Corrupted Throne

Touka's heart pounded once—but she forced herself to breathe slowly. Her face remained unreadable.

"I—I just couldn't sleep," she said, voice low and composed. "Thought I'd take some air. What about you?"

Duke leaned against the nearby wall, his breath still visible in the cold air.

"Same," he muttered. "Frustration. Couldn't stay in the Void Room ."

Touka tilted her head, feigning curiosity.

"Oh? Must've been something hard that happened to you recently…" Her voice dropped slightly. "Or maybe… the story you told us. About the masked bandits?"

Duke didn't answer right away.

His eyes looked strained. Tired. Hair still messy from meditation, or tossing in bed. His hands were clenched—just enough to betray something boiling under the surface.

He finally replied, his voice quiet.

"Yeah… That's part of it."

He turned toward her, slowly.

"But the thing bothering me most…"

A pause.

Touka's body went still.

"…is her," he said.

His eyes locked onto hers. Deep. Unblinking.

"That white-haired masked girl."

A faint gust of wind passed between them—but the chill Touka felt didn't come from the air.

For a heartbeat—her blood turned cold.

But she didn't flinch.

She smiled.

Just a little.

"I remember you mentioned her before," she said, softly. "Must've left quite the impression."

Duke didn't smile back.

"I see her sometimes. Not in dreams. Just… flashes. Her voice."

His gaze sharpened.

"Familiar."

Touka blinked once—slow, deliberate. Then turned to look out the window again.

"You should get some rest," she said, voice smooth as silk. "Sleep can help… even with haunted memories."

Duke stayed silent for a moment longer… then gave a quiet hum of agreement.

But his eyes didn't leave her.

Duke exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. The shadows under his eyes looked deeper now—his whole frame sagging with exhaustion. His voice came quieter this time, almost distant.

"…I guess you're right," he murmured.

He looked like a ghost—hair disheveled, posture loose, words slower than usual.

A walking shell.

A zombie.

Touka turned her head slightly, watching him from the corner of her eye.

But then—

"Hey, Touka," Duke said, his tone suddenly heavier.

She blinked.

"I think…" he hesitated, then spoke again, firmer, "…the white-haired masked girl is you."

Silence.

Her heart didn't just skip—it crashed like thunder behind her ribs.

Her breath didn't hitch. Her face didn't twitch.

But her mind lit up like wildfire.

She tilted her head slowly, lips curling into a mild, almost amused smile.

"You think I'm the masked girl?" she said softly.

A light chuckle escaped her lips—as if the very idea was amusing.

"What gave you that impression?"

Duke didn't answer.

Not immediately.

His eyes remained locked on hers—searching, reading.

And despite her perfect stillness, something flickered for just a second behind her gaze.

Duke's eyes narrowed—not hostile, just quietly observant.

He tilted his head slightly.

"Your voice…" he murmured.

Touka blinked—casual, calm.

"…What about it?"

Duke leaned just a little closer, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's kinda similar to hers," he said, almost too casually. "Not exact. Maybe fifty percent? Hard to say. Her voice was muffled through that mask."

A beat passed.

A breeze brushed Touka's hair, but she didn't react.

Then—softly, with the smallest smile—

"Half similarity is still half wrong, Vento."

Duke didn't smile.

He just watched her, quietly.

Touka turned away, her voice silk-thin.

"I thought…" she began, "…you were the kind of person who would look up to me."

Duke's brow furrowed slightly.

"I liked your hard work. Your honesty. Even when you failed, you tried again."

Her eyes dropped to the stone floor.

"I was there with you when you collapsed. When your head was bleeding. When no one else came forward."

She looked back up at him now, her violet eyes glinting with a strange sadness.

"And what do I get in return?"

A pause.

Her lips tightened.

"You think I'm a murderer?" she said, voice barely above a whisper.

There was no anger.

Just disappointment.

And silence.

Duke looked stunned—caught off guard, like someone had poured cold water over his guilt.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Touka stepped back slowly, turning toward the hallway.

"Goodnight, Duke."

Duke reached out—and grabbed her hand.

Touka flinched.

Not visibly. But her eyes widened—just slightly.

His grip wasn't tight. Just enough to stop her. Just enough to say—don't walk away.

"Hey…" Duke's voice cracked faintly. "I'm sorry."

She turned slowly, watching him. His fingers trembled slightly against hers.

"When I was in the Void Room… I was forced to watch it again. That scene. Over and over."

Touka didn't speak.

"I'm telling you this," he went on, voice low, "because I couldn't sleep. Because of you. Because it kept bothering me."

A pause.

"I don't know what to do anymore."

For a moment, the hallway was silent. Just their breaths in the cold. Just the torchlight flickering against stone.

Touka looked at his hand holding hers.

Then at him.

Then she sighed—soft, almost tired.

"You think too much, Vento."

Her voice had changed—calmer. Cooler.

"Instead of focusing on your fears… you should focus on your strength."

She stepped closer, her free hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"The Void Room doesn't control your mind. It reflects it."

She stared into his tired eyes.

"Most people think about their fears. That's why they suffer."

She gently pulled her hand from his grasp.

"But you…"

Her voice dropped lower—barely above a whisper.

"You think about pain."

Duke swallowed hard.

Touka leaned slightly forward, her breath ghosting near his cheek.

"Maybe that's what makes you different."

"Hey!"

A harsh voice cut through the hallway.

Duke and Touka both turned as the guard from earlier stepped into view, torchlight casting shadows on the stone walls.

It was the same one who had stopped Touka during her secret search.

"What are you two doing here?" he barked. "You! I remember you from earlier. And who's this boy now? Some kind of secret meeting, huh?"

Touka opened her mouth, trying to sound casual.

"We were just—"

"Enough!" the guard snapped. "Romance isn't allowed in the fortress! Don't you two know the rules?"

Duke raised both hands. "I think you've got the wrong idea, sir."

"I don't want excuses. Just get back to your rooms. Now."

"…Alright, alright. We're going," Duke mumbled, glancing at Touka. "Come on."

They both turned and started walking back toward the recruit dorms.

Behind them, the guard sighed and chuckled to himself.

"Haah… young blood. Makes me wish I could go back in time with my wife…"

AS THEY WALK

Duke walked slightly ahead. Touka followed behind, silent.

But something felt wrong.

His chest tightened.

His heart pounded.

A cold sweat broke along his neck.

"What… what is this feeling?" Duke thought, glancing sideways.

It was like a presence. A pressure. Something behind him.

He dared not look back.

Behind him, Touka's eyes were wide—teeth clenched.

Her thoughts:

You should've stayed away, Duke Vento.

The more you think about me, the closer you push yourself toward your own death.

Now it's too late.

You'll die soon.

A faint, twisted smile curled at her lips.

I gave you enough chances.

Duke's breathing slowed—deliberately. He tried to calm his nerves, clenching his fists by his sides.

"Stay calm… stay calm…" he muttered in his head, sneaking a side glance.

Finally, they reached the hallway where their dorms split.

"Hey… my room's here," Touka said, pointing.

"Thank God," Duke blurted.

"…What?" she asked, raising a brow.

"N-no! I mean—I just meant, uh… I was gonna say goodnight," he stammered.

Touka's expression softened, ever so slightly.

"Oh… goodnight then."

She paused for a second.

"And Duke?"

He turned.

"Don't think about me too much."

I- I will try Duke said,voice low.

A faint, unreadable smile touched her lips as she closed the door behind her.

Click.

Duke stood frozen outside, staring at the wood grain of her door.

"…Crap," he muttered. "Why did I say I'll try?"

He placed a hand over his chest. His heart was still racing.

"That aura… whatever that was… it wasn't normal."

He looked down the corridor. It felt darker now. Heavier.

"I don't have proof. Not yet… but I suspect her.

Fifty percent.

That white-haired masked girl… it's her. I know it."