Deep in the night, Kaito lay in his single bed, staring at the ceiling, still sighing over the series of events that had occurred today.
He had been promoted. "Chief Rehabilitation Therapist"; it certainly sounded quite impressive.
But this also meant that the battlefields he would have to face in the future would likely become increasingly numerous and more complicated.
Just when he was lost in his thoughts...
"Knock, knock"
An extremely faint and tentative tapping was heard.
"Again?"
Kaito sat up with a quick motion, thinking it was Gold City or TM Opera O launching another surprise attack.
He put on his slippers with a helpless expression and went to open the door, preparing to receive a new round of "war"
However, when he opened the door, he froze.
At the entrance stood none of the people he expected.
It was Manhattan Cafe
She wore the simplest pure white dress, her small snow-white feet were bare, and she pressed her ever-present sketchbook firmly against her chest.
The night breeze stirred her long, silky dark hair, making her look like a silent spirit that had accidentally strayed from the moonlight and wandered into the mortal world.
Before Kaito could speak, she had already slipped into the room past him, silently and quietly, like a docile cat.
She did not go to the bed or the chair; instead, she walked to the small rug in the center of the room, sat cross-legged, placed the drawing board on her lap, and picked up her pencil.
Under Kaito's perplexed gaze, she began to draw.
Shhh, shhh...
Inside the room, only the subtle sound of the pencil rubbing against the paper could be heard.
She drew very quickly, as if those scenes had already been rehearsed a thousand times in her heart.
The first drawing was finished quickly.
The image showed a clumsy and silly figure carefully holding a pair of disproportionately small scissors, cutting the outermost thorn of an Uma wrapped in brambles.
That was their first encounter.
She did not stop; she immediately tore off the page and began to draw the second image.
The second drawing showed a tall and steady back.
This back completely and delicately shielded a small and slender Uma who followed behind him, protecting her from the noisy and malicious wind and rain outside.
That was the battlefield from earlier that day.
The third drawing was a delicate profile.
The man in the image was kneeling on the ground, holding the small Uma's hand, as if whispering a secret into her ear—something that could silence the entire world.
That was the moment he told his story.
Kaito watched in silence, his heart unknowingly filling with a soft and indescribable emotion.
Finally, she took a deep breath and began to draw the fourth and final image.
This time she drew with exceptional seriousness and slowness.
In the image, there were no longer any brambles, nor shattered tracks, nor a deep black sea.
It was a small room, ordinary but incredibly warm.
In the very center of the room, the small, glowing tree he had once planted for her had now grown strong, transforming into a great tree that could protect them from the wind and rain, radiating a soft light.
And the Uma, once alone and abandoned by the world, was curled up peacefully and affectionately under the trunk of this great tree, her eyes closed and a satisfied, happy smile adorning her lips.
After finishing the final stroke, Manhattan Cafe slowly and solemnly held this last drawing in front of Kaito
Then she raised her head.
With her eyes, now fully restored to their brilliance, like the purest obsidian reflecting his image, she stared at him without blinking.
That gaze was full of infinite attachment, deep gratitude, and... a trace of desire, difficult to overlook, yet incredibly clear.
Not a single word was spoken.
But all her feelings, all her requests, all her confessions, were expressed perfectly in those eyes and in that drawing.
This silent confession made Kaito's heart beat faster and his soul tremble more than any flowery language or passionate declaration.
He reached out and, uncontrollably, gently stroked her soft cheek.
This time, she did not dodge or show shyness.
She simply pressed her cheek against his warm palm, actively and dependently, like a kitten that had finally found its home.
Then she set down the drawing board and the pencil she was holding.
Actively, slowly, she moved closer to him—the man who had planted the only tree in her desolate world.
...
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