Chapter 156

Creak—

Three people stepped into the room as the door swung open.

"Um… hey, Verte."

All three were visibly fidgeting, stealing cautious glances at Verte's expression.

And in the hands of the one standing in the middle was a white envelope.

"What's going on?"

Noen asked with a puzzled look. The young man holding the envelope mumbled, his words trailing off into nothing.

"It's just… well… he said to make sure we delivered it. That's what he asked, so…."

"Make sure you delivered it? What is it?"

"Uh… well. It's a letter. We checked it over pretty thoroughly and there's nothing wrong with it. But the thing is…."

"God, spit it out already. Why are you dragging this out? If you've got something to say, just say it."

Noen thumped his own chest and raised his voice. But the young man only hemmed and hawed for a while longer, and it wasn't until Noen pressed him again that he managed to force the words out in a shrinking voice.

"This letter… Mikhail Senit… dropped it off."

Silence crashed down in an instant. Nothing remained in the air but the breathing of five people, rising and falling.

Noen closed his half-open mouth and turned toward Verte.

"Verte, you don't have to push yourself to read it. Right now you should be focusing on nothing but getting better…."

At Noen's pointed look, the young man holding the letter hastily hid it behind his back and chimed in.

"Y-yeah. Noen's right! No need to check it now. We'll keep it safe for you… no, wait! We'll take care of it, nice and clean, so don't even worry about—!"

"Give it here."

Verte's voice cut through the flustered commotion. His expression was perfectly calm, his hand extended.

"Give it here. The one Senit left."

Bandaged fingers stretched across the open air.

"……"

The young man looked helplessly back and forth between Verte's face and the envelope in his hand.

In the end, he shuffled forward with halting steps and placed the letter onto the outstretched palm.

"…Verte."

"Don't worry."

Verte offered the reassurance to Noen's concerned expression with casual ease, then opened the envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, neatly folded.

Verte looked down at the precisely creased page, then moved his hand and unfolded it.

Rustle.

On paper white as snow, words were written in crisp black ink—vivid as fresh footprints pressed into untouched ground.

[If you can't give up the seat of the North's rightful heir, come find me. I'll accept your challenge. Anytime.]

Sunlight that had climbed through the window lit the page like a lamp just struck to life.

Verte stared at the words. His mist-colored eyes fixed on the handwriting and refused to move.

He stayed like that, repeating quiet, shallow breaths—three, four times.

"Pfft."

The sound of air escaping leaked from Verte's lips.

He clutched the letter, curled his shoulders inward, and began making choked, shuddering sounds.

"…Verte?"

"Pff… heh-heh. Hah. Hahahahaha."

Noen and the other three called out in confusion, but Verte only hunched deeper into himself, laughing until he shook apart.

"Senit… hah… what does he think I'll do… what does he think I'll become before I show up… hahaha! The sheer arrogance of him, honestly."

Verte kept spilling breaths that lurched up and down beyond his control. Swept up in an emotion he couldn't begin to name.

"Anytime… anytime, he says."

A brief provocation, penned by his sworn rival. In truth, it pushed harder than any encouragement could—urging him forward, driving him to move.

It rebuilt the goal he'd thought was lost forever, while granting him the grace to look around along the way.

The proposition was maddeningly cruel… and impossibly kind.

"Hhhh… hah."

His shoulders, which had been heaving without end, finally settled. Verte expelled a clean breath and murmured.

"Senit, I swear. The man has a real gift for getting under your skin right to the very end."

The words were cutting, but the tone couldn't manage it. Verte tied off the thought in a softened voice, drew a deep breath into his chest, then set the letter down and turned to Noen beside him.

"Noen."

"Hm?"

"You said you were sure I'd get better, right?"

Noen flinched and looked at Verte. The tone behind the question was nothing like before.

Where moments ago his voice had been draining of life, growing drier by the second—now it carried an unmistakable resolve.

Noen seemed at a loss for words, but he recovered quickly and answered with force behind his voice.

"Yeah. I'm sure of it."

Verte gave a firm nod, then lowered his gaze to the bandaged fingers resting on his lap.

"I'm going to keep trying to restore my original mana. Even if it turns out to be hopeless… no—even if it takes a really, really long time."

Verte's trembling fingertips curled inward and gripped the blanket tight. Noen reached out and laid his hand over the back of Verte's.

Tap.

Verte turned with startled eyes. Noen glanced at the letter resting on Verte's knee, then smiled gently.

"Good call."

"…Noen."

"While you're finding your way back to your old strength, we'll be right there beside you. When things get rough, tell us you want to grab a beer. When nothing seems to be working, come vent to us all night if you need to. So…."

Noen had been speaking in that steady, measured tone when he paused mid-sentence. He swallowed something rising in his throat, then continued.

"From now on, let's take it… a little slower. Verte."

Verte looked at Noen as he spoke.

The composed tone was clearly holding back a flood of feeling, but the bitterness and self-reproach leaking from the edges of his expression couldn't be fully concealed.

"……"

Verte let a stinging breath slip out and lowered his eyes. He didn't know why, but right now—in this moment—he could feel it with painful clarity.

Noen, dragged along by a stubbornness he could neither understand nor bend, must have agonized and struggled at every turn.

And yet, all the way to this moment, he'd chosen to stay by his side without a single sign of complaint.

Guilt and gratitude surged up at once. Verte pressed down the tremor building inside him, then moved his lips.

"Yeah."

At Verte's answer, the tension melted from Noen's face and he smiled.

"—WAAAAAAH! Verte!"

That was when the three who'd been standing off to the side came barreling toward Verte and burst into wails.

They practically tackled him like a pack of puppies. Noen recoiled in horror and started smacking all three across the back.

"What—you idiots! How old are you, acting like children! Verte is a patient. A patient! Get off him!"

"No! I'm not letting go!"

"Tch, acting all mature by yourself. You're the one who used to skip training to sneak off and buy bread!"

"Urk. Th-that was—"

"Verte! Once we're back at the institute, we'll go out and have fun again, and protect you and—oh, wait! I guess now we need to protect you! Want a piggyback ride? Or would you rather take a wheelbarrow?"

"…I'm good. I can handle myself."

The quiet hospital room erupted into chaos in an instant. Noen shook his head in dismay, the three who'd piled onto the bed rattled off their respective plans over one another, and through it all, Verte looked down at the letter on his lap with a loosened expression—then turned his head toward the window.

Flap-flap.

Startled by the commotion, perhaps. A single bird kicked off from a nearby branch and took flight.

A black-feathered robin, looking as though it had just shed its last traces of youth.

The robin began to sing, weaving in and out of the sunlight with bright, clear notes.

Tweet—. Chirr-tweet—.

Verte listened to the song as it rang out.

The sharps between the black keys, the natural notes on the white—darting wherever they pleased without any order at all, and yet weaving together into something beautiful.

"……"

Verte watched the wings trace an arc into the distance and pulled the corners of his mouth upward.

Beneath a world that had grown a little wider and a little brighter than before—

A thought he never could have formed as the person he'd been until now was etching itself clearly into his mind.

This debt… I'll repay it. Without fail. Mikhail Senit.

---

Tap.

Mikhail was walking along the corridor with Han and Ul when he stopped and looked up at the sky.

Faint cheering drifted from the upper-floor room.

Along with it, a black-winged robin was soaring toward the open sky, beating its wings with quick, urgent strokes.

Tweet—. Chirr-tweet—.

Mikhail watched the busy wings for a moment, let a small smile slip, and started walking again.

His next destination was a cafeteria tucked away in a corner of Guild Headquarters—the kind of place only regulars knew to find.

He planned to pick up something to drink and recharge before the awards ceremony that evening.

The progression has deviated from the original in a few places, so the conversations at the ceremony will shift accordingly. Better to get a solid read on what's changed. And….

Mikhail tilted his head to the side, a thought slipping in between the rest.

And right about now.

The drink Ethan had been obsessed with ever since his first taste—he should be able to snag a cup of that, too.

"—Mikhail."

A voice cut into his thoughts without warning. Mikhail stopped and turned his head.

Six or seven steps back. His gaze landed on three familiar faces.

"Oh. You guys."

Olive-colored eyes that sparkled with the same light as Guild Master Germain Lowell's.

Pink hair that tended to float and bounce at the slightest provocation—currently drooping sideways like rabbit ears.

And a boy wearing an expression caught somewhere between tears and disbelief.

"You… youuuu…."

"Is it… is it really Mikhail? You're not lying, right?"

"Maxwell… no, Mikhail."

Mikhail stood there, watching the three gape at him with trembling mouths, and grinned.

"Geez, what were you guys doing—did all three of you oversleep?"

"AAAAAH! You really are alive!"

"We heard you barely made it out of the cave and then passed out on the spot! We seriously thought the worst had happened!"

"You're okay? You're really okay?"

All three unleashed their respective grievances in a torrent, then charged at Mikhail. He flinched and backpedaled—

But they closed in faster.

"Urk—"

The combined weight of three bodies hit him at once, and Mikhail staggered.

His feet shuffled this way and that across the floor. Then, unable to hold his balance, he started to tilt.

Mikhail's eyes flew wide and he shouted.

"Wh— wait, hey! I'm actually gonna fall—!"

Before the words were even finished, his upper body pitched backward. Mikhail squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for a spectacular crash.

"……"

But the impact never came. The silence stretched on and on.

Baffled, Mikhail lifted his eyelids.

His head and shoulders had tipped backward—but his waist and back were firmly supported.

"Mikhail. Did you really think we didn't know how much stamina you have?"

"Being glad to see you is one thing, but we've got standards. You think we'd dump all our weight on someone with the constitution of a sack of barley?"

The voices speaking from the huddle around him dripped with undisguised smugness.

Mikhail craned his neck to look at the two people in front of him and let a soft huff of laughter escape.

Julien and Edwin—arms wrapped around his waist and chest, each with one foot braced firmly against the floor.

"What a fun little scene you've got going here, Mikhail."

A playful voice arrived alongside a hand pressing up against his shoulder, pushing him upright.

Mikhail blinked and let a questioning sound drift out.

"Huh."

At the top of his rising field of vision, a sweep of hair brushed past his eyes.

It rippled like sunlight given form—a bright, shimmering gold.