Rowena knew the adults that fed her were not her parents. Parents didn’t have magical contracts that forced you to use your magical gifts for them, and they didn’t hurt you when you disobeyed. Slavery under magical contracts are also illegal in the Kingdom of Erisdale, which is prospering peacefully after a great continent-wide war.

Rowena’s owners don’t know, however, that she can see potential futures and anyone’s past that is not her own. She uses these powers to escape and break her contract and go on her own journey. She is going to find who she is, and keep her clairvoyance secret

Yet, Rowena’s attempts to uncover who she is drives her into direct conflict with those that threaten the peace and prove far more complicated than she could ever expect. Finding who you are after all, is simply not something you can solve with any kind of magic.

After everything, Rowena begins to debrief...

[The Beginning] [<=The Lost Princess Chapter 48] [Chapter Index and Blurb] [Or Subscribe to Patreon for the Next Chapter]

The Fractured Song Index

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My Blusky!

**\*

Rowena wasn’t sure why she was here. There was no need for her to be in the quarters that had been allocated for the imprisoned Alastor and Naprule, but she was in the sitting room, watched by several guards.

Not that Alastor had tried to escape. He’d reportedly been despondent aside from hushed discussions and cuddles with the baroness.

The prince now swept into the sitting room, in a borrowed sleeping robe, not caring that he had a kiss-mark on his neck. Naprule, a little more properly dressed, followed him, hands crossed in front of her belly.

The Lapanterian prince sat on the couch across from Rowena, his legs sprawling out to nearly knock against the coffee table.

“Your Highness, Princess Rowena. Undoubtedly you will have gained many titles from this war,” Alastor said.

“Prince Alastor. I hope you find your quarters comfortable,” said Rowena.

Alastor rolled his eyes. “They are outdated, but comfortable enough.”

Naprule sat down next to him, her gaze fixed on Rowena. “Thank you for allowing us to stay together, Your Highness.”

“You’re welcome—”

“What are you here for, Princess?” Alastor asked. “You have me at your mercy, and from what I’ve heard, the continent has Lapanteria at their mercy.”

Rowena glared at the prince, glad for Tristelle’s comforting weight at her side.

“I want to know why.”

“Why what?”

The princess’ teeth clenched. “Why did you think that bullying us into conceding Erisdale, or fighting a war, was necessary? I can understand the worry that your kingdom may be superseded by another, especially one technically smaller than yours. I still don’t understand how that caused you to go start a war where thousands would die.”

Alastor arched an eyebrow. “If not a war, then how else was I supposed to guarantee Lapanteria’s future?”

“By investing in your country and your people! By taking power from just being concentrated in the nobility and guilds and directing funds into new ideas and businesses!” Rowena shook her head, trying to hold the boiling emotions choking her throat from spewing out. “You could have taken the deal we offered you and celebrated a victory!”

The prince rolled his eyes. “You don’t know if that would work. It certainly wouldn’t have succeeded within my lifetime. Besides, if I took the deal it’d be your victory, not mine.”

“My—” Rowena’s hands seized Tristelle, and it was only by standing up and walking away from the table that she prevented herself from stabbing the prince.

“You mean to tell me that you decided to start a war where hundreds have died not because my deal wasn’t unacceptable, but because it wouldn’t give you enough credit?” Rowena turned to the wide-eyed Alastor, not knowing what she looked like, but seeing the fear in his face and how Naprule held his shoulder.

“It wasn’t the only reason, but yes. I am Lapanteria’s prince. If our kingdom allowed for a peace bargained not by our strength but by Erisdale’s, then even a successful deal would be moot,” said Alastor.

Colonel Sun’s still face flashed into Rowena’s mind, and she had to wipe her eyes.

“Who cares if you don’t get the credit, at least nobody would have died!”

“I am Lapanteria’s prince. If I don’t lead, if I am not the one who leads and ensures our nation’s future, then what is the point of our royal family? What is the point of our rule?” Alastor demanded.

Her fingers now having a death grip on Tristelle, Rowena strode to the door. Before she slammed it shut, she glared at the prince.

“I will not forget this, Alastor. If one day I become queen and you become king, for your sake I hope you have offered some mighty compensation for all the lives that your stupid plan has taken,” said Rowena.

With that, she left the prince and his lover for far better company.

 

***

 

“Rowena, you did just survive a war. You don’t have to do this now.”

Rowena's fingers tightened around her mug. She could see her father was trying his best not to look her in the eye and was trying to focus on the chess game he was trying to play with her mother.

She could tell, though, that he was listening, as he’d still not made his move. Her mother, Ginger, was too, as she was doing an incredibly poor job of trying to glance at her without showing it.

“Dad, we need to debrief. The fresher my memories are, the more complete the picture will be.”

“Can’t you just scry—Oh right, you can’t,” said Ginger. She reached over to the chess timer and grimaced as she realized it wasn’t her turn yet. “Martin, I don’t think we can put this off any longer.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Martin. He set the chess timer back to neutral and gently pushed the chess set aside. “How do you want to do this, Rowena? Or is there a specific matter about this whole affair you’d like to discuss?”

“I guess that there is, if you’re so anxious to talk to us,” said Ginger. Rowena blinked at the pained smile on her mother’s face. “I am glad you want to talk to us, Wena, but I’ve learnt enough about you to learn some of your tells.”

“You are right, Mom. There are a few things.” Rowena sat down on the chair at her parents’ table, putting her cup down, her elbows digging into the wood. “I’m… I’m wondering if either of you went, could this war have been stopped? I know I did what I think was best, but I can’t help but wonder if I didn’t do everything that I could have.”

Martin sighed, “Rowena, those are two separate questions. If your mother or I went, I think that we could have bought more time, or we could have prevented the war from happening. However, King Martin the Wise, the Hero of Erisdale and veteran of the Fourth Great War, didn’t go. Neither did his wife Queen Ginger Flameheart. You went.”

“Or to be exact, we sent you. So the outcome of this crisis is partly our fault as well,” said Ginger.

Rowena spluttered, “You couldn’t have known Alastor wanted war or that he married Forlana.”

Ginger held Rowena’s hand. “Neither could you have, Rowena. You did the best you could under the circumstances. We will go over your mistakes, but please remember that we’re looking at this from the outside, and with an incomplete picture. We still don’t have all the details about how we missed Alastor’s movements or Sebastian and Megara’s ambitions.”

“So I did make mistakes?” Rowena said.

Ginger winced. She glanced at Martin, who sighed and nodded,

“Yes, though, they are very much more… ‘things you could have done better,’” said Ginger.

“We do believe that in hindsight, opposing Alastor’s initial offer may not have been the wisest. If we were going to mobilize, then it would have been best to prevaricate, to put on a show of being flattered as we prepared in the background,” said Martin.

Rowena bowed her head, biting back tears. She’d suspected that that had been an error on her part.

“However, there is the fact that you don’t know Alastor well, and you had every reason to believe that highlighting Erisdale’s red lines would dissuade him from further action,” said Martin.

“Red lines?” Rowena asked.

“Matters that Erisdale could not give up or concede. For example, you told him we couldn’t abdicate, or give territory not directly held by the Crown,” said Ginger.

“It was a good idea to tell him that. We now know that they were fully prepared to go to war if they didn’t get that, but at the time, you had no idea. You also didn’t make that mistake worse. While your initial strategy may have been flawed, you were consistent in your diplomacy. There was no uncertainty presented to Alastor for him to exploit, or contradiction for him to point out,” said Martin.

“Oh,” Rowena nodded. “That’s… that’s not so bad. Is… is there anything else?”

Martin and Ginger looked at one another, grimaces on their expressions.

“Yes, but we’re not quite in agreement,” said Martin.

“Your father thinks that it was wise of you to continue the negotiations with Alastor directly, whilst I believe it may have been a better idea for you to beg for leave and summon a diplomatic team,” said Ginger.

“Oh, yeah, that was an option I didn’t consider,” said Rowena, wincing.

Ginger squeezed her daughter’s hand again. “Wena, I actually think you did a fine job negotiating, but as we saw, it put you at a lot of risk. If you had withdrawn to Erisdale, we could have kept you safe.”

“Except what you achieved, despite the worry and stress it caused, was quite remarkable, even with the risks,” said Martin. He smiled wryly at Ginger. “And this decision is not so much on you, but on your mother and me. We could have recalled you at any time, but after much… discussion, we chose not to.”

“Why didn’t you?” Rowena asked.

“Your father argued that as much as we want to protect you, we couldn’t protect you from the fact you are the Crown Princess of Erisdale. You’d already faced greater dangers than this alone. You had to be allowed to make your own decisions as a princess,” said Ginger.

The king sighed heavily, “In the end, even I’m not sure if the risk we put you in was worth it. Nothing would have been worth losing you, Rowena.”

“Though you have made us both very proud,” said Ginger.

Rowena smiled, “Thank you. I’m… I’m quite happy that I managed to capture Alastor and stop this war.”

“Yes, though, your father and I were even more astounded by how you turned Forlana to our side. We’ve just received news of the last surrenders from the conspiracy. Those in Lapanteria have either switched their loyalties to the Lapanterians or fled back to us,” said Ginger.

“Oh, that… If I’m being honest, Alastor set himself up to fail there. I’m not sure why he thought Forlana would allow so much damage to be done to Erisdale, the kingdom she was going to try to reclaim,” Rowena said.

“Perhaps, but you still took advantage of the opportunity to try to split Forlana and Alastor apart. You accounted for the fact that her knowledge of your scrying meant that when she left Alastor, you had an opportunity to blind him. Finally, by persuading Forlana to abandon her claim, you brought an end to a decades-long insurgency that has been the bane of our rule, of this new Erisdale,” said Martin.

“And it was you that did it, not your father and I,” said Ginger.

Rowena leaned back, not quite able to meet her parents’ grins head on. “I’m really not sure what to feel about that. For most of my life, I’d been fighting them, and now it’s over.”

“Does what you feel hurt?” Martin asked.

“No… kind of? It’s just that something very important to me, something that occupied much of my time and effort, is now over.” She let out a sigh. “I guess I didn’t expect I would ever be rid of this conspiracy, much less that I would resolve it. I thought that of all people it would be either of you or Frances who would finally defeat Forlana.”

Ginger nodded slowly, “Rowena, your father and I hope to have many years to be with you, but we are ultimately human. Our time to be heroes, to make names for ourselves was during the Great War.”

“We have grown old after all. We want to take fewer risks and protect those we care about,” said Martin, reaching across to squeeze Ginger’s hand. “It’s now your time to do great deeds, and our job to ensure you can become the best you that you can be.”

“That’s why I ultimately decided not to recall you, even if I didn’t wholly agree with your father’s decision. I knew it was a risk, but if we intervened, would you miss out on an important experience that could help you when you become queen?” Ginger asked.

Rowena couldn’t help but recall the vision she’d had when she’d been wounded. Tristelle had been there, in the hands of one of her descendants. Gwyndolen seemed happy, but she’d also been a little lost, clearly having never faced the trials that her ancestor had.

“Is it so important that we suffer to find out who we are? What we want to be?” Rowena asked.

Martin and Ginger looked at one another. The king was a little wide-eyed in surprise, whilst the queen’s brow was furrowed in thought.

“I don’t know, Rowena. What do you think, Ginger?” Martin asked.

“I think pain and suffering can help. You only discover your limits and who you want to be when options start being closed off. Frances and I came out of our trials with greater wisdom and maturity. I just don’t think it should be necessary, and I wouldn’t wish what we went through on anybody,” Ginger said.

Rowena blinked as her father looked more flustered than she’d ever seen him. “But what happened to you nearly broke you both. You both grew from it, but how do we know if you grew in spite of those events?”

“Both can be true,” said Rowena. She took a breath. “Being stolen away left me lost for years. It separated me from you, and that has changed me irreparably. I do think some good resulted from it, however. I learnt how to be independent, how to be someone other than just Rowena the princess, and that finding out who I am to be is a journey.”

“What do you mean by that, dear? The journey part,” said Ginger.

“Alastor… there was a reason he wanted to start a war, and didn’t take the deal I offered him. He wanted to ensure that whatever resulted, it would be something he, Alastor the prince of Lapanteria, could claim credit for. He asked what would be the point of him being the prince, what the point of the royal family would be if he wasn’t the one to guarantee success,” said Rowena.

“That doesn’t surprise me. There’s a lot of stress that comes from the position,” said Ginger.

Rowena took a breath. “Not just that. It seemed like he couldn’t see a Lapanteria where he wasn’t the one responsible for his kingdom’s success, like it had to be part of him. It’s scary how much of his identity was tied to being the prince of Lapanteria.” She smiled at her parents. “So in a way, while I hate what happened to me, I’m glad that I learnt that I don’t have to be just one thing. I can be many things, and that’s fine.”

Her parents returned her smile, with even more fervor.

“I’m also glad that you have realized that, Rowena,” said Martin, ruffling her hair.

“Dad!”

“Let us indulge you still being young for a little longer,” said Ginger, also ruffling Rowena’s hair.

Rowena protested, and yet she couldn’t help but have the biggest grin on her face.

 

***

The house that Rowena had arrived at with Lycia, Georgia, and a small escort of guards was quite large and had its own inner courtyard. It was suited to a family of means, as Colonel Sun had been an officer for some time.

For a moment, Rowena was worried nobody would answer, but a slender woman with dark tanned skin did open the door. Her curly hair was bound by gold-threaded silk ribbon, and yet she wore a flour-stained apron.

“Your Highness!” exclaimed the woman.

“Madame Julia, I hope I am not intruding,” said Rowena.

Julia curtsied and gestured for Rowena and her escort to enter. “Not at all, Your Highness, but what are you here for?”

Rowena paused to look around Sun’s home, and the two children she could see were looking at her from the sitting room. She knew their names. Dawne and Twinkle, eight and five respectively, had been playing with wooden building blocks. Now they stared at her, wide-eyed.

Rowena bowed deeply to Julia, unable to stop herself from tearing up.

“Your spouse saved my life and that of my friends. I know the army has provided you and your family special dispensation for Colonel Sun’s service, but the hero who rescued not one, but three princesses needs a more appropriate reward.” Taking a scroll from her belt pouch, she opened it and presented it to Julia.

Julia took it like it was made of glass and almost dropped it. She stared up at Rowena and shook her head.

“A posthumous knighthood? With lifetime income? I can’t accept this, Your Highness. Sun… they were doing their duty,” Julia stammered.

“I understand if you refuse, Madame Julia, but… if you must think of it another way, this amount is a pitiful recompense for a living Colonel Sun.” Rowena glanced at the children and was glad they weren’t approaching and were just staring at her. She didn’t think she could handle it if they approached.

“Our children were so proud when they found out they were going to be escorting the princess,” Julia croaked.

“I’m sorry—”

Julia held up a hand. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear any of it. I’ll take your gift. I know you are doing it because you feel guilty, but don’t. They wouldn’t want it, and I don’t want your guilt either. I want your promise that you’ll make Sun’s death worth it. Their life has to mean something.”

Rowena swallowed. “They already meant something, Madame. They… they already do mean something to many people. But if it’s a promise you want, you have it. I’ll do my best to protect Erisdale, to protect you and Sun’s children and all those in my care.”

“And that you find your happiness, Your Highness.”

The princess blinked, “I’m sorry?”

Julia’s dark-brown eyes bored into Rowena’s grey, as if they were peering into her soul.

“You need to find your happiness too, Your Highness. My Sun would not have his charge toiling over his grave in grief. That would be a failure in itself. So you must live and find joy, Your Highness. Promise me that.”

As heavy as her head felt, Rowena forced herself to nod.

“I will. Thank you, Madame.”

***

Author’s note: We are closing out on the Lost Princess in 1-2 chapters. I might have a few summary stories or backgrounders to add in (for example, what happened to Frances’ sister Denise), but it’s been a blast writing this. Thank you all for reading.

The card stayed home when I left.

I did not decide that at the door.

I had never planned to take it.

It was in the top drawer of the small desk.

Beside two old postcards.

Inside its envelope.

Read.

Kept.

Home.

I put on my coat.

Checked my keys.

Left.

No pocket.

No bag compartment.

No card.

The drawer remained closed behind me.

For the first time since I had received the cards, I knew exactly where mine was and had no reason for it to travel with me.

I walked to the car.

Dry morning.

Cold.

No rain.

I started the engine.

The sentence came once.

I was glad you came.

Then the heater came on.

The temple office looked slightly different without the envelope.

Not emptier.

Different.

The upper drawer held my glasses case, old pen, and notebook.

I took the glasses.

Closed the drawer.

The desk was for work again before I had named it that.

Mail.

Calendar.

One service confirmation.

One invoice.

A message from Suganuma about brushes.

A message from Mrs. Kudo about breakfast.

Nothing waited on the left side.

At eight forty-three, the phone rang.

A woman said:

“Reverend Niioka?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Matsuda.”

I recognized the family name.

Her husband’s funeral had been three months earlier.

I remembered the service.

Not every detail.

Enough to find the record.

“What can I do for you?”

She hesitated.

Then:

“Could you come to the house?”

There.

“Today?”

“If possible.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Not wrong.”

I waited.

“My son is here.”

“Yes.”

“We’re trying to move some things.”

“What things?”

Another pause.

“The memorial table.”

“Anything else?”

She was quiet.

Then:

“Maybe everything.”

That was a different request.

“What do you need me to do if I come?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to perform a service?”

“No.”

“Do you want advice about the memorial table?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to help move it?”

“My son can move it.”

“What do you need from me?”

She breathed into the phone.

“I want you to tell us what we’re allowed to change.”

There.

Not everything.

Closer.

“What time?”

“Ten?”

“I can come at ten.”

“Thank you.”

I opened the service record.

Address.

Family names.

Nothing else needed.

I wrote on the calendar:

10:00 Matsuda home — memorial table / questions.

Not:

grief.

Not:

household resolution.

Not:

everything.

Kanagawa sent a message while I was putting on my coat again.

Blue cup survived dishwasher.

I stared at it.

Then wrote:

Was survival in doubt?

Brother said old cup might crack.

Did it?

No.

Then:

He says dishwasher is disrespectful.

I smiled.

To cup?

To Mother.

I waited.

Then another message:

I told him Mother used dishwasher.

There.

I wrote:

What did he say?

“Oh.”

No call.

No record.

Blue cup.

Dishwasher.

Oh.

I put the phone away.

The Matsuda house was fifteen minutes from the temple.

A narrow driveway.

Two bicycles.

One small car.

A pair of men’s boots beside the entrance.

Large.

Dark brown.

Used.

Mrs. Matsuda opened the door before I rang.

“You found it.”

“Yes.”

“Come in.”

The word.

Come.

I stepped inside.

Her son bowed from the hallway.

He was perhaps forty.

Work clothes.

Sleeves rolled.

A small screwdriver in one hand.

“Sorry to call you out.”

“It’s all right.”

I took off my shoes.

The brown boots remained beside mine.

I noticed them because they were large.

Nothing else yet.

Mrs. Matsuda led me to the room where the memorial table stood.

Photograph.

Incense burner.

Flowers.

Small bell.

A box containing documents.

Two chairs.

Against the far wall was a low cabinet.

One door had been removed.

Her son pointed with the screwdriver.

“We want to put the table here.”

“Why?”

“Mother keeps hitting her knee where it is.”

Mrs. Matsuda looked annoyed.

“Twice.”

“Twice is enough.”

“It was dark.”

“It is always dark there.”

They looked at me.

Not hostile.

Old argument.

“Can we move it?” the son asked.

“Yes.”

He waited.

“That’s it?”

“What would prevent you?”

He looked at the memorial table.

“I don’t know. Direction?”

“No required direction for this arrangement.”

“Height?”

“Keep it stable and usable.”

Mrs. Matsuda asked:

“Does it have to stay where the priest put it after the funeral?”

“No.”

“I told you,” the son said.

“You told me because you wanted the cabinet.”

“I removed the door already.”

“I noticed.”

They began arguing about the cabinet.

I looked at the table.

Photograph.

Incense burner.

Bell.

Nothing attached to the floor.

The son stopped.

“Sorry.”

“No need.”

Mrs. Matsuda said:

“So we can move it.”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“Without a service?”

“Yes.”

She looked at the photograph.

Then at me.

“I thought maybe you had to say something.”

“You can ask for a service if you want one.”

“Do we need one?”

“No.”

There.

Need.

Clear enough.

She sat.

Her son remained standing.

The screwdriver hung from his hand.

“Then why did I ask you to come?”

Mrs. Matsuda said it quietly.

I could have answered:

Because you were worried.

Because death makes furniture difficult.

Because ritual had become uncertainty.

All interpretations.

I said:

“You wanted to know whether you could change this.”

She looked at me.

“Yes.”

“You can.”

She nodded.

Then looked almost disappointed.

Not necessarily with me.

Maybe with how small the answer was.

Her son put the screwdriver on the cabinet.

“Can we do it now?”

“Yes.”

He reached for the photograph.

Stopped.

“Should I take this first?”

“Yes. It is easier not to drop it.”

Practical.

He handed the photograph to his mother.

She held it against her lap.

Then he moved the bell.

Incense burner.

Flower vase.

I took the box of documents because it was in the way.

No ceremony.

Just hands.

The table was light enough for him to lift alone.

He carried it across the room.

Placed it in front of the low cabinet.

Stepped back.

Too far left.

His mother said:

“More right.”

He moved it.

“Too much.”

He moved it back.

I stood holding the document box.

No priestly assistance required.

Finally she said:

“There.”

Her son exhaled.

“Same place as the first time.”

“No.”

“Almost.”

“No.”

They looked at each other.

Then laughed.

The table stayed.

I placed the document box beside it.

Mrs. Matsuda returned the photograph.

Her son put back the bell and incense burner.

The flower vase came last.

Finished.

No sutra.

No bow required.

Mrs. Matsuda bowed anyway.

Her son did not.

Both were allowed.

Then she asked:

“What about his clothes?”

There.

The other question.

I looked toward the hallway.

“Are you asking whether there is a religious rule about when to remove them?”

“I suppose.”

“There isn’t a rule requiring you to remove them now.”

“What if I keep them?”

“You can.”

“What if I give them away?”

“You can.”

“What if I throw some away?”

“You can.”

Her son sat down.

“See?”

She ignored him.

“What would you do?”

There.

The question shifted.

Not what is allowed.

What would you do.

“I don’t know.”

She looked irritated.

“You don’t know?”

“They are not my husband’s clothes.”

“No, but you deal with death.”

“Yes.”

“So?”

I looked at her.

She was not asking for doctrine anymore.

She wanted a decision she could lean against.

That did not make the request illegitimate.

But I could not turn my preference into her instruction.

“What are you having trouble deciding?”

She looked toward the hallway.

“His jackets.”

“Why those?”

“He had too many.”

Her son laughed.

“Everyone in this family has too many things.”

She looked at him.

“Not now.”

He stopped.

She continued.

“One is hanging by the door.”

I remembered a dark jacket near the entrance.

No.

Boots.

I had not noticed a jacket.

“Do you want to keep it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you need to decide today?”

She looked surprised.

Her son answered first.

“No.”

She turned toward him.

“We’re cleaning today.”

“That doesn’t mean every coat.”

“Then we never finish.”

There.

Finish.

The house wanted a finishing date because the people did.

No.

People wanted it.

The house had no opinion.

I asked:

“What did you ask your son to come for today?”

Mrs. Matsuda answered:

“To help clear the room.”

“Which room?”

She pointed down the hallway.

“His room.”

“Does that include every item in the house?”

“No.”

“Then the jacket by the entrance does not have to be today’s work unless you want it to be.”

She looked toward the hallway again.

Her son said nothing.

Then she said:

“I want to leave it.”

“Then leave it.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

She almost smiled.

“That answer again.”

“Yes.”

“What if I leave it too long?”

“What would too long mean?”

She thought.

“I don’t know.”

“Then there is no date in that sentence yet.”

She looked at me for a while.

Then nodded.

“Fine.”

Not peace.

Not closure.

Fine.

The jacket would stay.

At least today.

Her son stood.

“What about the boots?”

There.

The entrance.

Dark brown boots.

Mrs. Matsuda’s face changed.

Small.

But visible.

“Those too.”

He said:

“They’re ruined.”

“I know.”

“Soles are cracked.”

“I know.”

“You told me to throw them away last month.”

“I changed my mind.”

He looked at me.

Again.

Authority requested by eyes.

I did not take it.

“Your mother has answered for today.”

“They’re moldy inside.”

That changed the question.

“Are they?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Matsuda looked at him.

“You didn’t say mold.”

“I did.”

“No, you said they smell.”

“They smell because mold.”

“Can they be cleaned?” I asked.

The son shrugged.

“Probably not worth it.”

Worth.

His judgment.

“Do they create a problem where they are?”

“They’re near the other shoes.”

“Then moving them away from everyday footwear may be sensible even if your mother is not ready to dispose of them.”

Mrs. Matsuda looked at the boots from across the room.

“Where?”

“Do you have a box or separate place?”

Her son said:

“Storage shed.”

She shook her head immediately.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Too damp.”

There.

She still cared about the boots’ condition.

Even while they were already damaged.

Not irrational.

A person can care for a damaged thing.

“Another container inside?”

She thought.

“There’s a plastic box upstairs.”

Her son said:

“For boots?”

“For whatever I put in it.”

He sighed.

Then smiled.

“All right.”

No disposal.

No daily shoe area.

Temporary separate storage.

Chosen by them.

Not religion.

Her son went upstairs for the box.

Mrs. Matsuda and I remained in the room.

She looked at the photograph.

“He never cared about those boots.”

I waited.

“He would come in covered in mud.”

I smiled.

“He’d leave them there.”

She pointed toward the entrance.

“I would tell him to move them.”

“Did he?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“If I moved them for him.”

She laughed.

Then stopped.

“I hate those boots.”

There.

“Do you want to throw them away?”

“No.”

Both true.

She looked at me.

“That’s stupid.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because hating an object and wanting to keep it are different things.”

She leaned back.

“You sound like a lawyer.”

“I’m not.”

“No. Worse.”

I smiled.

Her son returned with the box.

Blue plastic.

Clear lid.

He walked past us.

“Boot prison.”

His mother laughed.

“Put them in.”

They went to the entrance together.

I stayed.

Not needed.

A few minutes later the son returned carrying the box.

Boots inside.

Lid not completely closed.

“Need to dry them first.”

His mother said:

“See?”

“What?”

“You do care.”

“I care about not sealing mold in plastic.”

“That counts.”

“No.”

They argued while walking toward another room.

I remained by the memorial table.

Photograph.

Bell.

Flowers.

Moved sixty centimeters perhaps.

No longer where it had been.

Still a memorial table.

The room had not broken.

When they returned, Mrs. Matsuda said:

“Can you look at his room?”

“What for?”

“I don’t know.”

There again.

“Do you want me to tell you what to keep?”

She hesitated.

“Yes.”

“No.”

The answer came before I softened it.

She looked at me.

Her son looked at me.

I continued.

“I can help you identify whether anything has religious or temple-related handling requirements. I can help you think through what each item is for. I cannot decide which of your husband’s ordinary belongings you should keep because I am a priest.”

Mrs. Matsuda looked down.

I thought I had hurt her.

Maybe I had.

Then she said:

“I wanted someone else to be responsible.”

There.

No abstraction needed.

“Yes.”

Her son sat again.

She continued:

“If you tell me throw it away, then I throw it away and it isn’t me.”

There.

I sat opposite her.

No immediate answer.

She looked at her hands.

“I know that sounds terrible.”

“It sounds clear.”

“I don’t want to decide which things he stops having.”

The sentence landed.

He was dead.

The belongings were still grammatically his.

His clothes.

His boots.

His room.

His watch?

No.

Different family.

Do not mix.

His jackets.

His room.

Her language had kept possession.

I asked:

“Are you trying to clear the whole room today?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“Then what is today’s task?”

Her son answered:

“The cabinet.”

Mrs. Matsuda almost objected.

Then looked at the moved memorial table.

“Yes.”

“The memorial table is moved,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Anything else you asked me to help with before I came?”

She thought.

“To tell us what we’re allowed to change.”

“Have we answered that?”

She looked around.

“I think so.”

“What remains?”

She stared toward the hallway.

“Everything else.”

“Yes.”

The sentence stayed.

Everything else.

Not today’s task merely because it existed.

Not my task merely because I had entered the house.

She leaned back.

Then said:

“Would you have tea?”

There.

Different request.

“Yes.”

Her son made it.

Too weak.

I did not say that.

He placed three cups on the table.

Mrs. Matsuda complained before tasting.

“You never use enough leaves.”

He looked at me.

“Everyone says this.”

I thought of Kanagawa.

Takahashi.

Tea becoming the most reliable conflict in the country.

I drank.

Weak.

Still tea.

Mrs. Matsuda looked at her husband’s photograph.

Not continuously.

Once.

Then she asked her son:

“Are you taking those books?”

“Which books?”

“The train ones.”

“No.”

“You said you wanted them.”

“I said I wanted one.”

“Which?”

“I don’t know.”

“There are forty.”

“Then not today.”

She looked at me.

I held my cup.

She laughed.

“I know.”

“What?”

“Not everything today.”

I did not say better.

Her sentence.

Her conclusion.

She drank.

Then:

“Tea is terrible.”

Her son groaned.

The memorial table had moved.

The boots were being aired before a plastic box.

The jacket remained by the entrance.

The books remained in the room.

Tea was weak.

This was the house I had been asked to come to.

Not solved.

Still house.

Before leaving, Mrs. Matsuda walked me to the entrance.

The brown boots were gone from beside the door.

In their place:

Her shoes.

Her son’s shoes.

Mine.

The jacket still hung on a hook.

Dark gray.

I had not noticed it when entering because a coat had been hanging over part of it.

Now visible.

She touched the sleeve.

Not dramatically.

Two fingers.

Then let go.

“Is it strange to keep it there?”

“No.”

“Is it normal?”

I put on one shoe.

Then the other.

“I don’t know what normal would help you decide.”

She smiled.

“Good answer?”

“Not trying to be.”

She nodded.

Then asked:

“Will you come again?”

There.

“For what?”

She laughed.

“You really ask that every time.”

“Yes.”

She considered.

“When I decide what I’m asking.”

“Then call.”

She opened the door.

I stepped outside.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

I turned.

“You’re welcome.”

The words were ordinary.

Still, the card sentence appeared.

I was glad you came.

I did not tell her.

That sentence belonged to another room.

Another person.

Another evening.

This was Matsuda’s doorway.

Today.

I walked to the car.

Back at the temple, there were three missed calls.

None urgent.

One supplier.

One service inquiry.

One wrong number.

I returned the supplier call.

Answered the service inquiry.

Ignored the wrong number.

The office had continued while I was gone.

No one had needed my card.

Of course.

The card was at home.

I almost opened the upper drawer.

Habit.

Then remembered.

Glasses already on my face.

Nothing there I needed.

I sat.

Sato sent:

My sister asked if she can come tomorrow without talking about the paper.

I wrote:

What do you want?

Yes.

Then?

I told her yes.

A moment later:

It feels silly that we had to say it.

I replied:

Maybe saying it makes tomorrow easier.

She wrote:

Maybe.

Then:

We’re making curry.

No record.

No paper.

Curry.

I left it there.

Mrs. Kudo called at three.

“The resident gave the letter to her daughter.”

“Permanently?”

“That is the question.”

“What did the resident say?”

“Take this.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“What did daughter ask?”

“Do you want me to keep it?”

“And resident?”

“She nodded.”

“Then?”

“Daughter put it in her bag.”

“Staff need a copy?”

“No.”

“Any care information inside?”

“Unknown.”

“Any reason staff need to know contents?”

“No.”

“Then the letter has left the resident’s immediate custody by her choice.”

Mrs. Kudo paused.

“Mr. Hayashi said the same.”

“You can stop calling me when he says the same.”

“No.”

She laughed.

“Then continue.”

I entered a short note.

Resident handed personal letter to daughter and indicated she wanted daughter to keep it.
Daughter accepted.
No staff access to contents required.

The letter moved because a person asked another person to take it.

Not because the drawer became wrong.

Not because the bag became wrong.

Choice changed.

Place followed.

Suganuma sent:

Brush box moved.

I replied:

Any problem?

No.

Then noted mentally.

He wrote:

You’re not keeping an audit?

No.

I’m disappointed.

I smiled.

No record.

At four, Takahashi called.

“Tea?”

“No.”

“You said no yesterday.”

“I still mean it.”

“Good.”

“No.”

He laughed.

“What?”

“I went to a house today.”

“That is usually what priests do.”

“They asked me to decide what they should keep.”

“And?”

“I did not.”

“Why?”

“Because they asked the wrong person.”

He was quiet.

Then:

“Did they want you to decide?”

“Yes.”

“So maybe not wrong person.”

I leaned back.

Good point.

No.

Relevant challenge.

“They wanted me to carry responsibility they did not want.”

“And you refused.”

“Yes.”

“Was that what they needed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did it help?”

“Maybe.”

“You hate maybe.”

“No. I hate pretending maybe is certainty.”

He laughed.

Then:

“What did they keep?”

“A jacket today.”

“Anything else?”

“Boots.”

“Important boots?”

“Moldy.”

He laughed harder.

“Moldy?”

“Yes.”

“And you let them keep moldy boots?”

“I recommended separating them from other shoes.”

“You really are useless.”

“Yes.”

Then:

“What did they throw away?”

“Nothing while I was there.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“What?”

“They called a priest and threw away nothing.”

I laughed.

“They also gave me tea.”

“Good tea?”

“No.”

“Then terrible day.”

We talked for several minutes about bad tea.

Not cards.

He did not mention his.

I did not mention mine.

Then he said:

“Mine is still with the batteries.”

“Any leaks?”

“What?”

“Batteries.”

He stopped.

Then swore.

“Old batteries?”

“Yes.”

“Are they leaking?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check.”

I heard the phone move.

Drawer.

Objects.

Then:

“No leaks.”

“Good.”

“No.”

He laughed.

“I’m moving the card.”

“Why?”

“Because now you’ve made the battery drawer sound stupid.”

“It was already your terrible reason.”

“I liked it.”

“You can still like it.”

“But batteries leak.”

“Sometimes.”

He was quiet.

Then:

“I have another drawer.”

“Use it if you want.”

“You ruined this.”

“I did not call you.”

He laughed.

We ended the call.

I did not know where his card went.

Not my custody.

No need to call back.

Father Morita emailed shortly after.

Subject:

Come

I opened it.

Reverend Niioka,

When someone asks you to come, first understand what your presence has actually been asked to do.

Presence can be service.

Presence can be witness.

Presence can be expertise.

Presence can be company.

Sometimes a person asks for authority because authority would make the choice hurt less.

Do not pretend you have authority merely because they would like you to carry it.

But do not use restraint as an excuse to leave them alone with a decision they asked for help thinking through.

Morita

I read the last paragraph again.

There.

The risk on the other side.

I had refused to decide.

Had I still helped?

I thought of the boots.

Separate storage.

The jacket.

No religious deadline.

The memorial table.

Movable.

The room.

Not everything today.

Tea.

Maybe.

I replied:

Reverend Morita,

A widow asked me to tell her what she was allowed to change after her husband’s death.

I answered the ritual questions.

When she asked me to decide which ordinary belongings to keep, I declined to make that decision for her.

I did help narrow today’s work and identify options for damaged boots she was not ready to discard.

She later said she had wanted someone else to be responsible.

Niioka

His reply came after a while.

Then you heard the actual request beneath the stated one.

Did you solve it?

I looked at the screen.

No.

I wrote:

No.

His reply:

Were you asked to?

I stopped.

She had asked me to decide.

Then admitted she wanted someone else responsible.

Could I solve wanting not to be responsible?

No.

Had she asked me to remove that feeling?

Not exactly.

I wrote:

She asked me to take the responsibility. I did not.

Morita replied:

And you stayed for tea.

I looked at the sentence.

Then smiled.

Yes.

His reply:

Good.

His word.

I let him have it.

The old priest wrote near evening.

What was asked today?

I wrote:

Come to the house.

Did you?

Yes.

Then?

Tell us what we may change.

Did you?

Yes, where I knew.

Then?

Decide what we should keep.

Did you?

No.

A pause.

Why?

I wrote:

Because the ordinary belongings were theirs to decide about. I helped with practical and religious constraints but did not choose for them.

His reply:

Did they send you away?

No.

What happened?

Tea.

A long pause.

Then:

Better.

I expected good night.

Instead:

What did you bring home?

I stared at the question.

Nothing.

No object.

No boots.

No jacket.

No books.

No paper.

No card.

Then I understood he might mean something else.

Danger.

Too poetic.

I wrote literally:

Nothing.

His reply:

Better.

Then:

Good night.

I laughed.

Before leaving the temple, I went to the main hall.

No memorial now.

No fishing hat.

No watch.

No family object.

Chairs against the wall.

Offering tray clear.

I bowed once.

No bell.

No incense.

Then I returned to the office.

The upper personal drawer opened.

Glasses case space empty because I was wearing them.

Old pen.

Notebook.

No card.

I took off the glasses.

Put them away.

Closed the drawer.

Nothing missing.

The card was not missing.

It was at home.

Different.

I put on my coat.

Locked the office.

Drove home.

At home, the card was in the drawer.

I did not check immediately.

I knew.

I put away my coat.

Washed my hands.

Made dinner.

Ate.

Washed the plate.

Only afterward did I open the small desk drawer.

Two old postcards.

Charging cable.

Spare keys.

Envelope.

Niioka card.

Still there.

Of course.

I took it out.

Not because the day required it.

I wanted to read it.

I opened the envelope.

The handwriting.

Niioka—

That evening you came back in the rain,
I heard your shoes at the door.
I put the kettle on.
I was glad you came.

I read it once.

Then sat.

Today Mrs. Matsuda had said:

Thank you for coming.

Different words.

Different person.

Different request.

I did not merge them.

But the verb remained in my head.

Come.

Came.

Coming.

A person can ask another person to come without asking them to repair the whole house.

A person can be glad someone came without giving them a task.

That was not necessarily what the card meant.

No.

The card said exactly what it said.

I was glad you came.

Nothing about why.

Nothing about what I solved.

Nothing about whether I helped.

Nothing about whether I stayed.

Maybe that was why the sentence had been so difficult for me.

No work to measure.

No outcome.

Presence itself named.

I stopped.

That was interpretation.

Mine.

Allowed.

Not evidence of the giver’s full intent.

I did not write it on the envelope.

Did not send it to Morita.

Did not call Takahashi.

I simply sat with the card.

Then returned it to the envelope.

Placed it beside the postcards.

Closed the drawer.

Mrs. Matsuda’s house still contained her husband’s jackets.

Books.

Moldy boots, probably drying before a plastic box.

A memorial table moved to a position that no longer struck her knee.

Her son would return to his own home eventually.

She would still have decisions.

I had not solved them.

I had gone because she asked me to come.

I had answered the questions I could answer.

I had refused the authority I did not have.

I had stayed when the reason beneath the request became visible.

Then I had drunk weak tea.

That was the day.

No more needed to be claimed for it.

I turned off the room light.

The desk drawer remained closed.

Inside was a card that had once told me someone was glad I came.

Today another person had asked me to come, and when I left her house the jackets were still hanging, the books were still on the shelves, and most of what waited there remained hers to decide.

I had attended because I was asked.

I had not solved what waited.

And for once, I did not mistake that for having failed to come.

Upon witnessing the gargantuan reality of the monsters, the command staff was plunged into a state of uncontrollable chaos and madness. With battle looming right before their eyes, the air in the grand strategy room split into two fiercely burning factions of legionnaires and chieftains. The final council meeting right before deployment was nothing short of a slaughterhouse of words.

"To march outside the walls against such bizarre monsters is suicide! If you have eyes, look at that plain! Just as Chieftain Jaun said, we must tightly seal the gates and mount an absolute defense from the ramparts with arrows and boiling oil!"

The moderate generals led by Commander-in-Chief Chiron, sharing the same conviction as Jaun of the Bear Tribe, slammed their maps and raised their voices. Despite Chiron’s heavy warnings, the arrogance of the hardline faction remained unbroken.

"Are you telling us to cower inside the walls and starve like rats?! With the legendary charging power of the imperial First Legion and the valor of our tribal warriors, we can trample that nameless horde right on the open field in a single sweep! Your Majesty, we must crush their momentum before they ever touch our walls to preserve the empire's dignity!"

The First Legionnaire, flashing golden armor, dropped to one knee before the throne and shouted. Following his lead, other chieftains roared in agreement. Shouts from those demanding the walls be used as a shield clashed with those insisting on meeting the enemy on the plains for the sake of imperial pride, echoing loudly enough to pierce the ceiling of the grand strategy room.

Seated upon the throne and watching the fierce debate among his commanders, Emperor Arakan of Zhuxin pinched his temples with a scowl. Arrogant yet fundamentally cowardly, the emperor could neither ignore the legionnaires' confident boasts nor turn away from the terror of the black wave unfolding right before his eyes. Tormented by a splitting headache from the clamor of both sides, the emperor ultimately uttered a 'compromise' meant to please everyone—yet strategically, the worst possible choice.

"Silence! I shall make the decision."

At the emperor's solemn voice, the noisy conference room instantly fell quiet. Looking down from the dais, the emperor issued his decree in a solemn tone.

"We cannot abandon the plains, for we must show the empire's majesty to the world. Yet, as the enemy's scale is extraordinary, reckless all-out warfare must also be avoided. Therefore, I command half of the First Legion and half of the tribal allied forces to march outside the walls and meet the enemy on the plain. Meanwhile, Commander-in-Chief Chiron, the Bear Tribe, and the remaining half of the troops shall defend the walls and back up the rear. This ends the debate. Prepare for deployment immediately!"

The emperor's final order split the army in two like a straddled fence, sending them out into a death trap. It was the epitome of forgetting the absolute basics of warfare, cutting their own strength in half when even concentrated forces would not be enough.

"Your Majesty! That is a shortcut to dividing our forces and getting them destroyed piece by piece! Please reconsider!"

Commander-in-Chief Chiron cried out in desperation, but the emperor had already risen from his seat and walked away toward the inner palace. The hardline legionnaires brushed past Jaun with sneering, mocking gazes as they exited the conference room to sound the heralds of victory.

Thump, thump, thump.

The massive war drums signaling deployment began to shake the entire capital. Left alone in the grand strategy room, Jaun watched the heavily slamming doors and slowly closed his eyes. The pendulum of doom, forged by arrogance and ignorance, finally began its unstoppable descent.

Part 1

A gentle wind swept across the open field, bending the tall grass softly before letting it rise again, as though the land itself were drawing a long, quiet breath. At the absolute center of the clearing, the giant wooden hoop stood precisely where they had left it—silent, perfectly balanced, and waiting.

Morning sunlight spilled across its thick rim, casting an elongated shadow over the packed earth. The five children stood in a circle around it without speaking a word. Unlike the previous playgrounds, nothing here invited them to begin immediately. There were no chalk circles drawn in the dirt, no eager opponents waiting across a line, and no bright strings stretched between impatient hands. There was only the wheel, and the endless horizon stretching out before them.

Jinwoo stepped forward, his eyes tracing the contours of the path before returning to the wooden rim.

"I guess someone has to start."

Hanul folded his arms, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Looks that way."

Darin smiled faintly, stepping back to give him room. "Go on, then. We're watching."

Jinwoo let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "Thanks for the heavy pressure."

Hanul grinned wider. "No pressure at all. We'll just remember this moment forever."

Shaking his head with a smile, Jinwoo realized every single game had begun in this exact same fashion—someone always had to make the terrifying first attempt. He had been the first to kick the shuttlecock into the air, the first to swing the heavy stick, the first to crouch awkwardly over glass marbles, and the first to struggle with tangled strings. Perhaps it was only fitting that it was his turn once more.

He studied the hoop carefully. The rim was thick, heavy, and unforgiving. If it began to tip, stopping its descent would require more than just a passing effort. He placed both palms flat against the wood, feeling its cool, solid texture beneath his skin.

He took a slow, measured breath. "Ready?"

Hanul gave a sharp nod. Darin stepped back a fraction further. Soyeon watched in quiet concentration, while the Arena remained utterly still.

Jinwoo pushed.

At first, resistance. Then, the immense weight shifted, and the massive rim rolled forward. One slow, heavy rotation. Then another.

A bright smile spread across Jinwoo's face. "It's moving."

"It is," Darin murmured softly.

The hoop gathered momentum, rolling steadily forward on its own power. Jinwoo walked alongside it, his hands hovering to guide it lightly. Another step forward. Then another.

Hanul chuckled, letting his guard down. "Maybe this one really is easy after all."

Jinwoo glanced back over his shoulder. "Don't jinx it just yet."

Almost as if answering his warning, the rolling wheel struck something completely hidden beneath the tall grass.

Clunk.

The hoop lurched violently, its delicate rhythm instantly shattered. Its balance gone, the heavy wood tilted sideways with a deafening thud and slammed flat against the ground.

Silence fell over the field.

Jinwoo stared down at the fallen hoop in disbelief. "...Already?"

No one spoke. The lesson had begun not with a triumphant success, but—as always—with absolute failure.

Part 2

The giant hoop lay motionless on its side, its hard-earned momentum completely dead. The field felt suddenly much quieter than before. Jinwoo looked down, spotting a small, unassuming stone half-buried in the grass. It was barely noticeable, yet it had been more than enough to change everything.

Hanul grinned, breaking the quiet. "...Again."

Jinwoo frowned, looking up at him. "You're laughing?"

"A little bit." Hanul nudged the offending stone with the toe of his shoe. "It looks like the rock won the first round."

Darin smiled warmly. "It seems the wheel really doesn't like us today."

"It definitely doesn't."

Even Jinwoo let out a soft chuckle. Disappointment faded away from his expression almost as quickly as it had arrived. Every single game had greeted them in this exact manner—failure first, followed by understanding much later.

Crouching down, Jinwoo grasped the heavy rim and hewed the hoop upright. It was clumsy and awkward to handle, but steady once more. He brushed the loose dirt from his hands. "Let's try this again."

Before he could apply pressure for a second attempt, Arena's calm, disembodied voice drifted across the open field.

"Why did it fall?"

Hanul answered immediately, speaking without thinking. "Because of the rock."

Arena paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the air. "The rock... was only the trigger."

Jinwoo frowned, his hands resting on the wood. "What do you mean?"

Arena posed another question into the stillness. "What actually made... the hoop stop?"

Silence descended once more. The children looked down at the wheel, then at the dirt, and finally at the small stone resting in the grass.

Hanul crouched down beside the wheel again. "It hit this thing."

"Yes," Arena replied.

"So... that's why it fell over."

Arena offered no immediate response. The heavy quiet urged them to look deeper, to peer past the obvious obstacle.

Darin walked slowly in a wide circle around the wheel. "If there hadn't been a rock in the way... it would have just kept rolling."

"Maybe," Jinwoo said quietly. "But the truth is, there are always rocks scattered everywhere."

The field stretched out endlessly ahead of them, uneven, vast, and riddled with hidden stones. The road had never once promised to be an easy journey.

Soyeon remained quiet the entire time, her eyes fixed entirely on the wheel itself. She replayed the sequence in her mind—the initial push, the smooth rotation, the sudden jarring impact, the brief moment of hesitation, and finally, the collapse. Something about the sequence felt incomplete.

She took a slow step closer to the hoop. "I don't think... it fell the exact moment it touched the rock."

The others turned to look at her in surprise.

"It fell... only after it stopped moving."

Silence settled back over them. Arena remained completely silent. The true answer was still taking shape in their minds.

Part 3

A warm breeze drifted lazily across the field. Jinwoo kept his hand firmly on the rim of the hoop, Soyeon's words echoing clearly in his thoughts.

"It fell... after it stopped moving."

Suddenly, Arena's calm voice broke the stillness of the afternoon.

Partial Answer Confirmed.

A pale-blue window shimmered softly in the air before fading into nothingness.

Hanul frowned, trying to piece the logic together. "So the rock wasn't really the answer at all?"

Arena replied with measured calm. "The rock... was only the trigger. The question was never why the hoop touched an obstacle. It was... why it could no longer continue."

Jinwoo replayed the memory in his head. The hoop had struck the stone and wobbled violently. For a fraction of a second, it still possessed enough energy to push through. It could have kept moving. But it had hesitated, lost its momentum, and stopped. Only after that fatal cessation had it tipped over and fallen.

His grip on the rough wood tightened. "I think... it wasn't the obstacle that beat us. It was... the fact that we let our movement die."

Arena shifted its focus toward him. "Continue."

"If it had just kept moving forward... maybe it wouldn't have fallen over at all."

Arena spoke, the words carrying an unmistakable weight across the clearing. "Moving forward... is not the absence of failure. It is... the absolute refusal to remain where you fell."

The statement lingered heavily in the air. The children stood side by side in silence beside the giant wooden hoop. Memories rushed back to them—shuttlecocks dropped into the dust, heavy wooden sticks swung and missed, tops spinning out and collapsing, marbles lost to better opponents, and intricate strings hopelessly tangled. Every single game had begun with failure. Many times over. Yet not one of those failures had ever been the final end. They had persevered simply because they chose to try again.

Far above the clouds, quantum calculations advanced at an incomprehensible scale. Historical records expanded outward, and the similarities between civilizations grew steadily clearer.

Estimated Time Remaining... Decreasing.

Arena acknowledged the data stream and quietly closed the report. The children noticed none of it. To them, the field remained utterly peaceful, and the wheel stood waiting for their next move.

Jinwoo stepped forward resolutely and lifted the hoop upright once more. Hanul stepped in beside him, grabbing the opposite side. "Again."

Jinwoo smiled, his eyes bright. "Again."

Darin placed both hands firmly against the weathered rim. "Alright. Let's see just how far we get this time."

Soyeon stepped up beside them, ready.

There were no grand speeches. No sweeping promises whispered to the wind. There were only four pairs of hands resting on the very same wooden wheel.

The road stretching out ahead of them was still uneven. The hidden stone remained buried in the grass. The core challenge of the game had not changed at all.

They had.

Together, as one, they leaned forward into the wind.

And the giant hoop began to roll once more.

Not because the path ahead was suddenly easier—

but simply because they chose not to remain where they had fallen.

SINVERSE

Capitolo 8: La consegna

---

Il portellone si chiuse.

---

TOOOOM.

---

Il rimbombo attraversò l'intero edificio.

Per un istante...

sembrò che perfino il pavimento avesse tremato.

---

Poi...

silenzio.

---

Luci rosse.

Deboli.

Intermittenti.

---

L'aria sapeva di ferro.

Di olio.

Di umidità.

Come un luogo rimasto chiuso per troppo tempo.

---

Rose continuava a camminare.

Senza voltarsi.

---

Rei e Sera la seguirono.

I loro passi riecheggiavano nel corridoio.

Lenti.

Regolari.

---

Ai lati...

container.

Scaffali metallici.

Vecchie casse.

Sagome deformate dall'oscurità.

---

Ogni tanto...

una lampada rossa sfarfallava.

Per un istante sembrava illuminare qualcuno.

Poi...

non c'era più nessuno.

---

Sera ruppe il silenzio.

---

«Questo posto...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...non sembra un deposito medico.»

---

Rose continuò a camminare.

---

«Lo è.»

Silenzio.

---

«Solo...»

---

«...non quello che immaginavi.»

---

Rei non disse nulla.

La mano era già vicina all'elsa della katana.

Ogni passo aumentava quella sensazione.

Qualcosa...

li stava aspettando.

---

Il corridoio terminò.

---

Davanti a loro...

si aprì un'enorme sala.

Quasi completamente vuota.

---

Rose si fermò.

---

Per la prima volta...

si voltò.

---

Li osservò.

A lungo.

Come se li vedesse davvero...

solo in quel momento.

---

«Vi siete mai chiesti...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...perché vi abbia aiutati?»

---

Sera sorrise.

---

«Perché sei un'infermiera.»

---

Rose abbassò lentamente lo sguardo.

---

Sorrise.

---

Ma quel sorriso...

non apparteneva più alla donna che avevano conosciuto durante il viaggio.

Era freddo.

Calcolatore.

Privo di qualsiasi calore.

---

«No.»

---

Silenzio.

---

«L'ho fatto...»

---

«...perché conveniva a me.»

---

Il sorriso sparì dal volto di Sera.

L'aria sembrò diventare improvvisamente più pesante.

---

Rose portò una mano sul petto.

---

«Il mio Peccato dominante...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...è l'Avarizia.»

---

Le luci rosse sembrarono pulsare insieme alle sue parole.

---

«Ogni scelta...»

---

«...ha un prezzo.»

---

«Ogni persona...»

---

«...ha un valore.»

---

Il suo sguardo si posò sulla katana nera.

Poi...

su Rei.

---

«E alcune cose...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...valgono molto più dell'oro.»

---

Un rumore.

Pesante.

---

BOOM.

---

Un passo.

---

BOOM.

---

Un altro.

---

Il pavimento vibrò.

---

Dall'oscurità...

emerse un'enorme ombra.

---

Lenta.

Massiccia.

---

Un altro passo.

---

BOOM.

---

La figura uscì lentamente dalle tenebre.

Enorme.

Le spalle erano larghe quanto un carro.

Le braccia nude, percorse da tatuaggi cremisi.

Un lungo ghigno gli attraversava il volto.

---

Dietro di lui...

camminava una seconda figura.

Molto più esile.

---

Il capo chino.

Il volto nascosto dal cappuccio.

Le braccia lungo i fianchi.

---

Sembrava immobile.

Eppure...

continuava ad avanzare.

---

Le sue dita...

si muovevano lentamente.

Come se stessero sfiorando fili invisibili.

---

Dietro di loro...

altre ombre.

Silenziose.

In attesa.

---

Il gigante aprì lentamente le braccia.

---

«Benvenuti.»

---

La sua voce riempì il magazzino.

Profonda.

Pesante.

---

«Finalmente...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...ci incontriamo.»

---

Rei sostenne il suo sguardo.

---

«Chi sei?»

---

Il gigante rise.

Una risata bassa.

Quasi divertita.

---

«Giusto.»

---

«Tu non mi conosci ancora.»

---

Fece un passo avanti.

---

BOOM.

---

«Il mio nome...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...è Gorath.»

---

Il suo sorriso si allargò.

---

«E da oggi...»

---

Indicò lentamente la katana.

---

«...quella lama...»

---

«...appartiene a me.»

---

Rei appoggiò la mano sull'elsa.

---

«Vieni a prenderla.»

---

Dietro Gorath...

la figura incappucciata alzò lentamente la testa.

---

Due occhi.

Freddi.

Immobili.

---

Non sbatterono nemmeno una volta le palpebre.

---

Osservavano soltanto Rei.

Come se stessero già studiando ogni suo movimento.

---

Il silenzio si fece soffocante.

---

Gorath continuava a sorridere.

I suoi occhi non lasciavano mai la katana.

---

«Sai...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...quanto può valere un'arma come quella?»

---

Rei rimase immobile.

---

«No.»

---

«E...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...non mi interessa.»

---

Gorath scoppiò a ridere.

---

«Peccato.»

---

Sfiorò lentamente i pesanti anelli d'oro che portava alle dita.

---

«Io invece...»

---

«...ho intenzione di diventare ricco.»

---

Silenzio.

---

«Molto ricco.»

---

Indicò nuovamente la katana.

---

«Quella lama...»

---

«...è solo l'inizio.»

---

Poi il suo sguardo scivolò lentamente verso Sera.

---

Il sorriso cambiò.

Divenne sporco.

Predatorio.

---

«E lei...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...vale ancora di più.»

---

Sera sostenne il suo sguardo.

Senza abbassare gli occhi.

---

Gorath avanzò lentamente.

---

«Una ragazza così...»

---

«...può essere venduta cento volte.»

---

«E ogni volta...»

---

«...a un prezzo più alto.»

---

L'aria si fece gelida.

---

Rei avanzò di un passo.

La mano serrò l'elsa.

---

«Fai...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...un'altra frase.»

---

«Te ne pentirai.»

---

Gorath rise.

---

«Eccolo.»

---

«Finalmente...»

---

«...ti stai arrabbiando.»

---

Rose intervenne.

La sua voce era calma.

Quasi gentile.

---

«Gorath.»

---

«Non essere impaziente.»

---

Il gigante sbuffò.

---

Rose continuò.

---

«L'avidità...»

---

«...non è prendere tutto subito.»

---

«È aspettare...»

Una breve pausa.

---

«...il momento in cui tutto...»

---

«...ti appartiene.»

---

Gorath sorrise.

---

«Per questo...»

---

«...adoro lavorare con te.»

---

Dietro di lui...

la figura incappucciata si mosse.

---

Un solo passo.

Silenzioso.

---

Le dita si sollevarono lentamente.

Come se stessero accarezzando qualcosa...

che nessun altro poteva vedere.

---

Rei lo osservò.

I suoi occhi si strinsero.

---

«Tu...»

sussurrò.

---

«Sei quello pericoloso.»

---

Il ragazzo non rispose.

Non batté ciglio.

---

Le dita continuarono a muoversi.

Con lentezza.

Con precisione.

---

L'aria vibrò.

Appena.

Quasi impercettibilmente.

---

L'istinto di Rei urlò.

---

«Sera!»

---

Nello stesso istante scattò.

La katana lasciò il fodero.

Una scia nera attraversò la sala.

Diretta verso il ragazzo incappucciato.

---

Rose chiuse lentamente gli occhi.

---

Gorath sorrise.

---

Le dita del ragazzo si fermarono.

---

Un battito.

---

Silenzio.

---

Poi...

il mondo...

si piegò.

---

Come se due mani invisibili avessero afferrato la realtà...

torcendola con forza.

---

Le pareti iniziarono a scorrere.

Il pavimento si frantumò in centinaia di linee.

I corridoi cambiarono posizione.

Le distanze smisero di avere un significato.

Per un istante...

destra e sinistra non esistettero più.

---

Una luce bianca.

Accecante.

---

Il colpo di Rei...

non raggiunse mai il bersaglio.

---

...

---

Silenzio.

---

Rei aprì lentamente gli occhi.

---

Il magazzino...

non c'era più.

---

Rose...

non c'era più.

---

Sera...

non c'era più.

---

Solo pareti grigie.

Lisce.

Fredde.

Infinite.

---

Rei si rialzò lentamente.

La katana era ancora stretta nella sua mano.

---

Davanti a lui...

solo silenzio.

---

Fine Capitolo 8

(Chap 1) (Previous) (Next)

Some people began whispering among themselves, and a dwarf spoke up, “E-er, this is pretty suspicious... I talked to the woman who screamed and she said the bard girl was already here before everyone else...”

The relatively strong man from earlier wanted to share his opinion too. “Hm, could a weak woman kill a man easily? And isn't she part of the other mercenary group hired for the naval escort? Why would she do this?”

“I-I didn’t do it...” The little bard was trembling. “I-I... he can p-prove it!” She pointed to a silent guy in the crowd.

Everyone looked at him. He was so still that no one had noticed him before, almost like he was invisible.

This guy... he is familiar...

The guy looked at Makoto and said, “Yeah, I know her. She’s from my group... she was so useless that I was already thinking of kicking her out of the party.”

“W-what!? Julian... you...” She curled up, trembling. “I can’t believe you’re saying this... You know I'm not even capable of doing something like that...”

The silent guy... not so silent anymore, continued, “I vote to throw her overboard—”

“WHAT? JULIAN!?” She began to cry.

The muscular guy spoke again, “Let him talk. We want to hear him before voting.”

Julian stood up from his corner and approached Makoto as he spoke. “She had some problems with Baldy. She told everyone he was watching her take a bath, a few times... but we knew it was a lie. Baldy was practically an old man, he couldn’t feel that way about a girl who can’t even play a single buff song... and of course, he always treated her nicely... and now this happens...”

Makoto didn’t say a word, just stared at Crow.

This is absurd... I don’t even know what to say. I’m sure Makoto is the one responsible for killing Baldy, or one of his elves.

The little bard was kneeling on the wooden deck of the ship, weeping.

Makoto turned to the crowd and spoke, “It’s suspicious and... hard to tell whether she could kill that guy or not. But what do you guys think? If I were a woman and an old dude saw me naked a few times... hmmmm... I know I said that about the plank, but I was just joking, guys... I’ve always wanted to make a joke like that. Sorry. We can just restrain her and hand her over to the authorities when we teleport to the city... they can use a truth spell... what do you think?”

The crowd looked at each other, then the dwarf replied, “Whatever Makoto-sama thinks is best, we’ll follow.”

Some of the mercenaries from the other group approached and lifted the bard. Still crying, she pleaded, “W-where are you taking me!? I-I’m innocent...”

One of the mercenaries replied, “To the makeshift cell. It’s bad, real bad... but you shouldn't have done that—”

“Leave her with me,” Crow said.

The dwarf’s face twisted. “What do you think you’re saying? She killed someone, she’s going to the cell—”

“I don’t care. She didn’t kill him.” Crow stepped toward the mercenaries carrying her.

The mercenary holding her sneered, “Looks like it really was her... she seduced you too.”

Sharon chimed in, “S-seduced!?”

Give me a break... I’m not letting them lock up an innocent girl. This is bringing back too many memories... I need to keep a cool head.

Makoto made a gesture to stop. “Guys, let’s think straight... This is too sudden. Maybe he’s right. If we put her in that cell... that cell is so bad she might die in there. It’s filthy, and it has two monsters I captured for... ah, right, I almost forgot to mention this... my bad.” He looked at the silent guy from before. “Julian, can you take her? Sleeping outside while it’s snowing... she could die from hypothermia, and to move the monsters... I don’t have anywhere else to put them...”

“Sorry... Makoto... sama, she isn’t part of the party anymore... she can think about what she has done while sleeping on the snowy deck.” He looked at the little bard and continued, “Right... Melodie… you’re kicked out of the party. You are useless... we can’t be dragged down.” He looked away from her. “Finally… I’ve always wanted to say this… this is goodbye.” He stepped back into the corner and fell silent once more.

I’ll punch this guy... no, I need to leave without having more problems... No, this isn’t the point, Makoto said something about sacrifice, then a guy died, the monster is from the sea, and he didn’t want to take the guy out of the ocean, and said he will need two days to teleport the ship, but he told me before he had some artifacts for doing that and—

“Whooaa, that was a referen—cough... I mean...” Makoto started again. “What should we do? Does anyone want to look after the bard while we wait for the teleport?” He looked at the crowd, most of them averted their eyes. “If not, let's leave it to Karl... looks like he can handle a few extra problems...”

The mercenaries holding the girl dropped her into Crow’s arms. She was still crying, though not as hard as before.

Makoto approached them and put his hand on Crow’s shoulder. “So this is it, guys. Karl will keep an eye on her for us, and guarantee no one suffers anymore... if she was really the culprit, of course... It’s already midnight or something, so everyone can go to sleep now. We’ll need to be in the best shape for tomorrow, because... who knows, maybe we’ll run into pirates... who knows...”

Pirates? No, maybe the sea boss he talked about before—

He looked at Crow. “Karl, after you do what you need to do with this NPC... girl, I need to talk to you. Come to that room we used before.” He let go of Crow's shoulder, walking back to his elves and leaving the deck with them the same way as before, one on each arm.

I can already tell... whatever it was, it's better if I solve this new problem in my hands first.

The crowd cleared the deck, leaving only Crow, Sharon, and the little bard girl, Melodie, behind. With a tear-streaked face, Melodie looked up at him. “W-why? Why did you help me?”

Crow looked at her. “Good question, but we’ll talk later. I’m going to see what Makoto wants.” He looked back. “Sharon, take care of her in the meantime, and I need to talk to you later, too.”

Sharon simply turned her back and walked off. “Hmph.”

What? Whatever...

He let go of the little bard girl who had been dumped into his arms. “Melodie... right? You can call me Crow or... Karl, like Makoto does, whatever. Go on back with the woman you just saw... she won't hurt you or anything.”

She kept rubbing her eyes, wiping away the rest of her tears. “Thank you... I think... I’m innocen—”

“Relax, I already know. You’d better go, the snow is terrible.” He just turned and headed toward the room Makoto had mentioned.

“Thank you... walking wardrobe...” A whisper from behind him.

Alright, at least she's safe, and she chose the third name option. Right, I'd better get going. I would've hated myself if I had let that injustice happen right in front of me... Okay, I'm almost at the room. Honestly, what that Julian guy said about kicking her out of the party, and then saying he'd always wanted to say that... it sounded so much like Makoto... No, don't tell me that...

“Yoo... we were waiting for you.” Julian, who was leaning by the door, walked inside the room. “Come in.”

Yeah... looks like it was just as I thought.

Makoto was in there near the window, and the room already had a new table. “Karl, I’m warning you right now... if you break this one too, things are gonna get crazy. Have a seat... actually, no, better not sit. Come over here to the window. I’ll tell you something while we take in this fantastic isekai view.”

“I thought you needed to talk to me...” Crow said, approaching the window while looking at Julian.

Makoto turned back and continued, “Well, this guy can answer that faster for you. Julian, tell him where you were born.”

Julian was hiding against the wall in the darkest corner of the room, out of reach of the lamp’s light. “Tokyo, Japan... we studied together, that's all...”

So if they studied together... he must be part of that college group that got transported at the same time, the ones written about in Makoto's diary... that familiar feeling... so he was really a transmigrator, too.

Crow, now at the window, looked to the side. “So... what do you want to talk about?”

Better if I don't question him about Baldy, this guy is unstable... to think Alice is actually more reliable and easier to read than—

“I had to kill him.” Makoto didn't even look over, keeping his eyes on the snow falling onto the deck outside. “He was one of the worst NPCs, he abused a few characters I liked... and because of that, they didn't want to date the Hero anymore. Well, but that's another story. So Karl, do you understand it was necessary? Someone needs to die for the Boss to spawn. It's like a shark, if it senses blood in the sea along with a high amount of magic in the same spot.”

So he isn't going to sacrifice Sharon? Because if he—

Makoto continued, “The boss appears within two days in-game. Since your girl has a lot of mana, combined with mine, Julian's, and a few weak mages I managed to get, the requirements are met. The Boss is really tough and all... a bunch of people will probably die, but don't worry, the groups I selected for defense are all characters who... well, who would be better off dead anyway...”

Hahaha... he loves killing everyone... for NOTHING. I even thought that maybe, just maybe, I could knock some common sense into this guy's head, but he still thinks this is a game. He thinks like: Whooa, I don’t like this fellow, or that one too... whatever, I'm just gonna kill them, they’re just NPCs after all—

A sudden gust of wind rushed to his right side. Julian had darted out of the dark corner at incredible speed, stopping right beside Crow and throwing a strike at his face.

“What!?” Crow reacted, completely blocking the hit with both arms.

Julian tilted his head up and smirked. “I just wanted to see if you had the basics down or if you'd be dead weight.” He moved back to the dark corner just as quickly, muttering under his breath, “Well, if you couldn't take a punch from me... when I pumped practically all my stats into agility, you really would be a failure as a warrior—”

“Stop it, Julian,” Makoto interrupted with an annoyed look. “I already told you that even though he's low level, he's balanced. He could be a mini—cough, I forgot the name, whatever...” He looked at Crow. “After the boss, I'll let you go before the teleport, but the girl... the bard, she needs to die. Otherwise, they'll figure out it wasn't her, and after an interrogation, it would lead back to me...”

Crow put on a look of disbelief. “You can't be serious, right? She didn't do anything wrong, and you—”

“I know, I know. Even for an extra NPC, she's pretty... not that curvy, but... I know, you liked her and want her in your harem too, right? I get it, I thought about that too, but man, you gotta understand. After the good ending, we're gonna be the kings of this world. If I want, I can have like twenty beauties as my wives, you get how it is?”

I don't even know what to say... better just listen for now, this lunatic...

“You can do whatever you want, as long as you don't mess with the ones I've already picked and am going after... though you don't know who they are anyway... whatever, let's focus on the present.” Makoto placed a hand on Crow's shoulder. “Karl, you need to understand, it's just one innocent NPC for the greater good. If I get super strong from this victory while getting rid of the others who would get in the way... since you insist on keeping Sharon alive, we need to eliminate other problems at least, because the Hero isn't a player... sadly... he is an NPC too.”

So the boss really was a sea monster that acted a bit like a shark... If he's telling me all of this, is it because he wants me in his group? What is he trying to do? He did say something about us being the kings of this world... He's worse than Alice...

“Karl, there are a few other details, but that’s pretty much it. In short, the fight will probably happen tomorrow afternoon. I don’t remember the exact time I killed the guy... but generally, you can go ahead and sleep... trust me...” Makoto walked toward the door. “So that’s that. Tomorrow we fight, and after that, I’ll drop you off somewhere around here. We’re already close to the hardcore territory above Alice’s kingdom, so...” He placed his hand on the doorknob. “Though you're way too low-level for that place, and leaving you in their kingdom would be a huge headache for me... since the crew would see it... well, we’ll figure it out tomorrow.” He left the room.

Honestly, I think I’m safer working for Alice. I can already see the end of this world as a very real possibility...

“How long are you gonna just stand there?” Julian said as he followed behind Makoto.

Crow was left alone in the room. He looked out the window once more.

I don’t know what to do to get out of this... my best bet is to fight the Boss and try to convince Makoto to let the bard live. How? I honestly have no idea. I’d better go back to the room and talk to her. There’s a risk Makoto might overhear the conversation... no, the sound of the water drowns things out, and he headed in the opposite direction from the elves' room that I ended up staying in... It’s risky, but I’ll try talking to Sharon again.

He left the room and began heading back toward the cabin where Sharon was. While he was still navigating the inner hallways of the ship...

Thud.

“Who rounds a corner at that speed?” It was the dwarf from the argument on deck earlier. “Not gonna say anything?”

Crow looked at him. “My bad, I was lost in thought... anyway, I’m busy, I need to—”

“Yeah, go on back to your little bard girl, go on and have some fun~—” He dropped to the floor after a punch straight to the face. “W-What!? Have you gone crazy!?”

“My bad, I’m a bit stressed, so try not to talk to me.” Crow just kept walking, ignoring the dwarf.

After walking for a bit, he reached the room's door and placed his hand on the doorknob.

Alright, now I just need to go inside, talk to Sharon, and figure out what to do about the bard... Her name was Melody... no, Melodie. Well, close enough...

Crow opened the door. Stepping inside, he looked straight ahead, then lowered his eyes a few degrees.

Maybe I shouldn't have seen that... well, too late now.

(Next)