The autumn sunlight was slowly beginning to tilt. The scent of roses drifted on the wind. On the white bench in the rose garden, Battler couldn't move. Head in his hands, still staring down. The blood on his finger had already dried. (What am I supposed to do...) The answer was in his heart. But he didn't know how to put it into words. How to turn Beatrice's loneliness into the "right answer." Only time kept passing. *Crack—* The sound of a small branch being stepped on. Battler didn't look up. "[cold] ...What are you doing in a place like this?" A familiar voice. And yet, one he hadn't heard in a long time. When Battler slowly raised his head, a single girl stood there. Her shoulder-length black hair was tied in side braids today. Her slightly sharp, narrow eyes gazed steadily down at Battler. Ushiromiya Ange. My little sister. "[surprised] ...Ange?" "[gentle] The boat was delayed. I just got to the dock." Ange approached the bench, lightly lifting the hem of her skirt so it wouldn't catch on the rose branches. "[serious] So, big brother. Why are you holding your head in a place like this?" "[sigh] ...You can see, can't you? I'm stuck." Ange plopped down next to Battler. The bench creaked a little. "[gentle] Tell me what's going on. I'll help you sort it out." Still looking down, Battler began to speak, bit by bit. Beatrice's secret. The game's penalty. The loneliness Maria had guessed. And that if he didn't deliver it to the witch in the right words, the island would be trapped. Ange listened in silence. Occasionally, rose petals blown by the wind fell at their feet. "[serious] —In short, it's not enough to just find the secret. You have to guess it right." "Yeah." "[gentle] That's not a simple thing." Ange peered into her brother's face. "[serious] You've figured out the secret. You realized the witch's loneliness. So all that's left is to declare, 'This is your secret.' That's all the game's rules say." "[angry] But that's—" "[gentle] The hard part is choosing the words. I think you're overthinking it." Ange stood up smoothly. "[serious] Let's go back to the great hall, big brother. Nothing starts until you see her." Battler made no move to lift his heavy body. Ange looked at her brother with slightly exasperated eyes—then suddenly spoke. "[gentle] By the way, big brother." "Huh?" "[serious] Are Beatrice-san's horns real? Or are they decorations? Do all witches have them growing?" Battler raised his face, his mouth hanging open. "[angry] ...Wha—!? This is no time for that!!" "[gentle] I was curious, so it can't be helped." Ange showed absolutely no sign of remorse. If anything, the corners of her mouth lifted slightly at Battler's shouting. "[surprised] Right. This wasn't the time for that." "[angry] If you know that—" "[gentle] But still, I wonder if I could touch them." Not even five seconds had passed. Battler's shoulders slumped. And then—. "[laughing] ...You really don't waver, do you." He laughed. Clutching his stomach, out loud. Ange's natural, offbeat timing instantly unraveled the bitterness that had been clinging to the depths of his chest. "[gentle] Good. You managed to laugh." Ange narrowed her eyes, looking a little happy. "[serious] Come on, let's go. Maria-chan should be waiting too." Battler placed the rose branch on the bench and slowly stood up. His nearly broken fighting spirit returned, just a little. (Yeah, I've gotta go.) ----- When he opened the door to the great hall, it was much quieter inside than before. The Seven Sisters were waiting by the wall. The fight seemed to be over. In the center of the room. Maria was sitting on the floor, small and neat. "[excited] Uu—! It's sparkling!" In Maria's hands was a single, old hand mirror. It had a gold frame, and a fine pattern was carved into the back. "[serious] What are you doing, Maria?" "[excited] Ah, Battler-nii-san! Ange-nee-san too!" Maria turned around and waved with a beaming smile. "[excited] This is Beatrice-sama's magic mirror! It shows things from the past! Maria was just looking at it!" "[surprised] Things from the past...? What's showing?" Ange, who had crouched down next to Maria, held her breath. Her expression froze. "[scared] ...Big brother, this." Battler hurriedly crouched down too. Inside the mirror—. Beneath a misty gray sky. An empty rose garden. It was a familiar scene. The very rose garden where Battler had been sitting just moments ago. But there were fewer roses than now. An older scene, from the past. And—in the center of it, a single woman stood. Golden ringlets. Blue eyes. It was Beatrice. "[whispers] ...When is this?" He already knew the answer. The witch in the mirror was silently tending the roses. Picking the dead flowers, pruning the branches, watering them. Without anyone speaking to her. Alone. The scene changed. The roses bloomed, scattered, and bloomed again. The seasons turned, over and over. But—the witch didn't change. The same dress. The same lonely back. For decades. For centuries. The mirror reflected her figure, continuing to care for the roses all alone. "[sad] ...This was Beatrice-sama's everyday life." Maria said it quietly. "[gentle] It shows the days when she couldn't come even when Maria invited her to tea. It must have been like this for a long, long time." Ange pressed her lips together, unable to say anything. Battler—. (So this is your thousand years, huh.) Something deep in his chest tightened painfully. No visitors. No one to call out to her. Just time spent endlessly picking dead roses in an eternity of solitude. The fear of being forgotten. The loneliness of being alone. The witch in the mirror never showed tears. She didn't even wear her arrogant smile. She just, expressionlessly—went through each day. "[angry] ...Damn it." Battler clenched his back teeth tightly. He desperately held back the tears that threatened to spill. (This woman, for a thousand years—) The mirror's image slowly faded. And the last thing it showed—. Today's tea party. The Seven Sisters fighting, Maria laughing, me shouting. And Beatrice. Looking a little embarrassed, smiling just a little. The image ended. No one in the great hall spoke. Battler slowly stood up. "[serious] ...Maria, thanks. Good find." "[gentle] Un! It's Beatrice-sama's precious mirror. Maria will put it away carefully." Maria held the mirror in both hands and tucked it into her bag. Battler's eyes no longer held any hesitation. The seat of honor at the large table. Beatrice sat there. Holding her teacup as if cradling it in both hands. Her head was down, her expression hidden. At the sound of Battler's approaching footsteps, the witch's shoulders gave a small jump. But she didn't look up. "[cold] ...What is it. Have you come to lecture me again, you useless Battler?" Her voice didn't tremble. It was her usual, bravado-filled voice. Battler stopped in front of the table. "[serious] —Hey, Beatrice." "[sarcastic] What is it, so formal. It's creepy." "[serious] I'm going to guess your secret." The witch's hands stopped completely. "[serious] This tea party isn't just a game." Battler took a breath. "[serious] This is your magic—just wanting to be with someone." The air in the great hall froze. Beatrice didn't move. "[serious] You wanted to laugh with everyone. You wanted to make noise like idiots. And—you wanted this time to be remembered, didn't you." The image from the mirror came back to Battler. A thousand years of solitude. The rose garden, all alone. "[serious] You wanted to scream that you hated being alone, didn't you. But you couldn't say it. The pride of a thousand-year witch wouldn't allow it." Beatrice's hands trembled slightly over the cup. "[gentle] ...But you know. I've figured it out. Already." Battler clenched his fist. "[serious] This is your secret. You just—wanted someone to be with you. With someone." The witch didn't look up. As if trying to form an arrogant smile, the corners of her mouth twitched—but she couldn't manage it. "[angry] ...Shut up." It was a small voice. "[angry] Shut up... shut up, shut up! I am a witch who has lived a thousand years! That's... that can't be...!" Beatrice searched for words of rebuttal. But they wouldn't come. Her blue eyes wavered. Her golden eyelashes trembled. "[angry] ...Who would make a laughingstock of me—" "[serious] Who's laughing?" Battler took one step closer to the witch. "[serious] Who could laugh at something like that? A thousand years all alone, and then—you finally managed to call people here, didn't you? That took incredible courage, didn't it." Beatrice couldn't say anything. She just trembled faintly, still clutching her teacup. "[gentle] ...I guessed it. It's my win." Battler relaxed his shoulders. "[gentle] So no more trapping us. We're all leaving here together. And next time, brew better tea. That's a promise." Beatrice—. The hand holding the cup trembled even more violently. No words of rebuttal came anymore. She just clenched her teeth, holding back tears. A little distance away, Ange watched intently. "[whispers] ...Big brother said it properly." Her eyes were unusually moist. But her profile—seemed just a little frustrated too. (I'll definitely ask about the horns later.) Ange made that decision in her heart. "[whispers] Beato-san is going to cry soon." Maria whispered to Ange. From behind the kitchen door, all of the Seven Sisters lined up their heads, peeking in. "[whispers] ...Ane-sama, Ane-sama. She guessed it." "[whispers] Be quiet. This is a very important moment." Lucifer held back her sisters, just quietly watching the witch's back. The proud head servant's eyes wavered slightly. Everyone in the great hall held their breath, waiting for Beatrice's next word. The witch—. Still couldn't raise her face. Only the surface of the black tea rippled faintly. That trembling seemed to herald the end of a thousand years of solitude.