Welcome To London

POV – Yoruhime

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the stress spreading through my body.

At last, I was going to meet this mysterious person—the one who claimed to know how I could find my brother.

Around me, people hurried through the airport, dropping off their suitcases at the boarding area. Watching them all made me realize just how truly alone I was. Still, nothing would pull me away from my goal.

I followed the human tide pressing toward Gate 42B, my ticket folded and refolded in my damp hand, a light bag slung over my shoulder—almost empty, save for my notebook and my phone.

In the distance, a teenage girl was screaming at her mother, but the sound dissolved into the airport’s constant static hum.

An agent checked my passport, studying my photo and then my face with almost comical seriousness before motioning me through.Once on the plane, I found my seat—by the window, squeezed between the cold wall and a businessman already asleep on the shared armrest.

During takeoff, the weightless sensation made my stomach churn.

 I closed my eyes and clutched my notebook, repeating the address in my mind like a prayer:

45 Belgrave Crescent, London.When I arrived at Heathrow, exhaustion hit me like a heavy blanket, yet excitement kept me standing.

A faint mix of coffee and curry sauce lingered in the corridors of Terminal 5. I retrieved my bag and took a black cab—the kind you only ever see in British TV shows.The driver drove in silence, occasionally glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

 Outside the window, the city slid by, cold and gray beneath the streetlights.

The streets were wide, clean, and almost empty—London felt strangely shy around me.As the car slowed, I finally saw the house.An immense stone manor, pale and imposing, its façade decorated with columns and framed by a wrought-iron gate.The address blinked on my phone, as if checking that I wasn’t dreaming.

Someone was waiting in front of the gate.He wore a butler’s suit and held a polite expression, but his eyes were such a cold blue that they felt impossible to surprise. Then he spoke.

“Good evening, Miss. You are Yoruhime, correct?” he asked.I had learned English back in high school—I figured I could manage.I nodded, slightly embarrassed.“Yes… that’s me.”Without another word, he opened the gate and invited me inside.

The garden air smelled of roses and rain. The paved path led straight to the main door, heavy and engraved with floral patterns.When I stepped into the vestibule, I felt as though I had crossed into another era—high ceilings, dark wood, tapestries, and that faintly sweet scent of wax lingering everywhere.

“Ah, it was about time you arrived!” a voice exclaimed.

It came from the staircase. I glanced over—but there was no one there.“But… where are you?!”I kept looking around, finding nothing. It was as if this person were invisible.“I’m right behind you.”A hand touched my back, making me jump in fright.

And then I finally saw her.A girl who looked about my age, with absurdly long hair tied with ribbons.“Sorry about that scare. I’m Mila Whitely, mistress of this manor,” she said calmly, sipping her tea.I stared at her for a moment before exhaling, forcing myself to regain my composure.“You’re the one who’s supposed to help me find my brother?” I asked.She finished her tea and set the glass down.“Yes, that’s me. What’s the problem?” she replied.

I took a deep breath before answering.“Without meaning to offend you… um… we’re literally the same age, aren’t we?”She smiled and stepped a little closer.“Well, that’s true—we are the same age.But I know a great many things.”Her gaze never left me. It wasn’t mocking. Not condescending either.

I tightened my grip around the strap of my bag.“A great many things… like what?” I asked, despite my unease.Mila turned away and began walking through the hall, her endless hair trailing across the floor like something alive. I followed her without thinking. Each step echoed against the marble, magnifying the silence.

“Like the fact that your brother didn’t disappear by chance.Like the fact that the police are lying.”My heart skipped a beat.“How did you know I went to the police that day?” I asked.She simply laughed. I couldn’t understand what was so funny about any of this.“Who are you really, Mila?” I whispered.She stopped abruptly, then shrugged.“Just my grandmother’s little girl, I suppose.”