A flicker of bewilderment danced across Yura's face, her lips parting as if she'd been struck by a phrase she couldn't quite grasp. "Huh?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with a confusion that seemed to cling to her like a damp shroud. Her eyes darted around the room, wide and shimmering, as if searching for an answer etched on the walls themselves. "Why did you... share all those stories about Ofori then?"
Ezekiel's gaze hardened, the bitterness he'd been holding back finally breaking free, his voice slicing through the air like a blade unsheathed. "You're still clueless, aren't you?" he said, his jaw flexing, a muscle ticking beneath his skin as he struggled to contain words sharp enough to cut. The playful warmth she was used to was gone, replaced by a taut, restrained fury born of years spent in silence.
"All these years," he began, his words heavy and deliberate, "I've been there, watching you, protecting you, treating you like a younger sister. I indulged your whims, shielded you from the world's sharp edges, made sure you could stumble without truly falling. I pampered you, more than you'll ever admit." His gaze lingered on her face, his eyes narrowing. "But with Ofori, it was different."
Yura blinked, her brows knitting together as Ezekiel pressed on. "He was a troublemaker," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of thunder. "But he was also the storm that rattled the ground beneath you, shaking the pillars you thought unshakable. When you lost your drive after that 'enemy' crushed you, he was the one who pushed you, forced you to claw back what you'd almost thrown away. Not because he admired your talents or wanted to comfort you, but because he wanted to ignite a fire you'd buried, a fire strong enough to drive you to desperation—to remind you that every breath, every drop of sweat in training, mattered."
His eyes locked onto hers, watching her flinch. "You didn't notice it, but he was always there, closing in, forcing you to realize that if you didn't rise above yourself, he'd surpass you and leave you behind in the dust. And maybe, just maybe, one day he'd even retract his words about you being his 'only rival.' That possibility—that humiliation—was what kept you moving forward when you wanted to stop."
Ezekiel's voice grew sharper, his words slicing through the silence. "Ofori was your rival, Yura, not the kind that exists because of admiration, but the kind that exists because he knew you needed someone chasing your heels to stop you from falling asleep in your own comfort. He ignited your conviction, forced you to measure yourself against something real, became the benchmark, the whetstone that sharpened your dull edge. He was the fire that hardened your resolve, the gale that refused to let you grow complacent."
The room seemed to still, Yura's throat tightening as Ezekiel's words hung in the air. "I'm not painting him as some saint," he continued after a pause, his mouth curling faintly in a bitter smile. "Far from it. His reputation with women is well-earned—smooth words, a smile that could unfasten any armor, those damned looks—he's left a battlefield of flustered hearts and flushed faces behind him. But amidst all that chaos, amidst all that carelessness... he showed you a side of himself no one else ever saw. Even if one of his motivations was as shallow as desire back then, it's undeniable he saw something in you that others didn't. He never patronized you, never talked down to you. And Yura, don't underestimate how powerful that is."
Yura lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning despite herself. All this time, she'd seen him as the immature and petty one among them, yet she'd been the one being spoiled. What kind of man chooses a woman to be his rival? And still, he endured the mockery, the humiliation—just for her. Her chest tightened as guilt clawed at her ribs, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the air heavier, as if Ezekiel's words had stolen the oxygen. I've really been a bad friend, Ofori. I hope you'd forgive me. She bit her lip, her fingers curling into fists as if trying to hold back the weight of her regret.
Unperturbed by Yura's inner thoughts, Ezekiel leaned forward, his voice softer now, almost mirthful. "He never coddled you, never wrapped you in false reverence. Instead, he teased you, needled you, pushed you so hard you wanted to scream. He didn't care that you were—what did he call you?—ah yes, an 'old hag.'"
Yura's face puffed out like an offended child's, her cheeks inflating as though she might blow fire at him. Her hands tightened into fists. "Hey! I am not an old hag!" she snapped, her tone half-indignant, half-amused. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips despite her anger.
Ezekiel chuckled, his eyes glinting. "That's exactly why he butted heads with you, because he never saw you as a delicate or untouchable flower. Because his drive toward you wasn't romantic fantasy or fleeting lust—it was rooted in respect, a respect so deep it masked itself as rivalry. And that," his eyes sharpened, "is why he hates it when you thank him. To him, it's absurd, like praising himself. Imagine the arrogance of thanking your own reflection—yes, even the emperor of narcissists wouldn't stoop that low."
Silence pressed heavy between them until Ezekiel's tone shifted again, this time mixing exasperation with concern. "Do you even realize how many times you've fallen for the schemes of our enemies?" Yura threw up her hands, her expression crumpling into comical outrage. "Oh, come on!" she cried.
Ezekiel's eyes sparkled, but his voice was firm. "No, let me finish. Two hundred and fifty-three times, that's how many times you've fallen for their baits and traps." Yura froze mid-breath, disbelief crashing over her face like a wave. "Two hundred and—what?" she stammered.
"Niko noticed two hundred," Ezekiel said flatly. "Not surprising, considering his seer's intuition—said Yura was like a nerd. Francisca caught thirty with her eyes. The Captain, ten..." Yura swallowed hard, still staring. Then came the dagger. "And Ofori? He noticed ten."
Her incredulous laugh burst out before she could stop it. "Ofori? That guy? He can't even find his own artifacts in his own room!" Ezekiel only smiled, his calm unshaken. "Shocking as it may be, that's the truth. And it means one thing—he pays more attention to you than you've ever realized, far more than you'd believe possible."
The words left Yura staring, her heart thudding in uneven beats. At last, curiosity overcame her. "So… who caught the other three?" she asked.
Ezekiel's reply was simple. "Miguel." Yura blinked. "Miguel?" She let out a short laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "Well, that makes sense, given his… obsession with order."
"Exactly," Ezekiel said, his mouth curving faintly. "That obsession means he's always keeping track of where we are, what we're doing—whether we like it or not." His tone changed once more, softening but gaining weight. "All of that aside, remember this: each of us has our own perspective on you, our own ways of treating you. But make no mistake, Yura—being belittled, dismissed, or called an idiot has never and will never be how we see you." His eyes held hers, unflinching. "I need to go. Since you skipped the meeting, we still have decisions to wrap up. But one last thing."
His expression grew heavier. "Your parting words before storming out… hurt them more than you think." Yura's lips trembled, guilt welling up in her chest like a flood. She sat frozen, her mind a storm of guilt and understanding, the weight of Ezekiel's words pressing against her chest like an immovable stone. "I'm… I'm sorry, Ezekiel," she whispered, her voice breaking.
"I know," he said gently. "They know too. But that doesn't mean it didn't sting. Please—don't let words like that leave your lips again."
The air grew still.
************************************************
Later, the silence was broken by Kevin's voice from the doorway. "I'm heading to the farms, honey!" he called out.
"Wait up!" Christie's rushed voice floated down from upstairs, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.
Kevin frowned, amusement tugging at his lips. "Come on, Christie. I'm just going for an inspection. I'm not about to plow the fields."
"And I want to come with you!" she called back, her tone somewhere between a demand and a plea.
Kevin blinked up at the ceiling. "What?"
"Just wait for me!"
He sighed, his voice softening. "Alright, alright. But you do realize it's literally right behind the house