ROSE

  I did not sleep.

  Dawn arrived without me noticing.

  Each time I closed my eyes, the scene from earlier that morning returned with humiliating clarity—the hallway light, the lingering stares, the heavy silence… Yoshida’s face completely flushed red.

  And worse than that…

  My own reaction.

  I rested my forehead against the desk, hiding my face in my arms.

  Why do I keep thinking about it?

  This is absurd.

  I have walked across fields littered with corpses without hesitation. I have held a sword soaked in blood without my grip wavering.

  And yet, a simple domestic moment kept me awake the entire night.

  The classroom was bathed in the soft light of morning. Sunlight streamed in through the windows in golden diagonals, illuminating dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The murmur of youthful conversations filled the room—laughter, zippers sliding shut, chairs scraping against the floor.

  A normal day.

  Peaceful.

  Safe.

  Too safe.

  Ever since I arrived in this world, I found it difficult to trust such peace.

  “Is she asleep…?”

  “She looks incredible even when she’s asleep.”

  “She’s like a princess.”

  The voices reached me as though from underwater. I lacked the strength to open my eyes or respond. Fatigue weighed upon my eyelids like armor I could no longer bear.

  Somewhere behind me, a window slid open. Fresh air drifted in, stirring the curtains gently.

  Nothing seemed out of place.

  Nothing seemed dangerous.

  Then I heard laughter near Yoshida’s desk.

  It was not light laughter.

  “Hey, Yoshida… what’s it like going out with someone like her?”

  “She probably just pities you.”

  “Yeah… doesn’t that make you feel pathetic?”

  I did not open my eyes.

  But my fingers tightened slightly against the desk.

  The tone was not curious.

  It was cutting.

  “Come on, answer,” another insisted. “Or can’t you even talk now?”

  Silence.

  I knew that silence.

  It was the same one that came before a blow.

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  I could picture it without looking—Yoshida sitting still, enduring words he could not avoid. Without arms to shield himself. Without a body capable of answering back.

  Irritating.

  The air, which moments before felt light, grew heavy.

  Before anything else could happen—

  The classroom door opened firmly.

  “All right, everyone. Back to your seats.”

  The teacher’s voice rang out like a bell announcing the start of battle.

  The laughter died instantly.

  Footsteps scattered.

  Normalcy returned… as though nothing had occurred.

  And I…

  remained asleep.

  “Rose-san.”

  Silence.

  “Rose-san.”

  A light tap touched the surface of my desk.

  My eyes opened at once.

  The entire class was staring at me.

  Sunlight blinded me for a moment.

  The teacher sighed patiently.

  “I understand you are not a student, but while you are in this classroom, you must respect the learning environment. Sleeping here is not appropriate.”

  Heat surged to my cheeks.

  “My deepest apologies…” I rose swiftly and bowed. “It shall not happen again.”

  Their gazes followed me as I exited the classroom.

  The hallway stood silent, broken only by the distant echo of another lesson beginning.

  How disgraceful…

  I exhaled slowly.

  This is unbecoming of a knight.

  I climbed the stairs to the rooftop. The sky stretched vast and blue above me. The wind moved gently through my hair.

  I placed both hands upon the metal railing and allowed the cold air to steady my thoughts.

  My mission has not changed.

  Defeat the Demon King.

  Find the path home.

  That is all.

  And yet…

  Yoshida’s smile beneath the fireworks returned to my mind.

  His voice apologizing.

  The fear that gripped me when I heard he might die.

  I frowned.

  This is dangerous.

  On the battlefield, emotions are cracks.

  And cracks become death.

  Then why can I not distance myself?

  I closed my eyes.

  For the first time, my enemy was not before me.

  It was within me.

  Meanwhile, in the classroom—

  The teacher wrote across the board. Chalk scraped against the surface in a dry, repetitive rhythm.

  Yoshida tried to follow the lesson.

  But the words began to warp.

  The air felt thick.

  His chest hurt.

  Again…

  A ringing filled his ears.

  He tried to steady his breathing.

  Not now…

  Not here…

  Darkness crept along the edges of his vision.

  Instinctively, he attempted to move his hand.

  A useless reflex he had repeated hundreds of times since the accident.

  But this time—

  His index finger trembled.

  Barely perceptible.

  So small the world failed to notice.

  His eyes widened.

  He tried again.

  The finger moved once more.

  Clumsy.

  Weak.

  But real.

  Something moved.

  Something long thought dead.

  His heart pounded violently.

  That’s impossible…

  The ringing intensified.

  The floor seemed to tilt beneath him.

  The teacher’s voice faded.

  “Yoshida!”

  The shout split the classroom in two.

  His body tipped sideways.

  Books fell.

  The sound of the chair striking the floor shattered the calm like a gunshot in the middle of a temple.

  The peace of the day fractured in a single instant.

  Darkness followed.

  When I pushed open the infirmary door, the sharp scent of disinfectant struck me immediately.

  I had run.

  I did not remember choosing to.

  I only knew something had broken.

  Yoshida lay on a medical cot, pale, connected to a portable monitor. The steady rhythm of the machine marked the room’s tempo.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Regular.

  Controlled.

  As though nothing had happened.

  A quiet relief settled within me when I saw his chest rise and fall.

  Then I noticed I was not alone.

  A figure stood by the window.

  Dark hair.

  Composed posture.

  Nozomi.

  She turned toward me slowly, her expression serene.

  Too serene.

  “You arrived quickly,” she said with a faint smile.

  I did not respond at once.

  Something about her felt misaligned with the rest of the day.

  Everything had been normal.

  Too normal.

  “I merely came to see him,” I said.

  Nozomi tilted her head slightly, as though assessing a piece upon an unseen chessboard.

  “You are interesting, Rose.”

  Her voice was soft.

  But not warm.

  “Be careful,” she added. “Sometimes, when you draw too close to someone… you awaken things that should have remained dormant.”

  A chill traced my spine.

  “I do not understand what you mean.”

  She smiled faintly.

  “You do not need to. Not yet.”

  She passed beside me, and the air felt colder in her wake.

  “Oh… and about Tanabata,” she murmured before stepping out. “It was beautiful, wasn’t it?”

  The door closed.

  Silence reclaimed the room.

  I looked at Yoshida’s hand resting atop the sheet.

  Motionless.

  As always.

  But I knew—

  When Ryujin-san entered the room accompanied by Kiyomi-san, the hospital scent that always surrounded them seemed to intensify. He still bore his physician’s attire, a figure of authority whose white coat contrasted sharply with his brother’s pallor. Kiyomi-san, her nurse’s uniform somewhat disheveled from the rush, did not take her eyes off the cot.

  I explained what had occurred.

  Yoshida opened his eyes and turned his gaze toward me.

  That surprised me.

  The day had seemed normal.

  But I understood something then.

  Peace… is sometimes nothing more than the final breath before everything changes.