At dawn, Yukiori sat pale and sleepless in the courtyard pavilion, his usual delight in watching koi fish gone.
The morning meal lay untouched. The images from last night had struck him like a blow.
He tried to convince himself: Momoto had never treated him that way, had saved him, was a good man.
Yet unease gnawed at him, rooted in Momoto's eyes.
He knew that look too well.
What should he do…
Yukiori didn't know how to face Momoto. When a servant announced his arrival, he froze.
Today, Momoto wore a pale purple kimono, understated yet refined.
"Yukiori, I heard you've no appetite. Are you missing your family?"
Momoto's concern seemed genuine, his face and eyes flawless. Had Yukiori not seen his true nature last night, he might still be deceived.
"You look unwell. Did you catch cold? Have the servants neglected you? I'll have them punished."
Momoto showed no mercy toward the servants.
Yukiori realized that, despite Momoto's polite facade, he held ordinary people in contempt.
He'd sensed it since arriving, though he'd dismissed it as a mistake.
"No, my lord, it's not their fault. I had a nightmare last night and didn't rest well…"
Yukiori lowered his gaze, fingers twisting his sleeve. He wasn't skilled at lying.
"Is that so…"
Momoto's tone lingered, but he spared the servants.
When he reached to touch Yukiori, the boy flinched back, repulsed by the memory of last night, unwilling to be touched.
Momoto's eyes darkened, but he withdrew his hand, masking it with a smile. "You seem out of sorts. Rest well, Yukiori. Sleep, and all will be better…"
Before leaving, he turned back. "I'll protect you. No one will harm you."
And no one will get close to you.
His meaning was clear: don't dream of escaping.
Momoto was patient, savoring the process, certain it would come naturally.
But Yukiori, recalling last night, couldn't help but read deeper into those words.
What should he do…
Head bowed, Yukiori grappled with his debt to Momoto, his savior, who'd given him a life of comfort. He had no right to protest.
Yet that night, when Yukiori dodged another of Momoto's advances, Momoto's patience waned.
"Yukiori, do you think I do all this without expecting something in return?"
"You're clever. You know what I want."
His words confirmed Yukiori's fears.
Momoto had thought himself patient, but Yukiori's avoidance pierced him, a pain he hadn't anticipated.
He lifted a strand of Yukiori's silver hair, brushing it against his cheek, tickling.
"My lord… I…"
Yukiori shook his head.
Momoto smiled, stepping closer. "You're a good boy. Good boys obey."
"What's wrong with staying with me, Yukiori?"
"I'll love only you. I'll protect you. Do you know how many fiends covet a child like you?"
"They'd tear you apart."
The words terrified Yukiori. He looked up, jade eyes brimming with tears.
He didn't want this—not at all, not even from his savior.
Had he known this would be the cost, he'd have died with his parents before that monster.
Should he wait, helpless? Submit?
Be the "good boy" Momoto wanted?
Momoto pressed him relentlessly, visiting often with probing words, heightening Yukiori's unease.
His gaze grew more terrifying, as if he'd devour Yukiori whole.
"… "
Another night, Yukiori resolved to flee.
No matter what lay outside, it couldn't be worse than this. At worst, he'd die by a monster's hand.
Momoto likely never imagined the timid Yukiori would dare escape. He thought any resistance would be feeble, like a kitten's, merely adding to the allure.
Yukiori was afraid, but not weak. He could refuse, stand firm in his heart's choice.
Even now, trembling, he was determined to escape.
He was frail but not cowardly.
Yukiori thought: if Momoto faced trouble later, he'd help however he could. But if Momoto wanted that…
Yukiori couldn't give it.
The estate had more servants and patrols than before, but Yukiori found a chance.
Avoiding the main gate, he eyed the towering bamboo. He'd climb the wall.
As a child, he'd been mischievous, climbing trees to play hide-and-seek with village kids, though never bamboo.
"Hiss…"
The bamboo wasn't smooth; a stray thorn grazed his palm.
Blood beaded, wiped carelessly on his clothes. It hurt, but now wasn't the time for delicacy. His goal was to escape.
Thankfully, the rest went smoothly, though his body bore countless small cuts, stinging sharply.
For ease, he'd worn light clothes, now feeling the autumn chill.
Yukiori hugged his shoulders, rubbing them, wincing as his wounded fingers throbbed. Tears welled.
His hard-won courage crumbled, and he felt utterly pitiful.
Normally, his mother would comfort him,
blow on his wounds, pat his head…
Mother, I miss you so much…
"Brother, why are you crying?"
"Ma says candy stops tears. Have some, Brother."
A half-melted candy was offered by a small hand.
Yukiori looked up, his silver hair parting to reveal a little girl before him.
This… was candy from her mother.