The sun rose in a blinding wash of light that filled the entire room, while a cold current, born of the early morning, slipped through the gaps in the window and forced the curtains into a heavy sway, like shreds of shadow taking on a life of their own.
The warmth of the sheets kept Alphard from waking for a while longer, even as the sunlight pressed against his closed eyes, tinting the dark behind his eyelids a dull red.
The light kept building until, at last, he blinked a few lazy times, forcing his eyes to bear the sun's heat.
"What time is it?" Alphard murmured, trying to sit up enough to wake himself fully.
He said nothing more, but his expression sank into something sad and disappointed, his brow furrowing the moment he realized he was still in that same room — a room that wasn't his. The real Alphard's room.
Touching his forehead, rubbing it gently, he lowered his head and stared at the pure white of the sheets, as if they might reveal, once and for all, that this was real.
He didn't linger waiting for a miracle. Slowly, he swung himself around, slid into a pair of slippers, and made his way, clumsy and slow with fatigue, to the shower, where he washed himself thoroughly.
From the wardrobe he pulled his clothes — over his white shirt went a vest in a deep, matte brown that seemed to swallow the light. Over that, a black coat, sharply cut with long sleeves to complete the look; the fabric was woven so finely it felt almost like a second skin, light enough not to hinder his movement.
Trousers of the same color followed, reaching down to his ankles, the material flexible enough that he could move freely without a second thought.
He slipped on his shoes, ran a quick hand through his hair, and grabbed his top hat before heading down to the first floor.
He paused in front of the oval mirror hanging beside the wardrobe. It was the first time he'd truly looked at himself, and the reflection staring back was that of a stranger.
The face was angular, cheekbones sharply defined, the jaw tapering into a chin that was delicate, almost fine.
His hair was a black so deep it seemed to vanish into shadow at certain angles, threaded through with loose, slightly wavy strands, while his eyes held a dark emerald green that caught the light and gleamed whenever it fell across them.
It wasn't entirely surprising — his sister shared enough of the same features that he'd already had some idea what he looked like, not to mention the portrait he'd already seen. Still, he couldn't help the small jolt of shock. Physically, he was no longer Kenji, and somewhere beneath it all, he found himself missing his old face.
Shaking himself back to focus, he made his bed, as Helena had apparently taught him to do. Before that, though, he'd written a note in Japanese and tucked it beneath the mattress, promising himself he'd read it every night before sleep.
It wasn't some strange or troubling ritual — just a reminder of where he'd come from, and of his wish to find his way back.
Checking himself once more in the mirror, he made sure his clothes sat neatly and looked presentable. Even in a world that resembled the Belle Époque, he'd need to blend in carefully enough not to draw attention.
He descended the stairs slowly, his steps steady and firm, making his way to the sitting room, where Alexi sat reading the newspaper, a long box resting beside him that seemed to hold something important.
Watching him, Alphard felt his resolve settle. He wasn't just going out to look for work to keep up appearances — he intended to explore the district as well.
"Uncle, I'm heading out to look for work. If Mr. Blake comes by, tell him I'm busy, and that I'll be available later, or tomorrow at the latest."
At his words, Alexi looked up from the paper and turned toward Alphard, who stood waiting.
Adjusting his glasses, he folded the newspaper and set it on the armrest, then rose from his chair and crossed the room, resting a hand on Alphard's shoulder with a warmth that was almost impossible to put into words.
"Wait — I have something for you."
He lifted the large box he'd had beside him, carrying it with careful hands toward Alphard, who eyed the package with disbelief, trying and failing to guess what might be inside.
Eager to know, he opened it and found a fine walking cane of polished ebony, its deep black surface catching the light with a faint gleam. The curved handle, crafted from restored ivory and silver worked with heraldic detail, was molded to fit precisely into the palm of a hand.
For a moment, Alphard simply stood there, stunned into silence. The materials alone spoke to the cane's worth — in the diary, something like this could run thirty francs, nearly half a working-class salary.
"Why are you giving me this, uncle?" Alphard said, a quiet guilt tightening in his chest. Alexi had no way of knowing that the beloved nephew receiving this gift, and the treasure itself, weren't quite what they seemed.
Still, Alexi returned the question with a warm smile, one carrying a paternal love, even without the blood tie to back it.
"You're like a son to me. You and Helena both — you're all I have left, and you already know how things stand with the rest of the family. Not that I dwell on it much, but there it is. Enjoy your gift — it belonged to a man who's part of our family's history. Your great-grandfather, Marcus Quinn."
Alphard remembered reading about him in the diary. His great-grandfather had been the one to win Saint-Cyr its independence — which made the timing, so close to Independence Day, weigh on him even more heavily.
Still, he smiled the way Alphard would have, pulling his uncle into a firm, affectionate embrace. But even as his hands held tight to his uncle's back, his heart waged a quiet, private battle against the memory of the real Alphard, and everything he'd written for the man now standing in his place.
He felt like an outsider to all of it — as if he'd never belonged to this world at all, or worse, as if the world itself had simply forgotten Kenji had ever existed.
He drew a long breath, deep enough to feel a faint chill settle inside him, and smiling at his uncle, said,
"Thank you."
He took the cane, set his top hat firmly in place, and after adjusting himself to look his best, glanced back at Alexi, who watched him with unmistakable pride.
"Do I look all right?"
"You look wonderful. Helena will be delighted too."
He thought of her for a moment, and, keeping his composure, said,
"Tell her I love her. I'll see you both later."
Alexi smiled and saw him off, watching him grow smaller and smaller until he vanished from sight.
Just then, Helena came down the stairs, still half-asleep, and blinked in confusion at her uncle standing by the front door.
"What are you doing there?"
Alexi turned and laughed, as he always did.
"Saying goodbye to your brother."
As if the words had snapped her fully awake, Helena's drowsiness vanished, her brow furrowing in disbelief.
"How is that possible? My brother doesn't even like me — he didn't even say goodnight to me last night."
Indignant, she crossed her arms and stormed off toward the kitchen, hunger finally winning out over her irritation.
"Your brother's a grown man now. He's got his own things to worry about. He told me he was going out to find work."
Helena, still annoyed, simply accepted what Alexi said and hurried back up to her room, the sharp thud of her footsteps echoing against the carpet through the entire house.
Meanwhile, beneath the great sun spilling light across the whole city, Alphard walked at a calm, steady pace, his stride even, matched by the quiet stillness of the early morning.
Despite the lingering sadness twisting in his stomach, he couldn't help feeling a small measure of joy at the sheer beauty of the day. The trees played against the trimmed green lawns of a few passing houses, light and shadow shifting with every step.
Horse-drawn carriages passed only rarely, leaving enough quiet in the streets that he could make out the sweet song of birds perched high in the branches.
Arriving once more at the square from before, he drew in a deep breath, letting the mix of scents settle over him.
Even so close to the lower-class houses nearby, the square carried an air of elegance and refinement — sweet perfume mingling with the smell of roasted coffee, as young women gathered around a large fountain to rest or trade the day's gossip, while street vendors called out, offering their wares.
He kept walking until he came across the same book vendor from before.
"Good morning," Alphard said, offering a friendly smile.
The vendor recognized him, though he squinted for a moment, trying to place the face. It didn't take long before recognition settled in, and something like comfort crossed his features as he approached.
"Well, if it isn't the baker's boy. Here for another book? Don't think I'll take bread as payment this time."
"Apologies — I'm not a baker." Alphard let a look of mild disbelief cross his face before recovering his composure, tapping his cane and turning toward the newspaper stand instead.
"I've actually come to buy from you today. How much for the paper?"
"Five cents. Though if you'd like, I've got a finer one — the elite edition, twenty cents."
Reasonable as the price sounded, it wasn't something he could justify spending on a simple newspaper. However fine the print or however it was bound, the cost struck Alphard as absurd — not when he couldn't afford to waste money so freely.
"The five-cent one, then."
The vendor, a touch put out, yanked the paper free and handed it over, assuring him it was today's edition, then held out his other hand for payment.
Alphard caught the gesture, and feeling a flicker of embarrassment, wasted no time pulling five cents from his coat.
"Thank you very much."
With a small bow, he continued on, still searching for work. He hadn't gone much further than the vendor's stall, so he decided to spend the rest of the walk learning the names of the streets and mapping out shortcuts back home.