Guilty Pleasure Friends

Heroic Resolve

"Are you sure it's this way?"

Ildio slowed the car to glance at the figure huddled up beside him in the passenger seat. Niccolò was looking pale again, he thought—paler than usual; and only part of it could be reasonably chalked up to the long journey and jet lag.

"Yeah," he said, already used to such questions. "Dude, I've got a GPS on this. I promise I won't drive us into a river or something."

Niccolò squirmed and shifted, looking not at all reassured. "Our car is old," he said. "It might still have one of those navigation systems with a pre-installed map, and—"

"Nico, this place is my home." Ildio let out an irritable sigh. "Worst case, I can always follow the street signs."

For some time, Niccolò was quiet. Which wasn't to say he was calm. He was still concerningly pale, and he was constantly squirming and shifting and moving around in his seat, his fingers drawing anxious patterns on the window. If Ildio wasn't used to it by now, he would be immensely tired of traveling with him. Nico worried about everything; he was one of those people who arrived at the airport three hours early and proceeded to fret about missing their connecting flight as soon as their plane had the tiniest delay. And that didn't even delve into his stress levels during the flight, let alone his constant fear of getting lost at the airport or somehow getting on the wrong plane.

Then again, Ildio probably shouldn't complain about that. The upside to all this was that Niccolò Carpediem was meticulous and organized, clever and cautious; he held himself to high standards and worked hard to reach them. Without Nico, Ildio mused, he would likely have missed a flight or gotten lost at some airport or slept through his station on the train from Tokyo.

"How much further?" Niccolò asked after a while.

"Not that far," Ildio answered. "Why, are you hungry?"

"Not really," said Niccolò. "The stress of the travels has killed my appetite."

Ildio scoffed. "Like you ever have any appetite to speak of."

"I'm sorry...I always lose it when I'm stressed."

"My point exactly."

Nico lowered his head. "Sorry," he said. "I know I shouldn't stress so much."

"Are you stressing about stressing?" Ildio gave a snort. "That's too meta for me, I'm getting a headache. You still have a candy bar on you?"

Niccolò patted his pockets, then shook his head. "You ate the last of them on the train."

Ildio cursed under his breath. He had to admit, unfortunately, the fault here did not lie with Nico. Niccolò had packed frankly ridiculous amounts of snacks, fully knowing his companion's appetite; and Ildio had somehow managed to gobble them down even faster than his over-cautious friend's generous calculations. In fairness, they had been stuck in Rome longer than expected due to a delayed connecting flight, and Ildio suspected he had eaten most of their provisions then.

"Are you hungry?" Niccolò asked. "We could stop somewhere."

Ildio's stomach growled in response, but he shot his friend a questioning glance. "I thought you were in a hurry to get there?"

"We're already late due to our flight," said Nico. "A few more minutes won't hurt us. Besides, I could use a moment to stretch my legs again...and maybe a cup of coffee."

Frowning, Ildio followed the street signs pointing to the nearest fast food restaurant. "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

"I slept briefly on the train," Niccolò answered, eliciting a barking laugh from Ildio. "Not for long, but still..."

"How long? Twenty minutes?"

"...Half an hour."

"You're hopeless."

"Sorry," he said. "I don't mean to worry you."

Ildio pulled over. "Don't beat yourself up over it," he said with a snort, turning off their rented car's tired engine. "I'm not too worried. You already worry enough for the both of us."

Niccolò didn't answer. He was already caught up in his own thoughts again; there was a gloomy look on his face, and he kept muttering quietly to himself, too fast for Ildio to catch the words. Nico had switched to Italian again, as usual when muttering to himself, and while Ildio was fluent in the language by now, that didn't mean he could understand his friend's anxious mutterings.

To get a chance to stretch their legs, they steered clear of the drive-through and walked into the restaurant. It was mostly empty right now, though there were a few businessmen hastily shoveling down their lunches, in a rush to eat up before they had to continue to their next appointments. Nico stared at the signs and displays. Speaking Japanese was one thing to him; reading it was still another.

"All right, I'll order," Ildio said. "You want anything? Just a coffee?"

Niccolò nodded. "The usual. What about you?"

Ildio's eyes rested longingly on the display advertising the full menu with a burger, fries, a soft drink and a dessert.

"You said we have time, right?"

Not long afterwards they were sitting together at one of the tables, Ildio gobbling down his food, Niccolò sipping his coffee. He hadn't had a proper meal since leaving Sicily, Ildio mused. How had he survived over twenty-four hours without starving to death?

And Nico still wasn't eating, he thought. No wonder the guy was so thin.

"How much further is it from here?" Niccolò asked, setting down his coffee cup.

"The GPS says about half an hour," Ildio answered between a bite from his double cheeseburger and a mouthful of fries. "As long as we don't run into any traffic. Fries?"

"No, thank you."

"Your loss." Ildio helped himself to another bite. "Got any ideas for finding big brother already?"

Nico's expression darkened. "I'm still thinking," he said. "There is too much I can only understand on location."

"Figures," said Ildio, "or we wouldn't have had to drag ourselves across half the globe." He reached for his burger again. "Any plans for dealing with that kid who thinks big brother was his friend?"

Apparently the wrong thing to say. Niccolò's expression grew even darker, not to mention more anxious.

"That's what worries me the most," he said. "I'm afraid we'll have to be the bearer of bad news."

"Want me to tell him?"

"...Better not," Niccolò said after a moment's pause. "I'll do it. Unless your ex-gang leader has done it already?" he added hopefully.

"Big brother Sloth?" Ildio repeated incredulously. "Nah. Guy's a specialist at avoiding his responsibilities."

Although, he added in his head, during their last phone call, things seemed to have changed a little. Just a little bit.

"Is he?" Nico replied, echoing his thoughts. "He didn't seem that way to me."

Ildio snorted. "Nah, trust me, I know him," he said. "He's good at fighting, but terrible at pretty much everything else. Never liked making decisions or taking stuff in his own hands. I think he was mostly the boss because he was the strongest."

Niccolò furrowed his brow, still looking doubtful. "Maybe he changed," he muttered.

Leaning back in his chair, Ildio reached for his drink, remembering the call. The old Kuro would never have called him over such a thing, he mused. He wouldn't have tried to do anything at all, not unless he was absolutely forced to, either by the situation or his own conscience.

Then again, even Kuro had admitted that he wasn't the same anymore.

Which didn't mean he had changed enough to break the bad news to Hugh's supposed friend, Ildio added in his head. The Sleepy Ash he knew was still a coward. Violence and battles were no problem for him, sure, but as soon as it came to difficult conversations he was out of there faster than you could say his name.

"I still doubt he told him," he said. "That's gonna fall on us. I just hope you have a plan for comforting a distraught fifteen-year-old."

Niccolò winced. "That is my biggest concern."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Ill," Nico said at last, not looking at him. "About that time..."

Ildio didn't have to ask him to know exactly what time he was talking about. "I keep telling you, forget it," he said. "Stop apologizing. Stop stressing. It wasn't your fault."

"But—"

"I know." Ildio pushed aside his plate. "You dropped everything and flew all the way to Japan because you're still beating yourself up. Don't think I wouldn't notice."

A deep shadow fell over Niccolò's face.

"Ill," he said, "you—"

"For the last time, forget it."

Pushing himself off the table, Ildio sat back, no longer looking at his friend but glaring out through the window. "It was my fault," he said grimly. "I wasn't strong enough, that's all. So stop fretting about it and let it go."

For a long moment, Niccolò was quiet.

"You have no faith in me," he muttered at last.

Ildio spun. "What—"

"You don't take me seriously," he murmured. "You don't believe I could've helped you, so you absolve me of the responsibility...even though you and I are a team."

Frowning, Ildio gave him a long, thoughtful look, sizing up his friend. He truly didn't look like much: lanky, scrawny and thin, so thin that it shouldn't be humanly possible, with hair that was so long it frequently got him mistaken for an overgrown teenage girl from behind; his cheeks sunken in, his eyes deep and restless in their sockets. Niccolò Carpediem was a man of a frail constitution, frequently ill, and almost always anxious. But Ildio had spent enough time around him to know there was more to him than met the eye; he had seen him at work as a mastermind, the youngest mafia boss in all of Sicily and the surrounding regions, and he had seen the way he handled the gun he rarely ever kept out of his reach.

All the same, Nico wasn't a physical fighter. He was the brain, and Ildio was the brawn who chased down the bad guys and made their life a living hell.

And the one who had taken a beatdown that had nearly resulted in his death had been him too. There was nothing Nico could possibly have done about Ildio being straight-up physically outmatched.

He sighed.

"You didn't fail at your job," he said. "I did. And now shut up about it."

Nico didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the issue either.

---

The mood was somber as the entire remaining group of Servamps and allies sat gathered in Mahiru's room, and there was nothing Mahiru could do about it.

Normally he would have complained about his room being the designated hangout spot, since it was really not made to host that many people, but right now that didn't seem to matter. All eyes were glued on the new arrivants: the young man from Italy who spoke perfect, if slightly accented, Japanese on one hand; on the other, the young adult who radiated an aura of aggression.

"Okay," Tetsu said into the awkward silence. "You've heard the whole story now, so...do you have any clue where Hugh is?"

The young man—Niccolò Carpediem—looked especially miserable at that question. Ildio beside him opened his mouth to answer, but he silenced him with a look and turned reluctantly back to Tetsu.

"I have some ideas," he began.

Tetsu's face lit up, and so did Misono's beside him. "What—"

"However," Niccolò continued, "I have to warn you."

The smiles on Tetsu's and Misono's faces wavered and faltered.

"I am not looking for Old Child as a friend," he said, "or even an ally. I came here because I want to find him as an enemy."

Tetsu paled. "Enemy?"

Niccolò lowered his head. Suddenly there was a weight to his thin frame that hadn't been there before; his hollow face and frantic eyes settled into a grim gravity, his jittery voice evening out into cool, well-restrained anger.

"Not too long ago," he said, "he almost killed a dear friend of mine. And I came here for only one purpose." His eyes gleamed, green and venomous, underneath the shadow of his dark hair. "To make him suffer just as much as my friend did."

So he really is mafia. A shiver went down Mahiru's spine. He had barely believed it before, seeing the stressed-out, gangly mess of nerves that Niccolò Carpediem usually was; but now he suddenly understood just how wrong he had been. In this way, this young man was just like Kuro. He, too, seemed perfectly harmless and unassuming only until things got serious.

Worried, his gaze flitted to Tetsu, wondering what he was thinking of such a statement. Sure enough, his face was ghostly pale, his eyes wide and horrified and disbelieving. He blinked twice. Swallowed hard. Then slowly shook his head.

"Are you sure it was Hugh?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual, less stable.

"Certain beyond a doubt," said Niccolò. "And even if I wasn't, Ill would be."

All gazes landed on World End—Ildio, Mahiru reminded himself. The former Servamp scoffed and scowled. "Sure as hell I recognized the bastard," he said. "I was there when it happened. Think I'd get my own gang member mixed up when he's going around looking like that?"

There was an awkward silence. Tetsu's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"That can't be right," he said after a pause. "Hugh must've had a reason. There's always a reason why he does stuff, even if I don't always get it."

Ildio snorted.

"Maybe he did," he said. "Maybe the reason is that he's a scheming little bitch who's been deceiving you all along. Ever thought about that?"

Before Tetsu could answer, Niccolò shot Ildio a pacifying glance. "Ill, calm down."

"Calm down?" Ildio shot back. "Big words for the guy who just said—"

"Ildio."

Grumbling, Ildio sat back. The look on Tetsu's face was still one of disbelief. "Hugh wouldn't do that," he said. "He's...he's not a bad guy, I know that."

"Trust me, kid," said Ildio. "I used to be in a gang with that guy. And I'd definitely never call him good, either."

"He probably had a reason for everything," Niccolò piped in. "However, you may not like it, and it doesn't have to excuse him."

"He can't be that bad," Tetsu insisted quietly. "He's my best friend—"

"Pride has no friends."

Tetsu froze in place. Niccolò looked like he'd rather be dead than having this conversation, but he spoke anyway. "Pride, or Old Child, has a long history of betraying people," he said. "He has often pretended to be their friend, reeling them into whatever business he needed them for. And when he no longer needed their help...he betrayed them." His eyes were dark. "All of them."

Tetsu looked down. His hair fell into his face, covering his eyes, but even so Mahiru didn't miss the pain graved deeply into his normally stoic features.

"Any chance this could be different?" he spoke up for his friend. "I mean, what could Hugh have wanted from Tetsu, anyway?"

"I don't know."

Niccolò's voice was miserable as he said it, as if he himself was the one who hated his lack of knowledge the most. "I'm sorry. There's a lot that still doesn't add up," he admitted. "But my men are on the case. If I haven't failed completely as a leader, we will find him."

"Find him," Kuro spoke up, "and then what?"

Niccolò Carpediem turned, and it seemed that he was fully registering Kuro for the first time. Green eyes met with red, and for a moment they stood motionless, leader and leader, their gazes locked together as if trying to stare the other down.

"You must be Sloth," Niccolò said at last.

"No clue what gave it away," Kuro replied, "but yeah. You still haven't answered my question, though." He motioned lazily towards the newcomer. "You're gonna find Hugh, and then what? Put him in jail? Try to kill him?"

Once again a shadow fell on Niccolò's face, and his aura shifted from anxious to grim. "Not kill him," he said, "but get as close to it as he brought my friend."

"Hate to break it to you, buddy, but he already almost died." Kuro shrugged. "You gonna go after a guy who can't walk without crutches? That's pretty low if you ask me."

Ildio gave a humorless laugh. "Big brother, a pacifist? Who are you, and what did you do to the old boss?"

"I am him." Kuro's voice dropped by half an octave, and suddenly he, too, had a subtle aura of danger about him. "I've been through a lot while you've been chilling in Italy. We all have, actually." He narrowed his eyes. "Hugh's our ally against Tsubaki. Would love it if you guys didn't get him into the hospital again."

"Ally against Tsubaki, you say..."

Furrowing his brow, Niccolò's expression turned pensive. "But is he truly your ally?" he said. "To me it looks like he is working against the rest of us."

"What do you mean?"

It was Misono who spoke, looking offended and angry on Tetsu's behalf. "Do you know what you are saying?" he burst out. "Hugh has fought beside all of us! He has been our ally through many troubles with Tsubaki!"

"Your ally, huh?" Ildio crossed his arms. "Then tell me about all the...all the allying he's done for you!"

Misono frowned, thinking hard. Mahiru understood his need to think all too well. So much had happened in the past few months that it was hard to keep track of what everyone had been doing.

"He helped us find Licht and Hyde when they were kidnapped," he spoke up in Misono's stead. "His underlings helped him find the house where they were kept. If he hadn't been there to figure it out, we probably wouldn't have made it to them in time."

Ildio looked unconvinced.

"And when they held Shirota hostage," Misono continued, "he broke into the building with Tetsu and attempted to free him while the rest of us provided a distraction. I have to admit, that plan went awry," he added darkly, "but through no fault of their own. The plan was mine; I made a mistake and they walked straight into a trap."

"Hm."

Swaying his head from side to side, Ildio pondered Misono's words. "That does sound like he helped you," he mused. "And that also doesn't sound like any of what he's been doing to us."

"It may have been for show," Niccolò muttered.

"For show?" Misono burst out. "Hugh was snatched into a trap and cast down a flight of stairs while helping us, he—"

"That part is indeed strange," Niccolò admitted. "But, one way or another—shall we explain what happened to us, Ill?"

Ildio made a dismissive gesture. "Be my guest."

"Alright..."

Visibly uncomfortable, Niccolò cleared his throat. "What he did to us was lure a certain person into a trap and injure him so badly he almost died, but barely managed to survive..." He looked up. "That person was a former Servamp."

Mahiru's throat was tight.

Tsubaki's pattern. That was exactly Tsubaki's pattern. Lure a person into a trap. Almost kill them. But only almost.

And not just any person. It had always been the Servamps and the Servamps alone.

But no, he thought, that couldn't be right. Hugh had also been one of the targets of these very attacks—he, too, had been trapped and gravely, life-threateningly injured. He was lucky it had only been his back that had been broken, not even irreparably at that, when it could also have been his neck instead.

And yet, on the other hand...why would Niccolò Carpediem and Ildio be lying to him? To all of them?

"What do you think about it?" he asked. "What are you trying to say?"

"I've been thinking about that."

Niccolò's eyes were dark and shadowed as he spoke, making him look like a man possessed despite his haggard features and the fear and discomfort in his face. "And I can only come to one conclusion."

On instinct Mahiru's eyes sought out Tetsu's and found them blank with disbelief and fear. Misono and Lily were framing him like a pair of bodyguards, as if their mere presence could soften the shock of Niccolò Carpediem's words.

"Pride...must be in league with Tsubaki."

The words fell heavily into the room and echoed away into silence. No one spoke. No one breathed.

"This," Misono burst out at last, "is nonsense."

Niccolò furrowed his brow at him, looking normal once more—even slightly doubtful. "You think so?"

"I am convinced," Misono answered, even as his very own voice betrayed him and revealed his lie. "What makes you think otherwise?"

"What makes you still believe in him?"

"Hugh is our friend!"

Misono's face was hard with anger, fury on Tetsu's behalf, standing in front of his tall friend like an angry terrier defending a large shepherd dog. "Of course we trust him!" he shouted. "Don't you have faith in your friends?"

"The evidence is against him."

Misono fell silent.

"You must have noticed," Niccolò went on. "His attack on my friend. And now, his well-timed, extremely conspicuous disappearance...a disappearance that brought Ill and me here." His eyes fixed Misono's. "It destabilized the group and left you weaker...easier to attack for someone like Tsubaki."

Misono looked down, his shoulders squared, his jaw tight. He didn't answer.

"It's the most likely explanation I can find," Niccolò concluded.

"And one I refuse to believe," Misono shot back. "Hugh is—"

"Misono."

He stopped in his tracks. The one who had spoken was Tetsu.

"It's fine," he said, his voice very quiet and resigned. "He's probably right about Hugh."

Misono swiveled around. "How can you say that?"

"He's got no reason to lie to us, right?" Tetsu closed his eyes. "And he's seen Hugh attack his friend. His ex-Servamp friend."

"There has to be an explanation!"

"But what is it?"

Misono squirmed under his gaze. It was obvious that he was as lost as everyone else was feeling, but it was also obvious that he refused to back down, to let Tetsu lose faith. Mahiru understood why. He hated seeing him so sad too, so resigned and cast down when he had always been so relaxed and optimistic.

"I don't know," Misono admitted. "But I—"

"It's really fine."

Hanging his head, Tetsu curled in on himself where he sat, suddenly looking very small and helpless despite his imposing height. "Even you said it looked weird, right?" he said. "And now this guy, too. You're both smart people. I don't like believing it, but...if it's the only thing that makes sense to you smart guys, it's probably true."

"And what about thinking for yourself?" Misono snapped. "Are you planning to blindly believe everything people tell you for the rest of your life?"

"Only if I trust them," Tetsu replied.

"But you trust too easily." Sitting back down, Misono pressed his fingers to his temples with a sigh. "People you trusted have led you astray before. I...have led you astray before. Don't you understand? If you hadn't trusted me blindly, Hugh would never—"

"You're still beating yourself up over that?" Tetsu's tone hardened. "I already told you it was our fault, we—"

"Guys, not now!"

Standing up, Mahiru crossed the room to stand between the two. "No fighting over spilled milk," he said. "The only person to blame for all that is Tsubaki, okay? So don't go around blaming yourselves."

The two looked down.

"I still don't like it," Misono said after a pause. "I do not like your lack of faith in the person you called your best friend."

"But I..." Tetsu ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't know anything about him. You said it yourself," he added. "I just...really don't know what to believe anymore."

"None of us do," Mahiru answered. "But that's one more reason to find Hugh as soon as possible. Thinking simply, none of us really know what he's up to unless he tells us himself, right?"

No one in the room looked too happy with the suggestion, including Mahiru himself. Hugh's disappearance had already shaken them up enough, and now here was this stranger, breaking a plausible but horrifying theory to them that shook them up even more. But if Kuro's guess was right, Tsubaki was highly likely to use their current weakness to attack sometime soon. And in case that happened, they needed to stick together. They couldn't let doubt, fear and distrust create rifts between them that Tsubaki could break through.

So, thinking simply, someone had to keep them together.

"Let's focus on searching for him first," he said. "Niccolò-san, you have your own people who can help, right? Let's mobilize everything we can and then see what to do once we've found him. Okay?"

Stiff nods from all sides.

"And one more thing," Mahiru added. "Niccolò-san, Ildio-san, you can only work with us if you promise not to hurt Hugh until we've cleared this up. We still see him as a friend, and we want to trust him for now. Okay?"

Niccolò Carpediem looked anything but happy with the suggestion. Ildio scoffed and muttered something about empty words. But Niccolò shot him a quick glance, then rose and held out his hand.

"It's a deal," he said, "even if I don't like it."

Mahiru shook his hand. "Deal."

"Okay," said Kuro, pushing himself off Mahiru's bed where he had been sitting. "Now that we've figured that out, can we start talking about how to find our missing guy already?"

"Yes...I'm sorry." Reaching into his bag, Niccolò pulled out his laptop and opened it. "I have a plan already."

---

"Are you sure it's safe to go out again, Tsubaki-san?" Sakuya asked as they headed for the door. "You do know you're still wanted out there, right?"

Tsubaki gave a laugh. "Your concern moves me, Sakuya," he said with entirely too much mock melodrama in his voice for anyone to take it seriously. "But don't worry. By the time they catch and arrest me, I'll already have accomplished everything."

Something about his comment felt off to Sakuya. Wrong. Concerning...saddening, somehow.

"You're talking like it's inevitable that you get arrested," Sakuya said.

"I mean, yes," Tsubaki answered with a frightening nonchalance. "I've never planned to stay out of jail forever. Only long enough to accomplish this final mission Sensei has given me."

Sakuya narrowed his eyes.

"You've made your peace with it."

"Yes," said Tsubaki. "Why not?"

Sakuya sighed. Why did this even bother him, anyway? Why was he suddenly so concerned?

"You're throwing away your future," he said. "You could...I mean, you're smart. You could do something with that." He gestured loosely. "You could become a successful person if you wanted to. Why...all of this?"

Tsubaki's eyes softened.

"Sakuya," he said, "do you want out?"

The question came out of left field. "What?"

"You don't have to stick around, you know." Tsubaki smiled up at him, a strange, wistful smile that was nothing like the fox-like grin he usually sported. "If you don't want to be part of this anymore, I won't hold you back. You've done enough already."

I could leave, I know. I could leave at any time.

Sakuya knew that.

He also knew that wasn't the problem.

"That's not the issue," he said. "It's not me I'm worried about. And I'm not leaving," he added before Tsubaki could ask. "I wouldn't even be here if you hadn't saved me that day, Tsubaki-san. I can't turn my back on you now."

Tsubaki regarded him solemnly. It was a slightly unsettling gaze, a little too knowing despite all its gentleness.

"If you're just staying because you think you need to repay me," he said quietly, "then leave."

The remark felt almost like an insult. "What are you—"

"I've already said it." Turning to fully face him, Tsubaki placed both hands on Sakuya's shoulders. His red eyes were strangely dark, devoid of their usual mischievous twinkle. "This is my fight. I will not put any of the friends I hold dear into danger anymore. I'm not expecting you to follow me into this—if you only do this because you feel obligated, turn back now and stay safe."

Turn back, huh.

He could do it, Sakuya mused. Turn back right now, go back to a normal life as a regular student.

But then what?

Tsubaki had been his refuge and his family. What would happen to him if they parted ways? He would be all alone again. He still had Mahiru, sure...but that didn't really feel the same anymore. And the same applied to Ryuusei and Koyuki. He had no doubts that any of those three would be happy to help, but it wouldn't feel right to accept it.

"Turn back?" he said bitterly. "Don't make me laugh. You're all I have."

Tsubaki blinked.

"I don't have a family anymore," Sakuya continued before Tsubaki could reply and make this awkward with a joke or, even worse, genuine emotion. "My friends don't know me the way you do. You're my only shelter by now...my only home." He took a heavy breath. "So if I turned my back on you...where else should I go?"

"Sakuya..."

The look on Tsubaki's face was gentle and sad, so unbelievably sad. Why was he so sad? Why did Sakuya's words get to him that much?

"You can find a new home, you know," he said. "New people to belong with. Even if things don't seem that way to you, I am not the only option...you know?"

"Like that's the issue!"

Sakuya hung his head. His words came out more forceful than he meant them to sound, but he didn't restain his voice. The weight of Tsubaki's gaze was too heavy for him to bear, and he wanted to hide, hide away from those solemn red eyes that both understood him and didn't.

"I don't want to leave," he admitted. "You and Melancholy, you guys are my family. You guys are where I belong, Tsubaki-san! So I don't care what happens to me." He swallowed. "I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to join your fight. I still know now." Looking back up, he met Tsubaki's eyes in a flash, then quickly dropped his gaze once more. "So stop insulting me with all this talk of turning back and leaving!"

The grip of Tsubaki's hands on his shoulders softened. Even without looking at his face, Sakuya knew he was smiling.

"Thank you," he said softly. "I'm glad to have you with me, then."

He was so nice.

The more Sakuya thought about it, the less sense it made. Tsubaki was so kind. He was outgoing and sociable and brilliant, and despite his troublemaking tendencies he got excellent grades. He had all the skills he needed to become anything, absolutely anything in the world, a powerful leader, a person people would follow gladly. If he put his mind to it, Tsubaki could change the world.

And yet all that mattered to him was this old fight from middle school?

It had always seemed strange to Sakuya, but now it felt downright absurd. What was keeping Tsubaki? What had happened to make Tsubaki, the very same Tsubaki who was so kind and forgiving with his friends, so hell-bent on revenge against all odds, risks and costs? He had never told him the details of whatever had happened between him and the Servamps. And if the other members of Melancholy knew, they had never explained things to Sakuya.

What are you fighting for, Tsubaki-san? What are we fighting for?