The hospital room was too white. Too quiet. The kind of silence that doesn’t heal—it judges.

Unikawa stood near the corridor window, arms stiff, eyes hollow. Beside him, Caliz and Wakasa waited in silence, neither of them brave enough to ask what comes next.

Inside the room, everything had already been done.

The hospital corridors smelled like disinfectant and exhaustion.

Bright lights stayed awake when everyone else couldn’t.

Unikawa stood there without moving, his suit slightly wrinkled, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Beside him, Caliz remained silent—too disciplined to speak. Wakasa stood a little farther away, arms stiff at his sides, like his body hadn’t decided what it was supposed to feel yet.

The medical staff moved in and out quietly.

A covered stretcher was rolled past them once.

No one spoke.

No one needed to.

The doctors had taken what they needed. The rest was only procedure now.

A covered body. A final confirmation. A life reduced to paperwork and silence.

All night, the house had turned into something unrecognizable.

Liz lay in bed, fevered and trembling. Her breathing was uneven, like her body had forgotten how to stay calm. Every now and then, she whispered something that didn’t fully form into words.

Elira sat beside her, holding a cold cloth against her forehead, steady and quiet like a guard at a collapsing gate.

Ren didn’t leave her side.

He sat on the floor, knees pulled in, face buried in his arms. His shoulders shook in waves he couldn’t control.

Elira finally spoke, voice flat but not unkind.

“You’re exhausting yourself.”

Ren lifted his head sharply, eyes red.

“You think I care?” his voice cracked. “I lost my mother.”

Silence hit the room again.

Elira looked away slightly. Not because she didn’t care—but because there was nothing correct to say in a moment like this.

Some pain doesn’t respond to logic. Only time pretends to.

Ren whispered again, almost breaking.

“She was everything…”

Liz shifted slightly in bed, weakly reaching out, as if trying to confirm reality by touch.

But even she couldn’t hold onto it.

Ren stayed too—curled up near her like a shadow that refused to leave.

His voice kept breaking through the room.

“Why her… why her…”

Over and over.

Same sentence.

Same collapse.

At one point, Elira spoke, her tone flat but not cruel.

“Crying won’t reverse what happened.”

Ren snapped immediately.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

His eyes were red, swollen, exhausted.

“I lost my mother and you want me to just—what—sit still?”

Elira didn’t respond at first.

Not because she didn’t understand.

Because she did.

And that was the problem.

Some pain couldn’t be corrected with logic.

It could only be endured.

But Ren wasn’t ready for that kind of truth yet.

So he broke again into silence and tears.

Elsewhere, far from that grief…

Silvano and Kiritatsu returned to the mansion.

No words between them. Only the weight of consequences trailing behind like smoke.

It was nearly 2 AM when the front gates opened again.

Salvador D’Arx had returned.

He stepped into the mansion like a man who expected silence—but instead found absence.

No guards greeting him properly. No report. No usual order.

Just… emptiness.

He loosened his coat slightly.

“…where is everyone?” he asked calmly.

A maid hesitated before answering.

“Sir… the young masters left earlier. For negotiations.”

Salvador paused.

That alone was enough to change the air.

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Negotiations,” he repeated. “At this hour?”

The maid lowered her head.

“Yes, sir.”

Something in his expression shifted—not panic, not confusion.

Recognition.

Like a man stepping onto a chessboard and realizing pieces had already moved without him.

Minutes later, the doors opened again.

Silvano and Kiritatsu returned.

And immediately froze.

Salvador stood in the center of the hall.

Not angry yet.

Worse.

Still.

“…what did you do?” his voice cut through the air.

Silvano hesitated for a fraction of a second.

“Father… you’re back?”

“Answer me.”

Silence.

Then Silvano exhaled slowly.

“Unikawa’s wife… was shot.”

The words didn’t echo.

They sank.

Kiritatsu stepped forward.

“Kabane’s side escalated. We have confirmation it wasn’t accidental—it was coordinated.”

Salvador’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“Evidence?”

Kiritatsu nodded once.

Silvano added, quieter, more controlled:

“And there’s something else.”

A pause.

He looked at his father.

“…Fred.”

A beat.

“He appears on the internal trace list.”

That changed the air completely.

Orders came quickly after that.

Controlled. Efficient.

Kiritatsu’s voice stayed sharp.

“Detain him. Now.”

No debate.

No delay.Silvano exhaled slowly.

“We can’t hesitate anymore.”

Kiritatsu nodded once.

“Either we act now, or we look weak.”

There was no emotion in that statement.

Only structure.

Only consequence.

Salvador finally spoke again.

“I will go myself.”

Silence.

“I will meet Unikawa.”

His gaze hardened slightly.

“And Kabane will not turn this into an advantage.”

No one questioned him.

They didn’t need to.

No discussion. No hesitation.

Kiritatsu already motioned to his men.

Morning came without permission.

The funeral was held quickly.

No waiting for formal guests. No long speeches. No extended mourning rituals.

Just necessity.

A body returning to earth before grief had time to fully form.

The cemetery was quiet in a way that felt unreal.

The sky was pale, almost uncertain.

Unikawa stood closest.

He hadn’t moved since the beginning.

Liz was not present—her condition had worsened overnight.

Ren stood at a distance, trembling but silent now, like a fire that had burned itself out.

Elira stayed with Liz at home. 

Wakasa remained behind them, watching everything without fully understanding where the world had broken.

The casket was lowered.

Wakasa stayed slightly apart.

Watching.

Not fully present.

Not fully absent.

Just… stuck between both states.

His mind kept circling the same unanswered questions.

Was that Silvano and kiritatsu's father here?

Why were Silvano and Kiritatsu involved?

Why did everything feel connected in a way no one was explaining?

But he didn’t ask.

Not here.

Not now.

Salvador stood near Unikawa after a while.

A hand rested briefly on his shoulder.

A rare gesture.

Not of authority.

But acknowledgment.

Unikawa didn’t react at first.

Then his voice came out low.

“…I failed her.”

Salvador replied quietly.

“You didn’t fail.”

A pause.

“You were targeted.”

That distinction mattered.

Even if it didn’t heal anything.

From a distance, Kiritatsu watched the perimeter.

Silvano stood still, eyes fixed on the grave.

Slow.

Final.

Every sound felt exaggerated—the ropes, the soil, the wind.

Unikawa didn’t blink.

But inside him, everything was collapsing in layers.

Unikawa’s voice returned again, sharper now.

“…Kabane doesn’t get forgiveness.”

Salvador didn’t argue.

Only nodded once.

“No.”

A pause.

“He doesn’t.”

Wind passed through the cemetery again.

And for the first time since the incident—

it felt like something irreversible had truly begun.

Not just a death.

A shift.

A line crossed.

And somewhere behind the silence of mourning—

war was quietly organizing itself.

Because if he did… he might not stop.

From a distance, Wakasa watched Salvador closely now.

The man who had entered their home like a storm earlier… now stood like part of the grief itself.

A question formed in Wakasa’s mind—but stayed unspoken.

Too many answers would only break more things.

Kiritatsu left early.

Silvano stayed longer.

Neither spoke.

Because everything important had already been said in damage.

And somewhere beyond the cemetery’s silence…

Kabane’s shadow was still moving.

Quiet.

Patient.

Waiting for the next fracture.