After a long day beneath the sun and salt air, the warmth of the beach still clinging faintly to their skin, Illumina regrouped and made their way back toward the second layer of the Coastal Kingdom. The transition was immediate. The calm openness of the shoreline gave way once more to the dense, vibrant life of the city. Lanterns had begun to glow as evening settled in, casting golden light across the streets, and the distant hum of nightlife slowly began to build again.
The pace was slower this time, more relaxed, the exhaustion from the day settling comfortably into their movements rather than weighing them down. Sand still clung faintly to their clothes, their hair still carrying traces of the ocean, but none of them seemed to mind.
Aiko walked slightly ahead, hands behind her head, clearly already thinking about what was waiting for them. “Round two,” she said with a faint grin.
Ryuji let out a small breath. “You just don’t get tired, do you?”
“No,” she replied simply.
By the time they reached Vil’s Bar, the energy outside had begun to build again, though it wasn’t quite at its peak. A line had already formed near the entrance, a mix of travelers and locals waiting their turn beneath the flickering lanternlight. The building itself seemed even more alive at night, its presence louder, more commanding, as if it fed off the energy gathering around it.
Tetsuo glanced at the line and groaned quietly. “We really doing this again?”
Aiko shrugged. “It’ll move.”
It didn’t move fast.
But it moved.
Eventually, they found themselves at the front, the same guarded entrance standing between them and the noise spilling from within. The guard at the door, arms crossed and expression unreadable, looked them over once.
“No entry,” he said flatly.
Ryuji blinked. “…What?”
“Private establishment,” the guard continued. “Come back later.”
Aiko’s brow twitched slightly. “We were here yesterday.”
“That does not guarantee access today.”
Shunjiro stepped forward just slightly, not aggressive, just enough to be heard. “We know Vil,” he said calmly. “He let us in before.”
The guard didn’t react.
“Everyone says that,” he replied.
Aiko exhaled slowly, already losing patience. “You can just-”
Before she could finish, the door behind the guard opened.
The shift was immediate.
The guard straightened slightly, stepping aside without being told.
Vil stepped out.
His presence carried the same quiet authority as before, but tonight there was something lighter in his expression, something more relaxed. His eyes moved across the group once, recognition settling in almost instantly.
“Well,” he said, a faint smile forming, “didn’t expect to see you all again this soon.”
Aiko smirked. “Miss us?”
Vil let out a quiet chuckle. “Something like that.”
He glanced at the guard briefly. “They’re with me.”
The guard nodded immediately, stepping aside fully this time without another word.
“Come on,” Vil said, motioning them inside. “No need to wait in line.”
The shift from outside to inside was seamless, the noise swallowing them again as they stepped into the bar. Music pulsed through the space, conversations layered over one another, movement constant in every direction but Vil didn’t lead them into the chaos.
Instead, he guided them along the side, past the main crowd, toward a more secluded section tucked deeper within the building.
A private space.
The lighting softened slightly there, the noise dampened just enough to allow for conversation without shouting. A separate bar counter stood along one wall, stocked just as well as the main floor but far less crowded.
Vil stepped behind it casually, resting a hand against the surface as he looked at them.
“Figured you might prefer this,” he said.
Aiko glanced around, impressed despite herself. “Yeah,” she admitted. “This works.”
Tetsuo dropped into one of the seats with a satisfied exhale. “Way better.”
Yoshinori remained standing for a moment, scanning the space out of habit before finally settling.
Shunjiro lingered just slightly, his eyes shifting toward Vil, not tense, not pressured, but thoughtful.
Vil noticed.
And though nothing was said yet there was a quiet understanding that this time, the conversation wouldn’t be the same as before.
Vil rested his hands lightly against the counter, studying them for a moment as they settled into the quieter space. The shift from the chaos outside was immediate, the noise reduced to a distant hum, the lighting softer, more controlled.
“For what it’s worth,” Vil said, his voice carrying easily in the smaller room, “this isn’t open to most people.”
Aiko leaned back slightly in her seat, one brow lifting. “Oh?”
Vil’s gaze shifted briefly to Shunjiro before returning to the group. “This is where Squad 8 drinks when they’re in the city.”
Tetsuo let out a low whistle under his breath. “You’re serious?”
Vil gave a small nod. “They don’t like crowds. Not when they’re off duty.” A faint smirk touched his lips. “And when they are here, it’s easier to keep certain… situations from happening if they’re not surrounded by half the city.”
Ryuji leaned forward slightly, glancing around the room with new interest. “So we’re sitting where they usually sit?”
“Something like that.”
Aiko’s smirk returned. “Didn’t realize we were that important.”
Vil’s eyes flicked back to Shunjiro again, just for a second. “Takeshi’s brother deserves the same treatment.”
The room quieted for a brief moment.
Shunjiro didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t look away either. There was something in that statement that settled differently than the rest.
Vil straightened slightly, easing the tension before it could linger too long. “So,” he said, shifting the tone back to something lighter, “how’s the stay been so far?”
That opened it up.
Tetsuo leaned back in his seat, stretching slightly. “Beach was good,” he said. “Almost drowned, but we’re not gonna talk about that.”
“We are absolutely going to talk about that,” Ryuji replied immediately.
“I figured it out,” Tetsuo shot back. “That’s what matters.”
“You stood up,” Shunjiro added.
“That’s still figuring it out.”
Aiko let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You two are unbelievable.”
Itsuki smiled softly at the exchange, her posture more relaxed than it had been earlier. “It was nice,” she said. “Being able to just… enjoy it.”
Yoshinori nodded slightly. “A necessary break.”
Vil listened, arms loosely crossed now, his expression calm but attentive. “Good,” he said. “Most people come here and forget to actually experience the place.”
Aiko leaned forward then, her attention shifting quickly. “Alright,” she said, tapping lightly against the counter. “Enough about that. What do you have?”
Vil raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“The alcohol,” she clarified, a faint grin forming. “What kind do you serve here?”
Vil’s expression shifted just slightly.
“Well,” he said slowly, turning and reaching for a bottle behind him, “that depends on what you’re looking for.”
Aiko’s eyes followed the motion immediately, sharp, curious. “Something strong,” she said. “But not cheap strong. Something that actually has flavor.”
Vil glanced back at her, clearly reassessing. “…You’ve got a preference.”
“I like to know what I’m drinking,” she replied simply.
He pulled a bottle from the shelf, setting it down between them. The glass caught the light, the liquid inside a deep amber that shifted slightly as it settled.
“Coastal distill,” Vil said. “Made not far from here. Pulled from mineral-heavy water and aged with sea-treated wood.”
Aiko leaned in slightly, studying it. “…That’s new.”
“It’s not widely exported,” Vil added. “Too difficult to replicate the conditions elsewhere.”
Ryuji folded his arms, glancing between them. “You two about to start speaking another language or…?”
Aiko ignored him completely. “What’s the finish like?” she asked.
Vil gave a small, approving nod. “Smooth at first,” he said. “Then it lingers. Slight salt on the back end, but not enough to overpower.”
Aiko’s grin widened just a bit. “I like that.”
Itsuki watched quietly, her gaze shifting between Aiko and Vil, clearly not following every detail but understanding enough to see how engaged Aiko was.
“You’ve tried a lot, haven’t you?” Itsuki asked gently.
Aiko shrugged. “Some.”
Vil let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost amused. “More than most your age, I’d guess.”
“Probably,” Aiko replied without hesitation.
Tetsuo leaned forward, eyeing the bottle now. “So are we drinking or just talking about it?”
Vil smirked faintly. “Patience.”
Vil moved with quiet precision behind the counter, pulling down a set of clean glasses and arranging them in front of the group. The soft clink of glass against polished wood settled into the rhythm of the room as their conversation carried on.
Before he could begin pouring, Itsuki leaned forward slightly, her hands resting neatly together. “Do you have anything non-alcoholic?” she asked, her tone gentle but clear.
Yoshinori spoke just after her, without looking up from where he stood. “The same for me.”
Vil’s eyes shifted between them, then toward the rest of the group. “Of course,” he said simply. “Not everyone needs to dull their senses to enjoy themselves.”
Shunjiro hesitated for a brief second before giving a small nod. “I’ll pass too,” he added. “Just something light.”
Vil acknowledged it with a glance, already reaching for a separate set of bottles behind him. “Citrus infusion,” he said, pouring a pale golden liquid into a glass before sliding it toward Itsuki. “Clean. Refreshing.”
Another followed for Yoshinori, something darker, more subtle in tone and a third for Shunjiro.
Then his attention shifted.
“And the rest of you,” he said, picking up the earlier bottle Aiko had been eyeing, “don’t seem like you’ll be as restrained.”
Tetsuo leaned forward with a grin. “Definitely not.”
Ryuji shrugged, though there was already a faint smirk forming. “Might as well.”
Aiko didn’t say anything, she just watched the bottle.
Vil poured evenly, the amber liquid catching the low light as it filled each glass. He slid them across the counter without ceremony.
Aiko picked hers up immediately, lifting it slightly and giving it a brief swirl before taking a measured sip. Her eyes narrowed just slightly as she processed it, then relaxed.
“…That’s good,” she said, almost to herself.
Tetsuo didn’t bother with that.
He downed half the glass in one go.
Ryuji blinked. “…You serious?”
Tetsuo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. “What?”
Aiko glanced at him, unimpressed. “That’s not how you drink it.”
“That’s exactly how you drink it.”
“No,” she said flatly, “that’s how you waste it.”
Tetsuo leaned in slightly. “You wanna test that?”
Aiko’s eyes flicked up to meet his.
There was a brief pause.
Then she smirked.
“Fine.”
Ryuji leaned back immediately. “…Oh no.”
Vil, already seeing where this was going, didn’t intervene, at least not yet. He simply poured another round, setting the glasses down between them.
Tetsuo picked his up first. “No backing out.”
Aiko tilted her head slightly, lifting hers. “You wish.”
They went at it.
Round after round, the glasses emptied quickly, the difference in their approach obvious from the start. Tetsuo powered through it, treating each drink like a challenge to overcome. Aiko, on the other hand, stayed controlled drinking just as fast, but never losing pace, never losing balance.
Ryuji watched, arms crossed, equal parts impressed and concerned. “…She’s going to win.”
“She is not-” Tetsuo started, before finishing another glass.
Aiko set hers down at the same time, completely steady.
Vil’s eyes flicked between them, measuring.
Another round.
Then another.
Tetsuo’s movements started to slow just slightly, not enough to stop, but enough to show.
Aiko didn’t change at all.
And when Tetsuo finally leaned back, exhaling hard, setting his glass down with a heavier thud than before.
Aiko calmly finished hers.
Silence lingered for a second.
Then she placed the empty glass down and looked at him.
“Done?” she asked.
Tetsuo stared at her.
Then laughed.
“…Alright,” he admitted. “You got me.”
Vil stepped in immediately, reaching for the bottle before Aiko could go for another. “That’s enough,” he said, firm but not harsh.
Aiko frowned slightly. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are,” Vil replied. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
She held his gaze for a second longer, then exhaled and leaned back. “You’re no fun.”
“That’s why this place is still standing,” he said dryly.
The tension broke into something lighter again, conversation picking back up as the group settled. Tetsuo slumped slightly in his seat, still conscious but clearly feeling it now, while Ryuji shook his head.
“…You’re insane,” he muttered to Aiko.
She smirked faintly.
Then leaned toward him, lowering her voice just enough that it didn’t carry across the room.
“I took a bottle,” she said.
Ryuji blinked. “…You what?”
Aiko didn’t look at him, her gaze forward, completely casual. “When no one was looking.”
He stared at her for a second, then let out a quiet breath through his nose. “…Of course you did.”
She stretched slightly, standing up as if nothing had just been said. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”
Ryuji immediately stood as well.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m coming with you.”
Aiko glanced at him sideways. “Worried about me?”
“Yes.”
She smirked. “Relax.”
“I’m not worried about you,” he added. “I’m worried about everyone else.”
That got a small laugh out of her.
“Fair,” she said.
Without drawing attention, the two of them slipped away from the group, heading toward the back of the bar.
Aiko didn’t head toward the back of the bar.
She didn’t even slow down.
The moment she cleared the main floor, she shifted direction entirely, slipping past the side exit with the same quiet confidence she used when doing something she absolutely wasn’t supposed to be doing. The door opened just long enough to let in the fading light of evening before closing behind them with a soft thud.
Ryuji stepped out after her, already shaking his head. “…That wasn’t the bathroom.”
Aiko kept walking, the bottle loosely held at her side. “Obviously.”
The sky above the Coastal Kingdom was beginning to change, the bright gold of late afternoon melting into softer shades of orange and violet. Lanterns flickered to life one by one along the streets, their glow slowly replacing the sun as it dipped lower toward the horizon.
“I thought you said bathroom,” Ryuji added, catching up beside her.
“I changed my mind,” she replied simply.
He glanced at the bottle. “…And took that with you.”
“Yeah.”
“…You’re unbelievable.”
Aiko smirked faintly, not even looking at him. “You’re still here.”
That was enough of an answer.
They moved through the second layer without much resistance, the streets beginning to fill again as night approached. Music was starting to rise, conversations growing louder, the city shifting back into its nighttime rhythm but Aiko didn’t slow, didn’t stop.
She kept moving toward the lower layer.
Toward the ocean.
“You’re serious about this?” Ryuji asked after a moment. “Night swimming?”
Aiko shrugged lightly. “Why not?”
“It’s cold.”
“That’s the point.”
“…That’s not a good point.”
Aiko let out a quiet laugh.
As they descended the final stretch toward the beach, the sound of voices reached them, raised, sharp, cutting through the otherwise steady rhythm of the waves.
Two sailors stood near the edge of the lower path, arguing loudly enough that a small gap had formed around them.
“I’m telling you, I saw it!” one of them snapped, his voice rough, his stance unsteady but not entirely from drink. “It wasn’t normal!”
“You didn’t see anything,” the other shot back, shoving him lightly. “You’ve had too much, that’s what it is.”
The first man staggered slightly, then pushed back harder. “I know what I saw! Something moved out there… big. Bigger than anything that should be that close to shore.”
Ryuji slowed slightly, his eyes flicking toward them.
Aiko didn’t.
“…Keep moving,” she muttered.
“-The Shore Reaver,” the first sailor continued, his voice dropping just slightly, like the name itself carried weight. “It’s real. I’m telling you.”
The other man scoffed loudly. “That’s a myth. Something to scare kids and drunk idiots.”
“It’s not a myth!”
They shoved each other again, the argument teetering on the edge of becoming something more physical.
Aiko walked straight past them.
Uninterested.
Unbothered.
Ryuji lingered just a second longer, his gaze narrowing slightly before he followed after her. “…You don’t think-”
“No,” Aiko cut him off. “I don’t.”
“…Alright.”
By the time they reached the sand, the world had quieted again.
The crowd was thinner now, the earlier beachgoers replaced by scattered groups and distant silhouettes. The ocean stretched out into the deepening dark, reflecting what little light remained in broken, shifting lines across its surface.
The air was cooler.
Sharper.
Aiko kicked off her sandals without hesitation, stepping onto the sand and heading straight for the water.
Ryuji exhaled. “…You’re actually doing this.”
She didn’t look back.
“Come on.”
He followed.
The first touch of water hit like a shock.
Cold.
Far colder than it had been earlier in the day.
Ryuji flinched slightly. “Okay yeah, that’s freezing.”
Aiko stepped in anyway, the water climbing up her ankles, then her calves, her breath hitching just slightly at the sudden drop in temperature but she didn’t stop.
“That’s the point,” she said, though her voice tightened just a bit.
Ryuji shook his head, stepping in after her. “You’re insane.”
Another wave rolled in, higher this time, splashing against them both.
Aiko let out a small laugh.
And then she moved.
She stepped deeper, faster now, pushing through the water until it reached her knees, then her waist, the cold biting sharper with each step but quickly fading into something else, something energizing, something alive.
Ryuji followed, slower but steady, his movements more measured as he adjusted.
“…You’re not even reacting anymore,” he said.
Aiko turned toward him, water dripping from her arms as she pushed wet hair back from her face.
“I told you,” she said, a grin forming, “you get used to it.”
Before he could respond, she splashed him hard.
Water hit his chest, sending droplets scattering into the air, catching the last light of the sunset before falling back into the sea.
Ryuji blinked.
“…Really?”
Aiko didn’t answer.
She just laughed.
And splashed him again.
This time he reacted.
He stepped forward, scooping water up and throwing it back, the two of them falling into a rhythm that felt effortless, their movements cutting through the surface, sending arcs of water into the air that shimmered against the fading sky.
The sun dipped lower.
Colors deepened.
Gold turned to orange.
Orange faded into violet.
The ocean reflected it all, broken only by the movement they created, the waves catching the light and scattering it around them.
Aiko spun slightly as another wave rolled in, her laughter carrying across the water, unrestrained, unguarded in a way it rarely was. For once, there was no edge to it. No defense behind it.
Just… her.
Ryuji watched her for a second longer than he meant to before shaking his head and stepping forward again, sending another splash her way.
“You’re going to regret this,” he said.
“Not a chance.”
They stepped out of the water slowly, the cold clinging to them for a moment before the night air began to take over. Droplets ran down their arms and legs, catching faint starlight before disappearing into the sand beneath their feet.
The beach had thinned out even more now. Most people had either gone back to the upper layers or gathered far down the shoreline, their voices distant, barely reaching this part of the coast. Out here, it felt almost isolated.
Aiko spotted the log first.
Driftwood, worn smooth by time and tide, half-buried in the sand just above where the waves reached.
She walked over without saying anything and sat down, brushing a bit of sand off with the side of her hand before leaning back slightly. The bottle rested loosely between her fingers as she twisted it open, taking a small sip.
Ryuji followed a moment later, sitting beside her with a quiet exhale, elbows resting on his knees as he looked out at the water.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The ocean moved in steady, low breaths in front of them, the sky above stretching wide and clear now, scattered with stars that seemed brighter without the noise of the city pressing in.
“…You dragged me out here for this?” Ryuji said after a moment, his tone calm, not complaining, just curious.
Aiko shrugged lightly, taking another sip. “Too loud up there.”
Ryuji nodded slightly. “…Yeah.”
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… familiar. Like something they’d done before without needing to say it.
Ryuji leaned back a bit, resting his weight on his hands. “You always pick places like this.”
Aiko glanced at him briefly. “What kind of places?”
“Quiet ones,” he said. “Away from people.”
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she tilted the bottle slightly, watching the liquid move inside before taking another small drink. “…People are annoying.”
Ryuji let out a faint huff of amusement. “You say that like you don’t cause half the problems.”
“I don’t cause them,” she replied. “I just don’t avoid them.”
“…That’s the same thing.”
Aiko smirked faintly but didn’t argue.
Another wave rolled in, just close enough to brush the edge of the sand near their feet before pulling back again.
Ryuji’s gaze stayed on the horizon for a while before he spoke again, quieter this time.
“…You ever think about it?”
Aiko didn’t look at him. “Think about what?”
“Before,” he said.
The word lingered between them, heavier than anything else they had said so far.
Aiko’s fingers tightened just slightly around the bottle, the motion small enough that most people wouldn’t notice.
“…Not really,” she said.
Ryuji didn’t call it out.
Didn’t push it.
He just nodded once, like he understood what that answer actually meant.
“…I do,” he said after a moment.
Aiko glanced at him then, her expression unreadable.
“Sometimes,” he continued, “I wonder what it would’ve been like if things were different.”
Aiko looked back out at the water.
“…Different how?”
Ryuji shrugged lightly. “If I stayed. If you stayed. If none of that happened.”
Aiko let out a quiet breath through her nose, something between a laugh and a dismissal. “…That wouldn’t have worked.”
“No,” Ryuji admitted. “Probably not.”
The wind shifted slightly, brushing past them, carrying the scent of the ocean stronger now.
Aiko tilted her head back just slightly, looking up at the sky for a second before lowering her gaze again.
“…You really thought you were going to be king,” she said.
Ryuji let out a short laugh. “Yeah.”
“You were serious about that.”
“I was,” he said. “Didn’t think it was impossible back then.”
Aiko smirked faintly. “It was.”
“Yeah,” he said again, softer this time. “I know that now.”
Another pause settled in, deeper this time.
The kind that didn’t need to be filled.
Aiko lifted the bottle again, taking a longer drink this time before lowering it slowly.
“…Tom used to say that too,” she said.
Ryuji’s expression shifted slightly at the name.
“…Yeah,” he said quietly.
Aiko’s gaze drifted downward, her voice losing some of its edge.
“Said people like us don’t get stories like that.”
Ryuji didn’t respond right away.
He didn’t need to.
Because they both knew what she meant.
The waves continued their steady rhythm, the sound filling the silence between them as the past crept closer.
And without another word the memory pulled them back.
The ocean disappeared.
The sound of waves was replaced by something else.
Distant.
Muted.
Controlled.
Stone walls.
Cold floors.
A kingdom that looked beautiful from the outside and rotten from within.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Three years ago. The Kingdom of Troff, Light Continent.
Morning arrived too cleanly inside the palace.
Sunlight spilled through tall glass windows framed by white curtains and gold-threaded drapes, pouring into Aiko Hanabi’s bedroom like the world had already decided she was supposed to be grateful for another day. The room was beautiful in the way everything in Troff’s palace was beautiful, polished, expensive, and suffocating. White stone walls. Painted ceilings. Carved furniture. A bed large enough for three people, covered in soft blankets she barely cared for. Fresh flowers placed near the window each morning by servants who never asked if she liked them.
Aiko hated the flowers.
They smelled fake even when they were real.
She lay face down beneath her blankets, hair spilled across the pillows in long waves of purple, refusing to move even as sunlight warmed the back of her head.
A gentle knock came at the door.
Aiko didn’t answer.
The door opened anyway.
“My lady,” a soft voice called.
Aiko stayed perfectly still.
The maid stepped in quietly, closing the door behind her with practiced care. She was older than Aiko by several years, young enough to still be nervous around royalty, but experienced enough to know that Princess Aiko Hanabi was never easy in the morning.
“My lady,” the maid repeated, coming closer. “It’s time to wake up.”
No response.
The maid stopped beside the bed and sighed softly. “Princess Aiko.”
Aiko’s voice came muffled from the pillow. “I died.”
The maid paused.
“…You did not.”
“I did,” Aiko said. “Very tragic. Tell everyone. Ceremony canceled.”
The maid pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to smile. “Your father requested your presence in the grand hall.”
Aiko lifted her head just enough for one eye to show through the curtain of purple hair. “Then tell him I requested more sleep.”
“You know I cannot do that.”
“You can. You just won’t.”
“My lady…”
Aiko groaned and dropped her face back into the pillow. “I don’t want to go.”
The maid’s expression softened for half a second, but only half. In Troff’s palace, sympathy had to be quiet. Too much of it could become dangerous.
“You have formal duties today,” she said gently. “All three princesses are expected to appear.”
That made Aiko groan louder.
“Exactly,” she muttered. “My sisters can go. There are two of them. That’s plenty.”
The maid walked to the wardrobe and opened it, revealing several dresses arranged by color and occasion. “Your sisters are already being prepared.”
“Good for them.”
“And you are late.”
“I’m royalty. Isn’t everyone supposed to wait for me?”
“They are waiting for your father.”
Aiko’s silence was answer enough.
The maid selected a dress from the wardrobe, pale blue with white embroidery along the sleeves and waist, delicate enough to look innocent but expensive enough to remind everyone who she belonged to. Aiko pushed herself up just enough to glare at it.
“No.”
The maid didn’t turn around. “Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I hate that one.”
“You hate all of them.”
Aiko sat up fully now, hair falling over her shoulders in a messy cascade. Even half-awake and annoyed, she stood out. Her long purple hair was unmistakable among the royal family, vivid and soft, catching the sunlight with a faint sheen. It was the first thing most nobles noticed about her, and the thing they whispered about most often.
She did not look like her father.
That was the problem.
Her two older sisters carried his image proudly, black hair smooth and elegant, sharp eyes, composed faces, every movement shaped by expectation. They looked like daughters of the king. Proper. Cold. Perfect.
Aiko looked like her mother.
Purple hair. Softer features. Eyes that held too much feeling, even when she tried to hide it.
A face the court remembered and her father avoided looking at for too long.
The maid approached with the dress, and Aiko slid backward on the bed.
“I can dress myself.”
“You said that last time and climbed out the window.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three times.”
“They shouldn’t leave the window unlocked.”
The maid gave her a look.
Aiko stared back.
For a moment, it was a silent battle.
Then the maid won, as she usually did, not because she was stronger, but because Aiko eventually got tired of fighting battles that didn’t matter.
By the time she was dressed, Aiko felt less like a person and more like a decoration being prepared for display. The fabric was soft, but too tight in places. The sleeves were too delicate. The collar sat too neatly. Everything about it demanded posture, grace, obedience. The maid brushed her hair until it flowed smoothly down her back, tying small silver ornaments into a few strands near her temples.
Aiko stared at herself in the mirror.
The reflection stared back.
Princess Aiko Hanabi.
Third daughter of the King of Troff.
A pretty doll in a pretty room.
She hated it.
“You look beautiful, my lady,” the maid said quietly.
Aiko’s expression didn’t change. “That’s the problem.”
The maid didn’t answer.
Aiko turned away from the mirror before she had to look at herself any longer.
The palace halls were already alive when she stepped out. Servants moved quickly but quietly, carrying trays, adjusting decorations, whispering instructions beneath their breath. Knights lined certain corridors in polished armor, standing straight enough to seem carved from stone. Every window had been cleaned. Every banner hung perfectly. Every surface shined.
Troff loved appearances.
It loved ceremonies. Speeches. Noble gatherings. Formal displays of unity that hid every fracture beneath silk and gold.
Aiko walked through it all with slow steps, ignoring the maid’s repeated requests to hurry.
The closer they came to the grand hall, the louder the voices became. Polite laughter. Measured conversation. The subtle clink of glasses. Aiko could hear the nobles before she saw them, and already her stomach twisted.
The doors opened.
The grand hall glittered.
It was enormous, built to impress anyone who entered. High ceilings arched above them, painted with scenes of Troff’s founding kings standing beneath golden suns. Marble columns lined both sides of the room, each wrapped in banners bearing the kingdom’s crest. Chandeliers hung overhead, their crystals catching light and scattering it across the polished floor like fragments of stars.
And everywhere-
Nobles.
Too many of them.
Men and women dressed in expensive fabrics, arranged in clusters like carefully placed pieces on a board. Their smiles were polished. Their voices controlled. Their eyes sharp. They watched without seeming to watch, judged without seeming to judge.
Aiko felt them notice her.
She always did.
The purple-haired princess.
The difficult one.
The one who looked like the late queen.
The one who never smiled at the right time.
Her two older sisters stood near the front of the hall, poised and perfect. Both wore elegant dresses in darker colors, their black hair styled neatly, their expressions calm in a way Aiko had never been able to imitate. They glanced at her as she entered. One looked away almost immediately. The other gave her a faint look of warning.
Behave.
Aiko looked away first.
She moved toward her assigned place near them, every step feeling like a performance she had never agreed to join. A noblewoman bowed as she passed. Aiko gave the smallest nod she could get away with. A lord smiled at her. She ignored him. Two younger noble girls whispered behind their hands, eyes flicking toward her hair.
Aiko almost stuck her tongue out at them.
Almost.
Then she saw him.
A boy standing in formation with the knights along the side of the hall.
He was around her age, maybe a little older, wearing formal knight attire that looked too stiff on him. His posture was straight, chin lifted, shoulders squared as if he had practiced the stance a thousand times in front of someone who expected perfection. His hair was slicked back neatly, not a strand out of place, and his face held the serious expression of someone trying very hard to be taken seriously.
Aiko stared.
Not because he looked impressive.
Because he looked ridiculous.
Too polished. Too stiff. Too determined.
Like a kid pretending to be a statue.
His eyes shifted for just a second, catching hers.
Aiko raised an eyebrow.
The boy immediately looked forward again, jaw tightening like he had been caught committing a crime.
Aiko almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the room changed.
The side doors opened, and the murmurs died instantly.
Her father entered.
King Darius Hanabi of Troff walked into the grand hall with the kind of authority that made people straighten before they realized they were doing it. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in deep black and gold, his long dark hair swept back from his face. His presence filled the room without effort. Every noble bowed. Every knight lowered their gaze.
Aiko did too.
Not because she respected him.
Because she knew better than not to.
Her father walked to the raised platform at the front of the hall and turned to face them. His eyes moved across the room, slow and cold, passing over nobles, knights, servants, his daughters.
When his gaze touched Aiko, it lingered only a moment.
Then moved on.
That stung more than if he had glared.
The ceremony began.
Aiko barely listened.
There were speeches, of course. There were always speeches. Words about prosperity, unity, loyalty, duty. Her father spoke of Troff’s strength and the importance of noble cooperation, of tradition and the kingdom’s future. The nobles listened with practiced admiration, nodding at the proper moments, applauding when expected.
Aiko stood still beside her sisters, hands folded neatly in front of her, exactly as she had been taught.
Inside, she was somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
She watched dust drift through sunlight near the windows. She counted the number of times Lord Verdan adjusted his ridiculous collar. She wondered if the stiff knight boy’s face hurt from looking so serious.
Then the music began.
Aiko’s stomach dropped.
No.
Her sister beside her leaned slightly closer without moving her face. “Don’t embarrass us.”
Aiko whispered back, “Too late. I was born.”
Her sister’s jaw tightened.
Names were announced. Pairs were formed. The dance was ceremonial, part of Troff’s noble tradition, meant to display grace, discipline, and unity between the royal family and the noble houses. To Aiko, it was just another way to make her body obey in front of people who enjoyed watching.
A young nobleman approached her and bowed.
“Princess Aiko,” he said smoothly. “May I have the honor?”
No.
That was what she wanted to say.
Instead, she placed her hand in his because refusing would become a problem, and problems in this palace had consequences.
“You may,” she said, flat enough that his smile faltered.
They stepped into the formation.
The music rose.
And Aiko danced.
She knew the steps. That was the worst part. She knew exactly how to turn, how to place her feet, how to keep her posture elegant, how to lower her eyes just enough to appear modest but not timid. She had been trained for this since she was small. Every motion had been drilled into her until even rebellion couldn’t erase it.
Her partner smiled as they moved. “You dance beautifully, Princess.”
Aiko didn’t look at him. “I know.”
He blinked.
She turned under his arm, dress sweeping around her legs, purple hair shifting behind her like a banner she never chose to carry. Applause sounded faintly from the edges of the hall. Nobles watched with approval. Her father watched with nothing at all.
That was what made it unbearable.
Not the dress.
Not the music.
Not even the fake smiles.
It was the emptiness of it.
Everyone in the room pretended this was elegance. Tradition. Beauty.
But Aiko felt the invisible chains beneath every step.
Turn.
Smile.
Bow.
Obey.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Her gaze flicked once toward the knight line.
The stiff boy was still standing there, but his eyes were on her now.
Not in the way the nobles watched.
Not judging.
Not whispering.
Just… watching.
Like he could tell she hated every second of this.
Aiko’s eyes narrowed slightly at him.
He looked away again.
This time, she did smile.
Small.
Brief.
Real.
The music had only just begun to swell when Aiko slipped away.
The grand hall behind her was alive with movement now, laughter rising, glasses clinking, nobles drifting into clusters as the ceremony gave way to the feast. Servants moved like shadows between them, carrying trays of food and drink, while musicians settled into a rhythm meant to fill the space with something elegant and controlled.
Aiko didn’t look back.
She moved along the edge of the room at first, quiet, measured, letting the crowd swallow her presence. A turn here. A step behind a passing noble there. She had done this before, more times than anyone would believe and the palace, for all its guards and structure, had blind spots.
She knew them.
By the time she reached the side corridor, no one was watching.
Her pace changed immediately.
The careful steps disappeared, replaced by something faster, lighter. She slipped through the hallway, past a pair of distracted servants, then down a narrower passage that curved toward the less polished sections of the castle. The marble floors gave way to stone, the gold-lined walls to something plainer, colder.
A side door.
Unlocked.
Of course it was.
Aiko pushed through it and stepped outside.
The air hit differently beyond the palace walls. It wasn’t cleaner, it was rougher, sharper, real in a way the inside never was. The sounds of the city wrapped around her immediately: distant chatter, footsteps, the low murmur of life continuing without ceremony or permission.
She didn’t slow down.
She moved through the outer streets with purpose, weaving through narrow paths and dim alleys until the polished image of Troff began to fade behind her. The buildings here were tighter, less maintained, the stone darker, the light weaker. Lanterns flickered instead of gleamed. Voices carried without restraint.
This was where the kingdom felt honest.
She turned down a familiar alley, narrow enough that the walls almost brushed her shoulders if she walked too close. At the end of it, tucked between two leaning buildings, was a place that didn’t belong to the palace or its rules.
A two-story bar.
Simple. Worn. Alive.
A crooked wooden sign hung above the door, the paint chipped from years of weather and use. Faint light spilled out from the windows, along with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter that didn’t sound rehearsed.
Aiko didn’t hesitate.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The warmth hit first.
Then the smell.
Not the artificial sweetness of palace wine or perfumed halls but something deeper. Fermented grain. Aged wood. Citrus. Smoke. Real alcohol. Real work.
The bar itself wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty either. A handful of regulars sat scattered across the room, their conversations low, their attention barely shifting as she entered. They knew better than to stare too long. Some recognized her. Some pretended not to.
Behind the counter, a man looked up.
Tom.
He was older, his hair streaked with gray, tied loosely at the back of his head. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, hands stained faintly from years of working with ingredients and barrels. His presence filled the space differently than the king’s did, steady, grounded, without force.
His eyes landed on her.
And he sighed.
“…You’re supposed to be at a royal feast.”
Aiko closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a second. “I died earlier, remember? This is my afterlife.”
Tom stared at her.
Then shook his head slightly, though there was no real frustration in it. “One of these days,” he muttered, turning back to the bottles behind him, “you’re going to get caught at the wrong time.”
“I always get caught at the wrong time,” Aiko replied, walking up to the counter. “That’s kind of the point.”
Tom glanced at her again, slower this time, his eyes catching the edge of something beneath her usual tone. “…You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“I would,” she said immediately, dropping onto one of the stools. “Literally anywhere.”
Tom let out a quiet breath through his nose and reached for a glass, setting it down in front of her before pouring a small amount of amber liquid into it. Not much. Just enough.
Aiko’s eyes followed the motion, her mood shifting slightly at the sight. “…That’s new.”
“Been working on it,” Tom said. “Different fermentation process. Took longer than expected.”
Aiko leaned forward, resting her chin lightly in her hand as she studied the glass. “What did you change?”
Tom smirked faintly. “You’re not even going to ask what it is first?”
“No,” she said. “I want to know how you made it.”
That got a small, genuine smile out of him.
“Adjusted the base grain,” he said, sliding the glass a little closer. “Let it sit longer before distillation. Slowed everything down.”
Aiko picked the glass up, turning it slightly, watching how the liquid moved. “So you waited more.”
“I didn’t rush it,” Tom corrected.
Aiko took a small sip.
Her expression shifted just slightly.
“…That’s good,” she said quietly.
Tom leaned back against the counter, arms crossing loosely. “You always say that.”
“No,” she replied. “I don’t.”
He studied her for a second, then nodded once. “Fair.”
Aiko took another sip, smaller this time, letting it sit a little longer. The tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction.
Tom noticed.
He always did.
“Ceremony bad?” he asked.
Aiko let out a dry laugh. “It’s always bad.”
“What was it this time?”
“Everything,” she said. “The dresses. The people. The talking. The fake smiles. The dancing-” she stopped herself, exhaling. “I hate the dancing.”
Tom tilted his head slightly. “You’re good at it.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“…No,” he admitted. “It doesn’t.”
Aiko leaned forward, resting her arms on the counter now. “They all just stand there and pretend it matters,” she said. “Like any of it means anything. Like I’m supposed to care about which noble is shaking hands with which other noble.”
Tom didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t correct.
He just listened.
“And my sisters-” Aiko stopped again, her jaw tightening slightly. “They love it. Or at least they’re good at pretending they do.”
“Pretending is a skill in places like that,” Tom said.
“I don’t want that skill,” Aiko muttered.
Tom nodded once. “Then don’t learn it.”
She looked at him then, something quieter in her expression.
“…It’s not that simple.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
Aiko huffed slightly, but the edge of it was gone now. She leaned back in her seat, glass still in hand, her gaze drifting around the room.
It was smaller than the palace.
Messier.
Real.
No one here cared how she stood. Or how she spoke. Or what she wore.
Here, she wasn’t a princess.
She was just Aiko.
“…You worried about me?” she asked after a moment, glancing back at him.
Tom didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Aiko smirked faintly. “You always are.”
“Because you keep giving me reasons to be.”
She took another sip, slower now. “I’m fine.”
Tom’s eyes stayed on her a second longer before he nodded. “I know.”
For a while, the conversation drifted in small circles, light remarks, quiet observations, the kind of back-and-forth that didn’t demand anything. But eventually, the silence between them settled into something heavier. Not uncomfortable, just honest.
Tom noticed it first.
He always did.
He wiped his hands slowly on a cloth, then set it aside, leaning his forearms against the counter across from her. His gaze didn’t carry judgment, but it didn’t avoid anything either.
“You don’t just hate it,” he said calmly. “You’re tired of it.”
Aiko didn’t answer right away.
She rolled the glass slightly between her fingers, watching the liquid shift inside it, the faint amber catching the low light. “…What’s the difference?”
Tom tilted his head slightly. “Hating something is loud,” he said. “It pushes back. It fights. Being tired of something…” He paused briefly. “That’s when it’s already worn you down.”
Aiko’s fingers stilled.
She didn’t look up.
“…I’m not worn down.”
Tom didn’t argue.
He just watched her for a second longer, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Alright.”
The way he said it made it clear he didn’t believe her but he wasn’t going to force it.
Aiko exhaled through her nose, setting the glass down a little harder than necessary. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you know what I’m thinking.”
“I don’t,” Tom said. “I just listen to what you don’t say.”
That made her glance up.
For a moment, she looked like she might snap back but the words didn’t come.
Tom continued, his tone steady. “You come here after things like this,” he said. “Not just because you don’t like the palace. Because you can’t be yourself there.”
Aiko leaned back slightly, crossing one arm over her other. “…And I can be here?”
Tom didn’t hesitate. “You already are.”
That landed differently.
Aiko’s expression shifted just slightly, something softer flickering beneath her usual edge.
“…That’s because no one here cares who I am.”
Tom shook his head once. “That’s not it.”
Aiko frowned faintly. “Then what is it?”
“It’s because no one here needs you to be anything,” he said.
The words settled.
Aiko didn’t respond.
Tom reached for a bottle behind him, not to pour, just to occupy his hands as he spoke. “There’s a difference between people who respect you,” he continued, “and people who expect things from you. Most of what you have in that palace isn’t respect. It’s expectation.”
Aiko let out a quiet breath. “…Feels the same.”
“It shouldn’t.”
Tom set the bottle down again, his gaze returning to her. “Respect lets you exist. Expectation shapes you into something.”
Aiko’s jaw tightened slightly.
“They don’t want me to be anything,” she said. “They want me to be like them.”
“Exactly.”
Silence followed.
The kind that didn’t need to be filled, but still carried weight.
Aiko looked back down at the glass. “…What if I can’t be that?”
Tom’s answer came without hesitation. “Then don’t.”
She scoffed quietly. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” he said. “Nothing worth doing is.”
Aiko leaned forward again, resting her arms on the counter. “…You ever get tired of it?” she asked. “Everything?”
Tom let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh. “Every day.”
That caught her attention.
“…Then why don’t you leave?” she asked.
Tom looked around the room, the worn wood, the scattered patrons, the small, imperfect space he had built piece by piece over the years.
Then he looked back at her.
“Because this is mine,” he said simply. “I built it. I chose it. That makes it different.”
Aiko stared at him for a moment.
“…I don’t get to choose anything.”
Tom’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not yet.”
The way he said it made something shift in her chest.
“…Not yet,” she repeated quietly.
He nodded once. “You’re young,” he said. “People will try to decide your life for you. That’s how it works in places like Troff.”
Aiko’s fingers curled slightly against the wood. “…And what? I just wait?”
“No,” Tom said. “You learn.”
“Learn what?”
“How to decide for yourself when the time comes.”
Aiko’s brow furrowed slightly. “And if I make the wrong choice?”
Tom shrugged lightly. “Then it was still your choice.”
That answer sat with her.
Uncomfortable.
But real.
“…That sounds like a bad deal,” she muttered.
“It is,” he said. “But it’s better than living someone else’s life.”
Aiko didn’t respond.
She just stared at the glass again, quieter now, her thoughts moving somewhere deeper than before.
Tom watched her for a moment, then added, softer this time, “You don’t belong in a place that only values you when you’re pretending.”
Her eyes flicked up.
“…Then where do I belong?”
Tom didn’t answer right away.
He looked at her, not as a princess, not as someone important, just as a person trying to figure something out.
“…That’s something you’ll have to find,” he said.
Aiko held his gaze for a second longer.
Then looked away.
But the edge in her posture had softened.
The quiet didn’t last.
The door slammed open so hard it struck the wall with a sharp crack, the sound cutting through the low hum of the bar and silencing every conversation in the room. Aiko turned instinctively, her hand still resting near her glass, as a figure stumbled inside.
The boy from the ceremony.
His hair was no longer perfectly set, strands coming loose from the slicked-back style as he leaned forward slightly, trying to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell quickly, his composure from earlier completely gone, replaced by urgency that didn’t belong in a place like this.
“Aiko,” he said, his voice tight, barely controlled. “You have to go. Right now.”
Tom straightened behind the counter, his expression sharpening immediately, while Aiko’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you doing here?”
The boy stepped further inside, glancing briefly toward the door before locking his gaze back on her. “Your father knows,” he said. “Someone reported it. He’s already on his way here.”
The words landed hard.
Aiko’s grip tightened slightly against the counter, though her expression didn’t change as quickly as it should have. “So?” she said, her tone edged with defiance. “Let him come.”
“That’s not how this works,” the boy snapped, stepping closer now, his voice lowering but no less urgent. “You don’t understand what he’s going to do if he finds you here.”
“I understand exactly what he-”
“You don’t,” he cut her off, sharper this time. “Not when you’re out here like this. Not in a place like this.”
Tom’s gaze shifted between them, his posture changing subtly as tension crept into the room. The few patrons still inside had gone quiet, some already standing, others slowly backing away from the center of the bar as the situation unfolded.
The boy took another step forward. “You need to get back to your room,” he said. “Now. Before he gets here.”
Aiko pushed off the counter, her frustration rising quickly. “I’m not running back just because he-”
“I’ll go with you,” the boy said immediately.
That stopped her.
For a second.
His voice steadied just slightly as he met her eyes. “I’ll get you there. I know the routes. You won’t be seen.”
Aiko stared at him, disbelief flickering across her face. “Why would you-”
“Because if you stay here,” he said, his jaw tightening, “this gets worse.”
Tom finally spoke, his voice low but firm. “He’s right.”
Aiko glanced at him sharply. “You’re taking his side now?”
“I’m taking the side that keeps you from getting hurt more than you already will,” Tom replied without hesitation.
That hit harder than anything else.
Aiko’s expression shifted, her frustration clashing with something deeper, something she didn’t want to acknowledge. “I’m not going back there just to-”
“You don’t have time to argue,” the boy said, stepping closer again, his voice cutting through her hesitation. “We need to move. Now.”
“I’m not letting you drag me around like I-”
“Aiko.”
He said her name without shouting, but it carried enough weight to stop her mid-sentence.
For a moment, the room held its breath.
Then the door exploded inward.
It didn’t open.
It broke.
Wood splintered violently as it was kicked off its hinges, the force sending fragments across the floor as the frame rattled under the impact. The sound echoed through the bar, sharp and final, leaving no room for doubt about who had just arrived.
King Darius stepped through the doorway.
He didn’t rush.
He didn’t need to.
His presence filled the space immediately, heavy and suffocating, his dark attire untouched by the chaos of his entrance. Behind him, two armored guards followed, their expressions blank, their steps measured.
Every person in the bar went still.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Darius’s gaze swept across the room slowly, deliberately, passing over the scattered patrons, the broken door, Tom behind the counter and then landing on her.
Aiko didn’t step back.
She didn’t look away.
King Darius stepped fully into the bar as if the broken doorway behind him were nothing more than an inconvenience, his boots crunching lightly over splintered wood. His gaze moved slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail of the room with a thin layer of visible disgust. The worn tables. The uneven floor. The dim lantern light. The people who hadn’t yet found the sense to leave.
“This,” he said, his voice carrying easily without needing to rise, “is where you chose to spend your evening.”
No one answered.
Darius let out a quiet breath through his nose, stepping further inside as his guards remained near the entrance, blocking what little exit remained. “A gutter establishment,” he continued, brushing a piece of dust from his sleeve as if the air itself offended him. “Filth dressed up as comfort.”
Behind the counter, Tom didn’t react. His hands rested flat against the wood, his posture steady, his expression unreadable, but there was tension in the way his fingers pressed just slightly harder than before.
Darius noticed.
Of course he did.
His eyes flicked toward Tom briefly, assessing, dismissing, before shifting back to the one person he had come for.
Aiko.
She hadn’t moved.
Not when the door broke.
Not when he entered.
Not even now.
That, more than anything, seemed to irritate him.
Darius approached her slowly, each step measured, controlled, his presence growing heavier with every inch of distance he closed. The room felt smaller around him, like the air itself had thickened.
“You embarrass me,” he said, stopping just in front of her.
Aiko’s jaw tightened slightly, but she didn’t lower her gaze. “I didn’t realize you cared.”
That was a mistake.
Not because of what she said.
Because of how she said it.
There was no hesitation in her tone. No fear. No attempt to soften it.
Darius studied her for a moment, his expression flattening into something colder. “You think this is defiance,” he said. “You think this is strength.”
Aiko didn’t answer.
Darius leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering enough that it didn’t need to carry across the room to feel sharp. “It’s nothing more than childish disobedience.”
“Then stop acting like it matters,” Aiko replied, her voice quieter but no less steady.
The crack of the impact came without warning.
Darius’s hand moved faster than most in the room could track, striking Aiko across the face with enough force to send her sideways into one of the nearby tables. Wood scraped loudly against the floor as her body collided with it, the edge catching her shoulder before she hit the ground.
The room flinched.
Ryuji didn’t.
His fist clenched instantly, muscles tightening as he stepped forward on instinct, the motion sharp and unthinking.
He didn’t make it far.
Tom moved first.
He stepped out from behind the counter, not fast, not aggressive, but enough to place himself slightly between Ryuji and what would have happened next. His arm lifted just slightly, not touching, just… there.
A warning.
Not to Darius.
To Ryuji.
Don’t.
Darius noticed both movements.
His head turned slowly, his gaze settling first on Tom, then on Ryuji, his expression shifting into something more dangerous, not anger, not yet, but interest.
“You,” Darius said, his voice carrying just enough edge now to cut through the silence. His eyes locked onto Tom. “I suggest you remember where you are.”
Tom didn’t respond.
Didn’t bow.
Didn’t speak.
But he didn’t move forward either.
That was enough.
Darius’s attention shifted again, landing on Ryuji now, who stood frozen mid-step, his jaw tight, his fists still clenched at his sides.
“And you,” Darius said, taking a slow step toward him. “Explain yourself.”
Ryuji straightened immediately, every bit of training snapping into place despite the tension still coiled in his body. “I saw the princess leave the palace,” he said, his voice controlled, steady despite the weight pressing down on him. “I followed to ensure her safety.”
Darius watched him closely.
“You followed,” he repeated.
“Yes, my king.”
“To bring her back?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Darius’s gaze lingered, searching for something, hesitation, doubt, rebellion but Ryuji didn’t give him anything. His posture remained rigid, his expression neutral, every inch the obedient knight he was expected to be.
Eventually, Darius gave a small nod.
“Good,” he said.
The tension in the room didn’t ease.
Not even slightly.
Behind him, one of the guards shifted forward, waiting for instruction.
Darius turned back toward Aiko, who had pushed herself up from the floor, one hand braced against the edge of the table. A faint red mark had already begun to form along her cheek, but her eyes hadn’t changed.
That seemed to bother him more than anything else.
“You will return to the palace,” he said.
Aiko didn’t argue this time.
Not out loud.
She just stood there, silent.
Darius’s gaze flicked once more toward Tom, then across the rest of the bar, as if committing the place to memory.
Then he turned.
“Move,” he said.
Ryuji stepped forward immediately, positioning himself beside Aiko, not touching her, but close enough to guide if needed. She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t look at anyone.
Tom stayed where he was.
Still behind the counter.
Still silent.
But his hands had curled into fists now, the restraint visible in the tension running through his arms.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t stop them.
Because he knew exactly what would happen if he did.
The guards moved to follow as Darius walked back toward the shattered doorway, his presence pulling the moment with him as he left.
And just like that the room could breathe again.
But Tom didn’t.
He just watched the door.
And the girl who had walked out of his bar without looking back.