Haruko stared after him, long after his silhouette had vanished into the darkness.
"He can't stand our company?" Her thoughts clung to his words like shards of broken glass. Realizing she'd spoken aloud, she let out a faint sigh and muttered, "What did we ever do to him?"
"It's not about you."
Haruko flinched. The voice came from startlingly close—soft but calm. She spun around.
Standing behind her was the young man they'd seen earlier—the one with the katana. When they'd first arrived, he'd been training with Keito, slicing through that strange red energy. Now, he simply stood in the dim light, as if he'd always been there, waiting for the right moment to speak.
"What are you talking about?" Haruko frowned. "And hasn't anyone taught you it's rude to eavesdrop?"
The young man slowly raised a hand and scratched the back of his head, as if weighing whether it was worth responding.
"No one taught me manners," he said finally, his voice low with a hint of lazy exhaustion. "I grew up without parents."
Haruko felt a lump rise in her throat.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
"Nah, it's fine!" He tried to smile, but his expression remained almost as drowsy as before, like he was caught somewhere between waking and dreaming.
For a few seconds, he stood in silence, gazing into the distance where Keito had disappeared into the shadows. Then, without turning to her, he said, "You don't know what he's been through. Try to understand."
Haruko opened her mouth to respond, but in the next moment, the young man took a step back and seemed to melt into the shadows, as if he'd never been there at all.
"Hey, wait!" Her words came too late.
He was already gone.
"What's going on?"
"Hey, Haruko?!"
Someone grabbed her shoulder, and she jolted, snapping out of her thoughts.
Her father, Mr. Rejiro, stood before her, his dark eyes darting down the corridor as if searching for someone. The others had gathered too—Sergei Gromov, Zhao Linfei, Ludovic Dupont, Friedrich Weiss. Even Jurgen, rubbing his sleepy eyes, lazily shuffled closer.
"Where's Mr. Keito?" Rejiro asked with a hint of irritation. "I wanted to shake his hand. And then he just vanished!"
"Yeah, we…" Gromov chimed in, glancing around. "We were so caught up in the moment, we didn't notice him leave."
"So where is he, sweetheart? When's he coming back?"
Haruko swallowed, struggling to find the right words.
"He's gone. And he's not coming back."
"What…?" Her father's voice faltered, as if he'd misheard.
But there was no mistaking the certainty in her eyes.
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Haruko's words lingered in the air like a red-hot blade poised to strike.
"What do you mean, 'not coming back'?" Rejiro finally broke the silence, his brow furrowed as he awaited an explanation.
Haruko looked away, unsure herself.
"He said he can't stand the company of rich people," she muttered.
"Rich people…?" Gromov let out a dry chuckle, though there was no humor in his tone. "So we're just arrogant nobles to him, huh?"
"I don't think it's just that," Friedrich Weiss interjected suddenly. His voice was steady, but his gaze was heavy. "He's not the type to explain his actions. He just does what he thinks is necessary."
"Then we need to find him!" Rejiro declared resolutely. "If he underestimates us, we just have to—"
"Pointless," Haruko cut in.
She stared off toward where Keito had vanished into the darkness, as if he'd never existed at all.
"He chose to leave. If he wanted to be followed… he wouldn't have disappeared so quickly."
Rejiro's frown deepened, but he didn't argue.
"It's still not right," he muttered darkly.
"Maybe," Haruko said quietly. "But he's never done what's right for others. Only what's right for him."
With those words, she turned away, leaving everyone in the same state of bewilderment she'd been grappling with from the start.
The hum of conversation gradually faded as a servant, dressed in dark robes that nearly blended with the shadows, approached silently. He bowed with impeccable precision, calculated to the millimeter, and then spoke in a flat, emotionless tone:
"Master Shigeru asked me to remind you not to delay in sending the relics. Otherwise…" He paused just long enough for the weight of his words to sink in. "He will come for them himself."
His words sliced through the air like a cold blade.
Faces instantly grew serious. Moments ago, they'd been consumed with thoughts of Keito, but now the mere idea of him showing up in person made many tense involuntarily.
"They'll be sent. Today," Zhao Linfei said quickly, as if eager to end the conversation.
"Yes, of course," Gromov added, his fingers clenching tightly, as if warding off unwanted thoughts.
"We promise," Ludovic Dupont chimed in, his voice faltering slightly on the last syllable.
The servant gave a barely perceptible nod, accepting their response, then turned and vanished into the corridor without another word, as if he'd never been there.
For a moment, no one moved. Only after the sound of his footsteps had completely faded into silence did Rejiro exhale and run a hand over his face.
"Time to go," he said at last.
"Yes," Haruko nodded.
They all glanced at the doors that led out of the school. This was where they'd been healed, where a miracle had happened, but now no one wanted to linger.
Brief bows, murmured words of gratitude—and soon their silhouettes were fading into the gathering twilight, as if the night itself was eager to whisk them away.