Later that night, after the crowd had gone and the laughter had faded into memory, Ren walked beside Celia through the winding paths behind the town. Past the old train yard. Past the cedar trees swaying gently in the wind.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice hushed under the sky's growing darkness.
"You'll see."
They climbed a small ridge just past a barely used hiking trail, their shoes crunching softly against the dirt. At the top, Ren pushed aside a low branch and stepped into a clearing. The grass was wild, the trees surrounding it just enough to muffle the outside world. But above—above was open sky. Stars spilled out in every direction. Unfiltered, endless.
Celia let out a breath. "Whoa."
Celia looked down at him, then laid beside him in the grass, close enough for their arms to touch.
"You always keep the good stuff to yourself," she teased.
"Not always," he said, voice softer now.
They lay in silence for a while, letting the night speak for them. Crickets chirped in the underbrush. A soft breeze rustled the treetops above. The stars flickered high in the heavens—distant, cold, but oddly comforting.
Celia shifted beside him, her arm brushing his just enough to be felt. Her gaze was still locked on the sky when she spoke.
"So you actually remembered," she murmured, her voice unusually soft.
Ren turned his head slightly, eyes on her profile. "Remembered what?"
She didn't look at him. Just smiled faintly. "What I said at the amusement park. About wanting to lie under the stars and forget the world for a while."
Ren smirked, mock offense in his tone. "What, you thought I wasn't paying attention?"
"I mean…" she tilted her head, her bangs falling gently over her eyes. "You're you. Kind of broody. Not exactly known for listening."
He let out a quiet laugh. "Well, I remember the important stuff. Like sparkly pirate rides and glittery custom t-shirts."
Her face turned toward him with a light glare, her cheeks already pink. "Shut up. That was—just a joke, okay? I didn't actually make the shirt."
"Yet."
She rolled her eyes and looked away, but didn't scoot an inch farther. "You're lucky this night is nice, or I'd slap you."
They both laughed, and the sound drifted off into a warm, gentle quiet. The Okutama forest surrounded them, the air cool and crisp, cicadas humming softly in the background. Then, unexpectedly, Celia exhaled—deep and heavy—like she was letting go of a layer of her usual sparkle.
Ren glanced up at the sky, then down at the gentle flicker of the small campfire they'd made.
"…Y'know," he said slowly, "I come out here when things get… too much."
Celia turned her head slightly, listening.
"This place, the forest—it's where I unwind. When everything's tangled up in my head, this spot helps me sort through it. Makes things feel clearer."
He paused. "Lately, though… even here, it's hard."
She said nothing, just watching him gently.
Ren's voice dropped, quiet and raw. "I've been killing monsters. A lot of them. But now we know they used to be people. Kaito's proof. And still… I keep doing it. I don't feel much when I do. Not guilt. Not anger. Not even fear."
He swallowed. "Same with my parents. I thought losing them would've wrecked me. But most days, it's like I'm walking around with… nothing. Just this huge, blank space."
Celia's expression softened, her usual teasing warmth melting into something gentler. She reached over and touched his arm, grounding him.
"You're not empty, Ren," she said quietly. "You're surviving. Sometimes that looks like feeling too much, and sometimes it looks like feeling nothing at all."
Ren looked at her, eyes catching the faint glow of firelight in hers.
"Hey… can I tell you something?" she asked, voice almost a whisper.
He blinked, sensing the shift in her tone. "Yeah. Of course."
"I've never really talked about it before," she said. "Not seriously, anyway. Not with anyone here."
He waited, patient.
"My planet—where I'm from, Hoshikawa—it's always dark there," she began, her voice low, almost reverent. "Thick clouds, endless rain. You might think it'd be depressing, but it's… strangely beautiful. Everything glows. The streets reflect light like mirrors. The forests shimmer at night."
Her voice turned nostalgic, sad.
"It's stuck in time though. Like, really. It is like Japan but stuck in past I guess, with advanced tech layered on top. Floating palaces. High tech war machines. Traditions etched into the bones of the people. And they cling to those customs so tightly, it chokes you. Rules about behavior. Honor. Gender roles. Bloodlines. Everyone has a place, and you're not allowed to step out of it."
Ren was silent, watching her closely now.
"My father—the Emperor—he's cold. Always has been. I was born into the ruling family, yeah, but I was just another piece on a board to him. He raised me to be seen, not heard. A symbol, not a person."
Celia paused. Her voice grew gentler.
"But my mom… she was different. She was bright. Gentle. She wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to help people, heal them, touch their lives in a way that mattered. But the Empire didn't allow women to practice medicine openly, especially not nobles. She tried anyway—did what she could in secret. Taught me how to stitch wounds, read anatomy books with me in hidden corners of the palace. She told me that kindness is stronger than power, always."
Ren listened, still, breath held.
"She died when I was ten," Celia said quietly. "Some sickness they wouldn't even name. Said it was shameful for the royal family to admit weakness. They didn't even let her leave the palace to get help. Just… let her fade away. Alone. And I could only watch."
Her hands clenched the grass, voice trembling just a little. "Before she died, she made me promise something. That if I ever had the chance to help people—truly help them—I wouldn't waste it. That I'd never let anyone tell me I couldn't do good just because of who I was."
Ren swallowed, heart heavy in his chest.
"So I tried," Celia went on. "I pushed back against the traditions. Against my father. Against everything. But you can't break centuries of law alone. Not without consequences. They wanted to marry me off to a general, silence me, make me a tool. That's when I found out about POND. Or rather… they found me."
Her gaze flicked to Ren's. "They offered me a deal. Sanctuary, in exchange for service. If I joined their cause—hunted monsters, protected people—I'd be free. Safe from the Empire. Free to live the way I chose. I didn't even hesitate."
The wind stirred her hair gently.
"That's why I fight. Not just because I can, but because she couldn't. Because I made her a promise, and it's the only thing I have left of her."
The silence after that wasn't awkward. It wasn't uncomfortable.
It was sacred.
Ren turned his head toward her, watching the way her eyes shimmered in the starlight, glassy but strong. Her words still echoed in the space between them, heavy and raw—but not sharp. They had settled somewhere deep, somewhere real.
He reached out slowly, brushed a blade of grass from her hair. "Hey," he said softly, almost teasing, "just so you know, I think your mom would've been proud. You're stubborn, loud, reckless as hell… but you've got this big heart that never quits. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"
Celia snorted through her nose, her eyes darting away. "Okay, wow. Real smooth, Kurose. You practice that one in front of a mirror?"
Ren smirked. "Only every morning. Right after brushing my teeth."
She let out a full laugh this time—light, a little cracked, but real. "You're such a dork."
"Well you are lying next to that dork."
"Only because I had nowhere else to go," she said, flicking a piece of grass at him. "I was tricked. Bamboozled."
Ren laughed and caught the blade mid-air, tossing it right back at her. "Sure. But you smiled. I saw it. You're not getting out of this wholesome bonding moment."
"Oh no," she groaned dramatically. "It's worse than I thought. Emotional intimacy. Gross."
"Too late," he said, grinning. "We're already knee-deep."
Celia rolled onto her side to face him, her voice quieter now. "Thanks, though. Really. I… don't say this kind of stuff often. Or ever."
He nodded. "I know. That's why it matters."
Their gazes locked, and for a moment, something hung there—delicate, warm, unspoken. Not a confession, not quite. But something honest. Something teenage and tender.
Then Celia leaned back onto her elbows, eyes drifting to the stars again. "That's why I wanna see more of this place," she said. "Before we leave."
He stayed quiet, because she was right.
"I just… there's a lot of things I haven't seen," she went on. "Stuff that's normal for people here but feels magical to me. Like train stations in the rain. Taiyaki stands. Kids playing baseball in the streets. And…"
She paused, her voice softening to a dreamier register.
"…fireworks."
"Fireworks?" Ren asked.
Celia smiled. "The summer festival. It's a big thing here, right? Yukatas. Lanterns. Food stalls. Everyone watching the sky together."
She glanced sideways at him, cheeks a little pink in the moonlight.
"I wanna go. With you guys. With Yui. With Bonk and Miss Yue. Maybe Andre too if he promises not to wear his weird fish-print shirt again."
Ren chuckled. "That shirt's a national treasure."
"It's a war crime."
They both laughed again, easy and quiet, until the moment drifted back into calm. The breeze rustled through the trees once more. The stars blinked overhead.
"Let's go then," Ren said, his voice low and certain. "To the festival."
"You mean it?"
He nodded. "We'll all go. You, me, Yui… the whole crew. It's a date."
Celia blinked at him. Then quickly looked away, face suddenly red.
"Not—not a date date," she muttered. "Obviously. Just a, you know, mission-critical team bonding exercise."
Ren leaned back with a grin. "Sure. Mission-critical."
She shoved him lightly in the arm. "Shut up."
But she was smiling again.