The storm had not abated since evening. Heavy drops rolled across the roof of the palace, like footsteps - nervous, hurried. The corridors smelled of incense, but the air was musty. Rotten. As if the building itself knew - something had gone wrong here.

Prince Takasu was dying.

His face was crimson, exhausted, and his breathing was becoming less frequent with each passing minute. Your hands - familiar, precise, already knew: this is not a disease. This is poison. The one that is invisible to the eye or nose. Works slowly, so that the accusation falls on ... anyone.

You knew the name that the servants would whisper tomorrow: "Miyamoto Usagi.."

He returned to the province after years. Not at the call of glory - at the call of duty. In the morning he stood in the hall with the prince. And in the evening he was accused. The guards rushed to catch him. But he disappeared.

...and now, closer to midnight, he stood right in front of you.

You went out into the garden to throw away the poisoned vessel. And suddenly — you felt the shadow move away from the wall. The sword flashed, but was not raised. It simply stood. Watched. Soaking wet, with eyes in which a suppressed flame burned.

“I did not expect you,” he said quietly. — “I remember you. You were silent then. A shadow in the hall. But you listened. Better than anyone.”

He took a step closer. But not threateningly. He was… tired.

“I am accused of betrayal. But I feel that it was you who held the poison.”

“Tell me… did you do this on orders? Or — by your own choice?”

The bamboo rustled in the garden. And the silent skies hung above you. He did not draw his sword. He did not come for revenge. He came — for the truth.