We sat, and I watched—with no small amount of amusement—as my classmates struggled with their curiosity.
Kaneko settled beside me with a grace that was new—fluid, economical, his back to the wall and eyes automatically cataloging exits. When had he learned to move like that? His hand rested on the table, but I noticed how his fingers stayed loose, ready to grab a weapon that wasn’t there.
Under the table, our knees touched. Kaneko pressed back slightly—acknowledging and accepting it—and that simple pressure said more than words could have.
The meal was simple—rice, pickled vegetables, and miso soup—but watching Kaneko eat beside me made it feel like a feast. Every movement, every breath, was proof he really was alive and sitting beside me.
In more ways than I could fully comprehend, I felt free.
We were halfway through the meal when the massive wooden doors opened, and the masters filed in, their expressions grim. Behind them came Samurai, Esumi, and Prince Haru.
Every student rose and bowed until the Prince waved us back into our seats. The moment those men arrived, the atmosphere in the hall shifted. The weight of whatever had been discussed in council now wafted through the room like thick, billowing smoke, and the presence of the Prince only magnified everyone’s distress.
Haru’s eyes landed on our table. He walked over, Esumi trailing behind with that perpetual smirk of his.
“Yoshi-san,” Haru said quietly. “Perhaps you and Kaneko would care to join me in my chambers to dine? The hall seems . . .” He glanced around at the hundred eyes, trying not to stare at their prince, then up at the head table where the abbot and a few of the ancient monks waited by empty spaces. “Crowded.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” I rose and bowed again, nudging Kaneko to do the same.
As we stood to leave, the main doors opened again, and another familiar figure strode in—travel-worn, grim-faced, but unmistakably—
“Uncle!”
Takeo’s expression softened when he saw me. “Yoshi-san.”
“Join us,” I said immediately, not even thinking to ask the Prince’s permission. “Please. We’re taking our meal in Prince Haru’s chambers.”
He hesitated, then glanced to Haru.
The Prince nodded, never breaking stride.
The walk to Haru’s chambers should have been simple, but the temple had changed in the hours since the Prince’s arrival. Guards stood at every intersection—not the lazy patrol of before, but alert sentries with hands on sword hilts. Their vigilant eyes tracked us as we passed, noting every detail.
“This is new,” I murmured.
“Since the attack,” Takeo confirmed. “The temple can’t pretend to be neutral anymore.”
We passed a cluster of senior students near the armory. One called out, “Yoshi-san, who’s your friend?”
Before I could answer, another added with a sneer, “Didn’t know the temple accepted Imperial whores.”
Kaneko went rigid beside me. I stepped forward, but Takeo’s hand fell on my shoulder.
Imperial whore?
What the hell did that mean?
And why had Haru simply strode forward without so much as a glare at the loudmouthed boys?
“Walk on,” Haru said calmly.
We encountered two more groups, each with questions, speculation, and barely veiled hostility. The temple had always been competitive, but the Prince’s presence—and now Kaneko’s—had sharpened that competition into something much uglier.
At one intersection, Takeo pulled me aside while the others walked ahead.
“Kaneko . . .” he said quietly, eyes on Kaneko. “Hesurvived. You need to know . . . just know that he did what was required to make it home to you.”
Did what he had to? My head swam. What did any of this mean? What had Kaneko survived? What had he done?
