The next time Tatsuya's eyes blinked open, it wasn't Luna's back that filled his vision.
His body wasn't behing held anymore, he felt the soft sheets and comfy mattress of a bed.
But the first thing he noticed wasn't the unfamiliar ceiling above him, nor the softness of the bed beneath his back. No, it was the quiet presence beside him.
Slowly, he turned his head.
There, seated beside the bed, was Ruza.
Her posture was straight as always, but her gaze betrayed something gentler—uncertainty, hesitation, as if she herself wasn't sure why she had chosen to stay at his side.
"…I never would have fought so hard to see you again," Ruza said quietly, her voice cutting through the stillness. "After leaving for the corps, after what happened to the village… I thought that door was closed forever."
Tatsuya's dry throat protested as he spoke, but his words still managed to come out, rough and faint.
"I didn't expect it either. But it was never my intention to stay there for long."
"I like it here and it's way better than in the corps."
Ruza smiled faintly when faced with Tatsuya's words.
"I'm happy you came back," she said softly. "It's way too boring without you here."
Tatsuya's eyes widened, and warmth filled his chest.
…That was it. Just a handful of words, spoken almost casually, yet they settled in him with more weight than he could carry. His heart, which had been tight for so long, loosened in the face of her honesty.
Just this one, small conversation with her filled my chest with so much joy that I almost forgot why I love her…
Silence lingered for a moment, weighted, almost fragile—until Tatsuya's sluggish mind caught up with the state of his own body. His eyes widened, snapping downward.
Wait.
These weren't his clothes.
Well, they were his clothes, He was wearing his morning robe he wore back at the other mansion but that weren't the clothes he wore when he got here.
His voice pitched upward dramatically, breaking the mood and probably waking everyone in the mansion, like a roaring beast.
"Ruza! How many times do I have to say this—stop undressing me and sneaking new clothes on while I'm sleeping!"
Ruza didn't even flinch. She blinked once, slowly, as though processing the sheer absurdity. Then, with the same calm flatness as someone pointing out the weather, she said:
"…If I wanted to undress you, you wouldn't be wearing anything at all."
Tatsuya nearly choked on his own spit. "H–Hey! Don't say it like that! You're supposed to deny it, not double down!"
Tatsuya groaned, dragging a hand across his face. "Seriously, this is getting concerning. One of these days I'll wake up in a dress."
Ruza tilted her head ever so slightly. "…Do you want me to arrange that?"
"No!!!"
Then, without warning, she asked, "Why did you leave the corps, Tatsuya?"
Her tone wasn't sharp, but it carried weight. Not curiosity for gossip, not casual small talk—Ruza was the type who only asked questions she needed answers to.
Tatsuya blinked, caught off guard. A crooked grin tugged at his lips, and he let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
"…I guess I missed you guys too much."
It hung there, his attempt at levity, flimsy against her violet gaze. For a second, he almost hoped she'd accept it, let the silence carry them away. But Ruza didn't move, didn't even blink, and the weight of her patience was unbearable.
Tatsuya sighed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. His voice, when it came again, was quieter.
"…My scent."
Ruza nodded, she suspended it had to do something with it.
"At first it was fine," he continued, "I had a trainer, although I still don't know if she was a really one…. Doesn't matter."
"After a while they picked up my scent and everything went down hill from there." The corners of his mouth twitched, a shadow of something heavier passing through.
"They… they didn't trust me. Thought I might be a spy. It made them think I was tied to the Demon Cult."
It was the same with Sora, I have to learn to life with that.
"Because of their suspicion they locked me up, I don't blame them." He paused for a second and Ruza straightened up slightly because his words.
"I mean in case of doubt it's better to be save than sorry right?"
Her eyes softened ever so slightly, though she said nothing.
"I didn't run because I hated them," Tatsuya continued, voice low but steady. "I… I just couldn't stay somewhere I wasn't trusted."
Ruza's tilted her head slightly as she exhaled softly. "You've changed haven't you?"
Tatsuya's mind stoped for a moment. There was no denying in that, how couldn't he have changed after everything that happened.
"I don't know it just feels different, and I mean that in a good way!!" Ruza waved her hand almost in a panic.
"You just seem more open and you speak with more warmth like you've grown up a bit."
Tatsuya almost couldn't believe his ears but it was true, because of Meki it was possible he didn't want to push people away anymore.
And that's why he decided to tell Ruza everything.
He started again from the moment he left the mansion, how The demon of Warth, Rukai killed Micah, how he escaped the swordsman corps and he told her about Meki and everything she meant to him.
A lot happened since I left the mansion, sometimes it still feels like a dream and I'll wake up in my bed, make myself ready for school and…. I hope they're alright…
I'm sorry…
Part 2
The corridors of the mansion still slept.
No footsteps, no clattering, no voices—only the faint stretch of dawn seeping through tall windows, washing the marble floors in a soft pale glow. The world outside was caught between night and day, and inside, silence reigned.
Except in the kitchen.
Humming—gentle, like the tail of a lullaby—drifted into the empty hall. It belonged to a girl who moved gracefully from counter to stove, her hands precise, her expression calm, her rhythm steady.
Except the short time they spent in this mansion she had already memorized every inch of the kitchen.
Her name was Itsuki, eldest of the triplet maids who kept the mansion alive with their quiet diligence.
The bread knife pressed down with a crisp shrrk through a loaf. Perfect slices, evenly cut, laid themselves across the tray. She tilted her head, studying them with careful eyes.
"…Too thick. They'll complain it's too chewy."
She set the knife again, thinner this time.
The tea kettle whistled faintly, and she hurried over. Pour, steep, swirl—steam rose from porcelain cups, fragrant and comforting. Itsuki inhaled softly, then frowned.
"…Too bitter. I should start again."
She tossed the leaves, hands already reaching for fresh ones.
The sound of footsteps broke the hush. Slippers dragging, hair mussed, eyes still half-shut, Nisuki emerged first, hugging the wall like it could guide her through the waking world. She yawned, muttered something incomprehensible, and blinked at the table already set with steaming tea and sliced bread.
"…You're… fast," she whispered, voice thin as morning air.
Her twin in opposite temperament was not far behind. Misuki barged in with her arms crossed, lips already twisted into a pout as though she'd been holding it since last night.
"Tch, seriously, Itsuki, do you have some kind of problem? Normal people don't wake up before the sun."
Itsuki, setting down a plate, turned with her soft smile. "Good morning to you too, Misuki."
"Don't 'good morning' me!" Misuki shot back, snatching a slice of bread. She chewed aggressively, as if punishing it. "You're too strict with yourself, sis. Always buzzing around, cleaning, cooking, acting like you're our mom or something. It's annoying."
Itsuki laughed, gentle as always, as though the words glanced right off her. "Well, someone has to make sure you two eat properly."
But the words slid deeper than they should have. Acting like your mom.
She wasn't their mother. She wasn't even good enough at being their sister. The thought clamped in her chest, hidden behind her practiced smile.
Nisuki, half-asleep but more perceptive than her demeanor suggested, tugged quietly at Itsuki's sleeve. "We… don't mean it bad," she murmured. "You always… make things warm. I… like it."
Itsuki froze a second too long. Nisuki's eyes were downcast, shy, her voice barely audible—but the warmth in her words pressed against the crack in Itsuki's heart.
No. That's not right. I'm the one who should be protecting them, not the other way around.
She slipped into motion again, smoothing Nisuki's hair like the caretaker she was supposed to be. "Thank you," Itsuki said, smiling as if nothing was wrong. "That makes me very happy."
Itsuki set down the last tray with her careful hands. So careful that when the edge of porcelain nudged the table and rattled, she flinched.
"—Ah, I'm sorry."
Nothing spilled. Nothing broke. Not even a drop of tea trembled in its cup. But her voice came out fast, as if she had committed some unforgivable mistake.
"…Bit early to start apologizing to furniture."
Itsuki's shoulders straightened. Across the table, a boy slouched into his chair, hair tousled like he had wrestled with sleep and lost. His eyes were half-shut, his voice scratchy.
Tatsuya.
His dry remark hung in the air, brushing lightly against her like sandpaper. Itsuki turned, her practiced smile slipping back into place. "Good morning. I didn't realize anyone else would be awake yet."
"You didn't?" Tatsuya muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "Believe it of not, I got woken up by Ruza. I'm more surprised Luna isn't here yet."
Itsuki covered her small laugh with a hand, but when she reached for a cup to pour, her sleeve caught slightly and the tray gave another faint clatter.
"—I'm sorry."
Again. She apologized too fast when it wasn't necessary.
Tatsuya's gaze lingered on her this time. Not just on the way she smiled, but the way her eyes ducked, the way her shoulders tensed before she forced them loose again.
It was familiar.
That need to apologize for simply existing. That relentless whisper of my fault, my fault, my fault.
Only… he had worn it like barbed wire. She wore it like silk ribbon.
"…You don't have to," he said finally. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. "Nothing broke. Nobody's mad."
Itsuki blinked, her smile wobbling before steadying. "It's just… habit. I should be more careful."
"Yeah," Tatsuya leaned back, eyes narrowing faintly. "Or maybe you should stop punishing yourself for breathing too loud."
Her lips parted, but no words came out. For a second, the smile threatened to crack. But she caught it, smoothed it back into place, and bowed her head politely. "You're kind to say that."
Kind. Him? That was a first. He almost laughed. Instead, he exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Kind, huh? More like stating the obvious. You're not supposed to apologize to empty air, you know.
Before the silence could thicken, the door burst open with a crash that nearly rattled the ceiling.
"TA-TSU-YA!"
A streak of color barreled into the room. Brown hair swished, ruby eyes gleamed.
"I can't believe this! You actually beat me here!"
"I was this close, you know! I even sprinted down the hall! But nooo, you had to sneak in like some grumpy ninja and steal first place at breakfast!"
She puffed out her cheeks dramatically, then pointed straight at his chest like she was declaring war. "Fine! From now on, it's a competition! Tomorrow, I'm getting here before you, no excuses. Winner gets the first slice of bread!"
Itsuki covered her mouth, a small laugh escaping despite herself. For a moment, the atmosphere eased, the weight in her chest loosening.
Tatsuya groaned, slumping back against the chair. "…I didn't realize eating breakfast required a tournament bracket."
Part 3
The mansion garden was hushed beneath the soft sway of leaves. Morning dew still clung to the grass, sparkling faintly in the light. Amid the patches of shrubs and orderly hedges, a small corner stood out—an unassuming row of flowers, delicate stems trembling in the breeze.
Itsuki knelt there, sleeves tucked neatly, fingertips brushing the soil. Her lips moved, words falling so softly they could've been mistaken for the rustle of leaves.
"You're growing well… thank you for trying so hard."
Her voice carried the warmth she reserved for no one else, untainted by performance or obligation. Here, in this tiny plot, she allowed herself a piece of gentleness not bound by duty. The flowers were fragile, easily ruined, but she still tended to them with quiet care.
"Even if no one notices, it's enough… isn't it?"
The words were almost a prayer.
But then—
"Ah, so this is where you're hiding again."
Itsuki startled. Misuki's voice rang clear as she strode into the garden, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. Nisuki trailed behind, blinking at the flowers with drowsy curiosity.
Itsuki rose quickly, dusting her apron, her composure snapping into place. "Just… checking the soil," she said with her usual calm smile. "It wouldn't do for the garden to suffer neglect."
Misuki tilted her head, unconvinced. "Hmph. Talking to flowers now? You really are hopeless, sis." But her sharp tone didn't quite hide the faint curl of affection at the edges.
Nisuki crouched quietly, her fingers brushing one of the petals. "They're… pretty." She looked up, eyes half-lidded but soft. "Like you."
Itsuki's heart lurched. For a second, she wanted to answer honestly—to admit she planted these blooms for herself, because she needed something delicate to protect that wasn't her sisters.
But instead she tucked the thought away and smiled. "Thank you. Let's go, it's almost time to finish the chores."
Her hands lingered in the soil a moment longer before she pulled them free.
Later, back in the kitchen, the air smelled faintly of char.
Itsuki stood frozen before the stove, a tray of bread before her, its tops darkened far beyond golden brown. Smoke still curled from the edges.
"…I ruined it."
Her sisters entered just in time to see. Misuki wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, you burned it? Big deal. We'll just make more." She waved it off, already pulling out another pan.
Nisuki shook her head gently. "…It's fine. I don't mind eating it like this."
But their easy dismissal only made the weight crush harder.
I failed. Again. Even at something so simple. I'm supposed to take care of them, but I can't even manage bread. What kind of sister… what kind of eldest am I?
She forced a smile, one hand hiding the tremor in her fingers. "You're too kind. I'll redo it properly—please wait a little longer."
"Geez, you're so dramatic," Misuki muttered, though not unkindly.
Itsuki's laugh sounded steady, but inside her thoughts tore into her like knives.
Not enough. Never enough. They deserve better than this. Better than me.
Her smile stayed in place, immaculate as ever.
But when her sisters turned their heads, her eyes lowered to the ruined bread, and the expression behind them wasn't calm at all.
The mansion's corridor was hushed in the late evening, lanternlight spilling in muted pools along the polished floor. The day's chatter had faded away, and even the garden breeze seemed to have lost its voice.
Tatsuya slowed when he saw her.
Itsuki sat alone against the wall, knees drawn slightly in, her hands clasped tightly as if holding herself together. Her eyes were lowered, fixed on the floorboards, though her usual serene smile was still carved faintly across her lips. A smile, composed, but one that didn't reach her eyes.
For a moment, he considered walking past. Pretending he hadn't seen. That would have been easier. That was what the old him would have done.
But his feet betrayed him, carrying him forward until the soft creak of wood under his steps drew her attention.
"…Tatsuya." She blinked, straightening quickly, smoothing her skirt as if she had been caught in some wrongdoing. "Forgive me. I must look so unseemly, sitting here like this."
"Unseemly?" He leaned lightly against the wall opposite her, arms crossed. "Pretty sure sitting isn't a crime."
Her smile twitched, then steadied again. "Still, I should be—"
"—Perfect?" he finished for her, tone sharper than intended.
She fell silent, the weight of the word hanging between them.
Tatsuya exhaled, glancing up at the dim lantern glow. "…Being kind doesn't mean being perfect, you know. You're allowed to burn bread, or… sit in a hallway looking tired. Nobody's gonna drag you off in chains."
Her fingers clenched tighter, knuckles whitening. "…I can't."
The answer was soft, but firm.
"I'm the eldest. If I falter, even for a moment, Nisuki and Misuki will… they'll think I'm unreliable. I can't let them down. I won't." Her voice trembled, but the smile on her lips refused to break, as though it were the last wall keeping her upright.
Tatsuya studied her quietly. The way she crushed herself beneath expectations no one had given her. It was too familiar.
Except where he had carried his guilt like barbed wire, digging it into his skin, she wrapped hers in silk and called it kindness. Different coverings, same wound.
"…You don't have to explain it to me," he said finally. His tone was flat, but his presence was steady, solid, anchoring. "Just… stop tearing yourself apart when nobody's asking you to."
Itsuki's lips parted, but no words came. She looked down again, her hands trembling faintly in her lap. For once, she didn't answer with a smile.
And Tatsuya didn't push further. He didn't leave either. He simply stayed, leaning against the wall across from her, silent company in the quiet hall.
It wasn't advice. It wasn't a solution.
But it was presence. And sometimes, that was enough.