Chapter Text
I end up back at the spot I was earlier, nestled beneath the umbrella with the servants, Elizabeth, and McMillan still seated around. The sun’s too much—my legs are tired, and I’m growing a little lazy from the warmth. I plop down in the shade, yawning as I stare across the field. A nap sounds amazing right now.
My eyes feel heavy from all the excitement.
My gaze drifts instinctively toward the distant balcony where I last saw Sebastian. It’s empty now. I wonder if he was able to get close to the President.
Suddenly, the teams emerge from their tents and reenter the field.
“It’s the start of the second round! Let’s keep the giveaway points to a minimum!” a Green House student shouts, his fist raised confidently.
“Yes sir!” their team responds in unison.
Green House is bowling now, and Blue House is up to bat.
Bluewer steps forward, holding the bat in…a very odd way. He plants it on the ground, gripping it by the nose.
“What’s with that stance?!” Edward yells, baffled. “He’s holding the bat with a reverse grip!”
“Hey! Hold the bat properly please!” the referee calls out, though still polite.
“No, this will be fine.” Bluewer replies coolly.
Green House pitches. Bluewer tilts the bat just slightly— bam . The ball taps off and skids across the field, just past the fielders.
We get two runs.
Yes!
Bluewer continues batting with the same bizarre technique, and somehow—we keep scoring. Two, three outs each time, with batters rotating in and mirroring his style.
It’s genius.
“10 overs! Change sides!” the referee calls, as the scoreboard updates.
Blue House: 105.
Green House: 52.
“Wow!” I shout, stunned at how flawlessly that went.
Bard smirks through his cigarette. “I’m impressed as well.”
“Blue House is winning now!” Finnian cheers brightly.
I tip my head back, glancing at the sky with a grin. I wonder if the Phantomhives are watching from somewhere beyond. I can picture Vincent beside me—surprised, yes, but proud. His pride would be quiet, flickering in his eyes. Rachel would be proud too.
The whole crowd is roaring. Even the other Houses seem genuinely impressed.
But as the sides switch again, we start to lose some of our advantage. Our defense falters slightly. Green House is on the offensive—and they’re strong. Still, we manage to keep our lead.
The board now reads:
Blue House: 105.
Green House: 91.
I glance around absently. Still no sign of Sebastian. I pout a little, drawing my legs up to hug them. My chin rests on my knee as I let my gaze wander the crowd.
“Ciel’s bowling!” Elizabeth suddenly exclaims.
I perk up instantly and find him standing on the mound.
“Do your best, young master!” the servants and Soma cheer.
I beam at the sight of him. “Destroy Edward, Ciel!” I call. “You got this!”
I can practically feel Edward glaring at me from across the field.
I grin devilishly and stick my tongue out at him.
Ciel shifts into an unfamiliar pose, one hand pointed upward and the other forming a rock-on gesture near his mouth. I tilt my head. What is he doing?
Blue House suddenly closes in, pressing around the batter.
My eyebrows shoot up.
How aggressive.
“The outfield’s crowded around the batsman?!” someone shouts nearby.
“How are they going to defend like that?!”
Ciel’s lips twitch into a smug smirk—his classic checkmate expression—before he smooths it over.
He raises his arm.
“Here I go!” he calls out.
The ball sails slowly, bounces once off the ground, and shoots upward—aiming for the batter’s face. He yelps and lifts his bat to shield himself, deflecting it.
Straight into Clayton’s hands behind him after it bounces once.
“Hey, that’s dangerous!” the batter snaps. “It’s a Dot, so do it over.”
“I’m sorry.” Ciel says smoothly— too smoothly.
I don’t believe that for a second.
No. He’s doing this on purpose.
He throws again. Same angle. Same result.
This time, the batter hits it directly into Blue House’s waiting arms.
I lean back, unable to help the smirk tugging at my lips. Dirty trick, Feni. I feel like a cat who’s stolen the cream—pride rising in my chest.
Why would Sebastian want to eat a soul that can scheme like this? Even if it’s bloody. Even if it’s manipulative or immoral…
This kind of brilliance changes things.
Ciel Phantomhive is a strategist. A genius. And I feel…guilty. Sad. Knowing he’s destined to give it all up. All for revenge.
I understand him. Too well. If I were in his place—I’d want to avenge everything too. Especially myself.
He’s so strong…so why does it hurt so much to watch him fight this way?
The crowd starts catching on. Green House begins to shout in protest.
I hear the cries for fairness, for justice.
I don’t want this fate for him.
Because it is unfair. Even if it was his choice—to live knowing it ends in death.
But I suppose that’s what we’re all doing.
Living until we cannot anymore.
Ciel’s voice cuts through my thoughts, crisp and dismissive.
“Breaking the rules?” he asks. “When? Who did?”
“What?!” Edward sputters.
“The Bowler throws towards the wicket. The Batsman tries to protect it by hitting in front of it. So, of course, the ball will pass through the vicinity of the Batsman,” Ciel explains coolly. “This time my control was bad, and it went to the vicinity of the Batsman’s face. For ‘some reason’ the Batsman swung and sent the ball flying. Then, ‘by chance’, a player happened to be near the ball caught it with no bound. So, isn’t it ‘just’ a one out?”
I snort, covering it with my hand. Green House might be screwed.
“W-Well, it’s not against the rules, but…” Edward trails off.
“As if an English gentleman would do such a thing!” a Green House student roars.
“T-That’s right! It’s not cricket!” someone echoes from the crowd.
Soon the entire stadium is chanting: It’s not cricket! It’s not cricket!
But Blue House doesn’t flinch. They stand still. Steady. Resilient.
“Ciel…” I hear Elizabeth whisper, concern lacing her voice.
“His horrible personality is showing…” Bard groans, sweatdropping.
“You guys,” I say softly, a look of amused pride slipping over my features. A slow smirk curls my lips.
They glance at me, puzzled.
“We represent the Phantomhive household. You know better than to doubt us.” My tone drops slyly, eyes narrowing with meaning.
They blink at me—momentarily stunned.
But before any of them can respond, a sharp shout cuts across the field.
“Shut up!”
Our heads turn in unison toward the voice.
Greenhill storms out of the Green House tent, his stride wide and commanding. His expression burns with frustration.
“I won’t have you lot booing during our sacred match!” he roars, voice carrying like a war drum. “And Phantomhive, unfair?!”
He strides up to Ciel and abruptly grabs his wrist.
I flinch in place, instincts prickling—but he doesn’t harm him.
“Can you all see this?!” Greenhill shouts toward his teammates.
I squint from this distance, unable to make out what exactly he’s showing.
“This hand tells us everything…” he declares, gripping Ciel’s hand tightly. “About his efforts, and his commitment.”
My heart softens a little. His hand must be rough—callused from all the training Sebastian pushed him through. That demon is nothing if not relentless.
Still, I smile fondly.
“Precisely throwing towards the Batsman’s face. Saying it is easy, but doing it is hard. He must have done some heavy training to get this far. That a small boy from the physically weak Blue House would come this far…do you understand what that means?!”
Greenhill’s voice sharpens, turning on his own teammates.
Silence falls across the field. The weight of his words sinks in.
“Is Green House so frail that we would lose over one simple trap!?” he bellows.
“No, sir!” the team cries back, straightening, saluting him in sync.
“Then let’s give it our all and smash them!”
“Yes, sir!”
He smiles now, genuinely, and looks to Bluewer.
“I’m glad I can see you go all out before graduating, Bluewer!”
Bluewer gives a faint, wistful smile. “Thank you, me too, Greenhill.”
“Then, let’s play!” Greenhill claps his hands and steps off the field to watch.
Ciel steps back into position.
He prepares his next pitch.
The batter tightens his grip, eyeing him.
Ciel throws.
The ball dives sharply downward—just past the batter’s leg. The batter tries to correct his swing mid-motion and barely connects.
“This kid?!” the batter curses under his breath, glaring at Ciel.
Ciel returns the look, calm and dark, gaze sharp as flint.
They switch out the batter.
This time, Ciel aims for the face. The new batter blocks instinctively— smack . The ball ricochets off the bat, and it’s caught immediately.
Two outs.
The score sits at 105 to 91.
Now it’s Edward’s turn.
Ciel has one bowl left.
They lock eyes.
“It’s on, Ciel!” Edward calls.
“Here I go!” Ciel fires back, crouching into position.
He gives it everything he’s got.
“Slow!” Edward grunts, swinging hard. The ball launches high into the air.
“It’s a boundary 6!” a student shouts, thrilled.
“Ouch, he hit it after all.” Bard sighs.
“Ugh, should I be happy or sad here?” Elizabeth murmurs, conflicted.
“Huh?” Mey-Rin adjusts her glasses. “But young master…he’s smiling,” she notes quietly.
I chuckle and look her way.
“Of course, he is,” I grin. “He put in all that work, and his family got him. He knew it was a possibility. He’s just glad he calculated right.”
The servants stare at me with wide eyes, touched.
“Our young master is amazing!” Finnian cries, practically sparkling.
“Yeah, he really is…” I murmur, eyes trailing to the field where Bluewer passes by Ciel and ruffles his hair.
I glance up at the scoreboard.
We’re still ahead: 105 to 97.
It’s close.
Bluewer steps into the role of bowler. Ciel moves to Wicket-Keeper, taking his place behind the batter. He straps on a calf guard and gets into position, focused.
“It’s been about a year, Midford,” Bluewer says to Edward. “Back then, you took 30 points. I’m going to change that around.”
He readies the ball. Ciel braces behind Edward, unmoving.
“The 8th School Rule of Weston High: students will apply themselves without neglecting their studies or training. That is why this year…” Bluewer winds up— “We will win!”
He pitches.
My mouth parts in surprise.
The ball doesn’t fly forward—it arcs straight up , sailing toward the sun.
…What?
The light stings my eyes when I follow it.
“A wild ball…?” Bard blinks, baffled.
Even I can’t tell what’s going on.
“So he was just putting on airs!” a Green House student jeers.
“He’s good at studying so he shouldn’t bother with sports, you know!” another mocks, laughing.
Bluewer doesn’t respond.
The ball finally drops—fast and furious—right behind Edward.
It obliterates the wickets.
I sit forward, stunned.
Genius.
That was genius.
It feels like watching the final scene of a brilliant play. A twist you should’ve seen coming, but didn’t.
I blink in disbelief.
Is everyone here a prodigy? First Ciel. Now Bluewer. Is it something in Weston’s damn water?
Edward whirls around, gasping.
Ciel stands coolly behind him, holding the ball between his padded gloves—smirking.
The crowd erupts. Cheers, disbelief, roars of approval.
“We did it! Dormitory leader!” Clayton cries joyously. “Did you see that, Green House?!”
“The ball…came back down…” Edward mutters, still reeling, eyes locked on the sky like it holds the answer.
“It’s a simple trajectory calculation.” Bluewer replies matter-of-factly, pride shimmering beneath his calm exterior. He’s reveling in the brilliance of his plan.
“As expected, Bluewer!” Greenhill calls out as he strides back onto the field—this time to bat. His cape flutters behind him like a challenge thrown into the wind.
Edward walks off in a daze, defeated, making room for Greenhill.
“That over-calculated bowling is just like you,” Greenhill admits, oddly fond. “However…there is no ball I cannot hit!” He points the bat at Bluewer, posture daring.
“The last batter is Greenhill! It’s a P4 showdown!” someone yells behind us, the crowd surging with excitement.
The teams shift into position.
Bluewer squints, sharp focus etched across his face.
“Let’s go!” he shouts, winding up and launching the ball—higher than before.
My eyes widen. Seriously, how is that even calculable ?
“G-Gooooo!” Clayton yells from the sidelines, voice cracking under the tension.
Greenhill coils, all raw power and bravado. He raises his bat with a full-bodied cry, the arc so wide it nearly smacks Ciel.
The ball descends with ruthless speed—and Greenhill smacks it. I jerk back as it rockets just above Bluewer’s head.
The damn thing zips through the field like it’s on fire.
Then— crash —it slams into the bleachers with terrifying force.
Greenhill’s power…might be more terrifying than Sebastian’s. At least Sebastian isn’t human .
“Bou—” someone gasps behind us. “Bou—Boundary 6! It’s 105 against 103!”
Green House explodes with cheers. Blue House wavers. I bite down on my lip, heart sinking. Two more points and we lose.
Ciel walks over to Bluewer with a smile, resting a hand on his shoulder. I can’t hear what he says, but I see it—the way Bluewer lifts his head slightly. The team huddles close around them.
Ciel turns to the field. The smile drops. But…I know him.
That’s real.
I close my eyes and smile, warmth blooming in my chest. My little brother…trying for once.
When I open my eyes, Ciel hands the ball over and walks back to the wickets, crouching into position.
You know…in moments like this…
Bluewer grips the ball tight.
I wonder—do fate and choice dance together? Or are they just two stories we tell ourselves to sleep at night?
Sebastian’s voice echoes in my memory:
"Humans love the idea that they choose their fate," he murmurs. "It makes the punishment feel fair. Palatable, even. But if their god already knows the ending…"
"Then punishment is no longer justice. It's a performance."
I stare at the sky, hair tousled by a wind that wasn’t there a moment ago.
Is this punishment?
Or is this performance?
“This is quite the stage, even I must say…” I murmur, breath catching.
The ball is thrown. Bluewer’s voice cracks with the force: one last miracle.
The same tactic. The same arc. Too soft, anyone would think.
“Too soft!” Greenhill echoes, crouching low, bat poised like a guillotine.
Then—
Ciel gets knocked back by the swing, the bat catching him full force by the head. His body slams the ground, and—blood. I see blood.
I shoot to my feet.
Ciel screams, clutching his head.
“No ball!” someone shouts. “Run! That ties it!”
Greenhill spins, ignoring the game, rushing toward Ciel. “Are you okay?!”
I grip the edge of my jacket, fighting the instinct to sprint out there. It’s not over yet.
“Huh?!” Green House’s other player shouts at Greenhill. “Aren’t you going to run?!”
Ciel lifts his head, blood streaking down. His eyes narrow, wild with pain and resolve. He crawls— crawls —toward the ball on the grass.
My heart stops.
He grabs it.
Greenhill leans in, trying to help—but Ciel throws. The ball cuts through the air and hits the wickets.
Dead silence.
The batter doesn’t make it in time.
“Umpire!” Ciel rasps from the ground.
The referee jolts and finally raises a hand. “Out! Green House: 10 out! The match is over!”
Blue House: 105. Green House: 104.
We…
We won .
“We won!” I scream, running into the light of the field with a giddy, uncontrollable grin.
“B—BLUE HOUSE WINS!” everyone howls.
Confetti bursts from cannons. Ribbons fly. I sprint, tears in my eyes, toward the team.
I reach Ciel, help lift him. His eyes find mine—genuine joy reflected back.
My chest tightens.
He's happy. He looks like a kid.
Laughter clogs my throat, even as tears roll down.
He pats my head—quick and firm.
“The Blue miracle comes again! Hurrah!” someone shouts beside us.
“Heave ho!”
We lift him in the air, joy radiating off us in waves.
Until—
“Wait a second!” a stern voice cuts through the celebration.
A black blur swoops in.
Sebastian.
He snatches Ciel into his arms like a dramatic bride, his mouth set in a disapproving line. “Your top priority should be to get medical aid.” he scolds.
He’s wearing his glasses again. I blink, touching the top of my head.
Right…I forgot he gave them to me.
“Mr. Michaelis…” Ciel mutters before smiling. “But I’m so happy that we managed to win…that I can forget about the pain!”
I deadpan.
He’s acting.
“Because we showed everyone that if we try, we can do it.”
I glance back—Clayton’s crying. So are others.
I smile softly.
They’re still just kids. All of them.
Sebastian gives Ciel a look—fond, amused. “Really, you.” he mutters and turns to walk away, Ciel secure in his arms.
“You’re such a bad child.” he adds.
I scoff, watching them disappear through the confetti storm.
0o0o0o0o
I manage to slip away from the chaos. I trail them quietly, assuming they went to the infirmary. Only fifteen minutes have passed—I want to make sure he’s okay.
Ciel got nailed . There’s no way he’s fine.
I knock gently on the infirmary door and peek inside.
Ciel and Sebastian look up.
I step in, smile small, and close the door behind me.
“Is he going to survive, Mr. Michaelis?” I ask, tone light as I walk over.
Ciel sits on the bed, head fully bandaged. Sebastian finishes cleaning up nearby.
Sebastian’s eyes fall closed in amusement. “I believe so.”
“Awh, how unfortunate.” I tease.
Ciel glares. “I’m fine—not that you sound so concerned.”
I sit beside him with a grin. “Sorry? Did you want me to coddle you? Want me to kiss your booboo?”
A tick mark forms on his temple. “What I need is for you to shut up!”
I lean back, smug. Then shift. “So, Sebastian, how did the principal thing go?”
Sebastian pauses, then produces a folded coat and top hat. “This.”
I blink. “He’s…nothing?”
“Huh?” Ciel echoes.
“I’m very sorry,” Sebastian frowns, crossing his arms. “I chased him with all I had, but the moment I caught him, he turned into this.”
My jaw drops. “So the president can turn invisible? Great. Maybe this is Harry Potter now. What’s next? Expecto Patronum? ”
Ciel deadpans. “What on Earth are you talking about?”
“Future things.” I wave him off.
Ciel sighs and crosses his legs. “Hmph. If this really happened, you might as well have been making dessert.”
“I thought you’d say that.” Sebastian says smoothly, lifting a silver tray.
He opens the lid.
“Oh my God—is that ice cream?!” My eyes sparkle. I was just thinking about that. “Give me some!”
“I only had enough time to prepare the one, my lady.” He smirks. “However—”
He slams the lid shut suddenly.
“You’ll have to eat it another time.”
The infirmary doors burst open.
Ciel turns around beside me. He puts his eyepatch on quickly. I jump.
“Phantomhiveeee!~” students chant, flooding in like a wave.
I smirk, watching Ciel blush.
“Hey! You should be quiet in the infirmary!” Sebastian scolds.
“Ah, we’re sorry, Mr. Michaelis!” Mcmillan apologizes.
I move out of the way as they rush the bed. Nope. Not getting swarmed today.
They mob Ciel.
“Are you okay?!” Mcmillan asks.
“Yeah.” Ciel says with a sweatdrop—and that classic fake smile.
“Bluewer was crying! Did you see?” a student exclaims, eyes still shining.
“No.” Ciel says, plain and deadpan.
“Even that Clayton was raving over you!”
“Oh wow.” he replies again, visibly overwhelmed.
“To think we’d see the Blue Miracle in front of our own eyes…” Mcmillan breathes, clutching his chest. “Thank you, Phantomhive!”
Someone behind him sniffles. I can’t help smiling at the sight. It’s almost maternal—this pride swelling in my chest. And honestly? It’s not a wrong comparison.
“It wasn’t thanks to me.” Ciel laughs sheepishly.
Not a lie, honestly.
Beside me, Sebastian turns and exhales an amused sigh through his nose, a faint smirk twitching at his lips. I tilt my head slightly, catching that look.
I smile again—more fondly this time.
He’s such a strange demon.
“Wah!” Ciel gasps suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts.
A hat has appeared on his head—floral, overly ornate, vaguely pirate-y. It actually suits him.
“It’s for the boat parade!” a student explains brightly. “It’s because you’re the Cox!”
“T-Thanks.” Ciel stammers, the awkwardness visible in his posture as he tries to smile.
Mcmillan grabs his hand and yanks him off the bed. “L-Let’s go then!”
“Huh?!” Ciel yelps as the group hauls him out of the infirmary. The door swings open and stays that way, their voices bouncing down the hallway in a wild echo.
Now it’s just Sebastian and me.
Silence drapes between us—not awkward. Comfortable.
Then he breaks it.
“You have a sunburn.” he says plainly.
My head whips toward him. “What? Where?!” I start patting my face, searching for heat.
He steps forward and brushes the tip of my nose with a gloved finger. “Right here.”
My breath stutters, but then I groan. Swatting his hand away, I feel my nose. “Dammit. I hope it doesn’t peel.”
“It doesn’t look too bad.”
I pout, and comb my hair back. “Good. I don’t want to look like Rudolph.”
“Such a fragile thing…” he tsks, gliding past me.
I gape at his back, then fall into step behind him. “Hey! I can’t help it if sunscreen hasn’t been invented yet!” I shout, trailing close. I really don’t want to be alone.
He glances back, smirking. His eyes flash—too sharp, too inhuman. “As you are a flame, it seems you burn yourself more than you burn others. A very bright and stubborn flame indeed.”
I stop. He walks through the door.
What…does that mean?
This fire talk…lately it’s been too consistent. I used to think it was just philosophical, but maybe—
“The echo of your flame may not reach the stars—but it might reach someone else fumbling in the dark. And sometimes, that is enough.”
He told me that once.
What is he trying to say?
0o0o0o0o
I end up following him outside. My legs drag, leaden with fatigue. I’m so tired. And hungry. Why am I this tired? All I did was sit and watch.
...Maybe it’s the emotional whiplash.
I groan softly and rub my eyes. “Can we go home now?” I whine.
The sun is dipping low, casting soft gold and rose across the sky. The world blurs into shades of peach and coral.
“No patience,” Sebastian sighs, glancing over his shoulder. “My, you look like you need some rest. The bags under your eyes tell quite a story.”
I glare at him, deadpan. “I don’t know why. Maybe it’s from standing in the sun all day.”
He chuckles, slowing his long strides to let me catch up.
“Do you need me to carry you?” he asks, glasses glinting.
I blink. The crowd for the parade is up ahead, loud and dense.
My face heats. “Like hell I do!” I snap, arms crossed.
Yes, I do.
I groan internally at the honesty of that reaction.
He lets out a small, amused ‘ pft .’ His mirth radiates off him like a second sun.
“Oh. That’s adorable. My lady is still a bad liar, I see.”
I flush deeper. “You—!”
But he stops, leaning down close. His glasses slide partway down his nose, and the setting sun glows in the reflection of his faintly red eyes. Too close. Too unreadable.
A smirk spreads across his face, wide and wicked, fangs peeking through.
“Careful,” he warns, voice low, dangerous. “As I recall myself saying: being in love with a demon will have its consequences.”
The amusement fades from his face, sharpening into something colder.
“And yet, you blindly—and recklessly—continue to pursue it.”
The words hit me like a slap. My chest tightens. He’s seen it. Of course he has. I’ve been reacting without thinking—and he always notices.
“I—” I suck in air, forcing my voice steady. “You’re right, I do. But it’s not conscious,” I say quietly. “It never was.”
He laughs—dry and cutting.
“Of course it isn’t conscious. That’s what makes it so… insidious .”
His eyes glint, red and unreadable. “Because if you don’t understand what you feel, you’ll never understand what it costs.”
He steps closer. The air tightens—too sharp to breathe.
“And you should never play with what you don’t understand.”
Then—he straightens, smooth and composed, as if nothing ever happened.
“Come along,” he says coolly, already walking ahead. “The parade will begin soon.”
I stand there, wind rustling my hair, watching his back as he disappears into the crowd.
He’s right.
I don’t understand love.
And love…doesn’t seem to know how to reach me when I need it most.
Something cracks in me—soft, almost imperceptible.
I follow him silently, limbs heavy, strings pulling tight. Not from him.
From everything.
The exhaustion is not physical. It’s underneath . And it’s consuming me.
Because in this world I’m trying to survive in—there’s no space for feelings.
And it’s killing me.
Sebastian leads me to a tent near the parade staging area. Everything around me feels…fuzzy. The colors, the voices. I can’t tell if the world’s gone dim, or I have.
He holds the flap open, watching me.
I glance at him tiredly, then slip inside.
Ciel stands at the center of the tent. The clothing on him is massive—swallowing his frame whole.
I stop. Something inside me lightens.
A snort escapes before I can stop it, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
He whirls around, blushing. “It’s not funny!” he snaps.
“Sorry…” I smile, softer this time. “What are you wearing?”
“These are clothes that have been worn by the Blue House Cox for generations.” he mutters.
Sebastian hovers behind me, knuckle to his chin, assessing. “Well, this is quite something,” he says dryly. “This is even more embarrassing than I imagined it would be.”
I smirk faintly, sweatdropping. “It suits him well.”
“Shut up!” Ciel barks.
“Normally, the upper-class students would participate in the parade. It can’t be helped,” Sebastian sighs. “And they’re all threadbare, even though they haven’t been worn more than once.”
Ciel lifts his sleeve, revealing the frayed edges.
I tilt my head, smile tinged with something bittersweet. “Doesn’t that mean Vincent wore this when he won?”
Ciel nods, quiet.
“Sebastian, can’t you just take these in a little…?” he asks, trying to walk, the pants dragging like curtains.
“That won’t do.” Sebastian says, moving to a suitcase on the nearby table.
“Huh?” Ciel blinks.
“You said you would ‘win,’ didn’t you, young master?” Sebastian pulls out a neatly folded outfit.
I recognize the brand. Hopkins.
“As a butler, I naturally came prepared.”
The new uniform is nearly identical—but tailored perfectly.
“Nina did a great job, wow!” I say, admiring the stitchwork.
“This is definitely better.” Ciel agrees.
“Let’s get you ready, then, young master.” Sebastian says, eyes glinting.
I turn and head toward the exit, glancing back once. “I’ll be out here.” I say before slipping outside.
Almost immediately, the servants rush up to me, all wide grins and hopeful eyes.
“How is the young master?!”
I smile. “He’s okay. Sebastian’s helping him get dressed.”
They sigh in collective relief, then rush off excitedly, chattering amongst themselves.
We wait a few quiet minutes before Sebastian finally steps out of the tent, falling into place beside me. My gaze flickers up to him, curious.
For a demon who always warns me about my emotional impulses…he somehow always ends up beside me anyway.
He doesn’t know I’m watching.
The tent flap rustles again—Ciel emerges, radiant in his newly tailored uniform, floral hat and all. Confidence rolls off him in waves.
The group lights up with pride—Elizabeth, Soma, the Midfords. Even the Blue House students beam at him.
Everyone except Sebastian, who simply schools his face into a pleasant mask.
The boys beckon him over for a picture. Ciel walks with a modest smile, his outfit clearly the most regal of them all now. A bouquet of flowers is placed in his arms, and as he stands with the team, that soft little smile grows.
A tear slips from my eye.
The camera flashes.
I’m really…
Proud .
The team disperses, Ciel included, heading to prepare for the boat parade. I watch him go, a second tear forming despite my attempt to hold it in.
Stupid eyes. Stupid heart.
Something white enters my vision—a handkerchief.
I take it gently and glance up. Sebastian’s already walking off, saying nothing, joining the students in helping with last-minute preparations.
I stare down at the fabric.
What a strange demon, indeed.
Maybe it’s time…I stop playing my part too.
I glance back at the tent, brows drawn in thought.
0o0o0o0o
I step out of the tent dressed in a deep maroon gown. Turns out Sebastian anticipated I’d want to change too.
He really is always watching me more than I realize.
And oddly…I missed this. Wearing a dress. After all my preaching about preferring modern clothes—pants and shirts and vests—I didn’t expect to feel this kind of strange relief. Maybe it’s the notion that I’m still not free—even in men’s clothes.
Maybe it’s just me—but pretending to be someone you’re not, even through gender performance, is more draining than I’d expected. Mentally. Emotionally.
It was fun. In the end.
But I’m done.
My hair’s pinned into a makeshift bun—messier than I’d like, especially with it being shorter now. I fuss with the little hat on my head as I make my way toward the river wall, where crowds have gathered.
I push through until I find the railing.
The stream is lit with floating lanterns, drifting softly with the current. Some have already started rising into the sky. As dusk deepens, the world begins to blur into twilight.
I search the crowd for a familiar face, but find none. So I stay where I am, arms draped over the railing, eyes on the lights.
They’re beautiful. All of them. The ones in the water. The ones in the sky.
This moment—this sliver of peace in all the noise—it hits differently. It fills my chest with something warm and raw. Something I can’t name.
Then—
A hand tugs the back of my dress.
“I have been looking for you, my lady,” Sebastian says, irritation laced in his tone. “However, it appears you have an affinity for water—I’ve noticed.”
I stiffen slightly, then glance back sheepishly. “I didn’t know you were looking for me.”
“The young master’s order for me to keep an eye on you is still in effect.” he replies flatly.
“Well, good for me.” I huff and turn to face him as he lets go. “I was looking for our group anyway.”
He studies me silently. His gaze sweeps from the little hat on my head to the skirts brushing my shoes. “Yes,” he says after a beat, “it is probably best we return.”
But he sounds…distracted.
Before I can answer, a shout from below cuts through the air. I spin and grab the railing, heart jolting.
That voice—!
Ciel’s.
The Blue House boat wobbles dangerously in the stream. He stands at the front, unsteady. Then, without warning, the whole thing tips. I gasp as he disappears into the water, flowers erupting into the air.
“Ciel—!” I shout—but then his head pops up, coughing and sputtering.
Around us, murmurs of worry quickly morph into laughter. Cheers erupt.
I exhale, smiling despite myself.
Behind me, I hear Sebastian’s soft chuckle—his gloved fingers resting against his chin, lips curled faintly in amusement.
Then— fwoooosh.
A sharp whistle tears through the air.
Fireworks.
My head whips around as the first bright explosion rips across the sky.
I freeze.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen them.
I laugh—startling myself. The sound bubbles out, unrestrained, and tears come again before I can stop them.
“Fireworks!” I cry joyfully, watching the sky blaze. “Wow!”
I don’t bother wiping the tears away. Instead, I turn toward the demon beside me. He watches me with that still mask—but his eyes…
His gaze is hungry. Too focused. The back of my neck throbs, hot and aware.
My breath catches—but I pretend not to notice. Pretend not to feel like prey under his stare.
“Isn’t it beautiful?!” I shout over the booms and shouting all around us.
I tilt my head up at him and offer my most genuine smile—unguarded, full of something real I haven’t felt in a long while.
He doesn’t answer right away.
But something shifts .
The air between us pulls taut like a string ready to snap.
“There are rarer sights still,” he murmurs finally, eyes locked on mine. “But this will suffice.”
My breath hitches.
I don’t know what he means.
Maybe…he doesn’t either.
Colors explode across our faces. Fleeting, vivid. Illuminating corners of ourselves we haven’t dared to name yet.
I want to kiss him.
Badly.
But that’s stupid.
So instead—I smile, then suddenly grab his hand.
“Come on!” I shout, laughing. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he lets me tug him away from the railing.
I barrel through the crowd, using a bit of superhuman strength to move a few sturdy students out of the way.
“Where are you taking me?” he asks, slightly bewildered.
“To where the party really is!” I grin over my shoulder.
The fireworks continue above us, a symphony of color and sound.
“My lady!” he calls. I pause, turning to face him.
We’ve reached the edge of the crowd.
He sighs, surveying the chaos. “I do not wish to…be around humans if I can help it,” he groans, grimacing as if joy itself were offensive. “At least at this capacity.”
“But I’m here.” I counter, folding my arms.
His brows lift, faintly amused. “And?”
“You can leave if you want.” I jab a finger toward the festivities. “But I’m going to dance with someone in that crowd. And stuff my face with food.”
“Dance…?”
I let go of his hand—slowly, reluctantly. “Mhm. I may be exhausted, but I even want to leave this mission on a better note.”
I turn, stepping away. “See you later!” I call, waving as I head for the lights.
But I don’t get far.
Fingers close tightly around my wrist, yanking me back with surprising force.
I stop.
So does he.
His expression is unreadable—but there’s something behind his eyes, flickering and unsure.
Like even he didn’t mean to stop me.
Then, he lets go—slowly, deliberately.
“Forgive me,” his voice purrs, velvet-smooth, but there’s a razor hidden beneath it. “But I would choose wisely, if I were you.”
I blink, head tilting, confused by his…threat? The familiar heat pulses at the nape of my neck. “It’s just a dance…?” I murmur, brows knitting.
He holds my gaze a moment longer.
“…It wouldn’t be wise.”
His voice is soft, nearly swallowed by the boom of fireworks overhead. But something in his eyes unsettles me—an emotion not quite anger, not quite jealousy. Something worse. It coils in my chest like a slow, cold burn.
Then he exhales. A smooth, calculated breath.
He steps back with practiced grace, adjusting the cuff of his glove as though wiping emotion from his hands.
“But by all means—enjoy yourself.” He bows faintly. “I’ll be nearby. Watching.”
His eyes flicker faintly in the dark, catching the lantern light. He looks at me through his lashes—then turns and walks away.
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until he's gone.
Around me, the warmth of the festivities feels dimmer somehow. Duller.
I shake it off. No more spiraling tonight.
The mission is almost over.
And I’m going to make the best of what I’ve got.
I scan the crowd—and spot the servants first. Relief bubbles up. I quicken my steps and beam. “Yo! Guys!” I call, waving as I approach.
Bard blinks. “You’re a woman again!”
I scowl. “I’ve always been a woman!”
Mey-Rin brightens. “Miss Rina is back again, yes she is!”
Finnian hugs me tightly. “I’m glad you’re back!”
A flush colors my cheeks. I pat his head gently. So damn adorable.
“It’s nice to be back.” I murmur.
“Did you see the young master fall into the water?!” Finnian grins, pulling back.
“How could I not?” I laugh. “I wish I had a damn camera.”
We all share a laugh—loud and full.
Then Bard slides a mug into my hand. Beer. I raise a brow, amused. Trying to get me drunk, are we?
“Thought you might want one of these.” he says, that sly grin tugging at his mouth.
I take a sip and hum with delight. “You know me better than I thought.” I chuckle.
The crowd thickens, the noise swelling as the boat team returns—most of them soaked and smiling.
I spot Ciel and rush toward him, weaving through the bodies. The servants follow close behind.
“Ciel!” I wave him over, grinning.
He catches sight of me and changes direction, approaching with a soft smile.
As soon as he’s within reach, I pull him into a tight hug.
“Wah!” he yelps, startled. I giggle, pressing my cheek to his temple.
“You did great, Feni. I know I already said it but…I’m so proud of you.” I whisper.
He stiffens but doesn’t pull away. Just exhales loudly. “Thanks.”
He gives a quick squeeze back before I release him.
But I lean down and kiss his bandaged forehead anyway. He blushes furiously, scowling at the public display.
I sip my beer again, smirking.
“You look…normal again. That’s a relief.” he says, eyeing my dress.
“Did I really look that bad as a boy?” I ask.
“You looked pretty ugly.” Bard chimes in helpfully.
I shoot him a glare. “Don’t make me dump this beer on you.”
He whistles, looking away—but I catch the twitch at the corner of his lips.
Then Bluewer and Clayton appear behind Ciel, both spotting me at the same time. Their faces color immediately.
“E-Erm—” Bluewer stammers. “P-Phantomhive, who is this?”
Clayton coughs, eyes wide and blinking. So shy now?
Ciel sighs, already sweating. “This is my sister, Lady Rina Phantomhive.” he says with a touch of pride.
I smile warmly, demure. “Pleased to meet you.” I dip into a curtsey.
“S-Sister?!” they both cry, jaws slack.
“You didn’t say you had siblings?!” Clayton blurts.
Ciel shrugs, playing cool. “I didn’t think it mattered…”
“Are these your friends, Ciel?” I tease.
He flushes. “E-Er—yes. This is Bluewer,” he motions to the one with the wild bang, “and this is Clayton.”
“My, I’m glad you’re making friends after all this time.” I smirk, lifting my fan to hide it.
A vein pulses on his forehead. “I have plenty of friends, hmph.”
“Soma counts, right?” I snicker, snapping the fan shut and slipping it into my little bag.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you both. But I must find the food before I starve.” I say with a wave, beer in hand.
At the banquet table, I scan the offerings with a critical eye. The choices overwhelm me. I settle on salmon and vegetables, then find a quiet bench to sit. I eat in silence, sipping the beer as it warms me. I rarely drink. The alcohol buzz wraps around me like a blanket—fuzzy and flushed.
The world blurs—laughter, music, dancing.
Are they really that happy?
Must be nice.
Not to carry trauma.
Not to carry people.
And definitely not to carry—
Love.
To live without wondering who’s going to hurt you next.
I put my fork on my plate. I’m tired. I sigh softly and get up, going to dispose of my plate. I grab another beer, wishing it were shots. But I’m a lady—after all.
Still, I drink it fast, like I can drown the ache in my chest.
It’s not healthy.
But tonight…I just want to forget.
Forget who I am.
Forget what I’ve done.
Forget who I want.
The mug touches my lips again.
A hiccup escapes. I laugh—quiet, bitter.
The music swells, and more students dance. I drift toward the crowd, watching. The servants spin, the Midford’s join in, Soma, Ciel, even Mcmillan. Everyone laughs. Everyone links hands and dances in circles. I spot Frederick and George as well.
I stop at the edge, watching.
Maybe I don’t want to dance after all.
I don’t feel as happy as they do. Even if I pretend.
I belong on the outskirts of joy.
And loneliness?
It’s the only thing that keeps me company here.
I tilt my head back, eyes to the night sky. The lanterns are gone.
Was I placed in the past because I don’t belong in the future?
Or is this penance—for wasting my own?
I close my eyes. The alcohol curls warm through my veins.
Maybe I’ll never know.
My neck warms. That familiar heat pulses—closer now.
I glance across the dancers—and there he is.
Sebastian .
Standing across from me.
Still as ever.
The dancers separate us.
But his gaze pins me still.
Or maybe…
Maybe I already know the answer to that question.