Yumi sat on the edge of her bed, surrounded by fabric.
Too much fabric.
"Why," she said slowly, holding up a long silver robe, "does everything here look like I'm about to be a bride or something?"
The maid standing nearby froze.
"My Lord… that is ceremonial moon silk."
"Exactly my point."
Eliott, stationed near the door for safety reasons, cleared his throat.
"The Moon Festival attire is traditionally—"
"I just want something comfy," Yumi interrupted. "Something I can walk in. Eat in. Possibly run in."
"Run from what?" Eliott asked.
"Life," she replied honestly.
She tossed the silver robe aside and grabbed another dress — pale blue, soft fabric, simple cut, light enough to move in.
"This one," she said confidently.
The maid hesitated.
"My Lord… that color is associated with—"
"—not dying of heat," Yumi finished. "Perfect."
She slipped it on quickly, tying the ribbon without ceremony. No prayers. No mirrors blessed by moonlight. No symbolism acknowledged.
She looked at herself, tilted her head.
"Cute. Practical. Snack-approved."
Eliott blinked.
"…That dress is worn by people who walk under the moon to receive answers."
Yumi shrugged.
"I'm walking under the moon to receive food."
Decision made.
Elsewhere in the castle, Ren stood before a different mirror.
His room was quiet — too quiet.
Alaric watched from the side, arms folded.
"You're wearing black," he noted.
"Yes."
"That's not festival attire."
Ren fastened the clasp at his collar.
"It is for me."
Black trimmed with silver thread. No decorations. No charm. No protection spell visible — because they were woven into the fabric itself.
"The last time," Alaric said carefully, "you wore white."
Ren's hand paused.
"And I lost."
Silence settled between them.
"She doesn't know," Alaric added. "She thinks it's just a festival."
Ren nodded once.
"That's why it hurts."
He reached for his gloves.
"Comfortable?" Alaric asked lightly.
Ren gave a small, unreadable smile.
"No. That's the problem."
The moment Ren saw her, everything went wrong.
Yumi stepped into the lantern-lit corridor, spinning slightly, clearly pleased with herself.
"Look!" she said proudly. "I can breathe AND move!"
Ren stopped.
Completely.
The color.
The fabric.
The way the moonlight already seemed to cling to her like it recognized her.
She was wearing the same shade.
The same style.
Not exact — but close enough to make his chest tighten painfully.
"That dress…" he said quietly.
Yumi looked at him.
"What? Is it ugly?"
"No," he answered immediately. Too fast.
She squinted. "Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"
Ren looked away.
"It suits the night."
"Ooo, fancy words," she teased. "You dress up like you're going to war, and I dress up like I'm going to eat."
She leaned closer, whispering,
"By the way, are moon cakes sweet or salty?"
Ren didn't answer.
Because all he could think was:
Last time, she wore something similar.
Last time, she smiled the same way.
Last time… she vanished.
"Ren?" Yumi waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Come to surfacePrince Serious."
He exhaled slowly, grounding himself.
"…Stay close tonight," he said.
Yumi grinned.
"Of course. You're my bodyguard against bad food I will feed you that way it won't waste."
That wasn't what he meant.
But he nodded anyway.
As they walked toward the festival lights, Yumi hummed happily — unaware that her "comfortable dress" had already stepped into a story much older than world, rumors, or even her own memories.
And Ren walked beside her, thinking only one thing:
THIS Time, I Will Not Lose.