X held the letter by one corner, pinched between thumb and forefinger as if it were coated in contact poison. “The only question is… why is there no date or place? Is this a riddle?”

  Mizuki looked up and sighed, the sound of someone remembering a headache she thought was gone. “It’s not a riddle, X. It’s security. We have to add the names of the attendees first.” She tapped the blank space at the bottom of the parchment. “It’s a binding vow. The location is only revealed to those who sign—and once you sign, the old rites make sure you show up.”

  “So it’s a bond,” X grunted, eyeing the paper with deepened suspicion.

  “It’s an invitation,” Mizuki corrected, pulling a fountain pen from her pocket. “But among the High Clans, there is very little difference.”

  X crossed his arms over his chest, posture defensive. “And what if I left in the middle of it?”

  Mizuki paused, the pen hovering above the page. She blinked, genuinely stumped. “You are the first person I’ve ever met to suggest such a thing. Honestly? Even I don’t know. Nobody is insane enough to test the old rites.”

  “Noll is.” X’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk. “Should we ask if he wants to go?”

  “I doubt it.” Mizuki scoffed, glancing back toward the house. “He’d only go to retrieve his… thing. He doesn’t seem the type for ballrooms.”

  “That,” a voice rasped from behind them, “is exactly why I am going.”

  Before Mizuki could turn, a streak of pink blurred through the air. It wasn’t a solid object—it was a viscous tendril of Emmanium, stretching like living wax. It surged past Mizuki’s shoulder and coalesced beside the letter, hardening instantly into a hand.

  A pen was pinched between its too-smooth fingers.

  Scritch. Scritch.

  The construct drove the nib into the parchment with impatient force, laying down jagged letters. Then it released the pen into X’s arm and snapped back like a rubber band to Noll’s side, disappearing.

  Mizuki stared at the signature. The ink was still wet, glistening in the gray light.

  Noll.

  She frowned, studying the word. It looked like an Altavian term—null—void, nothingness.

  Why? she thought, a chill running up her spine that had nothing to do with the wind. In Altavia, a Krinden heretic was a Nameless by default, and naming yourself was the first act of it.

  Who looks at themselves and chooses Nothing?

  X scratched his head, looking at the pen. “Well then, I guess…” He adjusted it in his grip and scrawled a simple, sharp ‘X’ next to Noll’s jagged signature.

  He handed the pen to Mizuki.

  She stared at the parchment. The weight of what she was about to do settled in her stomach. This was a ceremony for a new Clan Head… Father would be there. Genichiro would be there.

  And maybe… Bella.

  Mizuki clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. She remembered the cold shoulder, the unanswered letters, the way her first and best friend had suddenly looked through her as if she were made of glass.

  Did I do something wrong? Or did you just outgrow me, like everyone else? Doesn’t matter, if we meet there, I will have my answers.

  With newfound determination, Mizuki pressed the nib to the paper. She didn't just write; she carved her defiance into the page.

  Mizuki Yumaki.

  “Done,” she whispered.

  The moment the ink settled, the paper hissed. The three names—Noll, X, Mizuki—didn't dry; they dissolved. The black ink turned to liquid smoke, swirling across the page before reforming into sharp, crystalline letters that glowed with a faint blue light.

  One week from today. The Crystal Spire. The Banquet Hall of Clan Kris.

  Mizuki read the words, and the reality of the timeline hit her like a physical blow.

  “One week…”

  She looked up.

  On the porch, X had resumed his practice. He was moving through forms she recognized from the first day. Limbs twisting at odd angles, head turned away from his strikes, moving with the jerky, unnerving rhythm of a marionette cut loose from its strings.

  Beyond him, near the garden patch, Noll was watering a row of strange, purple herbs. The watering can was levitating beside, held by an Emmanium construct.

  He wore his usual long coat—stained with oil, scorched at the hem, and smelling of copper.

  Mizuki pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Noll’s coat has a certain… vagrant charm, I suppose. But for the ceremony?

  “We are going to be eaten alive,” she muttered, sliding the letter into her pocket. “I have to get them suits. I know a good place…”

  “Okay, when do we go?” X asked, wiping off the sweat. Noll strolled behind.

  “We? Like all three?” Mizuki looked at them.

  “Is there a problem?” Noll tilted his head.

  “Yes, there is. Are we going to leave the Outpost unattended?” Mizuki asked, staring at the two men standing by the Outpost, ready to depart. “The road is pretty long. We can’t afford to have the Outpost unguarded for that much time…”

  Noll dug his pinky into his ear, scratching vigorously. “I mean, we have defense systems.”

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  X yawned, stretching his arms. “Besides, who would go to a ‘cursed’ Outpost on the edge of Altavia, where Otherworldly beasts live?” His yawn shifted into a lazy smile. “Doesn't seem like a top vacation spot.”

  Noll pulled his finger out, inspected the yellow wax on the tip, and blew it off like dust.

  Mizuki forced herself not to look. And this was the man who ate scorched eggs like he was dining with a king.

  “Realistically, X, rumors don't stop professionals,” Noll said. He turned to Mizuki, wiping his hand with a cloth. “But don’t worry. There is no one capable of breaking in. Not even if Laurent Ferrum took a hammer to the door himself.”

  Mizuki blinked.

  Laurent Ferrum?

  The name carried weight, even though he was just a member of the Clan Ferrum, not even an heir. He was the Breaker—the man Captains hire when they wanted to know if their walls were truly safe. He would break into their fortresses, beat everyone present, and leave a note on the Captain’s desk with feedback. He had never failed. Among the nobility, the betting pool wasn't on if Laurent could get in, but how many minutes would it take. Rumor had it, the man didn't just break walls for coin; he took a sick sort of pleasure in it.

  And Noll thinks his defenses can withstand him? She looked at the villa-like outpost. Impossible…

  “Right,” Mizuki sighed, giving up. It is impossible to argue with him. “Let’s just go get the suits.”

  The carriage ride to the commercial district of Altavia was suffocatingly quiet. Mizuki spent the entire trip agonizing over her posture and the impending doom of the Gala, while X napped and Noll stared blankly out the window, mentally calculating the cost of carriage fares.

  When they finally stepped into Madame Vionnet’s, the air was thick with the scent of lavender and ozone. The shop bell chimed, and a trio of tailors descended upon them like starving hawks.

  “Lady Yumaki!” the head tailor gasped, practically vibrating with excitement. But her smile faltered as her gaze shifted to the two boys behind her. X was stretching his shoulders, completely unbothered, while Noll smelled faintly of copper, his coat scorched at the hem.

  The tailor’s nose wrinkled. She looked at Mizuki, her tone dropping into a chiding whisper. “My Lady, it is very generous of you to reward your... Nameless... with proper garments, but really, the soot—”

  “Just fit them for suits,” Mizuki sighed, already exhausted. “And I need a dress. Something that doesn't scream 'Yumaki', but doesn't look like I'm hiding, either.”

  For the next two hours, Mizuki lived in a cycle of velvet, silk, and misery. Every time she stepped out of the dressing room in a new gown, seeking validation, she was met with the exact same response.

  She spun in a dark emerald dress. “It suits you,” X said, scratching his neck. “It covers your vital organs adequately,” Noll added, arms crossed.

  She came out in a crimson gown with silver embroidery. “It suits you,” X repeated. “The fabric seems durable,” Noll noted.

  Mizuki wanted to scream.

  While she suffered, the tailors had dragged Noll into a side room for what they called an "emergency dermal intervention." Since Altavia frowned upon unnatural tools, the tailors relied on aggressive, fast-acting alchemy.

  Mizuki heard the sharp hiss of chemical astringents. She heard Noll let out a muffled grunt of pain as a peeling ointment stripped away weeks of Outpost grease, soot, and dried blood in a matter of seconds.

  When the curtain finally pulled back, Mizuki stopped breathing. Even X raised an eyebrow.

  The grime was gone, revealing a flawlessly pale face with striking, sharp bone structure. His ash-blond hair—which the tailors had aggressively conditioned and trimmed so the top remained long but the sides were clean—framed piercing, icy blue eyes. He didn't look like a vagrant anymore. He looked like an exiled prince.

  “I would kill a man for hair with this volume,” the head tailor muttered, dabbing a tear from her eye. “We won't even charge you for the bespoke fitting. I simply couldn't stand looking at that pretty face being ruined by rags.”

  Noll didn't look at the tailor. He was staring at the full-length mirror.

  His hands were trembling. He stepped closer to the glass, his breath fogging the surface. He wasn't admiring himself; he looked stunned, horrified, like he was looking at a ghost.

  “I feel like a doll,” Noll whispered, his voice shaking with a sudden, visceral disgust. To be dressed up, to be given things for free just because he had a pretty face... it violated every mathematical, utilitarian rule he lived by. Dolls had no purpose. Dolls were only a scenery to admire.

  X stepped up beside him, clapping a heavy hand on Noll's tailored shoulder, breaking the trance. X looked at Mizuki and let out a low chuckle. “We should have come here a day before the Gala, not a week. There is zero chance he retains this look for seven days.”

  Mizuki, still slightly mesmerized, blinked. “Yeah, that’s my bad... you know what, maybe it’s for the best.”

  Noll tore his eyes from the mirror. He walked to the counter to pay for Mizuki's dresses and their suits. As he handed over the heavy pouch of gold and silver coins, his flawless, aristocratic face twisted into an expression of profound, silent agony. His life savings were melting.

  By the time they returned to the Outpost, the sun was high.

  X immediately stripped off his new suit jacket, laid it carefully on a chair, and sprawled out on the grass to bask in the sun. Noll, having already traded his suit back for his comfortable, scorched clothes, was meticulously watering his row of purple Outpost herbs.

  Mizuki stood in the center of the training yard, trying to cast.

  Crack. A spark of lightning fizzled and died in the dirt. Hiss. A patch of frost melted before it could even form a crystal.

  She gritted her teeth, pouring more mana into her hands. Nothing. The energy leaked out of her like water through a shattered vase. She looked over at the boys. X was snoring softly. Noll was humming as he plucked a dead leaf from a stem.

  They were so calm. They just existed, effortlessly.

  Something inside Mizuki snapped.

  She marched over to the garden patch, her shadow falling over Noll's herbs. “Train me!”

  Noll didn’t even look up. He adjusted the flow of his watering can. “Why do you want to be trained?”

  “To get a Nexus-Blade.”

  “I refuse,” Noll said smoothly, moving to the next plant. “You have two more chances. Choose your words wisely.”

  Mizuki’s hands balled into fists. “I want people to respect me. When I walk into that Gala, I want them to look at me and—”

  “Why do you want people to respect you?” Noll interrupted.

  “Does that even matter?!” Mizuki shouted, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the Outpost. “I want it! That’s why I am asking you for it!”

  Noll finally stopped watering. He set the can down, stood up, and wiped his dirt-stained hands on his pants. He looked her dead in the eye, his gaze stripping away her aristocratic temper. “Listen. We can do this all week, and you won't even throw a single punch. I am that stubborn. I am not stopping until I find out what exactly drives you. One more chance.”

  Mizuki froze. Her body went stiff. Standing there in the dirt, she was a full head taller than Noll, but she had never felt so small. She thought of her father. She thought of Bella looking through her. She thought of the tailor shop, where she tried to buy an identity with silk.

  Her shoulders dropped. The anger drained out of her, leaving only the raw, bleeding truth.

  “I want to justify myself existing.”

  Noll tilted his head, intrigued. “Why do you want that? You are a second child of one of the most powerful Clan Heads in history. You don't have to justify anything.”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” Mizuki whispered, her voice cracking. “People look at me, and they just see his daughter. I want to be myself. I want to step out of his shadow as Mizuki Yumaki.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  Then, Noll smiled. He raised his hands and started clapping, a slow, deliberate rhythm.

  “Good answer,” Noll said. He reached into his coat, pulled out a blank notebook and a pen, and tossed them at her chest. Mizuki fumbled to catch them. “I will help you. We start now.”

  Mizuki looked at the notebook, confused. “What is this? Spells?”

  “Planning,” Noll said. “Imagine you are in bed. You just woke up. Write down exactly what you do from there.”

  Mizuki frowned, clicking the pen. “I... get up and get dressed.”

  Noll snatched the paper from her hand and tore it in half. He tossed the scraps over his shoulder. “Too vague. You are on autopilot. Write it again.”

  “I move to the right side of the bed,” Mizuki snapped, scribbling furiously on a new page. “I throw my right leg out first. Then my left one. I put my weight on my heels. I stand up.”

  “Better,” Noll said.

  From the grass, X sat up. He stretched his massive shoulders, the joints popping like firecrackers, and cracked his knuckles. “Alright,” X grinned, stepping into the yard. “Keep writing, Princess. Because now, you're going to plan out how to fight, down to the angle of the fist.”

  X dropped into a terrifyingly low fighting stance.

  “And you're going to do it while I try to take your head off.”

  theory behind Mizuki's new fighting style, but you won't see the result until she is forced to use it under extreme pressure at the Gala. Next chapter, we jump straight to the end of this hellish week—Mizuki is going to be very sore, because X absolutely spent the last seven days trying to take her head off.