The corridor outside the birthing room felt too narrow for Kaoru.

  She had paced the same stretch of polished wooden floor so many times that the servants had begun glancing at her with worried eyes. A brazier burned near the corner, its embers cracking softly, but it did nothing to warm the cold twisting inside her chest.

  From behind the sliding door, her mother’s voice broke the silence.

  “Rikuya-sama, breathe—slowly, slowly—”

  “I am breathing!” her mother gasped, though her voice trembled. “Renjiro, where are you?”

  “I’m here. I’m right here.” Her father’s voice, firm and steady. “Hold my hand.”

  Kaoru clenched her fists.

  It was too early.

  Six months. It was too early.

  She pressed her ear lightly against the door before catching herself and stepping back. She wasn’t a child anymore. She should act composed.

  But the sound of her mother crying out made her throat tighten.

  A midwife slid the door open slightly and hurried out with a bowl of water. She nearly collided with Kaoru.

  “Kaoru-sama, please wait outside,” the woman urged gently. “It will not be long.”

  “Is she… is she going to be okay?” Kaoru asked, her voice smaller than she intended.

  The woman smiled, though exhaustion showed in her eyes. “Your mother is strong. And your father has not left her side.”

  Kaoru nodded.

  Inside, Renjiro’s voice carried through again.

  “You’re doing well, Rikuya. Listen to me. Focus on my voice.”

  “I hate you,” Rikuya muttered between breaths.

  Renjiro let out a weak chuckle. “You said that last time too.”

  Kaoru blinked.

  Last time.

  Her chest swelled. That meant—

  She froze as another cry rang out, sharper this time.

  The storm outside the mansion windows howled. Snow battered the roof as it had for weeks now. Thirty-two days of relentless winter. The world outside was buried in white silence, but in this hallway, everything was alive with urgency.

  Minutes passed like hours.

  Then—

  A sound.

  A cry.

  But not weak.

  Not thin.

  Strong.

  Clear.

  Vibrant.

  The door slid open fully this time.

  Renjiro stood there, tears streaming down his face, his usually immaculate hair disheveled.

  “It’s a boy,” he said, voice breaking into laughter.

  Kaoru didn’t remember crossing the distance between them.

  She stepped inside.

  The room smelled of herbs and steam. Lantern light glowed warmly over her mother, who lay pale but smiling against a stack of cushions.

  Rikuya looked exhausted.

  But radiant.

  In her arms lay a small bundle wrapped in white cloth.

  Kaoru expected something fragile.

  Tiny.

  Too delicate.

  But when the cloth shifted, she saw a baby with clear skin, strong color in his cheeks, and eyes that blinked open almost immediately.

  He didn’t look like a premature child.

  He looked… perfect.

  “He doesn’t look…” Kaoru whispered.

  “Like he should?” Renjiro finished gently.

  The midwife shook her head in disbelief. “His lungs are strong. His heartbeat is steady. It is… unusual.”

  Rikuya laughed softly. “Of course he would be stubborn. He takes after you, Renjiro.”

  Renjiro knelt beside her. “If he takes after you, he’ll rule the world.”

  Rikuya looked at Kaoru.

  “Come here.”

  Kaoru stepped closer, her breath trembling.

  “Hold him,” Rikuya said.

  Kaoru’s eyes widened. “I—I might drop him.”

  “You won’t,” Renjiro said softly.

  Her mother carefully lifted the baby and placed him in Kaoru’s arms.

  He was warm.

  So warm.

  His tiny fingers curled instinctively around her sleeve.

  Kaoru’s heart felt like it might burst.

  “Hello,” she whispered, tears slipping down her face. “I’m your sister.”

  The baby made a soft sound, almost like a hum.

  Renjiro watched them quietly. “You’ll be a wonderful older sister.”

  “I don’t know how to be one,” Kaoru admitted.

  “You’ll learn,” Rikuya said. “You learned how to wield a blade. You learned how to survive the academy. You’ll learn this too.”

  Kaoru looked at her mother. “Are you okay?”

  Rikuya nodded. “Tired. But happy.”

  Renjiro brushed a strand of hair from Rikuya’s face. “He came early, but perhaps he didn’t want to wait for this storm to end.”

  Kaoru glanced toward the snow-covered window.

  “Then he’s just like me,” she said softly. “Impatient.”

  Renjiro smiled. “What shall we name him?”

  Rikuya looked thoughtful. “We’ll decide together. As a family.”

  Kaoru looked down at the child again.

  “I’ll protect you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens.”

  The storm raged on outside.

  But inside, warmth bloomed.

  Fiester Academy — Second Academic Building

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Headmaster Itsuki Shiraishi walked with a steady rhythm through the long corridor of the academy.

  Students immediately straightened as she passed.

  “Good afternoon, Headmaster!”

  She nodded gently to each one.

  “Study diligently.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  Despite her age, Itsuki Shiraishi’s presence commanded quiet respect. Her silver hair was tied neatly at the back, and her eyes, though soft, missed nothing.

  She passed a group of first-years whispering near a window.

  “Don’t linger,” she said calmly.

  They jumped. “Yes, Headmaster!”

  She continued toward the student council room.

  Something felt… off.

  The air of the academy had changed since Rokkaku Ashen ascended the throne.

  It was subtle.

  But undeniable.

  She reached the heavy wooden door and knocked once before opening it.

  Inside, Renji Kurogane leaned back in a chair, while Hana Kurosawa stood near the window with her arms folded.

  Both immediately stood.

  “Headmaster,” Renji greeted respectfully.

  “Good afternoon,” Hana added with a bow.

  Itsuki closed the door behind her.

  “I came with a question,” she said. “Where is the student council president?”

  Renji and Hana exchanged a glance.

  Renji cleared his throat. “We… don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Itsuki repeated.

  Hana shook her head. “Miyazuki hasn’t attended meetings for several days.”

  Itsuki’s eyes sharpened slightly. “And none of you thought to investigate?”

  Renji rubbed the back of his neck. “She mentioned something before she left.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That there was trouble at the castle,” Renji replied. “She said she might need to speak with the King.”

  Hana added quietly, “We assumed it was related to the… succession.”

  The word lingered in the air.

  Itsuki’s expression remained calm, but her fingers tightened slightly around her cane.

  “You heard nothing after that?”

  Renji shook his head. “No letters. No messages.”

  “Did you visit her apartment?” Itsuki asked.

  “We didn’t,” Hana admitted. “We didn’t want to overstep.”

  Itsuki exhaled slowly.

  “You are leaders of this academy,” she said. “If your president vanishes for days, that is not overstepping.”

  Renji lowered his head. “Understood.”

  Itsuki turned toward the window briefly, snow swirling outside.

  “I will look into it myself later today.”

  Hana looked concerned. “Do you think something happened?”

  Itsuki’s gaze was distant.

  “I hope not.”

  Night — The Headmaster’s Office

  The academy had fallen silent.

  Only the faint hum of wind against the tall windows accompanied Itsuki as she entered her office.

  She paused immediately.

  There was a letter on her desk.

  Sealed.

  Stamped with the royal insignia of Fiester.

  She closed the door carefully behind her.

  “Delivered without my knowledge,” she murmured.

  She sat down slowly and broke the seal.

  Her eyes scanned the parchment.

  Her expression did not change.

  But the silence grew heavier.

  She read it again.

  “Mizuki Ashen and Miyazuki Ashen are to depart Fiester Academy by royal decree.”

  She set the letter down.

  “And I am invited to the royal ball next week.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  “It is strange,” she whispered.

  When King Akiyama Ashen had died, she had learned of it with the common citizens.

  Not before.

  Not through a private message.

  With the civilians.

  That had never happened before.

  She leaned back in her chair.

  “Rokkaku Ashen…”

  The young king had always been sharp.

  Calculating.

  But this—

  This felt deliberate.

  “Why remove them from the academy?” she murmured. “And why inform me this way?”

  She tapped the desk lightly.

  Her instincts, honed over decades, whispered caution.

  Something beneath the surface of the kingdom was shifting.

  Quietly.

  Dangerously.

  A soft knock came at her door.

  “Enter,” she said.

  A junior staff member bowed. “Headmaster, the snow is worsening.”

  “I see.”

  The door closed again.

  Itsuki stared at the letter once more.

  “If I do not attend the royal ball,” she muttered, “that will raise suspicion.”

  She folded the letter carefully.

  “I will go.”

  Her reflection in the window looked back at her — sharp-eyed and unyielding.

  “And I will see what kind of king Rokkaku Ashen intends to be.”

  Outside, the snowstorm raged across the kingdom.

  In a mansion across the city, a newborn slept peacefully in his sister’s arms.

  In the royal castle, unseen forces moved behind gilded walls.

  And in the academy, threads of uncertainty tightened quietly.

  The storm was far from over.