Another week passed, and Klaus still had not regained consciousness.
Alexander had placed him in a private clinic where he was monitored around the clock. He had been cleaned up—his hair no longer lay tangled across the pillow but rested neatly, washed and carefully combed.
Egor went to the hospital as if it were his job. Pauoka accompanied him several times. Sasha had kept his promise—no one besides them knew where Klaus was or what condition he was in.
On his first day off, at nine in the morning, the fair-haired young man was already approaching the familiar room, trying to think of something—anything—left to tell the prince.
Over the past days, he had retold every detail of his dull life.
There was nothing left.
He quietly opened the door—
—and froze.
Sasha sat beside the bed, slowly stroking Klaus's hair.
"Don't you think you've been sleeping a little too long?" he murmured, brushing his thumb along Klaus's cheek. "Maybe stop making us worry."
No response.
Sasha stood, leaned down, and pressed a slow kiss to Klaus's forehead.
"You owe me. Don't you dare die before you repay it."
He turned—
—and met Egor's stunned gaze through the half-open door.
Neither of them spoke.
Egor couldn't even explain what exactly unsettled him about what he had just seen.
Then—
a hoarse whisper cut through the silence.
"That's not a debt. It's a promise… Water. Give me water."
Sasha spun around.
Egor hadn't caught every word, but he knew that voice instantly. Without thinking, he shoved the door open and rushed to the bed.
Klaus's eyes flickered open, then closed again. A faint smile touched his lips.
Egor didn't realize what he was doing until he was already there—clinging to him, burying his face in his shoulder, shaking.
Alive.
He was alive.
"Well… what's wrong with you?" Klaus murmured weakly, awkwardly running a hand through Egor's hair. "Aren't you glad I'm back? …Could someone give me some water?"
Alexander had already called a nurse. She returned with a glass and a straw.
Klaus tried to sit up.
She pushed him back down.
"Don't move. Small sips."
For once, he didn't argue.
He obeyed, grimacing at the first swallow.
"How do you feel?" Egor asked, unable to stop smiling.
"Like I've been run over. Repeatedly. But I'm still here." A pause. "When do I get out? And… what are you doing here?"
He glanced at Sasha.
"He arranged your treatment," Egor said.
Klaus gave a quiet, humorless huff.
"I'm surprised he even found out."
"Careful," Sasha said calmly. "It's rude to talk like that about someone who was actually worried about you." A beat. "Do you need anything?"
"Yes. To get out of this sterile box and away from that disgusting smell."
"If you already have the strength to complain, you'll recover soon enough."
Klaus leaned back, closing his eyes.
"I'll sleep a bit more. Your world… is exhausting."
"Our world?" Sasha asked.
"He's from somewhere far from civilization," Egor said quickly, forcing a laugh. "That's just how he talks."
"Sometimes," Alexander said thoughtfully, "I get the feeling we really are from different worlds." He glanced at Egor. "Come. Let him rest."
At home, Egor shared the news with Pauoka.
The old woman came alive instantly—she made a list of Klaus's favorite dishes, changed the bedding, carefully ironed his clothes.
"So when will they discharge him?" she asked the next morning.
"I don't know," Egor said. "But he won't stay there longer than he has to."
He didn't.
Two days later, Klaus left the clinic despite the doctors' protests. Nothing could keep him inside those walls.
Egor brought him fresh clothes and took him home.
They still hadn't talked about what had happened.
Egor wanted to.
To apologize.
To ask for forgiveness.
To ask for a chance to fix what he had broken.
That evening, Klaus had already decided.
He was going back.
The orb was fully charged.
And Andrey's katana had arrived—marked paid.
It was beautiful.
A black hilt.A scabbard traced with red patterns.A curved blade—razor-sharp on one side, deliberately dulled on the other.
Light. Elegant. Deadly.
He had mastered many weapons and usually carried a heavy sword at court—
but his hands always returned to the katana.
With it, he could choose.
It didn't force him to kill.
Pauoka was furious.
Returning to Isorobia in this state, she said, was suicide.
Klaus understood.
But he also understood something else.
The longer he stayed here—
the harder it would be to leave.
Weakness had never stopped him before.
At home, he would either regain his strength—
or die where he belonged.
The wound itself hadn't been fatal.
The coma had come from complete magical exhaustion.
He had forced his body past its limits.
Like a stimulant.
Only worse.
Clara greeted him with a lecture that lasted half an hour and a list of dissatisfied clients.
When she realized he was truly leaving, she lost control.
"I hired you! I gave you a place where you could rise without effort! I tolerated everything—and now you're just walking away? Who am I supposed to replace you with? Do you have any idea how rare you are?"
"Clara," Klaus said quietly when she finally ran out of breath, "I am grateful. Truly. But I told you from the beginning—this was temporary."
"You're impossible," she muttered. "If you ever come back, I won't take you so easily."
"I understand."
"You'll have to earn it."
"So you'll leave a place for me?"
"I'll be bored without your nonsense," she admitted. "Just try to come back before your looks fade."
"Thank you."
That evening, they gathered in the bar.
Klaus, Sasha, Clara, Mia, and Egor.
Wine flowed freely.
For once, Klaus seemed… open.
Relaxed.
Real.
Egor watched him.
Too closely.
He didn't like seeing Klaus smile at others.
Didn't like how easily he laughed with Sasha.
Didn't like how much it bothered him.
At some point, Mia leaned closer.
"Do I have any chance of being more than a friend?" she asked quietly.
Egor didn't answer.
His gaze drifted back to Klaus.
She followed it.
Understood.
"I can't compete with him," she said softly.
Later, Klaus rose and approached Egor.
"You're enjoying yourself, but I need to take care of something. I'll be back in an hour. Maybe two."
"I'll come with you."
"No," Klaus said with a faint smirk. "This I handle alone. After that—we'll spend the rest of the night together."
Sasha stood as well.
Egor watched them leave.
Something twisted tight inside his chest.
The Night
Klaus had always kept his promises.
The first time—curiosity.
And whatever Sasha had slipped into his drink.
Now—
he wouldn't refuse.
Asking for it again would be… pathetic.
This was the last time he would see him.
If this was the kind of "gratitude" Sasha wanted—
so be it.
The hotel room smelled faintly of perfume and clean linen.
Steam drifted from the bathroom.
"You don't have to be here," Sasha said, stepping out in a white robe.
"Really?" Klaus's lips curved slightly. "Then I'll leave."
"You're insufferable."
Everything that followed blurred.
Wine.
Or something else.
Klaus didn't resist.
He let it happen.
Hands. Lips. Skin.
He let himself be undressed. Touched. Pulled closer.
At some point, he lost patience.
Egor was waiting.
He hadn't said goodbye to the old woman properly.
Time was running out.
Klaus shifted.
Took control.
No tenderness.
No hesitation.
No illusion.
Just the act.
Direct. Mechanical.
There was no disgust.
There was pleasure—
but only physical.
No different from hunger.
From thirst.
His first time—with a woman in a pleasure house—had felt exactly the same.
He still didn't understand why people were so obsessed with this.
It was fleeting.
Something you could satisfy alone.
Without complication.
Without… this.
"You have a talent for it," Sasha murmured afterward. "Are you sure this was your first time with a man?"
"Yes," Klaus said quietly.
Egor.
Was he still at the bar?
He had been drinking too much.
"Is that boy still there?" Sasha asked. "He didn't look sober."
"Yes."
"You're leaving already?"
"Yes."
"Was it that unpleasant?"
"Not at all," Klaus said, exhaling smoke. "I enjoyed it."
A pause.
"But I'm leaving."
"Will you kiss me goodbye?"
Klaus did.
Brief.
Nothing more.
He stood, showered, dressed.
"Stay," Sasha said, watching him.
"I have to go."
No hesitation.
He left.
Already dialing Egor's number.
"Are you still there?"
"Where else would I be?" came the slurred reply.
"I'm on my way."
Klaus slipped the phone back into his pocket and lit another cigarette.
The bitter taste.
The harsh smoke.
Familiar now.
Necessary.
In his world, tobacco existed too—
but nothing like this.
At best, crude hand-rolled cigarettes.
Or pipes clutched by aging nobles.