I stared at him.
Not as his daughter.
Not as someone who needed answers.
But as someone who had already survived his silence.
The weight of Yukihana still clung to me, even without the blade in hand. Its memory curled under my skin, tethered through every breath, every beat of my mana. And now, with Metatron… I didn't need his permission anymore.
I stepped forward.
Satoshi didn't flinch. He just watched me, eyes unreadable.
"Conversation's over," I said, my voice low. "I don't need you to explain anymore. I understand."
He blinked—just once—but didn't argue.
As I passed him, I reached out and patted his shoulder. Not affection. Not forgiveness.
Finality.
But the second my fingers touched him—
[Alert: Foreign magical presence detected.]
My breath caught.
[Subject Satoshi Hoshino is exhibiting altered neural resonance. Emotional pattern disruptions inconsistent with baseline data. External magical interference present. Origin unknown.]
I froze mid-step.
What?
I turned my head slightly—just enough to glance at him from the corner of my eye.
"Metatron, define foreign."
[Anomalous arcane signature embedded within his neural lattice. Likely long-term. Behavior modulation probable. Memory interference: 71% likelihood. Signature matches Class: Parasite Invocation or Hex Sealing.]
I looked at him again. Really looked.
The stiffness in his shoulders.
The flicker of fatigue behind his eyes.
The void of expression in moments that should've cracked him open.
How long had he been like this?
"Metatron, when did it start?"
[Tracing residual arcane imprint... Analysis complete. Estimated initial infection timestamp: Seven years ago. Correlating event—Subject attempted lethal action against Master in private quarters.]
My stomach dropped.
The day he tried to kill me.
The day Mom stood between us.
The day Calamitas intervened.
That wasn't just bloodline instinct. It wasn't executioner training or ancestral pressure.
It was manipulation.
Corruption.
My hand curled into a fist, the cuff at my wrist pressing against bone.
"You didn't fail me," I whispered—not to him, but to myself.
"You were taken."
He moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
A blade of condensed air magic split the silence behind me, shrieking past my shoulder.
I spun instinctively, mana flaring along my skin as I twisted back.
[Alert: Hostile intent confirmed. Evasive protocol activated.]
Wind slammed into me like a wall—but it was slowed, dragged like breath through syrup.
"Father!" I yelled.
But the thing wearing my father's face didn't answer.
His eyes were blank.
No anger.
No regret.
Just obedience.
Just a weapon.
I raised my hand—
But didn't strike.
Not yet.
Because beneath the curse—
I still saw him.
Buried.
Screaming behind eyes that no longer belonged to him.
"Metatron, don't let me kill him."
[Confirmed. Initiating containment protocol: Binding through gravitational lattice. Force limit: non-lethal.]
And as the mana began to spiral from my core, anchoring into the air—
I felt it.
This wasn't a battle.
This was a rescue.
Wind howled in arcs around me—blades, slicing and twisting through the air like whispers of execution. Every strike carried his precision. His cruelty. But it wasn't him.
It hadn't been him for seven years.
"Metatron..."
[Confirmed. First Sequence: Active. Spell ready for invocation.]
I inhaled. Deep.
And I spoke—not in whispers, not in fear—but in the cadence I etched into the page myself.
"My blood denies the sky.
My shadow roots the stars.
Gravity, unbound, hear me—
Anchor the fang that hunts alone."
Mana surged around me like collapsing space.
Satoshi's next wind blade split toward me in a crescent arc.
I stepped forward—not back.
"My name is weight."
My right hand rose—sigils burned across my palm.
"My breath is fall."
I swept my fingers through the air—and the spell ignited.
"My will is what pulls the heavens to its heel.
Grant me power, for I am Chiori."
WHUM
The gravity around my body pulsed, then bent violently outward—like a heartbeat flipped inside out. His blade struck the field and twisted, skewing off-course in a spiral that shouldn't exist. It crumpled mid-air, shredded into ribbon-like fragments before they even reached my skin.
I moved again—faster this time.
Not running.
Hunting.
"Book of Void, Chapter of the Hunt, Voren's Rings!"
The chant flared across my lips as the runes traced down my arm, spiraling outward into the air as translucent rings of compressed force.
They snapped around dad's legs and wrists—inverted gravity fields, not meant to crush or sever.
Just to ground.
To anchor.
To hold.
He struggled, the air bending unnaturally as he tried to summon more magic—but the blades faltered. The currents couldn't catch.
"You're not going to fly through this," I said coldly, stepping through the haze.
He raised one arm—light forming.
"I'm not your enemy," I whispered. "But I'll bury the thing that turned you into one."
The bindings groaned as dad strained against them.
Not like a man struggling to escape.
Like a beast confused why the leash held at all.
His eyes flared—too sharp. Too cold.
Then—
A flicker.
Barely there.
A shift in his breathing.
"...Chiori..."
My heart stuttered.
That wasn't the thing inside him.
That was him.
Real. Small. Human.
"I'm sorry," he rasped—voice cracked, like someone screaming behind water.
Then his body arched, and something else surged to the surface.
A grin not his own.
And I moved.
I stepped forward—not slow, not kind—and extended my left hand.
Yukihana pulsed in my grip, the hilt sliding into my palm as though summoned by will alone.
The ruby blade sang as it came free—
The weight of it didn't feel heavy.
It felt exact.
[Lock acquired. Parasite origin: internal anchor. Recommend: purge through destabilizing fracture points. Minimal lethal force permitted.]
"Then let's begin."
My body moved—
No thought. No mercy.
One step, and the first strike came—a horizontal blur that split the air and tore across the corrupted aura circling his chest.
Second swing—upward—a rising arc that cleaved through the mana signature anchoring itself to his spine.
Third.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Flashes.
Like mirrored silver in a lightning storm.
The room rang with the aftermath of every slice, reality catching up half a second too late.
And Yukihana didn't slow.
It sang.
A sixth strike severed the shadow around his throat—the voice that had whispered through him.
A seventh pierced the sigil buried beneath his ribs, splitting it in half with an audible crack.
Wind blades surged from his fingers in desperation.
I didn't dodge.
I cut through them—precise, narrow slashes that sheared magic from magic like paper from air.
My body twisted through them like water, my blade dancing like it remembered war and had missed it.
Then—
Silence.
Satoshi slumped to his knees—chest heaving, sweat pooling at his brow. Eyes clearing.
Real eyes.
Just for a second.
"...Chiori..." he breathed, weak. "I—"
He never finished.
I stepped forward. Raised Yukihana once more.
And swung the final time.
Not to strike flesh.
But to sever what remained of the infection latched to his core.
The blade stopped short—barely brushing his chest—and shattered the tether that clung to his soul.
The magic detonated inward, light spiraling like ribbons dissolving into nothing.
Then—
Stillness.
Yukihana hummed once, then faded into the void—retreating back to my seal.
I looked down at him.
My father.
Sweating. Shaking. Alive.
And clean.
[Purge complete. Internal corruption nullified. Mental echo detected. Fragment of host consciousness remains.]
I said nothing.
Because there was nothing left to say.
As I walked away, my steps faltered.
the strength left my legs like sand spilling through open fingers. The silence that followed wasn't triumphant—it was empty. Heavy.
I tried to keep walking.
Tried to hold onto the sharp edge of composure.
But the burn in my core told me otherwise.
I stumbled.
Just once.
But enough.
My vision blurred, and the room tilted sideways.
Then—
Arms caught me.
Not cold. Not desperate.
Steady.
Familiar.
"You always wait until the dramatic finish to collapse," Hinata muttered, his voice low but unmistakable. "You really are your mother's daughter."
I blinked, forcing my eyes up.
He was there—as if the world had shifted sideways and he'd already been waiting.
Hinata's expression was unreadable—part lord, part guardian, part... something else entirely.
His gaze slid toward dad, still on the ground, pale. Sweating. Shaking. Alive.
Then back to me.
"You finished it," he said simply.
"No," I rasped, my voice barely audible. "I just... severed it."
A pause.
His grip didn't waver.
"Still counts."
He adjusted his hold, one arm braced under my knees, the other supporting my back as he carried me like I weighed nothing at all.
"Metatron"
[Notice: Master is exhibiting minor mana shock. Recommend immediate rest and minor core realignment. Physical damage: negligible. Emotional strain: high.]
"Yes, of course your mana reserves are low," Hinata muttered, apparently hearing none of that but reading my face with ease. "You just carved a nightmare out of your own bloodline."
He glanced toward the hallway.
"Let's get you out of here before someone decides to turn this into a missing people report."
I didn't fight it.
Didn't argue.
Because for the first time in seven years—
It was done.
And I was tired.
So I closed my eyes.
Let myself breathe.
And let Uncle Hinata carry the weight of me—
Just this once.
—
The fire crackled low.
Rain had started tapping against the tall windows, just enough to fill the silence with something other than tension.
Lelyah stood near the hearth, arms folded tightly, her eyes fixed on the flame like it might answer something she hadn't spoken aloud.
Revy lounged sideways in one of the low-backed chairs, one leg over the armrest, expression unreadable but alert. Across from her, Levy quietly sorted through correspondence on a lacquered side table, though her gaze flicked to the door more often than the parchment.
Rei leaned against the wall by the far bookcase, one boot pressed to the baseboard, arms loosely crossed. He hadn't said much since returning—he just kept listening. Watching.
Hinata leaned against the far wall, arms folded, his hand tapping rhythmically against his bicep. The sunset filtered through the tall glass behind him, catching on the edge of his earrings, the light casting shadows across the room like waiting blades.
He didn't speak right away.
He let them wait.
Then—"You're all looking at me like I brought back a corpse."
Asmodeus scowled. "You disappeared for hours and come back dragging Chiori behind you—what did you expect?"
"A little gratitude?" Hinata smiled, sharp and amused. "I did, after all, keep their heir from losing more than just her consciousness."
That earned a twitch from Rei, but he said nothing.
Revy narrowed her eyes. "Where did you take her?"
"Now, now." Hinata clicked his tongue. "Let's not pretend you'd understand the answer."
Lelyah cut in, voice cold. "Enough Hinata. Tell us."
The smile faded—just slightly. Just enough.
He uncrossed his arms and pointed behind him.
"She's sleeping. Resting in her room. As she should be."
He looked to each of them, gaze measured.
"We need to talk about Hoshino."
Silence.
Not confusion.
Dread.
Lelyah's face closed off in an instant. Revy straightened. Rei's hand curled slightly at his side. Asmodeus stopped bouncing his knee.
Hinata's voice dropped a note, the way a dagger might dip just before it stabs.
"He was compromised."
A beat passed.
Then—
"For seven years."
Lelyah exhaled through her nose like she'd been holding it since the day he tried to kill their daughter.
"Since that night," Levy murmured.
Hinata nodded. "The exact moment. When he moved to kill her, it wasn't instinct. It wasn't bloodline training. Something else moved through him."
"And you just figured this out now?" Rei asked, voice tight.
"I confirmed it now," Hinata corrected, smile sharp again. "Some of us like having proof before dragging our friends' names through the dirt."
His gaze flicked to Lelyah.
No apology. Just weight.
"And the proof?" she asked, cold and flat.
Hinata's eyes darkened.
"Chiori cut it out of him."
They didn't speak.
He took a breath and shrugged once, casually—but his voice was quieter when he added, "If she'd waited even a second longer… there wouldn't have been anything left of Satoshi Hoshino to save."
Rei clenched his fists.
Asmodeus swore under his breath.
Lelyah said nothing at all.
"He wasn't possessed," Hinata continued. "Not completely. It was a… whisper. Something old. Something waiting. And when it found him weak—when he faltered, when he doubted—it seeped in and made itself home."
He looked towards Chiori's room, her sleeping soundly in her bed.
"She woke him up. Right before she almost killed him."
Silence stretched. Then—
"Where is he?" Revy asked.
Hinata exhaled, rolled his neck. "In containment back at my place. Mana-shielded. Sleeping like the dead. I wouldn't bother him for a while—unless you're looking to talk to guilt and nothing else."
Lelyah's jaw flexed.
"Seven years," she said. "And you didn't see it."
Hinata's head tilted just slightly, eyes narrowing with something colder.
"And you did?"
The air tensed.
"You're a full-blown medic now, aren't you? You scan vitals like most people breathe. You chart behavior shifts. You saw him more than I did. So go ahead—tell me you saw it and said nothing. Or tell me you missed it too, and we'll call it even."
Lelyah didn't flinch. But she didn't answer.
Hinata's voice dropped lower, quieter. "Don't stand there pretending guilt makes you cleaner."
Lelyah's eyes narrowed—not out of anger, but weariness sharpened into steel.
"And you did?" she said flatly. "You didn't see it either, Hinata. And you've known him longer than I have."
She folded her arms, voice even.
"You're one of the few people he actually listened to. And yet you never said a word. Not when he grew more distant. Not when his instincts got crueler. You just chalked it up to the bloodline and let it ride."
Hinata's grin flickered—just barely.
Lelyah stepped past him, brushing against his shoulder with the kind of precision that wasn't accidental.
"Don't stand there and act like I'm the only one who should've seen the fracture. You missed it too. And you're supposed to be the one who always sees everything."
Hinata let the silence linger just long enough to sting.
Then, with a faint exhale and a flash of that signature, lopsided smirk, he tilted his head.
"Touché."
But there was no fire in the grin this time. Just something quieter. Tired.
"I thought he was grieving," he said, voice low. "Grieving the war. The exile. The cost of surviving a name that should've died."
He looked toward the window—at nothing, really.
"I didn't think he'd rot from the inside out."
Lelyah didn't speak.
Hinata's gaze slid back to her. "So, no, I didn't see it. And maybe I should've. But when someone's been your brother in arms for half your life, you start seeing what you want to save—not what's already slipping."
He turned, resting a hand lightly on the table's edge.
"I missed it. You missed it. But she didn't."
That last sentence hung heavier than the rest.
Then, softer—
"She saw what we couldn't. And she still hesitated."
Hinata's smirk didn't last.
It faltered, then faded altogether.
"I didn't see it," he said, quieter now. "Not because I wasn't looking—but because I didn't want to."
He stepped away from the table, one hand drifting loosely through the air as if trying to catch a thought too heavy to land.
"I watched my best friend bury his family. I stood beside him when he swore he'd never raise a blade again unless it was to protect what was left. I believed him."
A breath.
"Seven years ago, he broke that promise. Not to me. Not you or the House. But to her."
His voice caught—not quite a crack, but not whole, either.
"And I let him stay in these lands. Even though you sent him away from the house Lelyah"
He turned back, facing them now—no smile, no armor.
"I let him stay because I thought… If anyone could come back from that kind of fracture, it'd be him. But I wasn't watching closely enough to see the pieces didn't just fall—they were replaced."
He glanced at the door, where behind it, Chiori slept.
"She didn't just face him. She saw what was left of him, and cut it clean from the rot."
His hands dropped to his sides.
"And gods help me… I think that's what he wanted."
A long silence followed.
Then, a bitter laugh—barely a breath.
"As her GodFather, I was supposed to protect her from that choice."
A beat passed.
No one spoke.
Even Revy—who usually had a quip for anything—stayed silent.
Until—
A sharp pop split the air, followed by a curl of brimstone smoke near the window.
"Oh gods, are we still mid-tragedy?" Calamitas' voice sliced through the silence like a knife wrapped in velvet. "I thought I'd timed it better. You lot looked like you needed a narrative climax, not a sob story."
She stepped through the smoke like ether, boots silent against the floor, one hand in her robes, the other lazily holding a half-wrapped sweet she'd clearly been eating mid-walk.
Lelyah stood instantly and dashed to shield Chiori instinctively—even if her daughter was unconscious.
"Calamitas," she bit out. "This isn't the time."
"Isn't it?" the witch hummed. "Looks to me like you're all finally feeling things. That always precedes progress."
She turned to Hinata, tilting her head. "You're awfully quiet, Saegusa. I expected more dramatic deflection. Or a speech about legacy. Instead, I walk in on you confessing your guilt like a failed knight in a burnt-out opera."
Hinata didn't flinch. He merely raised an eyebrow.
"Charming as always," he said dryly.
"I try," Calamitas purred.
Revy instinctively took half a step between her and the door. Asmodeus just blinked, not sure if this counted as a good sign or a very, very bad one.
Hinata didn't flinch. He met her gaze with a slow, arched brow.
"You're late."
"And yet, still the most useful one in the room," she replied, popping the last of the candy into her mouth and tossing the wrapper into the air, where it combusted in a brief, harmless flare of crimson flame.
Calamitas sighed and finally looked at Chiori—really looked.
The amusement faded for just a breath.
"Seven years," Calamitas murmured. Her fingers flexed, faint silver arcs of mana rippling along her palm before she stilled them. "And it still chose her without hesitation."
Lelyah's brows furrowed. "What chose her?"
Calamitas didn't answer immediately.
"You wouldn't understand," she said softly—then, louder, to the room: "None of you would. Because you've only seen her power." Her gaze flicked back, sharp. "You haven't seen her will."
Rei stiffened, but stayed silent.
Calamitas sighed like someone recalling an old tragedy. "That blade was never meant to survive this long. And yet, here it is. And here she is. Bonded. Stable." She clicked her tongue. "Unfair, really. To the rest of us."
She began walking toward the window, her tone light again, too carefully neutral.
"Be glad you didn't see it."
She paused.
"Because if you had seen what Yukihana was forged for—what it was used for—you might not be standing here so calm."
Hinata said nothing. His silence spoke volumes.
Calamitas stopped at the threshold, glancing back once more. Her expression softened for a breath—just a breath.
"She's still herself." Her voice dropped to something almost fond. "That's more than most of us ever managed. Even me following that crazed man."
Then she vanished—just like before—in a sweep of brimstone smoke.
No one said anything for a long moment.
Then Hinata sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"I hate when she does that."
Revy exhaled through her nose. "She always leave like that?"
"Only when she's trying to prove she knows more than the rest of us," Lelyah muttered, adjusting the blanket over Chiori's still form. Her hands were steady, but her shoulders stayed tense.
"She does know more," Hinata said simply, folding his arms again. "But she never gives it all away. Not unless there's something to be gained."
Rei hadn't moved from the wall. His eyes were locked on the space Calamitas had vanished from, as if trying to piece something together in silence.
"She said the blade chose her," he murmured. "And that it wasn't supposed to."
Asmodeus tilted his head. "What kind of blade chooses someone after seven years of silence?"
Hinata didn't answer right away. He moved toward the fire, the flickering light catching on the edge of his expression—tired, yes, but distant. Like he was already turning over the next dozen steps in his mind.
"A blade made for destruction," he said finally. "Reforged for someone who was never supposed to survive its legacy."
Revy glanced between them, her posture shifting slightly. "And we're just supposed to sit on that knowledge?"
"For now," Hinata said. "Until she wakes. Then we ask."
"You mean we wait for her to tell us," Lelyah corrected sharply.
Hinata looked at her. Not challenging—just acknowledging.
"Yes."
A beat.
Then, from the hallway outside, footsteps approached—soft but deliberate. The door opened just enough to admit a tall figure clad in gray-trimmed black. One of Hinata's shadows—trusted, discreet, and almost never seen unless summoned.
The room tensed.
The man inclined his head toward Hinata, ignoring the rest. "Lord Saegusa."
Hinata didn't look up. "Report."
"The scouts confirmed it," the shadow said quietly. "We analyzed the mana traces around the southern ruins. It's the same signature."
Rei straightened.
"The same as—?"
"The same as what was in Satoshi Hoshino," the shadow confirmed. "Corruption. Hex-based. Buried deep and masked beneath old domain barriers. We thought it was residual decay, but it's alive."
A heavy pause.
"It's spreading," the shadow added. "Subtly. But the pulse is getting stronger."
Hinata's expression didn't change—but his eyes hardened.
"Containment?"
"For now, it hasn't breached the perimeter. But it's not dormant anymore. And… the rhythm matches the residual echoes we extracted from him."
Revy sat forward slowly. "So what infected her father is tied to where you're sending her."
"More than tied," Hinata murmured. "It's waiting."
Asmodeus looked toward Chiori's room, then back at Hinata. "And you're still sending her into it?"
"I'm sending her and a group to end it," Hinata said, voice like flint. "You and Rei are going with her."
"And if they don't?" Lelyah asked.
Hinata turned to face them, the fire casting half his face in shadow.
"Then it spreads. And it won't just take her father next time."
Lelyah turned sharply toward Hinata. "Does House Albrecht know?"
"About the mission? No." Hinata's voice was calm. "About the corruption?" He tilted his head. "Not yet. But they will."
"You're walking a thin edge," Lelyah said. "If this leaks—if it's seen as a Tomaszewski-linked resurgence—"
"It's not." Hinata's voice didn't rise, but the steel in it cut through the room.
Asmodeus muttered something under his breath, but Lelyah didn't let it go.
"If House Albrecht finds out after the mission starts—"
"They won't." Hinata's eyes flicked toward her. "Because Eldric is going too."
The room stilled.
"What?" Revy asked.
Hinata's smirk returned, sharp and effortless. "He's already en route. I sent a letter to the House two days ago. Didn't think he'd want to be left out of something this dangerous nor within their jurisdiction of Dalton's security."
Lelyah's eyes narrowed. "You're taking children into a corrupted ruin."
"I'm taking heirs," Hinata said. "And they won't be children forever."
He turned back to the fire. The flicker caught the edge of his profile—sharp as it had been when he was a war hero, not a lord.
"They deserve to know what kind of world they're inheriting. And what kind of rot is still buried beneath it."