A week had passed since the Tsukinomori Music Festival concluded.
It was another ordinary afternoon. Today was a workday, Mutsumi and Sakiko had gone to school, leaving only Togawa Fuuki, leaning against the railing of the second-floor bedroom balcony, gazing at the overly bright spring light in the courtyard.
It was ironic, he thought. When he was grandly adopted by the Togawa Family under the name [Togawa Fuuki,] the eyes of Tokyo's entire upper society focused on him, speculating what kind of sharp human weapon this blond youth would be honed into—a financial genius? A political rising star? Or a secretly cultivated family assassin?
Fuuki himself had also prepared for a rainy day, cramming a pile of knowledge in advance for any eventualities.
However, reality delivered a resounding slap to everyone's face.
His days as [Togawa Fuuki] were eerily calm.
There were no strict elite courses, no heavy family duties, and even basic etiquette training was unbelievably lenient. This was consistent with the information he had gleaned from the memory disc fragments of the family head, Togawa Sadaharu, using his Stand, White Snake—the Togawa Family seemed to have no clear "training plan" for him, their adopted son.
This clearly violated the ruthless operating principles of giant conglomerates.
There is no gratuitous 'love,' only careful investment and return.
Fuuki was deeply convinced of this. His "integration" into the Togawa Family was, in essence, a calm calculation and exploitation, with the ultimate goal of 'control' and 'domination'—this was the most direct and effective rule for victory.
But, there are always exceptions.
That exception was named Togawa Mizuho, Sakiko's deceased mother, the Togawa Family's former designated successor, and the one who, against all opposition, brought him into this vast family.
Her entrustment before her death was clear and solemn.
The genuine emotion flowing from the memory disc Fuuki had personally extracted from her body was warm, almost scorching.
All indications converged into an undeniable answer—Togawa Mizuho's only hope for him, a youth with no blood relation, was simply for him to achieve… 'happiness.'
"happiness? Me?"
Fuuki chewed on these two words, as if tasting a peculiar fruit he had never encountered before. A hint of confusion rippled across the usually calm lake of his heart.
"Hmph hmph hmph…"
A cold, sneering laugh with a metallic friction quality, sounded in his ear without warning, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
"After a few days, you've become quite sentimental, haven't you?"
"You're here, White Snake."
Fuuki was not surprised by the awakening of his Stand.
After nearly a week of recuperation, his depleted mental energy was like a trickle seeping into a dry riverbed. Although still far from being able to summon his Stand for physical combat, he could at least now extract memory discs from others through direct contact.
"Ah, ah… always here." White Snake's voice permeated his consciousness like cold mist.
"It's just that someone was too indulgent, forcing me into 'hibernation' for a good while."
"But spring has arrived, and you're still a 'sick snake'."
"…" The voice in his consciousness seemed to choke for a moment, then a colder snort followed.
"Am I actually bickering with my own Stand?"
A hint of almost sorrowful absurdity flashed through Fuuki's mind. He shook his head, casting off this trivial emotion, and turned to walk into the relatively dim interior.
His gaze swept across the room, finally settling on Sakiko's desk. The desktop was tidy, adorned with stationery and a few textbooks.
"Hey, hey, hey, what are you trying to do?" White Snake's voice carried a hint of ominous premonition.
Fuuki didn't answer, his actions clearly showing his intent.
He walked straight to the desk and, without hesitation, pulled open the top drawer.
"Ha… when did your fetish become so perverse?"
"Tsk tsk, as your Stand, I'm even ashamed."
Fuuki ignored his Stand's noisy criticism. His fingers swiftly and efficiently rummaged through the neatly arranged notebooks, pencil cases, and small trinkets in the drawer, with a clear sense of purpose.
He certainly had a reason, a crucial one.
He had practically scoured every corner of Togawa Mizuho's memory, yet the most critical piece of the puzzle was missing—the memory of the day of Starfall two years ago!
What happened that day? Why did Togawa Mizuho suddenly decide to adopt a boy she had never met? Why did she ask nothing of him, and why was her wish for him to "find happiness" so genuinely moving?
The source of all these anomalies was likely hidden in the mist of that day.
Since there was no breakthrough in Mizuho's memory, finding clues from her daughter—Togawa Sakiko—became the most direct option.
And Wakaba Mutsumi had once unintentionally mentioned that Sakiko seemed to always keep a special 'notebook'.
"Shut up, sick snake," Fuuki responded coldly in his consciousness, "The answer I'm looking for is far more important than your noise."
"An answer?"
"Look at your focused expression, your practiced rummaging… Do you need me to call the police for you to turn yourself in?"
At this moment, Fuuki's fingers were already reaching for the locked bottom drawer of the desk. Unexpectedly, the lock was open. He pulled open the drawer; it was filled with old photo albums, certificates, and used stationery.
He patiently took out the items one by one. Just as he was about to reach the bottom, his fingertips brushing against a hard cover at the very bottom of the drawer—
A faint breath, almost blending with the air, sounded beside him.
Fuuki paused, then slowly turned his head.
Wakaba Mutsumi had returned at some point; she stood beside him, her head tilted slightly, quietly watching him… and an old hairpin he was taking out of Sakiko's drawer.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
White Snake also let out a silent, gleeful, sharp shriek in his consciousness.
However, Fuuki's reaction once again refreshed his Stand's understanding of human limits.
He showed no sign of embarrassment, panic, or intent to explain at being caught. Instead, very naturally and matter-of-factly, he set aside the insignificant hairpin in his hand, and under Mutsumi's calm gaze, gently took her slender wrist.
"Mutsumi, you've come at just the right time!"
"Help me find something."
Looking at the boy's frank expression, the girl did not struggle, nor did she ask what he was looking for. She simply followed the direction of Fuuki's slight pull and obediently squatted down, looking with him at the somewhat messy desk.
White Snake: "…"
With Mutsumi's quiet and efficient assistance, Fuuki quickly found what he was looking for. At the very bottom of the drawer, a remarkably well-preserved notebook lay quietly.
The light green cover was slightly old, but the edges were not curled, indicating the owner cherished it.
And in the center of the cover, a very vivid rhinoceros beetle was printed.
"Rhinoceros beetle?"
Fuuki's heart rate uncontrollably accelerated for a moment. He eagerly picked up the notebook, and Mutsumi also leaned closer, her hair almost touching Fuuki's arm, her eyes filled with a hint of curiosity.
Both took a deep breath and opened the cover.
The paper was slightly yellowed, with Sakiko's somewhat naive but clear handwriting. However, the anticipated text about daily observations, or related to family and mother, did not appear.
What greeted their eyes was… [When the blood moon permeates the canvas of the sky, and the bell tolls the thirteenth chime, the forgotten puppet theater will reopen.]
[Rusty gears mesh with the sighs of the dead, and tar rain washes away the masks of deceit.]
[Moonlight fills! Only then can the broken puppets reclaim their lost crowns.]
[Fools sing, wise men are silent; on the spiral staircase, we are all puppeteers and puppets.]
[The world of Ave Mujica… declares its return in silence.]
[Now is the time for restoration!]
Fuuki: "…"
Mutsumi: "…"
The two silently read through it. Fuuki's brow furrowed tighter and tighter, his expression shifting from initial anticipation to confusion, and finally solidifying into something ineffable… However, as his gaze swept over the repeatedly appearing "Ave Mujica" and "Masked Puppets," an absurd yet incredibly clear thought burst into his mind.
Togawa Sakiko… the band she wanted to form couldn't possibly be… Ave Mujica?
"I'm surprised, I didn't expect Sakiko's inner world to be like this…"
Just as Fuuki and Mutsumi were somewhat bewildered by the notebook's overly "unique" worldview—
"Mutsumi? Fuuki? Are you upstairs?"
Downstairs, Sakiko's call, with the cheerful air of returning from school, echoed, and footsteps were approaching the bedroom along the corridor!
"I brought a wonderful friend home today!"
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