Ren found his hand still in Celia's as they were pulled sideways into the thicket of people, the rest of their group vanishing behind a blur of movement, yukata patterns, and bobbing lantern lights.
Celia looked around, frustrated. "Great. Just great."
"You let go first!" Ren shot back, scanning for Yui's twin buns through the sea of heads.
"I did not!"
"Yes you did, I felt it!"
"I was shoved, genius!"
They glared at each other, still breathing fast, shoulder to shoulder in a pocket of space between food stalls and an incense booth. All around them, people were laughing and chatting, completely unaware of the tiny breakdown in tactical coordination.
Ren exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Let's not yell in front of the soba truck."
Celia crossed her arms. "I'm not yelling. You're yelling."
He gave her a side glance. "You're literally yelling."
She opened her mouth, then closed it, then gave him a grudging smirk. "Fine. Maybe I'm a little loud."
Ren laughed. "Wow. Mark the date. She admits it."
A pause. The tension eased between them—just a little.
Then, with no warning, the first firework launched into the sky.
BOOM.
The explosion lit the night in electric white and gold, crackling into spiderlike bursts above their heads. The crowd let out a collective gasp and turned upward as the second and third firework followed—one a deep red, the next a glittering silver that fell like rain across the stars.
Ren and Celia both looked up, frozen for a moment in the middle of the chaos. The noise. The lights. The smoke curling through the breeze.
The sky exploded again.
Ren stole a glance at her—not in the fireworks, not in the reflection of gold in her eyes—but just her. Celia, head tilted back, her expression softened by awe and something quiet. Her braid catching the glimmer of the sky. Her lips parted in the breathless hush between each burst.
She looked back at him. Their eyes met.
For once, she didn't smirk. She didn't tease. She just held his gaze as another firework blossomed behind her in pale blue.
"…We'll find the others later," she said softly.
"Yeah," Ren said. His voice felt different, like it didn't need to be loud to be heard. "They're probably watching too."
The fireworks crackled overhead, the sky blooming in bursts of color—pale blue, violet, a spray of shimmering gold that lit up the world in pieces. The crowd around them ooh'd and aah'd, but Ren barely registered it. His eyes were still on her.
Celia stood with her hands clasped loosely in front of her, posture relaxed for once—unguarded, delicate even. The light from the fireworks painted fleeting shadows across her face, catching in her eyes, turning them glassy and deep.
Her gaze lingered on him.
Something in the space between them changed. The noise faded. The lights faded. It was just her.
"I didn't think you'd actually remember," she said, voice soft. "About the stars. About the festival."
Ren shrugged, gently. "Of course I remembered."
Celia looked away, biting her lip. "Most people don't."
He didn't answer that. Instead, he reached up and gently flicked a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
Her breath caught.
"You really went all out," Ren said, just to say something, anything. "You look... good."
She blinked, caught between rolling her eyes and blushing. "Dumbass. Don't just say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you mean it."
"I do mean it."
Celia opened her mouth again, then gave up and shook her head, smiling even as she covered her face with one hand. "Ugh. You're the worst."
Ren laughed—quiet, real. "And you still dragged me to a goldfish booth."
"I dragged you because you owe me for the Momotaro thing."
"Pretty sure I paid that debt with interest when I faceplanted on stage."
"That was artistic. Tragic. Award-worthy."
He nudged her gently with his shoulder. "You were laughing so hard you almost fell out of your seat."
"I maintain that it was avant-garde theater."
They both laughed, a little too long, a little too loud—like the release of pressure after days of building tension. Around them, the crowd pressed closer to the riverbank, voices growing excited again as a louder volley of fireworks roared to life above.
Then, a pause. Just enough silence between explosions to feel her shift closer.
She wasn't touching him, not quite. But her sleeve brushed his. Her shoulder hovered near his.
And for once, Ren didn't move away.
"You ever think," Celia said, her voice quieter now, "about what happens after you learn to control your Essence?"
Ren blinked, turning to her.
"After all this," she continued, still watching the sky. "After we leave. Me, Andre, Bonk, Miss Yue… after the crew's gone. What then?"
Ren didn't answer right away. His fingers curled at his side.
"I… don't know," he said finally. "Guess I never really let myself think that far ahead."
Celia nodded like she'd expected that. No judgment in her expression—just a soft kind of understanding.
"But… if there was an after?" she asked. "If you could choose it?"
Another firework climbed the night, this one slow and spiraling, before it erupted in a deep red bloom that scattered gold sparks like stars. Ren watched it.
"I think I'd want to see more nights like this," he said. "With people who make it feel real.."
Celia's gaze lowered slightly, the corner of her lips twitching—not into a smirk, but something quieter. Something almost tender.
"Me too," she whispered.
Their eyes met again, and this time, neither of them looked away. There was something fragile in the space between them—something unspoken, unsure, but real.
Ren leaned in just slightly, his voice a murmur over the soft boom of the next firework. "Celia."
She blinked, her eyes flicking to his lips for the briefest moment. "Yeah?"
And then—
BOOM.
The sky cracked open in a spray of gold. Cheers erupted all around them. The moment scattered like dust.
Celia laughed suddenly, almost as if to break the tension, grabbing his wrist. "Come on! Let's get closer before it ends!"
He let her pull him forward through the crowd, the lights above flashing across their faces. They moved as one, not speaking, not needing to—something between them had shifted. Gently. Quietly. But irrevocably.
But as they neared the open field, the crowd thickened again. A new group filtered in from the side path—louder, rowdier, familiar.
Ren froze.
Celia turned, grinning at the sound. "Ah—there they are!"
He recognized them before he even saw the faces.
A cluster of students in casual clothes and loose yukatas. People from his class. His school. Among them—Sho. Laughing at something, tossing a drink bottle in the air, like this was just another night out.
Ren's chest tightened, throat dry. His steps slowed.
Celia waved an arm high in the air. "YO! Over here!"
A few heads turned. Recognition flickered.
Sho's eyes found Ren.
The smile on his face faltered.
Ren's stomach dropped. He couldn't move. Couldn't think.
Celia turned back to him, beaming, completely unaware of the tension wrapping around him like wire. "Surprise! I invited them!"
Ren stared at her, stunned.
"You've been hanging with us weirdos for so long," Celia said, nudging his arm with a small grin. "I figured you could use a proper reconnection. You know, with normal kids your age. I told them you'd be here and everything! Come on, it's a good thing!"
But Ren didn't smile.
He didn't move.
His voice came out tight. "You told them?"
Celia blinked, a bit of the confidence in her expression faltering. "Well, yeah," she said, a little slower now. "They were curious after your performance during drama day and—"
"I had friends," Ren cut in, stepping back from her touch. His voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to slice through the noise around them.
Celia's smile stiffened. "I know. That's why—"
"You don't know," he snapped.
She flinched at that, and it was like the ground shifted beneath both of them. The fireworks still crackled high above, but the light didn't feel warm anymore.
Ren's voice rose, but not in volume—in weight. "You weren't there when everything fell apart. When they laughed at me. When Sho—"
He didn't finish it. He didn't have to.
Celia looked over, and sure enough, Sho and the rest of the school group were walking closer, chatting and laughing like this was just another night. Sho spotted Ren and waved, hesitant but casual, like their past wasn't buried in fists and broken trust.
The sound of it all faded in Ren's ears. The chatter. The cheers. Even the music.
"You don't get it," he said, his voice low, strained. "You weren't there."
Celia's grin was long gone. Her eyes searched his, regret blooming behind them. "Ren… I was just trying to help. You've grown so much. You're stronger now. I thought maybe—"
"I didn't ask you to."
The silence that followed wasn't sacred like before. It was sharp. Hollow.
Celia stepped back, just slightly, as if his words physically pushed her.
Andre approached cautiously, catching the edge of the scene, his relaxed energy stiffening. "Yo… Ren, you good?"
Ren didn't answer.
He turned and started walking, pushing through the crowd, the light and color bleeding past him like they belonged to someone else. His steps were quick, tight. People moved out of his way. He didn't look back.
"Ren!" Celia called after him, but it didn't stop him.
She stayed there, frozen among the crowd. Her hand still half-raised like she could pull him back with it. But he didn't turn around.
The sounds of celebration returned slowly around her. Bonk muttered something under his breath and waddled off after Ren, still chewing, while Andre gave Celia a long look.
Celia didn't say anything.
Yui looked between them all, confused and concerned, her small hand tugging gently at Celia's sleeve.
"Did Big Bro get mad…? Did we do something wrong?"
Celia didn't answer.
She just stood there, frozen in the glow of a firework that painted her face in pale lavender. Her expression didn't crack into a smile or a laugh this time. She didn't crouch down to explain things in a playful voice or brush it off with her usual teasing charm.
She just… looked sad.
Her eyes, usually bright with something electric, seemed dimmed now. Not crying. But far away.
The fireworks burst again overhead, golden and beautiful. But the light felt too loud. Too empty.
A few feet back, Sho and the rest of the school crowd had slowed, caught in the tail end of the argument. Some of them shifted awkwardly, others exchanged looks. The mood had clearly shifted.
"Was that… Ren?" one of the girls asked, blinking.
"Yeah," a boy replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't think he'd still remember all that."
Sho stood there with his hands in his pockets, jaw tight, not smiling like the others. He wasn't oblivious. He knew exactly what Ren had meant—and who it was directed at.
"…I guess it was a bad idea, huh?" one of the boys mumbled. "He kinda went off."
Sho didn't speak right away. He just stared off into the direction Ren had walked, lips pressed thin.
After a pause, he muttered under his breath, "Can't blame him."
The group went quiet. Not because they understood completely—but because they knew enough to stop laughing.
Sho turned and started to walk off toward the food stalls, voice low and gruff. "Let's just… give him space."
The others slowly followed, their chatter dulled, sobered by something they hadn't expected from the boy who used to be nothing but anger and broken edges.