Chapter 226: One Night (Patreon)

Shido Makoto changed into a pair of slippers and stepped into the apartment.

The decor suited Yukino herself: simple and cool, done mostly in black, white, and gray. Not a speck of dust marred it, and an exquisite taste showed in every corner.

A lavish dinner had already been laid out on the living room table: steak, salad, baked escargot, and a bowl of borscht. It was clearly Yukino's own cooking. Beside the plates, a bottle of well-aged red wine had been left to breathe.

"Let's eat first."

Yukino's voice came from behind him. She had pulled herself together and regained some of her usual composure.

They sat down at the table. Makoto cut a piece of steak and put it in his mouth. The doneness was perfect, the meat tender, the seasoning excellent.

"Not bad," he said, giving an honest verdict.

Yukino said nothing. She picked up the bottle and poured red wine into both their glasses. The deep crimson liquid shimmered dreamily under the crystal chandelier.

Her hand was trembling slightly. Not even in the dungeon, facing twisted monsters and the threat of death, had she been this nervous.

Alcohol is the best catalyst. When the first sip of wine slid down her throat, its fiery warmth worked like a key, unlocking Pandora's box. The life-and-death pressure from the Full Moon-class dungeon and the despair buried deep in her heart began to rebound on her with a vengeance.

Yukino tried to keep up the poise of a proper young lady and reached to pour herself another glass. But the hand gripping the bottle shook harder and harder, until wine spilled over.

A hand suddenly reached out and pinned her wrist. Yukino looked up and met his eyes.

"You don't have to put on an act in front of me."

Her eyes reddened at once. Tears the size of beans slid uncontrollably from the corners of her eyes and dripped onto the table. She couldn't hold on any longer.

"I'm scared…"

"In that school, I was really scared… Every night I have nightmares. I dream of those students who were made into specimens, of that principal's twisted face… I don't want to die… I really don't want to die…"

She wept as she spoke, haltingly pouring everything out.

"All my life, everyone has told me what I should do and what I shouldn't. My mother, my sister… they all wanted to mold me into whatever they wanted me to be. I had to be excellent, perfect, the face of the Yukinoshita family… but no one ever asked what I wanted to become. I don't want to keep chasing my sister's shadow anymore. I don't want to change the world anymore… I just want to live. To live like an ordinary person…"

Her sobs grew louder, and finally dissolved into stifled weeping. It was as if she meant to release every grievance, every bit of resentment and fear that she had stored up over more than ten years.

Makoto said nothing, and he didn't try to comfort her. He simply watched her quietly and let her vent. Yukino didn't need cheap sympathy. She only needed an outlet where she could drop every disguise.

At last, her crying faded. She lifted a face streaked with tears, her red-rimmed eyes fixed on him. Emboldened by the wine, she did something that surprised even Makoto.

She rose abruptly from her chair, walked around the table to stand before him, and then straddled his lap. Her soft body pressed tightly against him. She wrapped both arms around his neck and buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. Warm tears soaked into his collar.

"Makoto…"

She whispered his name, her voice barely above a murmur.

"Only you… only you are different. You don't brush me off with lectures. You don't look at me with pity… You… you stand in front of me. In that dungeon, you were the one who pulled me out of hell… So don't push me back there again, okay?"

Her body was shaking. Her arms around him held on with all her strength, like a drowning person clutching the last piece of driftwood.

"Take me away… take me somewhere with no Yukinoshita and no monsters… I'll give you anything… really… anything…"

*

The next morning.

A ray of sunlight slipped playfully through the gap in the curtains. Makoto woke right on time; his internal clock was more reliable than any alarm.

He shifted slightly and found his arm had gone numb. Looking down, he saw Yukino curled on her side against him like a docile cat, sleeping soundly. One arm still clung tightly to his, her cheek rested on his chest, and her breathing was steady.

She had dropped every defense. Her sleeping face was peaceful, even tinged with a childlike dependence. She looked nothing like the resolute girl who had cried last night and begged him to take her away, or the cold, proud ice beauty of her everyday self. The contrast was startling.

Makoto drew his arm out of her embrace bit by bit, then got up and dressed. Yukino seemed to sense something. She knit her brows in her sleep and let out a faint murmur, then rolled over, hugged the pillow he'd left behind, and sank back into deep sleep.

He glanced at the small lump on the bed, turned, and walked out of the bedroom.

In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator. It was well stocked, with everything sorted into containers by type, clear evidence that its owner demanded a high quality of life. Makoto took out eggs, bacon, and bread, and began making breakfast with practiced ease.

Soon the sizzle of frying filled the pan, and a rich aroma spread through the quiet apartment. The smell of food is the best alarm clock.

The bedroom door opened softly, and Yukino came out. She wore a man's white shirt, its hem long enough to barely cover the tops of her thighs and leave her slender, straight legs bare. The shirt was Makoto's. Evidently her own clothes had been tossed who-knows-where in last night's "chaos."

Her cheeks still held the flush of someone just awake. At the sight of Makoto's back in the kitchen, her gaze darted away, and she seemed a little embarrassed.

"Morning." Makoto didn't turn around, greeting her lightly.

"…Morning." Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's whine.

They sat down at the table in silence and ate breakfast together. The atmosphere was a little delicate.

But Makoto's feelings had shifted. Before, Yukino had been a troublesome but trustworthy teammate in his eyes, a poor young lady bound by her family. Now she had taken on a new identity. That realization changed the way he looked at her as well.

After breakfast, Makoto got ready to leave. Yukino took the jacket and tie he'd draped over the sofa. She stepped up to him and, imitating what she'd seen in movies, clumsily set about straightening his tie. Her movements were stiff and her fingers even trembled. It took several tries before she managed a lopsided, crooked knot.

Yet the scene carried a strong air of a devoted young wife.

"Things might get turbulent soon," Makoto said, looking at her. "If you notice anything unusual, tell me right away."

"Mm."

Yukino nodded obediently.

Around noon, Makoto left the apartment. Standing in the elevator, he checked his clothes carefully in the polished metal doors. Good. No lipstick marks, no suspicious hairs.

He boarded the train back to Tokyo.

Evening. Outside the apartment building in Nakano.

Makoto looked up at his own window. The light was off. Sora should be home. He took out his keys and unlocked the front door.

"I'm home."

He said it out of habit as he changed his shoes.

The living room was dark, with only moonlight from the window spilling quietly across the floor. A figure sat still on the sofa. Sora had her back to the door, and to the moonlight, and her whole body was swallowed in shadow. She didn't turn around at the sound of the door.

In an eerie, faint voice, she said:

"Makoto, you're back…"

"…You smell like her."

…