The consistent mechanical hum of the idling projector made Jonathan want to yawn. It didn't help that he had quickly finished his lunch— the post-meal slump was now striking mercilessly— and that he was purely a satellite to the conversation occurring between Dio and the acting chairman. The chairman was a gracious host, of course, and he had asked Jonathan about his schooling, his extracurriculars, and his time at Ohtori overall, but the chairman and Dio had already met, had already established a casual rapport, and so the conversation had naturally flowed to favor them. Jonathan supposed he didn't mind playing third wheel. This was the most genuinely engaged he had ever seen Dio behave.

"So you have been to London?" Dio asked, and ceramic clinked as he set his teacup on his saucer.

"Many times," Akio replied. He smiled with the recollection and leaned back against the plush cushions of his couch. His long hair was drawn back in a loose ponytail— it was dark with a sheen like Tyrian dye, the same sort of glimmer that Anthy's had. While Anthy was often reticent, however, he was gregarious. He was a very handsome gentleman, and he held himself accordingly; the way the sunlight falling in from the balcony surrounding his observatory-room struck his face made him seem— Jonathan wondered how a poet would describe it. Like marble hewn down to perfect form, perhaps. Like a storybook illustration of royalty. Like— a very handsome gentleman. Jonathan's favorite subject remained firmly in the realm of factual history and he wouldn't be writing Erina award-winning poems any time soon.

Erina! He hadn't thought of her in quite some time.

"I've strolled down the shops of Oxford Street, shook many hands on Downing, gathered blooms upon Columbia— though, I've found no rose quite as fair as the ones I claim here. I've investigated Baker Street, visited Eros in Piccadilly— or was it Anteros?— and I've even ventured into the shadow of the Ogre," Akio said, and Dio leaned forward, enthralled.

"You know of Ogre Street?"

"Of course! I've brushed shoulders with the criminals, the psychics, and the poisoners. Once, I even—"

The talk was tuned out behind the hum of the planetarium projector. How was Erina doing? Quite well, Jonathan hoped. Her father was kind, yet strict. Many fathers seemed to be that way. A guiding hand. Erina hardly needed guidance; she was already so intelligent, and kind, and strong—

And Dio had—

He was startled from his reverie. Anthy leaned over him and smiled. She had also been quiet during the luncheon; she had been more preoccupied with Chu-Chu's antics, especially as he had sickened himself gorging on a large bar of chocolate. "More tea?"

"No thank you," Jonathan said, and Anthy nodded before offering the teapot to Dio.

"No thank you," Dio replied, and there was an odd twist to his smile, a veer towards a smirk, but Anthy only nodded in response and poured another glass for herself. "You've traveled quite a lot," Dio said, affixing his attention back to Akio.

Akio's tone was measured, just-humble-enough. "I suppose I am a man of the world."

There was now a second hum, a distant ongoing booming, distinct from the sound of the planetarium machinery that stood proudly in the center of the room. Jonathan looked outside. The tower hit its peak just below the white underbelly of the clouds, but today was a blue one, and he could see out past Ohtori, out to the horizon, to the far-off flash of water, a lake or a sea. One thin cloud did emerge, traveling in a straight line across the sky; made curious, Jonathan stood and approached the balcony.

The line-cloud, the source of the sound, slowly drew itself across the blue. He tilted his head and furrowed his brows. He blinked. He looked down.

"Oh!" he exclaimed.

Dio, alarmed, narrowed his eyes; Akio, seemingly unsurprised by his outburst, brushed off his thighs and stood. "Enjoying the view from up here, Jojo?" he asked, and he approached the balcony. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"It's a kofun," Jonathan said, and he looked upon the breadth of the Ohtori campus: the immaculate lawns, the central wild forest, the memorial mound-shape of the hillside. "Was it built to look like one, or built on one?"

Akio tilted his head one way, then the other. "A kofun," he said. "I suppose it does look like one! Where have you been learning about burial rites, Jojo? You do prefer that nickname, don't you? I try not to be over-familiar with my students, but I too tried many names in my youth, and I always appreciated when they were used."

"Oh, you can call me Jojo! And I, well, I was talking to— Professor Souji? I think that's his name. I was talking to him about the seminar, and about archaeology, and he told me to look up the Daisenryo Kofun. And— the maps make it out to look quite a lot like this from above."

"Oh, the Black Rose seminar," Akio said, and though he said it pleasantly, something in Jonathan prickled, something that was well-attuned to being teased.

Dio perched at the edge of his seat as if ready to leap to his feet. "Black Rose seminar? What is that?"

He had to be truthful about it, didn't he? He had even worked on his essay application right in front of Dio during the whole debacle with Kozue. It would be silly to hide it, no matter how his heart urged him to hoard it away. Jonathan squared his shoulders and turned around. "It's—"

"Extra credit," Akio said cheerfully. "A sort of remedial opportunity for those that don't blossom as brightly. I commend you for caring so deeply about your grades, Jojo. Your perseverance despite hardship is a shining example to your fellow students. You know, Kanae, dear thing, is taking part in the seminar, as well. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Jonathan, baffled, wounded, looked up at Akio, who leaned against the balustrade and— winked, his left eye hidden from Dio's perspective upon the couch. Dio, satisfied, settled himself and leaned back against the cushion.

"The clouds were moving so quickly today," Anthy said, and the elevator began its long descent towards the base of the chairman's tower. Jonathan glanced at her, wide-eyed; Dio smiled and crossed his arms.

"So, what class are you failing, Jojo?" he asked.

He hesitated, made it seem as if he was reluctant to answer. "History," he said, and he wondered if it would even register as an absurdity.

Dio sniffed, smirked, nodded. "Well, best of luck with your… project. Do let me know if you need any of my help— if you can't quite manage on your own merits."

"Of course," Jonathan said. Was Anthy smiling more than normal? No, it was the same mild upturn of the lips that she usually had. Jonathan clasped his hands behind his back and, on a whim, pinched his own wrist.

Outside, a dissipating white line still stretched across the sky.

"So I think I have a suitable defense against Miki," Dio said, and he lazily nudged a checker piece to its next placement. Across the board, Chu-Chu struggled to push a light puck.

"Is that so?"

"Kozue, obviously," he replied. "If I'm close to his sister, then he'll be afraid of me doing something in retaliation if he challenges me to get to you."

"I see," Anthy said, and she busied herself with wiping her glasses on the hem of her shirt.

"That leaves Juri." Once Chu-Chu had completed the difficult task of relocating the relevant checker, Dio was able to jump it and claim a crown. Chu-Chu, devastated, began to smack his paws against the table. "I haven't got an angle on her, yet. She doesn't have a boyfriend, does she?"

"Do you like fencing?"

"Pardon?"

"Miss Juri is on the fencing team." Her glasses had reached an acceptable shine; she placed them upon her face and blinked. "If a duel is inevitable, then perhaps you could spar her first."

"Come on," Dio said, and he leaned towards her conspiratorially. "Surely you have something better than that."

Anthy smiled, but then, unsatisfied with a spot left on the glass, she folded her hem and attempted to clean the lens again.

Dio sighed. "Fine, fine. I'll join her club." With a huff, he moved his kinged piece, capturing yet another puck from Chu-Chu.

"You skipped a turn."

"What?"

"You skipped a turn," Anthy said, and she pointed to Chu-Chu, who had not yet stopped having a tantrum.

"Like it matters," Dio said, and he plucked the captured piece from the board.

"Next," Juri commanded, and Dio grinned at the palpably thick tone of disdain upon the word. He stepped forward and readied his stance, matching Juri's taut pose as best he could.

Miki's stopwatch clicked, and then clicked again. The matchup was over within seconds. Juri, lunging deeply, had angled her foil beneath Dio's. Before he could react, her wrist had twisted, and his amateur grip of the handle had easily loosened. The foil spun out of his hands, leaving him defenseless, and Juri bowed her blade against his sternum.

There was applause and cheering from the surrounding crowd. "Again," Juri commanded, and she stepped back to reset her stance. Dio shook out his arms, loosening the tensed muscles, and then he matched her pose.

The stopwatch clicked. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven— a marked improvement, but still a miserable failure. Juri's foil jabbed him in the ribs. Again, the onlookers oohed and aahed. Dio listened carefully. There was a balcony above the fencing area, a place where other students often gathered to observe. Someone above was clapping longer and louder than the others. Juri had an admirer.

"Again," Juri commanded.

She was looking to humiliate him, wasn't she? So be it. Dio set his pose, bent his knees, and lowered his weight. Wait— that was a Kendo stance, recalled from his brief training with Saionji. The stopwatch clicked, and he lunged. For a moment, it seemed like he could earn a tie— Juri was not blocking the strike coming in from above, she was too focused on reaching him— but then, lightning-quick, she twisted and dipped the tip of her foil in a tight circle. Dio, beholden to momentum, followed through on his downward-slashing arc; her sword ran through the arc of the handle, smacked against his knuckles, and flung the foil from his hand. It flew into the air and clattered down somewhere on the balcony.

Juri removed her protective helmet and steadied her breathing. She looked less smug than Dio had expected; she was more icily analytical— dead serious, he realized, about defeating him as quickly as possible, and allowing little chance for luck.

He pulled off his own helmet and strolled over to the balcony. A girl with chin-length dark hair and a wide smile was still clapping for Juri, seeking her attention, but as Dio approached, she retrieved the flung foil. She leaned over the railing and carefully dropped it down to him.

He smiled and brushed his golden hair back from his brow. "Thank you!"

And that was all it took! Surely that was a blush. Dio grinned, glanced towards a stone-faced Juri, and merged back into the crowd, allowing the next new member to take their turn.

"She must really hate you," Shiori said with a giggle, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. They had sought each other out during the lunch period and were now relaxing upon a courtyard lawn. "She was relentless in there."

"You know, it amuses me," Dio replied, and he inspected his nails for dirt. "It isn't as if I've even done anything to her."

She leaned in, let her cheek rest against his shoulder. "She hates me more," she said happily. "I think every little thing I do annoys her."

"I think we could both annoy her quite a lot," Dio said, and he kissed her forehead; when she dissolved into giggles, he did it again.

"And you're fine with that?"

"Yes," Kozue said, smiling wryly. She idly spun her volleyball against the heel of her palm. "Actually, I appreciate that you told me about her. Maybe I should apologize. I had added you to my collection without even letting you know."

Dio leaned against a column and crossed his arms, but he was clearly amused. "Oh? And how extensive is this collection?"

"You're the fifth."

"It's an honor. Is there a schedule written up, then? Will I have to request dates by appointment?"

"Oh, you have priority," Kozue said, and she bounced the volleyball off her fist, keeping it in the air. "Miki really doesn't like you, so you were bumped to the top of the list."

The next day, as Miki and Juri were having their usual lunchtime breeze-shooting session, Dio approached the table and sat.

"Where's Jojo?" he asked.

"Working on his essay," Miki answered, frostily polite. "He's probably at the library."

"Ah, of course. And the other two? Saionji, Touga?"

"Kendo hall, chairman's tower," Juri stated, and she glared at him.

"I see, I see. So this table certainly has chairs to spare. Wonderful! Then—"

Kozue dropped her tray and took the seat at his left. Shiori cradled her lunchbox and settled down at his right.

Dio, basking in the looks of absolute consternation coming from the student council members, did not notice Anthy's approach. "Ah— there's one more seat," she said. "May I sit here today, as well?"

Well, that made Miki look exponentially more miserable. Dio smiled and gestured towards the remaining chair. "Of course!"

"That went well," Dio said, and Anthy vaguely mhm'ed as Dio opened his locker and retrieved a few books. "I'd say our position is quite stable, don't you agree?"

"Mhm."

"I wonder, though," he said, and he reached into the back of his locker, seeking a fallen notebook. "What's the point of having the sword of Dios if I'm not going to use it? You don't mind this, do you? I suppose it might be like a vacation. That is—"

He paused, squinted, and looked inside his locker. Upon the back was a small note taped into place. It read:

TO THE ENGAGED: I will be waiting in the Dueling Arena at sunset.

Dio snatched the note out and scowled at it. "What—? But— Who? Which one? Why? Could— " His eyes widened. "Is Touga finally playing the game?"

Absentmindedly, Anthy continued nodding. "Mhm." Then, she blinked and shook her head. "Oh— pardon me. No, Mr. Kiryuu has been feeling quite badly. I don't believe he would challenge you."

"Then— who?"

Drama club had concluded for the day; Jonathan began his walk home while singing the little song that one of the girls had taught him. "Dona dona, dona… Rella, rella." It turned to a whistle as he adjusted his satchel. He had a little bit of homework to do that evening, but it wouldn't take very long. After that, he would be able to fine-tune his seminar essay. He kicked a pebble up the path and watched as it skittered out several feet. Someone rounded the corner and it bounced off their shoe.

"Sorry," he called out, and then he smiled. "Oh— hello, Miss Kanae!" He recognized the pale blonde hair from a photo on Akio's table. "It's nice to meet you!"

Kanae continued walking. Jonathan felt a chill. Her eyes were dark and unfocused. She murmured continuously as she crept forward.

"Father fell ill… Father fell ill… Ever since that awful girl… Father…"

"Miss Kanae?"

She lurched past as if blind to him. With growing worry, Jonathan turned to follow. Was she—? He pushed away fantastical ideas of hauntings, of possessions, but he held on to his fear. She could be having a medical event, or something terrible could have thrown her into a mad grief— she had mentioned her father. Had something happened to the founder of Ohtori Academy? For each step she took, Jonathan followed at several cautious paces behind.

She staggered and clutched at her chest. She pulled at something tucked into her breast pocket. "I've tried so hard to make her like me— no matter what I do, no matter what I do—!"

Ahead, the path intersected with another— Jonathan heard the sound of something approaching, a bell and a quick mechanical whir.

"Miss Kanae!" He began to run. "Watch out—!"

He dashed ahead and grabbed her by the elbow. Her abdomen tilted forward, he wrenched her to the side, and his hold slipped as she twisted; her clenched fist was pulled from her chest. He barely saw— a shredded black piece of tissue paper? the dark, dry petals of a flower?— tumble out from her fingers before he grasped her wrist. He held on tightly, but her hand was small, and slippery from a feverish sweat; with a white-knuckle grip, he latched on and pulled back. Something hard pressed against his fingers and slid off in his palm. Kanae's hand escaped him, but as he fell back, she shrieked and collapsed to her knees.

The bell of a tandem bicycle rang twice and the riders spun harmlessly past. Kanae slumped senselessly upon the curb. Jonathan regained his balance and rushed to her side. "Kanae! Are you—?"

She was breathing lowly, steadily; it was as if she was asleep. Her clenched fist was settled on her lap, and as her fingers loosened, a few dryly crumbling dark rose petals tumbled down her knees. Jonathan realized that the small, hard thing was still tucked against his thumb. He held up his palm and inspected it. A class ring glinted against the sunset, but the band, instead of ivory, was a deep, obsidian black.

"What is this, a prank?" Dio sat atop one of the hundred wooden desks arranged across the dueling arena. He huffed and leaned back until he was hanging his head off the edge of it. "What a waste of our time. I bet Juri's just laughing at the thought of making me walk up all those steps."

Anthy stood, flattened her hands against the red of her gown, and said nothing.

Jonathan sighed as he trudged up to the entrance of the dormitory. Kanae had quickly come to and, due to Jonathan's insistence, had allowed herself to be guided to the infirmary. The nurse had checked her and had found nothing in need of treatment except a mild headache and a scrape to her knee.

"Truly, I'm fine," Kanae had said, and she had laughed airily. "I'm so glad you saved me from that bicycle, though! You're such a nice boy."

"Is your father alright?" Jonathan had asked, made blunt by his worry.

Her eyes had narrowed, but it was barely perceptible; a slight tension due to unspoken stress. "He has been feeling a little under the weather lately," she had admitted, and she had laughed again. "Goodness! Maybe I was more worried about him than I thought. And— I skipped lunch today. I really must be more careful about that. I've always been prone to fainting. Isn't it late? I don't want to keep you past curfew."

"Of course— but, oh! I have your ring," Jonathan had said, and though he searched his pockets deeply, he could not find the black band that had slipped from her finger. He had found only a gray smudge of powder that stained his fingertips like stray pencil lead.

"My ring? My ring is right here," she had said with a smile. Upon her raised right hand had been a tastefully impressive diamond set in elegant gold.

In any case, Kanae seemed to now be quite alright. Still, Jonathan couldn't shake the sense of something strange. Much of the incident felt like a nightmare remembered upon waking; worrisome at the moment, but then quickly forgotten.

He reached for the handle of the dormitory door, but it opened to reveal Anthy, who nodded to him in greeting. "Good evening!"

Upon her shoulder, Chu-Chu saluted. Jonathan returned the gesture. "Good evening! Are you going out?"

"To run some errands," she replied. She was wearing a necklace that Jonathan had not seen before— to his relief, nothing about the new jewelry seemed ominous; it was merely a nice golden chain with a pretty rose pendant at the bottom. A subtly crafted hinge informed him that perhaps the rose was actually a locket. "And— to visit my brother. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye," Jonathan said, and they parted.

Juri and Miki hadn't even bothered showing up to the lunch table. Dio gloated over his newly claimed cafeteria territory as Kozue and Shiori took their seats.

"Oh, this is just hilarious," he exclaimed, and Kozue began to pick at her salad with a scowl. "Looks like they can't even bear the sight of us."

Shiori nodded absently. She twisted and wrapped a gold chain across her thumb, clutching the attached pendant in her fist.

Kozue's eyes narrowed as Anthy approached the table. "Oh, may I sit here today, as well? It's so nice to see you again, Kozue."

"Of course," Dio said, just as Kozue muttered "Get lost."

Anthy sat down and smiled as Chu-Chu began to cocoon himself in a napkin.

When the school day ended, the challenge was repeated.

"Again?" Dio said, and he snatched the note from the back of his locker.

"It seems so," Anthy replied, and she removed her glasses to rub at her eyes; a hint of purple shadowed her lower eyelids, and a pervasive tiredness slumped her shoulders. She yawned.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"So much for your vacation." He sighed. "Well, I'll have the finest calves this side of the country by the semester's end."

Two voices spoke in unison, two bodies readied their swords. Dio tensed, lowered himself, and bared his teeth.

"Upon the Black Rose, I swear, I shall win this duel—" Kozue said, and at her side, Shiori grinned viciously, reciting the same. "—and kill the Rose Bride!"

"Sword— Anthy, sword, now," Dio urged, and she was already halfway through her chant. He snatched the hilt and pushed her aside just as Shiori fell upon him. He held no hesitation towards driving a knee into her gut, and so he did, and she recoiled against one of the dozens of desks arranged across the arena. She recovered quickly, however, and Dio tossed himself across another desk in order to avoid the long sweep of her sword.

Her sword, and the way she handled it— an odd mixture of heavy decisiveness and sudden pouncing— she was fighting like Juri, as good as Juri— Dio had to destroy her. He grew so focused upon countering her onslaught that he nearly missed Kozue coming in on the right. Hornet-like, she circled and stung, veering the sword tip against his back, his ribs— she was surely fighting with the same exacting precision that Miki demanded of himself.

He ducked under the next desk— there was a bird perched atop it, some meaningless distraction, and the next desk had a decanter full of milkshake that splattered everywhere when he jostled against it. Another desk had a winged golden statue, a miniature depiction of Eros or Anteros, pulling back a wooden bow with a real string, readied with a gold-tipped arrow. The trio pattern of objects repeated across the arena. Dio scowled and tried to tune out the extraneous details. Where was Shiori? Crouched the next desk over, and preparing to lunge, a wild look in her eyes. Where was Kozue? Hopping over the desk to his right with one hand outstretched like a claw. Her fingers dug against his shoulder, scratched at his skin.

"You think you deserve this?" Kozue spat. "This shining thing that Miki keeps searching for? He'll never find it in her! It can't be her! But the more you keep him from her, the worse he wants it! He'll never look at me as long as she's around!"

Dio drove an elbow against her chest and ducked as Shiori stabbed towards his head.

"You're nothing to Juri," she said through clenched teeth. "You're not even a fly she feels the need to slap. The only person she cares about is me— me, me, me—"

Kozue ferociously pressed at his left, while Shiori relentlessly attacked from the right. Both were on the verge of striking him. Dio angled his forearm over his chest, prepared to absorb the blow, guarding his rose, and he leaned back as far as he could, driving his spine against the desk behind him. The statue atop it teetered, wobbled, and then the small god of love toppled, piercing its arrow into Dio's shoulder.

"Ow," he said, in automatic reflex. His eyes squeezed shut. He held out his blade defensively and prepared for the worst.

Nothing happened. The arena was very quiet. Dio opened his eyes.

For a mere moment, for the increment of time that it took for light to strike his eyes, it seemed as if the world was frozen still; adrenaline, perhaps, had slowed his perception. To the right, Shiori's sword was aimed straight towards his rose, the blade running parallel to his chest. A droplet of sweat floated just above her brow and glinted in the light. To the left, Kozue was prepared to do the same.

They were at such an angle that if he merely reached out to their shoulders, and then pushed—

When it seemed that time began again, Kozue's sword passed through Shiori's black rose just as Shiori's sword scattered hers.

The bells rang. The duel had been won.

Dio tugged at his hair and paced the brief length of the bedroom. To swear upon the Black Rose— to swear upon the Black Rose—

If these Black Rose duelists were, of course, coming from the Black Rose seminar, and Jonathan was attending said seminar, then surely he would fall prey to the same strange influence that had driven Kozue and Shiori to challenge him. And if he had to fight Jojo— if he had to fight Jojo—

"Are you quite alright?" Jonathan was standing at the door, tentative in tone, his brows furrowed. His tone then lightened, forced into levity. "From below, it sounds like you're about to wear through the floor."

Dio, stunned, merely stared at him. Jonathan's expression shifted towards a more direct concern. "Dio?"

"Kozue broke up with me," Dio said.

Jonathan pursed his lips. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry."

"As did Shiori," Dio added.

That spurred a frown. "You— you were courting them both at once?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, like that's such a crime."

"Did they both know?"

"They certainly found out!"

"Dio," Jonathan said, and his head tilted as he huffed, almost amused. "Really?"

He paced and gestured wildly. "And— actually, I've decided. They didn't dump me; I dumped them! I could do better, honestly. Tell me I could do better."

Bemused, Jonathan shook his head. "I'm— I'll leave you to your grief, then. Or lack thereof. As long as you're okay."

"I'm quite fine, thank you."

"Of course."

As Jonathan began descending the steps, Dio dashed out after him. "And— Jojo?"

He turned, eyes wide. "Yes?"

"Could you make me some tea?"

He smiled. "Of course."

Jonathan continued down the stairs. Dio, having only moments to spare, rushed back into their room. He searched through Jonathan's satchel and tossed open the drawers of the desk. A twine-bound folder was full of carefully clipped notes: coffins, corpses, ceremonies. Dio yanked out the contents and then stuffed the folder with miscellany: old mathematics assignments, Ohtori stationery, a stray napkin. He tied it tightly shut again and closed the drawer before shoving Jonathan's seminar assignment into his own satchel. Then, he dove against the bed, half-tucked himself in, and made himself look miserable.

It didn't take long for Jonathan to return with the tea service. Anthy must have helped him; there was a little cocotte of rosehip jam and a plate of sugar-dusted biscuits. He set it upon his desk and poured Dio a cup. Dio sat up to accept it.

Jonathan, smiling faintly as Dio sipped, sat at his desk and reached for the topmost drawer.

"Are you going to work on your seminar assignment?" Dio asked.

Jonathan paused, and then nodded.

"When is it due?"

"Tomorrow morning," Jonathan replied. "It's done, really. I've just been polishing it." He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"I'm sure it's great," Dio said, and he sipped at his tea. There was no duplicity in his tone.

"I hope so." Jonathan crossed his arms behind his head and stretched. "I'd— I'd like to impress this professor that runs it. He seems very interesting."

"Oh?"

"He— he seems to enjoy history, like I do. It would be fun to listen to him."

"I'm sure." Dio took a deep breath. "Would you— have tea with me? Just for a while."

Jonathan, to his credit, masked his astonishment rather quickly. He glanced towards his desk and shrugged. "I should call it a night, anyway," he said, and he grinned. "That thing is at the point where if I edit it any further, I'll probably make it worse. And— it is getting late, after all." He poured himself a cup, let the steam waft off, and reached for one of the biscuits. He slathered it with a generous daub of jam and then nibbled it. He puckered. "Oh— sour! But…" The second bite was heartier. "The sugar balances it out. Would you like one?"

Dio nodded, and Jonathan happily prepared him another.

"Blahh! Blahh! I've emerged from my kofun!"

"Coffin," the second girl corrected, and the first shook dirt out from her hair, showering little shadows across the wall.

"Same difference! Anyway, I'm back again! Back from the dead! Like a— zombie! Blahh!"

"A vampire," the second girl corrected, and the first held out her arms and waved them around.

"Same difference! Anyway, I'm going to go out in the cold and the dark and eat the living, just like I always do!"

"But it's very hot and bright out here," the second girl corrected, and the first began to noisily chew at her hair.

"Then I'll go back in my pyramid, and then come out again when it's safe! I'll keep going for years and years, centuries and centuries, eons and eons. Eventually, everyone will be a mummy, and I'll fit right in! The whole world will be my coffin!"

"I thought you were a zombie."

"A vampire!"

"Same difference!"

"Same diff-fer-rence!"

"You never change, do you?"

"Never, never!"

"Oh, Jojo, where are you going?" Utena turned, surprised as Jonathan began strolling in a different direction. The group had left the dormitory together, as they typically did; Dio and Anthy, the fast walkers, were the vanguards at the front; Utena, who liked to do lunging stretches en route, and Jonathan, who had been trying his best to try and match her lowly-dipping flexibility, typically brought up the back.

Jonathan waved and adjusted his satchel. "I'm stopping by Nemuro Hall before classes start! I'll catch up with you all later!"

"You know what I'm looking forward to?" Dio said, once Jonathan was well out of earshot. "Burning my old maths assignment. I still don't think I should have been docked a point."

"You could submit it for a re-grading," Anthy suggested. Upon her shoulder, Chu-Chu's cheeks bulged with biscuits and jam.

"I'd rather be rid of it." Dio dashed ahead; the trash incinerator was isolated a short distance away from the kendo hall. Upon reaching it, he calmly opened the slot, reached into his satchel, and tossed in Jonathan's essay.

He shut the slot before he could see any sparks.

Struck with sudden nerves, Jonathan paused at the foot of the stairway leading to the hall's entrance. What if he had forgotten to put his name on the thing? It was exactly the sort of detail that he was likely to forget. He retrieved the folder, fumbled a few times at unwinding the twine, and then finally opened it.

He looked it over, turned the page, and then read a little more. He plucked out a napkin between thumb and forefinger. He browsed the remaining nonsense pages, and then he shut the folder, and re-wound the twine.

He dropped the folder. It landed upon the ground and then sat there. The napkin then drifted down after it.

The hall echoed his hurried footsteps as he ran in. "Professor? Professor Souji! I have my assignment, I just need to— I need to find it," he said, catching his breath. "I have to ask— to ask—"

The hall was lined with empty chairs. Each chair held a placard: a graphic of a hand pointed commandingly to the left. The line of hands, if followed, all led to a plain wooden door, though some decoration was carved into the silver handle, an oblong, swirled shape like a cocoon. At the start of the line, a dark window perhaps led to a secretary's desk, but the shutters were closed, and deposit slot was blocked off by a filigreed gate. Beside a bell, a plastic standee read:

Interviewees, please fill out a record form. Interviews will begin promptly at 3:30 PM.

"Did you turn in your essay?"

Jonathan turned, blinked, and took a moment to formulate a response. It was about 3:20, he estimated; the school day had ended, and many of the students were dispersing for extracurriculars. Dio must have sought him out, gone searching for him as soon as classes had finished. "Oh. Yes, I did."

Dio squinted at him, but then, his expression eased, forced into pleasantness. "When will you hear back about it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe next week." Jonathan sighed and stretched out his arms. "I wasn't really given a timeline. But— soon, I hope!"

"Well," Dio said, and Jonathan watched him carefully. "I'm sure it will go well. Where— where are you going?"

Jonathan had started on the path towards the memorial hall; it was in the opposite direction of the dormitory. "Drama club!" he said happily.

"Oh," Dio said. "Have fun."

Jonathan nodded, waved, and departed. His heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest. He had expected some smugness from Dio, some form of puffed-up, barely-restrained bullying, and yet— and yet—

Why had his eyes narrowed, and why had his face fallen so pale? Why had he watched for Jonathan's reaction like a thing cornered?

Why had he seemed so terrified?

He followed the pointing hands. The door shut behind him. A frame upon the wall enclosed a pinned butterfly. In the center of the small room sat a single chair facing a mirror. Jonathan took a seat and folded his hands in his lap.

A voice came from above, strangely flat, staticky. "So, tell me, Jonathan. Have you been having problems lately?"

"I have a b— an adopted brother," Jonathan began. "When I was quite young— an infant really— my family was traveling home by carriage. The route to the manor was known, reliable, but perhaps the rain— something in the cliffside had shifted from it. Of course, I survived— I'm here— but, but…"

He was surprised by a sudden lurch of movement and a mechanical clunk. The chamber began to descend.

"My mother died. I was cradled in her arms, and she did not withstand the impact. The driver, too, surely perished. My father clung to life by a mere thread. A man found us, and he saved us. But Dio's father—"

"Deeper. Go deeper."

"Are the sins of the father the sins of the son? Are the great deeds of the father then too the great deeds of the son? I don't know. My father, and then I— my father had every faith in this man. He had granted us our lives. To doubt that, to think that perhaps it was not a kindness, that this entire endeavor was rotten from the start—"

The command repeated. The elevator chamber descended further than seemed reasonable. Groans and whispers echoed in the surrounding dark.

"It was always my father and I, and a house with all its empty rooms. I so desperately wanted a friend. So when he arrived— I— I've tried so hard to make him like me— but no matter what I do, no matter what I do— he—"

"Deeper."

"I hate him." His hands wound a tight grip against his knees. His shoulders shook. "I hate him for hurting me, for not being the friend that I so wanted, for betraying the memory of his father, my mother. I hate him!"

The whirring machinery quieted. With a ding, the elevator doors opened. The air smelled of ash and arid heat. In the dim beyond, Jonathan could just barely discern a human form.

"I understand," Mikage recited. "Your only choice is to revolutionize the world. The path you must take has been prepared for you."

A smaller body pressed against his back. Cold limbs settled around his shoulders. Jonathan glimpsed the pitch-black petals of a vicious rose. A soft voice, low and boyish, spoke.

"You have been chosen by my black rose. This is your new heart. Your new life. I give this rose that blooms at the End of the World— to you."

The stem plunged and then— jabbed against his chest, pushing into the fabric of his shirt. After a pause, it lifted, dropped, and nudged him again. The stem bowed, then straightened.

Mikage's brows furrowed. His lips parted, then closed, pressing into a perplexed line.

Jonathan, shivering, lifted both hands. "And— scene! I was— acting. I was acting."

The ensuing silence was suffocating.

"Bravo to the Ohtori Drama Club," Jonathan added, his voice wavering, but then he steeled himself, straightened his back, and looked Mikage in the eye. "So— tell me— what's really going on here?"

Mikage said nothing. He only looked hopelessly to whoever was standing at Jonathan's back.

There was a sound like a great column of stone straining. The chamber darkened, or— it had in fact brightened, lit by the gout of furnace flame flaring behind an opened slat upon the far wall. The fire threw the room into stark contrast. Jonathan noticed the many pairs of empty shoes lining the chamber's perimeter. For just a moment, within the red flicker, he thought he could see standing silhouettes, and a crowd of flat black shadows stood above each respective pair.

The arms over his shoulders tightened. It was not done with any especial strength, but he did not resist as the body at his back pulled him into the elevator.

"Close your eyes," the voice said, and he did. A motor whirred. Momentum tugged and then relented. There was a ding, and then the doors slid apart. Jonathan, wary of witnessing anything without instruction, kept his eyes tightly shut.

"Walk," the voice said. It was— lighter, and more familiar, now. Strange. He stepped forward and was guided. Darkness persisted for a time, but then he passed through a threshold and sunlight warmed his face.

He was no longer being held. He opened his eyes.

For a long moment, he was too frightened to look behind him, to see the shadow that he had left. To see who it was that had guided him. But he gathered his courage and turned.

He was met by a polite yet commandingly yellow sign. UNDER CONSTRUCTION - KEEP OUT.

He tilted his head upward; the imposing memorial hall was no more than a hollow shell of rotting timbers, cracked marble, and plaster dust.