The next day back at school.
A certain girl was dealing with her own inner conflict, Sophia Uzushi did not crumble.
That was what people believed. Royals did not fracture under pressure, they endured.
Their pain was refined into elegance, their fear folded neatly behind posture and discipline. If something broke inside them, it did so silently.
But lately, her thoughts had become a labyrinth she could not map.
Sleep offered no rest. Night after night, she lay beneath silk sheets, staring into a ceiling carved with ancestral symbols, while memories that were not hers replayed with cruel clarity. Chains biting into skin. The sound of breath forced steady while something inside screamed. A child who learned early that mercy was a luxury.
Yuki Kinatarou's past had rooted itself inside her.
Her Kizo had never betrayed her like this.
Mind reading had always required intent. Metal responded only when commanded. Sophia could brush past a hundred people in a day without seeing more than surface thought, without intrusion. Control was absolute.
Except with him.
One touch. That was all it took.
And suddenly she was there. Not observing. Experiencing.
That should have been impossible.
By the time lunch arrived, she could no longer ignore the pull in her chest.
She saw him immediately.
Yuki sat at a cafeteria table with Derek, Mika, and Seri, laughter breaking easily from him as if nothing weighed on his shoulders. Mika listened closely, fingers knotted together, but she was frowning at Yuki. Maybe she hadn't fully forgiven him.
Seri watched him like someone guarding something fragile.
Sophia approached, her steps measured, expression calm.
"Kinatarou," she said. "I need to speak with you. Alone."
Yuki glanced up, amused. "A confession? I'm flattered."
Her gaze did not soften. "In your dreams. Even then, it's still not possible."
Derek snorted. Seri leaned forward. "What do you want with him?"
Sophia did not look away from Yuki. "I said what I want."
After a moment, Yuki stood. "I'll be back."
They moved through quieter halls until they reached an unused corridor washed in afternoon light. Sophia stopped first.
"I've seen your past," she said.
Yuki froze.
The air between them sharpened.
"…What?" he asked.
Sophia met his eyes, her posture immaculate, voice steady. "Your memories. Not thoughts. Not emotions. Memories. The violence. The guilt. The punishments you chose to endure."
His smile vanished completely.
"That's not possible," he said, barely audible.
"I know," Sophia replied. "My Kizo does not function that way. I can touch anyone without intrusion. I do it every day." Her gaze flickered, just once. "But with you… it happened without intent. Without permission."
Yuki said nothing.
She continued. "Since then, I feel drawn to you. Not romantically. Not foolishly." Her tone was precise. "It is familiarity. You carry pain the same way I do. Quietly. Constantly."
Silence stretched.
"I don't understand why it happened only with you," she admitted. "And that unsettles me."
Yuki looked away.
When he spoke, his voice was controlled, practiced. "You shouldn't tell anyone."
"I won't," Sophia said. "That isn't why I'm here."
She stepped closer, just enough to be deliberate. "I want to be close friends with you."
Yuki blinked.
That, at least, surprised him.
"…Friends?" he repeated.
"Yes," she said. "I believe we understand each other in a way others cannot. And I would like that connection to exist by choice, not accident. And maybe if I'm close to you, the pain of your past won't hurt me anymore."
For a moment, Yuki's composure cracked.
Just barely.
Then he smiled.
It was warm. Easy. Polished.
"Sure," he said. "Friends sounds good."
Sophia studied him.
She saw the tension beneath the smile. The careful construction. The fear of being seen too clearly.
"Then it's settled," she said.
She turned to leave, her steps unhurried.
Behind her, Yuki remained standing in the light, smiling at nothing, hiding everything.
And Sophia wondered, not for the first time, why fate had allowed her to see him so clearly when no one else ever had. She knew his smile was a fake.
Yuki returned to the cafeteria alone.
He slipped back into his seat as if nothing had happened, movements easy, familiar. His tray was exactly where he left it. The noise of the room swallowed him whole again.
"So?" Derek asked around a mouthful of food. "Was it a love confession or a death threat?"
Yuki laughed. It came out clean. Practiced. "Bit disappointing, honestly. I would've really liked a confession."
Mika frowned.
She had been watching him more lately. She didn't know why. Maybe because she was still angry about his insults. Maybe because anger had nowhere left to sit. The laugh felt… delayed.
Just barely. Like an echo that arrived a fraction too late.
Seri didn't speak.
Her eyes stayed on Yuki's hands as he picked up his chopsticks. They were steady. Too steady. The tension sat higher than usual, pulled tight beneath his skin.
Derek launched into another story, something loud and ridiculous. Yuki nodded at the right moments. Smiled when expected. Ate.
No one else noticed the way his shoulders never quite relaxed.
Mika leaned back, arms crossed. "You're weird today."
Yuki glanced at her. "That's every day."
She scowled, then looked away. Still, her gaze drifted back to him, lingering longer than she meant it to.
Seri finally spoke. "Did Uzushi want something important?"
Yuki didn't hesitate. "Nah."
The answer was immediate. Too immediate.
Seri accepted it anyway.
That was the dangerous part. She always did.
Under the table, Yuki's fingers curled briefly into his palm. Just once. Then relaxed.
Sophia Uzushi did not slow her stride as she walked away.
Her heels clicked against polished floors in perfect rhythm, posture flawless, chin lifted. Students stepped aside instinctively. Royals carried gravity with them. It bent space. Bent attention.
Inside, her thoughts unraveled.
The corridor blurred into overlapping images that were not hers. Cold stone. Restrained breath. Silence learned too early. Pain folded neatly away until it became structure.
She stopped before a tall window without realizing she had done so.
Sunlight streamed across her face, catching the edge of her glasses, igniting the gold in her eyes. Anyone watching would have seen composure incarnate.
Her chest felt tight.
She flexed her fingers and reached out, lightly brushing the metal frame of the window.
Respond.
The metal hummed obediently beneath her touch. Solid. Certain. Hers.
Good.
Control reasserted itself.
A servant passed behind her. Sophia shifted automatically to avoid contact. The thought was immediate, instinctive.
If I touch them, nothing will happen.
And she knew it was true.
That was the problem.
She could press her palm against a hundred minds and see nothing. No memories. No scars. No echoes.
But Yuki Kinatarou had opened like a fault line beneath her feet with a single accidental touch.
She resumed walking.
Friends, she had said.
The word lingered strangely. Royals did not make friends lightly. Connections were measured. Strategic. Clean.
This one felt… inevitable.
And inevitability frightened her more than danger ever could.
That night, two mirrors reflected two truths.
In one, Yuki stood alone in his apartment bathroom, hands braced against porcelain, staring at his reflection. His smile flickered on and off, searching for the version that fooled everyone best.
In the other, Sophia sat before a gilded vanity, fingers resting idle on polished wood, eyes unfocused as ancestral carvings stared back at her from the walls.
Different worlds.
The same memory stirred in both of them.
Chains. Silence. Endurance.
Neither spoke it aloud.
And somewhere between royalty and restraint, fate watched quietly, satisfied that it had been noticed at last.