A faint groan escaped as Shidou's eyelids fluttered open. His head felt heavy—his first thought. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he saw a strange ceiling, wires and cables exposed.
"Where…?" he rasped.
"You're awake?" a voice answered.
Turning his head, he saw a pale woman in a chair. This felt familiar, like when he met Tohka. But now, his thoughts were foggy, unable to focus.
"Reine-san…" he murmured.
"Fatigue and mental shock. Rest," Reine advised.
"...?" Shidou tilted his head, trying to sit up but stopped. Why was he here, unconscious? He couldn't recall. "You don't remember?" Reine asked, watching him.
"You passed out. We brought you to ," she explained.
"Passed out… me…?" he echoed, stunned.
He tried to remember why, but a dull pain blocked it, as if his mind rejected the effort. Reine's concerned gaze met his, but he lacked the energy to respond. Normally, her mysterious beauty would captivate him, but his mind was sluggish.
"You're up, Shidou," a new voice cut in.
The door opened, and Kotori's unmistakable commander-tone entered. Black ribbons confirmed it.
"Good to see you safe. Sorry to push, but we need to know what happened. You scared us, passing out after the comms," Kotori said.
"After the comms…?" Shidou frowned, irritation rising. What was she talking about? The war date wasn't over if Kotori was still in commander mode. Who was he with—
"What happened with Kurumi?" Kotori asked.
The name hit like a flood, memories crashing in. The dreamlike reality and nightmarish truth with her. A dry laugh escaped him, trembling.
"Ha… hahaha…" he laughed.
"Shidou…?" Kotori faltered.
"Sorry, Kotori," he said, covering his eyes.
He couldn't see their expressions, but Kotori's voice betrayed worry. He couldn't muster a reassuring smile. The war date, as Kotori called it, was his wish. Yet—
"I got dumped," he said.
Shidou Itsuka had been utterly defeated.
"Worried?" Reine asked.
"Huh?" Kotori blinked.
"About Shin. Your face says it," Reine said, eyeing the empty medical bay beds.
Kotori had been staring, lost in thought, worry evident. Shidou was gone, despite needing rest.
"Leave me alone, please," he'd said.
Kotori couldn't find words. As commander, she failed to reach him. Clenching her fists, she'd agreed, sending him home—her best effort.
"You're right. As , we can't afford Shidou breaking down—" Kotori began.
"Not what I meant," Reine interrupted, shaking her head.
Her earnest, caring gaze seemed to say only Kotori mattered. Kotori gave a wry smile—Reine always saw through emotions, no tech needed. Surrendering, Kotori sat on a bed, dropping her commander mask.
"I'm worried. I promised backup, threw him out there alone, and now this. I couldn't even comfort him," she admitted.
Shidou's safety was luck. They existed to support him fully, yet Kurumi's words immobilized them, wounding Shidou. It was her failure as commander.
"Not just your burden. We all share it. Kurumi's motives outsmarted us," Reine said.
"Maybe… Reine, I shouldn't say this, but…" Kotori hesitated.
"Go ahead," Reine urged.
"I cursed being commander," Kotori confessed.
As 's commander, Kotori bore the weight of saving Spirits at thirteen. She accepted it to save them. But when her beloved brother was hurt, she couldn't offer words. In that moment, she resented her role.
"If Shidou had given up, I'd have slapped him. But his state… it wasn't that," she said.
Fear or hesitation? She'd have pushed him as commander. He'd faced scarier Spirits. Giving up wasn't him. But it wasn't fear stopping him—it was simpler, harder. She'd sensed his feelings for Kurumi before, and now they'd struck true.
His face reminded her of long ago, when their real mother abandoned him. The despair of rejection by someone dear was the same. Commander words would only wound him more. She wanted to be his sister, but her role forbade it. She hated it.
"But, Reine… I'm worried, not anxious," Kotori said.
"Oh?" Reine raised a curious brow.
Kotori believed in Shidou. He rose from past despair, becoming someone who couldn't ignore others' pain. He'd stand again, she trusted. Grinning, she added, "That idiot brother won't quit over one rejection."
Gloom weighed on Shidou, sprawled on his bed. Staring at the ceiling felt tedious, so he closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. He opened them again, repeating the cycle since returning home.
Kurumi's goal was him—his sealed Spiritual Power. She harmed people. If unchecked, she'd do it again. Mana would intervene… a vicious cycle. Mana's tone suggested she'd fought Kurumi before. Shidou couldn't accept that, even if Kurumi targeted him. He had to face her—yet he couldn't.
"It hit hard," he muttered.
Kurumi's kindness, her smiles—all lies. It hurt, agonizingly. But that alone wouldn't stop him. He could face her to save her, driven by feelings strong enough to ignore her threat as a Spirit.
It wasn't fear binding him. A knock—con con—snapped him back.
"Who?" Kotori was working, not home. Reluctantly, he dragged himself up. "Who's there?"
"Shidou? You there?" Tohka's voice.
"Tohka?" he said, surprised. She should be at the Spirit apartments.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
"Yeah, it's fine," he replied.
Tohka entered cautiously, relieved to see him. She sat close, almost clinging.
"Tohka…?" he said, confused.
"Something happened with Kurumi, right?" she asked.
Her blunt insight stunned him. She knew about the date, but reading him so easily was shocking.
"Was my face that obvious?" he asked.
"Like the world ended," she said.
He sighed, touching his face. Facing her after failing so visibly felt awkward. Tohka tilted her head, unaware of his thoughts.
"Yeah… a lot happened. I'm still sorting it out," he admitted.
"Tell me," she urged.
"Huh?"
"What happened with Kurumi? I owe you so much. Let me help, even if it's just listening to ease your heart."
Her earnest concern touched him. He didn't save her for debts—she was unfairly trapped, and he wanted to help. He was told to avoid Spirit or AST talk to protect her mental state. He should brush it off, act fine.
But her kindness nearly broke him. Holding back tears, he looked at her. He should say he was okay, but instead, he confessed everything.
"So… Kurumi did that…" Tohka said.
"I wanted to save her, but got dumped hard," Shidou said, self-mocking.
Talking to Tohka lightened his burden. Still, he felt foolish. He'd vowed to save Kurumi, yet she rejected his help, wanting his life, his Spiritual Power. Despite his healing ability, a normal guy like him stood no chance against a Spirit. Maybe Kurumi laughed at his vulnerability behind his back.
"Really?" Tohka asked.
"Huh?" Shidou turned, caught in dark thoughts. Her serious gaze held him.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I don't think everything Kurumi said was true," she said.
It sounded too convenient, like denial. He thought she was just comforting him, but her earnestness said otherwise.
"Kurumi looked happy with you. You too," she said.
"Me…?" he asked.
"Yeah. You were all gooey, lovesick!" she teased.
"Is that 'happy'?" he retorted, shocked at her words but unable to deny it, masking it with a wry smile.
"But… Kurumi also looked in pain," Tohka added.
"In pain…?" he echoed.
Happy yet pained—a contradiction. To Tohka, Kurumi liked Shidou, just as she did. Seeing Kurumi's smile, she felt a strange unease but also joy and trust, Spirit to Spirit. Their shared happiness warmed her.
Yet, she noticed Kurumi's fleeting, pained expressions when Shidou wasn't looking. Why, if she was happy, did she look so sad? As if being with Shidou—or existing beside him—was wrong. It lingered in Tohka's heart.
"I don't know why she looked pained. But her happy smiles weren't fake," Tohka said.
"Even if true, her targeting me wasn't," Shidou countered.
Her words at that moment were too raw to be lies. But if, by some chance, Tohka was right, and Kurumi's "lie" was itself a lie—
"If her words were true, is Kurumi scary?" Tohka asked.
If Shidou feared her, Tohka vowed to protect him from Kurumi.
"Scary?" Shidou repeated, bewildered.
He looked stunned, as if fear never crossed his mind.
"No… I never thought she was scary," he admitted.
"Then what's troubling you?" Tohka pressed.
Without fear, he'd charge forward, as with her or Yoshino. She thought he feared Kurumi's attacks, but he denied it. What held him back?
"I…" Shidou searched his memories.
Tohka was right. A Spirit targeting his life should trouble him, but he'd denied it. He hadn't been worried about that at all.
What was he feeling? A face like the world's end—what plagued him?
Sadness. He didn't want Kurumi to "devour" people. He recalled that now.
Beauty. Her cold, venomous resolve to achieve her goal, her piercing gaze—he found it beautiful. He remembered that too.
In that moment, bound by her, it wasn't fear or dread. A destructive desire—he wouldn't mind dying by her hand—burned in him. But that wouldn't do. Dying meant failing to save her.
No, sacrificing himself was contradictory. No one around him would approve. Yet, overcoming that destructive urge felt tied to something simpler, less pure.
Why did you stop? What broke you most?
He remembered. He laughed, unstoppable.
"Ha… hahaha!" he roared, not dry but genuine amusement.
"Shidou! Are you okay? Did you snap!?" Tohka panicked.
"Haha… I'm fine. You're not wrong—I'm a bit crazy," he said, calming her.
He couldn't help laughing. A guy targeted by a Spirit, troubled by something absurd.
Finally, he understood his feelings for Kurumi.
Her targeting him hurt less than her harming others. That could be pity. No, his turmoil was simpler, something Kurumi wouldn't expect.
"I don't care for you at all, Shidou-san."
That single sentence plunged him into despair, draining his world's color. Her rejection crushed him most.
He'd known from the start. "I got dumped," he'd said.
When had he felt this? From the beginning. From their unforgettable meeting, enchanted by the bewitching Kurumi Tokisaki—Shidou Itsuka had been madly in love.
"Thanks, Tohka. I'm good now," he said.
"I don't get it… Did I help?" she asked.
"Big time. I could face Kurumi and shatter without a care!" he grinned.
"Shatter!? No, Shidou!" she yelped.
Kurumi's words might hold lies. Tohka's view could be wishful thinking. But Shidou was okay with that.
He wanted to bet on Kurumi's kindness, believe her "lie" wasn't true. Not just Tohka's words—he trusted the Kurumi he'd seen.
Even if not, he hadn't told her anything yet. He wanted to save her from her cycle of violence. That was real. But his feelings weren't just noble—they were simple, impure.
So what? Saving the world by making Spirits fall for him was absurd already. Impure or not, he'd embrace it.
With this feeling, he could face Kurumi again. He had to convey this maddening passion, or he'd never rest, even in death.
He'd save her. See her joyful smile again. Understand her pained expressions. Expose her "lie" and complain it hurt. And tell her—his feelings.
The false nightmare no longer bound him.
"Cheer up Itsuka Shidou," the girl said.
"...?" Tohka tilted her head.
The robed girl, clinging to the Spirit apartment's window, said this abruptly, baffling Tohka. Her hidden face offered no clues.
"Shidou's probably down after coming back. Support him," she said.
"Is something up with Shidou and Kurumi!?" Tohka asked, slipping Kurumi's name.
The girl didn't mind, speaking vaguely. "Something's up… or Kurumi will do something. I'm not sure, sorry."
Her words implied she knew Kurumi.
"You know Kurumi?" Tohka asked.
"I'm like her 'accomplice' or servant. If Shidou returns fine, forget I said anything," the girl replied.
"It won't come to that, I think," she added, confusing Tohka further. Support Shidou? She'd do that anyway. He'd saved her, and she wanted to help him in pain. That resolve was natural.
"Thanks. One more thing… my personal request—don't hate Kurumi," the girl said.
"What's that mean?" Tohka asked.
She had no reason to hate Kurumi, a fellow Spirit Shidou was saving. The girl hesitated, then continued.
"She's stubborn, prideful, not honest. She'll cause trouble… but she's kind. So—"
"Got it!" Tohka interrupted, thumping her chest.
"Shidou, Yoshino, and I like Kurumi. Her kind smiles—I like them! That's enough, right?" she beamed.
The girl froze. Tohka's simplicity—animalistic honesty—stunned her. Trusting Shidou fully, she believed in Kurumi because he did, and saw her smile's truth. Her "like" might be vague, but sincere.
Months ago, Tohka was worn by hostility. Now, she grew so openly—Shidou's influence? The girl's worry seemed unnecessary.
"Thank you, Yatogami Tohka, sincerely," the girl said.
"No big deal. It's how I feel," Tohka replied.
"Still, thanks. One last thing—why trust me?" the girl asked.
Not just now—since , why did Tohka talk so unguardedly? No reason to trust a faceless, suspicious girl, even if she helped Shidou.
Tohka blinked, then crossed her arms, pondering. After a moment, she spoke.
"I can't explain well, but you smell… like me," she said.
"Like you…?" the girl echoed.
"You came to worry about Shidou and Kurumi, right? I can't ignore that," Tohka said.
"Not that noble," the girl deflected. She only saw Shidou's potential, almost using him. If Kurumi saw him as a tool, she'd have used him for her "vow" without mercy.
But same smell? That resonated.
The girl smiled—Tohka couldn't see, but felt it.
"Thank you again. Let's meet again, queen with a beautiful name," the girl said, kicking off the wall, falling from the window.
As Tohka gaped, the girl's prayer-like words reached her:
"Please, befriend my queen, Kurumi."