Saki pushed open the sliding door. Tatami mats whispered beneath her slippers. Goro froze mid-step, eyebrows lifting. Across from him, Master Kuroda leaned against his lacquered desk, unmoved.

  She set the lacquer tray down with a soft click. Her fingers trembled.

  “Our finest Hakanai Sake for our most esteemed guest. I hope you enjoy it, Master Kuroda.” She murmured softly.

  Clearing his throat, Goro dipped a nod at Saki, indicating for her to pour. Lifting the white porcelain tokkuri with her heart hammering in her ears, she begins to pour it into the ochoko. She could feel the glaring eyes of Goro watching her every move intensely. Gently lifting the ochoko, afraid of spilling it with steady hands, she offered it. Kuroda paused for a heartbeat, then took it. After he drank, Goro followed.

  Goro exhaled, the steam of the warm sake drifting between them. “Rich,” he said.

  Kuroda’s gaze slid to Goro. “Will you be joining me all night, Goro?”

  Goro winced; he got up swiftly and bowed in a single motion. “My apologies. I’ll take my leave—and see to your instructions. Don’t worry, Master, I will fulfill my duty.”

  For a second Saki felt like she was intruding on personal conversations. Her throat tightened. She forced her gaze down to the tatami, desperate not to witness whatever passed between master and retainer.

  With that said, he slipped out. On cue, Saki’s shoulders dropped. She inhaled the scent of cedar and rice wine, waiting.

  Kuroda rose, stepping closer until she could feel the heat of his sleeve. His lips curved into a faint smile. “Don’t be so tense,” he said. “I won’t devour you—yet.”

  She swallowed and felt her pulse at her throat. He laughed then—boyish, startling flush against his austere mask.

  “My snack must be arriving,” he added, his voice soft as feathers.

  Her cheeks warmed. She pivoted on trembling feet and edged toward the doorway. A deep breath summoned her courage.

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  “Master Kuroda, I—”

  The novice's slip of her greeting nearly tripped her tongue. She caught herself. “Saki Yamada,” she said, bowing. “If I may have just two minutes—”

  Silence settled.

  “I want to be one of the Jewels.”

  More silence followed.

  Ugh. Stupid. She scolded herself. She burned with frustration at this haunting silence. After what seemed like an eternity. He straightened, crimson eyes narrowing. “And why do you think you can?”

  She lifted her chin. “I can sing.”

  He laughed, low and dismissive, the sound hollow as a drum. “Many sing. Few shine.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “Give me a chance.”

  He waved a hand and, in a commanding tone, said, “Sing.”

  Her spine stiffened. Gulping nervously, she cleared her throat. She stepped into the room’s center and began a ballad by Yumeko Hikari. Her voice caught, warbling on the first note.

  Flushing, she stammered, “May I—start—again?”

  An unimpressed Kuroda advanced like a predator towards her. Leaning closer, he whispered colder than midnight. The breath from his lips stirred her hair. “You’re a candle in the sun, Ms. Yamada.”

  Tears stung her eyes, but she forced them down. What could she even utter now? She had a chance, and she blew it. As if she didn’t already know. Kuroda’s words felt like salt to her wound. He was right; she was nothing but a candle. A stupid candle.

  “I admire your courage but—” He clasped her arm and ushered her to one of the windows. His cool fingers sent shivers down her spine. Lifting the blinds, he points.

  Outside, a long line of hopefuls snaked across the courtyard—demons and humans alike, all craving his favor. With painted faces, fancy costumes, and props. They waited.

  “See?” Kuroda’s grip was firm. “Candles don’t outshine the sun.”

  His words and the sight before her made it all too real. Yanking her arm away. She looked straight at him. His stare burned into her ribs, but she met it. “You’re wrong.”

  All her life she was told she belonged to a different class—born to labor, not to aspire, her future mapped out in endless chores until death. Intent on her insignificance, they said she’d vanish like her dear Sobo: a flicker snuffed by inevitability. If this was her set-in-stone moment. She didn’t want to be snuffed away like this.

  He bristled. “Excuse me?” His eyes, dark as iron, veined with crimson, locked onto hers. She could feel the intensity of her statement.

  “In the absence of day, a candle’s flame rules the night. You should never underestimate what burns from within.”

  Kuroda’s jaw clenched. “ Is that so? Time will prove you… ill-suited. ” He stormed out of the room with his guards following up close.

  The door slammed behind him. Saki’s chest tightened with anxiety, but beneath the mask of worried nerves, a spark kindled—fierce and unwavering.

  Is this the end?