Regulus stared at Chelsea with wide eyes, lying unconscious on the mattress.
Her abdomen was exposed, a deep gash carefully stitched, but traces of blood still remained visible.
A heavy feeling clenched his chest—neither fear nor anger could define it.
Clenching his teeth, he turned sharply toward Difda and Mirzam, who stood nearby. Their silent presence only amplified his tension.
Without hesitation, he strode toward Difda, grabbed her by the shoulders, and began shaking her.
"What happened?" His voice cracked into a shout. "What the hell happened to Chelsea?"
Difda stared silently at the ground, her pink hair obscuring her face. As his grip tightened, she snorted and shoved him off abruptly.
"Let go of me, you idiot," she snapped, meeting his eyes. Her voice softened, turning firm. "Here's what I saw..."
Difda sat on a stairwell step in an alley, wiping blood off the blade of her scythe.
Around her, the bodies of slain soldiers lay scattered haphazardly. Her breathing was heavy, but irritation outweighed her fatigue.
"Damn, you guys are annoying..." She exhaled a thick plume of smoke, glaring at the carnage. "Can't even smoke in peace, bastards."
Her face, as always, reflected both aggression and frustration. She cast a sideways glance at the nearest corpse, wiped the cigarette butt on it, and flicked it to the ground.
"Enough wasting time. Time to check the bar," she muttered, standing up.
As she stepped out of the alley, she froze. Crowds of people were fleeing the bar, screaming and jostling, their faces twisted in panic.
"What the hell happened here?" The thought hit her as she gripped her scythe tighter. "Was the target eliminated? We were supposed to handle it outside! What the hell is this mess?"
Her expression darkened as she took a few steps toward the bar, only to stop when she felt a faint touch on her shoulder.
"Hey, Difda..." A weak, raspy voice called out.
She turned, her eyes widening in rare surprise.
Chelsea stood before her, swaying as if every movement drained her strength.
A large shard of glass protruded from her abdomen, blood streaming from the wound and soaking her ginger hair and clothes.
"Something happened in the bar," Chelsea murmured weakly, her voice faltering. "Maybe an explosion... maybe something else."
Her breathing was labored.
"The target lost his head. Bottles shattered... and one of the shards hit me," she continued, pausing to catch her breath. "Looks like it didn't hit anything vital..."
With every word, her strength waned. She staggered and collapsed onto Difda's shoulder.
Difda caught her without a word, not dropping her scythe. Her eyes reflected anger, mixed with concern.
"What the hell... happened there?" Difda's thoughts burned as she held the weakened Chelsea close.
"After that, I brought her here and stitched the wound," Difda finished, looking away as if avoiding everyone's gaze.
Regulus froze. His eyes widened, his heart clenching painfully. A whirlwind of thoughts rushed through his mind, leaving one bitter truth.
"It was me... Chelsea got hurt because of my attack." The realization struck like lightning.
His heart pounded harder, echoing in his ears.
Regulus turned his gaze to Chelsea, lying on the mattress. Her face was pale, almost bloodless, her breathing barely noticeable. Everything seemed fragile, as if she might vanish at any moment.
"I couldn't even keep that promise," he thought, guilt pressing down on him.
A memory surfaced. He had sworn to himself that his newfound power would never harm those he cared about. Especially her—his "sister." But now...
"What are you staring at?" Mirzam's voice cut through his thoughts. She leaned closer, her irritation evident. "Seen a ghost or something?"
Regulus flinched and shifted his gaze from Chelsea to the black-haired girl.
Her words pulled him back to reality. He exhaled deeply, trying to steady his emotions.
"No, just thinking," he muttered, attempting indifference. "Will Chelsea be okay?"
Mirzam shrugged, inspecting her nails as if it was a trivial matter.
"No vital organs were hit. She didn't lose much blood. The wound's treated and stitched. She'll probably pull through," she said, her tone flat but steady.
Regulus noticed the flicker of worry in her eyes. His lips twitched into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"Good to hear," he murmured, more to himself than her.
Gently, he ran his hand through Chelsea's hair, adjusting her disheveled strands. His fingers lingered briefly, as if hoping the touch could convey his warmth.
Then, he carefully pulled the edge of her clothing to cover her stitched wound.
"She needs rest," Difda said evenly, watching his actions.
"Agreed." Regulus sighed softly.
He stood and walked toward Difda without a word. Then, without ceremony, he reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and took one.
"You could've just asked," she grumbled, sliding the pack back into her pocket. "And don't forget to return the lighter. Have some decency."
"I will," Regulus retorted with a faint smirk. "I'm not completely shameless."
Difda crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a quiet snort but saying nothing more.
The night air was cool, but Regulus hardly noticed it. He stepped onto the porch, flicked his lighter, and lit a cigarette.
As he inhaled the smoke, the sharp sting of nicotine burned his throat, filling his lungs with a familiar weight.
A second later, he exhaled a stream of smoke into the night air, watching as it dissolved into the darkness.
"Why the hell did I even snap in the direction of this bar? " he thought bitterly, gripping the cigarette between his fingers. "If I'd just kept myself in check... Chelsea would be fine. We'd be sitting together now, teasing each other like always."
His lips twitched as if to smile, but the expression never formed. His mind replayed the image of her injured body, and how he had covered her with his coat, as though trying to bury his guilt.
"Promises… You couldn't even keep one, could you, Regulus?" The thought stung like a whip. "Protecting her was your responsibility. And instead... there she is, barely hanging on because of you."
He took a deeper drag, his heart tightening with self-loathing. The nicotine dulled the weight for only a moment.
The door creaked open behind him. Regulus glanced back and saw Difda standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.
Her pink hair glimmered faintly in the dim moonlight, and her gaze, as always, was stern.
"How long are you going to keep beating yourself up?" she asked dryly. Her voice lacked emotion, but there was a hint of concern buried within. "Chelsea doesn't need your drama right now. She needs rest."
Regulus took another drag and turned away, avoiding her gaze. He tossed her the lighter, which she caught effortlessly.
"Just thinking," he muttered, blowing smoke to the side.
"Oh, you think now? That's new," she quipped, her sarcasm cutting through the tension. "Careful, don't overdo it."
"Thanks for the pep talk," he shot back with a forced smirk, still not looking at her.
Difda snorted softly, watching him for a moment longer before turning to leave. As she walked back inside, she threw a parting remark over her shoulder:
"Don't take too long. We still need to figure out what the hell happened."
Regulus watched her go but said nothing. Her words left a bitter taste, not because she was right, but because she had no idea he was to blame.
"If anyone found out... especially Chelsea…" His thoughts grew heavier.
He took one last deep drag, feeling the cigarette burn his fingers. Staring up at the starry sky, he clenched his jaw.
"I just hope this never happens again."
He stubbed the cigarette out with his sandal and let the ember fade.
In the library's quiet solitude, a purple-haired girl sat curled up in a corner, engrossed in a book.
Sheele was rereading a chapter about overcoming impulsive behavior. Her focused gaze darted over the pages, while her fingers absentmindedly fidgeted with the edge of the paper.
The silence broke with a faint rustling sound. Sheele froze.
She lifted her head, scanning the room.
The noise came again, louder this time.
"Who's there?" she thought, frowning.
The library was closed for the day, being a holiday. Even the Night Raid members were downstairs in the basement. No one should've been upstairs.
"Is someone here?" she called out cautiously into the emptiness.
Only silence answered. Sheele set the book down, her hands trembling slightly.
Rising from her chair, she moved quietly toward the source of the noise.
It seemed to be coming from the far end of the room, where tall bookshelves loomed.
As she approached, she peeked around a shelf, careful not to reveal herself.
But as she stepped sideways, her foot caught on the edge of a rug, and she tumbled forward with a loud thud.
"Ow!" she yelped.
For a moment, she froze, embarrassed by her clumsiness.
"Uhh…"
She rubbed her eyes, which blurred as she tried to make out a figure sitting in the shadows.
A man sat on a chair, his posture oddly stiff and unnatural.
His outline was fuzzy, and Sheele realized her glasses had fallen.
"Damn… Where are they?" she muttered, patting the floor.
Her fingers finally found her glasses, and she quickly put them on.
The man before her came into focus—his face pale as death, with sharp features and almond-shaped eyes that first stared at her in surprise.
A moment later, his expression shifted to calm indifference.
"Sorry…" Sheele mumbled, her voice trembling as she took him in.
The man seemed out of place here, his presence inexplicably unsettling.
"No need... to apologize," he said slowly, pausing between words.
He ran a hand through his thick black hair, slicked back neatly.
His movements were fluid but oddly deliberate, as if he were moving through water.
"Who are you?" Sheele finally asked, her voice hesitant.
The man froze briefly, as though considering his answer.
"Well, you see, I have a severe allergy to sunlight," he said, smiling faintly as though savoring his words. "Right now, I can't go home. May I stay here instead?"
Sheele blinked, clearly thrown off.
"Huh?" she stammered. "Is that even a real thing?!"
The man nodded calmly, closing the book he had been reading.
"As you can see, I'm a living example," he replied smoothly, his tone carrying a faint hint of sarcasm.
Sheele frowned, her mind struggling to process his explanation.
She glanced at him with a mix of doubt and sympathy, though her skepticism lingered.
"Well… I suppose there's no other option," she said after a pause, raising her head. "You can stay."
The man raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by her decision.
His almond-shaped eyes widened slightly before regaining their usual composed look.
"Are you sure?" he asked lazily, his tone both mocking and amused. "What if I'm a thief, a killer, or some maniac?"
Sheele froze, her face paling as her hands nearly dropped her glasses. She quickly lowered her gaze, as though searching the floor for an answer.
"Uhh…" she mumbled, rubbing her chin. "Didn't think of that…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Does that mean… you're planning to steal or… kill?"
The man chuckled, leaning back in his chair. His expression turned amused, and his voice softened.
"No, relax," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm not planning anything. Just wanted to see how trusting you are."
Sheele looked away, contemplating before responding.
"I doubt a thief would come up with such a weird story about sunlight allergies… And you were just sitting here reading a book," she said, searching for anything suspicious in his behavior.
The man narrowed his eyes slightly, as though evaluating her words.
"Fair point," he said slowly, rising from his chair with deliberate movements. Each gesture seemed purposeful. "What's your name?"
"Sheele," she replied confidently, meeting his gaze directly.
"Fomalhaut," he introduced himself, inclining his head slightly as if in a formal gesture. His voice was steady but carried a hint of weariness. "You can call me 'Fo.'"
(Fomalhaut is the brightest star in the constellation Piscis Austrinus and one of the brightest in the night sky.)
"Regul, Chelsea's awake," Mirzam announced with visible relief as she stepped into the living room.
Regulus looked up from the newspaper he had been reading, held his breath for a moment, then stood abruptly, letting the paper fall to the table.
"She's awake?" he asked, needing confirmation.
Mirzam nodded, stepping aside to let him pass.
"Yes, alive and kicking—well, as much as she can in her state," she added, watching him head for the door.
Without wasting a second, he opened the door to the room where Chelsea lay on a mattress. Her auburn hair was splayed across the pillow, her eyes half-open, and her lips curled into a weak but warm smile.
"Well, hello," she said softly, her voice raspy but carrying its usual teasing tone. "Finally decided to show up?"
Regulus raised an eyebrow, but the corners of his lips twitched into a faint smile.
"I'd say you took your sweet time waking up," he countered, moving closer. "Honestly, I was worried."
Chelsea let out a faint chuckle, her gaze softening.
"Really?" she drawled. "I thought you were so busy with your own stuff you forgot about me."
Regulus sat on the edge of the mattress, crossing his arms over his chest.
"How could I forget? You're my personal headache," he said with mock sarcasm, though his tone was gentle. "Do you even realize how much time and energy I've spent on you?"
"And I was unconscious the whole time," Chelsea quipped. "Can't imagine what it'd be like if I were awake."
Regulus snorted, his eyes scanning her carefully as if to reassure himself she was okay.
"Alright, enough of that," she said suddenly, shifting her gaze to the ceiling. "I've been thinking…"
"You? Thinking?" Regulus interrupted with exaggerated surprise.
Chelsea shot him a sideways glare but couldn't suppress a smile.
"Let me finish, smartass. I was thinking—what if, after all this revolutionary mess, we... settle down? In a cozy house. In a small village. All of us. You, me, the rest of the Hyades. What do you say?"
Regulus blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion, but quickly pictured the idea in his mind. He smirked.
"Sounds weird. Us—living a peaceful life?" he teased. "But, you know, it's not a bad idea."
The redhead looked at him, a hint of satisfaction crossing her face.
"So, you're in?" she asked.
"I'm in, but on one condition," Regulus said, leaning a little closer. "You have to survive this mess, as you called it."
Chelsea rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed slightly.
"Actually, I was going to say the same to you, idiot," she muttered, pouting.
"Well, then we're on the same page," Regulus replied calmly, smiling. "And that's half the battle."
She couldn't help but laugh softly but winced almost immediately, the pain evident.
"Hey, take it easy," Regulus said, gently adjusting her pillow. "It's not time to play hero yet."
"I know, I know," she grumbled, but gratitude shone in her eyes.