Funny thing is, the day I actually quit my convenience store job, it wasn’t some normal scene of me walking up to the counter and telling the manager, “I’m done.”
Instead—
before I even had time to type out the word “resign” in a text, the world beat me to it and “removed me from the position” first.
More precisely, the mark moved first.
That night, the store had long since closed.
The signboard lights were off, the blinds were half–drawn, and the reflections on the glass cut the figures inside into a few pieces.
The three of us were standing in the middle of the convenience store.
I was leaning against the edge of the counter, picking at the cracks in the wooden trim with my fingernails.
Mr. Silence (I still can’t help calling him that) stood on my right, like he wanted to shield me but didn’t dare stand too close.
Sethiel, on the other hand, was circling the shelves slowly like a boss inspecting his shop.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
The way he said it, it sounded more like, “Working overtime tonight?”
His tone was so casual it made me want to punch him.
“What if I say no? You gonna let me go home and sleep?” I shot back.
“No.” He nodded, very honest. “The Rose doesn’t wait for anyone.”
“Then why the hell did you ask.”
I muttered under my breath.
Mr. Silence glanced at me, like he wanted to persuade me to think it over again, but in the end he didn’t say anything. He just shifted his body a little, like he was adjusting himself into a position where he could grab me the first second something went wrong.
That spot in my chest suddenly twitched.
Not my heart—slightly above and to the left—
where the Rose Mark lay sleeping.
Like someone was gently knocking on a door inside there.
“It’s here,” Sethiel said quietly.
The next second, that dull heat suddenly spread.
Not outward, but inward— like there was a door near my heart that got flung open, and something started flowing out from inside.
I sucked in a breath.
In my vision, the colors of the convenience store started going wrong.
The edges of the white fluorescent lights bled into a faint purple; the colors on the snack packaging on the shelves looked like they’d been soaked in water, slowly drooping down; the labels on the drinks in the fridge began to fade until only their shapes remained.
“Hold on,” Mr. Silence suddenly grabbed my hand.
His palm was hot—too hot to be normal.
Like he was afraid he wasn’t holding on tight enough, his fingers clenched down bit by bit until my finger bones actually hurt.
Sethiel stepped in front of us and tilted his head, taking in the scene.
“The Court of Roses must miss you a lot,” he said. “After all, the last person to wreck it like that was you.”
I was just about to snap back when a wave of vertigo slammed into me.
The convenience store ceiling felt like it’d been grabbed by some giant hand and yanked upward.
The light stretched into a thin line and then snapped with a crack—
the darkness only lasted a second.
In the next instant, the light came back.
But the world had changed.
We were standing in that place again.
The Court of Roses.
Only this time, it wasn’t quite the same as the first time I came.
The sky was still that deep purple, like gray soaked in ink; our feet were still on that stone platform carved all over with rose patterns, its edges floating with countless dark petals; but there was now an extra layer in the air—
a kind of nostalgic rot.
Like something had once been burned here, buried, then dug up again to dry.
“Welcome back.”
A voice that did not belong to a human echoed over the courtyard.
I looked up, but couldn’t see who was speaking.
The voice seemed to drift out of every petal.
Sethiel raised his gaze to the sky and gave a slight bow.
The movement was extremely old–fashioned, nothing like a modern person at all—more like a habit etched into the bone.
“Court of Roses,” he said. “We’ve returned.”
I wanted to roast him for greeting a “courtyard”, but before I could open my mouth, the mark on my chest suddenly tightened.
Like someone had jabbed a needle into me from the inside.
“—Ow.” I couldn’t help frowning.
The sharp pain quickly turned into burning, then very quickly into—
a sense of being pulled out.
Like having blood drawn, except it wasn’t blood being taken, but “memory”.
Mr. Silence immediately reached out to steady me, his voice a little anxious:
“Hannah—”
Before I could say “I’m fine”, the ground under my feet dropped away.
This time, I wasn’t falling downward, but being dragged backward— pulled by my own mark into some deeper layer.
The world lost its color in an instant, leaving only red and white.
[Rose Memory I: The Oath Written in Blood]
The first thing that appeared wasn’t a picture, but a sound.
Not a human voice—the sound of metal scraping against stone.
Then I saw a sword.
It was a long, slender rapier, the blade caked in blood. The light on it was dulled by the gore, turning into a heavy dark gold.
Further up, there was a hand.
Long and strong fingers, with a layer of thin callus at the joints from gripping a sword over many years.
Fine blood lines streaked across the knuckles.
And then—I saw the face.
That face appeared clean and clear in the frame, like someone had just ripped all the fog away in one go.
I froze.
It was his face.
Mr. Silence’s face.
No—more like a “prototype” version that resembled him even more.
The brow ridge was sharper, the eyes brighter, even that almost imperceptible tension at the corners of his mouth when he pressed his lips together was the same.
If the Mr. Silence in front of me now was “a stone worn smooth at the edges,” then this person was “ore just knocked straight out of the cliff.”
The only difference—was his aura.
This man had no suppression, no careful restraint.
He was like an unsheathed sword, with the whole world as his background.
And right now, that man was kneeling.
His knees sank into a ground full of rose petals.
Not the single–colored roses from before, but a mixture of deep red and pure white.
Red was blood, white was flower.
He was holding someone in his arms.
Her clothes were soaked in blood, long hair spilled loose, the ends matted with mud and petals.
Her chest hardly rose or fell.
…Me.
Even though the colors were a little off, I could still tell that “she” was me.
Not the convenience store–uniform version, but wearing some kind of white dress with ancient patterns, a hole stabbed through the neckline—that was where all the blood came from.
That “Mr. Silence–like man” was pressing down on the wound with one hand, viciously, as if pressing hard enough would keep the blood from leaving, and keep the person from dying.
Blood had soaked his fingers red, his arm was shaking.
His face was bloody too—I couldn’t tell if it was his or mine.
“Don’t sleep.”
His voice was hoarse, hardly his own. “Look at me.”
My point of view was a little floaty, like I was half suspended in the air watching a play.
But I could feel everything the one lying in his arms was feeling.
Cold.
So tired.
My chest felt like a hand inside was slowly letting go.
“...Why are you making that face.” I (she) really wanted to laugh, but more blood just spilled from the corner of my mouth. “You’re not the one dying.”
He clenched his teeth, said nothing, shook his head hard, the light in his eyes practically bursting.
“Shut up,” he managed to squeeze out two words. “Don’t talk.”
“If you won’t talk, I’ll talk.” My breathing was getting shallower and shallower. “Otherwise… this is really boring…”
His forehead pressed against mine, his breathing as chaotic as someone about to drown.
“Don’t mess around,” he said.
In that moment, I really had the illusion—
that he was Mr. Silence.
Except… the vibe was completely different.
This man cursed, raged, roared, broke down.
Mr. Silence only ever crushed all his emotions into his bones.
“Hey.” I raised my hand.
That bloody, trembling hand slowly reached for his face.
I’d seen this shot in the previous memory fragment, but this time—it was clearer.
My fingertips brushed his cheek and touched a damp trail.
“You’re… crying,” I said.
He closed his eyes for a second, and two more teardrops slid down, landing on the back of my hand.
“Don’t cry.” I heard my own voice, so light it was almost floating away. “I don’t want… you still crying over me a thousand years from now.”
His pupils shrank hard.
“A thousand…” His voice cracked. “Why are you saying things like that?”
My vision began to blur.
The edges of his face stretched and warped, like a painting soaking in water.
“Because—” I managed a faint smile. “That face of yours… is really an eyesore…”
It was like he’d been jabbed with a needle. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“You say one more word…” He almost ground the words out between his teeth. “And I’ll die right here with you.”
It was like someone wrote that sentence in the air with a heavy hand.
The wind in the Court of Roses suddenly picked up, petals whirling up around us in circle after circle.
In the distance, some massive rumbling was getting closer.
My (her) heart tightened suddenly.
It wasn’t fear—it was a feeling of, Ah. So it’s finally here.
“...I see,” I murmured. “Then this is… just right.”
“Just right where?!” he practically roared. “Explain that to me!”
I didn’t answer.
Because in that instant, I knew I didn’t have many words left.
I took a deep breath, forcing my eyes open wider, forcing his increasingly out–of–focus face back into focus.
“Listen carefully,” I said. “I don’t ask to share life.”
His breath hitched.
“I only ask to share death.”
The wind stopped for a heartbeat.
The rose petals froze midair for a moment, like the world had hit pause.
“For all ages to come,” I said, every word making my chest hurt more—“unwavering until death.”
The moment I finished speaking, it felt like my heart finally got some kind of permission and dropped from a great height.
His whole body went still.
“Shut up,” he said, voice shaking. “Who’s going to—”
He didn’t finish.
Because I stopped breathing.
Quietly.
No struggling, no convulsions—just my chest rising and falling one last time, and the light in my eyes going out.
The whole picture seemed to be drained of color.
He held me, frozen like stone at first, then a second later, a sound came out of his throat—a sound only an animal being skinned alive might make.
He lowered his head, burying his face in the space between my shoulder and neck.
His body shook violently.
I couldn’t see his expression, only his back—
rising and falling, stretched tight like the skin was about to split.
I don’t know how long it took before he moved.
He laid me flat on the rose petals, careful to the point of almost not daring to touch me.
Like if he used even a little more force, even the outline of me would shatter.
He knelt beside me and stroked my face.
The movement was very familiar.
Exactly the same gesture as when I’d reached out to touch him just now.
He lifted his head and glanced off into the distance.
The light there was already close; the sky looked like it had been ripped open.
Black and white tangled in midair, as if two forces were fighting over the same piece of space.
He let out a low laugh.
There was not a shred of joy in the sound.
“Not share life, only share death, huh?” he muttered. “Fine…”
He reached for his own rapier.
It was still stained with my blood.
He set the tip of the sword against his own heart.
His hand was steady—too steady for someone who had just cried himself half to death.
“For all ages, unwavering until death,” he repeated.
This time, he wasn’t saying it to me, but to the Court of Roses, to that strip of sky, to some unseen existence.
The moment the blade drove into his chest, the picture flashed white.
[Reality]
I snapped backward.
If Mr. Silence hadn’t grabbed me fast, I would’ve gone straight down onto the stone.
Cold sweat soaked my back in an instant.
There was a metallic sweetness in my throat, and my chest felt like someone had yanked it hard from the inside.
“Hannah!”
His voice was so close it was like it was pressed against my ear.
I opened my eyes.
The Court of Roses was still there.
The stone platform was still there.
Roses in the stone patterns radiated out in circle after circle toward the edge, the boundary of the void in the distance flickering faintly.
I was panting hard, unable to tell if the suffocation was from the dream or from reality.
Sethiel stood not far away, hands in his pockets. His expression looked even calmer than usual—so calm it had a bit of a “knew it would be like this” feel.
“Done watching?” he asked.
“...That man.” My voice trembled. “The one holding me.”
I lifted my head and looked at Mr. Silence.
His face looked awful, and there was something in his eyes that I couldn’t tell was pain or nausea.
Our gazes locked.
In that instant, the image of the man kneeling in the roses overlapped with the face in front of me.
“It was you,” I said.
Not a question—an assertion.
His throat bobbed.
He didn’t nod, and he didn’t shake his head.
His gaze simply dropped slightly, like he didn’t dare—and didn’t want—to admit it.
“Doesn’t look like you,” I added.
He blinked, then looked back at me.
“The aura is completely different.” I stared at him. “That guy was… scarier than you are.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I didn’t even know whether I was trying to comfort him, or corner him.
He stayed silent for a long time before finally rasping:
“...I don’t know.”
He squeezed my hand a little tighter.
“I really don’t remember anything,” he said. “But if that really was me—”
He didn’t finish.
Sethiel lazily added:
“Then you’ve already died once for her.”
The conclusion was too neat—so neat there was no room left to run.
I took a deep breath, the taste of blood in my throat getting stronger.
The scenes kept replaying in my mind—
him kneeling, him crying, him lifting his sword to his own chest and saying, “Not share life, only share death.”
It wasn’t edgy teen melodrama. It was a kind of ice–cold madness.
“...Do you have a twin?” I suddenly asked.
The moment I said it, even I thought it sounded ridiculous.
Mr. Silence stared for a second, clearly not expecting that question.
He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “No. At least… not in the years I can remember.”
That answer wasn’t really an answer.
Because he’d lost more memories than he still had.
“Does your kind have clones? Copies? Mirrors?” I threw out every possibility a modern person could think of.
“You can just say ‘abomination’,” Sethiel said blandly. “Or ‘cursed twin’.”
I paused. “So you mean it’s possible?”
“The Rose doesn’t like lonely destinies,” he said. “She’s very fond of games like ‘one body, two souls’ and ‘one soul, two vessels’.”
He looked at Mr. Silence.
“And you…” He paused. “You’re only half.”
The moment his words fell, the wind in the Court of Roses shifted.
Rose patterns at the edge of the platform lit up one by one, like someone was lighting rings of candles.
The air grew heavy, like the pressure before a storm.
Sethiel looked up at the sky.
“Looks like the old lady is very pleased with that little memory,” he sighed. “So pleased she plans to collect on the interest early.”
Before I could react, the roses underfoot suddenly tightened.
The entire platform felt like it was lifted from below by something, then dropped.
“Rose Duel—” that inhuman voice rang out again, this time with a very clear note of amusement.
“...Upgraded.”
Wind sliced in from all directions like blades.
Rose petals were swept up into the air, spinning, forming ring after ring of flower walls that boxed the three of us into the center of the platform.
“This time it’s not that knightly duel you and I used to play at,” Sethiel glanced at Mr. Silence, the corner of his mouth curling slightly. “No more pretend this time… The real Rose Duel doesn’t end without blood.”
I clenched my fist. “Hold on, who’s fighting who—”
“Do you even have to ask?” he cut me off, his gaze landing on Mr. Silence. “Of course it’s me and him.”
The rose wall shot up in an instant, shoving me back a step.
A few petals brushed my skin and actually scratched faint lines of blood.
The Court of Roses was serious this time.
“Sethiel,” Mr. Silence said quietly. “That’s enough.”
“You scared?” Sethiel raised a brow. “Afraid of seeing something you’d rather not see?”
“I don’t want her to—”
He stopped halfway, like a word got stuck on his tongue and couldn’t pass.
Sethiel glanced at me, then looked back at him.
“This isn’t something she gets to choose,” he said. “The Rose already chose for her.”
He lifted his hand and traced an invisible path in the air.
The whole courtyard shuddered.
The rose wall shrank in at once, pushing me to the edge of the platform, leaving a small open space in the middle, like a miniature arena.
“This time,” Sethiel slowly drew the rapier that had appeared in his hand at some point, “it’s to the death.”
The shape of that sword was almost exactly the same as the one in the memory.
A slender blade, a guard engraved with rose patterns.
A faint glow still clung to the tip—
as if it still remembered the moment, a thousand years ago, when it pierced two hearts.
My throat tightened.
“I don’t accept this,” Mr. Silence suddenly said. “I won’t again—”
“You don’t accept it?” Sethiel laughed, the smile as sharp as a blade. “Do you have the right to refuse the Rose?”
A rare shadow flickered in his eyes.
“A thousand years ago, if you hadn’t died with her, you wouldn’t be the one standing here now.”
Mr. Silence went quiet for a beat.
He slowly lifted his head.
In that moment, I saw something in him come loose.
All those things that had been pressing down on him—fear, shame, escape, his terror of the truth—felt like they’d been twisted open a crack by the Court of Roses.
“...Fine,” he said.
He shoved me back, much harder than he usually would.
“Get back.”
“Wait, this isn’t—” I didn’t even finish before the rose patterns at my feet coiled up like chains around my ankles, pinning me at the edge of the platform.
I couldn’t move.
Sethiel’s gaze flicked to me; like the Rose was worried I might jump in, it decided to nail me down.
“Watch closely,” he told me. “This is your thousand years ago—live, one more time.”
Then his entire presence changed.
The temperature in the air dropped.
His pupils contracted for a second, and somewhere deep inside them, a strand of gold flashed before being swallowed by ink.
His long hair lifted behind him as if a wind were blowing from the inside out, even though the courtyard was dead still.
He raised his rapier to his chest in a duel salute that was so textbook–perfect it was almost absurd.
“Rose Duel—” he said softly. “Begin.”
The Court of Roses laughed overhead.
Every pattern on the platform lit up, light running like veins all the way into every petal.
I looked at Mr. Silence.
He stood there in nothing but his convenience store uniform, not looking like someone dressed for a fight at all.
But—
I suddenly caught a whiff of something that didn’t belong to this courtyard.
Rust.
Blood.
And deeper still, something like the smell of ancient soil buried underground, mixed with some old, feral beast.
“Silence,” Sethiel reminded him. “If you’re only planning to fight me as a human, this duel is meaningless.”
“I’m not human,” Mr. Silence said quietly.
It was the first time he’d ever personally denied that identity.
The next second, his pupils shrank.
Not from fear, but—like some instinct got yanked.
His spine bent a little, like something had hit him from inside.
His fingertips curled slightly, his nails scraping the stone with a sound that made my teeth ache.
I watched him control his breathing, like he was wrestling something down.
There was something at his chest that seemed ready to tear out.
“...Not in front of her,” he bit out. “I don’t want her to—”
“See?” Sethiel finished lazily. “But she’s already watched you kneel in the roses and stab yourself.”
That sentence was like a nail driven straight into his skull.
Mr. Silence’s body jolted.
That was the jolt of some safety lock being forced open.
His breathing turned faster and heavier, and there was a sound in his throat lower, rougher, and less human than before.
Like a beast that had been suppressed for too long, grinding its teeth in the back of his throat.
His teeth clamped down hard on his lower lip.
A second later, he let go.
I saw it clearly—
his canines lengthened in that instant, silently.
Not exaggerated fangs, but sharp, white teeth just a little longer than a normal human’s.
His sense of smell sharpened all of a sudden.
Even at this distance, I could feel the blood–scent around him rapidly thickening, like a spring that had been capped suddenly being broken open.
He glanced at me.
In that moment, there was a kind of brutally sober clarity in his eyes.
Like he was saying:
Don’t look.
And also saying:
Look. You’ll see it sooner or later anyway.
Then he turned and walked straight toward Sethiel.
What came next was hard to describe with words like “moves” or “attacks”.
This wasn’t the back–and–forth of a shonen manga fight—it was more like
two completely different kinds of existence colliding in the same space, crushing each other’s room to exist.
Sethiel moved first.
His figure blurred, smearing into a streak of shadow, and in the next second he was at Mr. Silence’s blind side.
His rapier swept past almost brushing his shoulder.
Right at the instant the tip of the blade should have pierced flesh, a hand clamped down on the spine of the sword.
That hand—was no longer a normal human hand.
The fingers had grown slender and taut, tendons standing out under the skin.
His fingertips bit into the metal, warping it slightly under the force.
Blood ran down from his palm, dripping onto the stone, and was quickly drunk up by the rose patterns.
Mr. Silence’s hair had come loose.
The collar of his uniform had been ripped open by the sword wind, revealing his collarbone and the pale skin there.
He didn’t step back; he actually pressed forward.
In that moment, I saw something completely different in him—
hunger.
Not for food, but for blood—and for some “stolen thing” he wanted to take back.
Sethiel’s brows furrowed slightly. He clearly hadn’t expected him to grab the blade bare–handed.
“This is your true nature,” he said quietly. “Vampire.”
“Shut up,” Mr. Silence’s voice was low and rough. “We’re not the same.”
“In my eyes, you’re just an immature vampire,” Sethiel sneered. “You insist on dragging me down to your level; it only cheapens me.”
Before he even finished, their power clashed on the blade, detonating an invisible impact point.
The air seemed to explode.
Even I, all the way at the edge of the platform, was shoved half a step back by the pressure—
if not for the rose patterns still chaining my ankles.
The rose wall rippled outward in rings, petals flipping and shattering.
Mr. Silence no longer retreated; he just pressed forward, step by step.
His pupils had gone even darker, almost black with a hint of red.
Behind half–parted lips, his teeth flashed now and then, and his breath came as a low growl forced up from the depths of his chest.
He didn’t look like he was “fighting” so much as using his very existence to shove back something trying to take everything from him.
A cold light flashed in Sethiel’s eyes.
The next moment, he changed too.
The color of his eyes shifted from deep brown slowly toward gold, his pupils narrowing vertically for an instant before rounding again.
His shadow suddenly stretched out behind him, like there was a pair of invisible wings opening there.
“I really didn’t want to use this form so early,” he murmured. “But… since the Rose is so eager, I’ll play along.”
A ring of dark light rose along the blade.
It wasn’t fire, but more like shadow compressed to the limit.
He twisted his rapier and lunged from another angle, driving the tip toward Mr. Silence’s side.
This time, Mr. Silence didn’t dodge.
The blade slid into flesh.
I clearly saw his body go rigid.
Blood ran down along the sword.
I tried to call his name, but no sound came out, like the Court of Roses had deliberately pressed down on my throat.
“You still want too badly to protect her,” Sethiel said coldly. “Once a vampire has a weakness, it’s hard to kill thoroughly.”
“You’re very free?” Mr. Silence shot back, blood at the corner of his mouth. “Then why weren’t you the one who died with me on the field a thousand years ago?”
Sethiel’s eyes went cold.
In that instant, he drove the sword another half–inch deeper.
But in that opening, Mr. Silence suddenly raised his hand and clamped down on Sethiel’s wrist.
The force was almost brutal.
With those blood–slick fingers, he shoved along the blade, forcing it back out of his body inch by inch.
Blood spurted in a brief arc.
The rose patterns eagerly drank it in, their color deepening for a moment.
“You think I’m afraid of dying?” he said.
His voice rasped like sandpaper dragged out of the bottom of his throat.
“I’ve already died once.” “In her arms.”
My chest spasmed hard.
Even the wind in the Court of Roses seemed to fall silent for a second.
Sethiel’s wrist was trapped in his grip.
His pupils dilated slightly as he stared at the blood–soaked man in front of him, no longer retreating.
“You—” he gritted out. “And you still claim you don’t remember anything?”
“I don’t know if that’s a memory,” Mr. Silence laughed hoarsely. “But my body remembers.”
He suddenly stepped in.
The distance between them collapsed.
I saw him lower his head slightly, as if catching a scent.
Not the smell of Sethiel, but—
the scent of all the blood and flowers in the Court of Roses, mixed and fermented.
The red in his eyes finally broke free, flaring like fire.
“I know one thing,” he said. “No matter if the man kneeling in the roses was me or not—”
He bit down hard on each word.
“This time, I’m not letting her die out front alone.”
The moment he finished, he slammed into Sethiel with all his strength, ramming him toward the edge of the platform.
The force was ridiculous.
The rose wall buckled inward, petals scattering under the impact like they’d been hit by a gale, flying every which way.
Sethiel’s back hit the stone.
For a brief second, the calm mask on his face finally cracked.
“You’re insane,” he said coldly.
“I’ve been insane for a long time,” Mr. Silence smiled, almost cruel. “Since a thousand years ago.”
Blood rage surged through him, the red in his eyes intertwining with the glow of the rose patterns.
You couldn’t really call it beautiful, only—
so terrifying it circled back around to something like beauty.
Sethiel dropped his gaze to the smear of blood at the corner of his own mouth.
He didn’t seem to bleed very often.
That single drop made his brows draw together slightly.
The Court of Roses’ voice floated down from above:
“The outcome is decided.”
The rose patterns dimmed ring by ring.
Sethiel flicked his hand and pushed himself upright from the edge.
He stared at Mr. Silence for a long moment.
In that look, there was resentment, resignation, and a kind of “just as I thought” sigh.
“He’s still your favorite,” he said quietly.
No one answered him, because that one was obviously addressed to the Rose.
He lifted his gaze to me.
In that instant, every trace of emotion vanished from his face, leaving only that familiar indifference.
“Your knight won,” he told me. “At least this round.”
“We’re not—” I wanted to argue, but my throat still hurt, and all I managed was a cough of blood.
He took it in, and a shadow flickered so fast in his eyes it was almost invisible.
“I’ll let you go this time,” he said. “I won’t kill him—for now.”
“For now?” I caught that word.
“The Rose War isn’t over,” he shrugged. “You’ll be back.”
He took a step back as he spoke.
The rose wall behind him parted like invisible hands had pulled it open.
Beyond the gap wasn’t light, but a deeper black—
like a door to somewhere else.
Just before stepping through, he gave Mr. Silence one last look.
“Next time…” he said. “Don’t count on the Rose favoring you again.”
Mr. Silence didn’t answer. He just clung to me tightly, like I might vanish from his arms the next second.
Sethiel disappeared behind the wall of roses, and the gap sealed.
The Court of Roses fell quiet for a moment.
Then the stone under our feet began to loosen.
The entire platform collapsed downward. It felt like we were being spat out by something—
the world spun, and the hum of the convenience store’s air conditioner came back.
When I opened my eyes, my back was against the cabinet under the counter.
A few fallen snack bags were scattered around my feet.
Mr. Silence was half–kneeling beside me, the front of his uniform torn wide open, the skin beneath perfectly clean—no trace of any sword wound.
Only that faint rim of red still fading from his eyes.
I reached up to touch the corner of my mouth.
No blood.
The Court of Roses hadn’t left a single mark.
Like it was afraid this world couldn’t bear it.
But I knew.
The Rose Memories were carved in now.
Carved into my mind, and into his bones.
“...Are you okay?” his voice was hoarse.
“What about you?” I shot back. “You look more like the one who just died once.”
He blinked, then glanced down at his own hand.
His fingertips were still trembling slightly.
He slowly curled them into a fist, like he was crushing that trembling back down.
“I thought I was human,” he said quietly. “Just… a human who was hard to kill.”
He looked up at me.
And in that moment, he finally said it—that line we both knew but had refused to face:
“Turns out—I’m a vampire.”
The air conditioner hummed along in its steady rhythm.
The ad screen on the wall played a daytime promo video on loop, the sound off, just one over–smiling face after another flashing by.
The world had gone back to normal, like nothing had happened.
I sat on the floor and looked at him.
“Vampire…” I repeated. “Do vampires commit suicide?”
He froze.
The scene in the Rose Memory rose up again—
him kneeling in the roses, driving his sword into his own heart and saying, “Not share life, only share death.”
He didn’t answer.
So I answered for him:
“They do,” I said. “If they’re sick enough in love. Mad enough for it.”
His throat moved.
We stared at each other for a long while.
In the end, I was the one who looked away first.
“...Whatever the case,” I drew in a breath. “You already died once a thousand years ago. If you die again now, it’ll be a huge problem for me.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because…” I glanced at him, forcing a crooked little smile. “That cheesy line about ‘not sharing life, only sharing death’—once is enough.”
He stared, taken aback.
The wind of the Court of Roses didn’t blow here.
Only the low hum of the fridge filled this utterly ordinary space, bearing silent witness to that very un–ordinary duel just now.
The Rose War had only just begun.
And we—
no longer had any way out.
ns216.73.216.33da2
and then Add to home screen.