Chapter Text
🗡🌸
The sky did not thunder when he fell.
Silence.
Too silent, even. As if even the sky refused to acknowledge what had been done.
Up above, in a place where seasons never change, he once stood among endless flowers. Pale sakura petals drifted slowly, carried by an unchanging wind.
He was the bearer of spring.
Not a command. Not a duty. But because he was spring itself.
Where he walked, life followed.
Where he breathed, flowers bloomed.
“Yuma.”
The voice that called his name was neither warm nor cold. There was no emotion in it—only judgment.
He stood beneath that great tree, its pale sakura glowing faintly in the sky world.
In this place, petals never fell.
They were not supposed to.
Yet today… one petal drifted down between them. Then another.
“You have interfered with the order of the human world,” the voice spoke again.
Yuma lowered his head. He did not deny it. Somewhere far below, a life that should have ended… continued to exist.
Because of him.
“I only—”
“Enough.”
That single word cut through his voice like a blade.
Silence returned. Heavy. Absolute.
“You were not created to feel for them.”
A pause.
“The desire to end their suffering is not your place.”
For the first time, the wind changed direction.
Cold. Foreign. Distant.
Yuma lifted his head.
“…Then what if I still want to?” he asked softly.
Not defiance.
Or at least, not yet fully.
The sakura trees trembled.
Then they fell.
“Then you will learn,” the voice said, “..what it means to live as them.”
Light gathered behind him.
Not warm.
Not gentle.
His wings—once pure as cotton—were pulled by that light.
For a moment, he felt it.
Pain. Real. Sharp. Tearing.
And then... they broke.
No scream escaped him. Only silence, as white fragments scattered into the air like shattered petals.
“From this moment on,” the voice echoed,
“..you are no longer part of the sky.”
The world below opened beneath him.
Dark. Vast. Unknown.
“You will live among humans.”
His body began to fall.
Slowly… then faster.
“You are not allowed to use what was given to you.”
The wind roared around him. The sky grew distant.
“And if you do—”
A single petal slipped from his fingertips.
Pale. Faintly glowing. Fragile.
“…you will fade away, little by little.”
The sky closed above him, as if he had never been there at all.
And far below...
in a world where spring was nearly dead—
something fell.
Softly.
Like a flower arriving too late.
𓆩 ♡ 𓆪
Yuma was the spring that humans had longed for, yet he was cast away by the Sky Realm for a mistake he himself did not consider a mistake. To him, it was correction. But the Sky had its own laws, and Yuma had his own choice.
He had lived in the human world long enough. He had learned their behavior, their habits, everything about life here.
Yuma never got too close to any human. He deliberately kept his distance. He lived in a small fertile cave, a place where flowers always bloomed and butterflies fluttered endlessly. It looked like the only living place in the middle of this cold silence and suffocating chaos.
This world and the world he once lived in were completely different. There was no bright blue sky fading into pink, purple, or orange.
Here, the sky was dull—faded blue, like ash, just enough to see. The sun burned hotter. At night, the wind grew colder. Dry, empty land stretched endlessly across his vision, leaving cracks along the ground.
Almost every day, he could find traces of battles etched into the earth—left behind by monsters or half-formed creatures and their hunters.
Monsters themselves were born from human selfishness. It was said that humans, envious of the celestial beings who lived peacefully, beautifully, and eternally, began studying forbidden arts from unknown sources and transformed into something monstrous. Yet even so, some still tried.
As if they believed one of them would eventually reach the Sky and become immortal. But it was nothing more than delusion.
Life here felt empty.
Or at least, filled with fear.
Or it should have.
But people lived as if nothing was wrong. They worked, ate, slept, and played just fine. They stored all their exhaustion at night and woke up the next morning with renewed energy.
He thought that was admirable.
Compared to his life in the Sky Realm, he actually felt… better here.
Among all of it, there was something that fascinated Yuma as well.
Hope.
Even in suffering, humans always carried hope. They believed that somewhere, if they lit incense or candles at certain times, or joined their hands and closed their eyes while wishing at sacred moments, their desires would come true.
Somehow.
Sometime.
They believed that anyone who accidentally—or successfully—caught a falling sakura petal in their hand would have their wish granted.
And Yuma had granted several wishes so far.
He did it because he couldn’t bear seeing someone’s hope go unanswered—especially when that hope felt right, and deserved to be fulfilled.
Even though he knew he was not supposed to do it.
𓆩 ♡ 𓆪
In this world full of chaos, there were still people standing with weapons in their hands. They moved forward with firm, sharp steps. Forged through force and violence, without emotion. Only slaughter.
Monster hunters. A faction of the empire ordered to eliminate the creatures causing chaos.
That dry land had just become the witness of a fierce battle that had ended.
Cold night wind blew through. There was no sound except the rustling of dry leaves and heavy breathing.
Jo stood in the middle of the ruins. One knee bent, one hand supporting his weight as a dagger was driven into the ground. His comrades had already fallen.
Daggers in both his hands were still clenched tightly, their tips stained with black blood that had not yet dried. His body was covered in wounds—some deep enough to have already brought others down long ago.
And yet he still stood.
The creature was dead. Split in two by his final strike. But that victory… meant nothing.
Jo staggered one step.
Then another.
Blood dripped slowly from the tips of his fingers. His formal clothes were no longer neat—torn by claw marks, blade slashes, and other sharp wounds. Stains of blood had dirtied them.
His vision was starting to blur, but he did not fall. Not yet. Even though the world felt like it was spinning. He tilted his head slightly upward, trying to take in more oxygen. His breathing grew heavier.
“…annoying.”
His voice was low, almost like a hiss. As if even the wind itself was his enemy.
The sky above him was dark. No stars. No light.
Only a cold emptiness— as if something had long stopped caring.
And in that silence, just as he was about to close his eyes, something fell.
A single sakura petal.
Jo didn't notice it at first. Until the petal… brushed his lips.
Warm.
Soft.
A stark contrast to the metallic taste of blood still lingering on his tongue.
His brows furrowed slightly.
Strange.
Sakura…?
In a place like this?
The wind stopped. The world felt… different.
Jo slowly turned his head. And there he saw it. Faintly.
A figure stood not far from him. Among the dead ruins… he looked like something that should not exist in this world— glowing and…
beautiful.
A word that almost never left his lips.
He could see sakura petals drifting gently around him, as if the very air had chosen to protect him. His hair moved softly with a wind that could not be felt. It felt unreal, yet real at the same time.
And his eyes… Jo tried to focus on them, but his vision only grew blurrier. His grip tightened around his blade instinctively, faster than his thoughts.
“…Who are you?”
His voice was low. Cold. Ready to kill.
But before he could hear any answer, his body collapsed to the ground. The daggers was still firmly in his hand, yet he no longer had the strength to even keep his eyes open.
Slowly, his consciousness was taken away, no matter how hard he tried to resist it.
𓆩 ♡ 𓆪
The sun began to touch his face.
Slowly, his eyes opened. His breath still felt heavy.
The first thing he saw were faint sakura petals drifting in the air.
Realizing fully, he immediately sat up.
There was nothing there. Only the ruins left from last night’s battle.
Slowly, his hand rose and touched his lips with the back of his index finger.
That soft trace was still there. Warm. Impossible.
For a moment, his thoughts stopped.
Then he realized. A few seconds too late, his hand dropped quickly, as if he had just done something he couldn’t believe.
“Tsk… I’m still imagining things…” he muttered to himself.
He didn’t fully remember what happened last night, but he also didn’t fully forget. Yet he wasn’t sure if it was real or just a dream on the edge of consciousness.
Jo lifted his daggers, staring at the blade stained with dried blood. He stared at it for a long moment before sheathing it back at his waist.
Then he walked away, leaving the ruins behind.
Unaware that where he had stood moments ago, a small flower had begun to grow.
𓆩 ♡ 𓆪
Time passed without a sound.
A small fire crackled quietly in the corner of a room, casting shifting shadows across the narrow wooden walls.
Jo sat leaning back, one knee raised, his twin daggers placed within reach.
The blades had already been cleaned until they gleamed—ready to be used at any moment. His wounds had been roughly treated. No proper bandages. No extra care.
He didn’t need it. He shouldn’t need it.
Yet strangely, the pain wasn’t as bad as usual.
Jo frowned. His hand moved, touching one of the wounds on his arm. Still open. But not deep. Not like it should be. Not like before.
“....”
He stayed silent for a moment. The fire crackled. The wind outside blew softly, carrying the empty sound of night.
And without permission— that image appeared again.
Sakura petals.
Jo closed his eyes briefly. Let out a short, rough breath. “…Just an illusion.”
And yet that warmth came back again. So clear. He remembered feeling it.
Warm and soft on his lips.
His eyes slowly opened. His gaze changed—sharper, darker.
“It’s not like an illusion…”
It wasn’t.
Jo walked to the door and opened it slightly. The night wind rushed in immediately.
Empty. Dark. No one.
But his eyes scanned the surroundings longer than necessary, as if he were expecting… or searching for something. Maybe someone.
Jo stopped.
Reality caught up to him.
His gaze hardened again. “…I’m not looking for anything.”
As if denying himself.
He shut the door harshly.
But that night, he didn’t sleep. And for the first time in a long while— it wasn’t wounds, nor enemies, nor death.
What disturbed his thoughts… was something soft and warm. Something he could not understand.
Sakura petals.
The night was never truly silent. There was always sound. Moving wind. Rustling leaves. The faint breath of living things… still surviving.
So different from where he came from.
Yuma stood behind the shadow of a nearly dead tree. Its branches were dry. No flowers. No life.
He stayed there, eyes fixed in one direction, unmoving for a long time.
That small house.
The dim light from inside leaked through the cracks of the window.
He didn’t enter, nor did he approach. He shouldn’t be here at all. He shouldn’t have followed that man just to watch his house for so long.
Slowly, he raised his hand. His fingertips almost touched a dry branch beside him before he stopped.
“I’ve already used my power too much today…” he murmured softly, glancing back at the house. Then he looked again at the dead tree.
“I shouldn’t be doing this…”
And inside the house, the shadow moved—growing larger, approaching. The door opened.
Yuma froze.
Leave.
That’s what he should do.
But he didn’t. He just stood there in the gaps of night’s shadow.
He saw the man again. Standing at the doorway. His gaze scanning the darkness sharply, as if he could see something that shouldn’t be seen.
For a moment, their eyes almost met. Yuma held his breath—though he didn’t need to breathe.
𓆩 ♡ 𓆪
Morning came without permission, but Jo was already awake as if he had never slept. He got ready and stepped outside. And then he stopped.
A tree.
The tree he remembered as dead… was alive again. Leaves were growing. The ground around it was no longer as dry as before.
He stepped closer, stopping just before his foot almost crushed the small flowers growing on the ground.
His hand reached out, gently touching one of them.
“…Little flower,” he whispered, barely audible.
Something no one knew.
The monster hunter Jo… smiled faintly as his hand touched the small flower on the ground.
No one would ever have imagined.
That Jo… liked flowers.
𓆩 ♡ 𓆪
Yuma sat weakly on the stones inside the cave. His eyes were fixed on the sakura tree in front of him.
It was the core of his power. The power that kept him alive.
The sakura tree was still lush, full of blooming flowers and drifting wind and glowing light. But it was clear how many petals had already fallen beneath it.
“You are not allowed to use what was given to you. And if you do, you will fade away, little by little.”
That voice echoed again in his mind.
But Yuma did not regret it.
Instead, he smiled softly.
“This is much better than just doing nothing…”