Toki arrived at the Maho estate defeated.
Not broken,but worn thin in a way no battle wound could replicate. His body knew exhaustion; his mind knew worse. He had done everything he could. He knew that. Every choice, every word, every line he had refused to cross—it had all been deliberate.
And yet…
Shame clung to him like frost that refused to melt.
He stood at the iron gates for a moment longer than necessary, Umma already gone, the silence of the estate pressing in around him. The problem wasn't the Church. Or Connor . Or the artifacts he no longer had access to.
It was Utsuki.
Facing her now meant admitting that he had made an enemy powerful enough to cast a shadow over everyone under this roof.
I chose this, he told himself.
But they didn't.
The gates creaked open, and winter greeted him fully.
The courtyard was alive with laughter.
Haru's voice rang out first, high and unrestrained, followed by Natsu's sharp retort and Aki's softer but no less excited laughter. Snow flew through the air in clumsy arcs, landing in hair, on coats, down collars.
A snowball exploded harmlessly against the side of the manor.
The three of them were red-cheeked, breath puffing in clouds, happiness written plainly across their faces.
Toki stopped.
For a brief, cruel moment, he considered turning around.
The joy in front of him only sharpened the ache in his chest. Not because he resented it—but because it reminded him of what stood to be lost. He had brought trouble home with him.
What right do I have to stand here like this?
What right do I have to bring that man's attention anywhere near them?
But what had been said had been said.
What had been done could not be undone.
Haru noticed him first.
"Toki!" she shouted, waving both arms wildly, nearly slipping in the snow. "You're back early!"
Natsu squinted, then grinned. "Did you finally lose a fight?"
Aki elbowed him sharply. "Don't say that."
Toki managed a small smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was enough.
"I'm home," he said.
Lilith stepped up beside him and lifted her hand in a small wave. The girls noticed her—and this time, they didn't flinch.
They waved back.
Lilith blinked, surprised, then smiled properly.
That, at least, warmed something in Toki's chest.
"Have Tora and Kandaki started training today?" Toki asked, forcing his voice into something casual.
Aki nodded quickly. "Ozvold took Kandaki into the forest. They're still there, I think."
She hesitated.
"But Tora's inside."
Toki frowned. "Inside?"
"Yeah," Aki said. "They had to cut training short. Utsuki got a fever."
Toki's hand clenched at his side. "How bad?"
"She said it's not too bad," Haru added quickly. "But Suzume wouldn't let her stay outside."
Toki nodded once. "Good."
Lilith glanced at him, reading the tension immediately.
They headed inside.
The warmth of the manor enveloped them as the doors closed behind their backs. Suzume looked up from the hallway, relief softening her expression.
"Welcome home," she said gently.
Lilith bowed slightly. "Thank you. I think I'll rest for a bit. Last night was… intense."
Suzume nodded knowingly. "Your room is ready."
Lilith hesitated, then looked at Toki. "Don't overthink," she said quietly.
He gave a faint nod.
Then she was gone.
Toki turned toward the kitchen.
Yuki was already there.
She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. One look at him and she scoffed.
"Well, well," she drawled. "Back already? You look like a dog with its tail between its legs."
Toki didn't rise to it.
"I had a disagreement," he said simply.
Yuki raised an eyebrow. "And why exactly are you telling me this?"
He exhaled.
"I heard Utsuki isn't feeling well," he said. "Teach me how to make soup."
Silence.
Yuki stared at him as if he'd just asked her to teach him how to dance.
Then she snorted.
"Ha," she said. "As if I'd waste my time on you—"
She paused.
"…but the truth is," she continued, tone shifting just slightly, "that spoiled little thing hasn't eaten a single proper meal today."
She clicked her tongue. "Wouldn't touch anything."
Yuki grabbed a knife and shoved it into his hand. "Fine. If you're going to do this, do it properly."
She walked him through it step by step.
"Cut the vegetables smaller," she snapped. "No, smaller. What is that, firewood?"
She showed him how to boil the chicken first, skimming the surface, how to layer the seasoning carefully instead of dumping it all in at once.
Toki listened. Carefully. Seriously.
At one point, Yuki paused, watching him.
"…You're actually paying attention," she muttered.
"I want her to eat," he replied.
When the soup was finally done, Yuki tasted it once, grimaced, then shrugged.
"It's ready," she said. "If you can even call that soup. The vegetables are cut so crooked it looks like you used your feet."
She smirked. "But maybe it'll work. Given how it looks, Utsuki might eat it out of pity."
Then, more quietly:
"…It's a nice gesture."
Toki bowed his head. "Thank you."
He took the bowl and headed upstairs.
Utsuki's door was slightly open.
He knocked anyway.
"…Come in," came her soft voice.
She was sitting up in bed, wrapped in blankets, hair loose around her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed—not from embarrassment, but from fever.
She looked up—and immediately smiled.
"Toki?"
That smile nearly broke him.
"I made you something," he said, holding up the bowl.
Her eyes widened. "You cooked?"
"…With supervision."
She laughed softly, then coughed.
He sat beside her bed, carefully placing the bowl on the nightstand.
"I heard you weren't feeling well."
"I'll be fine," she said. "Suzume worries too much."
Toki picked up the spoon.
"Humor me," he said. "Just a little."
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
He fed her slowly, watching her reactions like it was the most important battle he'd ever fought.
"…It's not bad," she said after a few spoonfuls.
Yuki's voice echoed faintly in his head.
She's lying.
But Utsuki kept eating.
That was enough.
"…You're quiet," she said eventually, studying his face. "Did something happen?"
Toki hesitated.
The truth pressed against his chest, heavy and sharp.
"…I made an enemy today," he said finally.
Her expression softened. "You always do."
He huffed out a weak laugh.
"This one matters."
She reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
"Toki," she said gently. "Did you do what you believed was right?"
"Yes."
"Then that's enough," she said. "For me."
The words settled deep.
He swallowed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For bringing this home."
She shook her head. "You didn't bring danger home," she said. "You are home."
Utsuki watched him for a long moment before speaking.
"You didn't come home last night."
Her voice was soft, but not casual. It carried the quiet attentiveness of someone who had spent the entire night listening for footsteps that never came.
Toki stiffened slightly.
She leaned closer, squinting at his face.
"…Are you sure you're not hurt?" she asked. "Your cheek is red."
Her fingers hovered near his face, hesitant, as if asking permission without words.
"Did someone hit you?"
Toki raised a hand and brushed his fingers lightly against his cheek. The skin was still tender beneath the touch, warm with lingering heat.
"…You could say I went looking for it," he replied.
Utsuki frowned.
He let out a slow breath and looked away.
"Still," he continued, voice lower now, heavier, "it was all for nothing."
Her hand froze.
"All that preparation," he said. "All that effort. And in the end, I came back to the starting line."
His fingers curled into the blanket at her side.
"I disappointed my master," he said quietly. "And I dragged you into trouble—without you even being there."
"Toki—"
"I know," he interrupted gently, but firmly. "I know that in three days, something terrible is going to happen."
His jaw tightened.
"Innocent people are going to die," he said. "And I can't do anything to stop it."
The words tasted bitter.
"What kind of commander can't protect anyone?" he whispered. "What kind of knight just watches the clock run out?"
His shoulders sagged, as if the weight he carried had finally found a place to settle.
Utsuki reached for him.
She took his hand in both of hers.
"Toki," she said, holding his gaze, "Smith will never be disappointed in you."
His eyes flickered.
"And neither will I."
The words landed gently—but firmly enough to stop him from spiraling further.
"That moment," she continued, squeezing his hand slightly, "was a moment of weakness. For both of you."
She smiled faintly.
"But it seems you've forgotten the most important person in this whole story."
He looked at her, confused.
"The only one who's disappointed in you," she said softly, "is you."
The realization struck harder than any accusation.
Toki swallowed.
"It's hard," Utsuki went on, her voice thoughtful, "to stand in front of a mountain and know you can't climb it."
Her gaze drifted to the window, where snow rested quietly against the glass.
"I feel powerless sometimes too," she admitted. "Our group is the weakest when it comes to reputation in the royal selection."
She let out a small, nervous laugh.
"I'm afraid to speak in front of people," she said. "My voice shakes. My hands tremble."
She looked back at him.
"But that doesn't mean I don't want to stand with them."
Her fingers tightened around his.
"All I can do is stay behind," she said. "Observe. Study. Try."
A pause.
"But you're not like that," she said.
Toki looked at her.
"Your actions speak louder than any words," Utsuki continued. "You move. You act. You throw yourself forward even when it hurts."
Her voice softened.
"It hurts me that you still don't trust yourself to rely on me," she admitted. "But that's something I need to prove—not something you need to apologize for."
She shifted closer.
"If you can't overcome an obstacle," she said slowly, "and all you can do is crash into it—"
Her eyes sharpened.
"Then keep crashing into it," she finished. "Until you break a path through."
Toki stared at her.
"In this world," she said, "every obstacle is variable. The only constant—the only thing you truly control—are your actions."
She smiled.
"I know you won't give up," she said. "My knight is stronger than fate."
Something inside him cracked.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But enough to let air back into his lungs.
Toki laughed quietly and shook his head.
"You know," he said, voice softer now, "maybe I leave too often without saying anything."
She tilted her head.
"And maybe I throw myself into fights I try to hide from you," he continued. "But I always carried you with me."
He looked at her properly now.
"You helped me more than you can imagine."
Utsuki blinked.
Color rose to her cheeks.
"…Don't say things like that," she muttered. "You'll make me blush."
Then she smiled.
"But I'm glad," she said quietly. "I'm glad I can help."
She coughed lightly, then waved it off.
"I'll get better," she said. "And I'll help you with everything I can."
She met his eyes with calm determination.
"Don't worry about my reputation," she added. "If the world throws mud at you—"
She squeezed his hand.
"—then it throws mud at me too."
Toki's breath caught.
"Any enemy you make," she said simply, "is my enemy as well."
He looked down at the notebook on her bedside.
A page lay open.
A detailed sketch stared back at him.
It was him.
Not as he was now—but as he had been when they first met. Dust-stained clothes. Tired eyes. A rusted sword slung carelessly at his side.
"…You drew this?" he asked.
Utsuki nodded sheepishly.
"I was bored," she said. "And I wanted to remember what you looked like back then."
He stared at the drawing.
"…Who am I, Utsuki?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer immediately.
"That's something only you can define," she said at last.
Then she smiled.
"But if I had to describe Toki…"
She looked at the sketch again.
"At first, you seemed unserious," she said. "A man with an annoying sense of humor. A dusty vagabond carrying a rusty sword without a purpose."
Toki huffed.
"But," she continued, "you're a man who always jumps in front of danger."
Her voice warmed.
"A man who cares. Who empathizes."
"A man who works harder than anyone I know."
She counted softly on her fingers.
"A man who loves potatoes."
He blinked.
"A man who likes playing the piano and the violin."
His eyes widened slightly.
"A man who loves children. Who treats everyone with respect."
She looked up at him.
"A man who loves animals."
Her voice steadied.
"A man who never gives up."
She took a breath.
"If I had to say who Toki is," she said, meeting his gaze fully, "then Toki is the person I respect the most."
The room felt very still.
"Toki," she continued, "is the one who raises his hand toward the sky and challenges fate itself."
Her smile was small—but radiant.
"Toki is the hero who puts a smile on everyone's face."
He felt his throat tighten.
"…I was right," he said quietly. "You know me better than I know myself."
He exhaled.
"I'm honored," he said. "To represent so many things."
Then his expression hardened.
"I'll tell you the truth," he said. "Tonight, I'm going back to the capital."
Utsuki smiled.
"I won't stop you," she said. "All I ask is that you take care of yourself."
He stood and gently pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders.
"I'll try."
He turned toward the door.
"Toki," she called.
He looked back.
"No matter what you do," she said softly, "I'll be the one who keeps you grounded."
He smiled.
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
He closed the door quietly behind him.
In the hallway, Toki stopped.
The weight was still there.
But now—
It was bearable.
It's time, he told himself.
Time to take the bull by the horns.