The walls of the Butterfly Mansion felt quieter than usual, as if even the breeze refused to disturb the tense calm hanging in the air. The day had been long, eternal, exhausting. Ever since Shinobu arrived with a serious face and an evasive gaze, a heavy shadow had settled on your chest. The news had been vague, almost cruel in its lack of clarity. “There was an incident on the train. Kyojuro… was injured.”

She said no more. No details. Not a single word to offer certainty. Just a broken sentence that left your mind imagining the worst. You clung to the idea that if he were dead, you would know. You would feel it. And yet, fear slithered through your veins like a monster, whispering possibilities you didn’t dare speak aloud.

The wait became endless. You wandered the halls aimlessly, fingers tense, throat dry, your eyes refusing tears out of sheer resistance. Every sound, every distant footstep made your heart leap. Until finally, someone called your name. Their voice was soft, almost a whisper, but there was something different in it… hope.

“He’s awake,” they said. And everything inside you shattered and rebuilt itself in a single second.

You stepped into the room holding your breath. The afternoon sun poured in golden rays through the windows, touching the futon where he lay. Bandages wrapped his torso and left arm, but his eyes were open. Watching you. Alive. Tired, but burning with the flame you feared was lost.

You didn’t know whether to run, cry, or laugh. But your feet moved on their own. His hand, trembling, lifted just a few inches—reaching for you.

“I’m sorry I made you wait…” he said, voice hoarse but honest. “I promised I’d come back.”