Lucien's POV
It's strange how a single change—just one person waking up—can rearrange the atmosphere of a room. Like someone adjusted gravity. Nothing falls, but everything starts to lean.
Koyomi was awake now.
Sitting upright. Breathing evenly. Processing.
He hadn't panicked. That surprised me.
But then again, panic doesn't suit people like him. He's the type who spirals inward. Quiet storms. Controlled collapses.
He had the look of someone trying not to believe his own eyes—because belief would mean responsibility, and responsibility always means consequences.
But he wasn't rattled. Not really.
He looked at her the way a man looks at the sea after nearly drowning in it—curious, afraid, and just a little reverent.
And she—Kiss-shot—watched him like someone inspecting a half-broken clock. Trying to decide if it was worth repairing.
But me?
I didn't belong in the moment.
I could feel it.
The story had its shape again. Protagonist. Catalyst. Conflict.
And me?
I was the footnote nobody edited out.
Koyomi glanced at me more than once. Not hostile. Just… aware.
He was trying to gauge whether I was a rival, an ally, or a complication.
I didn't offer him any clues.
I was still figuring that out myself.
We didn't speak much that morning.
There was no need.
Everything unsaid sat between us, heavy and pulsing. Every glance, every movement, every silence—it all meant something.
It always does when you're close to monsters.
Kiss-shot had taken to pacing now. Slowly, barefoot, across the ruined floor of the staff room. It was too big for her, this space. Too empty. She filled it with presence, not mass.
Her smaller form didn't diminish her. If anything, it focused her.
The longer she stayed like this, the more dangerous she looked.
Not because she was threatening.
Because she was watching.
And calculating.
"You both have very different scents," she said suddenly.
I looked up from my spot against the window. Koyomi blinked.
"Excuse me?" he asked, with the exact amount of confusion I was too tired to voice.
Kiss-shot turned, walking slowly toward us.
"You smell like someone who would die for the sake of someone else's pain," she said to Koyomi. "A little too clean. A little too eager. Like a dog left in the rain."
Koyomi opened his mouth. Then shut it again.
"And you," she said, turning to me. "You smell like someone who already died. But didn't get around to leaving."
I didn't flinch.
"You enjoy saying things that don't make sense," I said.
"They make sense to me," she replied.
"That's convenient."
She smiled—no teeth. Just a soft curve of the lips, like she'd been playing chess with ghosts and finally got bored.
"You don't ask questions," she said, folding her arms behind her back. "Neither of you. Not about me. Not about this. Not even about each other."
"We're tired," I said.
"I'm cautious," Koyomi added.
"You're both dull," she said.
But there was something playful in it. Something cruel and curious, the way children pull wings off insects not to hurt them, but just to see.
"You want us to talk," I said. "But you don't want to be understood."
"Understanding is dangerous," she said. "It leads to empathy. And empathy leads to betrayal."
"That's a leap," Koyomi muttered.
"It's a history," she corrected.
She sat down again—on the floor this time. Between us. Her legs folded underneath her like she was conducting an invisible ritual.
"I'm going to give you both a chance," she said. "To be honest."
Koyomi shifted slightly. "About what?"
"Why you're here."
"You asked me to save you," he said. "You were dying."
"And you did. But you stayed."
She turned her head.
"And you, Lucien?"
I stared at her. At her eyes. At the echo of her power lingering just beneath the surface of her skin.
And I said:
"Because someone needed to."
Her expression didn't change.
But Koyomi looked at me now.
Longer than before.
I didn't look back.
Time passed strangely after that. Like the building breathed.
Koyomi started pacing. He didn't ask where we were going next. He didn't ask what he was now. Maybe because the answers scared him more than the questions.
Kiss-shot watched him move.
Watched me not move.
"You two are very different flavors of quiet," she said.
I said nothing.
Koyomi gave her a look. "Can you stop treating people like snacks?"
"You treat me like a problem to solve," she replied. "I find the comparison fair."
It wasn't even a fight. Just two people drawing lines neither of them planned to cross.
Yet.
That night, I walked up to the rooftop.
The sky was wide and dark. The stars felt closer than usual, like they were eavesdropping.
Koyomi didn't follow.
Neither did she.
For once, I was alone.
Really alone.
And it hit me: I wasn't supposed to be here anymore.
Not just in this world.
In any world.
And yet... I was still standing.
Still watching.
Still staying.