Right now, however, it was just the calm before the storm. A quiet, electric hum of anticipation settled over the city as everyone began preparing their finest attire, their most elegant look, for the grand evening ahead.
And, of course, that included them.
“’Tis the day! It’s finally here!”
Lily’s voice, a high-pitched shriek of pure, unadulterated excitement, shattered the morning peace of the mansion penthouse. Her master bedroom door slammed open. She didn't walk, she bounced, her fluffy rabbit-motif bed robe flapping behind her like a cape as she sprinted across the marble hallway to the guest room.
She didn't knock.
SLAM!
The guest room door flew open, crashing against the interior wall.
“Morning, you lovebirds!” she shouted, her voice a booming, joyous thing that was more effective than any alarm clock.
“Wha—what happened?!” Raito jolted upright from under the heavy, luxurious blanket, his heart pounding, his hair a wild, sleep-tousled mess.
Beside him, Yukari groaned, pulling a pillow over her head. “Five more minutes…” she mumbled, her voice a groggy, incoherent thing.
“’Tis the day!” Lily sang, practically vibrating with energy as she danced into the room. “Chop, chop! We need to get ready!” She hummed a cheerful, high-energy tune, her gaze sweeping the room before landing on the two lumps in the bed. “I presume you two managed to acquire suitable attire, yes?” she trilled, her voice a happy, harmonious melody. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the edge of the heavy blanket. “Now, get out of that—”
She pulled.
The blanket came away in a single, smooth motion.
Lily’s song, her hum, her very train of thought, came to a sudden, screeching halt. Her face, which had been a mask of pure, unadulterated joy, froze. Her eyes went wide. A slow, deep, and utterly horrified blush began to creep up from her neck, engulfing her entire face in a brilliant shade of crimson that clashed spectacularly with her blonde hair.
“KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
The shriek was a raw, primal, and utterly scandalized sound that rattled the very windows of the penthouse.
Moments later, a tense, awkward silence filled the grand dining room downstairs. Lily sat at the head of the table, her back rigid, her gaze fixed intently on the intricate patterns of her empty porcelain teacup. She took a sharp, steadying breath, her cheeks still tinged with a faint, residual pink. Raito and Yukari sat opposite her, now fully (and very hastily) dressed, their own faces a matching shade of crimson as they pointedly avoided looking at anyone.
Cough.
Lily cleared her throat, the small sound echoing in the vast, silent room. She composed herself, her earlier flustered panic disappearing as her grand, theatrical persona snapped back into place like a suit of armor. In fact, it seemed to have returned with a vengeance, her dramatic flair now multiplied by a factor of one hundred.
She rose from her chair, striking a pose, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing to the heavens.
“’Tis the day!” she declared, her voice a booming, operatic pronouncement that seemed to shake the very crystals of the chandelier above them. “The day where all shall gather to lay witness to my great sparkle! To burn into their very souls the glorious, unforgettable visage of my performance!”
She spun, her gaze, now sharp and full of a new, intense gravity, landing on the two of them. “Thus,” she continued, her voice dropping to a low, serious, and utterly non-negotiable command, “thou two had better be on thy best behavior. Thou art in the VIP section. Thou art my guests. Do not,” she leaned in, her eyes narrowed to slits, “embarrass me.”
“Yes, ma’am?” the two answered back, their voices a mixture of confusion and chastened obedience.
“Good! Now that we are on the same page!” Lily clapped her hands, a single, sharp, and decisive sound that echoed in the vast room.
As if summoned by the sound, a small army of helpers—makeup artists, stylists, and dressers—seemed to materialize from the very shadows of the mansion, filing into the room in a line of silent, professional efficiency.
At their head, a tall, impeccably dressed man with red hair and a posture as straight as a spear stepped forward, bowing gracefully.
“You called for us, Madam Lily?” he asked, his voice a smooth, respectful baritone.
“Yes… Sebas,” Lily said, the name coming out with just the slightest, almost imperceptible hesitation. “We must prepare for the play. And these two,” she gestured with a dismissive, theatrical wave towards Raito and Yukari, “have probably never heard of makeup, or formal style, in their entire, sheltered lives. They require a… touch-up.” She scanned both of them, her nose wrinkling in mock-disgust. “Lots of touch-up. Canst thou handle such a monumental task?”
“Yes, madam. At your wish,” Sebas...? the butler replied, his tone unwavering, though a flicker of confusion passed through his eyes at her strange repetition of his (or someone's) name.
“Oh, and her too, whilst thou art at it,” Lily added, her gaze suddenly snapping to a large, ornate potted plant in the corner of the room. “I can see you. Just come down hither.”
A small, startled “Hieee!” shrieked from behind the leaves. Serra Montblanc tumbled out, her camera clattering against her chest, her face a mask of pure, guilty panic as she landed in a heap on the marble floor.
Raito and Yukari just looked at each other, a silent, shared, and deeply amused conversation passing between them in a single glance.
“She totally doesn't know who that butler guy is, right?” Raito whispered, his voice a low murmur behind his hand.
Yukari just nodded, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “I’m honestly more surprised that they just appear out of nowhere,” she whispered back. “But yeah, she has absolutely no idea what his name is.”
What followed was a tsunami of energetic, high-tension prowess. The makeup maids and butlers, as Lily had dubbed her personal team of helpers, moved with a coordinated discipline that was a blur to the naked eye. Their movements were so fast, so precise, that they made the speed of sound seem embarrassed. Raito and Yukari, along with a still-flustered Serra, were whisked away into separate preparation rooms, their protests and bewildered questions completely ignored in the face of such overwhelming, professional efficiency.
Raito and Yukari had received their formal attire from Bob the previous day, but in their chaotic scramble to escape the inn, they hadn't even looked at the garments, respecting Bob's wish for a grand reveal. Now, that reveal was upon them.
Raito, who was used to the simple, practical feel of farmer's robes or the worn-out uniform of a janitor, was subjected to a whirlwind of primping and prodding. His messy black hair was washed, brushed, and expertly slicked back with a fragrant gel, giving his features a sharp, refined look he didn't even know he possessed.
Then, the butlers presented the suit Bob had chosen.
It was a masterpiece. A deep, chocolate-brown suit, its fabric impeccably tailored, was paired with a crisp, cream-colored dress shirt and a dark, patterned tie. A lighter, caramel-brown vest completed the look, its lines clean and modern. He was fitted with a pair of matching, polished brown leather shoes that felt impossibly light on his feet.
It was a far cry from the poverty-ridden janitor in Ruhong. It was a world away from the sun-kissed farmer in Hanyuun. And it was a complete, stunning departure from the simple, adventurer's garb he now wore daily.
“A look that screams ‘gentlemanly ladies-man,’ sir,” Sebas...? commented, his voice full of a quiet, professional approval as he brought a full-length mirror before Raito.
Raito just stared. The man in the mirror was him, but not him. He looked… sophisticated. Confident. Almost dangerous. Even he was speechless at his own transformation.
“Wow,” Raito said, his mouth agape, unable to find any other words for it. He turned to the butler, a look of dazed gratitude on his face. “Thanks.”
“You are most welcome, sir,” the butler responded with a polite bow.
“By the way,” Raito said, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. “Your name… it’s not really Sebas, right?”
The butler’s professional mask cracked for a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine, weary amusement in his eyes. “You are correct, sir,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a more conspiratorial, human tone. “My name is not Sebas. Madam Lily… she seems to never remember my real name. It changes almost daily.”
“Then what is it?” Raito asked, intrigued.
“It’s Jeremiah Jeremy Jaquero Velazquez di Tres Panthera a la Modelo Felipe Romano del Cultura the Third,” the butler recited, the name rolling off his tongue in a single, impossibly long, and perfectly enunciated breath.
Raito just stared, his mind completely, utterly blank.
“Okay, Sebas it is,” he said finally, patting the butler on the shoulder.
As for Yukari, her preparation was proving to be… a little more problematic.
“Ow, ow, ow! You’re crushing me!” she yelped, her voice a strained, breathless thing. A team of maids was currently engaged in a full-scale battle with a very tight, very unforgiving corset, their faces masks of pure, professional determination.
“Madam, did you gain weight?” one of the maids called out, her voice a sharp, clinical observation as she gave the laces another vicious tug.
“No! Definitely not!” Yukari cried, her own voice a mix of indignation and pure, unadulterated panic. “This is just… this is not a thinness normal people can breathe in!”
One of the maids, with a cold, analytical precision, reached out and pinched the small roll of flesh at Yukari’s side. “Yes,” she declared, her voice flat, “she gained weight.”
“It’s muscle!” Yukari wailed, her defense a weak, desperate thing.
After a few more agonizing minutes of pulling and squeezing, the head maid finally stopped, her brow furrowed in confusion. She inspected the garment, her eyes widening in dawning horror.
“My apologies, madam,” she said, her voice full of a genuine, if highly clinical, embarrassment as she quickly unlaced the constricting garment. “It appears this was a children’s corset. A sizing error.” The maid quickly scurried away, returning a moment later with the correctly sized garment. This one, they managed to secure with significantly less, though still some, effort.
Yukari, still rubbing the red marks on her ribs, let out a low, tragic sigh. “I can’t be a wife anymore,” she mumbled.
“But,” another maid added helpfully, holding up a small, brightly colored book, “you still certainly gained weight. May I recommend you Madam Lily’s personal diet plan?”
“That is even worse!” Yukari wailed.
Soon, however, the transformation was complete. A full-length mirror was brought before her. Her midnight-blue hair, usually so practical, had been swept up into an elegant, intricate bun, with soft, face-framing tendrils left loose, a style that was both sophisticated and surprisingly soft.
And the dress… Bob had truly outdone himself. It was a breathtaking gown. A strapless, glittering white bodice, adorned with intricate, pearlescent sequins that shimmered with an inner light, hugged her form, its structure defined by the (now correctly-sized) corset beneath. From her hips, the dress exploded into a cloud of pale, sky-blue chiffon, the flowing, pleated skirt giving her an ethereal, almost floating quality. Paired with a set of simple, elegant black high heels, the look was a masterpiece.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Wow,” Yukari whispered, her own voice a hushed, awed thing as she stared at her reflection. She had worn countless formal gowns for Jinlun’s endless parties, but this… this was different. This wasn't a uniform. It was a dream.
The curtains separating their two preparation rooms were pulled back.
Raito and Yukari saw each other at the exact same moment.
And the world, for a single, perfect, and utterly silent beat, stopped. Their mouths fell open in perfect, mirrored, and completely speechless awe as they took in each other’s transformation.
“I haven’t seen you looking better than when we had our wedding,” Yukari commented, her voice the first to break the silence, a teasing smirk playing on her lips.
“Right?” Raito smiled back, a genuine, almost dazed look in his eyes. “We totally should’ve hired these guys for our wedding.” He looked her up and down, his smile softening into something more profound. “Seriously, you look… wow.”
“And you,” Yukari replied, her own gaze sweeping over his sharp, tailored suit, “you look like you came straight out of a fairy tale.”
Then, without any prompt, Raito broke their shared gaze and dropped to one knee. He held out his hand, his movements smooth and practiced, a perfect imitation of a storybook prince. “May I have this evening with you, m’lady?” he asked, his voice a low, charming baritone.
Yukari giggled, the sound a light, happy thing. She placed her hand in his. “Oh, yes you can, sire,” she replied, her voice a matching, theatrical purr. The ridiculous, courtly gesture felt both silly and perfectly right.
“Blreeghh!”
A loud, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated disgust erupted from the doorway behind them, shattering the romantic moment. They both spun around. Lily stood there, a vision of absolute, breathtaking drama. Her gown was an impossible, glittering avalanche of ivory and diamond-dusted silk. The bodice was sculpted to her form, but the skirt was a masterpiece of architectural extravagance, with a train so long and so heavily embroidered with pearls that it pooled on the marble floor like a river of molten light. A delicate, jeweled ball mask, a filigree of silver and diamonds that framed her eyes, added an air of intoxicating mystery. She was not just a celebrity; she was a queen in her own court, and she looked absolutely, incandescently furious.
“Hark, must I be subjected to such saccharine displays in mine own halls?” she boomed, her voice a thunderous, theatrical thing. “If you two fools have quite finished,” she snarled, her voice a low, dangerous purr that was a world away from her usual dramatic flair, “we are late. Start moving.”
Beside her, Serra, who looked surprisingly elegant in a modest but stylish pink dress, just shrunk back, her press badge the only thing that seemed out of place, her notebook clutched to her chest like a shield.
“Late?” Raito asked, scrambling to his feet, his princely charm evaporating into his usual, baffled confusion. “The play won’t start for another four hours.”
“For thee, perhaps,” Lily retorted, her voice dripping with scorn. “I am the main attraction. The main course! For me, this is far too late! The people, they yearn! They await the stage I have prepared for them, the very bottom of my passion!” she declared, her dramatic flair returning in a full, glorious, and slightly terrifying wave. “So, move out!”
She spun, her massive train swirling, and marched towards the front door. The maids, as if on cue, rushed forward, opening the grand double doors to reveal… The road from her mansion, the one that led all the way down the mid-level and snaked towards the opera house, was covered. A plush, deep red carpet stretched as far as the eye could see, a river of velvet winding through the city. Raito and Yukari just stared, their mouths agape. They could hear it now—the distant, muffled roar of a massive crowd.
“When did they…?” Raito whispered, his mind struggling to process the sheer, logistical absurdity of it all. “How did we not hear them?” Yukari murmured, equally stunned.
On either side of the red carpet, as far as they could see, rows and rows of journalists and fans were held back by a line of stoic, blue-uniformed city guards. The air was a blinding, chaotic blizzard of camera flashes, the roar of the crowd a single, deafening wave of adoration as they screamed her name. “Lily! Lily! Over here!” “We love you, Miss Lily!”
Lily, her earlier irritation completely gone, replaced by a mask of serene, professional grace, simply smiled. She waved, a slow, deliberate, and utterly regal gesture, and began her slow, queenly procession down the carpet, a single, brilliant star moving through her adoring constellation.
“So…” Raito said, his voice a small, bewildered thing in the face of such overwhelming fame. “Should we… follow her?” Yukari just shrugged, her own expression one of pure, unadulterated awe. “I… I don’t know.”
“It’s better we move from the back door.” Serra’s voice, suddenly practical and sharp, cut through their dazed confusion. She grabbed both their arms, her grip surprisingly strong, and began to pull them back from the doorway, away from the blinding flashes. “That red carpet,” she explained, her voice a low, urgent, and impressively knowledgeable whisper, “is reserved only for the three most important figures in this region. Miss Lily, the Queen, and… Mr. Guido.”
The name hit Yukari with the force of a physical blow. A primal, instinctive fear shot through her, her face paling. “Not him too,” she groaned, the memory of the angry, knife-wielding rat chef still a little too fresh.
“Oh, almost forgot,” Serra added, completely oblivious to Yukari’s distress as she continued to drag them towards a small, hidden servants’ exit. “Add another one to that list. It’s Bob. And Tama.”
“Bob?!” Raito’s voice was a high-pitched, incredulous squeak. “How did he become one of the most important figures here?”
Serra just shot him a look, her expression a perfect, deadpan summary of a truth they should have already known. “Bob knows everyone,” she said.
And with that, the three of them slipped out the back entrance, a small, forgotten trio escaping the chaos, leaving the Jewel of the Sea to her adoring, screaming public.
This time, with Serra as their guide, they moved quietly through the bustling streets, navigating a labyrinth of back alleys and quiet, residential canals that ran parallel to the main, crowded thoroughfares. They were a world away from Lily’s chaotic, red-carpet procession, but the energy of the city was still palpable, a low, electric hum that grew louder as they approached the opera house. The streets were packed, a river of people in their finest formal attire all flowing towards the same grand destination.
In one of the quieter, shadowed alleyways, just a block from the opera house's massive, crowded plaza, Serra suddenly stopped. Raito and Yukari skidded to a halt behind her. “Why did you stop, Serra?” Yukari asked, her voice a low, cautious murmur as she scanned the empty alley. “Is there something wrong?”
“Yes,” Serra said, her voice a quiet, trembling thing that was a world away from her usual peppy, journalistic confidence. “There is something wrong. It’s… it’s you two.” She turned to face them, her small frame a defiant, almost fragile silhouette against the bright, noisy plaza at the end of the alley. “Who are you guys?” she asked, the question a simple, direct, and utterly terrifying thing.
“What do you mean?” Raito asked, his own voice a mask of polite confusion, though a cold knot of dread was beginning to form in his stomach.
Serra pulled a folded, crumpled piece of paper from her satchel. With trembling hands, she unfolded it. It was the bounty poster. Kun’s face, younger and skinnier but unmistakably his, stared back at them, the one-billion Cal reward a stark, violent promise. “Don’t try to fool me,” she said, her voice shaking, but her gaze was firm, unwavering. “This is you, right?” She pointed a trembling finger at Raito. “Sinner Kun.” Her gaze snapped to Yukari. “What did you two do? And why is Miss Lily keeping you in her house? Are you… are you dangerous?” Her voice cracked on the last word, a lifetime of journalistic bravado crumbling in the face of a story that was suddenly, terrifyingly real. “I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice a raw, honest whisper. “But as a journalist… I need to know.”
“Oh, yeah. That is me,” Raito said, his voice a calm, almost nonchalant thing that was completely at odds with the gravity of the poster. He reached out and, with a strange, almost fond familiarity, took the crumpled paper from her unresisting fingers. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these.”
“How nostalgic,” Yukari added, her own voice a light, teasing murmur as she leaned over his shoulder to look at the crude drawing. “You look so different now. You’re more built, I would say.” She giggled, a soft, carefree sound that seemed to shatter the tense, shadowed silence of the alley.
Raito just smiled. “Well, that was a while ago,” he said with a shrug.
“Wha—?” Serra just stared, her mind completely, utterly short-circuited. Their casual, almost bored reaction to a one-billion Cal bounty was a variable she could not compute. “Why… why are you two acting so carefree right now?!” she stammered, her voice a high-pitched, incredulous squeak. “Aren’t you scared? Of bounty hunters? Bandits? The Ruhong military that will come to arrest you?”
“No, not really,” Yukari said, her voice a simple, honest thing. She looked from the poster to Serra’s bewildered face, and her expression softened, her earlier teasing gone, replaced by a quiet, weary sincerity. “Most of this… it’s pure exaggeration. False charges.” She flexed her fingers, a small, almost unconscious gesture, her knuckles cracking in the quiet air. “I say, let them come. I’ll finally have a chance to tell them all the things I’ve had to bottle up.”
Serra’s confusion only deepened. “False charges?” she repeated, her voice a raw, uncomprehending whisper. “This is a one-billion Cal bounty. You have to be a war criminal to even get this high of a bounty! What did you two do?”
“Apparently, we fell in love,” Raito said, his voice quiet, his gaze distant as the memory of that rain-soaked alley, of a girl’s desperate, pleading eyes, flashed in his mind. He looked at Serra, his own smile now a quiet, almost sad thing. “It’s a very long story,” he admitted. “But I guess you could say we’re a little bit more… mature now. We simply ran because we both had things we didn't want to be bound by. And I guess,” his voice was tinged with the faint, lingering shadow of those dark days, “someone disliked that.”
“We don’t expect you to understand,” Yukari interjected, her voice gentle but firm as she placed a hand on Serra’s shoulder. “And if you want to report us, if you want to turn us in for your story… just go for it. We won’t hold a grudge.” She smiled then, a small, fierce, and utterly unbreakable expression. “But that won’t change what we want to do right now. They won’t stop us from seeing every corner of this world.”
“I… I don’t understand,” Serra whispered, the words a final, broken surrender. She looked from Raito’s quiet, steady gaze to Yukari’s fierce, unwavering one. “You two are… you’re so hard to understand.” Her own journalistic resolve, the fierce, ambitious drive that had defined her entire life, seemed to crumble in the face of their quiet, impossible conviction. “I… I just happened to talk to you two because you’re close with Miss Lily. And then I got this poster. I was told to investigate, that my job depended on it.” Her voice cracked. “And yet, here you two are. Together. And not afraid of what might come.” She ran her hands through her copper-colored hair, her earlier neat ponytail now a mess of frustrated tangles. “I don’t understand,” she said again, her voice a raw, pleading thing. “What should I do now? Arrggh!”
Raito and Yukari exchanged a look, a shared, silent, and profound understanding passing between them. They both reached out, their hands coming to rest on Serra’s trembling shoulders. “Just do what you think is the correct path for you,” Yukari said, her voice a quiet, steady anchor in the girl’s storm of confusion. “We won’t hold it against you,” Raito added, his own voice just as firm, just as sincere. “We’ve known each other quite well by now, even if its just an accident. So just do whatever you need to do.” They smiled at her, their expressions a simple, unified, and utterly disarming gesture of pure, unconditional trust.
Serra stared at them, at their calm, accepting faces, at the complete, almost reckless freedom in their eyes.. She still didn’t understand why Lily, the most famous, most adored, and most isolated woman in all of Spica, kept these two chaotic, impossible people in her home. But, they were real. She let out a long, slow breath, the tension leaving her body in a single, decisive rush. “I blame you two for this,” she grumbled, though the words held no heat. She took the bounty poster from Raito’s hand. And with a sharp, satisfying rip, she tore it in two. Then again. And again. She let the pieces, the remnants of the biggest scoop of her career, fall to the cobblestones like confetti. “You two better find me a new job soon,” she said, a small, shaky, but undeniably genuine smile on her face. “And plus… I know you two are telling the truth.” She tapped a finger against her temple. “My eyes always know. Or else I wouldn’t be Serra Montblanc, journalist extraordinaire.”
Raito and Yukari smiled back, their own expressions a mixture of relief and a quiet, profound gratitude. “Thank you, Serra,” they said in unison.
“Now,” Serra said, her old, peppy energy returning in a sudden, brilliant wave as she dusted off her hands. “We have a play to attend. And I need to get some pictures of the VIPs.” She fixed them with a bright, conspiratorial grin. “Follow me. I know a shortcut.”
After the short confrontation, the three of them finally arrived at the opera house. Serra, with a final, cheerful wave, veered off from their path, her press badge held high as she slipped past a security line, eager to get more pictures of the VIPs and gather any semblance of a scoop she could now that her billion-Cal headline was in pieces on an alley floor.
A guard, seeing their VIP tickets, quickly escorted Raito and Yukari away from the main throng, leading them through a private entrance and up a plush, carpeted staircase. They were shown to a massive, ornate viewing balcony, one of several that ringed the upper level of the grand auditorium, offering a perfect, unobstructed view of the stage far below.
Bob and Mila were already there, comfortably settled into a pair of plush, velvet-upholstered chairs. Bob was a magnificent sight, clad in a formal suit of rich, dark silk, tailored to his massive frame, and an ornate, matching turban, a nod to his Zarateph origins. Mila, to Yukari’s genuine surprise, was also in formal attire. Her usual practical armor and greatsword were gone, replaced by a simple but elegant black dress that highlighted her athletic build. Her hair, usually tied back in a messy bun, was styled, and she looked… refined. Almost.
“Even someone like Mila knows when to dress for the occasion,” Yukari whispered to Raito, a teasing, impressed note in her voice.
“Hohoho! You two made it!” Bob’s voice boomed, pulling them from their thoughts as he gestured to the two empty seats beside him. Even Tama was there, tied politely to the balcony railing, a massive, silent, and surprisingly well-behaved chaperone.
Raito and Yukari nestled into their seats, the plush velvet a welcome comfort. Raito’s gaze swept the grand, cavernous space. Across from them, in another, even more opulent balcony adorned with royal banners, a regal lady with a serene expression sat surrounded by a half-dozen stoic guards. “The Queen,” Serra’s earlier words echoed in his mind.
And then, in the balcony directly adjacent to the Queen’s, his heart skipped a beat. A familiar, imposing figure sat glaring directly at them. Or rather, glaring at Yukari, while simultaneously seeming to worship the very ground Raito walked on. It was Mr. Guido, the chef extraordinaire, looking impossibly, almost terrifyingly formal in his own custom-tailored suit. Yukari, following Raito’s gaze, saw him. She flinched, a small, involuntary sound escaping her lips, and immediately turned her head, pretending to be deeply fascinated by an intricate carving on the balcony wall, pointedly avoiding his gaze.
Raito just sighed, a quiet, weary sound. Other VIPs, families he recognized from the restaurant and plaza, filled the other balconies, a tapestry of Spica’s elite.
His gaze drifted down to the sea of regular seats below, a vast, packed auditorium of excited, chattering fans. And in the very center, in what looked to be some of the best seats in the house, he spotted three familiar figures. Emile sat with Anise perched happily on his lap, her small legs swinging, her eyes wide with wonder. And beside them, Mary, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated joy, looked more relaxed and happier than he had ever seen her. Emile looked up then, as if sensing his gaze, and offered a simple, friendly wave. Raito smiled, returning the gesture.
The low, ambient hum of the crowd suddenly died. A collective, expectant hush fell over the massive auditorium. The ornate house lights dimmed, one by one, plunging the vast space into an intimate, breathless darkness.
A single, brilliant spotlight, a pure, white beam of light, cut through the blackness, illuminating the massive, velvet curtain on the stage far below.
Behind it, a silhouette, slender and unmistakable, took its place.
A voice, deep, resonant, and full of a power that seemed to vibrate in their very bones, echoed from unseen speakers, filling the silent, waiting dark. “It’s showtime.”