The latch. A simple mechanism. A twist of my wrist, a soft click barely louder than a moth's wing. The window swung inwards. A breath of stale, indoor air met me.
I slipped inside, a shadow detaching itself from the night. Landed silently on the floor. My eyes, adjusted to the darkness, scanned the room.
The scent of him. Faint, mingled with the lingering, sweeter smell of the girls. The shape of the improvised beds on the floor.
But they were empty.
The small knot of anticipation in my stomach twisted into something cold. Unease. Sharp and unexpected. Why would he be up this early? Training? No, he always did that outside. Getting food?
My gaze swept the room again, slower this time. Taking in the details. The makeshift beds were neatly arranged. Their few belongings were stacked tidily in a corner. There was no sign of a rushed departure, no chaos, no struggle.
And there, on the small, rough-hewn table near the window... a money bag. And a folded piece of paper. A letter.
My heart, which had been hammering with anticipation moments before, began to beat with a new rhythm. A frantic, cold pulse.
No. No, no, no. This wasn't right. He wouldn't just leave. Not like this. Not after everything. He wasn't a coward. He wouldn't run away. Especially not from me.
He was probably just... just out. Maybe he needed something from the town, something specific he forgot yesterday. Maybe he ran out of those stupid nourishing beverages he kept shoving down the girls' throats. Yes. That had to be it. He just went on a quick supply run. And left a note. Maybe to say he'd be back soon. The money bag... maybe it was for the innkeeper, in case he was late.
"Hehehe," I whispered to the empty room, the sound thin and brittle. "He'd never do that." He'd never run away. Not from me. He was many things – dense, frustrating, infuriatingly noble sometimes – but he wasn't a runner. Not when it came to his responsibilities. And I... I was his responsibility now, wasn't I? One of his insane conditions.
But the unease didn't fade. It deepened, coiling tighter in my gut. The room felt too still. Too empty. The letter and the money bag sitting there felt... deliberate. Like something left behind.
My hand trembled slightly as I reached for the paper. It was folded neatly. His handwriting. Distinctive.
I unfolded it. The words, scrawled in that familiar hand, blurred for a moment. I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus.
And I read.
Every word was a hammer blow. Every sentence a fresh wound. He was gone. He took the girls. He left. He left me. And the money... the fifty gold coins... it wasn't payment. It was a dismissal. An insult. An acknowledgment of the 'task' and nothing more. He hadn't just left. He had anticipated. He had prepared. He knew I would come. He knew what I wanted. And he had run.
He called my successful, painstaking manipulation a 'task'. He treated the culmination of my desperate plan, my enduring that idiot Motoyasu, my earning my place by his side... as a chore he was paying me off for.
The paper crumpled in my fist. My breath hitched. A raw, animal sound tore itself from my throat, a sound of pure, incandescent fury.
"FUCK YOU! NAOFUMI!!!"
The scream ripped through the quiet inn, through the predawn silence of Seyaette, raw and echoing. It wasn't just anger. It was betrayal. Humiliation. The universe, conspiring again. Him, leaving again. My efforts, wasted again.
He knew. He knew and he left. He left me standing here in an empty room, with his money bag and a note that felt like a slap in the face. He used me. Just like everyone else. Just like I used Motoyasu. But Naofumi... Naofumi wasn't supposed to be like that. Not with me.
My vision swam. The room seemed to spin. That smug, infuriatingly dense face... that calm, dismissive voice... I had done all that... endured all that... for this?!
The fifty gold coins. An insult. He thought he could just pay me off? Pay off me? For my loyalty? For my efforts? For my everything?
Tears of pure rage streamed down my face, hot and stinging. The crumpled letter fell from my trembling hand, landing near the despised money bag.
He ran. From me. From the reward he promised. From the consequences.
"NAOFUMI!!!" I screamed again, louder this time, a guttural cry of fury and heartbreak that echoed in the empty room, in the empty inn, in the sudden, horrifying emptiness of my world. He wouldn't get away with this. He couldn't. Not this time.
He was mine. And I would find him. And when I did... he would pay. Pay for the humiliation, the betrayal, the sheer, unforgivable act of running away from me.
This was not over. Not by a long shot.