The days passed.

  Cruel. Unforgiving. As inevitable as the tide.

  Time, relentless in its march, did what it always does—it moved forward.

  The wounds closed.

  The bandages were changed.

  Scars began to form.

  And with time… came decisions.

  By direct approval of the Kurogane Patriarch and Astra Magna’s headmaster, Charlotte Kurogane was allowed to return to the academy—gradually. She had remained by Homura’s side for weeks, but duty—and the ever-present weight of family legacy—eventually pulled her back onto the path the future demanded.

  Ishiki, however, stayed behind.

  A different path had been offered to him. One he never asked for.

  He would receive classes from home.

  He wouldn’t return to school until his sister awoke.

  And, as an added condition, he would attend weekly sessions with a stabilizer—an emotional therapist specialized in magical mental health.

  He didn’t argue.

  He didn’t agree either.

  He simply… accepted.

  His world shrank to four walls, the hum of medical monitors, and the steady—yet unanswered—heartbeat of a single person.

  “Alright, that’ll be all for today,” the professor said, closing his notes on his magical tablet. The video call remained open. “Make sure to review the structure of convergent mana channels for the next session.”

  A moment of silence followed.

  The professor didn’t hang up.

  Instead, he stared at the screen—at the lone student still connected: Ishiki Kurogane.

  “Ishiki…”

  No response.

  Sitting at his desk, eyes lost and shoulders slumped, he looked more like a shadow than a person. His messy hair covered lifeless eyes. Dark circles hinted at exhaustion… but it was the silence that weighed the most.

  “…Are you alright?”

  The question came soft. Hesitant.

  Ishiki didn’t blink.

  Trying to ease the tension, the professor offered a forced smile.

  “She’s going to be okay. Don’t worry so much, alright?”

  Big mistake.

  Ishiki slowly lifted his head.

  For the first time in the entire class, he spoke.

  His voice—cold, rough, empty.

  “How do you know that?”

  The air froze.

  The professor blinked, clearly startled by the hostility.

  “I… I just meant…”

  But it no longer mattered. Ishiki wasn’t looking at him anymore. His hand reached for the console.

  The screen went black.

  The call disconnected.

  The room fell silent, filled only by the mechanical rhythm of medical devices.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  That same rhythm.

  That same pulse.

  He stood up slowly and turned.

  A few feet away, lying on a specially prepared futon, Homura remained motionless.

  Pale skin.

  Closed eyes.

  Dry lips.

  Breathing… barely noticeable.

  Several magical devices surrounded her:

  A nutrient drip to keep her body from deteriorating.

  An arcane IV feeding minor regenerative compounds.

  And a mana siphon—a glass cylinder glowing faint blue, connected to her wrist, constantly draining the excess magical energy her body could no longer process.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The damage from the Overhead had shattered her core.

  If that excess wasn’t expelled… her system would collapse from within.

  She was still alive.

  But she wasn’t present.

  Ishiki watched her in silence.

  He clenched his fists.

  “Don’t tell me she’s fine…” he whispered, voice cracked.

  “…when I can’t even hear her voice.”

  He moved toward her and sat down. Slowly. Heavily.

  No tears.

  No screams.

  But every part of him looked ready to break.

  He stared at the mana siphon pulsing.

  One beat.

  Two.

  Three.

  And for the first time, he wondered—

  how long can a soul endure,

  when the world refuses to let it go…

  but also refuses to give it back?

  The afternoon settled over the Kurogane estate with a dull, muted tone.

  The sky, gray and formless, mirrored the weight pressing down on every room.

  No one laughed.

  No one raised their voice.

  No one said more than they had to.

  And then, a low engine growl broke the stillness.

  A white car—sleek, silent, and fully armored—pulled up to the main entrance.

  The front doors opened automatically, as if the vehicle itself understood the urgency.

  Yuna Ayanami stepped out.

  Dressed simply—a long coat, white scarf, dark sunglasses, and her hair tied back in a low ponytail—she was still unmistakable. Even without lights or makeup, her presence was undeniable.

  The most famous idol on the planet.

  A voice that captivated entire continents.

  But no one saw her that way now.

  Because the charming smile that once lit up every stage… was gone.

  Her face was serious—not cold, not distant.

  Tense.

  Contained.

  As if she were holding back something ready to overflow.

  The moment her foot touched the staircase, the front door opened wide.

  Matsu Kurogane, aunt of the heirs and head of the clan’s tactical branch, appeared with arms crossed and a deep frown on her face.

  “Thank the heavens you’re here.”

  “I came as soon as I heard,” Yuna replied, removing her sunglasses.

  Her eyes were dull. Swollen.

  The kind of eyes only shown after crying too much… or just before doing it again.

  Matsu said nothing else. She nodded and began walking. Yuna followed silently.

  “He hasn’t left her side since the tournament,” Matsu said as they passed through dark marble halls. “Day and night. Only leaves for mandatory medical sessions—and even then, I have to drag him.”

  “Is he eating?” Yuna asked without looking at her.

  “Enough to not collapse. But… I can tell. His mana core is starting to show signs of instability.” She stopped before a large double door bearing the clan’s crest. “I’m worried. If this goes on much longer, he might hurt himself without realizing it.”

  Yuna swallowed hard.

  Her hands were trembling.

  “Thank you… for calling me.”

  Matsu didn’t answer. She just placed her hand on the door, pausing briefly.

  Then pushed it open.

  The room was wide. Warm. But oppressively quiet.

  The air smelled of burnt mana and medicine. Contained energy. Sleeping fire.

  At the center, on a ceremonial futon wrapped in black and crimson cloth, lay Homura Kurogane—unmoving. Her breathing was faint. Almost nonexistent. Her body gave off a faint red glow from time to time… but it wasn’t flame.

  It was residue.

  The echo of a soul still fighting to remain.

  Beside her, sitting on the floor like a statue, was Ishiki.

  Elbows on knees. Fingers interlocked. Eyes fixed on his sister’s face.

  He hadn’t noticed the door open.

  But Yuna’s steps—silent though they were—reached him.

  He recognized her without needing to look.

  When she sat beside him, he didn’t speak.

  Just glanced her way.

  The most famous girl in the world—the voice that could melt nations—said nothing.

  She didn’t take his hand.

  She didn’t hug him.

  She simply stayed.

  Silence was their language now.

  After a long pause, Ishiki finally spoke.

  His voice was rough. Low. Almost empty.

  “You know…”

  Yuna turned her head.

  “Everyone thinks they call her ‘The Hell Kettle’ because of her mana,” Ishiki muttered, a bitter smile forming. “Because her flames burn hotter than anything. Because she could evaporate a lake with a single breath.”

  “…Isn’t that why?” Yuna asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  “No,” he said. “It’s because… once she boils over—no one knows how to stop her.”

  He paused.

  “Not even me.”

  Yuna lowered her head.

  Her breathing grew shaky. Every repressed emotion heavier than the last.

  “Do you think… she can hear us?” she asked, eyes locked on Homura’s still form.

  Ishiki took his time answering.

  “…I hope not.”

  Another pause.

  “Because if she is… she’s probably furious.”

  Yuna let out a soft, pained chuckle. Half-joke, half-prayer.

  Silence returned.

  Then, slowly, Yuna leaned against him—resting her head on his shoulder.

  “You stayed with her,” she whispered.

  “I had to.”

  “I know.”

  Ishiki’s hand moved slightly. Just enough to brush her fingers.

  It wasn’t romantic.

  It was human. Shared pain.

  Because in that room… there was no space for anything else.

  Only dormant fire.

  And hearts still burning, not knowing if tomorrow would leave them whole.

  Then, gently, Yuna pulled her hand away and reached for his face, making him look at her.

  “I get it,” she said softly. “You’re worried. I’d be, too. But if she saw you like this? She’d lose her mind. So… get up. Go take a damn shower. Let your aunt handle things for a bit, don’t you think?”

  There was no hesitation in her voice. Only certainty.

  Ishiki blinked.

  And with a sigh, he muttered, “There are only two people in the world who can give me orders. And you’re one of them.”

  Yuna smiled—playful, sly.

  “Damn right I am.”

  And so, for the first time in weeks, Ishiki stood up and walked out of Homura’s room.

  Straight to the bathroom.

  Matsu saw him pass, stunned. Then, a second later, Yuna emerged as well.

  The older woman raised an eyebrow.

  Yuna gave her a little wink and crossed her arms.

  “You can go take care of her now,” she said with a knowing grin.

  “Leave the stubborn one to me.”

  Then she turned, her voice like silk trailing behind her—

  “I won’t break him.

  Just… soften him up a little.”

  And with that, she vanished down the hall.

  Leaving behind the scent of something long absent from that house…

  Hope.