The sun had long since dipped below the mountains by the time they returned to Horaud.
No one spoke.
Their boots scraped against cobblestone in dull rhythm, dragging behind like dead weight. The once-curious gazes of the townsfolk felt invasive now—sharp, questioning, and unaware of the void that had been carved in the group's heart.
They filed into the inn like ghosts.
Kaori didn't even look up. Her eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the floorboards, hands folded neatly in her lap, her movements mechanical. She hadn't said a word since she woke up.
Yuuka sat beside her, arms hugging her knees, rocking gently. She flinched at every creak of wood, every sound that came from the hallway. Her friends had wrapped a blanket around her, but it did little to stop the tremble in her shoulders.
Kouki had gone straight to his room, fists clenched, lips white.
Shizuku hadn't moved from her place by the window. She stared out into the darkened street, the reflection of the lamplight catching the edge of her glassy eyes.
Meld stood by the doorway, eyes heavy, guilt sinking deeper into his bones with every breath.
He had tried to keep them safe. That had been his job.
And he'd failed.
"Tomorrow," he said, voice barely audible. "We'll report the trap to the guild. They'll handle it from there. Everyone… get some rest."
No one responded.
They didn't need to.
The room was saturated in silence.
Outside, cloaked in the dim shadows of a narrow alley behind the inn, Daisuke Hiyama crouched alone.
The muffled sounds of Horaud's nightlife barely reached him. Here, it was just stone, dark, and the pounding in his ears.
He buried his face into his arms, fists clenched against his knees. His shoulders shook—not from sadness, but from something uglier. Something hotter.
Rage.
"…He should've just stayed out of it…" he muttered.
The words came slow at first, then faster. Louder.
"That damn Renji… always butting in… always trying to act like some kind of hero."
His teeth clenched.
"Even back in Japan… always hovering near Hajime like he owed him something. Always looking at me like I was the villain. Like I was the problem."
A bitter laugh spilled out.
"They were both freaks anyway… the quiet otaku nerd and his little watchdog. Like anyone would miss them."
He leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling sharp, shaky breaths.
"It wasn't even supposed to happen like that. It was just supposed to be Nagumo. Just him."
His voice cracked
And he rocked slightly, fingers digging into his sleeves, trying to ground himself against the whispering guilt.
Or maybe that was just the devil still whispering in his ear.
"No one saw… there was too much magic flying… no one noticed…" His lips twisted into a grimace. "It was divine punishment. For Kaori's sake. She doesn't need someone like him…"
"He should've died alone…"
Silence.
Then, like venom bubbling to the surface:
"I did Kaori a favor. She doesn't need someone like him—some loser dragging everyone down. She deserves someone strong. Someone who matters."
He paused, chest heaving.
"I didn't do anything wrong."
But the words came weaker now. Repetitive. Almost automatic. As if saying them enough might make them true.
"I didn't do anything wrong…"
His body curled tighter, rocking slightly, trying to squeeze the guilt out of his own bones.
"I didn't…"
Still, in that alley—his words sounded more like a prayer than a conviction.
And even as he muttered, muttered, muttered…
…his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Hiyama kept trying to convince himself he was safe while grinning gleefully to himself. However, it was at that moment that he heard a voice behind him.
"Huh. I should've known it was you. To think the first murderer I'd meet in another world would be my classmate… You're pretty rotten, you know that?"
"Huh!? Wh-Who are you!?" Hiyama turned around in a panic. The person standing behind him was a classmate of his. More importantly, it was someone he recognized.
"Wh-What are you doing here...?"
"That's hardly what's important right now. So... how does it feel? Killing two of your classmates—one because he got in the way of your little obsession, and the other because he had the audacity to stand between you and your pathetic ego?"
"Wh-What... are you talking about...?"
"Oh please. Don't play dumb. Hajime, the guy who dared to get close to Kaori. You hated him for that. And Renji... he tried to protect Hajime when the fall came. Not to mention he humiliated you in this world even back in Japan. You didn't forget, did you? The way he used to shut you down every time you tried acting like a tough guy. So when the chance came, you took it."
The figure snickered, as if watching a particularly funny comedy. Hiyama knew he wasn't really one to talk, as he had committed the murders, but it was still horrifying to see how unfazed his classmate was about the deaths. Until just moments ago, this person had seemed just as exhausted and shocked as the rest of them. But now, there wasn't even a trace of that left.
"...So this is what you're really like?" Hiyama muttered, utterly dumbfounded.
The shade sneered haughtily at him.
"What I'm really like? Don't act so surprised. Everyone hides something. Yours just happened to be a little more... bloody. But don't worry. I'm not here to judge."
"Then what do you want!?"
"Hm? Now now, don't be like that. You're making it sound like I'm blackmailing you. I actually don't want anything from you right this minute. I guess if I had to say, I'd like for you to become like my hands and feet."
"Y-You can't mean..."
Hiyama was practically being asked to become a slave, so he naturally hesitated to agree. He wanted to refuse, of course, but he knew if he did that the figure in front of him would tell everyone what he'd done—how he'd murdered both Hajime and Renji.
Trapped between two unacceptable choices, Hiyama slowly began thinking, Someday I'll kill you too. However, it appeared his adversary had anticipated even that and tempted him with the one thing Hiyama couldn't resist.
"Don't you want to make Kaori Shirasaki yours?"
"Huh!? Wh-What are you—"
His dark thoughts vanished in an instant, and Hiyama stared in slack-jawed shock. The figure grinned wickedly, then continued.
"If you swear your loyalty to me... I'll give her to you. She's grieving right now, but I'll make sure she's yours in the end. You just have to keep being useful."
"...What are you after? What's your endgame!?" Hiyama's voice cracked, frantic, still grasping at anything to regain control.
"Fufu, my goals have nothing to do with you. Let's just say I have something I want. And you're going to help me get it. So? What will it be?"
He'd been made a fool of the whole time, and Hiyama couldn't stand that, but his fear at his classmate's sudden transformation greatly eclipsed his vexation. Either way, he realized he didn't really have a choice, so he nodded, resigned to his fate.
"...I'll listen to you."
"Ahahahaha, perfect! Truth be told, I really didn't want to incriminate my fellow classmate. Well, let's get along now, Mr. Double Murderer. Ahahaha."
The blackmailer spun around and headed back to the inn, laughing heartily. Hiyama watched as his living nightmare walked away, then softly muttered, "Damn it..."
No matter how much Hiyama wanted to forget it, to pretend it didn't happen, the memory of what he'd done refused to leave him. And the same could be said for the sight of Kaori's face when she had seen Hajime and Renji fall. Her expression had shown her feelings more clearly than any words ever could.
But it wasn't only Kaori who had broken.
Yuuka Sonobe hadn't spoken to anyone since the fall. Normally quiet and reserved, she'd spent the whole night curled into herself in the farthest corner of the room, sobbing silently into her sleeves. It was Renji who'd always looked out for her—the one person who she relies on, who always gave her space when she needed it, and stood up for her when others tried to push her around. To Yuuka, Renji wasn't just a classmate. He was someone irreplaceable someone she love.
She hadn't screamed. She hadn't shouted. But the raw, crushed silence around her felt heavier than any cry. Every now and then, a whimper escaped her lips, and her shoulders trembled, but no one dared approach. Not even Shirasaki.
Once their tired classmates had rested up, they too would calm down a little and the reality of the deaths would hit them. And then, they too would realize Kaori's feelings for Hajime. That she had hung around him not out of pity, but something deeper. Just as they would see how deeply Yuuka had cared for Renji—how his absence left her barely able to function.
And when that realization sank in, when grief turned to rage, they would focus their anger on the cause of it. On the person who'd carelessly ensnared them in that trap.
Hiyama would have to tread very lightly. Or else he would lose his place among them. He knew he had already crossed a line, so there was no stopping now. So long as he followed his classmate's orders, a future he had thought no longer possible—where Kaori was his—might still exist.
"Hehehe... I-It'll be alright. Everything will work out. I didn't do anything wrong..." He buried his face in his knees once more, then went back to muttering.
This time, no one interrupted him.
A few weeks had passed.
The atmosphere in the Heiligh Kingdom remained coldly pristine, but beneath the polished marble and gold-gilded walls, the air was heavier than ever. Two from the summoned group had been declared dead—Hajime Nagumo and Renji Aikawa. Yet the reactions to their passing had been disturbingly divided.
Hajime's death had shocked the students, but in the eyes of the kingdom's elite, it was almost a relief. He had been seen as the weakest among the heroes, an expendable burden. His death was quietly deemed a necessary trimming of fat from the chosen party.
Renji, however, was different.
Renji Aikawa had not only been the appointed advisor to the summoned heroes—he had become a trusted confidant to several members of the royal family, most notably Princess Liliana. His calm charisma, strategic insight, and sharp tongue had earned him an unusual level of trust, especially from those within the castle who rarely listened to outsiders. The princess had often been seen conversing with him behind closed doors, and more than once she had deferred to Renji's opinion over that of Church-appointed ministers.
That influence made him dangerous.
To the church and to the court nobles, Renji's growing closeness to the throne was a delicate problem. But to Ishtar—the High Priest of Ehit—it was outright blasphemous.
Ishtar had never hidden his contempt for Renji. The boy had questioned doctrine during briefings, suggested alternative interpretations of Ehit's will, and worst of all—he had dared to stand against Ishtar's authority during palace meetings. His refusal to blindly accept what the Church dictated had already marked him as a rebel. The fact that he inspired doubt among some knights and gained the ear of the royal heir was too much to ignore.
So when the report came from Horaud—Renji Aikawa had died, protecting Hajime Nagumo in the depths of the Great Orcus Labyrinth—Ishtar did not mourn. He merely nodded once, closed the report, and spoke no further of the matter.
But those close to him noticed something... off. The faint curl of his lip. The way his shoulders seemed lighter. A subtle satisfaction he didn't bother to mask.
"At long last," he had whispered under his breath, believing none would hear, "that meddlesome thorn has been plucked."
Officially, the kingdom gave Renji the honors befitting a fallen advisor. A state ceremony. Polished words. A plaque engraved in the Heroes' Hall.
But behind closed doors, many nobles rejoiced. One of them, a minister close to Ishtar, was overheard saying:
"The man was poison in a cup of wine—elegant, persuasive, and utterly corrosive. Let the cup shatter."
Captain Meld, however, didn't share their relief. To him, Renji had been more than a political figure. He had been a voice of reason in a sea of fanaticism. A soldier at heart. And someone who had genuinely cared for the lives of his classmates.
Renji's final act—shielding Hajime and taking on the monsters that even Kouki couldn't handle—was ignored by the court. Conveniently omitted. They chose to remember him not for his courage, but for his "rebellious" ideals. For the fact that he stood where they could not control him.
And so, two boys lay buried beneath layers of lies and half-truths. One forgotten by apathy, the other erased by design.
If you knew... you'd be furious, wouldn't you?" Shizuku whispered quietly, then took Kaori's hand. She had not woken since that day in the labyrinth.
According to the doctor, there was nothing physically wrong with her. She had apparently fallen into a self-imposed slumber to shield herself from the mental trauma. The doctor had said she would awaken on her own eventually.
Shizuku tightly gripped Kaori's hand and prayed to no one in particular, "Please, please don't let any further harm come to my kind and gentle friend."
At those words, Kaori's hand twitched.
"Huh!? Kaori!? Can you hear me!? Kaori!" Shizuku cried, her voice shaking. Slowly, Kaori's eyelids began to flutter. As Shizuku continued to call out her name, Kaori's fingers curled slightly around hers. And finally, her eyes opened.
"Kaori!" Shizuku leaned closer, tears blurring her vision.
Kaori looked around, confused, her gaze unfocused—until it settled on Shizuku.
"Shizuku-chan?"
"Yes, it's me. How do you feel, Kaori? Are you hurt anywhere?"
"N-No... I'm okay. My body feels heavy, but... I guess that's from sleeping too long..."
"That's right. You've been asleep for five days... so it's normal to feel a bit numb."
As Shizuku helped her up, Kaori's expression started to shift.
"Five days...? But... I remember being in the labyrinth... and then..."
Shizuku's heart dropped. She tried to change the subject, but Kaori's memories came flooding back too quickly.
"And then... Ah... What happened to Nagumo-kun? And... Renji?"
"...Well..."
Shizuku's face twisted in pain. From that alone, Kaori could tell. The nightmare she remembered... had been real.
"No... Please tell me it's not true. You saved them, right? Nagumo-kun and Renji-kun... they're both here, right? They're just... training. Or maybe on patrol. Right? Please, Shizuku-chan... let me go. I need to thank them... I need to see them!"
Her words tumbled out in a frenzy as she tried to rise, but Shizuku held her tightly.
"Kaori... You know the truth, don't you...? They're not here anymore."
"Stop it..."
"It's just like you remembered."
"I said stop it!"
"Kaori! They fell!"
"No! Don't say that! Nagumo-kun... Renji-kun... they're alive! I won't forgive you for saying that, not even you, Shizuku-chan!"
Kaori sobbed and struggled, but Shizuku didn't loosen her grip. She only held Kaori closer.
"Please! Let me go! I have to find them! I know they're still out there! I just... I know they are!"
Her cries were raw, desperate. Shizuku held her through it all, her own tears falling silently.
They stayed that way for hours, until the golden sky bled into crimson.
Kaori, her voice hoarse, finally whispered, "Shizuku-chan... Nagumo-kun... and Renji-kun... they really fell, didn't they?"
Shizuku nodded.
"There's no sign they ever made it out. The fall was... impossible to survive. That's what everyone believes."
"But there's no proof, is there?"
"No."
"Then I don't believe it." Kaori wiped her eyes, a fiery determination burning behind them. "Even if the odds are against it... even if people think I'm delusional... I choose to believe they're still alive. Both of them."
"Kaori..."
"I'm going to get stronger, Shizuku-chan. Strong enough to protect them from whatever lies below. And I'll go find them. With my own eyes, I'll confirm the truth."
There was no hesitation in her voice—only will.
"Will you help me?"
"..."
Shizuku looked at her best friend. Her heart ached, but she understood. Kaori wouldn't rest until she had her answer.
"Of course I will. Until you've found the truth with your own eyes."
"Shizuku-chan!" Kaori hugged her tightly.
"No need for thanks. We're best friends, remember?"
Yuuka Sonobe sat silently by the window, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring blankly at the fading light beyond the glass. The sky was awash in soft pinks and dusky orange, but none of it registered in her hollow eyes. She hadn't said a word all day.
Nana Miyazaki stood nearby, wringing her hands anxiously. Taeko Suguwara watched quietly from the door, her expression tight with concern.
"He was always so reckless," Yuuka finally murmured. "Charging in... like he thought nothing could touch him. Like he was invincible."
Nana took a hesitant step forward. "Renji-kun... he was just trying to protect us."
"I know," Yuuka said flatly. Her voice was devoid of energy. "He always was."
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the soft wind rustling the curtains.
Taeko stepped forward and knelt beside Yuuka. "Yuuka... You've barely eaten. You haven't even looked at anyone since we got back. You need to rest. Talk to someone. Let it out."
"There's nothing to say," Yuuka whispered. "He's gone. Just like Nagumo... They both fell into that hell, and we just... left."
"We didn't have a choice!" Nana said suddenly, her voice trembling. "We were terrified. We didn't know what was happening down there. We—"
"But I should have known!" Yuuka snapped, eyes brimming with tears. "Renji stayed back to cover us. He told me to run, and I did. I ran like a coward and left him behind... I didn't even say goodbye..."
Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in her arms. Nana walked over and knelt beside her too, gently wrapping her arms around Yuuka's shoulders.
"He knew what he was doing," Nana said softly. "Renji wouldn't blame you. He cared about you so much. He trusted you to survive. And you're still here, Yuuka. That has to mean something."
Taeko placed a comforting hand on Yuuka's back. "You think Renji would want you to give up now? After everything? No. He'd call you an idiot and knock you over the head with a textbook."
That got the faintest laugh out of Yuuka, though it was watery and bitter.
"Renji always said you were the strongest of us," Taeko continued. "You just didn't realize it yet."
Yuuka slowly looked up at them, her face streaked with tears. "But I'm scared. What if... What if they really are gone?"
"Then we find out ourselves," Nana said, her voice steady. "Like Kaori. She hasn't given up on Nagumo, and neither should you. Not on Renji."
"We'll get stronger together," Taeko added. "For them. For ourselves. And if there's even a sliver of hope, we'll hold on to it."
Yuuka stared at her friends — their faces so full of sincerity and resolve — and something in her chest shifted. The pain was still there, raw and heavy, but now a spark of something else burned through the grief. The tiniest ember of hope.
She reached out, grasping their hands tightly.
"You're right," she whispered. "I don't want to give up. I won't. I'll fight... I'll survive. And I'll see Renji again, no matter what."
The three of them sat there, hands entwined, eyes glistening but hearts alight with new purpose. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, it cast a crimson glow across the sky — not an end, but a beginning.
Renji Aikawa's Memorial – Liliana's Reflection
The wind was quiet today. It was still, and in the way that stillness seemed to hang in the air, it felt wrong—like the world itself had stopped, waiting.
The memorial was simple but imposing, standing in the center of the palace courtyard. It wasn't like the grand statues of past heroes, filled with intricate carvings and mythical imagery. Renji had always hated that kind of thing. The monument was made of smooth gray stone, his name etched in both the Kingdom's script and the Japanese characters he'd carried with him from his homeland: Renji Aikawa – Summoned Hero, Advisor, Friend. Beneath it, there was a small inscription added by the Council at her request:
"A man who always sought truth, even when it wasn't convenient."
Her fingers clutched the folder in her hands, The Five-Fold Veil Doctrine. She could still hear his calm, steady voice explaining the doctrine—layered defenses, countermeasures, strategic movements—everything so perfectly clear, so right. They had spent so many long nights working together, arguing over details, pushing each other to think further, to be better.
But now there was only silence, and a cold void where his presence once had been.
She swallowed, trying to ignore the tightness in her throat. "I should have told you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I should have said it sooner. I should have... been honest with myself." The regret pressed down on her like a physical weight. She had always admired him—his intellect, his determination, his ability to see through the layers of politics and see what was truly important. But she hadn't realized how much she relied on him. How much she depended on his insight until it was too late.
Her eyes traced the letters of his name carved into the stone, the sharp edges catching the light. She remembered the first time he had shut down the Holy Priest of Ehit Ishtar in the Council meeting. His calm, measured voice cutting through the Priest's rhetoric, laying out the facts with such precision that even the most vocal dissenters fell silent. She had never been prouder of him. And yet, there was a part of her that had taken it for granted. That had assumed there would always be time. Time to tell him how much she respected him. Time to admit that, somewhere along the way, she had begun to feel something more for him—something she hadn't been brave enough to acknowledge until now.
"I didn't realize how much I needed you," she whispered. "How much I... I relied on you, Renji. You were always the one who kept me grounded. Always the one who challenged me to think differently. I thought... I thought I had time to tell you how much you meant to me." Her voice cracked, the weight of her regrets crashing down on her. "I thought I had time."
Her hand shook as she carefully placed the folder at the base of the monument, the weight of their shared work now carried only by her. She remembered the late nights when they'd argue over Project Hearthlight. It wasn't just a military initiative, not just about fortifications and countermeasures. It was about the future—a future that now felt distant, like an unreachable dream. Renji had fought for the people. He had understood that defense wasn't just about walls; it was about giving the people something to protect, a future to return to when the war was over. He had believed in that vision as much as she had, and now, with him gone, it felt like a battle she might lose.
She closed her eyes briefly, allowing the tears to fall—silent, hot tears that blurred her vision. She didn't fight them; she couldn't. She had spent so long pretending to be in control, convincing herself that she didn't need anyone else to shoulder this burden. But Renji had been different. He had been her equal, her advisor, her confidante. Now, she was left alone.
The breeze shifted, and she wiped her tears with the back of her hand, steadying herself. Her gaze fell back to the stone, and something flickered deep within her—something stronger than the grief. Something determined.
Project Hearthlight.
She could almost hear his voice again—low, calm, urging her to see beyond the immediate, beyond the politics of the Council, beyond the petty squabbles of those who had no real understanding of the Kingdom's needs. Renji had understood. He had believed in the people.
"I won't let your efforts be wasted, Renji," Liliana said, her voice hoarse but firm. "I'll finish this. Hearthlight will be realized. It has to be. I will see it through, no matter the cost. I'll make sure the Council hears it—they will hear it—and they will adopt the Veil Doctrine. I will make them see your vision, the future you believed in." Her voice grew stronger with each word. "I'll make sure they know who you were, what you stood for. I will finish what we started... for you."
Her fingers brushed the smooth surface of the stone, the coldness reminding her of how much she had lost. But even now, despite the overwhelming grief, something inside her burned with a renewed sense of purpose.
She stood up, a glance cast over the memorial, her heart heavy but resolute. The pain would remain, but there was work to do. And Renji's vision—their vision—was not done. She wouldn't let it fade. She wouldn't let him fade.
She took a last, lingering look at the stone, then turned, her mind already focused on the task ahead. She had work to do, and Renji's legacy was going to live on through her. It had to. There was no more time for regrets. There was only the future, and she would fight for it. She would finish it—for Renji, and for the people he had always wanted to protect.