At dusk, when preparations for the evening meal began, a sweet smoke drifted through the inner quarters. The sound of charcoal being kindled in the kitchen. Water running over rice. The footsteps of maidservants crossing the hallway. Kirijima Riko had learned this rhythm in seven days. Seven days had passed since her transmigration. Yesterday, she had added a single dish to Shinozuka Souma's meal. She had carefully removed the bitterness from the mountain vegetables, changed the order in which she drew the broth. Methods learned in the modern era. Steps repeated countless times in her grandmother's kitchen. It might have seemed strange to the cooks of this age. But Riko was certain. The true flavor of the ingredients would come alive. The rest depended on whether Souma would notice. When the dinner hour arrived, Riko arranged the meal as always and waited. A maidservant came to tell her, "We have permission to place it at Master Souma's side." That had been Riko's only task for the past week. She walked down the hallway carrying the tray. The wooden floorboards gleamed in the twilight. She stopped before his room and drew one deep breath. She opened the sliding door. Souma sat before a writing desk. His jet-black hair was bound at the back, his broad shoulders wrapped in a black hitatare. The lamplight caught a shallow sword scar on his left cheek. At his waist lay Higanemaru—the wild blade passed down through generations of the Shinozuka clan. Riko set down the meal. She did not speak. She did not know if she was permitted to, did not know what she would say. She simply withdrew quietly. That was how it always ended. But tonight was different. Souma picked up his chopsticks. He brought the soup to his lips. He stopped. There was the briefest pause. Then Souma looked up. Directly at Riko's face. They had been in the same room several times before, but Souma's gaze had always passed slightly to the side of her. An indifferent glance, merely confirming an object's presence. But this was different. He was truly looking at her. His crimson eyes settled on her face and lingered there for just a moment longer. He said nothing. Not a single word. He simply looked, then returned his gaze to the meal. Riko could not move. Her body had not frozen. It was only that something had leaped in her chest, and she had not yet processed the impact. It was not fear. This was not fear. As she withdrew, Riko realized this. The sensation of being struck by his gaze remained in the center of her chest, and she knew with absolute clarity that it was not terror. She did not understand its meaning. Without understanding, she stepped into the hallway. The next morning, the mist was deep. The rooftops of the castle town sank into a hazy white. Autumn in Hibika was always like this. Mist pooled in the basin, the sky lowered, the world grew small. Riko was hugging her knees in a corner of the hallway when footsteps approached. It was Souma. The hem of his hitatare was slightly damp—he must have been returning from his morning rounds. He had walked through the mist. Souma came down the hallway and stopped before her. Riko reflexively stood. Souma looked down at her and spoke curtly. "[cold]Make it again" That was all. No emotion, no explanation. Four words. His expression did not change. His red eyes looked at her face for one second, then turned toward the next direction. His footsteps faded down the hallway. Riko watched the direction he had gone for a while. (Make it again...) It was a cold way of speaking. A command. Not "that was good" or "it was delicious." But Riko's instinct quietly translated it for her. —This is approval. This man did not praise. He did not give thanks. He simply wanted to eat it again, so he told her to make it. That was all, but that alone was enough for Riko. Something in her chest leaped once more. For several days after that, the two of them continued to share the room during dinner. Each night, Souma sat at his writing desk or by the window, waiting for Riko to place the meal. He ate in silence. Even when Riko stood at a distance, he did not send her away. Whether this meant "you may stay" or whether he simply forgot her presence, she could not determine. But Riko felt that the quality of the silence had changed. The silence at first had been rejection. A wall. This silence was something different now. She could not quite articulate it, but it felt as though they were sharing the same air. One night, as Riko set down the meal, she ventured to speak. "[serious]The soup tonight has mitsuba in it. I added it just before removing it from the heat, so the fragrance would come through" Souma did not respond. After a moment, Riko continued. "[gentle]And the mountain vegetables underneath are... um" Riko stopped. (What was the name again?) Toki must have taught her. Thin and white, faintly bitter—an autumn mountain vegetable. It had a name, she was sure of it, and she thought she had remembered it clearly, but in this very moment, it had completely escaped her. "[surprised]...Was it mizuna?" She said it with complete confidence, then immediately thought, "Wait, was it?" In that instant, something shifted. The corner of Souma's mouth rose—just for a moment, so faintly it was almost imperceptible. Riko saw it. She did not miss it. It vanished in an instant. His expression returned to its usual blankness. Souma said nothing and picked up his chopsticks again. Riko's mind went white. (Did he laugh?) (Just now... did he laugh?) The demon Souma. The man said to have cut down every surrendered enemy. Just now, he had smiled faintly. Over Riko's mistake about the vegetable's name. Her chest pounded so hard it ached. She already knew with certainty that this was not fear. This was clearly a different kind of tremor altogether. Riko looked down and gently bit her lip. (What do I do?) (There's nothing I can do.) Even as she thought this, her hands were shaking. That night, a signal fire rose from the direction of Hayate Forest. The first sign was the sound in the hallway. A rhythm of footsteps different from any ordinary night. Fast. Multiple. When Riko cracked open the sliding door to her room, light raced down the corridor. The Shadow Clan—the ninja collective serving the castle—Riko understood this instinctively. The way they moved silently down the hallway was nothing like ordinary soldiers. "What is—" As the words began to leave her mouth, Souma emerged from his room. Higanemaru was gripped in his hand. Their eyes met. Only for an instant. Souma's crimson eyes caught hers, and without a word, he disappeared toward the great hall. His footsteps echoed down the hallway and faded into the distance. Toki appeared behind Riko. "[serious]Return to the inner quarters" "[scared]What is happening?" "[serious]Go back" There was no emotion in Toki's voice. That made it worse. Her usually gentle green eyes held a different color tonight. Riko bit her lip and returned to her room. The night was long. She heard nothing. She understood nothing. The sounds in the hallway had ceased, and the castle seemed to be holding its breath. Outside the window was darkness, and beyond the mist she could not tell if something was moving. Only the castle's atmosphere had changed. Riko hugged her knees and leaned her back against the wall. (Souma is gone.) Only this fact caught in her mind. With that expression. With those footsteps. Not knowing whether he would return, Riko waited for dawn in the darkness. Morning came. The castle's atmosphere had settled. Normal footsteps echoed in the hallway. Cooking smoke rose beyond the window. But something had changed. Riko could not quite put that "something" into words. When Toki brought the morning meal, Riko asked. "[serious]What was the signal fire last night?" Toki paused for a moment. "[gentle]He is safe. That is all you need know for now" Riko did not press further. She knew that asking more would yield nothing. In the afternoon, the voices of soldiers passing through the hallway reached her ears. Whispered, but distinctly audible—certain words. The Orochi Clan. She had never heard the name before. But the weight of the words, the way the air temperature seemed to drop. The soldiers lowered their voices and disappeared around the corner of the hallway. What the Orochi Clan was, Riko did not know. But her body knew. It was the name of danger. The signal fire from last night, the way Souma had gripped Higanemaru with those eyes, the reason the soldiers had lowered their voices—it all seemed connected. That night, she could not sleep. Beyond the wall, candlelight leaked through. Riko watched it for a while. The light from Souma's room. The same position, the same angle as last night. Over these seven days, Riko had learned that Souma kept his light burning late into every night. It was quiet. Then a voice came. Low, muffled. She recognized it immediately as Souma's voice. Only one word. "Forgive me." Then silence returned. Riko could not move. Her hands, resting on her knees, trembled slightly. Forgive me. To whom had he spoken? Riko could imagine. Beyond the wall hung a painting. A silk scroll that Souma gazed upon night after night. The way his fingertips traced it gently—Riko had witnessed this on the first night. Souma had apologized to someone in that painting. He had cut down every surrendered enemy. The legend of "the demon Souma" drifted through the castle. Yet last night, Souma had gripped Higanemaru and disappeared—to protect the castle. And tonight, with only one word, alone in his room, he had said this. Riko realized she was crying. Her voice made no sound. Tears simply fell, soaking into the fabric of her kimono at her knees. The certainty took root quietly within her: This man was no demon. He was simply someone who had lost someone, someone breaking apart. She wanted to be near him. By this man's side, she wanted to be. She had no idea what to do with this feeling. The time limit was seven days remaining, and the Orochi Clan—a danger—was closing in on the castle. She understood barely half of this era's customs, barely half of this castle's laws. And yet. The silence beyond the wall, that single word, had changed something in Riko with absolute certainty. As the night deepened, Riko wiped her wet cheeks with her sleeve. From the direction of the castle town, carried on the autumn wind, came a distant sound.