The heart-stone was still cold. Hana leaned against the window frame of the workshop, gazing at the stone resting in her palm. The evening sun illuminated the amber-colored walls, casting orange light throughout the space. The shallow scratches carved into the stone's surface became distinctly visible in that glow. Nearly an hour had passed since today's competition ended. Hana could still recall the eyes of that taste-tester. The moment the fourth person put the confection in their mouth—eyes that had grown distant. A body frozen in place. And then, something glimmering at the corner of their eye. Tears. Something Hana had created had moved someone that deeply. Yet she still couldn't explain what it was. (They called it burning-soul technique...) Ren's voice echoed in her memory. "If there's no evidence, rest tonight," Ren said. Knock, knock—the workshop door was rapped in a steady rhythm. Hana closed her palm, placing the stone into her bag. "It's open," Hana said. The door opened. Ren entered. He must have walked here from the hallway where he'd been detained during questioning—his expression was unchanged from usual. Unchanged, yet somehow—the area around his eyes seemed slightly tired. "Rest tonight," Ren said. "I just said that," Hana replied. "So I'm saying it again," Ren said. He turned on his heel to leave. At the sight of his back, Hana's mouth moved before she could think. She hadn't intended it. "Why couldn't you sleep?" Hana asked. Ren's feet stopped. One beat. Another beat. Without turning around, his low voice came. "I basically haven't slept since yesterday," Ren said. The vagueness of the word "basically" sounded oddly honest. Hana felt her expression soften slightly. She didn't want to laugh. But that ungainly way of speaking somehow—reassured her. Ren closed the door and left. His footsteps in the hallway gradually faded into the distance. Hana looked out the window. The evening sun was still there. She hadn't thought of it as a distraction. The stone floor of the workshop simply felt a bit suffocating, so Hana opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The practice corridor—the second level of the Kanroku Palace where individual workshops for participants were arranged—was sparse with people at this hour after the competition. Voices of someone talking drifted from afar, but no footsteps could be heard. Hana walked slowly down the hallway. The amber-colored walls glowed faintly as they caught the evening sun. The sweet scent drifted as always. As she walked, thinking that she was gradually growing accustomed to this sweetness—a figure appeared at the window at the end of the corridor. There was no time to turn back. The person turned around. Silver hair caught the evening sun and gleamed white for just a moment. Pale blue eyes captured Hana. A pendant at the chest reflected a single point of light. It was Noeru. Hana instinctively stepped back. But her feet stopped. It didn't feel right to flee. Noeru said nothing, simply looking at Hana. It was different from the gaze in today's assembly, different from the gaze during the competition. The blade-like sharpness had fallen away, replaced instead by something—a quiet heaviness. "Would you mind if we spoke for a moment?" Noeru asked. Her voice was gentle. It sounded like a question, yet it wasn't one. Hana nodded briefly. --- The two stood side by side, looking out the window. The evening sun illuminated the amber-colored walls of the Kanroku Palace, and in the distance, the white of the sugar-mist—the white fog surrounding the outer edge of the Koku-Gashi realm—was visible. Burned phantom beasts were said to wander within that mist. Tonight's mist seemed slightly thicker. Noeru opened her mouth quietly. "Do you understand what you used in today's competition?" Noeru asked. Hana couldn't answer. In silence, she shook her head slightly. "It was burning-soul technique," Noeru said. Burning-soul technique—a confectionery manufacturing technique unique to the Koku-Gashi realm where a craftsperson's emotions and memories are kneaded into the ingredients, allowing those who eat it to re-experience that emotion. The technique typically takes three to five years to master. Hana had used it without conscious awareness. "You activated it without realizing. That in itself is not uncommon. Those with strong emotions can sometimes use it intuitively," Noeru said. Noeru's manner of speaking held no emotion. It was a voice that merely listed facts. Yet Hana sensed something beneath that voice—unable to grasp it properly, she listened. "However, this technique carries a price. There is a risk that the memories you embed become temporarily obscured," Noeru said. Something hardened inside Hana. "Become obscured," Hana repeated. "Each time you use it, that risk emerges. If you continue using it unknowingly—it will become irreversible," Noeru said. Noeru's gaze shifted away from the window. Her eyes turned toward the white of the sugar-mist, and she paused for a moment. Hana sensed something in that profile—it was different from merely speaking knowledge. It seemed like words coming from somewhere more personal. Yet Hana couldn't put into words what that was. Still, she couldn't look away from Noeru's profile. The orange of the evening sun tinted the silver hair, making it a slightly different color than usual. Being close made her unsettled. Yet looking away was difficult. Hana still didn't understand where this contradictory sensation came from. "My grandmother's memories—might become obscured," Hana said. Speaking it aloud changed its weight. What she had understood in her head seemed to fall toward the center of her body. Hana fell silent. She didn't know how long the silence lasted. Noeru said nothing either. "But if—a moment comes when I must use it anyway," Hana said. Noeru finally turned her gaze back. Pale blue eyes looked directly at Hana. "That is something you yourself must decide," Noeru said. With only that, Noeru left the window. Her footsteps in the hallway gradually faded into the distance. Hana was left alone before the window. The white of the sugar-mist gradually sank into the color of night. For a while, Hana watched it. --- Before the competition the next morning, Hana found herself repeatedly recalling the previous night's conversation in her workshop. Her grandmother's memories. What they had spoken of on the way back from Ren-Kou Street. The evening light in the Kagetsu-do kitchen. These might become obscured. Carrying that risk, she would stand on the competition platform again today. The workshop wall was rapped in a steady rhythm. Knock, knock, knock. "You were wandering the corridor again last night," Ren said. When she opened the door, Ren was standing there. Arms crossed, his expression utterly composed. "How did you know?" Hana asked. "I couldn't sleep either, so I went out to the corridor," Ren said. He paused for a beat. Then he re-crossed his arms with exaggerated deliberation. "And I saw you and Noeru talking with serious faces. Out of consideration, I sheepishly retreated. The result of respecting privacy," Ren said. "Respecting privacy," Hana repeated. "That's right. An action based on extremely high ethical standards," Ren said. He said it with complete seriousness. It was absurd, and Hana found herself laughing. She hadn't wanted to laugh in this situation, but the laughter came anyway. The information that he couldn't sleep combined with the information that he sheepishly retreated created an odd image in her head. "What were you talking about?" Ren asked. "The price of burning-soul technique," Hana said. Ren didn't press further. He simply looked at her for a moment. Then, facing forward, he spoke. "Got it. Then I'll make a big show of myself today, so you do what you want," Ren said. He said it and left the workshop. His back turned the corner of the hallway and disappeared from view. Hana laughed quietly once more. Then she placed the heart-stone into her bag. --- The Hundred-Flavors Hall—the competition viewing area on the first level of the Kanroku Palace with a capacity of eight hundred—filled with participants for the second round of the main competition. The observation seats surrounding the circular competition stage had few people again today. That silence made the tension stand out sharply. The challenge was announced. "Create a confection that shows the eater a scene of reminiscence." Hana's hand stopped for a moment. It was a challenge that faced her directly against Noeru's words from the previous night. She was being asked to create a confection with memories as ingredients, knowing the price of burning-soul technique. Ninety minutes began. Hana approached the ingredient station. Moving her hands while confirming scents. Partway through, she felt a subtle sense of wrongness from one type of ingredient. Sweet yet not sweet—that contradictory smell seemed slightly similar to what she had felt beyond the workshop door. But in the tension and concentration of the competition, that sensation was pushed outside her awareness. The Ash-Spoon Alliance's sabotage came from outside the scope of her imagination. The mixing of substances into the ingredients themselves was something Hana hadn't anticipated. Hana continued her work. Thirty minutes. Sixty minutes. Ninety minutes. The bell rang. --- The judging began. The taste-testers—five specially trained judges who evaluated confections with their five senses—sampled Hana's creation in turn. The first, the second. No change in their expressions. The third took a bite and stopped their fork. The fourth taste-tester put Hana's confection in their mouth, and their hand writing the score on the evaluation sheet stopped. A score was recorded that was markedly higher than the other participants' scores. Another taste-tester noticed the anomaly. Murmurs spread. A monitor approached Hana's work station. Testing equipment was brought out. Hana could only understand what was happening slowly. The test results came back. "Trace amounts of forget-honey were detected in the ingredients." Forget-honey—a prohibited substance, a confection specially formulated and eaten to dominate the eater's sense of taste and dull their judgment, a forbidden technique material used by the Ash-Spoon Alliance. Its use was strictly prohibited by the Kanroku Laws. "There is suspicion of competition rule violation." The gaze of the entire hall turned toward Hana. The center of Hana's body grew cold. The scratches on the workshop door, the sabotage of the heart-stone, the sense of wrongness in the ingredients she had felt during the competition—they all connected in a single line. The Ash-Spoon Alliance had mixed it into the ingredients. Hana hadn't noticed. There was no way to prove it. Her own powerlessness stood exposed in this very moment. In that instant, the sound of a chair being pulled back came from the observation seats. Ren stood up. There was no hesitation. No time to gather evidence, no moment to confirm the situation. Only that speed, which showed everything. "Hana didn't do it," Ren said. His voice was low and quiet. Not emotional, not a shout. Simply unwavering. The hall fell silent. When Hana was bathed in that voice, something moved in her chest. The sensation of being protected. And confusion at that sensation. Without evidence or proof, he simply stood and said it. That speed showed the depth of his trust in its raw form. The word "happy" wasn't enough. It was painful, burning—something that couldn't be put into words existed in her chest. Hana turned her gaze upward. In the upper section near the Confectioner's Council assembly, Noeru was there. Looking at Hana. Clearly, looking at her. Yet she didn't open her mouth. Hana searched Noeru's eyes. Pale blue eyes captured Hana. Looking—certainly, looking. Yet saying nothing. The silence continu