Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kyoko hefts her suitcase into the trunk of the car, adjusting it to fit neatly beside the other bags. The warm spring air carries the faint scent of blooming flowers, but she barely notices. Her thoughts are elsewhere, drifting between excitement and unease.

Golden Week in Okinawa. A proper family vacation—something they haven't done in years. The idea fills her with cautious hope. Maybe, just maybe, this trip will help bridge the growing gap between her and her family. She misses them, or at least the way things used to be. Her parents are hardly home, too busy with work to sit down for dinner together, and her brother, well—Ryohei is always off boxing or brawling with delinquents, caught up in his own whirlwind of energy. She knows he cares, but it’s hard to have a real conversation when he’s constantly moving forward at full speed.

Leaving her behind. 

She closes the trunk and steps back, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. The sun is already bright, promising warm days ahead. She should be looking forward to this. And she is, truly. The beach, the break from school, the rare chance to spend time with her family. It should be perfect.

Yet, a nagging frustration lingers. She won’t see Hana for a week, which is a shame—Hana is her only real friend at school, and Kyoko will miss their quiet conversations.

But if she’s being honest, she’s also relieved.

Lately, school has been suffocating in ways she never expected. Boys who once barely noticed her now hover around, not out of genuine interest in who she is but because she’s become some kind of prize to be won.

Mochida, in particular, is the worst. She’s told him no. More than once. And yet, he acts as if she’s already agreed to be his girlfriend, assuming her no’s means something it doesn’t.

It’s exhausting. No matter how firmly she declines, he persists, all charm and arrogance, as if she just needs time to “come around.” She’s tired of it, tired of pretending it doesn’t bother her.

A week away from all of that sounds like exactly what she needs.

“Kyoko! Come on, we’re leaving!” Her father’s voice jolts her from her thoughts. She takes a deep breath, pushing aside the irritation. 

This is her chance to escape all of that for a while—to enjoy the sun and the sea and, hopefully, reconnect with her family.

Sliding into the backseat beside Ryohei, she fastens her seatbelt as the car rumbles to life. Her brother grins at her, his usual enthusiasm undamped. “This is gonna be EXTREME, Kyoko! I’ll teach you how to bodyboard!”

She smiles despite herself. “I think I’ll stick to swimming, thanks.”

He lets out an exaggerated groan but doesn’t argue.For now, she allows herself to believe that’s possible.

The early morning sun casts a golden glow over the street, and the hum of cicadas is already rising in the background. 

“Excited, Kyoko?” her mother asks, sliding into the passenger seat and adjusting her sunglasses.

Kyoko smiles, leaning forward into her seat to better talk to her mother. “Yeah. It’ll be nice to spend some time together. It’s been a while.”

Ryohei grins at her, stretching out with the casual ease of someone who never seems to run out of energy. “A whole week at the beach! Training in the sand will help me improve a lot! I’m gonna get even stronger, Kyoko!”

She laughs softly. “You’re already strong enough, nii-san.”

“No way! There’s always room for EXTREME improvement!” He punches the air for emphasis, earning an exasperated sigh from their mother.

Their father chuckles as he pulls out of the driveway, the car rolling smoothly onto the road. “Just don’t spend the whole trip training, Ryohei. We’re supposed to be relaxing.”

“Training is relaxing!” Ryohei insists.

Kyoko shakes her head, amused. “I just want to swim and read on the beach.”

Her mother glances at her through the rearview mirror. “No studying?”

Kyoko shrugs. “Maybe a little.”

The car hums along the road, the conversation drifting between light topics—their plans for the trip, Ryohei’s latest boxing match, their father’s insistence that he will finally catch a fish big enough to impress them. 

The rhythm of the drive is peaceful, and Kyoko lets herself relax into it, watching the scenery blur past the window.

She tries to clear her mind, to banish the anxiety that is rearing its head. she isn’t sure why it is here. She should be happy. Not many people get to go visit paradise during their break. 

She turns to say something to Ryohei—

Then the world lurches.

A blaring horn. The screech of tires. The sickening crunch of metal on metal.

The impact slams into them with terrifying force, and Kyoko is weightless for a moment before she’s thrown back against the seat. Pain explodes in her head, the world spinning, shattering.

Something deep inside her flares, a heat unlike anything she’s ever felt, bursting from her chest in a desperate, instinctive pulse.

Whatever it is erupt from within her, golden-orange and endless, wrapping around her like a shield. The car is twisting, flipping—she can’t tell which way is up, can’t hear anything beyond the roar in her ears. Fragments of memory surge forward, overwhelming her. 

A different life. 

A different name. 

Green light. 

Loss. 

War.

SCreaming, both inside her head and outside of it.

It is hard to keep track of what is going on.

It’s too much. Too bright. Too loud.

The last thing she registers before the darkness swallows her is the feeling of warmth, flickering at her fingertips, before everything fades away.

–-

Pain.

It’s the first thing Kyoko registers when she drifts back into consciousness—a deep, throbbing ache in her skull, a tightness in her chest. Her limbs feel heavy, sluggish, as though she’s floating somewhere between reality and a dream. But the dream is just as vivid as waking, layers of memories pressing against her mind, clashing and merging in ways that don’t make sense.

Magic. A wand in her hand. The scent of parchment and ink. The echo of incantations on her tongue. A boy’s laughter—her own? No, not her own, but hers all the same. Fire roaring in her veins, burning not with destruction but with warmth, with belonging. A phoenix’s song.

Kyoko wakes to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. 

The hospital room is quiet, save for the soft hum of machinery. Her body feels sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion, but there’s no sharp pain, only a dull ache thrumming through her skull.

Her fingers twitch against the sheets, and she forces her eyes open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. White walls. An IV drip attached to her arm. The heavy weight of something unseen pressing on her chest.

She tries to sit up, only for a wave of dizziness to crash over her. A sharp inhale, and she sags back against the pillows, her heart pounding as the world tilts unsteadily around her.

The harsh hospital lights make her eyes sting, and the faint beeping of a heart monitor sets an odd rhythm against the pounding in her skull. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to sort through the whirlwind of thoughts threatening to pull her under again. It’s too much—too vast, too strange, too real.

A groan escapes her lips, and almost immediately, there’s movement beside her.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a soft voice says.

Kyoko blinks, vision swimming as a nurse steps into view. The woman has a kind face, but there’s a careful sort of neutrality in her expression, like she’s watching for something specific. Kyoko swallows, her throat dry.

“Where…?” Her voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“You’re in a special ward of Namimori General Hospital,” the nurse explains gently, adjusting something on the IV stand beside her bed. “You were in an accident, but you’re stable now. How are you feeling?”

Kyoko tries to respond, but the weight in her chest is unbearable. Because—

The crash.

The impact.

The sickening screech of metal twisting, glass shattering.

The suffocating moment before … something… erupted—before everything changed.

Was that magic? She has magic, right? But that’s—

Her breath quickens, heart pounding. She clenches the sheets beneath her fingers, struggling to ground herself. “My family—”

The nurse’s expression flickers, a shadow of something heavy crossing her face. “The doctor will be in shortly to explain everything.”

Kyoko’s stomach twists. That’s not an answer. That’s a deflection.

The door opens, and a doctor steps inside, his expression professional but solemn. He glances at the clipboard in his hands before meeting her gaze. 

“Sasagawa-san, I’m glad to see you awake. We need to run some tests to make sure there’s no lasting damage. You got tossed around quite a bit and we need to make sure there is no lasting damage. You probably sustained a concussion, and we want to be thorough.”

Kyoko barely hears him. The words don’t matter—not when she already knows. She looks at the nurse, at the doctor, at the sterile white walls around her.

They’re gone.

She doesn’t know how she knows, but she does. It’s like something hollow has taken root inside her chest, something vast and dark that swallows her whole.

Mom and Dad are gone. Maybe even Nii-san? 

Her grip tightens on the sheets, breath shuddering. She wants to ask, wants to scream, but the words won’t come. The doctor watches her carefully, waiting for her to catch up to the reality he hasn’t yet voiced, before clearing his throat. “About your family…”

Her eyes snap up as the doctor continues, his voice quieter now. “Your brother is stable. He has minor injuries—nothing life-threatening. He’ll be in to see you soon once your tests are done. I am sorry to say your parents did not survive the crash.”

Relief and grief twist together in a painful knot inside her chest. 

Her parents are gone!! 

A hollow, aching void opens inside her, something dark and empty that swallows everything else. Her heart stutters in her chest as if it can’t quite process the weight of the words. Her breath catches, shallow and tight, and she feels the walls closing in around her, like the world is suddenly too small. The room feels too hot, too suffocating.

She grips the sheets, nails digging into the fabric, trying to hold onto something solid, something real. “Oh.” The word slips out, barely a whisper, and it sounds so small, so insignificant against the crushing weight of the news. She can't find the words—doesn’t know what to say. Her throat feels thick, too tight to speak.

Her mind races, but it can’t catch up with her heart, which seems to have frozen in place, refusing to beat properly. Nii-san, standing there so still, his eyes wide with a pain she can barely understand, is the only thing anchoring her. But even he seems so far away, like she’s standing on the edge of a vast, unbreachable chasm. 

She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a breathless sob, raw and broken. Her grip on the sheets weakens as the tears fall, hot and unbidden, blurring the sterile whites and grays of the hospital room. The world feels like it’s tilting beneath her, shifting and crumbling all at once.

She remembers them—her parents.

And yet… she doesn’t.

She remembers a smiling woman with warm brown eyes, her voice soft but always distant, always busy. A man who was even more absent, whose presence was more like a fading shadow than a real part of her life. Their love had been there, in quiet gestures, in the comfortable, well-kept home they provided, but it had never been close. She had spent so much time waiting—waiting for them to have more time for her, waiting for them to be around. But now, she would never get that chance.

Then there are the other memories. Pictures that move—images filled with the vibrant red of a mother’s hair, her laughter ringing through an autumn-kissed meadow. A father with dark hair and glasses, spinning her in circles, making the world blur with dizzy happiness. But that had never been her life, had it? Those memories belong to someone else. Someone who had been loved fiercely, if only for too short a time.

Someone who had been left alone.

A shudder runs through her as another sob wrenches from her throat. Because in that life, in his life, she had been an orphan. The Boy Who Lived. The boy who lost everything before he could even understand what he had. A child with no siblings, no family left to hold onto. The loneliness had been suffocating, all-consuming.

But now—now, she isn’t alone.

Her breath hitches.

Ryohei is alive.

Her mind stumbles over the thought, fragile and uncertain. Did she even have a brother before? She had always been an only child, hadn’t she? In that other life, her parents had died before they could have any more children. There had never been a sibling to stand beside her, to share the weight of grief. But here, in this life, she isn’t alone.

She has Ryohei.

But he’s all that’s left.

The realization sinks deep, heavy and suffocating. Her parents are gone, their absence now an aching void in her chest. But her brother—her loud, reckless, impossibly kind brother—is still here.

She clings to that thought like a lifeline, even as the grief threatens to pull her under.

She barely registers when they move her, when the tests begin. The world blurs into a haze of fluorescent lights and murmured voices, but it all feels distant, unreal. She focuses on breathing, on the feel of the hospital gown against her skin, on the dull ache in her head. Anything to keep herself from drowning in the weight of it all.

Because she remembers.

She remembers her life.

She remembers another life.

And she doesn’t know what to do with that.

Her head throbs, the weight of too many memories pressing against her skull. Two childhoods, two sets of parents, two vastly different yet equally painful losses—woven together like threads from separate tapestries forced into the same fraying fabric. It’s too much. Too much to hold, too much to process.

She clenches the sheets beneath her, fingers trembling, nails pressing deep into the fabric as if she can anchor herself with touch alone. But the bed feels foreign. The air, the scent of disinfectant, the too-bright lights—all of it feels wrong. Like waking up in a stranger’s home and being told it belongs to her.

Because this body, this life, isn’t the only one she has lived.

But it’s the only one that’s real now.

A shaky breath rattles past her lips, and her body sags under the weight of exhaustion. The nurses had checked on her earlier, had spoken to her in soft voices, had coaxed her through simple responses. They told her she had been through a lot, that she needed rest. Her brother—her brother—had been here, his voice warm and full of concern, but she had barely been able to meet his gaze. How could she?

She wasn’t sure who she was anymore.

Her eyelids feel heavy, the adrenaline of grief fading into bone-deep fatigue. The air is too warm, too still, pressing in around her like a smothering blanket. There is so much to think about, so many impossible contradictions to unravel, but her mind is frayed, unraveling at the seams.

Sleep.

She should fight it—should hold on, should try to make sense of everything before it slips further away. But her body has other plans.

The edges of the world blur.

She barely registers the soft beeping of the monitors, the faint hum of voices from the hall. Everything fades into static, thoughts scattering like leaves caught in the wind.

Her breath slows.

Her grip on the sheets loosens.

And as the weight of exhaustion drags her under, the last thing she feels is the aching hollowness where two lives collide.

TBC?

Chapter Text

Kyoko wakes slowly.

The world filters in through a haze—warm sheets, the faint hum of machines, the sterile scent of antiseptic. Her limbs feel sluggish, heavy, as though she’s been asleep for days.

But her mind—her mind is quiet .

For the first time in what feels like forever , there is no pounding in her skull, no intrusive thoughts battering against the walls of her consciousness, no magic simmering beneath her skin like an overfull cauldron about to boil over. Just silence .

She is a chronic overthinker, so this is … new?

It should unnerve her. It should make her feel exposed, vulnerable.

Instead, it’s… peaceful .

A breath shudders out of her, and she shifts slightly, stretching stiff muscles—

Then—

A presence.

It’s immediate, pressing against the edges of her awareness. Not magic, but something other , something weighty and unyielding, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

Her eyes snap open.

A woman stands beside her bed.

She is still—so still Kyoko might have mistaken her for a statue, if not for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her posture is perfectly controlled, arms crossed over the crisp black of her uniform. Dark hair is pulled back into a severe bun, not a strand out of place. But it’s her eyes—sharp, unreadable gray—that send a bolt of unease through Kyoko’s spine.

This woman is watching her.

Kyoko stiffens.

“It is good to see you awake.” The woman’s voice is smooth, level. She relaxes slightly, letting her arms drop to her sides, but the intensity in her gaze doesn’t lessen.

Kyoko wets her lips. “Who—” Her voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper. She swallows, tries again. “Who are you?”

A pause.

Then: “Hibari Reika.”

The name means nothing to her.

Kyoko’s pulse quickens.

She doesn’t know this woman. She doesn’t know this place.

She remembers—

The crash. The screech of metal. The sharp, stomach-twisting moment of impact—pain flashing white-hot before everything went dark.

She remembers dying .

And yet, she’s here. Alive.

She swallows against the tightness in her throat. If she survived, then—

Her breath catches. “Where is Ryohei?”

Reika doesn’t react immediately. Her gaze remains unreadable, weighing Kyoko like a set of scales.

“He’s alive,” she says at last. “He is recovering a few rooms down the hall.”

Relief slams into Kyoko so fast and hard she almost feels dizzy with it. But before she can process the weight lifting from her chest, Reika continues.

“He was injured. He’s stable now.”

Stable.

Kyoko latches onto the word. Wasn’t always stable, then?

The relief dims, leaving behind something heavier.

“I want to see him,” she says, quieter this time, but no less firm.

Reika tilts her head slightly. “No.”

Kyoko stiffens.

“No?”

Reika’s expression doesn’t shift. “Not yet.”

A spark of irritation flares in Kyoko’s chest, pushing past the exhaustion, past the lingering echoes of too much, too fast .

“What do you mean, not yet ?”

She’s spent a lifetime fighting against barriers, against people who decided what was best for her without ever asking what she wanted. Dumbledore, the Ministry, the Order—everyone had pulled her in different directions, demanded her compliance while keeping her in the dark.

She’s so tired of it.

Reika doesn’t waver.

“You need to recover first.”

Kyoko grits her teeth. She’s fine.

(Except she isn’t, not really. But if Ryohei is hurt, then that’s more important.)

“I need to see my brother,” she insists.

Reika remains unimpressed. “And you will. When the time is right.”

The certainty in her voice makes something cold slither down Kyoko’s spine.

Who is this woman?

And why does she have the power to decide anything about her life?

Hibari-san doesn’t flinch. “I need to speak to you. Explain what is going on, before you see him.”

“That’s not your choice to make!”

“Actually,” Reika says coolly, “it is.”

Frustration coils in Kyoko’s chest, hot and tight. Confusion, exhaustion, everything tangles together into a storm she has no control over, and she can feel it pulling at the edges of her already fragile calm.

“How?” she demands. “How is that your decision to make?”

Reika regards her, impassive. “I have been made your brother’s secondary guardian years ago. It is true that until recently, I had no say over your life, but the crash and what happend during it changed that.”

Kyoko stares at her. What?

Secondary guardian?

Her brain latches onto the words, trying to make sense of them. Had her parents ever mentioned anything like that? She doesn’t think so. She’d always assumed her brother and herself had no guardians beyond their parents, that if anything happened, the responsibility would fall to their relatives. Not some stranger.

“Why?” she asks, voice sharper than she means.

Reika exhales, stepping back to grab a chair. She sits with effortless grace, but Kyoko catches it—that flicker of exhaustion in the way her shoulders relax, the almost imperceptible breath she takes before continuing.

“Your brother has always had a certain energy for life. Haven’t you noticed? It is more than just a quirk he has. It is a genuine power. He knows it. Your parents knew it…”

The words stab deep, twisting.

Her parents.

They were gone. 

The reminder shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Their relationship had always been… distant , especially in the later years. They were never cruel, never unkind, but there had always been a gap, a divide she had never been able to cross. She had thought, maybe, it was just who they were—loving in their own way but detached, busy with work, letting Ryohei take up all the space and noise in the family while she remained in the background.

But now—

They knew.

They knew something important, something huge about Ryohei, and they had chosen not to tell her.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, not really. But it is.

It hurts .

Even knowing they’re gone, even knowing there’s no way to confront them, the knowledge settles in her chest like a weight.

She had spent a lifetime—another lifetime—fighting for answers, fighting for people to tell her the truth instead of keeping her in the dark for her supposed safety. And now, here she is again.

Hibari-san doesn’t stop.

“Your parents and brother chose not to tell you about it, and until now, I had no reason to contest that decision. It was theirs to make. However, when your life was in danger, you got blessed with the same type of power as your brother. I, myself, am the custodian of this Heavenly Territory, and everyone who lives within its borders who have Flames comes under my purview.”

Flames?

Heavenly territory?

“So,” Reika continues smoothly, “while your parents didn’t leave a will, and thus no instructions on who should take care of you, you now fall under my responsibility. Same as your brother. So, yes, I am now your legal guardian. And I will explain what is going on.”

Kyoko barely hears the last part.

Because—

Powers?

Flames?

That doesn’t sound like magic. Not the magic she knew, the magic she had wielded as Harry Potter.

For one disorienting moment, her mind tries to make connections where none exist. Is this just the Japanese magical community using different terms? Did they call magic something else? Did they believe in a different magical structure entirely? It’s not unthinkable—why would the Japanese, or any other part of the world, adhere to the English magical community’s standards? Why would they swear by Merlin and Hogwarts and the Ministry? It had always been strange, hadn’t it? That wizarding history, as she had learned it, had been so utterly Eurocentric ?

But even as she tries to rationalize it, a deeper instinct tells her that’s not the case.

This is something else entirely .

Another world. Another system. Another reality where magic—if that’s even what this is—works under rules she doesn’t understand.

The thought leaves her reeling.

She died.

That’s a fact. She remembers it. The moment of impact, the bright green light, the darkness swallowing her whole, the train station, …

And yet, she’s here. Kyoko Sasagawa.

Not Harry Potter.

She swallows hard.

Hibari-san says nothing as Kyoko processes it all (or tries to), merely waiting, watching, patient in a way that tells Kyoko she’s done this before.

Kyoko closes her eyes briefly, trying to steady herself.

This is a lot. Too much.

But she’s always been good at surviving impossible things.

She just needs to figure out what surviving looks like this time . In this world.

"What powers?" Kyoko asks, wary.

“Hyper Dying Will Flames ,” Hibari-san explains evenly. “There are seven distinct Flames, each representing a different aspect of power. This is a rare kind of ability in the world.”

Kyoko grips the blanket between her fingers, mind racing. This really doesn’t sound like the magic she knew in her past life. Flames? Powers? Why had she never heard of this before? But then, if she was truly in an entirely different world, why would magic here follow the same rules? If she really had been reborn, would the magic she once knew even exist here? Do these powers replace the magic she once had?

A quiet sort of dread creeps in. She has always thought of magic as hers, even in death. It had defined her entire life before—her struggles, her triumphs, her very identity. To lose it, to have it replaced with something else entirely, makes her feel unmoored.

She swallows hard. “And nii-san and I… have both manifested Flames?”

“Everyone is born with flames. But only a select few ever manage to activate those flames. Your brother seems to have been using his Flame since birth. He’s always been using it without realizing it. Those with the Sun Flame have a natural talent for growth—both in healing and in personal strength. His seemingly unlimited energy is the gift of his Flame.”

That… kind of explains a lot. Kyoko exhales shakily. So that’s why he’s always been like that? Why nothing ever seemed to slow him down? It’s so strange, learning this about him after all these years. How had she never noticed? How had she never even guessed?

And why had her parents and her brother thought it necessary to keep this from her? Had they assumed she wouldn’t ever use her Flame? Or was it something else? Something more deliberate?

Hibari-san watches her carefully before continuing, “I will explain more about the different Flames later. It would be too confusing right now. What you need to know is that you are a Sky, one of the rarest Flames. ”

Kyoko’s breath catches. Rare? Why?

“More importantly,” Hibari-san goes on, “you are vulnerable. The Sky Flame depends on its bonds with other Flame users.”

Something uneasy curls in Kyoko’s stomach. Depend? On others? The word alone makes her skin crawl. Hadn’t she already spent an entire lifetime depending on people who failed her when she needed them most? The Dursleys, Dumbledore, even her friends—how many times had she been left to fend for herself? She had learned, painfully, that reliance was a weakness. A risk.

And now she’s being told that she has no choice but to depend on others?

She forces herself to focus, grasping for some kind of logic amidst the chaos of new information. “And what’s stopping someone from taking advantage of that?” she asks warily.

Hibari-san grins, pleased with her question. “Good question. Good manners, mostly. Those raised within this system are taught proper etiquette. Most wouldn’t attempt to form a bond while you’re in this vulnerable state—without any guardians, protectors, and unaware of your own power. But vultures exist everywhere.”

Kyoko’s fingers twitch against the sheets. That doesn’t sound reassuring at all.

“That is why I will be here most of the time,” Hibari-san continues. “I will be in the room while you interact with others. This is a special ward for Flame users in Namimori Hospital. Your Flame is still new. If left unchecked, it will reach for others. It will seek bonds, whether you intend it or not. That is why you are being confined here, and why even your brother is being kept away.”

Kyoko’s breath hitches. “What do you mean, ‘seek bonds’?”

Hibari-san’s gaze remains steady. “The Sky Flame is drawn to other Flames. And it also works the other way around. Some people will be more compatible with you than others. Your Flame itself can be picky as well. But such bonds can also be forced. Or manipulated. You are vulnerable right now, and while I am not worried about the staff in this hospital, there are those who would take advantage of that.”

A chill runs down Kyoko’s spine. This actually sounds like a soul bond?

She’d heard of those in her past life, though they were rare—old magic, almost myth. In the wizarding world, bonds like that had existed between familiars and their masters, but she couldn’t recall any human-to-human ones. Could this be the same?

A sharp pang of loss pierces through her. When she thinks of her own once-familiar. Hedwig had been bound to her, in a way. A part of her life, of her magic.

But this? This sounds like something else entirely.

“You mean people would—force a bond with me?” she asks, voice quieter than she’d like.

“They could.”

The weight of those two words settles over her like a stone.

Kyoko’s hands clench into fists, knuckles white against the sheets. Again. Again, she’s left vulnerable to forces she doesn’t understand, vulnerable to people who would take advantage of her ignorance.

Her stomach twists. She hates this. She hates feeling like a prey animal in a world she doesn’t fully understand.

“Which is why precautions have been made. Which is why you won’t be getting any visitors, including your brother. You need to learn to control your Flame,” Hibari-san says. “I will help you with this. Until then, you will remain here.”

Kyoko stares at her, hands trembling slightly.

This—this is too much. Flames? Powers? Guardians?

But the worst part?

Somewhere, deep inside, this doesn’t feel wrong.

It feels like something she should have known all along.

TBC.

Chapter Text

Kyoko barely registers the soft click of the door closing as Hibari-san leaves.

The woman had insisted she wouldn’t go far. She wouldn’t leave her completely alone but would wait just outside for her doctor. A quiet presence on the other side of the door.

The silence that follows is heavy, pressing against her like a weighted blanket. But she doesn’t mind. She’s glad for it—for the chance to be alone.

She needs the quiet. She needs time to think.

Letting out a slow breath, she sinks further into the hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. Everything is different now, and yet… it isn’t. Not really.

She’s alive. Again.

She had been Harry Potter once.

The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived.

And now, she is Sasagawa Kyoko.

The Not-So-Ordinary Schoolgirl. The Idol. The Quiet, Pretty One.

And somehow, that transition doesn’t feel wrong.

She had expected it to, at first. The obvious differences—the change in body, voice, the way the world perceives her. She had lived and died as a boy, and now she’s here, living as a girl. Yet, there is no discomfort, no sense of wrongness clawing at the edges of her mind.

She knows what dysphoria is. She’s heard the stories—people who struggle with their gender, who exist in bodies that feel like cages, who battle every day to be seen as they truly are.

But her? She feels… fine.

She doesn’t know if it’s because she never cared much about gender to begin with. Or if the sheer strangeness of reincarnation—of remembering a past life while still being wholly Kyoko—has simply overshadowed any crisis she might have had.

Or maybe… maybe it’s because Harry had always existed here, even when she didn’t remember being him. A part of her, buried beneath years of expectations and quiet instincts, had always been waiting for a chance to surface.

She is Kyoko, and she is Harry. 

She is both.

And that’s okay.

Her lips twitch into something like a smile—small, wry. Because, really, some things don’t change.

She’s popular. She’s pretty. People like her. But none of it was something she chose.

It had just happened.

She had smiled the way she had learned to as Kyoko—polite, soft, non-threatening—and people had fallen over themselves to befriend her. She had spoken gently, careful with her words, and suddenly, she was an idol among her peers. The quiet, elegant, admired one.

The typecast had been set before she even realized it.

The popular shy girl. The beautiful, untouchable one. The one everyone adored but never truly knew.

And wasn’t that just so familiar?

She had been the Boy Who Lived once. The Chosen One. The Hero. A role forced upon her by fate, by expectations settling over her shoulders like an unshakable weight. 

Now, she is Kyoko, the Beautiful and Sweet, the school idol admired from a distance but never truly understood.

Different titles. Same story.

She has always been playing a role in the eyes of others. The only thing that has changed is the stage.

But here—unlike before—she had never needed to fight.

No Dark Lords. No prophecies. No war.

Just school and friendships, tea parties and group outings, volleyball practice and exams. 

Normal.

Or it was supposed to be. 

Because now… now she isn’t so sure.

Flames.

It’s power—but not hers. At least, it doesn’t feel like it just yet. Not the kind she knows. This is something different, something new, and she doesn’t know where she fits into it yet. She doesn’t know if she wants to fit into it at all.

The thought of being dependent on others, of being forced to seek out a bond, unsettles her.

The idea might be romantic in theory, and a part of her longs for that connection. 

But the Harry part of her—the pragmatic survivor—knows better. 

How much choice will she really have? Even if no one forces her, will people like Hibari-san gently (or not so gently?) steer her toward someone they deem suitable? How much of this decision will be hers?

Her gaze drifts to the door Hibari left through. A barrier between her and the world waiting beyond it.

She is Sasagawa Kyoko. 

And that means something here.

She just has to figure out what.

And if this world wants to cast her in another role?

Well.

She’ll decide for herself what it means this time.

She is done being what others want her to be.

A soft knock at the door pulls Kyoko from her thoughts. It swings open without waiting for an answer, and Hibari-san steps in first, followed by an older man in a white coat and a younger nurse pushing a cart of medical equipment.

Kyoko shifts against the pillows, sitting up a little straighter. 

She isn’t nervous, exactly, but there’s something about being examined—being looked at—that makes her uneasy. Maybe it’s the leftover instincts from a life where injuries had been something to hide, where doctors came with expectations, where showing weakness had meant letting someone else have power over her.

But this isn’t then. She reminds herself of that. This is different.

The doctor offers her a polite smile. “Sasagawa-san, good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Kyoko answers automatically, and then, because she knows that’s not really an answer, she adds, “A little tired. My head doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

“Good, good.” The doctor nods, flipping through a clipboard. “You took quite the hit. Light concussion, some bruising, but nothing serious. Your body seems to be healing well. Faster than expected, actually.” He pauses, eyes flicking toward Hibari-san, then back to Kyoko. “That’s a good sign.”

Kyoko isn’t sure what to say to that, so she just nods.

The nurse steps forward with a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope. “I’ll just be taking your vitals, Sasagawa-san,” she says kindly.

Kyoko nods again and holds out her arm, letting the nurse work. It’s routine, efficient, nothing intrusive—but she still notices how Hibari-san shifts slightly, hovering just within reach. Watching.

The tension in the air is subtle but unmistakable. Hibari-san’s gaze tracks every movement the nurse makes, sharp and unwavering. Not hostile, exactly, but protective. Guarded.

It’s weird .

Not bad, just… unfamiliar.

No one has ever done this for her before. Not in this life. Not in the last one.

In both her lives, people had expected things from her. Had looked to her for strength, for guidance, for something they needed. But this? Someone keeping their word, staying by her side, watching to make sure she isn’t being mistreated?

It leaves her feeling warm , in a way she doesn’t know how to process.

But it also makes her uncomfortable.

Because she doesn’t know what to do with it.

She shouldn’t need someone looking out for her. She’s used to handling things on her own. And yet… a small, uncertain part of her doesn’t hate it.

She risks a glance at Hibari-san. The woman’s arms are crossed, expression unreadable, but the tension in her stance is clear.

Kyoko swallows and looks away.

She doesn’t know what to make of this yet. Of Hibari-san’s presence, of the quiet promise in her actions. Of the fact that, for the first time in both her lives, someone is standing in her corner without expecting her to be something in return.

She isn’t sure how to feel about that.

The doctor finishes checking his notes, then looks between Kyoko and Hibari-san with a thoughtful expression.

The doctor finishes checking his notes, then looks between Kyoko and Hibari-san with a thoughtful expression.

"As I mentioned, Sasagawa-san, you’re healing well," he says, his tone professional but not unkind. "Given your progress, you should be able to leave as soon as tomorrow, provided you take it easy for the next few days. No strenuous activity, plenty of rest, and if you feel any dizziness or nausea, you should see a doctor immediately."

Kyoko nods. "I understand."

Hibari-san, however, narrows her eyes. "She’ll be monitored," she says, and it isn’t a question.

The doctor hesitates for a moment, then simply inclines his head. "Good." He flips to another page on his clipboard. "As for your brother—Sasagawa Ryohei-san—his injuries were more severe. He suffered multiple fractures, but the treatment has been going well. Thanks to the assistance of a Sun-Flame user doctor, he was able to channel his own Flames into his recovery, significantly speeding up the healing process."

Kyoko feels something unclench in her chest when she hears that. She hadn't let herself think too much about Ryohei—not while she was still sorting through her own thoughts—but knowing he’s awake and healing makes it easier to breathe.

"When will he be released?" she asks.

The doctor offers a small, almost amused smile. "At the same time as you, actually. Given his natural resilience and the support of Sun Flames, his condition has improved far beyond what we initially expected. He still needs to take it easy for a few days, but I doubt he’ll listen."

Kyoko exhales, something like a laugh slipping out. That sounds exactly like her brother.

"That’s… a relief," she says softly.

The doctor nods. "The discharge papers will be ready by tomorrow. In the meantime, let us know if you experience any lingering symptoms."

That’s not too bad. Ryohei is tough. He’s always been the type to bounce back, no matter what life throws at him. And this time, at least, he doesn’t have to do it alone.

"He’s awake now?" she asks, just to be sure.

The doctor nods. "Yes. He was asking about you earlier."

Kyoko exhales, shoulders sagging slightly in relief.

She wants to see him. Wants to make sure with her own eyes that he’s okay. But at the same time… she isn’t sure she’s ready for that conversation yet.

Would he notice the way she’s changed? Would he look at her and see someone different?

Would he know that she’s not the same Kyoko he’s grown up with?

She shoves the thought away before it can settle too deeply.

"Can I visit him?" she asks instead.

"If you’re feeling up to it," the doctor says. "Though I’d suggest waiting a little longer. He needs his rest, and so do you."

Kyoko nods. That’s fair.

The doctor glances at Hibari-san, as if weighing something in his mind. "And you, Hibari-san?"

Hibari-san tilts her head slightly, gaze cool. "What about me?"

"You should rest as well," he says. "You’ve been here nearly as long as the Sasagawa siblings, and exhaustion does no one any favors."

For a long moment, Hibari-san just stares at him. Then, with all the weight of someone unimpressed by the suggestion, she simply replies, "I’ll be fine."

The doctor sighs but doesn’t push further. Instead, he scribbles a few more notes, then steps back. "I’ll check in again before your discharge tomorrow. In the meantime, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for a nurse."

Kyoko murmurs a quiet "Thank you," and the doctor gives her a small nod before turning to leave. The nurse finishes gathering her supplies, sends Kyoko a warm smile, and follows him out.

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving Kyoko alone with Hibari-san once more.

The silence stretches. Not heavy like before, but something else .

Hibari-san is still standing, arms crossed, eyes sharp as she watches her.

Kyoko shifts under the scrutiny. "You don’t have to stay here, you know," she says after a moment. "I’ll be fine."

Hibari-san’s expression doesn’t change. "That’s not your decision."

Kyoko blinks. "What?"

"You’re injured," Hibari-san says simply. "And as long as you’re in my territory, I’ll ensure your safety., little Sky."

That… is not exactly the answer Kyoko expected.

She doesn’t know what to say to that.

She should argue—should insist that she doesn’t need a babysitter, that she can take care of herself—but something in Hibari-san’s tone makes her hesitate.

She watches the woman for a moment longer, taking in the way she stands—steady, unwavering, completely certain in her presence here.

Kyoko exhales slowly.

"Alright," she says at last. "I won’t argue."

She doesn’t know what it means yet—why Hibari-san is this insistent—but for now, she’s too tired to push the issue.

And, if she’s being honest with herself…

Having someone here, someone who stays —

It doesn’t feel so bad.

TBC.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filters through the hospital window, casting soft, golden light over the room. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, but it’s muted now, overshadowed by something warmer—something lighter.

Freedom.

Kyoko shifts slightly, rolling her shoulders as she sits on the edge of the hospital bed. The past day has passed in a blur of rest, routine checkups, and the quiet hum of medical machines, but now, finally, she and Ryohei are being discharged.

The door of her room swings open, and there he is.

Her brother.

"KYOKO!"

She barely has a second to react before he engulfs her in a crushing hug, arms tight and solid around her. The force of it almost knocks her off the bed, but it isn’t just the strength of it—Ryohei has never been anything but enthusiastic—it’s the sheer presence of him.

He is here. He is alive.

And for the first time since the accident, she feels something.

A warmth, flickering and restless, coils through her chest like a slow-burning ember, twisting and unfurling with tentative curiosity.

Her Flames?

The realization comes with sharp, startling clarity. They wake sluggishly, stretching outward like something half-asleep, instinctively reaching toward her brother’s presence.

She feels him—his Flames. Bright and warm, golden in a way that reminds her of the sun, eager and reaching back, and then—

Something resists.

It’s not rejection, not exactly, but there’s a discord, an undeniable mismatch that she feels in the way her Flames hesitate, faltering as they brush against his. It’s like two puzzle pieces that should fit, but don’t.

Her breath catches.

Because it is not just her own Flames. His seem reluctant as well. There is a moment of hesitation, almost as if both their Flames recognize the same thing at once.

And then they withdraw.

It all happens in less than a second.

She feels like crying.

She clings to him anyway, her arms tightening, even if she has no desire to force anything here. Because she instantly knows— he isn’t meant to be hers.

And that hurts in an entirely new way.

She could. Force it. If she really wanted to. But what good would that do? if she even figured out how to go about it. He is her brother. And whatever shenanigans their flames are up to will not change that. 

Her brother is warm, solid, and still the same Ryohei, but as she pulls back just enough to see his face, the reminder of what they lost strikes again.

The left side of his face bears a fresh scar, an angry line cutting from his cheekbone toward his temple. It's still healing, still red, standing stark against his tanned skin. She remembers the moment she saw him unconscious in the wreckage—the blood, the panic, the crushing realization that she could have lost him.

And now, even as she holds him, she knows some part of him will always bear the marks of that day.

Before she can think too much about it, before she can dwell on the painful, hollow space inside her, a hand grips Ryohei’s collar and yanks him back.

Hibari-san stands between them in an instant, gaze cool, unreadable, but the sharp press of her presence is unmistakable.

"Don’t cling," she says, voice even but firm. “And keep your Flames to yourself, like I taught you.”

Ryohei blinks, momentarily startled, before huffing out a sheepish laugh. "Haha, sorry! Just happy to see Kyoko’s okay!"

Kyoko exhales, unsettled, her arms still tingling where her brother had touched her.

That thing she had felt—her Flames, his, the way they didn’t quite connect—lingers like an unfinished thought at the edge of her mind.

She glances at Hibari-san. The woman’s expression hasn’t changed, but Kyoko gets the feeling that Hibari-san knows what just happened.

And just like that, her quiet return to normalcy feels far less simple than she’d hoped.

The tension lingers as they gather their things and step out of the hospital room, the sterile white walls giving way to the open corridor. The rhythmic click of Hibari-san’s heels echoes against the floor as she leads the way, her presence as commanding as ever. Ryohei walks beside Kyoko, his usual energy somewhat subdued, though his hand hovers near her back, ready to steady her if needed. 

The moment they push through the hospital’s sliding doors, a rush of fresh air greets them—cooler than she expected, carrying the distant scent of rain. 

The sunlight feels different out here, less gentle than the filtered glow through her window. Real. Kyoko grips the strap of her borrowed hospital bag tightly, inhaling deeply as they step toward the waiting car. Each step forward feels heavier than the last, but she keeps moving.

It should feel freeing, finally leaving after everything, but Kyoko only feels... adrift.

The black car waiting at the curb isn’t familiar. Neither is the man standing beside it, dressed in a suit, his posture rigid and impassive as he pulls open the door. The dark interior gapes wide, waiting. Hibari-san acknowledges the driver with a slight nod before gesturing for them to get in.

Ryohei steps forward without hesitation, stretching his arms with a loud yawn. "Man, it feels like it’s been forever since I've gone outside! Feels extreme!" He grins, but there’s something beneath it, a tightness in his expression that Kyoko can see now that she’s looking. He’s pushing forward, same as her.

She tries to follow him—but the moment she moves, her feet stop short.

The car gleams under the morning light, its sleek black frame reflecting back a distorted version of herself. The open door is a void, a dark mouth waiting to swallow her whole, and for a moment, all she can hear is the phantom screech of tires, the crunch of metal giving way, the sharp spray of shattered glass—

Her stomach lurches.

It’s fine. This is fine.

The logic does nothing to settle the static buzzing under her skin. She forces her muscles to move, to step forward, swallowing past the tight knot in her throat. No one says anything, no one notices her hesitation—not even her brother, and she’s grateful for it. The last thing she wants is for him or Hibari-san to see her like this.

She slides into the seat, stiff and tense. The door shuts behind her with a quiet thunk , cutting off the crisp hospital air and replacing it with something heavier, more confined.

The seatbelt clicks into place across her chest, snug and secure, but the pressure makes her breath hitch. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t quiet the coil of unease wound tight in her stomach.

Kyoko knows it’s irrational. This is just a car, just a ride, just another step forward—but the moment the tires begin to roll, her fingers curl tightly into the fabric of her skirt.

The last time she had been in a car, it had ended in metal twisting, glass shattering, pain and darkness swallowing everything whole.

For a split second, she swears she can still feel it—the lurch, the loss of control, the helpless weightlessness right before impact. Her lungs clench, her heart stutters—

No. Not again.

She forces a breath through her nose, slow and steady, grounding herself in the present. The hum of the engine. The faint vibration beneath her feet. The quiet warmth of the sun filtering through the glass.

Beside her, Ryohei shifts, stretching his arms. He doesn’t speak, but he’s fidgeting in his seat, restless energy simmering beneath the surface.

He’s pushing forward.

So is she.

Kyoko inhales again, pressing her hands flat against her thighs to keep them from shaking. The car moves smoothly, nothing like before, nothing dangerous.

It’s fine. She’s fine.

The hospital disappears behind them, swallowed by distance, and she keeps her gaze fixed on the window, watching the world pass by in silence.

The car starts smoothly, pulling away from the hospital, and Kyoko watches as the building fades into the distance.

It’s quiet, aside from the hum of the engine.

Then Hibari-san speaks.

"We’ll stop at your old house first, so you both can pack some things to survive the first few days."

Kyoko turns toward her. " Pack? "

"You’ll be staying at my house," she says. " For now. " Her tone leaves little room for argument. "We’ll return later for the rest of your things, but bring what you need for the next few days."

The words settle over her like a weight, pressing against the edges of something she hasn’t let herself think too much about.

She won’t be going... home?

Somehow, she hadn’t realized she’d have to leave her childhood home behind.

Ryohei, predictably, takes it in stride. "Got it! Gotta get my boxing gear!"

Kyoko doesn’t respond, just turns to stare out the window.

When they arrive at the Sasagawa house, it feels… different.

The air is still. Too still.

The house stands exactly as they left it—neat, familiar, unchanging—but the quiet isn’t the same. It’s not peaceful. It’s empty.

She hesitates for a second before stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

The scent hits her first—clean, faintly citrus, comforting in a way that makes her chest ache. It smells like home. Like all the mornings spent in this kitchen, all the times she and Ryohei came home to the scent of their mother’s cooking, their father’s laughter filling the space.

Like a life that no longer fits the same way it used to.

Her steps feel heavier as she moves toward her room. It looks untouched, just as she left it, but that only makes it worse.

She walks in and lets muscle memory take over—reaching for a bag, moving on autopilot. Clothes. Toiletries. The essentials.

Her hands work, but her mind drifts.

What happened to the bag she had packed what feels like hours ago for their trip to Okinawa? The one she had carefully folded her favorite outfits into, excited for a trip that would never happen?

Then she sees it.

The photo frame on her desk.

She freezes.

The last picture the four of them ever took together. She, Ryohei, and their parents, smiling at the camera, arms slung over each other in a messy, warm embrace. It was from a few years ago, but she remembers thinking, We’ll take a new one soon.

She had been looking forward to it.

A new picture. A new memory.

In Okinawa.

That will never happen now.

Her throat tightens, breath catching painfully as the realization crashes down—cold, sharp, suffocating in its finality.

Her parents are gone.

Her home isn’t hers anymore.

She isn’t going back to the life she had.

Instead, she’ll be leaving with strangers.

The bag slips from her fingers, landing softly on the bed. The sound barely registers.

Slowly, she reaches for the frame, lifting it with trembling hands. Her thumb brushes over the glass, tracing the edges of her parents’ smiles, as if she could hold onto them a little longer, as if she could bring them with her.

This is all she has left.

Kyoko clenches her jaw, blinking rapidly, forcing the burning behind her eyes back.

There’s no time to break down now.

With stiff, mechanical movements, she tucks the photo frame carefully into her bag, wedging it between layers of folded clothes. She can’t handle going through their things. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.

But she refuses to leave this behind.

Her hands move faster after that. Socks. Toiletries. A few more shirts.

She doesn’t think, just packs.

The bag isn’t even half full when she yanks the zipper closed and slings it over her shoulder. She doesn’t care. It’s enough.

She just needs to leave.

The walls feel like they’re pressing in on her, memories lurking in every shadow, clinging to every object. The weight of them builds, suffocating, unbearable.

She can’t do this.

She can’t stay here.

Not even for another second.

Kyoko bolts from the room.

Her feet barely make a sound as she hurries down the hall, past the framed photos lining the walls—smiling faces, frozen in time, moments that feel like they belong to another life.

She doesn’t look at them.

She doesn’t look at the kitchen, where her mother used to hum under her breath while she cooked, where the scent of warm miso soup used to linger.

She doesn’t look at the living room, where her father used to nap on the couch after work, head tilted back, arms crossed, snoring lightly as the TV played in the background.

She doesn’t stop.

By the time she reaches the front door, her breath is coming too fast, too shallow, her chest tight and aching.

She pushes it open and stumbles outside, gulping in fresh air.

It’s not enough.

The house is still behind her, too close, too much , and she needs more distance, needs to go .

Ryohei is standing outside, waiting, but she barely registers him.

She should say something.

But she can’t .

Not now.

Her legs carry her forward automatically, straight to the car.

The suited man from earlier opens the door without a word, and she ducks inside, shoving her bag down at her feet.

A moment later, Hibari-san and Ryohei follow, but Kyoko doesn’t lift her head.

She doesn’t want to see if they noticed.

She presses her hands together in her lap, pressing hard, trying to still the tremble in her fingers.

She wants Hana.

More than anything, she wants to see her best friend, to feel that steady, familiar presence—the one person who knows her, who won’t expect her to be anything right now.

But she hesitates.

She doesn’t want to be a bother.

Not to Hana, who has her own life, her own family, her own hopefully less-disastrous holiday.

Not to Hibari-san, who already has to deal with them.

So she keeps quiet, staring at the floor as the car starts moving again.

The drive is silent.

The town slips away behind them, buildings thinning out, swallowed by rolling hills and dense trees. The further they go, the more distant everything feels—her house, her old life, the version of herself that existed only hours ago.

When the car finally pulls through a set of heavy wooden gates, Kyoko lifts her head—and blinks in surprise.

This isn’t a house.

It’s a compound.

Traditional Japanese architecture stretches before her—low, sloping rooftops, dark wooden beams, carefully raked gravel paths winding between elegant buildings. There’s a koi pond to the side, the water so still it looks like glass. Tall trees line the perimeter, their thick canopies making the entire place feel removed from the rest of the world. Secluded. Untouched.

It’s beautiful .

And completely foreign .

Kyoko grips the strap of her bag as the car rolls to a stop.

This… is her new home?

It doesn’t feel like one.

It feels like a ryokan—a place you pass through, or go to relax for a selfcare weekend, not a place you live in.

Hibari-san steps out of the car first, and Kyoko and Ryohei follow. The gravel path crunches beneath their feet as they make their way toward the main house, its wooden panels and sliding doors bathed in the warm afternoon light. The air smells crisp, touched with the faint scent of pine and something floral she can’t quite place.

The moment they step inside, the atmosphere shifts. It’s quieter here—still in a way that makes Kyoko feel like she has to hold her breath. The silence isn’t empty, but intentional, like the walls themselves demand respect. Even Ryohei, usually a burst of energy in any space, tempers his movements.

They leave their shoes at the entrance, the cool wooden floor smooth beneath Kyoko’s socked feet. Hibari-san moves with effortless grace, her steps light and practiced as she leads them down the hall. The house is expansive, with sliding shoji doors and soft pools of sunlight filtering through paper screens. The scent of fresh tatami lingers in the air, grounding and unfamiliar all at once.

When they reach the spacious living area, Kyoko spots him immediately.

A boy—around their age—lies sprawled across a futon, one arm slung over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. His dark hair is a disheveled mess against the pillow, and there’s something oddly peaceful about him, despite the tension lingering in his posture.

She recognizes him vaguely from school. Namimori High. Hibari Kyouya.

Hibari-san stops beside him and clears her throat.

“Kyouya.”

No response. A faint furrow of his brow, but otherwise, nothing.

She exhales sharply, crouching to tap his shoulder. “Wake up.”

A sharp inhale, and then steel-grey eyes blink open. For a second, his gaze is unfocused, lingering on his mother in groggy recognition—before it shifts to Kyoko and Ryohei.

Immediately, his expression darkens.

“...What are these herbivores doing here?” His voice is rough with sleep, edged with unimpressed disdain.

Kyoko stiffens, but Ryohei, completely unfazed, grins. “Yo! Good to see you, Hibari!” He claps a hand against his chest, beaming. “Didn’t know I’d be moving in with you, but it’s EXTREME—!”

“Shut up,” Hibari Kyouya mutters, sitting up with a scowl. He doesn’t even spare Ryohei a glance, just levels a glare at his mother like she’s personally responsible for ruining his day.

Hibari-san exhales, rubbing her temple with a patience that speaks of long experience. “Kyouya, behave,” she says, her voice edged with quiet exasperation. “I’ve already explained this.”

Kyoko isn’t sure how she manages it, but Hibari-san doesn’t linger on her son’s displeasure. Instead, she gestures for them to follow once more. “Come along. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Kyoko barely catches the way Kyouya scoffs as they leave him behind.

It’s… an awkward start, to say the least.

Hibari-san leads them deeper into the house, the hallway stretching quiet and endless before them. Finally, she stops before a sliding door and pushes it open. “This will be your room, Kyoko-san.”

Kyoko steps inside. The space is simple, but welcoming. A futon is already set up, its crisp sheets neatly folded. A small dresser sits against the wall, and a single window overlooks the garden, where delicate maple leaves flutter in the evening breeze. The wooden panels gleam under the soft glow of the overhead lantern, the air carrying the faint scent of cedar and polished floors.

“It’s not much,” Hibari-san says gently, “but you can make it your own.”

Kyoko barely manages a nod. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice quieter than she intends.

For a moment, Hibari-san hesitates, as if considering whether to say something more. But eventually, she steps back. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Dinner will be in a few hours.”

The door slides shut with a soft click.

And Kyoko is alone.

The stillness presses down on her.

She doesn’t realize how tightly she’s been gripping her bag until she lets it drop to the floor, her arms numb from the tension.

Her gaze lands on the small framed photo peeking out from between the folds of her clothes.

A choked breath escapes her.

The dam breaks.

Her knees give out, and she presses her face into her hands as the sobs finally spill free.

The grief. The exhaustion. The fear.

It crashes over her all at once, and for the first time since waking up in the hospital—Kyoko lets herself cry.

TBC.

Chapter Text

By the time dinner is ready, Kyoko has composed herself. Her eyes are still a little red, but she washes her face and smooths down her clothes before stepping out of her room.

Ryohei is already waiting in the hallway when she emerges, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Kyoko! You ready? Smells EXTREMELY good in there!”

She forces a small smile. “Yeah.”

Together, they follow the scent of miso and grilled fish to the dining area. The room is simple but elegant—dark wooden floors, a low table set with neatly arranged dishes, and soft lighting that casts a warm glow over everything. A tokonoma alcove in the corner holds a hanging scroll, its calligraphy precise and graceful, with a small vase of seasonal flowers placed below it.

Hibari-san is already seated, composed as ever. Across from her sits Hibari-kun, her son, his expression blank but his sharp gaze flicking toward them briefly before settling, disinterested, on his food.

Kyoko and Ryohei kneel properly on the zabuton cushions, settling in as the meal is served in courses. There’s a steaming pot of miso soup, grilled fish with crisped skin, simmered vegetables in a light dashi broth, and neatly shaped bowls of rice. Small side dishes—pickled daikon, tamagoyaki, and a delicate serving of kinpira gobo—are placed between them, alongside a teapot and cups.

“Thank you for the meal,” Hibari-san says.

Kyoko and Ryohei bow slightly. “Itadakimasu.”

Only then does Hibari-kun pick up his chopsticks, though his movements are impatient, like he’d rather be somewhere else.

Ryohei digs in with enthusiasm, practically humming at the taste. “This is AMAZING! I haven’t had a meal like this in forever!”

Hibari-kun exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “Have some dignity,” he mutters, sipping his tea.

Ryohei only laughs. “Oh, come on Hibari, loosen up a bit, will you?”

Hibari-san, graceful as ever, refills her teacup. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, Ryohei-san.” Then, she turns to Kyoko, her gaze assessing but not unkind. “And you, Kyoko-san?”

Kyoko swallows the bite of tamagoyaki she was chewing and nods. “It’s wonderful. Thank you for having us.”

Hibari-san inclines her head slightly, then sets her cup down with practiced precision.

“I should mention,” she says, as if the topic is a simple formality, “that I will begin your Flame training tomorrow, Kyoko-san.”

The words settle over the table like a stone hitting water.

Kyoko stiffens, but looks up hopefully. “I… really?”

She likes the idea of learning this world's magic. It feels strange, being this defenceless, when as Harry she had been… well.

Ryohei freezes mid-bite. Then, his expression darkens. “Wait—no way! Kyoko doesn’t need to learn about Flames!” He sets his chopsticks down with a thump. “She shouldn’t be involved in any of this!”

Hibari-san remains unmoved, merely raising an eyebrow at his outburst. “She has no choice anymore,” she says simply, taking another sip of tea. “She awakened her Flames, and had it been any other Flame type, she could have made the choice to not bother training them and she could have walked away. But as a Sky… Not training her will leave her vulnerable in a way none of us will like.”

Ryohei’s jaw tightens. “She doesn’t need that kind of strength! I’ll protect her!”

Kyoko stares at her brother, something tight curling in her chest. He means well, she knows that. He always has. Ryohei has been her shield, her biggest supporter, the person who would throw himself into danger for her without a second thought. His love is loud and overwhelming, but it’s real. It’s always been real.

But this? This is too much.

Fine the way she is? He’ll protect her? As if she’s fragile? As if she needs to be protected from something she doesn’t even understand?

As if she has no choice in her own life? As if he is the only one who can decide, who gets to decide to keep her ignorant and naive, and out of the way.

And she refuses. Maybe once, before knowing, she would have allowed him to gently guide her out of the way, but knowing of flames and remembering …. A life where Harry had been lied to for years “for his own good”, where he was a child thrust into a war despite the adults trying to do the same her brother is now trying…

Harry hadn't accepted it. had fought tooth and nail against it. and while different, she is still that same person.

She won’t stand for it now either. 

It makes her want to scream.

Hibari-kun, who had been eating in silence, finally looks up, idly rolling a piece of fish between his chopsticks. He eyes Kyoko, his gaze sharp in a way that makes her skin prickle.

Then he snorts. “She wouldn’t last a day.”

Kyoko’s grip tightens around her chopsticks.

He barely gives her another glance before dismissing her entirely, returning to his meal as if she isn’t worth the discussion. “A waste of time,” he mutters under his breath.

Something inside Kyoko bristles.

It’s irrational, but she suddenly remembers Harry—standing under the Sorting Hat, hearing it whisper Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness… no? 

And then, later, watching Draco Malfoy sneer at her and her friends, as if they were beneath him. She remembers all the sneers, others making decisions for her, as if she is a toddler that can’t be trusted to put on a shirt.

She remembers the way she used to hate that.

And she realises she still hates it.

And she hates the way Hibari Kyouya looks at her now—like she’s not even worth considering.

She’s not sure what she expected. Maybe curiosity, maybe doubt. But dismissal?

That stings.

She hates how her brother is acting as well, even if he is clearly acting out of love, but still… It’s suffocating. He means well, but he’s making decisions for her, deciding what she needs, what she’s capable of. Without her input. Without asking.

And now, Hibari Kyouya has decided she’s nothing. That she doesn’t even belong in this conversation.

Ryohei, oblivious to her brewing frustration, presses on. “She doesn’t need to learn Flames! What would she even use them for? There’s no reason for her to fight!”

Hibari-san sets her teacup down with a quiet clink. “Your sister can decide that for herself.”

Ryohei glares, his shoulders tense. “She doesn’t need to.” He repeats stubbornly.

Kyoko grips her chopsticks so tightly her knuckles ache.

“Enough.” Hibari-san’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade—not loud, not harsh, but utterly final. “You may argue all you like, Ryohei-san, but it will not change anything. Kyoko-san will begin training tomorrow. And if she does decide this isn’t something she needs, then she will get to make that choice herself , once she is informed enough to do so.”

Kyoko feels a wave of affection for the other woman, who has immediately stood up for her, making it clear that whatever happens next is entirely Kyoko’s choice. 

Ryohei’s jaw works, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. But Hibari-san’s word is law here, and he knows it.

He exhales sharply, muttering something under his breath, and stabs his chopsticks back into his rice.

Kyoko doesn’t say anything.

Her appetite is suddenly gone.

But even as she picks at her food, her mind whirls.

Tomorrow, she’ll start Flame training.

Tomorrow, she’ll start proving both these boys wrong.

Dinner ends in quiet tension, and Kyoko barely tastes the last few bites of her meal.

She murmurs her thanks when the dishes are cleared and bows politely before excusing herself.

Ryohei lingers behind, still bristling with frustration, but she can’t bring herself to stay and endure any more of his smothering protectiveness. Not tonight.

Once she’s alone, Kyoko takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

The Hibari estate is large—larger than she expected. The compound sprawls outward rather than upward, a traditional home with sliding doors and wooden engawa walkways that overlook a carefully maintained garden.

The air is crisp and cool as she steps outside into the garden, the scent of pine and freshly turned earth filling her lungs.

A small stone path winds through the garden, past another koi pond and a weathered wooden bench that looks inviting in the moonlight.

She lets her feet carry her forward, letting her thoughts unwind.

Her brother means well. She knows that. And a part of her—the part that remembers growing up as Kyoko Sasagawa, who adored her big brother, who looked up to his unshakable optimism—still wants to take comfort in the idea that he’ll always be there to protect her. But she isn’t just Kyoko Sasagawa.

She’s someone else, too.

She’s lived another life, fought battles far more dangerous than anything Ryohei could imagine. She’s stood against monsters, faced death, made impossible choices. Mostly alone, or with others her age. Back then, she had learned not to rely on older people. Especially adults. Because they had proven they wouldn’t put her first.

And maybe she doesn’t remember all of it clearly—not the way she used to—but she remembers enough. Enough to know that she doesn’t need someone to decide things for her.

Ryohei’s love is fierce, protective, and overwhelming. He wants to keep her safe, but in doing so, he’s treating her like she’s fragile, breakable.

She’s not.

She never has been, but especially not now.

And then there’s Hibari Kyouya.

She exhales sharply, stepping onto the small bridge arching over the koi pond. The water glimmers beneath her, reflecting the night sky.

Hibari-kun’s dismissal shouldn’t bother her.

She’s dealt with arrogance before—been underestimated, sneered at, adored for all the wrong reasons, pushed aside. But something about the way he had looked at her, barely even sparing her a second thought before deeming her unworthy, ignites a fire in her chest.

It’s irrational, maybe, but she hates it. She hates being dismissed.

Her grip tightens on the wooden railing.

Why does it get under her skin so much?

Maybe because it reminds her too much of her past life. The people who thought they knew better. The ones who made choices for her. The ones who tried to define who she was before she had the chance to decide for herself.

And maybe, deep down, a part of her is still fighting against that.

The night is quiet, save for the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees. She lets the cool air settle over her, breathing deeply, grounding herself.

But as she turns away from the water, her gaze drifting to the softly swaying trees, another ache stirs in her chest—one deeper than frustration, deeper than the irritation of being dismissed. A quieter, heavier sorrow.

Hana.

Hana is familiar, a piece of her old life, her life as Kyoko Sasagawa. But Kyoko isn’t just that person anymore. Not entirely. She has changed, if in subtle ways. How does she bridge that gap? How does she pretend she isn’t different, when everything inside her feels like it’s been fractured and remade into something new?

Will it even matter?

In some way, she now has the perfect argument for why she has changed in such a small amount of time. What with the crash and her parents dying…

And yet, it feels like a lie.

Yes, the accident took her family, her parents away from her—but it wasn’t the only thing that changed her. The truth of it sits heavy in her chest, unspoken and unexplainable. She’s changed because she remembers a life before this one.

She remembers dying, then. Because before she was Kyoko Sasagawa, she was someone else. Someone who fought and bled and lost. Someone who had lived and died to protect people who had been her family in ways that went beyond blood.

Kyoko swallows hard, blinking up at the sky. The stars are different here. Not unrecognizable, but wrong in a way that makes her stomach twist. When was the last time she really looked at the stars?

Ron. Hermione. Hogwarts. The Burrow. Grimmauld Place.

A hundred memories flicker through her mind—late-night talks in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione’s exasperated sighs as she forced him to study, Ron’s laughter as they sat by the fire, the warmth of Mrs. Weasley’s hugs, the quiet understanding in Remus’s eyes, the steady presence of the friends who had been with him through it all.

Do they know what happened to him? To Harry?

Did they bury him? Did they grieve?

Did they win?

Or did everything end so quickly that no one even had time to mourn before moving on?

The thought makes her chest ache, a hollow space opening up where something vital used to be. She has no way of knowing what happened after she died, no way of reaching across the divide between this life and the last. She wonders if it’s better that way—if holding onto those questions would only make the loss sharper, the loneliness worse.

But some losses never fade, no matter how much time passes. Her parents had died before she ever had the chance to know them, once, but she had spent his whole life missing them anyway. Now, she’s lost her friends, too, and her newest parents.

And just like before, she can only carry their memories forward with her.

Kyoko hugs herself, drawing in a slow, unsteady breath.

Magic feels so far away now, just a whisper in her bones, a ghost of something she once wielded as easily as breathing. The strange flames of this world—Dying Will Flames—are a mystery to her, even if she knows the barest basics. Sky Flames. Sun Flames. They burn differently than magic ever did, but they have an energy to them, something powerful and living.

But it’s not magic. It will never be magic.

For a moment, she lets herself miss it. The wand in her hand, the crackle of spells humming in the air, the way Hogwarts had felt like a home even in its darkest moments.

Then she exhales, steadying herself.

That life is gone, and she is here now.

She doesn’t know what kind of future she’s walking toward, but she will not let herself be weighed down by the past.

She exhales, watching the faint mist of her breath disappear into the night.

The night is quiet, save for the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees. She lets the cool air settle over her, breathing deeply, grounding herself.

She’s in a new world now. A new life.

Tomorrow, she’ll begin training. Tomorrow, she’ll take her first step into this new world of Flames and whatever it means for her.

Let Ryohei worry. Let Hibari-kun underestimate her. She’ll prove them both wrong.

She isn’t fragile. She isn’t weak.

And somehow, somehow, she will make this life her own.

She is Kyoko, and she’ll forge her own path, just like she always has.

TBC.

Chapter Text

The morning air is crisp and cool as Kyoko steps into the dining room, the scent of miso soup and freshly steamed rice curling in the air. The kitchen must be nearby, as there is no food present at the table. 

The Hibari estate is quiet this early—almost unnervingly so. It’s a stark contrast to the noisy, chaotic mornings she remembers from home, when her brother would be rushing out the door, still shoving food into his mouth, while their mother chided him with fond exasperation.

She has no clue where her brother or Hibari-kun are. 

Now, it’s just her and Hibari-san.

The woman sits at the low table with effortless poise, her yukata impeccably arranged, her dark hair swept up into a neat bun. She doesn’t look up immediately as Kyoko enters, instead pouring tea with a precision that speaks of careful discipline. The quiet is not uncomfortable, but it’s heavy with expectation.

Kyoko bows politely before taking her seat, murmuring a soft, “Good morning.”

Hibari-san hums in acknowledgment, passing her a cup of tea. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

 It’s only a partial lie. Kyoko had slept, but her dreams had been restless, fragments of half-remembered faces and fleeting voices pulling her between past and present. She focuses on the tea instead, taking a small sip. The warmth soothes her, grounding her in the moment.

“I trust you are prepared for today,” Hibari-san says, picking up her chopsticks with effortless grace. “Your lessons will begin as soon as you are done eating breakfast.”

Kyoko nods, though she isn’t entirely sure what ‘prepared’ should feel like. A part of her is eager—she’s always been quick to learn, and she’s never shied away from challenges. But another part of her is wary. She knows so little about Flames, about this new world she’s been thrust into.

Hibari-san studies her for a moment, as if reading the uncertainty in her posture. “There is no need for hesitation. The knowledge I will give you is for your own understanding, not for anyone else’s expectations. A Sky must know itself before it can guide others.”

Kyoko blinks. “Guide others?”

“A true Sky attracts. They do not simply burn—they pull others into their gravity.” Hibari-san’s tone is calm, but there is an underlying intensity to her words. “Whether you choose to accept that role is yours to decide. But knowledge is power, and I will ensure you have the tools you need to wield it.”

Kyoko glances down at her tea, the surface smooth and unbroken. She has spent so much time trying to find her footing, balancing between what she was and what she is now. But this… this is something entirely new. Something she doesn’t fully understand yet. And if she’s being honest with herself, that scares her.

She tightens her grip on the ceramic cup, then exhales slowly. “Then… I’ll do my best to learn.”

Hibari-san’s lips curve slightly—not quite a smile, but something close. Approval. “Good.”

As if having received a hidden signal, someone enters the room with a tray of food and starts placing several bowls on the table.

Before long, a breakfast feast is laid before her. The scent of miso soup and freshly steamed rice lingers in the air, mixing with the faint bitterness of tea.

Kyoko waits patiently until all the food is set down, her back straight, hands resting lightly in her lap.

The meal is simple yet carefully prepared—grilled fish, miso soup, tamagoyaki, and pickled vegetables. Kyoko picks up her chopsticks, following the quiet rhythm of the meal.

Hibari-san eats with refined efficiency, her movements elegant, unhurried. There is no rush, but there is purpose in every motion. It reminds Kyoko of another life, another world, where everything had its place, even at a breakfast table in a grand castle.

She swallows a mouthful of rice, the warmth grounding her. The meal is good—different from the ones she used to have, but comforting in its own way. It is a stark contrast to the rushed breakfasts she remembers from Hogwarts, where toast was often snatched between hurried conversations, and pumpkin juice was gulped down before racing off to class. Here, there is no rush, only quiet deliberation. It probably  helps that there is no school today, as there are still a few days of Golden week to enjoy.

It makes her feel both settled and oddly out of place at the same time.

“Your brother is training,” Hibari-san says, breaking the comfortable silence. “He left early.”

Kyoko nods, unsurprised. “That sounds like Onii-san.” 

He has always been an early riser, his energy boundless even at sunrise. She wonders briefly if he’s still frustrated about last night, but she pushes the thought aside, focusing instead on the present moment.

Hibari-san takes a sip of tea before speaking again. “Kyouya is elsewhere.”

Kyoko glances up at that. The way Hibari-san says it makes it clear there will be no further elaboration. Not that Kyoko expected one.

She nods and returns to her food, taking a bite of the tamagoyaki. The sweetness contrasts pleasantly with the saltiness of the grilled fish, and for a moment, she simply allows herself to enjoy the meal.

As they finish, Hibari-san sets her chopsticks down with a quiet clink against the ceramic dish. “Now, follow me. We will begin your lessons.”

Kyoko wipes her mouth with a napkin and places her own chopsticks down, before getting up. She follows Hibari-san out of the dining room and into a quiet study lined with bookshelves.

The room is impeccably arranged—minimalist but warm, with polished wood floors and a low table where a pot of tea already waits. The scent of black tea mingles with the faint, lingering traces of incense, a soothing contrast to the unease simmering in Kyoko’s chest.

Her training begins today, and with it, the first real steps into understanding what it means to be a Sky in this world.

She sits on the tatami floor by the low table where Hibari-san gestures for her to do so, folding her hands neatly in her lap. 

The older woman moves with an effortless grace, settling across from her with quiet dignity. There is an intensity to her, restrained but undeniable, like a storm contained within a glass. 

It reminds Kyoko, fleetingly, of the sharp and watchful presence of Professor McGonagall—strict, but not unkind. Hibari-san is a woman of precision, and it is clear that she does nothing without purpose.

“Tell me what you know about Flames,” Hibari-san says, pouring tea into two delicate cups. It is not an idle question.

Kyoko hesitates. “Not much,” she admits. “Just that I have them, and what you told me before.”

“And do you understand what that means?”

Kyoko opens her mouth—then closes it. Because the truth is, she doesn’t. Not fully.

Hibari-san studies her, then exhales softly, as if unsurprised. “Very well. Then we begin at the foundation.”

She lifts her teacup but does not drink. Instead, she turns it slightly in her hand, letting the light catch the porcelain. “A Flame is not just power. It is will. Your very being made manifest. To wield it is to understand yourself.” Her gaze sharpens. “Do you?”

Kyoko swallows, fingers tightening around the delicate ceramic of her teacup.

Does she understand herself?

The answer should be simple. She is Sasagawa Kyoko—daughter, classmate, friend. The girl who smiles easily, who is ‘nice to everyone.’ The girl who knows how to navigate social waters, who understands how to wield charm like a blade when necessary.

But she is also someone else.

There are memories that don’t belong to this life. A name that once carried the weight of destiny, a world that no longer exists except in fragments tucked away inside her. Magic, war, death, and sacrifice. The taste of victory laced with loss.

She is both. She is neither. 

She has no issue being both. But she is unsure how much of herself is Harry and how much is pre-accident Kyoko.

Her grip loosens slightly. What would Hibari-san say if she knew? If she understood that Kyoko’s struggle isn’t just about learning what it means to wield a Flame, but what it means to exist as two people forced into one?

She exhales slowly.

“I’m still figuring that out,” she admits at last, voice steady despite the turmoil beneath.

Hibari-san hums, neither pleased nor displeased. “Good,” she says simply, as if that answer is enough. “You are yuong. you have time yet tp figure out who you are. We will begin with a more structured understanding of Flames. You have already been introduced to the basics of Sky and Sun, but you need a foundation beyond just names. As a Sky, it is your duty to understand not only yourself but those around you. The more knowledge you have, the better you will be able to protect yourself and make decisions that are truly your own.”

There is something about the way she says it that makes Kyoko’s fingers tighten in her cup of tea. She knows that Hibari-san is not simply speaking of theoretical knowledge. She is speaking of power, of survival, of the choice that lies ahead of Kyoko whether she wants it or not.

Hibari-san takes a sip of her tea, cradling the teacup between slender fingers. “Flames are an extension of the self. They are not magic, though they may look it. They are will made manifest, a reflection of one’s nature, summoned in a person’s most dire need to survive. Determination. The will to live. To use them effectively, one must first understand them.”

Kyoko nods, absorbing each word carefully.

“There are seven primary types of Flames, though variations exist within those types.”

Hibari-san continues, raising a hand that is suddenly burning with bright red flames.

Kyoko watches with wide eyes, fascinated by the magical flames that don’t seem to hurt their owner. But as soon as Hibari-san takes er teacup in hand, it turns to dust before Kyoko’s eyes. 

“Storm Flames—my Flames—are Flames of disintegration. They are destruction given form, raw and relentless. An untrained Storm can be uncontrollable, but a refined Storm is precise. Focused. When tempered, Storm Flames can serve as a force of absolute destruction against enemies or as a tool of great precision.”

Kyoko listens intently, her mind working through the implications. Hibari-san is a Storm, and from what she has seen so far, that control and precision define her. It is hard to imagine this woman as anything but composed, but now she understands—Hibari-san is composed because she chooses to be. Because a Storm that rages unchecked is a danger to itself and everyone around it.

“The others?” Kyoko asks softly.

Hibari-san inclines her head, approving of the question. “Rain Flames carry the quality of tranquility. They soothe, slow, and wash away. A skilled Rain can weaken an opponent’s Flames, dull the force of an attack. Slow it down. They are often seen as calm, adaptable. Controlled.”

A pause, then she continues. “Mist Flames are Flames of construction, illusion, and deception. Mist users are not only masters of misdirection, but they can also craft realities that feel indistinguishable from the truth. Mists are difficult to read, even more difficult to control. They live in possibilities, in what could be rather than what is.”

Kyoko frowns slightly, absorbing that. It sounds unsettlingly like magic, like illusions born of wandwork and careful spells. She wonders, briefly, if she would have been a Mist had she not been a Sky. 

“Lightning,” Hibari-san says next, drawing her back. “It is the Flame of hardening. It is defensive and enduring, resilient by nature. A well-trained Lightning user is difficult to harm, difficult to bring down.”

That, too, makes sense. Kyoko wonders if she will meet one, if she will see firsthand what it means to be a Lightning.

“And finally, Cloud.” Hibari-san’s gaze sharpens just slightly. “Cloud Flames are the Flames of propagation. They are independent by nature, refusing to be contained, and they multiply with little effort. They are self-sufficient, often unyielding. A true Cloud chooses their own path, answers to no one.”

There is something unspoken in those words. Kyoko does not have to ask who the Cloud in this house is.

“You are a Sky—rare, but not unheard of. Skies possess the ability to harmonize with other Flames, to unify, to draw others into their orbit. It is both a gift and a responsibility.” Hibari-san’s dark eyes meet Kyoko’s, steady and unreadable. 

Kyoko swallows, but she does not look away. “What does that mean though? To harmonize?”

Hibari-san studies her for a moment before answering. “They draw others in and create order. That is their power. That is their role. Flame users seek, beyond all else, a connection with a worthy Sky. A home. For them a Sky is a place to belong, unconditionally. Someone who accepts them as they are.”

Kyoko’s fingers curl slightly against her knee. Harmonizing. It does not sound passive, but it does sound… reliant. Interwoven with others.

Her mind flickers back to Hogwarts, to her friends—to Ron’s steady presence, Hermione’s quick mind. To the way they had stood together, always. To the aching loneliness she has carried since waking up in this life, since losing that connection. She had always had people. Even when she was lost, even when things were dark, she had not been alone.

She swallows. “And if a Sky doesn’t want to harmonize?”

Hibari-san holds her gaze. “Then they learn to stand on their own. But a Sky is strongest with guardians at their back. WIth a bond of at least one other Flame type.”

“It is difficult to understand what kind of bond that is?” Kyoko admits. 

Hibari-san regards her with something close to patience, though Kyoko suspects it is not patience in the traditional sense, but rather the kind afforded to a student who is expected to grasp something fundamental in time.

"It is not an easy thing to explain," Hibari-san acknowledges, setting her tea down with quiet precision. "A Sky's bond with their guardians is instinctive. Natural. You will be drawn to them before you understand why. Before you recognize what it means."

Kyoko exhales, her grip tightening slightly on the teacup. Drawn to them.

Kyoko watches the surface of her tea as Hibari-san’s words settle in. A Sky’s bond with their Guardians is instinctive. Natural.

She can feel the truth of that, even if she doesn’t quite understand it yet. There is something in her that reacts, that pulls toward certain people before she even realizes it’s happening. Hibari-san’s presence is proof of that—Kyoko had sought her out, had felt something that told her she was safe here, even before she understood what it meant.

"You will be drawn to them before you recognize why," Hibari-san had said.

Kyoko swallows. "And if I don’t want to be someone’s home? If I don’t want people relying on me like that?"

It isn’t that she fears bonds. She has always valued them, always stood by the people she chose as hers. But this—this talk of drawing people in as if it is inevitable, of forming something unbreakable—it sounds heavier than friendship. Heavier than family. It sounds like fate. And fate has never been kind to her.

Hibari-san studies her, gaze sharp but unreadable. Then, with a quiet certainty, she says, "You already are, Kyoko-chan."

Kyoko stills.

"You did not choose to be born a Sky, but you are one," Hibari-san continues, sipping her tea. "And Skies do not walk alone for long. It is not in their nature."

Something in Kyoko tightens at that.

She doesn’t want to believe in inevitability. And yet—

"I don’t think I’ve ever been a home to anyone," she admits, voice quieter than before.

Hibari-san watches her, unreadable as always. "No?"

Kyoko almost laughs. It is not quite humor, but it is something close. "No," she says again, firmer. "I have people. Friends. Family. But I wasn’t—I wasn’t someone they sought just because of who I am ."

She had been a protector. A fighter. A stubborn fool who threw herself into the fire before anyone else could burn. But a home ? A place where people belonged ? She isn’t sure what that means.

Hibari-san tilts her head slightly. "Perhaps not in the way you think. But a Sky is not simply a shelter. They are a foundation. A center around which others gather, whether they intend to or not."

Kyoko frowns, her mind shifting through old memories, trying to feel the truth of those words. And maybe—maybe she does.

She remembers the way Hermione had clung to her friendship, how Ron had bristled at the idea of being left behind. How they had gravitated toward her, arguments and all, bound together by something more than just shared circumstances. She remembers Luna, so strange and steady, who had never asked to be part of anything but had become part of them all the same. Neville, who had stepped forward when she faltered, who had walked into battle beside her because she was there.

And here, now—Hana, sharp-eyed and loyal in her own way. Hibari-san herself, sitting across from her, treating her as someone who is meant to understand these things.

Her fingers curl against her knee. "...And if I walk away? If I refuse to be that?"

Hibari-san does not look away. "Then you will still be what you are. A Sky without bonds is not lesser, only unbalanced. Strength without support. Power without direction."

Kyoko exhales slowly. "It sounds lonely."

"It can be," Hibari-san acknowledges. Then, after a moment, she adds, "But it is still a choice. No one will force you to accept what you do not want."

That, at least, is a relief.

Kyoko looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers slightly as if she could grasp some of this understanding in a more tangible way. She does not know what to do with this knowledge yet, does not know what it means for her future. But she is starting to see the shape of it, the pull of something inevitable yet not quite inescapable.

A beat of silence. Then, Hibari-san takes a sip of her tea (in a new cup, as the previous one got destroyed earlier by her flames), as if to signify the lesson’s pause. “You will not be able to call upon your Flames immediately,” she says, setting the cup down. “It will take time. Effort. Training.”

Kyoko listens, absorbing the information, but a pit of unease settles in her stomach. She doesn’t like the idea of being dependent on others. She’s spent too much of her life learning to stand on her own, carving her own path even when the world tried to push her in another direction. The idea that, by her very nature, she would need to rely on others makes her bristle.

But… she knows she can’t do everything alone. Not anymore.

And if she is going to build bonds, she wants them to be her choice. She refuses to be forced into connections she doesn’t want. If she must gather people, then they will be people she chooses, not those chosen for her.

"Are there other Flame users in town? "Beside Nii-san and Hibari-kun?" she asks, glancing at Hibari-san. "Can I know who they are?"

Hibari-san considers her for a long moment before answering. "There are others. But knowing who they are is not the same as understanding them. That will come with time." She takes another sip of tea. "You will meet them soon enough. Some will seek you out, whether you want them to or not. Be prepared."

Kyoko exhales, before nodding slowly as her fingers play with the fabric of her sleeve.

Of course. She’s a Sky. She will attract people. But she will decide who she lets in.

the weight of the lesson settling over her. She does not have all the answers yet. But she has a path forward.

And for now, that is enough.

TBC.

Chapter Text

After her lesson, Hibari-san tells Kyoko to get some fresh air.

Kyoko nods and steps out, her thoughts still tangled in everything she has learned. The lesson has left her with much to consider, but more than anything, she feels restless. Her mind buzzes, her body thrums with excess energy. She needs a distraction, something to ground her.

The sharp sound of something cutting through the air catches her attention. A shift in the wind, a surge of something wild yet controlled. Then comes the unmistakable clash of bodies in motion, the rhythmic thud of feet against the earth.

A fight.

Curiosity sparks, and she follows the sounds toward the open training grounds on the estate. As she rounds the corner, she stops short, breath hitching at the sight before her.

Nii-san and Hibari Kyoya are sparring.

It isn’t just a fight—it’s a display of something raw, untamed, yet mesmerizing.

Her brother, clad in his usual tank top and athletic shorts, radiates power and heat. Sun Flames pulse around his fists like the heartbeat of the world itself, flashing golden and bright, illuminating each strike he throws. His movements are fierce, relentless—a boxer through and through. He is a wildfire, burning with uncontained energy, his strength pushing forward with unwavering momentum.

And Hibari Kyoya—

He is formidable to watch. A silent force that refuses to be swept away. His Flames crackle around him in shifting waves of violet, pulsing with a life of their own, almost sentient.

And his smile is terrifying.

Unlike Ryohei’s straightforward aggression, Hibari-kun moves with precise calculation, each strike measured, each step deliberate. He barely acknowledges the strain of the fight, his expression unreadable, but there is something dangerous in the way he holds himself—something unyielding. And very aggressive.

Kyoko barely breathes as she watches them clash—her brother’s fiery assault met by Hibari’s cold efficiency. 

It is breathtaking. 

A dance of destruction and grace, of force meeting immovable resistance.

She has never seen the beauty in fighting before.

As Kyoko Sasagawa, she has never needed to. Fighting was something she watched from the sidelines, something that worried her when it came to her brother’s endless desire to challenge delinquents and thugs. Even now, a part of her feels the old instinct to scold him, to tell him to be careful, to remind him that he’s going to get himself hurt.

But she isn’t just Kyoko Sasagawa.

As Harry, fighting had been a necessity. Not a choice. Never something sought out. It had been life or death, battle after battle, training not for skill but for survival. She had been good at it, in the way someone becomes good at breathing when forced underwater. But she had never found joy in it, only the grim understanding that she had no other option.

Now, though—

She understands. Just a little.

There is a beauty to the way they move, the way their Flames intertwine, clashing and surging like elements battling for dominance. Ryohei’s relentless drive. Hibari’s immovable strength. The way their abilities shape the fight, the way their movements speak without words.

She feels something shift inside her, an old instinct resurfacing. Magic has always been her weapon, her means of control, but Flames are different. Flames are part of a person, drawn from their very soul, and she is still learning what that means for her.

Could she fight like that?

Would she want to?

The idea doesn’t repel her the way it once might have. Instead, she feels a flicker of something new. Not quite excitement, not quite fear. Something in between.

She lingers in the shadows, watching as the fight continues, feeling the weight of the choice before her.

Does she want this?

Or is it simply another thing she has no choice but to accept?

Kyoko barely notices when the fight ends, her gaze still locked on the space where her brother and Hibari Kyoya had moved like a violent storm given human form. Her breath remains steady, but her heart pounds against her ribs.

Watching them, watching the way their Flames had surged and clashed, it had been something almost… entrancing.

“You like what you see.”

Kyoko flinches at the smooth, knowing voice, turning her head to find Hibari-san standing just a step behind her. There is something almost amused in the older woman’s dark eyes, though it is tempered by the ever-present elegance she carries herself with.

Kyoko’s lips part, an automatic denial rising to the tip of her tongue, but she stops herself.

Did she like it?

No, not in the way some people like violence, the way some seek it out. But there is something mesmerizing in the way it all fits together—the rhythm, the flow. For the first time, she sees something beyond danger or necessity in combat.

She exhales, turning to meet Hibari-san’s gaze. “I don’t know if I like it, but I—” she hesitates, searching for the right words. “I think I want to understand it.”

A slow nod. “Good.” Hibari-san tilts her head slightly, observing her. “Then perhaps it is time we started your training in earnest.”

Kyoko straightens. “You mean—?”

“You saw the way their Flames moved, the way their fighting was enhanced by them.” There is a flicker of something in the older woman’s eyes—approval, perhaps. “You are not ready for that. Not yet. But we will begin, if you want, to get you used to summoning your own Flames.”

Kyoko nods immediately, without hesitation.

Hibari-san chuckles, a quiet sound of amusement. “Eager, I see.”

Kyoko presses her lips together but doesn’t take it back. 

She is eager. More than she expected.

She is still hesitant to accept the way her Flames tie her to others, reluctant to rely on something that forces bonds upon her. She has spent two lives being shaped by others’ choices, by others’ expectations.

Hibari-san watches her for a moment, dark eyes sharp and knowing, before she turns. “Come,” she says, leading Kyoko away from the courtyard and into the house. “If we are to begin, I want to see where you stand first.”

Kyoko follows without hesitation, her mind still half caught on what she has just seen. 

Nii-san’s Sun Flames had burned hot and bright, pulsing with warmth even as they fueled his strikes. 

Hibari Kyoya’s Cloud Flames, by contrast, had been cool in color but no less overwhelming, his very presence growing more oppressive with every movement, as if daring the world to try and contain him.

And then there is her.

A Sky.

She still doesn’t know what that means for her.

Hibari-san leads her to one of the more open rooms in the house—a space with polished wooden floors and wide, open windows letting in the midday sun. It feels… peaceful.

Kyoko settles onto the floor, tucking her legs beneath her. The tatami mat is firm beneath her, grounding her as she tries to still her thoughts. Across from her, Hibari-san sits with effortless grace, her sharp eyes studying Kyoko like a puzzle she’s already half-solved.

“Flames are as much about will as they are about energy,” Hibari-san says. “You may have already felt them stir without realizing it—when you were emotional, when your instincts demanded you act. Think back. Have you?”

Kyoko hesitates, then nods. “Yes, I think so.”

Hibari-san’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Good. Meditation will help to get started.” She gestures to the room around them. “This space is meant to be undisturbed. Focus inward, not outward. Close your eyes and listen—to your breath, your heartbeat, the natural rhythm of your body. Flames are a part of you. They are not separate energy to be forced into action; they are as intrinsic as breathing. You must learn to recognize them before you can control them.”

Kyoko exhales and lets her eyes drift shut. She listens. Breath in, breath out. The faint rustle of leaves outside, the warmth of sunlight brushing her skin. She reaches inward, past her heartbeat, past the quiet hum of her breathing, searching for something more. It’s there—she can feel it, a flicker just beyond her grasp, golden-orange warmth coiling deep in her core.

Sky Flames.

She focuses on them, trying to pull them forward, but they slip away like mist through her fingers. Every time she thinks she has them, they scatter, refusing to be held. Frustration bubbles in her chest, but she tamps it down. No. She knows this feeling. She remembers it, from another life—Harry had struggled too, with wild, unshaped magic before he learned to direct it. The trick had been—

Not to force, but to listen.

She lets go. Instead of chasing the flames, she waits for them to come to her.

The warmth pools again, drawn by her awareness. But this time, she senses something else alongside it, twining through the edges of her Sky Flames. It’s not the same golden heat. It’s denser, heavier, a deep, steady presence.

Not Sky.

The realization comes in a flash of recognition. She knows these Flames—she’s felt them before, only moments ago. Hibari Kyoya’s Flames.

Cloud.

Her breath catches, eyes snapping open. The sensation lingers, heavy in her chest, but now that she’s aware of it, it no longer feels foreign. No—it feels like hers.

She looks at Hibari-san, trying to find the words. “There’s… something else,” she says carefully. “Not just Sky Flames.”

Hibari-san’s expression sharpens. “Describe it.”

“They feel—” Kyoko hesitates, then straightens. “They feel like his.” She doesn’t say Kyoya’s name, but she knows the older woman will understand. “Not exactly, but… similar.”

For the first time since they started, Hibari-san’s cool exterior flickers with surprise. Just for a second. Then it’s gone, replaced with something unreadable.

“Dual Flames,” she murmurs.

Kyoko frowns. “That’s rare?”

“Extremely.” Hibari-san regards her in silence for a long moment, then nods to herself. “Especially for a Sky.”

Kyoko swallows. The weight of those words settles over her like a shadow.

It’s just the beginning.

But for the first time since she woke in this body, she feels—

Like she is moving forward.

–

Kyoko stretches her arms above her head as she steps out into the open air, relishing the warmth of the sun on her skin. After hours of lessons, the freedom of an afternoon off feels like a rare treat. 

Hibari-san grants her permission with little fuss, even handing her some money. Kyoko bows politely and thanks her before slipping away, her heart lighter than it has been all morning.

The town bustles with the familiar energy of the late afternoon. Children run ahead of their parents, laughing as they dart between shops. Vendors call out to potential customers, their voices weaving into the hum of conversation and the occasional chime of a bicycle bell. The scent of freshly baked taiyaki drifts through the air, mixing with the crisp aroma of coffee from a nearby café.

Kyoko allows herself to wander, letting her feet guide her without much thought. She isn’t quite sure what she wants—something sweet, maybe, or simply the quiet pleasure of walking without an agenda. She considers stopping by the bookstore, but as she rounds a corner near the shopping district, her gaze catches on a familiar figure.

Sawada Tsunayoshi-kun.

He stands near a vending machine, fumbling with his wallet, his expression one of mild confusion. 

He isn’t alone—there are a few students from school nearby, but none Kyoko is particularly close with. She considers going over to say hello, but something makes her hesitate.

There’s something... different about him.

She tilts her head, observing him without quite understanding why she feels so drawn to the sight.

There’s a strange sense of familiarity in the air around him. Not in a way that suggests closeness, but rather... something else. Something she can’t put into words.

It’s like Ryohei’s warmth, but subdued, hidden beneath layers she can’t see. At the same time, there’s an emptiness, a hollow space where something should be. 

It isn’t loneliness—Kyoko knows what loneliness feels like.

She frowns slightly, shifting on her feet. Why does she feel this way? She’s never paid much attention to Sawada-kun before—he’s kind, if a little clumsy. She isn’t sure if he’s close to anyone in their class, but then again, she hasn’t paid him too much attention.

But now, standing here, watching him, she feels an odd tug of curiosity.

A soft beep from the vending machine signals that his drink has been dispensed. Tsuna picks it up absentmindedly, his gaze flickering up for a brief moment. Their eyes meet.

Kyoko blinks, startled, but before she can react, he flushes and looks away. A second later, one of his classmates calls out to him, and whatever moment had passed between them is long gone.

She lets out a small breath and turns away, her fingers brushing against the coins Hibari-san gave her. Maybe she’s just imagining things. Maybe she’s overthinking.

Kyoko lingers by the sweets shop for a moment, watching Sawada-kun from a distance. 

The group around him is loud, their laughter carrying over the gentle hum of afternoon chatter in the streets. But something about it feels off. Their voices have an edge, their smiles just a little too sharp. And Sawada-kun … he stands stiffly in the center of it all, shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying to make himself smaller.

Her frown deepens. Are they… bullying him?

She doesn’t hesitate.

A sharp, familiar anger bubbles up inside her, something she’s known in her bones before—an old, quiet rage that she’s never been afraid to voice.

Bullies are something she once had to deal with, as Harry. She knows what it’s like to be picked on, to be chased around. And even if this is innocent, maybe she’s reading too much into it, but still…

She won’t risk it.

Without a second thought, she strides forward, her expression hardening. She doesn’t bother with a practiced smile, and doesn't wait for an invitation. Her presence, sharp as a knife, cuts through the casual atmosphere.

The moment she reaches them, she doesn’t even pause to take in their reactions. Her voice rings out clearly, no hesitation, and sounding sickly sweet even in her own ears.

“What are you all doing?” She smiles innocently.

The group freezes, caught off guard by her sudden appearance.

Sawada-kun, whose confusion is palpable, glances up, surprised, his eyes widening as Kyoko steps in front of him, deliberately placing herself between him and the group.

“Well?” Kyoko asks again, her gaze steely (and in clear contrast with her smile) as she stares down at the group. Her fingers reach out and tighten slightly around Sawada-kun’s arm, holding him firmly.

One of the boys smirks—trying to regain control of the situation. “Hey, there’s no problem here, Sasagawa-chan? We’re just having some fun.”

“Fun?” she repeats, her voice dangerously calm, her eyes narrowing. “If that’s what you call this, then you really need to rethink what you find amusing. Nothing about standing around a vending machine, is my idea of fun.”

The smirk falters. The others glance uneasily at each other, suddenly unsure. Kyoko’s reputation precedes her, and the weight of her gaze is enough to make them reconsider their actions. They’ve never seen her angry before, or even displeased as she has always tried to mask such feelings.

Now though, she is done masking. She is done hiding who she really is, and she will not tolerate any bullying.

With a final, piercing look, Kyoko turns her attention back to Tsuna, guiding him away with an easy yet firm grip on his arm. 

“Come on, Sawada-kun,” she says, her voice soft now, “Let’s get out of here.”

As they move away, Kyoko feels the subtle chill at the edge of her awareness. There’s something off about Sawada-kun, something cold that brushes against her skin with every step. It’s like standing too close to ice, but she doesn’t let it deter her. 

Whatever this is, whatever it means, she’s not going to let it stop her from standing up for him.

Sawada-kun’s silence is heavy, but he doesn’t fight her as she gently but firmly steers him away and towards the sweets shop. 

She glances at him from the corner of her eye, catching his tense posture, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You alright, Sawada-kun?” she asks, quieter now, her voice softening as she walks beside him.

Sawada-kun doesn’t answer right away, his gaze still on the ground. But his body gradually loosens, just a little, as though a weight has been lifted. He looks up at her, finally meeting her eyes.

“Yes, Kyoko-chan,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

She nods, offering him a small but sincere smile. Whatever coldness lingers around him, she’ll be there to break through it.

TBC.

Chapter Text

Kyoko leads Sawada-kun into the small sweets shop, the warm scent of sugar and baked goods filling the air. The gentle chime of the bell above the door signals their entrance, and she watches as Sawada-kun hesitates at the threshold before stepping in behind her. His hands twitch at his sides, unsure of where to go, and his eyes dart around, avoiding her gaze.

"Let's sit by the window!" Kyoko chirps, guiding him toward a cozy corner where the sunlight streams in.

She orders two slices of strawberry shortcake and a pot of tea before turning her full attention to her companion.

Sawada-kun fidgets with the napkin in his lap, cheeks slightly pink. "Y-You didn't have to... um, I mean... pay for me... Kyoko-chan."

She giggles lightly, resting her chin in her hand. "I wanted to. Besides, I really wanted to have cake with you."

He looks ready to combust.

When the cake arrives, Kyoko takes a bite, savouring the sweetness, before gently nudging the conversation forward. "So... those guys from earlier. They aren't in our class, are they?"

Sawada-kun’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He swallows thickly and shakes his head. "N-No. They... they're just some guys from school. Not really—um—bad people or anything."

Kyoko frowns slightly. "But they were pushing you around."

"I-It's not that bad. They don’t, um, hurt me or anything. Not really."

She purses her lips, setting down her fork. "That sounds like bullying, Sawada-kun."

Sawada-kun flinches at the word. "Ah, well... I mean... I guess, but..."

Kyoko's fingers curl slightly against the table. She isn’t sure why, but something inside her stirs at the sight of him like this—small, uncertain, trying to make excuses for things that shouldn’t be excused. Her chest feels warm, and her fingertips tingle, as if something in her is reaching for him. Wanting to chase away the cold around him.

"Bullies," she says firmly, holding his gaze when he tries to look away. "You don’t have to pretend they aren’t. If someone treats you badly, it’s not okay."

Sawada-kun’s lips part slightly, and for the first time, he doesn’t immediately deny it. Instead, his shoulders slump, and he lets out a slow breath. "I... guess."

Something flickers in Kyoko’s vision for just a moment—was it a trick of the light?—but it’s gone before she can focus on it. Still, the warmth in her chest doesn’t fade.

Sawada-kun, on the other hand, looks just a little less jittery, his stuttering quieter now as they continue to talk. Even so, he still has trouble looking her in the eyes, his gaze flickering to his cake, the table, anywhere but at her.

And Kyoko… Kyoko finds herself wondering why her own flames are stirring so much in his presence. As if they’re waiting for something.

Her fingers twitch against the table, as if wanting to reach out to him. It’s an odd, instinctual feeling, one she can’t quite place. All she knows is that her flames feel… restless. Almost as if they want to chase away the cold she can sense from him.

Sawada-kun shifts awkwardly under her gaze, clearly looking for an escape from the conversation. He finally clears his throat and, in a clear attempt to change the subject, asks, “So… um, are you enjoying Golden Week?”

Kyoko blinks. She hadn’t expected the question. 

Her fingers tighten around her fork as a dozen different memories flash through her mind in an instant—the sharp sound of metal twisting, the cold press of the hospital bed, the unbearable silence of an empty home. Her chest tightens slightly, but she forces a smile, not wanting to let any of that slip.

“It’s been… busy,” Kyoko waves a hand dismissively, not wanting to elaborate. “I guess I’m just looking forward to school starting again in a few days.”

Sawada-kun tilts his head slightly, clearly not expecting that answer. “Really?”

She laughs softly at his reaction. “What, is it that surprising?”

“A little,” he admits sheepishly. “I mean, school isn’t exactly… fun.”

Kyoko shrugs, resting her chin against her palm. “I don’t mind it. It’s familiar, I guess.”

Sawada-kun nods slowly, thoughtful but silent as he turns his attention back to the cake. Kyoko watches him out of the corner of her eye as he takes a small bite, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. 

He looks less jittery now, a little more relaxed. He still struggles to meet her gaze for long, but at least he isn’t stuttering as much. The cake—fluffy and sweet, just like she’d hoped—seems to be helping, and that, in itself, feels like progress.

They finish their cakes in comfortable silence, the occasional clink of forks against plates filling the gaps. When they finally step outside, the air is cool, the sun dipping lower in the sky. Sawada-kun hesitates beside her, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh… I can walk you home, if you want,” he offers.

Kyoko smiles and shakes her head. “That’s okay, Sawada-kun. I’ll be fine.”

He looks uncertain for a moment but nods anyway. “O-Okay. Um… see you at school?”

She waves lightly. “See you.”

With that, she turns and makes her way toward the Hibari compound, leaving Sawada-kun standing awkwardly outside the shop.

By the time she reaches the compound gates, the familiar presence of Hibari-san is already waiting at the entrance. The woman regards Kyoko with her usual composed expression, a quiet strength in the way she holds herself.

“Welcome back,” she greets.

Kyoko inclines her head slightly. “I’m home.”

It hurts to say, but she better get used to it now. This will be her home.

Hibari-san’s eyes sweep over her briefly, as if assessing her, before she steps aside, allowing her inside. “Did you enjoy your outing?”

Kyoko thinks about it for a moment. The cake had been good, and the company… unexpectedly pleasant.

“Yes,” she says finally, offering a small smile. “I did.”

–

The next few days, Kyoko doesn’t have time to wonder about Sawada-kun too much. Though he never strays far from her thoughts, she has other priorities.

Hibari Reiko-san, as she insists on being called now (Calling me Hibari-san here will only get confusion, with Kyoya around, or so the woman had claimed) has intensified her training.

What had begun as careful guidance—quiet meditation, urging her to feel rather than force—has already shifted into something more intense. Not brutal, not unkind, but focused. Demanding. In just a day or two, Kyoko finds herself trading long stretches of silence for structured drills and layered instructions. Each session builds on the last, and though her progress is uneven, there’s no room for hesitation.

She doesn’t complain.

If anything, she welcomes the weight of the routine. The mental focus it requires. It gives her something to throw herself into—something solid and immediate that keeps her from thinking too much. From wondering why she can still feel Sawada-kun’s presence like a phantom echo, trailing behind her wherever she goes.

Her results are mixed. Some days, her flames come to her easily, golden-orange-purple warmth unfurling like breath from her center, curling around her fingertips. Other times, they slip through her grip, flickering out before she can hold them steady. Reiko-san—Hibari Kyoya’s mother, and her teacher—watches each attempt with a careful eye, rarely speaking unless there’s something worth correcting. When Kyoko manages to hold her Flames without them faltering, Reiko-san gives a small, approving nod.

It feels good. Familiar, almost.

Not because she’s mastered it—far from it—but because the discipline of it scratches at something deep within her. Precision. Control. Practice. It’s not magic, but it’s not entirely foreign either.

Back then, spells had to be memorized, intention shaped like glass: clear, exact, but fragile. Magic was wild and stubborn, bending only when it was properly respected or understood. Sky Flames are different. They don’t yield to logic or technique alone—they respond to something deeper. Instinct. Emotion. Self.

And that, more than anything, makes them hard to control.

Because who is she, really?

She isn’t just Kyoko. Not anymore. But she’s not quite Harry either. That life is distant, buried beneath layers of new memory and identity—but it isn’t gone. It lingers in the way she watches, the way she listens, the way her hands remember motions before her mind catches up. In the way she reacts before she thinks.

The first time she’d called her Sky Flames on purpose, it had felt like breathing underwater—alien and familiar all at once. It reminded her of wandwork, the way her magic used to rise to meet her call. But Flames are different. Flames want to connect.

And maybe that’s why she felt something shift that day in the café.

Why her flames stirred—not at danger, but at presence . At him .

She hadn’t meant to reach for Sawada-kun. Hadn’t even realized she was doing it. But something in him had pulled at her, low and magnetic, and her Sky had answered without hesitation—reaching out without her permission.

That’s the most unsettling part.

Her Flames had acted on instinct, not intention. They had tried to connect with him—deeply, instinctively—as if beginning the first steps of a bond. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. And that frightens her. Because bonding through Flames isn’t something to take lightly. It’s not just energy brushing against energy; it’s identity, will, soul .

She can’t afford to keep slipping like that. Can’t afford to let her Flames reach for strangers. 

With her brother, when she’d reached out at the hospital, it had been careful. Deliberate. Ryohei’s Flames had responded briefly—curious, open—but their flames had both quickly realized the mismatch. No bond had formed. Just mutual understanding, and then respectful distance.

But with Sawada-kun…

Her Flames had reached eagerly, and what they met wasn’t indifference—it was nothing . No warmth, no flicker of recognition. Only a cold, instinctive shut-down. Like her Sky had been pushed back from behind an unyielding wall of ice.

And yet, even through that, she knows he has Flames. She can feel … something, buried deep, slumbering behind that wall. It wasn’t emptiness she touched, but something carefully concealed. Hidden away.

That scares her even more.

Because if her Sky is reaching on its own—and if it continues to reach for him—then she needs to learn control. Fast.

Before it binds her to someone who may never reach back.

She doesn’t even know if he’s aware of what’s happening. Does Sawada-kun feel it too? The stir of something just beneath the surface, something that hums when they’re near each other? Or is it completely one-sided—her Flames grasping for something his won’t, or can’t , return?

Is it medical? A condition? Could something be wrong with him? He looks healthy enough—nervous and jumpy, yes, but not sick. And yet the way her Flames had rebounded, cold and flat, feels wrong . Like they’d brushed against something frozen. Sealed away.

Should she do something?

The thought won’t leave her alone. Every instinct inside her—her Sky, her soul —is screaming that she should. That he’s hers in some strange, aching way that has no name. As if her very being is designed to reach for him, to support him, to heal whatever has gone silent inside.

It terrifies her.

Because she doesn’t even know him. And that pull, that quiet gravity, is dangerous.

So she buries the thought—deep and quiet—like tucking a letter into the back of a drawer. She pushes the instinct aside, forces herself not to feel so strongly.

Reiko-san notices her distraction almost immediately.

“You’re thinking again,” she says, tone light but knowing. “Flames and control aren’t going to happen if you overthink it. It’s instinct.”

Kyoko exhales, sharp and frustrated. She flexes her fingers, watching the faint shimmer of orange-purple dance briefly between them before she lets it fade away. “It’s just… I didn’t expect to be thrown into all of this so quickly.”

But that’s only part of the truth.

The rest— him —she shoves firmly into the back of her mind. She doesn’t want to think about Sawada-kun. Not about the way her Flames keep stirring when he’s near, or the way her chest tightens like something in her is reaching out without permission. That’s dangerous. Reckless. And not something she’s ready to examine—not here. Not in front of Reiko-san.

So she pushes forward, redirecting the conversation with a breathless kind of urgency. “I’ve been meditating every day, and I do like it. Learning about my Flames, feeling them grow stronger—it’s… incredible. And I really am grateful, for everything. For you. For my nii-san. But I still don’t understand why you are the one training me. Why you took us in. Why this place.”

Reiko-san studies her quietly, eyes sharp and searching. “You’re not as unsettled as you pretend to be.”

Kyoko offers a faint smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve always been good at adapting,” she says softly.

It’s true. And it isn’t.

Because adapting doesn’t mean she understands what’s happening. It means she knows how to look like she does. How to keep moving forward even when the ground beneath her feels unstable.

And right now, pretending is the only thing keeping her steady.

None of this is familiar—yet it doesn’t feel foreign either. She’s been here before, in different clothes, with different burdens. She has fought battles and led others through fire and ruin. She’s carried responsibilities heavier than most. And Flames, she’s learning, aren’t so far removed from magic.

Power responds to will. Power requires control.

And leadership, she’s starting to realize, is something the universe keeps trying to place in her hands.

Reiko-san watches Kyoko for a long moment, as though weighing her words, before giving a slight nod. Her expression softens just a fraction. "I will answer your question," she begins, her voice steady but heavy with the weight of what she’s about to explain. "But it’s a long answer, and I ask that you hear me out completely before you ask any more questions. This is not something I can explain in pieces."

Kyoko hesitates but nods, her heart thudding quietly in her chest as she steels herself. There is something important, something crucial, in Reiko-san’s words—and she knows that if she interrupts now, she might miss the very understanding she’s been searching for.

Reiko-san takes a deep breath and leans back in her chair, her eyes never leaving Kyoko’s. "The history of Namimori is intricately tied to the Flames. This town—this place—is a crossroads, where different paths converge. There are many people with the potential to wield Flames, but most of them are bound to the criminal world—the Mafia, the Yakuza. These organizations are not just businesses; they are families, forged in the fires of blood and tradition, connected by the same forces that govern Flames."

She pauses for a moment, her gaze shifting slightly as if gathering her thoughts before continuing. "In every family, there is a leader—someone who holds the balance. Someone whose power is the strongest, the most stable. In the old world, this power was recognized, respected. The strongest led, and the Flames of those who followed supported that leadership."

Kyoko listens, feeling the weight of her words press down on her like a physical force, her mind racing to make sense of this new world that’s being revealed to her. Reiko-san continues, her voice growing more deliberate.

"The Skies—the most powerful of all Flame users—are rare. But they are revered, not just for their power, but for their ability to maintain balance. They are the leaders of families, the ones who guide and control the flow of everything—of people, of territory, of power. They are the ones who ensure that the world doesn’t fall into chaos. Or at least, they should be."

Kyoko’s pulse quickens, and she looks down at her hands, remembering the way her flames had flared in response to the faintest triggers. The strange pull she felt, like something deep inside her was calling to her, trying to shape her. She doesn’t know how to explain it, but it feels as though she’s been part of this world for longer than just a few weeks.

Reiko-san's voice remains steady as she continues, the weight of centuries-old history in each word. "Centuries ago," she begins, her tone soft but resonant, as though recalling the distant past, "a powerful Mafia Don came here to retire. He had spent a lifetime drowning in violence, and in the end, he wanted peace. He built this town as a sanctuary—a neutral territory where the wars of the underworld would not follow."

The words hang in the air, and Kyoko feels an almost tangible shift in the atmosphere around them, like the land itself remembers the weight of that decision. A leader who wanted peace, a protector who stood in the aftermath of ruin.

"When he passed," Reiko-san continues, her voice quiet but firm, "there was no Sky strong enough to inherit his will. No one to take his place. So the Hibari family was chosen to act as Custodians. Since then, we’ve kept this town neutral. A haven."

Kyoko, still absorbing the magnitude of what she’s hearing, feels the pieces start to fall into place. The town, the balance, the weight of the Flames—it’s all tied together, all part of something much larger than her. She looks at Reiko-san, her voice small but with an edge of realization. "And now you want me to take your place."

Reiko-san doesn’t flinch at the question. She inclines her head, acknowledging the truth of it, her expression solemn but not unkind. "You are the only Sky this town has seen in decades. By right, it belongs to you." She pauses for a moment, her gaze sharpening. "But I won’t force anything. You’re still learning. When you’re ready, I’ll ask again."

Kyoko doesn’t know how to respond. She looks down at her hand, the small flame flickering to life within her palm, soft and steady. The way it bends toward her fingers is familiar, as though it recognizes her. As though it belongs to her.

Leader. Protector. Sky.

The weight of the title presses on her chest. She’s never been the type to shy away from responsibility. She’s led before, stood in the gap when others faltered, and carried the burden of decisions that changed lives. But she’s also learned the cost of power. It doesn’t come without sacrifices.

She’s been here before, in another life, in another world. She knows that a leader is never truly free. That every choice comes with consequences, sometimes far-reaching, sometimes unforgiving.

Kyoko looks back up at Reiko-san, her throat tight. "I’m not sure if I’m ready to take that step," she says quietly, her voice carrying more weight than she intended.

Reiko-san studies her for a long moment, before finally nodding, her gaze unwavering. "You don’t have to be ready yet. That’s why I’m here—to guide you, to teach you. But when the time comes, and it will come, you will know if you’re ready. And when that day arrives, I will not stand in your way."

Kyoko swallows hard, the flame in her hand growing just a little brighter, a little stronger, as if echoing the turmoil inside her. She isn’t sure what the future holds, but she knows one thing: the path she’s on will demand everything from her.

TBC. 

Chapter Text

The last evening of Golden Week settles over Namimori, painting the sky in shades of soft gold and deepening blue. The air is warm, carrying the distant scent of fresh grass and the faint sound of cicadas beginning their evening chorus. 

Kyoko sits by the window in her room at the Hibari compound, watching as the last rays of sunlight stretch across the garden below. The past few days have been intense—training, lessons, and an overwhelming flood of new information about the world she now finds herself a part of. 

But tonight, for the first time in a while, she allows herself to relax.

Tomorrow, school starts again. A familiar routine, something steady amidst all the changes. And more importantly—Hana.

Kyoko can’t help but smile, warmth blooming in her chest at the thought of seeing her best friend again. Hana has been a constant in her life, unwavering and sharp-witted, her presence grounding Kyoko even when everything else feels uncertain. They’ve always been inseparable and these past days without her have felt oddly empty.

But it’s not just Hana she finds herself thinking about.

A different face lingers at the edges of her thoughts—Sawada-kun.

The realization catches her off guard. Before the accident, she barely noticed him at all. He was just another quiet classmate, the kind others teased too easily, someone who slipped under the radar unless he was tripping over his own feet or fumbling a textbook. She’d never had reason to look closer.

And yet… ever since that strange encounter with him and those bullies—since her Flames stirred and noticed —there’s been something about him that pulls at her.

She doesn’t know him. Not really. But the way his presence makes her Flame ripple—unsettled, curious, drawn—makes it impossible to ignore him now. He’s not like Hibari-kun, whose strength demands recognition, nor like Hana, whose sharpness cuts through any room she walks into. Sawada-kun is… softer. Quieter. But not empty.

There’s something hidden beneath the awkward stammering and hunched shoulders. Something that feels off , yes—but also important.

And for reasons she can’t quite name, she wants to understand what it is.

She doesn’t think it’s a crush. At least, not the way she remembers them feeling. Her feelings for Ginny and Cho in another life —vague as those memories are—had been sharp in a different way. Longing, warm, a little exhilarating. This… this is something else.

Not a flutter in the chest, but a tug somewhere deeper. A knowing she can’t explain.

She’s never had a crush as Kyoko. Maybe that’s part of the confusion.

But even so, she doesn’t think this is it.

Her Flames hadn’t just noticed him—they’d reacted . Stirred, like something in him called to something in her. It wasn’t a bond. At least, she doesn’t think so. But it left a strange impression, like a thread tugging at the edges of her awareness.

She doesn’t know what it means—only that, somehow, Sawada-kun matters. In a way she doesn’t understand yet.

And then there’s the cold. That muted, icy weight that clings to him like frost on glass. Her Flames recoil from it even as they reach out.

Does he feel it too? That chill in his soul—does it weigh on him the way it presses on her?

She wishes she could ask. Wishes she could understand .

But for now, all she can do is wait… and watch.

And hope that when she sees him again, things might make a little more sense.

Her fingers tighten slightly against the windowsill. It’s too soon to tell. But one way or another, tomorrow, she’ll find out.

But before that, she has one last evening at the compound, and there’s one person she’s barely seen in days.

Kyoko stands outside the training hall, the muffled sound of punches striking a sandbag filtering through the sliding doors. Her brother has been training nonstop for an upcoming boxing competition, and between that and her own lessons, they’ve barely spoken. 

She misses him.

Taking a deep breath, she slides the door open just in time to see Ryohei throwing one last punch, his entire body straining with effort. He lets out a sharp breath before stepping back, wiping sweat from his brow with his wristband. When he notices her, his grin is as bright as ever.

“Kyoko!” he exclaims, grabbing a towel and slinging it over his shoulders. “You finally have time to come see your EXTREME brother!”

She rolls her eyes fondly. “You’ve been the one too busy training to see me.”

Ryohei laughs, rubbing the back of his head. “Gotta train hard! The competition is in two weeks, and I won’t lose!”

“I know you won’t,” she says, stepping closer. “But I think you also need a break. Have you even eaten dinner yet?”

At that, Ryohei looks sheepish. “Uh… I was going to after a few more sets…”

Kyoko sighs, shaking her head. “Come on, then. You’re not training anymore tonight. Let’s go eat together.”

He doesn’t argue, instead throwing an arm around her shoulders as they make their way toward the dining hall. It’s comfortable, familiar, and for the first time in days, Kyoko feels like a normal girl spending time with her older brother.

Over dinner, Ryohei chatters about his training, his upcoming competition, and even some of his classmates. Kyoko listens, laughing at his exaggerated storytelling. But when he pauses to take a bite, she hesitates before asking, “Hey, Onii-san… have you ever felt something strange when you’re around people?”

He blinks at her, swallowing his food. “Strange how?”

“Like… you can feel something about them, even if you don’t really know them.”

Ryohei tilts his head in thought. “Not really? But you’ve been training with Hibari-san, right? Maybe that’s part of the Sky thing?”

Kyoko nods slowly. She doesn’t know how to explain it. The way some people just feel warm, the way Sawada-kun lingers in her thoughts, the memory of that one cold presence still clinging to the edge of her awareness.

“Maybe,” she says. “It’s just been on my mind.”

Ryohei grins. “Then you just gotta get stronger! If something weird is happening, you’ll figure it out. That’s how it works!”

Kyoko smiles at his confidence. “You always make things sound so simple.”

“Because they are! If you have a problem, you face it head-on! That’s how the Sasagawa siblings do things!”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep that in mind. Though, I am glad you seemed to have come around. About me getting stronger.”

Ryohei pauses, a fork halfway to his mouth, and gives Kyoko a wide, almost sheepish grin. “Well, I’m still not totally happy about it,” he admits, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re my little sister, and I want to keep you safe. But... I guess you have a right to train and get stronger, even if it’s with your Flames.”

Kyoko meets his gaze, her expression softening. She hadn’t expected him to come around so quickly, but the way he spoke made her feel a weight lift off her chest. “I get it, Nii-san. I know you just want to protect me. But I’m not a little kid anymore.”

He leans back, his tone growing serious. “I know. I’ll always protect you, Kyoko. No matter how strong you get.” His smile returns, though there’s a slight wistfulness in it. “But if you can handle those Flames, then... maybe I can learn to live with it. Even if it means you’ll be able to take care of yourself a little better.”

Kyoko’s heart swells with gratitude. She hadn’t realized just how much his opinion had been weighing on her until he said this. She reaches across the table and places a hand on his arm, her fingers warm with the hint of the Sky Flames she’s just beginning to understand.

“Thanks, Nii-san,” she says softly. “That means a lot to me.”

Ryohei gives her a small nod, still looking protective as ever. “Don’t go thinking you’re free from my protectiveness just because you’re getting stronger. I’m still gonna keep an eye on you.”

Kyoko chuckles, but the spark of mischief in her eyes flares. “Well, if you’re going to keep an eye on me, you’ll need to teach me how to throw a punch.”

Ryohei blinks at her, momentarily stunned. “A punch? Why would you want to learn that?”

Kyoko raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You’re the best at it, right? You always talk about your ‘punching power.’ I think it’s time I learned it.”

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ll be careful,” she assures him. “But, I don’t just want to rely on my Flames. I want to be strong, in every way I can.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Ryohei sighs, his shoulders relaxing. “Alright, alright. But don’t expect me to go easy on you, little sister. We’re gonna do this properly.”

Kyoko grins, feeling a surge of energy. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Once they are done with their dinner, Ryohei stands and guides her outside, to the open space behind their house where they could practice. His enthusiasm quickly returns as he demonstrates the stance, his fists pumping with the same fiery determination that he always carries.

“You’ve gotta put your whole body into it!” he exclaims, throwing a few punches in the air for emphasis. “It’s not just about your arms! You have to use your legs, your core—everything!”

Kyoko watches carefully, mimicking his movements as best as she can, trying to absorb the power behind each strike. “Like this?” she asks, giving a tentative jab at the air.

Ryohei watches her, nodding, his smile wide and encouraging. “Exactly! But you can do better! Keep that energy flowing, like you’re about to explode!”

Despite her initial hesitation, Kyoko feels the familiar warmth of her Sky Flames flowing with her movements, a sense of power awakening inside her. It’s different from her training with Hibari, but it feels just as right.

And as she takes another swing, Ryohei stands proudly beside her, still protective, but now also, just maybe, a little bit proud of the strong sister he’s helping to shape.

She isn’t sure boxing is quite for her, but spending this time with her brother is nice.

Tomorrow, school starts again. She’ll see Hana, see Sawada-kun, step back into her normal life. But part of her knows that nothing is truly normal anymore.

And maybe… she doesn’t mind that as much as she thought she would.

TBC.

Chapter Text

The school gates loom ahead, unchanged yet strangely unfamiliar. Kyoko grips the strap of her bag tighter, her fingers pressing into the worn fabric as if grounding herself in something tangible. It’s her first day back since everything changed. Since the crash. Since her parents—

No.

She swallows the thought down, as she has been doing for days, and steps forward. Around her, students chatter animatedly, their laughter ringing through the air, still caught in the lingering afterglow of summer break. The world moves on as if nothing happened. But for her, everything feels... tilted. Like she’s walking through a place she should recognize, but the angles are just slightly off.

Then she spots her.

Hana stands near the shoe lockers, her sharp eyes sweeping the crowd with practiced ease. The moment she sees Kyoko, her expression brightens.

“Kyoko!”

Her name is called with so much warmth that Kyoko barely has time to react before she’s pulled into a tight hug. The contact is firm, grounding, and for the first time that morning, the suffocating weight pressing against her ribs eases just a little.

“You’re finally back,” Hana murmurs against her shoulder before pulling away, her hands still resting on Kyoko’s arms as she looks her over with an assessing gaze. “You look—well, normal, I guess.”

Kyoko laughs lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s a good thing, right?”

Hana raises an eyebrow. “Maybe. I expected you to come back all tanned and relaxed.”

Kyoko’s smile falters for half a second. “Sorry,” she says, adjusting her bag. “Things were… hectic.”

“Hectic?” Hana echoes, unimpressed. “What does that even mean? Spill.”

Kyoko barely has a second to prepare before the inevitable question comes.

“So? How was Okinawa? Tell me everything.”

The words stab through her like a blade of ice. There was no Okinawa. Just the crash.

Hana’s gaze sharpens when Kyoko doesn’t answer immediately.

Forcing a lighter note into her voice, Kyoko musters a small laugh. “You know… same old, same old. But it’s good to be back.”

Hana doesn’t look convinced.

Her eyes narrow slightly, and she tilts her head just enough to show she’s reading between the lines. She doesn’t say anything, but Kyoko catches the shift—the way her friend’s lips press together, the way her fingers drum once against her bag before falling still. That familiar, quiet hum follows, soft but loaded.

She’s not buying it. Not entirely.

But she lets it go. For now.

Kyoko knows her well enough to recognize the signs: Hana is tucking the questions away, cataloging them carefully. She’ll come back for answers later, when the timing is just right—probably when Kyoko least expects it.

And Kyoko will tell her. She wants to.

Just… not here. Not now. Not surrounded by school hallways and classmates and the weight of pretending everything’s fine. Because if she tries to explain it now—tries to say they’re gone —she’ll break. She can already feel the tremor building inside her body.

No. That’s not happening here. Not where she can’t breathe, not where she can’t fall apart in peace.

If she can avoid that breakdown for a little longer… she’ll take it. Gratefully.

They make their way down the hall, weaving through groups of students, and Kyoko notices something immediately.

People are looking at her. More than usual. She’s used to occasional glances, the whispers of admiration that come with her so-called 'school idol' status, but this is different. There’s an undercurrent to the gazes—curiosity, perhaps, or something a little more probing. It makes her skin prickle in discomfort, despite the perfect mask she wears, the one she’s gotten so good at putting on without thinking.

She tries to ignore it, brushing off the stares, but something shifts the moment her eyes land on him again.

Sawada Tsunayoshi stands near the lockers, shoulders hunched in that familiar, guarded way—as if he’s trying to fold into himself, vanish into the wall. It's a posture she’s seen before, in class, in the hallways, but it carries a weight now she can’t stop feeling. Because now, it’s different.

She only saw him once since she awakened her flames. But that single encounter has replayed in her head again and again, like a splinter she can't dig out. There was something about him she just can't seem to let go...

And whatever it is, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

It’s not that she’s seeing him for the first time. It’s that she can’t stop seeing him—even when she tries.

And that bothers her more than she’s ready to admit.

Now, seeing him again, that same icy sensation washes over her—an instinctual shiver deep in her Flames, sharp and inexplicable. It doesn’t hurt, not exactly. But it makes her feel like she’s brushing up against the edge of something vast and restrained. Something dangerous. And lonely.

A lingering chill, as if ice has seeped deep within his soul, settling in like a frost she can almost feel against her own skin.

It's distant, too far to fully place, but it’s there. 

Again. 

The feeling that has been gnawing at the back of her mind for days.

She didn’t imagine it. She didn’t overthink it or make it out to be worse than it really was.

No, this is real. This coldness is real.

Kyoko slows, her gaze fixed on Sawada-kun, as if searching for the source of the chill that lingers in the air around him. Maybe she really should talk to Reika-san about this…

The moment stretches between them, silent and inexplicable, as if the world has slowed to allow her to make sense of it.

“Kyoko?” Hana’s voice breaks through the haze, her brow furrowing at the sudden pause in Kyoko’s steps.

Kyoko doesn’t answer, her focus never leaving Sawada-kun. She steps forward, her expression smoothing into something effortlessly warm, the kind of smile she’s perfected in an instant. 

Without another word, she walks straight up to Sawada-kun.

“Good morning, Sawada-kun.”

The hallway goes still.

Kyoko isn’t sure what reaction she expected, but she certainly wasn’t prepared for the absolute silence that follows. Around them, heads whip around, wide eyes darting between her and Sawada-kun, jaws hanging open in shock. It’s almost comical.

Sawada-kun himself looks utterly lost. He blinks at her, brow furrowing slightly, as if unsure whether she’s actually talking to him. “Uh… g-good morning?”

A second passes. Then another.

And then the whispers explode.

Kyoko doesn’t acknowledge them, keeping her polite smile in place. She isn’t entirely sure why she greeted him either, only that it felt... natural. Like a step she was meant to take.

Kyoko doesn’t give Sawada-kun a chance to escape.

She hooks her arm around his, the movement smooth and deliberate, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers curl gently around his sleeve, ensuring there’s no room for hesitation. Then, with a bright, unwavering smile, she turns to Hana, who watches the entire spectacle with barely concealed amusement, if a bit stunned as well.

“Shall we?” Kyoko asks lightly, her voice carrying just enough force to leave no room for argument.

Sawada-kun stiffens beside her, clearly at a loss. “Uh—”

“Great! Let’s go,” Kyoko chirps, cutting off whatever feeble protest he might have been working up. 

With that, she starts walking, pulling Sawada-kun along with her.

The reaction from the rest of the students is immediate. The murmurs that had been hushed moments ago rise into a full-blown buzz, eyes following their every step. 

Kyoko meets them all head-on, her expression perfectly pleasant but her gaze sharp, daring anyone to question her. 

The message is clear: He’s mine now. My friend. 

Moshida-san, ever the opportunist, steps forward, arms crossed, his mouth curled in a smug sneer. “Oi, Kyoko-chan. What’s with you? You’re acting awfully familiar with Dame-Tsuna.”

Kyoko tilts her head, her grip on Sawada-kun tightening just slightly. “Hmm? Familiar? Oh, Moshida-san, I didn’t realize you thought I needed permission to choose who I spend time with.”

The words are coated in honey, but the blade beneath them is unmistakable. A sharp intake of breath ripples through the crowd.

Moshida flushes, caught off guard. “That’s not what I—”

Kyoko hums, feigning thoughtfulness. “Or maybe you believe Sawada-kun isn’t worth my time?”

Sawada-kun visibly flinches at that, but Kyoko keeps her eyes trained on Moshida, her polite smile sharpening. “Because that would be awfully presumptuous of you. Not to mention rude.”

Moshida gapes at her, clearly struggling for a retort, but Kyoko doesn’t give him the chance. She tilts her chin up and simply says, “Anyway, we should get to class. It wouldn’t do to be late.”

Hana, who had been watching the exchange with growing delight, finally snorts. “About time you stopped playing nice.”

Kyoko flashes Hana a grin, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.

Sawada-kun, for his part, looks utterly bewildered but—importantly—doesn’t resist. If anything, he seems too stunned to protest, which suits Kyoko just fine.

They barely make it another few steps before a familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Yo, Sasagawa, Sawada, wait up!”

Yamamoto Takeshi jogs to catch up, falling into step beside them as they keep on walking towards their homeroom with his usual bright, easy grin. “Didn’t expect to see you two together. That’s a nice surprise.”

Kyoko’s smile dims slightly, but she keeps it in place. Controlled. Pleasant.

Hana mutters something under her breath about being completely invisible, but Kyoko knows it’s half-hearted. If Hana were truly bothered, Yamamoto would already be regretting opening his mouth.

Still, the interruption unsettles her. The moment had been delicate, strange and quiet and full of things she didn’t have words for yet. Now it feels thinner. Distant.

She offers a smile—polite, practiced. “Is it really so strange? I’m friendly with everyone, aren’t I?”

Yamamoto chuckles like she’s made a joke, and something inside Kyoko shifts.

Not consciously. Just… a sensation, faint and fleeting, like brushing against a current running beneath his words. Something steady, quiet. A peaceful, relaxing feeling.

She doesn’t understand it, not really. It’s not unpleasant. Just… wrong, for her. Like trying to hum along to a tune that doesn’t fit her rhythm. Whatever it is, whatever flames these are she brushes against in him, it doesn’t hold her attention—it slips right past her Sky, calm and self-contained, neither inviting nor resisting.

She forgets it the next second, almost.

It’s not like what she feels from Sawada-kun.

That quiet coldness still clings to the edges of her thoughts, an echo she can’t stop circling back to. Unsettling. Strange. Familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.

Yamamoto’s presence doesn’t stir anything like that.

And maybe that’s why, even though she keeps her smile, her eyes flick back to Sawada-kun.

Like she’s reminding herself why she’s here.

Although, she really needs to step up her training and learn to control her falmes. For them to keep reaching out like this, without her say-so... It is worrying. 

Yamamoto blinks at the coolness in her tone but doesn’t comment, though his gaze flickers between her and Sawada-kun with a look of intrigue.

She ignores both him and Hana (whose gaze is still burning, but who isn’t speaking up).

Sawada-kun stays quiet beside her, but Kyoko can feel the confusion radiating off him in waves. He hasn’t pulled away, hasn’t objected, but she can tell he doesn’t understand what’s happening.

That’s fine. He doesn’t need to.

She isn’t sure she understands it herself either. 

They enter the classroom, and just as she expected and dreaded at the same time, and more eyes turn to watch them.

The murmurs from the hallway haven’t died down—if anything, they’ve only grown as people start to realize that, no, this isn’t some fleeting moment. Kyoko doesn’t let it bother her. She tightens her grip just slightly on Sawada-kun’s wrist before letting go, sending a quick glance at her usual seat.

It’s not good enough. Not for this.

She looks around, eyes landing on the desk beside hers. The boy sitting there—some forgettable classmate, she doesn’t even recall his name—looks up in confusion as she stops beside him.

“Excuse me,” Kyoko says, her voice light, sweet. “Would you mind switching seats with Sawada-kun?”

The poor boy blinks at her, his mouth opening and closing. “Huh? But I always—”

She tilts her head, her expression never shifting from that perfect, polite smile. “It’s not a problem, right?”

Her tone leaves no room for argument.

The boy swallows. His eyes dart around, but no one speaks up for him. Finally, he lets out a weak laugh, grabbing his things. “Uh—s-sure! Yeah, no problem!” He scurries to another seat before she can say anything else.

Perfect.

Kyoko gestures for Sawada-kun to sit, taking her own seat beside him as if this was always the arrangement.

Sawada-kun, still clearly bewildered, hesitates for a moment before slowly lowering himself into the chair. His movements are stiff, his gaze darting around as if he’s waiting for someone to step in and correct the situation. When no one does, he swallows thickly and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

Kyoko suppresses a smirk.

Hana leans her chin into her palm, shooting Kyoko an amused look. “I like this side of you.”

Kyoko doesn’t reply, doesn’t acknowledge the comment at all. 

She smooths out her skirt and turns slightly toward Tsuna instead. “Is it alright if I call you Tsuna-kun?”

Tsuna practically chokes on air. His wide, stunned gaze snaps to her, and Kyoko watches as a faint flush creeps up his neck. “A-ah—I, uh—”

She blinks at him expectantly.

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then it opens again. Finally, in a small, startled voice, he stammers, “Y-yeah. That’s fine?”

Kyoko smiles, pleased. “Alright then, Tsuna-kun.”

The whispers around them grow louder, but she tunes them out. The rest of the class can talk all they want. 

She’s made her move. 

As the morning bell chimes and their teacher walks in to start classes, Kyoko pulls out her notebook with a quiet sigh. 

Math. 

It feels like ages since she last sat through a lesson, and as the teacher starts droning about some sort of equations, she mourns the loss of something far greater.

Magic.

Even back at Hogwarts, she had never been the studious type—homework had been a chore, and exams a necessary evil. But at least magic had been interesting . Even the dullest theory lessons had held a kind of wonder, a sense of possibility. But this? Numbers, formulas, dry calculations—she bites the inside of her cheek, suppressing the urge to groan. If she had her wand, she could at least charm her notes to organize themselves (Thank you, Moine!) while she let her mind wander.

She misses it. More than she should.

The scratch of pencils and the low murmurs of the class wash over her, and she forces herself to refocus. Her gaze flickers sideways—to Tsuna-kun, as she is now allowed to call him.

He’s fidgeting, hands gripping his pencil tightly, shoulders tense. The way he keeps shifting in his seat, gaze darting anywhere but toward her, is almost comical. She watches him for a moment before, on impulse, she offers him a small, reassuring smile.

The reaction is immediate.

Tsuna freezes. His face flushes a deep red, his grip tightening on his pencil to the point where she half expects it to snap. 

But what really gets her is the way he flinches at the same time, as if he’s expecting something to go horribly wrong. It’s an odd mix of panic and… embarrassment?

An impressive reaction, really. She hadn’t thought she could both terrify and fluster someone at the same time.

Kyoko blinks, tilting her head slightly. 

Had she overdone it earlier? 

Maybe… 

But does she regret it?

Not in the slightest.

She might have to tone it down just a little bit, as to not give the poor boy a heart attack though. 

TBC. 

Chapter Text

Lunch break arrives with the usual rush of students spilling into the hallways and out into the courtyard, eager for a reprieve from the monotony of classes. Kyoko, however, takes her time packing up, waiting for the initial wave to thin before turning her attention to Tsuna.

She catches him hesitating at his desk, torn between staying where he is and bolting for the safety of obscurity. Before he can decide, she moves.

“Tsuna-kun,” she says, soft but firm, testing the name on her tongue.

He startles, eyes wide as he looks up at her. There’s still that flinch, that wariness, but he doesn’t immediately retreat.

“Come eat with us?” she asks, tipping her head toward Hana, who has already slung her bag over her shoulder and is watching the exchange with obvious curiosity.

Tsuna visibly hesitates, his gaze flickering between her and the door, like a deer considering an escape route. But then Kyoko smiles—smaller than the ones she gave earlier, something a little more genuine, a little less overwhelming. She doesn’t want to scare him, after all. She means this.

“…Okay,” he mutters, so quiet it’s nearly lost in the noise of the classroom.

Kyoko doesn’t press, just nods like this was always the natural conclusion.

With Hana leading the way, the three of them make their way through the school corridors and out into the courtyard. The spring air is pleasantly warm, carrying the soft rustle of leaves and distant chatter of other students. They settle beneath the shade of a cherry tree, the branches casting shifting patterns of light over the grass. Hana drops down cross-legged with casual ease, pulling out her lunch, while Kyoko and Tsuna take their places nearby—Tsuna a little stiffly, like he’s not sure he’s supposed to be here.

Kyoko smooths out the cloth covering her bento, glancing sideways at Tsuna as he opens his with a kind of nervous reverence. He sits at the very edge of the blanket of shade, lunchbox perched on his knees, posture a little too tight for comfort.

“So,” Hana starts, already halfway through unwrapping her sandwich, “since when?”

Kyoko blinks. “Since when what?”

Hana gestures vaguely between Kyoko and Tsuna with her sandwich. “Since you started… this.”

Kyoko focuses on her food, lifting a pair of chopsticks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on,” Hana says, tone dry. “You’ve barely said two words to him before today, and now you’re dragging him to lunch like a lost puppy?”

Across from them, Tsuna freezes mid-motion, eyes wide. “I-I’m not a—”

“You are,” Hana cuts in smoothly, then waves her sandwich toward Kyoko again. “So? What’s with the sudden shift?”

Kyoko takes a bite of rice to stall, chewing slowly, thinking. The truth would sound strange, and a lie would feel worse. She swallows, then finally says, “Can’t I decide to be friends with someone without being interrogated for it?”

Hana squints at her suspiciously. Kyoko just gives a small, pointed smile and takes another bite. After a moment, Hana huffs through her nose and lets it go—for now.

Tsuna still looks bewildered by the entire situation, like he expects the ground to fall out from under him at any moment. He fiddles with the edge of his lunchbox, glancing between them as if waiting for the punchline of a joke he doesn’t quite understand.

He doesn’t say much after that, but he doesn’t move away either.

For now, it’s enough.

Suddenly, she wants nothing more than to cry and tell Hana about her parents. She isn’t sure here is the best place though. There are other students around, and she might completely scare Tsuna away as well.

“Kyoko?” Hana asks. She can’t look up. Her hands shake as she lays them in her lap.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Kyoko shakes her head, and tries to take a deep breathe.

Kyoko shakes her head and tries to take a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” she says, too quickly.

Hana doesn’t buy it—Kyoko can tell from the narrowing of her eyes—but she doesn’t press. Instead, she shifts gears, launching into a story about her younger cousin getting stuck in a vending machine. Kyoko’s grateful for the distraction, even if the words wash over her without sticking. She keeps her eyes on her lap, fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt as she tries to breathe through the weight pressing on her chest.

Across from her, Tsuna says nothing, but his gaze lingers.

When she finally looks up, it’s to find him staring—not rudely, not with pity, just… watching. Quietly. Like he recognizes something in her expression, even if he doesn’t understand it.

Their eyes meet.

He looks away almost immediately, flustered, hunching further over his lunch like he regrets the moment.

But he did see her.

That much, she knows.

It does something strange to her heart.

“Did you make that yourself?” she asks, tilting her chin toward his bento.

Tsuna nearly jumps at being addressed, then glances down at his simple lunch—some rice, two pieces of rolled egg, and three slightly lopsided meatballs. “…Sort of. My mom made most of it.”

“It looks good,” she says sincerely.

He frowns like he doesn’t quite believe her, but doesn’t argue. Just ducks his head and pokes at a meatball with his chopsticks like it might reveal some hidden truth.

Hana, finally catching on to the lull in conversation, leans in with a smirk. “She’s not lying, you know. But not because she’s picky. Kyoko just actually knows what she’s talking about.”

Kyoko blinks, caught off guard.

She opens her mouth to protest, then stops.

Because Hana’s right.

She does love cooking. Or—she used to. She remembers that now, like a light suddenly flicking on in the back of her mind. She hadn’t felt it sine she regained the memories of her past life, not really, but now, in this life, it’s clear. The joy of mixing flavors, of timing things just right, of creating something warm and nourishing and offering it to someone else with quiet pride.

She misses that.

She makes a mental note to ask Reika-san about it later. She wants to start making her own bento’s again, and cook every once in a while. Not to impress anyone. Just because she wants to.

“I don’t enjoy it myself. But if you do, maybe you two can cook together?” Hana grins, pleased with herself. “A nice way to bond as friends.”

Kyoko laughs, soft and unguarded, and the knot in her chest loosens a little. It’s not gone—not yet—but something inside her shifts. Something hopeful.

“That would be fun! What do you think, Tsuna-kun?”

Tsuna looks up at the sound, startled again, but when their eyes meet this time, he doesn’t look away quite as fast.

And just for a moment, everything feels okay.

The weight’s still there, but she can breathe through it now.

Next to her, Tsuna gives a tiny, barely-there smile. It’s gone in an instant, hidden behind another bite of rice, but Kyoko sees it—and it feels real. Not just polite.

For a time, they fall into a quiet rhythm. Hana talks the most, as always, her voice a comforting background hum as Kyoko listens and Tsuna cautiously participates when prompted. It’s peaceful, almost normal, and Kyoko finds herself relaxing despite everything.

Until the air shifts.

It’s subtle—barely a ripple—but her instincts catch on it instantly.

A thud, sharp and heavy, echoes across the courtyard.

Kyoko stiffens, turning toward the source on reflex.

Across the lawn, several students scramble backward as a familiar figure steps forward, tonfas gleaming in the sun. Hibari Kyouya—disciplinary committee head, school terror, absolute enigma—stands over two first-years, who are now sprawled out in the grass, groaning.

Kyoko’s stomach drops.

Not because of the violence—though that’s bad enough—but because she can see them.

Violet flames flicker to life across Hibari’s shoulders and arms, curling lazily around him like smoke made solid. They’re wild, restless. Beautiful. Terrifying.

She freezes.

The flames dance with every movement he makes, rippling across his body in jagged pulses as he raises his tonfa again, steps forward, and—strikes.

One of the students yelps and scrambles away, clutching their side. Hibari barely reacts.

Kyoko looks to Hana—who’s frowning in disapproval but says nothing about the fire—and then to Tsuna, who just winces.

“Someone should stop him,” Hana mutters, squinting across the field. “Doesn’t he ever get tired of hitting people?”

“No one ever does stop him,” Tsuna mumbles, voice low. “He’s… well. He’s Hibari-san.”

But neither of them say anything about the flames.

Kyoko grips the edge of her lunchbox, pulse pounding in her ears.

So it’s true.

Reika-san’s words echo in her mind from her last lessons: “Flames are visible only to those whose own have awakened. To everyone else, they’re invisible. Only some people can perceive a little of them, like an instinct—something felt, not seen.”

She swallows hard.

Because now she knows she’s not imagining things. Not broken. Not delusional. She can see what’s really there—and no one else can.

“I don’t think he’ll ever stop,” she says, answering Hana.

“Ugh,” Hana grumbles. “At least he didn’t look this way.”

Tsuna gives a quiet nod. “Small mercies…”

Kyoko only hums, her thoughts far away—even as she smiles faintly, her gaze fixed on her fingertips, where the ghost of orange flame still lingers.

--

By the time the final bell rings, Kyoko is more than ready to leave.

The day has felt both unbearably long and strangely fleeting—like she’s been moving through it underwater, her brain locked on autopilot. Teachers droned, lessons blurred. None of it stuck. None of it mattered.

She might actually hate going to Muggle school now.

Hogwarts had spoiled her—ruined her, really. Even with all the annual life-threatening disasters, the magic had made every day feel alive. Potions, Charms, Defense—things that thrilled her, challenged her. Now, trapped in a classroom filled with the scent of chalk dust and the dull hum of fluorescent lights, math and history feel like a punishment.

She sighs quietly and shuts her notebook, glancing sideways. Tsuna is fidgeting again. His fingers tap against his desk, his foot bounces lightly, and he keeps sneaking looks at her, like he’s waiting for something. A punchline, maybe. Or for her to vanish and reveal it was all a trick.

So, she does the only thing she can.

She smiles at him.

Not the teasing, sharp-edged one from this morning. This one is softer, careful. An invitation, not a test.

Tsuna doesn’t flush this time.

He startles a little—like he still can’t quite believe her attention is real—but the bright, embarrassed red is gone. It’s not disappointment, though. Just surprise. Like he’s still waiting for the joke to land or for someone to tell him it’s a mistake.

Not for the first time, Kyoko wonders if he has any friends. Real ones. If he does, they clearly don’t go to this school—because no one ever stops to talk to him. No one calls out his name, or walks with him between classes, or notices when she latches onto him like she’s claimed him as her own.

And no one has spoken up to say otherwise.

She’s still smiling to herself when they step outside together, drifting through the main building and into the courtyard.

The end-of-day chatter hums around them as students spill out in every direction, but the air is cooling now, and the breeze rustles the leaves in soft bursts.

Near the shoe lockers, Kyoko slows, lingering.

Her hand hovers over her school shoes, but she doesn’t move.

It’s not that she wants to stay. It’s just… she’s not quite ready to leave.

The moment she steps through the gate, she’ll have to return to the Hibari compound.

Back to the pristine halls and papered walls—beautiful, serene, almost ryokan-worthy—but not quite home.

So she lingers here, at the edge of the noise and warmth and mess of normal life, stretching out the illusion just a little longer.

Hana notices. Of course she does.

She slings her bag over one shoulder, stretching her arms above her head with theatrical ease. “As much as I’d love to leave you and Sawada-kun to your painfully awkward slow-burn, I need to borrow Kyoko. Girl talk.”

Tsuna, halfway through repacking his things, promptly chokes on air.

Kyoko laughs—an unguarded sound, quick and real—but before she can protest, Hana’s arm is already linked through hers, dragging her away from the lockers and the boy blinking at them like he’s lost the plot.

“Hana—wait—”

“No complaints,” Hana says breezily, not missing a step. “We’re overdue, Kyoko.”

Kyoko has just enough time to glance back and catch Tsuna’s confused, pink-faced expression before they disappear around the school’s front walk and down a quieter street lined with sakura trees.

Hana doesn’t say anything until the school is a distant silhouette behind them. Then she shifts her bag on her shoulder and looks over, expression sharper now, more serious.

“You’ve been weird all day,” she says flatly.

Kyoko schools her face into something blank. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t give me that.” Hana huffs. “You’ve been off since this morning. You’re quieter, and not in the calm ‘I’m-reading-a-book’ way. And then Sawada? You’ve suddenly decided to take him under your wing like he’s your emotional support pet?”

Kyoko glances down at the pavement, silent.

“Hey, don’t call him that!”

Hana raises her hands in surrender, but eyes her with a raised eyebrow.

When Kyoko doesn’t say anything else, Hana sighs and stops walking. They’re at a crossroads now—both literally and otherwise. Cars hum distantly in the background, and a few students pass them on the far sidewalk, laughing.

“Look,” Hana says, softer this time, “I’m not trying to pry. But I’m your best friend. If something’s going on… you don’t have to fake being okay with me.”

Kyoko’s fingers tighten around the strap of her bag.

She wants to say something—really say something—but the words twist in her throat. How can she explain any of it? That her parents are dead. That the people she’s staying with are barely more than strangers to her. That she wakes up every morning in a house that isn’t hers. That she remembers spells but forgets sometimes how to just breathe.

The truth is too much. Too strange. Too heavy for the middle of a sidewalk with wind tugging at their hair and the scent of street food drifting from somewhere nearby.

So instead, she says, quietly, “Somewhere private.”

Hana holds her gaze for a beat, then nods once, no more questions. “My place, then.”

Kyoko exhales, the tension in her shoulders dipping just a little.

She doesn’t know what she’ll say when they get there. But at least… she won’t have to figure it out alone.

TBC.

Chapter Text

Hana’s house is familiar in a way the Hibari compound is not. It feels warm, lived-in—full of presence.

Kyoko sits at the kitchen table while Hana moves around with easy confidence, pulling out snacks and making tea. She doesn’t press for answers immediately.

Instead, she lets the silence settle between them, only breaking it when she finally sets down a cup in front of Kyoko.

“So?”

Kyoko stares at the tea, watching the steam curl upward. The words press against her throat, heavy and painful.

She should just say it.

“We never made it to Okinawa. There… was a car crash,” she says finally.

Hana stills.

Kyoko keeps her eyes on the tea, fingers tightening around the cup. “They’re gone. My parents, I mean. Nii-san is … fine. Now.”

A sharp inhale. “Kyoko—”

She shakes her head before Hana can say anything else. “I’m fine.”

It’s a lie, but it’s automatic.

Hana doesn’t call her out on it. Instead, she pulls Kyoko into a hug.

Kyoko exhales shakily. She doesn’t cry, but she does lean into her best friend's hug and clings to her.

She’s never had to say it out loud before. At least, not to someone who didn’t know. 

But Hana knows now. And somehow, that makes it feel a little less heavy.

Hana holds her tightly, her arms firm and steady, like she’s determined to anchor Kyoko in place. She doesn’t say anything—not right away. She just lets Kyoko lean into her, offering quiet, unwavering support.

Kyoko exhales, pressing her forehead against Hana’s shoulder. The warmth of her friend seeps through the fabric of her uniform, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. She doesn’t cry. She’s not sure she can. But for the first time since everything changed, she allows herself to take comfort in someone else.

After a long moment, Hana shifts, one hand rubbing slow, absentminded circles against Kyoko’s back.

“You should’ve told me sooner,” she murmurs, not unkindly. “You shouldn’t have been dealing with this alone.”

“I wasn’t,” Kyoko says quietly. “Reika-san… she’s been helping.”

Hana pulls back just enough to frown at her. “Who?”

“Hibari Reika.” Kyoko admits. “She took me in.”

Hana’s brows furrow. “Wait. You’re living there? With Hibari, the guy who beat up some students during lunch?”

“Yes.”

For a second, Hana just stares at her. Then, with something like horror, she demands, “Are you okay? Like, actually okay?”

Kyoko blinks at her, startled. “What?”

Hana throws her arms up. “You’re living with Hibari! In his house! Do you know how terrifying that sounds? He barely tolerates people, Kyoko! Do you have to follow some weird set of rules? Are you allowed to talk at dinner? Does he loom at you?”

Kyoko can’t help it. A small, startled giggle escapes her, bright despite the weight in her chest.

Hana narrows her eyes. “That wasn’t a joke. I’m actually worried.”

Kyoko shakes her head, a small, amused smile curling at her lips. “It’s not that bad. Reika-san is strict, but she’s been kind to me. And Hibari-san mostly ignores me.”

“Mostly?” Hana repeats sceptically.

Kyoko hesitates. “Well. Sometimes he watches me. But I don’t think it’s meant to be… menacing.”

Hana groans. “That’s not reassuring.”

Kyoko smiles a little, the warmth of Hana’s concern settling over her like a blanket.

Then Hana huffs, determination flashing in her eyes. “Well, if you don’t have to stay there, you can stay with me.”

Kyoko blinks. “What?”

“I mean it!” Hana says. “I’ll make space in my room! I can move some things around. My parents won’t mind—actually, they love you, they’d probably be thrilled. We can get futons, or maybe one of those bunk beds, but I don’t know if you like sleeping up high—do you? If not, I’ll take the top, obviously. I mean, if you want to, no pressure—”

“Hana,” Kyoko interrupts, laughing softly.

“What?” Hana says, pausing mid-ramble.

Kyoko shakes her head, still smiling despite the ache in her chest. “Thank you.”

Hana huffs again, but she squeezes Kyoko’s hands where she still holds them. “Yeah, well. Someone’s got to look after you.”

Kyoko lets out another small laugh, and for the first time in a while, it doesn’t feel forced.

Hana squeezes Kyoko’s hands one last time before pulling back, her expression shifting into something determined.

“Alright, enough of this heavy stuff for now,” she declares, straightening her shoulders. “This is depressing. I refuse to let my best friend mope all night.”

Kyoko blinks. “I’m not moping—”

“You totally are,” Hana cuts in, waving her hand. “I’m up for changing the subject before we both end up crying into our tea. If you want to, that is. We can also talk about it some more and have a good cry. It all depends on what you want. So do you want to talk some more about all this? Or do you want me to distract you? Because we will talk more about this, make no mistake, but it doesn’t have to be now.”

And this, this is why she loves Hana so much! Why Hana is her best friend.

“Distract me please.” Se says with a small smile.

“Alright, do you want to hear about my holiday? Because it turned out to be an absolute disaster.” Hana smoothly changes the subject.

Kyoko lets out a small, surprised laugh. “Disaster? That’s not what you said at lunch.”

“Well, yeah. With Sawada there… I get you want to include him and be friends. Not sure why, but you are a better person than me, so that might be it. It will take a while though, for me. But I will try my best.”

“Thank you, Hana.”

“So, yeah. Back to my Golden week.” Hana sighs dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “You know how my mom’s been super into ‘family bonding’ lately?”

Kyoko nods, eager to hear more.

“Well, she decided this year, instead of just visiting my grandparents for Golden Week, we should take a proper family trip. Somewhere ‘scenic.’” She makes air quotes. “All last minute, of course. Which apparently means the middle of nowhere, with zero signal, and a whole lot of bugs.”

Kyoko giggles. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You weren’t there.” Hana groans. “Three days in, I had so many mosquito bites I looked like I had some sort of plague. And don’t even get me started on my little cousins. Absolute menaces.”

Kyoko smiles, resting her chin on her hand. “So, I take it next time you’ll be staying home?”

“Oh, absolutely. If I ever mention willingly going on another ‘family trip,’ I want you to stop me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Hana sighs dramatically, but her expression softens. “Still, I guess it wasn’t all bad. I got to see the ocean at sunrise. And my grandma made her special soup, which almost made up for everything else.”

Kyoko hums thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen the ocean at sunrise. I bet it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Hana agrees. Then her eyes light up. “Oh! We should go together sometime! A proper beach trip, no family obligations, no mosquitoes, just us. Maybe even rope in Sawada-kun, if he can handle being outside for that long.”

Kyoko chuckles. “That does sound nice.”

“Great! We’ll plan it once the weather warms up. Sometimes this summer.” Hana grins, pleased.

There’s a brief pause, the warmth of their easy conversation still lingering between them. Then Hana glances at the clock and frowns slightly.

Her friend stretches her arms over her head, rolling her shoulders like she’s shaking off the weight of their conversation.

“Alright, I guess it is getting kind of late, and we have class tomorrow,” she declares, standing up with an air of finality.

Then, with a sharp look, she adds, “I’m walking you home.”

Kyoko blinks. “You don’t have to—”

“I do have to,” Hana interrupts immediately, already grabbing her bag. “You say they’re treating you fine, but let’s be real—you’d probably say that even if you were locked in a basement, surviving on stale rice crackers and water.”

Kyoko huffs a small laugh despite herself. “That’s… quite the exaggeration...”

And it almost feels like a personal attack, given her past history with the Dursleys. Which Hana knows nothing about. Is she really that bad? In both lives?

Hana raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.” She slings her bag over her shoulder. “Come on, lead the way before I start making even wilder theories about your new mysterious guardians.”

Kyoko hesitates for half a second, but there’s no real point in arguing. Hana is Hana—once she’s set on something, moving her would take an act of god. And, truthfully… part of Kyoko doesn’t mind.

The Hibari estate is vast and unfamiliar, full of quiet corners and unspoken rules. It’s a far cry from the warmth of her childhood home or the easy familiarity of Hana’s kitchen. Having her best friend see it, judge it, maybe even approve of it—it makes Kyoko feel a little less like she’s drifting.

Still, she sighs, standing from her seat. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hana grins, triumphant. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s go before the Hibari’s start looking for you.”

Kyoko shakes her head, but she follows Hana out the door all the same.

–

The streets of Namimori are quiet this late in the evening, the last glow of sunlight fading beneath the horizon.

The hum of everyday life still lingers—shops closing up, distant chatter from late-night walkers, the occasional car rolling lazily down the road. Kyoko breathes it in, letting the familiarity settle around her like a worn blanket.

Hana walks beside her, arms crossed, her expression thoughtful. It’s not the heavy, careful silence from before, but something more natural.

Still, Kyoko knows Hana well enough to recognize when she’s thinking too hard.

“So,” Hana says at last, her voice light but laced with curiosity, “this Hibari estate of yours—is it some creepy, ancient mansion? With, like, hidden traps and secret dungeons?”

Kyoko huffs a quiet laugh. “No secret dungeons. At least, none I’ve found yet.”

Hana clicks her tongue in mock disappointment. “Shame. That would’ve been cool.”

“It’s big, though,” Kyoko admits. “And quiet.” Too quiet, sometimes. Even now, she’s still adjusting to it. “It’s very traditional looking, and … just different.”

Hana hums, watching her closely. “Different good, or different concerning?”

Kyoko considers that. The Hibari estate isn’t home—not yet—but she isn’t miserable there either. Reika-san is strict, but not unkind. The space is unfamiliar, but not hostile.

“Different manageable,” she decides at last.

Hana makes a face. “Uh-huh. That is in no ay reassuring, Kyoko. I guess I’ll have to judge for myself.”

Kyoko shakes her head, amused. Of course Hana won’t let it go.

They lapse into comfortable silence as they continue walking. The further they go, the quieter the streets become. Fewer houses. More trees. The town fades away behind them as they reach the long, winding path that leads to the Hibari estate.

Hana whistles lowly. “Damn. When you said estate, you meant estate.”

Kyoko had a similar reaction the first time she arrived. The compound is an imposing thing, vast and traditional, with high walls and an air of quiet authority. The gate stands tall before them, the insignia of the Hibari family marked in elegant detail. Before Hana can make another remark, the gate slides open with a quiet click.

Hibari Reika stands just beyond it, dressed in her usual crisp, elegant yukata. Her dark eyes flick over them, sharp but not unkind.

Kyoko straightens instinctively. “Reika-san.”

Reika-san’s gaze shifts briefly to Hana, assessing. Then, to Kyoko, she says, “I see you’ve brought company.”

Hana meets the older woman’s eyes without hesitation, her posture just a little more squared than usual. “Kurokawa Hana,” she introduces herself. “I wanted to make sure Kyoko is actually staying somewhere decent.”

Reika-san blinks, then smiles—small and sharp, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Oh?”

Kyoko winces. “Hana—”

“What? It’s a fair concern,” Hana says breezily, then turns back to Reika-san. “No offense, of course.”

Reika-san chuckles. “None taken. It’s good that Kyoko has someone willing to look out for her.”

Hana sniffs. “Someone has to.”

Kyoko feels something tight in her chest loosen just a little. Hana’s always been protective, but hearing it said aloud like this—without hesitation, without doubt—it makes warmth curl in her stomach.

Reika-san nods, as if satisfied by the response. “Would you like to come in?”

“Nah, not today. I just wanted to check the place out,” Hana says. She turns to Kyoko, eyes narrowing slightly. “You will call me if something’s off, right?”

Kyoko smiles, touched despite the exasperation in her tone. “I will.”

Hana studies her a moment longer, then nods. “Good.”

With that, she turns on her heel, throwing a wave over her shoulder as she heads back down the path. Kyoko watches her go, some part of her already missing the comfort of her presence.

Reika hums beside her. “You might not have to search far for your first Guardian after all.”

Kyoko startles, turning to look at her. “What?”

Reika glances down at her, lips curling faintly. “Bonds form in many ways. Some are slow, quiet things. Others… are simply a matter of inevitability.”

Kyoko’s heart stutters.

She thinks of Hana’s unwavering presence, her sharp eyes and sharp words, the way she pushes and pulls at Kyoko without ever stepping too far. She has always been there, even before Kyoko knew what it meant to be a Sky.

Kyoko swallows. “I—”

Reika gives her a knowing look before stepping lightly through the threshold of the estate. “Come. It’s late. And I still have something I want to talk to you about before you turn in.”

Kyoko follows the woman into her office and sits down at the low table they have their lessons at. “What about?”

Reika’s expression is as composed as ever, but something in her gaze has sharpened—more intent than usual. She sits straight-backed, hands folded neatly over her lap, the soft rustle of her kimono the only sound in the room for a breath too long.

“The arrangements are complete,” she says at last. “Your parents’ funeral will be held by the end of the week.”

Kyoko’s breath catches, just slightly. Not from surprise—Reika-san had been working on it for a while now—but from the simple finality of it. She nods once, her voice quiet. “I understand.”

“I couldn’t postpone it any longer. Do you want to stay home until then, or go to school until the day before? I can write a note for your teachers if you wish to stay home a little longer.” Reika-san’s eyes don’t leave her.

“No,” Kyoko murmurs. “Thank you. For taking care of it. I think I’ll… try and go to school?”

A pause.

Reika-san tilts her head slightly. “Alright. If at any point you change your mind, don’t hesitate to tell me. I will take care of it. For the funeral itself, I set aside some seats for friends of yours, if you wish to invite them. You haven’t mentioned many, but… I am sure Kurogawa-san will want to be there.”

“Yes, I imagine she will.” Kyoko hesitates for a moment. “Just two. Hana, and—” she swallows. “And a classmate. Sawada Tsunayoshi.”

There’s a brief flicker of recognition—very slight—but Reika-san stills.

Reika-san’s fingers brush the rim of her teacup. “The name is… familiar. Old records. Possible ties to the Italian underground. I’m not certain of the accuracy—just something I recall from a briefing. Nothing concrete.”

Kyoko’s brow furrows. Then she laughs, quiet and disbelieving. “That doesn’t sound like him at all. Tsuna-kun can barely walk down a hallway without tripping over his own feet. He flinches when people raise their voices. The Mafia? That’s ridiculous.”

Reika-san doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t laugh either. She simply waits.

Kyoko looks down into her tea. “He’s not dangerous. But I did want to talk about him with you. It’s like… there’s something about him. Something cold. It’s subtle, but it’s always there. I keep thinking maybe it’s just me being weird, but…” She trails off, then looks back up. “I have only noticed this since I became Flame active, so I wondered if it has something to do with Tsuna-kun’s flames?”

Reika-san tilts her head. “So you think he’s one of us.”

“I don’t know,” Kyoko says, honestly. “Maybe. I don’t feel a Flame—not really. Not clearly. It’s like something’s muffling it. Or pressing down on it. Or…” She struggles for the words. “Something is wrong. Not broken. Not hollow. Just… not right.”

Reika-san’s expression sharpens just a degree. “And how close have you gotten to this Sawada boy?”

Kyoko flushes slightly. “I… sort of claimed him. I think? Not officially, or in any Flame capacity. At least, I don’t think so. But he is my friend, and I feel both protective and possessive over him.”

Reika-san lifts both brows at that.

“Just… no one else was looking out for him. And he looked like he needed someone. So I decided. That he was mine.” Kyoko rushes to explain.

That gets a subtle twitch of amusement at the corner of Reika-san’s mouth. “Ah. I see.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Reika-san interrupts smoothly. “Instinct is instinct.”

Silence stretches again. Then Reika-san sets her tea aside.

“If something is interfering with him—Flame-bound or not—it’s worth observing. Bring him,” she says. “To the funeral. I want to see for myself.”

Kyoko blinks. “What?”

“I want to see him,” Reika-san says. “You say there’s a coldness that shouldn’t be there. If that’s true, it’s not something we ignore. If someone in my territory is carrying an aura like that, I should understand what it means. It may not be anything serious. But if it is…” She trails off for a moment. “If there’s something strange at play—if he’s unknowingly manifesting a Flame or attracting something dangerous—I have an uncle I can call. He specializes in matters like this.”

Kyoko blinks at her. “You think Tsuna-kun’s dangerous?”

“I think you’re not the type to be unsettled easily,” Reika-san replies. “And I trust your instincts.”

Kyoko doesn’t know what to say to that. The thought of Tsuna-kun—flinching, stammering Tsuna—being involved in anything remotely dangerous seems absurd.

She says as much.

Reika-san smiles, faintly. “You’d be surprised, Kyoko-chan. The ones who seem the smallest often carry the most unexpected weight. Besides, there is also the possibility that something happened to him. Or was done to him. In that case, of course I will try to help him.”

Kyoko hesitates. “He doesn’t know anything. About Flames. Or anything close to it.”

“Then we won’t speak of Flames,” Reika-san says simply. “Not yet.”

Kyoko bites her lip. “He’s… sensitive. Jumpy. If he thinks he’s being observed or if people pay too much attention to him, I think he might actually run away.”

Reika-san nods once. “Then be careful. I won’t say anything to him. It won’t be the place nor the time to have such a discussion anyway.”

Kyoko’s shoulders loosen just a bit.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

Reika-san leans back, studying her for a long moment. “He matters this much to you?”

Kyoko hesitates, but then she nods. “I think so.”

Reika-san hums. “Then we’ll see what this coldness really is.”

Chapter Text

The days leading up to the funeral feel strangely hollow.

Time doesn’t stop—it just slips sideways? Sort of? Meals come and go without flavor. Morning and night pass like pages in a book she doesn’t remember turning.

The Hibari estate is quiet but not empty, filled with the soft, practiced movements of its inhabitants. Even Nii-san is subdued, his usual energy dampened under the weight of the occasion.

They all handle things Kyoko doesn’t have to think about: the flowers, the seating, the notes to school. She doesn’t ask questions; Reika-san simply takes care of it all, her composure absolute, her efficiency a shield for Kyoko.

It is, in a way, a strange mercy—to be spared the details, to be allowed to float through days of grief without confronting them fully. And yet, that very sparing leaves her in a peculiar limbo. She feels as though she is moving through a half-dream, observing the world from behind a pane of frosted glass.

Only now, as the funeral approaches, does the reality begin to press against the edges of her consciousness: she has lost her parents. And it is not just a loss measured in memories, but in a cold, gnawing emptiness that creeps through her chest and settles there. She is surrounded by people, by quiet care and soft attentions, and yet she feels hollow—as though the core of herself has been left behind somewhere, along with the warmth of their presence.

School is much the same, though the hours blur together in a haze of chalk dust, half-scribbled notes, and the distant drone of teachers’ voices that Kyoko barely hears. The days crawl forward, each one bringing her closer to the funeral she doesn’t want to face.

Hana and Tsuna-kun become her anchors—though in very different ways.

Hana takes charge without hesitation. She plants herself at Kyoko’s side, carrying her books before Kyoko can protest, glaring down anyone who dares whisper too loudly, and cutting off nosy classmates with her trademark sharp tongue. Whenever Kyoko falters, Hana fills the silence with steady chatter, as though her voice alone can keep the world from pressing too close.

Tsuna-kun, on the other hand, still looks like he isn’t quite sure how he ended up in their little orbit. Hana makes sure he is there —looping him in with an offhand, “You’re walking with us,” or nudging him into the seat next to Kyoko at lunch before he can stammer an excuse. He still hesitates, shuffling nervously at the edges, but he never pulls away.

And though he clearly doesn’t know what to do, Kyoko can tell he’s trying. He offers her part of his lunch even when his hands shake, or hovers uncertainly by her desk until Hana waves him closer. His presence is awkward, stumbling, but steady in its own way—like he wants to help but is afraid he’ll get it wrong.

Together, the three of them form an odd little unit: Hana’s sharpness, Tsuna-kun’s hesitant loyalty, and Kyoko’s quiet grief pressing them closer with every passing day.

When the day of the funeral finally arrives, Kyoko dresses without thinking. The black formal wear fits like a costume—too stiff, too somber. Her hands tremble a little as she buttons the collar. She stares at herself in the mirror for a long moment and doesn't quite recognize the girl looking back.

The temple is quiet when they arrive. But not for long.

People begin to gather—slowly, then all at once. Nii-san and Reika-san are a steady presence on either side of her. And when faceless people approach her, she bows automatically. Thanks them. Moves through the motions like a ghost. A blur of dark clothes, bowed heads, soft-spoken condolences that drift past her ears like static.

This is the second time, over two lifetimes, that she’s lost her parents—but the first time she has to bury them.

Before, death had always come with noise: a flash of green light, a battlefield’s roar, the frantic rush of fighting and there was no time to stop and mourn properly. Not immediately anyway.

She’d lost friends, mentors, and makeshift family in the chaos, grief buried beneath the need to keep moving. Sirius, Remus, Dobby, Fred and many more…

But here, in this life, there is no war to blame.

No villain to fight.

No greater good or other lives saved by their sacrifice, which can maybe make it all a bit easier to cope with.

Only silence, incense, and the weight of finality pressing down as she prepares to lay her parents to rest. It feels heavier than anything that came before.

Relatives she barely knows appear before her to say how sad they are by what happened. An uncle from her mother’s side she hasn’t seen since she was seven. A second cousin who cries more than Kyoko currently feels capable of. Many more follow but she doesn’t really register them as individual people.

Polite, strained conversation. The scent of incense is heavy in the air.

It is strange, to see all these strangers and see how much they care (or so they say) now that her parents are dead, yet Kyoko doesn’t know any of them by name. Why are they here, crying and caring, when they couldn’t be bothered to be around when her parents were alive?

But it’s the arrival of familiar faces that steady her.

The Yamamotos come first. Takeshi’s father gives her a respectful, quiet nod, his warm palm resting briefly on her shoulder. Takeshi himself smiles—soft and unsure—offering a small and a softly spoken “I’m sorry.”

It is seeing the two of them, that makes er realize Yamamoto Takeshi knows at least part of what she is going through. Because he lost his mother years ago.

She has no time to stand still by this thoughts, because the family of two moves on and other people take their place.

Later Hana arrives, cutting through the crowd with sharp heels and sharper focus. Her black skirt barely rustles as she makes a beeline for Kyoko. She doesn't speak right away—just reaches out and takes Kyoko’s hand, squeezing it hard.

For a second, it looks like Hana wants to break all traditions and stay next to her, but after a nudge of her mother, Hana continues on, sharing her condolences with Nii-san before moving further into the room, so others can have their turn.

Hana is not the last one to arrive either.

Trailing somewhat behind her is Tsuna-kun, wringing his hands and trying not to look as uncomfortable as he clearly feels. His black jacket hangs off his narrow shoulders, looking way too big on him (but she appreciates the thought and effort) and his eyes are wide with quiet uncertainty. He bows too low, nearly falling over, and straightens with a quiet “Sorry—for your loss. I mean. Uh…”

He trails off, visibly sweating.

Kyoko’s mouth trembles—but something like a smile flickers across it anyway. “Thank you. For coming.”

Hana come to get Tsuna-kun and drags him along before he can dig himself in deeper. “We’ll sit nearby. Just signal if you need anything.”

They settle in as the temple fills further.

As the stream of people trickle to nothing, nii-san places a hand on her shoulder and guides her to their seats.

The ceremony begins. Monks chant softly near the altar, incense wafting through the room in delicate spirals. People bow. Offer prayers. The air is heavy, but still.

Kyoko doesn’t cry.

It’s not that she doesn’t feel the loss. It’s just… distant. Muted. Her head feels hazy. Like grief has built a wall around her heart and left her in the quiet stillness behind it.

She listens to the prayers. Follows the procession. Bows and stands when she’s meant to. Her hands remain folded in her lap, whenever she can. Her eyes don’t stray.

As the ceremony winds down, guests begin to file out in murmuring groups. Kyoko stays seated for a while, watching the smoke curl up from the altar. She’s not ready to move yet.

But eventually, she stands when the ceremony is done.

Her friends are ready, as if they were waiting for her. As soon as she stands, both Hana and Tsuna-kun are on either side of her.

Hana catches her elbow. Tsuna-kun doesn’t touch her, but stands close as her nii-san catches her other arm and together with the three of them surrounding her, they leave the temple.

She’s tired. Bone-deep.

But not alone.

It will take time, but a part of her is confident she will be fine in the long run.

--

The sky has already darkened by the time they return to the estate.

Kyoko walks the path home slowly, her footsteps measured and quiet. The sleeves of her mourning clothes whisper with each step.

Nii-san walks slightly ahead of her, silent for once. He must have a lot on his mind as well.

Tsuna-kun and Hana walk on either side of her, with Hana holding her hand. Reika-san has suggested they walk home from the cemetery instead of taking a car. It isn’t too far, and allows her to clear her mind a bit thanks to the fresh air.

The estate’s lanterns glow softly beyond the gate, their light spilling like gold against the gravel path. It feels almost too warm, too welcoming, after the muted grey of the day.

When they step inside the house, Reika stops both nii-san and Kyoko. “I asked to have tea and light food prepared for us by the time we got back,” she says. Her voice is calm, even gentle, but the faintest thread of weariness runs beneath it. “You are free to eat in your room if that is your preference.”

Nii-san nods and excuses himself, disappearing through the corridor towards his own room before Kyoko can say anything.

Kyoko blinks, surprised and taken aback by the abruptness of it all.

She glances back—Hana is toeing off her shoes with precise movements, and Tsuna-kun is awkwardly fumbling with his. Neither of them looks in a hurry to leave.

Reika inclines her head, her voice as smooth as silk. “In case you don’t remember, I arranged for your friends to stay the night. Neither of their families made an issue out of it, given what happened and that it is not a school day tomorrow, and I thought you might appreciate some familiar company. I cleared two guest rooms, but you can have a sleepover and all sleep in your room as well. Whatever you prefer.”

Kyoko stares at her for a second. Not because she’s upset—but because she hadn’t even thought of asking. It simply never occurred to her, the idea that someone else might anticipate what she needs before she’s figured it out herself.

“I—no. That’s… Thank you,” she murmurs, a bit thrown. “Really.”

Reika only nods. “Good. I insist you try and eat at least something small before trying to go to sleep. You barely touched anything earlier.”

With that, she slips off down the hallway, soundless as ever, leaving Kyoko with her friends.

Kyoko watches her go, then turns back to Hana and Tsuna-kun. Hana raises a brow at her.

“You look like you just got blindsided by a kind gesture.”

“I sort of did,” Kyoko says. “I didn’t expect… this. Today has been a lot.”

Hana shrugs out of her jacket and folds it neatly over her arm. “Reika-san’s very perceptive. Which is scary, when you think she is related to that demon prefect.”

Tsuna-kun rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the hallway. “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean—I don’t want to intrude. Or bump into Hibari-san.”

Kyoko smiles at him, tired but genuine. “You’re not intruding. I’m glad you’re here.”

Tsuna-kun looks a little stunned by that.

“You heard the lady,” Hana says dryly, stepping forward to guide him further inside. “Come on. Tea sounds great. And I’m not letting you trip over any priceless heirlooms while Kyoko’s too tired to save you.”

“Hey—!” he starts, but she’s already walking, pushing him along.

Kyoko watches them go for a second, warmth flickering in her chest. Exhaustion still pulls heavy at her limbs, but it’s softer now. Less suffocating.

She toes off her own shoes and pads after them.

She isn’t sure what tomorrow will feel like. Grief has a way of creeping in when the noise dies down and the crowds go home.

But for tonight—tonight she’s surrounded by warmth and quiet voices.

By a friend who’s never once let her drift too far.

By a boy with scared eyes and a shaky heart, who showed up even when he doesn’t believe he is really wanted.

Kyoko exhales, slow and long.

She catches up with them and leads them to her room and, true to Reika-san’s word, a tray has been laid out—cups, a steaming pot, and a plate of delicate sweets she really have the appetite for.

It’s only when Kyoko sits down at the low table with Hana joining on her right that she notices Tsuna-kun has stopped just short of the threshold. His face is already a shade too red, his fingers twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Tsuna-kun?”

“Uh—th-this is…” He gulps, eyes darting from the tatami mats to the low table to the futons stacked neatly against the wall. “…a girl’s bedroom. I shouldn’t be … here?”

Hana snorts, leaning on her elbows on the table. “Oh, please. It’s not like Kyoko has frilly lace underwear laying about or a shrine to pop idols in here.”

Kyoko flushes lightly at the mention of her underwear, but tries to hide it as best as she can.

Hana sweeps her gaze across the room, tilting her head.  “Actually… huh. This is kind of nice, for your new room. Old-school—feels like stepping into a ryokan. Very fancy.”

Tsuna-kun finally enters the room, still a bit reluctantly, hovering close to the wall like he might set off an alarm if he touched anything. His eyes stay stubbornly on the floor.

Hana, meanwhile, is still looking around Kyoko’s room. “So, Kyoko… and don’t get me wrong, but do you plan to decorate this place? It feels almost too impersonal, you know. Didn’t you bring stuff from your old room? Posters, books, photos, anything?”

Kyoko blinks, startled. She looks around slowly, really seeing the space for the first time.

The pale paper walls. The spotless tatami. The way everything is arranged with quiet precision, but nothing is hers. No knickknacks. No childhood photos. No little pieces of memory tucked into corners.

It’s… a room. Perfectly prepared. Perfectly empty.

Her lips part, but no words come at first.

“I…” She swallows. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

Hana straightens, frowning faintly. “You didn’t even realize, did you?”

Kyoko shakes her head, a small knot tightening in her chest. She had been living here for what feels like weeks now, but she hasn’t once tried to make the room feel like hers. She’d just accepted the space as it was. Neat. Pristine. Impersonal.

Tsuna-kun finally lifts his eyes, cheeks still pink, and says softly, “It… doesn’t really look like your room, Kyoko-chan. I mean, not that I’d know, never having seen you old room but… I mean, not that I’d ever assume… I just … ” the boy is a stuttering mess by the end, his words becoming softer until she can’t make them out anymore.

The words are gentle, but they hit harder than he knows.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Hana shoots Tsuna-kun a smirk.  

Kyoko wraps her arms around herself, her gaze dropping to the floor. “No. You’re right. Both of you. It doesn’t feel like me.”

For a moment, the silence feels heavier than the air itself.

Then Hana claps her hands lightly, as if shaking the weight off. “Well. That just means we’ve got a project. One day soon, when you’re ready, we’ll fix this place up. Make it yours. Kyoko-fy it! It will be fun. ”

Kyoko blinks at her, a small warmth stirring at the edges of her grief. “…Yeah. That sounds nice.”

“Now, you, sit down will you, Tsuna, and then we can finally enjoy this tea and these snacks. They smell really nice, and I am hungry.” Hana says, gesturing towards Tsuna-kun.

Tsuna-kun makes a squeaky noise, but does as he is told.

It startles her, and a laugh slips from Kyoko before she can stop it. Not a big one—barely more than a breath—but enough to make her cheeks warm.

Hana’s smirk grows. “That’s better.”

Kyoko shakes her head, smiling faintly as she settles at the low table across from them. “You really do like bossing people around.”

“Someone has to be in charge,” Hana says easily, pouring tea into three delicate cups. “And clearly, he doesn’t mind.”

“I-I do mind!” Tsuna-kun sputters, going red all over again.

“You’re sitting, aren’t you?” Hana counters.

He makes another strangled sound, but reaches for his cup of tea anyway, holding it carefully with both hands like he’s afraid to break it as he sips it.

For a while, the three of them just sit quietly. The tea is light and floral, and the sweets—though none of them have much appetite—melt on the tongue in a way that makes it hard not to nibble at least a little.

“It feels weird,” Kyoko admits after a while, turning her cup slowly in her hands. “Being in this room, like this, with you both here. Not being home, with mom and dad.”

Hana’s expression softens, though her tone stays light. “Dream or not, you’ve got us now. And trust me, I’m not letting you drift off and face all this alone.”

Kyoko swallows, her throat tight. “I know.”

Beside them, Tsuna-kun shifts, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant. “I… I don’t really know what to say. I mean… I’ve never…” He trails off, brow furrowing, clearly struggling to find the words.

Kyoko watches him, patient.

Finally, he blurts out, “I just don’t want you to feel… forgotten. Or… left behind. That’s all.”

The words tumble out clumsy and awkward, but the earnestness behind them makes Kyoko’s chest ache.

Hana leans back with a small, satisfied smile. “See? He’s not hopeless after all.”

Tsuna-kun yelps, glaring at her. “H-Hana!”

But Kyoko is smiling, really smiling this time. “Thank you,” she says softly. “Both of you. I… I don’t think I’d be holding it together right now without you.”

The air between them warms, the heaviness of the day easing just a fraction.

Hana lifts her cup in mock toast. “Then it’s settled. Tonight, no ghosts. Just tea, sweets, and figuring out how not to let Tsuna-kun trip over the futons when we set them up.”

“I-I wouldn’t—!” he protests, but his voice cracks halfway, and Hana bursts out laughing.

Kyoko presses a hand over her mouth, giggling quietly despite the lump still in her throat. For the first time in days, the sound feels real.

Once the teapot is empty, Hana sets down her teacup and stretches, eyes darting toward the stack of folded bedding left in the corner. “Alright. Logistics. If we’re doing this, how do we want to line things up? Any suggestions?”

Kyoko blinks, then laughs quietly. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

“Of course I am.” Hana gestures grandly toward the empty tatami space. “This is sacred work. A sleepover arrangement defines the night. What do you think, Tsuna?”

Tsuna-kun fidgets in his seat, shoulders stiff. “I… I’ve never… um, had a sleepover before, so I have no i-idea?” he admits quietly, voice barely carrying.

Kyoko feels a pang in her chest, sharp and familiar. She remembers that loneliness—growing up without friends, always on the outside, always pretending to belong. Back in her life as Harry, there had been no one to reach out to her, no one to pull her into warmth like this. Not until Hogwarts.

The memory twists uncomfortably in her stomach.

She swallows and forces a soft smile, feeling more determined than ever. Because now she sort of understands the protectiveness Ron and Hermion displayed for Harry. She hadn’t understood it before. But now, she can be a Ron or Hermione for someone else. She wants to be this person for Tsuna-kun.

Hana raises a brow, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Never? Really? Well, there’s a first time for everything.” She gestures for them both to get up. “Let’s go and grab some futon and cushions and stuff.”

Kyoko gets up and holds out a hand towards Tsuna-kun with a small smile, while Hana is already matching out the room to get started.

After a long, hesitant pause, he takes her hand, and lets her pull him to his feet, cheeks pink, fumbling slightly but clearly trying.

Kyoko’s chest warms at the sight.

Good. He’ll learn and see, with time.

The extra futons had already been prepared in one of the guest rooms by Reika-san’s staff—thick, clean mats and fresh blankets, neatly folded in stacks. The three of them carry them back together, Hana chatting about pillow strategy while Tsuna-kun nearly trips twice but somehow manages not to drop anything.

Between the three of them, and with Hana taking charge, the futons are soon laid out side by side in a tidy row, pillows lined up evenly. Kyoko ends up in the middle without them even needing to discuss it.

“Perfect,” Hana declares, patting the blankets with finality. “I approve.”

Afterward, they scatter for their night routines. Towels, toothbrushes, and soft yukata have been set aside for them, Reika-san’s foresight covering every detail.

When they return to her room, Hana flops down dramatically across her claimed futon.

Tsuna-kun carefully lowers himself onto his own futon, as far away from Hana as he can, pulling the blanket up to his chin like a shield.

And who can blame him? Hana has been teasing him quite a bit this evening.

Kyoko shakes her head at her friends’ antics. She turns of the light and joins them on the futons. She lies between them, listening to Hana’s easy breathing and Tsuna-kun’s restless shifting.

For the first time in days, her chest feels lighter—not hollow, but full. And she falls asleep easily.

TBC.