Nowa had slept soundly. Or had he?
'...I heard you all, you know.' A silent thought in the quiet room. 'The walls are thin. They're made of paper, like literally.'
He listened to the final murmurs from the other room die away. He kept his mouth shut. '...Is this what you meant by what you believe in, Amy?'
The door slid open. He didn't turn. He regulated his breathing, feigning the deep, slow rhythm of sleep, and let out a soft, fabricated snore.
He felt Marisa's gaze sweep over him. Then Reimu's. The two women lingered for a moment before their footsteps receded, heading towards the porch outside.
'Phew...' He exhaled, a silent release of tension. 'I need to sleep. But I can't. I'm too hyperaware. tangina(Fuck).'
On the porch, Reimu and Marisa sat in silence, gazing up at a tapestry of stars. The peace was a fragile illusion, and both knew it.
After a long while, Reimu broke the quiet, her voice a low murmur as she hugged her knees to her chest. "I hate this."
Marisa didn't need to look at her. "That our world's fate hinges on someone else's bad mood?" she offered, her own usual bravado absent.
Reimu's silence was confirmation enough. She rested her chin on her knees, her gaze fixed on the darkened ground below.
"Do you think we can win this?" Marisa asked.
"We always do," Reimu replied, the response automatic, a mantra of the Hakurei Miko. But then her voice softened, betraying the weight behind the duty. "But there will be casualties, I am sure of it… That 'someone' managed to wound Yukari. So maybe… I doubt this will be an easy win."
Marisa finally glanced over, seeing the uncharacteristic slump in Reimu's shoulders. "Hey. Since when do you get all gloomy before the fight's even started? We've faced down gods and lunarians."
"We've never faced something that treats reality itself like a broken program," Reimu countered, though some of the edge had left her voice.
Marisa's stubbornness was, as always, a weirdly effective antidote to despair. A small, familiar grin tugged at Marisa's lips. "Then it's a good thing we've got our own walking, talking system error snoring in the next room, ain't it? Annoying as he is, his brand of 'delete everything' might just be the perfect counter."
Reimu let out a short, quiet breath that was almost a laugh. "...Yeah. Maybe." She looked back up at the stars. "We just have to make sure he's deleting the right things."
"We will," Marisa said, her confidence returning, now fueled by a clear purpose. "First, with potatoes and bread. Then, with whatever comes next."
The two lapsed back into a more comfortable silence, the immense burden shared, if not lessened. The night was quiet, but for the first time, it didn't feel quite so alone.
Back in the quiet room, every word reached Nowa's ears.
'If I were in my prime... I would have helped you without a second thought. Crawled my way through hell and heaven just to save a life…' A memory of his resurfaces: twenty-two years old, shattering the divine hierarchy alongside his crew to save a cambion named Kai from slavery. Shin had been desperate, begging them to save her sister. This was before Kai and Shin became part of his family.
A long, silent ache filled his chest. The ghost of the man he used to be, screamed at the shell he had become.
'But life has never been kind. Not from the very beginning. And after all the hell I've walked through... I'm just done.'
He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to block out the world, to fortify the walls around his heart.
'I'm sorry. I can't afford to care anymore. I can't carry another world's hope. I don't want to feel the guilt when I fail you, too.'
He let out a breath, a silent surrender in the dark.
'So I'll just be the weapon. Until this 3 day time is up. I'll do what I'm told. Nothing more.'
On the porch, Marisa hopped off the railing, landing lightly on the ground. She swung her broom over her shoulder and grinned back at Reimu.
"Y'know, for the bread, we should hit up Remilia's Mansion. Their stuff is way better than the village's. Fancy, but good. And it's not like we're short on funds right now," she added with a wink towards the donation box.
Reimu let out a groan, already anticipating the complications. "The Koumakan? Do we have to? Dealing with that egotistical vampire is its own kind of incident."
"Hey, you're the one who said we need to do this right!" Marisa in a hushed voice, countered. "We're not just buying food; we're sending a message! 'Here, grumpy Old-timer, have some bread that's literally fit for a vampire princess.' That's gotta count for extra points, right? Plus," her grin turned sly, "if we show up with him, it'll definitely get their attention and our entrance fee. Might be a good way to see how he handles... other kinds of problems."
Reimu considered this. Marisa had a point. Throwing Nowa into the deeply peculiar, non-hostile but intensely curious environment of the Scarlet Manor would be a valuable test. How would he react to a melodramatic vampire, a time-stopping maid, or a magician obsessed with books?
"Fine," Reimu conceded, standing up with a weary sigh. "We'll go to the Mansion after we buy some of my supplies first. But you are explaining to Remilia why we're there."
"Leave it to me!" Marisa chirped, already mounting her broom. "That being said, I gotta fly. It's getting late. I'll see you tomorrow! Oh, and remind Old-Timer he promised to make me a roomba too, got it?"
Before Reimu could form a retort, Marisa kicked off, her broomstick carrying her in a rocketing arc over the treetops and into the night.
Silence settled back over the shrine. Reimu stood alone on the porch for a long moment, listening to the heavy quiet. Inside, one problem slept. Outside, a much larger one loomed in the void.
"This day is the worst," she muttered to the night air.
Finally, she stepped inside, the wooden frame of the sliding door rattling softly as she closed it. She paused, giving the sleeping man a long, measured look.
'You're lucky I tolerate your continued existence here. You'd better be worth the trouble.'
With a final, weary frustrated sigh, she retreated to her own room, leaving the mysterious, infuriating, and utterly necessary variable to his rest. The first day was over.