The afternoon light seeped through the paper windows of Mizaki's cottage, soft and golden, brushing over rows of hanging herbs and jars filled with dried petals. Takao sat by the low wooden table, his hands folded, eyes fixed on his mami who had fallen uncharacteristically quiet.
For a moment, only the bubbling of stew and the chirping of cicadas filled the silence. Then, Mizaki sighed — long and weary — as if releasing years of words that had been sealed away.
"You asked about Nozomi…" she began, her voice trembling slightly. "That boy… was marked cursed from the very moment he was born."
Takao's brows furrowed. "Cursed? For what reason?"
Mizaki smiled faintly, though the sadness never left her eyes. "For being born on a night when the heavens themselves turned black. The night of the Raigetsu Eclipse — a rare lunar eclipse that the priests called an omen of calamity. The moon was crimson, the air heavy with thunder. The people said any child born under that light would bring misfortune to the land."
Takao's jaw clenched. "And they blamed an infant for that?"
"Yes," Mizaki whispered, staring into the distance. "From the moment he took his first breath. They didn't even wait to see him open his eyes. The royal astrologers declared him ill-fated, and the court followed. He was called the cursed prince before he could even utter a word."
She paused, brushing her hands against her apron. "I was one of the midwives assigned to care for him after birth. For five months, I looked after him. And in those five months… I never once saw the curse they all spoke of."
Takao leaned forward, his heart tightening.
"He never cried for small things," Mizaki continued softly. "Even when he was hungry or cold, he'd only look around with those strange, beautiful eyes — so calm, so aware, like he already understood sorrow. I used to hum him lullabies, and he'd reach for my hand and smile. Such a quiet, kind soul… too kind for the world that feared him."
She looked down, her voice quivering now. "Then one morning, everything changed. The royal decree came. The astrologers demanded that the boy be taken away, sealed from the public eye. The Emperor— His Majesty Masanori— ordered him sent to Kagegiri Villa, far in the eastern woods. They called it 'protection.' But we all knew… it was exile."
Takao's hands curled into fists. "And you— you let them take him?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "What could we do? We were mere servants. But I couldn't stay silent. I… and a few of the other midwives went to His Majesty, begged him to bring Nozomi back. We pleaded for the boy's innocence."
Her voice broke. "Reika, her majesty, tried to help. She cried too, said a mother could never abandon her child. But Masanori wouldn't listen. He accused us of disobedience, of spreading sympathy for a curse that must be erased. I was dismissed from the palace that very day."
Mizaki fell silent, the weight of her memories pressing down. Takao could feel her pain as if it were his own — sharp, heavy, unfair.
"So… the boy everyone despises," Takao said quietly, "the one they call cursed, is the same person I saved that night."
Mizaki's eyes widened. "You… saved him?"
Takao nodded slowly, remembering Nozomi's calm eyes at the banquet, unaware of the poison in his drink. "He didn't even know I existed, yet I felt something — something pure. And now, to know he's lived through such cruelty… and still smiled at the world…"
His voice faltered, the image of Nozomi's serene face haunting him. "How could someone so hated love others so easily?"
Mizaki smiled faintly through her tears. "Because that's who he is, Takao. The boy cursed by the moon, yet blessed with the gentlest heart. He never blamed anyone. Not even those who wanted him dead. Sometimes, I wonder if the gods gave him that heart to remind us what mercy truly is."
Silence fell between them again — but this time, it was not heavy. It was sacred. The kind that binds two souls through shared grief and understanding.
Takao rose and stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Mami…"
Mizaki looked up at him, eyes glistening.
He knelt and embraced her — a soft, wordless hug that spoke more than promises ever could. She rested her hand on his back, and in that moment, both found solace — one in memory, the other in purpose.
As the dusk light faded into the first stars, Takao whispered, almost to himself, his voice trembling with quiet conviction:
"If the world refuses to see his light, then I will. I'll protect him… even if it costs me everything."
Mizaki smiled faintly, hearing the promise even though it wasn't meant for her. Outside, the wind rustled through the pines — soft, approving, almost like a whisper from fate itself.