"Is she asleep now?" Takumi asked quietly the moment Tomoya stepped out of the room, his voice barely louder than a whisper, as if raising it would disrupt the fragile peace inside.
Tomoya nodded, his expression a mixture of weariness and relief. "Yes," he murmured. "She needs to recover her strength. Whatever energy she expended earlier took more of a toll on her body than I anticipated."
The memory of Samantha collapsing replayed vividly in Takumi's mind. After their unexpected encounter with her, she had crumpled to the ground, her legs giving out as though the very act of standing had drained her completely. Without hesitation, Takumi had carried her to the spot where Tomoya had been resting earlier, her weight feeling far lighter than it should have.
He sighed, his gaze drifting downward to Tomoya’s hand, where traces of blood smeared faintly around the spot where the IV line had been connected earlier.
"You should take care of that," Takumi said, gesturing toward the barely scabbing puncture.
Tomoya glanced at it briefly before shaking his head dismissively. "It’s nothing," he replied. "I’ve already asked Haneul and the others to clear out the medical equipment once Shane wakes up."
There was a slight upturn to Tomoya’s lips—a small, fleeting smile that betrayed the calm relief simmering beneath his otherwise composed exterior. Takumi recognized it instantly; it was the look of someone who had been holding their breath for far too long and could finally exhale.
Takumi understood. After all, he felt a similar relief coursing through him. Samantha—Shane, as they affectionately called her—was awake. Alive. Breathing. Against all odds. And yet, a shadow of doubt lingered, coiled tightly around his thoughts like a snake waiting to strike.
He couldn't help but dwell on the impossibility of it all. Samantha’s condition—soulless, as Christian had described—was supposed to be irreversible. Her return to life defied every rule they thought they understood.
His uncertainty must have been plain on his face because Tomoya turned to him, a curious tilt to his head. "Why do you look like that, nii-san?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
Takumi hesitated for a moment before admitting, "Things aren't adding up. Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad Shane has woken up. But after what Christian told us about her… this shouldn't be possible. It doesn’t make sense."
Tomoya let out a soft sigh, placing a steadying hand on Takumi’s shoulder. "I know it’s hard to wrap your head around," he said, his tone both understanding and reassuring. "But think about it—this is Shane we’re talking about. If there’s anyone who could find a way back, even from the impossible, it’s her. The binding curse she carries may have worked in ways we don’t fully comprehend."
His words hung in the air, carrying a weight that Takumi couldn’t easily dismiss. Samantha had always defied expectations, but even this felt like stepping into uncharted territory. Still, the hope in Tomoya’s voice was infectious, and for now, Takumi decided to let it anchor him.
Perhaps Samantha's return wasn’t just an anomaly. Perhaps it was a sign that the rules of their world weren’t as rigid as they thought. But even as he tried to hold on to that belief, the gnawing sense of unease refused to let go entirely.
Just as Takumi parted his lips to speak, the words ready to leave his mouth, a sudden voice cut through the air, halting him mid-action. The sharp urgency in the voice gripped both men, leaving them momentarily paralyzed. Yet, neither could summon the will to turn and face the source immediately, as though instinctively sensing the gravity of what was to come.
"Takumi-sama!" The voice cried out again, closer this time.
A woman appeared, sprinting toward them with a panicked expression etched deeply on her face. She skidded to a halt before them, her breath ragged and her chest heaving.
"Takumi-sama! H-Hoka no katagata, soshite Takumi-sama no goyūjin de aru Juneru-san ni m-mo nanika ga o-okimashita," she stammered, her words tumbling over one another in her haste. Her voice wavered with desperation, making her nearly incomprehensible.
Takumi’s brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of her fragmented statement, but before he could respond, Tomoya stepped forward, his hands raised in a calming gesture.
"Kotomi! Kotomi, take a moment to breathe!" he urged, his voice firm but not unkind. The sight of Kotomi’s panic stirred a wave of concern within him. "Calm down. Tell us clearly—what happened?"
His question, sharp with urgency, seemed to anchor Kotomi momentarily. She paused, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep, steadying breath before lifting her gaze to meet his. Her expression was a mixture of dread and hesitation, as though the words she was about to speak carried a weight she was unwilling to bear alone.
"Samantha-san," she began, speaking the language they'd come to understand, her voice quieter now but no less tense. "W-We can't find her. She's gone. And..." Her voice faltered for a second before she continued, "the others who were with her—Junel-san included—have collapsed. They're unconscious."
"Kotomi! Calm down. Samantha is inside this room," Tomoya said with urgency, his words sharp yet soothing enough to pierce through Kotomi's panic. The reassurance in his tone seemed to do the trick, as Kotomi visibly relaxed, releasing the breath she had been holding as though she had been underwater all this time.
For a fleeting moment, it felt as if the chaos had been reined in, but the reprieve was short-lived. Tomoya’s statement, meant to provide clarity, only opened the door to an unsettling realization that neither he nor Takumi could ignore.
Takumi’s eyes narrowed as his thoughts began to churn. The facts didn’t align. Samantha was, indeed, in the room before them now, but how she had gotten there defied logic. His mind circled back to the moment they had taken her to the secret room in the basement—a place deliberately chosen for its isolation and inaccessibility.
“Wait,” Takumi muttered, his voice low and filled with suspicion. “If Shane is here, then…” His sentence trailed off as his thoughts spiraled deeper into the impossibility of the situation.
Tomoya, catching on to Takumi’s unspoken concern, turned to him, his brows furrowed in growing distress. “It doesn’t make sense,” he admitted. “The only way for her to be here would be if she left the basement and navigated her way back up. But…” He paused, dread coloring his tone as he connected the dots. “She would’ve had to cross paths with the cops. They were checking the rooms upstairs. That timing—it’s too precise. Almost impossible.”
Takumi’s jaw clenched as the weight of the realization sank in. The secret room had been chosen precisely because it kept Samantha out of sight. If she had truly moved through the house unnoticed, it wasn’t just a matter of skill; there was something far more troubling at play.
Tomoya glanced toward the closed door behind which Samantha rested, his unease growing with every passing second. “If she wasn’t seen,” he murmured, “then how did she—"
"We'll talk about that later," Takumi interrupted, his voice firm with finality. "I'll go check on the others. You get inside and look after Shane."
Tomoya opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, giving a reluctant nod. Without another word, Takumi turned on his heel, Kotomi following close behind, her hurried steps echoing faintly as they left the corridor.
The path to the basement was not inherently eerie, but it exuded an atmosphere that made the hairs on the back of one’s neck stand on end. The entrance was tucked away at the end of a seldom-used hallway, shrouded in shadows even during the brightest hours of the day. The faint glow of a single bulb illuminated the corridor, its light flickering erratically as if struggling against some unseen force.
The door to the basement was heavy and wooden, its surface weathered with deep grooves and scratches, as though it had endured years of silent struggle. The doorknob was cold to the touch, almost unnaturally so, and emitted a metallic creak that sounded like a faint groan of protest when Takumi turned it.
Beyond the door lay a staircase descending into darkness. Each step they took echoed unnervingly, amplified by the cavernous stillness of the space below. The walls lining the staircase were bare, yet they seemed to close in around them the further they descended, as if the basement itself resented their intrusion.
A faint chill hung in the air, not from the temperature but from something intangible, like the lingering remnants of long-forgotten secrets. The scent of dust and aged wood mixed with an unplaceable metallic tang that seemed to cling to the back of their throats. The faint hum of electricity in the overhead bulb seemed louder than it should have been, growing more irregular with each step until it became a dissonant buzz.
Kotomi clung to Takumi's side, her unease palpable. She glanced over her shoulder now and then, as though expecting to see something—or someone—following them. Takumi’s expression remained stoic, though his sharp eyes darted to every shadow that flickered in their peripheral vision.
At the bottom of the stairs stood the door to the secret room, a heavy iron barrier that bore an imposing presence. It stood ajar, its hinges rusted and screeching faintly as Takumi pushed it open with deliberate caution.
Inside, the scene was both unexpected and distressing. The secret room was far from the claustrophobic, dingy space one might expect of a basement hideaway. It was expansive, larger than the Master’s bedroom upstairs, with shelves of medical supplies lining the walls and a central area designed for movement. Yet, despite its practical design, the air in the room was dense, almost suffocating, as though the very space itself had turned hostile.
Haneul knelt on the polished floor, her hands trembling slightly as she tended to the collapsed figures. Two maids lay sprawled nearby, their faces pale and their breaths shallow. Among the unconscious were a nurse and one of the family doctors, their professional composure reduced to helplessness.
And then there was Junel. His body was slumped against the wall, his face unnervingly still. The sight of him sent a sharp pang through Takumi, who immediately crossed the room to kneel beside him.
"How are they?" Takumi demanded, his voice low and urgent. His hand hovered briefly over Junel before settling on his wrist, checking for a pulse. It was there, faint but steady, offering a shred of reassurance.
Haneul looked up, her expression etched with worry. "They’re alive," she said, her voice hushed, as though afraid to disturb the oppressive silence. "But I don’t know what happened. When Kotomi and I arrived, they had already collapsed."
Takumi’s gaze swept the room, his mind racing. The secret room was designed to be secure and comfortable, not a place that would induce sudden unconsciousness.
Takumi’s breath grew shallow, and the weight of the situation pressed heavily on him. “This couldn’t be just a coincidence,” he muttered, though the words felt empty, even to himself. His gaze shifted across the collapsed figures around him, uncertainty gnawing at his thoughts.
“Shane couldn’t be the one behind this,” he whispered, trying to convince himself. The idea seemed absurd, yet the timing, the sudden collapse—it was too much to ignore.