“That girl... still needs to learn how to control her anger.”

  The man's voice was deep, almost indifferent. With unsettling ease, he lifted Homura’s unconscious body into his arms. Her breathing was still labored, and even in sleep, her furrowed brow revealed the rage that continued to burn within her. As if hatred refused to let her go—even in dreams.

  Beside him, the red-haired woman’s bodyguard turned toward her. The smoke of battle drifted like ashes from a past that refused to die.

  The woman, with intense crimson hair, remained silent. She was still smiling… though for a fleeting moment, something flickered behind her eyes. A shadow hidden beneath her mask of serenity. Nostalgia? Sadness? Impossible to tell.

  Without another word, the group vanished into the haze of ashes, leaving behind only the echo of battle… and an academy on the verge of awakening to horror.

  Her footsteps echoed with restrained elegance as she walked through the academy’s main halls. The bodyguard followed in silence, keeping a respectful distance. Her right hand was still raised—the same one that had touched Homura’s flames.

  The scorched, cracked skin pulsed as if still burning. Until, without warning, a crimson spark traveled across it. In mere seconds, the wound regenerated completely. As if it had never been there.

  

  “Her flames are stronger than the last time I saw her…” she murmured, a soft, almost maternal smile on her lips.

  

  “Your Highness,” the bodyguard said gravely, “I believe this visit was a mistake.”

  

  “I don’t think so,” she replied, not even glancing at him. Her back remained straight, her gaze fixed ahead. “I’ve evaluated the students. And the academy’s defenses. It wasn’t in vain.”

  Her eyes sharpened.

  At the end of the hallway, a figure stood blocking the way.

  A young man—upright posture, firm features, and a gaze that burned... without fire.

  Ishiki Kurogane.

  He stopped right in front of her, denying her passage.

  

  “...Mother,” he said, his voice tense but controlled.

  The woman smiled warmly. She stepped forward, arms slowly opening as if expecting an embrace.

  

  “You don’t know how happy I am to see you, my son.”

  But Ishiki didn’t move. His body was rigid as stone. He didn’t scream like his sister. His rage was of another kind—cold, silent, razor-sharp.

  

  “Why are you here?” he asked, emotionless.

  

  “Just touring the academy,” she answered lightly, as if the tension didn't exist. “Making sure everything is in order.”

  Ishiki narrowed his eyes. His voice was as sharp as his blade.

  

  “Are you telling me the Princess of Astrea has time for... trivialities?”

  She let out a short, soft laugh. But within it, something bitter lingered.

  

  “You’re right. It was just an excuse to see my children… and observe their progress.”

  He didn’t respond immediately.

  

  “Then I think my sister made it clear that we’re doing just fine,” he said at last.

  

  “Yes…” she nodded, her smile never faltering. “I’ve already received her token of affection.”

  Silence stretched between them like a tightrope about to snap.

  Finally, the princess turned away. Her cape fluttered behind her as she walked off, the bodyguard silently trailing her.

  Just before turning the corner, she paused.

  Not a full turn—just enough to drop one last sentence into the air.

  

  “I hope your sister… will be able to call me ‘Mother’ someday.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply.

  And then, she was gone.

  The infirmary was cloaked in silence. Only the soft light of dusk filtered through the windows, casting a golden hue over the bedsheets.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  On one of the cots lay Homura Kurogane. Asleep. Breathing steady. No visible wounds. But her clenched brow betrayed the truth—her mind was still burning.

  Beside her sat a gray-haired man, his face hardened by age. Even seated, his presence commanded respect.

  The Patriarch.

  The door burst open.

  Ishiki entered, out of breath. But the moment he saw the elder, he halted and bowed his head respectfully.

  

  “Grandfather…”

  The old man didn’t move. But his voice was clear as steel.

  

  “It’s alright, Ishiki. I knew this might happen. What I didn’t expect… was for her to reveal herself to Homura.”

  

  “Is she okay?” Ishiki asked, tension in his voice.

  

  “Yes. She was sleeping… or pretending to.”

  His tone shifted. Without even turning toward the bed, he raised his voice slightly.

  

  “How much longer are you going to pretend, Homura?”

  Silence.

  Then, Homura opened her eyes.

  She sat up slowly. Crossed her arms, visibly shaken. Ashamed. Yet she still avoided her grandfather’s gaze.

  

  “Homura,” he said, without needing to raise his voice, “I’ve told you countless times. You must learn to control your anger.”

  

  “I know…” she murmured.

  The Patriarch sighed—not in anger, but resignation.

  

  “I’ll let it go this time,” he said, rising. “It was my mistake not to anticipate her arrival.”

  Homura lowered her head.

  Her uniform was scorched and torn. Only the red cape remained intact, as if refusing to yield.

  The old man placed a neatly folded uniform on a nearby chair.

  

  “Put this on.”

  And with that, he walked to the door. Just before leaving, he glanced back over his shoulder.

  

  “Return to class.”

  The door closed behind him.

  Silence.

  Ishiki didn’t move. He gave her space while she changed. Minutes passed before he spoke again.

  

  “Did you talk to her?”

  Homura paused while adjusting her cape. Her answer was a whisper.

  

  “Yes.”

  Nothing more was said.

  They simply left the room together.

  But though the fire had faded... the smoke still lingered.

  The moon hung high above Kurogane Manor, bathing the training field in pale silver light. The night whispered through the trees, mingling with the metallic echo of a blade slicing through air.

  Homura Kurogane danced in the shadows. Her soul weapon glinted beneath the torchlight. Her breath was steady. Her stance, firm…

  But something was wrong.

  She hesitated.

  Every strike was accurate. Every swing, powerful. But her rhythm… was broken.

  As if fighting something invisible.

  As if the real enemy wasn’t in front of her… but within.

  With a restrained roar, she slammed her weapon downward. Sparks burst from the stone floor.

  Her chest heaved—not from exertion, but frustration.

  

  “This doesn’t make sense… My mana is stronger than hers. So why did it feel like her flames were consuming me?”

  

  “It wasn’t just heat… it felt like her power was draining mine. Like I was getting weaker just by being near her.”

  

  “And worst of all… my body realized it before I did.”

  

  “Is that why my flames didn’t respond? Why I couldn’t ignite my fury?”

  Her grip tightened.

  A memory flashed through her mind.

  That woman’s face. Serene. Smiling… as her burning hand stroked Homura’s cheek.

  A chill ran down her spine.

  

  “No… It can’t be,” she whispered.

  But the weight in her chest remained.

  The question burned like an ember that wouldn’t go out.

  Then, a cold touch brought her back.

  An icy fingertip on her nape.

  She spun instantly, blade flashing silver through the air.

  But stopped mid-swing.

  A glint of turquoise and green caught her eye.

  

  “…Oh. It’s you, Charlotte.”

  Standing before her was Charlotte Kurogane, her younger cousin. She smiled shyly, a small droplet of melting ice sliding between her fingers.

  

  “I think my reflexes are getting better!” she giggled nervously.

  Homura sighed, lowering her weapon.

  

  “Lucky you. Another second and you’d be in pieces.”

  

  “I knew you’d stop.”

  Homura gave her a side glance, frowning slightly… but not angrily. Charlotte knew Homura would never hurt her, no matter how fast she reacted.

  A brief silence passed between them, broken only by the wind.

  Charlotte, now more serious, lowered her gaze.

  

  “I saw what happened today.”

  

  “From the start?” Homura asked, arms crossed.

  Charlotte nodded gently.

  

  “From your entrance… all the way to the confrontation with the princess.”

  Homura closed her eyes. She didn’t want to remember. Let alone talk about it.

  

  “Tch… Sorry if I ruined your first day.”

  

  “No, no!” Charlotte waved her hands, flustered. “It was actually… kinda exciting. The Shiba twins showed me around afterward.”

  But there was a tremble in her voice. Something more.

  Homura noticed.

  Charlotte looked down.

  

  “I just… can’t help but worry about you.”

  Homura didn’t respond immediately.

  Her lips pressed into a tight line.

  And for the first time… she hesitated.

  Arms crossed, expression weary—but not defeated.

  

  “I’m fine, Charlotte. Just… have a lot on my mind.”

  Charlotte gazed at her with a mix of gentleness and quiet strength.

  

  “If you ever want to talk… I’ll listen.”

  Homura paused. For a moment, the silence felt fragile—raw. Her eyes met Charlotte’s, and it almost seemed like she would open up.

  But instead, she offered a faint, tired smile.

  

  “Thanks, Char… but this time, it’s something I need to figure out alone.”

  Charlotte looked down, but didn’t argue. She knew that wall wouldn’t come down easily. Still, she held her ground.

  

  “Alright. But remember—whenever you need us… Ishiki and I will be here.”

  Homura gave a faint nod.

  Charlotte lingered for a moment longer, then quietly stepped away.

  A few meters away, in a shaded corner of the training grounds, Ishiki Kurogane waited.

  

  “How did you find her?” he asked as Charlotte reached him.

  Charlotte crossed her arms, glancing back at Homura’s silhouette.

  

  “Lost. Like she’s trying to find something… but can’t.”

  Ishiki exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.

  

  “If she keeps this up…” Charlotte added, concern in her voice, “she’ll break.”

  

  “Let her,” Ishiki replied, his gaze fixed on his sister—still training in silence beneath the moonlight. “This time… she needs to break before she can rebuild.”

  And with that, the two of them returned to the manor.

  Leaving Homura alone—with the fire in her chest, the steel in her hands, and the ghosts of her past.