“COUGH—” Man immediately closed her mouth as crimson seeped through her pristine gloves and fingers.

  Burn blinked. It always felt like it happened in the blink of ao him.

  “Mama?” Yvain widened his eyes in horror, standing in the middle of the entrance ceremony’s feast.

  Burn ed her in his embrace, his expression hardening. Instantly, his formidable aura washed over the hall, making the air thiough to cut. Even those closest to him felt a curious amnesia about breathing.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Burn said, sidestepping Yvain’s terrified gaze. Without waiting for any grand approval, he scooped her up, his heavy metal heels eg like a bad omen, f the sea of guests to part as if the buffet were a biblical event.

  Man refrained from reading his mind. Her worried eyes followed him as he navigated the buffet’s chaos. The pain in her chest was sharp, but at least it wasn’t as spectacurly intense as usual.

  “So… it’s close…?” she asked. “Three days… is it after the assembly?”

  Burn remained annoyingly silent, as if he’d just found out that the weather forecast included a monsoon of doom and was keeping it all to himself.

  An academy staff member trailed behind him, a room for them to rest, though the iio more like a desperate plea for calm as Bur him. The staff squirmed uhe weight of that icy golden stare, clearly perturbed by his wife’s sudden fit of coughing blood.

  “Please, this way, sir…”

  He walked forward, though it was discerting that Burn seemed to follow his owituition rather than the guiding staff, who were merely floating along behind him like anxious shadows.

  Burn turo the room before the staff even had the ce to point it out, as if he had memorized the yout.

  “Please tell us if you need some—”

  The door tly shut iaff member’s face, cutting off his well-iioned offer. The academy staff member chuckled nervously, masking his irritation.

  The Sator family was simultaneously awe-inspiring and terrifying—an uandable rea sidering the spectacle of a woman hurling blood in the midst of a buffet.

  As he ambled away, he noticed the family’s son, Evan, following closely behind. The boy, polite yet clearly distracted, bowed deeply, seemingly unaware of how to navigate the tension in the air. “My Papa is a bit tense. He loves Mama too much; please uand.”

  The academy staff managed a smile, despite the undercurrent of chaos. “Please don’t worry. We uand,” he replied, a touch of sarcasm g his words as he thought about how "uanding" amidst a bloodbath is, in fact, a rather high bar for emotional intelligence.

  The day roving quite eventful—who khat buffet etiquette included dealing with life-threatening emergencies?

  The rumors about Madam Sator’s illness had spread like wildfire, as if someone had set a match to a pile of dry leaves. And if that wasn’t it, wouldn’t the academy be gloriously bmed for her sudden fre-up?

  The staff excused himself, casting o g the boy, who li the threshold like a hesitant ghost. His eyes were a cocktail of emotions—plicated, fusing, and perhaps a touch existential—as he stared at the door, hands ched so tight one might think he was sculpting a marble statue of ay.

  He left after the boy's plicated expression seemed to seep into his own face. Who khe youth could i adults with such a potent brew of despair? It was almost admirable, really.

  The Sator Family, renowned mert group owners.

  Nothing erfe this world.

  ***

  “Caliburn… what’s wrong?” Man raised an eyebrow, ing back as Burn carefully pced her on the couch. He turned and locked the door with a decisive click.

  Voices from outside drifted in—Yvain versing with the staff—before Burhe weight of his presening behind the door. He turan. “Lay down,” he ordered. “Recover.”

  Man, sensing the urgen his tone, didn’t need a sed invitation. She settled ba the couch, trying to muster focus, although this was the first time the air felt thick with nervous energy whenever he was near. How delightful.

  Burn stood by the door, his expression as imperable as a fortress. Once he firmed Yvain had vacated the premises with his merry band of panions, he turan, his eyes an icy storm.

  “...Caliburn…” Man fidgeted under his unyielding gaze. “Did I do something? Iure?”

  “No,” Burn replied, the single word as sharp as a sword.

  Man curled deeper into the couch, a humazel retreating from a great threat. “You look… mad.”

  “I am,” Burn stated, the simple fession shattering any illusion of warmth.

  Man scooted even further into the couch, as if trying to fuse with its upholstery. “Hnggg…”

  It was abundantly clear when Burn was angry. The angrier he became, the eerily calmer he appeared—like a tempest pretending to be a gentle breeze. If he resorted t, there might still be hope. If he took immediate a to fix whatever mess was at hand, things might not be so dire.

  But now? Now, he was doing nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Mahis time it was only her who had mao kick the proverbial hor's . So, naturally, she had done something to provoke his simmering rage. Had she jumped headfirst into danger again? Had she pulled off another one of her trademark stunts?

  As if attempting te with the fabric of the couch, Man sank deeper into it, the universe a silent plea, “Papa, please spare me…?”

  Burn’s gre, however, remained fixed on her from across the room. In that instant, Man was vihat even if she could to a gaxy far, far away, that stare would still find her.

  Yet, ironically, seeing her quaking in fear only plicated things further for Burn. The past—future couple of days had been a relentless rollercoaster of emotional upheaval and startliions—And how splendidly it all came crashing down in the end.

  “You hadn’t read my memory?” Burn asked.

  Man shook her head, brow furrowing in .

  “Why?” Burn pressed again, his voi icy whisper.

  “Because you look disturbed,” Man replied, the simplicity of her answer belying the gravity of the situation.

  “This time I ’t tell you to read it, so please just take the initiative and steal the memory from me,” Burn said coldly.

  “Caliburn, seriously, what’s wrong?” Man’s patience wore thin as she sat up, her eyes now full of worry—and perhaps a hint of exasperation.

  Burn shook his head, sealing his lips tighter than a vault. He wouldn’t give in, even if the sky fell—this secret seemed to weigh as much as the world. This frustrated Man immensely; she was no more eager to steal his memory than she’d been to wade into quid.

  After all, st time had been more than just a little messy.

  With a resigned sigh, she stood and approached him. “Fine, I’ll throw ethical s out the window for you and steal it without your permission.”

  She reached forward, but Burly sidestepped her hand.

  “Caliburn…” she groaned, exasperation dripping from her words.

  He shook his head stubbornly, his resolve as firm as bedrock.

  “Bunny…” Man’s tone softeinged with sorrow as his bizarre dance around the truth tormented her. “What happened? Seriously, I ’t even begin to fathom how we got here.”

  After a session of reag and dodging, she sighed. “You know what? Fet it. I don’t want to know. Keep your secrets. I’ll just bumble through this minefield myself. What’s the worst that could happen? Just me leaping headfirst into peril again. You think I’ll do it again, even without your warnings?”

  “I really won’t die this time!” Man yelled.

  “It’s me, Man,” Burn said suddenly. “I was the one who killed you this time.”

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  ------------------------------------

  Ay yo, the post-chapter author note before this was so bleak :'v I just wish we all have our save space. Maybe deep down, Burn want to be that save space, but he was cursed t death upon his closest. His father, and even Man.

  Still, he killed her again.