The air in the great hall was taut, stretched thin. The chandelier's flames swayed, flickering. The angels in the Western paintings adorning the walls seemed to be holding their breath. At the central table, Beatrice was frozen. Battler's words—*this tea party was just magic you used because you wanted to be with someone*—still lingered, refusing to dissolve into the air. From the shadows of the kitchen door, the Seven Sisters of Purgatory peeked out, their seven faces stacked vertically. Lucifer held her sisters back by their shoulders. Her hand trembled, ever so slightly. Maria clutched the magic mirror to her chest, staring at the witch without blinking. At the edge of the table, Ange quietly held her breath. The corner of Beatrice's mouth twitched. She tried to form her usual arrogant smirk—and failed. The hand holding her cup was shaking. The surface of the black tea rippled in tiny waves. "[angry]...I am a witch who has lived for a thousand years, you know." The voice came out. But it lacked its usual haughtiness. "[angry]You have no right... no right whatsoever to say such things—" She started to speak, but the words cut off. Her golden lashes lowered. Her blue eyes wavered, as if holding something back. A few seconds of silence. A stretch of time passed in the great hall where not even the sound of the wind could be heard. And then— Beatrice nodded. A tiny, truly tiny nod. That was the moment. *FWOOSH—!!* Golden light raced through the great hall. Particles of light, appearing from nowhere, danced and swirled throughout the room. The glittering light, like sparkling powdered snow, enveloped the walls, the ceiling, the table. As if the very magic of confinement was transforming into light and melting away. *Click—* The sound of some lock coming undone echoed deep within their minds. "[excited]Uu—! It's all sparkly! It's magic!" Maria raised both hands and shouted. After the light faded— Before everyone at the table, small sugar candies had appeared. They were pale pink sweets shaped like rose petals. They were misshapen, the edges of the petals slightly cracked. But they were handmade candies, clearly made with care and time. "[excited]Wow! Beato made these!? You made these, right, Beato!?" Maria placed the candy on her palm and bounced up and down. From the kitchen shadows, the Seven Sisters burst out all at once. "[crying]Lady Beatrice's handmade...!" "[crying]This is the first time! Lady Beatrice making sweets...!" "[crying]Uwaaaaaahhh!!" All seven sisters collapsed in tears. Wailing. Lucifer pressed a handkerchief to her eyes, Leviathan clung to Satan's shoulder and wept. As for Asmodeus, she lay face-down on the floor, motionless. "[excited]It's sweet! The shape's a little weird, but it's super sweet, and it tastes like magic!" At Maria's innocent, unreserved praise, Beatrice's ears flushed faintly red. "[angry]D-Don't get the wrong idea! This isn't my handiwork! I-I merely had some local confectioner make it! Besides, the slightly distorted shape is the result of expressing my aesthetic sensibilities, and—" Her excuses came faster and faster. Ange's lips curled into a small smile. The Seven Sisters were still crying. Chaos. The usual, boisterous chaos of the tea party had returned. But—Battler alone did not laugh. Battler gazed intently at Beatrice's profile. Her downcast face. Her mouth desperately putting on a brave front, even though her ears were bright red. (*...I know.*) Battler stood up without a word. He gently tugged at Beatrice's sleeve. "[serious]Come outside for a bit." Beatrice looked up with a start. "[cold]Wh-What is it, so suddenly? I am the host, so I cannot simply leave my seat—" Battler said nothing and held out his hand. Simply, palm up, offered before the witch. A beat. Beatrice bit her lip. And then—timidly, she took that hand. The moment their fingertips touched, the witch's hand jolted. But she didn't shake it off. Seeing this, Ange gasped. "[whispers]...Huh." She started to speak, then froze. Maria, nibbling on a scone, said with a beaming smile. "[gentle]They went off, didn't they." ----- The rose garden was bathed in the light of an autumn evening. The two sat facing each other at a white iron garden table. The rose arch was dyed orange. Every time the wind blew, petals danced down, one after another. Battler looked at the pot of black tea placed on the table. Alongside it were special cookies that Beatrice had secretly prepared. Slightly burnt, but the scent of butter wafted gently. "[cold]...Do not misunderstand. I am not admitting the truth of your words." Beatrice folded her arms and turned her face away. "[sarcastic]I merely dispelled the magic because the game's end condition was met. It is not as if I admitted defeat of my own volition—" "[serious]Shut up. Your face is red." "[angry]Wha—!? That is because of the sunlight! The autumn evening sun happens to be illuminating my beauty, so—" "[sarcastic]The sun's hitting you from the left. Your right cheek being red has nothing to do with it." "[angry]Sh-Shut up, shut up, shut up! I am a witch who has lived a thousand years! For this broken Battler to run his impudent mouth—" "[sarcastic]You've lived a thousand years and you still can't stop yourself from blushing? That's amazing, witches." "[angry]............!!" She searched for a retort. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. Seeing her face, Battler laughed softly. For a while, their bickering continued. But it was different from their usual trading of insults. It was a somehow ticklish kind of argument. A rose petal fell onto the table, carried by the wind. Battler hesitated for a moment, then opened his mouth. "[serious]...Hey, Beatrice." "[cold]What." "[serious]Next time too... you know, something like this." The words wouldn't come out. "[serious]Can we do it...? Another tea party, with everyone." He was stammering. He didn't really understand what he was saying himself. He just didn't want this time to end, but saying that honestly felt incredibly embarrassing. Beatrice stared blankly at Battler's face. "[surprised]...What kind of way is that to ask?" And then—she laughed, softly. Not a haughty laugh. Not hidden behind a fan. Just a small smile that seemed to slip out by accident. "[gentle]Broken Battler. Can you not say it honestly?" She turned her face away. "[whispers]...Come again." Just one phrase. That was all. But that voice was softer than any words he had ever heard. Battler couldn't say anything. He had no idea what he should say. So—silently, he reached out his hand. He placed it gently on Beatrice's head. The golden ringlets brushed softly against his fingers. "[angry]Wha—!?" Beatrice jumped. "[angry]Wh-Wh-Wh-What are you doing, you insolent fool!! Placing your hand upon my head is a crime worthy of ten thousand deaths!! You broken! Pervert! Idiot Battler!!" Her face was bright red, all the way to her ears. She was yelling. But—she didn't run away. She didn't slap Battler's hand away, just stood there, bright red, continuing to shout. "[serious]...Sorry. I just kinda felt like doing that." "[angry]Wh-What do you mean, felt like it! Am I a stuffed animal!? As if I would be pleased by being patted—" She started to speak, then suddenly realized. That she wasn't running away. "[whispers]...Even so, I am not particularly happy about it." Mumbling her excuses, Beatrice plucked a single rose from the table. With her bare hands, despite the thorns. "[cold]...Take it." She pressed the rose against Battler's chest. "[cold]It is the most beautifully bloomed rose in my rose garden. Be grateful." "[serious]...Your hand. It's bleeding from the thorns." "[angry]Silence! This is the blood of a proud witch! Be grate—" "[serious]You're such an idiot." Battler accepted the rose and gazed down at it absently. Deep crimson petals. A slightly distorted shape. (*Kinda looks like her cookies.*) A warmth spread gently deep in his chest. ----- In the shade of the trees in the rose garden, the bushes rustled and squirmed. "[whispers]This is the worst... seriously the worst..." Ange muttered in a low voice, peeking through a gap in the bushes. "[whispers]Why am I watching this? Why is my face grinning, seriously..." She pressed her hands to her face. But through the gaps in her fingers, her eyes were sparkling. "[gentle]Ange-chan should have gotten a rose too." Beside her, Maria was peeking in the same way, speaking carefreely. "[whispers]That's not what this is about! This is, you know, that kind of thing—" "[gentle]It's magic. A magic just for Battler-nii-san and Beatrice-sama, just the two of them." "[whispers]...Magic, huh." Ange's lips curled into a smile for just a moment. But she quickly returned to a composed expression. "[cold]But later, I'm definitely asking about the horns." Just then— "[cold]If you are watching, come out." Beatrice's cool voice flew toward the bushes. Ange and Maria flinched, their shoulders trembling. Looking sheepish, the two of them squirmed their way out of the bushes. "[cold]Spying in my rose garden. You have quite the nerve." Beatrice stood waiting, arms akimbo. Her cheeks were still slightly red. "[serious]Hey, Ange, what are you doin—" Battler started to say, but at that moment— Ange's eyes were fixed on the top of Beatrice's head. The horns. Small, demon-like horns. Sprouting adorably amidst her golden hair. She had always been curious. Always, always wanted to ask. "[serious]...Um." Almost unconsciously, Ange had drawn closer to Beatrice. "[serious]Can I just confirm one thing?" "[surprised]...What is it?" Without waiting for an answer, Ange's hand reached out. Gently. Ever so gently, she touched the tip of a horn. "[surprised]Ah—" Beatrice lost her words. Her entire body froze. And then—she turned red to her ears. Redder than at any moment they had seen before. "[whispers]The feel of it... it's hard. Like bone. But the surface is smooth, and it's a little warm..." Ange calmly recorded her observations. "[angry]Oi, Ange! What are you doing!!" Battler shouted. "[excited]Uu—! My grimoire says that if you touch them, the magic rubs off on you! Ange-chan might become a witch too!" Maria innocently added fuel to the fire. "[angry]Wh-Wh-Wh-Wha—!!" Beatrice finally managed to produce a voice. "[angry]The next person who touches my horns, I shall chase them all over the island with golden butterflies!! Prepare yourselves!!" Her angry roar echoed through the rose garden. But— "[serious]...Why are you blushing so much?" Ange tilted her head slightly. "[serious]Are the horns a witch's weak point? Or were you embarrassed at being touched? Could it be—" "[angry]N-No!! Absolutely not, I say!!" "[laughing]...Pfft-haha!" Battler couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing. "[angry]What is so amusing!! You broken fool!!" "[laughing]No, it's just, you know... you had a weak spot like that, huh?" "[angry]It is not a weak spot!! I have no weak spots!!" "[serious]But you couldn't move a moment ago, could you?" "[excited]Maria wants to touch them too! Will the magic rub off? If it does, can Maria become a real witch?" "[angry]No!! Absolutely not!! No one touch them!!" Beatrice hid her horns with both hands and screamed. Battler was clutching his stomach laughing. Ange continued her analysis with a serious face. Maria bounced up and down, trying to touch the horns. The evening sun dyed the four of them orange. It was noisy, and ridiculous, but—no one tried to leave. Battler looked down at the rose still in his hand. A single rose, clumsily torn off by Beatrice's hand. (*Next time, again—*) The words of promise wouldn't come. But the scent of the rose tickled his nose softly. Somehow, that felt like an answer. "[laughing]Ahh, this is the worst. Seriously the