Of course, the answer was no.

Within the expedition force—whether those refusing to submit to demons or simply fighting to survive—a silent consensus had formed.

They saw it as accepting a quest from the Crimson Garden to purge a troll tribe. Not surrender. Not corruption. Just survival. Why not?

As the force carried the gravely wounded Plamia and her shattered blade beyond the garden gates, the blood moon faded from the sky. Night receded, daylight returning.

"Suran."

A voice called from behind her.

Suran quickly smoothed down her tucked-up skirt. The giant scythe vanished. She shifted out of battle stance and turned toward her master.

"Miss, I apologize for disturbing your rest. This is my—"

"Why did you let them go?"

Lyasis cut her off, crimson eyes glinting. "That’s not like you. Forgotten Article Seven of the Maid Code?"

"‘For impolite guests who ignore warnings, necessary measures may be taken to expel them.’"

Suran recited it word for word. "Miss, I haven’t forgotten."

"Then why let them leave?" Lyasis pressed.

"Because… the Code only says *expel*…"

"Suran. You’re making excuses now."

Lyasis stepped closer, tilting her head up. Her aura sharpened. "You’ve never lied to me before."

"I’m sorry, Miss!" Suran bowed deeply. "During my fight with that knight… I heard a familiar name. Then—flashes. Scenes I’ve never seen, yet felt… strangely known."

"I feel… like I’m changing."

Unseen by Suran, Lyasis’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.

*So you’re regaining your ‘humanity,’ Suran.*

Aloud, she asked softly, "What was the name?"

"Shuran. It sounds like mine." Suran hesitated. "Miss… have you heard it? The knight called him humanity’s true hero—one who challenged Her Majesty the Nightmare Queen over a thousand times."

"Of course I have." Lyasis arched a brow. "Curious how it ended?"

"He must be dead." Suran answered without pause. "No human could defeat Her Majesty. Though… lasting that long took skill."

"He didn’t die." Lyasis chuckled. "Her Majesty favored him. Transformed him into ‘something else’… and kept him close."

"I see. A retainer of the night… He should consider it the highest honor," Suran murmured, reverence warming her tone.

"Enough talk. I’m hungry—prepare breakfast." Lyasis stretched. "And tend that wound. Seeing you bleed… worries me."

Plamia’s slash, tainted by the Sacred Flame, still oozed blood down Suran’s arm.

Suran’s voice softened. "Thank you, Miss… but you’re not holding my lapse against me?"

"Just a small mistake. Don’t dwell on it." Lyasis waved dismissively. "I’ll wait in the dining room."

"Yes… Miss." Suran bowed, watching her mistress retreat into the mansion.

Lyasis forgave her. Suran did not.

For the first time, she’d made excuses instead of confessing.

As a maid of House Virellete, she’d failed her duty.

Only deeper devotion could redeem her uniform.

*After breakfast… buy fresh ingredients. Prepare a lavish lunch for Miss. She’ll love it.*

…

Back in her room, Suran changed: shed the soiled uniform, drank a healing potion, bandaged the wound, selected a fresh maid dress from the identical rows in her wardrobe.

Before the mirror, she adjusted every detail. A maid of House Virellete represented her master’s dignity.

Yet… dissonance prickled.

Her gaze dropped to her chest. She cupped it lightly.

"…Did it grow again?" she whispered.

She’d never scrutinized her body. The uniforms never felt tight. Yet now—every shift carried unfamiliar weight. The more she noticed, the stranger it felt.

*Weird… What’s wrong with me today?*

She shook her head. *Focus. Breakfast first.*

Passing the sealed room—paper talismans crisscrossing the door—she paused.

*The Nightmare Queen’s secret. Lyasis Verlight the First.*

For eight years, she’d ignored it. Never asked.

Now… an impulse surged: *Tear the seals. See what’s hidden.*

Her hand was already reaching.

She snatched it back. Checked the seals. Shook her head hard.

*What am I doing? Unforgivable. A maid does not pry.*

*No—Miss is waiting!*

She rushed to the kitchen.

Lyasis loved sweets. Breakfast was simple: bread slices, jam, milk.

Suran gathered ingredients swiftly. Lifted the knife.

Then—blank.

Her mind flooded not with slicing motions, but dagger techniques. Thrust angles. Target points. As if her body remembered being an assassin… rejecting the maid’s task.

*Clang!*

The knife clattered to the floor.

She wiped her brow, retrieved it. "What… was that?"

The seal-reaching urge. Forgetting bread. Making excuses.

None of this was *her*.

Ever since "Shuran" echoed in her mind…

*No. Focus. Don’t keep Miss waiting.*

She patted her cheeks, sliced steadily, spread the jam.

Simple. Precise.

A perfect breakfast.

Just like always.