The stars were just beginning to prick through the navy sky, casting a soft shimmer over the Black Bulls’ hideout.

Lanterns bobbed gently in the evening breeze, lighting up the yard with a golden glow that flickered like fireflies in rhythm with the laughter echoing across the grass.

Dinner plates clinked, ale sloshed over wooden mugs, and the air was thick with roasted spices and sweet breads. Charmy had outdone herself again.

Piles of meat, vegetables, stews, and pastries littered the long wooden tables like a festival from a storybook.

Black Bulls, loud and chaotic as ever, gathered around the feast—stuffing their faces, shouting over one another, and playing drinking games that probably violated several kingdom laws.

You sat at the large center table, leaning back against the bench with a quiet ease as the world buzzed around you.

The fight in the dungeon was still fresh in your limbs, the thrill still humming under your skin.

You could still remember how the walls pulsed with ancient mana, how your magic had carved through the final obstacle, securing the treasure chest for the squad.

And now, here you were. Celebrating not just a victory—but a homecoming.

Beside you, Yami exhaled smoke into the air, the red ember of his cigarette flaring once before he reached forward and crushed it into the ashtray.

His cloak was tossed over the back of the bench, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark eyes scanning the table before landing on you.

You reached for the pitcher to refill your mug, but his voice stopped you. “Here. Let me pour it for you…”

You blinked, surprised, your fingers retreating slowly as his hand brushed over yours—brief, warm, calloused.

He lifted the pitcher and tipped it with a steady hand, filling your mug until the foam reached the brim.

You watched him, your pulse betraying you for a moment.

The way his sleeves hung loose around his forearms, the way the fading firelight traced the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his eyes didn’t quite leave yours even as he poured.

He set the pitcher down, picked up his own mug, and tilted it slightly in your direction before drinking. Then came the words.

“You did good today.” Simple. But from him? It struck deeper than you’d expected.

Yami Sukehiro was not one for praise. He led with instinct and gut, trusted those who proved themselves without needing to say it aloud. But tonight, he said it. To you.