DW DXD Intermission: Misuki’s Reflection (Patreon)

Takes place during the beginning of chapter 3

Fuyuki City, Shinto Main Hospital, 1:45 P.M.

The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor filled the small, white-walled hospital room. The air carried a faint scent of antiseptic and sterile linen. Misuki Hana sat upright in her bed, the pale light filtering through the thin curtains washing her features.

Her right arm, still bandaged from the stab wound that nearly killed her, rested against a pillow. Every now and then, she traced the edge of the gauze with her fingertips, as though to remind herself that she was still alive. That she had survived.

The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the heater and the distant murmur of nurses in the hallway. Beside her on the nightstand, a vase of white lilies had begun to wilt. A gift from a nurse, perhaps out of pity. Misuki smiled faintly at the sight, wilted beauty, a fitting metaphor for her life.

She turned her gaze toward the window, where the city stretched out in shades of winter gray. Cars moved like sluggish insects along the distant roads. Everything looked peaceful, indifferent, unaware of how close she and Yuuka had come to being another set of names in tomorrow’s obituary column.

Her reflection in the glass stared back, a woman in her mid-thirties, with sharp blue eyes and short black hair that stopped by her neck. Her skin had lost some of its color, but the strength in her gaze hadn’t faded. And yet, beneath that proud composure, there was exhaustion, years of it.

“I’m alive,” She murmured to herself. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “Still alive.” The words tasted strange. 

Her mind drifted to a memory that brought a faint warmth to Misuki’s chest. Yuuka… her precious, stubborn daughter. So much like her. So much stronger than she ever had the chance to be.

But as that warmth rose, so too did the ache that had never quite healed.

‘He would have killed her,’ She thought bitterly, gripping the blanket in her lap. ‘That man would have taken her from me too.’ Her breath trembled, and her vision blurred. Not from the wound, but from memory.

Her husband’s face appeared in her mind, charming, smiling, the perfect gentleman who fooled her parents. His eyes had always been warm when he spoke to her, soft and reassuring. Even though it was an arranged marriage, she had believed that everything would be okay. Believed in him. Believed that her parents were correct.

And then, one day, he was gone. So were her family’s savings. Their company. Their home. Everything her parents had built was stripped from them with a forged signature and a smile.

The betrayal still burned, even now.

Misuki’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He ruined everything,” She whispered to the empty room. “He ruined us.” Her reflection in the glass didn’t flinch. It only stared back, unyielding.

The old ache pulsed behind her heart, the same one that had driven her to keep working, to raise Yuuka alone, to hide her tears and just continue living, if not for her than for Yuuka. But now, lying in a hospital bed with an IV in her arm, she couldn’t lie to herself anymore.

She was tired. So very tired.

“Maybe it would’ve been easier if I had just died,” She murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Then, almost instantly, she grimaced. “No. Not easier. Just… quieter.” Her fingers curled around the blanket. The thought frightened her, not because of what it meant, but because a small part of her believed it.

But then, she remembered his voice. That boy’s voice.

It came back to her like a spark in the dark, brash, honest, and full of a warmth she hadn’t felt in years.

“Listen, lady, when you truly want to save someone, thoughts of reasoning, gains, and consequences don’t matter anymore.”

Misuki closed her eyes, hearing those words again, clear as day. He had said them without hesitation, without thought of reward. Foolish, yes, but sincere. Utterly, heartbreakingly sincere.

She remembered the look in his eyes when he said them, worried, frustrated, but determined. A boy who’d seen tragedy and refused to accept it.

“Hyoudou Issei…” She said softly, testing the sound of his name on her lips. The name carried a strange weight, one that didn’t belong to a stranger.

She remembered how he had knelt beside her, how he had held her gaze even when she was bleeding out, and how he had looked at her, not with pity, but with concern.

No man had looked at her that way in years. Not since before her world had fallen apart.

Her hand lifted unconsciously to her chest, just above the wound. “A foolish boy,” she whispered, though the corners of her mouth curved faintly upward. “But…he was really kind.”

That kind of bravery was reckless and selfless but it wasn’t something you found in ordinary people. It was something she had once admired in her younger self, before life taught her that such idealism was dangerous. Yet, here he was, dragging that long-buried part of her back to life.

Was it the youth she saw in him, or a second chance for herself? She wasn’t sure.

She turned her head toward the nightstand again. A small hand mirror rested beside the vase of lilies. Misuki reached for it, wincing slightly as her body protested the movement. She lifted it slowly, studying the woman reflected in its oval glass.

“I think I’m still beautiful,” She said quietly, as if reminding herself. Her tone carried no vanity, just the quiet astonishment of someone who thought that beauty had already abandoned her.

Her lips curved into a faint, wistful smile. “Would a boy like him… ever look at someone like me that way?” The thought embarrassed her, and she shook her head quickly, setting the mirror down. “Ridiculous. He’s just a boy. A kind boy who saved us. That’s all.”

And yet, she couldn’t stop her imagination. It was wrong. She knew that. But the warmth that had long gone cold inside her stirred again, like a candle reigniting after years in the dark.

For so long, Misuki had built walls around her heart, iron walls to keep the pain out, to protect Yuuka, to never depend on anyone again. But now, sitting there in the sterile quiet, she wondered if those walls had become her cage.

Issei’s face appeared in her mind again, awkward grin and all.

“Maybe,” She whispered, “you’re not here just for my daughter’s sake.”

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. A nurse peeked in, smiling politely. “Everything alright, Han-san? Do you need anything?”

Misuki composed herself instantly, the faint smile returning. “No, thank you. Just thinking.”

The nurse nodded and slipped out.

When the door closed again, the silence returned, but it felt lighter now. Hana leaned back against her pillows, closing her eyes.

She didn’t know what the future would bring. Perhaps it was foolish to feel this way, to let hope touch her heart again after so much loss. But for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like a ghost.

“Hyoudou Issei…” She whispered once more, her voice soft but steady. “Maybe you were sent to remind me that not all men take. Some… give back.”

She tilted her head toward the window again. The winter light had shifted, spilling gold across her face. And in that quiet, fleeting warmth, Misuki Hana smiled.