Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 10 - Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Courting

The day after the combat league concluded, the hype not yet died down—the students cast their votes for president. The faculty carefully reviewed the results, which would be announced that very afternoon.

“AHHH-HA-HA-HA-HA! The ultimate high! Watching your inevitable victory come to pass!”

Laughing maniacally, Miligan stood at the center of the Forum, the banquet hall on the school building’s fourth floor. Oliver’s group was sitting awkwardly at the table with her. Nanao alone was cheerily helping herself to the snacks provided, while the rest were largely occupied with apologizing for Miligan. They were stressing this not just because their class belonged in the Fellowship, but because Whalley’s camp was parked nearby.

“…Y-you’re certainly in good spirits, Ms. Miligan.”

“Chela, you may as well begin addressing me as President Miligan now. It’s a foregone conclusion. The votes are cast! My election is set in stone!”

Chela had been quietly trying to tone her down, but Miligan was in no state to do anything like that. Katie had her head buried in her hands. Attitude aside, Miligan had every reason to be confident—given the candidates running, she was the logical choice for Godfrey’s camp to back. And having dominated two levels of the combat league, his camp’s victory was assured.

“You did your best, Mr. Whalley! But the advantage of years is not easily overcome. Had you been a year ahead of me, perhaps this would have been different! A thought that must rankle. But wipe your tears away! Victory is ever a harsh mistress!”

She’d turned on her rival, living it up. Whalley’s brow twitched, but he knew he’d lost and wisely said nothing. To the kids stuck between them, that was far more terrifying than if he’d taken the bait. Especially for Oliver, who’d been avidly recruited by Whalley not long ago.

But in actual practice, that was hardly the greatest burden on their minds. Before the election, Godfrey had sent out a directive—and one kept secret from Miligan herself. That was pouring oil on their discomfort.

Unable to handle it any longer, Guy leaned in, whispering, “Katie…”

“…I know. But please. Don’t breathe a word.”

She knew only too well how he felt but insisted on silence. That left Guy and the others with no choice. They would just have to sit here in this hot pot, until Garland’s voice rang out and brought an end to it:

“Silence! Students, the wait is over. We’re prepared to announce the election results.”

“Say it loud, Master!” Miligan cried. “Today marks the birth of Kimberly’s first ever pro-rights student body president!”

Garland didn’t bat an eye. Oliver was deeply impressed. If he’d been in the sword master’s shoes, he wouldn’t have maintained that poker face.

“Before the announcement, let’s look over the campaign once more,” Garland began. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, this was a particularly hard-fought contest. Both sides were forced to review their strengths and weaknesses—and thoroughly reexamine the positions they espoused. Demonstrating the fierceness of this struggle, we see markedly different results from each school year.”

Heedless of the eager looks around, the man launched into the necessary preamble. Elections proving overly dramatic was a Kimberly thing, but the announcement of the results need not follow suit. This was a vital moment that would determine the future of Kimberly, and the gravity in his voice served as a pointed reminder of that fact.

“Thus, we can say for certain these results were not merely a reflection of the combat league standings. Bear that in mind as you hear the outcome.”

A silence settled over the room. Completely certain her name would follow, Miligan fidgeted, eager to launch into her victory speech. And at last, the word came down.

“The next Kimberly Magic Academy student body president will be the sixth-year student Tim Linton. Step up to the podium.”

At least a third of the students present looked aghast, turning to the boy in question. He’d been sitting in sullen silence in the corner, and now he quietly rose to his feet.

“…’Sup.”

Still in full drag, Tim cut across the sea of stares, stepping up to the podium at the back of the Forum. Miligan watched him go, blinking furiously, her mind not able to process this at all.

“………………Mm?”

“Steady, Ms. Miligan,” Katie said, putting her arms around the witch’s shoulders. The rest of the Sword Roses kept their eyes down, like they were attending a wake.

Tim glanced at them, then around the room, then cast an amp spell on his wand. Looking tense.

“…Uh, so yeah. I’m as shocked as you are. Gonna ramble a bit here. Hope that helps us all figure this out.”

With that, he paused for several seconds. The audience hung on to his every word.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be picked. Ain’t really the type for this sorta thing. Plus, I filled the Fellowship with poison once—no way someone like that would end up president. I figured everyone here’s heard about that, right?” he asked the crowd. “I ain’t making excuses. Where my head was at then, I was ready to murder everyone. Hated the shit outta this place. Students killing or feeding off each other—it was just like where I grew up.”

Tim had nothing to hide, so he put it all out there. The students watched, waiting to see where this was going.

“You ever heard of the bug urn? One way they whip up poison out in Chena. Basically, you fill an urn with a bunch of poison bugs, have ’em eat each other, and use the last survivor to make your poison. Real nasty shit. Anyone who knows anything knows that’s halfway to a full-on curse.” He continued: “I was raised in one of those urns. Harsh truth, but the Lintons did that shit with people. Grabbed promising kids up from all over, dosed ’em all with poison, and fed the ones who died to the survivors. I was the one who lived. The poison bug who survived on the flesh of his siblings. That ain’t a metaphor: I literally survived a bug urn.”

That got gasps from everyone. The Toxic Gasser was infamous for his freakish tolerance for his own virulent poisons, but the reasons were even worse than they’d imagined.

“Coming from that, I thought the whole world was shit. Didn’t imagine I’d live that long. Coming to Kimberly didn’t change much. Same filth I had back home, just watered down a tad. And honestly, it was a whole lot shittier than it is today. No safe spaces anywhere on campus. In my eyes, everyone looked like a starving insect.”

A bitter smile played on his lips, then he got serious again.

“That’s when I ran into Godfrey. When he first came knocking, I thought he was off his rocker. Everything he did and said was batshit. No matter how many times I drove him off, he wasn’t dissuaded. He drank my poison, collapsed on the spot, came rolling back in the next day like it was nothing. Then this Watch madness? Gathering comrades, trying to change this place? Insisting it could be done, without a soul backing him?”

To the side of the podium, Godfrey sat with arms folded, arguing with none of this. Tim glanced his way once, then leaned in.

“But when I doused the Fellowship with toxins, ready to bid this world adieu—Godfrey alone waded right into the toxic fumes and dragged me out. Do you get how it feels to have a life you discarded picked up by someone without even asking for it? I threw in the towel. What I did with myself from then on was all in his hands.”

Tim’s grin grew bashful. Seeing that, Oliver sensed that was the moment this boy’s life had truly begun.

“Everything after that felt like the strangest dream. Our ranks swelled, we found one way after another to get shit done, his madness proved practicable. That’s when I realized Godfrey’d never been crazy. The other way around—he was the one sane man in this madhouse. And he was there reminding everyone: We ain’t poison bugs, we ain’t kindling—we’re human goddamn beings.”

The words were flowing freely now. This was the essence of the Watch’s efforts. The unshakable core of his beliefs.

“None of this came easy. Can’t recall a single easy second. Nearly got killed by monstrous upperclassmen so many times, had kids our year or younger on our ass on the daily. As our numbers rose, internal conflicts surfaced, and we fought each other. That led to one of my friends getting pushed out. Could I have done more for her? I still lose sleep wondering.”

Having been there to the bitter end, Oliver knew exactly who he meant. And how Tim regretted not being there for her.

“But lately I worked something out. I actually kinda like looking after you assholes. When I’m fussing over my juniors, all my regrets fade away, and the world’s colors start coming back. I wanna see how far that takes me. I might have had this big old ‘president’ title slapped on me, but it ain’t gonna change what I do. If a kid’s in trouble, I’ll hear ’em out, step in if need be, and if someone tries to stop me, throw some poison to shut ’em up. Don’t give a damn who they are—or what they are.”

He finished strong, then breathed out.

“That’s about all I got. Dunno if that counts as much of an acceptance speech. But I hope it tells you a bit about just who you placed in charge.”

He flashed a grin and was done. Having heard him out, Godfrey took over the podium, facing the students assembled.

“Alvin Godfrey, former president. I’m gonna take the liberty of saying a few words here, but only a few. I put my faith and the future of the Watch in Tim Linton’s hands, and I know he’ll live up to my expectations. I imagine many of you voted for him because you felt the same—and to add a gentle breeze to your sails, there’s one more thing I want you to know.”

He paused for a moment before continuing.

“In the senior league finals, problems in the stands resulted in underclassman falling into the ring. Tim ran to help them instead of finishing the match. When I saw that, I decided to back him for the presidency. If he’d ignored the threat to his juniors and moved to ensure our victory, that would have made him my ally—not yours. But that’s not Tim. When push came to shove, he made the right choice. He knew who he should protect, who I’ve been striving to protect all along.”

He turned to face Tim, who’d sat down near the stage. Godfrey shot him a warm smile.

“That tickled me pink. Thrilled me so much I wanted to run out and tell the whole world about it.”

Those words hit Tim hard, and he clapped a hand to his face, head down. Godfrey watched him a moment, then turned back to the crowd.

“Unshakable evidence your new president has got what it takes. I’ll admit—he’s lacking experience. He may cause you some headaches. But I know that where he falls short, you’ll step up to help him. If you do that, he’ll wind up being a far better president than I ever was,” he said. “Consider the torch passed. People—look after my buddy here.”

He bowed low, and that ended his speech. Oliver’s group started clapping, and that got the rest of the room to do the same. That, more than anything, spoke to their genuine faith in the new leadership.

“…Uhhh…?”

Miligan alone was left at sea, her shoulders visibly drooping. Without a word, Katie and Chela each put their arms around her.

After all the Sword Roses made their apologies to Miligan, they left Katie in charge of aftercare. At three that same day, the crest of the election behind him—Oliver put his mind to what came next.

“…Haah…”

Seated in a lounge, he allowed himself a sigh. Once his league final ended, he’d rested as much as he could, so it wasn’t fatigue blocking his thoughts. The problems before him were all simply too massive to handle in any condition.

First, Katie. They’d come together and talked it over but resolved nothing. For her own safety, they needed to take steps soon.

Then, Chela. She was acting fine, but clashing with her father in public had to hurt. Oliver would have to find a moment to talk about it with her—and help her heal.

Finally, what happened with Nanao after the victory party. They were clearly dragging that around and had barely made eye contact all day. Not only was this in urgent need of resolution, it directly involved Oliver himself.

“…Where do I even begin…?” he whispered, clutching his head.

As he shriveled up, a familiar presence approached from behind.

“Lot on your mind? Yeah, I can imagine.”

He turned to find Guy looking down at him. Before Oliver said a word, Guy took a seat next to him. Clearly aware of what was on Oliver’s mind, he got right down to brass tacks.

“Not to butt in or anything, but for now—lemme handle Katie. I’m gonna be stuck on Miligan duty with her anyway. I’ll keep an eye on her then.”

“Guy…”

“I’m also worried about Chela, after that nasty business with her dad. But I’m looking out for her, and she won’t fall apart that easy. If there’s a problem you gotta handle now, it’s Nanao.”

A simple ranking by priority based on the info he had. At a loss for words, Oliver stared at his hands. His profile alone proved he was unusually far gone. Guy pulled out his wand and cast a soundproofing spell. Digging deeper.

“…Can I ask? What exactly happened?”

“……”

“Okay, hard to talk about. I’m guessing not just your run of the mill fight, then.”

Not rushing him, Guy sat back and waited. It took him a long time to work up the nerve to share, but at last Oliver managed it.

“She…came on to me. That…should tell you everything.”

Guy’s eyes went wide, not having expected the answer to be that unvarnished.

“For real…?” He groaned, rubbing his temples.

“Don’t…jump to conclusions. The fault is mine,” Oliver stressed. “I wasn’t paying enough attention to her state of mind.”

Guy put up a hand, stopping him. Whose fault it was, what had led to it—neither mattered to him.

“Let’s break this down real simple. If you’re not into her…”

That was what really mattered. Oliver was already shaking his head. He looked ready to cry, so Guy kept his voice placid.

“I figured. Then you’d best give it some thought. Are you up for taking that step? In, y’know, a peaceful manner.”

He was just stating the obvious, but once he had, his head started spinning. Part of Guy wanted to give his friend a push, but part of him suspected he was being awfully tactless. He scratched his head.

“Or am I rushing this? Nah, that’s the thing. If Nanao gets there first, Katie and Pete won’t object. I mean, they’ll grumble, but…”

“…? Why Pete…?”

That name just brought questions. Oliver had certainly been aware of Katie’s straightforward affections, but the bespectacled boy was still out of sight, out of mind. Guy rubbed his brow.

“You didn’t notice? Fine, forget I said anything. For now, focus on Nanao. I don’t need the deets, but I’m guessing she wants to make it physical?”

“…That’s…half of it…”

“Then leave the other half for later. I got nothin’ for that half,” said Guy. “…Either way, I bet she just wants to be special to you. All your unique baggage aside…you two have always been tight.”

Guy pushed all the other factors out of the way, paring the topic down to its essence. Well aware that was forced, but also convinced it was his role here. His friend always overthought these things, so coming at him from this angle might help him adjust.

“……”

Knowing Guy’s simplicity was appropriate, Oliver still couldn’t make the next step.

Sensing that step was a huge deal for him, and confident this was violating boundaries, Guy stepped right into it.

“You’re hesitating. Is that because of Nanao, or…?”

As he asked, Guy watched Oliver closely. Oliver hung his head and shook it listlessly.

“…Pretty sure the hang-up’s on my end,” he managed.

Guy nodded. That made the answer obvious.

“Okay, cool. Then tell her that.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a big freakin’ deal, right? If you lay it on her, Nanao’ll get it. And that info’ll help her figure out how to approach you. If it’s, like, a family secret thing? Well…at least tell her how you feel about it.”

Don’t dwell on it alone, work through it together. No need to share the specifics here. Part of Guy was frustrated to be left out, but if he demanded inclusion, then he’d just give Oliver something else to fret about, and he didn’t want that. Guy was convinced it was his job to be the easiest Sword Rose to talk to.

And in light of that, he threw a heartfelt arm around Oliver’s shoulders.

“Ya feel me? Don’t stress over this alone. Talk it out; see what you make of it together. In my mind, that’s called trusting your friends.”

Oliver nodded, digesting those words. He’d looked inside and found that trust. In which case—he need only find the courage.

Letting that conversation loop through his mind, Oliver made his way down the hall, and as the crowds thinned, a new voice popped up right beside him.

“You’re troubled.”

Unsurprised, he turned to face her. This girl served as his covert operative.

“…Teresa.”

“I am seeking your opinion on our performance in the main round of the combat league. I am not pleased with the outcome, but I wanted to ask again for your evaluation of it.”

He’d been expecting a report, but this was clearly a personal question. Unusual. Her team had gotten pretty amped up at the party the other day, so perhaps that was still nagging at her. That thought made him smile.

“Naturally, I thought it was a good match. Can’t say you fully realized your team’s strengths, but I could tell you were feeling your way through an unfamiliar situation…”

“Appreciated. I take it this means you approve of my performance.”

She pushed ahead to the conclusion. This rattled him a bit. Was she not here for an evaluation?

“I am aware this is presumptuous, but might I beg for a reward?”

“If it’s something I’m capable of, sure.”

“Then I request a celebratory kiss.”

Teresa looked dead serious about this. The intensity versus the contents of the request perplexed him, but it was a small price to pay. He raised an eyebrow but nonetheless knelt down next to her, amused at the thought of imitating what Chela had once done. Even Oliver was a bit surprised by how little resistance he had to kissing Teresa on the cheek. It seemed entirely natural to him. And fortunately, there was no one looking.

“Not there. Here.”

That changed everything. Teresa had blocked the kiss to her cheek and was pointing to her lips. Oliver blinked at her, pulling away.

“…Teresa, that—”

“Gives you pause?”

“…It means…very different things.”

“Does it? Yet you did this with her.”

Her words a javelin flung right back at him, sinking into Oliver’s chest. Reminding him that those events had been right after the party, and they’d just seen the second-years off to their dorm. Teresa had been making merry with her teammates, so he’d assumed she’d accompanied them—but given her primary role, that was unthinkable. She’d have split off from her friends soon after leaving the building and quickly resumed her real job. Nothing remarkable about it.

“…You saw—?”

“Unfortunately. As my task demands.”

Again, she talked over him, looking him right in the eye, her voice tense. Only now did he realize her behavior was rooted in fury. Even as the realization dawned, she spoke again.

“Allow me to formally inquire. Was that act desired on your part?”

“…Well…”

That took his breath away. How should he answer? He wasn’t immediately sure. Even if it hadn’t been something he’d desired, he didn’t want to sound like he was blaming Nanao for it. He was convinced his own carelessness had driven her to that act.

But in this moment, silence was disastrous. Teresa was already acutely aware of her master’s character. If he had desired the act, he would have said so. Any other response meant he was carefully picking his words to avoid discrediting Nanao.

Which meant anything other than swift agreement was all the answer Teresa needed. Namely—her master had been assaulted. And that was unpardonable.

“I understand completely. You did not desire it. She forced that act upon you.”

“ ! Wai—”

He worked out what she was thinking a moment too late and tried to stop her—but at a speed that left all that behind, she threw her arms around his chest.

“I adore you, my lord. Awake or asleep, I have no eyes for anyone else.”

The passion in her words shook him deep. As he stood frozen, Teresa pushed through his robe to his shirt, rubbing her cheeks and nose on it. Like she was imprinting her scent on them. Like a vow to let no one else impinge upon him. Or perhaps—a curse.

“And right now…my blood is boiling.”

Her ritual done, Teresa turned her mind to a completely new objective. Oliver tried to grab her, but her heat vanished from his embrace. He gaped at his empty arms, eyes wide, and he called out to his surroundings.

“Teresa?! Where are you?!”

But no answer came. He couldn’t even detect her retreat, but he knew where her feet carried her. She was making a beeline toward the subject of this vendetta. Driven by anger, she would make no stops along the way.

“ !”

Oliver whipped out three scout golems and shared their vision, racing down the hall. This was the worst possible timing. He and Nanao had kept their distance from each other since the events in question, so he had no clue where she was or what she was doing.

Unaware of her approaching predicament, Nanao was aimlessly wandering the second layer of the labyrinth, the bustling forest.

“…Hrm. Is that the summit?”

She paused, looking up. She’d been climbing the irminsul and found herself nearly at the top. Choosing steep paths, urged by a vague desire for greater heights, she’d pressed on—but hadn’t been trying to get here in particular. Her unexpected speed was the result of an absence of obstacles—she hadn’t encountered a single beast along the way.

“…Hmm.”

With nothing better to do, she absently scanned the whole floor. This brought back memories of the rolling hills back home, and she was rather fond of it. But today she was disinclined to take any trips down memory lane. The indiscretion she’d committed occupied the majority of her mind.

“…I am at a loss. How can I make it up to him? Time passes, yet I find no threads to follow.”

Hearing her own words made her wince. Threads or no, after her misdeeds, the desire to wrap this up neatly was itself presumptuous.

And part of her wondered—even if, by some miracle, this state of affairs was resolved, would she be capable of being by Oliver’s side afterward?

It had been too much for her. The sight of his duel with Richard Andrews.

How it agonized her to know that no such battle could ever occur between her and him.

Nanao had grasped at every straw to control that urge. Followed every form of meditation, followed all the advice Chela and Katie had given. Made more friends, tried new things, attempted to dilute her passion between them. All these things had done their part. They alone were how she’d gone this long without taking a swing at him.

Yet another part of her knew—those approaches could buy her no more time.

In which case…what should she do next?

“…Urgh…”

She shook off these dark thoughts. This was beyond “The thoughts of a fool are indistinguishable from a nap.” The more she pondered it, the deeper her heart sank. Conclusions reached in this state would hardly be accurate. At the least, she still knew that.

Nanao took a deep breath, trying to still her heart. Some unsuspecting third-years nearby passed her. One pointed at her back.

“Yo, that’s Ms. Hibiya! From the league champion team—”

“Wait, don’t bug her.”

“Something feels off. Let’s just move along.”

When he cheerily tried to approach, his friends quickly dragged him away. By their third year, most students developed a sixth sense for these things—and they avoided Nanao for much the same reasons as the beasts on her climb did. They went behind her, keeping their distance. Feeling them fade into the distance, she sighed.

“Of all days for no one to pick a fight… A duel might well free my mind.”

Not a thought she’d ordinarily entertain. Half her purpose in roaming here was an absent search for trouble, but ironically, few at Kimberly were foolish enough to throw down with Nanao now. They’d see just how good she was in the combat league, and worse—knew her weaknesses had been compensated for. When they’d had a shot at winning through schemes or compatibility, sure; but with that off the table, no one wanted to mess with her. Perhaps someone from the upper classes—but assaulting a junior delving solo would be an affront to their honor.

Standing here did not seem to be getting her anywhere. Abandoning hope, Nanao turned to head back.

“My head spins in place, moving nowhere. Perhaps I should merely steel my stomach.”

She began her descent. No good ideas to be found, her feet like lead. Ordinarily, she would be delighted to head to the Sword Roses’ base after exploring, but today each step closer fanned the flames of her fears. Wondering if Oliver would be there. What she should say to him if he was.

“Hrm?”

But not long after she stepped off the branches of the giant tree into the woods below, an unexpected salvation dragged her from the depths of her melancholy.

“…My, my. Hostility like unto the naked blade.”

She could feel the prick of it upon her skin, and she let out a soft chuckle. There. She could not see them but knew for a fact that in the darkness lurked someone intent on causing her harm. This was no mild aggression. Mirthless retribution, pure bloodlust—like a samurai on the path of vengeance.

“I know not who you may be. Where or what manner of grudge I have incurred—the nature of it eludes me,” Nanao said. “But why let that stop us? Why waste time with queries?”

Deeply thankful, she drew her blade, casting a dulling spell at half strength. Nothing but gratitude for the foe who’d come after her now.

She had but one more request— Do not be easily bested.

“Ready when you are. Draw.”

Katana at her side, Nanao issued a challenge. She could feel them move. In the green-tinged gloom around her, they moved helter-skelter, never letting her pin them down.

“You’ve no intent of showing yourself? You must be some manner of spy.”

Having determined the nature of her foe, Nanao returned her blade to its scabbard. This didn’t mean she’d dropped her stance. The scabbard held in her left hand, her right palm resting lightly on the hilt—

“Then make full use of your wiles—and make your way into my range.”

Hibiya-style Tachi-Iai Ring Stance. Stealthy opponents attacked from where you least expected, and this was a classic counter—allowing her to issue swift reprisal no matter the direction. But in Nanao’s case—

“Gladio!”

—the range of her iai was tenfold.

“……!”

The spell was flung directly at the thicket where Teresa lurked. Thirty-plus trees in its path, all sturdy trunks, well past the point where “sapling” applied, toppled over before her eyes. Looking down at that from her perch on a tilting branch gave her goose bumps.

That output was broken. Her foe might be a third-year, but even by that standard, this was not what any singlecant severing spell Teresa knew could do. And even more chilling: the cross sections. They weren’t just smooth; they gleamed like polished metal. That sharpness must be a factor in the absurd force.

“Gladio—Gladio—Flamma!”

Just three spells. That was all the incantations it took to flatten the forest in a twenty-yard radius around her enemy. The fire spell that followed ignited it all, the output once again uncanny, the raging flames designed to flush an opponent out of hiding.

“…Copifigura…!”

She’d be downed in no time, so Teresa quietly whispered a spell, releasing the result into the darkness. Enchanting her robe with the oppositional, she threw herself into the flames.

Nanao had just unleashed a second fire spell when a figure came darting out of the brush to one side.

“Gladio!”

Her magic blade aimed true, severing the torso—and the figure vanished. As it did, the real Teresa fired an electric bolt from atop a fallen, burning tree—from the rear. Aimed right at the end of Nanao’s swing, yet the samurai smoothly shifted into an about-face, using her two-handed Flow Cut to catch the spell on her katana and deflect it to the ground behind.

With that handled, Nanao’s eyes turned to the flames—but her foe was already gone.

“Splinters, mm? I rather thought I’d seen my fill of those in the last tourney. Gladio!”

The technique had seen wide use in the combat league’s free-for-all. Another figure leaped out from behind a fallen tree, and she sent an iai spell after it. She showed no surprise when it swiftly vanished; she’d kept the bulk of her attention on her surroundings. Sheathing her blade once more, Nanao considered the matter. She’d certainly been bedeviled by the two types of splinters in the league, but this was not the same.

“The quality of your splinters is no match for Mr. Mistral’s. Rather, the presence of the real body is unnaturally faint. To the point where I cannot distinguish you from your splinters, even in motion.”

That was her read on it—the last attack had proven her opponent was swiftly darting about between the flames and fallen timber. Moving at that speed should make it far easier to detect them, yet “should” clearly did not apply here. Save the fleeting moment of an incantation, this foe was always as hazy as the splinters they created.

“You’ve piqued my interest.”

Clearly, they were well trained. But the strength of her foe brought an indomitable grin to Nanao’s lips. Feeling her cycle of fretting draining away by the second, Nanao waited for her opponent’s next move.

“…She’s a monster…,” Teresa whispered.

The fight thus far had driven that fact home.

She’d been seen. Both her strengths and the strategies they lent themselves to. She knew whatever she did, it would be handled. No amount of splinter subterfuge, no angle of attack—Teresa could not picture any of those attacks breaching her target’s defenses.

That alone was one thing. If that was the ceiling, she could accept it. What truly galled Teresa: Her enemy was still not serious. She was playing wait and see, responding only when attacked.

Her stance, unmoving and unyielding, demonstrated that fact. And Teresa’s mind refused to accept it. She’d been running all over, yet her target had yet to take a single step in any direction.

“…Ha-ha…”

Despite the dire straits, her lips were twitching: Right. Good. Be a monster.

If a mere human had defiled her master, that would have complicated things. But a monster—that she could kill. Monsters were a detriment to humankind. Left unchecked, they’d bring no end of suffering.

And she wasn’t about to stand for that. Refused to let it happen again. So what if the monster was stronger?

“…Copifigura… Copifigura… Copifigura…”

Teresa flitted soundlessly from tree to tree, dropping as many splinters as she could. A glance upward, verifying the position of the second layer’s artificial sun. These conditions were her one shot at victory—now she need merely wait for the moment to arrive.

Groundwork laid, Teresa thought: If you are a monster, then I am a vengeful spirit.

Clinging to human obsessions, even in death. An evil soul, a curse that will claim your life.

“Hrm?”

Locked in an iai stance, ready for her assailant’s next attempt—Nanao noticed the world around her growing dark.

“An eclipse? Or…”

Stance unwavering, her gaze flicked toward the light source. A false sun that kept the second floor bathed in a perpetual glow. Between it and Nanao’s position, a colossal leaf on the irminsul. A parasol absent mere moments ago.

A parasite toolplant. Where your standard seeds were sown in soil, this type absorbed nutrients and mana from a host to urge their growth. The use conditions were far harsher than soil-based toolplants, but the giant tree was mana rich and an ideal seedbed. Teresa had tailed Nanao up the irminsul and planted it on the way—choosing to stage her ambush at the location the shadow cast as it grew, and the faux sun moved.

In other words, this one spot was a limited patch of night in a forest that knew no sleep.

“Fascinating. This was what lay up your sleeve?”

Nanao was deeply impressed. She hadn’t seen it coming. Shadowy nights were the domain of the stealthy fighter, but to make your own night?

If this was a smoke screen, then she merely needed to move out. But to escape this patch of night, she would have to run a considerable distance. And she’d be moving through forest to do so—there was no avoiding an attack while her vision was diminished.

Naturally, she had the option of creating her own light source. With Nanao’s current output, she could easily light up the entire area. But to maintain a light at a distance from her wand required a spell cast with a considerable amount of mana worked into it—in her current predicament, would her foe really allow that?

“Very well. Come at me.”

She drew her blade, switching from iai to mid-stance. The hostility prickling her skin told her plain as day her foe was about to go for the kill. She need only meet it at full strength—nothing less would allow her survival.

In darkness lit only by the flames on the fallen trees, she sensed hazy figures bearing down on her. Nanao could not tell which were real and which were splinters. That left her with but one recourse.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Cut them all down. With that one thought in mind, she sliced at every approaching presence. Swing, move, swing, move, no pausing, turning as each figure crumbled. The wild abandon reminding her of yesteryear. As the tides of war turned against her side, she’d fought many a battle on these terms. Unsure how many she stood against. Counting not the number slain. According to the Hibiya way, the divinities would tell you that number once you yourself perished.

“…Ngh!”

Her strategy bore fruit, conditions ripe—yet still Teresa could not find a path forward. How could she finish off this foe? When could she attack without being cut down herself?

No openings existed. Each swing took down a splinter like a windmill made of swords. If that blade came her way, she would not last a moment. Yet if that fear stayed her hand, she would run out of splinters. Her rational mind was screaming at her to finish this first, to make her move within the next five seconds.

At the two-second mark, she lost hope: This approach cannot defeat this foe.

At the four-second mark, she asked herself: Then why are you even here?

At the five-second mark, she howled: To put this bitch down!

“ !!!!!”

A soundless war cry, and Teresa shot through the night. Not shooting from within range when her splinters made an opening, but mingling with the splinters herself, stabbing her foe right in the heart. All risk forgotten. All prospects out of mind. Neither meant squat. This was a goal she had to achieve, and that math did her no good here.

Before her eyes, two splinters were cut down. Her target’s back was to her; she felt she could stab it home, and so she did. Then she stepped in, utterly silent, her athame extended. Perhaps her foe had sensed her approach, but it was too late to respond in time. She knew that for a fact; her blow’s timing was that good.

But her best thrust was batted aside like a waking nightmare.

“Oh—”

A squeak escaped her throat. Her foe did not even turn around. Yet Teresa’s blade had gone off course—on the back of a katana swung fully overhead. An absurd technique, found in no schools.

Hibiya-style Oral Creed: Back Stance. With that unbelievable block, her target spun, showing Teresa her loathsome profile. A covert operative tackling this monster head-on meant only death. She wouldn’t last a second. Without accomplishing anything. Without making her foe pay for what she’d done.

Without easing his suffering one iota.

“Ah—!”

This could not be. Her emotions erupted, and her left hand shot out without conscious thought.

Nanao turned to strike down the assailant behind her—and her cheek was struck from below with the force of an anvil.

“Ohhh…!”

Her foe had put their whole back into that slap. The heel of the palm connected, rattling Nanao’s brain and making her vision flash white. Before her eyes focused, she woozily slashed downward, catching only empty air.

She felt her foe melt into the darkness without ever catching a glimpse of their face. Just a vague sense of a tiny figure speeding off into the woods behind the burning timber.

“…That made my skull ring,” Nanao muttered, holding her swaying head. She knew her way around a close-quarters slugfest but had not expected a slap at that juncture.

A punch—she’d have gritted her teeth and withstood it. But the open palm had connected with the damnedest force. As it struck her cheek, Nanao had instinctively sensed this was a blow she should let hit. No telling what manner of empathetic phenomenon brought that on, but inside, she knew it to be true.

“I know not your face, yet you have my gratitude, stranger. With your help, my path grows clear again.”

Nanao bowed her head at the darkness that had swallowed her assailant. The thoughts weighing her down had been utterly banished. She felt as if she’d died and been born anew.

Perhaps that blow had cleared away the part of her mind caught up inventing futile excuses. That thought made her all the more grateful—and she clapped her hands together toward the darkness, as if before a statue of the enlightened one.

Teresa fled headlong through the darkness of her own creation in a full-out run until she escaped its range—then she collapsed like her strings had snapped, toppling into the brush.

“…Hfff, haah… Haah—!”

Her arms folded, her mouth pressed against them, her breathing ragged. No matter how exhausted she might be, making noise exposed her, and she would not let that happen. She’d been raised as a covert operative, and these habits were imprinted deep. They were a biological imperative.

“……Hfff…… Hfff… Hfff… Ngh…… Ngh…”

It took a long time to catch her breath. And doing so made her head cool off. The intoxicating fury ebbed away, and her reason regained control. She was rational again.

Looking down at herself from on high.

What are you even doing? A query delivered by none other than her own self.

“……”

Her earlier thought came back to her. If you are a monster, then I am a vengeful spirit. Words to whip herself into action against a superior foe. An internal howl that she might not lose the battle in emotional terms.

But in hindsight—what words those were. The plain, unvarnished truth.

“……!”

Think. Would killing Nanao Hibiya have brought a smile to his face?

Remember. Had he ever once smiled after an act of vengeance? Had he looked upon their demise with satisfaction?

She knew that all along. He had never been a man who took pleasure in the death of another.

“……Urgh…”

What a mess. Why was she even here?

Because she couldn’t let it go. That girl had forced her lust upon him and made him suffer, and Teresa couldn’t stomach that fact. The more hurt he was, the more he agonized over it, the more certain she’d grown that someone had to pay.

Her act was every bit as ill-considered as the Azian girl’s, but now was not the time to dwell on such things.

Was that really…all that drove her to it?

Don’t hide. There were uglier thoughts behind that.

Like…that girl was always at his side, while she was always in the shadows.

Or…that girl got a kiss upon the lips, while hers came on the cheek.

“…Rrgh…”

Had that been too much for her to bear? As mad as she’d been about the assault itself, was the difference in their status what broke her?

The urge to eliminate anyone he loved more than her. Could she really say that hadn’t been lurking somewhere, deep inside?

“…Ah……”

Why not just admit it? You act like you love him, but you’re only thinking of yourself.

You want him stroking your hair. You want his arms around you. You want his lips on yours. Peel back the deception, and that’s all you’ve got on your mind. Your lust is swelling up inside that skull, but split it open, and the brain within is no different from the girl you just slapped.

Every time you show him that, he tries to meet you halfway. The burdens he already bears must be crushing, yet you have the gall to pile your garbage on top. How’s he supposed to deal with it? What if this was the last straw, and it brought him to his knees?

Enough rambling. You’ve got your answer now. Picture your wishes granted—and your master on his knees. Imagine yourself running happily up behind.

You see what you are? A vengeful spirit, personified.

“…Urgh… Augh…!”

The verdict had been passed down. Unable to bear it, a sob escaped the gap between her arms, rustling the brush nearby. Guilt and self-hatred had her kicking herself. Her thoughts were in a downward spiral, ballooning up within her.

Racked with remorse, her entire body quivered. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t go back to him. A disaster like her didn’t even deserve to breathe. She cursed the foul desires pent up in her tiny frame.

Someone, tell me. I live to protect him, to support him, so how did I turn out so hideous? Why can I not be who I was supposed to be?

“…I’m sorry… I’m sorry…!”

Teresa sobbed like a child who had lost her way home. She apologized to the man she loved until her throat was too raw for her voice to emerge, until her lips no longer formed words. On and on and on—

“Nyuuu?”

—when the strangest thing cut in.

“……Huh?”

Something was bobbing through the air, bathed in orange light—right by her face in the brush, inches from her eyes and nose. Forgetting herself, Teresa gaped at it.

“Kipaaa!”

What the—?

This vaguely humanoid thing let out an odd cry, making faces at her. Its nose, eyes, and mouth were spinning freely around, delivering a dizzying whirlwind of bizarre expressions. Eyes red with tears, Teresa could only stare in stunned silence. Then she heard someone else pushing through the brush nearby. Snapping out of her stupor, she leaped to her feet, aiming her athame.

“You’re back here, Ufa? I said, don’t run off—”

A man appeared, branches braced against his shoulder. His tall frame was clad in customized ecclesiastical vestments, like an evil priest. By the time she saw him, he was already at a range that could well be fatal. A hiss escaped Teresa’s throat.

“Hm? Already occupied?”

The man seemed unruffled by the surprise encounter with a junior. Kimberly’s most wanted, the Scavenger himself—Cyrus Rivermoore.

The moment he was certain she wasn’t on campus, Oliver turned toward the labyrinth. But the nearest entrance—the one they always used to get to their base—was out of order, and he was forced to make a major detour.

“Is Nanao here?!”

Panic lending wings to his feet, he took the shortest possible route to the base. Chela and Pete met him with shocked looks.

“Wh-what’s going on, Oliver? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Nanao’s right over there. She got back and chowed down.”

Chela left the sink, concerned. Pete had been checking a dissertation and pointed at the table. True to his word, the Azian girl was stuffing her face with a gigantic sandwich. Oliver let out a huge sigh of relief.

“…Good…”

“Mmph? Something wrong?” Nanao asked.

“That’s what I want to know. Nothing happened? Anyone ambush you while you were wandering the labyrinth?”

He was bracing himself for the worst. But Nanao just polished off the last of her sandwich at top speed and shook her head, grinning.

“Nothing of the sort! ’Twas a fine stroll, like upon the moonlit bank of a river!”

Her smile was blinding. Less a lie than simply her authentic takeaway from the events that had transpired. She went out for a walk, enjoyed a first-rate duel, straightened her head out, and came back in high spirits. In her mind, that was all that had gone down. No part of that fit the term ambush.

“…Oh. Well, good. Maybe I was just overreacting. Just in case, though, make sure you come with me on the way back.”

Saying no more, he left it at that. Oliver didn’t want to voice his concerns about Teresa unnecessarily, and if he took Nanao at her word, she hadn’t actually tried anything. He could talk to his operative later, after getting Nanao safely home—and it would hardly be proper to besmirch her name without real cause. His willingness to let that slide was perhaps a sign Oliver was a bit too fond of Teresa.

“By all means! Say, Oliver—”

Agreeing to his suggestion without question, Nanao rose to her feet. Her eyes bored into his. Oliver had a hunch where this was going.

“—I should like to bend your ear awhile. Do you have the time to spare?”

The gravity in her tone sank deep into the pit of his stomach, and he nodded grimly. Pete and Chela saw this, glanced once at each other, and started packing up.

“We’ll give you some space.”

“I’ll head back to campus. Guy and Katie won’t be by until tomorrow. Feel free to talk this through.”

With that, they were out the door. In the silence that followed, Oliver and Nanao were left alone with emotions neither of them could adequately measure.

They had the base all to themselves, so they moved to the room they slept in. No real significance to that; it just felt right. Given the gravity of the topic at hand, the living room felt far too open, and that proved daunting.

“…How thoughtful our friends are. It fans the fires of my shame,” Nanao said, sighing.

She let that serve as her preamble, turning to face Oliver head-on. She had never been the sort of girl to work her way up to a topic with small talk.

“In which case, let me make it formal. The insults I suffered upon your personage that night, in hindsight, are beyond—”

“Wait, Nanao.”

Her words were starting to run away from him, but he cut her short. She blinked, and he met her gaze.

“You’re trying to apologize, right?”

“I could think of no other course.”

A forlorn smile played about her lips. This cut Oliver to the quick. He had never once intended to be the cause of a smile such as this.

“There’s no need. I’d rather you let me say my piece, actually.”

In lieu of an answer, Nanao closed her eyes tight, waiting for a tongue lashing. Her stance made it clear she was prepared to accept a strike upon the cheek, even a dagger to the heart. Perhaps what she truly feared lay elsewhere altogether, Oliver thought. In the words he might utter. No other thing could truly deliver a blow like those.

Yet at the same time, he knew—she had come here, ready for that outcome as well.

“I’m afraid I’m not letting you off that easily.”

He kept his tone flinty, betraying no emotions. He saw her shoulders flinch. That alone was heartrending, but he told himself this must be said. Nanao’s guilt was palpable. Forgiveness by itself would leave her dragging that around. Certain that harshness here would prove her salvation in the future, he pressed on.

“ ?!”

Wordlessly, he took her shoulders and stole her lips. Or perhaps—stole them back. He did this with a roughness that ill-suited him, an unfamiliar forcefulness that left even him shocked—but for the time being, he was sticking to his guns. With the intensity she’d brought that night, he now paid her back in kind.

A long, long kiss. Oliver was far past measuring the passage of time. Thus, he kept it going until shortness of breath intruded upon it. A moment of silence that felt eternal, and at last they breathed again.

“…Oli…ver…”

Nanao’s eyes were barely focused. Facing her, he took a deep breath, ready to speak again. For once, no other considerations or concerns serving as filters on his heart.

“…You’re not the only one restraining yourself!”

More than a confession, this was a primal cry. The force of it shook her bodily, and he reached out to pull her into a second kiss. Arms around her back, and this time she grabbed him in return. She could not believe this was permitted but knew failure to answer would be even less so.

“Hah! Oliver, one thing…”

The second kiss was a bit shorter than the first. An unfamiliar pressure against her nether regions made Nanao curious and caused her to beg for recess. Both were panting like they’d just run a sprint, their eyes inches apart.

“…What…?”

“…I can sense a…powerful organ pressed against my belly.”

Nanao’s eyes dipped down below, mincing few words. A beat later, Oliver grew cognizant of his own condition. His cheeks flushed crimson, and hands still on her shoulders, his head sank low.

“I envy your lack thereof. Can you begin to imagine just how mortifying this is?”

“Um, mm. I’m getting the gist. Palpably.”

Nanao nodded, but her tone suggested she was out of her element. She did not have one, after all. She might get that he was beside himself with shame but had her doubts on whether she could truly sympathize. Beyond their physical differences, their cringe thresholds were inherently tied to their different cultural backgrounds.

But she was not about to let all the shame rest upon his shoulders. A moment of anguish and deliberation brought her to knowledge of what she must do.

“In the interests of fairness, I shall not let you alone suffer.”

Once settled, she moved swiftly. Losing first her cloak, then undoing her buttons and flinging the shirt aside, and last unraveling the sarashi wound around her chest. She remembered him catching a glimpse of these sometime in the past, but it was far more excruciating to show them off herself. Hoping this would even the playing field, Nanao put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest.

“M-my body is hardly a thing of beauty. There are scars no matter where you look. I had not imagined the opportunity to flaunt it would ever present itself.”

“……”

Oliver took a long look at her exposed frame. As he did, the front of his trousers grew taut from the pressure within. Nanao witnessed this transformation and went stiff.

“…Is my mind playing tricks on me, or is that getting…more prodigious?”

“Why did you think it wouldn’t? After what you’ve shown off?”

His voice was almost a growl. Trying to restore his equilibrium, he took several deep breaths, then put his hands on her shoulders once more. The shame was not going anywhere, but communicating this took precedence—eyes unwavering, he looked right at her.

“You should—know this, Nanao. In my eyes, you have always dazzled. From the moment we met to this very moment, how often have I dreamed of touching you?”

His voice was on the verge of choking up. Nanao chewed over each word, then put a hand to her cheek, pinching first left and then right. Oliver was uncertain what to make of it.

“…What’s that for?”

“Attempting to wake myself from this dream.”

“You think you’re dreaming?”

“Mm, nothing else makes sense. These past few moments, all you say and do is far too tailored to my liking.”

Nanao freely admitted this did not seem remotely real to her. Why would it? They had burst right through the ceiling of the most remote possibilities she had allowed herself to imagine. That invoked fear before joy. With her heart floating like this, she could hardly survive the drop once she woke.

Oliver got that much. At the least, this was no joke to her, but a serious concern. Thus, he reached out to her to unravel it. Prying her hands from her cheeks and cupping them in his own palms.

“What’s so odd about it?” he asked, gently stroking her smooth skin. “I’m just saying I find you immensely appealing.”

The warmth of his hands made tears swell up in Nanao’s eyes. She could not stop herself. Leaning her full weight on his shoulder, her voice shook.

“If…I wake right now, I will howl like a newborn babe.”

“Should that happen, go see me in the real world. I’ll do this again.”

“Unlikely. The real Oliver hates me now. He scorns me as a wild thing, starved for blood and fleshly pleasures. Such was the extent of my sin. I came here half expecting to be beaten black-and-blue. No better outcome could possibly await—”

Unable to bear her tear-soaked protestations any longer, Oliver sealed her lips with a kiss. Swallowing up all further words before they could take shape. Only when her heart was stilled did he release the cap, whereupon he looked her right in the eye.

“…I’m not letting you put yourself down anymore,” he said with fervor.

Cheeks still wet with tears, Nanao smiled and nodded.

“I hear you. In light of that… Pray, let this dream continue.”

With that, they clasped hands. And by mutual consent—their bodies were drawn to a nearby bed.

Meanwhile, in a passage leading through the first layer to the school building, Chela spoke to the friend beside her.

“Pete, I do hate to say this—”

“Way ahead of you.”

He didn’t let her finish. Eyes wide, Chela pulled up short, and Pete turned to face her. The eyes behind his glasses betrayed the depth of his thoughts.

“Their relationship has always been a tightrope act. They’re drawn to each other, but the greater their passion, the more likely they are to kill each other. Yet—after all this time spent together, facing death side by side… How can we ask them to keep their distance?” Pete asked. “They’ve hit their limit. The delicate balance they’ve maintained is no longer remotely possible. In which case—even if it’s still a tightrope act, we’ve gotta have them switch to a different rope.”

That was the best metaphor he could muster. Chela thought it was entirely fitting. Oliver and Nanao might look unwaveringly close, but they had long teetered on the brink of collapse. Their respective efforts had thus far staved that off, but if either let go, it would all come tumbling down. And it might well not be Nanao who set that off.

“Physical intimacy as a proxy for dueling. I have no clue if that logic will prove successful, but at least, it’s worth a try. We’ve got to explore every option we can to stop them from killing each other.”

Pete’s grim summation. Chela nodded, watching him closely.

“Quite right,” she said. “But…it does come as a surprise. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to process this with such…detachment.”

“You thought I’d fall apart? Please.”

“I do apologize. Deeply. But…you’re in love with Oliver, yes?”

She chose to spell it out. This deep into the conversation, the topic needed broaching. She saw Pete stiffen up—but not back down.

“Even so. No, because—now’s not the time to fall apart,” he told her. “Not to change the subject, but I’ve got a terrible relationship with my family. You’re perceptive—I’m sure you’ve picked up on that.”

“…Honestly, I had a hunch. What of it?”

Her gaze probed the connection here. Pete leaned back against the passage wall, sighing.

“Nothing, really. Simple truth. That base is the only place I’ve got to call home.”

A bitter sort of smile. Rueful, self-deprecating—and something beyond either. And that made Chela realize—he’d been thinking about the future of the Sword Roses as much—or more—than she had.

“I doubt I’ll get another. Don’t feel compelled to make my own. I want this one. No replacements. The Sword Roses is where I belong—and I’ll do anything it takes to keep that safe,” Pete avowed. “Are you any different, Michela McFarlane?”

“ !”

The dagger abruptly swung her way, and she shuddered. Pete kept the blade of his gaze upon her, not letting her hide, pressing the point.

“Don’t you run. We’re talking here because I know your fixation on the Sword Roses is even greater than my own. High time you showed your hand. When we were discussing Katie, you alone were not appalled by my suggestion. Rather—you went, Oh, that’s an option.”

“…Kgh…!”

He’d hit the nail on the head and left her flat-footed. Pete flashed a grin and looked away.

“Kids are great. Why? Because they turn people into family. Put a chain between you that can’t be severed easily. The word friend is pretty and all, but it’s fragile in a way I just can’t trust.” He then added, “If it’s in the cards, I’d like to be more than that with all of you.”

He voiced a wild notion, sounding deeply sad. Chela tried to say something, but he didn’t give her a chance. His gaze rose again, as sharp as before, like that alone could cut her down.

“So I know I’m a lot. But you’re just as bad. Groups formed at school are fleeting things. No matter how the chips fall, it won’t stay this way forever. Nanao picked our group’s name in full knowledge of that… But we can’t help but hope it stays eternal. Neither one of us can let that go.”

Chela hung her head. How could she deny it? This was the lot of anyone who’d ever been truly alone.

The nature of that isolation varied. Everything from being cooped up alone in a darkened room to sitting at the center of a bustling party. What they had in common was the thirst for anything that could fill that void. For some, that quest might last a lifetime—but once found, their hands clasped tightly upon it, they would defend it to the death.

Both knew this to be true. And knew they were alike in it. Suffering the same symptoms. Desirous of any means, no matter how drastic, that could turn this fleeting paradise into an eternal one, caring not what Herculean effort might be needed to make that manifest. They shared that same warped fixation.

“……”

Chela’s smile mirrored her friend’s. How could it not? They had long shared the same dream, about a rose made of swords that had bloomed that miraculous day.

They’d made the choice to dwell within that dream. To keep it safe. That would never waver, not even if it meant turning these bonds into curses with their own two hands.

Neither would budge on this—no matter what, they would not let this dream come to an end.

“It is what I crave.”

Chela’s words were almost a lamentation. Pete nodded, stepped closer, and patted her on the shoulder. They knew for certain now. To these two, that was equivalent to a contract signed in blood.

“Sorry for forcing the issue. My point is—the two of us oughtta be honest with each other. We don’t want Katie and Guy getting this deep, right? I’d rather they stay happy-go-lucky, the way they’ve been.”

Chela nodded slowly. A concern she’d kept locked up tight since their first year at last escaped her lips.

“We’ll…be upperclassmen soon. The time when everyone here draws closer to the spell. We will hardly be exceptions,” she said. “My worst projections have Katie consumed first. Nanao not far behind… After that—one of the four of us, myself included.”

Just saying it out loud made her shudder. Not because the thought terrified her—but because the foundations for it were all too evident. There was far too little reason to dismiss these concerns.

“Optimism is not an option. I am sure of it—this worst-case scenario is nigh destined to happen.”

She minced no words. This threat was bearing down on them, and nothing could be more urgent. Desperate to share that threat, Chela spread her arms, and Pete pulled her into an embrace.

“Let’s keep them safe, Pete. All those who we love.”

“We will. I swear it on the rose we made.”

Their hearts and warmth overlapped. Listening to each other’s pulse, they prayed—for a dream without an end.

In bed with Nanao, his skin on hers, their hands on each other, Oliver ran up against the wall he’d seen coming.

“……!”

His heart started racing, his pulse erratic. A virulent rejection rising up his spine that made his teeth clench up—and Nanao was too close to miss the signs.

“Oliver? You’ve gone pale…”

“…Sorry. I knew momentum was hardly going to get me over this, but…”

Sweating, he swallowed his distress, reluctantly prying himself away. Nanao sat up, and they faced each other at eye level. It took several deep breaths to relax his throat enough to speak the words.

“I have a confession to make, Nanao. I’ve got some long-standing trauma related to the act itself.”

That made her back straighten. She could tell it had been a struggle for him to even admit. That, to this boy, it was like ripping open his chest and offering up his very heart.

“…Meaning…”

“Yes, I’ve done it before. Just…not in any acceptable way. The events leading up to it were horrible—and the outcome…far worse. No one got a happy ending. All of us were left…with wounds that will never…ever heal.”

His voice grew raspy, his words halting. Racked by surging memories, Oliver forced himself to keep talking. Nanao’s arms held his shaking body tight. Sending a clear sign she was getting all of this.

“Enough,” she said. “Painful memories are not easily shared.”

“…Sorry… It was our first, and…”

“Why apologize? I have glimpsed yet another piece that lies within you. That brings me nothing but joy.”

Nanao meant every word of this, and her smile was genuine. It lifted the gloom, like a sunflower on a cloudless day.

“And thus, I say this to you—Oliver, you were perhaps moving too fast. Look again—against all odds, you are here with me. Not some lady from a storied household or the greatest beauty of the imperial court. There is hardly a need to fall upon the sword of nightly duties. This was never once a matter of success or failure.”

With that frank assessment, Nanao slid her fingers under his ribs and tickled him mercilessly. The surprise attack shocked him and made him writhe. He grabbed her shoulders.

“…Ngh! Ha…ha-ha…! S-stop, Nanao…!”

“There you have it. This is but an extension of such frivolity. We merely add licking and petting to the games we’ve played for some time.”

That got through. No need to stress out about it. Here, there was no demand for any outcomes, no terms to meet, just a natural expression of their affection. They need merely play, as children do. Talk all night beneath a blanket. From the moment this began, each knew that it would all be memorable and filled with love.

“Again, you seem convinced you must do something specific with me, yet I have no earthly clue what put that in your head,” Nanao said, abandoning her tickle attack and turning to face him again.

Her passionate gaze poured over his honed body. He made no attempt to hide, letting her eyes feast upon the details.

“Even if you lift not a finger, I have more than enough ideas for the two of us. But of course! I swear I shall do nothing you object to.”

Realizing her lust was making her a trifle too eager, Nanao backpedaled, fanning a hand before her face. Oliver took her wrists, parted her hands, and placed his lips on her brow. Striking back.

“…In that case, I’m not about to be outdone,” he said, smiling.

Nanao met his eyes and grinned.

“Then it is a contest! Victory to the aggressor!”

“?! H-hey! Don’t just grab—”

Her hand had gone straight for his crotch, and Oliver caught her wrist, fending her off. Nanao’s assault proved relentless, so he tickled her sides and strengthened the stimulation via an application of healing that made her whole body shiver.

“Hnggg! Th-that’s most unfair!”

“It’s absolutely fair. You did the same thing!”

He grinned impishly. Nanao struggled to turn the tables, and they wrestled naked for a time—loving each other as an extension of their typical play.

Meanwhile, in the school building—at a lounge on the upper floors, ordinarily off-limits to lowerclassmen, referred to colloquially as the Pub.

“…Zzzz…”

After quite a lot of drunken grumbling, Miligan had toppled over the table, sound asleep. Katie had spent a long time being her earpiece and looked rather relieved.

“She’s finally under. Sorry, Guy. I didn’t mean to rope you into her bender…”

“It’s all good. She’s helped me out plenty.”

He shrugged, rising from his seat on the far side of the table and gathering up the bottles. He was at least half collateral damage here but had stuck with Katie throughout the ordeal.

Normally, they’d have been turned away at the door, but that line got pretty vague in the third year. Miligan had just said “They’re with me,” and they’d sailed right in. No one had uttered a word against it. Or perhaps they’d simply been conscious of Miligan’s mood.

Helping Guy clean up Miligan’s mess, Katie murmured, “The new council’s stepping up, at least. They’re taking on a solid eighty percent of the debts she ran up and have named her a core member. President Godfrey even came by with a box of cookies.”

Remembering how that had gone, Katie clutched a bottle to her chest. It had been just that bad. He’d apologized profusely, while she’d berated him, red-faced, then he’d gotten stuck refilling her glass as fast as she could empty it for the better part of an hour. Godfrey himself had taken it in stride, as the natural result of his own actions, sticking it out to the bitter end. Katie and Guy had made no attempt to intervene. The warm looks from the tables around proved this was his attempt at an apology.

“Well, yeah,” Guy said, eyes on Miligan’s sleeping face. “She was all fired up about being the first pro-rights president. And…likely wanted to show you a glorious victory.”

This line gave Katie a swell of emotions, and she put her arms around Miligan’s shoulders. She could certainly be a handful. The transplant operation the other day had hardly been the first off-the-cuff outrageous request. Katie had lost track of how many times she’d wanted to bury her head in her hands. And she’d nearly had her brain dissected shortly after they’d met. Katie wasn’t about to forget all the experiments she’d done on demis, either.

But she was still a mentor. One who’d recognized Katie’s skills, helped guide her, given her the push she needed.

Their thorny past, the trouble she made—all of that included just brought them closer together.

“…Mm…”

Miligan’s hands grabbed Katie’s arm, pulling it to her chest. She hadn’t woken up; this was entirely unconscious. But it still amused Katie, and she spent a while locked in that embrace.

Guy grinned at that for a minute, then glanced at Katie’s face, muttering, “You’re gonna need a bender of your own.”

“Mm? What’d you say?”

“Never mind. Just enjoy the quiet while it lasts.”

He waved a wand at the pile of bottles, sending them to a nearby collection bin. As he cleaned up the rest of the mess, he thought, This hardly counts as trouble. If what I said shakes things up—then I’ll really have my work cut out for me tomorrow. And for a while after.

In the labyrinth’s second layer, beneath a gloomy canopy of forest leaves, a small campfire sputtered.

“Well? Feeling any better, tiny meat?” Rivermoore asked.

Teresa was across the fire from him, clutching the tea he’d handed her, arms around her knees. She glared up at him.

“…Second-year Teresa Carste,” she said. “I’m not meat, and I’m not that tiny.”

“Ufa!”

At its name, the orange thing let out a cry and started spinning. Teresa couldn’t tell if it was just a chirp or if it was introducing itself. Rivermoore smiled and sipped his tea.

“If you’ve got spirit enough to talk back, you’re fine. Still, this isn’t exactly the place I’d pick to sob my eyes out.”

“I was not sobbing. You misheard. You must have ear problems, poor thing.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not the one who heard anything. It was all Ufa here. Direct your excuses thataway.”

Rivermoore pointed at the bobbing creature. Perhaps it had been introducing itself. Teresa gave the mystery creature another look over. It was about the size and approximate shape of a four- or five-year-old child. Entirely a translucent orange, but the eyes alone faded yellow. It was stretching and shrinking, so it was fundamentally of no set shape. There were vague indications suggestive of a nose and a mouth, and these shifted like the rest of its body, making it quite expressive.

“…What is it? It’s not a ghost or a fairy. I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“You wouldn’t, no. Right now, it’s the only one of its kind. It’s an astral life—kind of a long name, and clunky, so I might end up calling it an astra. Basically, think of it as a ghostly human child. That wouldn’t be far off.”

“Off! Off!”

Rivermoore talking about it made Ufa dance even more—and Teresa connected the dots. She hadn’t directly taken part in the assault on the Kingdom of the Dead, but she’d heard reports about this creature from those who had. Not especially interested, she’d let it go in one ear and out the other—having not expected to meet it in person. Or expected it to be this chatty.

She looked it over as one would a rare animal—while he gave her a look of curiosity.

“I was equally unsure what to make of you. Even face-to-face, you’re awfully insubstantial. I bet your average ghost is easier to handle—they’ve got less covert training.”

“…I was born like this,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. Covert operatives spent a lot of time observing, but not much being observed. Rivermoore picked up on her discomfort and looked away, changing the subject.

“So? What made you so sad you had to go cry in the woods?”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Oh, right. So what made you so sad you stuck your head in a bush? If that’s just your thing, don’t let me stop you.”

Rivermoore stoked the fire with his wand. Not about to admit the reason out loud, Teresa glared at him, firing back.

“…I should ask what you’re doing, Mr. Rivermoore.”

“Ah, you know me? I didn’t think we’d met.”

He shot her a look. She’d peeked at him a few times in the labyrinth, but more than that, he’d been on-screen during the combat league, so it was hardly strange for anyone to recognize him. She could have explained it that way—but she’d embarrassed herself enough. Prepared to flee into the brush behind her if she had to, she went for the barbed response.

“A deduction from your description. I doubt anyone else on campus wears such incredibly dated clothes.”

“Dated! Dated!” Ufa did a loop in the air.

Rivermoore just sighed.

“Another bizarre word to learn. You’re already making as much of a racket as your mother,” he said to the small creature. “But oh. I’d had a hunch—these aren’t exactly the current vogue, then?”

He looked down at his clothes, despondent. This rather rattled Teresa. She’d been trying to pick a fight and had not expected it to actually cause damage.

Before she recovered, he smiled at her.

“You’re the first junior to comment on my appearance to my face. Thanks, tiny meat.”

“…No thanks necessary, and neither meat nor that tiny.”

Repeating that was the best she could manage. Trying to escape the awkwardness, she picked up the teacup—but Ufa wrapped itself around her arm, tugging on her. Teresa tried to peel it off, but her fingers slipped right through its body. She couldn’t even touch it.

“…Ngh… I…c-can’t get it off…”

“It really likes you. Odd. Maybe you have a ghostly affinity?”

He looked as puzzled as he was interested. Ufa’s curiosity was boundless, and it was always flitting around, but that was hardly the only mystery here. First and foremost, the fact that Ufa had found her sobbing in the bushes in the first place. Rivermoore himself hadn’t detected her until their eyes met. This girl’s presence was just that intangible; if she hid, just about anyone would look right past her. So why had Ufa alone heard those soft sobs?

“……Hmm.”

Maybe that meant something. A vague sort of hunch, but Rivermoore was a mage—he wasn’t about to dismiss that. After a moment’s thought, he put it to action.

“Well, that works. Spend some time with it. It’ll be living up on campus soon enough.”

“Huh?”

Ufa had wrapped itself around Teresa so much she looked like a ring puzzle. And she blinked up at him.

He chuckled, adding, “Once I negotiate with the instructors anyway. I’ve got some demands to handle there—my own standing among them. But they’ll likely not refuse. Given this thing’s value, it’s a pretty fair settlement. Which, I guess, answers your question about what I’m doing here.”

He pointed at the oversize backpack beside him.

“Either way, it was high time I reported in. I keep them waiting too long, I’ll get outsiders in my workshop again. Got plenty of dissertations ready to submit.”

“…That…looks like a lot of work.”

Ufa released her, bobbing away, and Teresa looked relieved. She rose to her feet and turned to go.

“Already?” Rivermoore chuckled. “If you’re back on your game, I imagine you have this layer handled. I can tell you’re skilled enough.”

“…I didn’t ask for your concern.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m in my last year here. If I see a lost second-year, and I’m in the mood, I’ll look after them a bit.”

He waved his wand, dousing the fire. Realizing he was about to move out, too, Teresa made to hurry away. She definitely didn’t want to walk all the way back to campus with him.

But it felt wrong to leave without another word. If he hadn’t shown up, she might still be crying in that bush. Ufa’s goofy faces and Rivermoore’s gruff hospitality had helped lift her spirits.

Her stubborn streak prevented her from thanking him. Instead—she spoke without turning around.

“…Let me correct myself.”

“Mm?”

“…I dismissed your clothes as dated. That’s not true. I actually think they’re just a little bit cool.”

And without a glance over her shoulder, she dove into the thicket, her back soon dissolving into the night. Rivermoore and the astra both gaped after her—and a few moments later, he burst out laughing.

Dawn arrived at the end of the long night. Oliver realized that as he regained consciousness in bed.

As his lids opened and his eyes focused, he saw a girl sleeping next to him, not a stitch on her. This drove home everything they’d done, and unable to fully process how he felt about it, he lay studying her sleeping face.

Steady breathing. Her expression utterly secure. No trace of the fierceness she displayed with a sword in her hand.

A little lower down, their hands were clasped together. They’d drifted off, staring into each other’s eyes. And stayed like that as they slumbered. He hadn’t let go of her, either.

“……”

He loved her. That was his sole thought.

He was sure of those feelings—so he chose to trust them.

“Nanao. Are you awake, Nanao?”

His heart sorted out, he called her name. Her lids fluttered open.

“…Mmm… Oliver…?”

“It’s almost morning. We’ve still got some time, but best not to push our luck. We should get dressed.”

That got her eyes fully open. Both awake, they sat up together.

“…I remember now. Last night, we had the most passionate battle…”

“That sounds metaphorical, but you definitely put me in an armlock once. My elbow still hurts.”

“Oh dear. But that is because your fingers rather relentlessly prodded my sensitive regions…”

“Same goes for you. Once you get a grip on it, you are merciless—”

He trailed off, turning bright red and burying his face in his hands. The rational side of his brain had caught up with what they were saying, objectively—and it proved too much for him.

“…Let’s move on. I’ll get the water heated. You take the first bath.”

“Why not together?”

“Nope! I know it would not end with that.”

He managed to spurn her invitation and get out of bed. Well aware of how this was affecting him, he was growing increasingly nervous. How would they get through the day without anyone noticing?

Each bathed and dressed, then moved to the living room to put up some tea. They’d have a proper breakfast in the Fellowship, so this was more a snack.

When the tea leaves opened, Oliver poured a cup.

“We never did make it to the end,” he said.

Nanao smiled across the table at him. “What of it? The lecture that replaced it was highly educational.”

He made a strangled noise. He’d definitely gotten sidetracked into a lesson about birth control at one point. Laying out the different types atop the sheets, explaining the usage and effectiveness of each, along with a list of precautions—and yet, they’d wound up not actually making use of any. A huge swing and a miss, and in hindsight probably primarily an effort to restore his own equilibrium.

“Sorry, that…was long. Yet you hung on my every word.”

“It was enjoyable! All that we did lying down together—and all the things you said.”

Her smile was dreamy. Where she might well grumble, she’d merely enjoyed herself. That made him choke up, so he put the kettle down and turned to her.

“I had fun, too. For the first time, I took pleasure in these things,” he told her. “You brought me there. And I thank you for it, Nanao.”

He put both hands on his knees, sitting bolt upright, head bowed—adopting Yamatsu mannerisms to express the depth of his gratitude. Nanao gently put her hands on his shoulders, lifted his head, and met his gaze.

“I should be thanking you,” she said. “It was beyond my expectations. Being touched, rubbed… That such sources of pleasure lay hidden upon my own body.”

Her hand was on her bosom as she chewed over her own words. As Oliver watched her eyes up close, they filled with tears.

“Yet you say such sad things. We did not get to ‘the end’? Perish the thought,” Nanao urged him. “Surely that was merely the start of our intimacy?”

She asked this with a tremor in her voice, and Oliver put his arms tightly around her. She was right. Given her view on this, he should have reassured her of that before voicing any such regrets. This had not been a one-night stand and would hardly be their last.

“…True, we will do that again.”

He put it plainly and followed it with a light kiss. Nanao’s face lit up. She kissed him back two, three times, her embrace tightening, and then she whispered in his ear:

“How about tonight?”

“Maybe space it out a little…”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“At least wait for cover of darkness.”

“Hrm, you sound reluctant. Practice makes perfect! Try every means that avail us, offer sufficient supplications to the divine, and soon—or in due time—we shall manage to get the pole in the hole.”

“Uncouth! Nanao, that was uncouth!”

Her turn of phrase was so appalling he began issuing reprimands, yet Nanao simply cackled merrily. And their banter continued without ebb, until it was time to head up to school.

They arrived at campus together to find their friends waiting in the Fellowship.

“Oh! Good morning!” cried Katie, the first to spot them. She waved them over to the table, so they headed that way.

“Yeah, good morning, Katie.”

“’Tis a good one, indeed.”

Making their greetings, they took their seats. Katie’s mouth was already running.

“You slept down there? I wish I could have! Ms. Miligan’s grumbling was positively endless. But then once I got back to my room, I got all lonely and couldn’t fall asleep. I wound up with Milihand in my—”

At that point, she trailed off, having picked up on the tranquil vibe between Oliver and Nanao. The faintest whiff of something else.

“…Mm?”

She cocked her head, stood up, and moved closer. The faintest of changes, only noticeable because they’d been close for so long. A sweetness, like a lingering odor. Unable to dismiss it, she eyed them up close.

“……Mmmmmmmm……?”

“Urk—!”

“What ails you, Katie?”

Oliver was freaking out inside, but Nanao was merely confused. Katie soaked up both reactions, then backed off, calmly sitting down.

“…Nothing,” she said. “Let’s just…enjoy our breakfast.”

She began silently working her way through her omelet. Guy, Chela, and Pete all exchanged glances. What Katie spotted was hardly lost on them.

After a very quiet breakfast, Oliver and Nanao headed off to class, and Katie hung back in the corridor, watching them go.

“…I get the feeling everyone else knows, too,” Katie said.

Everyone braced themselves, and her next words proved that necessary.

“…They’ve, uh…done it, right? Oliver and Nanao—probably last night?”

They’d been standing a bit too close, a subtle shift in proximity that was not lost on Katie. Acutely aware of how this might be affecting her, Chela cleared her throat.

“…I can’t exactly rule it out. We did give them some space last night—to talk things out,” she began. “Still, Katie. They’ve always been close—”

“Don’t you run from this, Chelaaa,” Katie said, glaring up at her. Chela squirmed, avoiding her eyes.

Rummaging through his bag, Pete grunted, “Even if that is true, why kick up a fuss? We’re mages. By our age, the inexperienced are the minority.”

“…That sounds defensive, Pete. I bet it’s hitting you just as hard as it is me.”

Feeling her eyes boring into him, Pete stopped rummaging. There was a long silence, none of them saying anything.

“Okay, enough of that. Lashing out at each other ain’t cool,” Guy said, stepping in.

Katie pursed her lips, turning on him. “Guy…”

“We know how you feel, and you can gripe about it to me all you like later. But—you gotta remember what’s going on with them otherwise. Neither one of ’em could afford to keep things undefined. Frankly, I’m kinda glad they hooked up this fast.”

Chela and Pete both gulped. That last phrase was clearly designed to earn Katie’s ire. This fact was not lost on Katie, who gave him a long, searching look and then forced a smile.

“…All right, Guy,” she said. “Back in first year, I’d definitely have slapped you and run off.”

“Go ahead. Let it out. You might think you’re all grown-up now, but humans ain’t that sensible.”

He proffered up his cheek. Chela put a hand over her eyes, horrified, and Pete watched as Katie softly cupped Guy’s cheeks. She gave her most merciful smile—and then her grip tightened. Caught in her talons, her bones creaking—she let loose a thunderous headbutt.

“Whoa…!”

“I’ll take that offer, asshole!”

With that howl, Katie darted off like a startled hare, giving Chela and Pete no chance to speak. Reeling from the shock, Guy turned to his friends.

“…Best to make her blow her top early. I’ll handle the fallout; don’t you worry.”

“…Guy…you leave me at a loss for words.”

Fully aware of why he’d made this choice, Chela was as impressed as she was appalled.

Staring off down the hall after Katie, Pete muttered, “How are you handling it, Guy?”

“Huh?”

“I’m asking your honest opinion on the new relationships within our group,” Pete said, very serious. “Long-term, is this a positive change? For the Sword Roses?”

“I ain’t no augur,” Guy said, rubbing his cheek. “How would I know? But…right now, it feels like a relief.”

“Meaning?”

“…Oliver. He’s started to let me shoulder a bit of his burden. Like now, he’s willing to dump Katie all on me so he can focus on Nanao. That’s a pretty good feeling. My first year, I couldn’t do shit, and I relied on him for everything.”

His smile looked so satisfied that Pete gasped, feeling his chest tighten up. Guy was the same. No matter what they were doing, who they were dealing with—Oliver was always in the back of their minds.

“So yeah, on some level, we’re headed in the right direction. Just—in my eyes, Oliver ain’t the only one carrying some heavy shit.”

Guy turned his furrowed brow their way. Both flinched, like they’d been hit with cold water.

“Don’t bottle it up. Pete, Chela—you’re both smart, but don’t mistake that for seeing everything clear from your perch up high.” Guy’s tone was firm. “I’ve always got an eye on you.”

“ !”

Feeling very seen, Chela stood stock-still, eyes wide. But even as his friend’s fierce glare raked over him, Pete flashed a grin.

“…That’s a new one. When’d you get cool?” he asked Guy.

“Heh, you finally noticed?”

“Yeah, my bad—I’ve been blind. Can I make it up to you with a date?”

“…You’ve been cracking more jokes like that lately.”

Guy rolled his eyes, then turned and stalked off after Katie.

It wasn’t really a joke, Pete thought, watching him go.

“He certainly made his point,” Chela said, folding her arms. “I didn’t know Guy was thinking that hard about everyone.”

“No, but…did you really hear what he said? That he’s happy to look after Katie to help ease Oliver’s burden? I feel like he doesn’t fully grasp the implications there.”

Pete started to laugh. Like he was one to talk. He knew—since enrolling at Kimberly, he was definitely the one who’d gone wrong the hardest.

He regretted none of it. Even if his thoughts were tinged with madness, that was in service of a purpose, an unwavering reason. He was the right kind of crazy. And he knew that was how a mage thought.

“This group’s a good one,” he said. “We’ve been with each other this long, yet we still haven’t fully plumbed each other’s depths. Makes me wanna kiss every one of you.”

“…Hmm. Looking at you now, it doesn’t sound like you’re kidding.”

Chela looked mildly perturbed, and Pete swung around to face her. A newfound trace of flirtatiousness flitted along his smile.

“That just means I’m growing into this whole reversi mage thing. Meeting the rest of you at your level.”

Guy didn’t have to walk long to find who he was looking for. She hadn’t even hidden in an empty classroom. He found her back hunched over in the corner of the hall, clearly waiting for him to catch up. So he called out in his usual breezy tone.

“Yo, still pissed at me, Katie?”

She turned around and moved wordlessly over to him. Then she reached up and used healing on the bruise she’d left. She’d had enough time to cool down and regret that.

“…Sorry. I’m better now.”

“Glad you got back up so fast. That was one hell of a headbutt!”

That was his way of accepting the apology. The pain was long since gone, but he let her heal him until she was satisfied, observing her close at hand.

“…You’re taking this in stride. I thought you’d be all over the map for two, three days.”

“Maybe once. No…definitely.”

Katie sighed. She’d already resigned herself before he caught up.

“But I get it. I’m past the point where I’m allowed to be jealous. I threw that right out long ago. I’m at least that self-aware. So I’m not gonna sulk. I’m gonna keep it together.”

She forced a smile. The best she could manage in her state of mind. Guy thought it looked ready to crumble at the slightest push, and something snapped inside him.

“…I’ll say this as many times as it takes,” he growled, stepping closer and dragging her into an embrace. The Sword Roses had been practicing a free hug policy since their second year, but he didn’t often play that card with her. She hugged back, mostly on reflex, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“…Guy?”

“…Don’t go getting sensible on me…!”

His face contorted in anger, his voice almost a yelp. Sure, he’d told her to consider what was going on with their two friends. But he hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked her to choke down her own feelings, with that distraught look on her face. Hadn’t asked to her cast out her emotions, trample over them on her way forward.

“We don’t change! However much you think you have, in my eyes, ain’t none of you a lick different! You’re the same as you were on day one! Katie Aalto is and always will be a selfish, stubborn crybaby!”

Hearing all this at point-blank range made her shoulders jump. The harder she tried to keep it together, the more these words shook her.

“That’s whose messes I’m always cleaning up! The half-cocked, reckless, sky’s-the-limit idealist who’s never given a damn what other people thought about her! You ain’t allowed to be jealous? You threw that right out? Since when the hell do you care about that shit? Don’t break character and start breathing platitudes at me now!”

He spoke with vehemence, arms tightening around her. Burying her face in his chest, trying to slow her beating heart, Katie whispered, “That hurts, Guy.”

“Shut up! This is nothing after that headbutt.”

“…There are people watching…”

“Let ’em! It ain’t no skin off my nose!”

Guy didn’t care how loud he got. He paid no attention to the students milling around them, and that put them out of sight for Katie, too.

The levees broke, and she let the emotions take hold, hugging him as hard as she could, wailing, “…You coddle me like this… How am I supposed to gain any sense…?!”

Her hoarse sobs echoed down the corridor. Guy’s mind was made up—until she was done, he wasn’t letting go, no matter who said what.

Not long after, two students hustled into the offices of Kimberly’s third-largest press club on the labyrinth’s first layer.

“Woo, what a sight!”

“Oh-ho-ho-ho! Such passion! Ah, youth!”

“Mm? What the what?”

A woman looked up from the books on her desk, scowling. The editor in chief, Janet Dowling. The two club members jogged over, explaining.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho! See, we saw a pair of third-years in the hall up above, locked in each other’s embrace.”

“No hanky-panky going on, but that’s what made it a sight for sore eyes! Just makes you wanna keep your distance and watch over ’em. Is there a word for that emotion?”

“Sigh… Even we can’t spin that into an article. You’re both slacking on the job.”

Even sillier than she’d feared. Janet snorted once and turned her eyes back to her books. Curious, her companions peered over her shoulder.

“…Whatcha reading, boss?”

“You’re pouring over all our back issues? Issue 821?! That’s too old to call old! That’s over forty years back!”

The number on the archival file shocked them. One eye on their reactions, Janet pointed at the pages left open on her desk.

“Here, here, here, here, here…and this one.”

““?””

“Give ’em a read. Let me know your take.”

Puzzled, they did as she prompted. At a glance, these seemed like ordinary old articles, written by their predecessors. But after a few more read throughs, they started getting it. The keen eyes honed by tracking gossip through the halls of Kimberly did not miss the strangeness lurking within.

“…Wow…”

“…Huh…!”

Their smiles drained away, and Janet dumped a pile of docs on the table.

“Then it ain’t all in my head. To the extent you can, verify these articles and report back,” she ordered. “The faster, the better. Or…things could get way worse.”

Seeing the look on her face, they snatched the docs and ran off. Janet got up, asking the ceiling how much time they had to spare.

With Katie’s behavior in the back of his mind, Oliver was restless all through the class he and Nanao shared. Once he split up with her, he ran through the building, searching.

“…Nowhere, huh?”

He reached that conclusion in thirty minutes and sighed, drawing to a standstill.

He’d be meeting Teresa later; right now he was looking for a different person. This person tended to attract attention, so if he was around, someone would have noticed. If Oliver was finding no witnesses, then odds were strong he’d not been on campus at all.

“You’re really doing a number on me. Where are you, Yuri?” he whispered, concern in his heart.

Around the time of the migration, Yuri Leik had abruptly broken off all contact. Not only with the Sword Roses—Rossi and Fay also said they hadn’t seen him around. He’d always been hard to track down, but this was by far his longest absence.

Still, Oliver had no leads to work with—and plenty of other things on his plate. Shaking off that silver-haired boy’s smile, Oliver turned—and plunged into the labyrinth.

“Not like you to arrive exactly on time, Noll.”

He’d darted through the first layer to his cousins’ hidden workshop and found his vassals already assembled, Gwyn looking rather surprised.

“Sorry, Brother,” Oliver said, catching his breath. “I was looking for someone, ran out the clock. I don’t need a rest; let’s get this started.”

He took a seat at the head of the table. His eyes caught those of his covert operative, and the moment they did, she hid herself in the room next door. That hurt, and he frowned.

“…Teresa…”

“Sorry,” Shannon said, wincing next to him. “She’s…been like that. A few days…now. She just…needs time.”

Aware the cause lay with him, Oliver could hardly say more. He focused on the duty at hand for now and vowed to have a real talk with her later. Gwyn noticed this shift and got things rolling.

“Today’s agenda: First, the election outcome. Standings were close throughout, but our work in and out of the shadows paid off, and Godfrey’s camp pulled off the victory. We’ve worked with the new president, Tim Linton, in the past. He’s a bit half-baked, but we can cover for that and maintain good relations.”

They’d fought long and hard, and yet this was all the time he spent on it. That got a round of grimaces and shaken heads from the room.

“President Linton, huh? Still sounds like a joke.”

“Did anyone call him winning this?”

“Don’t be stupid. They’d be a prophet.”

“I hear Miligan’s taking it pretty rough.”

“She’ll be fine. Godfrey went and sat with her.”

“Plus, she’ll have her hands full paying off her debts.”

Takes flew fast and furious. Oliver sensed the mood was a little less tense than usual. While they might have plenty of concerns about the student council’s future, the Watch victory was clearly very good news. Especially since their hard work had played a major role in it.

“Since her name’s come up, let me throw an idea out there.”

“Mm? What this, Gwyn?”

All eyes converged on him. Staring back, he said, “Would Miligan be worth recruiting? I’m starting to think so.”

“ !”

Oliver’s heart started racing. He kept it from showing, as Gwyn went on.

“She was always on the civil rights beat, and the way she thinks is in line with us. That’s why she’s worked well with us and the Watch. Previously, we had concerns about her underhanded side…but this election largely served to assuage that.”

With that, he fell silent. Their comrades folded arms, mulling over the idea.

“I get…where you’re coming from. Credit to our lord for his work here. Since she started hanging with you and yours, Miligan’s been operating in public more—for better or worse.”

“Yeah, quite a change from her days skulking around in the shadows.”

It was nice to have his efforts recognized, and he appreciated their attempt to highlight that. But he was not about to make a careless answer here. After considering this from several angles, he responded.

“…I agree her character has come to light. But whether we should recruit her is another question. Even if our positions overlap—I’m not sure she’d agree with our methods.”

“Fair. And that’s not a topic you can broach lightly just to check. Revealing critical intel only for her to refuse—worst-case scenario, we’d have to kill her on the spot.”

Gwyn nodded, mincing no words. Theirs was a harsh reality. This was hardly recruiting for an after-school club. Failure was not an option—and letting that failure stand even less so.

“But even in light of those requirements, Miligan’s approach to the combat league made an impression. Not her rule-skirting strategies, mind you. I’m referring to her decision to drag Zoe back into public before she was consumed by the spell. I doubt anyone bought the retraction she uttered afterward. Just look at the odds—the risk clearly outweighed the return.”

Everyone nodded. Miligan’s team had given the impression they’d snatched that victory through cunning strategy, but no one here missed the huge gambles hidden within. In that state, it was hard to believe Zoe had been fully under her control, and even if so, there’d been a strong chance the faculty would call it too risky and stop the match. Ultimately, Garland’s keen eye had avoided that outcome, but given the inherent risk factor, it was hard to claim that team had been put together purely in the interests of winning.

“Whether she’s aware of it or not, Miligan acted for something greater than the math of it. That’s my take anyway. And that resembles one means we’ve used to increase our ranks. We consider not just their character and views—we’ve proactively recruited isolated mages nearing their spell. In and out of campus, that’s helped us reach our current size. Naturally, the flip side of that is that the cleanup is easier if they turn us down…”

Gwyn was not trying to hide anything under euphemisms here. Just stating the cold, hard facts.

But at this point, another hand shot up. Carmen Agnelli, the necromancer who’d briefly overseen Oliver’s team during the Rivermoore incident. She had the gloomy aura that was characteristic of her vocation, but her big round eyes went a long way to countering it.

“If I may? Given the topic at hand, I’ve got a suggestion of my own.”

She’d clearly been waiting for this. Oliver had not learned she was one of their number until after their first meeting. He was their leader, but Gwyn intentionally kept the bulk of their roster secret as a counterespionage measure. Oliver had not been surprised—during their search, he thought she seemed like the type.

“Go ahead, Carmen.”

“The third-year, Katie Aalto. I’m sure you know her. One of the lord’s friends, close to Miligan, hard-core rights activist since year one. And she just screwed up big-time.”

Miligan had been bad enough, but this nearly made Oliver’s heart stop. Carmen wasn’t letting up, either.

“One, if we bring her in first, it’ll be easier to recruit Miligan. But before that—she’s dangerous as all hell. Reeks of getting consumed by the spell. Might be every bit as bad as Salvadori at that stage,” Carmen ventured. “And when she goes, it’ll be a doozy. I bet I’m not the only one expecting her to wreak havoc, right?”

That earned a loaded silence. They’d all spent long enough in this hellscape to hone a sense on which students were bad news. And all their senses were going off—she was a ticking time bomb.

“…Whether our instincts pan out or not, if her interests are turning to tír, that’s not good. That’s a field where the smallest actions can lead to catastrophe. And there’s apostles in the mix. The more passion the mage has, the more danger there is.”

“No need to tunnel in on tír stuff. Her major’s magical biology.”

“Curiosity drives all research. How could a place filled with unknown creatures not captivate her imagination? She’s hardly the only one who’s fallen for that trap. I know there’s at least one person in this room who picked up a gnarly forbidden tome and paid the price.”

Similar experiences were common in the upper forms, and this concrete example silenced the room. Carmen piled on further weighty words.

“Better we take her under our wing before she takes a wrong turn. I’m well aware that phrasing sounds hypocritical, but I also believe it.”

Their comrades’ voices heard, Gwyn slowly turned his eyes to his brother.

“Noll, we must know your thoughts.”

The grim hand turned his way. Furiously trampling down all panic, he searched for an answer like threading a needle—a response that would justify his wishes.

“…It’s clearly worth considering. But making our choice now would be hasty.”

After a lengthy pause, he slowly began talking, deeply unsure he’d kept the tremor from his voice. Still, he could hardly remain silent here. Both for his comrades and his friends.

“Remember our priorities. Even if we add Vera Miligan and Katie Aalto to our ranks, it will not be today or tomorrow. While both have great potential, this is a holistic assessment based on their strength of character—and who they may become. Neither one possesses standout combat skills. In other words—they’re a far cry from recruiting President Godfrey.”

To support his rationale, he put out the best point of comparison. That produced a round of frustrated groans.

“That just makes me wanna take a run at him! We’re sure we can’t pull him?”

“Absolutely. We settled that debate ages ago. The way he thinks and acts certainly overlaps with us, but deep down, he’s a protector. And we’re assassins. That’s not a trench you just fill in. Same goes for anyone drawn to his leadership.”

“So how is Katie Aalto different? That girl came here incapable of killing a bug.”

“True. But she’s in the midst of a metamorphosis. Changes so drastic no one can tell where they might lead her. That’s why we’d want to get our hands on her soon—it’s dicey phrasing, but we’ve got a chance to imprint ourselves on her. I’m pretty sure she’s the type to sacrifice just about anything for her goals.”

This solemn proclamation came from a comrade who sat with his arms folded.

Oliver caught the invective in his throat, clenching his fists as hard as he could, trying to stifle the outburst. He was not permitted to blow his top here. At this table, Oliver Horn must serve as their unshakable lord.

He deeply regretted not wearing his mask here. Instead, he donned an invisible one. Allowing his comrades no glimpse of the stormy emotions within, turning the muscles of his face into an iron mask—and speaking.

“I won’t stop you laying the groundwork for an eventual recruitment. That’s an extension of default operating policy. But it’s not the problem we need to concern ourselves with at this moment.” Oliver then said, “Who do we kill? That’s the topic that truly matters here, Gwyn Sherwood.”

He shot his cousin a firm look, and Gwyn dropped his eyes, aware of how Oliver might be taking this.

“…I apologize for the distraction. Right you are, my lord.”

This response pained Oliver. He’d known it would come but did not desire it. The mood grew tense, and his comrades turned their focus to the new discussion.

“Our attempts to rattle the faculty—built around red flags waved at Vanessa Aldiss—have been somewhat effective. During the migration incident, the rifts between her and her colleagues were on display. Probably time we threw more fuel on that fire.”

“Assuming we keep Vanessa herself seething, four remain. We’re still lacking the manpower required to tackle the headmistress or Instructor Gilchrist, and given the cleanup on her curses, we’ll want to leave Instructor Baldia for later. Which means…”

The conditions laid out left only one answer. Gwyn spoke for them all.

“The process of elimination leads us to the astronomy instructor, Demitrio Aristides.”

Silence fell. Facing this fact required the grimmest of resolves. Carmen got there first, throwing her arms out across the table, head resting on them.

“So we’re finally after him! Hoo boy, I’m scared already. Might just piss myself.”

“…Can it at least be easier than Enrico?”

“Not likely. His sorcery was pretty high-level, but since it all came from magineering roots, we could break it down a bit. Demitrio’s deal ain’t that straightforward.”

Their target’s threat level came up first, and Gwyn nodded, summing it up.

“He polished his skills on the front lines of the Gnostic hunts and developed a unique set of techniques melded with Azian philosophies. Worse, those spells.”

The mood shifted from fear to awe. Their sources had given them a measure of the nature there, yet this was still the mystery to end all mysteries. He’d used those spells in plain sight during the migration, which proved invaluable, but that in no way meant Demitrio had exposed himself. He knew full well the sight of them meant nothing. They could not be conquered—and could not be imitated.

Nearly every mage in the world would reach that same conclusion, yet Gwyn voiced direct opposition.

“But we’ve got a way past that. Our strategy is simplicity itself. Once the battle begins, get Noll into sword range as fast as possible and finish him with a spellblade no one can possibly dodge,” he explained. “You’re all aware that Demitrio Aristides does not carry an athame. Thus, the spellblade will reign supreme. The moment our lord gets close, Aristides won’t be able to do anything.”

Recovering somewhat, everyone nodded. That was their greatest card on the path to victory. No one had ever witnessed Demitrio using sword arts; like the anti-athameist Gilchrist, his fighting style leaned toward spell range. And they could use that. Use their ultimate ace in the hole—the fourth spellblade.

“The attack team will be on the same scale as Enrico. That’s as many as we can deploy without the faculty suspecting. If that proves impossible, we should delay the attack itself. And…as for where we attack, we’ve got a solid candidate. I’d go so far as to call it our only option.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. From that point on, the discussion turned to specifics, plotting how to get Oliver in range to take down the warlock.

Everything that needed to be said had been, and their comrades left the workshop. Only then did he let the mask fall away, turning immediately to the man beside him.

“Brother!”

Gwyn looked up from the documents he was collecting. A gruff sort of smile, but one filled with love.

“What’s wrong, Noll?”

“I—I hated doing that. Sorry.”

He finally let out the apology. His voice sounding far younger, putting the lie to his performance as their lord. The trembling lips spoke volumes to his inner strife.

“Using you as an excuse to change the subject…”

His voice rasped. He’d been cornered and made that choice consciously, his decision trampling on his cousin’s good will.

“I know why you suggested it—a lot of our members will graduate next year, and you don’t want me feeling left behind. That was your thinking? If Miligan becomes one of us, that’ll be someone else I can rely on. You put more stock in that than her contributions.”

Remorse was making him positively dizzy. How often had his cousin’s kindness saved him? It was saving him even now. He couldn’t put that into words—but neither could he bring himself to accept that proposal.

“I’m grateful for that, but…also scared. Maintaining clear divisions between my outer and inner circles has allowed me to get through this. Miligan and Katie are both on that side. If I pull them over to this one…”

Just the thought sent a shiver down his spine. The nature of that fear went beyond the impulse to keep his friends out of this. The Sword Roses and his other public friends were what kept him going. With their help, Oliver could stand up to the burdens weighing on him. He was terrified to even consider the consequences of losing any part of that.

“And adding Katie Aalto’s name only fanned that fear. Am I right?” Gwyn said, striking at the heart of the matter.

Oliver nodded listlessly. Gwyn put his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Keep your head up, Noll.”

That got Oliver’s eyes up, but gingerly. Anxiety and self-reproach glistened therein, plain for Gwyn to see. Oliver momentarily looked every bit as young as he had been when they first met—and so Gwyn gave the boy a hug. Cursing his inability to do anything to ease the turmoil within, any more than he had back then.

“If I’ll serve as an excuse, use me as one. Force anything on me you need to. There’s absolutely no need to fret about it or even think twice. The opportunity to ease your burden helps me. The burden is one I forced on you in the first place.”

“No, Brother, you never—”

He cut off Oliver’s protestations by burying the boy’s head in his chest. Convinced he could not bear to hear any words that followed. Instead, he spoke himself, trying to cover up his younger brother’s thoughts.

“Shannon and I are staying at Kimberly, studying souls and working as curse cleanup and consolation consultants. We won’t leave you on your own in this hellscape. But we won’t be students—and that adds distance. We may be forced to act differently around you in public, on campus. When that happens, the more people you’ve got to help you through it, the better. That’s all I was thinking. Flipping what Carmen said, I also know it’ll help if we need to pull Katie Aalto in later.” Gwyn went on to say, “But you’ve got a point. At this stage, all speculation about our future is optimistic. If we can’t take Demitrio Aristides down, we have no next year.”

That had been a mistake. Talking about the future just made things harder for his young cousin. They shouldn’t be dwelling on that now. They need spare no thoughts for anything but the enemy at hand. So that’s what Gwyn did. Well aware that would only increase his own suffering.

“After the Enrico fight, our comrades have a lot of faith in your skills. Thus, our plan this time leans heavily on them. It’s going to be very hard on you.”

Oliver felt drops falling on his shoulders. When he realized they fell from his brother’s eyes, all he could do was return the embrace. Shannon joined them, putting her arms around both, rubbing against her brother’s wet cheek.

“Gwyn’s…at peak pain…right now.”

As they held each other, Teresa watched through the slit of the door.

“……!”

She wanted to join them. Desperately. Run right over and throw her arms into the huddle. Make this not a one-sided yearning but a connection where pain and suffering could be shared.

But she could no longer tell if this stemmed from consideration—or from her own desires. That kept her from taking a step. Teresa bit her sleeve so hard her teeth creaked, searing into her eyes a sight she could not be a part of, crouching alone in the darkness.

After the meeting, Oliver returned to campus. As he drew near his dorm room, he spotted something tucked under the door.

“…Mm?”

He carefully picked up the little envelope, examining it. Mindful of magical traps—but the moment he recognized the handwriting of the name, that caution dissipated.

“Yuri?!”

He tore open the envelope and read the letter within. As he did, Pete must have heard the noise; he opened the door, looking sleepy.

“…What’s up, Oliver? Did you just get back?”

“Sorry, I’m heading right back out. You go on to bed!”

The letter’s contents made Oliver ditch the dorm. They specified the garden next to the school building, so he ran past the fountains and, once on-site, scanned the area for any sign of the boy.

“I’m here, but where is—?”

“Yo! Oliver!”

Startled, he looked up toward the voice. Yuri’s face was peering over the edge of the roof far above.

“Wha…?! What are you doing up there, Yuri?!”

“Best place to see! Come on up!”

But he didn’t have a broom with him, so he couldn’t exactly just fly up there. He considered going through the school and out a window but felt like Yuri would vanish again if he took that long. Abandoning the idea, Oliver merely ran up the wall itself. The shortest route to the roof, where he scowled at his friend.

“Dammit, man! Where have you been all this time? I’ve been worried sick!”

“Sorry! But hey, have a look up there! You can yell at me after.”

“Up there? In the—?”

His gaze went up—and words failed him. The darkness was pocked by infinite stars.

“……”

“See? More than you’d think.” Yuri grinned, seated on the roof’s peak.

Sighing, Oliver settled down next to him, eyes on the view above.

“…You called me here to show me this?”

“Yep. Well, more like I wanted to see it with you. It’s an unusually clear night.”

“…True. Kimberly doesn’t get this clear often. All the magic particles in the air tend to pollute it.”

“Labyrinth activity’s at a low ebb, which might be why. I’m glad I found a clear night. I’m not sure when the next chance’ll be.”

That sounded ominous, and Oliver turned to look at him.

“I think,” Yuri began, eyes on the sky above, “I might not be back for a while.”

“…Something stopping you?”

“Yeah. But I can’t say what. It’s a big mess, and trying to explain any of it would likely make things worse. Sorry, but I’m gonna have to stay vague.”

Yuri met Oliver’s eyes with a sad smile. And that was enough to stop Oliver from asking questions. All mages had secrets. Ones you couldn’t even share with friends. Oliver told himself he was no different and fought down the urge to put Yuri in an armlock to keep him there. He looked up at the stars instead.

“You’ve always been a broad-strokes guy. But…let me worry, at least. You see a way to sort this out?”

“Honestly, can’t say… But I know what I’m gonna do. That much I’m sure of.”

Yuri looked back up, reaching a hand toward the stars above.

“I’m walking my own path. Like you are. I’ve made my choice.”

“……”

Oliver just nodded. Neither spoke another word, just lay there stargazing. A comfortable silence settled over them.

And eventually, Yuri sat up. “Got a hunch I should get going. You hurry back to the dorm. You should still make it in time.”

“…You’re gonna vanish again?” Oliver asked, looking lonely.

At the edge of the roof, Yuri glanced back once.

“Sorry,” he said. “But I promise I’ll invite you to see the stars again.”

And with that, Yuri disappeared. Oliver sat still, staring after him until he could no longer hear his friend’s footsteps.

That same night, after Shannon and Teresa retired to bed, Gwyn was up late working on strategies when he heard someone running to him.

“Gwyn, you here?”

A comrade burst in the door, and he rose to meet her. A bundle of files in her hands, the editor of the third-largest school paper—Janet Dowling—was badly out of breath.

“What’s wrong, Janet? Is it that urgent?”

“Dire. Look at this.”

She hunched over the table and started spreading out a number of papers. All clippings from ancient newspaper articles. Following the parts underlined in red, Gwyn furrowed his brow.

“……!”

“You see it? Yeah. For the past forty years, students who act just like Yuri Leik have been popping up on campus—and in the labyrinth,” said Janet. “Different names, different faces, but everyone who meets them gets the same impression—uncannily friendly, to the point of ignorance. Later on, if they tried to figure who these strangers were, they found out no such student existed.”

That was the common point in each of these articles. Janet’s demeanor and tone unrelenting, she dug deeper.

“Once upon a time, a student died on campus—boy, I wish it was that cute. But this horror story’s been repeating on the regular since that first incident. Naturally, Yuri Leik’s a bit different in that he’s actually enrolled—that whole transfer student thing. But…given what’s going on in Kimberly, it makes sense they’d shore up his identity.”

She had the data and the analysis. It was time she voiced the conclusion.

“He’s been at Kimberly the whole forty years. That’s my read on it. And what do you make of that number?”

Gwyn put his hand to his chin, considering this deduction. It didn’t take him long to get there, and his eyes widened.

“…Demitrio Aristides started teaching—”

“At exactly the same time.”

The same answer Janet had reached. Gwyn’s fists tightened up, and Janet added, “Honestly, I don’t have a clue what Yuri Leik is. I can guess he might be some sort of customizable spy, a type of familiar—but the conceptual framework underlying that is so out-there it likely doesn’t tie into anything I know about. So we’re better off ignoring that aspect. Focus only on what we do know.”

With limited information, speculation only got you so far. So Janet narrowed it down. What was their biggest concern right now? And how should they deal with it?

“He’s gotten close to our lord. You know that. If that’s because the one who sent him wants him there—then he’s already got Oliver Horn listed as a prime suspect.”

Gwyn nodded, panic roiling within. Janet leaned in close.

“We’ve gotta kill them soon. Yuri Leik and Demitrio Aristides. Or none of us will live for long.”

Unaware of their conclusion, the boy at the heart of the issue was in the forest on the labyrinth’s second layer.

“Hmm, looks like I made it back,” Yuri muttered, eyes darting all around. Shortly after the combat league ended, he’d been possessed by a vague fear of any teachers finding him and had spent the bulk of his time lurking down here to avoid them. His trip up to see Oliver had been his first time on campus in a while, and getting back here had required a lot of sneaking.

“What now? What do I do? I can’t run from the faculty forever, so maybe I should ditch this place entirely—but then I couldn’t see Oliver, or—”

But even as he spoke, a wave of dizziness sent him to his knees, clutching his head. Like a pressure so strong it bent his very thoughts. Once, he’d been unable to perceive this happening, but now he gritted his teeth, struggling against it.

“Rrgh! This again! Anytime I consider leaving Kimberly…”

That thought always brought on revulsion, an impulse to put it out of mind. Once he started fighting it, it was clear how weird that was. The moment he realized this was implanted with no regard for his own free will, Yuri got a hazy idea of just what he was.

“…That’s not my role. Someone’s very insistent on that,” he said. “But too bad. I know better. I’ve made up my mind to go my own way!”

He forced aside the alien thing inside him. The urges were stronger than ever, but the more times he felt them, and the more he analyzed them, the better he gotta at enduring—and stifling them. Keeping his breath even, Yuri focused on self-control.

“I’m afraid your way leads to a dead end.”

Before his efforts panned out, a man took shape before him, out of nowhere.

“…Instructor Demitrio…”

The astronomy instructor wore an old-fashioned robe. Clutching his head, Yuri struggled to his feet. Demitrio let out a soft sigh.

“Quite a run you gave me. But it was always a matter of time. You are me. You cannot flee yourself.”

That calm proclamation proved Yuri’s theory correct.

“…I knew it! I’m something under your control.”

“I’ve done the same on eighteen previous occasions, but you’re the first to become aware of it.”

“Is ‘familiar’ close enough? Or am I more of a splinter?”

Yuri’s irrepressible curiosity led to these questions, but he was backing away, trying to find a chance to run. Demitrio knew that but didn’t budge, slowly drawing his wand.

“No point in considering it. You’ll know once you return to me.”

“Fragor!”

Yelling over him, Yuri laid down a smoke screen and dove for the thicket yonder. Getting caught was bad news, but the second layer offered no shortage of hiding spots. Once out of eyesight, he was upbeat about his chances of escape—

“ ” Swell.

He’d taken a few steps before a massive wall rose from the ground ahead, blocking his path. Yuri blinked in surprise. He’d heard the man say something but seen no spell hit that ground. What logic generated this wall? He couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Like I said, no point.”

Demitrio’s left hand reached out and clutched his skull. A moment later, a spell echoed.

“Altum somnum.”

“Augh—”

His mind cut out, and Yuri’s limbs went limp, his body dangling. Holding him upright in one hand, Demitrio cast again.

“Conflandum.”

And then he absorbed him. Soul, ether, provisional flesh, everything that composed the Yuri Leik persona within that provisional flesh. With the insides gone, it fell to the ground, and the man aimed his wand at it.

“Ignis.”

The flames consumed Yuri’s body in seconds. A few to reduce him to ash and a few more for that to crumble to nothing. Flecks of ash scattered on the breeze, and then he used another spell to clean the scorch marks off the ground, leaving no trace behind, no evidence that a boy named Yuri had ever been there.

“…You’ve gathered quite a lot of information. An entirely different person than you started out as. Such a change in less than two years…”

Analyzing the soul he’d absorbed, Demitrio was both bemused and impressed. What he read here was the detective’s final report. After reviewing it for a while, he had to admit it came up short.

“Nothing definitive. After his last report, I implanted the urge to focus on Oliver Horn, but he ignored that, going everywhere else instead.”

Gathering that it would be futile, he checked all interactions thoroughly. Mostly trifles. He reached the end of the memories, and his analysis concluded.

“…Stargazing, hmm?”

That last image lingered. For an instant, Demitrio was drawn to it…but then he pulled his eyes away, vanishing into the forest. A gust of wind caused the leaves to stir—and then there was nothing left but trees that held their tongues.