The moon had already seized the sky, flanked by stars that shimmered like fireflies trapped in amber. Beneath an old street lantern—its flickering light swaying like the last breath of a memory—two men sat on a worn wooden bench, surrounded by the kind of silence only found between strangers who somehow understand each other.
Toki studied the clown beside him, the one who had played the violin for the street children just hours ago. He wore traditional attire, though dulled by wear and the passage of time. His hair, surprisingly, was naturally pink, cut short to just above his nape. It wasn't a wig. The makeup had mostly faded, wiped away by sweat or grief or both. The exaggerated painted smile had melted into a smudge of fatigue. His real mouth, expressionless. His brown eyes, distant, lost in the stars.
Toki broke the silence with a calm but piercing voice.
— "That strike… the way you hit with the violin. It was clean. Intentional. Not something an untrained man could pull off. Were you… perhaps, once a knight?"
The clown didn't flinch. He simply took off his top hat, letting the cool night air touch his head. For a moment, the only thing between them was the sound of distant city clatter—soft footsteps, rustling paper, a dog's bark swallowed by cobblestones.
Then the clown replied.
— "And what difference would it make if I told you I was? That I once bore armor and a name? That there was a time I had a reason to lift a sword?"
He tilted his head back, as if speaking to the moon itself.
— "That time is gone. That man is dead. What remains is just a costume, a shell. Everything I was… the people I fought for, the cause I believed in… all of it slipped away. One by one, they left me behind."
His eyes narrowed, not with anger, but exhaustion.
— "And I don't understand why someone like you—a noble, by the look of your coat—would care about the suffering of a clown… or the street rats of this city. Why did play for those kids, huh? Was it just to mock their hopes? To see them smile before you shatter them? Typical of your kind."
Toki didn't react with offense. He raised his gaze toward the night sky, as if looking for an answer there.
— "Don't judge a man by the clothes he wears. Today I might dress like a gentleman, but in my heart, I am a knight. Not by title, not by crown. But by duty."
He turned his eyes back to the clown.
— "A knight… is someone who brings joy to others, not for glory, but because someone must. We're protectors. And fools. Fools who fight with morality in one hand and madness in the other."
He smiled faintly, almost self-deprecatingly.
— "I'm not a knight crowned by kings. But the sword I carry—when I do—is drawn for the love I hold for humanity. That's all I can offer: to throw my body like a rag between danger and the innocent, just to save one more life."
Toki stood up slightly, shifting his weight, as if the confession had physically lightened or burdened him.
— "The title of knight lost its meaning long ago. I don't want people to look at me and cheer. I want them to look at me and think, 'Maybe I can keep going. Just a little longer.'"
He paused, his voice becoming more intense, almost trembling.
— "I want to help build a world where no child has to grow up afraid of tomorrow. A world where they can open their wings without shame. Call me an idiot if you want, but if that's the cost, I'll throw my soul into the abyss without hesitation."
The clown raised an eyebrow, half curious, half cynical.
— "And how can you call yourself a knight if you don't even carry your sword? You just want to be stepped on—to show everyone how powerless you are."
Toki's voice remained steady, but it throbbed with conviction.
— "I don't care if the world sees me as a rotting corpse. I still see light in this darkness."
He gestured loosely, as if indicating the city beyond the alley.
— "You played for those children. You had no reason. No sword. But your violin brought them more warmth than any blade ever could. In a city as cold as this, you gave them something no one else would."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear.
— "To others, you may just be a clown. But to me… you're the most honorable knight I've met."
Toki's words hung in the air. The lantern flickered again, as if reacting to the declaration.
— "Kindness… and courage… those are the strongest weapons a man can wield. I don't want to be a hero. I want to be the man who makes someone smile—even if it costs me my mind. Even if it costs me my life. What's the point of living like a coward, anyway?"
Just then, footsteps approached. Tora and Utsuki emerged from the corner shop, carrying paper bags with bread, dried fruit, and a few small canned goods. The moonlight kissed their outlines gently, making them look like ghosts returning to the living.
Toki took a breath, then turned to leave.
He walked five steps. Then stopped.
He looked back at the clown, whose eyes had not moved from the stars.
Toki walked back, slowly, and bowed slightly—not out of formality, but as if bowing to a forgotten memory.
— "Thank you," he said. "For giving me one more reason to keep my sword in hand."
He straightened, offering a hand over his heart.
— "My name is Toki. And I will be the man who puts a real smile on your face someday. You don't have to tell me your name… I haven't earned it yet."
He paused again.
— "But when I finally become the knight I'm meant to be… I hope I'll find you up there with me."
He gestured toward the sky.
— "You're a good man. And you have a reason to carry a sword. I want to see the day you make others smile… without needing makeup to hide behind."
Toki gave a small wave, then turned and jogged back to rejoin the girls.
The clown sat there, unmoving.
Then, softly—so soft that even the stars barely heard it—he whispered:
— "I'm rooting for you, Toki."
A faint smile broke across his tired face, barely visible beneath the smudged makeup.
The lantern above them flickered one final time—warm and silent, like the memory of a dream too stubborn to fade
The carriage waited where they had left it, nestled beneath the rustling boughs of an old cherry tree now cloaked in nighttime stillness. The silver reins glinted under the moonlight, and Lumma—the large, feathered bird yoked to the front—gave a soft, ruffled chirp, flapping its wings once as if growing impatient.
Toki, with his usual quiet grace, stepped forward and opened the door of the carriage, bowing slightly as he gestured for the girls to enter.
— "After you, ladies," he said with a playful nod.
Utsuki gave him a knowing look, tired but soft around the eyes. Tora, half-drowsy, climbed in first, her movements slow but fluid. Utsuki followed, clutching the paper bags filled with bread, dried fruit, and canned goods. The warmth of the city still clung faintly to the fabric of their cloaks.
Once they were settled inside, Toki closed the door gently and climbed up to the front. He gave Lumma a small nudge with his heel and whispered:
— "Take us home, friend."
With a powerful flap of her wings and a few quick strides, Lumma pulled the carriage forward, wheels creaking slightly against the cobblestone as the city faded behind them. The silence of the road was broken only by the occasional rustle of night animals and the steady clatter of wooden wheels.
Toki held the reins loosely, eyes lost in the night sky, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The image of the clown lingered. That half-smeared smile. Those eyes like dying stars.
From within the carriage, Utsuki's voice drifted up to him:
— "You knew him? That clown?"
Toki didn't turn his head. His voice floated back, steady, thoughtful:
— "No. But I hope I will. One day. That man... he's more worthy of holding a sword than most knights I've met."
The girls inside exchanged a glance but said nothing. There was a certain reverence in Toki's voice they didn't wish to disturb.
The ride continued in silence, the kind that only wraps around those who've shared something unspoken. Eventually, the tall iron gates of the estate came into view, and Lumma gave a chirp of recognition.
— "We're home," Toki murmured.
He hopped down and opened the carriage door. The girls stepped out, stretching and blinking against the light spilling from the manor's windows. Before they could make it to the front steps, a shout interrupted them.
— "Toki! You better have brought something good!"
— "What's in the bags? Bread? Fruit? Candy? A sword?"
— "Nothing for you gremlins," Toki said, holding the bags high above their heads. "But if you behave, we'll do one last thing tonight. A cake."
Gasps erupted in unison.
— "CAKE?!" the triplets shrieked.
Suzume poked her head from the parlor and called out:
— "How was the performance?"
Utsuki stepped forward, cheeks slightly flushed:
— "It was a beautiful evening."
— "No thanks to Toki's driving," Yuki chimed in from the hallway with a smirk. "Frankly, I'm shocked he didn't drive the carriage straight into a tree."
Everyone laughed, even Tora, who let out a soft, genuine chuckle.
In the kitchen, Toki donned a frilly apron with little ducks on it and cracked his knuckles. He began whipping the cream with the precision of a surgeon, channeling wind magic through his fingertips to create a controlled current in the bowl.
— "Look at you," Yuki teased. "A nobleman, a swordsman, and now a pâtissier. What's next, Toki? Ballet?"
— "Don't tempt me," he replied, eyes narrowing in mock warning.
Yuki and Suzume worked on the batter, sifting flour and cracking eggs. The triplets separated yolks with intense concentration, making a game of who could do it cleanest. Utsuki and Tora sliced fruit: strawberries, peaches, thin slices of kiwi.
Haru suddenly squinted at the cream and said:
— "Needs more sugar."
Before Toki could object, she dumped in half a bag.
— "No—!"
Too late. The sugar overload disrupted the air currents. With a sudden whoosh, the cream exploded from the bowl in all directions.
Everyone screamed, laughed, and wiped their faces.
Toki looked like a whipped cream monster, dripping from head to toe. He blinked slowly.
Utsuki walked up and wiped a finger down his cheek, then licked it thoughtfully.
— "Too sweet," she declared.
Yuki ruffled his cream-drenched hair and smirked:
— "At least it's whipped properly."
Toki, half buried in cream, muttered:
— "Ladies, I know I'm irresistible, but please—one at a time."
Yuki smacked him on the back.
— "Don't push your luck, Casanova."
Tora, expression unreadable, walked over and placed a birthday candle on the top of his head. She lit it. Everyone burst into laughter again.
Hours passed in sweet chaos. Eventually, the cake was finished—lopsided, over-decorated, but made with laughter. One by one, the others wandered off to bed, yawns heavy and stomachs full.
Toki remained behind, quietly cleaning the kitchen, humming a half-forgotten lullaby under his breath. When he finished, he washed his hands and moved through the quiet manor.
First, he stopped at Tora's room. The door was ajar. She was already asleep, blanket tangled around her legs, a slight frown etched into her sleeping face.
— "Thank you," Toki whispered. "For laughing tonight."
He pulled the blanket over her shoulders and gently shut the door.
Next, he knocked softly at Utsuki's room.
— "Come in," came her voice, faint but clear.
He stepped inside. She wore a deep blue robe, hair loose over her shoulders. She sat by the window, looking at the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
— "You still awake?" he asked.
— "Just barely," she smiled. "Thank you for tonight. It felt… normal."
— "We'll do more of this. You all deserve it."
He paused.
— "Try to get some rest. Tomorrow's the first session of the Royal Selection."
As he turned to go, he hesitated at the door.
— "Nervous?"
Utsuki looked at him, eyes warm.
— "Not while I know we've got each other's backs. I'll be fine."
Toki nodded and smiled.
— "Goodnight, Utsuki."
— "Goodnight, Toki."
Back in his room, Toki lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He thought of the clown again. The violin. The broken smile. And then—of the castle shrouded in black fog. Of the woman with the shovel. Of questions he had yet to ask. And of answers that might demand more than he could give.
Sleep took him quietly, without warning.
And somewhere far off, under the same moonlight, a clown looked up at the stars.
Still smiling.
Still waiting.