On the deck, the night wind cut sharp and cold.
Kaiser stood at the railing, staring out at the endless black sea. The stars above were distant, indifferent. The ship's lanterns swayed gently, casting pools of orange light on the wooden planks.
He thought about what Vesta had said. Unfinished emotions. Passed down through generations.
His mind turned to his ancestor—Rokhan of the Wrath family. And Theana of the Velmiar family. Two people who had loved and lost, their longing never fulfilled.
So these feelings are not even mine, then? The thought curdled in his chest. What I feel for Ayumu—is it just a lie?
His jaw tightened. The more he turned it over, the angrier he became. He did not like being manipulated—not by enemies, not by fate, and certainly not by the ghost of an ancestor he had never met. If his feelings for Ayumu were merely inherited, merely shoved into his heart by blood and history, then they were not genuine.
And if they were not genuine...
Then I am being swayed to like her against my own will.
The anger became unbearable—a hot, searing pressure behind his ribs. He gripped the railing so hard the wood creaked.
His eyes, red as embers, glowed faintly in the darkness.
"I just have to cut away my feelings, then." His voice was low, cold, resolute. "Ayumu Velmiar should mean nothing to me."
He straightened his shoulders.
Nothing at all.
------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning, pale golden light streamed through the ship's small portholes, chasing away the shadows of the night before.
Ayumu awoke from her long slumber slowly at first—then all at once, like a flower turning toward the sun. She stretched beneath her layers of blankets, blinked twice, and smiled. She felt fresh. Reborn. The exhaustion that had weighed her down was gone, replaced by a cheerful energy that seemed to radiate from her.
The first person she sought after refreshing herself was Rhea.
Rhea was seated in the common room, a cup of tea halfway to her lips, when Ayumu appeared before her—bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and humming softly. Rhea nearly choked.
"Ayumu?" She set down her cup and stared. "You're... you're completely well? Already?"
Ayumu tilted her head, confused by the surprise. "Yes? I slept very well. The blankets were wonderful."
Rhea shook her head in disbelief. Is this the vigor of the White Magis? she wondered.
They settled into breakfast together—warm bread, a bit of salted fish, and weak tea. The others soon trickled in, drawn by the smell of food and the sound of Ayumu's voice.
Drobar was the first to spot her. He grinned widely and dropped onto a bench. "Well, well. The princess woke up from her slumber."
Levain took a seat across from her, his expression genuinely relieved. "I am glad to see you are well, Lady Ayumu."
Fifi humphed as he sat down—still a little pale, but recovering. "It's as if she wasn't affected at all." A pause. Then, grudgingly: "Well... that's good, I suppose."
They ate together, and soon the conversation turned to the previous day's events. The sailors' songs. The serpent's death. The blinding light from the sky. They spoke with awe about how Ayumu had taken down the great beast so easily.
Ayumu, for her part, grew increasingly shy. Her cheeks flushed. She looked down at her bread and tore small pieces off with her fingers. "It was nothing," she murmured. "Anyone could have—"
"No," Levain interrupted gently. "Not anyone."
The warmth in their voices made her want to disappear into her robes.
But then, as the chatter continued, her mind drifted. Her gaze wandered to the empty seat at the end of the table.
Kaiser.
"By the way..." She looked around. "Where is Lord Kaiser? Is he not having breakfast?"
Silence fell like a dropped stone.
The others exchanged quick, panicked glances. Sweat beaded on foreheads. Mouths opened and closed.
Levain laughed—too loudly, too brightly. "Ahaha... maybe he is not hungry?"
Fifi nodded vigorously. "Yeah—yeah, don't worry about him. He must be busy working. Or—something."
Ayumu's brow furrowed with concern. "That is not good. Working on an empty stomach is very bad for you."
Before anyone could stop her, she rose from her chair, her expression set with determination. "I will bring him some breakfast!"
She was gone before the words finished leaving her mouth—grabbing a tray, piling it with food, and disappearing through the door with a cheerful hum.
"No, wait, Ayumu—!" Rhea half-rose from her seat.
Levain reached out a helpless hand. "La-Lady Ayumu, you mustn't—!"
Fifi buried his face in his palm. "Arghh! Are all White Magis like this?"
But Ayumu did not stop. She walked through the ship with a tray balanced in her hands, humming softly, utterly unaware of the storm she was walking toward.
Above deck, the morning air was crisp and bright.
As Ayumu walked, she was immediately noticed. Sailors and soldiers alike turned to greet her. Their voices rang out like bells.
"Good morning, my lady!"
"How are you feeling?"
"Thank you for saving us! That was incredible!"
"You're a legend now, Lady Ayumu!"
She smiled and nodded as she passed, but soon the crowd around her grew. More and more men gathered, pressing closer, their gratitude loud and overwhelming. They reached for her hands. They stepped into her space.
Ayumu's breath caught.
The old fear—the deep, instinctive terror of men who advanced too fast, too many, too close—rose in her chest like rising water. She clutched the tray tighter. Her shoulders began to tremble.
She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. The crowd pressed in—
And then a strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back.
Ayumu stumbled into a solid chest. The tray wobbled but did not fall.
Kaiser stood behind her, his red eyes blazing as he glared at the gathered men. His voice was low, sharp, and carried the weight of absolute authority.
"Give the lady some space," he said. "You lot."
The men shrank back instantly. Some muttered apologies. Others simply scurried away in fear, unwilling to meet those crimson eyes.
Ayumu's face softened the moment she saw who had saved her. Her fear melted into something warmer—something softer.
"Kaiser," she said.
He looked at her and scowled.
It wasn't that he hated her. He could never hate her. But last night, he had sworn an oath to himself—to cut away his feelings, to distance his heart, to make Ayumu Velmiar mean nothing to him. And yet here he was. The moment she was in danger, his body had moved before his mind could stop it.
He was angry. Not at her. At himself.
He let go of her waist—a bit roughly, perhaps too roughly—and stepped back, unsatisfied with his own weak determination.
Ayumu flustered but did not retreat. She held out the tray. "Umm... Kaiser. I was informed you have yet to eat breakfast. So I brought some for you." Her voice was kind, gentle. "It may not be to your taste, but you need to eat a bit."
He turned away from her. His profile was sharp against the morning sky.
"I am not hungry," he said. Cold. Distant.
Nearby, hidden behind a cracked door, five faces were stacked. All were looking at the exchange between Kaiser and Ayumu secretly.
Drobar, Rhea, Levain, Fifi, and even quiet Osmond had crammed themselves into the narrow gap, each pushing and shoving for a better view. They could not afford to miss this.
"Ooh," Drobar whispered, "someone is acting a bit cold. What a bastard."
Rhea's eyes narrowed. "I bet one gold coin that Lord Kaiser won't last a day with his stubbornness."
Levain shook his head. "I beg to differ. Black Magis are usually very stubborn. I bet it will be by the end of the expedition."
Drobar grinned. "I want in on it too. Maybe three days."
Fifi hissed from the back. "You all are so uncouth! We will get in trouble—eek!"
He squeaked and ducked as Kaiser's head turned—slowly, deliberately—and his glowing red eyes landed directly on their hiding spot. The glare was venomous.
They scrambled back like startled crabs.
But after a few heartbeats, curiosity won. One by one, they peeked again.
Ayumu stood alone now, the tray still in her hands. Kaiser had put several paces between them. Her expression was a mix of confusion and hurt.
"I—I understand," she said quietly. "Maybe you don't feel like it."
She bent and set the tray down on a nearby crate. Then she straightened and reached into her robe, pulling out a small pouch—neatly stitched, soft with use.
"But... I would at least like to say thank you. For saving my life again yesterday." She stepped closer, extending the pouch toward his hand. "I wanted to give you a small—"
Her fingers brushed his palm.
Kaiser jolted.
It was reflex—nothing more—but his hand moved before his mind could catch it. He swatted hers away. Hard.
Slap.
"Don't touch me!" he said loudly.
The words fell like stones into still water.
Ayumu pulled her hand back, cradling it against her chest. Her eyes—those warm, trusting eyes—were wide now. With fear.
Kaiser's senses returned to him like a bucket of cold water. He saw the red mark blooming on her pale skin. He saw the way she held her hand. He saw her hurt face.
He gritted his teeth but he did not apologize.
Instead, he put more distance between them. As if she were the danger. As if she were the one who had done something wrong.
"I think it would be best," he said, his voice cold and formal, "that next time, you do not act so recklessly like yesterday, Lady Ayumu. If you wish to stay on this expedition, I will need your word."
Ayumu's eyes trembled. She clutched her wounded hand tighter. For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then, softly. "I—I understand. Lord Kaiser." She bowed her head slightly. "You have my word."
She turned and walked away.
The tray of food remained on the crate. The small pouch lay forgotten on the deck where it had fallen.
Behind the door, Rhea had stopped breathing. Then her face twisted into pure, incandescent fury.
"I am going to kill him—"
She lunged forward. The others grabbed her—Drobar by one arm, Levain by the other, Fifi wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Stop it, Lady Rhea!"
"No, don't! Calm down!"
"Let me go!" Rhea thrashed, her eyes blazing. "I want to punch that bastard!"
But Ayumu was already gone, disappeared below deck, and Kaiser stood alone by the railing, staring at the sea with an unreadable expression.
The morning light felt cold to Kaiser.