Izumi woke up startled.
Shallow breathing, skin wet. He remained there for a moment, stuck on the bed's edge, staring at the floor. His hand rose up his face, dragging down over tired eyes.
"Grandpa."
He paused.
There was something about hearing that word that felt significant. Significant even beyond language.
But he didn't remember his face.
Not the way he talked. Not even his hair color.
A stinging pain pushed against his skull. He clenched his fists, then began punching himself on the head, each blow harder than the last.
"Think… think… dammit—"
A hand encircled his wrist.
"Izumi, stop—!"
He didn't hear the voice, didn't care who it was. He brushed the hand away and went on until exhaustion forced him to quit. He gasped, trembling.
Lifting his head at last, he saw Miharu there.
Eyes staring wide, mouth barely opened.
Without a word, she hit him on the forehead with his old broken training sword.
"Dumbass," she scowled. "What the hell was that about?"
Izumi blinked once, emotion leaving his face. Calm replaced chaos.
"Oh… nothing much."
Miharu folded her arms and leaned her head to the side.
"You had a full-blown meltdown. Don't 'nothing' me."
He remained silent for a few seconds.
"Well… I was dead. Thought I went to hell."
He said it like it didn't matter.
Miharu rolled her eyes. "How can it be that you say it like that and you're still lying out in the open."
She turned and stormed away.
Later, Miharu strolled through the village with her friends. They teased her constantly.
"Come on and confess. You like him."
"He's kinda cute in a sorry, 'I-don't-sleep' kind of way."
Miharu rolled her eyes and pushed through them—then all of them suddenly froze.
The Monarch Of Gluttony dead, her Soul Conduit still dead center in the village.
They ignored it, soul conduits are mere decorations once their shell is gone.
Its light throbbed faintly.
BOOM.
A ripping sound tore the air as the conduit exploded, shards of ice and blasts of wind cutting through the sky. Snow followed—thick, unyielding, deadly.
Villagers screamed. People fled.
Miharu stood still.
Her friends tried to pick her up, but she wouldn't move. She was left.
The sound of the blast reached the inn.
Deserting calls for rest, he left in his wake with urgency, cape trailing behind, striding into chaos. By rigid precision, he cleared villagers separately.
Without exception Miharu.
He stood undecided.
"Training field."
He was away.
There was no grass on the field anymore. The white wrapped every inch of space, effacing the color of life.
Miharu stood alone, striking at her shattered sword again and again.
"Oi, dumbass," said Izumi, tone flat, face impassive. "What the hell are you doing?"
She refused to stop.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, suspended in mid-air.
Izumi caught the sword halfway through a swing. She backed away.
"There's nothing you can do, Kobayashi. The village is already burned."
She glared at him, shivering. "I'm useless… I'm supposed to be one of the Seven Saviours of this kingdom… I can't even save a village."
Izumi nodded once.
"You're weak."
Her breathing caught.
"But you fight anyway. That's what matters."
She screamed through tears, "You don't understand how it feels to be marked with a virtue! You're just a sinner!"
He said nothing.
"Don't you have something wise your grandpa used to say?"
".Probably would've," he replied. "But Nymrathis froze them."
Silence.
".I'm an asshole, right?"
"Yes.".
She began to speak, something about the village being home—but he cut her off.
"It's dead. If you stay here, you'll die too."
She stumbled. Wept into the snow.
Izumi held out his hand.
"Come with me. We'll kill them all. All the Monarchs of Sin. And maybe, I'll redeem myself."
She looked at his hand, hesitated—then took it.
It was cold. Like Nymrathis's hand.
Izumi didn't flinch.
He pulled her up and started to take her away.
The snow buried the past behind them.