Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 13 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Opportunity

Northern Lantshire. A chasm-filled wasteland, where the Gnostic Hunter headquarters stood—a charnel house feared the world over.

“Merde. Ah, I am fit to be tied. Vexed. Irate!”

One resident was striding down the hall. Fresh from the front lines, she bore the grime of battle—yet whether this witch counted as human was highly dubious. Her clothes clung to her captivating curves, but there were slits cut all over the cloth, and through those gaps peered living eyes. Compared with those, the barely dry blood covering the rest of her was but a fashion statement.

Yet, no one here reacted to these grotesqueries with fear. The warlocks in the hall gave way out of awe. Hierarchies here were downright primal; whoever had and would slaughter the most earned reverence. The means employed were merely in service of their duty.

“Vivere militare est.”

This cypher made the iron doors part of their own accord. The witch stepped into a windowless room, and every gaze turned her direction. There were three individuals within. One was a towering figure nearly touching the ceiling, much of its bulk swaddled in pale cloth like a newborn babe. On this specter’s face was a porcelain mask. The man beside it had replaced the lower half of his body with a spiderlike golem; above that, he appeared to be a gaunt, high-strung young man. And at the far end of the room stood a burly warlock in the prime of life, with all the gravitas of a monarch or a judge.

Few acts were more futile than wondering who these horrors might be. If, by some mistake, an ordinary beheld them, they would be but doom in different shapes. Told this was the entrance to hell that waited beyond their gallows, all would nod in agreement. Here was a place one step outside this realm—and the first sign of humanity, of recognizable displeasure, came from the man-spider. Folding the two extant human limbs, he followed his action with words.

“Hundred, even returning from the front, you can manage a better appearance. Why replace your makeup with grime? Did you split your prey above your head in lieu of a shower?”

“Hold your tongue, Arachne. I’m not in the mood. Can you believe it? I ran into Aldiss in the thick of it. Cleaning up her half-finished meals has left me with a towering rage—would you care to help me vent it?”

“Hrr-hrr-hrr-hrr…!”

A sinister noise emerged from behind the mask. This was accompanied by a gush of drool that quickly formed a puddle on the table. The resulting din resembled nothing more than the death rattle of aging pipes about to burst from the water pressure. The only indication that this was laughter was the way that towering figure shook, with violence approaching writhing. A laugh it was—just not that of anything human.

The woman called Hundred glanced once at the silent warlock in the back, then at her surroundings—then she raised a brow. She had not expected the jeers at her condition to end so soon.

“…Oh, is the geezer not yet here? Did he finally croak?”

An ancient voice crept up behind her. “Well, sorry to let you down.”

She swung around to find a hooked-nose old man covered in rust-colored bandages, his back so bent, it was like his very skeleton had been crushed. The skin on his hands was so dry, it resembled bark. Yet, the eyes lurking in those hollow sockets were lit by a survivor’s obsession powerful enough to override those prior impressions. He was as heinous as he was hideous, like a ghoul clinging to life by eating the guts out of babies.

“You led an assault on a Sacred Light base. How fared you, Hook Nose?”

At last, the warlock in the back broke his silence. A formal query, yet the ancient ghoul responded by spitting at his feet.

“An empty nest— Well, not entirely, but only rank and file left. Waste of my time. Not even a bishop there to amuse me.”

The warlock’s chin wobbled slightly; interpreting this not as a fidget but a nod, the eldritch witch and the ghoulish geezer took their seats. The spider needed no chair. The hefty table between them was held up by four bizarre legs—each a petrified human. No one here even noticed, let alone brought it up.

They were Gnostic Hunters. Those who protected the order of their world, slaughtering Gnostics, fending off contact with the tír. By any means necessary, by every means they could think up and acquire, abandoning morals, ethics, and humanity in exchange—and many of them did not even bother to retain human form. And the elite eliminators among them gradually slew their way to leadership.

Squint, and the proof presented itself. A looming pile of grisly corpses behind them, an aura no mage could possibly miss. This—and this alone—was unshakable evidence that they belonged here.

Collectively, they were known as the Ostrac Five Rods. Defenders of the world—and those who defined it. As threats bore in from tír lurking beyond the sky the masses beheld, the members’ rods stood firm in that path, drawing a boundary between worlds. Like stakes driven upon the border, chains leaving no gaps between, closing off the very world. Looming like a vow to let nothing change. Firing back at anything that tried to step within. No matter who tried, they would kill it, burn it, and leave no ashes behind.

They killed so that the world would remain closed off, so that their order would remain everlasting. They trampled and incinerated any voice praying for salvation from beyond. No exceptions, no generosity, no compromises. The line they drew had never once shifted. Whether outside influence was invited or accidentally allowed in—there was no escape. All would succumb to their cleansing fires.

Naturally, they fundamentally did not employ namby-pamby bullshit like human rights. Acting like there was a baseline standard for dignity of life was equivalent to being picky about their methodology. And that would mean they’d fail to protect anything. If the need arose, they would light the very world on fire, and they firmly believed that the removal of that pretext would allow tír invasions. The resulting way of life was their spell, their magecraft—and in fact, by following it, they kept the world safe.

“Report in,” the warlock said. “Walch, how fares the great sage you sent to Kimberly?”

The spider, Walch, chuckled. As arrogant as he was ghastly. Like he was providing a textbook example of how a mage ought to laugh.

“…They’re stirring the pot, like I hoped,” he said. “Not a word of protest has come our way—we can assume the situation has Esmeralda’s hands tied.”

“She lost three great mages in a row. If it was not her in charge, she’d not be in charge.”

The ghoul cackled as if he was proof that living too long would distort one’s laugh beyond recognition.

Between the two of them, Hundred scratched her head.

“…That bitch’s face has got me pissed off again. Old man Denis, have you any Sundew’s Blight leaves? Those really clear my mind.”

“Uh…yeah, I got ’em. But they’re brainrot poison, y’know. Louisa, you are the one witch alive who smokes ’em like cigarettes.”

“Then fork one over. Or I’ll walk right out this door and have my way with the first man I see. I’m fine with that, but before I report in? Well, that’d be your problem.”

She shook her head as she spoke, and flecks of dried blood in her hair scattered on the table. Walch’s brow furrowed, and his lips pursed.

Plunged indefinitely into frontline fray, Hundred Louisa had long since lost any hygienic impulse; no matter how filthy she looked or how badly she stank of rot, she still had a siren’s charm capable of drowning any man. And she’d honed her self-control to the point of ignoring any unpleasant side effects. Thus, she could not even be bothered to chant a single purification spell.

The ghoul, Denis, sighed, then reached for his pocket, retrieving a long, thin leaf. Louisa snatched it away, pulled a white wand from her hip, and lit the leaf with a wave. Light crimson smoke rose, and she puckered her lips, inhaling it into her lungs.

“Haaah—”

A blissful exhalation. No papers or pipes required—her skill at spatial magic made this effortless. That McFarlane dandy had once said it lacked flair, but the wave of clarity drove that memory from her mind. Louisa was a firm believer in silencing her brain’s attempts to dwell on the trivial.

“…I’m sure…there won’t be a fourth. It’s an internal feud, clearly,” Louisa whispered, crimson smoke curling from her lips.

Walch nodded, fussily brushing the blood flecks off the table. “That’s the most realistic explanation. Grenville, Forghieri, Aristides—if the three of them went down in rapid succession, some smoldering fire in the faculty ranks has likely burst into an inferno. With that lineup, they’re not short on reasons. Still…”

He clicked his tongue. Even this spider was disinclined to sneer at the magnitude of this loss. Each mage he’d mentioned had no substitute on the front lines and, even in the back, had been indispensable in replenishing their forces. He had no intention of diminishing that work.

Thus, the full force of his scorn was devoted to the unacceptable failure of the witch who’d been in a position to prevent their loss—yet had not.

Aware of his feelings, Denis said, “Too soon to say if three deaths will be the end of it. But either way, well worth sending Farquois in there now. If there’s a fire burning, they’ll dampen it; if not, it still suggests their arrival is what put an end to the matter.”

“Precisely. And it gives the impression Esmeralda could not resolve things on her own. Even if it actually was already over.”

Walch’s lips curled in a sneer.

Louisa had been listening absently, her eyes unfocused, but now she said, “What I followed of that was amusing. Basically…she’s in deep shit? That’s nice. That’s very nice.”

She smiled, as if that was all she needed to hear. No effort to disguise her malice, her attitude going beyond honest into downright innocence. Like a child laughing because someone they hated had messed up. Far past attempting to curtail such impulses.

Inhaling a third puff of smoke in a nigh death euphoria, Louisa thought, When did I get this simplistic? When I was unlucky enough to survive getting part of my brain blown out in battle? Or when my house’s deepest desire turned my body into a show window for enchanted eyes? I’m no longer sure. It doesn’t matter. Perhaps I’m a bit stupider. But life is so much easier now.

“It’s going well, then,” the warlock said. “But this gives Farquois unnecessary status and credit. I have no intention of underestimating their charm—keep a tight collar on them.”

Walch folded his arms, looking sour. “Esmeralda would merely silence a lesser pawn. With that in mind, we have to turn a blind eye to their antics—to a degree. I’m sure you’re well aware they’ve long had a disturbing enthusiasm for Kimberly’s labyrinth. Once Esmeralda is pried from the headmistress’s seat, we’ll allow them to study those depths—that’s the deal I struck,” he explained. “Even I have to admit they’re a mage worthy of the great sage moniker. Yet, that also means I recognize they care more about their own research than anything else and will not lightly relinquish the right to progress it. Especially if doing so would risk us turning on them.”

Walch was firm on this point. And he had one more.

“But there are always exceptions. If they use this position to attempt to take control of Kimberly, then I’ll go there myself to take them down. Or I’m not Alphonse ‘Arachne’ Walch. Or is that still not enough for you, ‘Judge’ Albright?”

Arachne put his pride on the line, but the warlock to end all warlocks, head of the Five Rods, Victor Albright did not even flinch.

“Being as cautious as you are is a virtue,” Denis said, his cloudy eyes turning toward their leader. “But high time you agreed, Victor. Even if Farquois goes a bit too far, they’re not gonna get the better of Gilchrist.”

Denis was backing Walch from his own perspective. The Supreme Witch of a Thousand Years—the mere mention of her name made the room grow tense. A fact that Denis seemed to find amusing.

“Allow me to repeat myself, though I’m sure you’re all sick of hearing it. Eight times. Eight! I have gone up against her and been cut to ribbons. Laugh away! It’s now a show we put on once a century. It is what it is. She’s a monster, pays no heed to me, to those swarms of reapers, to the very passage of time— Ha! And you think she’ll be foiled by a youth not yet three hundred? Don’t make me laugh. The richest of all delusions.”

Denis slapped his knee. A joke at his own expense but backed by a vehemence even the Five Rods head could not ignore. Even in her drug-addled state, Louisa did not dare speak. She felt on her skin that doing so would mean her head leaving her shoulders.

A long silence lingered. The sort of calcified silence that took tremendous willpower to break. Once he deemed enough time had passed, Walch did just that.

“We’ll all admit: Esmeralda’s lead was an effective choice to quell the tumult that followed the loss of Two-Blade. But her task has come and gone. She cannot prevent rifts between the faculty beneath her—proof her powers are waning. We should drag her down now. While she’s still capable of returning to the field as a Gnostic Hunter.”

A weighty declaration. He, too, was highly focused, attempting to persuade Victor. His true motives revealed themselves beneath that thick layer of contempt, which Denis took as a sign he was too young. Yet, he was disinclined to criticize or jeer, aware the other Five Rods were not a thousand-year-old vintage like himself. Walch had yet to swallow anything like the filth Denis had choked down. Meaning that there was still a trace of virtue buried deep in those inflamed guts.

“…… ”

Watching the leaf burn itself out, Louisa closed her eyes and opened them again. That alone cleared her stupor, and she was once again a Gnostic Hunter.

Better to be arrogant, then. As haughty as she could be. That was the baseline requirement for the four of them to match Judge’s rigidness. Only when they balanced him out did the Five Rods begin to function.

“…It’s the spice they need. That woman won’t lie down and let the sage take over. Let them pull each other’s sleeves. Not like I have any love for either.”

“Hrr-hrr-hrr-hrr…!”

The specter quivered again. With this creature alone, that was all the indication of intent they required. More than any words could accomplish, this demonstrated that they were the ones who should be feared. Judge would not bend on that point—and so he nodded. This place bore the Five Rods’ name; therefore, he was obligated to show the arrogance befitting the head of the Gnostic Hunters. Much as he had demanded—and still demanded—of his young son.

“Very well,” Judge said. “I’ll acknowledge I have no specific concerns about the great sage at present. On to the next topic: the great conjunction with Uranischegar next year. How will the Sacred Light move to prepare? Speak your views.”

The mood shifted to something more productive. Tapping a finger to the side of his hooked nose, Denis went first.

“A Pentagon—Evit—was spotted in McFarlane’s territory. One of a number of suspicious actions all over the place. But it doesn’t feel like next year’s their main goal. They’re forever showing glimpses to keep us on our toes. We lack anything definitive to suggest a large attack.”

“The augers aren’t giving us much,” Louisa said. “I’d say next year’s unlikely myself. Lacking the pieces for a proper summon?”

“Mostly in agreement…but the rate of gates opening will go up. Like any standard year, there’s bound to be at least one major incursion. I’d like our intelligence division to dig a little deeper, ensuring they don’t hit us from behind during that. Naturally, I’m aware of how risky it is to send spies into a Gnostic group.”

Walch wasn’t missing the chance to press this argument. The inadequacies of their intelligence division had been a long-standing issue for the Gnostic Hunters; they were an extremist group, and that lent itself poorly to the delicate communication required to infiltrate. Since Victor took over, they’d at last founded a specialist division and begun training the rare candidate with any aptitude for it. To protect a world without changing it, they’d have to change themselves—a contradiction staring them in the face.

After three hours of furious debate, the topic wound down. Fresh from the field, Louisa was looking exhausted.

Denis made a show of rubbing his back. “These long sessions take their toll on these old bones,” he muttered, but the ravings of a warlock were not worth listening to.

Point-blank ignoring him, Louisa leaned back in her chair, eyes on the ceiling. Every enchanted eye on her followed that gaze.

“I’d say that’s enough. Too much formal talk! Let’s throw in something light before we split. Walch, how fares the new blood?”

The spider looked annoyed but answered readily enough.

“I scoped out the training, and they’re coming along well. A few caught my eye.”

“What about them?” she asked, prodding a hazy memory. “The two with the biggest attitudes at the start? They were Kimberly kids, right?”

Denis chuckled. Those they talked about were unaware they’d already been marked as nails worth hammering down.

Students getting consumed by the spell might be an annual occurrence at Kimberly, but the lava tree mold incident had certainly sent ripples through the campus. The discovery of new territory in the labyrinth alone was the topic of much debate—but more than anything, the way the incident had ended had been unthinkable in any normal year.

“I doubt anyone here has forgotten the Kimberly faculty regulations,” Headmistress Esmeralda begin, her icy tones echoing through the emergency faculty assembly.

The faces listening were even tenser than usual. Given the reason for this meeting, none believed it would end well.

“When pupils are lost in the labyrinth, we leave rescue operations to the students. Faculty directly take action only when eight days have passed after they are lost. No matter what relationship may exist between the students in need of rescue and the faculty. Even if they are your personal apprentices.”

All knew this rule. A famous principle of Kimberly, part of their Your life and death are in your own hands philosophy. The instructors would not keep students safe.

“We do allow a modest amount of flexibility based on the specifics of the incident. In this particular case, the choice was made to urge evacuation when things first went wrong. And in the latter half, we stepped in to handle the curse on the irminsul, preventing the corruption of the entire second layer. I have no intention of rebuking Williams, Hedges, or Warburg for doing so. I have my concerns about them reporting these actions after the fact, but I will accept the excuse that time was a factor.”

Each instructor she’d named quivered. They were glad to get away with it, but a clear line was drawn. They could go this far. But what about beyond?

“And yet, as the students attempted a rescue in the hollow beneath the second layer, someone made unauthorized, independent contact with them and proceeded to escort them to safety. This is a very different matter. This is a violation of the faculty code of ethics, with no wiggle room allowed—a clear mockery of the Kimberly way. Even if the individual responsible is but a temporary substitute.”

All eyes turned to the far end of the table—to the mage on the receiving end of these remarks. Everyone present knew. There had only ever been one person this meeting was about.

“That is my perception of things. Speak your piece, Farquois. While you still have a mouth to speak with.”

Esmeralda prompted the great sage to respond. Tensions mounted, but the mage themself appeared entirely unconcerned.

“‘My piece,’ is it?” Farquois snorted, shrugging. “I suppose I could babble a thing or two, but I just don’t get it. I mean, what am I making excuses for? Students were in trouble, and a teacher went to their rescue. The most natural thing in the world.”

Here at their official rebuke, they chose to directly oppose the core of Kimberly values. Several teachers looked resigned already, convinced this was tantamount to suicide.

“No defense, and no remorse. I am to take your position as such?” Esmeralda asked.

“Basically. But I do have an argument. Do you mind if I speak to that, Headmistress?”

“I will hear it. But consider your words carefully. They may be your last.”

She folded her hands on the table.

“Then let me begin!” Farquois cried, as if given a chance to make a speech. “This school is an absolute disgrace. Gathering the finest unpolished gems from around the world, throwing them into the crucible, uselessly killing one another, and those lucky enough or plucky enough to survive get trotted around as if they prove you are a school of any excellence. The nerve of you. An issue far before the quality of your instruction. This environment does not even qualify as an institute of learning.”

“Stop this, Farquois!” Dustin roared, unable to listen further.

The headmistress shot him an icy look. “Sit down, Hedges. I told them to speak. You have no right to silence them.”

Dustin ground his teeth—but if he did not obey, he would lose everything below the knees. Forced to take a seat, he could only glare at Farquois, although that desperate warning went unheeded.

“Why did I act to save those students? For the simple reason that I did not wish to lose any of them. Every student who entered here is an unpolished gem with talent of infinite value. Each and every one of them has the potential to achieve incredible success. Our first responsibility as teachers should be protecting their futures—not kicking them in the back off the edge of a bottomless cliff. You may be satisfied only with the students who crawl their way back up, but those who perish without managing it should have had a path as well. So this time, I went down after them. And what possible problem is there with—?”

“Gladio.”

A spell cut off their speech—and the sound of something falling echoed through the room. The teachers gulped, and Farquois glanced down.

The great sage found their own arm severed at the shoulder.

A beat later, a spurt of blood dampened the floor. Dustin’s and Ted’s chairs fell over.

“Headmistress! You can’t!”

“They’ve been sent by the Gnostic Hunter headquarters! You know what killing them means!”

Both moved in front of Farquois, an action that could well spell their own deaths. But it had to be said, even if it cost them their own limbs. The cost of souring relations with the Gnostic Hunters would be far greater. At the same time, Ted was greatly relieved the librarian, Isko, had not been invited. At the least, she would not lose her head.

Observing this desperate act from behind, Farquois winced, then raised their remaining arm. The blood from the shoulder wound had already stopped—and not a trace of any pain appeared on their face.

“Calm down, gentlemen. If she was trying to kill me, she’d have aimed for the head. I could tell, which is why I took no action. Still—ha-ha, most impressive. I did not even feel the cut.”

“This is a countdown. Consider yourself fortunate you have three chances left. Use them well.” Esmeralda put her athame away and folded her hands once more.

In other words, she intended to go limb by limb, then finally take their head. This was the price she’d take for them insulting Kimberly to her face. Arguably a sign of her generosity.

But down this path lay nothing good. Convinced of that, Ted clenched his fists, summoning his last ounce of fortitude—and forced his voice from his throat.

“…I-if I may have permission to speak, Headmistress?”

“What, Williams?”

Her gaze drifted sideways, as if considering adding another limb to the mounting pile. Ted’s survival instincts reflexively tried to seal his lips, but he powered through.

“…Th-this incident is partially…our failure to grasp and maintain the full scope of the labyrinth. This…played a role in the predicament the students faced. G-given the three missing instructors, we could assess the labyrinth’s danger level as significantly higher than average. Since the students were stranded in uncharted territory, I have…some doubts as to whether leaving this incident in student hands was…”

Listening to his faltering attempt, Dustin swallowed. A very basic argument, nothing that would catch anyone by surprise. But voicing it here took such strength of will. He had infinite respect for the way their weakest instructor stuck to his guns.

In response, Esmeralda narrowed her eyes. “So you wish to argue that faculty failings played a role in the cause of this incident, meaning we should not force the resolution entirely on the student body.”

“…I feel we were not on our best game. That is why I chose to take action myself. Arguably, Farquois’s choices are an extension of what we did. I—I admit, they went out-of-bounds. But at the moment of intervention, it was impossible for anyone in the lava tree mold to know what was about to happen. The fourth-years were exhausted after their battle with the consumed sixth-year; there were valid reasons for staff and faculty to offer support.”

Ted was clutching at straws. The missing teachers proved something was wrong at Kimberly, and the faculty had to adapt in response. In no way did that go against the school style—Ted himself was a graduate and was well aware of the value of this environment. But that did not mean he was willing to sacrifice students. Even if their lives were but fodder for the fires, they should be prepared, and the time should be ripe. He did not wish to rob students of that.

As Ted’s speech dried up, the room fell silent. In that hush, his hand wandered unbidden to his throat. He would not have been the least bit surprised to find it already severed.

Meanwhile, Dustin was glaring at Farquois with nigh murderous intent.

Hold your damn tongue. My friend is sticking his neck out for you, and if you trample on that effort, I’ll kill you before she can.

His eyes made that message loud and clear. With a ferocity that gave even the great sage pause.

“Mm, let’s take a deep breath, Emmy,” said a voice.

Dulcet tones from the ceiling. A figure came in to land behind the headmistress. A smiling man, his hair in ringlets, clad in a dark brown suit. His entrance was now routine; it provoked no surprise. The right hand of the Kimberly witch—part-time lecturer Theodore McFarlane.

“…Theodore.”

“You’ve noticed, yes? He’s trying to protect you more than he is the great sage. Even if that is not all that motivates him.”

Theodore smiled at Ted, and the great sage turned their attention to the new arrival.

“It’s been far too long, McFarlane. Popping up at this juncture? How laissez-faire.”

“I came as soon as I could. Honestly, you’re the last person I expected to be posted here. The Five Rods really do have a mean streak… Flamma.”

A sigh on his tones, Theodore cast a spell, and the flames arced from his wand to Farquois’s severed arm. The great sage watched it crumple to ash.

“The arm you have left is apt penalty for your violation,” Theodore said, unusually grim. “You must know how generous that is. I trust you have no complaints, Mx. Farquois?”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all. An arm is a small price to pay for the salvation of my precious students. I’ll just grow three extra for next time.”

Farquois shrugged it off in good humor.

“I would not recommend joking,” Theodore said, shaking his head. “Assume I cannot hold her back forever. Great Sage, it is high time you understood the nature of the witch you face.”

Farquois’s eyes narrowed. They understood this was not a threat, but a warning. Farquois looked back at the headmistress, and her gaze locked on them, never once wavering.

She showed no fear. Not of Farquois themself, nor the Gnostic Hunters’ scheme behind them. Her eyes were a testament to the fact that she was prepared to take down the Five Rods if she had to. That she had no intent of playing around in their political farce. That was what the pinnacle of the magic world meant.

“…There will be no countdown next time, Farquois.”

“…Haah. Point taken.”

As they acquiesced, the doors blew open. A prompt to vacate the room—and with their wounds, the great sage was disinclined to refuse. Every eye followed them out, the doors closed behind them.

Farquois sighed. “My word! When was the last time I felt a chill run down my spine?” they muttered.

And they set off, smiling warmly at the students gasping at their missing limb. It was all enjoyable: the pain from the severed arm, the cold sweat on their back. It had been so long since this mage felt either sensation.

The morning meeting had narrowly avoided fatalities, but that was just the start of Kimberly’s day. Once more, Guy was avoiding the Sword Roses, and that weighed upon him; as lunch began, he made his way toward a practice room.

“…Hmph…”

Moments after announcing his arrival, the room’s master appeared and led Guy to a different classroom without so much as a word. David Holzwirt waved his student to a chair, then sat down across the table from him, arms folded.

“I swear I didn’t plan to end up like this,” Guy said ruefully. “Gonna be stuck with it at least two months—dunno what to do with myself. Being this cursed, I can’t exactly play around in the dirt—and I sure can’t take that tour of your research space.”

He was light on explanations. Any mage could tell how much curse energy he harbored.

David merely nodded. “…I’m aware of your condition, including the unavoidable cause. I’ve got no plans to chastise you—but practically speaking, I can’t let someone in your condition into the conservatory. There’s a high risk you’ll not only destroy the growing plants but also the entire biome. I’m sure you know that.”

“Well aware. I figured I was banned till this curse is handled. Given all the plants I was handling, I’m dumping a lot on you.”

“Maintaining the status quo for a couple of months is no big deal. I won’t need to lift a finger—older students who think you’ve got potential will step in of their own accord. You might owe them a favor or two, but nothing to worry about there,” said David. “What I want to probe is your intent. Can you truly promise this will end in two months?”

He fixed his student with a piercing gaze, and it took Guy’s words away. He’d seen this question coming and delayed this visit because of it. Yet, even now, he did not have a clear answer.

“…Honestly, I’m still waffling. Instructor Baldia’s been trying to pull me to her field for a while. Instructor Zelma’s doing the same. Saying the fact that I’ve accommodated this curse proves I’ve got the knack.”

“…I’d imagine. Even I can’t argue with your aptitude. Especially after seeing several similar cases in the past. Including one you know too well.”

“…Lombardi?” Guy said, taking the hint. The older student he’d faced, fought, and slain with his own hands.

“He was a promising student,” David said, sighing and letting himself dig into his memories. “Treated the flora with tender care, never became impatient even if they did not grow the way he’d wanted. I saw him sit three days and nights by the side of a planter once. Never imagined he’d be consumed before graduation. Or that he’d rush for results like that…”

Guy had never had any real interaction with the man before the spell consumed him, but these few lines painted a vivid picture of the boy Lombardi had once been. Patient, placid, knowledgeable—he’d likely been an excellent mentor, too. Even after he’d been consumed by the spell, he’d shown signs of those traits.

“I’m not saying becoming a wrangler changed his nature. I’m sure he had his reasons for his haste,” David added quietly. “He may not have been successful, but his research into employing the irminsul for curse processing is hardly meaningless. From the data he left, we’ve determined that the construct itself is viable up to a certain threshold. There’s a chance that’ll be employed somewhere else to better effect someday. Not sure that’ll help him rest easy, but…”

Guy nodded along with that. As they handled the cleanup in the second layer and the lava tree mold, David had collected his old student’s papers. Perhaps he’d left a letter to his former mentor—Guy was convinced he had. Mage mentorships were not so fleeting as to be broken just because they’d gone their separate ways.

“Can’t pretend I don’t have a few choice words for Baldia—and having it all go down a second time is hardly pleasant.”

David’s eyes turned back to Guy, who straightened up. He got that. David was speaking not of the past, but of his own present.

“You saw how Lombardi died; I need say little else. Think carefully. Consider what you stand to gain and lose. Don’t just imagine what you’ll end up with—be dead certain of it. I’m sure he did the same.”

“Got it.”

Guy nodded, fully accepting this. He still had no ideas in mind, but these words would stick with him.

After leaving David, Guy wandered the halls, dragging his feet. He’d consulted a mentor—but that had not opened any concrete paths.

Guy felt that David had pointedly stopped himself from doing so. Words from a teacher had influence; he could have easily talked an inexperienced fourth-year into sticking with his field. If he’d just said it’d be best for him, Guy could not have dismissed that. But that was not what David wanted. Even after Lombardi’s demise, he preferred to let his students choose their own paths. Despite knowing that the results could well repeat themselves.

Guy truly had found himself an excellent teacher. He would love to keep learning under him—that impulse was rising within. He was well aware that was the natural choice. Not turning against his character, not worrying his friends.

“…Ngh…”

And yet—that meant abandoning the strength he’d obtained. Retreating from the line he’d finally reached, from being able to fight alongside his friends. He knew no one would hold that against him. He knew they wanted nothing more than Guy Greenwood as he had always been.

But he also knew that if he stopped himself, his friends would go on ahead.

Each would follow their spell. Choose their ends. Head out to depths he could not reach.

While he was left behind, in the light—

“Hello.”

A voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked around and found a younger girl—a third-year student, Rita Appleton. A diligent, hardworking, somewhat reticent girl, they’d met during her orientation and grown fairly close. If Katie was a handful of a little sister, this girl was one who didn’t need his help and thus worried him just as much.

But after what happened in the lava tree mold, meeting her took on a different meaning. He did his best not to let that show, trying to act like his old self.

“’Sup, Rita. You here to chat with the teach? I just paid him a visit.”

“I’ve been waiting for you. I knew you’d come by.”

She almost talked over him. Regardless of whatever baggage Guy had, she was clearly not her usual self.

Rita seemed to have made her choice. She stood before him with a clear desire to share that choice with him.

“I heard from Instructor Zelma. You’ll be away from your group for a while, until the curse is handled.”

“Uh—yeah, basically. If I’m around them, they’ll…have to watch themselves.”

He went along with this, somewhat flustered. Rita was not normally the one to lead a conversation, which made it that much harder for him to act as he usually did. The thoughts he was dragging from his conversation with David made that worse. His nerves made his tongue falter, but he forced it to waggle.

“Well, you know. Shit happens. It’s messing me up, though—can’t even touch my friends.”

And the result—what he really thought slipped out. Rita smiled, stepped forward, reached out both her hands—and took Guy’s. Despite his condition.

“Huh?”

“Go ahead.”

She pulled his hand to her chest. He felt the soft mounds, her warmth, her heartbeat—and his brain locked up, awash in sensation. He couldn’t think straight. Unable to process the feedback from his senses, he couldn’t move a finger.

“You— Why? Huh? What?”

“You long for human warmth, yes? Take your fill. Though, I’m sure this is no substitute.”

“L-let go!”

His mind finally caught up. He tore his arm away from her, and she released him, his fingers adrift in space. He quickly looked inside, feeling out the curse energy. Relieved to find it had not transmitted, he sighed and, without recovering at all, fixed her with a glare.

“What are you even thinking? You know what state I’m in! One glance at me, and you know how contagious I am! Every part of my life’s gotta change, even how I treat people! I can’t get you mixed up in this!”

“I know. But I want to be part of that change. There was never an opening for me to wedge myself into. But now there is.”

If he’d yelled at Rita like this any other day, she’d have teared up—but today, she took it with a smile. That stunned him, and she let a trace of guilt show.

“I’m sorry for phrasing it like that,” Rita told him. “Just to be clear, I don’t want you to become a curse wrangler. I love how you smile as you dig; I love how you always smell like sunshine. I just want to share that light with you.”

Affection she’d long held close to her chest. Putting it out there, Rita reached for the buttons on her shirt. The breast he’d just palmed and the undergarment containing it came into view, and Guy flinched, turning away.

“……! What the—?! Put your clothes back on!”

“Don’t worry, I’m not getting ahead of myself. I don’t have the kind of figure suited for that approach. But I want to show you something—unsightly as it is.”

Her voice sounded eerily calm, and that baffled him enough to risk a look—and his eyes caught sight of what lay between the sides of her opened shirt. At what she really wanted him to see.

“…You’re, uh…”

“Yes. I’m got one, too. Something nesting inside me.”

Her voice held a hint of self-derision, and Rita began doing up her buttons again. This revelation left Guy’s brain boiling over, but she just kept talking.

“This is why I’ve been visiting Instructor David regularly. Honestly, I can’t say it’s fully under my control. Regular inspections were a condition of my admittance. The magical world is very harsh on these things. I’m sure you’re aware.”

Guy very much was. Given Katie’s recent direction, he was no longer in a position to remain indifferent. But not in a million years had he imagined he’d see something like this close at hand. Especially roosting in a friend’s body.

“Would you like to research it?”

“Huh?”

Rita’s offer made his eyes go wide. She didn’t give him time to recover. Her head was down, a rueful smile on her lips.

“Not a sample you can find anywhere else. It’s inside me, under a degree of control—far easier to handle than anything in the world. And that would work for me as well. There’s a limit to what I can investigate on my own person. I can’t even properly anesthetize myself for observations,” she told Guy. “So I’ve been searching. Ever since I got here, I’ve been looking for someone I could trust with my body.”

With that, Rita lifted her head. The look in her eyes spoke to the strength of her desire—and Guy could not move a muscle. This was not a topic he could take on anytime soon. Yet, he felt she would crumble to dust if he fled from the decision. Such was the desperation behind her act—Guy could not afford a careless move.

“With you, I’d give you everything. If you’ll take it, my heart, too. As pushy as that may sound.”

She offered a fragile smile. Words far too forlorn for a reveal of a love long hidden—Guy clutched his brow, hanging his head, squeezing words out from his confusion.

“Why…why are you saying this now?”

“Now is my only shot. I’m sure I’ll never get another chance to steal you from Ms. Aalto, to pry you from the Sword Roses. You know I’m right. You love them far too much. If I let you, you’ll go anywhere with them. That’s why you’re so lost right now.”

This took his breath away. She saw to the depths of his dilemma with clarity far beyond his expectations. Was he that obvious? But he soon realized that wasn’t all of it—this was proof. Proof of how closely this girl had been watching him.

“The strength of that curse must be captivating. I know—during the fight in the trunk, even from a distance, I could see how happy you looked. Delighted to fight right there with Mr. Horn and Ms. Hibiya. Even if the price was this terrifying curse eating away at you.”

“ !”

He could think of no rebuttals. Like Rita mentioned, those were the exact emotions that had won out—and they were still smoldering away within. That was why he was hesitant to return the curse to Baldia. And Rita had been there for it. She’d seen it happen, so how could he attempt to explain it away?

“…You don’t have a fighter’s nature,” Rita told him. “You were built to cultivate—not destroy and slaughter. But becoming a wrangler changes that. Takes that same talent and turns it to death and devastation. In exchange for all the beautiful things those hands could have grown.”

Rita’s voice was shaking. Guy could tell this was what she feared most. Only now was he realizing this wasn’t an issue for the Sword Roses alone. This was a huge decision. It would affect any number of lives—and vastly change some of them.

“Maybe that’ll do it for you,” Rita added. “If you can be with the Sword Roses, protect them with your own hands—then perhaps the price will be worth it. But I can’t bear the thought. I can’t, and I won’t. I don’t want to lose you. You belong in the sun, with a smile on your face…!”

Her words were almost a shriek now. Guy was way past asking anything stupid like Why? He’d felt it himself any number of times, unrelated to Rita. In an unnatural environment like Kimberly, someone like him stood out all the more. Perhaps on a smaller scale than Purgatory—Alvin Godfrey—but both had been adored for the same reason.

Rita wiped her tears and put her hands to her breast. She looked Guy in the eye once again, not letting him take a turn. She’d come here prepared for every step of this, but his heart was not ready for anything. All he could do was stand there like a stick of wood, hearing her words, incapable of anything more.

“I’ll care for the plants you left in the conservatory. You don’t mind, right? I often joined you in making observations, so it’ll be easier for me to take over. And you won’t owe any upperclassmen anything.”

“…I’d…appreciate that. But…Rita…”

“You won’t owe me. Just…come see me. Once every few days—or even once a week. I’ll give you a progress update on the plants. It won’t take that long.”

She wasn’t backing down. His feeble efforts to throw a wrench in her plans were in vain—her strength of will batted it away. Rita was hardly in her right mind. She’d chosen to unleash it all here, which was why no modest effort would stop her. Cheeks flushed with excitement and shame, the tremor in her voice growing stronger, she pressed on.

“A-and if you feel a need for human warmth, go right ahead. I-it’s not like my body’s a turnoff for you, is it? I heard you talking about your type. You like big, strong gals, even if they’re a bit awkward—I was so relieved to hear that. I got quite carried away, feeling like I had at least one thing you would like.”

A painful confession that made him downright dizzy. Objectively speaking, Rita was certainly taller than average, but not in any way awkward. And mages were capable of adjusting their figure by hook or by crook, yet she always put herself down for the simple reason that the root of her self-loathing ran far deeper—and he’d just caught a glimpse of it. Her nails dug into her chest, as if she’d read his mind.

“I knew you wouldn’t recoil from this! That’s why I fell for you; that’s why I knew I could give myself to you. This isn’t nearly as infectious as that curse—and if I’m aware of the risks and take measures, yours won’t transfer that easily, either. So if you want me, just…say the word. I have no experience, but…I’ll do anything I can.”

Too worked up to hide her feelings anymore, Rita buried her face in both hands. Guy wanted to abandon words, pull her close, rub her head—and once she’d calmed down, chew her out for several hours. But now that wasn’t an option. No matter how much she begged for it, he couldn’t take her up on the offer. Helpless, Guy gnashed his teeth and managed a feeble response.

“…Man, I’d love to give you a piece of my mind, but…the words ain’t coming. It’s too much at once, I guess. You couldn’t have doled this out a bit at a time?”

“…Sorry. If I’m honest, I wanted to leave your head spinning. If I wore you out…maybe you’d let me slip in.”

She could have easily left that unsaid. But she didn’t have the nerve to share her feelings with ulterior motives unspoken; that awkward honesty made him care all the more.

At last, his emotions fell in line. He took a few breaths and began to sort himself out. More than anything, this was hardly an issue that came down to a yes or no. This was something they had to work themselves up to, look each other in the eye, and discuss over time. Not a process that could begin right here. So the first thing he needed to tell her was that he wanted to do just that.

“…Give me time. I can’t say anything here and now. Once my head’s cooled off, maybe I can scold you properly.”

“…Okay. I’ll…be waiting for that.”

Rita got it. She pulled her hands from her flushed face, looking up at him with expectation and anxiety in equal measures. Guy winced. For all her bold moves, he knew this had taken a lot of courage.

“…Um, so…can I handle your plants?”

She barely got the question out. Whatever came of the rest—that much, she wanted to nail down. Sensing that, Guy folded his arms, looking her over.

“If I say no, you’ll take it as rejection. I ain’t letting you off the hook that easy. You’d better cultivate ’em properly! You let a single one wilt, I’ll be hopping mad.”

“Got it! I promise—they’re in good hands!”

Rita nodded, tears in her eyes. Guy grinned, nodded, and waved as he moved past her.

Whatever happened, he was a long way from rejoining the Sword Roses. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take care of some other stuff in the meanwhile. That was about as positive as he could get right now.

Once Guy vanished around the bend, Rita took her sweet time settling herself down. Then a thought struck her, and she called out to the silence.

“……Are you there, Teresa?”

Her voice echoed through the empty hall. Rita didn’t bother looking around—she knew that was futile. After a moment, a flat voice spoke right behind her.

“How’d you know?”

She turned to find her tiny friend standing there. Always one to pop up out of nowhere.

Rita shook her head. “I didn’t. Not at all. Didn’t see any signs. I just…had a hunch. Maybe you’d be worried enough to come check on me.”

Pure instinct, merely a passing fancy. Being right this time didn’t really change a thing. Teresa seemed unconvinced, but Rita knelt down, putting herself at the smaller girl’s eye level.

“Sorry, did I upset you? But I’ve gotta make this play. What do you make of it, Teresa? Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Horn are both friends of yours, and here I am, trying to pry them apart. You heard what went down—are you still on my side?”

She held Teresa’s gaze the whole time. Rita had no intention of letting this go unsaid or obfuscated. When she’d decided to head into the lava tree mold, this girl had been the first friend to back her reckless plan. This could well be taken as a violation of that trust. If so, there was little she could do—but at the very least, Rita did not want to coat it in a lie.

Teresa stared back at her in silence. That same expressionless mask she always wore. Yet—right now, Rita felt like she could see past it. She’d known this girl a long time. And she knew by this point the emotions bottled up inside Teresa Carste were as violent as the surface was calm.

“You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, huh? I get that,” Rita said, putting her arms around that tiny frame. Teresa seemed flustered but accepted the embrace, and Rita whispered in her ear, “Thank you, Teresa.”

“…For what?”

“For fretting over it. You could easily have just trimmed away anything that doesn’t suit Mr. Horn’s interests. But you aren’t.”

She buried her face in the girl’s shoulders. Her friend was unable to choose, and that made her so happy, she could cry.

This wasn’t even a tough choice. Teresa merely needed to tell Mr. Horn everything, and that would be the end of it. No matter how she fought, if the Sword Roses closed ranks, her attempt would end there. Teresa had that card in her hand—and in her position, she should definitely play it.

So the fact that she was hesitating alone proved Rita had formed a real bond with Teresa. And she knew what a good friend she’d made, even if the path she was on might soon put an end to it.

“……”

Teresa’s hand went around the back of Rita’s hands and awkwardly stroked her friend’s hair. She was not good at comfort or encouragement. But however paltry the effort, she felt the need to try. This was the first time she’d felt this impulse with anyone but Oliver or Shannon.

“I’ll reserve judgment for now. We’d better get back to the Fellowship. Dean’s running his mouth off; without you around, I’ll be forced to duel him again.”

“Okay. Sorry to ditch you there. Let’s head back, Teresa.”

Rita let go of her and held out a hand. Teresa took it, and they walked off together. Putting off the decision was neither wise nor practical. But it was a very human choice.

That same evening, Oliver and Nanao wrapped up classes a step ahead of the others and, as planned, headed to their hidden base. They had no other purpose than the desire to spend some time together—a minidate, essentially.

“I am at my wit’s end. Never did I imagine I had left Dustin stewing like that,” Nanao said after a sip of piping hot green tea.

The tea and brewing pot were gifts from Theodore’s travels. Leaning back on the couch, Oliver waved a wand, pulling a plate of cookies from the shelf. Guy and Katie had baked them together; upon closer inspection, it was easy to tell who had shaped which cookie.

“In my eyes, it’s no surprise,” Oliver replied, taking a sip of his own tea. “With Ashbury gone, there’s no broomrider on campus he’s paid more attention to. He must have assumed you’d picked up on that, yet you didn’t even pay him a visit.”

Nanao shuddered, a guilty look on her face. “Then I am ashamed. I certainly knew he had a high opinion of me, but the rest escaped my notice. Not wanting to compound the issue, I have already completed the paperwork to join his seminar.”

He blinked at her, slightly surprised. She’d already committed?

Oliver set his mug down. “Have you? Are you sure that’s the right choice? Instructor Garland had his eye on you, too.”

Just covering his bases. Nanao folded her arms, scowling.

“I am aware. But if I may speak from my gut, I feel he does not especially wish to be my mentor. He has voiced no objections, but he has kept his distance. ’Tis but a vague impression, yet he has consistently toed that line.”

“…Oh…?”

Oliver considered that.

What could it mean? Garland was passionate about sword arts instruction, every bit as big on nurturing talent as Dustin was with broomriding. Oliver had just assumed he would be keen on making Nanao his apprentice. Garland’s style was all about actively analyzing and breaking down the outstanding elements of other fighting schools, so what would make him want to avoid taking Nanao on?

As Oliver busied himself with these thoughts, Nanao finished her tea, put her mug down, and toppled over, her head on his lap. This did not surprise him in the least. Nanao was prone to these sudden affectionate gestures.

“Either way, I have escaped this conundrum. How fare you, Oliver? Will you be joining Katie at the place you visited?”

“…Up to her. But I’m thinking it’s likely,” he said, remembering how Katie had taken to it. “They made a good impression, and no other seminar is that tailored to her interests. She’s struggling less with the choice and more with committing to it. I’m just waiting for her to say the word.”

Nanao looked up at Oliver, her expression grave. “Glad to hear it. Do not take your eyes off her. Of course, I am watching as best I can—but with Guy’s absence, she stands on shifting sand. If Chela was not taking a turn, I would not dare leave her side to join you here.”

“Yeah, I know. If Guy comes back, we’ll see some improvement, and I don’t doubt he’ll make that choice. My only concern is what form his return will take.”

Nodding, he narrowed his eyes. This concern had stuck with him—Guy’s default nature versus his aptitude for curse wrangling. Oliver knew his friend well enough to know just how hard a choice that would be.

“…Fantastic,” Guy had said. Laden with curses, painful to even look at—yet he’d been ecstatic.

Each time he remembered it, Oliver felt anguish and fear in equal measure. And it made him wonder—if Guy came back to them the way he expected, would that really be for the best?

Or was he dragging Guy down? Pulling a man meant to smile in the light down into darkness where Oliver himself dwelled? If Guy had never met the Sword Roses, would he even have considered becoming a wrangler?

Mostly likely not. It would not even have been a dilemma. Even if his talent was as exceptional as Zelma said, Guy would have shown no interest in pursuing that path. What he craved, what he was loath to relinquish was the power that came with it. Curses were merely a means to that end—all so he could stand with them and keep them safe.

“Yoink!”

His thoughts were interrupted by fingers pulling on each of his cheeks. Nanao had reached up to him. He blinked down at her, and she lay there protesting.

“You shoulder too much, Oliver. Share this burden with me.”

“Uh, yeah, I intend to. Just…”

He scrambled to respond, and she let go of his cheeks, burying her face in his stomach. Her empty hand moved around his back, pulling him close, and her nose pressed up against him—sniffing him.

“…Ahh…”

A faint herbal fragrance teased her nostrils. She knew this was no cologne, but a scent generated by his body. And he had relayed the cause to her in bed with a sad smile:

“Ever since I was small, I’ve used powerful potions so frequently, it changed the very makeup of my body. Perhaps it’s a bit like the scars you bear.”

She’d always been fond of the scent, but that revelation made it all the more acute. She longed to bask in it forever, and smelling it alone was hardly enough.

Nanao increased the strength of her embrace, and sensing that mute request, Oliver asked, “…Do you want to, Nanao? Here, now?”

His fingers played with her hair, the nape of her neck. He already knew the answer to his question. Nanao peeled her face from his abdomen, looking up through her lashes.

“Desperately. Do you even realize it has been an entire week since we last indulged?”

“With Guy’s mess in the middle—”

His excuses were silenced with a kiss. The astonishing heat of her lips momentarily eased all concerns occupying his mind. She’d been waiting for that, he realized, so he kissed her back with love and gratitude. Every last nerve focused on their lips alone, the world around them melting away.

For a long moment, they remained like that, locked in an embrace, then his fingertips tapped Nanao’s back. She blinked and peeled away. They were reflected in each other’s eyes, awash with ardor and exaltation, a mere confirmation that the prelude was done.

But before they got down to business, a reminder—one Oliver barely managed to get out.

“…They’ll be joining us in two hours. We can’t exactly take our time.”

“Then let us make up for it with vigor. Any requests?”

“Any number of them, but first—let’s get you sated.”

No further confirmations required—Oliver got to work. Time was limited, but some things could not be rushed. Mages paid no heed to wrinkled clothes, so Oliver didn’t need to undress Nanao right away to hide the evidence. He applied stimulus in stages, an extension of standard healing: from her back to her sides, from her sides to her breasts—then a jump to her ears. No surprises there—this was a process they’d discovered together in their endeavors.

“…Mmff…”

As he nibbled on her earlobe, Nanao writhed, as ticklish as it was pleasurable. Not about to go down without a fight, she wrapped her lips around the side of his neck. Oliver’s shoulder quivered, and a breath escaped him.

He could not let his guard down for a second. Nanao was never one to let him keep the lead. There were signs she viewed this as a contest to see which of them could get the other off first. Accepting her offensive, Oliver was obligated to maintain his own technical performance. This was easier said than done, but always fun. An extension of their usual play, the pleasure and safety of it always a comfort.

“ !”

But then some static interfered. Nanao’s shirt unbuttoned, he parted the cloth, revealing a bra that Katie had likely chosen for her. His hands were around her back to unfasten it, but as her well-shaped breasts came into view, something flicked across his mind.

The events in his dorm, Pete waiting for him in girls’ clothes, everything he’d said, the two options presented to Oliver, and, helpless to resist, their bodies mingling after. That had not been an isolated incident, and they still lay together.

Oliver’s skin was not thick enough, nor was his mind nimble enough to put that all away and drown himself in Nanao alone.

“You are keeping secrets from me…?” Nanao whispered, surmising as much.

Oliver ceased all motion, freezing up. For a moment, he looked ready to cry. Anguished at his inability to share, his heart splitting with the urge to spill everything. He had to respond somehow. She’d asked, and he had to answer, but not a single word came to mind. He could not tell her, but his heart could not bear to paint it over with a coat of lies, even though he had done as much countless times before.

As he found himself trapped in a desperate corner, Nanao’s finger pressed to Oliver’s lips. He blinked, and she smiled pleasantly, like a calm ocean beneath a clear blue sky.

“Say not a word. I will not inquire. Since the moment we first met, your depths have been obscured—this is merely one more mystery they conceal.”

With that, she put her arms around Oliver’s head, not hesitating to pull him to her bare breasts. Wrapped in her soft flesh and warmth, comforted unconditionally, Oliver felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he could not stave off the sobs. Nanao accepted all of it, hugging him ever tighter.

“Whatever it is, I do not mind,” she murmured. “That is but a piece of the man I love. Just…when you are ready, share it with me. Spare no thought to delicacy or fear.”

He did not need to tell her, but he had permission to do so at any time. That was the one way she could offer him salvation. Arms shaking, he managed to return the embrace. He longed to thank her, but that was beyond him now. He simply spoke her name, as if that said everything.

“…Nanao…”

“Mm, I am here. I am here for you, Oliver.”

Her arms tightened around him again. Not poking his wounds, not even trying to locate them. Simply aligning herself with his pain—quietly, gently devoting herself to the boy she loved.

“Ow!”

A thrust to his chest sent Guy tumbling across the floor. He landed on his back, and a hand reached down to him.

“Sorry, too strong a hit. You okay?”

“Yeah, no prob. Appreciate you training with me.”

Guy reached out and took the proffered hand. Gui Barthé pulled him up; they’d found an empty room to get some exercise in. Lélia Barthé was with them, reffing the match. And sitting in the corner, arms around one knee, a sullen look on her face, was Annie Mackley, dragged here against her will.

“I said to ask for anything, right? Sword practice doesn’t even count. So I’m adding in some tips for free. I mean, your Lanoff’s a mess, Greenwood.”

Lélia’s assessment was a candid one. Guy grimaced, raising his athame.

“Just call me Guy. But yeah, I figured as much. I ain’t ever gonna be like Oliver,” he muttered, naming his role model.

“I’m not suggesting you go crazy polishing yourself to his level.” Lélia shrugged. “And if you aim to win by means other than the blade, fair enough. But if you are, then you oughtta focus on the techniques that buy you that time. You’re strongest when you keep enough distance to scatter toolplants, right?”

Her advice was tailored to him.

Guy tapped the ground with his toe. “If there’s soil around, yeah. Fighting indoors like this, backing off ain’t gonna do me a lick of good. I got real lucky with the terrain in the league and the lava tree mold. Fighting in regulation rings, my skills are bottom of the middle at best.”

“Heh, how very you. Did you forget who mentored you? The one and only Survivor! To my knowledge, he never even tried to enter the combat league. But no one was better at navigating the labyrinth—even the school’s biggest names respected him. It’s all about how you use what you got. And are you even interested in picking fights and notching up victories?”

Lélia addressed the fundamental concern, and Guy sighed, sheathing his athame.

“Well, no. I came to Kimberly to study ancient and extinct species, but I’m better suited to growing crops down home on the farm. But that ain’t my friends. They’ve been through some tough spots, and I know there’s more of that coming. Katie and Pete are out there polishing their skills and getting stronger; I can’t be left be—”

“They aren’t right for you.”

A voice cut him off. Flinching, Guy turned toward it. Mackley had held her tongue this whole time, but now she was scowling at him.

Her words were lost on him, so he asked, “What, Mackley? What do you mean?”

“What I said. You aren’t like your friends. From what you’re saying, you’re after strength to keep them safe? That’s all fine and dandy. But it’s got jack shit to do with the path of your spell.”

Mackley wasn’t mincing words at all—and Guy couldn’t immediately respond. Surprised to find he couldn’t just laugh it off, he crossed his arms.

“…Uh…that’s not true. They’ve all helped me study, helped with my research. And thanks to them, I’ve had a labyrinth workshop since year one.”

“And in return, you damn near died how many times? Again, fine. Suit yourself. But what, a labyrinth workshop? You still need that? You’re about to join a seminar, get free use of their facilities. No need to be in the labyrinth—make a new workshop with students in your field. You’re long past the need to be hung up on the shared base you prepped in the lower forms.”

“…No, I’m…”

Mackley wasn’t letting him get a word in edgewise. The more she spoke, the more worked up she got—without really realizing it. And having failed to stop herself, she’d gone past voicing an opinion and into winding him up.

“And helping with your research? You gonna pay for that with your life? That’s a lousy deal by any standard. Ha-ha, your buddies sure know how to wheel and deal. I guess you can’t put a price on friendship! They’re really getting their money’s worth. A beautiful bit of logic that lets them bleed you dry indefinitely.”

“Okay, Mackley, that’s enough,” Gui said, deciding it was time to step in.

Catching herself, she awkwardly looked away, saying nothing else.

“You just have to say what everyone else is scared to, huh?” Gui sighed. “Good way to make enemies. You gotta build up to things! What good will it do to decide you’ll piss him off anyway, so you might as well not hold back? You weren’t trying to pick a fight with him, were you?”

“…Hmph…”

Mackley buried her face in her knees. Gui snorted at her, then turned toward Guy.

“Mackley massively overstated things. My sister and I agree on that. But—not everything she said is off base. Mind if I try translating the salient parts?”

“…Uh, sure, please,” Guy said. He nodded, trying to stop his head from spinning.

Gui closed his eyes, picking his words.

“Simply put—you may have some blinders on. I get wanting to fight alongside your friends, but that’s because Hibiya and the rest keep plunging headlong into danger. It’s not what you actually wanna do. There’s value in trimming that away and reevaluating. We may be stuck with our lot in life, but you’re free to make some changes.”

“…Trimming?” Guy frowned.

Gui shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying to cut them loose. Does it sound better if I call it ‘adjusting your distance’? You’ve been tight with them since day one. I was with my sister and Lady Ursule before we got here, so I can only imagine, but making friends early on is critical to keeping yourself safe here. But not many people in the upper forms are still with the group they started out with. As they move up, they figure out what they’re each good at, and their paths diverge. It’s the natural result of finding what’s best for yourself—and not in any way a bad thing.”

Guy was taking his time, step by step, mindful of the logic. There was common ground in what they said, but this made a very different impression than Mackley’s outburst. Without his feathers ruffled, it was hard to ignore the point. Seeing that on Guy’s face, Lélia chimed in.

“You’re in a different position than you were in year one. You’ve got knowledge and power, you’ve built a reputation on campus, and there are teachers and upperclassmen with their eye on you. Worst-case scenario, if you distance yourself from Horn and the others, you won’t be alone. That much is an actual fact. At the very least, we’re—”

“What a fascinating conversation!” a harsh new voice cut in.

His wand had cast amplification and convergence spells to make his words penetrate the sound-dampening barrier. Everyone gulped when they recognized the voice and turned toward the door, where a smaller boy stood, arms crossed. A bespectacled fourth-year reversi with a high-strung air about him—Pete Reston.

“Reston?!”

“How—?! We were soundproof!”

“You think that’s foolproof, too? You think I’d let Guy roam free in this state?”

Pete’s entrance had left Guy flat-footed, but this made him gasp. He started patting the pockets of his robe and soon found it: a coin-sized scout golem inside the hood. It had picked up their entire conversation and broadcast it via a mana frequency to Pete. Since the sound itself wasn’t sent, the sound-dampening barrier couldn’t stop it. Guy looked rather ill.

“……!”

“You’ve got a lotta nerve. You survived that mess through sheer luck, and a minute later, you’re trying to poach him? Ha-ha, I’m amazed you thought you could get away with it. I thought everyone in our year knew just what fate lies in store for anyone who fucks with us.”

Pete was stalking across the room, muttering. Clearly way past angry. Gui braced himself, Mackley put her back to the wall, and Lélia stepped out before them, hands up.

“Calm down, Reston! I know it sounded bad, but that wasn’t our intent! We were just discussing possible futures for Guy. If you take offense to that advice, my brother and I will happily apologize. We have no intention of opposing you—”

“‘Guy,’ is it? Gosh, I had no idea you were on a first-name basis. Didn’t expect you to work your wiles on him. Gotta raise my estimation of you. I only ever saw you as Valois’s puppets before.”

Lélia’s defense backfired. As tensions mounted, Guy slammed the scout golem to the ground, closing in on Pete.

“Dammit, Pete…! Have you lost your mind? You’ve definitely got the wrong idea. We’re just talking. They’re not poaching me. I asked them to—”

The moment Guy was in range, Pete’s arm went around the back of his head, yanking him in. Without a moment’s hesitation, his lips were on Guy’s. Something small slipped into Guy’s mouth—a capsule of potion Pete had kept tucked in his cheek. It broke, and the fast-acting paralytic inside took control. When Guy’s knees buckled, Pete caught him, lowering his friend to the floor with a grim smile.

“You shut up, Guy. This is on me—I should have forced myself on you long before this happened. I’m still far too nice. Even though I know the more stakes you pound, the better.”

Rebuking himself, Pete drew his athame.

Some curse energy had transferred to him on that kiss, but Pete had prepped, and Guy had fought to stop it—the influence wasn’t too dire. Pete was good to throw down. Seeing how ready he was, Lélia and Gui gave up and drew their own weapons.

“You’re past letting us talk, huh? We’re doing this right here? I don’t recommend it. We’ll be forced to defend ourselves—and it’s three against one,” said Lélia.

“…Huh? Wait, don’t drag me into— Kah!”

Trying her best to stay plastered to the wall, Mackley let out a squawk, and her legs crumpled beneath her. The Barthés gasped.

“Now it’s two-on-one. How dumb can you be? You seriously thought I’d roll up against these odds without a plan?”

Pete’s lips twisted in a sneer. Sensing something closing in all around, Lélia cast a spell, illuminating her surroundings and shattering the visual illusion. That revealed the six-legged insectoid golems, about as big as midsize dog. They were everywhere: on the floor, on the ceiling, on the walls—over a dozen golems. A terrifying sight.

“Stealth golems!”

“…We’re surrounded. When did he—?”

Cursing their lack of precautions, the Barthés put their backs together, athames raised. The surprise attack had them down a fighter, and now he had familiars—if they all attacked at once, Pete would have a huge advantage. Well aware of that, he raised his blade.

“I don’t want to draw a crowd, so I’ll make it quick. I’m gonna carve this lesson into you. Don’t mess with the Sword Roses—!”

“Okay, Pete, time-out.”

Just before he let loose, a breezy voice put him in a shoulderlock. Pete flinched and turned to look at the intruder—a boy a head taller than him, Tullio Rossi.

“…?! Rossi…!”

“You are popping off! I ’ave to admit, they gave you good cause. We all ’ate ’aving those we adore snatched away, no? You more than the rest of us!”

Rossi was both sympathizing with and pinning Pete down. Not only was Pete’s dominant athame hand in Rossi’s clutches, but the Ytallian also wasn’t letting him move a finger on his other hand, preventing him using any of the magic tools he had up his sleeve. Rossi knew full well Pete kept a whole bag of tricks on him, so he was shutting those options down. And running his mouth off the whole time.

“But going full terror on them right off the bat? I ’eard only the last exchange, but I feel they meant no ’arm. Objectively, you seriously think the Valois would even consider scouting Guy? I am sure this was just a passionate discussion of life’s many tapestries that ’appened to strike a nerve. An unfortunate disconnect, eh?”

Despite Rossi’s attempts at persuasion, the murderous fury radiating off Pete showed no signs of subsiding. Worst-case scenario, Rossi might have to knock the reversi out, but that might leave Rossi himself with a target on his back. As he weighed his options, a big man strode in.

“You’re drunk on the power you’ve gained. Acting like a mage is all well and good, but the old you had his virtues. Wouldn’t recommend taking it to extremes, Reston.”

“…You too, Albright?”

Joseph Albright loomed over Pete, who ground his teeth.

“I rather like the new you,” Rossi whispered in Pete’s ear. “You ’ave seen what you want, and you are going for it—nothing wrong with that. Yet, I will say—do not forget the larger picture. Valois is slowly opening ’erself up to Nanao, yes? If you torture ’er servants, that will all be for naught. I am betting you forgot about that, no?”

“ !”

Eyes widening, Pete stopped struggling. Sensing this approach was getting through, Rossi pressed it. He released his grapple, neither wand nor blade in hand, bending a knee to put himself at the reversi’s eye level.

“Much better. You ’ave a kind ’eart. It makes me want to put the moves on you. Would you care to ’ave tea? You would rather collect yourself before you go ’ome to Oliver, I am sure.”

“…Shut up,” Pete spat.

Rossi’s breezy demeanor was slowly draining the tension from the room; paired with that reminder, it was effectively diminishing Pete’s will to fight. He knew from experience how effectively this approach stifled impulsive conflicts. Though aware he was being manipulated, Pete was not dumb enough to buck against it for that reason alone. He took several deep breaths, letting his raging emotions vent, then glared back at the Barthé twins, who braced themselves.

“I’ll let you off this time. Given my friend’s work with Valois, I can’t tell you to keep your distance from Guy, either. But just try and recommend he leave our group again—and I won’t hesitate. You will suffer so much, you’ll regret being born.”

With that vehement threat, he spun around and stalked away, carrying Guy over one shoulder. Only when his footsteps vanished did Rossi let out a sigh of relief.

“…’Ow ’orrifying. The way ’e ’as grown—knowing ’im in ’is first year, I did not see this coming.”

“Had he not changed, he’d be dead. But if he’s sprouting horns, perhaps it’s time we snapped one off,” Albright muttered, staring after Pete.

Rossi turned his attention elsewhere. The Barthés had clearly not expected to be bailed out like this.

“A narrow escape, yes? I just ’appened to spot Pete sailing down the ’all, looking ready to commit murder. Turned to follow and thought it best to interfere. But ’onestly, you ’ave only yourselves to blame, no? What you tried ’ere was positively suicidal. Or did Oliver’s and Nanao’s genteel dispositions give you the wrong idea?” Rossi asked. “The Sword Roses are our year’s greatest threat, and every member is a ticking time bomb of a mage. Meddle with them foolishly, and you are liable to wind up dead. Even if you mean well.”

This was as serious as Rossi had ever looked, and Lélia and Gui each put their blades away, taking it to heart.

“…Message received. But we’re in the position we’re in—and we owe him a debt.”

“Yeah, can’t exactly get cold feet that easily.”

Rossi blinked, as if he had not expected them to stand their ground. “My, look at the both of you. Not long ago, you might as well ’ave been storefront mannequins. Is this Guy’s influence? That man cannot be underestimated.”

With that, he spun around and exited the room, Albright in tow. The Barthés exchanged a look.

“…That was too close,” Gui said. “What now?”

“Is it even worth considering? If his friends are in that frame of mind, all the more reason Guy needs to hear outside perspectives. But I’m not about to ruffle Reston’s feathers any further. We’ll need a better approach. Lay the groundwork before we hit the man himself? I doubt the other Sword Roses are that intense about it…”

Lélia trailed off in thought, chin in hand. But then a feeble voice came from the back wall, reminding them they were not alone.

“…Hey…if it’s over…help me up…”

Mackley had been taken out quick but was still with them—and they rushed to her aide.

“Sorry, Mackley. Totally forgot about you.”

“You really got the short end of the stick. But you know the old saying—loose lips sink ships.”

“You’re the ones who dragged me in here!” she yelled as loudly as her paralyzed vocal cords let her. It took the Barthés far longer to soothe her ruffled feathers than it did to undo the paralysis.

With Guy still unable to move, Pete brought him out of the building to the fountain square by their dorms and dropped him on a bench there. Pete had been carrying a boy far bulkier than himself but wasn’t even out of breath—proof he’d learned to channel his mana into his physical exertions.

“…Urgh…”

“Sorry to force the issue. The paralysis should be wearing off. Tell me when you’re ready—I’d appreciate you taking this curse back off me,” Pete said as he settled down on the bench next to Guy.

Pete’s face and tone were totally lacking the edge he’d had against the Barthés. He was only like this with his friends. All his hatred pointed outward, all his love inward. Even if those boundaries were not so easily drawn, this was Pete’s fundamental emotional state.

Smiling at his friend, Pete waited for Guy’s next move. But though the paralysis had long since worn off, Guy said not a word, just sitting there and staring at him.

“What?” Pete said, disgruntled. “We can make out if you want.”

“…So you aren’t joking about that, huh?” Guy muttered, leaning back against the bench.

“You thought I was?” Pete looked offended. “I’ve been dead serious since I first mentioned it. Not just you, either—I want the closest ties I can get to every member of the Sword Roses. Leave myself options for when I have a kid with someone. I’ve got no reservations about doing that with any of you.”

His position felt awfully extreme, and Guy rubbed his temples.

“When’d you get this far gone? Was what we had not enough?”

“Nope. Far too unstable for my needs. I want a rose where the petals will never scatter. I want to make that moment last forever.”

Pete’s eyes were on the night sky. Guy remembered their visit to Pete’s home, and he couldn’t deny this impulse outright. He had many a gripe about the means to that end but knew arguing about those was the last thing Pete needed now.

The right choice was clear. First, meet him halfway, pull his tiny frame in close. Prove the love and warmth within Guy had not gone anywhere. And yet, that was the one thing Guy could not do right now. A painful reminder of that fact, it cut him to the quick—and his next breath was nearly a sob.

“…Fuck, this again? Can’t even slap you, much less give you a hug.”

“Go right ahead. Instructor Zelma said what she had to, but you know a curse won’t attach itself from one or two transmissions. Even if there’s some minor side effects, I’ll deal with it. If it’s for your sake.”

Pete offered a soft smile—as warm as the flinty gaze he directed at his enemies was cold. Guy could tell this was what came naturally to Pete. Here was someone who picked his family and gave them all his love, protection, and affection. The line between in and out was far stronger than Guy’s own, so perhaps it was inevitable his approach was both possessive and rejective.

Guy weakly reached out, lightly touched Pete’s shoulder, and took back the curse energy that had been transmitted orally. He soon pulled away again, and Pete pursed his lips, dissatisfied.

“What, no more kissing? You’re an incorrigible tease.”

“…I’m actually gonna get mad, y’know.”

“Don’t. That one was a joke,” Pete told him. “Good night, Guy. Shame I can’t get a good night hug, but I’ll take a rain check.”

Pete stood up and headed toward the dorm. Too weak to follow, Guy watched him go, feeling so helpless, he could cry.

“You deal with him every night, Oliver?” he muttered. “That’s gotta be rough…”

Naturally, it was rough. No one was bearing the brunt of Pete’s changes harder than his roommate. And nobody felt more obligated to deal with it head-on.

“Pete, we need to talk.”

Oliver got back to their dorm an hour after Pete, well into the middle of the night. Seeing his friend still up, reading in bed, he figured this was the time.

“Why so formal, Oliver?” Pete said, closing the book with a smile. “Not feeling up to it tonight?”

“Not about that. You know what I mean. Don’t play games. Albright briefed me. You nearly took out the Barthé twins for daring to speak with Guy?”

Oliver pushed past his friend’s deflections, getting to the heart of the matter. He and Nanao had run into Albright on their return to campus and gotten up to speed. Pete snorted, figuring that was Oliver’s source.

“Knew he’d snitch. But yeah, it’s true. They sounded like they were trying to pry Guy away from us, so I gave them a little warning. Can’t believe anyone still takes us that lightly.”

“I doubt that’s the truth. Given their standing, they wouldn’t be trying to poach him. They were just discussing possibilities. You were eavesdropping and overreacted. And you know it.”

Oliver was quite sure of himself. The way Pete had been acting lately, it was only a matter of time before he bumped antlers with someone somewhere. On the receiving end of Oliver’s glare, Pete didn’t bat an eye.

“Maybe. But does that really matter? It’s a critical juncture for him; anyone saying the wrong thing at a time like this deserves some backlash. I’d rather overreact like this and scare people off than risk overlooking a legit attempt and losing Guy to it. Make an example of ’em,” Pete said, then added with a sigh, “Though, I got interrupted this time.”

Rubbing his brow, Oliver hung his head. Pete’s position was far more intractable than he’d hoped.

“The way you think is way past ‘friendship.’ Even allowing for this being Kimberly. Guy saved the Barthés, and that made them closer. This is a connection Guy earned himself through his actions in the lava tree mold. Did you not consider how your choices might have cost him that?”

“Sure, maybe he’ll lose a few connections. But I’ll make that up to him. Find him some friends that get our deal and don’t run their damn mouths off. Don’t get the wrong idea—I’m not objecting to Guy having friends outside our group. I’m just batting away the pests. If we don’t, they’ll only start siphoning away his nectar.”

Pete was shrugging this off like it was normal, and Oliver clenched his fists. By what criteria was Pete separating “pests” from the rest? If that included everything Guy took an interest in outside the Sword Roses, then that would be no better than shackles around his limbs. Pete himself insisted otherwise, but the instant the measure of it lay in Pete’s subjective scales, it was already wrong.

Yet, at the same time, Oliver understood that Pete’s sense of what was normal was growing ever hazier. Becoming more of a mage, acquiring more techniques—one’s perspective on the world was bound to shift. He’d learned just how far his hands could reach. Living as an ordinary had made the hearts of others an insurmountable challenge. But not anymore. Everything he’d learned here gave him the means to meddle. And even in the magical world, reversis were rare. If he polished his charm techniques, he could entice mages of any gender.

“Please, Pete. Let my words sink in. You don’t need to be so high-strung—Guy’s not gonna leave us that easy. Miligan was right about that. If you have faith in him, you’ll know you don’t need to build walls. Katie’s just as anxious, but she’s pulling it off—”

As he pleaded, Oliver moved over to Pete’s bed. Pete got up, snuggling against his chest. He closed his eyes and smiled.

“Enough, Oliver. You’ve made your point, and I’ve heard it. I definitely acted without considering Nanao’s efforts with Valois. I’ll pick an approach that won’t cause such frictions next time. Deal?”

“Wait, Pete, that’s not even my point—”

Sensing the topic drifting away, Oliver tried to steer it back—but Pete’s lips sealed his, just as Nanao’s had earlier that evening. The fact that Oliver was doing this again before the date even changed made him shudder—and Pete only pulled away when he was sure Oliver had been silenced.

“I don’t mind you lecturing me. You’re always so earnest about it, and that makes me feel loved. But today, I’d rather be comforted. Being with Guy, unable to touch him—it was pretty hard to bear. I’m frustrated! If it wasn’t for that curse, we could have pulled him into a threesome.”

“……!”

Oliver couldn’t believe his ears. Even Pete’s admissions of fragility were laced with an edge of something frightening. He could tell Pete genuinely regretted not being able to make that threesome happen, and Pete would have said exactly the same thing if Guy was here with them. His smile would not have changed with more members in their tryst; his only concern was how to love them all at once. In Pete’s mind, there was no contradiction there.

The kiss over, Pete went back to hugging. His face buried in Oliver’s shirt, sniffing him—verifying the lingering fragrance he’d noticed on their first embrace. Sure of it, he smirked up at Oliver.

“Oh, you were with Nanao before? So you’re not the least bit pent-up. Heh-heh… She beat me to the punch. Guess we’ll have to take it nice and slow.”

“Wait…Pete, wait…”

Oliver was pulled into bed, his protests in vain. His robe was stripped off, his buttons undone, and Pete’s fingers slid into his open shirtfront. Pete’s foreplay skills were getting better daily, and Oliver let out a moan, his rational mind slipping away.

How did we end up like this? The act itself is one thing; I can’t refuse you, so I’ve accepted that. But I’d like to talk to you first. To fully understand the scent of danger I’m getting from you. To consider together how you should proceed. That’s really all I want.

“…Pete…!!”

“Eep?!”

The panic and grief building up within had burst. Oliver’s hands went around Pete’s back, locking onto his erogenous zones, pressing hard into his skin, and doubling the mana flow with pinpoint accuracy. Pete’s body jumped, and his offensive faltered; Oliver pressed the advantage, turning the tables, getting his hands all over him. Silencing Pete’s resistance with a kiss, he peeled his clothes away so fast, he nearly took the skin with them, then he wet a finger with saliva and excavated Pete’s navel with it. The mana stimulation flowing there was the last straw, and the overwhelming surge of pleasure rising up within swallowed Pete whole.

“Ah…! Wh-where’s this coming from, Oliver? You’re not usually so force— Hnahhhh!”

He wasn’t about to give Pete enough leeway to offer feedback. Generally, Oliver took his sweet time working up to things, but there were no such considerations today. He was going for maximum effectiveness, starting an avalanche of pleasure—and keeping him there. Applying healing principles to heavy petting was Oliver’s field of expertise, and however quick he’d learned, Pete was still nowhere near his level. And thus, when Oliver meant business, Pete was left writhing helplessly in bed.

“S-stop! Hold up, Oliver! Gimme a second to—”

“…You didn’t wait for me,” Oliver muttered, tears in his eyes.

Even as he spoke, his fingers were still prodding Pete’s known weak points. Pete’s back arced like a bow, past the point of speech, but that act played into Oliver’s hands, too. The stimulation was far too intense, the pleasure way too strong—Pete’s mind went blank.

“Ahh—”

And as the orgasm took hold, the vital restraints within, long since straining, gave way. The blood drained from his slack features, he shoved Oliver away with both hands, scrabbling at the sheets. Curling up in the corner, arms clutched to his chest, quivering in silence.

“…Pete?”

Baffled by this unexpected response, Oliver moved close on one knee—and then the process started. A faint glow surrounded Pete, and within that mystic light, his very figure transformed. His shoulders broadened slightly, and the two mounds on his chest subsided; his body was rapidly switching to his other polarity.

“ ?!”

“…I said…stop…” Pete sobbed, mid-change.

Oliver watched, stunned. It was over in mere minutes. Pete had remained small of stature, so the difference was not readily apparent. Yet, what had happened was clear. The faint trace of mana each mage’s body perpetually gave off bore a distinct signature, and generally, that changed so little, other mages could identify one another by it. But Pete’s signature was markedly different from a moment ago. Not something possible if the nature of the change had only affected his exterior.

“…Per the phases of the moon, I’d normally lean male right now,” Pete confessed, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been keeping myself female through sheer self-control. I didn’t mention it, but…for a while now…”

This was a surprise to Oliver. He had noticed Pete had been female for some time; as Pete acclimated to the whole reversi thing, he’d learned to pick his form at will. But that did not mean he could entirely ignore the natural reversi cycle. Oliver himself had no firsthand experience with the difficulties of resisting that, but it was not hard to imagine the toll was considerable.

“…Why force yourself…?” he asked Pete.

“Because I wanted to do this with you, obviously!”

Pete’s cry was choked with tears, his back turned adamantly away. And that gouged a deep hole in Oliver’s chest.

What a foolish thing to ask. That had likely been the most tactless response imaginable—he regretted it deeply. He should have known better. If no one else, Oliver alone should have immediately grasped this cause.

“I take that back, Pete. Please…won’t you turn and face me?”

His apology emotional, he pleaded with those delicate shoulders. Pete hesitated for a long, long time, and when he did turn, he was still trembling. His body was very much male.

“I would like to make this up to you. Shall we carry right along?”

“Huh—?”

Pete looked startled, but Oliver ran a hand down his side, making him jump.

“Eeek?! Wh-what are you doing? I’m a boy now…!”

“Honestly, I’ve never really minded that. You’re you.”

That came without hesitation. Oliver gently stroked Pete’s bare skin, and each time, incredible pleasure shot up the reversi’s spine. Before he knew it, Pete was pressed up against Oliver, moaning. Pete had yet to make love in this body, and each sensation it provided was terrifyingly novel. He’d unconsciously drawn a line, never asking for it in this form—but Oliver stepped right across that boundary.

“I’m more familiar with the workings here. It’s actually easier,” he whispered in Pete’s ear. “Don’t hold back—give yourself over to it. Today, I want to.”

A shock ran down Pete’s back. His hands and feet went limp—and no further thought was possible.

When they were done and had cleaned up, they shared a bed once more—this time for slumber. Now in their pajamas, they stared at each other.

“Sorry about that…,” Pete murmured.

“Mm?” Oliver asked with a smile.

Pete looked away, embarrassed and awkward.

“This might sound like an excuse, but…I think the stress of suppressing the change had me pretty riled up. My head’s cleared…now that I’ve turned male and…gotten some relief…”

The memories of that had him blushing again, and Oliver gently ran a finger down his cheek.

“And that’s another way this affects you, huh? Sorry, I should have realized.”

“Don’t you dare. I may have been a tad eager, but even now, my core stance hasn’t changed.”

He reached out and gave Oliver a hug.

Pete had things he could not lose. He’d risk anything to keep them safe; his love was so great, he’d never let that go—even if it meant turning himself into something else.

“I’m not letting anyone have you. I’m not letting you go anywhere else. Not Guy, Katie, Nanao, Chela…or you…!”

A wish like a curse. Oliver had no words to respond to this, so he merely returned a silent embrace. It burned him to know this wish could not come to pass—and he was pushing Pete toward a corner with no escape.