Toki stepped outside once more.
The cold welcomed him without warning, sharp and honest in a way the inside of the manor could never be. Snow crunched softly beneath his boots as he crossed the courtyard, his breath rising in pale clouds that vanished almost as soon as they appeared.
At the edge of the open yard, perched atop a small mound of snow like a forgotten statue, sat Tora.
She wasn't running.
She wasn't stretching.
She was simply sitting there, knees drawn close, boots half-buried in white, staring up at the sky as if she expected it to answer something she hadn't yet asked aloud.
The triplets were nearby—laughing, arguing, throwing snow at one another with the careless joy of children who still believed the world was mostly kind. Their voices drifted through the air, bright and alive.
Tora didn't join them.
Snowflakes fell gently into her hair, clinging to the gold strands and melting slowly against her warmth. There was something quiet about her posture—something restrained.
Just… disappointment, folded neatly and kept to herself.
Toki slowed his steps.
For a moment, he simply watched her.
He approached her from the side, boots crunching softly enough that she noticed only when his shadow fell across the snow.
"Ready for training?" he asked, his voice light, almost casual. "How are your legs?"
Tora didn't look at him at first.
"They're a little better," she replied, bored more than discouraged. She tapped one boot against the snow absently. "These supports are heavy, but they do their job."
She sighed.
"But I don't think I'll win the race at the Snow Festival," she admitted. "Four days isn't enough time to fully recover."
She finally glanced up at him, eyes sharp despite her tone.
"Still," she added stubbornly, "I'll participate. I love running."
Toki felt something twist quietly in his chest.
He reached out and gently ruffled her hair, brushing snow from her bangs with his fingers.
"Then that's reason enough," he said.
He straightened and turned toward the forest.
"Come on," he added over his shoulder. "Follow me."
Without another word, he broke into a run.
Tora blinked, startled, then quickly pushed herself up from the snow.
"Hey—wait!" she called, scrambling after him.
They cut across the courtyard and plunged into the forest, snow crunching beneath their feet, branches bending low under white weight. Toki ran at an easy pace at first.
Tora followed, steps uneven but determined, her breathing steady.
Then, at the line of trees—
Toki accelerated.
Not abruptly.
Not violently.
Just enough.
"Toki!" Tora shouted. "Slow down!"
He didn't.
Instead, he pushed harder.
His boots struck fallen logs and exposed roots with crushing force, leaving deep impressions in bark and frozen wood. Each step was precise, controlled.
Tora gritted her teeth.
Fine.
She leapt.
From root to trunk, from trunk to stone, pushing her legs past the point of comfort, past the point where pain tried to crawl back into her awareness. Her breath came faster now, sharper, but her focus narrowed.
Don't think about your legs.
Don't think about your legs.
Just run.
She gained on him.
For a heartbeat, she thought she might catch him—
And then the trees parted.
A clearing opened suddenly before her, bathed in pale winter light.
Toki stepped aside at the last moment.
Tora stumbled forward, momentum carrying her past balance, and she fell face-first into the snow with a muffled thud.
"—!?"
Laughter rang out.
Not cruel.
Warm.
Toki chuckled, hands on his knees, breath fogging the air.
On a fallen log nearby, Ozvold and Kandaki sat resting—and they laughed too.
Tora lifted her head, snow clinging to her cheeks and nose.
"WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?" she shouted.
Toki straightened, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye.
"I wanted to test your reflexes," he said easily. "And to make sure you stopped thinking about your legs while running."
He gestured around them.
"Besides," he added, "this was the fastest way to get to the clearing."
Tora spluttered, then groaned and flopped onto her back.
"…You're awful."
"Maybe," Toki replied. "But you kept up."
That mattered.
He turned his attention to the others.
"And," he continued, "I also needed to check on Kandaki's progress."
Kandaki sat up straighter immediately, instinctively reaching for Toki s sword.
He was polishing it carefully, reverently, cloth moving along the blade with slow precision.
Toki approached him and nodded toward the weapon.
"How does it feel," he asked, "training with a real sword?"
Kandaki hesitated, then smiled—wide and earnest.
"It's different," he said. "Your sword is… more precise than anything I've ever held."
Toki raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh?"
"Yes," Kandaki said firmly. "It responds. Like it knows what I want to do before I do."
Ozvold snorted quietly.
Toki turned to him.
"How did training go?" he asked.
Ozvold crossed his arms.
"He's improved a lot," he admitted.
He pointed toward a nearby tree.
Deep cuts marred its trunk—clean, powerful strikes .
Toki stepped closer and brushed his fingers lightly along the cuts, feeling the depth, the angle.
"Very good," he murmured.
Then his expression shifted.
"…But there's one more thing I want to check."
Before anyone could react, Toki planted his feet and gripped the tree with both hands.
His muscles tensed.
With a low grunt and a tremendous effort, he tore the tree from the ground—roots snapping free with a wet, cracking sound.
Ozvold's eyes widened.
"Toki—!"
Too late.
Toki hurled the massive trunk toward Kandaki.
Time slowed.
Kandaki gasped, fear flashing across his face—but his hands moved without hesitation.
He drew Toki's sword in one fluid motion.
One strike.
The trunk split cleanly in half midair, both pieces crashing harmlessly into the snow on either side of him.
Silence followed.
Ozvold stared.
Tora sat up, stunned.
Kandaki looked down at the sword in his hands.
Toki clapped slowly.
"Bravo, Kandaki," he said. "I knew you'd manage."
Ozvold spun on him, fury blazing.
"ARE YOU INSANE!?" he shouted. "If he hadn't cut it, he would've died!"
Toki met his gaze calmly.
"…You don't trust Kandaki?" he asked.
Ozvold froze.
He had no answer.
Kandaki broke the tension.
"Master!" he said eagerly. "Do you think I'm ready for the selection in three days?"
Toki smiled.
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "Absolutely."
Then, quieter:
"Honestly… I don't even know if I am ready for what will happen in three days."
Ozvold noticed it then.
The smile.
Too wide.
Too sharp.
A strange smile.
"How are things in the capital?" Ozvold asked carefully. "I heard there were… disagreements."
Toki lifted a hand and gently touched his cheek.
"…I didn't think Bernard would hide something like that," he said. "But to be honest?"
He exhaled.
"I realized I can't rely on anyone in the capital."
He looked ahead, past the trees.
"I'll manage on my own. Like always."
He turned back to them.
"But training is over for today. It's past noon—and I don't want any of you ending up like Utsuki."
He gestured toward the manor.
"Let's go inside. You've earned the rest of the day."
They followed him back through the trees.
Ozvold watched his back.
Something felt wrong.
And no matter how hard he tried—
He couldn't bury that feeling.
Inside the manor, Ozvold kept watching Toki.
Not openly.
Not suspiciously.
Just… attentively.
He waited for something to crack.
A slip. A tremor in the voice. A hesitation where none should be. A wrong step. A wrong word.
But nothing came.
Toki sat at the table as he always did—listening more than speaking, offering short comments at the right moments. He helped with the cleaning without being asked, moving chairs back into place, wiping spilled water as if it mattered. He stepped outside to feed Umma, speaking softly to the great creature as she ate, his tone calm and familiar.
Later, he carried dinner to Utsuki's room.
He didn't linger too long.
He didn't rush either.
Everything was… normal.
Too normal.
If Ozvold hadn't known him—truly known him—he might have said Toki looked happier than he had in weeks. Relaxed. At ease. As if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
And yet—
That smile.
It clung to Ozvold's thoughts like a thorn buried too deep to pull out.
Not the gentle smile Toki wore around the children.
Not the tired one he showed after battle.
This one had been sharp.
Exaggerated.
Almost deliberate.
The day passed like any other.
Meals. Laughter. Quiet conversations. Snow falling endlessly outside the windows.
But the unease never left Ozvold's chest.
Night fell.
Candles were lit. Footsteps softened. Doors closed one by one.
Toki was heading toward his room when Ozvold finally stopped him in the hallway.
"Toki."
He turned, expression neutral.
Ozvold hesitated.
"I know it's late to ask this," he said slowly, choosing each word with care, "but you're… too calm."
Toki raised an eyebrow slightly.
"For the situation with the Star Collector," Ozvold continued. "You're too calm. What are you planning to do?"
For a brief moment—so brief Ozvold almost missed it—Toki's eyes flickered.
Then he smiled.
"Nothing," Toki said.
Ozvold frowned. "Nothing?"
"I managed to learn the Star Collector's weakness," Toki went on calmly. "But it isn't enough."
He leaned lightly against the wall, casual.
"The capital can't help me," he added. "And if I insist, I'll only cause more trouble."
Ozvold's jaw tightened.
"So that means more people will die," he said bluntly.
Toki shook his head.
"Don't worry," he replied. "I'll make sure no one suffers."
Ozvold's breath caught.
"And even if it happens," Toki continued, voice steady, "I'll make sure there are as few victims as possible."
Something about those words froze Ozvold's blood.
Not the meaning.
The certainty.
He swallowed hard.
Toki turned toward his door.
"…You don't trust me, Ozvold?" he asked quietly.
Ozvold straightened immediately.
"I wouldn't dare," he said. "Never."
Toki smiled again.
That same smile.
"You're a good friend," Toki said. "And a loyal ally."
He paused, hand on the door.
"But the old dog doesn't die by the wolf's fangs," he added softly.
"He dies by the master's staff."
Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
Ozvold remained there for a long moment, staring at the wooden surface as if it might answer him.
A thought followed him as he finally turned away.
Toki… please don't make reckless decisions.
Inside his room, Toki exhaled.
The calm fell away instantly.
He sat on the edge of the bed and unwrapped the bandage around his wrist—the one Lilith had carefully tied earlier. The wound had healed partially, pale skin pulling tight where flesh had once split.
He cleaned it again and wrapped it with a fresh bandage, tighter this time.
His hand came to rest against the cold glass of the window.
Outside, the night stretched endlessly, snow reflecting moonlight like a field of broken mirrors.
Toki stared at his reflection.
"…It seems you were right, Sephira," he murmured, more to himself than to the empty room.
"I need to die."
His reflection smiled back at him.
A smile that almost scared him.
"I'll try again," he whispered. "And again. And again."
He tightened his fingers against the glass.
"I'll crash into the obstacle," he said softly, recalling Utsuki's words, "until it breaks."
A strange warmth spread through his chest.
Then came the question.
The one he hadn't dared ask until now.
How many times…
His smile wavered.
"…How many times will I have to repeat the same day," he whispered, "until people no longer have to live in fear of being next?"
Three days.
He let out a quiet laugh.
"Three days," he said. "Ha…"
His eyes hardened.
"Show me everything you have," he murmured, staring into his own reflection.
"Because unlike you…"
His smile widened, sharp and unwavering.
"I have infinite possibilities."
The glass trembled slightly beneath his hand.
And somewhere deep inside—
Something watched.
The candles went out with a puff, ending the illusion of the day that had passed.