"Young Master Yukiori…"
The two servants' faces creased with worry. They knew living was Yukiori's torment, the reason he resisted treatment.
Yet, seeing him like this, they couldn't bear it, yearning to ease his pain.
"If you wish to conceal this, I could help… but first, let me check your condition."
The new healer was unnervingly calm, even offering to hide Yukiori's state from the lords.
Was he sent to test their loyalty?
Before the servants could decide, the healer approached, examining Yukiori meticulously.
Yukiori meant to push him away but lacked strength. With the binding, no one with malice could—
?!
His wrist was grasped. Yukiori stared, startled, at the healer.
Feeling Yukiori's gaze, the young healer looked up, a gentle smile on his plain face, reeking of herbs.
Why… could he touch him?
Only those without malice could, right?
Yukiori scrutinized the healer, searching his eyes for intent, finding nothing.
Of course…
Momoto Ichi wouldn't allow anyone covetous near him. Even his servants were carefully vetted women.
For these reasons, Yukiori tentatively trusted the healer.
The examination was swift, the healer's expression shifting to surprise.
"You truly don't care whether you live or die."
He sensed Yukiori's body was beyond medicine's repair. Even with rest, it was merely delaying the inevitable.
At this rate, Yukiori wouldn't last three months.
"Death would be freedom."
Yukiori spoke indifferently.
"…Why help me hide it?"
After hesitation, Yukiori asked.
People here, like his servants, dared not help him, and those who did were swiftly replaced. He'd abandoned hope of aid.
Why?
Perhaps he couldn't bear to see those eyes dim forever.
Before arriving, he'd been warned not to harbor designs on the courtyard's master, lest he lose his life.
No one, save the lords, knew who resided here, only that servants were cycled out regularly.
He was curious about the secret within.
Then he saw this haggard, yet hauntingly beautiful, frail boy.
Such beauty should be hidden.
But the boy was wilting, and he knew why without pondering.
Yukiori wasn't happy here. He craved freedom, but they wouldn't grant it.
Clipping his wings, making him a parasitic vine dependent on others—that was their obsession.
"… "
"What's your name?"
He looked at Yukiori's face, wind tousling his hair, stirring his heart.
"My name is…"
"Kenjaku."
He meant to give the host body's name, but, inexplicably, Kenjaku spoke his true name.
He never cared if anyone remembered him or his name, but in this moment, he wanted this boy to know it.
//
Kenjaku's purpose here wasn't pure. He sought a body of higher status to control, advancing his schemes.
Yet he stayed in this guarded estate, baffling even himself.
He learned the boy's name—Yukiori, a lovely name.
Watching Yukiori's spirit fade daily, Kenjaku knew his inherited medical skills could only ease his pain.
For a fleeting moment, he felt an unfamiliar powerlessness.
He believed Yukiori's illness was of the heart. If he took him away, Yukiori might recover.
Kenjaku tried and failed.
Yukiori intervened, sparing him from expulsion.
"Why did you speak for me, Young Master Yukiori?"
Do I hold a place in your heart?
Kenjaku stood aside, asking, his unease and tension hidden.
"I just don't want anyone to die because of me, Kenjaku. Don't waste your effort—they won't let me go."
Yukiori's tone was flat, his eyes dulled.
"Death is my best escape."
Kenjaku didn't reply. He didn't want Yukiori to die, but… he couldn't keep him here.
//
"If his health doesn't improve, your life is forfeit."
Yukiori, stepping from the room, overheard this and saw Kenjaku kneeling, head bowed.
"Leave."
"… "
Kenjaku looked at the approaching Yukiori, whose health worsened daily, barely awake, mostly bedridden.
"I want to stay with you."
For once, Kenjaku, a lifelong liar, spoke truth.
Yukiori didn't respond, sensing Kenjaku's sincerity. Having someone genuine in his final days eased his loneliness.
But…
Why did it still hurt?
Kenjaku knew Yukiori harbored a secret, the root of his illness.
He wanted to know but feared upsetting him.
Now, it didn't matter.
"Young Master Yukiori, may I know who you miss?"
"You saw through me…"
Yukiori seemed to recall something, a rare smile gracing his face.
"Missing someone…"
He murmured uncertainly, perhaps it was longing.
Turning to Kenjaku, his eyes shone with a vibrance Kenjaku had never seen.
Brighter than anything he'd witnessed.
Kenjaku listened as Yukiori recounted his past, as if reliving it himself.
He knew life was harsh, especially for powerless commoners.
Yukiori didn't miss his parents most—he believed he'd soon reunite with them.
"I promised to wait for him to come home."
Though smiling, Kenjaku heard the bitterness.