The morning light streamed through the dining hall of Cornelius's mansion. Outside the windows, residents moved back and forth across the plaza. Their movements were lively—so much so that it was hard to believe they'd been under imperial siege just yesterday. Children ran. Elders laughed. Someone patted someone else's back. In one corner of that dining hall, Mizuno Misaki sat with a piece of parchment spread across her lap, chewing on bread. It was the final volume of the Gais Documents—the twelfth volume of the national reform plan that the former Prime Minister Gais had written after thirty years of governance. Ever since discovering the alterations last night at the inn, Misaki's mind had been working through the implications. Which chapters had Royd tampered with? Beyond Chapter Eight, how much had been rewritten? Even at breakfast, her hand wouldn't stop moving. "Misaki-san, reading while eating is—" Aira began. "Killing two birds with one stone. No problem," Misaki replied. Aira started to say something else, then stopped. Her silver braids swayed. Whether she'd given up on objecting or simply grown accustomed to it was impossible to tell. Then residents began trickling into the dining hall one by one. A wave of people came to thank them for borrowing Cornelius's mansion for breakfast. An elderly woman gripped Misaki's hand with both of hers. A man who looked like a craftsman bowed deeply. Two children tugged at Reon's sleeve. Reon looked at the children and, for just a moment, showed an expression of confusion. Then his face shifted back to that of a prince, and he gave a short nod. The children ran off satisfied. Cornelius came to the seat beside Misaki. A stout man in his fifties who had protected the port even while caught between imperial pressure yesterday. His eyes fell on the parchment in Misaki's lap, and they widened. "…You're reading while eating?" Cornelius asked. "Eating while reading. Subtly different," Misaki replied. Cornelius opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words seemed to elude him. Instead, he gave a wry smile. The work of cross-referencing the alterations had progressed to Chapter Three. In the section on military supply records—where food and provisions were documented—there were unnatural changes in the numbers. Misaki was certain it was Royd's hand. The original would need to be compared, but its location was still unknown. Misaki reached for a pen, then felt around inside her leather bag. The ink bottle was somewhere in there. Where? Wedged between the stacks of parchment, or sunk to the bottom? She thrust her hand in, searching all the way down. The bag was deeper than she'd thought. She couldn't find it. (Where did I put it?) Her eyes swept across the table. There was a sugar bowl—a white, round ceramic one. Misaki reached for it. She meant to reach for an ink bottle. The edge of the parchment plunged into the sugar. There was a soft crunching sound. Misaki froze. Sugar clung to the edge of the parchment. White granules scattered across the margins of the Gais Documents. "…………" Misaki said nothing. She stayed frozen for three seconds. Aira slowly looked up at the ceiling. "What are you doing now?" Aira asked, her voice completely flat. It was impossible to tell if she was angry or exasperated—or both. Cornelius remained frozen, eyes wide. Misaki quietly looked at the sugar-covered margins of the Gais Documents. She brushed the sugar away. The edge was slightly damp. At least the ink hadn't been reached—small mercies. "…A clean copy will be necessary," Misaki said. "That's not the point," Aira replied. At that moment, she felt a presence beside her. It was the old carpenter from yesterday—Galt. A man in his late sixties with gnarled, weathered hands. He'd disappeared somewhere in the plaza's bustle after last night's dam work, but had reappeared this morning. Galt stared intently at the sugar-covered parchment. Even without being able to read, he seemed to understand it was something important. With a face full of wrinkles, he asked quietly. "Is that something important?" Galt asked. Misaki looked at the cover of the Gais Documents. One book carrying the weight of thirty years of governance. A damaged blueprint bearing alterations by Royd. "It's probably related to this nation's future," Misaki said. The air in the dining hall shifted slightly. The lingering warmth of comedy faded, and weight returned. Aira closed her mouth. Cornelius lowered his eyes. Galt was silent for a while, then slowly nodded. When Misaki searched the bag again, the ink bottle was buried under the bread. --- As preparations for departure began, Misaki was checking the horse's cargo outside the city walls. Leather bag straps, bundles of parchment, ink bottle—this time she made sure—the order of necessary documents. She arranged the luggage so she could continue recording during travel. It was a habit from her previous life; she couldn't settle down without checking everything once before departure. Footsteps sounded. She turned to see Reon approaching alone. No escort soldiers, no Aira. Just quiet footsteps in the shadow of the wall. Misaki continued her work and gave a light nod. Reon silently began checking the saddle on the horse. He pulled the reins to test their tension, adjusted the stirrup position. His movements were surprisingly natural, and he corrected parts that Misaki had already arranged as if it were obvious. "Did you get thrown off three times yesterday as well?" Reon asked. "Eventually it listened to me," Misaki replied. Reon silently rechecked the reins. There was apparently some slack that Misaki hadn't noticed, and his fingers moved swiftly to correct it. Misaki tracked the movement of his hands from the corner of her eye. For a while, there was only the sound of their work between them. Reon kept his hands on the reins and paused for a moment. Then he spoke quietly. "Coming to Portos was dangerous," Reon said. "In the end, it worked out," Misaki replied. "That's not what I'm talking about," Reon said. Reon turned to face Misaki. His golden eyes looked directly at her. Not a gaze that measured emotion—just a gaze that was simply there. Misaki searched for words. She could say "But I'm safe," or "I'll be careful next time," or "I admit I should have reported it"—she should have been able to say something. The words were in her head. But no matter which she chose, none of them seemed to answer what that gaze meant. The silence continued. Reon looked away first. His gaze returned to the horse's neck, his hand moved to the saddle, and he mounted in one fluid motion. Misaki looked at her own horse's saddle. It was high. The only way to get up was to belly-crawl onto it. She placed her foot. She pulled herself up. Her stomach reached the saddle and stopped. There was nothing she could do. "I'll help," Aira said. When had she arrived? Aira spoke in her calm voice. Her silver hair swayed in the morning breeze. Her expression was completely "again." With a light pull from Aira, Misaki finally settled onto the horse. The weight of those words—"That's not what I'm talking about"—remained in her chest. --- The road to the royal capital was quiet in the morning light. Aira led the soldiers from behind, while Reon and Misaki rode side by side. Low trees lined both sides of the road, and light danced as leaves swayed in the wind. As they passed the side roads bearing traces of imperial forces, the scenery gradually became more peaceful. For a while, the two rode in silence. It wasn't that there was nothing to say. The alterations, Royd's whereabouts, the empire's next move—there was plenty to discuss. But in this moment, for some reason, neither felt inclined to speak. There was only the light and rustling leaves of the road, and the sound of hoofbeats. Strangely, it wasn't unpleasant. "I owe you thanks," Reon said quietly. It was a brief statement, spoken while looking ahead. Misaki looked slightly surprised. It was rare for him to offer thanks. When he did, she'd expected it to be in more formal circumstances. "I don't abandon projects midway. It's a principle of mine," Misaki replied with a smile. Reon glanced at her for just a moment. "Project," he repeated. "That's what we called them in my previous life. Things with deadlines, assigned personnel, where you can't leave until everything's done. I called all of them that," Misaki explained. Reon listened quietly. He didn't interrupt. He simply listened. Misaki continued. She hadn't meant to speak, but the words came out anyway. "Every time, someone always pulled an all-nighter, something always fell behind schedule, but only when everything was finally done could I think, 'Ah, it's over.' That's the feeling," she said. "Is it the same here?" Reon asked. Misaki thought for a moment. "It's more similar than I expected," she said. Reon gave a small laugh. It was barely a change in his voice. But Misaki saw it—something beneath the usual prince's facade, something more genuine. The road narrowed in one section. Trees jutted out from both sides, not blocking passage but causing the two horses to naturally draw closer together. Misaki's knee brushed against Reon's. She instinctively tried to pull away. It was a reflex. But the horse wouldn't move. The narrow road wouldn't allow it. And Reon didn't avoid it. He kept his gaze forward, advancing his horse, and remained as he was. Misaki looked ahead. Something pulsed deep in her chest. Quietly, but unmistakably. (This is...) The phrase "trust in work" floated through her mind. It was the excuse she'd always used. When leaving the capital, on the night road to Portos, when she'd borrowed his hand in the mud—she'd always tried to fit it into that frame. But now their knees were touching. Reon's profile was at the edge of her vision. When she tried to fit this into the frame of "work trust," it didn't fit. The frame no longer worked. Quietly, she accepted it. Not telling anyone, not writing it anywhere, not changing anything immediately. She simply accepted it. In this silence, quietly. At that moment, Misaki's horse thrust its head into the roadside grass. It stopped completely. "..." Misaki said nothing. She pulled the reins. The horse didn't budge. She pulled again. It continued eating grass. Its front hooves seemed rooted to the ground. She called out. It didn't look up. "Let's go," Misaki said. There was no response. Only the sound of chewing. Misaki tried to remember the horse's name and realized she'd never asked it. Footsteps sounded, and Reon turned back. He came to the side of the horse's head and tapped it lightly once. The horse walked off without incident. "Why won't it listen to me?" Misaki asked the horse, unable to help herself. "It's a matter of dignity," Reon said with a straight face. Misaki's lips formed a line. She had no response. The horse walked along contentedly, looking completely innocent. Aira was stifling laughter from behind. Her voice was silent, but her shoulders trembled slightly. The weight of that silence and this ridiculous moment existed side by side. What was in her chest didn't disappear. If anything, moments like this made it more vivid. --- Partway through the return journey, Misaki took out a piece of parchment while on horseback. She could write on a moving horse—or so she believed. Whether she actually could was another matter, but her hand moved. She ran her pen across the parchment. "Confirm Royd's whereabouts." "Investigate location of original Gais Documents alterations." "Empire's next move." Three points arranged vertically. "It's really amazing that you can write while moving," Aira said from behind. "Can you read it?" Misaki asked. "I can read it," Aira replied. After answering, Misaki looked at the parchment. The horse's movement had made the letters slant. The character for "confirm" w