Kasumigaoka Utaha only half-understood what Roy had said.
He had gone on at length, but the part she could grasp was this: magic in this world was completely different from the "magic" she had read about in novels. It wasn't whimsical or fantastical—it was intricate, complex, and dense, something entirely in its own category.
But if the ranking system now included strength as a standard, and Roy was at the very bottom—the Last Seat—then did that mean he was also the weakest of all magi?That didn't line up at all with what she had seen. She had watched him obliterate a beast larger than a lion with a single strike.
And if he was truly that low-ranked, why had that Open Seat magus at the refugee shelter treated him so warmly?
"You should go bathe first," Roy said as he came out of the kitchen, droplets of water still clinging to his hands.He pointed toward the bath."I'll bring you clothes in a bit."
"…Alright."
Utaha hesitated several seconds before rising to her feet and heading to the bathroom.
The bathhouse was a traditional Japanese design, almost like something from the last century. Outdated, yes—but the water and electricity still worked.
As she unbuttoned her shirt, her hands suddenly froze.
She glanced down and noticed that the shirt was completely soaked through, clinging to her skin. The outline of her underwear was visible beneath—faint, but somehow even more provocative for its subtlety.
Had he seen her like this earlier, at dinner?
Her arms instinctively crossed over her chest, her face flushing a mix of embarrassment and indignation that only made her look even more alluring.
After a long pause, she exhaled a shaky sigh, sat on the stool, and began to wash.
Her pale skin and soft curves would have caught anyone's eyes, yet her expression was heavy with thought, her mind clearly elsewhere.
"I've left the clothes at the door."
Thump!
In the silence of the bathroom, the sudden pounding of her heartbeat roared in her ears, making her tense up as though she'd been caught doing something forbidden.
"They may not fit perfectly, but make do for tonight."
His footsteps retreated down the hall.
Utaha let out the breath she'd been holding, her smooth shoulders slumping in relief.
An hour later, Kasumigaoka Utaha sat upright before the kotatsu, wearing loose, snow-white pajamas. Her hair was damp and unbound, framing her flushed face and making her skin look even softer and fairer than in daylight.
Her expression was serious, almost solemn, as though she were preparing for something important.
The sound of footsteps made her body stiffen, but she forced herself to raise her head with quiet determination.
Roy stepped into view, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and indigo pants. Without his usual cap, his damp white hair fell freely—thick, slightly wavy, and effortlessly stylish. He had taken off his glasses as well, allowing Utaha to see his features clearly for the first time.
She froze.
His face was… perfect. Not simply handsome, not simply beautiful—something in between, transcending both. The delicate balance of his features made him seem less like a person and more like a work of art, a face so captivating it seemed beyond gender. He was more striking than any idol she had ever seen on television.
Under the lights, his skin was pale to the point of brilliance. His slender frame, almost fragile, gave off an impression of vulnerability.
Yet the more she looked, the more unsettled she became. Something about him felt… off. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but the sense of wrongness nagged at her.
Then Roy turned his head.
Their eyes met.
Blood-red irises glowed in the dim light, sharp and predatory. Utaha's body trembled instinctively, as if a dangerous beast had locked onto her. Fear welled up inside her before she even understood why.
For some reason, his gaze seemed far colder, more sinister than before. The warmth she had seen earlier was gone, replaced with a chilling detachment.
"There you are," Roy said at last, slipping his glasses back on. His lips curved into a gentle smile.
In an instant, the oppressive aura evaporated, replaced once again by his usual calm warmth.
"You'll sleep in the side room tonight."
Utaha blinked, struggling to adjust to the sudden shift. But she quickly relaxed, relieved. At least he hadn't demanded anything more of her.
As a refugee, she had quickly learned that her status in this world was lower than dirt. Even a minor offense could mean death, and nobody would bat an eye. If Roy had ordered her to share his bed, she would have had no choice but to comply—refusal might very well have been a death sentence. And who knew what kind of hypnotic sorcery a magus might possess?
But he hadn't.
That small mercy alone was enough to make her silently grateful. Roy was not the type of man to let lust cloud his judgment.
So Utaha settled into the side room he had prepared. Despite being labeled "secondary," it was larger than most people's master bedrooms, fully furnished with a bed, wardrobe, and thick blankets.
When the lights went out, she lay in the futon, her thoughts tangled.
She remembered the golden-haired, dark-skinned magus at the refugee shelter—the one who had leered at her, clearly intending to claim her. Roy had stepped in then, pretending he wanted her himself, and taken her away.
Yet now, despite having every chance, he had done nothing at all.
If he truly wanted her, she wouldn't have been able to resist. There would've been no point in pretending to be noble. Which meant he genuinely hadn't desired her in the first place.
She didn't want him to, of course—but it still left her puzzled. Why go to the trouble of taking her from that man if not for that reason?
She admitted she disliked the other magus—the way he looked at her was as though she were merchandise, not human. By comparison, Roy's gentle, almost gentlemanly demeanor was far easier to accept.
At least here, she felt safer.
As for Ayanokōji… he was male, so surely his situation couldn't be worse than hers.
Exhaustion finally dulled her mind, and she drifted into uneasy sleep.
"Maybe tomorrow, I'll wake up and find all of this was just a dream…"
Night fell.
After settling Utaha, Roy carried a bottle of liquor outside and sat beneath the eaves. He tilted his head back, staring at the sky. Thick black clouds smothered the heavens, blotting out the moon entirely. Even moonlight had become a luxury.
He raised the bottle and drank deeply. The sharp burn slid down his throat to his stomach, and despite his outward refinement, the way he drank was unrestrained, almost reckless.
"…It should be starting soon."
Later that night.
Roy donned a different outfit: a long, pitch-black robe, a mask concealing his face. Only a pair of blood-red eyes glowed from the shadows.
Without the glasses to soften them, his gaze was sharper, colder, utterly devoid of warmth.
He slipped silently into the night.
To the west of Fuyuki City rose a modest hill, less than a hundred meters tall. A long stone staircase climbed its front.
This was Mount Enzō.
Once, a temple had stood at its summit—Ryūdōji. But ten years ago, on the day of the Cataclysm, fire had consumed the temple, and the monks within perished. To this day, the place remained a charred wasteland.
"So many layers of wards," Roy murmured, pausing at the base of the hill. He had reached this far without disturbing a soul.
"But all of it is meaningless."
A cruel smirk twisted beneath the mask.
He closed his eyes, then opened them again.
Gemlike radiance blazed within his blood-red pupils.