in fact, you weren’t very keen on believing it yourself. It just so happened that the ghost of a Slayer stood beside her as she interrogated you about skipping lunch with your friends to eat with Tojuro.
“You do like him!” She had admonished, poking a finger at your shoulder. “When did this all start? Tell me right now!”
“It— it’s just the final year of high school!” You blushed at her accusation. The bento you brought out with you to the stairwell had gone cold, clearly forgotten by the both of you under her heavy fire. “It would be sad if he graduated with no friends!”
She relented, pulling back with a sigh. From her pocket, she pulled out a milk bread, shoving it into your hands. “Whatever you say,” she eyed you warily. “But keep me updated, alright?”
The scene plays over and over again in your head now that you were back in the privacy of your own home. You’re sprawled across the hardwood floor of your living room with Rengoku standing above you. He peers down at your defeated figure curiously.
“Is there something wrong with liking Tojuro?” He asks.
“No— no, there isn’t,” you groan, dragging a hand down the side of your face. All things considered, you were pretty sure that there was at least another kid in class who was enamored by his ‘mysterious, aloof’ aura. He wasn’t a bad candidate, per se— despite his listlessness, he was rather handsome. Almond eyes, a strong nose bridge and sharp jawline all placed him as well above average in terms of looks (you ignore the fact that it also means that Rengoku Kyojuro is handsome). However, you knew that Toko would never let you live this down.
“Maybe you don’t know, but getting a crush in high school can be social suicide,” you blow air through your lips. “You’d be teased relentlessly, and you can never face the other party ever again.” You sit back up. “It’s just kinda bad because I don’t actually like him— I just want to help you.”
Rengoku’s face softens, but nevertheless, his grin still remains. “I’m grateful you go through all this trouble to help me! You have a good soul!”
His compliment brings blood rushing to your face. You cough, hiding your embarrassment as you get up from the floor, dusting off the back of your uniform. “Come on,” you gesture. “I feel bad for giving away your meal to Tojuro— let’s make miso soup with sweet potatoes for dinner.”
Cooking with Rengoku is oddly domestic. Since he could still interact with objects if he willed so, you assign him to the chopping board, cubing all the sweet potatoes as you stir miso paste and dashi into your pot. Under the orange lights of your kitchen, you observe as he ties his hair back into a ponytail and rolls up his sleeves, revealing milky white scratches darting up his forearm in the shape of ravenous claws and burns. You wonder how many battles he must’ve gone through to attain all these scars— and if he wears them as a sense of pride or duty. Rengoku’s eyes look up to meet yours. You fluster, quickly turning your attention back to your own pot.
When he moves over to tip the sweet potatoes into your soup, his forearm brushes against your arm, leaving your bicep prickly— setting your nerves on fire. One cooking session later, you serve two steaming bowls of miso soup and a generous serving of rice.
“Thank you for the food!” You clap your hands together. Rengoku parrots you, albeit with a more enthused tone. You look at him with anticipation lacing your features— so on edge you nearly forget to breath, head going light with nervousness.
He pauses under your stare, soup bowl already midway to his mouth. “Is something the matter!”
“It’s just—” you hesitate. “I hope that you can still enjoy this, even if you can’t…”
He lets out a loud laugh, one that shakes the walls of your house and sweeps you up with it. “It is of small matter! Food is more than taste— it is about the texture on our tongues, the anticipation derived from its smell, and about the energy it imbues oneself with. We give appreciation to the farmers that harvest our rice from dawn till dusk, and to the chef who puts their soul into cooking it!”
You don’t think it was that serious, but you nod along anyway, feeling inspired. Rengoku smiles at your assuredness, raising the soup bowl to his mouth —
— and promptly yells.
You leap to your feet, nearly knocking over your own bowl in the process. Your chair scrapes behind you, tilting over and landing on the ground with a clatter.
“What!? What happened?” You rush over to his side, but halt when he looks up at you with an indecipherable look on his face.
“I can taste it!” He shouts. He sips on the soup bowl once more, and lowers it in disbelief. “I can taste the sweet potatoes and the miso! I can taste the rice!”
You lean your weight against the table, pressing your palm against your forehead as you stare at him, flabbergasted. Just like that— he could suddenly taste? What changed?
Rengoku charges over to your fridge, picking out the leftover sandwich from yesterday. He sinks his teeth into it— chewing aggressively, turning back to you with sparkling eyes. “I can taste the egg in this! I can taste food! This is delicious, by the way!”
The shock settles into silence. You swallow. “So, are you supposed to… I don’t know, move on?”
Rengoku smiles as if he wasn't just dealt the greatest revelation of his life just moments ago. “I would think so as well! However, I’m not sure why I’m still here! Sorry for the intrusion!”
“It’s fine,” you wave him off. Then, a thought enters your mind. “What if… one wish wasn’t enough?” You reach over to pull out the notebook from your bag again, slamming it open atop the table. “Maybe you need multiple wishes. Maybe Tojuro needs to be a part of those wishes!”
“Great idea!” Rengoku nods, folding his arms across his chest. “My instincts tells me it might be just that!”
“Alright, Rengoku-san,” you spin the pen around your finger. “Let’s hear your greatest wishes!”
Rengoku’s Wish #2: Win the Kendo Championships.
You raise your notebook to shield your face from the sun. Today’s cloudless sky offers no shelter — the sun rays are relentless in their assault, though you’re wondering if the heat building underneath your uniform’s collar was stemming from your own frustration instead. You come to a stop at the red crossing, jamming at the button at the side of the pole with the end of your pen.
“I’m sorry, Rengoku-san,” you pinch the space between your brows, tapping on the first item of your checklist impatiently. “That request is probably too much to ask of him— plus, it’s out of my control.”
“Nonsense!” He insists. “Any member of the Rengoku lineage can— should learn Flame Breathing! All he needs is motivation and discipline!”
You look at him with fond exasperation. It would be nice if Tojuro could win the championships, but then again, it isn’t competition season, and it wouldn’t be for anytime soon— at least, not for another few months. You glance over the page, absentmindedly toying with the dog-eared corner of the paper. Seeds of doubt plant themselves in your chest— you’re left wondering if this checklist was even feasible.
“Alright,” you spin the pen around your finger. “What if you gave me a training regimen, and I pass it to Tojuro? Maybe that would help him prepare?”
The green light beeps, and you shift the strap of your schoolbag higher on your shoulders as you cross.
Rengoku nods eagerly, falling into pace beside you. “First! He needs to warm up by sitting under a twenty-metre high waterfall for two hours—”
You scrawl out the item, cutting him off. “Out of my control."
Somewhat unsurprisingly, you and Tojuro are the only ones this early to class. After all, the only other students in school at this time are those in the kendo club, who’d reach early to train in the mornings. You take your seat in the opposite end of the classroom. He doesn’t seem to even be aware of your presence, simply staring out of the window, chin in his palm.
(You rarely get to see the early sunlight filtering through the windows like this in class. It’s because of Rengoku waking up at ungodly hours that you’ve been treated as collateral damage — forcing you to wake absurdly early as of late.)
You lay your head atop your desk, turning over to look at Tojuro. How exactly are you going to strike conversation with him…?
As if he was summoned, he turns his attention to you. Your eyes meet from across the classroom, and you jolt straight up in your seat, feeling a blush crawl up your cheeks at having been caught staring. Fortunately, Tojuro doesn’t seem the least bit bothered— actually, he stands up from his desk. And begins walking over to you.
You’re the kind of person to be on relatively good terms with your classmates— at least, you strive to be. But for some reason, this triggers your flight or fight response, even if it had no reason to. You jump up from your desk as he crosses in between the empty chairs, coming to a stop in front of you. Rengoku must be similarly surprised— you can’t turn to look at him, but he’s silent, for one.
Tojuro says your name with a flat tone. Your heart slams against the wall of your ribcage.
“Yes?” You squeak.
“I still have yet to repay you for lunch,” he says simply, and then turns back, leaving you flustered, confused.
Tojuro is clearly not pleased to be sandwiched in the crowd. You spot glances thrown his way, whispers from other classmates who have never seen him once step foot into the cafeteria in their three years of high school.
You couldn’t blame him— it could get hectic during lunch hours, and especially so when they’ve displayed their bestseller— adzuki taiyaki— today. You yourself weren’t particularly keen in joining the swell of the student body that spilled at the front of the counter, but you grit your teeth. For Rengoku, you remind yourself. And Tojuro’s treating.
The Rengoku in question doesn’t seemed fazed in the tiniest bit. He plants himself beside you, arms folded across his chest as the students phase in and out through his body.
“How lively!” He barks, teeth gleaming under the bright lights of the storefront. “This is truly school spirit! I feel the vigor of youth!” Rengoku turns to you, golden hair shifting from his shoulders as he tilts his head.
With some luck, Tojuro gets shoved to the front of the queue. He turns back to you, at a loss.
“Sea bream set meal!” you mouth. He casts one last distressed glance at you, before his face is swallowed by the masses. With your job done, you burst out of the crowd, gasping for air as you stumble to the nearest pocket of space. Tojuro re-emerges beside you not long after, with your bento and two steaming taiyaki in his hands. For someone who seemed to be a little more sentient than a walking houseplant, you were pretty surprised he managed to achieve that feat.
“Do you need anything else?” He asks. You shake your head, just grateful to be out of the crush.
A girl bumps into Tojuro’s arm, squealing as she rears back with an apology. As she glances up at him, her face goes red. Her friends beside her slow down their pace to gape at him as well.
There’s a beat as you realize that this is the first time most people have gotten a proper look at his face— you’re suddenly filled with an overwhelming, protective urge to shield him from their prying eyes. Your hands dart up to tug at his sleeve ever so slightly.
Tojuro doesn’t seem to acknowledge their apology nor expressions, simply turning around to follow you out of the cafeteria. Right before you exit, from across the room — you spot Toko shooting you a smirk, and the rest of your friends giggle at the sight. You blush furiously, tugging harder at his sleeve.
Over lunch, you brazenly ask Tojuro out— not on a date, you’d stammered as you clarified that. You happened to get extra tickets to a show, you swear, and he looked like he’d be interested. Tojuro shrugs, nodding, and you’re left slightly more embarrassed, as if you’d made a big deal out of nothing. Rengoku leans against the desk beside you, a small smile playing on his lips.
Rengoku’s Wish #3: Watch sumo wrestling.
“You should really stop calling me Rengoku-san!” Rengoku yells louder than usual over the din of the crowds. It’s especially crowded today— partly because it was a weekend, and partly because it was an uncommon occasion where two yokozuna were competing against each other. You look at him quizzically, glancing back to make sure that Tojuro was sufficiently absorbed in the match that he doesn’t hear you talking to yourself.
“What do you mean?” You whisper-shout, though you’re pretty sure it’s being drowned out by the wows of the crowd.
“I believe it also—” he pauses, distracted by the ongoing match. From both sides of you, Tojuro and Rengoku tilt their bodies forward in sync, their eyes following every movement. The wrestler with a purple mawashi pushes hard against the other, their feet losing purchase on the sandy ground. It kicks up a dust storm, and for a moment you think that purple is going to win— but the other wrestler twists his body ever so slightly, shoving the purple out of the ring.
Hurrahs erupt from around you— Rengoku pulls back, celebrating with loud applause at the valiant display of strength. Tojuro is still much more reserved, though his irises are undeniably sparkling with clear interest, fists clenched in anticipation as he watches the announcer raise his hands to make a call.
Rengoku continues from where he left off. “I believe it also confuses me with Tojuro, correct?”
His cheeks are flushed from exhilaration, hair messier than usual from all the cheering he’s been doing. Golden strands stick to his forehead, framing his large eyes and boyish grin. Your eyes trail down the bead of sweat forming on the side of his jaw, to the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Your hands brush in the proximity— the pinky he passes through buzzes with faint numbness. You nod.
“Then, please do call me by my first name!” He exclaims, irises twinkling like there were a thousand stars laid beneath it. “Kyo-ju-ro, if you’ve forgotten!”
At the request, your heart pounds so heavily in your chest that it muffles your hearing. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and your hands go numb. For a moment, you could mistake Rengoku for Tojuro’s more affable, personable twin. Like a friend— a voice in your head tells you. Not a ghost.
A first name basis would turn this into more than a mission— you’re awfully aware of that fact. But you think that you’re too far in.
“Kyojuro,” you call. It gets drowned out by the shouts of the crowd as the wrestler with the purple mawashi scores a point against his opponent.
Even so— at that moment, nobody else but Rengoku Kyojuro hears you. The intensity of his burning gaze lowers into something more akin to the warmth of a fireplace. His smile tempers down to something more intimate— private. Like a secret exchanged between the both of you. You turn back to the match, the tips of your ears searing hot. You don’t notice the way Kyojuro’s ears burn red, too.
“H-having fun?” You stammer, tilting your head toward Tojuro. He looks back at you.
“Yeah, it’s pretty interesting. More than I’d expected,” he admits. Still, it doesn’t pull the smile you’d hoped it would. You huff quietly. Tojuro’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer— before his gaze is pulled away by the roar of the crowd.
Kyojuro’s Wish #4: Experience youth!
“Hello!” Toko leans over the both of you. “Mind if I join for lunch today?”
“It would be an honor!” Kyojuro shouts. Beside him, Tojuro gives an impassive shrug, so you pull a chair over to let her sit at Tojuro’s desk. She plops down her own packed bento, one wrapped in a pink asanoha-patterned furoshiki, and leans forward so casually it was as if she’d known him her whole life. Kyojuro mirrors her, leaning forward as well.
“Y’see,” she chirps, an awfully gleeful expression on her face. You’ve been friends with her for the past three years, so you knew when something was up. Hidden behind the face of the most beautiful girl of the school was a scheming, devious mind— one who would go to any lengths to fulfill what she believed was the best outcome possible.
“Toko-chan,” you warn.
“Rengoku-san,” she sings. Kyojuro nods earnestly, and you stifle a laugh. Tojuro blinks at her. “Summer break is next week, and our group of friends have been planning on doing lots of things!”
That was news to you. “What have you guys been planning?”
Kyojuro folds his arm across his chest, eyes twinkling. Toko smiles cheekily at you— your heart sinks. That sly grin could only mean one thing.
The school term comes to an end, uneventfully.
The more eventful thing, however, was that the entirety of summer break is spent running to each corner of Japan with your friends— and Tojuro.
Your first stop is an amusement park. Kyojuro, of course, guns straight for the most terrifying roller coaster you’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re forced to accommodate him by looking as if you were the interested one. Toko wastes no time pushing you into the seat on the left of Tojuro— and you’re screaming the entire ride down, with the one person on the ride who looks as if they’d rather be at home asleep.
The second, an aquarium date. Well, it wasn’t meant to be, at least— your group had wanted to view the newly unveiled deep-sea exhibit in the area, but you’re pretty sure Toko had sweet-talked the rest of your friends into bailing, each making up excuses of some variation along the lines of catching a flu bug, or having been grounded. You know they’re lying, because each of them had managed to convince you to wear your best outfit, under the guise of taking plenty of photos.
Instead, you’re left to tour the area with Tojuro. And Kyojuro, who’s been awed into speechlessness at every exhibit.
“I never knew there were so many kinds of deep-sea creatures!” He’d pressed his face against the aquarium. You’re mildly worried that he’d phase into the tank if he really wanted to, but thankfully, it looked like the Flame Hashira was rather content on staying on the dry side of the glass.
It was peaceful, actually— the only other time you’d went out with Tojuro alone was during the sumo match, and the rambunctious crowd made it feel more like a group outing than a date. This was much more intimate than— you can feel the heat radiating off Tojuro’s body when you both lean in to stare at an axolotl, with a face as listless as his. Only when you realize the proximity do you reel back, with a red face and cheeks that burn as if they’ve been set ablaze. You part ways that day with an odd fluttering of your heart.
Then, your plans to go to the beach were hampened by an incoming typhoon. Someone else suggests karaoke instead, and the rest, Kyojuro included, are more than happy to agree.
Drinks slosh around as your friends sing the latest pop song drunkenly, not quite from alcohol, but from the feverish excitement. You’re squeezed into the seat right beside Tojuro, crammed with your friends flanking both of your sides, pushing you together. His skin burns, even though he doesn’t look red nor bothered— so you can only assume it’s natural for him to feel like (and look) like a literal fireplace.
Standing at to the side of the room, Kyojuro surveys the scene with keen interest. There were no seats available for him— it wasn’t like you could communicate with him with all these people in the room, anyway. But he doesn’t seem to mind it, quite obviously enjoying the lively atmosphere.
You’ve run out of apologies to spew to Tojuro, but he brushes all of them off, not minding the deliberate shoving your friends are doing. A particularly animated jostle from beside you causes your leg to brush against his.
“I’m so sorry—!” You murmur again, shutting your eyes as your face burns warmer and warmer.
The feeling of eyes on you forces you to glance up. Opposite, Kyojuro’s expression has dropped, clearly recognizing your discomfort.
“Would you like to go get ice cream!” He offers. You sheepishly excuse yourself to leave the room, offering to grab a soft serve for your friends as well. You burst out of the door, stumbling down the corridor before catching your breath as you lean against the counter with the ice cream machine. Kyojuro exits behind you, walking through the door.
“My apologies,” he lowers his gaze. “I wasn’t aware that this would make you uncomfortable!”
“No, no, it’s alright!” You wave him off. “Karaoke is really fun, they’re just being extra pushy today because Tojuro is there.” Turning to the machine, you begin filling ice cream cups to bring back.
“Still…” he murmurs. Your eyes dart up at his sudden dip in volume. “To see you in such a state…”
You feel yourself smile at him fondly. Despite all his eccentricities, Kyojuro was surprisingly sensitive, and you feel an indescribable urge to ruffle the top of his head. You settle for just lightly punching his shoulder, your fist buzzing as you pass through his spectral visage.
“As long as you’re having fun, Kyojuro-san, I don’t mind at all!” His first name unwittingly slips out from your mouth. The both of you freeze. Your hand drops and you quickly spin away, back to the ice cream machine as you fill the remaining cups, stammering. “R—Really, it’s no problem at all. I want you to be happy, too.”
“My happiness should not be at your expense!” He insists. His irises look even warmer, a more vivid shade of crimson under the light. “You don’t have to go back in there! Or sit next to Tojuro, for that matter!”
That makes you stop in your tracks. “Do you… have an issue with Tojuro?”
Something flickers across the face of your ghostly companion. Something almost like guilt— at having been caught red handed. He opens his mouth, then closes it— then opens it again, like admitting to a confession.
“It does make me a little uncomfortable to see you pressed against him like that!”
You nearly drop the ice cream cup in your hand. A puff of laughter escapes you. Then, you double over in silent laughter, shoulders shaking as you try not to draw attention to yourself. Your stomach aches with the effort, and you’re out of breath with how hard you’re muffling your guffaws. With tears in your eyes, you look at up at him. “Don’t worry, Kyojuro-san. I’m not going to do anything to him. It’s cute that you think of him like an extension of yourself, though!”
Kyojuro huffs, almost childishly. “That’s not what I mean!”
Unfortunately, his whines are drowned out when the room beside you chooses to blast their speakers at full volume at that exact moment. It makes you jump, and you don’t miss the way Kyojuro’s hands fly to his katana on instinct. You hold your hand out to stop him from drawing his blade (but again, forget that you would simply pass through him).
“It’s alright. Nothing will attack us here,” you smile reassuringly. Kyojuro's eyes dart between you and the room, before reluctantly relaxing his posture. Old habits die hard, clearly. You wonder what he's been through to been so on edge all the time, but you're determined to teach him that there's nothing to fear— not anymore, in this world.
Kyojuro’s Wish #5: Visit his family.
This time, you head out alone with Kyojuro. The train rattles below your seat as you clutch the flowers closer to your body, letting your fingers brush over the velvet petals of the white lilies. You fluff up the chrysanthemums beside it a little more, hoping it wouldn’t droop too quick under the blazing summer sun.
“Shinagawa-ku,” you mutter under your breath, looking at the map on the walls. Just a few more stops to go, you note. The train is relatively empty, so Kyojuro sits beside you, arms folded across his chest. He’s awfully tense, and his usual grin has been exchanged for a more neutral expression. One that almost conveys nervousness.
The Hashira had mentioned he was born and raised around this area— so it would mean his house had once existed here, too. However, the area had undergone massive redevelopment. Office buildings and hotels tower high above you, like a concrete jungle that flanked all sides, populated by salarymen in sweaty suits and businesswomen whose heels clack loudly atop the pavement. You feel very displaced, with your casual wear and the sizeable bouquet of flowers in your hand.
“The map says turn right here,” you look at Kyojuro. But he’s not paying any attention to you, head swiveling around, scanning the area. Then, without warning— he takes off to the left. You follow behind him, clutching onto the bag slung around your shoulder.
“Hey!” You whisper. “Where are you going?”
Kyojuro doesn’t respond. He simply swerves left, right— through the buildings, into the residential complexes. Truth be told, you didn’t think you would find anything here here. After all, this area had been stripped of whatever shred of history left, replaced by glass buildings that reached the sky and an overwhelming sense of dread seeping from those who'd succumbed to corporate life— which makes the discovery even more shocking.
You gingerly step foot into the cemetery, lowering your head in respect as you enter. Despite the relentless blaze of the sun above you, the air is somber, mournful. Your eyes flit over the gravestones. Feet shuffling forward, you read each name in your mind, looking for familiarity of the intricately carved kanji characters—
Rengoku Ruka. You halt. “Kyojuro-san,” you breathe. “Kyojuro-san.”
He’s by your side in an instant. You continue down the row. Beside her grave— Rengoku Shinjuro. Rengoku Senjuro.
Rengoku Kyojuro.
You’ve known this whole time. His ghost has been haunting you for the past weeks, so it obviously meant that he was...
But seeing it laid bare in front of you like that, spelled out, pieced together that Kyojuro— your Kyojuro, was dead.
Your knees give out from under you. He reaches out to catch you— but his grasp phases through your arm anyway, letting you collapse onto the ground. You don't even feel the buzz in your arm this time, too caught up in the discovery, like a slap to your face. It's quiet, here, only punctuated by the occasional chirps of cicadas camouflaging in tree branches.
“That’s silly of me,” you break the silence with a forced laugh. “I mean— you’re obviously a ghost, duh.” You struggle to get up, but your legs refuse to cooperate. You press your hand against your calves, willing for it to move. “Huh? My legs aren’t working.” You shove harder.
Kyojuro calls your name with a voice so quiet you thought you’d imagined it. His figure distorts before you. Why is he blurry? What’s going on? What’s going to happen to him now? What's going to happen to me?
He calls you again, and you finally will yourself to look up at him.
“You’re crying,” he crouches down beside you.
“Huh?” You blink at him. It causes more tears to roll down your cheeks, but it at least clears your vision.
Kyojuro smiles, a gentle smile that makes your chest ache. You’d gotten used to his loud demeanor, his fiery disposition and blazing personality— but this smile was more akin to the bloom of a flower, like the acceptance of one’s fate. It makes him look painfully human.
“How surreal!” He snaps back into his usual tone, turning to the gravestone before him. “To think I would see my own grave like this!”
You follow his gaze, fighting back the jump forming in your throat. Was he the exact same Kyojuro back then as he is now? You can’t imagine someone this earnest being any different— who did he take after? Was his mother or father this earnest as well? His brother looked much more bashful in the picture, but did he inherit his determination?
Sniffing, you wipe away the tears on your cheeks, scrambling to your feet and bowing deeply in front of the Rengoku graves. “My apologies to your family,” you lower your eyes. “Kyojuro-san's father, mother and brother— I’m a friend of Kyojuro-san here. I’ve come to pay my respects with him.”
With his help, you grab a nearby broom and begin to dust off the headstones, starting with his mother’s. You sweep away dead leaves, toss out leftover joss sticks from previous visitors, replacing it with freshly lit incense and fully bloomed chrysanthemums and lilies. Then, you move on to his father’s. And Senjuro’s. You pause in front of Kyojuro’s, eyes darting to him as he looks at his inscribed name.
“I wonder if my ashes are underneath here!” He chirps. It's morbid, but you laugh at him anyway, before repeating the same motions as you did earlier. You continue down the line— to Senjuro’s wife, and so on.
“Do you think Tojuro visits here as well?” You lay down the last flower on the final Rengoku grave. Your back hurts after toiling for about an hour straight, and the sheen of sweat over your skin has grown uncomfortable.
“He must! The incense laid before our visit was fresh!” Kyojuro nods. You stand beside him, hands tucked behind your back as you let your gaze sweep across the row. Then realizing you were intruding— you retreat to the side of the graveyard, ducking under the shade of a tree, letting Kyojuro have his own space. He lowers his head and closes his eyes as he recites prayers for each tombstone he stands before.
When he’s finished, Kyojuro walks over to join you. He's smiling, as usual, but you can tell from the tilt of his mouth and the uncharacteristic melancholy of the air that follows behind him that his composure hangs on by a thread. You slip your hand into his, ignoring the buzzing that numbs your fingers as your skin brushes over his. Kyojuro squeezes back.
Kyojuro’s Wish #6: Stargaze.
“We’re finally here!” Toko gasps, and the entire group collapses into a a mess of heaves and pants as you reach the camping grounds of the mountain. Tojuro is the only one left standing, blankly scouring the scenery ahead of him.
“Who even suggested to go hiking?” Someone grumbles. Everyone’s too exhausted to reply— but you shoot a glare at Kyojuro, who merely grins in response.
“The air is much fresher up here!” He announces proudly. “Hiking is a great way to clear your mind!”
You’re not sure if he’s completely unaffected because he’s a ghost, or if he naturally had that much boundless stamina. You’re thinking it’s the latter, looking at how not-exhausted Tojuro appears to be. Perhaps inhuman amounts of stamina runs in their genes. You are, unfortunately, not in the right state of mind to be entertaining him at the current moment. However, you do feel a little bad for Tojuro, who stands around awkwardly watching the group catch their breath, so you grit your teeth as you roll over onto your feet, gesturing for him to head to the clearing.
“Let’s set up before it starts to get dark,” you direct him, though you’re so out of breath the sentence comes out as one long garble. Tojuro still seems to understand you— the both of you get to work unloading the backpacks you’d brought, and setting up the tents. One by one, your friends that have finished recuperating join you in your efforts.
With Kyojuro discreetly nudging the items you needed toward your direction, you finish setting up rather quickly. Higher in the mountain, the air is much cooler than it was on the ground, so it wasn't too arduous of a task. Sunset comes and goes, and the night sky descends upon the group. Stars blanket the midnight blue expanse above, each dot twinkling and shining in its own unique way. Everyone, Tojuro included, roasts marshmallows over the campfire, exchanging stories from their past few years of school, recounting anecdotes that has the rest rolling on the ground in laughter (Tojuro excluded).
As it dips further and later, your friends retreat into their tents, exhausted from the tiring trek up. Tojuro is the last to leave, almost reluctant to leave you outside alone, but you smile wryly at him, saying you wanted to watch the stars a little while longer. You don't tell him you're not exactly alone. With a nod, he heads back as well— you’re left with Kyojuro seated on the log opposite you, still enamored by the stars above. The campfire eventually dies out, leaving glowing embers behind, plunging you both into complete darkness— only barely lit by the twinkling stars above.
“Was this what you were wishing for?” You whispered. It snaps Kyojuro out of his daze, who turns to you with a grin so bright it practically illuminates the path before you.
“It is! I’ve always wanted the chance to admire the stars like this,” he admits bashfully. “Back then, we never had a chance to relax like this in the night, much less in a forest!”
You pat the space beside you, and Kyojuro complies willingly, seating himself by you.
His hand brushes against yours. It sends sparks up your arm.
“There were always too many factors to worry about,” he glances up again. The stars shine pale, casting the lightest shade of blue against his cheekbones, turning his golden hair monochromatic. “If it wasn’t demons, it’d be animals! If it wasn’t animals, it’d be bandits,” he turns to you. “To be able to relax in the dark is a blessing!”
He’s gorgeous like this, you think. His eyes are soft, adoring. His hair, usually untamed and wild, now gives him a more mellow feel, spilling over the sides of his face and around his shoulders, making him look younger. You forget that he never really did get to have a proper childhood— one that wasn't plagued by a sense of duty and responsibility. This was a side of Kyojuro you’ve learned to treasure— one that rarely comes by, reserved for moments as sentimental as this.
He exhales contently. “I wonder if father and Senjuro had a chance to experience this—”
“—I don’t want you to move on,” your voice breaks. Kyojuro turns to you.
You avert your eyes, not quite daring to meet his. “I’m sorry— I know its selfish, but I don’t want to lose you. You’ve been such a good friend I— I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again.”
You brace yourself for an indication of anger, or an accusation of betrayal. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, biting down harshly on your lip.
“I feel the same way, too!” Kyojuro replies honestly. “I would be upset if my friend had to leave me!”
“It’s not the same,” you argue. “You can't stay here. You have to move on— but I’m acting as if I want you shackled to me forever.”
He laughs once again, a clear, ringing sound that echoes against the trees, a melody meant just for you. “Forever’s just a saying. I do not know what will await me after this!” He leans back, tilting his chin higher to admire the sky. “But things pass— nothing is permanent. Daybreak will come, as will the sun rise from the east. Night falls, as will the moon goes through its phases! There’s nothing I can decide— we all just follow the path our heart tells us to take!”
A thin streak of light darts across the sky. You both look up, but there’s nothing else there.
“We’ve should’ve gone earlier,” you murmur, ignoring the pressure that’s beginning to form at the back of your eyes. “We’re past the stargazing season. The Perseid meteor shower was last week— we could’ve seen even more shooting stars.”
“That was a shooting star!” Kyojuro ignores you, excited by the prospect of what he might've just witnessed. “Let’s make a wish!”
He closes his eyes, folding his hand across his lap, a smile playing the corners of his lips. You’re more reluctant, but you do the same either way, eyelids fluttering shut.
Dear star, if you can hear me…
You peek at him. Kyojuro remains upright, his eyes closed in concentration. What could he be wishing for? Peace for his family? Selfishly, you hope that you were in that wish of his too.
I wish that Kyojuro…
You say your goodbyes as your group of friends split different ways at the station. You can all still feel the boiling humidity of the summer sun even under the shade of the station entrance, so everyone is quick to flee, eager to reach someplace with air conditioning they could hide out. Yet again, you’re left with Kyojuro babbling about how fun the hiking trip had been, and the different sorts of trees he’d seen on the trek down.
Except, Tojuro lingers behind awkwardly, as if unsure of how to bid farewell to you. You sigh. There was still a long way to go regarding his awkwardness, you guess. But this summer had been a good one.
“I’ll see you in class, Rengoku-san!” You wave at him cheerfully, taking the initiative.
“Wait,” he interrupts. Both you and Kyojuro halt in your tracks.
Even if it was only one word, Tojuro had never been so forward before. You swallow nervously. “Y-yes?”
“Thank you,” he mumbles. Your heart thumps in anticipation. He clears his throat. “I— I didn’t expect to have spent my last summer break in school like this. I didn’t know there were so many things to do outside of kendo. You’ve opened my eyes.”
You’re floored. Kyojuro chortles behind you.
“Ye— yeah, there’s loads of stuff to do."
Bewildered at his unexpected response, you then proceed to say the lamest thing possible to come to your head. “Have fun in kendo training,” you raise your arm, swinging it down. “Hidari-Men!”
There’s a beat of silence as Tojuro stares at you. Heat rushes to your face as your arms fall limply to your side.
Then, he smiles.
Your embarrassment quickly fades away with the realization that he’s smiling. His eyes glimmer at your measly attempt of a swing, and he laughs. His eyes close as he doubles over, hands on his knees as he bursts into laughter, like you’ve told the funniest joke known to mankind. A joyful, piercing bark that sounds exactly like his ancestor’s— as if he was in there all along.
Tojuro finally catches his breath after a few more bouts of giggles. “I’ll— I'll see you in class then,” he gasps, wiping a tear from his eye. He waves one last time at you before turning around and jogging away. You wave back at him, dumbfounded, until he rounds the corner— and lower your gaze to stare at your open palm in shock.
“Tojuro smiled,” You whisper in awe. “He smiled! Kyojuro-san, did you see—”
You spin around, but there’s nothing behind you.
You return home, face drenched in sweat and tears. It had to be right as your parents returned from their business trip as well, so they fuss over you, asking what’s wrong— but you walk past them, dazed.
Your body runs on autopilot. You take a shower, and lie down on your own bed for the first time in weeks.
You jolt awake at a time too early. Kyojuro is not there.
You fall into a fever the very next day— one that takes you out of commission for a week. The silence in your room accompanies you in place of Kyojuro— being confined inside only makes the crushing loneliness worse.
The first day of school after summer break comes and goes with you stuck in bed, and Toko spamming you incessantly on your phone. You only muster enough strength to text her a ‘sick’, followed by a sticker of a rabbit with a thermometer. Your phone blinks nonstop from all her texts, and you tell yourself you would read all 120 messages at some point. Later.
Finally, after your fever subsides, you gather enough willpower to drag yourself out of bed to prepare for school. You empty out your bag— Kyojuro’s Campus notebook falls onto your desk, opening to the page littered with your secret scribbles.
(‘Are you from the past?’)
Swallowing thickly, you flip the page over to his bucket list. There’s still half more that haven’t been crossed out— Go to the beach. Make friends. Win a Kendo tournament.
You end up poring over the notebook and crying again, with only an hour left to the start of class. Stupid, you tell yourself. He himself had said that nothing is permanent. You'd accepted that and wished for him to move on in peace. Both of you knew he would vanish someday— but it doesn’t take away the agony of having to sit in silence for the first time in months. Reluctantly, you leave the notebook aside on your table— you won't have a use for it anymore. Your walk to school is more of a trudge, with puffy eyes and hunched shoulders. Kyojuro had always followed beside you on your walks— but left on your own, you couldn’t even bring yourself to lift your eyes to appreciate the cool breeze, an indication of summer going by.
Toko greets you at the shoe lockers with a lilt to her voice.
“Hey!” She bumps into your arm playfully. “You were out for reaal long—” She cuts herself off when she notices your face.
“Uhhng,” you sniff, feeling like you’d been dragged through hell and back.
“You look terrible! You sure you don’t wanna stay home?” She pokes your cheek. “By the way, have you seen my texts about Tojuro lately?”
Right— the whole cause of this. You think you’d bawl if you saw even a hint of yellow and red right now, so you weren’t keen on seeing him at the current moment. Toko slings an arm around your shoulder.
“He did, like, a complete turnaround,” she whispers. You’re still so out of it, so you don't really register her words in your head. Right now, you were focused on just making it through the day.
Just as Toko slides open the door to your classroom, there’s a commotion down the hallway. Loud greetings— cheers and slaps of high-fives echo along the corridor loudly. You both stop, curiously staring at the crowd to spot its source.
Tojuro’s face appears in between the body of students that have congregated around him, smile bright and waving at everyone. He's glowing, undeniably even more charismatic than you'd last saw him. Everyone is eager to flank his side, inviting him for a round of baseball, or asking how his latest kendo tournament went.
“See!” Toko grabs your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. “Look at him! What did you do?”
You're stunned, too. His fiery eyes meet yours from down the hallway— a shiver runs down your spine when an expression of recognition crosses his features— and he sprints toward you. The golden-haired boy shouts your name from the other end, making everyone turn toward you. Your hand darts up to your mouth in shock, absolutely baffled by the unforeseen change in circumstances.
Toko releases her hold on your shoulders with a 'bye!' as Tojuro grabs your hand, pulling you down the hallway behind him. You let out a yelp, but follow anyway, heart pounding in your ears as you feel the scorch of his palm against your skin, the rough pads of his fingertips brushing against your wrist— from endless training of kendo, surely— and the firm yet gentle pressure of his grip.
You stumble up the stairs behind him, bursting through the rooftop door. The outside air blasts into your face from how forcefully the door opens, squinting as Tojuro brings you to the center of the school’s roof— turning to you with a smile so bright, as if he were the summer sun that never set.
He clears his throat, fingers still lightly curled around your wrist. “I won the local kendo tournament! I’ll be headed for the championships next month!”
Frazzled, you nodded. “Uh, that’s great to hear, Rengoku-san.”
“I also jumped over three buildings and the school gate with a friend! Yesterday, I bought sea bream from the cafeteria by myself— though they didn’t have taiyaki on sale that day. But after that, I went home and ate sweet potatoes until I threw up! I also went to the beach and felt the sand between my toes! I have decided that sand is rather bothersome to clear out from your shoes, but it’s fun to build sandcastles with!”
Your head spins with the information overload. Awkwardly, you laugh. “That’s great, I’m glad you broke out of your… shell…”
The realization that those were all the things that Kyojuro wanted to do slowly seeps in. Tojuro made friends. He went to the beach. Ate good food. All of them, he fulfilled in place of him. The slayer that never had a chance to experience youth, all of it taken far too young from him.
You’re about to cry again for the second time today — but Tojuro tugs you toward him, startling you into clarity. With the gentle tone that you’ve grown fond of— he calls your name. He looks at you with those soft eyes of his, his smile like that of the subdued warmth of a freshly kindled fireplace, and the early bloom of a flower.
“It’s me," he says in the voice you've missed so dearly.
A sob rips out from your mouth, and you wrap your arms tightly around his torso.
Kyojuro returns your hug, the searing heat of his arms seeping through the fabric of your uniform. You cry into his uniform, tears staining every surface that which you rub your face in, tightening your hold as if he’d vanish if you let him go again. You pull back, hands cupping his face— grabbing his shoulders—
“But how?” You blubber, lifting his hands to look at them— though, you can’t see much through the blur of your tears. “What happened to Tojuro?”
“I’m not sure!” Kyojuro admits. “But I think— I think Tojuro was me all along! Or I was him!” He turns your grasp around so that he’s the one holding your hands instead. “I was under the impression that we had been two separate entities, but we were most likely just two halves of a whole! Because of you, we could reconcile!”
Still sniveling, you place your hand in his, feeling the ridges of his palm, tracing the outlines of his knuckles. “I can’t believe I— I can’t believe I’m actually touching you, Kyojuro-san. This feels like a dream.”
He grabs your hand tightly. “It’s not a dream!”
You wail louder, and he hugs you again, patting your back comfortingly. “Perhaps the gods took pity on me. I do not know! But what I know is that I am here with you— and I have a list I would like to fulfill!”
The warning bell for first period echoes throughout the school. You step back, wiping your at face hurriedly. Your hands are numb, legs shaking— but you know that if you’d missed any more classes, your homeroom teacher would murder you on sight.
“We’ve gotta go before we get caught,” you sniff, pressing the palm against your cheeks. “Do I look—”
“Let’s skip class!” Kyojuro shouts. You clamp a hand over his mouth.
“Are you insane?” Your eyes dart to the staircase access. “We can’t!”
He blinks at you, and you feel him grin from underneath your palm. His voice is muffled, but he still speaks with a timbre clear enough that you know every word he says. “There’s still so many food I would like to try from the convenience stores! And I also want to sing karaoke!”
You laugh, releasing your hold. “We can do that after school. Anyway, we’d be caught going down the stairs.”
Kyojuro sweeps you off your feet— literally. Your arms fly to his neck as he picks you up, a determined look in his eyes. “We don't have to take the stairs!”
“We’re on the roof, Kyojuro-san!”
“Trust me!”
With a huff, he leaps off the roof— straight for the tree.
“Kyojuro! No!”
EPILOGUE
“Happy graduation!” You greet Toko. She runs toward you, squealing with joy.
“I can’t believe these three years are over just like that,” she gushes, jumping up and down. “Can you imagine? College?”
“Agatsuma-san!” A voice yells from behind her. She spins around. Another confession— you realize. The boy approaching her is blushing so hard you can see steam pour from his face. The second button on his uniform is prominently missing— you guess it’s currently clutched tightly in his fist outstretched toward Toko. You leave her to handle it herself, drifting further into the crowds of graduands.
A loud laugh sounds from the crowd beyond. Your eyes dart over, landing on Tojuro's figure, chatting away with his own friends. In his arms, a literal mountain of bouquets and awards tower way over his head. Every step he takes, a letter folded in the shape of a heart falls out of his pocket, and he struggles to pick it up while balancing the pile, not wanting to be rude to the tens of hundred of people that have confessed to him today. You wonder if he’s given away his button yet.
Kyojuro— Tojuro has grown immensely popular over the past few months. After having won the kendo championships by a landslide, it only catapulted his fame to unfathomable heights, having students from other schools coming over to get a glimpse of his famed golden locks. Paired with his amiable personality and good looks, it’s no wonder that everyone began to pay attention to him. He was even featured on the local newspaper once, labelled a budding star set to go to nationals soon.
It’s still confusing between calling him Tojuro or Kyojuro, and you’re pretty sure Toko has caught you slipping up a handful of times, judging from her narrowed eyes when you fumble— but the entire story of the Flame Hashira still remains as a secret between the both of you. In school, you call him Rengoku Tojuro; the formerly shy kid who's found his place in the world after being declared a kendo prodigy. When it's the both of you, he's just your Kyojuro, a boy who shouts 'delicious!' after every bite of his sea bream bento and with a burning passion to taste every assortment of onigiri at NewDays.
Toko lets out an exasperated exhale as she returns to your side, buttons spilling out from her skirt pocket. “They just keep coming! Hurry, let’s take a picture before there's more!”
You get an underclassman to help snap a picture of the both of you, posing with victory signs and beaming smiles on your faces. From behind you, Kyojuro calls for your name— though you wonder how he’s even seeing the path before him with all the gifts in his face. He comes to a stop before you, setting down half his gifts on the floor.
He clears his throat with an uncharacteristically bashful grin on his face. In a voice as soft as he can manage, Kyojuro murmurs to you— “There’s still one more thing I’ve yet to experience!”
That line strikes fear into your heart. “Tojuro-san,” you start cautiously, making sure the correct name rolled off your tongue. “We have done virtually everything possible. We’ve been to every single haunted location in Tokyo, nearly set the school on fire after you wanted to try glass-blowing, and almost got into trouble with the police for climbing the fire escape of the NHK building.” You raise your hand to your chest. “I don’t think my heart can take anything more.”
“Not everything!” He shouts, suddenly. With a sparkle in his eye— “Go out with me!”
You freeze. Around you— the crowd gasps.
“Why are you even surprised?" Toko rolls her eyes. She shoves you toward him until you’re both nearly chest to chest, the only thing separating the both of you being the mountain of flowers in his arms. Suddenly self-conscious, your eyes dart around the crowd that’s beginning to form.
“Tojuro-san,” you whisper, ignoring your burning cheeks. “Are you sure you don’t want to, you know, experience youth? Experience falling in love!?”
He grins, the same sunny smile that you’ve learnt to grow endeared to. “I already have!”
You blush so hard you think you’re going to pass out, but you nod anyway, at a loss for words. Kyojuro drops all the bouquets in his arms onto the ground, wrapping them around you instead. You’re enveloped in his warmth— the scent of smoky pinewood wafts from his uniform, encasing you in his familiar presence.
“You’re embarrassing me!” You pull back, head ducked low as you watch the crowds around you whoop at his brazen display of affection.
He laughs— it reverberates through your own body. “It wouldn’t be as embarrassing as this!” He kisses your cheek in front of everyone.
You’re not sure what happened, but you think you explode. Cheers erupt from around you, and Kyojuro has to hold you up as your legs become jelly, giving out underneath you, and your brain turns into mush from the ensuing chaos.
His mouth brushes against the shell of your ear as he leans forward to catch you, his voice low, rumbling. “A kiss on the lips would be great too!”
You nearly leap out of his hold, entire face set ablaze. “Not here, Kyojuro!”
END.
bonus post-epilogue
if you enjoyed this, please feel free to like, reblog or leave a reply. i'm also grateful for any feedback regarding my work— I write as a hobby, and am always looking to improve it.
this work was inspired by: harisenbon— Thousand Needles. If you're a sucker for amazing + diverse storytelling, pleasepleaseplease do check it out! There may be some mature themes, but nothing explicitly NSFW.
In which Rengoku Kyojuro’s ghost tries to set you up with his reincarnation.
‘“No descendant of the Rengoku lineage is supposed to be this dispassionate!” He folds his arms. “Tojuro is missing a spark!”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone from my family always needed to have something to strive toward. My brother— he was exceptionally kind and determined for the family. My father— he fought for my mother!” He turns toward you. “You must be able to see me because you’re destined to be Rengoku Tojuro’s spark!”’
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THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF THE KIMETSU NO YAIBA SERIES !!
This fic takes much inspiration from Thousand Needles by harisenbon on AO3, a collection of fics centered around Kyojuro.
!! Please DO NOT continue any further if you want to enjoy the anime in its entirety !!
* There is sort-of canon-divergence/OOC. It is never explicitly stated in the series how old Rengoku Tojuro is, thus in this story, he is also in his final year of high school with reader. With disclaimers out of the way, please enjoy!
“Hello! Would you kindly tell me where I am?”
The corone slips from your fingers. It lands on the ground with a pitiful splat!— creamy contents burst from its shell inside the plastic wrapping, spilling over the ground. Your mouth is left hanging open— you slowly turn to face the man that’s just materialized in the middle of your hallway.
He was not there five seconds ago— you know because you’d just walked through the exact spot that this fiery-looking stranger currently stands in. Clearing your throat, you tighten your hold on the doorknob of your front door, opening it further. Three thoughts run through your head.
One, there is quite possibly, a cryptid that has just manifested itself in your house.
Two, said cryptid does not appear to be threatening— but you are beginning to feel uneasy under his unblinking stare.
Three, huh?
“Um,” you cough, hand still on your doorknob, never breaking your line of sight with the entity. “Yeah— hey, um… how… exactly did you get in here…?”
He— it?— blinks owlishly at you, before it turns its head to survey your apartment. Of all the times some supernatural being decides to appear before you, or maybe arguably better, a hallucination, it had to be when your parents had just left for a business trip, and on the day you were running late for school.
You carefully lower yourself to pick up your squashed breakfast, but having to maintain eye contact with it meant you were essentially just fumbling around the general area you’d thought you heard the plastic rustle— and after a few more moments of fruitlessly patting at the ground, you return to standing.
“It seems as if we are both confused!” It booms, “Do not be afraid! I mean no harm!”
It’s hard to not be afraid— sudden appearances aside, this being spoke with volume that shook the whole house with each syllable. His very presence was demanding, hair like wild locks of untamed flames, fire-patterned haori draped around his broad shoulders, and his bright, piercing gaze — all of which, by all known laws of nature, are as good as neon signs pointing to danger. It was unfortunate that he was instead something beyond nature’s comprehension.
You shuffle around to face him— but your shoe catches on the splattered cream, causing you to slip and tilt backward — and as if to add insult to injury, your head strikes against the doorknob with such forcefulness it shuts the door behind you with a bang. You land straight on your rear— bringing forth a yelp as you feel the corone squash itself below you.
Dude. Just put me out of misery.
The cryptid doesn’t. He extends his right arm toward you, the corners of his mouth upturned. Your eyes flit toward it. His palms were calloused, uneven and littered with varying lengths of pale scars— unusual in this day and age, but at the very least, it makes him look human. Hesitantly, you reach out, accepting his offer.
Except— your hand phases right through his. Where your fingers overlapped, you feel a light buzzing at the very tip, as if you’d fallen asleep on your nails. Your arm falls limply to your side, and you stare agape at him. It looks like he doesn’t expect it either. The smile on his face freezes.
With a nod, he retracts his arm and folds it across his chest.
“Hm! Looks like I may be a ghost!”
You fling open the door and slam it shut behind you.
You’re still pressed against the front door, arms splayed out, holding it shut as if a ghost couldn’t just phase through it. Your mind races, nausea threatening to overtake your body as the ground shifts beneath your feet.
Two sharp raps sound from behind you. You jump so high you nearly feel your soul leave your body— perhaps it would be better that way, then you could finally shake hands with the ghost in your home. From behind you, a muffled voice. “It looks as if I am able to interact with objects, still!”
The knob twists, and the door flies outward with such force you’re sent flying forward, slamming straight into the parapet. Your stomach makes harsh contact with the railing. All wind escapes your lungs upon impact— a shrill ring bursts in your eardrums and your hand flies to your chest, gasping for air— until breath enters your body again. You swing yourself around, heaving, staring at the ghost-man.
He at least has the decency to at least look somewhat apologetic. Releasing his hold on the knob, he reaches out again— but pauses, thinking better, retracting his hand.
“Sorry! I was not aware that you were leaning against the door!”
The ghost straightens back up, shifting to the side, as if trying to coax you back into the house. “It was rude of me to not start of with an introduction. My name is Rengoku Kyojuro! Allow me to ask for yours!”
You fumble around your words a little bit, but finally manage to introduce yourself with minimal stuttering. He grins, exclaiming, “it is nice to meet you!”
“Uhh, it’s nice to meet you too, Rengoku-san…” you scramble to stand up, ignoring the throbbing pain radiating from the your stomach, around to your tailbone. With your names introduced, you’re slightly less apprehensive regarding this ghost named Rengoku. For one, he doesn’t seem to desire any bodily harm upon you.
You narrow your eyes at the man. Now that you think about it, he did look strangely familiar. An odd sensation nips the back of your mind, as if pulling at your cheek and admonishing that you’ll soon feel like a complete fool once you figure out exactly why this he gave you such a strong feeling of déjà vu.
No time for tomfoolery, you shake your head. You’d be late for school if you dallied any further. You twist around to see the smear of pastry cream on the back of your uniform. Groaning, you charge back into the house and turn around to cast a wary glance at Rengoku, who now stands stock still at your genkan, as if awaiting for an invitation to enter your abode once more. He’s dressed in an outfit that looks rather out-of-fashion, and— is that a katana on this belt?
“I have absolutely zero idea if you’re a ghost or a hallucination. But— how about this,” you glance at the clock again. “Are you, like, a vampire? Can you go outdoors?”
The creature yells spiritedly, “I have no clue!”
“—alright, then I’ll grab a change of clothes, you follow me to class. If you are real, you would be a great explanation to my homeroom teacher,” you pull off your shoes and sprint toward your room. “Stay there!”
“What is a ‘homeroom’!” He yells back at you, but you’ve already shut your door behind you.
Rengoku is oddly quiet as you briskly walk down the hallways, dodging groups of students making similar beelines toward their classrooms before the first bell chimes. Nobody seems to notice his presence, with a handful of them even walking through him. He doesn’t seem to mind it, though— at least, not that you could tell.
You sprint into class, barely making it into your seat before your homeroom teacher enters. The ghost stands beside you somewhat awkwardly, and you pull out your Campus notebook, scribbling on the corner of the page and subtly sliding it toward him.
‘You okay?’
Rengoku stares at your notebook, then your face. “Where is this? What year is it?”
More scribbling. ‘Tokyo. 2020.’.
He pinches his lips together. “There’s… there’s so many things different about this place. It’s incomprehensible to me that this is Tokyo.”
Your teacher calls out your name for attendance. You raise your hand, then quickly return to writing on your notebook. ‘Are you from the past?’
After thoughtful deliberation, he opens his mouth—
“Rengoku!”
Both of you jolt, heads snapping up.
On the other side of the classroom, by the window— just out of your field of view, a very familiar figure turns to face the front. His golden hair shifts, crimson ends catching the sunlight streaming through the glass panes—
“Rengoku Tojuro!”
The splitting image of your spectre slowly raises his hand. Your homeroom teacher raps sharply against the teacher’s desk.
“How many times have I told you to cut your hair, Rengoku-san? Already in your third year and still asking for trouble?”
Of course— this ghost…! You slap your hand over your mouth. It echos loudly throughout the room, and the entire classroom turns to stare at you. Rengoku— both of them, shoot you a look. Mortified, you slowly retract your hand.
“Do you have something to say about Rengoku-san’s haircut?” Your teacher curtly asks, but you shake your head vigorously, lowering your gaze to the notebook in front of you. The classroom ripples with murmured laughter. In front you, Agatsuma Toko snickers as well. You kick the back of her chair. Quietly, alive-Rengoku speaks from the back of the classroom. “I’ll see to it.”
It was still a little absurd, but you had to be given some leeway for forgetting that Rengoku Tojuro existed in your classroom. He’s withdrawn and reticent, not quite all there in the few times you’ve spoken to him. The only piece of information you knew regarding him was that he is apparently part of the the school's acclaimed kendo club, but even then, he didn’t seem to stand out.
Once the teacher leaves the classroom, Toko leans back, her silky hair cascading down like a stage curtain, spilling over your desk. “Someone got a crush on the quiet kid?”
“Shut up,” you hiss, kicking her chair again. Your best friend only rolls her eyes, but you know from her smile that she’s just getting a kick out of teasing you. You return to furiously scribbling in your notebook, eyes darting up to meet the ghosts’ when you notice him staring.
‘Are you supposed to be some manifestation of his ego?’
Ghost-Rengoku shakes his head, arms folded across his chest. “No!” A pause. Quieter, he adds. “He has my brother’s eyes.”
A quick glance at Tojuro proves that you have no clue what the ghost is on about, because they quite literally have the same set of eyes— just that the alive-guy’s spiritless pair happens to look more like it should belong to the dead-guy’s. But then again, who are you to say such things when it sounds like this ghost knows your classmate better than you do?
The door slides open, and your math teacher walks in. Hastily, you scribble in the corner again. ‘I’m sorry. I really gotta pay attention to this class. Do you want to walk around the school, or something?’
Rengoku nods, suddenly quiet. It unnerves you, if only just a little, but you leave him to it, eyes trailing him as you watch his attempts to squeeze through the narrow corridors of student desks and bags— pausing when he realizes he can simply phase through the items, then slowly making his way to the other side, eyes scanning the blackboard in the back of the class, the lockers below it— darting back when he hears the yawn Toko lets out, before coming to a stop.
For the entirety of the day, he doesn’t leave Tojuro’s side.
“I think I’ve got it!” Rengoku suddenly speaks up. You jolt at his volume, your shoulders only easing when you remember that nobody else could hear him.
You’re huddled away in some couch in the corner of the school library, flipping through as many accounts of battles from 1900s, 1910s, 1920s— all to figure out if this ghost-man really was who he claimed to be.
“No descendant of the Rengoku lineage is supposed to be this dispassionate!” He folds his arms. “Tojuro is missing a spark!”
“What do you mean?” You murmur, hoping that you’re tucked away far enough that nobody can hear you.
“Everyone from my family always needed to have something to strive toward. My brother— he was exceptionally kind and determined for the family. My father— he fought for my mother!” He turns toward you. “You must be able to see me because you’re destined to be Rengoku Tojuro’s spark!”
“Me!?” You blurt, before covering your mouth. Someone shushes you from behind a bookshelf, and you mutter an apology before shoving your face into the third journal of your search. Your hope is dwindling steadily— you’ve been chasing vague stories told from numerous perspective, yet none have been clear enough to give you a lead just yet.
Your eyes widen as you flip to the last page of the journal. “Rengoku-san, look. Is this you?”
You point to an image of a messy-haired boy in the bottom corner of the image. It is in black-and-white, but his hairstyle undeniably matched your ghost's, nearly a carbon copy. Though the boy has a considerably softer expression than Rengoku does, his big smile is the ultimate proof of their relation. Above him is an older clone of himself, a small smile on his face and the same haircut as well. You nearly miss the stubble beneath his jaw, obscured by the grain of the picture. Rengoku leans in, scrutinizing the image, lips parted. You hear his breath hitch— the corner of his jaw twitches, words caught in his throat.
After a silence too long, he finally speaks.
“Senjuro. Father. They did it,” he croaks. “I knew they did— they had to have. But—” he leans in further to hold the book, phasing halfway into your body. It leaves your arm tingly and numb. “Mitsuri-san. Obanai— Gyomei, Lady Shinobu, Muichiro…”
You’re not sure who he’s listing, but it must be his comrades from back then. You’ve heard tales of this group before— it wasn’t taught in history class, but every Japanese citizen knows the folklore of the devastating battle against the Demon Progenitor that took place a hundred years ago, and the stories that arose of it. Slayers that walked around wielding nichirin blades, demons who would prowl at night to feast on unsuspecting humans.
A teardrop falls onto the book— phases through it, rather.
You glance up, Rengoku’s eyes are glossy, tears rolling down his cheeks in large, round droplets. His mouth is pursed, but you can see the slivers of his canines peeking out, biting down on his lip as he fights to hold back his tears. His exhales comes out in unsteady, shaky rhythms, shoulders quivering with each breath. He blinks once — cheeks turning red as more tears spill from his flaming eyes.
“It’s okay, Rengoku-san,” you’re compelled to whisper. “Nobody else can hear you.”
As if given permission, the Slayer lowers his head into his hands and weeps. Not wail, nor sob — but quiet, mournful hiccups, as if he was finally relieved of a great burden, released from the shackles of his duty— his lineage. Rengoku grasps the book in his hands, holding it with such tenderness that his thumbs only gently press against the paper, brushing over the image of his brother.
“Senjuro… did you live a happy life? Were you fulfilled?” He rasps. Slowly, his thumb traces upward to the older man, touch growing slightly firmer. “Father— I hope you were able to find solace. I did my best to fulfill my role.”
You gingerly place your hand on his shoulder, but it dips into his spectral visage, so you’re left awkwardly patting the air.
Rengoku Kyojuro weeps for a long, long while.
The sun is beginning to set by the time he’s regained his composure. He apologizes to you with red eyes, but you shake your head, horrified that he even thought of himself as bothersome. This guy clearly had some weight he needed off, and you were just glad you could give him some closure.
You’d stopped by a 7/11 on the way home to grab a quick bento, effectively short circuiting his brain in the process— Rengoku was astounded by the sheer quantity of food lining the shelves, salivating over every displayed row of onigiri (’I did not know there were so many variations of them!’, he had exclaimed.). You offered to buy him a meal, but he turns you down politely, saying he doesn’t seem to feel hunger.
You pick at your dinner with thoughts racing through your head. Seated on the opposite end of your dining table, Rengoku eyes the egg mayo sandwich you’d bought as an à la carte to your microwaved pasta.
“Rengoku-san,” you put aside the chopsticks you’ve been fidgeting with. “Do you have anything you wish for? Maybe if I helped you, you’d be able to move on.”
“We would not know unless we tried!” Rengoku nods. Then he closes his eyes, thinking.
You reach over to your bag and pull out the Campus notebook that’s basically designated for him. You flip it open to a new page, scrawling the date down at the very top of the page. “What’s the number one thing you want to do right now?”
“I would like to eat!” He replies without hesitation. You jot it on the notebook.
Rengoku’s Wish: Eat.
Wait. That’s all?
You snap your head up to him with a look of disbelief. He merely laughs, a loud, hearty bark that almost makes you forget he'd just been dealt life-changing news of the fate of his family hours earlier. His attention quickly diverts to the sandwiches beside your meal with clear intrigue.
“If that’s really all… try this?” You slide them over.
He’s more than happy to pick up one of the sandwiches and take a bite. The ghost chews on it for a bit, an unreadable expression on his face. You’re oddly tense as you await his verdict, the silence that stretches only making it worse.
Then, he takes another bite. And another.
He looks back down at the bread in his hands, turning it around, before placing the last bite into his mouth. Rengoku looks up at you with a grin. “This is not good! I can’t taste anything!”
Your mouth goes dry at the remark.
“Can't taste anything?” You put your pen down. “At all…? Are you okay?”
“Yes! I am disappointed!” He laughs, seemingly unbothered. “However, it is of a small matter. I lived a good life appreciating all my meals! You never know when it will be your last!”
You look at him with a expression equivalent to that of a kicked puppy. He panics. “Have I upset you?”
“I’m upset for you, if anything,” you murmur, poking at your own food. You don’t think you could stomach anything— not in front of him, at least. You look back up. “What’s your favourite food?”
He thinks for a moment. “Sweet potatoes! Even better with miso soup!”
Seemed simple enough. You think you could probably make it at home— perhaps the smell alone might bring him some comfort. But for now, you put away the remaining pair of the egg mayo sandwich into the fridge, your appetite gone for the day.
That night, you offer Rengoku your bed, insisting that you could sleep in your parent’s room for the duration. He’s reluctant to even step foot in your room at first, but when he rests his weight onto your mattress, you see his entire body immediately droop to one side as if the poor spirit hasn’t had a day of proper sleep in his life. You leave to grab a glass of water— and when you re-enter the room, Rengoku is passed out cold on your bed.
You pull the blanket over his shoulders— watching as it phases over his ghostly silhouette, flattening over your sheets, like a grim reminder of his existence.
Rengoku’s Wish, again: Eat miso soup with sweet potatoes.
In an incredible stroke of luck, the bright, bold words ‘MISO SOUP WITH SWEET POTATOES’ are penned across the school cafeteria's signboard the very next day. Rengoku is delighted to see as such, so you buy two sets for take-out, making up some excuse to Toko and your group of friends about unfinished homework — sprinting out of the cafeteria before anyone could question you.
“Does miso soup in the future taste any different?” He asks as you wheeze up the steps to your classroom. It makes you pause as you consider that very real possibility— but how different could it really be? Hopefully not that much, fingers crossed. You slide the door open —
— Rengoku Tojuro sits alone in the classroom, head turned toward the window, watching the clouds float by. You curse under your breath— you didn’t think there’d be anyone here, since the cafeteria always had more than enough space to accommodate the entire school. Tojuro turns his head to look toward you, gaze apathetic.
“Are—” you force a smile. “Are you not going to have lunch?”
A slow blink. “Hm,” Tojuro mutters. “I don’t think so.”
From beside you, Rengoku sucks in a sharp inhale. That answer must be all sorts of sacrilegious to him, you’re sure— you quickly rush to Tojuro’s seat, placing the bento on his table.
“Nonsense!” You cut in, casting a quick glance at Rengoku’s bewildered face. “Don’t you have kendo later today? You must eat something, I bought an extra bento!”
The boy is clearly taken aback at your sudden insistence. It’s only natural— you’ve barely spoken to him for the entirety of high school, and you’re suddenly asking to have lunch with him. He nods cautiously, and you happily hand the extra miso and sweet potato meal over to him, cheeks beginning to ache from the smile you’ve plastered smile over your face. You pull a chair from the table in front of him, seating yourself on the opposite side.
You’re too far in to back out now — but you remind yourself. This is for the sake of Rengoku’s spirit. There’s still no definite answer, but you were both certain that Tojuro had something to do with it.
“Rengoku-san,” you start, and suppress a wince when both of them turn to you at once. “What’s the kendo club like? You guys train a whole bunch, right?”
He prods at the rice with the pair of wooden chopsticks in his hand. “It’s okay.”
The wind outside blows, rustling the tree leaves by the window. You take a sip of your miso soup and munch down on the sweet potato cubes. From the corner of your eye, you spot Rengoku watching, arms folded across his chest. His smile has gone— clearly disappointed at the lack of Tojuro’s vigor. The subject of his stare only nudges his food around lackadaisically, placing singular grains of rice in his mouth.
“W— What’s fun about kendo?” You laugh uncomfortably. You raise your hand in the air, mimicking a strike. “Like this? Hidari-Men!” You swing down on an imaginary helmet.
He glances at you, the chopstick in between his teeth. “That’s straight down. Hidari-Men would be skewed to the left a little more.”
That was the longest response you’ve ever gotten from him. Another laugh slips out from your lips, shifting your arm toward the left and swinging, the tension making your shoulders stiff. Tojuro picks up a cube of sweet potato, turning it over in this chopsticks, observing it. Then places it into his mouth.
The air around him shifts ever so slightly. Both you and Rengoku catch it. Tojuro’s eyes widen, glancing down at this bento with an expression you’ve never seen before on his face— almost like one of astonishment.
“What’s this? It’s really good,” his irises flit back to you. You finally make proper eye contact with him — have they always been such a dazzling shade of crimson? Your breath catches in your throat as he picks up the miso bowl, sipping on it. “This miso tastes different. Is it because of the sweet potatoes?”
You exchange glances with Rengoku, before turning back to nod enthusiastically. “The potatoes sweeten the taste of the miso soup! It’s yummy, isn’t it?” Your hands return to your own meal, picking up a chopstickful of rice. “Try it with the rice too!”
Tojuro eats with an eagerness you’ve never spotted on his face before. For once, he seems to genuinely enjoy his food, chewing intently as his blazing eyes rests upon the sweet potato chunks. The silence that ensues between the both (or, three) of you doesn’t feel as awkward as it did earlier, your thoughts occupied with Tojuro’s sudden switch in personality. Your mind races— this could actually be the key to helping Rengoku. You just had to figure out the full puzzle. Was it food? Should you talk more about kendo?
“Thank you for the meal,” he says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You startle, noticing his empty container. Tojuro reaches into his bag, pulling out his wallet. “How much was it? Let me—”
“No!” You cut him off, hand in front of his face. “Don’t worry about it!” A thought enters your mind— you grin. “Actually, you can repay me by getting lunch next time!”
Tojuro’s lips part, clearly not expecting the trade. He deliberates it for a moment, before yielding to the suggestion with a nod. Suddenly— a shout for your name cuts through the air. Before you have the chance to even react, Toko bursts through the front door. “We wanted to ask—”
She freezes. You’re frozen, too, stuck between thinking if you should fling yourself as far away as possible, or the fastest way to explain your situation without sounding like a maniac.
Toko glances between the both of you. “Right.” She turns to you. “Staircase?”
You knew your best friend would never believe your explanations regarding Rengoku Kyojuro— she had always scoffed at the tales of the Slayers, saying that those were just superstitions of the past. You couldn’t blame her; there was never any concrete evidence of demons having ever existed— in fact, you weren’t very keen on believing it yourself. It just so happened that the ghost of a Slayer stood beside her as she interrogated you about skipping lunch with your friends to eat with Tojuro.
“You do like him!” She had admonished, poking a finger at your shoulder. “When did this all start? Tell me right now!”
“It— it’s just the final year of high school!” You blushed at her accusation. The bento you brought out with you to the stairwell had gone cold, clearly forgotten by the both of you under her heavy fire. “It would be sad if he graduated with no friends!”
She relented, pulling back with a sigh. From her pocket, she pulled out a milk bread, shoving it into your hands. “Whatever you say,” she eyed you warily. “But keep me updated, alright?”
The scene plays over and over again in your head now that you were back in the privacy of your own home. You’re sprawled across the hardwood floor of your living room with Rengoku standing above you. He peers down at your defeated figure curiously.
“Is there something wrong with liking Tojuro?” He asks.
“No— no, there isn’t,” you groan, dragging a hand down the side of your face. All things considered, you were pretty sure that there was at least another kid in class who was enamored by his ‘mysterious, aloof’ aura. He wasn’t a bad candidate, per se— despite his listlessness, he was rather handsome. Almond eyes, a strong nose bridge and sharp jawline all placed him as well above average in terms of looks (you ignore the fact that it also means that Rengoku Kyojuro is handsome). However, you knew that Toko would never let you live this down.
“Maybe you don’t know, but getting a crush in high school can be social suicide,” you blow air through your lips. “You’d be teased relentlessly, and you can never face the other party ever again.” You sit back up. “It’s just kinda bad because I don’t actually like him— I just want to help you.”
Rengoku’s face softens, but nevertheless, his grin still remains. “I’m grateful you go through all this trouble to help me! You have a good soul!”
His compliment brings blood rushing to your face. You cough, hiding your embarrassment as you get up from the floor, dusting off the back of your uniform. “Come on,” you gesture. “I feel bad for giving away your meal to Tojuro— let’s make miso soup with sweet potatoes for dinner.”
Cooking with Rengoku is oddly domestic. Since he could still interact with objects if he willed so, you assign him to the chopping board, cubing all the sweet potatoes as you stir miso paste and dashi into your pot. Under the orange lights of your kitchen, you observe as he ties his hair back into a ponytail and rolls up his sleeves, revealing milky white scratches darting up his forearm in the shape of ravenous claws and burns. You wonder how many battles he must’ve gone through to attain all these scars— and if he wears them as a sense of pride or duty. Rengoku’s eyes look up to meet yours. You fluster, quickly turning your attention back to your own pot.
When he moves over to tip the sweet potatoes into your soup, his forearm brushes against your arm, leaving your bicep prickly— setting your nerves on fire. One cooking session later, you serve two steaming bowls of miso soup and a generous serving of rice.
“Thank you for the food!” You clap your hands together. Rengoku parrots you, albeit with a more enthused tone. You look at him with anticipation lacing your features— so on edge you nearly forget to breath, head going light with nervousness.
He pauses under your stare, soup bowl already midway to his mouth. “Is something the matter!”
“It’s just—” you hesitate. “I hope that you can still enjoy this, even if you can’t…”
He lets out a loud laugh, one that shakes the walls of your house and sweeps you up with it. “It is of small matter! Food is more than taste— it is about the texture on our tongues, the anticipation derived from its smell, and about the energy it imbues oneself with. We give appreciation to the farmers that harvest our rice from dawn till dusk, and to the chef who puts their soul into cooking it!”
You don’t think it was that serious, but you nod along anyway, feeling inspired. Rengoku smiles at your assuredness, raising the soup bowl to his mouth —
— and promptly yells.
You leap to your feet, nearly knocking over your own bowl in the process. Your chair scrapes behind you, tilting over and landing on the ground with a clatter.
“What!? What happened?” You rush over to his side, but halt when he looks up at you with an indecipherable look on his face.
“I can taste it!” He shouts. He sips on the soup bowl once more, and lowers it in disbelief. “I can taste the sweet potatoes and the miso! I can taste the rice!”
You lean your weight against the table, pressing your palm against your forehead as you stare at him, flabbergasted. Just like that— he could suddenly taste? What changed?
Rengoku charges over to your fridge, picking out the leftover sandwich from yesterday. He sinks his teeth into it— chewing aggressively, turning back to you with sparkling eyes. “I can taste the egg in this! I can taste food! This is delicious, by the way!”
The shock settles into silence. You swallow. “So, are you supposed to… I don’t know, move on?”
Rengoku smiles as if he wasn't just dealt the greatest revelation of his life just moments ago. “I would think so as well! However, I’m not sure why I’m still here! Sorry for the intrusion!”
“It’s fine,” you wave him off. Then, a thought enters your mind. “What if… one wish wasn’t enough?” You reach over to pull out the notebook from your bag again, slamming it open atop the table. “Maybe you need multiple wishes. Maybe Tojuro needs to be a part of those wishes!”
“Great idea!” Rengoku nods, folding his arms across his chest. “My instincts tells me it might be just that!”
“Alright, Rengoku-san,” you spin the pen around your finger. “Let’s hear your greatest wishes!”
Rengoku’s Wish #2: Win the Kendo Championships.
You raise your notebook to shield your face from the sun. Today’s cloudless sky offers no shelter — the sun rays are relentless in their assault, though you’re wondering if the heat building underneath your uniform’s collar was stemming from your own frustration instead. You come to a stop at the red crossing, jamming at the button at the side of the pole with the end of your pen.
“I’m sorry, Rengoku-san,” you pinch the space between your brows, tapping on the first item of your checklist impatiently. “That request is probably too much to ask of him— plus, it’s out of my control.”
“Nonsense!” He insists. “Any member of the Rengoku lineage can— should learn Flame Breathing! All he needs is motivation and discipline!”
You look at him with fond exasperation. It would be nice if Tojuro could win the championships, but then again, it isn’t competition season, and it wouldn’t be for anytime soon— at least, not for another few months. You glance over the page, absentmindedly toying with the dog-eared corner of the paper. Seeds of doubt plant themselves in your chest— you’re left wondering if this checklist was even feasible.
“Alright,” you spin the pen around your finger. “What if you gave me a training regimen, and I pass it to Tojuro? Maybe that would help him prepare?”
The green light beeps, and you shift the strap of your schoolbag higher on your shoulders as you cross.
Rengoku nods eagerly, falling into pace beside you. “First! He needs to warm up by sitting under a twenty-metre high waterfall for two hours—”
You scrawl out the item, cutting him off. “Out of my control."
Somewhat unsurprisingly, you and Tojuro are the only ones this early to class. After all, the only other students in school at this time are those in the kendo club, who’d reach early to train in the mornings. You take your seat in the opposite end of the classroom. He doesn’t seem to even be aware of your presence, simply staring out of the window, chin in his palm.
(You rarely get to see the early sunlight filtering through the windows like this in class. It’s because of Rengoku waking up at ungodly hours that you’ve been treated as collateral damage — forcing you to wake absurdly early as of late.)
You lay your head atop your desk, turning over to look at Tojuro. How exactly are you going to strike conversation with him…?
As if he was summoned, he turns his attention to you. Your eyes meet from across the classroom, and you jolt straight up in your seat, feeling a blush crawl up your cheeks at having been caught staring. Fortunately, Tojuro doesn’t seem the least bit bothered— actually, he stands up from his desk. And begins walking over to you.
You’re the kind of person to be on relatively good terms with your classmates— at least, you strive to be. But for some reason, this triggers your flight or fight response, even if it had no reason to. You jump up from your desk as he crosses in between the empty chairs, coming to a stop in front of you. Rengoku must be similarly surprised— you can’t turn to look at him, but he’s silent, for one.
Tojuro says your name with a flat tone. Your heart slams against the wall of your ribcage.
“Yes?” You squeak.
“I still have yet to repay you for lunch,” he says simply, and then turns back, leaving you flustered, confused.
Tojuro is clearly not pleased to be sandwiched in the crowd. You spot glances thrown his way, whispers from other classmates who have never seen him once step foot into the cafeteria in their three years of high school.
You couldn’t blame him— it could get hectic during lunch hours, and especially so when they’ve displayed their bestseller— adzuki taiyaki— today. You yourself weren’t particularly keen in joining the swell of the student body that spilled at the front of the counter, but you grit your teeth. For Rengoku, you remind yourself. And Tojuro’s treating.
The Rengoku in question doesn’t seemed fazed in the tiniest bit. He plants himself beside you, arms folded across his chest as the students phase in and out through his body.
“How lively!” He barks, teeth gleaming under the bright lights of the storefront. “This is truly school spirit! I feel the vigor of youth!” Rengoku turns to you, golden hair shifting from his shoulders as he tilts his head.
With some luck, Tojuro gets shoved to the front of the queue. He turns back to you, at a loss.
“Sea bream set meal!” you mouth. He casts one last distressed glance at you, before his face is swallowed by the masses. With your job done, you burst out of the crowd, gasping for air as you stumble to the nearest pocket of space. Tojuro re-emerges beside you not long after, with your bento and two steaming taiyaki in his hands. For someone who seemed to be a little more sentient than a walking houseplant, you were pretty surprised he managed to achieve that feat.
“Do you need anything else?” He asks. You shake your head, just grateful to be out of the crush.
A girl bumps into Tojuro’s arm, squealing as she rears back with an apology. As she glances up at him, her face goes red. Her friends beside her slow down their pace to gape at him as well.
There’s a beat as you realize that this is the first time most people have gotten a proper look at his face— you’re suddenly filled with an overwhelming, protective urge to shield him from their prying eyes. Your hands dart up to tug at his sleeve ever so slightly.
Tojuro doesn’t seem to acknowledge their apology nor expressions, simply turning around to follow you out of the cafeteria. Right before you exit, from across the room — you spot Toko shooting you a smirk, and the rest of your friends giggle at the sight. You blush furiously, tugging harder at his sleeve.
Over lunch, you brazenly ask Tojuro out— not on a date, you’d stammered as you clarified that. You happened to get extra tickets to a show, you swear, and he looked like he’d be interested. Tojuro shrugs, nodding, and you’re left slightly more embarrassed, as if you’d made a big deal out of nothing. Rengoku leans against the desk beside you, a small smile playing on his lips.
Rengoku’s Wish #3: Watch sumo wrestling.
“You should really stop calling me Rengoku-san!” Rengoku yells louder than usual over the din of the crowds. It’s especially crowded today— partly because it was a weekend, and partly because it was an uncommon occasion where two yokozuna were competing against each other. You look at him quizzically, glancing back to make sure that Tojuro was sufficiently absorbed in the match that he doesn’t hear you talking to yourself.
“What do you mean?” You whisper-shout, though you’re pretty sure it’s being drowned out by the wows of the crowd.
“I believe it also—” he pauses, distracted by the ongoing match. From both sides of you, Tojuro and Rengoku tilt their bodies forward in sync, their eyes following every movement. The wrestler with a purple mawashi pushes hard against the other, their feet losing purchase on the sandy ground. It kicks up a dust storm, and for a moment you think that purple is going to win— but the other wrestler twists his body ever so slightly, shoving the purple out of the ring.
Hurrahs erupt from around you— Rengoku pulls back, celebrating with loud applause at the valiant display of strength. Tojuro is still much more reserved, though his irises are undeniably sparkling with clear interest, fists clenched in anticipation as he watches the announcer raise his hands to make a call.
Rengoku continues from where he left off. “I believe it also confuses me with Tojuro, correct?”
His cheeks are flushed from exhilaration, hair messier than usual from all the cheering he’s been doing. Golden strands stick to his forehead, framing his large eyes and boyish grin. Your eyes trail down the bead of sweat forming on the side of his jaw, to the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Your hands brush in the proximity— the pinky he passes through buzzes with faint numbness. You nod.
“Then, please do call me by my first name!” He exclaims, irises twinkling like there were a thousand stars laid beneath it. “Kyo-ju-ro, if you’ve forgotten!”
At the request, your heart pounds so heavily in your chest that it muffles your hearing. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and your hands go numb. For a moment, you could mistake Rengoku for Tojuro’s more affable, personable twin. Like a friend— a voice in your head tells you. Not a ghost.
A first name basis would turn this into more than a mission— you’re awfully aware of that fact. But you think that you’re too far in.
“Kyojuro,” you call. It gets drowned out by the shouts of the crowd as the wrestler with the purple mawashi scores a point against his opponent.
Even so— at that moment, nobody else but Rengoku Kyojuro hears you. The intensity of his burning gaze lowers into something more akin to the warmth of a fireplace. His smile tempers down to something more intimate— private. Like a secret exchanged between the both of you. You turn back to the match, the tips of your ears searing hot. You don’t notice the way Kyojuro’s ears burn red, too.
“H-having fun?” You stammer, tilting your head toward Tojuro. He looks back at you.
“Yeah, it’s pretty interesting. More than I’d expected,” he admits. Still, it doesn’t pull the smile you’d hoped it would. You huff quietly. Tojuro’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer— before his gaze is pulled away by the roar of the crowd.
Kyojuro’s Wish #4: Experience youth!
“Hello!” Toko leans over the both of you. “Mind if I join for lunch today?”
“It would be an honor!” Kyojuro shouts. Beside him, Tojuro gives an impassive shrug, so you pull a chair over to let her sit at Tojuro’s desk. She plops down her own packed bento, one wrapped in a pink asanoha-patterned furoshiki, and leans forward so casually it was as if she’d known him her whole life. Kyojuro mirrors her, leaning forward as well.
“Y’see,” she chirps, an awfully gleeful expression on her face. You’ve been friends with her for the past three years, so you knew when something was up. Hidden behind the face of the most beautiful girl of the school was a scheming, devious mind— one who would go to any lengths to fulfill what she believed was the best outcome possible.
“Toko-chan,” you warn.
“Rengoku-san,” she sings. Kyojuro nods earnestly, and you stifle a laugh. Tojuro blinks at her. “Summer break is next week, and our group of friends have been planning on doing lots of things!”
That was news to you. “What have you guys been planning?”
Kyojuro folds his arm across his chest, eyes twinkling. Toko smiles cheekily at you— your heart sinks. That sly grin could only mean one thing.
The school term comes to an end, uneventfully.
The more eventful thing, however, was that the entirety of summer break is spent running to each corner of Japan with your friends— and Tojuro.
Your first stop is an amusement park. Kyojuro, of course, guns straight for the most terrifying roller coaster you’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re forced to accommodate him by looking as if you were the interested one. Toko wastes no time pushing you into the seat on the left of Tojuro— and you’re screaming the entire ride down, with the one person on the ride who looks as if they’d rather be at home asleep.
The second, an aquarium date. Well, it wasn’t meant to be, at least— your group had wanted to view the newly unveiled deep-sea exhibit in the area, but you’re pretty sure Toko had sweet-talked the rest of your friends into bailing, each making up excuses of some variation along the lines of catching a flu bug, or having been grounded. You know they’re lying, because each of them had managed to convince you to wear your best outfit, under the guise of taking plenty of photos.
Instead, you’re left to tour the area with Tojuro. And Kyojuro, who’s been awed into speechlessness at every exhibit.
“I never knew there were so many kinds of deep-sea creatures!” He’d pressed his face against the aquarium. You’re mildly worried that he’d phase into the tank if he really wanted to, but thankfully, it looked like the Flame Hashira was rather content on staying on the dry side of the glass.
It was peaceful, actually— the only other time you’d went out with Tojuro alone was during the sumo match, and the rambunctious crowd made it feel more like a group outing than a date. This was much more intimate than— you can feel the heat radiating off Tojuro’s body when you both lean in to stare at an axolotl, with a face as listless as his. Only when you realize the proximity do you reel back, with a red face and cheeks that burn as if they’ve been set ablaze. You part ways that day with an odd fluttering of your heart.
Then, your plans to go to the beach were hampened by an incoming typhoon. Someone else suggests karaoke instead, and the rest, Kyojuro included, are more than happy to agree.
Drinks slosh around as your friends sing the latest pop song drunkenly, not quite from alcohol, but from the feverish excitement. You’re squeezed into the seat right beside Tojuro, crammed with your friends flanking both of your sides, pushing you together. His skin burns, even though he doesn’t look red nor bothered— so you can only assume it’s natural for him to feel like (and look) like a literal fireplace.
Standing at to the side of the room, Kyojuro surveys the scene with keen interest. There were no seats available for him— it wasn’t like you could communicate with him with all these people in the room, anyway. But he doesn’t seem to mind it, quite obviously enjoying the lively atmosphere.
You’ve run out of apologies to spew to Tojuro, but he brushes all of them off, not minding the deliberate shoving your friends are doing. A particularly animated jostle from beside you causes your leg to brush against his.
“I’m so sorry—!” You murmur again, shutting your eyes as your face burns warmer and warmer.
The feeling of eyes on you forces you to glance up. Opposite, Kyojuro’s expression has dropped, clearly recognizing your discomfort.
“Would you like to go get ice cream!” He offers. You sheepishly excuse yourself to leave the room, offering to grab a soft serve for your friends as well. You burst out of the door, stumbling down the corridor before catching your breath as you lean against the counter with the ice cream machine. Kyojuro exits behind you, walking through the door.
“My apologies,” he lowers his gaze. “I wasn’t aware that this would make you uncomfortable!”
“No, no, it’s alright!” You wave him off. “Karaoke is really fun, they’re just being extra pushy today because Tojuro is there.” Turning to the machine, you begin filling ice cream cups to bring back.
“Still…” he murmurs. Your eyes dart up at his sudden dip in volume. “To see you in such a state…”
You feel yourself smile at him fondly. Despite all his eccentricities, Kyojuro was surprisingly sensitive, and you feel an indescribable urge to ruffle the top of his head. You settle for just lightly punching his shoulder, your fist buzzing as you pass through his spectral visage.
“As long as you’re having fun, Kyojuro-san, I don’t mind at all!” His first name unwittingly slips out from your mouth. The both of you freeze. Your hand drops and you quickly spin away, back to the ice cream machine as you fill the remaining cups, stammering. “R—Really, it’s no problem at all. I want you to be happy, too.”
“My happiness should not be at your expense!” He insists. His irises look even warmer, a more vivid shade of crimson under the light. “You don’t have to go back in there! Or sit next to Tojuro, for that matter!”
That makes you stop in your tracks. “Do you… have an issue with Tojuro?”
Something flickers across the face of your ghostly companion. Something almost like guilt— at having been caught red handed. He opens his mouth, then closes it— then opens it again, like admitting to a confession.
“It does make me a little uncomfortable to see you pressed against him like that!”
You nearly drop the ice cream cup in your hand. A puff of laughter escapes you. Then, you double over in silent laughter, shoulders shaking as you try not to draw attention to yourself. Your stomach aches with the effort, and you’re out of breath with how hard you’re muffling your guffaws. With tears in your eyes, you look at up at him. “Don’t worry, Kyojuro-san. I’m not going to do anything to him. It’s cute that you think of him like an extension of yourself, though!”
Kyojuro huffs, almost childishly. “That’s not what I mean!”
Unfortunately, his whines are drowned out when the room beside you chooses to blast their speakers at full volume at that exact moment. It makes you jump, and you don’t miss the way Kyojuro’s hands fly to his katana on instinct. You hold your hand out to stop him from drawing his blade (but again, forget that you would simply pass through him).
“It’s alright. Nothing will attack us here,” you smile reassuringly. Kyojuro's eyes dart between you and the room, before reluctantly relaxing his posture. Old habits die hard, clearly. You wonder what he's been through to been so on edge all the time, but you're determined to teach him that there's nothing to fear— not anymore, in this world.
Kyojuro’s Wish #5: Visit his family.
This time, you head out alone with Kyojuro. The train rattles below your seat as you clutch the flowers closer to your body, letting your fingers brush over the velvet petals of the white lilies. You fluff up the chrysanthemums beside it a little more, hoping it wouldn’t droop too quick under the blazing summer sun.
“Shinagawa-ku,” you mutter under your breath, looking at the map on the walls. Just a few more stops to go, you note. The train is relatively empty, so Kyojuro sits beside you, arms folded across his chest. He’s awfully tense, and his usual grin has been exchanged for a more neutral expression. One that almost conveys nervousness.
The Hashira had mentioned he was born and raised around this area— so it would mean his house had once existed here, too. However, the area had undergone massive redevelopment. Office buildings and hotels tower high above you, like a concrete jungle that flanked all sides, populated by salarymen in sweaty suits and businesswomen whose heels clack loudly atop the pavement. You feel very displaced, with your casual wear and the sizeable bouquet of flowers in your hand.
“The map says turn right here,” you look at Kyojuro. But he’s not paying any attention to you, head swiveling around, scanning the area. Then, without warning— he takes off to the left. You follow behind him, clutching onto the bag slung around your shoulder.
“Hey!” You whisper. “Where are you going?”
Kyojuro doesn’t respond. He simply swerves left, right— through the buildings, into the residential complexes. Truth be told, you didn’t think you would find anything here here. After all, this area had been stripped of whatever shred of history left, replaced by glass buildings that reached the sky and an overwhelming sense of dread seeping from those who'd succumbed to corporate life— which makes the discovery even more shocking.
You gingerly step foot into the cemetery, lowering your head in respect as you enter. Despite the relentless blaze of the sun above you, the air is somber, mournful. Your eyes flit over the gravestones. Feet shuffling forward, you read each name in your mind, looking for familiarity of the intricately carved kanji characters—
Rengoku Ruka. You halt. “Kyojuro-san,” you breathe. “Kyojuro-san.”
He’s by your side in an instant. You continue down the row. Beside her grave— Rengoku Shinjuro. Rengoku Senjuro.
Rengoku Kyojuro.
You’ve known this whole time. His ghost has been haunting you for the past weeks, so it obviously meant that he was...
But seeing it laid bare in front of you like that, spelled out, pieced together that Kyojuro— your Kyojuro, was dead.
Your knees give out from under you. He reaches out to catch you— but his grasp phases through your arm anyway, letting you collapse onto the ground. You don't even feel the buzz in your arm this time, too caught up in the discovery, like a slap to your face. It's quiet, here, only punctuated by the occasional chirps of cicadas camouflaging in tree branches.
“That’s silly of me,” you break the silence with a forced laugh. “I mean— you’re obviously a ghost, duh.” You struggle to get up, but your legs refuse to cooperate. You press your hand against your calves, willing for it to move. “Huh? My legs aren’t working.” You shove harder.
Kyojuro calls your name with a voice so quiet you thought you’d imagined it. His figure distorts before you. Why is he blurry? What’s going on? What’s going to happen to him now? What's going to happen to me?
He calls you again, and you finally will yourself to look up at him.
“You’re crying,” he crouches down beside you.
“Huh?” You blink at him. It causes more tears to roll down your cheeks, but it at least clears your vision.
Kyojuro smiles, a gentle smile that makes your chest ache. You’d gotten used to his loud demeanor, his fiery disposition and blazing personality— but this smile was more akin to the bloom of a flower, like the acceptance of one’s fate. It makes him look painfully human.
“How surreal!” He snaps back into his usual tone, turning to the gravestone before him. “To think I would see my own grave like this!”
You follow his gaze, fighting back the jump forming in your throat. Was he the exact same Kyojuro back then as he is now? You can’t imagine someone this earnest being any different— who did he take after? Was his mother or father this earnest as well? His brother looked much more bashful in the picture, but did he inherit his determination?
Sniffing, you wipe away the tears on your cheeks, scrambling to your feet and bowing deeply in front of the Rengoku graves. “My apologies to your family,” you lower your eyes. “Kyojuro-san's father, mother and brother— I’m a friend of Kyojuro-san here. I’ve come to pay my respects with him.”
With his help, you grab a nearby broom and begin to dust off the headstones, starting with his mother’s. You sweep away dead leaves, toss out leftover joss sticks from previous visitors, replacing it with freshly lit incense and fully bloomed chrysanthemums and lilies. Then, you move on to his father’s. And Senjuro’s. You pause in front of Kyojuro’s, eyes darting to him as he looks at his inscribed name.
“I wonder if my ashes are underneath here!” He chirps. It's morbid, but you laugh at him anyway, before repeating the same motions as you did earlier. You continue down the line— to Senjuro’s wife, and so on.
“Do you think Tojuro visits here as well?” You lay down the last flower on the final Rengoku grave. Your back hurts after toiling for about an hour straight, and the sheen of sweat over your skin has grown uncomfortable.
“He must! The incense laid before our visit was fresh!” Kyojuro nods. You stand beside him, hands tucked behind your back as you let your gaze sweep across the row. Then realizing you were intruding— you retreat to the side of the graveyard, ducking under the shade of a tree, letting Kyojuro have his own space. He lowers his head and closes his eyes as he recites prayers for each tombstone he stands before.
When he’s finished, Kyojuro walks over to join you. He's smiling, as usual, but you can tell from the tilt of his mouth and the uncharacteristic melancholy of the air that follows behind him that his composure hangs on by a thread. You slip your hand into his, ignoring the buzzing that numbs your fingers as your skin brushes over his. Kyojuro squeezes back.
Kyojuro’s Wish #6: Stargaze.
“We’re finally here!” Toko gasps, and the entire group collapses into a a mess of heaves and pants as you reach the camping grounds of the mountain. Tojuro is the only one left standing, blankly scouring the scenery ahead of him.
“Who even suggested to go hiking?” Someone grumbles. Everyone’s too exhausted to reply— but you shoot a glare at Kyojuro, who merely grins in response.
“The air is much fresher up here!” He announces proudly. “Hiking is a great way to clear your mind!”
You’re not sure if he’s completely unaffected because he’s a ghost, or if he naturally had that much boundless stamina. You’re thinking it’s the latter, looking at how not-exhausted Tojuro appears to be. Perhaps inhuman amounts of stamina runs in their genes. You are, unfortunately, not in the right state of mind to be entertaining him at the current moment. However, you do feel a little bad for Tojuro, who stands around awkwardly watching the group catch their breath, so you grit your teeth as you roll over onto your feet, gesturing for him to head to the clearing.
“Let’s set up before it starts to get dark,” you direct him, though you’re so out of breath the sentence comes out as one long garble. Tojuro still seems to understand you— the both of you get to work unloading the backpacks you’d brought, and setting up the tents. One by one, your friends that have finished recuperating join you in your efforts.
With Kyojuro discreetly nudging the items you needed toward your direction, you finish setting up rather quickly. Higher in the mountain, the air is much cooler than it was on the ground, so it wasn't too arduous of a task. Sunset comes and goes, and the night sky descends upon the group. Stars blanket the midnight blue expanse above, each dot twinkling and shining in its own unique way. Everyone, Tojuro included, roasts marshmallows over the campfire, exchanging stories from their past few years of school, recounting anecdotes that has the rest rolling on the ground in laughter (Tojuro excluded).
As it dips further and later, your friends retreat into their tents, exhausted from the tiring trek up. Tojuro is the last to leave, almost reluctant to leave you outside alone, but you smile wryly at him, saying you wanted to watch the stars a little while longer. You don't tell him you're not exactly alone. With a nod, he heads back as well— you’re left with Kyojuro seated on the log opposite you, still enamored by the stars above. The campfire eventually dies out, leaving glowing embers behind, plunging you both into complete darkness— only barely lit by the twinkling stars above.
“Was this what you were wishing for?” You whispered. It snaps Kyojuro out of his daze, who turns to you with a grin so bright it practically illuminates the path before you.
“It is! I’ve always wanted the chance to admire the stars like this,” he admits bashfully. “Back then, we never had a chance to relax like this in the night, much less in a forest!”
You pat the space beside you, and Kyojuro complies willingly, seating himself by you.
His hand brushes against yours. It sends sparks up your arm.
“There were always too many factors to worry about,” he glances up again. The stars shine pale, casting the lightest shade of blue against his cheekbones, turning his golden hair monochromatic. “If it wasn’t demons, it’d be animals! If it wasn’t animals, it’d be bandits,” he turns to you. “To be able to relax in the dark is a blessing!”
He’s gorgeous like this, you think. His eyes are soft, adoring. His hair, usually untamed and wild, now gives him a more mellow feel, spilling over the sides of his face and around his shoulders, making him look younger. You forget that he never really did get to have a proper childhood— one that wasn't plagued by a sense of duty and responsibility. This was a side of Kyojuro you’ve learned to treasure— one that rarely comes by, reserved for moments as sentimental as this.
He exhales contently. “I wonder if father and Senjuro had a chance to experience this—”
“—I don’t want you to move on,” your voice breaks. Kyojuro turns to you.
You avert your eyes, not quite daring to meet his. “I’m sorry— I know its selfish, but I don’t want to lose you. You’ve been such a good friend I— I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again.”
You brace yourself for an indication of anger, or an accusation of betrayal. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, biting down harshly on your lip.
“I feel the same way, too!” Kyojuro replies honestly. “I would be upset if my friend had to leave me!”
“It’s not the same,” you argue. “You can't stay here. You have to move on— but I’m acting as if I want you shackled to me forever.”
He laughs once again, a clear, ringing sound that echoes against the trees, a melody meant just for you. “Forever’s just a saying. I do not know what will await me after this!” He leans back, tilting his chin higher to admire the sky. “But things pass— nothing is permanent. Daybreak will come, as will the sun rise from the east. Night falls, as will the moon goes through its phases! There’s nothing I can decide— we all just follow the path our heart tells us to take!”
A thin streak of light darts across the sky. You both look up, but there’s nothing else there.
“We’ve should’ve gone earlier,” you murmur, ignoring the pressure that’s beginning to form at the back of your eyes. “We’re past the stargazing season. The Perseid meteor shower was last week— we could’ve seen even more shooting stars.”
“That was a shooting star!” Kyojuro ignores you, excited by the prospect of what he might've just witnessed. “Let’s make a wish!”
He closes his eyes, folding his hand across his lap, a smile playing the corners of his lips. You’re more reluctant, but you do the same either way, eyelids fluttering shut.
Dear star, if you can hear me…
You peek at him. Kyojuro remains upright, his eyes closed in concentration. What could he be wishing for? Peace for his family? Selfishly, you hope that you were in that wish of his too.
I wish that Kyojuro…
You say your goodbyes as your group of friends split different ways at the station. You can all still feel the boiling humidity of the summer sun even under the shade of the station entrance, so everyone is quick to flee, eager to reach someplace with air conditioning they could hide out. Yet again, you’re left with Kyojuro babbling about how fun the hiking trip had been, and the different sorts of trees he’d seen on the trek down.
Except, Tojuro lingers behind awkwardly, as if unsure of how to bid farewell to you. You sigh. There was still a long way to go regarding his awkwardness, you guess. But this summer had been a good one.
“I’ll see you in class, Rengoku-san!” You wave at him cheerfully, taking the initiative.
“Wait,” he interrupts. Both you and Kyojuro halt in your tracks.
Even if it was only one word, Tojuro had never been so forward before. You swallow nervously. “Y-yes?”
“Thank you,” he mumbles. Your heart thumps in anticipation. He clears his throat. “I— I didn’t expect to have spent my last summer break in school like this. I didn’t know there were so many things to do outside of kendo. You’ve opened my eyes.”
You’re floored. Kyojuro chortles behind you.
“Ye— yeah, there’s loads of stuff to do."
Bewildered at his unexpected response, you then proceed to say the lamest thing possible to come to your head. “Have fun in kendo training,” you raise your arm, swinging it down. “Hidari-Men!”
There’s a beat of silence as Tojuro stares at you. Heat rushes to your face as your arms fall limply to your side.
Then, he smiles.
Your embarrassment quickly fades away with the realization that he’s smiling. His eyes glimmer at your measly attempt of a swing, and he laughs. His eyes close as he doubles over, hands on his knees as he bursts into laughter, like you’ve told the funniest joke known to mankind. A joyful, piercing bark that sounds exactly like his ancestor’s— as if he was in there all along.
Tojuro finally catches his breath after a few more bouts of giggles. “I’ll— I'll see you in class then,” he gasps, wiping a tear from his eye. He waves one last time at you before turning around and jogging away. You wave back at him, dumbfounded, until he rounds the corner— and lower your gaze to stare at your open palm in shock.
“Tojuro smiled,” You whisper in awe. “He smiled! Kyojuro-san, did you see—”
You spin around, but there’s nothing behind you.
You return home, face drenched in sweat and tears. It had to be right as your parents returned from their business trip as well, so they fuss over you, asking what’s wrong— but you walk past them, dazed.
Your body runs on autopilot. You take a shower, and lie down on your own bed for the first time in weeks.
You jolt awake at a time too early. Kyojuro is not there.
You fall into a fever the very next day— one that takes you out of commission for a week. The silence in your room accompanies you in place of Kyojuro— being confined inside only makes the crushing loneliness worse.
The first day of school after summer break comes and goes with you stuck in bed, and Toko spamming you incessantly on your phone. You only muster enough strength to text her a ‘sick’, followed by a sticker of a rabbit with a thermometer. Your phone blinks nonstop from all her texts, and you tell yourself you would read all 120 messages at some point. Later.
Finally, after your fever subsides, you gather enough willpower to drag yourself out of bed to prepare for school. You empty out your bag— Kyojuro’s Campus notebook falls onto your desk, opening to the page littered with your secret scribbles.
(‘Are you from the past?’)
Swallowing thickly, you flip the page over to his bucket list. There’s still half more that haven’t been crossed out— Go to the beach. Make friends. Win a Kendo tournament.
You end up poring over the notebook and crying again, with only an hour left to the start of class. Stupid, you tell yourself. He himself had said that nothing is permanent. You'd accepted that and wished for him to move on in peace. Both of you knew he would vanish someday— but it doesn’t take away the agony of having to sit in silence for the first time in months. Reluctantly, you leave the notebook aside on your table— you won't have a use for it anymore. Your walk to school is more of a trudge, with puffy eyes and hunched shoulders. Kyojuro had always followed beside you on your walks— but left on your own, you couldn’t even bring yourself to lift your eyes to appreciate the cool breeze, an indication of summer going by.
Toko greets you at the shoe lockers with a lilt to her voice.
“Hey!” She bumps into your arm playfully. “You were out for reaal long—” She cuts herself off when she notices your face.
“Uhhng,” you sniff, feeling like you’d been dragged through hell and back.
“You look terrible! You sure you don’t wanna stay home?” She pokes your cheek. “By the way, have you seen my texts about Tojuro lately?”
Right— the whole cause of this. You think you’d bawl if you saw even a hint of yellow and red right now, so you weren’t keen on seeing him at the current moment. Toko slings an arm around your shoulder.
“He did, like, a complete turnaround,” she whispers. You’re still so out of it, so you don't really register her words in your head. Right now, you were focused on just making it through the day.
Just as Toko slides open the door to your classroom, there’s a commotion down the hallway. Loud greetings— cheers and slaps of high-fives echo along the corridor loudly. You both stop, curiously staring at the crowd to spot its source.
Tojuro’s face appears in between the body of students that have congregated around him, smile bright and waving at everyone. He's glowing, undeniably even more charismatic than you'd last saw him. Everyone is eager to flank his side, inviting him for a round of baseball, or asking how his latest kendo tournament went.
“See!” Toko grabs your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. “Look at him! What did you do?”
You're stunned, too. His fiery eyes meet yours from down the hallway— a shiver runs down your spine when an expression of recognition crosses his features— and he sprints toward you. The golden-haired boy shouts your name from the other end, making everyone turn toward you. Your hand darts up to your mouth in shock, absolutely baffled by the unforeseen change in circumstances.
Toko releases her hold on your shoulders with a 'bye!' as Tojuro grabs your hand, pulling you down the hallway behind him. You let out a yelp, but follow anyway, heart pounding in your ears as you feel the scorch of his palm against your skin, the rough pads of his fingertips brushing against your wrist— from endless training of kendo, surely— and the firm yet gentle pressure of his grip.
You stumble up the stairs behind him, bursting through the rooftop door. The outside air blasts into your face from how forcefully the door opens, squinting as Tojuro brings you to the center of the school’s roof— turning to you with a smile so bright, as if he were the summer sun that never set.
He clears his throat, fingers still lightly curled around your wrist. “I won the local kendo tournament! I’ll be headed for the championships next month!”
Frazzled, you nodded. “Uh, that’s great to hear, Rengoku-san.”
“I also jumped over three buildings and the school gate with a friend! Yesterday, I bought sea bream from the cafeteria by myself— though they didn’t have taiyaki on sale that day. But after that, I went home and ate sweet potatoes until I threw up! I also went to the beach and felt the sand between my toes! I have decided that sand is rather bothersome to clear out from your shoes, but it’s fun to build sandcastles with!”
Your head spins with the information overload. Awkwardly, you laugh. “That’s great, I’m glad you broke out of your… shell…”
The realization that those were all the things that Kyojuro wanted to do slowly seeps in. Tojuro made friends. He went to the beach. Ate good food. All of them, he fulfilled in place of him. The slayer that never had a chance to experience youth, all of it taken far too young from him.
You’re about to cry again for the second time today — but Tojuro tugs you toward him, startling you into clarity. With the gentle tone that you’ve grown fond of— he calls your name. He looks at you with those soft eyes of his, his smile like that of the subdued warmth of a freshly kindled fireplace, and the early bloom of a flower.
“It’s me," he says in the voice you've missed so dearly.
A sob rips out from your mouth, and you wrap your arms tightly around his torso.
Kyojuro returns your hug, the searing heat of his arms seeping through the fabric of your uniform. You cry into his uniform, tears staining every surface that which you rub your face in, tightening your hold as if he’d vanish if you let him go again. You pull back, hands cupping his face— grabbing his shoulders—
“But how?” You blubber, lifting his hands to look at them— though, you can’t see much through the blur of your tears. “What happened to Tojuro?”
“I’m not sure!” Kyojuro admits. “But I think— I think Tojuro was me all along! Or I was him!” He turns your grasp around so that he’s the one holding your hands instead. “I was under the impression that we had been two separate entities, but we were most likely just two halves of a whole! Because of you, we could reconcile!”
Still sniveling, you place your hand in his, feeling the ridges of his palm, tracing the outlines of his knuckles. “I can’t believe I— I can’t believe I’m actually touching you, Kyojuro-san. This feels like a dream.”
He grabs your hand tightly. “It’s not a dream!”
You wail louder, and he hugs you again, patting your back comfortingly. “Perhaps the gods took pity on me. I do not know! But what I know is that I am here with you— and I have a list I would like to fulfill!”
The warning bell for first period echoes throughout the school. You step back, wiping your at face hurriedly. Your hands are numb, legs shaking— but you know that if you’d missed any more classes, your homeroom teacher would murder you on sight.
“We’ve gotta go before we get caught,” you sniff, pressing the palm against your cheeks. “Do I look—”
“Let’s skip class!” Kyojuro shouts. You clamp a hand over his mouth.
“Are you insane?” Your eyes dart to the staircase access. “We can’t!”
He blinks at you, and you feel him grin from underneath your palm. His voice is muffled, but he still speaks with a timbre clear enough that you know every word he says. “There’s still so many food I would like to try from the convenience stores! And I also want to sing karaoke!”
You laugh, releasing your hold. “We can do that after school. Anyway, we’d be caught going down the stairs.”
Kyojuro sweeps you off your feet— literally. Your arms fly to his neck as he picks you up, a determined look in his eyes. “We don't have to take the stairs!”
“We’re on the roof, Kyojuro-san!”
“Trust me!”
With a huff, he leaps off the roof— straight for the tree.
“Kyojuro! No!”
EPILOGUE
“Happy graduation!” You greet Toko. She runs toward you, squealing with joy.
“I can’t believe these three years are over just like that,” she gushes, jumping up and down. “Can you imagine? College?”
“Agatsuma-san!” A voice yells from behind her. She spins around. Another confession— you realize. The boy approaching her is blushing so hard you can see steam pour from his face. The second button on his uniform is prominently missing— you guess it’s currently clutched tightly in his fist outstretched toward Toko. You leave her to handle it herself, drifting further into the crowds of graduands.
A loud laugh sounds from the crowd beyond. Your eyes dart over, landing on Tojuro's figure, chatting away with his own friends. In his arms, a literal mountain of bouquets and awards tower way over his head. Every step he takes, a letter folded in the shape of a heart falls out of his pocket, and he struggles to pick it up while balancing the pile, not wanting to be rude to the tens of hundred of people that have confessed to him today. You wonder if he’s given away his button yet.
Kyojuro— Tojuro has grown immensely popular over the past few months. After having won the kendo championships by a landslide, it only catapulted his fame to unfathomable heights, having students from other schools coming over to get a glimpse of his famed golden locks. Paired with his amiable personality and good looks, it’s no wonder that everyone began to pay attention to him. He was even featured on the local newspaper once, labelled a budding star set to go to nationals soon.
It’s still confusing between calling him Tojuro or Kyojuro, and you’re pretty sure Toko has caught you slipping up a handful of times, judging from her narrowed eyes when you fumble— but the entire story of the Flame Hashira still remains as a secret between the both of you. In school, you call him Rengoku Tojuro; the formerly shy kid who's found his place in the world after being declared a kendo prodigy. When it's the both of you, he's just your Kyojuro, a boy who shouts 'delicious!' after every bite of his sea bream bento and with a burning passion to taste every assortment of onigiri at NewDays.
Toko lets out an exasperated exhale as she returns to your side, buttons spilling out from her skirt pocket. “They just keep coming! Hurry, let’s take a picture before there's more!”
You get an underclassman to help snap a picture of the both of you, posing with victory signs and beaming smiles on your faces. From behind you, Kyojuro calls for your name— though you wonder how he’s even seeing the path before him with all the gifts in his face. He comes to a stop before you, setting down half his gifts on the floor.
He clears his throat with an uncharacteristically bashful grin on his face. In a voice as soft as he can manage, Kyojuro murmurs to you— “There’s still one more thing I’ve yet to experience!”
That line strikes fear into your heart. “Tojuro-san,” you start cautiously, making sure the correct name rolled off your tongue. “We have done virtually everything possible. We’ve been to every single haunted location in Tokyo, nearly set the school on fire after you wanted to try glass-blowing, and almost got into trouble with the police for climbing the fire escape of the NHK building.” You raise your hand to your chest. “I don’t think my heart can take anything more.”
“Not everything!” He shouts, suddenly. With a sparkle in his eye— “Go out with me!”
You freeze. Around you— the crowd gasps.
“Why are you even surprised?" Toko rolls her eyes. She shoves you toward him until you’re both nearly chest to chest, the only thing separating the both of you being the mountain of flowers in his arms. Suddenly self-conscious, your eyes dart around the crowd that’s beginning to form.
“Tojuro-san,” you whisper, ignoring your burning cheeks. “Are you sure you don’t want to, you know, experience youth? Experience falling in love!?”
He grins, the same sunny smile that you’ve learnt to grow endeared to. “I already have!”
You blush so hard you think you’re going to pass out, but you nod anyway, at a loss for words. Kyojuro drops all the bouquets in his arms onto the ground, wrapping them around you instead. You’re enveloped in his warmth— the scent of smoky pinewood wafts from his uniform, encasing you in his familiar presence.
“You’re embarrassing me!” You pull back, head ducked low as you watch the crowds around you whoop at his brazen display of affection.
He laughs— it reverberates through your own body. “It wouldn’t be as embarrassing as this!” He kisses your cheek in front of everyone.
You’re not sure what happened, but you think you explode. Cheers erupt from around you, and Kyojuro has to hold you up as your legs become jelly, giving out underneath you, and your brain turns into mush from the ensuing chaos.
His mouth brushes against the shell of your ear as he leans forward to catch you, his voice low, rumbling. “A kiss on the lips would be great too!”
You nearly leap out of his hold, entire face set ablaze. “Not here, Kyojuro!”
END.
bonus post-epilogue
if you enjoyed this, please feel free to like, reblog or leave a reply. i'm also grateful for any feedback regarding my work— I write as a hobby, and am always looking to improve it.
this work was inspired by: harisenbon— Thousand Needles. If you're a sucker for amazing + diverse storytelling, pleasepleaseplease do check it out! There may be some mature themes, but nothing explicitly NSFW.
｡ﾟ•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꒰ა ʚɞ ໒꒱ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈• ｡ﾟ╰┈➤ @ssstaryy ⦂okay so so reader and bakugou get into a heated argument and we're at the point where they're both yelling and bakugou says something really hurtful to reader and its so bad that as soon as he says it he's TERRIFIEd. he IMMEDIATELY looks at readers face to predict what she's gonna do next cuz he is a woman fearing man
》 ✐ᝰ this request is the latest thing ever and ik it's not exactly what you asked for butttt ENJOY!!
｡ﾟ•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꒰ა ʚɞ ໒꒱ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•
Katsuki Bakugou is many things — the number four pro hero, an explosive powerhouse, a menace to villains everywhere.
But most of all?
He is a wife-fearing man.
You’re not even sure how the argument started — as most arguments go between the two of you. One moment, it was a calm conversation. The next? A full-on clash of stubborn wills and sharp tongues. And given both of your fiery tempers, it stopped being about the issue pretty quickly and turned into Katsuki spitting frustrated words while you met him with razor-edged comebacks.
"Fucking hell, you can be so overbearing sometimes—"
As soon as the words leave his mouth, his expression shifts. The angry flush drains from his face, leaving it ghostly pale.
Silence.
You stare at your mug of tea. Freshly brewed. Still scalding hot. You take a slow sip, face neutral, unmoved by the burn.
But you don’t say a word.
And that’s when Katsuki knows he’s fucked.
Because if there’s one thing he’s learned about you over the years — it’s that when you’re angry, you let him have it. But when you’re upset? You go quiet. The snarky mouth he loves so much goes still. And suddenly the silence is louder than any yelling.
His stomach twists with guilt. He wants to say something, but the words won’t come. The kitchen hangs in thick, uneasy quiet.
Then you speak.
"Katsuki?"
He perks up immediately, almost hopeful.
"Go take a shower," you say, voice calm but firm. "And get some damn rest."
Oh.
Right.
You were arguing because he’s been overworking himself again — refusing to take breaks, pushing his limits, doing everything but listening to you.
"...Yes, ma’am," he mutters a little too quickly, already turning to shuffle away.
You watch him go, hiding your amused smile behind another sip of tea.
He trips on the first step, catching himself with a muttered “fuck” before disappearing up the stairs.
Needless to say, you won that argument — as you always do. Katsuki can never really say no to you, not when you look at him like that.
Ten minutes later, freshly showered and towel-drying his hair with a sheepish look on his face, he picks up his phone.
Calls the agency.
Grunts a single word into the line: “Wife.”
Then hangs up.
No one questions it.
He doesn’t even have to explain — it’s universally understood that he won’t be showing his face at work for the next few days.
[2:02 a.m.] ⋆ “okay, no, so, like. hear me out. when fish see humans way above them, do they think we’re birds?”
atsumu doesn’t open his eyes. he groans into his pillow, voice muffled and gravelly from sleep. “you’re startin’ strong tonight, babe.”
you’re curled up beside him, blanket bunched at your waist, wearing the oversized high school volleyball tee you always steal from his drawer. your legs are tangled with his under the duvet, and your hair tickles his shoulder every time you move—which is a lot, because, apparently, you’re in a ‘thinking mood.’
you nudge him. “i’m serious. we’re just floating silhouettes to them. it’s not like they know what people are.”
atsumu rolls onto his back and finally cracks an eye open. the ceiling fan spins lazily above. the bedside lamp is off, but the hallway light seeps in through the slightly cracked door, painting everything in a warm, honeyed hue.
he turns his head towards you, blinking slow. “baby. please. i’m barely alive right now.”
“but you heard the question, right?”
“unfortunately.”
you grin, cheek pressed against his chest. “so? do they think we’re birds?”
he sighs, wraps an arm around you tighter, and pulls you in. “i think fish don’t think that much.”
“that’s rude.”
“they’ve got tiny fish brains. what d’you want from ‘em?”
you make a little indignant noise and poke his side. “so i guess that makes me smarter than a fish, huh?”
“sure,” he says with a yawn. “jury’s still out.”
you try to bite his shoulder through the fabric of his sleep shirt, and he snorts, low and fond. “okay, okay. yer smarter. way smarter.”
“it’s philosophy,” you explain.
“it’s you blabbering nonsense is what it is,” he says, but he turns his head and presses his mouth to your hairline. you fall quiet for a moment, letting your hand rest just under the hem of his shirt, palm flat over the steady rise and fall of his stomach. atsumu hums. his hand finds your hair, combing through it gently.
“sorry. do you want me to stop?” you say.
“god. no. i love you.”
you laugh, muffled against him. “you sap.”
he doesn’t deny it. instead, he shifts and presses a kiss to your forehead. “go to sleep, baby.”
“will you dream about fish?”
“i’ll dream about you bein’ a fish.” i love you, he thinks again. “go to sleep.”
“Today,” Atsumu announces imperiously, “is the first day of summer.”
“Not until the twentieth,” you say, not turning away from the omelet you’re folding carefully in the pan. You should add “no early morning dramatic declarations” to the list of roommate rules tacked up on the fridge, but you know it would join “no volleyball in the house” and “no drinking on weeknights.” You also know that, like the latter two, the ignorance of the rules would not be entirely Atsumu’s fault. “Please do not be so stupid when it’s so early and I am so, so hungover.”
“Really?” Atsumu’s voice is as bright as his hair. “I feel fine.”
“That’s because,” you roll your eyes as you turn around, sliding the omelet around in the pan in a practiced maneuver as you prepare to flip it. “You have a ridiculously athlet—”
The omelet splatters on the ground.
The hand that’s not holding the now-empty pan comes up and slaps over your eyes, even as you peek through your own fingers.
“It’s the first day of summer,” Atsumu says, clearly pleased to have your full attention and then some. “Because I found my hot boy summer shorts.”
The inseam can’t be longer than five inches. The sun has kissed him all over; with a shudder of disgust (that’s what you’ll call it), you realize you want to too. What a horrifying concept. You’re already mentally carving a place in your to-do list for it.
“Those are obscene,” you say. “What is a hot boy summer? You are not a hot boy. You are an average man.” You are clinging to the edge of a cliff and he is prising your fingers off one by one.
“They’re a little tighter than they were in high school,” he says thoughtfully, flexing his thighs. One, then the other. Then both. The seams are going to pop. Those poor shorts are going to bust. You gape at him, caught between terror and hope.
“What is wrong with you? What is your problem?” You demand, the pretense of hiding behind your hands dropping.
“You’re bein’ mean,” he complains. “You don’t like my shorts?”
“I hate them. Take them off,” you say imperiously. You are going to fire him from being your roommate if he wears those around you ever again. You are going to vote him off the island. You are going to do something so, so inadvisable, and embarrassing, and un-undoable.
“Fine,” he shrugs, and hooks a thumb into his waistband.
“Not what I meant!” You shriek. Your volume startles even yourself and you cringe at the desperate scratch of your voice. His thumb is still just under the fabric, which is forcing your gaze along his hand to his loosely curled, long, lithe fingers, and then to—
Oh, sweet corn on a cob, how did you miss seeing that. You cover your eyes again.
“Are you alright?” He asks. You turn around and face the cabinets with your hands still over your face. You can tell from his tone that he knows the direction of your thoughts. And your line of vision.
“No. You made me spill my omelet.”
“I didn’t make you do anything,” he says. “You did that on your own.”
“It was your fault. Walking around my home looking like a slut—”
“Our home,” he corrects. You splutter wordlessly. When you turn around, he’s standing over you, a smirk toying with his mouth, his eyes dropped to half-mast. You keep your head up, gaze fixed firmly on his face. “Are you objectifyin’ me?”
“No,” you say, eyes dropping. You raise them again with Herculean force. “No. I think of you as a whole person with your own thoughts and-and decisions—“
As you speak, Atsumu steps toward you. You step back.
“What if I decide to do this?” He murmurs, putting a hand on your cheek. He’s warm, like he just stepped out of the sun. “Your face is awful hot.”
“I’ve fallen terribly ill,” you say. “If I faint, you may need to catch me.”
He’s caged you against the counter. You panic, groping to the side to turn off the stove.
“Gonna faint from seein’ my ankles, huh,” he looks supremely self-satisfied, leaning back momentarily to admire the much-more-than-just-the-ankles he has on display.
You seize your chance and lift the hem of your shirt with both hands, pulling it up to your chin.
He stops and reels back, eyes bugging out of his head. You make a break for it, pushing past his arm and running down the hall.
“Oh, you are gonna get it when I catch ya,” he shouts after you, thought he’s still rubbing his eyes in a daze when you glance back.
You laugh to yourself, slowing to a stop just around the corner, out of his line of sight.
The weather forecast is looking like the season is taking a turn for the hotter in your apartment.
"Honey," you say, peering around the door frame into the office. Your boyfriend is backlit only by the light of his computer screen and the faint glow of only two lamps. "Hajime?"
"Hold on," he says into his headset, "my—yeah, she needs something. Give me a second. What's up, princess, was I being too loud?"
The way his voice softens when he's addressing you in comparison to anyone else never fails to make you melt. His thick eyebrows quirk at the sight of you still leaning on the door instead of crossing all the way into the room.
"No, you weren't too loud," you say, a half-lie. Hajime is not a quiet man, but you enjoy the sound of him shouting death threats into the mic in the evenings. It's relaxing. "I don't want to bother you if you're busy—"
"I'm not," he says immediately. "Just shooting the shit. What do you need?"
"I just—I think I'm, um, having ventricular contractions," you say shyly. "Like, abnormally." Within a moment Hajime is out of his chair, ripping off his headset, up in your space.
"Holy shit, baby, you let me waffle—fuck, you didn't want to bother me? Does it hurt at all? Are you having trouble breathing?" He sweeps you up in his arms, bracing one behind your knees, the other supporting your back.
"A little shortness of breath," you say, made more breathless by the bridal carry. "Doesn't hurt."
"Okay, that's good," he says, laying you out on your shared bed. You run a hand over his shoulders, trying to soothe him, trying to smooth the worried crease of his brow.
"I don't think it's that big a deal," you say, "I just freaked myself out with the online med forums and thought I'd come ask you—"
"Of course it's a big deal," he frets, "should I call 119?"
"My big, strong medical professional," you say over his worrying. "Well, let's talk about my symptoms first."
"Okay," he relents, looking at you with eyes like dark chocolate sucked into a black hole, his pupils dilated with fear. "You're sure nothing hurts?"
"Yes, I promise," you tell him, putting your hand over his heart. He does the same, one hand stroking your wrist, unsubtly feeling for your pulse, the other over your heart. "Well, I was in bed, looking through my photos and I landed on that one of you rope climbing, you know, the course we did last month—"
"You little—" Hajime starts, mouth kicking up at the corner as he catches on. "You're ridiculous."
"Some bedside manner," you huff. "Let me finish. So then my heart started beating really fast and I felt kind of faint, so I looked up ventricular contractions. Then I went to go talk to you and you're so handsome and I'm so lucky you love me enough that you live in my house and I can go look at you whenever, and I started experiencing shortness of breath."
"You are sick," he says drily, "but only up here." He raps your skull with his knuckles.
"Mean!"
Hajime, like any good medical professional, curls his body over yours while you giggle uncontrollably, hiding his face in your shoulder though you can feel him shaking with laughter.
"I was worried about you!" He snaps, but his tone conceals something fonder, warmer. "You're a danger to my health, how about that? Gave me a fuckin' heart attack." You shake your head and wrap your arms around him, hooking a leg around his waist, octopus-like.
"I'm still not feeling so good," you insist. "Since you're here, doc, you should finish examining me. Really, really thoroughly."
clingy and dramatic husband!hajime when he’s sleepy or drunk. you’d never believe it. even he doesn’t believe it. insists he’s not— boy you literally are!!!! it’s not loud or necessarily theatric, it’s just his actions are so … well, we can let them speak for themselves.
— you’re trying to head out to work, but he’s got a day off and he’s grabbing you by the waistband of your pants from the edge of the bed. “come back to bed,” he complains, voice muffled into the pillow. “you don’t need to go to work.” “hajime, i actually do need to,” you reply, trying to pry his fingers off.
he lets out a grumble, still holding on tight. then he turns his face so you can see one sharp hazel eye staring at you. you know that look. it’s all too familiar on these types of days. you will admit, however, that the look works. “ugh,” you mutter, bending down to press a wet kiss to his cheek, lips curving into a reluctant smile. “good bye. i love you.” “i love you, too,” he calls with sleepy affection, letting his arm drop.
— he’s laying on your body on the couch, face nestled into your chest on a scorching day. “haji,” you whisper. “get off. it’s hot.” “no,” he mumbles, moving to bury his face in your neck. you sigh. “i’m serious, hajime, i’m sweating really bad.” his arms snake around your waist. “no,” he says, louder. “ha. ji. me.” you place emphasis on each syllable in his name. “let me go.” “‘m not hajime,” he replies.
you furrow your brows. “yes, you are. c’mon, it’s boiling in here.” you try to push him off, to no avail. you take a deep breath. “babe,” you start. “mm.” hajime shifts slightly. “please get off me,” you request, patting his back. hajime grumbles, not answering. a bead of sweat rolls down your forehead. “what do you want from me?” you wail, fanning yourself.
“i want you to call me baby,” he says, mouth in your armpit.
— after a seijoh team video call where they catch up and drink together, hajime is totally and completely hammered. usually he’ll stop drinking around the time he gets warm and cuts it off there, but it was a really long call and everyone ended up drunk. including him.
“seriously,” you say under your breath, watching him across the kitchen table as he sips on the soup you made for him. hajime glances up at you, cheeks rosy, then frowns. “your face,” he starts, setting down his bowl. “are you mad at me?”
“i’m not mad at you,” you reply. “hmm,” hajime grumbles doubtfully, putting his face on the table. he stays like that for a moment, then tilts his face up so he can look at you. “you’re so far away. come closer.” “i’m across the table,” you remind him. “too far,” he insists, reaching out (his elbow isn’t even on the table). “can’t reach you.” “haji, you’re not even trying.”
— outside of the doors of the home you two share, he’s back to what everyone else usually sees. calm, reserved, almost stoic at times, but still loving and caring. definitely not what you witness on lazy mornings, or sweltering afternoons, or quiet nights.
it’s like spraining your wrist hula-hooping. “why are you telling me this?” because no one. will ever believe you
