Chapter 03 The Brighter the Light, The Faster it Disappears

The water was pink. Not because of blood — but because his mind refused to forget. Every night it was the same: he’d see her there, lying in the ash, whispering those last words. The touch that burned itself into his skin still pulsed faintly — the black rose etched on his hand.

He turned the faucet higher.
His hands shook as he rubbed them together, nails scraping skin.
The water darkened in his vision. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real. It felt real.

“Come off… come off… come off, come off… come off already…”

He scrubbed harder. The sound of skin against skin mixed with the rush of water.
The ghost of her blood never faded — not after ten years, not after a thousand washes.

“Stop looking at me…” 

He raised his head just enough to meet the reflection again — the eyes staring back were full of that same fear he’d had as a kid.

“I said stop looking at me!” he screamed at his reflection.

The fist moved before thought could stop it.
Glass cracked, then shattered, raining silver shards into the sink, the face fragmenting into nothing, leaving only his bloody, trembling knuckles and the shattered remains of the past.

He stood there breathing hard, water still running.
Tiny reflections of his face rippled in the broken pieces below.

Then, the dim neon tube above his head flickered once, a last, weak pulse of light, and gave out.

Darkness fell upon him.

 It bled the world of color, of form, of meaning. The silence that followed was pressing in on his eardrums until it birthed a high, white ringing that swelled from the inside out. It filled his skull, a screeching nullity that drowned all thought. His vision blurred at the edges with a crawling static, a television tuned to a dead channel. The buzz wasn't just in his ears now; it was in his mind, a numbing swarm that dissolved memory, guilt, and self into a single, meaningless hum.

He was disappearing into it, becoming just another piece of the static in the dark.

Then—

Knock.

Knock. Knock.

The darkness shattered. The static receded, the ringing fading to a faint whine in the background. He was back in his body, in the dark, standing in the wreckage of a mirror and a moment, the cold water still rushing over his bruised and bleeding knuckles.

He dragged a shaky breath, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
A low, bitter laugh slipped out.

“Great job, genius… broke the mirror again. Guess I’ll fix it later. Or never."

He turned off the tap. The silence rushed back, but this time it didn’t crush him. 

“Mirai-chan’s waiting. Can’t be late on my first day. What a way to start it, huh? Off to the Magic Academy. Couldn't have asked for a better omen.”

He glanced once more at the broken glass, at the faint glow of the black rose on his hand, then pushed off the sink and slid open the door.

“Yo, Sho-kun~! Ready to go?!”

Her voice hit him like sunlight after rain — bright, teasing, a little too loud for the quiet he’d been drowning in. She stood there in the doorway — golden curls coiled into perfect spirals that bounced when she tilted her head. Her uniform looked freshly pressed, buttons shining, and even her hair ribbon matched the Academy’s crest. She wasn’t a princess, but everything about her looked like one — from the lace cuffs to the faint scent of expensive perfume.

“My, just look at that face. Still depressed as ever. Not gonna make a good first impression at the Magic Academy. Get it together already.”

“Hi, Mirai-chan. I’m ready. We can go.”

She crossed her arms, her gaze dropped to his hands.

 “Ah-ha… you broke the mirror again, didn’t you?”

She reached out and gently took his hand. 

“Just look at this mess. Hold still, okay?”

A soft green glow bloomed from her palm. The light wrapped around his bruised skin, closing the cuts and fading into a faint glow that smelled like rain.

“There. Good as new. But don’t rely on me too much, alright? My main magic’s still earth drills. This healing thing’s just some low-tier trick I picked up recently. So, no getting hurt, Sho-kun.”

“Sorry. Can’t promise you that.”

“Figures. Come on, hero boy. We’re gonna be late.”

A thought crossed Shota's mind.

"Sometimes, her light is so bright it almost hurts to look at. The last beacon in a sea of static. Ten years ago, the explosion didn't just take the Witch Queen. It took everyone. The whole class I was with that day. My friends... only Mirai-chan is left.

 My parents? A voice on a screen from another continent. Too busy building a new life to bother with the ruins of their old one. So, no. I can't promise I won't get hurt. This world is made of pain. And you, Mirai... you're the only one I have left to lose." 

He followed her into the hall, the light spilling in around her like a halo he didn’t deserve.

Sometimes he wondered how she did it — stay bright in a world that kept dimming.
Ten years ago, he’d watched everything burn. His friends, his classmates… gone in an instant. The Witch Queen, too — his hero, his reason to smile.

After that, there was just silence.

His parents lived oceans away, their calls growing shorter every year. The city rebuilt itself, but he never did.

Mirai was the only one who stayed. The only hand that kept reaching into the dark, even when he had nothing left to offer back.

To him, she wasn’t just a friend. She was proof that light could still exist — even if it wasn’t meant for him.

And maybe that’s why he kept his distance from everyone else.
Because he’d learned the hard way — the brighter the light, the faster it disappears.

--------------------

Shota and Mirai stepped out into the street, the city’s morning light spilling through the translucent barrier high above. The sky wasn’t blue — it was faintly gold, like glass catching firelight.

The Witch Queen’s final spell covered the entire city — her last, unbroken miracle. The city looked peaceful.

They called it The Eternal Veil.

Shota tilted his head back as they walked, eyes tracing the faint lines of light that curved across the heavens. Ten years, and the magic still held. It was said to pulse once every hour, like a heartbeat — her heartbeat, still echoing over them.

Posters of her lined the streets: Witch Queen Lycoris Noire — Savior of Tokyo.
Some old, some newly painted. Her calm smile stared down from billboards and memorial walls, haloed by white flame.

People still left flowers at the shrines under her statue. Children still played with action figures modeled after her, just like he once did.

"They’re never going to stop talking about her, are they? Our first day at the Magic Academy. I bet it’s all going to be about legacy and living up to her example.”

Shota didn’t answer. But his silence was a symphony to her.

"Oh, look at him. Just look at him. He’s not even here. He’s still back in that bathroom, shattered on the floor. Oh, my Sho-kun, how lovely you look."

She bit the inside of her lip to suppress a thrill.

"That walk… It’s like watching a doll with its strings cut. There’s no one home behind those beautiful, dull eyes."

Mirai’s drill curls caught the light as she walked ahead, spinning slightly with every bounce of her step. She glanced back at him often, always smiling.

“You really walk like a ghost, you know that? People are going to think I dragged you here by force.”

“You kind of did.”

"You know, you should really try to move, Sho-kun! We’re going to be late for the entrance ceremony if you keep that funeral march pace."

She laughed, but her eyes stayed on him a moment longer than they should have—studying the dullness behind his gaze, the slow way he breathed.
There was something about that emptiness that fascinated her.

When he looked away, she bit her lip, almost smiling again.

"Still the same look. Oh, just look at you. You’re so beautiful like this. The way you carry that weight…"

Out loud, she said lightly, “You should be happy, you know. New school, new life. Maybe you’ll even make a friend or two.”

“Maybe.” 

 “Or maybe don't. You’ve got me. That’s enough, right?”

He didn’t answer, but she didn’t seem to need one. She only smiled to herself, satisfied, and quickened her pace.

High above, in the shimmer of the barrier, a faint streak of black light rippled — gone before anyone could see.