Suddenly Hugo recalled the message from Leonardo Blaine that had led to today’s meeting. The sound of rain that had come through the communication magic device late at night, and the earnest voice apologizing for leaving in such haste. The heavy mood in the other man’s voice that night had lingered in Hugo’s mind ever since.

Rather than plunging straight into a serious topic, it would be better to ease the air with small talk first. Having found a suitable thread, he began,

“Leo, a few days ago—”

“You know.”

Leonardo Blaine suddenly spoke while holding the baguette still wrapped in its paper. Hugo paused in mid-sentence.

The two looked at each other at the same time.

A brief silence passed between them. Hugo, who had been waiting, gave a small gesture with his eyes.

“You first.”

“Ah, it’s nothing. You go ahead.”

After saying that, Leonardo took a bite of the syrup-glazed baguette. Since he had completely yielded the floor, Hugo watched the movement of his cheek and jaw for a moment before continuing.

“You contacted me a few days ago. You said we should meet after the match.”

“Yeah.”

“Did something happen then? Your voice sounded a bit... drained.”

Leonardo swallowed the bread he had been chewing. He did not show it outwardly, but he was quietly surprised. That day Hugo had asked him the same question and struck the mark directly. Leonardo had raised his tone and thought he had deflected it well enough... but now that the man was asking again, it seemed he had been convinced something had indeed been wrong.

He had always thought it, but Hugo’s perceptiveness was frighteningly sharp.

“I told you. I said I was sorry for suddenly leaving on your birthday.”

After rinsing his mouth with milk, he answered calmly. Hugo, who had been watching him intently, slowly loosened the hands clasped over his thigh.

“...If it’s because of that, you don’t need to worry. I’m fine. We were together when the moment of your birthday arrived.”

Hugo’s arm moved behind Leonardo and came to rest along the back of the sofa. As he smoothed the folds of the cloak draped there until they lay perfectly flat, he bent his wrist and lightly brushed the golden hair shimmering before him.

“And I received a gift.”

Leonardo’s shoulders twitched for a moment.

The sensation of someone twisting his hair around a finger—just as he himself had done earlier—traveled vividly along the back of his neck. He pretended to focus on eating, but the image of his own shameful appearance that had been wrapped up like a present surfaced in his mind.

His golden eyelashes squeezed shut and opened again.

The gift... surely he doesn’t mean that?

Or perhaps Hugo meant the dragon materials Leonardo had tossed inside the barrier earlier.

The man’s idle play with his hair gradually grew bolder, as though the first interpretation carried more weight. Hugo’s hand slowly covered the back of Leonardo’s neck. With his fingertips raised, he traced the surface of the choker that crossed the skin there, feeling it with the pads of his fingers. Then he found a point inside the sternocleidomastoid muscle and pressed it gently.

Since it happened to be near the carotid artery, Leonardo—who had been wiping his mouth with a napkin—turned toward him with a puzzled look. Hugo asked again,

“But that day, why did you have to leave so suddenly?”

Hugo was usually careful not to intrude too deeply into Leonardo’s private life. But this time he came directly to the point, and Leonardo paused to think.

Well... it wasn’t something Hugo had no right to ask. If someone who had been with him on his birthday suddenly left like that, he himself would be curious too. It would naturally linger on the mind.

He considered brushing it off vaguely, but for some reason he felt that lying right now would be wrong. Conscious of the hand resting on his neck, Leonardo answered as evenly as possible.

“I got word that someone I knew had died.”

“How unfortunate.”

Hugo let out a sigh that sounded genuinely surprised. His sharp eyes creased.

For a moment the image of Marcus Servan’s suicide flashed through his mind, but Leonardo had left a day earlier than that, so the two events were completely unrelated. Since Servan’s testimony he had been absorbed in analyzing the relationship between the two matters, and he quietly mocked himself for trying—even briefly—to link two incidents separated by time.

“An accident?”

“No. It wasn’t something bad. It was probably a good death.”

“In that case that’s fortunate... Still, that explains why you seemed down that day. If you had told me when you left, I would have escorted you to where you were going. Or helped with the funeral arrangements.”

He spoke with sincere regret.

But to Leonardo, the gentle voice sounded as though it were asking why he had acted as if nothing had happened that day.

The hand holding the baguette tightened slightly.

“Of course hearing that someone died on your birthday isn’t exactly pleasant. And it wasn’t someone close enough for me to tell you about. I did get some help from him once, though.”

The moment the words left his mouth, both of them felt a faint sense of incongruity. Leonardo had never spoken about the people around him before.

“I see. However it happened, if he helped you, then he must be resting peacefully somewhere good. Don’t be too sad.”

“I’m not.”

Hugo let the matter pass with silence. Then he lowered the hand that had been around Leonardo’s neck and placed it on his left shoulder instead. His long fingers tapped lightly, offering gentle comfort, as if he had already finished verifying the truth of the story.

Leonardo glanced down at his own shoulder, but without reacting further he took another bite of the baguette he was holding.

Seeing him eat so well was pleasing, yet Hugo soon found himself caught between conflicting feelings. He was relieved to confirm that Leonardo had not left that day because of Hugo’s refusal. At the same time, he was forced to remember once again how little he truly knew about him.

He left in a hurry at dawn on January 13, so the death must have occurred on the 12th or early on the 13th. The funeral would likely have been between the 14th and 15th. I heard rain over the device when he called, so the probable region is wherever heavy rain was falling around midnight on the 14th. If the funeral was completed, a death report should have been filed with the local branch... Perhaps I can find it.

Having quickly organized the clues in his mind, Hugo slowly brushed Leonardo’s hair.

“Who was the one who told you the news? A friend?”

Though Hugo’s tone was warm and gentle, Leonardo was so startled that the food nearly stuck in his throat. Who would have imagined that the day would come when Hugo Agrizendro asked about Terzio?

“Kh—”

Leonardo suddenly began coughing violently, clapping a hand over his mouth. Hugo hurriedly patted his back.

“Are you alright? I told you to eat slowly.”

He picked up the cup of milk and tilted it toward Leonardo’s lips.

Fortunately the crisis passed quickly, and nothing spilled out—but the white liquid ran down around Leonardo’s mouth as he swallowed too fast. Milk dripped from his chin and fell onto his thigh.

Hugo pulled the cup away and took a napkin instead. Leonardo, still coughing lightly with one eye squeezed shut, managed to reply,

“Why do you ask? You’ve never... asked about things like that before.”

“I thought I could ask now. Perhaps it’s still too soon.”

Leonardo snatched the unfolded napkin and wiped his mouth himself.

It seemed the sly °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° tongue inside that mouth would need more time before becoming completely honest with him. Hugo waited quietly while Leonardo cleaned himself up.

The stain spreading across his beige trousers dried and disappeared quickly in the warmth. Around that time, a breeze drifting in from outside drew their attention toward the city where sunset was slowly approaching.

Hugo let out a silent breath and continued, still looking outward.

“Then what about the people you met before the match began? You seemed fairly close.”

Leonardo glanced sideways at him.

He had told him not to choke, yet Hugo kept bringing up the kind of subjects that would make someone choke.

Was he talking about Beatrice and Gillian? Or Ero? The four of them had been together long before Hugo had met his eyes.

He had been wondering about it for a while—just when had Hugo started watching?

Suddenly he remembered the strange gaze he had felt before descending into the maze entrance.

Why is he suddenly so fixated on asking this?

Too many thoughts rushed in at once, and his mind began overheating.

At the same time, a chill crept down his spine.

If the relationship with them seemed even slightly special here, the worst possible scenario would unfold—his partners from Libertas becoming fixed in the awareness of the Council’s Legion Commander.

Had they looked suspicious?

Ero, you damn idiot.

Why did you have to act familiar back then and put me through this?

After turning the matter over in his head several times, he finally gave the safest answer.

“Guys I used to know.”

“Used to know... when? Comrades from your military days? Like Cordelia Hares?”

“Not comrades. Just people I met while doing missions once in a while—...ah.”

Leonardo suddenly let out an irritated sigh.

Then he stopped bothering to hide it and shot back,

“Are you interrogating me right now?”

The reaction had come out of a flare of temper meant to hide his unease, but it was not entirely unreasonable either. He had felt something strange from the moment Hugo’s fingers touched the pulse at the back of his neck.

Hugo watched the cold reaction calmly. His lips parted, then closed again.

After reflecting briefly on his own behavior, he answered carefully.

“If it felt like an interrogation, I apologize. Old habits.”

The admission and apology came so quickly that Leonardo had nothing to say.

The corner of his mouth twisted awkwardly.

Well, Hugo was the Legion Commander of the Council. A professional habit like that was probably unavoidable. It had been the same throughout the time on the Peninsula.

Leonardo met his gaze with a dissatisfied expression, but he soon softened it again. He did not want to ruin the peaceful atmosphere.

He set down the half-eaten baguette and silently wiped his hands with a napkin while staring straight ahead.

An awkward silence followed.

The noise of the bustling city drifted between them.

Just as even that began to feel suffocating, Hugo was the one who broke it first.

“Leonardo.”

Leonardo slowly turned his eyes toward him.

The corner of his mouth still hung slightly downward with an intentionally sulky expression.

But that irritation faded quickly.

Leaving aside the fact that “Leo” had suddenly become “Leonardo,” the man looking at him now had eyes that resembled the sky preparing for sunset.

The sunlight falling diagonally across the shadowed corners of his eyes revealed the regret hidden within.

Meanwhile the edge of his lips traced a faint arc.

It looked like a smile—but it was not.

Something about it seemed unbearably lonely and sorrowful.

Leonardo’s breath stopped for a moment.

What Hugo said next left him even more speechless.

“When will I be able to hear about you directly?”

Leonardo’s eyelashes parted slightly.

His Adam’s apple moved slowly.

Reflected in his golden eyes was the man’s bitter expression—one that seemed to show he had been waiting for that answer just as long.