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The Tri-Magic-Athalon had ended hours ago, yet its aftermath still clung to the air, like smoke that refused to disperse.
Lévis Rosequartz had not slept. He stood by the tall window of his room, the moonlight cutting sharp lines across the floor. Below, the academy grounds rested in uneasy calm. Students had returned to their dorms, and the world, as it always did, pretended to move on.
But Lévis couldn’t. His fingers tightened slightly at his side.
Domina Blowelive was dead. That was the official conclusion. The whispers. The reports. The looks exchanged between instructors who thought students weren’t paying attention. Even the air itself seemed to agree - heavy, final, unquestionable. Dead.
Lévis exhaled slowly, but the breath did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest. “Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath.
He wasn’t sure who he was insulting. Domina, for losing? Or himself for caring?
A faint, humorless smile tugged at his lips before disappearing just as quickly. “Of course,” he said quietly, voice hollow in the empty room. “That’s what happens to those who aren’t strong enough.”
The words sounded correct. Logical. Clean. So why did they feel wrong? Why did the memory of Domina, silent, distant, untouchable, refuse to settle into something as simple as gone?
Lévis turned away from the window sharply, as if physically rejecting the thought. He crossed the room in measured steps, each one precise, controlled. He would not indulge in useless sentiment. He would not…
A knock.
It was soft. Barely there.
For a moment, Lévis didn’t move. His brows drew together, irritation flickering across his face. “At this hour…?”
Another knock followed. Weaker this time. Slower. Not impatient. Not demanding. Almost… unsteady. Something about it felt wrong.
Lévis approached the door, his expression sharpening. Whoever it was, they had chosen a poor time. He reached for the handle and pulled the door open. And the world stopped.
Domina stood there. Alive.
For a split second, Lévis’s mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing. The figure in front of him was unmistakable, same pink hair, same distant gaze, but everything else was… off.
He looked fragile. No, worse than that. He looked human.
His clothes were torn, darkened in places where blood had dried. Bandages wrapped hastily around his arms and neck, uneven and imperfect, as if applied in urgency rather than care. His breathing was shallow, each inhale just slightly delayed, like his body hadn’t quite decided whether it still belonged to him.
And his eyes weren’t empty. They were tired.
“…Lévis,” Domina said quietly.
Even his voice had changed. Gone was the cold, detached tone. What remained was something thinner, worn down, like a thread pulled too tight.
Lévis didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Because this wasn’t possible. “You’re…” He stopped himself abruptly, the word dead catching in his throat like something sharp.
Domina’s gaze lowered slightly, as if the reaction was expected. “I know,” he said.
There was no defense in it. No explanation. Just quiet acknowledgment.
A faint sway followed, almost imperceptible, but Lévis saw it. Of course he did.
“What is this?” Lévis’s voice came out colder than he intended, sharper, like he could cut through the unreality of the moment if he spoke precisely enough. “Some kind of trick?”
Domina shook his head, barely. “No.”
Lévis’s eyes scanned him again, more carefully this time. The injuries. The exhaustion. The way Domina was standing, no, failing to stand, held together by nothing but willpower.
This wasn’t a trick. This was worse. This was real.
“You should be dead,” Lévis said quietly.
“I was supposed to be,” Domina replied.
Another small sway. This one harder to hide.
Lévis’s fingers twitched. “Then why are you here?”
That question lingered longer than the others. He wasn’t sure why he asked it. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.
Domina hesitated. For the first time since Lévis had known him, since he had observed him from a distance, measured him, compared himself against him, Domina Blowelive hesitated.
“I…” His voice faltered slightly. “…I had nowhere else to go.”
The words landed softly. Too softly. They didn’t match the person standing in front of him, the prodigy, the monster, the one who had always seemed so far removed from something as trivial as need.
Lévis felt something tighten in his chest again. Sharper this time. “Nowhere?” he repeated, almost incredulous. “What about your—”
He stopped. They both knew the answer. Innocent Zero.
Domina’s gaze dropped fully now, shadows falling across his face. “I can’t go back, obviously.” There was no elaboration. None was needed.
Something in Lévis’s expression shifted, subtle, but real.
Domina took a small step forward. Or tried to. His body betrayed him. The movement faltered midway, his balance giving out just enough that he had to catch himself against the doorframe. His breathing hitched, quiet, controlled, but undeniably strained.
“I won’t stay long,” he said, almost as if reciting something he’d prepared. “Just until I…”
His sentence didn’t finish. Because his strength didn’t. The hand braced against the frame slipped. For a fraction of a second, Domina’s composure cracked completely, weight shifting, body tilting forward, gravity finally claiming what willpower had been holding together.
Lévis moved before he thought. His hand caught Domina’s arm, firm, immediate. Warm. Too warm for someone who was supposed to be dead. Their proximity collapsed the distance that had always existed between them. Lévis could feel it now, the unsteady rhythm of Domina’s breathing, the tension in his muscles, the exhaustion that no amount of pride could conceal.
“You look terrible,” he said finally.
It wasn’t kindness. But it wasn’t cruelty either.
Domina let out a faint breath, something dangerously close to a laugh, though it held no real humor. “I know.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Can I come in?”
The question was simple. But the weight behind it wasn’t. Because this wasn’t just about a room. It was about everything Domina no longer had. And everything Lévis had never intended to give.
Lévis stared at him. At the boy who was supposed to be gone. At the rival he had measured himself against. At the presence that refused, infuriatingly, to disappear from his thoughts even when death should have erased it.
This wasn’t logical. This wasn’t clean. This was complicated. Messy. Human.
“You’re a nuisance,” Lévis said at last.
But he stepped aside. Just enough.
“Don’t collapse on my floor.”
It wasn’t permission. Not explicitly. But it was enough.
Domina didn’t argue. Didn’t thank him. He simply stepped forward, unsteady, quiet, and crossed the threshold. And the door closed behind him with a soft, final click.
The room, once sharp, controlled, entirely Lévis’s, felt different now. Smaller. Warmer, somehow, despite the cold silver light spilling in from the window. As if the simple presence of another person had shifted the balance of the air.
Domina stood just inside, unmoving. Or rather, he was trying to remain unmoving. Up close, it was impossible to ignore the strain. The slight tremor in his shoulders. The uneven rhythm of his breathing. The way his weight wasn’t fully settled, like his body hadn’t yet decided how to exist without the constant demand to fight.
Lévis noticed all of it. He wished he didn’t.
Domina took another step forward. Then another. Each one careful, measured, as though he were learning how to walk in this space, how to exist in a place that wasn’t defined by expectation or command.
He didn’t get far. Halfway into the room, his balance faltered again. This time it was more obvious. His shoulder dipped, breath catching just slightly too hard, his body lagging behind his intention.
Lévis exhaled sharply. “Honestly.”
He crossed the distance in two quick steps, catching Domina before the motion could collapse into something worse. His hand closed around Domina’s wrist this time, firmer than before, grounding him before gravity could.
“You said you wouldn’t collapse,” Lévis muttered.
Domina didn’t pull away. “I said I would try.”
There was no defensiveness in it. Just quiet honesty. That, somehow, was worse.
Lévis’s grip tightened for a fraction of a second, then shifted. Instead of letting go, he guided him. Not roughly. Not gently either. Just… deliberately.
“Sit,” he said, steering him toward the edge of the bed.
Domina obeyed without argument. That alone was enough to feel wrong. He sat slowly, like the act required more effort than it should. The moment his weight settled, something in his posture gave way, not completely, not dramatically, but enough that the tension he had been holding finally loosened. A quiet exhale escaped him. Not relief. Just… less strain.
Lévis stepped back. Far enough to pretend distance. Close enough to notice everything.
“You’re worse than I thought,” he said, folding his arms. “Who did this?”
Domina’s gaze drifted slightly, unfocused for a second before returning. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does if you plan on bleeding on my floor.”
“I’m not bleeding.”
Lévis’s eyes flicked to the bandages. “That remains to be seen.”
“Ryoh Grantz,” Domina said, almost as an afterthought. “And Meliadoul Amy.”
Lévis’s expression shifted, just barely. “They helped you?” he asked.
Domina nodded once. “They shouldn’t have,” he added after a moment. The words weren’t bitter. They were factual.
Lévis tilted his head slightly, studying him. “And yet, they did.”
Domina didn’t respond. His gaze had lowered again, not in avoidance, just in fatigue. As if holding eye contact required more energy than he currently had.
Lévis turned away first. A quiet click of his tongue broke the stillness as he moved across the room, reaching for a small cabinet near his desk. He opened it with practiced ease, scanning its contents before pulling out a clean cloth and a small vial.
“You’re going to make this inconvenient,” he said, almost to himself.
Domina’s voice came faintly from behind him. “You don’t have to…”
“I know.” Lévis cut him off before he could finish.
He returned without elaborating, setting the items down beside Domina with a soft, controlled motion.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he added, glancing down at him. “If you worsen overnight, I’ll throw you out.”
Domina looked at the cloth. Then at Lévis. “That would be difficult,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t make it very far.”
For a split second, Lévis just stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, a quiet, breath-like sound escaped him. “You really are in a pathetic state,” he muttered.
And yet, he knelt. The movement was smooth, controlled, as if it meant nothing. As if it wasn’t a deliberate lowering of himself, a quiet closing of distance that would have been unthinkable just hours ago.
“Hold still,” Lévis said.
Domina did.
Carefully, Lévis reached for the edge of one of the bandages wrapped around Domina’s arm. Up close, the work was clearly rushed, functional, but uneven. Not meant for comfort. Just survival. His fingers paused for a fraction of a second before unwrapping it.
“This will hurt,” he added, almost absently.
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t. They both knew it. But Domina didn’t flinch when the fabric loosened, didn’t react when the underlying injury was exposed to the cooler air of the room.
Lévis’s gaze sharpened. “You call this fine?”
“It’s better than before.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Still, his movements slowed. More careful now. The cloth dipped into the vial, absorbing the faintly shimmering liquid before he pressed it gently, more gently than he intended, against the wound.
Domina’s breath hitched. Just slightly.
Lévis noticed. Of course he did.
“You can react,” he said quietly.
“I am.”
“You don’t have to pretend here.”
The words lingered.
Domina didn’t answer immediately. His gaze had shifted again, not downward this time, but somewhere indistinct, as if the idea itself required processing. “I’m not pretending,” he said at last.
Lévis’s hand stilled for a moment. Then resumed. “Then you’re worse off than I thought.”
But his touch remained careful. Measured. Almost… gentle.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It settled around them, quiet and steady, like something gradually finding its place. No expectations. No audience. No roles to perform. Just the soft sound of cloth against skin, the faint rhythm of breathing, and the quiet, undeniable truth that neither of them said aloud: Domina wasn’t dead.
And Lévis hadn’t turned him away.
After a while, Domina spoke again. “Why?”
Lévis didn’t look up. “Why what?”
“Why did you let me stay?”
The question was simple. But it carried something fragile beneath it.
Lévis finished tying the clean bandage before answering. “Don’t misunderstand,” he said, tone returning to something more familiar, something controlled. “This is temporary.”
“I know.”
“And inconvenient.”
“I know.”
“And if you become a liability—”
“I understand.”
Lévis finally looked at him. Their eyes met. This time, Domina didn’t look away. There was no distance in his gaze now. No emptiness. Just quiet exhaustion… and something else. Something uncertain. Something that hadn’t been there before.
Lévis exhaled softly. “Good,” he said. But his voice lacked conviction. “You would have been more troublesome if you’d died.”
Domina blinked once. The words didn’t quite make sense. “I would have?” he asked.
Lévis clicked his tongue lightly, looking away as he stood. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
It wasn’t an answer. Not a clear one. But it was enough. For now.
Domina’s shoulders eased, just slightly. Not fully relaxed. Not safe. But less alone. For a while, Lévis thought Domina had simply… gone still again. The kind of stillness that wasn’t quite sleep, not quite awareness either, something suspended in between, like a body unsure whether it was allowed to rest.
But then his breathing changed. Subtly. It deepened, evened out, lost that fragile, uneven edge that had followed him through the doorway. The tension in his shoulders eased, not completely, not carelessly, but enough that it no longer looked like he was bracing against something unseen.
Lévis stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching in silence. “So you can sleep,” he murmured quietly.
There was no response. Domina had already drifted too far to hear him.
Lévis exhaled through his nose and turned away, brushing a hand through his hair in a motion that was almost restless. This was inconvenient. Entirely inconvenient. His room, his space, interrupted, altered, occupied by someone
who wasn’t supposed to exist anymore.
And yet, he didn’t wake him.
Instead, Lévis moved across the room with quieter steps than usual, as if the silence had become something fragile that shouldn’t be disturbed. He adjusted the curtains just slightly, dimming the sharp edge of moonlight, softening the contrast that cut across the bed.
When he glanced back, Domina hadn’t moved. Still sitting, though barely. His body had tipped just enough that the position was unsustainable, his balance relying on nothing more than exhaustion and chance.
Lévis frowned. “Idiot.”
The word lacked heat. He approached again, slower this time, studying the angle of Domina’s posture. It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. If he stayed like this, he’d wake in worse condition, or not wake properly at all.
“You’re going to fall.”
No answer.
Lévis sighed quietly. “Troublesome.”
But his hands moved anyway. Careful, more careful than he would have admitted, he reached out, one hand settling lightly against Domina’s shoulder, the other steadying his arm.
There was a moment, brief and uncertain, where Domina shifted instinctively, as if his body remembered danger even in sleep.
Lévis stilled “It’s just me,” he said, quieter than before.
The reaction faded. Slowly. Enough.
With a controlled motion, Lévis guided him back, just enough to ease the strain, lowering him onto the bed properly this time. Domina’s head tilted slightly to the side, his breathing never breaking rhythm, his expression… calm. Not empty. Not distant. Just calm.
Lévis withdrew his hands, but not immediately.
For a fraction of a second, they lingered, hovering, uncertain, as if unsure whether to leave or remain. Then he pulled back. “Don’t get used to this,” he muttered under his breath.
Still, he reached for the blanket. It was a simple thing. Unnecessary, arguably. The room wasn’t cold, not truly. But the way Domina lay there, exhausted, worn down, stripped of everything that had once made him untouchable, it felt wrong not to.
The fabric settled over him quietly, smoothing out with a practiced motion.
Lévis stepped back again, creating distance, restoring order. Or trying to.
His gaze lingered. He studied Domina the way he always had, carefully, analytically, searching for something to define, to categorize, to understand. But there was nothing to measure here. No overwhelming presence. No suffocating pressure. No unreachable gap between them.
Just a boy. Injured. Sleeping. Alive.
“Ridiculous,” Lévis said softly. Because that was what it was.
Ridiculous that this, this quiet, fragile state, felt more real than anything Domina had been before. Ridiculous that the absence of power made him more… present. Ridiculous that Lévis couldn’t look away.
He turned abruptly. Enough. This wasn’t productive.
Crossing the room, he returned to the window, but the view no longer held the same clarity as before. The grounds below were unchanged, the night still and indifferent, but something in him had shifted. Or perhaps, something had been interrupted.
His thoughts didn’t settle the way they usually did. They didn’t align neatly into conclusions, didn’t reduce themselves into simple truths.
Domina was alive. That fact alone should have been enough to provoke calculation, strategy, evaluation. Instead…
“Nowhere else to go,” Lévis murmured.
The words echoed back to him. Unwanted. Persistent.
He frowned. That wasn’t his concern. It shouldn’t be. And yet, the image refused to leave, Domina at the door, barely standing, saying it not as a tactic, not as manipulation, but as something plain. Honest.
Lévis clicked his tongue under his breath. “You chose poorly.”
The quiet accusation went unanswered. Of course it did.
Behind him, Domina slept on, undisturbed.
Time passed. Minutes, maybe longer. The kind of time that didn’t announce itself.
Eventually, Lévis moved again. Not toward the door. Not away. But back.
He stopped a short distance from the bed this time, not as close as before, not distant either. Just… enough.
His gaze settled once more.
“You can’t go back,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t a question. The words hung there, soft, almost lost to the stillness of the room.
Domina didn’t stir.
“And you came here of all places.”
There was something almost incredulous in it. Something faintly disbelieving.
Lévis exhaled slowly. “You really are inconvenient.”
But the edge was gone. Completely. Silence answered him again. And this time, he let it.
Eventually, Lévis sat down. Not beside Domina. Not close enough to touch. Just at the edge of the space, where presence didn’t demand acknowledgment. Where quiet could remain quiet. Where neither of them had to pretend.