The weight of his words pressed in—not from threat, but from the reality behind them. He wasn't warning me like a friend or a lord.
He was preparing me.
"Why me?" I asked finally. "You have scouts. Elites. People with experience."
Hinata's eyes didn't waver. "Because they don't know what I know. And they don't carry what you carry."
My jaw tightened. "You mean the bloodline."
"I mean the knowledge of what comes next," he said. "And the resolve to face it without flinching."
A pause.
He stepped toward the table behind him and unfurled a thin map—etched with mana-ink that shimmered in the shifting light. His finger tapped a marked point near the base of a jagged ruin, surrounded by the seal of forgotten boundaries.
"The anomaly is here. Wards are degraded. Something's pulsing beneath the stone."
He turned back toward me. "You won't go alone."
I blinked. "Who else is going?"
"Someone I trust to guard your back, not your name." He hesitated—then added, "Asmodeus will be informed."
I crossed my arms. "When do we leave?"
Hinata gave the faintest hint of a nod. "Two days. Quiet departure. No formal escort."
"And if we find something?"
"Then you do what you think is right. Not what the House expects. Not what your name demands."
He walked past me then, stopping just by the doorway.
"You're not a soldier. Not yet. You're not a diplomat either, despite how you dress."
He glanced back with a small, sharp smile.
"You're a question the world hasn't answered yet."
And then he was gone.
The room was quiet again.
Too quiet.
Hinata's words still clung to the walls like smoke—unsettling, sharp, but not cruel. Just... certain.
I stared down at the edge of the table where the map had been, the ghost of its markings burned into memory.
Two days.
A forgotten ruin pulsing with old magic.
A task only I could handle—not because of power, but because of understanding.
What did he mean, exactly?
That I wasn't bound by the old ways? That I had the perspective to do what others wouldn't?
Or was it just that I was young enough not to be afraid yet?
[Notice: Heart rate elevated. Processing irregular stress indicators.]
"Shut up."
[Understood.]
I turned and walked toward the small mirror by the window. The light caught the edge of my cuff—silver, polished, reflective. My clothes were simple but noble. Casual in form, formal in implication.
And then—
The door creaked open.
I turned, half-expecting Levy.
Instead, it was Rei.
Covered in dirt and dust, a scrape across one cheekbone, his hair disheveled and the edge of his coat torn at the seam. His boots tracked in a trail of dried mud and something that looked faintly like ash.
He blinked when he saw me.
"…You're dressed up," he said flatly.
I stared.
"You look like you walked through a volcanic ritual," I shot back.
He huffed once, stepping further inside. "It was a mana storm. Barely one."
"Your definition of 'barely' is broken."
Rei didn't respond right away. He studied me instead—eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.
"You saw Lord Hinata."
It wasn't a question.
I didn't answer.
"You're wearing House-casual." He stepped around the table, eyeing the garment like it offended him. "And you don't usually wear House-casual unless someone made you."
"Hm," I said, walking past him to close the door.
"Also," he added, pointing at my expression, "you've got that I've-just-been-voluntold-for-something-dangerous look."
"Do I?"
"Yes. And you're not denying it."
I exhaled through my nose and finally turned to face him fully.
"He gave me a mission."
Rei's gaze sharpened.
"What kind of mission?"
"The kind that isn't written on paper."
A beat of silence.
Then he swore under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "And of course he didn't tell me."
"He said I wouldn't go alone."
Rei blinked. "That's vague."
"That's Uncle Hinata."
He crossed his arms, still eyeing me. "You planning to tell me what it is?"
I shrugged faintly. "If you're coming along, you'll figure it out."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then I guess you'll worry."
He scowled faintly, but there was no heat in it. Just... tension.
The walk back from the meeting room was mostly quiet.
Rei walked half a step behind me, brushing dust from his sleeves as we moved down the polished hallway. He didn't say anything at first—just matched my pace like it was second nature.
"So," he said eventually, voice dry, "how noble of a mission are we talking? Dragon diplomacy? Lost archive retrieval? Undead cleanup?"
I didn't look at him. "Ruins. Old magic. Two days."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's vague enough to be terrifying."
I smirked faintly. "You're still coming."
"Unfortunately," he muttered. "Someone has to stop you from getting impaled by your own caution."
I said nothing. Just kept walking, letting the sound of our footsteps carry the conversation.
[Ambient mana stabilization complete. User's heart rate has returned to resting range. Cognitive focus at 89%.]
I didn't react.
[Would you like to initiate equipment checklist for departure?]
Not yet.
[Understood.]
Rei glanced sideways. "You get that look sometimes."
"What look?"
"The I'm-having-a-conversation-with-someone-who-isn't-here look."
I blinked. "I don't."
"You do," he insisted. "You're doing it now."
I kept walking. "Maybe I'm just good at thinking."
"You're good at dodging."
[Observation: Subject Rei Gintama displays mild suspicion. Recommend subject deflection or partial redirection.]
"No comment," I muttered under my breath.
Rei frowned. "Huh?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just... thinking about packing."
"Right." He narrowed his eyes. "You don't talk to yourself often, but when you do, you sound like you're answering something."
"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing I've done."
"True," he conceded. "You did once lecture a spider for thirty minutes because it wouldn't leave your ink bottle alone."
"It was destroying my notes."
Rei snorted.
We reached the door to my room, and I reached for the handle.
"You ever going to tell me what you're actually planning?" he asked, quieter now.
I paused.
Then: "No. But if I fail, you'll know."
"…Not comforting."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
[Shall I prepare departure protocols and equipment selection interface?]
Soon.
I opened the door and stepped inside, the calm hush of my quarters wrapping around me.
Rei followed, brushing dirt from his coat again.
"You're not going to sleep before this, are you?" he asked.
"Would you?"
"No. But you should. I'll keep watch."
I raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know what we're walking into."
"I know I don't want you walking into it alone."
His voice was casual. But not light.
I turned to face him fully for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You're injured."
He glanced down at the scrape on his cheekbone. "Barely."
I stepped closer and reached up, pressing a clean cloth against it. He didn't flinch, just stared at me in silence as I worked.
"This doesn't mean you get to skip sleeping," I said quietly.
He smirked faintly. "Neither do you."
We stood there in silence for a beat longer.
Then I stepped back.
"You're going to need a new coat," I said, eyeing the torn seam.
He shrugged. "Part of the aesthetic."
"You look like a noble that lost a duel with a shrub."
"It was a cursed shrub," he replied without missing a beat.
Once Rei left to clean up—after much prodding—I turned back toward my desk.
I stared at the leather-bound book lying open, the ink still slightly glossy from where I'd left off sketching spell structures last night.
My fingers moved automatically, brushing over the page. The chapter was complete. "Path of the Hunt"—still a temporary name—but it was mine. My first.
And it was only the beginning.
[Notice: Departure scheduled in 1 day, 9 hours, 12 minutes. Initiating pre-departure checklist.]
"Yeah," I whispered, "Let's begin."
[Confirmed.]
A faint shimmer blinked into the air before me—Great Sage's minimalist interface manifesting like a translucent ledger in the corner of my vision.
[Primary Checklist]
— Mana regulator band: Operational
— Travel robe: Clean, light-enchanted
— Backup tome and ink set: Packed
— Grimoire (active): Bound and secure
— Emergency sigil tags: 3 confirmed
— Weapon: Unconfirmed
— Mana field stabilizers: Pending selection
— Provisions: Pending request
I moved to the corner chest and knelt, opening the deep compartment beneath the folded travel robes. A dull gray case rested at the bottom—barely used.
Inside were a few things I hadn't touched in months: the backup tome, my extra ink set, folded maps of regions I hadn't even memorized yet.
I packed them slowly, methodically.
Then paused.
"Great Sage," I murmured. "I need… something defensive. Not flashy."
[Scanning.]
A quiet hum.
[Recommended loadout]
— Barrier Thread Mantle (Wind-resistant, low-profile)
— Magnetic Compression Tags x3 (Pulse-triggered)
— Gravity Anchor Pin (personalized, repurposed from bazaar necklace, temporarily suppressed)
I held the anchor pin in my palm. A small, unassuming piece of iron inlaid with runes. It had been forcibly dampened after the last incident.
I hesitated.
"…Re-enable it."
[Warning: User has not undergone a stabilization trial since last activation. Re-enabling may trigger uncontrolled gravitational shift.]
"Do it anyway."
[Understood. Limiters adjusted. Pin re-enabled at 17% baseline.]
The pin pulsed faintly in my hand—just once—like a heartbeat. I tucked it away into the inside seam of my outer robe.
Next was the barrier-thread mantle. I clipped it over my shoulders and rotated my arms.
It didn't feel like armor.
Didn't need to.
With the robe, the grimoire, and my tools packed, I looked at myself in the mirror.
Older.
Sharper.
Seven years didn't erase the weight in my gaze. But it focused it.
[Mana levels at 94%. Emotional baseline within target threshold. Recommend multiple rest periods before departure.]
"Later," I murmured. "Still need to send word to Levy."
My gaze lingered on the mirror.
There was something unfamiliar in how I stood now.
Not like a noble.
Not like a child.
Something in between—becoming something else entirely.
I reached for my gloves.
Not because I needed them.
But because I didn't want to feel like Regulus again.
In my past life as Regulus, I always wore gloves. Clean hands. Clean conscience. It was never about protection—it was about distance.
I didn't fight unless I had to. Didn't speak unless it was safe. Always watching. Always waiting.
And when the moment came to act—I hesitated. Every time.
That hesitation got people hurt.
I wouldn't let that be me. Not again.
If I wear gloves now, it's not to hide. It's to remember why I have to move.
I walked out and turned the corner towards the attendant's wing and nearly collided with someone rounding the opposite end.
She stopped first, one boot scraping the marble with a lazy screech.
"Yo," Revy drawled, popping a bubble of gum that hadn't been there a second ago.
I blinked.
Gone was the composed, polished twin who stood quietly beside me during the house introductions—head lowered, presence silent.
Now?
She leaned against the hallway wall like she owned it, one hand tucked in her coat pocket, the other spinning a silver coin across her knuckles. Her long silver-white hair was tousled in a way that definitely wasn't accidental, and the smudge of coal liner around her eyes made them pop like wolf's eyes in a dark forest.
She looked like she belonged in a back alley, not a diplomatic meeting.
But she looked comfortable.
"Didn't think you'd be walking around like a real person," she added, eyes flicking over my outfit. "Almost didn't recognize you all adventured up."
"…I was just going to see Levy," I said slowly.
"Figured." She pushed off the wall with her shoulder and stretched. "She told me to stall you in case you were early. Guess I failed."
She smirked—sharper this time, with just a hint of something dangerous behind it.
"You looked like a deer in formalwear back at the introductions. Cute. But stiff."
I frowned. "So this is the real you?"
She shrugged, letting the coin vanish into her sleeve. "I've got faces. You saw my diplomatic one. This one's the one I wear when I'm not pretending to be a teacup."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you describe court etiquette?"
"Teacups and poison," she said with a grin. "One cracks, the other kills."
There was something strangely comfortable about her like this—even if she radiated the energy of someone who'd dropkick a noble for fun and then pick flowers afterward.
She turned down the hallway toward Levy's wing, jerking her chin for me to follow.
"You coming, heir? Levy's got notes and at least three outfits lined up for you to pretend you don't hate."
I followed, still processing the shift.
"You're different."
"Yeah, well," Revy tossed a wink over her shoulder. "One of us has to be the fun around here."
The door to Levy's study was already open when we arrived. Revy didn't knock—just strode in like she had full clearance, which, judging by the way Levy didn't even look up from the scroll she was writing on, might have been true.
"I stalled her for a solid thirty seconds," Revy said, flopping onto the couch with all the decorum of a cat that decided the furniture belonged to her.
"I noticed," Levy murmured, still not looking up.
I hovered in the doorway, unsure if I should enter until Revy raised an eyebrow and patted the seat beside her.
"Come on, Lady Star. We don't bite. Levy's just pretending she's busy."
Levy sighed and set the scroll aside, finally lifting her gaze to mine. "Lady Chiori. Here to finalize travel preparations?"
I nodded. "Yes. I have my gear organized, but I wanted confirmation on the estate-issued supplies and recommended redundancies."
Revy gave a mock cough. "Nerd."
Levy ignored her. "Good. Lord Hinata forwarded route parameters to me this morning. You'll be traveling through lightly patrolled territory—mostly stable, but under limited surveillance. You'll need a loadout that balances stealth and survivability."
She turned to a polished cabinet and opened it with a soft click, revealing a set of pouches and carefully organized cases. Ration packs. Sealing scrolls. Foldable mana anchors.
"These are for you. Lightweight and reinforced for prolonged movement. Basic warding charms, environmental stabilizers, emergency focus crystals—nothing excessive, but everything necessary."
My eyes moved across the supplies—nothing ornamental, but not barebones either. This wasn't ceremonial. This was real.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
Levy met my gaze. "Earn it by coming back with something worth reporting."
Revy stretched over the arm of the couch. "Also, don't die. But if you do, make it cinematic."
I rolled my eyes.
Still… I could feel the shift, heavy in the base of my chest. The kind of shift you don't notice until everything's already changed.
This was happening.
It was mine to carry now.
I reached out and ran a thumb along the edge of one of the anchors—cool metal, faintly etched.
I didn't need to speak to know what came next.
Internally, I tracked through the checklist in silence—robes, tools, rations, everything I had personally prepared. Everything fit. Everything was ready.
Almost everything.
"Has the team been selected yet?" I asked.
Levy's expression stilled, unreadable.
"Lord Hinata's finalizing that now," she said. "Expect a briefing before tomorrow's nightfall."
I nodded, then glanced toward the case again.
And then, softly: "Does he know?"
Revy arched an eyebrow. "Know what?"
Levy didn't blink. "If he doesn't yet, he will."
I didn't ask who he was.
There were too many answers that would make sense.
Levy stepped forward and adjusted the fall of my mantle with a practiced flick of her fingers. "You represent more than a name. Walk like it."
Revy gave a lazy two-fingered salute from the couch. "Might want to start working on your glare, Princess. You're gonna need a signature one."
I smirked faintly. "What if I prefer subtle judgment?"
"Oh," Revy said, grinning. "Even better."
The door to Levy's study closed behind me with a soft click. The corridor outside was quiet, lined with darkwood panels and mana lanterns that glowed faintly along the ceiling. Revy had peeled off in the opposite direction, muttering something about "checking the armory for fun things that explode."
I didn't follow.
Instead, I walked until the halls emptied out and I found a quiet alcove overlooking one of the east gardens. The light was soft here. Dappled through climbing vines and shaded glass. Safe.
I sat on the bench beneath the arched window, resting my hands on my lap.
My breath slowed.
My shoulders didn't.
"…Great Sage."
A pause.
Then:
[Yes.]
"Emotionally, where am I?"
[Assessment in progress…]
[Emotional state: Tense. Focused. Underlying fatigue present. Heart rate within acceptable thresholds. Cognitive clarity at 82%.]
So not terrible.
But not good either.
I stared out across the garden, the petals of the bloomglass flowers shimmering faintly in the breeze. Somewhere, a mana engine purred—probably one of the temperature regulators buried beneath the estate grounds. Routine. Familiar.
"I'm not afraid. Not of the mission. Not of the ruins. Not even of failing."
[Affirmation: Fear levels not elevated. However, micro-stress indicators suggest anticipatory conflict. Possible cause: Unclear expectations regarding interpersonal team dynamics.]
"…Rei."
[Likely.]
"And Asmodeus."
[Also likely.]
"And whatever I'm about to walk into a mess that Uncle Hinata isn't saying."
[Extremely likely.]
I leaned forward, elbows on knees, clasping my hands together.
"It's not the danger I'm worried about. It's the weight. The expectations. The fact that no matter what happens out there… I'm supposed to come back knowing something."
[Clarification: Knowing what?]
"…How to lead. How to act. How to choose. How to live like my name means something without becoming what they all expect of me."
Silence.
Then—
[This mission will not answer that.]
I blinked.
[This mission will only show you what paths still remain. The answers—those come after.]
I exhaled slowly, letting that settle.
Not comforting.
But real.
And real was what I needed.
"Still, It'd be nice to go into this with less uncertainty."
[Unknown variables are unavoidable. Control what you can. Prepare for what you cannot. This is the role of those who lead.]
I looked down at my hands again. No shaking. No hesitation. Just… stillness before motion.
"Thanks."
[You're welcome.]
And for a long moment, I stayed there. Quiet. Composed. Alone, but not lonely.