The storm raged on as Kimiko knelt beside Zane on the rooftop, rain plastering her hair to her face. His body still crackled faintly with residual energy, like a cheap phone charger that wouldn’t quit.

“Zane, can you hear me?” Her voice trembled, panicked.

Zane groaned, eyes fluttering open. “Ugh… Did anyone get the license plate of that lightning bolt?”

“Are you serious right now?” Kimiko snapped, gripping his arm. “We need to leave. Now. Before psycho shining Barbie comes back.”

“I mean… She was kind of hot, though,” Zane muttered, then winced as she smacked his shoulder. “Okay, okay. Too soon.”

Kimiko glared at him, eyes wide with fear. “You almost died.”

“Almost is the key word”.

She let out a shaky breath. “Seriously, are you okay?”

He managed a crooked smirk. “Define okay. Physically? Emotionally? Existentially?”

Kimiko rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me throw you off this roof.”

Zane groaned again as he tried to sit up. “Jeez, fine. At least let me die warm.”

She helped him to his feet, practically carrying his weight. “You’re so heavy, idiot.”

“I’m dense with charm.” Zane said with a crooked grin.

Kimiko snorted. “That’s one word for it.”

They limped toward the emergency staircase; the only sound besides the rain was Zane grumbling under his breath.

“I think my soul just threw up,” Zane groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Kimiko leaned in. “Is that before or after your brain got fried?”

“During. Simultaneously, actually,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded.

They reached the school’s main gate, and Kimiko pulled out her phone, fingers moving quickly.

“Calling an ambulance?” Zane gave a weak grin. “Oh good. I’d hate to ruin an EMT’s day with my sexy corpse.”

She glanced at him sideways. “If you make one more joke, I’m leaving you in a puddle.”

Moments later, the sleek black car glided to the gate. Yamada stepped out, dry and composed, like the rain feared him.

“Miss Kimiko. Are you all right?” He asked, eyes flicking to Zane like he was roadkill with opinions.

“I’m fine,” she said. “And he’s just being dramatic.”

Zane raised a hand weakly. “Hey. I earned this drama.”

Yamada opened the door for them. “Shall I bring a stretcher?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Kimiko muttered as she helped Zane in.

Inside the car, Zane slouched in the seat with a groan. Kimiko hovered beside him.

“You don’t have to hover,” he muttered. “You’re not a drone.”

“You’re a walking hazard. I’m watching in case you short-circuit and set the seats on fire.”

“Romantic,” he said, deadpan.

“I try,” she shot back, completely unapologetic.

He cracked a weak grin. “So… skipping school now?”

“Skipping what?” Kimiko scoffed. “The school’s empty. Pretty sure class is canceled after someone blows up the building.”

Zane blinked. “Man, I left my backpack in there. Can we go back so I can pick it up?”

Kimiko sighed. “Sure. If you want to explain to the cops how you fought the blonde war goddess, I will be your guest.”

Zane stretched with a groan. “I’ll write the press release: Teen survives lightning attack, still annoys friends.”

She smirked. “You forgot: Also refuses to die properly.”

They pulled up to the estate. The mansion glowed warm against the storm, like it had no idea the world was falling apart.

Yamada helped them in, eyes scanning Zane’s scorched uniform. “Would you like me to assist you with something, or should I bring some tea?”

“Dry clothes first,” Kimiko said. “Then tea. So then he can collapse.”

He stumbled into a velvet chair. “Already ahead of you.”

Kimiko placed a hand on her hip. “You’re staying here tonight. No arguments.”

“Oh no,” Zane gasped. “Trapped in a mansion with a rich girl who yells at me. Whatever will I do?”

“Recover. Hopefully.”

The warmth of the place was a surreal contrast to the rooftop chaos. Kimiko turned on soft lighting and disappeared briefly. When she returned, Zane had the remote in hand.

“Seriously?” she said.

“Hey. I’m flipping through disaster coverage. Research.”

She rolled her eyes, heading to the bookshelf. After a moment, she returned with a worn leather book.

She set it on the coffee table. “Here it is.”

Zane arched a brow. “Is that a Necronomicon? Because that would explain a lot.”

“It’s my mom’s,” Kimiko said softly.

Before Zane could reply, Yamada entered with tea.

“Would you need something else, Miss Kimiko?” he asked, glancing at the book.

“Thanks, Yamada,” she said dismissively.

He hesitated. “I mean no offense, but you’re digging up old ghosts, miss.”

“Yamada,” she repeated, colder now. “Can you leave us, please?”

He bowed and left.

Zane picked up the book, flipping pages. “So… your mom was into that kind of stuff?”

Kimiko nodded.

Zane looked up. “What happened to her? You never really talk about her or anything.”

Kimiko’s voice was barely audible. “She disappeared. Left one day and never came back.”

He paused, then said gently, “So you believe this book has answers.”

She shrugged. “Or more questions.”

Before Zane could respond, Yamada returned with a fresh tray of snacks.

“Forgive the interruption,” the butler said.

“It’s fine,” Kimiko replied.

As Yamada set the tray down, Zane absently turned his attention back to the TV. He had left it on a news channel, and the broadcast caught Kimiko’s attention immediately.

“In breaking news,” the anchor said, “an explosion earlier today at a local high school has left several injured. Authorities have released an official statement, citing a lightning strike on a power source as the cause of the incident. Here with us is Nobel Prize laureate and CEO of Valmont Industries, Akira Valmont.”

Yamada moved to turn the TV off.

“Wait,” Kimiko interrupted sharply. “Let it play.”

The butler sighed, stepping back reluctantly.

The screen cut to Akira Valmont standing at a podium, her golden hair gleaming under the camera lights. Her voice was calm, almost soothing, as she addressed reporters.

“My heart goes out to everyone affected by this tragic event,” she said, her expression one of sincere sorrow. “As someone deeply invested in our community, I will personally ensure that the school is rebuilt and that all those injured receive the care and support they need.”

Zane bolted upright. “Wait, that’s her.”

Kimiko’s hands curled into fists. “She looks… normal.”

“Yeah, well,” Zane muttered, “so do jellyfish.”

Akira continued, her voice unwavering. “Together, we can move forward stronger.”

The broadcast ended, cutting back to the news anchor.

Zane stared. “She’s acting like she wasn’t the one who exploded through the roof like a Marvel villain.”

Kimiko’s expression hardened. “We’re not safe, are we?”

“Nope,” Zane said. “But hey… at least we’ve got cookies.”

His words hung in the air a moment too long, then faded, carried off by the low growl of distant thunder.

Outside, the storm didn't end. It simply moved.

Rain whispered through the trees, a soft hush against the leaves.

The wooden engawa of the old house creaked under the weight of time, framing the wide-open sliding doors like a still breath before a storm.

Inside, a single lamp cast warm light onto a lacquered chessboard. The white pieces were already in place—neat, pristine, untouched. Their owner waited in silence, legs folded beneath him, his white robe unmarked by the age of the world he’d outlived.

"I can't say I didn't expect you, Seraphine," he said, his voice calm and steady against the whispering rain.

From the far side of the garden, past the koi pond and beneath the veil of weeping willows, a dark umbrella emerged.

She didn’t rush. Her steps were light. Deliberate.

She paused before the edge of the engawa, closed her umbrella, and with an elegance that bordered on reverence, stepped onto the wood. Rainwater trailed behind her like the remnants of a memory.

She knelt without a word and touched the black queen.

“You always start without me,” she said, moving her pawn forward to E5.

A faint rustle of fabric as he shifted to face her.

“An old habit,” the man in white replied, gliding a pawn to D4.

“You arrive when the damage is already done.”

“And yet, you never clean up the mess.” She said moving the

Knight to C6.

“Because it’s not mine.”

Knight to C3.

“No… it never is, is it?”

She smirked, brushing damp strands of silver hair behind her ear. Bishop to C5.

“You stand back. You watch. You wait.”

He set his bishop down with a soft click. Bishop to E3.

“I give mankind room to rise.”

“They choke on the air you give them.”

Queen to H4.

“And you smother them with ‘guidance.’”

He castled kingside. King to G1.

She tilted her head, amused. “Funny. For someone who claims to be neutral, you do love protecting your king.”

Pawn to G5.

“Do you believe this is a game?”

His voice was calm, but there was tension in his hand.

“They’ll tear each other apart.”

“Then let them.”

She picked up a pawn and held it between two fingers. “Destruction isn’t always the enemy.”

Pawn to H5.

“But it always leaves scars.”

Pawn to C3.

The rain thickened, tapping rhythmically on the paper walls and wooden roof, but inside the pavilion, all remained still.

The board began to tighten. The pieces encroached. The space between them narrowed.

“You think I act out of vengeance,” Seraphine said, brushing a finger along the edge of her queen.

He leaned forward, eyes steady. “You act because you care.”

“And you don’t?”

Her voice sharpened just slightly.

Knight to G4.

“I learned to let go.” He moved without pause. Pawn to H3.

“You call that wisdom.” She smiled faintly, then moved her bishop.

Bishop to D6.

“But I see fear. You’re afraid of being wrong.”

His gaze flicked up. “Or of being right.” Knight to D2.

“There it is,” Seraphine said softly. “The eternal balance. The justification of inaction.

Her queen glided diagonally—smooth, confident—right into danger.

“Queen to H3. Check.”

He blinked once. “That’s foolish.”

 “That’s sacrifice.” Her tone was final. Not defiant. Not proud. Just… resolute.

He stared at the board.

One move, and her queen would fall.

 “You’d lose everything for a single piece?”

She looked up at him. The rain outside slowed, almost contemplative.

“Not for any piece,” she said.

Then she folded her hands in her lap.

“You lost Solanar.”