ROSE

  One…

  Two…

  Three…

  The weight of the wooden sword punished my arms again and again. Air entered my lungs with difficulty, as if this body refused to recognize me. Sweat slid down my forehead and fell onto the cold stone of the courtyard, marking an uneven rhythm.

  In my world, mana answered my will.

  Here… there was only silence.

  My body felt heavy. Clumsy. Limited.

  It was like fighting inside armor that did not belong to me.

  I raised the wooden blade once more, forcing my memory to recall movements I once executed without thought, attempting a clean downward strike—

  Then I heard it.

  A metallic sound.

  Sharp. Sudden.

  Like a war bell announcing a battle I could not yet see.

  The sky had only begun to pale when I saw them rushing down the corridor. Ryujin ran without even changing clothes, his face tense, his eyes wide with urgency. Behind him, Kiyomi followed quickly, her hair disheveled, unable to hide the fear in her expression.

  My instinct moved before my thoughts did.

  I followed.

  The hallway felt narrower as I advanced. The air grew heavy, like the breath before an ambush. When I reached the room, the door was open.

  And then I saw it.

  Blood.

  Staining the white sheets.

  Yoshida was coughing uncontrollably, his body unable to move as blood spilled from his mouth. He wasn’t screaming. He couldn’t. He was only fighting to breathe—like a soldier trapped beneath shattered armor.

  Ryujin held him carefully, speaking urgently, while Kiyomi prepared instruments and medicines I did not understand. Their movements were quick. Precise. Desperate.

  I did not move.

  My feet remained rooted to the floor.

  I did not step forward.

  I did not retreat.

  I only watched.

  On the battlefield, there was always something to do. An order to follow. An enemy to strike down.

  But here… I could only witness.

  When it was over, Yoshida fell into a deep sleep. His breathing, once frantic, finally steadied. The silence that followed weighed heavier than any scream.

  And yet…

  The next day, we were back in the classroom.

  As if nothing had happened.

  The murmur of students filled the room as sunlight streamed through the windows. Yoshida smiled, speaking to those who approached him, pretending at a normalcy that did not convince me.

  No one seemed to have seen what happened.

  No one seemed to understand how close he had come to dying.

  I rested my cheek against the desk, watching him without realizing it.

  His hair fell over his eyes. His lips were dry and faintly cracked, and his skin remained pale—almost translucent beneath the sunlight. There was something melancholic about him… something I could not name.

  Why do you do this?

  Why do you smile?

  Yesterday, you were dying.

  So why do you insist on coming back here?

  My gaze lingered longer than it should have.

  It wasn’t only curiosity.

  It was… something else.

  Something I did not understand.

  The murmurs began soon after.

  The festival.

  “Tanabata,” they called it.

  Students spoke excitedly about food stalls, games, and fireworks. Their voices blended into a steady noise I struggled to ignore.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  I didn’t fully understand it, but it seemed important to them.

  That was when he appeared.

  The same boy who had struck Yoshida days ago.

  He approached with a confident smile—too confident.

  “Hey, Rose. Want to go to the festival with me?”

  The classroom fell silent.

  My hand tightened beneath the desk.

  I remembered Yoshida on the ground. His expression. The helplessness.

  For a second, I imagined standing and returning the blow.

  But I restrained myself.

  I simply looked at him.

  That was enough.

  He stepped back awkwardly, laughing nervously before retreating.

  After that, others tried to approach. Boys. Girls. Invitations I barely understood. Smiles I didn’t know how to answer.

  I rejected them all.

  This was not my world. Not my place.

  That was when I noticed him.

  Yoshida tried to speak to someone.

  His lips moved, but no words came out. The conversation continued without him, as if his attempt had never existed. Slowly, his smile faded, replaced by a calm… resigned expression.

  Like someone who already knew the outcome.

  My eyes stayed on him.

  And I understood.

  He wanted to go.

  But he had already decided he could not.

  The classroom door opened with force.

  The teacher entered with enthusiasm, speaking about the festival, mentioning he would attend with his wife and children. The class responded with laughter and cheerful comments.

  Excitement filled the room.

  Everyone seemed to have someone to go with.

  Everyone except him.

  And I didn’t understand why… but that angered me more than it should have.

  I wasn’t there to learn.

  I was there to observe.

  From the beginning, the teacher had understood my situation. I wasn’t an official student—only accompanying Yoshida. As long as I didn’t interrupt, I was allowed to remain silent.

  So I observed.

  Sometimes the students.

  Sometimes the windows.

  Almost always him.

  When the lesson dragged on, I rose quietly. The teacher only nodded, as if already accustomed to it.

  The hallway air felt lighter.

  I walked aimlessly until I found a metal door at the end of the stairs. When I opened it, a gust of fresh wind struck my face.

  The rooftop.

  The sky stretched clear above the city, and for a moment the noise of the world seemed distant.

  This world was strange.

  Peaceful.

  Too peaceful.

  In my world, silence preceded war.

  Here… it seemed ordinary.

  “So you came up here to escape.”

  A voice reached me without warning.

  I turned slightly.

  A girl stood near the door. I hadn’t heard her enter. Her posture was relaxed, as though she had been there all along. She smiled naturally—but her eyes watched me too closely.

  “Classes can be boring when you don’t understand anything,” she continued. “Especially when you come from… somewhere else.”

  A faint frown formed on my face.

  Her words unsettled me. Not threatening. Just… strange. As if she knew more than she should.

  She stepped beside me, gazing at the sky.

  “Everyone’s talking about Tanabata today. Food, games, fireworks… simple things. People like sharing moments like that with someone special.”

  I remained silent.

  She didn’t seem to expect an answer.

  “Oh—and a bit of advice,” she added lightly. “If a girl named Nozomi tries to get too close… be careful. She’s not a bad person. But she tends to drag others into her own problems.”

  There was no harshness in her tone. It sounded like gentle warning.

  “Yoshida probably wants to go,” she said after a moment. “But he isn’t good at asking.”

  My eyes widened slightly.

  When I looked back at her, she was already walking toward the door.

  “Festivals are better when someone invites you,” she added before leaving. “Especially for those who have already stopped trying.”

  Who the hell is she?

  The door closed.

  Silence returned.

  I stood there for several seconds, staring at the city below.

  I remembered Yoshida trying to speak.

  I remembered his expression changing when no one listened.

  It wasn’t my duty.

  Not my world.

  …And yet.

  I exhaled.

  Perhaps I only wanted to see him stop pretending.

  When I returned to the classroom, I had already decided.

  The final bell rang.

  Chairs scraped. Laughter rose. Conversations about the festival filled the room.

  Everyone had plans.

  Everyone except us.

  I walked around Yoshida’s desk.

  “Let’s go,” I said simply.

  He nodded.

  I guided his wheelchair through the crowded hallway. The students parted easily. Some stared. Some whispered.

  We ignored them.

  Outside, the air was warm. The sky slowly turned orange.

  Ryujin’s car waited at the entrance.

  Before moving forward, I stopped.

  “Yoshida.”

  He turned slightly.

  “Are you going to Tanabata?”

  His eyes widened, then he looked away.

  “I… no,” he said after a pause. “I don’t have anyone to go with.”

  It sounded too practiced.

  I tightened my grip on the handles.

  “Then go with me.”

  The silence that followed swallowed even the noise of the street.

  He blinked several times.

  “What…?” His cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “W-With you?”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t understand these things well. They said people go together.”

  He lowered his gaze quickly.

  “I… I will go with you.”

  He clenched his teeth lightly.

  “Thank you,” he said at last.

  That was enough.

  That night, I learned what Tanabata was.

  The festival blazed with light.

  Red lanterns hung above food stalls, and the air carried scents both sweet and savory. Children ran through the crowd. Couples laughed. Music drifted from somewhere unseen.

  It was loud.

  Alive.

  Strangely warm.

  Kiyomi had dressed me in a traditional garment of this nation. The silk of the yukata clung to my frame in a way my armor never had. As I pushed Yoshida’s chair, I felt the collective breath of the crowd hitch.

  I was no longer a soldier in their eyes.

  But something else.

  Whispers followed us—not fearful, but reverent. Like they were looking at something that did not belong entirely to this world.

  Yoshida wore traditional attire as well, carefully arranged by his brother. For once, he did not look fragile. For once, his smile reached his eyes.

  I guided him carefully through the crowd. At first he seemed tense, afraid of being in the way—but slowly, his expression softened.

  “It’s… beautiful,” he murmured.

  I nodded.

  I didn’t understand why people cherished something so simple.

  But seeing his face… I began to.

  It wasn’t the festival.

  It was being there.

  After a while, people gathered to look at the sky. I followed instinctively.

  The first explosion lit the night.

  Fireworks burst above us—red, gold, blue—blossoming across the darkness before fading as if they had never existed.

  The crowd cheered.

  But around me, everything felt quiet.

  Only the distant festival sounds… and Yoshida’s steady breathing.

  In my world, fire was a harbinger of ruin. It meant ash and the end of kin. It meant war.

  But here… they turned flame into art.

  And people greeted it with smiles.

  What a strange world.

  “Rose,” Yoshida murmured.

  “Yes?”

  He hesitated.

  “I’m glad… you came.”

  I did not answer at once.

  I wasn’t sure why that gratitude unsettled me.

  I was only there.

  And yet something in my chest felt heavy… and warm at the same time.

  The final firework ascended slowly before bursting into brilliant white light, illuminating everything for a fleeting moment.

  Then darkness returned.

  The crowd began to disperse.

  I pushed the chair forward.

  “We should head back.”

  “Yes.”

  As we walked, I realized something.

  For the first time since arriving in this world… I was not thinking about the Demon King.

  Not about war.

  Not about my mission.

  I was simply walking.

  In silence.

  And that unsettled me more than it should have.

  Because part of me was beginning to feel comfortable here.

  Too comfortable.

  I looked up at the dark sky one last time.

  I cannot forget why I am here.

  But that night…

  I chose not to think about it.