The garden looked almost unreal in the evening light.
The hedges, faintly bluish and laced with runes, cast long shadows across the ground.
They stretched like fingers over the stone floor.
Crystal flowers opened their glassy chalices toward the sinking sunlight.
Every dewdrop shimmered like a tiny mirror.
Hidden among the bushes, insects chirped softly.
A warm breeze drifted through the arches, making the leaves dance like beings from another world.
Along the outer wall sat several G.O.L.D. Guardian —
black uniforms, short jackets, weapons resting loosely in their hands.
Each of them radiated that deadly calm only veterans knew.
Shuzo ran laughing across the rune-etched floating tiles.
His braid streamed behind him, eyes gleaming bright green.
For a moment, he looked like any other child sprinting away in pure excitement.
But the instant he saw the Guardians, his expression changed.
His grip on the brown leather ball tightened, his knuckles turning white.
The Elite…
He froze in place among the glowing nymphs, who scattered in fright.
His breath caught as his eyes studied the men on the wall.
They didn't look like weary soldiers waiting for the day to end — they looked like the shadows of heroes.
It was the way they crouched on the edge, balancing effortlessly, almost casually.
Yet within that casualness lay a sharpness — the kind that could turn into an attack at any given moment.
Their voices were muffled, laced with a tone of indifference, yet still reached his ears.
"The rebels are growing in number…" murmured one of them, inspecting the barrel of his rune weapon.
His fingertips moved precisely, expertly, over the glowing engravings — as if caressing an old lover.
"One of them ran straight into the steppe the other day, yelling that he's coming. Completely insane."
A ripple of amused laughter went through the group.
"They should lay off the Hopu'grass. The rebels are nothing but lunatics."
One of the men — sharp-featured, with jade-green eyes — slid his weapon back into its holster and spat on the ground with disdain.
"Well, at least they're keeping their distance from the royal city."
The other rose slowly — joints cracking — from his crouch, as if gravity itself were merely a casual burden. "Not yet…"
Then he leapt from the wall.
His heavy boots slammed against the stone, sending up a swirl of dust.
One hand slid deep into the pocket of his fir-green tactical pants — the other lazily scratched the faint scar along his temple.
The shaggy blondbraid — a rare color among Wächtervampiren — swayed at the nape of his neck.
His red eyes flared in the twilight like embers.
He smirked, speaking in a mocking tone:
"I mean — Tim's exhausting enough as it is."
"Ah, Joe…" one of the group rasped with a laugh, calling the blond by name and shaking his head. "Your little brother again, huh?"
Joe raised his brows, a brief twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth — somewhere between mockery and pride.
"He's just a diva."
Then his gaze drifted across the ornate garden — and stopped on Shuzo.
"Well, well… the prince."
The boy still stood there, the ball in his hands like a forbidden relic.
Joe watched him.
It was unusual to see the kid outside — especially playing.
A rare sight indeed.
Shuzo felt the Guardian's gaze — yet no words came from his mouth.
Suddenly, Joe grinned, tilting his head ever so slightly — relaxed, confident — and raised two fingers to his forehead.
The gesture seemed playful, almost disrespectful.
"All good, little man?"
Shuzo's heart skipped a beat.
It sounded so casual that the question hit him like a punch to the gut.
He stepped back — almost into one of the floating nymphs, who squeaked in fear and apologized.
"Prince — forgive me, I—"
"It's fine!" Shuzo blurted quickly.
For a split second, admiration hit him so hard it stole his breath away.
I want to be like that…
Strong. Cool. Fearless.
He wanted to answer.
Wanted to return the gesture with the same effortless confidence.
His hand twitched, lifted hesitantly — but at the last moment, his fingers locked up again.
Instead of looking composed…
he let it drop, trembling.
Worse.
He scrunched up his face, pressed his lips into a thin line, and shot back defiantly:
"Tja, tough luck!"
Then he took off running — as if the whole scene had just been a misunderstanding.
Joe watched him, puzzled. He blinked.
A piece of gum rested between his teeth.
"Reminds me of Tim…" he muttered dryly — half amused, half thoughtful.
Beside him stood a girl.
Her gear looked too new to seem convincing on her.
Her helmet didn't quite hide the pale green eyes beneath — eyes that looked both made-up and shy at the same time.
Joe held out the pack of gum to her.
"Ari. Desert Canyon Cinnamon. Wanna try?"
She merely shook her head.
"Better not."
Her voice was soft, cautious.
She sounded like someone who always feared being watched.
"Your loss." Joe grinned wide — cool as ice — as he slid a second piece of gum between his fangs and watched Shuzo disappear into the distance.
"'Tough luck,' he said… but what did he mean by that?"
Shuzo could still feel Joe's questioning gaze on his back, even as he pretended not to notice.
His mind was heavy with a single thought:
One day… I'll be like them.
No. Better.
He drew in a sharp breath, still caught in that burning desire — when a ragged voice suddenly tore through the silence.
Don stumbled into view, drenched in sweat, hair a wild mess.
His grin wide and devilish — as if he had just smelled blood.
"Wait up, you cowardly prince!"
Joe snorted, while Ari only shook her head again.
"Not a chance!" Shuzo didn't even hear her anymore — he kept running, with Don charging right after him.
Behind them, the towering silhouette of the palace rose into the sky.
Crystal spires stretched upward like spear-shaped fingers,
each laced with flickering bluish rune-ads that burned like neon into the dusk.
Above, airships drifted — massive machines casting long shadows below.
For a single breath, it felt as though the entire royal city had awakened above them.
And Shuzo?
Small. Defiant.
Standing right in the middle of it all…
like a piece in a much larger game.
"Alright, Don. Danora—"
He turned the ball in his hand, his gaze calm and fixed on the demon before beginning his explanation:
"Normally, it's played in an arena — with floating rune rings marking the goals. But—"
He tossed the ball casually into the air, caught it again, and gestured to the left and right across the garden:
"—here, you'll just have to imagine the goals yourself. Think you can handle that?"
His eyes narrowed into thin slits.
"Or is imagination already too much for you?"
Don planted his hands on his hips, the dark green sweater stretching across his shoulders.
"Goals, rules, blah blah… pff. Just give me the ball, and I'll blast that thing through your imaginary goal so hard you'll cry."
"Of course."
Shuzo turned halfway away, standing sideways — as if he wasn't really listening.
"A point only counts if the ball lands in your opponent's goal. No double ground contact, no hands."
"And yes—" he looked back at Don with a lopsided, mischievous grin, "—blocking, shoving, fighting — all allowed. So no excuses when you lose."
Don grinned back, devilish and thrilled.
"So basically, chaos with rules. Sounds perfect for me."
"Chaos with rules…" Shuzo repeated mockingly, almost bored. "We'll see if you can even land a single hit before embarrassing yourself."
He dropped the ball to the ground;
instantly, it shot straight up several meters into the air like a drawn arrow — before coming down with a dull thud.
Shuzo lunged forward, his kick lightning-fast — and the ball soared across the garden, straight toward the "goal."
"What?!"
Don bolted after it, gasping like a startled beast. Then, with a wild leap, he caught up — striking the ball with his knee at the last moment.
The impact sent him veering off balance — almost crashing into a tree.
The ball slammed against the bark and bounced back up.
"Your turn, Don." Shuzo stood calmly a few steps away, arms crossed, his tone dripping with mockery.
Donovan shouted back:
"Did you see how awesome that was?!" — already charging forward, chasing the ball with an exaggerated side kick.
"Pathetic…" Shuzo muttered dryly, but then he dashed off too — cutting Don off and shoving him aside with his shoulder.
Don stumbled, swore loudly.
Shuzo snatched the ball — and with a graceful strike, sent it flying over the improvised line into the imaginary ring. The one… no one could actually see?
"One–nil. My point."
"Cheating!" Don grumbled, pushing himself up and rubbing his elbow. "You shoved me!"
"Rule number three, Don. Blocking's allowed." Shuzo didn't even flinch — only his green eyes gleamed, sly and sharp.
And behind them, on the rooftop terrace, she stood:
Ayumi.
Amid the crystal flowers — their petals swaying gently in the evening breeze.
Her sky-blue eyes rested on the two boys in the garden below.
Shuzo — usually so quiet, so withdrawn — moved with life, swift and bright, almost like a different child.
Don — wild, loud, and uncoordinated — somehow kept drawing a sarcastic smile from him again and again.
A light, freeing laugh slipped from Ayumi's lips as she placed her hands over her heart.
"Shuzo…" she whispered.
He was laughing.
A single tear ran down her cheek, yet she didn't wipe it away — why should she?
"Thank you, Donovan. Thank you for showing him what it means to simply be a child."
Down in the garden, Don chased after the ball, nearly tripping over his own feet — while Shuzo, with a merciless counter, sent it flying into the goal once more.
"Two–nil."
"That doesn't count, I wasn't ready yet!" Don protested loudly — but was already leaping into the air, trying to snatch the ball from Shuzo.
Ayumi's smile lingered — maternal, yet filled with melancholy.
The evening sky deepened to violet.
Shuzo kicked the ball back toward Donovan with full force, calling out sarcastically:
"Come on, bubblehead — that all you've got?"
Donovan froze for a second, caught his breath, then burst out laughing.
"Bubblehead? You've got some nerve for such a tiny miniature prince!"
The laughter of her son — a sound that flowed into her soul like warm light.
For a brief moment, a mysterious, flickering glow flashed in her eyes.
A hint of something enigmatic — gone as quickly as it had appeared.
Her voice drifted away, barely carried by the wind — like a promise:
"I will always be by your side…"
» Sometimes, friendship doesn't show itself through kind words,
but through arguments, teasing, and games far too loud for the night.
Two children — a prince and a demon —
a card table, a ball, and the beginning of a story…
one that would soon outgrow every kingdom.«
Yet no one knew —
that this laughter would soon fall silent once more…