The steel door groaned open.
Byakuran stepped in, his white uniform immaculate, as if untouched by the blood of past timelines. Though his smile was soft, the aura surrounding him carried a weight—like a sugar-coated razor blade, sweet but lethal.
The candy shop was empty save for the soft golden glow of a flickering lamp overhead. He walked over to a corner booth and took his seat as though this was his private sanctuary.
A waitress approached, unbothered and unaware.
"Can I get you anything?"
Byakuran smiled pleasantly. "A marshmallow tart and a glass of cold milk, please~"
She left without comment. The silence that followed was tense, heavy with something unspoken.
Then the door opened again.
Five people entered, each a shadow from the past.
They made their way to the booth and sat opposite him, no greetings exchanged.
These were the Six Funeral Wreaths. Or at least, the five who remained in his company.
Kikyo broke the silence. "You're just going to let him walk away?"
Byakuran didn't answer. He lifted a spoonful of marshmallow fluff and let it linger on his tongue.
"Mmm~ The sweets in this world are so much gentler than before. They melt like they want to disappear. It's delightful~"
Bluebell slammed her hand on the table. "We should've ended it right there. You saw how vulnerable he was!"
Byakuran's smile didn't waver. "You mean Alex Ray? The self-proclaimed 'Lord of Hell's Kitchen'? The one building Hogwarts in the middle of a fractured Manhattan?"
Zakuro leaned back, lazily chewing on a strip of candied bacon. "He's a threat. Surrounded by misfits and monsters. Mutants, time-travelers, exiles from the Void… he's rallying them under his banner."
"And you let them walk away," Ghost added, his tone unreadable.
Byakuran stirred his milk thoughtfully. "Because I'm curious. I want to see what he becomes."
Daisy raised an eyebrow. "You think this is smart?"
"I think it's entertaining," Byakuran replied. "Alex Ray isn't just another timeline parasite. He's a fixed point now. The kind of anomaly even the Main God's logic can't erase. Someone—or something—has bent this world around him."
Torikabuto shifted but didn't speak. His silence, as always, was more telling than a speech.
Kikyo's voice dropped. "This version of Hell's Kitchen… it's not part of any recognized stream. The Main God can't map it. Can't access it."
Byakuran nodded slowly. "It's been hidden. Tucked away. Like a blind spot… or a test site."
"And Hogwarts?" Zakuro asked.
"A sanctuary. A fortress. Maybe even bait." Byakuran smiled. "He's not the architect though. Someone else carved this refuge from the multiverse's ribs. Alex is just the one brave—or stupid—enough to hold it together."
Daisy leaned in. "Then should I kill him now?"
"No, no~" Byakuran wagged his finger. "Let the flower bloom. Pruning it too early ruins the fragrance."
"Too late, and it poisons the garden," Ghost warned.
That's when it changed.
The light in the room shifted.
Pressure dropped. Reality bent. Every Sixth Sense screamed at once.
They turned their heads as one.
A figure stood across the street.
Long blond hair. Crimson-lined cloak. Eyes like judgment.
Giotto. The First Vongola.
The temperature dropped.
Byakuran didn't blink. He simply stared through the glass, milk in hand.
A crack formed along the side of the glass, white liquid slowly bleeding down his wrist.
"I failed once," he murmured.
He looked back at the others.
"Not again."
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