The wind around my father sharpened. His stance was different now—this wasn't the measured control of the Tomaszewski Lord. This was something else. Something raw. Unrestrained.
A killer's instinct.
"I was wondering when you'd wake up, Executioner."
I had never seen my father this tense before.
Calamitas wasn't reacting defensively. She wasn't trying to defuse the situation. If anything, she was entertaining herself. Taunting him.
"You're faster than before, I'll give you that Hoshino," she continued, rolling her wrist, still pinching the air blade like it was nothing more than a stray thread. "But come now—this isn't how you greet an old friend."
Old friend?
I flicked my gaze to my father, but his expression was unreadable—except for his now dead eyes.
He was furious.
With a sharp twist of her fingers, Calamitas snapped the air blade apart. The compressed wind dissipated instantly, a clean, almost insulting display of dominance.
"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves." She brushed her fingers together, as if dusting off his magic. "We both know that if I really wanted to kill you, you wouldn't have survived past your first breath."
I had expected Father to react violently to that.
"Say whatever you want," he muttered, his tone disturbingly even. "But don't think for a second that I'll let you do whatever you please with my daughter."
Calamitas tilted her head. Amused.
"Let me? Satoshi, you don't have the power to 'let' me do anything."
Another wind blade manifested instantly, a high-speed slash toward Calamitas's side.
She caught it with a finger.
A deep hum resonated through the room. Calamitas held the wind-forged blade, finger sinking into its edge as if it were no sharper than a training sword.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then—she flicked it.
The blade shattered.
Father's stance didn't break, but I caught it—the twitch in his fingers, the barely audible breath he exhaled.
Calamitas leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something almost gentle.
"You think you can protect her from me? You couldn't even protect your own bloodline."
The silence shattered.
Lelyah moved first.
"Enough," she commanded, stepping between them, the air distorting slightly around her. Not magic—presence. The kind that demanded obedience, that reminded everyone that she was the true power behind the Tomaszewski name.
"Calamitas, you are a guest in this house." Lelyah's tone was smooth, but sharp enough to draw blood. "I will not tolerate my husband's authority being challenged here."
Calamitas blinked, then smirked.
"Tomaszewski authority? No, no, my dear—I'm questioning Hoshino authority. Or whatever's left of it."
The temperature dropped.
Lelyah's eyes flickered. Something passed through them—something I had never seen before.
I swallowed hard.
Even Calamitas noticed it.
For the first time, her smirk faltered.
Only for a second.
Then she chuckled, stepping back with a light shrug. "Fine. Consider it dropped."
Father hadn't moved.
Not since that last strike.
I saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists. His composure wasn't from confidence.
It was restraint.
He was losing.
And he knew it.
Reilan took a cautious step forward. "Lord Tomaszewski, please—"
"No."
The single word cut through everything.
Father slowly turned his gaze toward Calamitas.
"I should have killed you the day we met."
Calamitas' smirk widened. "Yes, you should have. But you didn't."
Silence.
Then—Great Sage activated in my mind.
[Query detected: Hoshino Bloodline. Processing…]
My pulse spiked.
"What is the Hoshino bloodline?" I whispered internally.
The response came instantaneously.
[Answer: The Hoshino Clan—formerly known as the Family of A Thousand Voices—were one of the strongest Summoner lineages in recorded history.]
Summoners?
That didn't make sense.
"Cross-check with Satoshi Tomaszewski's abilities."
[Answer: Satoshi Tomaszewski is classified as a Melee Wind Mage. No recorded Summoning ability.]
My breath hitched.
"Cross-check with Satoshi Hoshino's abilities."
A pause.
Then—
[Answer: Satoshi Hoshino was classified as Melee-Type. No recorded Summoning ability. Anomaly detected]
My stomach dropped.
Anomaly?
Then why?
I barely had time to process before Calamitas turned her gaze to my father again.
"You never told her, did you?"
Father's jaw tightened.
"She doesn't need to know."
Calamitas laughed.
"Oh, Satoshi, Satoshi, Satoshi." She sighed dramatically, shaking her head.
"Do you think she's stupid? That she won't start asking the right questions?"
She flicked her eyes back to me, that same knowing smirk curling her lips.
"Tell me, little one—what's the defining trait of a Hoshino?"
My mouth opened—but nothing came out.
Calamitas chuckled. "See? She doesn't even know."
She shifted slightly, voice lowering into something sickly sweet.
"Why don't you say it, Satoshi?"
I saw it.
The way his fingers twitched.
The hesitation in his stance.
"Say it."
Father exhaled slowly.
"I was born without The Chorus."
Everything stopped.
Calamitas' smile widened.
"Oh, there it is."
I felt lightheaded.
"The Chorus?" The word felt foreign in my mouth. I didn't even know what it meant, but something in my blood reacted.
"What is The Chorus?"
I expected Calamitas to answer.
She didn't.
Instead—Father did.
"It doesn't matter."
Calamitas's grin sharpened. "Of course it matters. It was the reason the Hoshino line was slaughtered."
The room tilted.
Reilan stiffened. Lelyah's breathing slowed.
And my father—
Father didn't argue.
Didn't deny it.
Didn't even look at me.
My hands clenched at my sides.
"That's a lie."
Calamitas' smirk was almost gentle.
"Oh, little one."
She didn't even need to say it.
I already knew.
It wasn't.
The room felt too small. The air too thick. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else.
"Confirm: Hoshino Clan downfall."
[Processing…]
[Answer: The Hoshino bloodline was purged. Estimated casualty count: 98%. Cause: Internal conflict.]
My stomach twisted. I swallowed hard.
"Elaborate."
[Insufficient data. Information missing or classified.]
Missing? Classified?
The words rattled around in my skull like loose fragments of something bigger—something I should have already known.
But I didn't.
And my father wasn't denying it.
He just stood there.
Silent.
I forced myself to speak, voice barely above a whisper.
"That doesn't make sense. Why?"
Calamitas was the one to answer.
"Because they valued their magic more than their own blood."
A chill shot through my spine.
"Tell her, Satoshi. Tell her how they ensured their precious Chorus wouldn't fade."
I looked at my father. His expression was carved from stone, but the way his fists curled, the way his shoulders stiffened—
I saw it.
The hesitation.
The guilt.
The truth.
His voice, when it came, was steady. Too steady.
"The Hoshino family did not fall." He exhaled sharply, jaw tight. "We killed ourselves."
A wave of nausea rolled through me.
"Confirm: Hoshino Clan magic."
[Processing…]
[Answer: The Hoshino bloodline was defined by 'The Chorus'—a unique Summoner ability that allowed its users to call upon the echoes of past Hoshino Summoners. Unlike traditional Summoning, The Chorus was not bound by mana costs. The echoes served as an extension of their wielders, acting autonomously. This ability was believed to be linked to a Soul Dragon.
A Soul Dragon?
I barely had time to process before Calamitas spoke again, her voice dripping with satisfaction.
"But the problem with relying on ghosts is that, eventually, the ghosts stop listening."
I blinked. "What?"
Calamitas' smirk widened.
"The Chorus was failing. The voices were fading. And when the Hoshino realized they were losing their greatest strength, they did what all desperate bloodlines do." She tilted her head, mockingly thoughtful. "They tried to force it back."
She smirked, voice dropping to a whisper.
"By eliminating anything they deemed impure."
A chill ran through my spine.
"Impure?"
Calamitas' gaze flicked to my father, then back to me.
"The Hoshino lived and died by The Chorus. Every child born into the family was tested—if they had it, they were trained. If they didn't… well."
She tilted her head toward my father.
"They were discarded."
My stomach twisted.
"Discarded?"
Calamitas smiled, but it was sharp. Mean.
"Oh, they weren't killed at first. Not for generations. They were just… sent away. Forgotten. The Hoshino wouldn't acknowledge them. But then it started happening too often. More and more children without The Chorus. The family panicked. And when people panic?"
She flashed her teeth. "They do terrible things."
She flicked her fingers toward my father.
"Go on. Say it."
His voice came out too controlled.
"They decided we were failures. And failures had to be erased."
Something in my chest twisted violently.
"We?"
His gaze finally met mine.
"You weren't supposed to be born, were you?" I whispered.
He didn't blink.
"No."
The weight of the word crashed down on me.
My father was never meant to exist.
And yet—
"Then why did they keep you?"
Silence.
Then, Calamitas laughed.
"Oh, they didn't. Not at first. But then, something unexpected happened."
She leaned in slightly.
"They realized that more and more Hoshino children were being born without The Chorus. More than they could afford to kill outright. Tell me, Executioner—how did they correct it?"
I barely registered the way my breath caught in my throat.
Father inhaled slowly.
Then—
"They turned me into their blade."
A sharp silence filled the room.
I wasn't sure what I had expected. Denial? Excuses? Maybe even anger? But my father's words carried none of those things.
No justification. No remorse. Just fact.
Calamitas hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. "And what a fine weapon you became."
I swallowed. "How?"
Father exhaled slowly. "They started training me young. I was separated from the others—given different lessons, different tutors. At first, I didn't understand why." His gaze darkened. "Then I did."
Calamitas' smirk sharpened. "Ah, yes. The Ritual of Selection."
A pit formed in my stomach.
"Selection?"
Father's fingers twitched. "This was before they noticed The Chorus was weakening. Every generation, the Hoshino culled the weak. It wasn't always violent. Those who weren't fit for the family were cast out—disowned before they could bring shame." His voice turned hollow. "But for those of us born without The Chorus… exile was the only option. After they noticed The Chorus was weakening…"
I felt my hands clench at my sides.
Calamitas' smile widened. "They changed the rules."
Father nodded, jaw tightening. "Only the strongest could remain. And it was my job to ensure that happened."
My stomach lurched.
"No."
His gaze met mine, sharp. Unyielding.
"Yes."
A sharp ringing filled my ears.
I didn't want to ask. But I had to.
"…Your job?"
For the first time, something flickered in his expression. Not anger. Not grief.
Resignation.
"I executed them."
A cold chill spread through my veins.
Calamitas tilted her head, watching me. Watching him. "Go on. Tell her."
Father's grip tightened. "The first time, I was ordered to kill a boy two years younger than me."
I felt sick.
"I was eleven."
Everything inside me stopped.
Calamitas smiled. "Tell her the rest."
Father's breath was steady. Too steady. "I was given a list. Each month, more names were added. Children. Siblings. Cousins. Some of them I had trained with. Some of them I had…" He exhaled sharply. "Befriended."
I took a step back.
I couldn't help it.
I wanted to say something, but my throat had closed up.
Father continued, undeterred. "When I was twelve, they ordered me to kill my own parents."
Silence.
A deep, hollow silence that clawed at my ribs and threatened to pull me under.
I saw it—the barest flicker in his eyes. The ghost of something long buried beneath years of control.
He never looked away.
Never asked for forgiveness.
He simply stated it as fact.
"They didn't beg," he said after a moment. "They didn't fight. They only told me one thing."
I didn't want to know.
But my lips still parted. "What… what did they say?"
Father exhaled.
"If you don't do this, they'll kill you too."
His voice didn't waver.
His body didn't shake.
But his eyes—
For the first time since this conversation began, I saw it.
A single crack in the mask.
He was remembering.
And for the first time, I didn't think I wanted to know what he saw.
"What else did they say?"
The question left my lips before I could stop it.
Father inhaled, slow and measured. His expression didn't change, but his eyes did.
Dead. Empty.
And yet—
Wet.
A single breath passed before he answered.
"They told me they were proud of me."
I flinched.
What?
Calamitas chuckled. "Of course they did."
Father ignored her. "They said I had always been different. That, even without The Chorus, I had something greater."
I clenched my fists. "Greater?"
His voice was distant. Almost detached.
"They said my siblings admired me."
A shudder ran through me.
Admired?
His fingers twitched at his sides. "I never knew that. I never realized how much they…" He exhaled sharply. "I was the runt. The weakest. I thought they all resented me."
He closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"But even though I never carried The Chorus, they still saw me as their strongest. They told me that in the end, I was the one they could trust the most."
He sighed, "Sakuya, the eldest, was the one who carried the burden of leadership. She had always been the guiding voice of my family—and yet, on her final day, she told me: 'Little brother… I should have listened to you more. You saw things I never could.'"
"Tetsuya, second-born, had always been the strongest among us. He never lost a battle, never faltered when it mattered most. And yet, before I struck him down, he smiled. 'They said you were weak, Satoshi. But I always knew better.'"
Dad rubbed his face and continued. "Mikoto, third-born, was the most talented summoner among us, able to call forth entities even our ancestors struggled to control. But her greatest pride? 'You were never like the rest of us, little brother. You never let someone else's Chorus think for you. You always made your own choices.'"
"Haruto, fourth-born, had always been brilliant. A tactician, a strategist. And yet, before his death, he admitted—'I spent my life trying to outthink fate. But you, Satoshi… you just defied it.'"
"And finally, Kaede, the youngest before me. She was gentle, kind, always the heart of our family. She never believed in violence. But her final words? 'I never needed The Chorus to tell me what I already knew. I was proud to call you my brother.'"
A deep, suffocating silence filled the room.
I had no words.
None.
His family had trusted him to be their executioner.
"'If you don't do this, they'll kill you too.'"
He repeated the words softly, as if testing how they still sounded in his own voice.
Then—
A slow, bitter chuckle.
"And they were right. I slaughtered the whole clan."
The breath I didn't realize I was holding came out in a sharp, shuddering exhale.
Calamitas tilted her head. "And so, the weakest Hoshino became its last."
I stiffened.
The last.
The realization hit me like a brick to the chest.
I wasn't just talking to my father.
I was talking to the last survivor of the Hoshino bloodline.
The air felt heavier.
He had done everything they asked. And yet, he still wasn't enough to save them.
He opened his eyes.
And I wished he hadn't.
Because for all the coldness in his expression—
His eyes were breaking.
He had buried this part of himself so deeply, even he had forgotten it was still bleeding.
And now, against his will, it had been dragged into the light.
Then—
A sharp inhale.
From Reilan.
I turned just in time to see his knuckles whiten around the hilt of his sword. His usual composed, unwavering demeanor had cracked. Just slightly.
But enough.
Enough to know he was struggling to comprehend what he had just heard.
For the first time in my life, I saw something rare in my attendant's eyes
Hesitation.
"…You were a child," Reilan finally murmured.
The words barely had weight to them. Like he didn't believe them himself.
A child.
And yet—he had been made into something else entirely.
"You were a child," Reilan repeated, almost like he was trying to make sense of it. His grip on his sword tightened. "And they made you do this?"
Satoshi exhaled slowly. "No, Reilan."
His gaze met my attendant's.
"They made me be good at it."
A shudder ran through Reilan's frame.
Calamitas chuckled. "That's what makes it even better, doesn't it?" She leaned back, resting her chin on her palm, golden eyes gleaming. "For all their desperation, they found their perfect weapon in the child they once discarded."
Reilan finally broke eye contact. His throat bobbed. His hands flexed at his sides.
But he said nothing.
Because what could he say?
Then, suddenly—
Lelyah moved.
Not abruptly. Not aggressively.
But I felt it.
The way the air changed.
She took a single step forward, placing herself between Satoshi and Calamitas—not in protection, but in something deeper.
I expected her to speak.
To scold Calamitas.
To say something—anything—so that this moment wouldn't stretch into the unbearable silence swallowing the room.
But she didn't.
She just looked at my father.
I couldn't see her expression from where I stood.
But I saw his.
And it wasn't just fury in his eyes anymore.
It was something raw. Something vulnerable.
Lelyah inhaled sharply through her nose, then exhaled—controlled, deliberate.
"I see," she murmured softly.
Satoshi didn't react.
Not at first.
But then, slowly, his jaw tightened.
His fingers curled just slightly.
And I knew.
He understood exactly what she meant.