Dawn had not yet broken, but Kenta had long since given up on sleep. The night had been a relentless, silent battleground. Every time he closed his eyes, two visions warred for dominance: the chilling, crimson-eyed smirk of his reflection in the pond, and Sarah's face—her determined grin during a fight, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the unexpected softness in her eyes when she thought no one was looking.
The voice in his head had been a cruel commentator on it all.
She fights with a cold fire you lack,it had whispered in the dark. She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't have a demon whispering in her ear. She is clean. You are corrupted. What could she possibly see in a fractured soul like you?
He had tossed and turned on his thin futon, the words etching themselves into his already raw nerves. The memory of her vulnerability during their journey, the way she had trusted him, felt like a lifetime ago. Now, surrounded by legends and facing truths that threatened to break him, a chasm seemed to be widening between them, and he felt himself on the wrong side of it.
The moment the first grey light filtered through the paper screen of his window, he was up. He dressed mechanically, his body moving on an autopilot that his mind couldn't manage. He needed to see her. He needed the reassurance of her presence, a tangible anchor to the person he was before the dark blade and the temple and the voices.
He found her in the main training yard, just as the sun crested the eastern peaks, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold. She was already there, a lone figure moving through a series of fluid, intense katas. This wasn't the flashy, System-driven combat he was used to seeing. This was different. It was foundational. Her movements were stripped back, precise, and brutally efficient. She was practicing a simple fire-manipulation skill, but instead of creating a massive inferno, she was focusing the flame into a needle-thin, blindingly hot point at the tip of her finger, holding it there with a visible strain of concentration that made the tendons in her neck stand out. Sweat plastered her hair to her temples despite the morning chill.
She was breathtaking.
He stood at the edge of the yard, partially hidden by the eaves of the hall, and just watched. For a few precious minutes, the voice in his head was silent, stunned into submission by the sheer force of her will. This was a Sarah he hadn't seen before—not the scrappy survivor or the System's vessel, but a disciplined warrior honing her craft with a raw, personal dedication that resonated deep within him.
She finished the kata, the pinpoint flame extinguishing with a soft hiss. She stood panting for a moment, her chest rising and falling rapidly, before she sensed his presence. Her head turned, and her eyes, bright with exertion, found his.
A small, slightly surprised smile touched her lips. "Kenta. You're up early."
He stepped out of the shadows, feeling awkward and exposed. "I… couldn't sleep," he admitted, the words feeling inadequate. "Your training… it looks different."
Her smile widened, a flash of pride in her eyes. "It is. No more shortcuts. I'm… building a better foundation." She didn't mention the System, and he didn't ask. It was one of the many unspoken boundaries between them.
An uncomfortable silence descended. The easy camaraderie of their travels felt like a distant memory, replaced by the weight of everything unsaid. He scrambled for something, anything, to bridge the gap.
"You're pushing yourself hard," he said, gesturing to the training ground. "It's impressive. You've always been so… driven. Ever since you woke up here, it's like you've been running towards something." He meant it as a compliment, an acknowledgment of her strength.
But the moment the words left his mouth, he saw her flinch. It was subtle—a slight tightening around her eyes, a barely perceptible stiffening of her shoulders. The warmth in her expression cooled several degrees.
"Driven?" she repeated, her voice losing its previous softness. "Is that what you call it?"
He blinked, confused by the shift. "Well, yes. Your quest for vengeance, your need to get stronger… it's what fuels you, isn't it?"
A spark of irritation, sharp and defensive, flashed in her gaze. "You make it sound so simple, Kenta. Like it's a choice." She took a step forward, her voice low but intense. "What was I supposed to do? Lie down and die? Be 'pathetic,' like the gods said I was? This 'drive' you see… it's not a fuel. It's the only thing holding me together some days. It's the wall I built so I wouldn't shatter."
He had stumbled directly into a minefield he hadn't even known was there. He was trying to compliment her resilience, but all she heard was an oversimplification of her trauma. The voice in his head chose that moment to return with a vengeance.
See? You don't understand her at all. You speak of her pain as if it's a virtue. You're an idiot.
"Sarah, I didn't mean—" he started, his own frustration and shame rising.
"Didn't mean what?" she cut him off, her irritation now fully ignited. "To reduce everything I've been through to just being 'driven'? You have your demons, Kenta. I have mine. Don't pretend you understand the shape of mine."
The words hung in the morning air, sharp and final. He stared at her, his own hurt and confusion warring with the knowledge that he had, however unintentionally, hurt her first. The chasm between them wasn't just widening; it had become a visible, jagged tear.
"I… I see," he said, his voice flat. He took a step back, then another. "I'm sorry I disturbed your training."
He turned and walked away, his posture rigid. The brief moment of connection had curdled into something painful and awkward, leaving him feeling more isolated than ever.
Sarah watched him go, her anger quickly subsiding into a wave of immediate regret and worry. She hadn't meant to snap. His comment had just touched a raw, deeply buried nerve—the fear that her entire identity in this world was defined by that single, traumatic event. "Kenta, wait—" she began, taking a step to follow him.
A hand landed gently but firmly on her shoulder. Kaguya was there, seemingly having materialized from the morning mist. Her expression was unreadable.
"Let him go," Kaguya said, her voice quiet but absolute.
"But I—"
"This was inevitable," Kaguya interrupted, her fox-like eyes following Kenta's retreating back until he disappeared into the temple. "The path he walks now is a solitary one. Your presence, however well-intentioned, has become a distraction. For the next month, your training will be parted."
Sarah's heart sank. "Parted? What does that mean?"
"It means you will not see him. You will not train together. You will not seek him out," Kaguya stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "He is at a precipice. The conflict within him must be resolved by him, and him alone. You cannot fight this battle for him. Your concern, your words, even your presence… they are just more variables in an equation he must solve himself. He must find his own way to silence the voices, or be consumed by them. To do that, he needs to be alone."
Sarah stood frozen, the morning sun feeling suddenly cold. She had wanted to bridge the gap, and instead, she had helped create a chasm so wide they were being forcibly separated by it. She looked at the empty path where Kenta had vanished, a profound sense of foreboding settling in her stomach. His war was no longer just against a blade or a memory. It was a war for his soul, and he had just been ordered to fight it with no allies at all.