The ritual chamber on the third underground floor was filled with cool, still air. Moonlight streaming through the skylight cast a pale blue glow over the eight-meter magic circle carved into the floor. At its center, a silver cauldron quietly let off wisps of steam. "……Right." His long, waist-length blond hair swaying, England stood before the cauldron. In his hand, a mermaid's tear stone from the canals of Venice. A pale blue stone, shaped like a teardrop. "That's everything, then." Germany nodded. His slicked-back blond hair was as immaculate as ever, but the dress wrapped around his muscular frame still looked somehow surreal. "Now, the grand finale of our seven days of memories." The beautiful young man France smiled, sweeping back his platinum blond hair. England drew a deep breath. He gently dropped the moonflower petals into the silver cauldron. A silvery-white radiance spread across the water's surface. Next, he poured in the water from the fairy spring. The crystal-clear water enveloped the petals' light. Finally, the mermaid's tear stone — he lowered it softly to the bottom of the cauldron. "I'm starting." England began the Old English incantation. A low, resonant voice. "Hēr is sēo tiid… þæt ealle þing weorþan swā hīe wǣron…" —He stumbled over the words. "……Th-That was just a warm-up!" England's face instantly turned bright red. "Ahaha! England's face looks like a tomato!" Her curly brown hair bouncing, Italy doubled over laughing. The hem of her indigo dress fluttered and danced. "Shut up! Watch in silence!" England shouted back. His ears were crimson. "Old English pronunciation is tricky, after all. But are you sure you're okay? Two more stumbles, and it's twenty-eight days until the next full moon." France said it with a smirk. "I know that! Shut up!" England clenched his fist tightly. His emerald-green eyes stared past the steam rising from the cauldron. The second attempt at the incantation. "Hēr is sēo tiid… þæt ealle þing——" He faltered again. "You okay?! Did you breathe?!" America yelled at the top of his lungs. "Shut uuuup!!" "England-san, take a deep breath." Japan spoke quietly. Her glossy black braid swayed faintly. Gently pressing down the sleeve of her kimono, she stepped forward. "If it would help, I can assist in steadying the flow of magical energy. The phrasing is similar to the melodies of old jōruri." England looked startled for a moment. Then, he unclenched his fist and let out a breath. "……That would help." Japan began to softly intone a low melody, her voice like a quiet song. It was the cadence of an ancient Japanese narrative chant. The air grew taut. England closed his eyes. The trembling in his fingertips stopped. The third incantation. "Hēr is sēo tiid… þæt ealle þing weorþan swā hīe wǣron…" His voice flowed out, low and steady. "Þurh þone monan and þās steorran… ic ābēode þisne drȳcræft tō endienne…" From the skylight, a single beam of full-moon light pierced down into the cauldron. "……Sƿā ic wille, sƿā hit geweorðe!" The final words echoed through the ritual chamber. —In that instant. The cauldron released a blinding light. Silver radiance raced through the magic circle, surging up from the four of them in spiraling vortices. "Wah—!" "Close your eyes!" The light swallowed everything. A sensation of the body floating gently upward. Something slipping smoothly away. The power of the curse, unraveling— —And then. When the light subsided. "……Back." Germany was staring at his own hands. Muscular, male hands. The dress had torn at the shoulders, the collar of his military uniform peeking through. He flexed and extended his fingers several times. "Me too! Back to normal!" Italy jumped. His curly brown hair was the same as before, the ahoge on the left side bouncing energetically. His large amber eyes sparkled with joy. "As I thought, beauty transcends gender—though, well, I'm back now." France elegantly swept back his hair. The beautiful young man was gone, replaced by the usual beautiful France. "……Hah." England let out a breath of relief. His long blond hair clung to his forehead with sweat. He quietly opened and closed his hand, then turned his back to the cauldron without a word. —A quiet silence flowed. Everyone gazed at their own hands, confirmed their voices, felt the reality of being back in their original bodies. Amidst it all. Japan quietly stood before Germany. "Germany-san." Germany turned around. Her black eyes gazed directly into his blue ones. "Over these seven days… I have been confronting my own feelings." Japan stood with her back perfectly straight. The hem of her kimono swayed faintly. "Every time you were kind to someone, I noticed a small ache in my chest. I understand now what that was." The words were spun out quietly. "But to let it end without saying anything would not suit my nature. So—I will tell you." One breath. "Germany-san, I was in love with you. Throughout these seven days." The ritual chamber fell utterly silent. Germany was at a loss for words. His blue eyes widened, his mouth moved faintly. His hand started to lift slightly—and stopped. "I do not seek an answer. I am simply glad I could tell you." Japan smiled softly. Then, she bowed deeply and stepped back. At that graceful composure, Germany found himself even more tongue-tied. His brow furrowed, his throat moved slightly. Something stirred deep in his chest. Gratitude, bewilderment—emotions he couldn't even name swirled within him. "Oh?" France raised one eyebrow with keen interest. —That was when it happened. "Germanyyy!" Italy flung himself at Germany with a beaming smile. "We're back to normal! I'm so glad! Germany really is Germany after all! Let's be friends forever and ever, okay!" Slender arms wrapped around Germany's neck. Germany's body went rigid. —Right. The memories of those seven days came flooding back all at once. The warmth that had leaned against his shoulder on the Dover ferry. Those tears at the mountaintop, when he'd said "I won't disappear." The lonely smile shown during the stories of the Holy Roman Empire. It had all been for this smile. Something clicked inside his chest. He couldn't put it into words. But he knew it, unmistakably. "……Yeah." Answering curtly, Germany placed his hand on Italy's head. He ruffled the brown hair gently. "Ehehe!" Italy laughed, knowing nothing. "Perfect." France murmured to himself in rapture. In his hand, somehow, was a single rose. "Love is art. Beautiful, isn't it." Japan glanced at the two of them, then quietly turned her gaze toward the window. Her black eyes reflected the light of the full moon. —This was for the best. A faint smile touched her lips. It was not jealousy, but the serenity of one who had accepted things. —Just then. "……Everyone." Still standing before the cauldron, England opened his mouth. He straightened his back and looked at each of their faces, one by one. "This time, my carelessness caused trouble for all of you. Truly—I'm sorry." He bowed his head deeply. A straightforward apology, with no excuses. The first of its kind. His waist-length blond hair fell forward. Everyone was so surprised they lost their words. —The next moment. "England-san bowed his head! Let's make this a holiday!" Italy shouted innocently. "Shut up! Don't ever say that again!!" England shouted back, his face bright red. "Ahaha! He's not honest, but it got through to us!" America laughed it off. "The tsundere is alive and well. Well, that's the good thing about England, though." "Who's a tsundere! Who is!!" Laughter echoed through the ritual chamber. England's ears were still bright red. He breathed heavily through his shoulders, clenching and unclenching his hands. But everyone stayed silent, gently accepting that clumsy apology. —Before dawn. Everyone changed into formal attire and departed from England's workshop. Their destination: the outskirts of Geneva, Switzerland. The Palais des Nations — the venue for the World Conference. They slipped into the conference room five minutes before the start. "I do not permit tardiness." The chairman, Switzerland, spoke with a furrowed brow. "We made it! Safe!" Italy hoisted up the oversized pot he'd been hiding behind his back. Steam rose gently, the scent of tomato and basil seeping into the chilled air of the conference room. "……Why are you bringing a pot while in formal attire." Switzerland's gaze was fixed on the pot. "If you eat my pasta, everything will be solved! The conference will definitely go well, too!" Switzerland opened his mouth—and closed it. He pressed his fingers to his temple and looked at the ceiling. Then, slowly, he exhaled. "Italy, this is the World Conference." Germany said it with exasperation. "But everyone's smiling!" Just as Italy said, the personified nations were gathering, drawn by the scent of pasta. Before anyone knew it, plates were lined up all across the large conference table. No one could stop it. Warm laughter and the sound of forks. The morning sun streaming through the window dyed the steam golden. This World Conference opened with an unusually friendly atmosphere. —After the conference ended. In the hallway, Japan and Germany stood side by side. "About what you said earlier… I heard your feelings properly." Germany spoke bluntly. "Yes." Japan nodded quietly. "I can't give you an answer right now. But—I have no intention of brushing it off lightly." His blue eyes looked straight at Japan. His expression was serious. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides. Japan's eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled. "That is more than enough." The two of them walked back to the conference room together. The answer hadn't come yet. But each of them stood in a place where they could take the next step forward. "Germanyyy! Come quick! I saved a portion of pasta for you! It's gonna get cold!" Italy's voice rang out from inside the conference room. "I'm coming." Germany answered shortly. —His pace quickened, just a little. Japan quietly watched his back. Her black eyes softened gently. From the conference room, laughter and the steam of pasta drifted out, light and warm.