Reina Yuki knelt alone in the funeral hall, her fingers resting against the marble floor that still held a trace of cold.
"I'm sorry, Grandmother…"
The words barely formed.
Too late. Too weak. Too useless.
The silence swallowed everything else.
Old Madam Yukisan—once a name that made entire rooms fall quiet—was now nothing more than a portrait and a sealed coffin.
No one had come.
Not the partners who once waited hours for an audience.
Not the relatives who had smiled at every banquet.
No one.
Only her.
"Reina."
She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
But she did anyway.
Toshiba stood at the entrance.
And beside him—
Liya.
Close. Effortless. As if they had always stood that way.
Reina's gaze lingered for half a second too long.
Then she looked away.
"I didn't expect you to come," she said.
"I came out of respect," Toshiba replied.
Respect.
The word felt strangely hollow.
Liya's soft laughter slipped into the space between them. "That's one way to put it."
Toshiba didn't look at her this time.
He didn't correct her either.
Reina noticed.
Of course he wouldn't.
"Let's not do this here," Reina said quietly. "If you have something to say—"
"We do," Liya interrupted.
She stepped forward, heels echoing softly against the marble, each step unhurried.
From her bag, she took out a red invitation.
Bright. Festive.
Completely out of place.
"You'll receive one soon," she said, placing it gently on the edge of the altar table.
Not in Reina's hand.
Not even close.
Reina didn't move.
"…Is it true?" she asked.
Her eyes lifted—not to Liya, but to Toshiba.
"Is this your decision?"
There was a pause.
Not long.
But long enough.
"The situation has changed," he said.
No apology. No hesitation.
Just a statement.
Like closing a file.
Reina felt something in her chest loosen—
not relief, not pain—
something emptier.
"I see."
Liya watched her carefully, as if waiting for something—tears, anger, desperation.
When none came, her smile thinned slightly.
"You should understand," Liya said. "The York family can't offer anything anymore."
Still calm. Still polite.
That made it worse.
Reina let out a quiet breath.
Then, slowly, she stood.
For a moment, the room shifted.
Not because of what she did—
but because of what she didn't.
She didn't cry.
She didn't argue.
She didn't look at the invitation.
Her gaze moved past them instead—toward the portrait of her grandmother.
"…You're right," she said.
Liya blinked.
It wasn't the answer she expected.
Reina turned back to them.
Her eyes were still red—but steady.
"The York family has nothing left."
Her voice was soft.
"But neither do I."
A faint crease formed between Toshiba's brows.
Liya's expression cooled. "If this is your way of—"
"It isn't," Reina cut in.
Not sharp.
Just final.
She took a step forward.
"Take it back."
Her gaze flicked briefly to the invitation.
"I won't attend."
Liya let out a small, humorless laugh. "That's not something you get to—"
"You're mistaken," Reina said.
This time, her voice was colder.
"For once… I do."
Silence settled again.
Different now.
Heavier.
Toshiba studied her, as if seeing something unfamiliar.
But he said nothing.
In the end—
he still said nothing.
Reina nodded slightly, as if confirming something to herself.
Then she turned away.
Back to the altar. Back to the only person who had stayed.
"You should go," she said.
No anger.
No bitterness.
Just distance.
They didn't move immediately.
But eventually—
their footsteps faded.
The hall returned to silence.
Reina stood there for a long time.
Then, slowly, she knelt again.
Her fingers touched the marble once more.
But this time—
they didn't tremble.