Irene allowed herself a small smile as she exited Zeref's office, relishing the bitterness etched on Kyouka's face. Against Kyouka's wishes, she had managed to share fragments of her story with someone—her husband, no less. Irene had left behind a single, subtle clue for Zeref: her assailant, the one who had scarred her so deeply, was closer than he realized. His wife. Whether Zeref pieced it together now or later didn't concern her. What mattered was the seed of doubt she had planted in Kyouka's mind. Knowing Kyouka's obsessive tendencies, Irene was certain she would fixate on the visit, poking and prodding Zeref for details. That alone, Irene thought with quiet satisfaction, would be enough to unsettle her.

A few steps away from the office, Irene's phone buzzed, cutting through her thoughts. Ding. She glanced down at the screen, her lips parting slightly as she read the message. Her faint smile faded, replaced by a cold resolve. Straightening, she gestured to the taxi idling by the curb.


Meanwhile

Back in Zeref's office, his frown deepened as he studied Kyouka, who lingered near his desk.

"I wasn't aware you had friends outside your usual social circle," he remarked, his tone casual but probing as he locked the drawer containing his clients' files.

Kyouka ignored the jab, her focus unwavering. "What did she say?" she demanded.

Zeref's brows furrowed slightly. "Are you associated with her?" he asked, noting the shift in her demeanor. She was typically compliant. This confrontational side of her was unusual—or perhaps, he mused, he was simply overanalyzing.

"I am," Kyouka admitted, her voice steady. "But that was a long time ago, honey. What did she tell you?"

"Things shared by a client in confidence are protected by law," Zeref replied firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "I cannot and will not reveal such information."

For a brief moment, silence hung in the air. Kyouka's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't push further. Instead, she stepped back, her expression inscrutable. Fucking bitch! She cursed to herself.


Somewhere in the shadowed stillness of an abandoned village, Irene stepped out of the taxi and paid her fare without a word. Her gaze fixed ahead, she walked toward the crumbling cathedral that loomed in the distance. The building's facade was marred by time, its once-pristine stone walls now streaked with moss and decay.

Inside, the air was damp, filled with the faint scent of old wood and wax. Irene's footsteps echoed across the worn marble floor as she approached the altar. A tarnished communion box stood in the corner. She sat on the creaking bench, her posture calm yet charged with anticipation. Clearing her throat, she murmured softly, her voice carrying a faint edge of irony.

"Forgive me, Father, for I will sin."

Her words hung in the air, and after a brief silence, a low voice responded from the shadows behind the confessional screen. "My lady, she's digging into your background."

The figure stepped forward, emerging just enough to hand her a brown envelope. Irene took it without hesitation, her gaze sharp as she sifted through its contents.

"Did she find anything suspicious?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with curiosity.

"No," the man replied. "All the records were clean. However, she contacted the chairman's secretary to inquire about your position."

Irene's lips tightened into a thin line. "Didn't she change her number already?"

The man shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But I made sure Heine knows not to disclose anything further."

Irene exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing over the edge of the envelope as she stared into the dim light filtering through the cracked stained-glass windows. "Good. Ensure Heine stays silent," she said quietly. "Let her dig all she wants—she'll find nothing."


Kyouka was furious, her anger simmering beneath her carefully curated exterior. She couldn't express it outright—not yet—but her actions betrayed her. Instead of sharing the ride with her husband as planned, she stormed out on her own, forgoing even the assistance of her butler. She yanked open the car door herself, slamming it shut with such force that her driver and assistant immediately snapped to attention.

"Take me to Mard Geer's art gallery," she barked.

As the car began to move, Kyouka dialed a number on her phone with shaking hands. "Answer your fucking phone, you bastard!" she growled, her voice escalating with every ring that went unanswered. She could feel the heat rising in her chest.

The image of Irene revealing her scars to Zeref burned vividly in her mind, a taunting reminder of the audacity that woman had. That bitch dared to show up in my husband's office, to seek therapy from him of all people. What game is she playing? Kyouka clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into her palms. The thought of Irene unveiling those marks, those scars, to Zeref felt like a direct attack, a challenge she couldn't ignore.

"That bitch has lost her fucking mind!" Kyouka screamed, her voice echoing through the car. She hurled her phone at the backseat in frustration, the device shattering on impact. Her assistant flinched but dared not speak, while the driver tightened his grip on the wheel, pretending not to notice.

Each passing second fanned the flames of her frustration. Irene's boldness wasn't just infuriating—it was threatening. Kyouka's mind raced with questions. What did she tell Zeref? Did she reveal everything? Did she say my name? Her jaw tightened, and she leaned back against the seat, glaring out the window.


The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets as the driver pulled to a stop at Irene's request. He furrowed his brow, puzzled by her odd request to halt near a dimly lit alley. Irene's behavior had already struck him as unusual—after purchasing a selection of the finest baguettes from the city's most renowned patisserie, she had asked him to deliver the bread to the group of ragged children huddled nearby.

"Give these to them," she had said, her voice soft yet resolute, as she remained seated in the taxi.

Reluctantly, the driver stepped out, clutching the paper bag of baguettes. The children's eyes lit up at the sight of the warm bread, their faces breaking into smiles as they eagerly reached for the unexpected treat. He couldn't help but smile himself as he handed out the baguettes.

"Thank the lady in the taxi," he said, gesturing toward the car.

One of the children, a boy with messy hair and crumbs already on his face, blinked up at him in confusion. "The redhead? She went toward the park," the boy replied, pointing down the alley while happily munching on his piece of bread.

The driver's stomach sank. He turned back to the taxi, his steps quickening. When he reached the car, the sight on the backseat left him momentarily stunned—a hefty wad of cash sat neatly where Irene had been. It was far more than what he was owed for the ride.

"Ma'am?" he called out instinctively, glancing toward the park. But there was no sign of her, just the deepening shadows and the faint rustling of leaves carried by the breeze.


Irene pinched a piece of bread and tossed it into the pond. Her vacant, brown eyes followed the bread as it hit the surface, sending ripples across the still water. Moments later, a flurry of motion disrupted the silence—koi fish surged forward, devouring the bread in a frenzy. The ripples distorted her reflection. And then, within the shifting water, her vision changed. Another figure appeared in the reflection, leaning beside her. A familiar face—a scarlet-haired child—smiling brightly. Irene froze as the image tugged her back into a memory she had buried deep.


Flashback

"Mommy," the child greeted her warmly.

Irene found herself standing before her daughter, her oversized shirt tattered and filthy. Her innocent face smeared with dirt from a long day on the streets. Despite her disheveled appearance, the child beamed as she held up a fresh baguette, presenting it like a trophy.

"It seems you managed to ask for alms again. Did anyone hurt you?" Irene asked, her voice soft but laced with worry.

"No, Mommy," the child replied cheerfully.

"Haven't I told you not to beg for money?" Irene said, kneeling down to wipe the dirt from her daughter's face. "They might think you're a mendicant. Mommy's trying her best—I'm applying for a spot at the restaurant. While we wait, I've been saving coins from delivering newspapers around town."

The child hesitated, clutching the baguette tightly. "I just don't want to be a burden. At least I can help. I saved a few coins so I could buy us some bread."

Irene's heart ached at her daughter's words. She smiled, cupping her daughter's small face. "My baby's so kind," she said, accepting the bread with a faint tremor in her hands.

"I hope you don't mind that my share is a little bigger than yours, Mommy," the child added innocently, breaking the baguette into uneven pieces.

Irene's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "Of course not, sweetheart."

Her daughter pinched off a small piece of bread and tossed it into the pond. The koi fish resurfaced immediately, swarming to devour the crumbs. Irene watched, puzzled, as her daughter continued to feed the fish.

"Why do you keep feeding them?" Irene asked gently.

The child didn't respond right away. Instead, she threw another piece into the water, her eyes fixated on the fish as they swirled below the surface. "We barely have enough for ourselves, dear. It would've been better if you saved the bread," Irene reminded her softly.

The girl finally spoke, her voice filled with curiosity. "I was just wondering, Mom… Do you know what koi fish symbolize? Because I know!"

"What do they mean?"

The child's face lit up, her excitement spilling over as she recounted what she had overheard earlier that day during a school field trip while asking for alms. "They symbolize perseverance," she explained.

"There's this legend about a school of koi fish swimming upstream in the Yellow River. The current was strong, and there was a big waterfall called the Dragon Gate."

Irene listened intently, her gaze softening as her daughter continued.

"Most of the koi gave up and swam back," the child said, her small hand scattering more bread into the pond. "But a few didn't. They kept trying for years and years. And then, finally, one koi made it to the top of the waterfall. The gods were so impressed, they turned it into a golden dragon."

The child's voice lingered in the air, her eyes gleaming as she stared at the fish in the pond. "Maybe one day," she said, "we can be like that koi, too."

Irene swallowed hard, her chest tightening as her daughter's words sank in. And when she reached out, trying to pull the child into her arms, the vision faded into the ripples of reality.


Irene tightened her grasp on the bread. The warmth she had felt, the bright smile of her child—it all slipped through her fingers like grains of sand. No matter how much she longed for it, how desperately she tried to recreate those moments, they were gone. Forever. The bread in her hand crumbled slightly under the force of her grip, but she didn't notice. Her gaze shifted upward, toward the darkening sky, its vast emptiness offering no solace, no answers.

"When will I make it to the top of the waterfall, Erza?" she whispered, her voice trembling as she spoke the name. It hung in the air, soft and fragile, like a plea to the heavens.

But the sky, just like her memories, remained silent. Only the distant hum of the evening breeze and the faint ripples of the pond answered her, reflecting her solitude. Irene let out a slow, shaky breath, her tears threatening to spill, but she willed them away. There was no one to see her fall apart—not anymore.

The koi fish swirled in the water, chasing the last crumbs of bread as Irene stood there.

"Maybe one day, we can be like that koi, too."

A bitter smile crossed her lips. "One day," she murmured, though she wasn't sure if she truly believed it. Still, the word lingered, like a tiny flicker of light in the vast darkness surrounding her.


A/N: Thank you for faving and following my story, BethxAngel. Thank you for reading and bye for now.