Sona Sitri opened the main door of the Sitri building with a single, very clear expectation:

  Enter.

  Sit down.

  Write a report.

  Go to sleep.

  Nothing else.

  The silence that greeted her was… strange.

  Not the silence of disaster.

  Not tense silence.

  A… comfortable silence.

  She frowned.

  “…Hello?”

  She stepped further inside.

  And saw them.

  Saji was sitting on the main couch with a cup of coffee in his hand—completely cold. He wasn’t drinking it. He was just holding it, like a decorative object.

  Reya was barefoot, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, staring fixedly at nothing.

  Yura had her shield resting at her side and was using a stack of reports as a pillow.

  Momo was asleep in her chair, her head resting against the table, a pen still between her fingers.

  Tomoe was reclined in a chair, her katana resting between her legs, snoring very softly.

  And at the back of the room—

  Tsubaki Shinra was still awake.

  She wasn’t standing.

  She wasn’t patrolling.

  She sat upright, back straight out of pure habit, her hands carefully resting on her knees.

  Mirror Alice floated beside her, inactive, as if even reflections were tired.

  Closer to the wall, almost hidden among discarded uniforms and backpacks,

  Ruruko Nimura sat on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest, her jacket folded beside her.

  She wasn’t asleep.

  She stared straight ahead, unmoving, as if she were still listening to something that had already faded away.

  Sona blinked.

  Once.

  Twice.

  “…,” she inhaled.

  “What happened here?”

  No one answered.

  Not because they didn’t want to.

  Because none of them had enough energy to do so.

  Saji was the first to react. He barely lifted his gaze.

  “Ah… boss…” he murmured. “You’re back.”

  “So I see,” Sona replied, scanning the room. “Why do you all look like a catalog of ‘extreme exhaustion’?”

  Reya lifted a finger… then let it fall.

  “Later…” she whispered. “Much later…”

  Tsubaki raised her eyes then.

  “Everything is stable, President,” she said in a low but firm voice. “Territory secured. No active anomalies. No casualties.”

  Sona looked at her closely.

  There was no drama in her words.

  No relief either.

  Just someone who had held command until the very end.

  “Good,” Sona said.

  Tsubaki nodded—and only then leaned back against the chair, as if that permission finally lifted the last remaining weight.

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  Sona closed her eyes for a second.

  Breathed.

  Good. Everything was under control. Clearly.

  She set her briefcase down on the table.

  “Kaelan?” she asked, almost by reflex.

  Silence.

  Saji slowly turned his head toward the window.

  “…Outside.”

  Sona followed his gaze.

  She saw the courtyard.

  She saw the bench.

  She saw Kaelan.

  Asleep.

  Sitting.

  With a coat draped over him, as if someone had said, “He’s not moving—but he’s not getting sick either.”

  Sona watched him for a few seconds.

  Then looked back at the team.

  “Is he…?”

  “Alive,” several voices answered at once.

  “Asleep,” Momo added without opening her eyes.

  “And if anyone wakes him up…” Yura added, “…I swear I’ll hit them.”

  Sona raised an eyebrow.

  “You left him there?”

  Saji shrugged.

  “He sat down. Said ‘it’s done.’ Closed his eyes. End of story.”

  “We tried to move him,” Reya murmured. “No response.”

  “We tried to wake him,” Tomoe added, half-asleep. “Nothing.”

  “So,” Momo concluded, “we decided that’s his natural habitat now.”

  Sona fell silent.

  She looked back toward the courtyard.

  Watched Kaelan breathing calmly, completely detached from everything.

  Then she noticed a small movement to her right.

  Ruruko had lifted her head.

  “…He’s breathing normally,” she said quickly, as if she needed to say something useful. “I checked earlier.”

  Sona looked at her.

  Ruruko held her gaze for a second—then lowered her eyes, exhausted but steady.

  “Thank you, Nimura,” Sona said.

  Ruruko nodded, barely.

  And for the first time since Sona had entered, her shoulders relaxed.

  Sona turned back to the team.

  “…Alright.”

  She turned around.

  Grabbed a clean cup.

  Poured coffee.

  Took a sip.

  She made a face.

  “This is awful.”

  “Yeah,” Saji said. “No one had the strength to make it properly.”

  Sona set the cup down.

  “The report can wait.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  “Today,” she continued, “no one moves unless it’s strictly necessary.”

  Pause.

  “And no one wakes Kaelan.”

  Silence.

  Then slow nods. Almost grateful ones.

  Saji raised his cup in a mock toast.

  “To smart decisions.”

  Reya murmured,

  “To not dying today.”

  Momo added, half-asleep,

  “And to not having to explain anything right now…”

  Sona glanced one last time toward the courtyard.

  Saw Kaelan asleep on the bench.

  And made a very simple decision.

  “Let him sleep,” she said. “Tomorrow… we’ll see.”

  She turned off one of the lights.

  The building fell into dimness.

  The Sitri team remained there—scattered, exhausted, alive.

  And outside, on the courtyard bench,

  Kaelan kept sleeping.

  Where clearly…

  no one had the heart (or the energy) to move him.

  The report was closed.

  Sona rested her pen on the desk and didn’t release it immediately. She stared at the final line for a few seconds longer than necessary, as if the paper might ask something more of her.

  It didn’t.

  The Student Council room was dim. Low lights. Warm air, heavy with fatigue.

  One by one, the members of Sitri had fallen asleep.

  Saji slept crooked on the couch, mouth slightly open, the coffee cup still intact in his hand—miraculously unspilled.

  Momo lay against the side table, hugging a pile of documents as if they were an improvised pillow.

  Reya had fallen asleep sitting upright, her back straight out of pure habit, her Sacred Gear already deactivated.

  Yura and Tomoe occupied the corner closest to the window, leaning back-to-back, breathing in sync.

  Sona observed them in silence.

  She didn’t smile.

  But something in her expression softened.

  She closed the folder carefully, without making a sound, and stood up slowly. She walked among them with light steps, avoiding even the creak of the floor.

  At the door, she stopped.

  Looked at the room one last time.

  “Good work,” she murmured, barely audible.

  And left.

  The hallway was empty. The campus, finally calm. Night had passed, and the sky was beginning to lighten with that pale gray that announces morning without promising anything.

  Sona went down the stairs and crossed the central courtyard.

  And then she saw him.

  Kaelan sat on one of the benches, exactly where they had left him. Saji’s coat draped over his shoulders. His head tilted slightly to the side, resting against the backrest.

  He was asleep.

  Not the restless sleep of someone on alert.

  Not the forced rest of immediate exhaustion.

  He was truly asleep.

  Sona stopped a few steps away.

  She didn’t want to wake him.

  For a moment, she simply watched.

  His face relaxed, no tension in his jaw. His eyebrows—finally—at rest. His hands open on his lap, as if they no longer needed to hold onto anything.

  He looked… young.

  Younger than he usually did.

  Sona took another step.

  The wind shifted the coat slightly, exposing his forearm.

  The scars.

  Not all of them.

  But enough.

  Old cuts. Irregular marks. Burns that didn’t belong to any training, to any known ritual.

  Sona held her breath.

  She didn’t reach out.

  She didn’t touch him.

  She only crouched slightly to look closer, with attention that wasn’t clinical—but human.

  “…Idiot,” she whispered, without harshness.

  She straightened slowly.

  For the first time since she had assumed command of the territory—since even before the wedding—she felt something other than responsibility.

  Not guilt.

  Not fear.

  An unexpected tenderness.

  Sona lifted her hand, as if to fix his hair.

  She stopped halfway.

  Thought better of it.

  She didn’t want to be the reason he woke up.

  So she simply adjusted the coat more securely over his shoulders, making sure he wouldn’t be cold, and stepped back.

  “Rest,” she said softly. “I’ll handle things now.”

  She stayed there one more second, watching him.

  Then she turned and returned to the building, as the sun began to filter through the clouds.

  Kaelan didn’t move.

  He didn’t dream of dragons.

  He didn’t dream of resets.

  He just slept.

  And this time…

  no one was going to wake him too early.