The celebration was still alive with ethereal lights and music. Lanterns floated through the courtyard like wandering fireflies, casting gentle hues over the marble floor and vine-wrapped columns of Wysteria Academy's inner sanctum. The night was rich with murmured laughter and sparkling gowns, but beneath the joy — a delicate tension brewed.
At the edge of the garden's glowing fountain, where blue flame-lilies bloomed under the moonlight, Mi-cha stood beside Muhan and his parents.
Chae-min, elegantly dressed in a silken robe of twilight purple and silver lining, sipped from a crystal flute and gave Mi-cha a curious look. She tilted her head, her lips curling in that motherly mischief that often came before uncomfortable truths.
"So, sweetie," she asked casually, "what sect are you from?"
Mi-cha froze.
The soft sound of running water behind her suddenly felt louder — every droplet echoing in her chest like the ticking of a time bomb. The garden around her seemed to fall still. Even the shimmering petals drifting in the breeze halted, as if the night itself was holding its breath.
Muhan turned, blinking in mild surprise. "Wait… come to think of it… I never actually asked you that either."
There it was — the truth clawing at her throat.
Mi-cha's lips quivered. Her violet-pink irises flickered in the lamplight. She lowered her gaze to the marble beneath her feet, to the swirling reflections of herself and Muhan in the crystal-clear fountain. It felt like watching a version of herself begin to crack.
Taking a deep breath, she whispered the name that had haunted her heart for years.
"I'm… a Pjeonjaeham."
The name dropped like a shard of shattered Aether into the silence between them.
Chae-min arched an eyebrow, eyes darting to her son. "What? Like father, like son — falling for girls you barely know?" she said with a teasing smile. "And here I thought you two were soul-bound lovers."
Muhan's smile faltered slightly — not in anger, but in surprise. He turned slowly to Mi-cha, curiosity deepening into concern. "Pjeonjaeham? As in... the rival sect of Jonjae?"
Mi-cha didn't answer.
She couldn't.
The joy of graduation, the music of celebration — all of it dimmed around her. Her fingers clenched the hem of her gown, and her voice shook with quiet remorse.
"I thought… that once you knew… it would ruin everything."
Muhan stepped forward instinctively, but Mi-cha took a half step back, as if crossing an invisible line between their worlds.
"I was sent here to spy on you," she whispered, her eyes now glistening with tears. "From the very beginning of our year at Wysteria Academy. My grandfather believed you'd become dangerous... that the Jonjae heir was too unstable. I was to monitor, report, and keep distance."
The confession hit harder than any weapon she had wielded in battle.
"But somewhere along the way…" She choked slightly, covering her mouth with her gloved hand. "I stopped reporting. I stopped spying. I stopped lying. I just—"
Her voice broke.
"I just acted foolishly. I just… fell in love."
The final words fell like rain.
A hush swept the courtyard. Not from others — the music played on in the background — but between them, in their secluded corner by the fountain, time slowed.
The moonlight rippled across the water. Cherry blossom petals drifted downward, some of them brushing against Mi-cha's cheek like the softest apology from the night sky itself.
Then, Muhan moved.
He stepped forward with certainty, brushing a single petal from her hair before gently raising her chin with one hand. His eyes — a radiant neon-blue haloed in warmth — met hers with unwavering calm.
"You should've told me earlier," he said softly.
Mi-cha's throat tightened. "I—I thought if I did…"
"But Mi-cha," he interrupted, his voice gentler than ever, "we've been through hell together. Void trials, Rift storms, death games, See-hoo's betrayal, and even... Null himself."
His lips curled into a soft, sad smile. "And you're worried that your sect is what'll break us?"
Tears finally slipped down her cheeks.
"I don't care if you're Pjeonjaeham," he continued. "Because what matters isn't where you came from. It's where you chose to stand. And Mi-cha… you stood with me."
She gasped quietly as Muhan stepped even closer, wrapping his arms around her. Her forehead fell against his chest, her hands clinging to his jacket.
"You were the only one who never wavered when everything else did," he whispered into her hair. "So don't look down anymore."
Mi-cha slowly looked up, eyes red, cheeks flushed.
"Look at me," he said, "and see the one who will never let you go."
Chae-min, standing to the side with Han, wiped a single tear from her eye and nudged her husband. "Told you he was a romantic."
Han grunted, smiling faintly. "He got that from you."
And from the heavens above, the moon shimmered ever brighter — not in judgment, but in silent approval.
Somewhere far off, a Rift scar closed… and peace stitched itself anew into the tapestry of Wysteria's sky.