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                          Chapter I:

                            The Fool

Ciel Phantomhive stood before the intimidating stature of Weston University, the most prestigious University in Great Britain. The building loomed over him, casting a long shadow across his slender frame. In his delicate hands, he held the chunky university handbook, a rule book bestowed upon every first year at the start of the fall semester.

His azure eye quickly glanced at the first page, barely letting the words sink in. Weston's strict traditions, set by the higher ups and enforced through Chancellor William T Spears and Vice Chancellor Claude Faustus, seemed frivolous to him. The disciplinary committee, made responsible for with executing these rules, was just another hurdle to overcome. His eyes glanced over the words again, “Rule Number One, oh this is just absurd…” he trailed off, out loud to no one in particular.

His mind absent in thought, Ciel paid little consideration towards his surroundings as he strode towards the building. His shoes carelessly trod upon the manicured lawn, an act that didn't go overlooked. Suddenly, he slammed into a large figure. 

"Refrain from walking on the on the grass, first-year," a stern voice reprimanded. “That's rule number one."

Ciel looked up, his eyes meeting the gaze of a bespectacled man with slate hair uncannily similar to his own. Undeterred, he shut the handbook closed and crossed his arms defiantly.

"What, is your precious grass too posh for a lowly first-year like me?" he smirked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. 

A part of him resisted the urge to dig his heel further into the soil, a silent act of defiance. But he stopped himself, vigilant that it might be too soon to push boundaries. 

"Oh, please," The bespectacled man retorted, "It’s not like that. It's all about upholding appearances.”The man's expression remained impassive. "That's why we have rules," he stated matter-of-factly.

Ciel's lip curled in disdain. Rules conjured up by senile old men held little interest to him. In his mind, rules were meant to be broken.

"Now, if you don't mind," the man continued, "Please remove your feet from the grass."

As Ciel examined the man more closely, he noticed a bright red band adorning his upper arm. Realization dawned - this was a prefect, a senior student in charge of enforcing these so-called rules. Curiosity piqued, he asked, "Hey, what's your name?"

"Lawrence Bluewer, captain of the disciplinary committee," the man replied, pushing his glasses up with his index finger. “You'd best remember that, first-year."

Lawrence paused, his gaze sharpening as he observed Ciel more closely. "You have an ear piercing," he noted, his tone tinged with displeasure. "Ear piercings, body piercings, and body tattoos are prohibited. It's in the rule book. But, it's your first day, so I'll give you a pass. You need to take that out by tomorrow."

Ciel felt a flare of indignation rise within him. He scoffed, his single visible eye that wasn’t concealed by his eyepatch narrowing in defiance. "This is a University, not secondary school," he retorted, his voice laced with contempt. "Why does the school need to tell me what to do with my body as if I'm a child?"

Lawrence's expression remained unflappable, but Ciel could see a flicker of irritation in the older student's eyes. "It's protocol," Lawrence stated firmly, "and you'd best follow it if you don't want trouble."

Without waiting for a response, Lawrence turned on his heel and stormed off. Ciel watched him go, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty bubbling in his gut. For a brief second, he almost called out to Lawrence, realizing he still had no idea where he was going. But he decided against it, his pride not letting him.

Left alone once more, Ciel glanced down at the campus map in his hands, then back at the intimidating building before him. He felt a twinge of trepidation, quickly masked by a facade of cool indifference. This was just another hurdle to overcome, he told himself. And Ciel Phantomhive never dared to back down from a challenge.

With a determination set tightly to his jaw, he began to make his way towards the entrance, silently vowing to journey this new school on his own terms, rules, and Lawrence Bluewer be damned.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel stood before his assigned dorm room, a sense of apprehension mingling with his usual air of detached coolness. He had specifically requested a single room, hoping to carve out a private sanctuary within the confines of Weston University. With a mixture of expectation and trepidation, he twisted the doorknob, not anticipating any company.

The sight that greeted him, however, was far from the empty room he had envisioned. Ciel flinched, startled by the unexpected presence and the bizarre scene unfolding before him.

A man with long, luxuriant hair stood in the middle of the room, his state of undress immediately apparent. His plum-colored bangs framed a face adorned with cheerful, golden eyes, while the rest of his hair was styled in a casual half-ponytail. The stranger was clad only in his underwear, caught in the awkward act of struggling into a pair of pants.

Ciel's visible eye twitched, a mix of shock and irritation flashing across his features. "What the-" he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to process the situation.

The half-naked man glanced over, seemingly unfazed by Ciel's sudden appearance. His face stretched into a broad, friendly grin. "Oh, you must be my new flatmate!" he exclaimed, his tone brimming with enthusiasm that stood in stark contrast to Ciel's growing dismay.

Ciel felt his carefully cultivated composure slipping. This was not at all what he had requested or expected. The realization that he might be forced to share his living space with this exuberant, boundary-oblivious individual sent a wave of frustration through him. He stood frozen in the doorway, caught between the urge to slam the door and flee, and the need to assert his claim on what he believed should have been his private domain.

Ciel's lips twitched with barely contained irritation. "This must be a mistake," he said, his voice tight with forced calm. "I requested a single room."

The half-dressed man tilted his head, confusion evident in his golden eyes. "You're Ciel Phantomhive, right?" he asked, his cheerful demeanor undiminished. "I was told you were going to be rooming with me. It can't be a mistake."

Ciel's brow furrowed, his mind racing to make sense of the situation. "Did the Chancellor tell you that?" he questioned, a hint of skepticism coloring his tone.

The man nodded, finally managing to pull his pants on completely. 

Ciel's jaw clenched his frustration mounting. "Then, this has to be a mixup," he declared, his voice laced with determination. "I'll go talk to him."

As he prepared to turn and leave, Ciel found himself torn. Part of him wanted to storm out immediately and demand answers, to rectify what he saw as a clear breach of his wishes. Yet another part, smaller but insistent, urged caution. He was new here, and making enemies on his first day – even with the Chancellor – might not be the wisest move.

He hesitated in the doorway, his gaze flicking between his unexpected flatmate and the hallway beyond. The situation was far from ideal, but perhaps there was more to this arrangement than met the eye. Still, the thought of sharing his personal space with a stranger, especially one so... exuberant, made him bristle.

Ciel took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He needed more information before he acted. Turning back to his apparent flatmate, he decided to at least get a name before he went to confront the Chancellor. "And you are?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the turmoil of emotions roiling beneath the surface.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Ciel turned to leave, the weight of his new roommate's cheerful introduction hung in the air. "Soma Asman Kadar," he repeated mentally, filing the name away despite his lack of interest in forging friendships.

With a curt "Right," Ciel stepped out of the room, his mind already focused on his next objective. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Soma's vibrant presence behind.

Ciel strode purposefully down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. His single visible eye was narrowed in determination, his posture rigid with barely contained frustration. He had come to Weston for a specific reason, and this unexpected roommate situation was an unwelcome complication.

As he navigated the unfamiliar hallways towards the Chancellor's office, Ciel's mind raced. He rehearsed his arguments, preparing to state his case clearly and firmly. He had no intention of compromising on this issue. A private room wasn't just a preference; it was essential for his plans.

The ornate architecture of Weston University passed by in a blur as Ciel focused solely on his goal. He paid little attention to the other students he passed, his demeanor clearly broadcasting his unwillingness to engage in casual conversation.

Finally, he arrived at the Chancellor's office. Pausing for a moment to collect himself, Ciel took a deep breath. He smoothed his expression into one of cool composure, masking the irritation that simmered beneath the surface. With a firm knock on the door, he prepared to confront the person responsible for this perceived slight against his wishes.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's carefully composed expression faltered for a moment as he found himself face-to-face with his cousin, Edward Midford. The familiar shock of spiky blonde hair and vibrant green eyes, now wide with surprise, brought a rush of unexpected memories.

"Edward," Ciel acknowledged, quickly regaining his composure. He hadn't anticipated this encounter, and it threw him off balance. "I wasn't aware you were attending Weston."

His mind raced, recalculating his approach. The presence of Edward complicated matters. If he was here, it likely meant that Elizabeth, Edward's sister and Ciel's other cousin, wasn't far behind. The thought of navigating social obligations on top of his already derailed plans made Ciel's jaw clench imperceptibly.

"I'm here to speak with the Chancellor," Ciel stated, his tone businesslike, attempting to sidestep any potential for a familial catch-up session. "Is he available?"

Ciel felt a twinge of frustration at the news of the Chancellor's unavailability, but he quickly masked it. "Really? Is that so?" he replied, his tone carefully neutral. "Then I'll be taking my leave."

As he turned to go, Edward's voice halted him. "Wait," his cousin called out, "Have you met with Elizabeth yet?"

Ciel's heart sank. He had hoped to avoid this very topic. "No, why?" he responded, feigning ignorance.

Edward began to speak, his voice softening, "She'd be happy to see you after all these years, especially after..." The unfinished sentence hung heavily in the air between them.

Ciel knew exactly what Edward was referring to, and a familiar pain threatened to surface. He quickly pushed it down, desperate to avoid any display of vulnerability. "Yeah, I know," he lied smoothly, "I'm looking forward to seeing her too."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but they served their purpose. Ciel just wanted to escape this conversation, to retreat from the unwelcome reminder of his past and the emotions it stirred.

"If that's all," Ciel said, already stepping back, "I should be going. I have... things to attend to."

As he turned away from Edward, Ciel's mind raced. The Chancellor was unavailable, his living situation was still unresolved, and now he had to contend with the looming presence of his cousins. The carefully laid plans he had for his time at Weston seemed to be unraveling before they'd even begun.

Ciel's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he collided with a tall figure. Stepping back, he began to apologize, his gaze lifting to take in the unexpected sight before him.

The man he had bumped into was striking, to say the least. Clad entirely in black, he cut an imposing figure that seemed at odds with the academic setting. His messy black hair fell fashionably across his forehead, framing a pair of captivating red eyes that immediately caught Ciel's attention. The man's lips curled into a smile, his voice smooth as he spoke, "It's fine, I wasn't watching where I was going either."

Ciel found himself momentarily at a loss for words, struggling to maintain his usual composure. The man before him looked to be in his mid to late twenties, far too young to be a professor by Ciel's estimation, yet his presence seemed somehow out of place among the students.

Realizing he had been staring, Ciel quickly collected himself. "No harm done," he managed, his tone carefully neutral despite his curiosity. He debated whether to introduce himself or simply move on, weighing the potential benefits of making connections against his desire to avoid unnecessary entanglements.

As the man introduced himself, Ciel felt an inexplicable pull towards him. "Sebastian Michaelis," the stranger said, his gaze seeming to pierce through Ciel's carefully constructed defenses.

When Sebastian extended his hand, Ciel found himself responding almost automatically. "Ciel Phantomhive," he replied, grasping Sebastian's hand. The moment their hands touched, Ciel felt a jolt of electricity course through him, catching him off guard.

The sensation left Ciel momentarily stunned. He couldn't quite place the feeling that washed over him. Was it admiration? Or something more? The intensity of his reaction to this stranger both intrigued and unsettled him. He dismissed the thought, reprimanding himself for thinking anything of the sort.

Ciel quickly withdrew his hand, hoping his momentary lapse in composure hadn't been noticeable. He struggled to maintain his usual air of detached coolness, even as his mind raced to make sense of his unexpected reaction.

Ciel, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the unexpected intensity of the encounter, decided to make a hasty exit. "Well, it was nice meeting you," he said, his voice betraying a hint of his inner turmoil. "See you around campus." Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave, eager to escape the awkwardness that had settled over him.

As Ciel began to walk away, he heard Sebastian's smooth voice behind him. "Likewise," the man said, his tone unreadable.

Ciel didn't look back as he strode down the hallway, his pace quickening with each step. He could feel Sebastian's gaze on him as he retreated, and it took all of his self-control not to break into a run. The encounter had left him feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way he wasn't accustomed to, and he was desperate to regain his composure.

As he rounded a corner, finally out of Sebastian's sight, Ciel let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He leaned against the wall for a moment, closing his eye and trying to steady himself. This brief meeting had shaken him more than he cared to admit, and he knew he would need time to process what had just happened.

With a final deep breath, Ciel pushed himself off the wall and continued on his way, his mind racing with thoughts of red eyes and inexplicable connections.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As Ciel re-entered the dorm room, he was relieved to find it empty. Soma's absence gave him a chance to properly survey his new living space without the distraction of his enthusiastic roommate.

His eye swept across the room, taking in the stark contrast between the two sides. Soma's half was a riot of color and school spirit, plastered with posters and adorned with various Weston University merchandise. The exuberant display made Ciel's lip curl slightly. Such unbridled enthusiasm for the institution seemed naive and childish to him.

In contrast, his own side of the room was barren, lacking even basic bedding. Ciel was grateful he had had the foresight to bring his own sheets and covers. The empty space before him represented a blank canvas, one he could shape to his liking - or, more accurately, one he could keep as impersonal and functional as possible.

Ciel sank into his bed, relishing the momentary solitude. With classes not starting until tomorrow, he finally had a chance to gather his thoughts and prepare for the challenges ahead. He reached into his backpack, pulling out the Weston University handbook, curious about the rules he'd be expected to follow—or, as he privately thought, the rules he'd need to navigate around.

As he flipped through the pages, his eye skimmed over the list of regulations:

'Rule Number One, Walking on the front lawn is prohibited.'
Ciel's lip curled slightly, remembering his earlier encounter with Lawrence Bluer.

'Rule Number Two, Tattoos, and body piercings are not allowed.'
His hand unconsciously moved to his ear, where his piercing still resided.

'Rule Number Three, Anything such as tagging or defacing the school property will be punished accordingly.'

'Rule Number Four, Alcohol is prohibited on campus, if you are caught being under the influence, you will be punished accordingly.'

'Rule Number Five, Students are not allowed to be out at night on campus, everyone must be in their dorms around 9:00.’

Ciel's brow furrowed as he read through the list. Each rule seemed more restrictive than the last, painting a picture of a tightly controlled environment. It was as if the university was trying to mold its students into a singular, obedient mass.

He closed the handbook with a soft snap, his mind already working on ways to bend or circumvent these rules when necessary. Ciel had no intention of being constrained by what he saw as arbitrary restrictions. He was here for a purpose, and he wouldn't let Weston's rigid structure interfere with his plans.

With a slight smirk, Ciel closed his eye. Tomorrow, classes would begin, and with them, the real test of his resolve. Whatever Weston University had in store for him, he was ready to face it head-on.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Then, darkness enveloped him, casting him into a dreamless sleep.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel's consciousness slowly returned as he felt someone shaking him. His eye fluttered open, struggling to focus in the darkness of the room. Disoriented, he pushed himself up, his hand instinctively reaching for his phone on the bedside table. The bright screen momentarily blinded him, but he managed to make out the time: 7:00 PM.

A wave of irritation washed over him as he realized who had disturbed his sleep. He didn't bother to mask the annoyance in his voice as he addressed his unwelcome roommate.

"Why are you waking me up?" he demanded, his tone sharp with sleep and frustration.

Soma's cheerful face swam into focus, his seemingly permanent grin undimmed by Ciel's obvious displeasure. 

"It's dinner time," Soma announced brightly as if this explanation justified everything. "Come on, before the good food runs out!"

Ciel fought the urge to groan. The thought of navigating a crowded dining hall with his overly enthusiastic roommate was far from appealing. Yet, a small part of him recognized the practicality of Soma's suggestion. He hadn't eaten since arriving at Weston, and hunger was beginning to gnaw at him beneath his irritation.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel reluctantly threw the covers off, his irritation palpable. "Alright, I'm getting up," he muttered, his voice thick with lingering sleep.

Before he could fully orient himself, Soma was already at his side, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Let's go," his roommate urged, ushering Ciel towards the door with an insistence that grated on his nerves.

The journey to the cafeteria was mercifully brief. Ciel noted with a mixture of amusement and disdain that it was located on the ground floor of the boys' dormitory. Of course, he thought, his eye rolling involuntarily. Leave it to Weston to segregate even meal times by gender. The absurdity of such strict regulations wasn't lost on him, but it aligned perfectly with the oppressive atmosphere he'd sensed since arriving.

As Ciel surveyed the cafeteria's offerings, he couldn't help but compare them unfavorably to Tanaka's culinary creations. His butler's meals had always been a cut above, and the array before him now seemed mediocre at best. With nothing particularly appealing to his palate, he decided to indulge his sweet tooth instead.

Standing in line behind Soma, Ciel's gaze settled on a trifle - a simple dessert of pound cake layered with whipped cream and strawberries. It wasn't Tanaka's legendary confections, but it would have to do.

He glanced at Soma's plate as they moved through the line, noting the aromatic curry and rice his roommate had chosen. Despite himself, Ciel had to admit the curry smelled enticing, but he wasn't in the mood for something so heavy.

Following Soma to an empty table, Ciel sat down, his dessert looking almost out of place next to Soma's more substantial meal. 

"I don't usually like British food, or any food prepared by the British, no offense," Soma commented, his tone light despite the potential insult. "But the curry here is actually pretty good."

Ciel found himself nodding slightly in agreement with Soma's assessment. British cuisine had never been his favorite either, a fact that surprised even him as he acknowledged it. 

"Actually, I agree," he admitted, the words feeling strange on his tongue. It wasn't often he found common ground with others, especially not so quickly. "The only food I really enjoy is usually prepared by my butler."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ciel felt a twinge of discomfort. He hadn't meant to reveal such a personal detail, especially one that hinted at his privileged background. It was unlike him to let his guard down so easily, and he silently chided himself for the slip.

Still, there was something disarming about Soma's frankness that had momentarily lowered Ciel's defenses. He eyed his roommate curiously, wondering if this easy rapport was genuine or if there was more to Soma than met the eye.

Ciel's attention snapped back to his surroundings as a plate clattered loudly onto their table. He looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion, to find two unfamiliar faces joining them uninvited.

The first to catch his eye was a blonde man with an unkempt appearance. His hair was disheveled, but not in the calculated way Sebastian's had been. This man's blue eyes held a glint of mischief that immediately put Ciel on edge. The newcomer's grin, wide and uninhibited, did nothing to ease Ciel's wariness.

Beside him stood another blonde, this one with a head of curly hair and striking green eyes. Ciel found himself doing a double-take at this second intruder. The young man's features were delicate, almost feminine in their beauty. While clearly male, there was an androgynous quality to him that Ciel found both intriguing and slightly unsettling.

Ciel's eye darted between the two newcomers, then to Soma, trying to gauge if his flatmate knew these unexpected dinner guests. His hand tightened imperceptibly around his fork, his body tensing as he prepared for whatever this interruption might bring.

Questions raced through Ciel's mind. Who were these people? Why had they chosen to insert themselves so abruptly into what had been a surprisingly peaceful meal? Were they friends of Soma's, or did they have some other motive for approaching their table?

As Ciel watched, the disheveled blonde addressed Soma with a false cheeriness that set his teeth on edge. "Soma, I see you've made a new friend," the newcomer said, his voice dripping with faux friendliness. "Won't you introduce us?"

Without waiting for an invitation, the blonde unceremoniously dropped into the seat next to Soma. His companion, the curly-haired youth, slid onto the bench beside Ciel, invading his personal space with an ease that made Ciel's skin crawl.

The disheveled blonde's arm snaked around Soma's shoulders in what appeared, at first glance, to be a companionable gesture. But Ciel's keen eye caught the subtle tightening of Soma's jaw, the almost imperceptible stiffening of his posture. To an casual observer, it might have seemed friendly, even playful. But Ciel sensed the undercurrent of threat beneath the surface pleasantries.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Ciel said, his tone cool and measured. He turned his piercing gaze to the disheveled blonde, silently challenging him to explain his presence. "You seem to know my flatmate, but I'm afraid I don't have the pleasure of knowing either of you."

Ciel's gaze shifted to the curly-haired blonde as he spoke, his voice carrying a sweetness that felt artificial to Ciel's ears. "Oh, so you're his flatmate? You're a first-year, aren't you?" 

Ciel gave a curt nod, not wanting to volunteer any more information than necessary. He kept his expression neutral, but his mind was working overtime, analyzing every nuance of the interaction.

The disheveled blonde took over then, his grin widening in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The name's Alois Trancy and this is Maurice Cole," he announced, gesturing to his companion. "We just wanted to introduce ourselves, since you're a new face here. It was nice meeting you." 

Alois extended his hand across the table, the gesture seeming more like a challenge than a greeting to Ciel's discerning eye. 

Ciel deliberately ignored the outstretched hand, his gaze cool and unimpressed. "Likewise," he responded, his tone clipped and devoid of any real sentiment.

As he spoke, Ciel was acutely aware of the tension vibrating beneath the surface of this seemingly casual encounter. Alois's ignored handshake hung in the air between them, a silent battle of wills. Ciel refused to break eye contact, quietly asserting that he wouldn't be intimidated or drawn into whatever game these two were playing.

Alois’ smirk slightly faltered, “Well then, we’ll be taking our leave.” Alois got up from the table, and Maurice did the same.

Ciel's mind raced as Alois and Maurice retreated from the table, their abrupt departure as unsettling as their arrival had been. The encounter left him with a lingering sense of unease, a feeling that there was far more to this interaction than met the eye.

As he turned his attention back to his meal, Ciel became acutely aware of a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. It was the unmistakable feeling of being watched. His eye darted around the cafeteria, taking in the scene with careful scrutiny.

Most of the other students seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking in their direction, their gazes fixed firmly on their own tables or meals. This studied indifference only heightened Ciel's suspicion. It was as if the entire room was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Yet, despite the collective avoidance, Ciel couldn't shake the sensation of unseen eyes upon him. He resisted the urge to turn and search for the source, knowing that such an obvious move would reveal his awareness. Instead, he kept his posture relaxed, maintaining an outward appearance of calm while his mind worked furiously.

Who could be watching him? And why? Was it Alois and Maurice from another table, gauging his reaction to their little performance? Or was there someone else, someone connected to the mysteries he'd come to Weston to unravel?

Ciel's gaze slid to Soma, wondering if his roommate had any insight into what had just transpired. But Soma seemed lost in his own thoughts, his usual cheer dimmed by the encounter.

As Ciel and Soma made their way back to their shared room, an uncomfortable silence hung between them. The stark contrast to Soma's earlier exuberance was not lost on Ciel. He found himself at a loss for words, unsure how to address the incident in the cafeteria. Opting for discretion, he decided to respect Soma's apparent need for space and kept his thoughts to himself.

Upon reaching their room, Ciel sank onto his bed, his eye tracking Soma's subdued movements. His roommate's usual cheerful demeanor had vanished, replaced by a quietness that seemed almost alien to him. Soma wordlessly prepared for bed, his actions mechanical and devoid of his typical energy.

As he observed this transformation, Ciel's mind churned with questions. The abrupt change in Soma's behavior was clearly linked to the appearance of Alois and Maurice. Their brief interaction had left an indelible mark, turning the boisterous Soma into this silent, almost somber figure.

Ciel found himself unexpectedly troubled by the shift. While he had initially found Soma's enthusiasm grating, this new, withdrawn version of his roommate felt wrong somehow.

Ciel exhaled softly, his mind still buzzing with unanswered questions. However, he recognized that now wasn't the time to press for answers. The weight of the day's events settled over him, and he decided to postpone his inquiries until morning.

With a final glance at Soma's unusually still from across the room, Ciel turned onto his side. He pulled the covers closer, creating a barrier between himself and the complexities that seemed to permeate every aspect of Weston. As he closed his eye, he silently resolved to unravel the mysteries surrounding him, starting with the curious case of his roommate's sudden change in demeanor.

Sleep came quickly, drawing Ciel into its embrace. His last conscious thought was a reminder to himself: in this place, every interaction, every subtle shift in behavior could be a clue. He would need to stay alert, observe, and analyze. 

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel stirred awake to the gentle chorus of birdsong filtering through the window. As consciousness fully returned, he pushed himself up, his single visible eye scanning the room. Soma's bed was empty, neatly made as if he'd never slept in it. Ciel briefly wondered if his roommate had an early class, but quickly dismissed the thought. Soma's whereabouts weren't his primary concern.

Taking advantage of the solitude, Ciel made his way to the adjoining bathroom. Standing before the mirror, he carefully removed his eyepatch, revealing the secret he kept hidden from the world.

His reflection stared back at him, mismatched eyes telling the story of his concealed vulnerability. The right eye, completely grayed out, was a stark contrast to his left. Ciel studied it dispassionately, remembering the congenital blindness that had plagued him since birth.

He'd always perceived this impairment as a weakness, something to be hidden away from prying eyes and potential adversaries. The eyepatch wasn't just a cover; it was armor, protecting him from the judgments and potential exploitation of others.

As the steam from the shower began to dissipate, Ciel found himself once again facing his reflection. His gaze lingered on the small earring that glinted in the bathroom light. For a brief moment, Lawrence's admonition echoed in his mind, urging him to remove it.

Ciel's hand hovered near his ear, fingers almost touching the metallic stud. But then, a familiar stubbornness set in. His lips curled into a slight, defiant smirk. No, he decided, he wouldn't yield to Weston's arbitrary rules so easily. The earring would stay.

With practiced efficiency, he ran a comb through his damp slate-colored hair, arranging it to partially obscure his eyepatch. As he brushed his teeth, his mind wandered to the day ahead, mentally preparing for whatever challenges Weston might present.

Ciel dressed for the day, momentarily surprised that Weston didn't mandate a school uniform given its strict nature. He chose a navy blue crew neck sweater, tan chinos, and black Vans. The outfit struck a balance between fitting in and maintaining his individuality - put-together enough for Weston's prestigious atmosphere, yet with a touch of casual defiance in the shoes. As he gave himself a final glance in the mirror, Ciel dismissed any concerns about potential dress code issues.

Ciel slung his backpack over his shoulder, the weight of his materials a reminder of the academic challenges ahead. He set off for his first class of the day: psychology. 

Navigating through the bustling campus, he consulted his schedule, eyes scanning for the correct building. After a few moments of searching amidst the throng of students, he finally located it.

Entering the classroom, Ciel chose a seat and settled in. As he glanced at his phone, he realized with growing irritation that class should have started twenty minutes ago. The professor's absence was conspicuous, and Ciel found himself wondering about the cause of this delay.

His eye swept across the room, taking in his fellow students' reactions. Some seemed relieved for the extra time, while others appeared as annoyed as he felt. 

Ciel's eye widened imperceptibly as the door swung open, revealing none other than Sebastian Michaelis. The sight of the man he had encountered yesterday, now apparently in the role of his psychology professor, sent a jolt of surprise through him.

"Sorry for being late, traffic held me up," Sebastian announced, his smooth voice carrying easily across the now-silent classroom.

Ciel found himself studying Sebastian with renewed interest. The man's attire was more formal than their previous encounter, but he still exuded that same aura of enigmatic charm. The messy black hair and captivating red eyes were just as Ciel remembered, but now they belonged to an authority figure rather than a mysterious stranger.

As Sebastian's gaze moved across the classroom, Ciel felt a moment of tension when those crimson eyes finally settled on him. He braced himself for a flicker of recognition, a hint of surprise, but Sebastian's expression remained impassive. 

Ciel couldn't tell if Sebastian was genuinely unsurprised to see him or if the man was simply adept at masking his reactions. 

As Sebastian delved into his lecture, primarily focusing on the syllabus, Ciel found his attention drifting. The initial shock of seeing Sebastian as his professor had worn off, replaced by a sort of detached observation.

However, the monotony was shattered when the door burst open unexpectedly. Lawrence Bluewer stood in the doorway, his usually composed demeanor notably disheveled. Ciel's attention snapped back to full alertness at the sight.

"Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Michaelis, but you need to dismiss your class. Someone on campus has died."

The words hung in the air for a moment before chaos erupted. Ciel felt a jolt of adrenaline course through him as his classmates began to chatter anxiously around him. His mind raced, immediately connecting this development to his suspicions about Weston.

He observed Sebastian's reaction closely, noting the fleeting surprise that crossed the professor's features before he regained his composure. "Got it. Class is dismissed, and everyone please stay safe," Sebastian announced, his voice calm despite the gravity of the situation.

As his classmates rushed to leave, Ciel methodically packed his belongings, his movements deliberate and unhurried despite the urgency around him. His mind was already working, analyzing the implications of this news.

Joining the stream of students exiting the classroom, Ciel's thoughts whirled. A death on campus - this was no ordinary occurrence. It could be the break he needed in his investigation, a crack in Weston's carefully maintained facade.

As Ciel moved through the panicked crowd, snippets of conversation reached his ears. 

"Someone really died? Where's the body?" one student asked anxiously.

"It's in the student union," came the hushed reply.

Ciel's pulse quickened. The student union - he had to get there quickly before authorities cordoned off the area. This could be crucial to his investigation.

Without hesitation, he broke into a run, following the stream of students ahead of him. Their collective urgency propelled them forward, a tide of morbid curiosity and shock.

Finally, Ciel reached the student union. He pushed his way inside, his single eye scanning the scene, bracing himself for what he might find.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

There, in the center of the room, was Soma. But not as Ciel had last seen him. Soma lay motionless, unmistakably lifeless. The reality of the situation hit Ciel with devastating force. His flatmate, the cheerful presence he'd only just begun to know, was gone.

His body was suspended on the wall, pool sticks impaled his hands and feet, while pool balls replaced his eyes.

It was a gruesome display. Something he had never seen before. He lurched forward, throwing up. Several students who entered with him did the same. Some throwing up in trash bins and some throwing up on the floor.

As the shock of the scene overwhelmed the students, Lawrence Bluewer suddenly materialized, his authoritative presence cutting through the chaos. His voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

"You guys aren't supposed to be in here, leave this instant!" 

Ciel, still reeling from what he'd witnessed, felt Lawrence's hand on his shoulder, firmly guiding him towards the exit along with the other students. The prefect's face was ashen, his usual composure strained by the gravity of the situation.

As they were herded out, Ciel's mind raced, trying to process what he'd seen while simultaneously looking for any details that might be important later. He noticed Lawrence's slightly trembling hands, the way his eyes darted around the room as if searching for something - or someone.

Once outside, Ciel took a deep breath of fresh air, trying to clear his head. The crowd of students milled about, their faces a mix of shock, fear, and morbid curiosity. Whispers and theories already began to circulate.

As the chaos unfolded around him, a grim realization settled over Ciel. This tragedy, as horrific as it was, seemed to confirm his darkest suspicions about Weston University. The very reason he had come here, the driving force behind his enrollment, was the belief that his parents' mysterious disappearances were somehow connected to this institution.

Ciel knew that this tragic event would change everything at Weston. As he watched Lawrence confer urgently with other university officials arriving on the scene, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something much larger and more sinister than he had initially imagined.

Chapter I: END

Chapter Text

Chapter II: Hierophant

Ciel sat on his bed, earphones firmly in place, using music to create a barrier between himself and the turmoil that had engulfed Weston. The rhythmic beats allowed his mind to focus, to process the gruesome scene he had witnessed. 

Though his relationship with Soma had been brief and largely superficial, Ciel couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for those who would soon receive the devastating news. The memory of his own loss surfaced - the hollow ache that had settled in his chest when he'd finally accepted his parents weren't coming back.

Yet, even as these empathetic thoughts flowed, a darker, more pragmatic part of his mind emerged. A voice, cold and analytical, noted that this tragedy had inadvertently resolved his flatmate's dilemma. The need to confront the Chancellor about his living arrangements had been rendered moot by Soma's untimely demise.

Ciel felt a flicker of self-disgust at this callous observation, but he couldn't entirely dismiss it. In the labyrinth of mysteries surrounding Weston, he knew he couldn't afford to overlook any detail - no matter how unsettling.

His gaze drifted across the room, now eerily quiet without Soma's vibrant presence. The stark contrast between his sparse side and Soma's still-personalized space was a visual reminder of the sudden, violent change that had occurred. Ciel found himself wondering how long it would be before the university came to clear out Soma's belongings, erasing the last physical traces of his short-lived flatmate.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's analytical mind shifted into high gear, the shock of Soma's death giving way to a determined focus. He knew he had to investigate this murder - it was too closely tied to the mysteries he'd come to Weston to unravel.

The obvious suspects, at least for now, were Alois and Maurice. Ciel replayed their interaction in the cafeteria, recalling Soma's uncharacteristic discomfort in their presence. There was clearly more to that relationship than met the eye, a history or dynamic that Ciel needed to understand.

The brutality of Soma's murder scene flashed through Ciel's mind, causing him to wince slightly. The method seemed intensely personal, suggesting a depth of hatred or anger that went beyond simple academic rivalry or petty disagreements. Whoever had done this had wanted Soma to suffer, to make a statement.

Ciel's lip curled slightly as he realized what he needed to do next. To gather more information, to truly understand the web of relationships and potential motives at play, he would need to integrate himself more fully into Weston's social fabric. The thought of playing nice with his classmates, of feigning interest in their trivial concerns, was distasteful. But it was necessary.

A soft knock at the door pulled Ciel from his thoughts. He removed his headphones, calling out, "Who is it?"

The door swung open without further preamble, revealing the last person Ciel wanted to see. Lawrence stood in the doorway, his composure restored since the chaos of a couple of hours ago.

"What do you want?" Ciel snapped, his tone sharper than he'd intended.

Lawrence's expression remained impassive, seemingly unfazed by Ciel's hostility. "The Chancellor wants to see you," he stated matter-of-factly. "I'll escort you."

Ciel felt a flicker of annoyance at the idea of being chaperoned, but his curiosity quickly overshadowed it. Why did the Chancellor want to see him? The timing suggested it was related to Soma's death, but Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that there might be more to this summons.

As he rose to follow Lawrence, a wry thought crossed his mind. It seemed he would be meeting the Chancellor after all, though under far different circumstances than he'd originally planned. 

The journey to the Chancellor's office seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence between Ciel and Lawrence thick with unspoken tension. The weight of recent events hung heavily in the air, neither of them inclined to break the oppressive quiet.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. Lawrence's sharp rap on the door was answered by a muffled "Come in" from within. As Lawrence pushed the door open, Ciel's eye widened slightly at the unexpected scene before him.

The Chancellor wasn't alone. Sebastian sat opposite him, both men hunched over a chess board on a sleek glass coffee table. Behind them, a desk piled with unfinished paperwork stood as a silent witness to their game.

Ciel felt a jolt of surprise at Sebastian's presence. Why did the man keep appearing in the most unexpected places? It was becoming a pattern that Ciel couldn't ignore.

More unsettling was the casual nature of their activity. A student had been brutally murdered mere hours ago, yet here were two of the university's authority figures, engrossed in a game of chess. The disconnect between the gravity of recent events and this seemingly frivolous pastime struck Ciel as both bizarre and potentially significant.

"Sir, Ciel Phantomhive is here to see you," Lawrence announced, gesturing towards Ciel.

The Chancellor looked up, and Ciel took in his appearance with a swift, analytical glance. The man exuded an air of meticulous control - raven hair neatly parted, square-framed glasses perched precisely before striking chartreuse eyes. His black suit and gloves completed the image of polished authority. Yet, there was a flicker of irritation in his gaze, as if Ciel's arrival was an unwelcome interruption to his game, despite being the one who had summoned him.

Ciel's attention then shifted to Sebastian, whose expression remained as inscrutable as ever. The professor offered a polite smile that revealed nothing of his thoughts.

"Alright, you're dismissed Lawrence," the Chancellor said curtly. As Lawrence made his exit, the Chancellor's gaze locked onto Ciel. "Ciel Phantomhive, just the person I've been looking for. Dr. Michaelis and I were just discussing you."

Ciel felt a jolt of surprise, quickly masked by a neutral expression. "...You were?" he responded, his tone carefully modulated to hide his curiosity and wariness.

"You're aware of my name, correct?" William asked, his tone carrying a hint of condescension.

"Yes, you're... Dr. William T. Spears," Ciel replied, careful to keep his voice neutral.

William nodded slightly. "Correct. I'm aware your father was an alumnus."

Ciel felt a flash of irritation at the Chancellor's choice of words. "Is. He is an alumnus," he corrected, his tone sharp.

William tilted his head, the gesture oddly mechanical given his expressionless face. "Wasn't your father determined missing?"

Ciel fought to keep his composure, resisting the urge to clench his jaw. "Yes, but he was never declared dead," he stated firmly.

His eye darted briefly to Sebastian, noting the professor's look of curiosity as he leaned on the armrest, hand thoughtfully placed against his face.

William seemed to dismiss the topic with a wave of his hand. "Never mind that. After your father graduated from here, we became business partners," he explained, his tone softening slightly. "The reason I'm saying this is, if you have any troubles at Weston, come to me."

Ciel's mind raced, processing this new information. The connection between his father and William was unexpected and potentially significant. But why was the Chancellor offering his support now? Was it genuine concern, or something more calculated?

Ciel's mind reeled at this unexpected turn of events. "Will do," he responded automatically, the lie slipping easily from his lips. His distrust of William only deepened with each passing moment.

"Now, let me get to why I called you here," William continued, his tone shifting to one of practiced concern. "I'm terribly sorry for your flatmate's demise. Whenever a tragic event on campus happens, students are required to see a psychologist on campus."

Ciel felt a growing sense of unease. Where was this leading?

"Therefore, I've arranged for you to see Dr. Michaelis once a week."

The words hit Ciel like a physical blow. His eye widened slightly before he could school his features back to neutrality. "A psychologist won't be necessary," he countered, his voice calm despite the alarm bells ringing in his head. "I'm perfectly fine. I barely knew Soma."

Sebastian's smooth voice cut through Ciel's protestations. "Ciel, you saw his cadaver. What you saw was extremely traumatizing."

Ciel's mind raced. This arrangement felt like a trap, a way to keep him under close observation. Yet, it could also be an opportunity - a chance to gather information from Sebastian, to be closer to the inner workings of Weston.

As he formulated his response, Ciel knew he had to play this carefully. Outright refusal might raise suspicions, but too easy acceptance could also be telling. He needed to find a balance that would allow him to use this situation to his advantage while maintaining his guard against whatever game William and Sebastian might be playing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel carefully weighed his options before responding. "How long do I have to see Sebas- I mean Dr. Michaelis?" he asked, quickly correcting his slip into familiarity.

Sebastian answered, his voice smooth and professional, "People recover from trauma at different intervals, so, whenever you're ready." But Ciel noticed a disconnect between Sebastian's words and his expression. There was something off about the whole situation, a discrepancy that set Ciel's instincts on high alert.

Realizing he needed to acquiesce to avoid arousing further suspicion, Ciel let out a calculated sigh. "It's only once a week, right? Fine," he conceded, his tone a careful blend of reluctance and resignation.

As he agreed to the arrangement, Ciel's mind was already working several steps ahead. This mandatory counseling could be both a risk and an opportunity. On one hand, it put him under Sebastian's scrutiny, potentially exposing vulnerabilities. On the other, it offered a chance to gather information, to probe at the mysteries surrounding Weston from a new angle.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As the day wore on, Ciel found himself with an abundance of time on his hands, classes having been canceled in the wake of Soma's death. He used this unexpected reprieve to meticulously plan his next move. 

Dinner time approached, and with it, an opportunity Ciel was determined not to waste. His mind kept returning to the peculiar interaction between Soma, Alois, and Maurice. The sudden shift in Soma's demeanor during that encounter had not gone unnoticed, and Ciel's instincts told him it was a thread worth pulling.

With calculated resolve, Ciel decided to use the evening meal as a chance to "get to know" Alois and Maurice better. The phrase tasted bitter in his mind - social niceties were far from his forte, especially when forced. But he reminded himself that this was not about making friends; it was about gathering intelligence.

As he prepared to head to the dining hall, Ciel steeled himself for the performance ahead. He would need all his wit and observational skills to navigate this interaction, peel back the layers of pretense, and uncover any secrets that might be lurking beneath the surface. The stakes were high, but Ciel was no stranger to dangerous games.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Ciel entered the cafeteria, the somber atmosphere was palpable. The usual chatter and laughter were replaced by hushed conversations and downcast eyes, a stark reminder of the day's tragic events. He mechanically selected a chicken gyro, his mind focused on the task at hand rather than the meal.

His eye scanned the room, methodically searching for his targets. He spotted Alois and Maurice at a table in the back, accompanied by an unfamiliar face. The newcomer's appearance was striking - a blonde and black mohawk paired with multiple facial piercings. Ciel made a mental note of this apparent flouting of Weston's strict rules, filing it away as potentially useful information.

Steeling himself, Ciel approached their table. "Is there space for one more?" he asked, his tone carefully casual as he sat down next to Alois, who shifted to make room.

Alois's initial shock was quickly masked by a practiced smile. "Of course," he replied smoothly, "like they say, four's a party."

Maurice's lips curled into a sly smirk. "I'm pretty sure no one says that," he quipped, his tone laced with subtle mockery.

Ciel observed the interplay between the three, his analytical mind working overtime to process every nuance of their interaction.

"Well, then, I made it into a thing," Alois retorted his quick wit on full display.

The mohawked stranger extended his hand towards Ciel. "Sup, Mate, name's Cheslock," he introduced himself casually. Ciel shook his hand, mentally noting the unusual name and filing it away for future reference.

As Alois and Maurice fell into what seemed to be a familiar pattern of bickering, Cheslock leaned towards Ciel. "Don't worry about them," he said in a conspiratorial tone, "they're always like that. They're practically like siblings."

The squabbling pair turned in unison, their voices blending in protest, "No we are not!"

"See?" Cheslock said with a knowing smirk.

Ciel's eye darted between the three, taking in their dynamics. The easy familiarity between them spoke of a long-standing relationship, yet there were undercurrents he couldn't quite decipher. He noted how Alois and Maurice, despite their protests, did indeed have a sibling-like rapport. Cheslock's role in the group seemed to be that of a mediator or perhaps an amused observer.

Sensing an opportunity, Ciel steered the conversation toward the somber events of the day. He carefully modulated his tone, aiming for a blend of genuine concern and natural curiosity.

"I can't believe what happened to Soma," he said, his single visible eye scanning their faces for reactions. "Who could've done something like that?"

As he spoke, Ciel was acutely aware of the fine line he was treading. The question might seem obvious, even clumsy to some, but it served a dual purpose. Not only was it a natural topic for someone whose flatmate had just been murdered, but it also provided a perfect opportunity to gauge their responses.

He watched intently, noting every subtle shift in their expressions, every fleeting glance exchanged between them. Would they show shock, sadness, or perhaps a hint of guilt? Would their reactions be genuine or carefully crafted? 

Ciel's question hung in the air, the sudden silence palpable. He observed their reactions with keen interest, noting Cheslock's nervous finger-tapping and the subtle exchange of glances between Alois and Maurice.

Alois broke the tension, his voice cold and unwavering. "He deserved it."

The bluntness of the statement caught Ciel off guard, his composure momentarily slipping. "What?" he asked, genuine surprise coloring his voice.

Cheslock's voice was equally harsh as he elaborated, "Soma was a garbage human being."

Ciel's mind raced, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. "What makes you say that?" he probed his tone a calculated mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Maurice's revelation hit like a thunderbolt. "He drugged a girl at a party, and then took advantage of her."

The information sent Ciel reeling internally. The Soma he knew - or thought he knew - seemed incapable of such a heinous act. The cheerful, seemingly innocent flatmate who couldn't harm a fly was being painted in a completely different light.

Ciel felt as if the ground had suddenly shifted beneath him, but he fought to maintain his composure. His mind raced, processing this explosive information while carefully considering his next move.

"Who's the girl he took advantage of?" he asked, striving to keep his tone neutral despite the turmoil within.

"I think her name was Elizabeth Midford," came the reply.

The name hit Ciel like a physical blow. Elizabeth - his cousin. The cheerful, innocent girl he'd known since childhood. If this was true, it changed everything. The personal connection made the accusation all the more shocking and difficult to process.

Ciel's instincts warred within him. Part of him wanted to react with outrage, to demand more information immediately. But the calculating part of his mind urged caution. He couldn't reveal his personal connection to Elizabeth, not without potentially compromising his investigation or exposing his own vulnerabilities.

He took a measured breath, buying himself a moment to think. He needed to verify this information, to hear Elizabeth's side of the story. But he also needed to maintain his facade of detached curiosity in front of Alois, Maurice, and Cheslock.

"That's... quite an accusation," Ciel finally said, his voice carefully controlled. "Has this been reported to the authorities?"

Ciel absorbed this new information, his mind working overtime to reconcile it with his own observations and experiences. The disconnect between the Soma he knew and the one being described was jarring.

"But everyone on campus knows about it," Cheslock explained, shaking his head. "It's the reason why everyone avoided him."

Alois leaned in, his voice taking on a sympathetic tone. "You didn't know because you're new, but I wanted to somehow warn you yesterday."

Ciel nodded slightly, acknowledging their words while internally scrutinizing every detail. Something didn't add up. If Soma was truly this notorious figure on campus, why had he seemed so uncomfortable and almost fearful when Alois and Maurice approached their table? The contradiction was glaring.

He realized he needed to tread carefully. While he desperately wanted answers, he couldn't risk revealing too much of his own thoughts or connections. 

"I see," Ciel said, his tone measured. "It's... surprising to hear. He seemed so different." He paused as if considering something. "But if everyone knew, why wasn't any action taken against him? Wouldn’t he at least have been expelled?”

"They couldn't expel him without proof of it, which I think is bullshit," Cheslock explained, his teeth gritted in obvious anger. "Guys like that are trash."

"I agree," Alois and Maurice chimed in simultaneously, their voices laced with contempt.

The vehemence in their responses was palpable, and Ciel filed away this emotional reaction for later analysis. Their united front on this issue was telling, but whether it spoke of genuine outrage or a coordinated narrative remained to be seen.

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                                      ??

Ciel looked once more upon Soma’s cadaver, his eyes, where were his eyes? His cadaver was still hung up on the wall of the student union, resembling a scarecrow. The pool balls replaced his eyes, lodged into his sockets. And his hands and bare feet were bleeding from the pool cues impaled into them.

The sight was eerie but oddly fascinating. This wasn’t just a murder, this was a form of art. Then he realized something he hadn’t noticed before, his tight ear was missing, a trophy maybe?

Ciel stood motionless, a sense of unreality washing over him as he gazed at the grim scene before him. The shock that had initially overwhelmed him had given way to a strange, detached numbness. It was as if he were observing everything from a distance, his mind struggling to fully process the horror of what he was witnessing.

Unlike his first encounter with the scene, Ciel didn't retch or recoil. Instead, he found himself studying Soma's body with an almost clinical detachment. His analytical mind, even in the face of such brutality, began to work, noting details and searching for clues.

Suddenly, a subtle movement caught Ciel's eye. Soma's lifeless face seemed to twitch, his lips parting unnaturally. Before Ciel could process what he was seeing, a thunderous cry erupted from the corpse.

"MISJUDGED!"

The shout reverberated through the room, shattering the eerie silence. Ciel stumbled backward, his heart pounding as the shock jolted him from his detached state.

In that instant, reality twisted. Ciel's eyes flew open, and he found himself gasping for air in his bed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. The familiar surroundings of his dorm room slowly came into focus as his racing heart began to calm.

It had been a dream. A vivid, unsettling nightmare that left Ciel feeling shaken and disoriented. As the adrenaline ebbed away, he tried to make sense of the bizarre vision, knowing that even in dreams, his subconscious might be trying to tell him something important about the case he was unraveling.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's heart raced as he bolted upright in his bed, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. The vivid image of Soma's cadaver and its haunting cry of "MISJUDGED!" lingered in his mind, slowly fading as reality reasserted itself.

As consciousness slowly returned to Ciel, the gentle melody of birdsong filtered through the window, heralding the arrival of a new day.

He took a deep breath, his eye darting around the familiar surroundings of his dorm room. The absence of Soma's cheerful presence on the other side of the room was a stark reminder that while the gruesome details might have been a dream, the core tragedy was all too real.

As his pulse gradually slowed, Ciel's analytical mind began to process the nightmare. The word "misjudged" echoed in his thoughts. Was it just a product of his subconscious, or was his mind trying to tell him something? The conflicting accounts of Soma's character, the shocking accusations, and the brutal nature of his death all swirled together in a confusing maelstrom.

As the remnants of his unsettling dream faded, Ciel's mind latched onto a detail from his earlier conversation with the Chancellor. William's casual mention of being his father's "business partner" resurfaced, bringing with it a flood of questions.

What exactly did that partnership entail? Ciel wondered, his analytical mind already dissecting the possibilities. The vagueness of the term "business" could encompass a wide range of activities, some potentially less savory than others. Given the mysteries surrounding Weston and his father's disappearance, Ciel couldn't help but suspect that this partnership might be key to unraveling both puzzles.

Moreover, the question of William T. Spears' true identity loomed large in Ciel's thoughts. Who was this man really, beyond his role as Chancellor? What was his connection to Ciel's father, and by extension, to Ciel himself?

Ciel's mind was already strategizing, considering how he might extract information from Sebastian during their upcoming session. The professor's apparent closeness to William could be a valuable avenue for insights into the Chancellor and his mysterious connection to Ciel's father.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sudden, jarring noise. The ceiling, which Ciel had assumed was solid, revealed hidden speakers that burst to life with an unexpected cacophony. A school anthem, obnoxiously loud and grating, filled the room. Ciel instinctively clapped his hands over his ears, wincing at the assault on his senses.

Just as quickly as it had started, the music cut off. In its place, a voice - presumably the Chancellor's - addressed the student body:

"Students, we have had an unfortunate passing on our campus. I will address our next steps forward as a school to prevent this from happening again. Please gather in the auditorium."

As the announcement ended, leaving a ringing silence in its wake, Ciel's mind raced. This gathering could be a crucial opportunity to observe not just the official response to Soma's death, but also the reactions of his fellow students.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

William T. Spears stood on the auditorium stage, the red curtains drawn back to frame his imposing figure. He leaned into the microphone, his voice carrying a practiced blend of solemnity and authority.

"It is with deep regret that I must confirm the passing of a student on our campus," he began, his words measured and deliberate. "While some of you may have already learned of this tragedy, the coroner has officially identified the deceased as Soma Asman Kadar."

William's chartreuse eyes swept across the gathered students, his gaze sharp behind his square-framed glasses. "Let me be clear: Weston University has zero tolerance for violence. In light of recent events, we will be strictly enforcing rule number five from our handbook."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the auditorium. Then, pulling the microphone stand closer, he continued, "Your vigilance is crucial. If you see something suspicious, I implore you to report it immediately to our public safety officers."

His tone grew more severe as he added, "At this time, we cannot confirm whether the perpetrator was a student or an outside intruder. As a precautionary measure, we will be enhancing security protocols across campus."

As William's words hung in the air, a wave of murmurs swept through the auditorium. The reactions varied widely - shock and disbelief from those hearing of the murder for the first time, contrasting sharply with the haunted expressions of students who had witnessed Soma's grisly fate firsthand.

Ciel, seated in the front row, observed the ripple effect of William's announcement. He noted the mixture of fear, curiosity, and morbid fascination that spread through the crowd, filing away these reactions for later analysis.

Suddenly, Ciel felt the weight of William's gaze upon him. The Chancellor's chartreuse eyes locked onto Ciel for a brief, intense moment before sweeping back across the rest of the audience. The fleeting connection left Ciel wondering about its significance. Was it mere coincidence, or did William have some particular interest in his reaction?

"That will be all for now," William concluded, his tone brooking no further discussion. "You are all dismissed."

As the students began to file out, their whispered conversations growing in volume, Ciel remained seated for a moment. He pondered the carefully chosen words of William's address, the deliberate vagueness about the perpetrator, and the emphasis on rule enforcement.

Ciel tensed momentarily at the unexpected touch, spinning around to find himself face-to-face with Elizabeth. Her bright smile, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere, caught him off guard.

Before he could react, Elizabeth enveloped him in a warm embrace. Ciel's body stiffened, unused to such open displays of affection. His mind raced, torn between the genuine familial affection he felt for his cousin and the weight of the accusations he'd heard about Soma.

"It's been too long, how are things?" Elizabeth asked cheerfully, pulling back from the hug but keeping her hands on Ciel's shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled with genuine warmth and curiosity.

As Ciel observed Elizabeth's reactions, he realized that her cheerful demeanor wasn't entirely out of character. Elizabeth had always been one to maintain a positive outlook, even in the face of adversity. This realization tempered his initial suspicions but didn't entirely dispel them.

"They've been fine if you don't consider the death that had just occurred," Ciel replied, his tone measured.

Elizabeth's smile faltered slightly, a brief crack in her sunny disposition. "Yeah, it's sad that that happened," she agreed, her voice softening. "I couldn't believe it when I first heard it."

Ciel nodded, noting the genuine hint of sadness in her voice. He pressed on, carefully choosing his words. "Soma was my flatmate, for less than a day, granted, but it feels weird without him there."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise, her cheerful demeanor giving way to a more perplexed expression. "Really?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief.

Ciel's brow furrowed slightly at her reaction. "Why do you sound so surprised?" he probed, his curiosity piqued by her unexpected response.

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before explaining, "It's just that, from what I heard, Soma hasn't had a flatmate in over a year."

Is that so?" Ciel replied, his tone deliberately casual despite his heightened interest. If Soma hadn't had a flatmate for over a year, why was Ciel suddenly assigned to share his room? Was it mere coincidence, or was there some deeper motive behind the arrangement?

Ciel began to speak, but Elizabeth quickly interjected, her tone a mixture of playfulness and gentle reprimand. "Ciel, I told you to call me Lizzy, remember?"

The childhood nickname stirred a fleeting memory in Ciel's mind. He recalled Elizabeth's persistent insistence on the moniker since they were young, and his own stubborn refusal to use it past the age of twelve, deeming it too juvenile for his tastes.

Suppressing a sigh, Ciel acquiesced. "Lizzy," he said, the diminutive feeling strange and unfamiliar on his tongue. Then, his tone shifting to one of subtle urgency, he continued, "I have something to ask you, but I can't say it here. We need to go somewhere more private."

As he spoke, Ciel's eye darted around the bustling auditorium, acutely aware of the potential ears and eyes that could be privy to their conversation. The weight of the questions he needed to ask, particularly regarding the rumors about Soma, pressed heavily on his mind. He knew that this conversation required discretion and a setting far removed from the prying gazes of their fellow students.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Elizabeth's expression remained puzzled, but she nodded in agreement. "Sure, where do you want to go?" she asked, curiosity evident in her voice.

Ciel paused for a moment, considering their options. He needed a place where they could speak freely, away from potential eavesdroppers. After a brief deliberation, he came to a decision.

"Let's go to my dorm room," he suggested, his tone low and purposeful. It wasn't an ideal solution, given the belongings of Soma that lingered there, but it was the only place Ciel could think of that offered the privacy they needed.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel observed Elizabeth carefully as she settled into the desk chair, noting her avoidance of Soma's side of the room. Her closed-off body language and evident discomfort didn't escape his attention.

"So, what did you need to ask me, Ciel?" Elizabeth prompted, her voice tinged with unease.

Ciel took a deep breath, steeling himself for the difficult conversation ahead. He decided to approach the subject directly, hoping to gauge Elizabeth's reaction.

"I'm sorry you have to be here after what Soma did to you," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

Elizabeth's reaction was immediate and startling. Her eyes widened in shock, her posture stiffening. "What?" she exclaimed, clearly caught off guard, shifting uncomfortably.

Ciel pressed on, maintaining a supportive tone. "I heard about it from some other students. You know you can talk to me about it, I'm always here to lend an ear."

A flicker of recognition passed over Elizabeth's features, her expression shifting from confusion to a guarded understanding. "Oh, yes, that," she said, her voice suddenly subdued. "I don't really want to talk about it." She briefly glanced away from Ciel, before shifting her gaze back to him.

Ciel observed this change carefully, noting the abrupt shift in her demeanor. The initial shock followed by this reluctant acknowledgment raised more questions than it answered. Was her reticence due to genuine trauma, or was there something else at play?

"That's understandable," Ciel replied, his tone measured and sympathetic. He maintained an outward appearance of acceptance, but inwardly, his mind was racing. Elizabeth's response was ambiguous enough to neither confirm nor deny the allegations about Soma.

As a brief silence fell between them, Ciel considered his next move. He needed to tread carefully, balancing his desire for information with respect for Elizabeth's apparent discomfort. 

As the conversation reached its natural conclusion, Ciel seized the opportunity to bring it to an end. "Well, I've got to get ready for my classes," he said, his tone casual yet purposeful. "I imagine you have to do so too, so I won't keep you."

He stood, subtly signaling Elizabeth that it was time to leave. As he guided her towards the door, Ciel couldn't help but notice the conflicted expression that had settled on his cousin's face. Elizabeth's usual cheerfulness had given way to something more complex, a mixture of emotions that Ciel couldn't quite decipher.

Despite the obvious turmoil behind her eyes, Elizabeth remained silent. She allowed herself to be ushered out of the room without protest, her uncharacteristic quietness speaking volumes.

Ciel's mind, still churning with the implications of his conversation with Elizabeth, shifted gears as he focused on the immediate task at hand. He did indeed have a class to attend - English, one of the three courses that comprised his semester schedule.

Retrieving his backpack, he methodically packed the required materials for the class. The familiar routine of preparing for lectures provided a brief respite from the whirlwind of mysteries surrounding him, though he knew the reprieve would be short-lived.

As he secured his notebook and textbook, Ciel reflected on his current academic situation. With yesterday's Art class canceled due to the tragic events, this English class would be his second taste of Weston's academic rigors. Despite the circumstances, a part of him welcomed the prospect of intellectual engagement, if only as a temporary distraction from the darker puzzles he was piecing together.

Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, Ciel left his room, locking the door behind him. 

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As Ciel entered the classroom, his observant eye immediately took in the scene before him. The professor was already present, seated at his desk, watching with a seemingly disinterested gaze as students filed in. Ciel chose a seat strategically, one that would allow him a clear view of both the professor and his fellow students.

His attention focused on the instructor, cataloging every detail with his usual precision. The professor's appearance was striking and somewhat incongruous with Weston's typically Western atmosphere. He had short black hair, a stark contrast against his fair skin. What caught Ciel's attention most was the man's attire - traditional Chinese garb, its rich fabrics, and intricate designs standing out in the academic setting.

The professor's eyes were barely visible, half-lidded in a way that gave him an air of perpetual drowsiness or boredom. This sleepy demeanor was at odds with the alertness Ciel had come to expect from Weston's staff, piquing his curiosity.

Despite his drowsy appearance, the professor's voice rang out with unexpected vivacity, catching Ciel off guard. 

"Hello class," he announced, his tone surprisingly chipper and energetic. "I'm Dr. Lau, but you can just call me Lau." A smile spread across his face, creating an intriguing contrast with his half-lidded eyes.

"Today, we'll be doing icebreakers to get to know each other," Lau announced his cheerful tone at odds with the content of his words.

Ciel felt a wave of irritation wash over him, though he kept his expression neutral. The prospect of participating in icebreakers seemed trivial and unnecessary to him. He had no intention of forging friendships here; his purpose at Weston was far more serious than social connections.

As he reluctantly glanced around the classroom, mentally preparing himself for the tedious exercise ahead, his eye suddenly locked onto a familiar face. Alois was there, his presence somehow escaping Ciel's notice until now. The realization sent a jolt of surprise through him.

Just as Ciel registered Alois's presence, the blonde looked up, as if sensing the weight of Ciel's gaze. A smirk played across Alois's lips as he returned the look, his eyes glinting with an emotion Ciel couldn't quite decipher. Was it amusement? Challenge? Or something more sinister?

As Ciel processed Alois's unexpected presence, his mind quickly shifted into investigative mode. The blonde's appearance in this class was no mere coincidence; it was an opportunity.

In the complex web of mysteries surrounding Soma's death, Alois stood out as a central figure. His vehement condemnation of Soma, coupled with the palpable tension Ciel had observed between them, painted Alois as a prime suspect in Ciel's mental investigation.

As the class settled into the icebreaker activity, Ciel's mind was already several steps ahead, mapping out his next moves in the investigation. A crucial piece of the puzzle had emerged in his thoughts: Edward.

Given Edward's protective nature towards Elizabeth, there was no doubt in Ciel's mind that he would be aware of the alleged incident involving Soma. Edward's perspective could prove invaluable, potentially offering insights that Elizabeth herself seemed reluctant to share.

The sudden address from Lau jolted Ciel from his contemplations, abruptly pulling him back to the present moment. "You, over there, what's your name?" Lau asked, his finger pointing directly at Ciel.

"Ciel Phantomhive," he responded, his voice steady despite the unexpected spotlight.

A flicker of recognition crossed Lau's features, his perpetually half-lidded eyes widening slightly. "Phantomhive? As in Vincent Phantomhive, the alumni?"

Ciel nodded reluctantly, acutely aware of the attention now focused on him.

"So, why did you decide to enroll at Weston?" Lau pressed, his chipper tone belying the weight of the question.

For a brief moment, Ciel felt caught off guard. The truth - his quest to investigate his parents' disappearance - hung at the tip of his tongue, but he knew he couldn't reveal his true motives. His mind raced, quickly formulating a plausible response.

"I enrolled here to further my education," Ciel replied, his voice calm and measured. "My father went to this school, so I chose this one."

The silence that followed Ciel's response seemed to stretch interminably. Lau's gaze, despite his half-lidded eyes, held an unexpected intensity as it remained fixed on Ciel. The young Phantomhive maintained his composure, meeting the professor's look with a carefully neutral expression.

Finally, Lau's lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, I wish you good luck in your endeavors, Ciel," he said, his tone light yet somehow laden with unspoken meaning.

As Lau's attention shifted to the next student, Ciel remained on guard. In the labyrinth of secrets that was Weston University, even a seemingly innocuous exchange could hold hidden depths. He filed away this interaction for later analysis, knowing that in his quest for truth, no detail was too small to be potentially crucial.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter II: END

Chapter Text

Chapter III: The Hermit

As Monday dawned, Ciel found himself once again caught in the rhythmic pulse of academic life at Weston. The week's monotony reasserted itself, a stark contrast to the tumultuous events that had marked his arrival. Despite his best efforts, he had yet to cross paths with Edward on campus, a meeting he knew could prove crucial to his investigation.

In the brief interlude between Saturday's dusk and Sunday's dawn, all vestiges of Soma's presence were methodically erased from the room. The space that had once held his possessions, his personality, his very essence, was now stark and empty. It was as if an unseen hand had swept through, removing not just physical objects, but the very memory of Soma's existence.

Today, however, brought a different kind of anticipation. It marked the beginning of his mandated sessions with Dr. Michaelis - or Sebastian, as Ciel couldn't help but think of him. The arrangement brokered between Ciel, William, and Sebastian, dictated that they would meet every Monday morning before classes.

Ciel groggily got out of bed and got ready for the day, wearing a blue plaid shirt and a black undershirt with dark blue jeans, and his favorite vans. He tried to recall the directions that were told to him on how to find Sebastian’s office.

Ciel stepped out of his dorm room, his feet carrying him toward Sebastian's office with a mix of reluctance and determination. As he left the building, the morning air did little to dispel the slight dread he felt at the prospect of having his mind probed. The idea of someone attempting to unravel his thoughts was far from appealing.

Yet, a spark of anticipation flickered within him. This session could be an opportunity to glean information about William, a chance to peel back another layer of the mystery surrounding Weston. This potential made the impending encounter somewhat more palatable.

As he approached Sebastian's office, the building seemed to loom over him, a physical manifestation of the weight of his investigation. His eye caught the nameplate on the door: 'Dr. Sebastian Michaelis'. The title gave him pause. How old was Sebastian, really? To have achieved a doctorate while still in his twenties spoke of exceptional intelligence. Ciel filed this observation away, another piece in the puzzle of Sebastian's identity.

Standing before the door, Ciel raised his hand and knocked, holding his breath. As he waited for a response, he steeled himself for whatever lay ahead, his mind already working to formulate strategies for navigating this delicate interaction.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the door swung open, Ciel found himself face-to-face with Sebastian's disarmingly charming smile. "Ciel, come in," Sebastian said, his voice smooth as he gestured for Ciel to enter. Despite his reservations, Ciel stepped into the office, his senses immediately on high alert.

The room that greeted him was an assault on his sensibilities. A single chair faced a long sofa, the stark simplicity of the furniture at odds with the jarring color scheme. Navy blue wallpaper stretched across the walls, while the seats were a garish orange. The contrast was so severe that Ciel felt a sense of disorientation wash over him.

As his eye swept across the room, Ciel couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach. The space had an unsettling quality as if it were trying too hard to appear normal and failing spectacularly. It reminded him of a stage set, meticulously arranged but lacking the lived-in feel of a genuine office.

Ciel's eye darted to Sebastian as the professor spoke, explaining the room's bizarre appearance. "I know what you're thinking," Sebastian said, his tone light. "The décor wasn't my idea. It was like this when I started working here, but William insisted I keep it this way."

As Sebastian settled into the chair, Ciel filed away this nugget of information. William's insistence on maintaining such an unsettling environment piqued his curiosity. Was there a purpose behind it, or was it simply another of the Chancellor's eccentricities?

"You can take a seat," Sebastian directed, gesturing towards the sofa.

Ciel lowered himself onto the garish orange couch, crossing his legs in a posture of feigned relaxation. Despite the casual pose, his body remained tense, his mind sharp and alert. He was acutely aware of Sebastian's gaze upon him, and he met it with a carefully neutral expression.

Ciel seized the opening, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Speaking of William, he mentioned he knew my father. Did you know my father too?" he inquired, his tone carefully casual.

Sebastian shook his head, a stray strand of black hair falling perfectly into place as he did so. "I've only heard of him in passing," he replied smoothly, then redirected, "But never mind, how're things going?"

Ciel felt a flicker of frustration at the deflection. He had no interest in discussing his own state of mind. Instead, he pressed on, "So, what's the deal with William?"

Sebastian's response was immediate, his tone calm and measured. "Ciel, we're here to talk about you. So, please don't deflect."

Inwardly, Ciel bristled at the gentle reprimand. Sebastian's ability to redirect the conversation so effortlessly was both impressive and infuriating. He realized he would need to be more subtle in his approach if he hoped to glean any useful information from these sessions.

Ciel decided to adjust his approach, answering Sebastian's earlier question. "I'm as fine as you could expect, considering the events that unfolded last week," he said, his tone measured and noncommittal.

As he spoke, Ciel's keen eye caught a flicker of something indescribable in Sebastian's gaze at the mention of Soma. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Ciel noted it carefully. 

"Ah, yes, it was incredibly unfortunate," Sebastian responded, his voice smooth. "Soma was your flatmate. How are you handling things?"

"Fine," Ciel answered simply, his fingers intertwining as he fidgeted slightly. He was acutely aware of the inadequacy of his response, but he was reluctant to reveal more. The brief change in Sebastian's expression had piqued his interest, and he found himself analyzing it, wondering what it might mean.

Ciel watched as Sebastian appeared to ponder for a brief second. When the professor spoke, his words carried a hint of concern that Ciel couldn't quite decipher as genuine or feigned.

"Ciel, I know this isn't ideal for you, but I need you to be more open to these sessions. If you ever need to talk about something relating to you, I'm all ears."

The suggestion made Ciel's skin crawl. Open up? To this man, he barely knew, in this bizarre office that felt more like a stage set than a place of healing? The very idea seemed absurd, even dangerous. Vulnerability was a luxury Ciel couldn't afford, not here, not with so much at stake. It was a weakness that could be exploited, a chink in his armor that he refused to reveal.

Instead, Ciel plastered on a tight-lipped smile, one that he knew didn't reach his visible eye. "Okay, I'll try," he lied smoothly, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. 

A heavy silence fell between them, thick with unspoken thoughts and hidden agendas. Ciel held Sebastian's gaze, refusing to be the first to look away, even as he inwardly analyzed every nuance of the professor's expression.

The sudden chime of Sebastian's phone sliced through the tension, startling Ciel despite his best efforts to remain impassive. He watched as Sebastian reached for the device resting by his lap.

"Time's up," Sebastian announced a note of finality in his voice. "That's it for today."

Ciel felt a wave of relief wash over him, though he was careful not to let it show. As he stood to leave, his mind was already racing, dissecting every moment of their interaction for clues, for any slip that might reveal the truth lurking beneath Weston's polished surface.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

But there was none. The realization settled over Ciel like a heavy shroud, frustration gnawing at the edges of his carefully maintained composure. This session, which he had hoped might yield some valuable insight, had been nothing more than a fruitless exercise. A waste of time, in his eyes. 

Ciel allowed himself a small sigh as he stood, the sound barely audible even in the quiet room. He turned towards the door, acutely aware of Sebastian's gaze following his every move. The weight of those crimson eyes on his back made his skin prickle with unease.

As he reached for the door handle, Sebastian's voice cut through the silence one last time. "I'll see you in class, Ciel."

The words hung in the air, laden with an undercurrent that Ciel couldn't quite decipher. Was it a simple statement of fact, or a subtle reminder of the professor's continued presence in his life? Either way, Ciel didn't respond, letting the soft click of the closing door serve as his only acknowledgment.

In the hallway, Ciel paused for a moment, his mind already racing to formulate new strategies. This setback was frustrating, yes, but he refused to let it deter him. There were other avenues to explore, other threads to pull. And pull them he would, until the tangled web of Weston's secrets began to unravel.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel strode into Sebastian's classroom a couple of hours later, his mind sharpened and ready for another round of observation. As he settled into his seat, his single visible eye scanned the room, cataloging each student who entered. The familiar routine of a class filling up played out before him, but Ciel remained alert, knowing that even the most mundane details could prove significant.

Suddenly, a figure in the doorway caught his attention, causing Ciel's breath to catch in his throat. Edward, his cousin, walked into the room. The sight of him sent a jolt of excitement through Ciel's body, a feeling he quickly suppressed. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for, a chance to gather crucial information about Elizabeth and the allegations surrounding Soma.

Yet, as quickly as the excitement came, it was tempered by a wave of suspicion. Why hadn't Edward been present during the first class? Ciel's mind raced with possibilities. Was it a simple scheduling conflict, or something more sinister? Had Edward been absent due to the turmoil following Soma's death, or was there another reason entirely?

Ciel felt Edward's gaze on him and turned to see his cousin settling into the adjacent seat, a friendly smile on his face. "Hey, how's it going?" Edward asked.

The familiar query grated on Ciel's nerves, but he saw an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Steeling himself, he replied, "Good. I heard some... unsettling news about Elizabeth. Is it true?"

Edward's smile vanished instantly, replaced by a flash of anger as his fingers tightened on the desk edge. "Yeah, Lizzy confirmed it," he growled. "I couldn't believe it at first. Soma was a top student with a spotless reputation. But then Alois and Maurice backed her up, saying they saw Soma acting suspiciously at the party."

Ciel's mind raced, filing away this new information. Carefully, he probed further, "If you don't mind me asking, whose party was it?"

"A prefect named Edgar Redmond," Edward replied. "The school doesn't usually allow parties, but they make exceptions for prefects like him. They even sponsor his events sometimes."

Ciel's interest was piqued. A prefect's party - this could be a valuable lead. Perhaps Lawrence could provide more information about Edgar's whereabouts.

His thoughts were interrupted as Sebastian strode in, once again, fashionably late. "Sorry for the delay," the professor announced. "I had car trouble."

Ciel's eye narrowed in suspicion. Car trouble? He knew for a fact that Sebastian had been on campus earlier for their session. It was a blatant lie—but what was the purpose of the lie?

Ciel, then observed Sebastian as he settled into the room. He was a handsome man, he had to admit, he looked like a model straight out of a fashion magazine. He wore a black turtleneck today, with tan slacks, oxfords, and round glasses that he hadn’t worn before to complete the look. His bangs were swept to the side, creating a more professional look.

Ciel watched as Sebastian settled into his role, addressing the class with his usual smooth demeanor. "Alright everyone, welcome to Psychology 101. This is officially our first actual class since recent events resulted in its cancellation. Now, let's start."

Sebastian's gaze swept across the room as he posed his first question. "Does anyone know what a false memory is?"

The silence that followed was palpable. Ciel felt a growing sense of unease as Sebastian's crimson eyes came to rest on him. He silently willed the professor to choose someone else, anyone else.

But of course, his hopes were dashed. "Ciel, what's a false memory?" Sebastian asked, his tone expectant.

Ciel's mind raced, quickly formulating a response. "When you incorrectly remember something," he answered, his voice steady despite his inner tension.

"Correct," Sebastian nodded a hint of approval in his voice. "And it can range from thinking you left your keys on the table when you actually left them in your bedroom, to falsely remembering seeing someone at the scene of a crime."

Ciel's mind raced as Sebastian continued his lecture, each word seeming to carry a weight beyond mere academic instruction. The professor's gaze remained fixed on Ciel, lending an unsettling intensity to his words.

"False memories can be created through simply misremembering, or misinformation, to psychological coercion," Sebastian explained, his tone measured and deliberate.

The implications of this statement weren't lost on Ciel. He felt a chill run down his spine as he considered the possibilities. Was Sebastian subtly suggesting that the accounts surrounding Soma and Elizabeth might be false memories? Or perhaps hinting at a deeper manipulation at play within Weston's walls?

Ciel's brow furrowed as a troubling thought crossed his mind. If false memories were indeed at play in this situation, it could mean that Elizabeth wasn't being truthful. The very idea sent a pang of discomfort through him; he didn't want to believe his cousin capable of such deception.

Yet, as quickly as the suspicion arose, another possibility emerged. Perhaps Elizabeth herself was a victim of a false memory. The concept Sebastian had just introduced opened up a new avenue of consideration. Could Elizabeth's recollection of events with Soma be a fabrication - not a deliberate lie, but a genuinely held false belief?

Ciel's suspicion that Sebastian knew more than he was letting on solidified. The professor's choice of topic and his pointed delivery seemed too coincidental to ignore. It was as if Sebastian was laying out pieces of a puzzle, challenging Ciel to put them together.

Momentarily breaking his focus on Sebastian, Ciel glanced at Edward. His cousin was bent over his notebook, furiously scribbling notes. The sight sparked a new train of thought in Ciel's mind. Edward might hold crucial information about Alois and Maurice, the two students who corroborated Elizabeth's story.

As Sebastian's lecture drew to a close, Ciel remained in his seat, watching his classmates file out of the room. Edward lingered, turning to Ciel with a questioning look. "You wanna walk together?" he offered.

"Go on, I'll catch up with you," Ciel replied, his tone casual despite the anticipation building within him.

Edward nodded and departed, leaving Ciel alone with Sebastian. The professor sat at his desk, seemingly engrossed in writing something. Ciel rose from his seat and approached, his posture tense with barely contained curiosity and suspicion.

"What was that about?" Ciel demanded, his voice low and intense.

Sebastian looked up, setting his pen down with deliberate slowness. A sly smile played across his lips as he met Ciel's gaze. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant.

Ciel felt his frustration mounting. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," he pressed, leaning in slightly. "What are you implying? Does it have to do with Soma and Elizabeth?"

Sebastian's eyebrow quirked upward, that maddening smirk still in place. "That's quite the stretch you made there," he responded, his voice tinged with amusement.

Ciel felt the ground shift beneath him, his certainty crumbling in the face of Sebastian's denial. A wave of embarrassment washed over him, hot and uncomfortable. Had he truly misread the situation so badly? The very thought was mortifying.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. His visible eyebrow twitched, betraying his agitation despite his best efforts to maintain composure.

Swallowing his pride, Ciel managed to force out a stilted apology. "Sorry for the misunderstanding," he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Ciel stepped out of the classroom, the bitter taste of embarrassment still lingering. The encounter with Sebastian had left him feeling off-balance, a sensation he was not accustomed to and certainly didn't appreciate.

Edward was waiting outside, looking up from his phone as Ciel approached. "Where are you headed?" he asked, his tone casual.

"Let's just walk for now," Ciel replied, his voice betraying a hint of his inner turmoil.

As they began to walk, a heavy silence settled between them. Ciel's mind raced, processing the information he had gathered and formulating his next move. Finally, he broke the silence with a carefully phrased question.

"What's the deal with Alois and Maurice?"

Edward's response was thoughtful, providing Ciel with valuable insights. "Alois and Maurice? They're both in the theatre club, which Edgar is the president of. I don't know too much about them, but apparently Soma at one point had the highest GPA in the school, with Alois closely behind him, so he and Alois had a rivalry before his grades dropped after the allegations. Maurice though? He's more of Alois' minion. I call him Alois part two," Edward finished with a light chuckle.

Ciel absorbed this information, his analytical mind already connecting the dots. The mention of Edgar Redmond again, the academic rivalry between Soma and Alois, and the characterization of Maurice as Alois' follower - all of these details were potentially significant.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

A white-haired man, his long locks concealing his eyes and partially obscuring his face, leaned over Soma Asman Kadar's lifeless form on the autopsy table. His gloved hands moved with practiced precision as he examined the deep wounds on the victim's hands and feet.

"Soma Asman Kadar, age 19," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Deep wounds on hands and feet, but not enough to cause rapid death." Despite his hidden gaze, his focus was palpable as he continued his examination. "What actually killed you?"

As his attention swept over Soma's naked body, something caught his notice. Subtle stitching on the abdomen, nearly imperceptible to the casual observer, stood out to his trained eye. A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Eenie, miney, moe," he singsonged softly, "found you." His finger traced the air just above the stitches. "You were cut open and left to bleed to death." He paused, head tilting slightly as a new question formed. "But why did your killer sew you back up?"

The man known as Undertaker continued his macabre examination, his long, black fingernails delicately brushing aside Soma's hair to reveal a disturbing absence. "And your ear is missing," he mused, his voice tinged with fascination. "Did the killer take your ear as a trophy?"

His unsettling reverie was interrupted by a new arrival. "Mate, I will never get used to that," declared another white-haired man as he entered the morgue. "I mean, really, how creepy can you get?"

This newcomer was shorter, with choppy bangs framing baby blue eyes. Undertaker's hidden gaze shifted to acknowledge him. "Charles Grey, how nice to see you," he greeted, his tone eerily pleasant.

Charles got straight to business. "Undertaker, is there a chance you have a copy of the autopsy report?"

"There may be," Undertaker replied cryptically. "Why might you need it?"

Charles explained, "The school board wanted to hire a private investigator to see what's going on at Weston, while keeping things under wraps, hence why I’m here.”

"What about the boy's parents?" Undertaker inquired, his interest piqued.

"To my knowledge, they were told that Soma Asman Kadar offed himself. If they see him like that, they might think otherwise," Charles responded, a hint of unease in his voice.

Undertaker's lips curled into an unsettling smile. "Nonsense, I can make him look brand new again, they'll never know the difference." He pried Soma's eyes open, only to find empty sockets. "They took your eyes too?" he muttered, seemingly to the corpse.

"Hello?" Charles waved, growing impatient. "The autopsy report?"

Undertaker's attention snapped back to Charles as if suddenly remembering his presence. "Fine, since it's Weston, I don't have a choice, do I?" he said, his tone a mixture of resignation and amusement. "The autopsy report's in my office."

Charles nodded curtly and strode off towards Undertaker's office, leaving the morgue's eerie atmosphere behind.

Once alone again, Undertaker returned his focus to Soma's body. With practiced ease, he picked up a scalpel and reopened the stitches on Soma's lower abdomen. His cuts were precise, almost elegant in their execution. The body, already drained of blood, remained still and silent under his ministrations.

As Undertaker peered into the newly opened cavity, his hidden eyes widened slightly. A note of genuine surprise crept into his voice as he murmured, "Your kidneys and liver are missing too?"

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian moved through his modern apartment, nestled in an upscale area of London not far from Weston. The space exuded a minimalist elegance, with sleek black walls contrasting sharply against the white ceiling and carpet. Deep red couches added a bold splash of color to the living area, their rich hue drawing the eye.

Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall of the living room, offering a breathtaking panoramic view of the city below. Abstract watercolor ink blot art adorned the walls, their enigmatic forms seeming to shift and change depending on the viewer's perspective.

With a graceful stride, Sebastian made his way to the kitchen. As he entered, jazz music began to flow from his portable speaker, sitting on the counter, filling the air with smooth, sophisticated tones. The melody seemed to match his movements as he approached the refrigerator, reaching out to open its door with a fluid motion.

The cool light from within spilled out, illuminating Sebastian's face and casting long shadows across the kitchen floor. As Sebastian opened the refrigerator, the cool interior light revealed a disturbing sight. Neatly arranged within were several bloody bags, each containing human organs. The contrast between the sterile, modern kitchen and the grotesque contents of the fridge was jarring.

With a practiced ease that suggested familiarity with the task, Sebastian selected what appeared to be two kidneys and a liver from among the bags. He moved to the sink, washing the blood off the organs with a casualness that was deeply unsettling. The red-tinged water swirled down the drain, a stark reminder of the organs' origin.

Sebastian then retrieved his cutting board and approached his knife block set. His fingers hovered over the various blades before selecting one with deliberate care. The steel glinted in the kitchen light as he tested its edge, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Returning to the cleared space on the counter, Sebastian arranged the human organs on the cutting board. As the jazz music continued to play, filling the apartment with its smooth tones, he began to nod along, even humming quietly to himself. The domesticity of his actions - the gentle sway to the music, the quiet humming - created a chilling juxtaposition with the gruesome task at hand.

Sebastian continued his unsettling culinary preparation with a disturbing air of normalcy. With the organs sliced, he smoothly transitioned to the next step of his macabre recipe. He retrieved a pan from a nearby cabinet, placing it on the stovetop with a soft clatter. The dial turned with a click, and the subtle hiss of gas igniting filled the air. A light mist of cooking oil coated the pan's surface as Sebastian prepared it for use.

While waiting for the pan to heat, he returned to the refrigerator. This time, he extracted ingredients that seemed jarringly ordinary in contrast to the human organs - six colorful bell peppers and grated cheese. With the same precise knife skills he'd employed on the organs, Sebastian deftly cut around the top of each pepper, then hollowing the core out with practiced ease.

The pan now radiantly hot, Sebastian carefully laid the sliced "meat" - the human organs - onto its sizzling surface. The kitchen filled with a disconcerting aroma as the flesh began to cook. Seemingly oblivious to the horrific nature of his actions, Sebastian sprinkled cheese over the cooking organs, the dairy melting and bubbling atop the human tissue.

As the unsettling mixture sizzled in the pan, Sebastian turned his attention to the bell peppers. He slid them into the preheated oven with a practiced motion, setting a timer with a casual tap. The kitchen was filled with the deceptively appetizing aroma of roasting vegetables, a jarring counterpoint to the true nature of the main ingredient.

When the oven's sharp beep pierced the air, Sebastian retrieved the peppers. Their skin had softened and blistered slightly, transforming them into perfect vessels for his gruesome filling.

With meticulous care, he spooned the cooked "meat" - the human organs now disguised by cheese and seasoning - into the waiting peppers. The final dish looked deceptively normal, belying its horrific origins.

Sebastian stood back, a satisfied smile playing across his lips as he admired his handiwork. The contrast between his evident pride and the abhorrent nature of the meal was chilling.

His thoughts then seemed to turn to someone else - a "special someone" he had in mind. With this mysterious individual in mind, Sebastian carefully stored a portion of the meal in the refrigerator, saving it for the following day. 

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
 
It was the next day, The rhythmic sound of knuckles against wood pulled Ciel from his slumber. Curiosity mingled with wariness as he approached the door, his mind racing through possibilities of who might be calling at this hour. As he swung the door open, his eye widened in surprise. There, framed by the doorway, stood Sebastian, his presence as unexpected as it was unsettling.

Ciel's eye narrowed as it swept over Sebastian's unexpected form, lingering on the container held in his professor's hands. Sebastian's smile, intended to be inviting, only heightened Ciel's sense of unease.

"I thought you might want to have breakfast with me," Sebastian offered, his tone light yet laden with unspoken implications.

Bewilderment clouded Ciel's features as his mind grappled with this surreal scenario. A pressing question rose to his lips, tinged with suspicion. "How did you know where my room was?"

"I asked William," Sebastian replied, the casual mention of the Chancellor's name hanging in the air between them. His response, simple as it was, carried the weight of deeper, unexplored connections.

Sebastian pressed on, seemingly oblivious to Ciel's growing discomfort. "I think it's important that we get to know each other better," he said, then added with a hint of playful reproach, "So, are you going to let the food get cold?"

Ciel exhaled softly, resignation coloring his voice. "Come in," he said, stepping aside to allow Sebastian entry.

As Sebastian glided into the room, Ciel's eye tracked his every movement. The professor closed the door with a soft click, then moved to the desk with fluid grace. Ciel watched, a mixture of curiosity and wariness evident in his gaze, as Sebastian set down the container and produced two paper plates.

The sight of bell peppers emerging from the container piqued Ciel's interest despite his reservations. Sebastian settled onto what had been Soma's bed, the casualness of his action a stark contrast to the room's recent history. Ciel, in turn, lowered himself into the desk chair, maintaining a calculated distance.

Eyeing the plate before him, Ciel's brow furrowed slightly. "What is this?" he asked, noting the combination of meat and cheese nestled within the peppers.

"Stuffed peppers, prepared by me of course," Sebastian replied, a hint of pride coloring his tone.

A fleeting thought of potential poisoning crossed Ciel's mind, but he quickly dismissed it as paranoid. Still, the idea lingered at the edges of his consciousness, a testament to his deep-seated mistrust. Despite his misgivings, Ciel couldn't deny the enticing aroma wafting from the dish, and his empty stomach made its presence known. With a mix of reluctance and growing appetite, he found himself contemplating the unexpected meal before him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel lifted the bell pepper to his lips, hesitating for a moment before taking a tentative bite. As he chewed, a burst of flavors danced across his palate, the taste undeniably exquisite. His surprise at the dish's quality was carefully masked, but not entirely hidden from Sebastian's keen gaze.

As Ciel swallowed, he became acutely aware of Sebastian's intense scrutiny. The professor's eyes seemed to be cataloging every minute reaction, every subtle shift in Ciel's expression. Uncomfortable under this close observation, Ciel decided to seize control of the conversation.

"You said you wanted to get to know each other better?" Ciel began, his tone deliberately casual. "I'll be honest, I don't find you interesting in the slightest." The words were a blatant lie, one that Ciel hoped would throw Sebastian off balance. In truth, Sebastian's enigmatic nature had captured Ciel's interest from the start, but admitting as much felt dangerously close to showing his hand.

Sebastian's response came in the form of a low chuckle, rich with amusement and perhaps a hint of knowing. "I think you do find me interesting, actually," he countered, his confidence unwavering.

Ciel's eye narrowed slightly at Sebastian's presumption. "Ego much?" he quipped, injecting as much disdain into the words as he could muster.

Sebastian's response came smoothly, his tone matter-of-fact. "No, I observe people for a living. I'm good at reading people."

Ciel's eye narrowed imperceptibly, a mixture of skepticism and curiosity flickering across his features. He decided to press further, his voice carefully modulated to sound disinterested. "And why is it that you think I find you interesting?"

A hint of a smile played at the corners of Sebastian's lips as he replied, "Just my intuition."

Ciel focused intently on his meal, deliberately avoiding Sebastian's penetrating gaze. The sound of Sebastian beginning to eat broke the momentary silence before the professor's voice cut through the air once more.

"This isn't a session, you can relax," Sebastian offered, his tone deceptively casual.

Ciel's eye darted up from his plate, meeting Sebastian's gaze with a mixture of defiance and poorly concealed discomfort. "What are you talking about? I am relaxed," he retorted, the lie transparent even to his own ears.

Despite Sebastian's assurance, Ciel couldn't shake the feeling of being under constant scrutiny. The familiar sensation of Sebastian probing at his psyche persisted as if the walls of the professor's office had expanded to encompass this entire interaction. The informal setting of his dorm room did little to dispel the tension that had become a hallmark of their encounters.

Sebastian's knowing glance spoke volumes, though he remained silent as he continued eating. The weight of unspoken observations hung heavily in the air between them, making the simple act of finishing their meal feel like a complex social dance.

As the last bites were consumed, Sebastian smoothly rose to his feet, gathering the container with practiced ease. His movements were fluid and purposeful, a stark contrast to the lingering tension in the room.

"Well, that should be it," Sebastian announced, his tone light yet somehow laden with unspoken implications. "I'll take my leave now. See you in class tomorrow, Ciel."

The casual farewell felt oddly formal, a reminder of their professional relationship despite the intimate setting of this unexpected breakfast. Ciel watched Sebastian's departure with a mixture of relief and lingering suspicion, unable to shake the feeling that this seemingly innocuous visit held deeper significance.

As the door clicked shut, the room fell into an unsettling silence. Ciel remained motionless for a moment, his mind reeling from the surreal encounter. 

"What the hell was that?" he muttered under his breath, giving voice to the confusion and suspicion swirling within him.

The lingering aroma of the meal mingled with the palpable tension Sebastian had left in his wake. 

The seemingly casual visit felt anything but, leaving Ciel with more questions than answers. Sebastian's motives, as always, remained frustratingly opaque. As Ciel grappled with the implications of this unexpected interaction, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just participated in some elaborate test - one whose purpose and outcome remained maddeningly unclear.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter III: END

Chapter Text

Chapter IV: The Chariot

Claude Faustus, the vice chancellor of Weston, approached his position with a palpable air of indifference. His appointment to the role had been less a matter of ambition or merit, and more a result of circumstance - he simply happened to be the sole candidate who met the necessary qualifications. This fact seemed to amuse Claude in a detached sort of way as if the irony of his position was a private joke he occasionally indulged in. 

His lack of enthusiasm for the job was evident in his day-to-day demeanor. Claude moved through the halls of Weston with a sense of aloofness, his golden eyes often distant, as if his mind were occupied with matters far removed from the mundane operations of the university. Students and faculty alike had learned to interpret his disinterest not as hostility, but simply as Claude's natural state of being.

Claude Faustus entered the faculty room, his expression was as impassive as ever. He took his seat at the round table, joining his colleagues who were already present. The room held a palpable tension, with each faculty member bringing their own unique energy to the gathering.

Lau, the English professor, sat with his usual enigmatic smile, his half-lidded eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts. Beside him, Grell, the Art professor, fidgeted with barely contained excitement, a stark contrast to Claude's stoic demeanor.

Sebastian, the Psychology professor and school psychologist, observed the room with keen interest, his crimson eyes briefly meeting Claude's before moving on. Ronald Knox from student services drummed his fingers on the table, his youthful energy at odds with the serious atmosphere.

William T. Spears sat at the head of the table, his back ramrod straight and his piercing gaze intensified by his square-framed glasses. "You're tardy," he remarked, his tone clipped and disapproving.

"I apologize for the delay," Claude responded, his voice as flat and emotionless as his expression. He took his seat without further comment, his golden eyes betraying no hint of genuine contrition.

Grell, unable to resist the opportunity for drama, piped up with a mischievous grin. "My, my, you've managed to arrive even later than our dear Ronald. Quite the feat, wouldn't you say?"

Claude's gaze flickered briefly to Grell, his face a mask of utter disinterest, before settling back into his characteristic state of detachment.

"Hey now," Ronald protested, his brow furrowing, "why am I suddenly part of this? I didn't even open my mouth!"

William's patience, already wearing thin, finally snapped. "Silence, both of you," he ordered, his voice cutting through the banter like a knife.

William's stern command silenced the room, the tension palpable as all eyes turned to him. Claude settled into his seat, his expression unchanged despite being the cause of the initial disruption. He appeared entirely unfazed by William's reprimand or the brief commotion his tardiness had caused.

Sebastian observed the exchange with a hint of amusement in his eyes, while Lau maintained his enigmatic smile, seemingly detached from the proceedings. Ronald chastised, slouched slightly in his chair, shooting a quick glance at Grell, who merely tossed her long red hair in response.

William adjusted his glasses, the light glinting off them as he prepared to address the gathered faculty. 

"Right now, everything is going according to plan," he started. "We just can't let the school board find out about this. They'll most likely be livid, and we can't have that," he continued.

William glanced at Claude. "The prefects also have to stay ignorant of the work we're doing. I trust you've got that handled, Claude?"

"Yes, sir," Claude replied.

"And Sebastian, I trust you've got Ciel handled, right?" William turned his attention to Sebastian, who wore his usual smirk.

"Of course," Sebastian responded.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel stepped into his art class, his eye taking in the array of sketching easels and various art supplies scattered around the room. The floor beneath his feet was a chaotic canvas of its own, splattered with a rainbow of paint stains. To his left, he noticed a rack holding several aprons.

As he scanned the room for his professor, his gaze landed on a striking figure. A woman with vibrant red hair that matched her coat, which hung loosely off her shoulders. Beneath it, she wore a crisp white blouse. Her eyes, a peculiar shade of chartreuse, that mirrored William’s peered out from behind red-framed glasses. The thought crossed Ciel's mind that she must have a particular fondness for the color red.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel felt the weight of the professor's gaze as her eyes locked onto his. A moment passed before her face split into a grin that sent a chill down his spine. Despite her otherwise normal appearance, her teeth were jagged, almost predatory. The sight struck Ciel as decidedly inhuman, unsettling him deeply.

Uncomfortable under her scrutiny, Ciel averted his gaze. He made his way across the paint-spattered floor, seeking refuge behind one of the art easels. As he took his seat, he could still feel the lingering unease from that unnervingly wide grin, its image etched in his mind.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel forced himself to push aside the unsettling sensation, focusing instead on the professor as she addressed the class. She rose from her seat, clapping her hands sharply. The sound cut through the murmur of student conversations, drawing all eyes to her.

"Hello everyone," she announced, her voice carrying a theatrical flair that matched her appearance. "My name is Grell Sutcliff, or Dr. Sutcliff as you'll come to know me from now on, and this is Drawing I."

Ciel listened intently, his earlier discomfort momentarily forgotten as he prepared himself for what the course might entail. He couldn't help but notice the dramatic way Dr. Sutcliff carried herself, her mannerisms as flamboyant as her red attire.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"This class will start off with a project," Grell announced, her voice dripping with enthusiasm, "and whoever you are currently sitting next to will be your partner for this project."

Ciel inwardly groaned. He preferred working alone, finding partnered projects tedious and often counterproductive. Reluctantly, he glanced at the person seated beside him. 

His eye fell upon a young man with jet-black, shoulder-length hair, interrupted by a striking white streak. The stranger's face was adorned with makeup - black eyeshadow and lipstick that contrasted sharply with his pale skin. As if sensing Ciel's gaze, the man turned, his violet eyes meeting Ciel's for a brief moment. His expression betrayed no discernible emotion, leaving Ciel unable to gauge his reaction to their imposed partnership.

Before Ciel could contemplate further, the stranger had already turned away, his hand moving across his sketching paper in quick, practiced strokes. Ciel found himself both intrigued and slightly annoyed by his new partner's apparent indifference to their situation.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel listened as Dr. Sutcliff elaborated on the project, her theatrical voice filling the room. "For this project, I want you to come up with something to sketch with your partner," she explained. "The project is due in two weeks, and you will present the meaning of the drawing to the class." Her red lips curled into a smile as she added, "You are free to start brainstorming ideas with your partner now."

Ciel suppressed a sigh. Not only did he have to work with a partner, but they were expected to present their work as well. He glanced again at his enigmatic partner, wondering how they would manage to collaborate on a meaningful piece when the other student seemed entirely disinterested in acknowledging his existence.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the class progressed and Grell allowed everyone to converse with their partners, Ciel reluctantly scooted his stool closer to his partner's space. The other student finally seemed to acknowledge his existence, pausing whatever he was doing.

"I'm Ciel," he introduced himself, already regretting initiating this conversation.

"Gregory Violet," came the reply, the voice barely above a whisper. Ciel had to strain to hear it over the chatter of their classmates.

"So, do you have any ideas on what to sketch?" Ciel asked, trying to move things along.

Gregory nodded his head.

Ciel felt his frustration mounting. It was like pulling teeth talking to this guy. "...Do you mind sharing what you have in mind?" he pressed.

Then, Gregory shook his head.

Before Ciel could respond, Gregory murmured, "We don't have to work together, I can get this done on my own and you can present it."

Ciel felt a wave of relief wash over him. This arrangement suited him perfectly. "I have no qualms with that," he replied, grateful for the unexpected offer to work independently. It seemed his taciturn partner preferred solitude as much as he did, which was a pleasant surprise.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's eye caught a glimpse of Gregory's sketching paper, and he found himself intrigued by what he saw. The drawing depicted Grell, who was currently sitting at her desk writing something down. However, the sketch diverged significantly from reality. In Gregory's rendition, Grell was juggling oranges, her theatrical pose exaggerated and dynamic.

The juxtaposition between the actual scene and Gregory's interpretation struck Ciel as peculiar, yet he couldn't deny the skill evident in the drawing. The lines were confident, capturing Grell's flamboyant essence even while portraying her in an entirely fictional scenario. Despite his initial reservations about his partner, Ciel found himself grudgingly impressed by Gregory's artistic ability.

As he studied the sketch, Ciel wondered about the meaning behind this surreal interpretation. Was there a hidden message in the juggling oranges, or was it simply a product of Gregory's imagination? The quality of the work reassured Ciel that at least their project would be visually impressive, even if he still had reservations about the presentation aspect.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the class drew to a close, Ciel gathered his things and made his way out of the room. In the hallway, his eye was drawn to two figures standing nearby - Lawrence, whom he recognized from their previous encounter, and an unfamiliar blonde man with long hair. They seemed to be waiting for someone.

Ciel's curiosity was piqued when he saw Gregory step out of the classroom after him and approach the pair. The taciturn artist's connection to Lawrence and the blonde stranger was unexpected, and Ciel found himself wondering about the nature of their relationship. Were they friends? Or was there some other significance to this meeting?

Ciel slowed his pace, pretending to be engrossed in his phone while he strained to hear the conversation. Lawrence's voice, predictably stern, carried clearly down the hallway.

"Gregory, how many times do I have to tell you? You have to wear your red band," Lawrence chastised, his tone laced with exasperation.

Ciel's eye widened slightly at this revelation. Gregory was a prefect? It seemed utterly incongruous with the silent, disinterested persona he'd presented in class. Ciel watched surreptitiously as Lawrence handed Gregory the red band that marked prefects' status.

The long-haired blonde beside them appeared indifferent to the exchange, his lack of concern a stark contrast to Lawrence's rigid adherence to rules. 

This unexpected development added a new layer of complexity to Ciel's understanding of Weston's power structure. Gregory, with his aloof demeanor and apparent disregard for his prefect duties, didn't fit the mold Ciel had begun to form of the school's authority figures. 

As he processed this information, Ciel's mind raced with questions. What did Gregory's position as a prefect mean? And why would someone so apparently disinterested be given such a role?

Ciel's attention sharpened as he heard Lawrence address the blonde man. "Edgar, come on, tell him, if he keeps disregarding the rules, he's going to get written up."

Edgar. The name sent a jolt through Ciel's mind. This was the very person he'd been intending to seek out, the one who had hosted the party where the alleged incident with Soma and Elizabeth had occurred. Ciel studied Edgar more closely now, noting his red eyes as they gazed disinterestedly to the side.

"Lawrence, lighten up," Edgar drawled, his tone casual and unbothered. "The only one who cares about this stuff so deeply is you."

Ciel observed Lawrence's reaction, catching the slight twitch of his eyebrow that betrayed his irritation. The dynamics between these three prefects were proving to be more complex than he'd initially assumed.

Ciel watched as Gregory, silent as ever, wordlessly slipped the red band around his arm. The taciturn prefect's compliance seemed more born of a desire to end the conversation than any real commitment to the rules. His actions, much like his art, spoke louder than words.

Ciel felt a surge of determination. He needed to speak with Edgar, and this might be his only chance. As the trio began to walk away, Ciel found himself following at a discreet distance, his footsteps careful and measured.

His eye remained fixed on the group, particularly on Edgar's distinctive long blonde hair. Ciel's mind raced, formulating potential strategies to isolate Edgar from the others. He knew he had to bide his time, waiting for the perfect moment when Lawrence and Gregory might depart.

As he tailed them through the hallways of Weston, Ciel's senses were on high alert. He was acutely aware of the risk he was taking, but the potential information Edgar might provide about the party and the allegations against Soma was too valuable to pass up. He continued his cautious pursuit, hoping for an opportunity to approach Edgar alone.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's pulse quickened as he overheard the exchange. Lawrence's voice carried clearly down the hallway, "Well, me and Gregory have a class to attend. You're going to your theatre club right?"

"Yeah," Edgar confirmed, his casual tone a stark contrast to Lawrence's ever-formal manner.

"Then, I guess we'll go our separate ways now. Come on, Gregory," Lawrence concluded.

Ciel felt a surge of anticipation. This was exactly the opportunity he'd been waiting for. He watched intently as Lawrence and Gregory peeled away from Edgar, heading off in a different direction. The blonde prefect was now alone, making his way towards what Ciel assumed was the location of the theatre club.

Seizing the moment, Ciel quickened his pace slightly, closing the distance between himself and Edgar. Ciel's heart raced as he maneuvered himself in front of Edgar, forcing the blonde prefect to halt. He noted the mixture of surprise and confusion that flashed across Edgar's face.

"Who might you be?" Edgar asked his tone a blend of curiosity and mild annoyance at being intercepted so abruptly.

Ciel steeled himself, knowing he had to make this interaction count. "Ciel Phantomhive, I'm a first year," he introduced himself, then quickly added, "Can I ask you some questions?"

He watched as Edgar's eyebrow quirked upward, a hint of intrigue replacing his initial surprise. "About what?" the prefect inquired, his red eyes studying Ciel with newfound interest.

Ciel glanced around the hallway, acutely aware of the potential for eavesdroppers. He lowered his voice slightly as he replied, "Can we go somewhere else, that's not out in the open?"

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel followed Edgar into the photography room's darkroom, currently unoccupied. As the door closed behind them, a deep red light enveloped the space, casting an eerie glow that transformed the small room into something almost sinister. The crimson illumination painted everything in shades of blood and shadow, lending an ominous atmosphere to their clandestine meeting.

Edgar turned to face Ciel, his features rendered unfamiliar and slightly unsettling in the unusual lighting. "So," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space, "what is it you wanted to ask me about?"

Ciel took a deep breath, acutely aware of the strange, crimson-tinged atmosphere of the darkroom. The red light cast eerie shadows, adding an unsettling edge to the already tense situation. He focused on Edgar, whose features seemed somehow sharper and more mysterious in the unusual lighting.

"I wanted to ask you about the party you hosted," Ciel began, his voice low but steady. "The one where... something happened involving Soma Asman Kadar and Elizabeth Midford."

He watched Edgar's face carefully, looking for any reaction to these names. The red light made it harder to discern subtle changes in expression, but Ciel remained alert, his single visible eye fixed on the prefect.

"I've heard different accounts of what happened that night," Ciel continued, treading carefully. "Don’t tell anyone, but I’m Elizabeth's cousin, and I'm trying to understand the truth of the situation. Can you tell me what you saw or heard at the party?"

Ciel watched intently as Edgar's eyes widened, the red light making the prefect's surprise seem almost exaggerated. "You're Elizabeth Midford's cousin?" Edgar asked, a note of newfound interest in his voice.

Ciel nodded, his gaze never leaving Edgar's face. He observed as the prefect seemed to gather his thoughts, the crimson glow casting strange shadows across his features.

"Let's see... it was a year ago, so the details are a little fuzzy," Edgar mused, his tone thoughtful but noncommittal.

Ciel felt a flicker of frustration at Edgar's vague response, but he kept his voice level as he pressed on. "Any details would help," he urged, hoping to coax more information from the prefect.

"Well," Edgar began, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space, "I threw a party at one of the empty old buildings on campus. Weston doesn't allow alcoholic drinks on campus, so I had to be careful since they were sponsoring the party." He paused as if carefully selecting his words. "If I recall correctly, I did see Soma talking to Elizabeth at the party, but, to be honest, I never saw Soma himself move from the main room."

Edgar's brow furrowed slightly in the red light. "Maybe I could've missed it, because Elizabeth at one point during the party looked out of it like she'd been drinking or something, and then I didn't see her for the rest of the night."

Ciel's eye narrowed, catching the inconsistency. "But I thought you said the school didn't allow drinking?" he questioned, his tone laced with suspicion.

Edgar shrugged, the gesture looking oddly casual in the ominous lighting. "I can't completely control whether or not one of the guests brings alcohol," he offered, his excuse ringing hollow in Ciel's ears.

Ciel felt his suspicion deepen. Edgar's explanation seemed flimsy at best and potentially incriminating at worst. The darkroom's red glow seemed to intensify, mirroring the growing tension between them as Ciel processed this new, troubling information.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel absorbed this new information, his mind quickly connecting the dots. The presence of Alois and Maurice at the party added another layer to their involvement in the allegations against Soma.

"Alois and Maurice, yes," Edgar confirmed, his red-tinged face giving away nothing. "Cheslock, no."

Ciel's eye narrowed slightly, focusing on Edgar's expression in the eerie red light. He wondered why Cheslock, who seemed to be part of their group, hadn't been at the party. Was it significant, or merely coincidental?

"Did you see Alois or Maurice interacting with Soma or Elizabeth that night?" Ciel pressed, trying to gauge how much Edgar had truly observed or remembered.

“Actually, after Soma talked with Elizabeth, I’d seen Alois and Maurice talking with her,” Edgar revealed.

“Did she look ‘out of it’ after she talked to Alois and Maurice? Or after she talked to Soma?” Ciel probed.

Ciel watched intently as Edgar's expression shifted, the realization dawning on his face made more dramatic by the room's red illumination.

"Now that I think of it, yeah," Edgar replied, his voice tinged with a newfound uncertainty. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his eyes widened. "Wait, are you trying to say-"

Ciel quickly cut him off, not wanting Edgar to jump to conclusions or become defensive. "I'm just asking questions," he stated firmly, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. "Nothing is set in stone yet."

Ciel hesitated for a moment, weighing his words carefully in the oppressive red glow of the darkroom. Then, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, he asked, "Alois and Maurice had told me that she was drugged. Do you have any idea where someone could've got something like that from?"

Edgar's demeanor visibly shifted, his posture stiffening in the red glow of the darkroom. "I don't know," he replied, his voice taking on a guarded tone. "Listen, I have to get to the theatre club."

Ciel inwardly cursed. He realized he had pushed too far, too fast. Like Icarus flying too close to the sun, his probing question had caused Edgar to retreat behind a wall of caution.

Quickly adjusting his approach, Ciel adopted a casual air. "Oh sure," he said, feigning nonchalance. "I'm pretty sure I've learned everything I needed to anyway."

As he spoke, Ciel's mind raced, cataloging the information he'd gleaned and the new questions that had arisen. He knew he'd have to be more careful in future interactions, balancing his need for information with the delicate nature of the situation. 

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel set off with determined steps, his mind focused on finding Elizabeth. He knew there was only one place he could be certain of her whereabouts - her dorm room. The location was fresh in his mind, the directions still clear from his earlier conversation with Edward. As he navigated the unfamiliar corridors of Weston, Ciel couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. What would this confrontation reveal?

Elizabeth's door swung open, revealing her familiar face. Ciel observed the brief flash of surprise in her eyes before it was quickly replaced by her characteristic beaming smile. The sudden shift in her expression didn't escape his notice.

"Ciel, what brings you here?" Her cheerful voice echoed in the hallway.

Ciel steeled himself, his single visible eye fixed on his cousin. "Eli- Lizzy, I need to talk with you," he said, deliberately using the nickname she preferred. His tone was grave, laden with the weight of his purpose. He watched as Elizabeth's smile faltered slightly, picking up on the subtle change in her demeanor.

"What about?" Her voice held a note of curiosity tinged with concern.

Ciel glanced briefly at the corridor around them, acutely aware of the potential for eavesdroppers in the bustling dorm. "You mind if I come in?" he asked, his tone making it clear this wasn't a casual visit.

As he waited for her response, Ciel's mind raced, preparing himself for the delicate conversation ahead. He knew he had to tread carefully, balancing his need for information with the genuine care he felt for his cousin, despite his usually detached demeanor.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“Sure, come on in,” her response sounded strained.

As Ciel stepped into Elizabeth's room, his eye immediately fell upon an unfamiliar figure. A petite girl sat on the bed on the opposite side of the room, her attention seemingly elsewhere as she wore headphones over her ears. Ciel took in her appearance quickly - black hair styled in a short bob, and striking emerald green eyes that reminded him of Elizabeth's.

The presence of this unexpected third party made Ciel tense inwardly. He had come here to have a private, potentially sensitive conversation with Elizabeth. This unknown girl's presence threw a wrench in his plans.

Ciel's mind raced, considering his options. He needed to speak with Elizabeth alone, but how to accomplish that without arousing suspicion? He couldn't simply ask the girl to leave - that would be too obvious, too abrupt. Perhaps he could engineer a reason for her to step out, or maybe convince Elizabeth to accompany him elsewhere under some pretext.

As he pondered his next move, Ciel maintained his outward composure, his face betraying none of the calculations happening behind his visible eye. He knew he had to act quickly and decisively to secure the privacy he needed for this crucial conversation with his cousin.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Before Ciel could formulate a plan, Elizabeth took the initiative. He watched as she approached the girl, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention. 

"Sieglinde, can me and him," Elizabeth gestured towards Ciel, "Have the room to ourselves?"

Ciel observed the interaction closely, noting the name 'Sieglinde' and filing it away for future reference. He watched as the girl looked up, a mischievous glint appearing in her emerald eyes.

"My, my, have you finally got a boy toy? And you want the room alone with him? Okay, just don't get up to any shenanigans, you kids." Sieglinde's words were laced with a distinct German accent that caught Ciel's attention.

Ciel felt a flicker of irritation at being referred to as a 'boy toy', but he kept his expression neutral. He was more focused on the unexpected ease with which his privacy problem had been solved.

Before Elizabeth could correct the misunderstanding, Sieglinde had already darted out of the room, leaving them alone. Ciel heard Elizabeth's futile attempt to explain, "Wait, he's not my-" before the door closed behind Sieglinde.

Now alone with Elizabeth, Ciel felt a mix of relief and tension. The room was theirs, but the implications of Sieglinde's words hung in the air, creating an awkward atmosphere. He knew he had to push past this discomfort and focus on the real reason for his visit. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to broach the difficult subject that had brought him here.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel observed Elizabeth's awkward attempt to explain away Sieglinde's behavior. "Well, this is awkward. Don't mind her, she's... eccentric," Elizabeth said, her discomfort evident in her voice.

"I can see that," Ciel replied flatly, eager to move past the uncomfortable moment. He steeled himself for the conversation ahead. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something."

"I'm all ears," Elizabeth responded, her tone carrying a hint of curiosity.

Ciel took a deep breath, carefully choosing his words. "What's your relationship with Alois and Maurice?" he asked, his eye fixed on Elizabeth's face, watching for any subtle reactions.

Elizabeth's eyebrow quirked upwards, a look of mild surprise crossing her features. "They're friends, why?" she answered, her voice tinged with confusion.

Ciel noted her response, detecting no immediate signs of deception. He pressed on, aware of the delicacy of the subject. "I can see how this is a strange question, let me clarify. Did you talk to them the night you know what happened? And did you black out after talking to them?"

He watched as Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably, her body language betraying her unease. "I told you, I don't want to talk about this-" she began, her voice strained.

Ciel felt a pang of guilt at pushing her, but he knew he had to persist. "I understand that, but something isn't making sense about this situation," he said, his tone softening slightly but remaining firm.

As he waited for Elizabeth's response, Ciel's mind raced. Her reluctance to discuss the events of that night, combined with the conflicting accounts he'd heard, only deepened his suspicions.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth's voice held a note of confusion that Ciel didn't miss.

Ciel chose his words carefully, his eye fixed on Elizabeth's face. "Well, Edgar told me that you seemed 'out of it' after speaking with those two. Is this true?"

He watched as Elizabeth shook her head, her brow furrowing. "No, it was after I spoke with Soma," she insisted.

Ciel felt a surge of suspicion at this discrepancy. "Are you sure about that?" he pressed, his tone gentle but probing.

Elizabeth's demeanor shifted, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. "Ciel, what are you talking about?"

Undeterred, Ciel pushed forward. "Edgar had told me that he hadn't seen Soma leave the main room. Don't you think that's strange?"

He observed as Elizabeth's eyes widened, a mixture of confusion and dawning realization crossing her features. "Are you implying that Soma didn't do what he did?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ciel leaned in slightly, his gaze intense. "Do you remember Soma taking you anywhere?"

Elizabeth's response sent a jolt through him. "No, the last thing I remember is Alois taking me to the bathroom because I had to throw up. He held my hair back."

Ciel listened intently, his mind working quickly to process this new information. The discrepancies in Elizabeth's account compared to what he'd heard from others were glaring, and he felt a surge of anticipation. He was onto something significant.

"Elizabeth," he began, his voice careful and measured, "I think there's been a misunderstanding. A grave one."

He watched as confusion and fear flickered across his cousin's face. Her earlier panic seemed to intensify, and Ciel felt a twinge of guilt for causing her distress. But he pressed on, knowing the importance of uncovering the truth.

"From what you're telling me, it seems that Soma might not have been involved at all," Ciel explained, his eye never leaving Elizabeth's face. "You say the last thing you remember is Alois taking you to the bathroom. Not Soma."

Ciel fell silent, his eye fixed on Elizabeth as he allowed the weight of his words to settle. He watched her closely, noting every subtle change in her expression.

"Elizabeth," he began carefully, "is it possible that you've been misled about Soma's involvement? Did you personally inform others about what supposedly happened, or was it someone else?"

He observed as Elizabeth's composure crumbled. Her head shook in denial, her hands visibly trembling. 

"No..." she whispered, her voice quivering. "Alois and Maurice were the ones who told everyone."

Ciel leaned in, his attention wholly focused on his cousin as she continued.

"I woke up feeling... violated. Like something had been taken from me," Elizabeth's words came out haltingly, each one seeming to cost her great effort. "I found Alois and asked what had happened. I told him something felt wrong."

Ciel listened intently, his mind piecing together the fragments of that night.

"Alois said I'd seemed intoxicated. He thought I was just drunk," Elizabeth went on, her gaze distant. "He said he'd taken me to a bathroom to rest, that he regretted leaving me there. Then he told me... he told me the last person he saw me with was Soma."

Ciel's eye narrowed at this, sensing the crux of the deception.

"I didn't remember being with Soma last," Elizabeth admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I believed Alois. I trusted him."

As Elizabeth's words trailed off, Ciel felt a cold anger settling in his chest. The depth of the manipulation was becoming clear, and with it, the tragic consequences that had followed.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Elizabeth," he began, his voice low and careful, "I think you've been manipulated. It seems Alois and Maurice have been lying to you - and to everyone else."

He watched as the color drained from Elizabeth's face, her hands trembling more visibly now. Ciel felt a surge of protective anger towards his cousin, mixed with grim satisfaction at finally uncovering the truth.

"Think about it," he continued, his tone gentle but insistent. "You don't remember being with Soma. The last person you recall being with is Alois. And it was Alois and Maurice who told you it was Soma, despite you having no memory of it."

Ciel's mind raced, connecting the dots rapidly. "They took advantage of your confusion and vulnerability to pin their actions on Soma. And everyone believed them because..."

He trailed off, the horrifying realization hitting him. Soma's reputation had been destroyed, leading to his isolation and ultimately, his brutal murder. All based on a lie.

"Elizabeth," Ciel said, his voice filled with a rare softness, "None of this is your fault. You were a victim, not just of what happened that night, but of Alois and Maurice's deception afterward."

As he watched his cousin grapple with this earth-shattering revelation, Ciel felt a renewed sense of purpose. He had come to Weston seeking answers about his parents, but now he found himself embroiled in a web of lies, manipulation, and murder. 

Alois and Maurice now stood at the forefront of his suspicions regarding Soma's murder. Their apparent willingness to fabricate such a damaging lie certainly cast them in a sinister light. But could they truly be capable of such a brutal act? The image of Soma's mutilated body flashed through Ciel's mind, causing him to suppress a shudder. He reminded himself that only further investigation would reveal the full extent of their capacity for violence.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

William T. Spears sat hunched over his desk, his pen moving methodically across a stack of paperwork. The sudden shrill ring of his office phone pierced the silence, causing him to pause his work. With a practiced motion, he reached for the receiver and brought it to his ear.

"William T. Spears speaking. Who is this?" His tone was crisp and professional, betraying no hint of surprise at the interruption.

An unfamiliar voice crackled through the line. "You're the Chancellor, right?"

William's brow furrowed slightly at the directness of the question. "Yes, that's correct. Who am I speaking with?" he replied, a note of caution creeping into his voice.

"My name is Charles Grey," the caller announced. "I'm a private investigator. The school board hired me."

At these words, William's posture stiffened imperceptibly. His grip on the phone tightened as he processed this unexpected development.

William's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his voice taking on a sharp edge. "The school board hired you, why?" he demanded, his free hand clenching into a fist on his desk.

Charles's response came through clear and matter-of-fact. "This murder was unprecedented for them," he explained, his tone suggesting he found the situation unremarkable.

William chose his next words carefully, aware of the dangerous ground he was treading. "I don't see how it's any different from the disappearances of students they facilitated," he said, his voice low and tense.

Charles's reply was swift and to the point. "Disappearances are different from students seeing a dead body lying around campus."

William inhaled sharply, the implications of this statement hitting him like a physical blow. The contrast between carefully orchestrated disappearances and the brutal, public nature of Soma's murder was stark.

“So, they sent me to do some digging and find who’s responsible for this…disturbance in the order of things.”

It was clear that the investigator viewed Soma's brutal murder as little more than an inconvenience to be tidied up. The school board wasn't just concerned about solving a murder; they were worried about maintaining their carefully constructed facade of normalcy. 

He knew he would need to tread carefully in his dealings with this investigator. Charles Grey represented a wild card in the delicate balance of secrets and power at Weston, and William was acutely aware that one wrong move could bring everything crashing down around them.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter IV: END

Chapter Text

Chapter V: The Emperor 

Ciel made his way to the dining hall, his mind churning with plans. The weight of his recent discoveries pressed heavily upon him, fueling a simmering anger. Alois and Maurice's deception had cost Soma his life and reputation, and Ciel was determined to make them pay. 

As he walked, he replayed his conversation with Elizabeth in his mind. The pieces were starting to fit together, forming a disturbing picture. It seemed increasingly likely that Alois and Maurice were the true culprits, having taken advantage of Elizabeth themselves before pinning their heinous act on Soma. The thought made Ciel's blood boil.

Earlier, in an attempt to gather more information, Ciel had approached a few of his classmates. At first, they had been hesitant, their eyes darting nervously as if afraid of being overheard. But with some careful prodding, they had revealed a crucial piece of information: Soma had been Alois and Maurice's primary target for harassment.

This new detail shed light on Soma's reaction to the pair in the cafeteria that day. Ciel could still vividly recall the way his roommate had stiffened, his usual cheerfulness evaporating in an instant. At the time, Ciel had found it odd, but now it made perfect, infuriating sense.

As he entered the dining hall, Ciel's visible eye narrowed, his jaw set with determination. He needed hard evidence to expose Alois and Maurice's lies. The question that now consumed his thoughts was how to obtain it without alerting his targets.

As Ciel approached the dining hall, his mind drifted back to Sebastian's psychology lesson. The lecture on false memories suddenly seemed far more significant than he had initially realized. Was it mere coincidence that Sebastian had chosen that particular topic, or was there something more to it?

Ciel's brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. If Sebastian's lesson wasn't happenstance, did that mean the professor was aware of the true nature of the situation? And if so, was he subtly trying to guide Ciel toward the truth? But why would he do that?

The questions swirled in Ciel's mind, each one leading to another. Regardless of Sebastian's intentions, Ciel had to admit that the lesson had been instrumental in helping him piece together the complex puzzle surrounding Soma's death and Elizabeth's ordeal.

As he reached the entrance to the dining hall, Ciel shook his head slightly, as if to physically dislodge these distracting thoughts. He couldn't afford to be sidetracked by speculation about Sebastian's motives, not when he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Ciel's eye widened slightly as he surveyed the dining hall's offerings. Sushi, an unexpected choice for Weston's typically traditional fare, was on display. Intrigued, he decided to sample it, carefully selecting a few pieces and adding some white rice to his plate.

As he was contemplating his unusual dinner, a sudden weight fell across his shoulders. Ciel tensed, nearly losing his grip on his plate. His heart rate spiked as he turned his head, eye narrowing at this unwelcome intrusion into his personal space.

His suspicions were confirmed as he found himself face-to-face with Alois. The blond's arm was draped casually over Ciel's shoulders as if they were old friends rather than near strangers.

Alois's lips curled into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Wanna sit with us?" he asked, his tone deceptively light.

Ciel felt a mixture of revulsion and keen interest at the invitation. There was an opportunity he hadn't anticipated, served up on a silver platter. But could he stomach being in such close proximity to the person he now suspected of such heinous acts?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel followed Alois to the table, his observant eye taking in the unexpected gathering. He recognized several faces he hadn't seen in the dining hall before. Lawrence, Gregory, and Edgar - all prefects - were seated together at Alois’ table, their presence notable. Ciel realized with a jolt that he had never observed any of these higher-ranking students dining here previously.

The arrangement struck him as unusual. Prefects, with their additional authority and responsibilities, typically kept to themselves or dined elsewhere. Seeing them here, mingling with other students like Cheslock and Maurice, piqued Ciel's curiosity.

Cheslock was positioned next to Gregory, while Maurice occupied a seat adjacent to an empty spot that Ciel surmised was reserved for Alois. The mix of prefects and regular students at one table seemed significant, though Ciel couldn't immediately discern why.

"Have you prefects met Ciel?" Alois's question cut through the ambient noise of the dining hall.

Ciel watched carefully as the prefects lifted their heads from their meals, their eyes focusing on him with varying degrees of recognition. He noted the subtle shifts in their expressions, filing away each reaction for later analysis.

Lawrence and Gregory's initial flash of recognition quickly morphed into practiced indifference, their faces settling into masks of neutrality. Edgar, however, caught Ciel's attention. The prefect seemed to squirm in his seat, a flicker of discomfort passing across his features.

"Yes, I think we're all aware of the famous first-year," Lawrence remarked, his tone coolly matter-of-fact.

Ciel felt a jolt of surprise at the word 'famous'. He hadn't realized his actions had drawn such attention. Keeping his voice level, he asked, "Famous?"

Lawrence's response sent a chill down Ciel's spine. "Ever since Soma's death, it appears you've been poking and prodding around."

Ciel's mind raced. He'd thought he'd been discreet in his investigations, but clearly, he'd underestimated the prefects' awareness - or perhaps the efficiency of Weston's gossip mill. He kept his expression neutral, even as he inwardly reassessed the risks and implications of his actions being so widely known.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"And Edgar tells us here, that you're Elizabeth's and Edward's cousin," Lawrence continued, gesturing towards Edgar.

Ciel felt a surge of frustration as his gaze swept across the table, taking in the wary looks on the faces around him. He silently berated himself for not anticipating that Edgar would divulge such sensitive information. It was a miscalculation that could potentially complicate his investigation.

Realizing that denial would be futile at this point, Ciel exhaled softly. "Yes, it's true," he admitted, his voice carefully controlled. "The Midfords are my family."

As Ciel confirmed his relation to the Midfords, his eye locked onto Alois, carefully observing his reaction. He noticed the sudden tension in Alois's posture, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. Despite the visible strain, Alois remained uncharacteristically silent, which Ciel found both intriguing and suspicious.

Cheslock's voice cut through Ciel's observations. "Which is something you conveniently didn't mention before," he pointed out, his tone accusatory.

Ciel, recognizing the need to maintain his facade of cooperation, quickly responded. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said, the apology feeling foreign on his tongue.

Lawrence's eyes narrowed as he spoke. "So, that's why you've been so keen on asking people about the events that took place during that party."

Before Ciel could respond, Maurice piped up, his voice carrying a note of nervous energy. "But, we already know that Soma did it-" His words were abruptly cut off as Alois drove an elbow into his side, silencing him mid-sentence. Ciel filed away this interaction, noting the desperation in Alois's attempt to quiet his friend.

"Yes, but some things don't line up about the whole thing," Ciel admitted, carefully choosing his words.

Lawrence let out a weary sigh. "Listen, I know you want to find out what happened to your cousin, but pointing fingers isn't helping anyone."

Ciel felt a flare of irritation at Lawrence's dismissive tone. His eye narrowed as he responded, his voice sharp. "I never pointed any fingers. I'm asking questions, that's all I'm doing."

The tension at the table had become unbearable. Ciel could feel the weight of accusation and suspicion pressing down on him, threatening to suffocate his investigation before it could truly begin. He'd had enough.

With a swift, deliberate motion, Ciel pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. His fingers curled around the edge of his tray, knuckles whitening slightly with the force of his grip. "I don't need this," he stated, his voice cool and controlled despite the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "If you'll excuse me, I'm leaving."

Without waiting for a response, Ciel turned on his heel, his movements precise and measured. He could feel their eyes on him as he strode away, the untouched sushi on his plate a silent testament to the interrupted meal. 

As he made his way towards the exit, Ciel's mind was already racing, analyzing every word and reaction from the conversation. He knew his abrupt departure would likely fuel further speculation, but at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed space to think, to plan his next move in this increasingly complex game.

As Ciel left the oppressive atmosphere of the cafeteria behind, a new decision crystallized in his mind. He would not let this confrontation rob him of his meal, meager as it was. His fingers tightened around the edges of his plate, the untouched sushi a reminder of the interrupted dinner and tense exchange.

 The cool evening air helped clear his head, allowing him to begin processing the information gleaned from the unexpected encounter.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

A couple of days later, Ciel found himself once again seated in Sebastian's office. The familiar setting felt somewhat surreal after the tumultuous events of the past few days. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Sebastian presented him with a plate of food - an omelet with ham, its aroma wafting temptingly through the air.

Ciel eyed the offering skeptically, a mix of suspicion and curiosity flickering in his visible eye. He couldn't help but wonder at Sebastian's motives for this repeated gesture of hospitality. Was it a genuine attempt at building rapport, or something more calculated?

With a hint of dry humor coloring his tone, Ciel quirked an eyebrow at Sebastian. "Are you trying to win me over with food?" he asked, even as his hand reached out to accept the plate. The weight of it in his grasp felt oddly comforting, a mundane anchor amid the chaos that had become his life at Weston.

Sebastian's response came with a light chuckle, his crimson eyes twinkling with amusement. "Is it working?" he asked, his tone playful.

Ciel felt a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. "Possibly," he replied, his voice carefully neutral even as he found himself oddly disarmed by Sebastian's easy manner.

With deliberate movements, Ciel pulled his chair closer to Sebastian's desk. The legs scraped softly against the floor, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet office. He set the plate down, the ceramic making a soft 'clink' against the polished wood.

His eye caught sight of a butter knife resting on the desk. Picking it up, he carefully cut into the omelet. The knife slid through easily, revealing specks of bacon nestled within the fluffy egg. The aroma wafted up, making Ciel's stomach growl softly.

Using his fork, Ciel lifted the slice to his mouth and took a bite. The flavors melded on his tongue - the saltiness of the bacon complementing the richness of the egg. As he chewed, Ciel found himself surprised by how good it tasted. Yet, even as he enjoyed the food, a part of him remained alert, watchful.

"Ciel, have you made any new friends at Weston?" Sebastian's question cut through the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

Ciel's fork paused midway to his mouth, suspended in the air as he lifted his gaze to meet Sebastian's. A beat passed before he answered, his voice low and guarded. "...No," he admitted, the single syllable hanging in the air between them.

Sebastian's response was immediate, his tone taking on a note of gentle concern. "Ciel, it's important to make friends during your University experience," he said, his rich voice wrapping around Ciel's name in a way that made the young man's breath catch unexpectedly.

The sound of his name on Sebastian's lips sent an unfamiliar warmth coursing through Ciel. He felt heat rising to his cheeks, a reaction as unwelcome as it was puzzling. Why did Sebastian's voice affect him this way? The intimacy in the way he said 'Ciel' felt almost inappropriate coming from a professor, yet Ciel couldn't deny the effect it had on him.

Feeling suddenly wrong-footed, Ciel struggled to maintain his composure. He lowered his gaze back to his plate, using the act of taking another bite as a shield to hide his unexpected reaction.

"...I'll try," Ciel mumbled between bites, hoping to close the topic of friendship.

Sebastian's abrupt change of subject caught Ciel off guard. "I don't mean to be tactless, but I overheard you and William discussing your parents, particularly your father's disappearance. Could you tell me about that?" The professor's words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

The sudden shift in conversation startled Ciel, causing his fork to slip from his fingers and clatter against the plate. He felt a surge of emotions - surprise, suspicion, and a hint of anger at the intrusion into such a personal matter. Struggling to maintain his composure, Ciel forced his voice into a neutral tone. "What about it?" he asked, his single visible eye narrowing slightly as he regarded Sebastian.

Sebastian's response was gentle but probing. "Perhaps you could provide a rundown of what happened?" he suggested, his crimson eyes fixed on Ciel with an intensity that made the young man uncomfortable.

Ciel felt his guard rising, his mind racing to decipher Sebastian's motives for broaching this sensitive topic. He weighed his words carefully, unsure how much to reveal and what consequences might come from sharing such personal information.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel hesitated, carefully selecting his words to reveal as little as possible. "One day, they went on a business trip without me, and didn't come back," he said tersely, his tone deliberately flat. He watched Sebastian closely, trying to gauge the professor's reaction to this sparse information.

Sebastian's follow-up question caught Ciel off guard. "How did that make you feel?" the professor probed, his crimson eyes studying Ciel intently.

The query left Ciel momentarily bewildered. How did he feel? The question struck him as oddly foreign. In the wake of his parents' disappearance, Ciel immediately threw himself into investigation mode, never pausing to process his emotions about the event. The concept of examining his feelings about the situation seemed alien and uncomfortable.

Confusion evident in his visible eye, Ciel responded with a question of his own. "What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely perplexed by Sebastian's inquiry. The idea of delving into his emotions regarding his parents' disappearance left him feeling exposed and vulnerable, emotions he was not accustomed to and did not welcome.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian persisted, his voice gentle yet probing. "Something like this had to evoke some sort of emotion in you, right? They were your parents after all," he said, his words striking uncomfortably close to home.

Ciel felt a surge of defensiveness rise within him. The idea of exposing his innermost feelings about his parents' disappearance was too raw, too personal. He folded his arms across his chest, a physical barrier between himself and Sebastian's inquiries. Averting his gaze, Ciel's voice came out clipped and firm. "I don't want to answer that question," he stated, hoping his tone would convey the finality of his decision.

To Ciel's mild surprise, Sebastian didn't push further on that particular point. Instead, the professor nodded, his tone remaining patient and understanding. "Okay, I understand," Sebastian said, before smoothly transitioning to a different, yet equally personal question. "What was your relationship with your parents?"

Ciel felt his guard rise once more. While this new line of questioning wasn't as emotionally charged as the previous one, it still felt like an intrusion into his private life. He found himself torn between maintaining his aloof facade and potentially gleaning some useful information from this exchange with Sebastian. As he contemplated his response, Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Sebastian's interest than mere therapeutic concern.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "They were... good parents," he finally said, his voice softer than he intended. "They always made sure I had everything I needed." The admission felt strange on his tongue, a rare moment of vulnerability that made him instantly wary.

Sebastian's next words caught Ciel off guard. "Vincent himself was the CEO of the famous Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals, correct, with Rachel Phantomhive acting as his assistant, correct?" The professor's tone was casual, but Ciel sensed an underlying purpose to the question.

Suspicion flared in Ciel's mind. How did Sebastian know such specific details about his family? His visible eye narrowed as he regarded the professor. "How do you know this?" Ciel demanded, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

Sebastian's response came smoothly, almost too smoothly for Ciel's liking. "Everyone knows about Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals. Plus, I'll admit, I was slightly curious so I googled," the professor explained with a slight shrug.

Ciel felt his guard rising even higher. While Sebastian's explanation was plausible, something about it didn't sit right with him. The casual mention of googling his family struck Ciel as oddly intrusive coming from a professor. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Sebastian's interest than mere curiosity, and it made him increasingly uneasy.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's probing continued, his voice carrying a note of sympathy that Ciel found both unsettling and oddly compelling. "You were his only apparent heir, that must have meant you had a lot of responsibilities on your shoulders."

"I managed fine," Ciel replied curtly, his tone betraying a hint of pride beneath the surface. He didn't want or need Sebastian's pity.

"Vincent didn't have... certain expectations of you?" Sebastian asked, his crimson eyes seeming to pierce through Ciel's carefully constructed facade.

Before Ciel could collect his thoughts, the words tumbled from his lips unbidden. "He did," he admitted, shocking himself with his own candor. Realizing his slip, Ciel quickly attempted to regain his composure, his mind racing to control the narrative. "He... did but, from when I was young he made his expectations clear," he elaborated, his voice steadier now but tinged with an emotion he couldn't quite identify.

Inwardly, Ciel berated himself for this unexpected moment of vulnerability. Why had he let that slip? Sebastian's questioning was proving more effective than he'd anticipated, and it left him feeling exposed. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just revealed something significant, something that Sebastian had been fishing for. 

Just as Ciel was bracing himself for further probing questions, a sharp electronic chime cut through the tension in the room. Sebastian reached for his phone, silencing the alarm with a swift movement.

"Looks like our time is up," Sebastian announced, his tone shifting abruptly from probing to politely dismissive. "Have a nice day, Ciel," he added, offering a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Ciel felt a mixture of relief and frustration wash over him. The abrupt end to their session left him with a sense of unfinished business as if Sebastian had been on the verge of revealing something important. He studied the professor's face, noting the disconnect between the polite smile and the calculating look in those crimson eyes.

As he gathered himself to leave, Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that this seemingly routine therapy session had been anything but. Sebastian's carefully timed questions and this sudden dismissal felt orchestrated, leaving Ciel with more questions than answers. 

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles Grey strode purposefully across the University grounds, his steps measured and confident. He was keenly aware of the gravity of his mission, his mind focused on the task that lay ahead. In his hand, he clutched a document of utmost importance - the genuine autopsy report, its contents a far cry from the sanitized version released to the general public.

As he moved through the campus, Charles's eyes scanned his surroundings, taking in every detail. He knew that the serene facade of Weston University belied the dark secrets lurking beneath its prestigious veneer. The weight of the report in his hand served as a constant reminder of the grim reality he was here to uncover.

Charles Grey was no stranger to the darker side of prestigious institutions. He was well aware of Weston University's transgressions, yet this knowledge did little to deter him. In the world Grey operated in, money spoke volumes, and this new assignment promised to be exceptionally lucrative. The substantial paycheck awaiting him at the end of this investigation was more than enough to quell any moral qualms he might have harbored.

As he approached the imposing door of Chancellor William T. Spears' office, Grey's demeanor shifted. He straightened his posture, projecting an air of professional confidence. With a swift, practiced motion, he adjusted his tie, ensuring his appearance was impeccable. This small gesture was not merely about vanity; it was a ritual that helped him slip fully into his role as a competent, unflappable investigator.

Taking a deep breath, Grey raised his hand and rapped on the door with purpose. The sound echoed in the hallway, sharp and authoritative. As he waited for a response, Grey's mind was already racing, preparing for the encounter ahead.

The door swung open, revealing a figure that Charles Grey instantly recognized as William T. Spears. The Chancellor's appearance matched Grey's expectations perfectly: a prim and proper individual whose very posture exuded an air of no-nonsense authority. William embodied the stereotype of the privileged elite that Grey had come to expect from institutions like Weston.

As Grey studied William, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment. Here stood a man who, in Grey's estimation, had likely never known true struggle. Like the students who attended this prestigious university, William seemed to be the product of a life cushioned by privilege, never having to work for a single thing.

William's face initially betrayed a flicker of confusion at Grey's presence, but it quickly morphed into a mask of cool indifference. His voice, when he spoke, was as crisp and starched as his appearance. "You must be the PI that called," he stated, his tone neither welcoming nor dismissive.

Grey noted the quick shift in William's demeanor, recognizing it as the practiced composure of someone accustomed to dealing with unexpected situations. Despite the Chancellor's attempt at neutrality, Grey sensed an underlying tension. It was clear that his presence at Weston was not entirely welcome, a fact that only piqued Grey's interest further in the mysteries he had been hired to uncover.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He stepped into the room and handed William the autopsy report. “This is Soma Asman Kadar’s autopsy report, the one that was processed privately and given to me by the school board,” Charles began, “His cause of death was blood loss, he was also curiously missing serval organs,” Charles gave William a knowing glance.

William's eyes scanned the autopsy report as Charles Grey's words hung in the air. "Who in this school could be capable of this?" The question was loaded, its implications heavy.

Grey's response was swift and cutting. His eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam entering them as he addressed the Chancellor. "Don't play coy with me," he said, his voice low and filled with barely concealed contempt. "You're aware of the goings-on at Weston. It was most likely a faculty member, probably you, that could be capable of this."

The accusation was blunt, designed to provoke a reaction. Yet William remained impassive, his face a mask of calm that betrayed no hint of guilt or nervousness. His composure in the face of such a direct allegation was remarkable, almost unsettling.

"Why do you say that?" William's question came out smooth and controlled, his tone betraying nothing more than mild curiosity.

Charles Grey, caught off guard by William's nonchalance, responded curtly, "I just told you why."

William continued, his voice eerily calm, "But like you said over the phone, this was a murder. It's a deviation from the usual... incidents at Weston. Why would that happen?"

Grey was momentarily stunned by William's casual reference to "usual incidents," implying a disturbing pattern of events at the university. Regaining his composure, he shifted his approach.

"I'm not here to judge the school's practices," Grey said, his tone becoming more businesslike. "My job is to find out who did this and why. Do you have any insights?"

William's face remained an impenetrable mask as he replied, "I'm afraid I don't have the slightest clue."

This exchange hints at darker activities at Weston without explicitly stating their nature while highlighting William's unsettling calm and Grey's growing unease about the situation he's investigating.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Grey sighed, considering his next move. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke again. "I need you to provide me with housing on campus. I need to somehow blend in with the student life here."

William's reply came swiftly, a hint of calculation in his voice. "You can be one of my faculty's TAs. Maybe you'll find out more information about my faculty that way.”

The suggestion caught Grey off guard. He hadn't expected William to offer such a potentially revealing position. "That sounds... pretty efficient actually," he admitted, his mind already racing with the possibilities this role could provide.

Grey realized this arrangement could give him unprecedented access to the inner workings of Weston. As a TA, he would be able to observe both students and faculty up close, potentially uncovering leads that would otherwise remain hidden. 

However, he also recognized the double-edged nature of this offer. While it provided an excellent cover and access, it also placed him under William's direct supervision, potentially limiting his freedom to investigate independently.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                        Four years ago

Rachel Phantomhive's voice carried a note of reassurance as she addressed her son. "Ciel, your father and I are going on a business trip. We'll leave you with Tanaka, okay?" Her eyes searched her son's face, hoping for a sign of understanding or acceptance.

Ciel's response was curt, his demeanor radiating indifference. "Whatever, I'm going to my room," he muttered, already turning away from his mother. His posture was rigid, shoulders hunched slightly as if carrying an invisible weight.

As Ciel began to retreat, Rachel felt a pang of concern. Her voice softened, tinged with a mixture of worry and hope. "Ciel, I know your father gives you a hard time, but he loves you. You'll see."

Ciel was accustomed to his parents' frequent business trips, during which he would be left in the care of their loyal butler, Tanaka. However, this time, his mother's parting words struck an odd chord. The phrase "You'll see" lingered in Ciel's mind, its cryptic nature at odds with the typically mundane farewells he was used to. This subtle deviation from the norm left Ciel with an inexplicable sense of unease as if his mother's words held some hidden significance he couldn't quite grasp.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Vincent Phantomhive appeared beside Rachel, his arm encircling her waist. "Are we set to depart?" he asked, his very presence seeming to charge the air with tension. Ciel's gaze dropped to the floor, an instinctive response to his father's piercing stare.

"Ciel eyes up when I'm addressing you," Vincent commanded, his tone brooking no argument. Ciel reluctantly raised his head, meeting his father's stern gaze. "We'll be away for a few days," Vincent continued his voice firm. "As always, I expect exemplary behavior from you. Do not let me down."

Vincent's stern admonition was nothing out of the ordinary for Ciel. However, this time, there was something different in his father's gaze that caught Ciel's attention. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Ciel sensed an unfamiliar hesitation in Vincent's eyes. It was as if his father was grappling with unspoken words, something he wanted to convey but ultimately held back.

Unbeknownst to Ciel, this seemingly routine farewell would mark the final time he would lay eyes on his parents. 

Chapter V: END

Chapter Text

Chapter VI: Justice

The sharp rap of knuckles against wood jolted Ciel from his slumber. Consciousness returned slowly, his mind still foggy with sleep. He reached for his phone, the bright screen momentarily blinding him in the darkness of his room. The numbers glowed accusingly: 3:00 AM.

Ciel's brow furrowed in confusion and wariness. Who could possibly be at his door at this ungodly hour? The events of the past few days had left him on edge, and this unexpected nocturnal visitor only heightened his sense of unease.

Despite his better judgment urging caution, Ciel found himself pushing back his covers. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a shock against his bare feet. As he padded towards the door, he felt acutely aware of his vulnerability – alone, half-asleep, and potentially facing an unknown threat.

His hand hesitated for a moment on the doorknob, his mind racing through possibilities. Was it an emergency? A trap? Or something else entirely? Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Ciel turned the handle and cracked open the door, his single visible eye straining to identify the late-night intruder in the dimly lit hallway.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the door swung open, Ciel's eye widened in surprise. Standing before him, looking equally exhausted, was Maurice. For a moment, Ciel almost didn't recognize him. The familiar face was there, but something was different, off somehow.

Then it struck him. Maurice wasn't wearing makeup. The realization hit Ciel like a physical force. He had never seen Maurice without his usual cosmetic enhancements, and the contrast was startling. It dawned on him that Maurice must have been wearing makeup all this time, skillfully applied to the point where Ciel had never even noticed its presence.

Maurice's words, hushed and urgent, cut through the silence of the early morning. "Don't tell Alois that I came here, but I've been doing some thinking. And I've got something to tell you. Are you going to let me in?"

Ciel felt a jolt of surprise at Maurice's request. Don't tell Alois. The implied secrecy, the late-night visit, the uncharacteristic vulnerability - it all hinted at something significant. His mind raced with possibilities. What could Maurice possibly want to tell him that required such clandestine measures?

Despite his wariness, Ciel's curiosity won out. "Come in," he said, stepping aside to allow Maurice entry. As Maurice brushed past him, Ciel caught a whiff of anxiety rolling off the other boy in almost palpable waves.

Once inside, Maurice began to pace, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as if for protection. Ciel watched him closely, noting every nervous gesture, every flicker of emotion that crossed Maurice's unadorned face. The pacing, the self-comforting posture - it all spoke of deep unease, perhaps even fear.

Ciel remained silent, allowing the tension to build. He knew that sometimes, the best way to extract information was to simply wait, to let the pressure of silence do the work for him. His single visible eye never left Maurice, observing and analyzing, as he waited for whatever revelation had driven his unexpected visitor to his door in the dead of night.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The silence finally broke as Maurice turned to face Ciel, his voice taut with tension. "I want to strike a deal with you."

Ciel's eyebrow arched slightly, his interest piqued. "A deal?" he echoed, careful to keep his tone neutral despite the surge of anticipation he felt.

Maurice's next words confirmed Ciel's suspicions that something significant was afoot. "If I give you valuable information, will you leave me out of it when you tell the Chancellor?"

A cold satisfaction settled in Ciel's chest. There was an opportunity he couldn't have anticipated, served up on a silver platter. He crossed his arms, deliberately projecting an air of casual indifference. "We'll see," he replied, relishing the power he held in this moment.

He watched as Maurice's composure crumbled further, desperation seeping into his voice. "Mate, come on, I'm begging you. I can't afford for this to be on my reputation."

Ciel's mind raced, weighing his options. The information Maurice was offering could be crucial, but he was loath to make promises he might not keep. 

After a moment of calculated silence, Ciel finally relented. "Fine, what do you got,” he asked, his tone carefully measured.

Maurice's words came out in a rush as if he feared losing his nerve. "I wasn't the one who took advantage of her, I swear, I just recorded it. The footage is on this flash drive, and so are the saved emails of Alois getting the drugs."

As the implications of Maurice's confession sank in, Ciel felt a surge of white-hot anger course through him. His visible eye narrowed, his jaw clenching as he struggled to maintain his composure. The sheer cowardice of Maurice's actions disgusted him. This sniveling bastard had known about Alois's crime, had even recorded it, and was only coming forward now to save his own skin.

Swallowing back his revulsion, Ciel forced himself to focus on the task at hand. "Who did he get the drugs from?" he pressed, his voice tight with barely contained fury.

Maurice's response was frustratingly vague. "I don't know, it should all be on this flash drive."

Ciel's mind raced, processing this new information. The flash drive could be the key to unraveling the whole sordid affair, but he couldn't help but wonder what other horrors it might contain. As he stared at Maurice, Ciel felt a complex mix of emotions - disgust at the other boy's actions, anger at the injustice done to Elizabeth and Soma, and a grim satisfaction at finally having concrete evidence within his grasp.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Maurice's eyes, wide with desperation, searched Ciel's face. "So it's a deal, you won't tell anyone about me being involved?" The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of Maurice's future.

Ciel felt a surge of contempt at Maurice's plea for self-preservation. This boy, who had stood by and recorded such a heinous act, now sought to wash his hands clean of any responsibility. The hypocrisy of it all made Ciel's stomach churn.

Forcing his features into a semblance of a smile, one that didn't reach his eye, Ciel responded, "It's a deal." He took the flash drive from Maurice.

As Maurice left, the weight of the flash drive in Ciel's hand felt like both a triumph and a burden. He was acutely aware of Weston's strict rules, particularly the prohibition against students roaming the campus at this hour. Yet, the urgency to examine the evidence overrode his usual caution.

Ciel's mind raced, considering his options. He needed a computer to access the flash drive's contents, and his room lacked one. The library, with its array of public computers, seemed the only viable option. The risk was high, but so were the potential rewards.

With a deep breath, Ciel steeled himself for the challenge ahead. He slipped out of his room, his footsteps whisper-quiet in the deserted hallway. As he ventured into the night, every shadow seemed to conceal a potential threat.

The campus, usually bustling with activity, was now an eerie landscape of dark buildings and empty pathways. Ciel's senses were on high alert as he made his way toward the library, constantly scanning for any sign of the public safety officers on their nightly patrols.

At every corner, he paused, listening intently for approaching footsteps or the crackle of a radio. More than once, he had to duck behind bushes or press himself into the shadows of buildings to avoid detection. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat seeming to echo in the stillness of the night.

The consequences of being caught weighed heavily on Ciel's mind. It wouldn't just mean a reprimand or a mark on his record - it could potentially derail his entire investigation. But the promise of answers, of finally unraveling the mystery that had cost Soma his life and reputation, drove Ciel forward despite the risks.

As he neared the library, Ciel's determination only grew stronger. He was so close to uncovering the truth, and he wouldn't let Weston's rules or the threat of discovery stop him now. With cautious steps and watchful eyes, he pressed on, the flash drive clutched tightly in his hand like a lifeline.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Ciel approached the library's main entrance, his heart sank. The automatic doors, usually responsive to the slightest movement, stood stubbornly closed. Of course, he thought, frustration momentarily overtaking his caution. It wouldn't be that easy.

Undeterred, Ciel began to circle the building, his eye scanning for any potential point of entry. The thrill of the illicit nature of his actions mingled with the urgency of his mission, sharpening his senses. As he rounded the corner, a glimmer of hope caught his attention - a window on the first floor stood slightly ajar.

Without hesitation, Ciel made his way to the open window. He paused, listening intently for any sign of movement or alarm, before hoisting himself up and through the narrow opening. He landed inside with a soft thud, immediately pressing himself against the wall as he waited for his eye to adjust to the darkness.

The library, usually a bustling hub of activity, was now an eerily silent cavern of shadows. Ciel fumbled for his phone, his fingers finding the familiar shape in his pocket. The beam of his phone's flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing rows of shelves and, more importantly, the silhouettes of computer stations.

He chose a computer to use, turned it on, and plugged the flash drive into it. He looked into the files section on the computer, and sure enough, there was a singular video. These idiots were bold enough to take a video. 

With trembling fingers, Ciel clicked on the video file. As it began to play, he felt a wave of disgust wash over him. Maurice's face filled the frame, his features twisted into a cruel grin as he set up the camera. Ciel's eye narrowed in disbelief. Was Maurice truly so foolish as to incriminate himself so blatantly?

"I can't believe he's really doing this, this shit is hilarious," Maurice's voice rang out from the speakers, the glee in his tone unmistakable.

Ciel's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. The casual cruelty, the utter disregard for Elizabeth's well-being, ignited a fury within him that threatened to consume everything else. In that moment, any lingering doubt about Maurice's culpability evaporated.

A cold, hard resolve settled in Ciel's chest. Maurice's pathetic attempt at self-preservation, his plea for a deal, now seemed not just cowardly but utterly contemptible. The decision crystallized in Ciel's mind with perfect clarity: Maurice would face the consequences of his actions, just as Alois would.

As the video played on, Ciel's stomach churned with growing horror. The grainy footage showed Alois guiding a clearly intoxicated Elizabeth towards a bed. Her movements were uncoordinated, her gaze unfocused - unmistakable signs of severe impairment. Ciel's jaw clenched as he watched Alois casually remove his shirt, the blonde's actions betraying no hint of hesitation or remorse.

What followed was almost too much for Ciel to bear. His eye remained fixed on the screen, even as every fiber of his being screamed at him to look away. He forced himself to watch, to bear witness to the cruel violation of his cousin's trust and autonomy. Each second that ticked by felt like an eternity, the images searing themselves into his memory.

As the video finally came to an end, Ciel sat in stunned silence, his mind reeling from what he had just witnessed. The reality of what had been done to Elizabeth, the depth of Alois and Maurice's depravity, hit him with the force of a physical blow.

At that moment, something within Ciel shifted. The cold, analytical part of him that had been methodically gathering evidence was overwhelmed by a tide of raw, unfiltered rage. His hands shook, not with fear or shock, but with barely contained fury. The anger that coursed through him was unlike anything he had ever experienced - a white-hot, all-consuming wrath that threatened to obliterate everything in its path.

Ciel's visible eye blazed with an intensity that would have startled anyone who might have seen it. In the dim light of the library, surrounded by the silent witnesses of countless books, he made a silent vow. Alois and Maurice would pay for this. He would see justice done, no matter the cost. The game had changed, and Ciel was prepared to go to any lengths necessary to see these monsters face the consequences of their actions.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the shock of the video began to subside, a fragment of Maurice's earlier words suddenly resurfaced in Ciel's mind. Emails. Maurice had mentioned saved emails on the flash drive.

With renewed focus, Ciel navigated through the drive's contents, his heart racing as he discovered a folder of email correspondence. His eye scanned the messages, taking in the back-and-forth between Alois and an unfamiliar email address.

Curiosity piqued, Ciel carefully copied the unknown email address and pasted it into a search engine. As the results loaded, he felt a jolt of surprise. The link led him directly to Weston's official website, specifically to a faculty page.

Ciel's eye widened as he read the name associated with the email address. Lau. His English professor. The implications of this discovery sent his mind reeling. What connection could his seemingly laid-back English teacher possibly have to Alois's illicit activities?

Ciel's brow furrowed as the implications of this discovery sank in. A nagging question pushed its way to the forefront of his mind: Why on earth would Lau use his official school email for such clandestine communications?

The sheer recklessness of it struck Ciel as both baffling and alarming. For a faculty member to leave such an obvious digital trail seemed incredibly careless, especially given the illicit nature of the exchanges. Was Lau so confident in his position that he felt untouchable? Or was there something more at play here?

The revelation of Lau's involvement cast a new, sinister light on the entire situation. Ciel's initial plan to inform Chancellor William T. Spears suddenly seemed naïve and potentially dangerous. A chilling realization dawned on him: if a faculty member like Lau had been implicated in this sordid affair, the corruption might have run much deeper.

Ciel's mind raced, connecting the dots. William's position as Chancellor likely meant he was aware of Lau's illicit activities. This could explain why Soma wasn't expelled despite the serious allegations against him - William must have known the truth all along.

Ciel had to think of another way to expose Alois and Maurice.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The faculty room once again played host to William and his staff, the atmosphere tense with anticipation.

Ronald, his patience wearing thin, broke the silence. "What's the reason for this meeting?" His tone carried a hint of insolence that didn't escape William's notice.

William's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "I suggest you watch your tone, Knox," he warned, his voice cold and precise.

Realizing his misstep, Ronald quickly backpedaled. "My apologies, sir," he mumbled, his earlier bravado deflating.

Grell, unable to resist the drama, let out a theatrical gasp. "Oh my, someone's in hot water," she teased, waggling a finger at Ronald with childish glee.

"Oh, shut it," Ronald snapped, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Lau, ever the opportunist for a good joke, chimed in with mock solemnity. "Disrespecting our esteemed Chancellor? For shame," he tutted, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Ronald whirled to face him, exasperation clear in his voice. "Et tu, Lau?"

Meanwhile, Claude observed the exchange with detached boredom, his chin resting on his palm, elbow propped on the table.

William, growing weary of the theatrics, cleared his throat pointedly. "If we're quite finished, let's move on to the matter at hand," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to William as they awaited the true purpose of their gathering.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"We have a situation," William began, his voice taut with tension. "The school board has brought in a private investigator."

"They've done what?" Ronald exclaimed, his outburst echoing in the suddenly silent room.

At that moment, the door swung open, revealing a tardy Sebastian. William's eyes flashed with irritation, but he pressed on, determined to convey the gravity of the situation.

"As I was saying," William continued, his tone clipped, "before I was so unceremoniously interrupted, the board has hired a private investigator. His name is Charles Grey."

Sebastian glided to his seat, seemingly oblivious to the pointed stares from his colleagues. His nonchalance in the face of their collective concern was palpable.

Grell's gaze, in particular, lingered on Sebastian, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed desire. The man in black seemed oblivious to her attention, his focus elsewhere. With visible effort, Grell tore her eyes away, returning her attention to William.

William's chartreuse eyes swept across the assembled faculty. "I had anticipated some suspicion from the board, but this level of intervention was... unexpected. I had assumed the risk of involving outsiders in our affairs would deter such action. They've taken Grey into their confidence regarding our... unique situation."

The implications of William's words hung heavy in the air, each faculty member grappling with the potential consequences of this new development.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William's piercing gaze fixed on Sebastian. “I trust you're guiding young Phantomhive as discussed?" William added, the question carried the weight of an order rather than a mere inquiry.

Sebastian met William's stare, his expression inscrutable. "Indeed. Ciel is progressing... satisfactorily," he replied, his tone revealing nothing.

"Excellent," William nodded. "It's time we accelerate matters. “Oh, and momentarily it slipped my mind but,” he added, almost as an afterthought. "Charles Grey requested temporary accommodation at Weston to facilitate his investigation. I've granted his request."

"You did what?" Grell's voice cut through the tension, her shock evident in her outburst.

Ronald quickly followed his tone a mix of confusion and concern. "What could possibly have possessed you to allow that?"

William adjusted his glasses, his demeanor calm despite the mounting tension. "Refusing would have aroused suspicion. Besides, we can hardly deny a directive from the school board. "Sebastian, to maintain Grey's cover, he'll be posing as your teaching assistant. Keep an eye on him as well.”

A flicker of intrigue danced across Sebastian's features, his crimson eyes lighting up with barely concealed enthusiasm. "My, my, William. What an... intriguing assignment," he remarked, a hint of amusement coloring his voice.

Then, he continued, “Anyway, since our situation is more complicated now, I need the deaths to look more accidental. But make sure the meat doesn’t go bad.”

A mischievous grin spread across Lau's face. "Well, this certainly adds an intriguing twist to our little drama," he mused, his eyes glinting with amusement.

From across the table, Sebastian's gaze met Lau's. His customary polite smile slowly morphed into something more enigmatic - a knowing smirk that seemed to hold secrets of its own. 

Lau's confident demeanor wavered as he caught Sebastian's expression. His own smirk faded, replaced by a look of puzzlement.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles Grey approached the classroom he believed belonged to Sebastian Michaelis, clutching a notebook in anticipation of recording any noteworthy observations.

As he stepped inside, the room appeared empty save for one occupant - Sebastian Michaelis himself. 

The sight of Sebastian caught Charles off guard. The man before him defied his preconceived notions. Sebastian stood tall, his features strikingly handsome, every aspect of his appearance honed to an almost unnatural perfection. Charles found himself inexplicably irritated by this flawlessness, a sentiment he couldn't quite explain but felt keenly nonetheless.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's gaze lifted from the book in his hands, a polite smile forming on his lips. "Ah, you must be Charles Grey," he said, rising from his desk with fluid grace. "I'm Sebastian Michaelis." He extended his hand in greeting.

Charles eyed the outstretched hand with a hint of suspicion before accepting it with a firm shake. "Pleasure," he replied, his tone neutral.

Sebastian's eyes flicked to the notebook in Charles' grasp. "I see you've come prepared," he remarked, his voice tinged with amusement. "While I'm aware of your true purpose here, I must commend your dedication. Please, feel free to take notes as you see fit. Your role as my assistant should provide ample cover for such activities."

Charles settled into a chair adjacent to Sebastian's desk, opening his notebook. The pages were filled with observations and notes on key persons of interest in his investigation.

He began to write: 'Sebastian - enigmatic, unusually handsome, charming. Seems too perfect. Potential hidden agenda?'

Suddenly, Charles felt a presence behind him, warm breath tickling his ear. He nearly leaped from his seat, whirling around to find Sebastian peering over his shoulder.

"Interesting notes you're taking there," Sebastian remarked casually as if his sudden proximity was entirely normal.

Charles jerked away, his composure momentarily shattered. "Bloody hell! Are you trying to frighten me to death?" he exclaimed, his voice sharp with surprise and irritation.

Sebastian's response was a soft laugh, seemingly amused by Charles' reaction. "My apologies," he said, though his tone suggested little remorse. "I couldn't help myself. So, you find me handsome, do you?"

Charles felt a wave of relief wash over him, realizing Sebastian had apparently only caught that particular detail. Quickly regaining his composure, he retorted with a hint of sarcasm, "Don't flatter yourself."

Turning back to his notebook, Charles jotted down a new observation: 'Lack of personal space'.

As the appointed hour arrived, students began to stream into the classroom. Charles, ever observant, caught a subtle change in Sebastian's demeanor. The professor's eyes seemed to brighten almost imperceptibly. Intrigued, Charles traced Sebastian's line of sight, his own gaze coming to rest on a singular figure among the entering students - a young man sporting an eyepatch. The intensity of Sebastian's focus on this particular student piqued Charles' interest, silently noting this potentially significant detail for future reference.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He wrote below Sebastian's name, 'Interest in student with eyepatch?'

Sebastian's voice cut through the settling classroom noise. "Everyone, this is my new TA, Charles Grey. He'll be in charge of grading and other responsibilities." 

Charles offered a perfunctory wave to the class, his eyes scanning the room. To his surprise, he found himself locked in an intense stare with the eyepatch-wearing student, the boy's singular visible eye scrutinizing him with unexpected intensity.

The eyepatch student then averted his gaze, seemingly unwilling to maintain the staring contest with Charles. This small victory did not go unnoticed by the investigator, who made a mental note of the student's reluctance to hold eye contact.

Sebastian's voice cut through Charles' thoughts as he began the lesson. "Let's talk about a common emotion we all experience—anger. Anger is triggered when a person believes they've been wronged by someone, that something unfair or unjust happened."

Charles observed with interest as Sebastian's attention once again focused on the eyepatch-wearing student. The professor pointed directly at him, asking, "Ciel, when was a time you felt angry?"

The name 'Ciel' registered in Charles' mind, connecting it to the student of particular interest. He leaned forward slightly, curious to hear the response and to gauge any potential significance in Sebastian's choice to single out this specific student for such a personal question.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's visible eye widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at being singled out. After a moment's hesitation, he offered a carefully measured response. "When someone took something from me," he said, his tone deliberately neutral.

Charles noted the peculiar wording of Ciel's answer. The vagueness seemed calculated, and there was an underlying weight to his words that suggested he wasn't referring to a mere object. The response hinted at a deeper, more personal loss.

Sebastian nodded, his crimson eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression. "Indeed, the sense of being wronged," he mused, his voice carrying a note of understanding that seemed to extend beyond the surface of Ciel's words. "That's a potent catalyst for anger, isn't it?"

The exchange left Charles with the distinct impression that there was more to this interaction than met the eye, another piece in the puzzle of Weston's mysteries.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As Ciel exited Sebastian’s classroom, his mind was already shifting gears, anticipating his upcoming English class. However, a nagging thought persisted, disturbing his usual focus. The unexpected prescience of a new teaching assistant in Sebastian’s class had caught him off guard. This unforeseen development left Ciel pondering its potential significance. What could be the underlying reason for this sudden addition to Sebastian’s teaching staff?

Then, another thought bothered him, what was he going to do about his discovery of Lau allegedly selling the drugs to Alois? He needed some sort of explanation. He wanted to know why a professor would do something like this. All of this seemed a bit too suspicious.

As Ciel made his way to his next class, the sudden crackle of the school’s speakers interrupted his thoughts. William T Spears’ distinctive voice resonated through the hallways:

“Good afternoon students, we will be holding a memorial for Soma effective immediately,” It was unmistakably William. “Those who wish to attend should gather in the theatre, classes will be canceled for the remainder of the day,”

The announcement sparked a flurry of questions in Ciel’s mind. The timing seemed peculiar - why hold a memorial now, weeks after Soma’s death? The cancellation of classes also meant his planned confrontation with Lau would have to wait.

However, amidst these initial thoughts, a sudden realization struck Ciel. This gathering presented an unexpected opportunity - a chance to expose Alois and Maurice in front of the entire student body and faculty.

The prospect of finally bringing the truth to light sent a surge of anticipation through Ciel. What had initially seemed like an inconvenience now appeared to be the perfect stage for his revelation.

Ciel pivoted sharply, his steps now purposefully directed towards the theatre. His hand instinctively reached for his pocket, fingers tracing the outline of the flash drive - his key piece of evidence. Despite his unfamiliarity with the theatre's exact location, Ciel navigated the hallways with determination, relying on his vague recollection of the campus map.

Upon reaching his destination, Ciel found himself facing the theatre's imposing double doors. Through the glass panels, he surveyed the scene within. The memorial service was already underway, the room filled with a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces. He quickly identified key figures: the prefects, Elizabeth, Edward, Sebastian William, Lau, Grell, and - most crucially - Alois and Maurice.

The setup was ideal for his plan. Ciel's gaze locked onto the projector connected to a computer on the stage's podium. The large screen currently displayed a slideshow of Soma's life, from baby pictures to childhood photos.

As Ciel watched, two individuals who bore a striking resemblance to Soma took the stage - undoubtedly his parents. Ciel realized he needed to bide his time, waiting for them to conclude their tribute. Once they left the stage, he could seize his moment to reveal the truth.

Soma's parents stood on stage, their grief palpable. His mother's voice trembled as she spoke, barely containing her tears. "My baby boy was such a sensitive soul. Always happy, always smiling. I wish... I wish I could have done more for him."

As the emotional tribute continued, Ciel's gaze involuntarily shifted to Sebastian. The professor sat near the back, his face an inscrutable mask. Ciel blinked, unsure if he was imagining it, but Sebastian's expression seemed to border on... boredom. The incongruity of this reaction amidst the somber atmosphere struck Ciel as odd, but he quickly refocused on his task.

With deft movements, Ciel connected his phone to the projector via Bluetooth. He had transferred the damning evidence from the flash drive to his device, preparing for this moment.

As Soma's parents concluded their heart-wrenching speech and left the stage, William T. Spears approached the podium, reaching for the microphone. Ciel's heart raced - this was his opening, the moment he had been waiting for.

Then, Ciel played the video on his phone, mirroring the video that was being played on the projector. It was the same video Ciel saw. The crowd broke out into murmurs as the video played.

Ciel clenched his teeth as he watched it again, and then, he paused it as soon as it got to the graphic parts.

Then, he pushed the double doors open. Causing everyone to turn to look at him. Willam stared at him with an unreadable expression as he walked towards the stage. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Ciel stepped on the stage, snatching the microphone from William, whose eyebrow started to twitch in irritation.

Ciel breathed into the microphone, catching Alois’ warning look and Maurice’s look of apprehension. Ciel returned their looks with a cold glance. “The people in this video were Alois Trancy and Maurice Cole. They drugged my cousin, and took advantage of her, robbing her of her bodily autonomy. As you may know, they framed Soma instead, to save themselves from the consequences and in the process, lying to my cousin and making her believe that somebody else did it.”

Ciel then turned his attention to William, his voice sharp with accusation. "And you knew about this all along, didn't you? That's why you—"

Suddenly, as if by some convenient twist of fate, the microphone's sound cut out. Ciel's voice became inaudible to the stunned audience, his words lost in the tense silence of the theatre.

With swift, authoritative movement, William reclaimed the microphone from Ciel. His voice cut through the stunned silence of the theatre, sharp and commanding. "That is quite enough, Phantomhive. Remove yourself from the stage immediately," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Ciel met William's demand with a defiant glare before his gaze swept across the audience. His eye caught Elizabeth's shocked expression, her face a canvas of disbelief. A silent promise passed between them - this conversation was far from over.

Next to Elizabeth sat Edward, his features contorted with barely contained rage. The sight of his cousin's anger further fueled Ciel's resolve.

Finally, Ciel's gaze locked with Sebastian's. The professor's crimson eyes were already fixed upon him, their intensity almost palpable.

Chapter VI: END

Chapter Text

Chapter VII: The Moon

William occupied his chair behind the imposing desk in his office, with Claude standing stoically by his side. Before them stood Alois and Maurice, their contrasting demeanors palpable in the tense atmosphere of the room. 

Maurice’s discomfort was evident in his fidgeting hands and downcast eyes, his gaze fixed firmly on his own feet. In stark contrast, Alois made no attempt to conceal the anger etched across his features, his defiance radiating through his rigid posture. 

William observed the pair in silence, absently twirling a pen between his fingers as he studied their reactions. Beside them, Claude appeared utterly disinterested in the proceedings, his attention focused on checking his watch with an air of detached boredom.

“It seems your charade has finally come to an end,” William observed cooly, his tone tinged with a mocked sympathy. “I doubt even your wealthy families can extricate you from the predicament. Not that you have my pity, mind you.”

Alois’ face contorted in a rage as he began to retort, “You conniving bas-“

William’s sharp voice cut through the air, silencing Alois mid-sentence. “I beg your pardon?” He interjected, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps should I remind you that your precarious situation hangs by a thread - one I control.” A sneer played across his lips as he continued, “Besides, your decision to document your actions was short of foolish. While I promised you protection, even my influence has its limits.”

Maurice, sending the escalating tension, hurriedly interjected with a forced smile plastered across his face. “Please excuse him, sir,” he said, his voice strained with a false politeness. “He spoke without thinking,”

William nodded, a satisfied expression crossing his features. “That’s more like it,” he remarked, before turning his attention to Claude, who seemed to be doing his utmost to fade into the background. “Claude, what course of action would you recommend for these two?”

Claude’s response was terse and noncommittal, “Whatever you deem appropriate, William,” he stated flatly.

Redirecting his gaze to the two blonde students, William announced his decision, “For the time being, I believe an indefinite suspension is in order, at least until I determine a more permanent solution for your situation.”

Maurice's relief was palpable as he exhaled, "Thank you, sir." In contrast, Alois remained defiant, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his silence speaking volumes.

"You are both dismissed," William concluded, his tone brooking no argument. "I expect you to have vacated the campus by tomorrow morning."

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Alois and Maurice exited William's office, their footsteps echoing in the hallway as they walked in tense silence. It wasn't until they had put considerable distance between themselves and the office that Alois noticed a dramatic shift in Maurice's demeanor.

The carefully constructed facade of politeness Maurice had maintained in William's presence suddenly crumbled. His face contorted with unbridled rage as he snarled, "How dare he address me in such a manner? Is he oblivious to my status?"

Alois stopped abruptly, taken aback by the sudden outburst. He had long been aware of Maurice's duplicitous nature, recognizing that beneath the veneer of the dutiful, respectful student lurked a far more volatile personality. In William's office, Alois had sensed Maurice's anger simmering just below the surface, matching his own, despite the placating act Maurice had put on.

The stark contrast between Maurice's public and private personas never failed to unsettle Alois. He found it disconcerting, never quite sure which version of Maurice he would encounter at any given moment. This unpredictability added an element of danger to their relationship that Alois couldn't ignore.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A sudden realization struck Alois, prompting a flurry of questions in his mind. How had Ciel acquired that flash drive? Maurice was the only one privy to its existence. Had Maurice, in some inexplicable turn of events, handed it over to Ciel? If so, what could have motivated such an action? The depths of Maurice's unpredictability seemed unfathomable.

Exhaling heavily, Alois decided to confront the issue head-on. "Maurice," he began, his tone measured, "I need you to be truthful with me. Did you give Ciel the flash drive?"

Maurice's body language shifted instantly, his frame becoming rigid as his earlier anger simmered just beneath the surface. "What prompts you to ask such a question?" he countered, his voice laced with tension.

Alois met Maurice's gaze steadily. "You're the only one who could have possessed that flash drive in the first place," he stated, the implication hanging heavily in the air between them.

Maurice's hand moved unconsciously to his ear, tugging at it gently - a telltale gesture that Alois had long since identified as Maurice's involuntary tell when he was being dishonest. "What possible reason would I have for doing something like that?" Maurice asked, his voice a study in feigned innocence.

"That's precisely what I'm asking you," Alois replied, his tone flat and unconvinced.

Still fidgeting with his ear, Maurice offered a vague explanation. "Someone must have obtained it through other means," he suggested, his eyes darting away from Alois's scrutinizing gaze.

Alois recognized the lie for what it was, a wave of disappointment washing over him. However, feeling mentally drained from the day's events, he chose not to confront Maurice's deception directly. Instead, he simply responded with a noncommittal, "Okay," allowing the subject to drop.

      ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel's footsteps echoed in the empty hallways of Weston, his mind still reeling from the public confrontation with Alois and Maurice. The weight of his actions pressed heavily upon him, yet he found himself unable to focus solely on the aftermath of his revelation.

His thoughts drifted inevitably back to the reason he had come to Weston in the first place - his parents' disappearance. Try as he might, Ciel couldn't see how the current events tied into that mystery. Alois, despite his deplorable actions, seemed an unlikely connection to his parents' fate. Even if Alois was somehow involved in Soma's death, it felt tangential to Ciel's true purpose.

A nagging suspicion crept into Ciel's mind. Could this all be an elaborate distraction? Perhaps someone at Weston knew his true motives and was deliberately throwing obstacles in his path. The thought both intrigued and frustrated him.

Yet, Ciel couldn't bring himself to dismiss the assault on Elizabeth as mere misdirection. His desire for justice warred with his need to uncover the truth about his parents. He realized, with a mix of anger and resignation, that he might be playing right into his unknown adversary's hands.

Lost in his tumultuous thoughts, Ciel barely registered the sudden grip on his hand. He turned, startled, to find Elizabeth beside him, her green eyes filled with determination.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Before Ciel could respond, Edward appeared, panting heavily as he caught up to them. "We all need to talk," he managed between breaths, his expression a mix of exhaustion and urgency.

Ciel's visible eye narrowed slightly, a mixture of curiosity and wariness evident in his gaze. "What's this about?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the tension he could feel building in the air.

Elizabeth's response came in a rush, her words sharp and tinged with hurt. "You had no right," she said, her green eyes flashing with a combination of anger and something deeper - perhaps betrayal.

Edward's brow furrowed as he glanced at his sister, confusion clear on his features. "Lizzy, what are you talking about-" he began, but Elizabeth cut him off with a swift shake of her head.

She took a deep breath, her gaze fixed firmly on Ciel. "It wasn't your decision to make," she continued, her voice steadier now but no less intense. "Exposing what happened to me like that, in front of everyone. Did you even consider how that would affect me?"

Ciel felt a jolt of surprise at her words, a rare feeling of being caught off-guard. He opened his mouth to respond, to defend his actions, but Elizabeth wasn't finished.

"Elizabeth, I didn't mean to-" he started, only to be abruptly interrupted.

"It's Lizzy," she corrected him, her tone leaving no room for argument. The familiar childhood nickname now felt like a barrier between them, a reminder of the trust he might have just broken.

Ciel fell silent, the weight of Elizabeth's - Lizzy's - words sinking in. He realized, with a growing sense of unease, that in his pursuit of justice and truth, he might have overlooked the very person he was trying to protect.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel felt the words catch in his throat, the unfamiliar sensation of regret washing over him. "I'm sorry," he managed, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Elizabeth's response was swift and cutting, her green eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and disappointment. "Sorry doesn't fix what you've already done," she said, her tone flat and final.

Ciel watched, a rare feeling of helplessness creeping over him, as Elizabeth turned on her heel without another word. Her retreating figure seemed to carry with it the weight of his misjudgment, each step widening the rift between them.

Edward stood awkwardly to the side, his gaze darting between his cousin and his sister's departing form.

The silence that followed Elizabeth's departure was heavy, charged with unspoken tensions. It was Edward who finally broke it, his voice cutting through the stillness with unexpected vehemence.

"For what it's worth," he began, his tone a mixture of admiration and barely contained anger, "I think you did the right thing. Those bastards manipulated my sister, and they needed to be exposed." His fists clenched at his sides as he spoke, a physical manifestation of his suppressed rage.

Ciel, however, felt the weight of his actions pressing down on him. "No," he said softly, shaking his head. "Lizzy was right. I acted rashly, without considering the impact on her. At the very least, I should have warned her beforehand."

Edward's expression softened slightly at Ciel's admission. He placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder, his voice taking on a more reassuring tone. "Don't be too hard on yourself. Lizzy... she'll come around. Give her some time, and before you know it, she'll be back to her old self around you."

Ciel met Edward's gaze, his visible eye betraying a hint of skepticism. "If you say so," he replied, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty that was rare for him.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The darkness of night enveloped the campus, the autumn wind whipping mercilessly at Maurice's golden curls. He clutched a duffel bag tightly, its contents known only to him, as he moved with purpose through the shadows. 

Maurice was acutely aware of Weston's strict curfew, the rule forbidding students from wandering the grounds at night etched firmly in his mind. Yet, faced with impending suspension and an uncertain future, he felt a reckless urge to make his final night memorable. Rules, after all, seemed to matter little now.

His destination soon loomed before him - the campus indoor pool. 'A midnight swim couldn't hurt,' Maurice mused, a mischievous glint in his eye. But swimming wasn't his only goal for the night. A darker thought crossed his mind, 'And a little... gift for William would make me feel so much better.'

He set his duffel bag down, rummaging through its contents with practiced ease. His hand emerged clutching a spray can, its weight familiar and promising.

Maurice gave the can a vigorous shake, the soft rattle of the mixing ball inside barely audible over the whisper of the wind. He aimed at the pristine wall, squinting slightly in the dim light. The nearby streetlamps cast just enough of a glow for him to make out his canvas.

With a soft hiss, red paint erupted from the nozzle as Maurice depressed the button. He knew full well the school's strict stance against vandalism, which only fueled his desire to leave behind a lasting mark.

His arm moved with surprising grace, sweeping and curving as he worked. Periodically, he paused to shake the can, ensuring a consistent flow of paint. As he stepped back to survey his handiwork, a smirk played across his lips.

There, stark against the wall, was a crudely drawn but unmistakable phallic symbol. It was childish, certainly, but Maurice couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at its sheer audacity. Not content with just the image, he added a final touch, spraying the word 'Wanker' beside his vulgar masterpiece.

The indoor pool was normally off-limits at this hour, the locked doors posed no obstacle to Maurice. He smirked to himself as he produced a master key, pilfered without Edgar's knowledge from the unwitting prefect. 

As Maurice slipped inside, the familiar scent of chlorine enveloped him. The pool area suddenly illuminated as motion sensors detected his presence. Without hesitation, he began to undress, his clothes forming a careless pile next to his duffel bag. Bare skin prickling in the cool air, he dove into the water, the shock of cold a welcome jolt to his system.

Floating languidly, Maurice's thoughts turned dark. His mind churned with plans for revenge, focusing on how to make Ciel Phantomhive suffer. The memory of handing over the incriminating tape in a moment of weakness filled him with regret and renewed anger.

His vindictive musings were abruptly interrupted as the lights above began to flicker erratically. Maurice frowned, recalling that they were supposed to be motion-activated. Suddenly, darkness engulfed the pool area, eliciting a startled gasp from Maurice.

The silence was broken by the ominous sound of approaching footsteps, heavy and deliberate. Maurice's heart began to race, fear creeping into his voice as he called out, "Who's there?" He trod water, suddenly acutely aware of his vulnerability. The water that had been his playground now felt like a trap, leaving him exposed and unable to flee from the unseen presence.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Maurice cautiously drifted towards the pool's edge, his eyes straining in the darkness. The sudden cessation of footsteps brought a momentary wave of relief. "I'm hearing things," he muttered, trying to convince himself that his fears were unfounded.

His relief was short-lived. The footsteps resumed, closer now, unmistakably real. Heart pounding, Maurice spun around in the water, his gaze drawn to a pair of polished dress shoes at the pool's edge. Before he could raise his eyes to identify the intruder, a sudden, brutal impact exploded across his skull.

Pain flared briefly, then faded as quickly as it had come. Maurice's world tilted, his consciousness slipping away like water through cupped hands. His body went limp, face sinking beneath the pool's surface. The chlorinated water rushed into his nose and mouth as he floated, unmoving and unaware, in the silent darkness of the pool.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Maurice's consciousness returned slowly, his mind struggling to piece together his surroundings. He found himself on a cold, hard surface-tiled floor, he realized dimly. A searing pain radiated through his skull, but when he tried to reach up to investigate, he found his body unresponsive. Panic began to set in as he realized he couldn't feel anything below his neck.

The sound of approaching footsteps sent a jolt of fear through him. Those same polished dress shoes from earlier came into view, and Maurice's eyes widened in terror.

The figure knelt beside him, and Maurice's confusion deepened as he recognized the face. "Dr. Michaelis?" he managed to slur out, his mind reeling at the sight of the well-known, charming professor.

Sebastian's perfect features were arranged in a closed-eye smile that sent chills down Maurice's immobile spine. "I administered a paralytic drug," he explained calmly as if discussing the weather. "That's why you can't move."

"You... what?" Maurice's words came out thick and distorted.

Sebastian's smile never wavered as he produced a scalpel from seemingly nowhere. "The good news is, you won't feel what's coming," he said, his tone eerily cheerful. "The bad news? I'm the last person you'll ever see."

Maurice's eyes grew impossibly wider, fear and disbelief warring in his gaze. "W-what do you mean?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pulling on a pair of blue gloves, Sebastian's eyes glinted with a dark humor. "I'd tell you to hold still, but well... you don't really have a choice in the matter, do you?"

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Undertaker's voice broke the silence of the morgue as he dictated aloud, "Maurice Cole, Age 20, cause of death: drowning." His pen scratched across the autopsy report, recording the grim details.

On the cold metal table before him lay Maurice's lifeless form, his once-vibrant skin now an ashen pallor. The stark fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his still features, emphasizing the finality of his state.

Charles, arms folded tightly across his chest, voiced his skepticism. "Just drowning?" he questioned, his tone suggesting he expected more.

"There is a head injury," Undertaker conceded, his long fingers gesturing towards Maurice's skull. "But it's possible he sustained that by striking his head while swimming. That could have led to his drowning."

Charles' eyes narrowed. "No stitching?" he probed, recalling the peculiar detail from Soma's case.

Undertaker's hand ghosted over Maurice's abdomen, his touch delicate yet purposeful. After a moment, he nodded, confirming Charles' suspicion. "Indeed, and in the same location as before," he mused. "I didn't mention it earlier, but this is remarkably skillful suturing. Whoever performed this clearly possesses advanced medical knowledge."

Charles' brow furrowed as he processed the information, his mind racing to connect the dots. "So, we're looking at a scenario where the victim was drowned, then meticulously cut open, only to be stitched back up with surgical precision?" he mused aloud, his tone a mixture of disbelief and grim fascination.

He paused, recalling the briefing he'd received. "Weston informed me about their involvement in organ trafficking on the black market," he continued, his voice lowering as if sharing a dark secret. "But this... this doesn't fit that pattern. Our killer seems to be keeping the organs for themselves."

Charles' eyes met Undertaker's, a look of perplexed determination crossing his features. "The question is: for what purpose?" he pondered, his mind already spinning with possible motives. "What could drive someone to not only murder but to harvest organs without the intent to sell? What kind of twisted agenda are we dealing with here?"

Charles' brow furrowed deeper as he continued his analysis, his voice tinged with a mixture of confusion and growing suspicion. "What's more perplexing is the crime scene itself," he mused, almost to himself. "The indoor pool where we discovered Maurice's body was remarkably clean. He was lying face down in the pool. No visible blood stains, around the pool, which is odd considering the nature of the injuries."

He paused, his mind working through the implications. "In fact, the blood loss appears so minimal it borders on the impossible," Charles added, his tone reflecting his disbelief. 

Comparing the evidence mentally, he voiced his thoughts. "But when we look at this alongside Soma's death, there's a stark contrast. This seems... less elaborate, less meticulous. It's almost as if our perpetrator was deliberately aiming for an appearance of accidental death this time."

The realization sent a chill down Charles' spine. The idea that the killer might be adapting their methods, perhaps in response to increased scrutiny, added a new layer of complexity to an already baffling case. 

Suddenly, a change came over Undertaker. His previously somber demeanor shifted, a barely suppressed excitement bubbling to the surface. Soft chuckles escaped his lips, growing in intensity as if he could barely contain some private joke.

Charles turned to him, eyebrow raised, his hand coming to rest on his hip in a gesture of exasperation. "What's got you tittering like a schoolgirl?" he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and irritation.

Undertaker's hand flew to his mouth as if trying to physically contain his mirth. When he spoke, his voice came out muffled but charged with enthusiasm. "Oh, but we haven't even touched upon the most intriguing aspect yet."

"And what, pray tell, might that be?" Charles prompted, his patience wearing thin.

Undertaker's eyes gleamed with barely contained glee as he delivered his bombshell. "The toxicology report, my dear investigator. It reveals the presence of an unidentified drug in our victim's system at the time of death."

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                       Hours earlier

The new day dawned at Weston, finding Charles stirring in his solitary dorm room. As he surveyed the empty space around him, he felt a sense of satisfaction in his decision to request private accommodations. The absence of a roommate suited his need for privacy and focus on the investigation.

During yesterday's settling-in process, Charles had caught wind of William's announcement regarding a memorial service for Soma. More intriguingly, he'd overheard whispers among the students about how the ceremony had descended into chaos, courtesy of one Ciel Phantomhive. The eyepatch-wearing student had hijacked the event, unleashing some sort of shocking revelation upon the gathered crowd.

This tidbit of information had piqued Charles' interest, prompting him to delve deeper into Ciel's background. With William's permission, he'd gained access to the student directory and Ciel's confidential records, unearthing a trove of intriguing details.

He'd learned of Ciel's connection to a notable alumnus - his father, whose mysterious disappearance cast a long shadow. The timing of Soma's murder, occurring just a day after Ciel arrived at Weston, struck Charles as suspiciously convenient. He'd also uncovered the tangled web of relationships involving Ciel, Alois, and Maurice.

As Charles processed this information, a pattern began to emerge. In every significant event - be it Soma's death, the conflict with Alois and Maurice, or even his own father's vanishing - Ciel Phantomhive seemed to be the common thread. This realization left Charles with a growing sense that the eyepatch-wearing student was far more central to the mysteries of Weston than he had initially suspected.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles' train of thought was suddenly derailed. Perhaps his initial assumption about the killer being a faculty member had been misguided. The pieces of the puzzle were shifting, forming a new and unexpected picture.

His contemplation was abruptly interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Before Charles could even formulate a response, the door swung open, catching him off guard.

"What the hell-" Charles began, his words dying on his lips as he recognized the intruder.

William T. Spears stood in the doorway, his presence as commanding as ever. Without a preamble, he delivered his news, his tone eerily calm given the gravity of his words. "I'm afraid there's been another death on the campus," he announced, as casually as if he were commenting on the day's forecast.

Charles felt his eyes widen, a jolt of surprise coursing through him. "Another one?" he echoed, disbelief coloring his voice.

William simply nodded, his composure unwavering in the face of this grim development.

Charles got up without another word and went to get ready for the day as William walked out of his room. 

He looked in the mirror at his uneven choppy bangs and the tan trench coat that he had thrown on. He pulled black gloves on his hands.

He left his room, finding William waiting for him. “Let’s go,” he said.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles found himself at the indoor pool with William, the area cordoned off with vibrant yellow caution tape. He ducked under the barrier, holding it up for William to follow suit.

As they approached, Charles' attention was immediately drawn to the crude graffiti adorning the building's exterior. Despite the grim circumstances, he couldn't suppress a hint of amusement. "Are you serious?" he remarked, a note of disbelief in his voice.

William, ever composed, provided context. "It's probable that Maurice was responsible. A spray can was found in his duffel bag," he explained matter-of-factly.

Charles fought to stifle a laugh, connecting the dots. "Let me guess, he wasn't particularly pleased with you," he quipped, noting the twitch in William's eyebrow with barely concealed satisfaction.

Eager to move past the vandalism, William's voice took on a clipped tone. "Let's proceed inside," he suggested, attempting to redirect Charles' focus away from the embarrassing display.

As they entered the building, Charles couldn't help but marvel at the stark contrast between the juvenile graffiti outside and the grim scene that awaited them within. The levity of the moment quickly dissipated, replaced by the sobering reality of another death on campus.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As they entered the pool area, the gravity of the situation immediately set in. Maurice's body floated face down in the water, a stark and chilling sight. Charles' trained eye swept the scene, noting the duffel bag William had mentioned earlier, lying abandoned at the pool's edge.

Breaking the tense silence, Charles posed a question. "Who discovered the body?"

William's response was succinct. "An early-arriving student from the swim class."

Without further comment, Charles made his way to the edge of the pool nearest to Maurice's lifeless form. The reality of the situation weighed heavily upon him as he surveyed the grim scene. His voice, when he spoke, was tinged with a mix of professional detachment and underlying urgency.

"We need to extract him from the pool," Charles stated, his mind already racing through the necessary procedures and potential evidence they might glean from the body and its surroundings. “Come on, help me.”

Charles observed William's reaction, or rather, the lack thereof. He was well aware that this was likely not William's first encounter with death, given his involvement in certain 'business' activities. However, the Chancellor's utter detachment bordered on inhuman, sending a chill down Charles' spine.

Working together, they maneuvered Maurice's body out of the pool, the weight of his waterlogged form making the task a struggle. As they laid him on the tiled floor, Charles knelt to examine the corpse more closely.

His eyes were drawn to a gash on Maurice's head, the blood now dried. "Based on this injury," Charles mused aloud, "it appears he may have struck his head somewhere in the pool, lost consciousness, and subsequently drowned. It has all the hallmarks of a perfect accident."

William nodded, adjusting his glasses. "An accident, you say? That does seem plausible," he concurred, his chartreuse eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion.

Charles then turned his attention to the duffel bag. As William had mentioned, it contained spray cans, but there was an unexpected item - a key. This explained Maurice's access to the supposedly locked pool area.

Holding up the key, Charles questioned William. "Any idea where he might have obtained this?"

William's response was prompt. "It's a master key. Only I possess one, along with one of my trusted prefects."

"So he must have pilfered it from either you or the prefect," Charles deduced.

"It couldn't have been mine," William stated flatly. "I still have my key."

The implications of this discovery hung in the air, adding another layer of intrigue to the already complex case. Charles couldn't help but wonder about the identity of this 'trusted prefect' and how Maurice had managed to acquire such a valuable item.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian's voice was smooth as he explained, "I've consulted with William, and we've agreed to increase our sessions to twice a week."

Ciel's visible eye narrowed in confusion. "Why?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Sebastian leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes fixed on Ciel. "Your actions at the memorial, and how you revealed that information, warrant deeper exploration. I must admit, Ciel, I find you... intriguing."

Ciel's response was sharp, tinged with skepticism. "So you want more sessions out of self-interest? That seems rather unprofessional."

Sebastian's smile never wavered. "There's nothing unprofessional about caring for a patient," he countered smoothly.

Ciel fell silent, unsure how to respond. His eye traced Sebastian's features - the curve of his lips as he spoke, the flutter of his eyelashes, the casual way he tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. It wasn't until Sebastian met his gaze with another smile that Ciel realized he'd been staring.

Sebastian's voice broke the silence. "You claimed that Alois and Maurice deceived your cousin and committed an unsavory act. When you discovered this, how did it make you feel?"

Ciel felt a surge of familiar emotion - anger. He recalled the rage that had consumed him upon viewing the flash drive's contents. But then Elizabeth's words echoed in his mind, reminding him of his selfishness.

Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. "I... was angry. I probably shouldn't have done what I did, but I... couldn't help it."

Ciel felt Sebastian's gaze on him, urging him to continue. The professor's voice was soft yet insistent. "Expound on that feeling."

The words caught in Ciel's throat, the intensity of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I was so angry, so pissed, that I wanted to... I wanted to..." He trailed off, the full extent of his rage too raw, too dangerous to voice aloud.

"You wanted to?" Sebastian prompted, his tone gentle but probing.

Ciel felt a surge of panic. He'd already said too much and revealed too much of himself. He shook his head, desperately grasping for a change of subject. "Elizabeth told me that I didn't consider her feelings when I did that, and she was right," he blurted out, latching onto this safer topic.

As he spoke, Ciel could feel his walls rebuilding, the momentary vulnerability giving way to his usual guarded demeanor. He watched Sebastian carefully, searching for any reaction to his abrupt pivot.

Sebastian’s ruby eyes flickered with something, not going unnoticed by Ciel. It seemed like he was… disappointed. But why would he be disappointed?

"So your anger clouded your judgment, preventing you from considering Elizabeth's feelings. Is that correct?" Sebastian probed, his voice steady and analytical.

Ciel felt a twinge of discomfort at the accuracy of Sebastian's assessment. "Yes," he admitted reluctantly, the single word carrying the weight of his regret.

Sebastian's response was unexpected, his tone almost philosophical. "Anger is a natural emotion, Ciel. Sometimes, it's necessary to let it take control. Anger can be a protective force, steering you away from danger." He paused, his crimson eyes fixed on Ciel. "But it can also send you hurtling towards it. When that happens, you must seize control, rein it in."

Ciel found himself hanging on Sebastian's words, surprised by the depth of understanding they conveyed. The professor continued, his voice taking on a softer quality. "It's only after the anger subsides that you truly see the wake of destruction left behind."

The words resonated with Ciel, striking a chord he hadn't expected. He felt exposed as if Sebastian had peered directly into his soul and articulated feelings he himself struggled to understand. It was unsettling, yet oddly comforting to have his tumultuous emotions validated and explained so succinctly.

Suddenly, the shrill sound of Sebastian's timer pierced the air, signaling the end of their session. Ciel rose from his chair, his movements almost mechanical. As he did, he noticed Sebastian standing as well, and before he could react, the professor was mere inches away from him.

Ciel found himself backing up instinctively, the cool surface of the wall pressing against his back. Despite the compromising position, he remained rooted to the spot, words failing him. His eye was drawn to Sebastian's lips, now alarmingly close.

He caught a fleeting glance from Sebastian, the professor's gaze dropping momentarily to Ciel's own mouth. A subtle smirk played across Sebastian's features, sending an unfamiliar shiver down Ciel's spine.

"See you next session," Sebastian whispered, his breath warm against Ciel's ear. The proximity, the low timbre of Sebastian's voice, sent a rush of heat to Ciel's cheeks. He felt his face burning, a reaction he couldn't control or understand.

As quickly as it had begun, the moment ended. Sebastian stepped back, turning to leave the room. Ciel remained pressed against the wall, his heart racing, his mind reeling. He was left with a tumult of emotions he couldn't name, a sensation both thrilling and terrifying in its unfamiliarity.

Long after Sebastian had gone, Ciel stood there, grappling with the implications of what had just transpired and the confusing feelings it had stirred within him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel was still trying to steady his racing heart and collect his scattered thoughts when the door abruptly swung open. He instinctively straightened, his visible eye widening slightly as he recognized the figure in the doorway - Charles Grey, Sebastian's teaching assistant.

"Ciel Phantomhive," Charles said, his tone casual yet somehow laden with unspoken intent. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced." A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes played across his lips as he continued, "Care for a chat?"

Chapter VII: END

Chapter Text

Chapter VIII: Wheel Of Fortune

As October arrived, bringing with it a chill in the air, Ciel adapted his wardrobe to include hoodies and warmer clothing. A week had passed since Maurice's death, the news of which had sent shockwaves through the campus.

William's explanation - an unfortunate drowning accident at the indoor pool - rang hollow in Ciel's ears. He couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that there was more to the story. The timing was too convenient, too neat. Maurice dies right after being exposed? The coincidence was too glaring to ignore.

As Ciel pulled on a thick hoodie, his mind churned with unanswered questions. What were the odds of Maurice's demise being a mere accident, happening so soon after Ciel had laid bare his and Alois's misdeeds to the entire school? It felt like another piece in the complex puzzle of Weston, another shadow to unravel. The weight of his suspicions settled on his shoulders, as heavy as the autumn chill in the air.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

While Ciel felt that Maurice had, in some ways, deserved his fate, he was disturbed by the dark corner of his mind that wished to have witnessed Maurice's suffering. He quickly suppressed these thoughts, recognizing them as monstrous and refusing to lower himself to the level of the killer.

Alois had vanished from Weston in the wake of Ciel's public revelation. Rumors circulated that he might have been expelled, a prospect that Ciel met with grim satisfaction.

Heeding Sebastian's advice about controlling his anger, Ciel had abandoned his plan to confront Lau. Instead, he refocused on his original purpose at Weston: uncovering the truth about his parents' disappearance. He realized that the complicated situation involving Alois, Maurice, and Elizabeth was no longer his responsibility to resolve. It was time to let Elizabeth handle her own affairs while he concentrated on his primary mission.

The prefects had been conspicuously absent since the memorial service. This brought Gregory to mind, and Ciel found himself wondering about the progress of their shared project.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ 

Ciel meandered through the campus, observing the autumn leaves as they turned orange and drifted from the trees. He found a bench and sat down, his mind adrift in thought.

Suddenly, he felt the presence of someone joining him. Glancing over, he recognized Charles Grey, which instantly brought to mind their encounter from the previous week.

            ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                                 1 Week Ago

"Ciel Phantomhive," Charles said, his tone casual yet somehow laden with unspoken intent. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced." A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes played across his lips as he continued, "Care for a chat?"

"Alright," Ciel had responded, a note of caution in his voice.

"You've become quite the talk of the campus," Charles had remarked.

"Have I?" Ciel had replied, feigning ignorance.

"Well, between your recent dramatic revelation and your father's alumni status here, you're a hot topic," Charles had explained. "It must have been challenging for you, with your father's disappearance and all. And then there's the matter of the substantial inheritance he left behind - his wealth, his company. You seem to be the sole heir to it all."

"What exactly are you getting at?" Ciel had asked, his visible eye narrowing with suspicion.

"I think you're well aware of what I'm implying," Charles had responded cryptically.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel felt a surge of indignation course through him. How could this virtual stranger have the audacity to insinuate his involvement in his parents' disappearance? The very notion was preposterous. He had never even harbored any desire to take over his father's company, despite the expectations thrust upon him since birth.

His father had always sensed Ciel's reluctance, which had been the root of their strained relationship and the constant pressure he'd faced. The money held little allure for Ciel as well. Besides, he had only been sixteen when his parents vanished - barely more than a child. The implication that he could have orchestrated such a thing at that age was as insulting as it was absurd.

He could feel his jaw clenching, teeth grinding together as he fought to keep his rising anger in check. This man knew nothing about him, about the pain he'd endured, about the real reasons he was at Weston. Yet here he was, cavalierly tossing out these outrageous theories as if they were fact.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel steeled himself, inhaling deeply before closing the distance between himself and Charles. Their eyes met Charles' smug expression a stark contrast to Ciel's irritated glare. With a voice barely above a whisper, Ciel leaned in close to Charles' ear.

"Charles, was it?" he began, his tone low and dangerous. "I'd advise you to tread carefully when making such unfounded accusations. They have a way of backfiring—quite painfully." The last words were delivered with a menacing hiss, his breath hot against Charles' ear.

Charles' self-assured expression puzzled Ciel. It was as if the man knew something Ciel didn't or had obtained some piece of information that gave him an upper hand. The realization made Ciel's stomach tighten with unease. He struggled to maintain his composure, not wanting to let Charles see how much his reaction had thrown him off balance.

Ciel's mind raced, trying to decipher the meaning behind Charles' smug demeanor. What could this man possibly know that would make him so confident in the face of Ciel's threat? 

Without waiting for a response, Ciel abruptly pulled away. He turned on his heel and stormed out of Sebastian's office, leaving a tense silence in his wake. The sharp click of the door closing behind him punctuated his dramatic exit, a final expression of his barely contained fury.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

            ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                               Present Time

Since that confrontation, Ciel had avoided direct interaction with Charles. Their encounters were limited to brief moments in class, where Ciel would fix the smug man with a cold glare. But now, here was Charles, brazenly invading Ciel's personal space on the bench.

"What's your purpose here?" Ciel demanded, his tone sharp with irritation.

Charles' response was infuriatingly casual. "Am I not allowed to enjoy the fresh air?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned innocence. As he spoke, he stretched his arm out, draping it across Ciel's shoulders in an unwelcome gesture of familiarity.

Ciel felt a wave of revulsion as he peeled Charles' arm off his shoulder. He stood up abruptly, eager to put distance between himself and this intrusive man. "Fine, I'm leaving then," he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.

He had barely taken a step when Charles' words froze him in place. "I apologize for my accusation. I wanted to see how you’d react. You seem to be on the side of justice and this school is far from it."

Ciel's mind reeled at this sudden shift. What game was Charles playing now? He turned his head, his visible eye narrowing as he regarded Charles with suspicion. "What?" he asked, unable to keep the confusion from his voice.

Charles' explanation only deepened Ciel's bewilderment . A private investigator? Hired by the school board? The pieces weren't fitting together in Ciel's mind. He found himself asking, "A private investigator? Why would the school hire you instead of a detective?"

Charles' cryptic response - "I'm sure you can imagine why" - sent Ciel's thoughts racing. What did Charles know about Weston that he didn't? And more importantly, what did this mean for his own investigation into his parents' disappearance?

Ciel's brow furrowed, his mind struggling to keep up with the sudden shift in conversation. "What are you on about-" he began, but Charles cut him off mid-sentence.

"Your true purpose for coming to Weston was to investigate your parents' disappearance, wasn't it?" Charles' words hit Ciel like a physical blow. How could he possibly know that?

Before Ciel could formulate a response, Charles continued, his voice low and weighted with implications. "What if I told you that your parents aren't unique in their connection to Weston and subsequent vanishing?"

Ciel felt his heart rate quicken, a mixture of shock and intense curiosity coursing through him. The possibility that there might be other disappearances linked to Weston had never occurred to him. If true, this information could be the key to unraveling the mystery he'd been chasing. Yet, a part of him remained wary. Could he trust Charles? Or was this another ploy to manipulate him? 

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                         Three days ago

As Charles pored over the student directory William had granted him access to, his investigative instincts kicked in. Ciel's file wasn't the only one that caught his attention.

Curiosity piqued, he found himself drawn to the records of students listed under 'academic leave'. Among these, two names stood out: Derrick Arden and Joanne Harcourt. Both hailed from influential families, a detail that set off alarm bells in Charles' mind.

Determined to uncover more, he began discreetly inquiring about these students around campus. The reactions he received were telling. Mentioning Derrick and Joanne's names seemed to elicit an almost visceral response as if he'd uttered some forbidden incantation.

The stories he gathered were inconsistent at best. Some students claimed the pair were simply on an extended vacation, while others insisted they hadn't been seen for a least a couple of years. None of these accounts aligned with the 'academic leave' status officially recorded in the directory.

Charles Grey sat alone in his temporary quarters, the weight of his recent discoveries pressing heavily upon him. He had been aware that the disappearances at Weston were connected to the school's shady dealings, but the true scope of the situation had blindsided him. Beyond the two students that had initially caught his attention, he had uncovered evidence of over thirty students who had gone missing in the past four years alone.

The sheer number made his stomach churn. This wasn't just a school with a few skeletons in its closet; Weston was a well-oiled machine of evil. Charles found himself questioning his own motivations. The prospect of money, which had initially drawn him to this case, was rapidly losing its allure in the face of such widespread corruption and suffering.

What unsettled him most was the school board's apparent belief that they were above the law. Their casual approach to these disappearances and deaths spoke of a deeply entrenched sense of impunity. The realization sent a chill down Charles' spine.

As he grappled with the enormity of the situation, Charles came to a decision. He couldn't simply walk away from this. He had to expose Weston for what it truly was – a den of monsters masquerading as an educational institution. But to do so, he would need to play a dangerous game of double agent. He would continue his official investigation into the murders while simultaneously digging deeper into the school's dark underbelly.

His thoughts turned to Ciel Phantomhive. The boy seemed to be at the center of it all – connected to Soma's death, his own father's disappearance, and possibly even Maurice's recent demise. Charles couldn't help but wonder: was this all merely a coincidence, or was it proof of Ciel's involvement in Weston's sinister activities?

With a slight smirk, Charles pulled out the flash drive he had pickpocketed from Ciel during their encounter in Sebastian's office. His provocative words had served their purpose, allowing him to get close enough to swipe the device unnoticed. Now, he hoped, this small piece of technology might hold the key to unraveling the mysteries of Weston.

As he plugged the flash drive into his laptop, Charles felt a mix of anticipation and dread. Whatever information it contained, he was certain it would only be the tip of the iceberg. But it was a start – a first step towards exposing the truth and bringing down the corrupt institution that was Weston University.

Charles Grey sat at his desk, the stolen flash drive now plugged into his laptop. He hadn't been present at the memorial where Ciel had apparently shown some damning video, but his instincts had told him that the boy must have had physical evidence. His hunch had paid off – the flash drive was exactly what he'd been looking for.

Opening the video files folder, Charles found what he was searching for. The footage began with Maurice Cole adjusting the camera, his face filled with cruel amusement. Alois Trancy appeared beside him, both of them laughing as they manhandled a clearly intoxicated blonde girl onto a bed. Charles' jaw clenched as he realized this must be Elizabeth Midford, Ciel's cousin and the victim of their assault.

As he watched, Charles couldn't suppress his disgust. The sheer audacity of Maurice and Alois to record such an incriminating act left him stunned. Did these trust fund brats truly believe they were so untouchable, so above the law, that they could document their crimes without consequence? The arrogance was as staggering as it was sickening.

Assuming he'd seen all the evidence, Charles moved to close the video. However, an accidental click opened a separate folder, revealing an unexpected email chain. Curiosity piqued, he leaned in, eyes narrowing as he scanned the correspondence. It appeared to be a conversation between Alois and another party, discussing what could only be described as drug dealing. What caught Charles' attention was the other party's email – it looked like an official school address.

Following his investigative instincts, Charles quickly looked up the email address. The search led him straight to Weston's website, specifically the faculty directory. There, matching the email perfectly, was a name: Dr. Lau.

Charles leaned back in his chair, mind racing. He wasn't familiar with this Dr. Lau, but it was clear they were a Weston faculty member. A professor supplying students with drugs? The implications were staggering.

As he processed this new information, a troubling thought occurred to Charles. The evidence on this flash drive seemed almost too perfect, too neatly packaged. It was as if someone had intentionally curated this information for a specific recipient to find.

Ciel Phantomhive. The realization hit Charles like a thunderbolt. Someone wanted Ciel to uncover this information. But why? Could this be connected to the killer? And what was their apparent fascination with Ciel?

Charles rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. This case was becoming more complex by the minute. One thing was certain – Ciel Phantomhive was at the center of it all, whether he knew it or not. As Charles stared at the incriminating emails on his screen, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just stumbled upon a piece of a much larger, more dangerous puzzle.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                           Present Time

Ciel couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had started, but ever since that intense moment in Sebastian's office, he had become hyper-aware of the professor's presence. During class, he found himself tensing whenever Sebastian moved about the room. Each time the man passed by his desk, Ciel's skin would prickle with anticipation.

More often than not, Sebastian's hand would "accidentally" brush against Ciel's arm, the brief contact sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. Ciel hated how his heart would stutter at these fleeting touches, betraying a reaction he neither understood nor welcomed.

The private sessions were even worse. Sebastian seemed to have no concept of personal space, always managing to position himself unnecessarily close to Ciel. Sometimes, their knees would bump under the desk, or Sebastian's foot would come to rest atop Ciel's own. Each time, the professor would offer a smooth apology, his crimson eyes glinting with what Ciel could only interpret as amusement.

Ciel found himself constantly on edge, his nerves frayed by the constant, subtle assault on his senses. He couldn't fathom why these small gestures affected him so profoundly, or why Sebastian seemed intent on provoking these reactions. The uncertainty, the confusion, the unwanted physical responses - it was all starting to drive Ciel to the brink of madness.

He longed to confront Sebastian, to demand an explanation for this bizarre behavior. But each time he mustered the courage, the words would die in his throat, strangled by a mix of embarrassment and an emotion he refused to name. And so, Ciel remained silent, trapped in a maddening dance of fleeting touches and racing heartbeats, unsure of the steps or the tune.

Ciel couldn't quite pin down his feelings about Charles Grey. The man's sporadic presence as a TA struck him as odd, but he found himself quietly relieved by Grey's frequent absences. Something in Ciel's gut told him that the sharp-eyed investigator might pick up on the strange undercurrent between him and Sebastian, a scrutiny Ciel was keen to avoid.

Grey's proposition weighed heavily on Ciel's mind. The offer to help find his parents in exchange for assistance with the murder investigation had initially seemed like a distraction from his true purpose at Weston. Yet, the mention of two missing students, followed by the staggering revelation of thirty more, had shifted the scales. The scope of the mystery had expanded far beyond what Ciel had imagined, and he couldn't ignore the potential connection to his parents' disappearance.

After much internal debate, Ciel had agreed to Grey's terms.

Now, as he made his way to another session with Sebastian, Ciel felt the familiar mix of anticipation and dread building in his chest. He steeled himself for the subtle teasing, the feather-light touches that sent his pulse racing against his will.

Ciel found himself outside Sebastian's office, his hand hovering uncertainly before the door. The muffled sounds of jazz music filtered through the wood, an unexpected detail that piqued his curiosity. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he rapped his knuckles against the door, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet hallway.

As the door swung open, Ciel's eye widened slightly in surprise. Sebastian stood before him, but not as Ciel had ever seen him before. The professor's usually artfully disheveled raven hair was neatly combed, lending him an air of polished sophistication that Ciel found oddly disconcerting. Even more jarring was Sebastian's attire - gone was the customary black ensemble, replaced by a cream cardigan that looked almost comically out of place on the man's tall frame.

Ciel felt his brow furrow as he took in the unexpected sight. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but something about this departure from Sebastian's usual appearance set him on edge. It was as if the rules of their usual dynamic had suddenly shifted without warning.

"Don't mind my attire," Sebastian's smooth voice cut through Ciel's thoughts, accompanied by that infuriatingly enigmatic smile. "It's simply a special occasion today."

Ciel's mind raced at these words. A special occasion? What could that possibly mean in the context of their sessions? He felt a mix of curiosity and wariness as he asked, "Special occasion?"

Ciel's question about the 'special occasion' hung in the air, unanswered. Sebastian's swift deflection didn't go unnoticed, but before Ciel could press further, he found himself being ushered into the office with a smooth, "Come in."

Ciel walked into the room and sat down on a chair across from Sebastian’s desk. Sebastian closed the door behind him and sat across from Ciel, behind his desk. 

Ciel's question about the 'special occasion' hung in the air, unanswered. Sebastian's swift deflection didn't go unnoticed, but before Ciel could press further, he found himself being ushered into the office with a smooth, "Come in."

The familiar surroundings of Sebastian's office did little to ease the strange tension Ciel felt. He settled into the chair across from Sebastian's desk, acutely aware of the professor's movements as he closed the door and took his own seat. The soft click of the door latch seemed to echo in Ciel's ears, emphasizing the sudden intimacy of their setting.

"Ciel, do you consider me a friend?"

The question hit Ciel like a physical blow, catching him completely off-guard. He blinked, his mind struggling to process the unexpected inquiry. "A... friend?" he repeated, the word feeling foreign on his tongue.

Friends. It was a concept Ciel had long since dismissed from his life, a luxury he couldn't afford in his pursuit of the truth. The idea of Sebastian, his professor and supposed therapist, being his friend seemed absurd, almost laughable. Yet, there was nothing humorous in Sebastian's expression as he awaited an answer.

Before Ciel could formulate a response, Sebastian continued, his voice smooth and persuasive. "Friends are important in life, they help you get by, and since you seem to fall short on friends, I thought we could be friends."

Ciel felt a mix of emotions churning inside him - confusion, wariness, and something else he couldn't quite name. The offer of friendship from Sebastian felt like a trap, a deviation from their established roles that threatened to upend the delicate balance Ciel had been maintaining.

"Friendship is... unfamiliar territory for me," Ciel confessed.

Sebastian replied without hesitation, "Then allow me to guide you."

As much as the touch puzzled him, Ciel's mind raced with possibilities. Sebastian wasn't to be trusted, of course - no one at Weston was. But the man's connection to William, who claimed a business partnership with Ciel's father, couldn't be ignored. A plan began to form in Ciel's mind. Perhaps keeping Sebastian closer could be a means to an end, a way to unravel the mystery surrounding William and, by extension, his father's disappearance.

With this new strategy taking shape, Ciel made his decision. He met Sebastian's gaze, forcing a note of warmth into his voice that he didn't truly feel. "Let's be friends then," he said, the words tasting foreign on his tongue.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Lawrence had never expected Ciel, of all people, to uncover such damning evidence against Alois and Maurice. It hit him like a physical blow. A twinge of guilt gnawed at him as he recalled how he had dismissed Ciel's suspicions. He had thought he knew Alois and Maurice well, but clearly, he had been blind to their true natures.

A part of him longed to approach Ciel and offer an apology, to admit his misjudgment. But Lawrence's pride reared its head, silencing that impulse before it could take root. He couldn't bring himself to concede that he had been wrong, especially not to a first-year student.

Lawrence's initial impression of Ciel flashed through his mind - a naive freshman, oblivious to Weston's rules and seemingly intent on stirring up trouble. He had been so certain of that assessment, so confident in his own judgment.

Now, as he watched Ciel from across the dining hall, Lawrence found himself reassessing. While he still believed Ciel had much to learn about the ways of Weston, he couldn't deny that there was more to this eyepatch-wearing student than he had initially given him credit for. The realization was as unsettling as it was grudgingly admirable.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Lawrence found himself alone at the dinner table with Cheslock, the absence of the other prefects, Alois, and Maurice creating a palpable void. The usual chatter and banter were replaced by an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch endlessly.

As he picked at his meal, Lawrence couldn't help but steal glances at Cheslock. The usually boisterous student was uncharacteristically subdued, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on his barely touched food. Lawrence felt a twinge of empathy; after all, Cheslock had considered Alois and Maurice friends. To discover their betrayal and lies must have been a crushing blow.

Lawrence wracked his brain for something to say, some words of comfort or distraction. But what could he possibly offer? He and Cheslock were as different as night and day, their interests and personalities rarely aligning. The realization of how little he knew about consoling others struck Lawrence, leaving him feeling oddly inadequate.

In the end, Lawrence resigned himself to the silence. He focused on his meal, the occasional clink of cutlery against plates the only sound between them. As much as he wished he could ease Cheslock's obvious distress, Lawrence found himself at a loss, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between them.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The silence finally became too much for Lawrence. With a resigned sigh, he gathered his half-eaten meal and stood, the scrape of his chair against the floor seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet dining hall. He disposed of his plate, his appetite long gone, and found his feet carrying him toward a familiar figure.

Ciel sat alone at a nearby table, his solitary presence a stark contrast to the usual bustle of the dining hall. Lawrence observed him for a moment, noting how the eyepatch-wearing student seemed lost in thought, mechanically bringing food to his mouth. The sight stirred something in Lawrence - a mix of curiosity, lingering guilt, and a strange sense of kinship in their shared solitude.

Before he could second-guess himself, Lawrence found himself approaching Ciel's table. Each step felt weighted with unspoken words and shifting perceptions. As he drew closer, Lawrence steeled himself for the conversation ahead, unsure of how Ciel would react to his presence but knowing that something needed to be said.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Lawrence lowered himself into the seat across from Ciel, he felt the weight of the younger student's gaze upon him. Ciel's visible eye narrowed slightly, a mixture of curiosity and irritation flickering across his features. "What do you want?" The question hung in the air, sharp and direct.

Lawrence swallowed hard, the words he'd rehearsed in his mind suddenly feeling inadequate. But he pressed on, forcing himself to meet Ciel's gaze. "I'm sorry," he said, the admission tasting foreign on his tongue.

"What?" Ciel's response was immediate, his tone colored with disbelief. It was clear he hadn't expected this from Lawrence.

Taking a deep breath, Lawrence continued each word carefully measured. "I was out of line. You were right all along." The admission stung his pride, but he pushed through. "Alois and Maurice... they were lying to all of us, and we didn't even realize it." 

As he spoke, Lawrence felt a strange mix of relief and vulnerability. He wasn't used to admitting his mistakes, especially not to a first-year student. But as he watched Ciel's expression shift from skepticism to surprise, Lawrence knew he had made the right choice in admitting his fault.

Lawrence braced himself for Ciel's response, half-expecting a cutting remark or a smug 'I told you so.' But to his surprise, Ciel merely sighed, his expression softening slightly. 

"You didn't know," Ciel said, his tone more resigned than accusatory. "Elizabeth was under false pretenses too, made to believe someone else did it."

The unexpected understanding in Ciel's words caught Lawrence off guard. He felt a sudden rush of relief as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Tentatively, he ventured, "We're good then?"

"Yeah," Ciel replied, the word hanging awkwardly between them.

Lawrence nodded, unsure how to proceed. This reconciliation, if he could call it that, felt strange and unfamiliar. He wasn't used to bridging gaps or mending fences, especially not with underclassmen. Yet, as he sat there across from Ciel, he felt an odd sense of respect growing for the younger student. Perhaps there was more to learn from this situation than he had initially thought.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Lawrence's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the dining hall's double doors swinging open. He turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he recognized the tall, imposing figure of Claude Faustus. The Vice Chancellor's presence in the dining hall was unprecedented, and Lawrence felt a sudden tension settle over him.

As Claude approached their table, Lawrence found himself straightening involuntarily, years of ingrained respect for authority taking over. He studied the Vice Chancellor's face, searching for any hint of emotion or intent, but as always, Claude's expression remained utterly impassive. It reminded Lawrence why he had always thought of Claude and William as almost robotic in their demeanor.

The Vice Chancellor's unexpected appearance sent Lawrence's mind racing. Why was Claude here? Had something happened? As the man drew closer to their table, Lawrence felt a mix of curiosity and apprehension building within him. 

"Lawrence, I've been looking for you," Claude's monotone voice cut through the air, his gaze fixed solely on Lawrence as if Ciel wasn't even there.

Lawrence felt a jolt of surprise at being directly addressed. "You have?" he asked, unable to keep a hint of confusion from his voice. It was rare for the Vice Chancellor to seek out students personally, even prefects.

"I've called a meeting for the prefects," Claude continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "As captain, you're expected to be there. Come on."

The abruptness of the summons caught Lawrence off guard. He glanced briefly at Ciel, noting the younger student's curious expression, before returning his attention to Claude.

"Alright," Lawrence replied, the word coming out more hesitant than he'd intended. He felt oddly reluctant to leave, as if he were abandoning a conversation half-finished. Turning back to Ciel, he found himself searching for something more to say, some way to acknowledge the shift in their relationship.

"I guess I'll see you around?" The words felt inadequate as soon as they left his mouth, too casual for the weight of their recent exchange, yet too familiar for their usual dynamic.

Ciel's response was a simple nod, his expression unreadable. Lawrence found himself studying that single visible eye, trying to discern any hint of the younger student's thoughts. But Ciel remained as enigmatic as ever.

As Lawrence rose to follow Claude, he felt a strange mix of emotions - the lingering warmth of reconciliation, the sharp edge of curiosity about the impending meeting, and an unexpected twinge of regret at leaving things with Ciel so abruptly.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel's footsteps echoed in the eerily quiet hallways as he made his way to Charles' room. The darkness seemed to press in around him, a reminder of the late hour and the clandestine nature of this meeting. He had agreed to this rendezvous after dinner, a chance to pool their knowledge about Weston's mysteries.

As he approached Charles' door, Ciel felt a mixture of anticipation and wariness. He raised his hand and knocked lightly, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the silence. The door opened almost immediately as if Charles had been waiting just on the other side.

Ciel found himself face to face with the investigator, who regarded him through the narrow opening with an unreadable expression. Without a word, Charles stepped back, pulling the door wide open. The silent invitation hung in the air between them.

As Ciel stepped into the room, his eye swept over his surroundings, taking in every detail. Charles' living space was spartanly furnished, devoid of personal touches - a stark contrast to the lived-in chaos of most student dorms. The neatly arranged furniture and the absence of a flatmate's belongings spoke volumes about Charles' solitary nature. The soft orange glow from the ceiling light cast long shadows, adding to the clandestine atmosphere.

The click of the door closing behind him made Ciel tense involuntarily. Charles' voice cut through the silence, "I was starting to think you weren't going to show up."

Ciel felt a flash of irritation at the implied accusation. "I agreed to help, and I'm going to keep my word," he retorted, his tone sharp. Then, fixing Charles with a hard stare, he added, "But if I so much as find out you're deceiving me, there's going to be a problem between us." The threat hung in the air, clear and unmistakable.

"Understood," Charles replied his casual tone at odds with the tension in the room. "Now, let's get down to business."

Ciel felt a surge of hesitation. There was still something nagging at him, a question he needed to be answered before they proceeded. "Wait," he said, his voice firm. "Before we do anything, I want to know something. Why did you decide to help me? Especially after what you said."

Charles fell silent, his expression unreadable. Ciel watched him intently, trying to decipher the thoughts behind those calculating eyes. Suddenly, Charles produced a flash drive, seemingly out of thin air.

Ciel's eye widened in shock. It was the flash drive. The one Maurice had given him. A week ago, Ciel had noticed its absence, turning out his pockets and rifling through his belongings in a fruitless search. At the time, he'd interpreted its disappearance as a sign from the universe, a nudge to step back and allow Elizabeth to handle the aftermath of the situation on her own terms. He'd forced himself to let it go, to refocus on his original purpose at Weston.

But now, seeing the flash drive in Charles' possession, Ciel felt a complex mix of emotions. Surprise at its reappearance, irritation at having been pickpocketed, and a burning curiosity about how Charles had managed to swipe it without his notice. 

"Sorry, I sort of swiped this from you in Sebastian's office," Charles said, his apology sounding less than sincere.

Ciel felt a mix of anger and grudging admiration. "You pickpocketed it from me?" he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

Charles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "After examining the contents of the flash drive," he began, his words measured and deliberate, "I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all too... convenient."

Ciel felt a jolt of recognition at Charles' words. The same thought had niggled at the back of his mind, a suspicion he'd pushed aside in the heat of his anger and desire for justice. Now, hearing it voiced aloud, the idea took on new weight.

"The way everything was laid out," Charles continued, his eyes meeting Ciel's, "it felt almost like a carefully constructed narrative. As if someone had curated the information specifically to lead us down a certain path."

Charles' words hit Ciel like a physical blow. "That flash drive," the investigator continued, his gaze boring into Ciel, "it seemed tailor-made for you. As if whoever assembled it was aiming to provoke a specific reaction from you."

Ciel felt a chill run down his spine as the implication sank in. He'd been manipulated, his emotions played like a finely tuned instrument. The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"And it worked," Charles added, his tone matter-of-fact rather than accusatory.

Ciel couldn't deny it. He'd reacted exactly as the mysterious orchestrator had intended, his anger and sense of justice driving him to expose Alois and Maurice publicly. The thought that he'd been so easily maneuvered made his stomach churn.

"How did you get the flash drive?" Charles asked his question pulling Ciel from his uncomfortable introspection.

The query brought Ciel back to that night in his room, to Maurice's unexpected visit and desperate plea. As he prepared to recount the story, Ciel found himself reassessing every detail of that encounter, wondering what other manipulations he might have missed.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Maurice gave it to me," Ciel found himself explaining, the words tumbling out as he pieced together the puzzle. "But he didn't seem to know exactly what was on it. When I asked him where Alois got the drugs, he said he didn't know. I'm pretty sure he was telling the truth, which means he didn't put the evidence together."

"And the string of emails can be traced back to a Dr. Lau," Charles added.

Ciel nodded, feeling a strange mix of frustration and excitement. They were onto something, he was sure of it. But who was pulling the strings? And to what end? As he locked eyes with Charles, Ciel knew they were both thinking the same thing - they were just scratching the surface of Weston's secrets.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's eye-tracked Charles as the investigator moved towards his bed, where a nondescript backpack lay. He watched, curiosity piqued, as Charles rummaged through its contents. The rustling of paper filled the momentary silence.

When Charles turned back, he was holding a sheet of paper. Without ceremony, he thrust it into Ciel's hands. The abruptness of the gesture caught Ciel off guard, and he found himself staring at the document, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

His brow furrowed as he studied the paper. Lines, shapes, and scribbled annotations covered its surface. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at a hand-drawn map. The intricacy of the drawing spoke of hours of careful observation and meticulous detail.

Confusion and intrigue warred within Ciel as he looked up at Charles. "What is this?" he asked, unable to keep the puzzlement from his voice.

"It's a map of the school that I made," Charles explained.

"But what do we need this for?" Ciel pressed, his curiosity piqued despite his wariness.

Charles' response sent a jolt of excitement through Ciel. "I've surveyed the campus, looking at each building. Every building is on this map, but some of the buildings on campus are unmarked, it's unclear what purpose they're for, so we're going to find out."

Ciel felt a surge of anticipation. Unmarked buildings? This could be the lead he'd been waiting for. As he studied the map more closely, his mind raced with possibilities.

“So, the buildings that you drew on the map that don’t have any labels on them are the unmarked ones, but how are we going to get into them? I’m assuming they’re all locked.”

Ciel watched as Charles' hand disappeared into his pocket, emerging moments later with something small and metallic. As Charles held it up, the object caught the light, revealing itself to be a key.

"A key?" Ciel found himself asking, his curiosity instantly piqued. "Where'd you get that?"

Charles' response sent a jolt through Ciel. "It's a master key," the investigator explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "Maurice had it on him when he died. He'd nicked it from one of the prefects. I... liberated it from the crime scene when William wasn't looking."

Ciel felt a surge of conflicting emotions - admiration for Charles' audacity, frustration at being out-maneuvered, and a twinge of bitter amusement at the irony of the situation. "It seems you and Maurice had something in common," he retorted, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

Ciel's words hung in the air for a moment before Charles' reaction registered. The investigator's face twisted into an expression that Ciel found himself instinctively cataloging. Charles' brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It was a look Ciel had seen before, though usually directed at others - a potent mixture of annoyance and exasperation.

The sight of it aimed at him sent a small thrill of satisfaction through Ciel. He'd managed to crack Charles' cool facade, if only for a moment.

Ciel held Charles' gaze, refusing to be cowed by the older man's displeasure. He'd struck a nerve with his observation about Charles and Maurice, and that was information worth noting. As the moment stretched between them, Ciel found himself reassessing Charles once again. The man was clearly not above bending rules to get what he wanted - a trait that could make him either a powerful ally or a dangerous adversary.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter VIII: END

Chapter Text

Chapter IX: The Magician: Part One

                             8 years ago

 "Ciel!" Elizabeth's voice carried effortlessly from the driveway to Ciel's top-floor bedroom, making him wince.

Ciel peered out his window, watching as his thirteen-year-old cousin bounded out of a sleek limo, her blonde curls bouncing with each enthusiastic step. Behind her, a fourteen-year-old Edward followed with visible reluctance.

A groan escaped Ciel's lips. Of all days, why did they have to come today? His thirteenth birthday - a day he'd hoped would pass without fanfare.

The December air was crisp, and a fresh blanket of snow from the previous night covered the expansive front lawn. It would have been a picturesque scene if not for the dread building in Ciel's chest.

His heart sank further as he spotted Aunt Francis and Uncle Alexis emerging from the vehicle, their presence confirming his fears of an unwanted celebration.

Ciel's fists clenched in frustration. He'd explicitly told his parents he didn't want any festivities. Birthdays were painful reminders of his looming fate - inheriting his father's company, a future he desperately wished to avoid. Each passing year only brought him closer to that unwanted destiny.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the Midfords approached the mansion, Edward's disgruntled voice drifted up to Ciel's room. "Why’d we have to show up? It's depressing here," he complained, his words stinging even from a distance.

Francis's sharp rebuke followed swiftly. "Edward, be nice. Ciel doesn't get many visitors, and it's his birthday."

Ciel turned from the window, a cough wracking his frame. His frequent bouts of illness, particularly prevalent in the winter months, were yet another reason he despised his birthday.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs reached his ears. Quickly as he could, Ciel clambered back into bed, pulling the covers up just as a knock sounded at his door.

 He knew that being out of bed would only invite lectures about his health. The last thing he needed on his birthday was another stern talking-to about taking better care of himself. He remained where he was, resigned to facing his visitors from the relative safety of his blankets.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"I’m in here,” he called out, his voice weak and tired.

The door swung open to reveal Tanaka, the Phantomhive family's elderly butler. His gray hair neatly combed and his butler's uniform impeccable as always, Tanaka offered a gentle smile as he bowed.

"Master Ciel, you have some guests," he announced, his tone warm but formal. 

Ciel sighed softly, his body truly weary from his illness. While part of him hoped his poor health might discourage the impending visit, he knew his family's determination would likely override any concern for his comfort. He braced himself for the inevitable intrusion, wishing he could simply be left alone to rest on his birthday.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"You should go and see them, it might cheer you up," Tanaka suggested, his voice gentle but firm.

Ciel's eye widened in surprise. He was actually being encouraged to leave his sickbed? This was unprecedented.

"Really?” Ciel asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.

The butler's response caught him off guard. "Your father told me to tell you to come downstairs."

Ciel felt a mixture of confusion and apprehension. His father rarely intervened in matters concerning his health, typically deferring to the doctor's strict orders.

Ciel reluctantly left the warmth of his bed, his feet finding their way into his house shoes. Tanaka held the door open, a silent sentinel as they made their way towards the living area. Each step down the stairs felt like a monumental effort, Ciel's body protesting the exertion.

As they entered the room, Ciel was greeted by the sight of his entire family: his father Vincent, mother Rachel, Aunt Francis, Uncle Alexis, and his cousins Edward and Elizabeth. The gathering felt overwhelming in his weakened state.

Ciel's gaze involuntarily flicked between his parents, noting once again how little he resembled his father. Despite sharing the same slate hair and blue eyes, the similarities ended there. Vincent's distinctive beauty mark under his left eye was a feature Ciel had not inherited. Instead, Ciel saw more of his mother in himself - Rachel's strawberry blonde hair may have been different, but her wide blue eyes and delicate features were mirrored in her son's face.

Aunt Francis cut an imposing figure, her gray hair pulled back into a severe bun that seemed to accentuate her mature yet youthful appearance. Her ornate purple dress spoke of wealth and refinement. Beside her, Uncle Alexis's thick eyebrows, mustache, and neatly side-parted flaxen hair gave him a distinguished air.

Tanaka, having escorted Ciel to the gathering, bowed respectfully to the assembled family before quietly excusing himself to attend to his duties elsewhere in the mansion.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Ah, you're here, Ciel," Vincent's voice carried a forced cheerfulness as he draped an arm over his son's shoulders. "As you can see, our visitors are quite early." He cast a meaningful glance at Francis, silently acknowledging her trademark punctuality.

Francis merely crossed her arms and averted her gaze, refusing to engage.

Rachel's concerned whisper reached Ciel's ears. "Vincent! He should be in bed."

"He's fine, Rachel, see?" Vincent murmured back, gesturing towards Ciel, who was struggling to suppress a coughing fit.

Alexis's booming voice cut through the tension. "Ciel, how's my favorite nephew?"

"Dad, he's literally your only nephew," Edward interjected, his tone flat with exasperation.

Ignoring his cousin's comment, Ciel managed a weak response to his uncle. "I'm pulling through."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, thick with unspoken concerns and forced festivity.

Vincent, attempting to lighten the mood, turned to his sister. "Frannie, come on, why the long face?"

“If Ciel’s not feeling up to it, he should be in bed, don’t you think, Vincent?” Francis’ tone carried a seriousness with it.

"As I've already told Rachel, he's fine," Vincent reiterated, his tone brooking no further argument.

Elizabeth and Edward exchanged uneasy glances, acutely aware of the tension crackling between the adults in the room.

The uncomfortable silence stretched on until Elizabeth, in a valiant attempt to lighten the mood, piped up with forced cheer, "We  should eat some cake!” Her voice took on an overly bright tone as she added, "Mummy brought cake!"

Ciel inwardly cringed at Elizabeth's use of the childish term 'Mummy'. At fourteen, he thought she should have outgrown such infantile language.

It was then that Ciel's attention was drawn to the cake box Francis held. Despite his overall displeasure with the situation, he couldn't help the way his mouth watered at the prospect of something sweet. His fondness for desserts seemed to be the sole redeeming feature of this unwelcome gathering.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"That's a splendid idea, Lizzy," Rachel said, her eyes flicking meaningfully between Elizabeth and Vincent. As she spoke, she fixed Vincent with a pointed look, her expression carrying a clear, unspoken message.

With practiced grace, Rachel approached Francis and carefully took possession of the cake. She then led the way into the adjoining dining hall, the rest of the family falling into step behind her. One by one, they took their seats around the large table, the tension from the living room following them like an unwelcome guest. Ciel was sandwiched between Edward and Elizabeth.

As if summoned by some unheard call, Tanaka materialized in the room. With silent efficiency, he opened the cake box, revealing a confection adorned with light and dark blue frosting. The words 'Happy 13th Birthday Ciel' stood out in stark contrast against the icy hues. Thirteen candles dotted the confection's surface as it was gently pushed towards Ciel.

Ciel leaned forward, his breath catching as he attempted to extinguish the flames. His efforts were punctuated by coughs, a stark reminder of his weakened state. The fire died down from the air being directed at the candles.

A hush fell over the room as Tanaka began to slice the cake, the soft sound of the knife against the platter the only noise in the otherwise silent dining hall. He put slices of cake on each family member’s plate. His task complete, the elderly butler retreated to a discreet corner of the room, ever-present but nearly invisible.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Wasting no time, Ciel dove into his piece. The sweetness of the icing mingled with the moist cake, momentarily distracting him from his discomfort.

His reprieve was short-lived. As forks clinked against plates, voices began to rise, shattering the brief peace. Ciel's hope for a quiet celebration evaporated, leaving him to brace himself for the impending conversation he'd been dreading.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Thirteen already, eh? Before we know it, you'll be at the helm of your father's company," Alexis boomed in his attempt to lighten the mood falling flat in the tense atmosphere.

Vincent chuckled, a sound that seemed forced even to Ciel's ears. "Indeed, he'll be a man soon enough," he added, the weight of expectation heavy in his words.

Alexis, oblivious to the discomfort his previous comment had caused, plowed on. "You know, when Edward turned thirteen, I let him have a sip of my wine. The boy thought he was drunk after just a taste!"

Edward's face flushed a deep crimson, his embarrassment palpable. "Dad!" he protested, his voice cracking slightly.

"What? It's true," Alexis replied, seemingly blind to his son's mortification.

"Alexis, stop tormenting our son," Francis interjected, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation.

Rachel's laughter, though gentle, seemed slightly forced as she added, "He's still just a boy, after all."

Ciel couldn't help but notice the irony in his mother's words. While she defended Edward's youth, Ciel felt the weight of expectations pressing down on him, making him feel anything but a child. The contrast between how his family viewed Edward and the responsibilities looming over Ciel's own future was stark and unsettling.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                             Present time

Lawrence followed Claude into the spacious office, his eyes immediately taking in the surroundings. He couldn't help but notice the striking similarity to William's office - the same bland decor, the same muted colors that seemed to suck the life out of the room. It was as if personality was a foreign concept in these administrative spaces.

As he scanned the room, Lawrence's gaze fell upon the other prefects, already seated and waiting. But it was the unexpected presence of a familiar face that made him pause. Herman Greenhill, the vice-captain, was there. Lawrence felt a mixture of surprise and relief at the sight of his colleague. Herman must have just returned from his vacation, he realized.

Lawrence found his eyes drawn to Herman's distinctive features - the meticulously slicked-back blonde hair, those vivid green eyes that seemed to pierce through you, all framed by bold, dark eyebrows that lent him an air of intensity. Yet, as their eyes met, Herman's stern expression melted into a warm smile, a gesture that eased some of the tension Lawrence had been carrying.

"Lawrence, it feels like it's been ages," Herman's voice cut through the room, his hand waving Lawrence over to the empty seat beside him. 

Lawrence nodded in acknowledgment, settling into the offered chair. His eyes swept across the room, taking in the familiar faces. Gregory, as usual, looked barely awake, his eyelids drooping as if the very act of sitting upright was too much effort. Edgar, on the other hand, exuded an air of utter boredom, his gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance.

As Lawrence's gaze lingered on Edgar's bored expression, a sudden thought struck him. Edgar had been the closest to Alois and Maurice, save for perhaps Cheslock. A twinge of suspicion wormed its way into Lawrence's mind. How much had Edgar known about their misdeeds? Had he been aware of their despicable actions all along?

Lawrence felt his eyes narrow involuntarily as he studied Edgar more closely. The possibility that Edgar might have been privy to Alois and Maurice's schemes left a sour taste in his mouth. If Edgar had known and done nothing, it would be a grave dereliction of his duties as a prefect.

Lawrence turned his attention back to Herman, and a wave of gratitude washed over Lawrence at Herman's presence. At least there was one other person who took their responsibilities seriously. The stark contrast between Herman's attentiveness and the apathy of the others only reinforced Lawrence's frustration with his fellow prefects. Gregory and Edgar, for all their academic achievements, seemed to view their positions as mere titles rather than duties. It irked Lawrence that high grades alone had earned them roles they clearly didn't value.

His attention shifted to Claude, who had taken his place behind the desk. The vice chancellor's palm rested against his face, his expression as impassive as ever. Lawrence couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, how someone so apparently disinterested had risen to such a position of authority. Claude's blasé demeanor was a constant source of bewilderment to Lawrence, who prided himself on his own dedication and conscientiousness.

Claude's voice, as monotonous as ever, broke the silence. "I've called you all here to inform you of an update to your duties," he announced. "Each of you, each night, will be patrolling the campus."

Lawrence watched as Edgar suddenly sat up straighter, his earlier boredom evaporating into visible confusion. "What? Isn't that what public safety officers are for?" Edgar blurted out, voicing the very question that had sprung to Lawrence's mind.

Claude's response was preceded by an excruciatingly slow blink as if Edgar's query was somehow beneath him. "Your duties will be different," he drawled. "While public safety patrols the whole campus, you will be patrolling around the empty buildings on campus."

Lawrence found himself nodding along with Edgar's objection, a rare moment of agreement between them. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about this new assignment. Adjusting his glasses, pushing them higher on the bridge of his nose - a habit he'd developed when deep in thought - Lawrence voiced his own concerns.

"If you don't mind me asking, why?" he questioned, his tone carefully respectful despite his growing suspicion. "Those are empty buildings that no one uses." As he spoke, Lawrence studied Claude's impassive face, searching for any hint of the vice chancellor's true motives. This unusual request didn't sit right with him.

Claude's explanation did little to ease Lawrence's suspicions. "There have been reports of students breaking into those empty buildings," the vice chancellor stated, his tone as flat as ever. "For what reasons, I don't know, but with the... unfortunate recent events on campus, students breaking the rules will be punished accordingly."

Lawrence's mind raced, parsing Claude's words. The vague reference to "unfortunate recent events" sent a chill down his spine. He couldn't help but wonder if there was more to this new duty than Claude was letting on.

Before Lawrence could voice his thoughts, Herman spoke up, ever practical. "So, how is this going to work?" he asked, voicing the logistical concerns that had just begun to form in Lawrence's mind. "We can't patrol all night, we have class in the morning."

Lawrence found himself nodding in agreement, grateful for Herman's presence once again. He turned his attention back to Claude, curious to see how the vice-chancellor would address this valid concern.

Claude's response was surprisingly detailed. "It'll only be once a week, each of you will take shifts. Two of you patrolling the first part of the night, while two others patrol the second part."

Lawrence's eyebrows rose slightly at the next part. "This job won't come without perks, of course. The day after you patrol, you'll be given an excused absence from classes."

The offer of excused absences struck Lawrence as odd. It seemed unusually generous, especially coming from the typically austere administration. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being bribed, in a sense, to take on this mysterious new responsibility. The whole situation left him with a growing sense of unease.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Lawrence couldn't help but notice the sudden change in Gregory's demeanor. At the mention of excused absences, Gregory's eyes snapped open, all traces of his earlier drowsiness vanishing in an instant. The transformation was so abrupt, so complete, that Lawrence might have found it comical under different circumstances. But given the gravity of the situation, Gregory's newfound alertness only served to heighten Lawrence's sense of unease.

Claude's voice cut through Lawrence's observations. "You'll start your duty tonight," he announced, his tone brooking no argument. "Lawrence and Herman will take the first shift."

Lawrence felt a jolt of surprise at being singled out. He glanced at Herman, searching his colleague's face for a reaction. The immediacy of the assignment left Lawrence feeling off-balance. There would be no time to prepare, no opportunity to dig deeper into the reasons behind this sudden new responsibility. As he processed Claude's words, Lawrence couldn't shake the feeling that he was being thrust into something far more complex than simple nighttime patrols.

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel's heart raced as he followed Charles out of the dorm building, his single eye straining to adjust to the darkness. The night air felt heavy with anticipation and danger. Ahead, he could see the faint beams of flashlights cutting through the gloom - public safety officers on their rounds.

He crouched low, mimicking Charles' movements as they darted from shadow to shadow. The rough texture of brick and cool metal of trash cans pressed against his back as they took cover, waiting for the coast to clear. Ciel's senses were on high alert, every rustle of leaves and distant footstep setting his nerves on edge.

"You sure it's this way?" Ciel breathed, barely above a whisper. He watched Charles intently, relying on the older man's confidence to quell his own doubts.

Charles' nod was barely visible in the darkness, but his whispered response carried a note of certainty that Ciel found oddly reassuring. "There shouldn't be any public safety officers by the unmarked buildings."

Ciel exhaled softly, steeling himself for what lay ahead. 

Ciel and Charles approached one of the unmarked buildings, its dilapidated facade looming before them like something out of a gothic horror tale. The structure's weathered appearance suggested it was a relic from the old campus, untouched by the renovations that had modernized other parts of Weston.

As they neared the entrance, Charles produced the key, his movements deliberate as he attempted to insert it into the lock. The sound of metal scraping against metal broke the eerie silence, but to their dismay, the key refused to turn.

Ciel watched as Charles let out a frustrated sigh, the investigator's earlier confidence visibly crumbling. "I should have known it wouldn't be this simple," Charles muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment. "It seems this 'master key' isn't as all-encompassing as we'd hoped. It doesn't open every building on campus after all."

A wave of displeasure washed over Ciel, and he found himself unable to mask the frustration in his voice. "What now?" he asked, feeling the weight of their wasted effort settling heavily upon him. "We came all this way for nothing?"

Just as Ciel was about to suggest they abandon their mission, Charles turned back to face him. The streetlight caught the edge of a smirk playing across the investigator's face, and Ciel felt a spark of intrigue ignite within him.

"Actually, for your information,” Charles replied, his tone suddenly lighter, "I happen to know how to pick locks."

"First pickpocketing, now lock-picking? What are you, a common thief?" Ciel quipped, unable to keep a hint of amusement from his voice despite the tense situation.

"Ha, ha, very funny Phantomhive," Charles retorted dryly, producing a hairpin from his pocket.

Suddenly, Ciel's attention was drawn to the sound of approaching footsteps and leaves crunching underfoot. His eye darted towards the noise, heart rate quickening as he spotted two bobbing flashlight beams heading in their direction.

"Charles, hurry up, we have company," Ciel hissed urgently, his earlier humor evaporating instantly.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Charles muttered, working the hairpin in the lock with increased fervor.

As the footsteps drew nearer, Ciel could make out snippets of conversation. A familiar voice reached his ears, though he couldn't quite place it. "I heard a sound from over there too, let's split up. I'll check here, while you check over there."

Ciel's attention snapped back to Charles just as he heard a faint click. "It's open," Charles whispered, relief evident in his voice.

The approaching footsteps grew louder, forcing Ciel to make a split-second decision. "Go in," he urged Charles, "I'll distract whoever it is."

He caught Charles' nod of acknowledgment before the investigator slipped inside the building, the hairpin disappearing into his pocket.

Ciel barely had time to turn around before a bright light assaulted his vision. He squinted instinctively, his single eye struggling to adjust to the sudden glare. As quickly as it appeared, the light vanished, leaving Ciel blinking away spots.

As his vision cleared, Ciel found himself face to face with a familiar figure. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized Lawrence standing before him, the prefect's expression a mix of surprise and suspicion.

"What are you doing here?" Lawrence demanded, then shook his head abruptly. "Never mind that. You need to leave immediately. I've already sent Herman away."

Ciel's mind raced, caught off guard by Lawrence's unexpected presence and his hurried dismissal. He opened his mouth to inquire about Lawrence's own reasons for being there, but the prefect cut him off before he could form the words.

"You need to go, now. Get out of here," Lawrence repeated, his tone uncharacteristically forceful. The urgency in his voice sent a chill down Ciel's spine.

Recognizing the gravity of the situation, Ciel swallowed his questions. He nodded curtly, turning on his heel without another word. As he hurried back towards the dorms, his mind whirled with new questions and theories. Lawrence's behavior was puzzling, to say the least, and Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just stumbled upon something far more complex than he'd initially imagined.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As Charles stepped into the unmarked building, he found himself unexpectedly immersed in what appeared to be a state-of-the-art laboratory. The stark contrast between the dilapidated exterior and the pristine, clinical interior caught him off guard.

His eyes swept across the room, taking in the array of microscopes and lab equipment scattered throughout. For a moment, he considered the possibility that this might be an old biology lab the school had abandoned, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Everything looked far too new, too well-maintained for that to be the case.

A twinge of guilt mixed with admiration as he thought of Ciel's sacrifice. The boy had risked reprimand to ensure Charles could investigate undetected. He hoped Ciel's capture wouldn't arouse suspicion, but he couldn't dwell on that now.

As Charles moved through the lab, his investigator's instincts on high alert, a half-open drawer caught his attention. Approaching it cautiously, he pulled it out further, revealing a pill bottle adorned with a familiar symbol - a small silhouette of a rabbit. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized the Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals logo.

He'd seen it countless times before, having purchased their products himself in the past. But what was it doing here, in a hidden lab on Weston's campus? His eyes narrowed as he read the label: 'Funtom’ The drug name was unfamiliar, piquing his curiosity further.

Charles made a mental note to ask Ciel about it later. If anyone might have insight into an unknown Phantom Pharmaceuticals product, it would be the heir to the company. As he replaced the bottle, his mind raced with the implications of this discovery. The connection between Weston and Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals was unexpected, and he couldn't help but wonder how it tied into the larger mystery he was unraveling.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles slipped the pill bottle into his pocket, his mind already racing with questions. Turning his attention back to the drawer, he rifled through the papers, his fingers deftly sorting through the documents. A particular sheet caught his eye, the name 'Funtom' prominently displayed at the top. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a complex chemical formula, the symbols, and notations far beyond his comprehension.

Though chemistry wasn't his strong suit, Charles knew this could be crucial evidence. He carefully folded the paper and tucked it away, making a mental note to consult Undertaker about its contents. The eccentric coroner's expertise might shed some light on this mysterious formula.

With one final, sweeping glance around the laboratory, Charles confirmed he hadn't overlooked anything of significance. Satisfied with his findings, he made his way to the exit, his movements careful and deliberate. As he slipped out of the building, he took extra precautions to ensure his departure was as covert as his entry had been. The weight of the pill bottle and formula in his pockets felt like a promise of answers to come.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel found himself in Sebastian's class, disoriented and unsure of how he'd arrived there. Sebastian stood at the front, his lips moving in silent lecture. The words seemed to evaporate before reaching Ciel's ears, leaving only the unsettling sight of his professor's soundless speech.

Glancing around, Ciel was struck by the eerie stillness of his classmates. They sat motionless, like figures frozen in time. 

A blue butterfly suddenly fluttered past his face, its wings shimmering with an otherworldly iridescence. Ciel's eye followed its path, an inexplicable urge to pursue it taking hold.

He rose from his seat, Sebastian's silent lecture continuing uninterrupted. The butterfly led him towards the door, which swung open of its own accord as he approached.

As Ciel crossed the threshold, the world around him shifted. The hallway melted away, reforming into the familiar confines of Sebastian's office. The butterfly vanished, leaving Ciel seated in an armchair, with Sebastian looming before him.

A peculiar skull on Sebastian's desk caught Ciel's attention. He stared at it, perplexed by its sudden appearance.

Sebastian moved, obscuring the skull from view. "Ciel, you and I are more alike than you realize," he said, his voice low and intense.

Ciel quirked an eyebrow, a mix of confusion and wariness in his expression. "In what way?"

"We both have... compulsions that we can no longer ignore," Sebastian replied, his words cryptic.

"What do you mean?" Ciel asked, his heartbeat quickening inexplicably.

"Must I make it clearer?" Sebastian leaned in, his hands gripping the armrests. The proximity was overwhelming, Sebastian's face drawing ever closer. Ciel found himself paralyzed, unable to move or look away.

As Sebastian's lips neared his own, a jolt of panic surged through Ciel. Just as contact seemed inevitable—

Ciel's eye flew open, his heart pounding. He sat up abruptly, disoriented and unsettled by the vivid dream. As reality slowly reasserted itself, Ciel ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the lingering unease. The dream left him with a confusing mix of emotions he couldn't quite name or understand.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Dreams of Sebastian now? he thought, running a hand over his face. It seemed he couldn't escape his professor's presence, even in sleep. The man's image haunted his waking thoughts, and now it seemed determined to invade his dreams as well.

As Ciel lay there, his pulse gradually steadying, he found himself grappling with the dream's enigmatic imagery. The blue butterfly, so vivid and enticing, and the stark, unexpected skull on Sebastian's desk - what could they signify?

Ciel's gaze dropped, and he felt a wave of mortification wash over him as he noticed the telltale rise beneath his blanket. His face burned hot with shame, the physical evidence of his dream all too apparent. This was beyond embarrassing - it was downright horrifying. The realization that mere dreams of Sebastian could provoke such involuntary responses from his body left Ciel feeling deeply unsettled and confused. He squeezed his eye shut, willing the unwelcome reaction to subside, all while trying to banish the lingering images of Sebastian from his mind.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Before Ciel could fully process his predicament, the door swung open without warning. He scrambled to adjust his position, hastily ensuring the blankets concealed his embarrassing situation. Charles stood in the doorway, seemingly oblivious to Ciel's discomfort.

"Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?" Ciel snapped, his voice sharp with a mixture of annoyance and lingering embarrassment. He fixed Charles with a glare, silently willing the intruder to leave him alone with his humiliation.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Privacy? Not a chance, we're practically joined at the hip now," Charles quipped, his tone light but eyes sharp.

“In your dreams,” Ciel retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Shifting gears, he fixed Charles with a stern look. "What's so urgent you had to barge in?"

In response, Charles held up an object - a pill bottle. As Ciel's eye focused on it, he felt a jolt of recognition at the familiar logo adorning its surface.

"Ring any bells?" Charles asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

Ciel nodded, his mind whirring. "That's my father's company logo," he confirmed, then narrowed his eye. "How'd you get your hands on that?"

"Found it in our mystery building," Charles said. "Surprise, surprise - it's a lab."

Ciel's eyebrows shot up. After a beat, he mused, "Well, William did mention being my father’s business partner. I suppose it tracks."

"Does it now?" Charles pressed. "Any idea what's in the bottle?"

Ciel shook his head, his earlier discomfort forgotten in the face of this puzzle. "No clue. What's the label say?"

"Funtom," Charles replied.

Ciel's brow furrowed. "Funtom? That's... odd. My father never breathed a word about that, and I thought I knew all their products."

Charles leaned in, a glint in his eye. "What if I told you I know someone who could unravel what’s in this mystery drug?"

As he pondered this new mystery, Ciel felt his earlier embarrassment fade, replaced by a growing sense of intrigue and unease. What secrets had his father been keeping, and how did they tie into the mysteries at Weston?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“And who might that be?”

“I know a bloke, he’s a bit…eccentric, but he’s good at what he does. They call him the Undertaker.” 

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel sat in the passenger seat of Charles' car, the unfamiliar vehicle carrying them towards their meeting with Undertaker. He watched the scenery blur past, his mind still processing the events of the past few days.

Charles' voice broke through his reverie. "Come to think of it, what happened to you last night?" The investigator's silver eyes flicked briefly toward Ciel before returning to the road ahead.

The question jolted Ciel's memory. He'd nearly forgotten about his close call amid everything else. "Lawrence Bluewer caught me," he replied, his tone carefully neutral.

"The prefect?" Charles asked, surprise evident in his voice.

Ciel nodded, then realized Charles couldn't see the gesture while driving. "Yes," he confirmed verbally. "But what was strange was that he just told me to get out of there, before someone named Herman showed up."

He watched as Charles' brow furrowed slightly, the investigator's grip on the steering wheel tightening almost imperceptibly. "That is weird," Charles mused, his voice tinged with curiosity and suspicion.

Ciel turned his gaze back to the window, his mind racing. Lawrence's behavior had been odd, to say the least. Why would a prefect, known for his strict adherence to rules, let him off so easily? And who was this "Herman" Lawrence had been concerned about? The incident added yet another layer to the mysteries surrounding Weston, and Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow connected to the larger picture he was trying to unravel.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As they arrived at their destination, Ciel eyed the unassuming building. A sign reading 'Undertaker's mortuary and morgue' hung in front, almost camouflaged against its surroundings. 

"Well then, shall we go inside?" Charles said, exiting the car.

Ciel followed, a sense of unease growing as they entered the building. The interior was exactly what he'd expected of a morgue - icebox drawers, embalming equipment - yet it sent chills down his spine. The flickering lights only added to the eerie atmosphere.

"Undertaker? You here?" Charles called out.

After a moment of silence, a door to the back room opened. Someone rolled out on a desk chair - a man with long white hair that obscured his eyes, wearing a black cloak instead of a lab coat. This, Ciel assumed, must be Undertaker.

Ciel watched as the eccentric man rolled out on his chair, his long white hair obscuring his eyes. The man's voice carried a note of amusement as he spoke.

"I heard my name being spoken- Oh! Charles, it's you. And you've brought... a short pirate?"

Ciel felt a surge of irritation at the comment about his height. He glanced at Charles, noticing the investigator's poorly concealed amusement. Ciel's visible eye narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening.

"This is Ciel Phantomhive," Charles introduced, his voice betraying a hint of mirth.

"Phantomhive? Interesting." Undertaker's tone carried a weight Ciel couldn't quite decipher.

Ciel watched warily as Undertaker rose from his chair and approached, his movements fluid and almost predatory. The man extended a hand, his long black nails catching Ciel's attention.

"Nice to meet you, Phantomhive." Undertaker's words seemed to dance with hidden meaning, a private joke Ciel wasn't privy to.

Steeling himself, Ciel reached out to shake the offered hand. "A pleasure," he replied, keeping his voice level despite his unease. He made sure his grip was firm, determined not to show any weakness in front of this strange individual.

As their hands clasped, Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that he was being measured, and assessed. He met Undertaker's hidden gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated by the mortician's eccentricities.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel watched as Charles stepped forward, breaking the tense atmosphere. "Anyway, I have something for you, Undertaker," the investigator said, his tone businesslike.

Charles produced a chemical formula and a pill bottle from his pocket. "I found one of these drugs on campus. Can you look at this formula and tell me what this drug's ingredients are?"

Undertaker's response caught Ciel off guard. "This time, you're going to have to offer payment," the mortician said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Ciel's brow furrowed in confusion. "Payment? You want money?" he asked, his tone skeptical.

Charles let out a weary sigh as if he'd been through this before. The sound only heightened Ciel's curiosity.

"Money doesn't buy happiness, laughter does," Undertaker replied, his grin widening.

Ciel felt his confusion deepen. "You want us to tell you a joke?" he asked, disbelief coloring his words.

"Bingo!" Undertaker exclaimed, his enthusiasm jarring in the somber setting of the morgue. "Give me your best joke. After all, laughter is the best medicine."

"And you certainly are sick in the head," Charles quipped, his voice dry.

Ciel glanced between Charles and Undertaker, struggling to make sense of this bizarre exchange. The gravity of their investigation seemed at odds with Undertaker's frivolous demand. Yet, he could see that Charles was resigned to this strange form of payment. Ciel realized that if they wanted answers, they'd have to play along with the eccentric mortician's game.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Undertaker's grin widened as he turned his attention to Ciel. "Charles doesn't seem to be in a jovial mood, does he? Why don't you tell me a joke, young Phantomhive?”

Ciel felt a wave of dread wash over him. Humor had never been his strong suit, and being put on the spot only made matters worse. His mind raced, searching for anything remotely amusing.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. It was utterly mortifying, but if it could secure the information they needed, it would be worth the humiliation.

"Knock knock," Ciel began, already cringing internally at what was to come.

"Who's there?" Undertaker responded, his tone eager with anticipation.

"Candice," Ciel continued, his voice strained.

"Candice who?"

"Candice joke get any worse?" Ciel delivered the punchline, feeling a surge of embarrassment course through him. The joke was abysmal, but he hoped it might suffice.

For a moment, Undertaker was silent, and Ciel feared he'd failed. Then, without warning, the mortician erupted into uproarious laughter, clutching his sides as if in pain.

Ciel stood there, a mix of relief and mortification washing over him. He'd succeeded, but at what cost to his dignity? He avoided Charles' gaze, certain he'd find barely contained amusement there. Instead, he focused on Undertaker, waiting for the laughter to subside so they could finally get the information they sought.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel watched as Undertaker's laughter finally subsided, the eccentric mortician straightening up with a few last chuckles escaping him. The sound grated on Ciel's nerves, a reminder of his recent humiliation.

"Good job, mate, didn't know you had it in you," Charles said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. Ciel glanced at the investigator, trying to decipher if the praise was genuine or if Charles was secretly mocking him. The ghost of a smile on Charles' face offered no clear answers, leaving Ciel feeling uncertain and slightly irritated.

Undertaker's voice cut through Ciel's thoughts. "Okay, give me the formula. I'll test it, it'll take a couple of hours. I'll call Charles when I find out what it is."

Ciel felt a mixture of relief and impatience at these words. They were finally moving forward with their investigation, but the prospect of waiting hours for results chafed at him. He wanted answers now, not more delays. Still, he knew they had little choice but to comply with Undertaker's terms if they wanted to unravel the mystery of the Funtom drug.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter IX: END

Chapter Text

Chapter X: The Magician: Part Two

Ciel made his way to Lau's class, his mind churning with thoughts of the evidence he'd uncovered. He'd abandoned his initial plan to confront Lau directly, recognizing the futility of such an action. What good would it do? He wondered. Would William actually fire Lau, or would it merely put Ciel in the crosshairs?

The more he pondered, the clearer it became - he needed more substantial proof. Even if he were to approach the authorities, Ciel knew they'd dismiss his claims without ironclad evidence. The flash drive was a start, but it wasn't enough. He needed something more concrete, something that would make his case impossible to ignore.

As he entered the classroom, Ciel's visible eye scanned his surroundings, settling briefly on Lau. The professor's seemingly carefree demeanor betrayed nothing of his alleged involvement in Alois's schemes. Ciel took his seat, his mind already racing with potential ways to gather the additional evidence he so desperately needed. He knew he had to tread carefully - one wrong move could jeopardize everything he'd worked for.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's mind raced as he watched Lau deliver his lecture. If the professor was indeed peddling drugs on campus, there had to be a stash hidden somewhere. His single visible eye remained fixed on Lau, scrutinizing every gesture and movement, barely registering the actual content of the lesson.

Suddenly, Ciel noticed Lau's gaze shift towards him, clearly aware of the intense scrutiny. Quickly, Ciel averted his eye, dropping his focus to his desk. For the remainder of the class, he feigned taking notes, his pen moving across the paper without purpose.

As the lecture concluded and his classmates filed out, Ciel remained seated, waiting for the room to empty. Once alone, he approached Lau's desk, causing the professor to look up from his papers.

"I didn't make an appointment," Ciel began, keeping his tone neutral, "but would it be alright if I showed up to your office hours later today?"

Lau's lips curved into a polite smile, his voice gentle as he replied, "Sure, I'll add you to my list."

As Ciel left the classroom, his mind was already formulating a plan. Lau's office hours presented an unexpected opportunity. Visiting the professor's private space could prove invaluable in his investigation. Ciel's visible eye narrowed slightly as he considered the possibilities. Being in Lau's office would allow him to discreetly survey the surroundings, to search for any signs of illicit activity or suspicious items that might corroborate his suspicions. He knew he'd have to be cautious and observant, making mental notes of anything out of place without arousing Lau's suspicion. This meeting, Ciel realized, could potentially provide the crucial evidence he needed to unravel the mystery surrounding Lau's involvement in the drug trade at Weston.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel sat in his dorm room, the weight of anticipation heavy in his chest. He was waiting for two things: Undertaker's information and his appointment with Lau. His fingers absently traced the outline of his English textbooks in his backpack, a prop for his upcoming performance of a struggling student seeking help.

The sudden opening of the door startled him from his thoughts. Charles strode in, phone pressed to his ear, his face set in a serious expression. "Okay, I'm putting you on speaker so Ciel can hear you crystal clear,” he announced.

As Charles activated the speakerphone, Undertaker's voice filled the room, its usual mirth barely contained. "Young Phantomhive, I have some intriguing news for you, like a maggot on a great corpse…oh, pardon the gruesome imagery. Now, where was I? Ah, yes! Grab your popcorn and-"

"Let’s cut to the chase,” Charles interjected, his impatience palpable.

Undeterred, Undertaker continued, "This chemical formula you gave me is a liquid lullaby of paralysis. A dose this high is normally used for anesthesia in surgery. It could not only paralyze someone but completely inebriate them. It’s capable of putting down a 5,000-pound rhino. Speaking of Rhinos, did you know that human nails and Rhino horns are made up of the same protein-“

"For the love of- would you give it a rest?" Charles snapped, clearly losing his cool and cutting off Undertaker's rambling tangent.

Ciel, ignoring Undertaker's bizarre rhino fact, felt a chill run down his spine. This macabre revelation confirmed his suspicions about Elizabeth's assault, the gravity of the situation settling over him like a heavy shroud.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's eye narrowed slightly as he observed Charles' growing irritation. The investigator's sharp interjections and barely contained frustration departed from his usual demeanor. Was this impatience a hidden facet of Charles' personality, Ciel wondered, or had Undertaker's eccentric rambling simply worn through his typically composed exterior? Either way, this new side of Charles was worth noting. Ciel filed the observation away, another piece in the complex puzzle of his reluctant ally's character.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles regained his composure, clearing his throat, voicing exactly what Ciel was thinking, “This may be the same drug that was being used as a date rape drug…” he trailed off.

"When I tested it," Undertaker added, "it matched the toxicology report of the drug used on Maurice Cole and Soma Asman Kadar. Very curious indeed.”

Ciel's visible eye widened, unable to conceal his shock. "Wait, the same drug was used on them?" he blurted out, his usual composure momentarily shaken. His mind whirred, frantically piecing together this new information. 

This couldn’t be a coincidence, it suggested a single source, a common thread linking these incidents. 

Maurice's death had been staged to appear accidental, but Ciel had harbored suspicions from the start. Now, those doubts seemed justified. His thoughts turned to Alois, who had apparently sourced the drugs from Lau. With this revelation, Alois had suddenly become the prime suspect in not just one, but two deaths.

As the implications sank in, Ciel's thoughts whirled. Alois had a clear motive for Soma's murder, but Maurice? Then, it hit him. Maurice had betrayed Alois to save himself. If Alois had discovered this betrayal... 

Ciel's gaze shifted to Charles, a sudden suspicion gnawing at him. There was something off about the investigator's demeanor, a hint of... what? Reluctance? Secrecy? It was as if Charles was deliberately holding something back.

"Thanks for your insight, this changes everything. Goodbye, Undertaker," Charles said abruptly into the phone, his tone clipped. The hasty dismissal only heightened Ciel's unease. It seemed Charles was eager to end the conversation as quickly as possible, but why?

As Charles pocketed his phone, his eyes met Ciel's. "You got a date or something?” he asked, his tone casual yet probing.

Ciel hesitated for a fraction of a second before deciding to be forthright. "I booked an office hour appointment with Lau, the drug dealing professor," he explained, watching Charles closely for any reaction. "If I can scope out his office, I might find something incriminating."

As he spoke, Ciel's mind raced. Was he revealing too much? Could he trust Charles completely? The weight of unsaid words hung between them, adding another layer of complexity to their already complicated alliance.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Good thinking, tell me if you find anything when you come back," Charles said, his tone casual yet expectant.

Ciel nodded a mixture of determination and wariness settling in his chest. He grabbed his backpack, feeling the weight of his mission as he slung it over his shoulder. As he headed out the door, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking a precarious line between ally and potential adversary with Charles. The investigator's words echoed in his mind, a reminder of the delicate balance of trust and suspicion that now defined their relationship. With each step down the hallway, Ciel steeled himself for whatever he might discover in Lau's office, knowing that the information he gathered could shift the dynamics of this uneasy partnership yet again.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel settled into the chair next to Lau, his textbook and a sheet of loose-leaf paper arranged on the desk before him. He tapped his pen lightly against the surface, feigning concentration while his eye discreetly scanned the office.

The room was adorned with traditional Chinese paintings, their intricate designs a stark contrast to the academic setting. An array of plants, most unfamiliar to Ciel, added life to the space. But amidst this carefully curated environment, something caught his attention - a safe, conspicuously out of place in a professor's office.

"I'm having trouble with this question on the homework," Ciel said, his voice carefully modulated to sound uncertain.

Lau leaned in, his voice gentle as he offered, "Let me read the question aloud. Why did the protagonist in the story kill the old man? It’s a question with the depth of the Yangtze River.”

Ciel recognized the question from their recent study of "The Tell-Tale Heart." He answered simply, "He was obsessed with the old man's eye. He was insane, so he decided to kill him."

"How do you interpret the overall message of the story?" Lau probed further.

Ciel's mind raced, balancing the need to appear engaged in the discussion while continuing his covert observation of the room. "Well, the narrator's guilt literally ate him alive. He was convinced the cops could hear his heartbeat and ended up confessing. So the message would be that a guilty conscience always takes control."

"Not bad, not bad at all. But perhaps we can dive deeper, hmm? The overall message, you say? Interesting take, like viewing a mountain from one side. But turn it, and ah! A new perspective emerges."

Lau leaned back, his eyes, usually halfway closed, now wide open. “The narrator, consumed by obsession like a moth to flame. He loved the old man, yes, but that eye... that eye became his world, his torment. As Confucius says, 'The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.' Our narrator's obsession grew, stone by stone until it crushed him."

He chuckled softly. "But then again, what do I know? I'm just a humble professor, not a mind reader. Although, if I were..." he trailed off, his gaze suddenly sharp as it fixed on Ciel. "Well, that would be quite interesting, wouldn't it?"

As Lau delved deeper into his analysis, Ciel found himself genuinely intrigued, a stark contrast to his usual disinterest in the professor's lectures. Face to face, Lau's vast knowledge shone through his easygoing exterior, forcing Ciel to reassess his initial impressions.

This revelation lent weight to Charles' earlier suspicions. Someone of Lau's intellect surely wouldn't be so careless as to use a faculty email for illicit correspondence with Alois. The discrepancy nagged at Ciel, raising an unsettling question: was the killer deliberately trying to frame Lau? If so, what could be their motive?

As these thoughts raced through his mind, Ciel's eye was once again drawn to the out-of-place safe. His curiosity intensified, imagination running wild with the potential secrets it might contain. He found himself strategizing, considering how he might gain access to its contents.

His plotting was abruptly interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Lau rose languidly, his movements as unhurried as his speech. "My, my, what have we here? Another lost soul seeking enlightenment, perhaps?"

As the door swung open, Ciel's eye widened in recognition at the familiar choppy silver bangs. Charles stood there, his presence as unexpected as it was intriguing. Ciel quirked an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air between them. Charles' gaze flickered briefly to Ciel, prompting him to shift his eye meaningfully towards the safe, hoping the investigator would catch his unspoken message.

A barely perceptible nod from Charles confirmed his understanding before he turned his attention to Lau.

"Are you a student? I don't recall seeing your face in the sea of sleepy expressions that grace my lectures," Lau mused, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Charles, his voice clipped and businesslike, replied, "Sebastian's TA. He's sent me on a little errand - seems he needs something from you. Urgently."

"Is that so?" Lau's eyebrows rose, his voice taking on a contemplative lilt. "Curious indeed, considering our dear Dr. Michaelis is clear across campus. Surely whatever he needs could wait for a more... convenient time?"

"I'm afraid not," Charles countered, his tone brooking no argument. "You know how Sebastian can be."

Lau's attention drifted back to Ciel, his voice a lazy drawl. "It seems our little literary journey must come to an end, young Phantomhive. I trust the fog of confusion has lifted from your mind?"

Ciel slipped back into his act with practiced ease. "Yeah... it's like you've illuminated the whole story for me," he replied, noting Charles' barely concealed amusement at his performance.

With a nod that seemed both sage and absent-minded, Lau glided out of the room, his footsteps fading down the hallway. The moment the coast was clear, Charles strode into the office, his demeanor shifting instantly to all business.

"Right, no time to waste," Charles said, his words clipped and efficient. "That safe's our target. The key's got to be squirreled away somewhere in this room. Let's turn this place inside out, shall we?"

Ciel nodded, his eye already sweeping across the room with renewed focus. He and Charles began their search for the safe key, moving with careful precision to avoid leaving any trace of their intrusion. Ciel's gaze darted periodically to the door, half-expecting Lau to return at any moment.

As he lifted the pots of unfamiliar plants on a small table, finding nothing, Ciel glanced over at Charles. The investigator was rummaging through Lau's drawers, his movements growing increasingly frustrated.

"You didn't find anything either?" Ciel asked, his voice low and tense.

Charles shook his head, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "It's gotta be somewhere."

Ciel paused, his mind racing. He tried to piece together everything he knew about Lau, searching for some insight that might guide their search. The professor was clearly intelligent, with a keen eye for art and botany. But there had to be more to these decorations than mere aesthetics.

Suddenly, Lau's earlier words echoed in Ciel's mind: 'The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.' His eye widened as realization struck. He scanned the paintings adorning the walls, his gaze settling on one depicting a mountain and a river with small stones.

A surge of excitement coursed through him. Could this be the clue they needed? Ciel moved towards the painting, his heart racing with anticipation. He was either about to make a breakthrough or prove himself a fool, but either way, they were running out of time.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the painting from the wall, his breath catching in his throat as a square-shaped indent was revealed. Heart pounding, he reached into the hollow, his fingertips brushing against something cool and metallic. He grasped it, pulling it free with a mixture of triumph and trepidation. A key glinted in the office light.

"I found it!" he exclaimed, turning to Charles with a rare smile of genuine excitement.

Charles moved swiftly to his side, his hand coming to rest on Ciel's shoulder. The weight of it was unfamiliar, almost unsettling. "How did you know it was in there?" Charles asked, his voice a mix of admiration and curiosity.

Ciel felt a flicker of pride at having solved the puzzle. "'The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.' That's what Lau said to me earlier," he explained, his mind still racing with the implications of their discovery. "It was just a lucky guess, really, but it paid off."

As the words left his mouth, Ciel felt a twinge of unease. Had it truly been luck, or had Lau deliberately set this trail for them to follow? The thought niggled at him, raising more questions than answers. If Lau had intentionally led them to the key, what could his motive possibly be? It seemed counterintuitive for the professor to guide them towards potentially incriminating evidence. The logic didn't add up, and Ciel found himself second-guessing every assumption he'd made about Lau.

Despite his swirling doubts, one fact remained clear: they now possessed the key to unlocking more of Weston's secrets - in the most literal sense.

Ciel approached the safe, a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. He licked his lips, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken. The key slid into the lock with an ominous click, and he turned it, holding his breath.

As the safe door swung open, Ciel's eye widened in disbelief. Inside was a chaotic jumble of items that seemed to confirm their worst suspicions: stacks of cash, what appeared to be burner phones, and a lone sheet of paper. The sight was so at odds with Lau's scholarly image that for a moment, Ciel wondered if he was still dreaming.

"What the hell?" The words escaped him in a hoarse whisper, giving voice to the shock and confusion swirling in his mind. The evidence before him painted a damning picture, yet something about it felt off. It was almost too perfect, too neatly packaged to be real. As Ciel stared at the safe's contents, he couldn't shake the feeling that they'd just stumbled into something far more complex and dangerous than they'd anticipated.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel felt Charles' hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from the safe. 

"Don't touch anything, leave everything here," Charles instructed, his voice low and urgent.

Ciel whirled around, disbelief etched on his face. "What? We should call the police and show them this," he insisted, gesturing towards the incriminating contents.

To his surprise, Charles let out a short, humorless laugh. "Do you think the police are going to do anything?"

The question caught Ciel off guard. He furrowed his brow, frustration mounting. "Then what do you suggest we should do?"

"We should wait," Charles replied, his tone maddeningly calm.

Ciel felt his patience wearing thin. "Wait for what? For all of this to be moved?" he snapped, struggling to keep his voice down.

Charles fixed him with a pointed look. "Doesn't this seem a little too perfectly placed?"

Ciel opened his mouth to argue, then hesitated. "Yes, but-" he began, his mind racing to reconcile the evidence before them with the nagging doubt Charles had just voiced. The simplicity of their discovery suddenly seemed suspect, and Ciel found himself torn between the urge to act and the wisdom of caution.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Let's go, we've been here for too long," Charles urged, his tone brooking no argument. "Close the safe and put the painting back. Keep the key though, we'll need it."

Ciel complied, his movements mechanical as he secured the safe and replaced the painting. All the while, a seed of suspicion took root in his mind, blooming into a full-fledged distrust of Charles. The investigator's behavior reeked of hidden agendas and withheld information. It was clear he knew more than he was letting on, but questioning him now would likely lead nowhere.

As they slipped out of Lau's office, Ciel's mind raced. He'd have to take matters into his own hands. Charles might be an ally, but he was quickly proving to be an unreliable one. A new resolution formed in Ciel's mind: he would conduct his own discreet investigation. Whatever Charles was hiding, whatever game was being played at Weston, Ciel was determined to uncover the truth - with or without the investigator's help.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian relished the freedom Saturday brought, the absence of classes allowing him to indulge in his long-awaited passion. The auction house buzzed with anticipation, a stark contrast to the mundane halls of Weston.

"Going once, going twice, sold!" The auctioneer's voice rang out, sharp and clear. Sebastian's eyes were drawn to Angelina Dalles, or Madam Red as she was known in certain circles. Her vibrant red hair, cut into a sleek bob, complemented her pale skin and matching red eyes and lips perfectly.

A wry smile played at the corners of Sebastian's mouth as he considered how well Angelina might get along with Grell. Their shared love for the color red and all things macabre would surely make for an interesting dynamic. Not that Sebastian himself was any stranger to the darker side of life, but he prided himself on his discretion.

As he observed Angelina's commanding presence, Sebastian couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. Here, away from the prying eyes of Weston, he could truly be himself. The anticipation of what treasures he might acquire today sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. This was his element, a world where his particular tastes could be indulged without judgment or consequence.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian watched the proceedings with a carefully cultivated air of indifference, mirroring the audience around him. He observed as security efficiently removed the young woman from the stage, noting the practiced ease of their movements. The crowd's lack of reaction was striking, their attention barely wavering from their drinks and idle chatter.

His eyes followed the next participant as he was roughly pushed onto the stage. The young man's frantic struggles against his restraints were met with the same wall of apathy from the spectators. Sebastian felt a twinge of... something. Not quite sympathy, but a flicker of recognition perhaps, at the raw desperation evident in the man's demeanor.

The juxtaposition of the participant's obvious distress and the audience's complete disregard created an atmosphere that Sebastian found oddly compelling. As he turned his attention back to the stage, Sebastian couldn't help but consider how Ciel might handle such a situation, his thoughts inevitably circling back to his intriguing student.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Well, darlings, feast your eyes on this specimen!" Angelina trilled, her voice dripping with theatrical enthusiasm. "Our friend here may be a tad short in the tongue department, but I assure you, he's in absolutely tip-top shape otherwise." She punctuated her statement with a dramatic wink as the tongueless man emitted a series of incomprehensible noises.

Sebastian observed the proceedings with a mix of curiosity and calculated interest. Angelina's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd, her tone shifting to something more provocative.

"Who'll open the bidding for this fine specimen at five thousand pounds?" she said in a sing-song voice, gesturing dramatically at the young man on stage.

The audience remained unmoved, their silence speaking volumes. Sebastian noted the flash of determination in Angelina's eyes as she quickly adjusted her strategy.

"No takers? Let's sweeten the deal, shall we? Opening bid now at ten thousand!"

Sebastian felt his hand rise almost of its own accord, a familiar thrill coursing through him as he entered the bidding. 

"I see we have a taker, and oh look, there's a challenger!" Angelina's voice rang out, her excitement palpable. Sebastian's attention snapped to where she was looking, curiosity piqued.

His eyes narrowed as they landed on a familiar figure in the back of the room. William, his face as impassive as ever, had his hand raised in a clear challenge. A smirk tugged at the corners of Sebastian's lips, a competitive fire igniting within him.

This unexpected development added a delicious new layer to the evening's entertainment. Sebastian felt his pulse quicken, the prospect of outbidding William for this particular prize suddenly becoming irresistibly appealing.

"How about twenty thousand?" Angelina's voice cut through the tension, her excitement palpable.

Sebastian's hand shot up without hesitation, his eyes darting to William, who matched his bid with equal speed. A thrill of excitement coursed through him as the stakes climbed higher.

"Thirty thousand!" 

Again, Sebastian raised his hand, the familiar rush of competition flooding his veins.

"Forty thousand!"

He barely registered his own movement, his focus entirely on William's unwavering gaze.

"Fifty thousand!"

This time, only Sebastian's hand pierced the air. A beat of silence followed, and he turned, locking eyes with William. A surge of satisfaction washed over him as he took in William's unreadable expression. He had won.

"Sold! To the gentleman over there!"

Angelina's declaration rang out, sealing his victory. Sebastian watched with keen interest as security personnel efficiently escorted the young man off stage, leading him to the same room where the woman had been taken earlier. The sight sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, his mind already racing with possibilities for his newly acquired prize.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"I'm afraid that's the last bid for today," Angelina announced, her voice carrying a note of finality. "Make sure to come back when we have another auction. Ladies and gentlemen, farewell." She curtsied gracefully, eliciting a round of applause from the audience.

Sebastian remained in his seat as the crowd began to disperse, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. He watched Angelina descend from the stage, her crimson attire a stark contrast to the subdued tones of the auction hall. As she approached, he felt a familiar mix of amusement and wariness.

"I haven't seen you at an auction in a while," Angelina purred, her hand trailing down his arm in a gesture that was both familiar and unwelcome. "I'm not surprised about your choosing, however. You always did like them feisty."

Sebastian smoothly extracted his arm from her touch, maintaining his polite smile. "Madam Red," he greeted, his tone cordial but with a hint of steel beneath. "Always a pleasure to see you." 

"Oh, come now," Angela chimed in, her voice a playful lilt. "You needn't be so formal when we're off-stage. Angela will do just fine."

Sebastian's lips quirked into a polite smile. "Very well, Angela. The auction was quite the spectacle, as always."

"Why, thank you," she purred, her eyes glinting with amusement. "You and William certainly provided some exhilarating entertainment."

As if on cue, a familiar monotone voice interjected from beside Sebastian. "Congratulations on your acquisition, Michaelis."

"Speak of the devil," Angela trilled. "Hello, William."

Sebastian turned, his crimson eyes meeting William's impassive gaze. Despite the other man's carefully controlled expression, Sebastian could sense the undercurrent of irritation. A smirk tugged at his lips, unable to resist the urge to prod at his rival's composure.

"My, my, William. Sour grapes don't become you," Sebastian remarked, his tone light but edged with mockery.

William's response was as crisp as ever. "Nonsense. I've just offered my congratulations, have I not?"

"Indeed," Sebastian drawled. "Yet the storm cloud hovering above you tells quite a different tale."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Gentlemen, if I may interject," Angela's sultry voice cut through their exchange. "Your prize will be delivered to your residence after we've made some... necessary modifications. But first, I believe a celebration is in order."

Sebastian's eyebrow arched slightly. "Celebration?" he echoed, a note of intrigue coloring his tone.

Angela's red lips curved into a knowing smile. "Indeed. I'm treating you to a night out. And don't fret, I'll ensure we have some prime... sustenance for your new acquisition as well."

Sebastian's eyes glinted with understanding. The implied meaning behind Angela's words was unmistakable, and the offer was too tempting to refuse. "Well then," he purred, "by all means, lead the way."

Angela's smile widened, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes as she turned to William. "My apologies, darling," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "I'm afraid this little soiree is strictly for winners only."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As Ciel mulled over recent events, a sudden realization struck him. The key to unraveling this mystery might lie where his investigation first began - the Phantomhive mansion. Perhaps in his initial search, he had overlooked a crucial detail, a clue that could shed light on the enigma surrounding him.

Moreover, Ciel knew he had to pursue this lead alone. His growing suspicion of Charles made the investigator's involvement untenable. This was a journey he needed to undertake by himself, free from Charles' prying eyes and questionable motives.

With renewed determination, Ciel retrieved his phone and dialed a familiar number. The line barely had time to ring before a familiar voice answered, "Young master?"

"Tanaka," Ciel spoke, his tone brooking no argument, "I'm returning home. Send the chauffeur to collect me immediately."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Ciel prepared to return home, memories of his last time in the mansion flooded back...

                               4 years ago

Ciel stood in his father's study, the weight of the past month pressing down on him like a physical force. It had been thirty days since his parents had vanished on what was supposed to be a routine business trip. Thirty days of uncertainty, of whispered conversations and pitying glances from the adults around him.

He ran his fingers along the smooth surface of his father's desk, memories of Vincent sitting there, poring over documents, flashing through his mind. The police had come and gone, their presence a stark reminder that this wasn't just a delayed return, but something far more sinister.

The past weeks at the Midford estate had been suffocating. Aunt Francis's attempts at comfort, Uncle Alexis's forced cheerfulness, and the hushed discussions about his future when they thought he couldn't hear. But Ciel heard everything. He heard their doubts, their fears, and their growing certainty that Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive were never coming home.

But they were wrong. They had to be. 

Ciel's jaw clenched as he recalled the arguments. They wanted a "proper" guardian for him, as if at sixteen he wasn't capable of making his own decisions. As if staying in his own home, surrounded by the echoes of his parents, was somehow wrong.

He had proposed Tanaka as his guardian, a solution that seemed perfectly reasonable to him. Tanaka had been with the family for years and knew every aspect of the Phantomhive household. But the Midfords had dismissed the idea outright. A butler, they said, as if that somehow negated Tanaka's years of loyal service.

In the end, it had been a compromise. Tanaka would be his legal guardian until he turned eighteen, a temporary measure until he could take control of his father's company and the estate. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than the alternatives.

Ciel's eye fell on a framed photo of his parents, their smiles frozen in time. "I'll find you," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. "Whatever it takes, I'll uncover the truth."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's gaze drifted across his father's desk, settling on a photograph he'd never paid much attention to before. Something about it caught his eye, drawing him in.

The image showed his father, much younger than Ciel had ever known him, beaming in a graduation cap and gown. Vincent's arm was slung casually over the shoulder of another man, both of them radiating the confidence of youth. Ciel leaned in, studying the stranger's face. Black hair, glasses, and eyes... Ciel blinked, taken aback by the piercing chartreuse gaze that seemed to stare right through the photograph.

A nagging sense of familiarity tugged at Ciel's mind. He'd seen those eyes before, hadn't he? But where?

Without really thinking about it, Ciel picked up the frame. His fingers worked at the backing, slipping the photograph free. He turned it over, his heart rate quickening as he spotted handwriting on the back.

"To Vincent, I can't wait to see what you and I will do in the future," Ciel murmured, the words barely audible even to his own ears.

His mind raced with questions. What did this cryptic message mean? Who was this mysterious man, and what sort of future had he envisioned with Father? The implications sent a shiver down Ciel's spine.

A sudden clink of glass on wood made Ciel start, nearly dropping the photograph. He whirled around to find Tanaka standing there, having silently materialized as he so often did. The butler was setting down a glass filled with a familiar pale liquid.

"Master Ciel, it's your favorite, milk and honey," Tanaka announced, his voice gentle and warm.

Ciel felt a flash of irritation, quickly followed by a pang of guilt. "Tanaka, I'm not sickly anymore like I was when I was a kid. You don't have to make this for me anymore." The words came out harsher than he'd intended, his frustration at the mystery before him bleeding into his tone.

Tanaka, ever unflappable, merely smiled. "But I insist," he replied, his voice as polite and steady as always. "It always seems to put you in a good mood, and you are still a kid, after all."

Ciel opened his mouth to protest, to insist that he wasn't a child anymore, that he couldn't afford to be. But something in Tanaka's kind eyes made him pause. Instead, he found himself reaching for the glass, the familiar smell of warm milk and honey momentarily pushing aside the weight of his worries.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel glanced up at Tanaka as he raised the glass to his lips. The familiar blend of sweet honey and creamy milk washed over his tongue, momentarily transporting him to simpler times. Carefully setting the glass down, he held out the photograph to Tanaka.

"Do you know who this is next to my father?" Ciel asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the urgency he felt.

Tanaka leaned in, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the image. "An acquaintance of your father, I believe," he replied, his tone maddeningly vague.

Ciel pressed on, "This was taken in front of Weston, right?"

"Yes, that's the University your father graduated from," Tanaka confirmed.

A nagging sensation took root in the back of Ciel's mind, impossible to ignore. The stranger in the photo, hauntingly familiar yet unknown, the cryptic message on the back - it all felt significant. Could this be the first real clue to his parents' disappearance?

Ciel's mind raced with possibilities, but frustration quickly followed. What could he do with this information? He couldn't simply march up to Weston and demand answers. No, this would require patience and careful planning.

His eye fell once more on the photograph, those piercing chartreuse eyes seeming to challenge him. Ciel's resolve hardened. He would uncover the truth behind this mystery, no matter how long it took. This photograph, this moment, felt like the first step on a long and dangerous path - one he knew he had to follow.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                            Present Time

Sebastian's eyes swept over the sprawling estate as Angela brought the car to a halt. A vintage Victorian-style mansion stretched before them, its beige walls and blue-trimmed roof a monument to opulence and old money.

"My, my," Sebastian purred, his voice a silky blend of amusement and curiosity. "What an intriguing little hideaway you've brought us to, Angela. I don't suppose this charming abode belongs to you?"

He turned to his companion, one eyebrow arched elegantly. Angela's crimson lips curved into that familiar, knowing smile that never failed to intrigue him.

"Now, now, Sebastian," she chided playfully, her voice dripping with mock reproach. "A lady never reveals all her secrets at once. Where would be the fun in that?"

Sebastian's gaze returned to the mansion, drinking in the myriad windows and doors that peppered its facade. Each one seemed to whisper of mysteries and potential dangers lurking within.

"Indeed," he murmured, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "And we do so love our little games, don't we?"

As they sat there, the air between them charged with anticipation, Sebastian couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. Whatever lay beyond those ornate doors, he was certain it would prove to be a most entertaining diversion from the mundane world of Weston University.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian elegantly extricated himself from the vehicle, his movements fluid and deliberate. He followed Angela's lead, his footsteps silent on the gravel path as they approached the imposing front doors. 

Angela's knuckles rapped against the wood with a confidence that spoke of familiarity. Sebastian stood just behind her, his senses alert, curiosity piqued.

The door swung open, revealing an older gentleman impeccably dressed in butler's attire. His greying hair was meticulously slicked back, a testament to years of practiced propriety. Sebastian's keen eyes noted the momentary widening of the man's eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders - clear signs of surprise at their unexpected arrival.

"Ms. Angela? What brings you here?" the butler inquired, his voice a blend of deference and barely concealed concern.

Sebastian felt a flicker of genuine surprise - a rare sensation for him - as a familiar figure appeared beside the butler. Ciel Phantomhive, his enigmatic student, stood there, looking as shocked as Sebastian felt.

The boy's words cut off abruptly as his gaze shifted, his visible eye widening as it locked onto Sebastian. The look of stunned recognition on Ciel's face was almost comical.

"Dr. Michaelis?" Ciel breathed, his tone a mixture of disbelief and wariness.

"Good evening, Ciel," Sebastian purred, his voice smooth as silk. "What a pleasant surprise.”

Chapter X: END

Chapter Text

Chapter XI: The Tower

           A couple of minutes earlier

Ciel stood before the imposing doors of the Phantomhive mansion, a familiar weight settling in his chest. His knuckles rapped against the wood, the sound echoing in his ears as he waited. Seconds stretched like hours until finally, the door swung open.

Ciel's eye fell upon Tanaka's weathered face, the old butler's ever-present warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Yet, Ciel couldn't help but notice a flicker of something else in Tanaka's expression. Was it worry? He couldn't be certain.

"Homesick already, young master?" Tanaka asked, his tone carrying that familiar blend of amusement and affection that Ciel had grown accustomed to over the years.

Ciel felt a twinge of annoyance at the suggestion. Homesick? Hardly. He was here on a mission, not some frivolous adventure. Still, he couldn't bring himself to snap at the old man. Tanaka's presence was oddly comforting, a slice of familiarity in this unfamiliar place.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward, an involuntary response to Tanaka's familiar presence. "I guess you could say that," he replied, surprising himself with the hint of warmth in his voice. As he stepped over the threshold, the familiar scents and sights of home washed over him. For a brief moment, the weight of his mission at Weston seemed to lift, replaced by a bittersweet nostalgia he hadn't expected to feel.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel shrugged off his jacket, passing it to Tanaka with practiced ease. He inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of polished wood and old leather filling his lungs. The mansion's atmosphere enveloped him, a mix of comfort and unease.

"Young master, I can't help but worry about you," Tanaka's voice broke the silence, a note of concern in his usually placid tone.

Ciel's eye narrowed slightly. "Worry?" he echoed, watching as Tanaka hung his coat with meticulous care before turning to face him.

"I know you didn't just come back here to reminisce," Tanaka continued, his voice gentle but firm. "It's been four years, and there's been no sign of your parents. You've been fixated. This has taken over every facet of your life."

Ciel felt his expression harden, a familiar mask of cold indifference sliding into place. "Tanaka," he said, his voice sharp and brittle, "you may have been my legal guardian in the past, but know your place."

To Ciel's irritation, Tanaka showed no reaction to his harsh words. Instead, the old butler sighed, his eyes filled with a concern that made Ciel's skin prickle uncomfortably. "I just want you to be careful," Tanaka said softly. "Your father got himself involved with something he couldn't get out of, and in the end, it backfired on him."

Ciel felt his throat constrict, a chill racing down his spine at Tanaka's ominous words. The implication of his father's illegal drug distribution to Weston hung in the air, but the consequences seemed to stretch far beyond what he'd imagined. For what purpose? The question echoed in his mind, opening a chasm of possibilities he wasn't sure he was prepared to face.

"What are you talking about? Tanaka-" Ciel's voice came out harsher than he'd intended, a mix of fear and anger coloring his words. He could hear the tremor in his own voice and hated it.

Why was Tanaka suddenly worried now? Why hadn't he said anything about this when Ciel had decided to go to Weston? The questions burned in Ciel's mind, fueling his growing frustration and unease. 

Before Tanaka could respond, a sharp knock at the door cut through the tension. Ciel's head snapped towards the sound, his eye narrowing with suspicion.

"Are you expecting anyone, Tanaka?" he asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

Tanaka shook his head, his usual calm demeanor tinged with curiosity. "No, young master. I wouldn't invite anyone without your permission," he replied, his tone reassuring yet puzzled.

Ciel's mind raced, his earlier shock giving way to a familiar sense of wariness. Who could be at the door? And why now, of all times?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Open it," Ciel commanded, his tone sharp with barely concealed tension.

Tanaka complied without hesitation, his figure obscuring Ciel's view of the unexpected visitor. Ciel strained to see past the butler, his curiosity warring with caution.

"Ms. Angela? What brings you here?" Tanaka's voice carried a note of surprise that only heightened Ciel's intrigue.

Angela? The name stirred something in Ciel's memory - his aunt, a figure from his distant childhood. Vague recollections flitted through his mind, elusive and dreamlike.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Ciel stepped forward, gently moving past Tanaka. His gaze settled on his aunt, a flash of recognition sparking in his eye. But then, his attention was abruptly diverted by an all-too-familiar figure standing beside her.

"Dr. Michaelis?" The words escaped Ciel in a breathless whisper, his composure momentarily shattered by the shock of seeing his professor here, of all places.

"Good evening, Ciel," Sebastian's silky voice cut through the air, sending an involuntary shiver down Ciel's spine. "What a pleasant surprise."

Ciel felt his mind reeling, struggling to process this unexpected turn of events. What could possibly connect his long-absent aunt with his enigmatic professor? And why were they here, now, at this precise moment?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Why're you both here?" Ciel demanded, his tone sharp with suspicion.

Angela's crimson lips curled into a Cheshire cat grin, her eyes glinting with mischief. “No 'hi auntie, I haven't seen you in a while, I missed you'?" she trilled, her voice a blend of amusement and mock offense.  "Tsk, tsk. The youth of today, so dreadfully gauche. One might think you weren't pleased to see me, darling nephew."

Ciel felt his eye narrow, irritation bubbling beneath his carefully maintained composure. Before he could retort, Sebastian's silky voice sliced through the tension.

"I had no idea you were Ciel's aunt, Angela," he purred, his tone a perfect mixture of surprise and intrigue that set Ciel's teeth on edge.

"Well, it's not something I could just mention in casual conversation," Angela replied, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Ciel's gaze darted between the two, his mind racing. The familiarity between them was palpable, laden with unspoken secrets. He could feel the edges of a larger mystery brushing against his consciousness, tantalizing and just out of reach.

"I believe," Ciel said, his voice cold and precise, "that doesn't answer my question. Why are you here? Both of you?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's gaze fixed on the black bag in Angela's hands, his mind racing with possibilities. What secrets could it hold?

"Darling nephew," Angela's voice dripped with honeyed familiarity, "Sebastian's an old friend of mine, and apparently, he's your professor? What a turn of fate this is." She lifted the bag with a flourish. "I bought him dinner to celebrate his accomplishments."

Ciel's eye narrowed, suspicion etched in every line of his face.

"I didn't expect you to be here, however," Angela continued, her tone lilting with curiosity. "I thought you were still away at Weston."

"How did you know I'm attending Weston?" Ciel shot back, his voice sharp.

Angela's laugh tinkled like broken glass. "Ciel, you're my darling nephew, of course I know what University you're attending!"

This couldn't be mere coincidence, Ciel thought. Sebastian's omnipresence in his life was becoming unsettling. His gaze slid to his professor, eyes narrowing in silent accusation.

Sebastian met his look with practiced innocence. "Don't look at me," he purred, "she was the one who brought me here."

An uncomfortable silence descended, thick with unspoken questions.

"So," Angela's voice sliced through the quiet, "are you going to let us in or what?"

Ciel felt his jaw clench, but he stepped aside wordlessly, allowing Angela and Sebastian to enter. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tanaka bow to the unexpected guests, ever the proper butler.

"Ciel, darling," Angela's voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, "why don't you join us for dinner? If you're curious about the bag, it's just meat. Nothing sinister, I assure you."

Ciel's mind raced. He didn't have time for this charade; he needed to search the mansion, to find any clue about his parents' disappearance. Surely there had to be something he'd overlooked.

"Actually, I-" he began, his tone clipped.

"Before you refuse," Sebastian interjected smoothly, his crimson eyes seeming to pierce through Ciel's defenses, "I must insist. Since we're friends now, wouldn't it be beneficial to get to know each other better?"

Ciel averted his gaze from Sebastian's intense stare, glancing instead at his aunt. He felt cornered, trapped by their insistence and his own need to avoid suspicion. There was only one choice, as much as it grated on him.

"Very well," he said, his voice carefully neutral despite the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I suppose I could spare some time for dinner."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

             ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel followed Angela and Sebastian into the dining room, acutely aware of Tanaka's presence behind them. His eye tracked Angela as she took her seat, still clutching that mysterious bag. Ciel lowered himself into a chair, his posture tense, gaze never leaving his aunt. He noticed Sebastian remained standing, those crimson eyes seeming to catalog every detail of the room.

"Ms. Angela," Tanaka's gentle voice broke the silence, "allow me to prepare a meal with the meat you've brought." The butler stepped towards Angela, his hands outstretched for the bag.

Ciel watched as Angela deftly moved the bag out of Tanaka's reach, her lips curving into a polite yet firm smile. "Oh, that's very kind of you, Tanaka," she cooed, her tone leaving no room for argument, "but Sebastian is quite the culinary artist. He'll whip up something delightful in the kitchen."

Ciel felt his eye narrow as he observed this peculiar exchange, his suspicion mounting with each passing second. What on earth could be in that bag that Angela guarded so zealously? She'd claimed it was just meat, hadn't she? Yet her secretive behavior suggested otherwise. 

Sebastian glided towards Angela, his movements fluid and purposeful. With a subtle nod, he took possession of the bag, then vanished into the kitchen. Tanaka, ever the proper butler, bowed deeply before exiting the room, leaving Ciel alone with his enigmatic aunt.

"And then there were two," Angela trilled, her voice laced with amusement.

Ciel's eye narrowed, his tone sharp as he cut straight to the point. "What prompted your sudden return?"

Angela's crimson lips curved into a smirk. "I could ask you the same thing, darling nephew."

Ciel felt his jaw clench, irritation bubbling beneath his carefully maintained composure. "This is my home," he retorted, his words clipped and precise. "I inherited it. You, on the other hand, did not. So I'll ask you again, what are you doing here?"

His gaze never wavered from Angela's face, searching for any hint of deception in her features.

"I was feeling reminiscent," Angela remarked her tone light yet tinged with something Ciel couldn't quite place. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Ciel's eye narrowed, his voice sharp with skepticism. "Reminiscent? I was under the impression you'd abandoned the family long ago."

A flicker of shock crossed Angela's face before her features smoothed into a neutral mask. "Abandoned?" she echoed, her voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Is that what my dear sister told you?"

"What do you mean?" Ciel demanded, unable to keep the confusion from his voice.

Angela's eyes glinted with a mixture of pain and anger. She pursed her red lips, carrying an unpleasant tone in her voice. “I never abandoned the family, darling. They shunned me, cast me out like yesterday's rubbish."

Ciel felt his world tilt, confusion washing over him in waves. His mother's words about Angela echoed in his mind - how she was no longer welcome due to her departure. Rachel had never explained the details, and he'd never thought to ask. Now, he found himself questioning everything he thought he knew.

"Are you saying my mother was lying?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his tone a mixture of disbelief and growing uncertainty. The very idea seemed implausible, yet a seed of doubt had been planted.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Rachel was always one to paint a narrative that suited her needs," Angela said, her voice cool as she crossed her arms. The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable.

Ciel felt his mind reeling, questions multiplying by the second. What could have possibly transpired between his mother and Angela? Before he could voice his thoughts, Sebastian glided into the room, elegant as ever, placing plates before them with practiced ease.

The aroma of the food wafted towards Ciel, momentarily dispelling the tension that had gripped the room. His eye widened slightly as he took in the unfamiliar dish before him. The only recognizable element was the mashed potatoes nestled on the side. Everything else was foreign territory for his palate.

"Langue D'agneau En Papillotes," Sebastian announced, his voice smooth as silk. "In simpler terms, cow tongue."

As Sebastian set down his own plate and took a seat at the table, Angela's voice cut through the air, laden with amusement. "It must've been a particularly chatty cow."

Their shared laughter felt like a secret handshake, an inside joke that left Ciel feeling distinctly like an outsider. His gaze dropped to his plate, studying the thinly sliced cow tongue resting atop the mashed potatoes, a sprig of basil adding a touch of color.

Despite his lingering suspicions, Ciel couldn't deny that the dish looked and smelled appealing. He found himself oddly tempted. After all, he reasoned, what harm could there be in taking a bite?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's mind raced, weighing his options. It wasn't as if this was the first time he'd consumed Sebastian's cooking. Their sessions at Weston had often been accompanied by the professor's culinary creations. So really, what was the harm? 

With a mixture of curiosity and caution, Ciel raised a forkful of the beef to his lips. The moment it touched his tongue, he was taken aback by the exquisite flavor. The meat was cooked to perfection, its taste both foreign and oddly comforting. As he followed it with a bite of mashed potatoes, the combination of flavors danced across his palate, each enhancing the other in a way that surprised him.

Despite his lingering suspicions about the evening's strange turn of events, Ciel couldn't deny the quality of the meal before him. It was, loath as he was to admit it, utterly delicious.

Ciel felt Angela's gaze boring into him, her voice slicing through his thoughts with its usual saccharine edge. "Ciel, you've been awfully quiet," she trilled, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Cat got your tongue?" A pause, then, "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

Ciel fought to keep his features schooled into neutrality, but he could feel an unwelcome warmth creeping up his neck. "I'm just wondering about what type of relationship you have with Dr. Michaelis," he said, his tone clipped. To his dismay, he detected a hint of something in his voice - was that jealousy? A jolt of confusion shot through him. Jealous? Why in the world would he feel jealous?

Angela's response hit him like a slap. "Well, I guess you could say that Sebastian and I are ex-lovers of some sort," she said, her voice dripping with casual amusement. Her eyes flicked to Sebastian, batting her eyelashes at him. and Ciel noticed his professor stiffen almost imperceptibly. An indescribable feeling washed over Ciel, leaving him momentarily at a loss. The bluntness of Angela's statement was jarring, even for her.

Sebastian cleared his throat, a flicker of discomfort crossing his usually composed features. "She's joking," he said, his silky voice carrying a hint of strain. "We're simply friends."

"Just teasing," Angela trilled, her voice dripping with false innocence. "You know how I love to tell a joke."

Ciel felt a wave of irritation wash over him as he swallowed the last bite of his meal. "I suppose dinner is done, then?" he said, his tone clipped. "Don't you two have somewhere to be?"

He needed them gone. Every second they lingered was another moment wasted in his investigation.

Angela tilted her head, her eyes glinting with amusement. "What's the rush?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity that set Ciel's teeth on edge.

"There is no rush," Ciel replied, fighting to keep his voice level. "I'm tired and I want to sleep." The lie felt clumsy on his tongue, but it was the best he could manage under her piercing gaze.

His eye caught Sebastian's, and for a moment, Ciel thought he saw a flicker of understanding in those crimson depths. "Angela," Sebastian interjected smoothly, "I think it's time we take our leave."

Relief flooded through Ciel at Sebastian's words, though he was careful not to let it show on his face.

Angela sighed dramatically. "You're right, we should go," she conceded. "See you around, darling nephew."

Ciel felt his jaw clench at Angela's parting words. The way she referred to him, with that underlying note of condescension, grated on his nerves like sandpaper. He watched them leave, counting the seconds until he could begin his real work for the evening.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel watched as Sebastian and Angela rose from the table, their movements fluid and unhurried. He trailed after them, escorting them to the door more out of habit than hospitality. As they departed, Sebastian cast a final glance at Ciel, his crimson eyes unreadable. The look sent an involuntary shiver down Ciel's spine, but he pushed the feeling aside. There was work to be done.

With the unwelcome guests finally gone, Ciel's mind raced into action. His father's involvement in Weston's dark underbelly was now undeniable, but the extent of that involvement remained shrouded in mystery. How deep did Vincent Phantomhive's connection truly go?

Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals distributing Funtom drugs to Weston - the pieces were there, but the picture remained frustratingly unclear. Ciel's brow furrowed as he mentally cataloged what he knew. Funtom: an anesthetic, potent enough for surgical use, capable of paralysis in large doses. The drug had left its mark on both Soma and Maurice, their toxicology reports bearing witness to its presence. And Alois, the would-be rapist turned murder suspect, had allegedly sourced it from Lau.

But how did his father fit into this sordid tableau? Was there a connection beyond the drug itself, or was that where Vincent's involvement ended? The questions gnawed at Ciel, demanding answers.

His feet carried him towards his father's study, each step on the staircase echoing in the empty mansion. The long, dark hallway stretched before him, shadows dancing at the edges of his vision. Ciel felt a chill run down his spine; this place that should have been a comfort now felt alien and foreboding.

As he approached the study door, Ciel's heart raced with anticipation. His hand hesitated for a moment on the doorknob before he steeled himself and pushed it open. The room beyond was a snapshot frozen in time, every detail exactly as Vincent had left it. The untouched nature of the study only added to the weight of the secrets Ciel knew it must hold.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Ciel surveyed his father's untouched study, another question bubbled to the surface of his churning thoughts. Charles Grey - the so-called investigator who had inserted himself into Ciel's quest for answers. What secrets was that silver-haired interloper concealing?

Ciel's eye narrowed as he recalled Charles' evasive behavior, his convenient appearances, and disappearances. The man was clearly withholding information, playing some game whose rules Ciel had yet to decipher. But why? What could Charles possibly gain from this intricate dance of half-truths and strategic silences?

The question hung in the air of Vincent's study, adding another layer to the mystery Ciel found himself entangled. He couldn't shake the feeling that Charles' secrets were somehow intertwined with the larger puzzle of Weston, his father, and the Funtom drug. But how? And more importantly, could Charles be trusted, or was he just another player in this dangerous game?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel pushed the thoughts of Charles aside for the moment, focusing his attention on his father's desk. He lowered himself into the cushioned chair, his eye drawn to the familiar photographs adorning the surface. Images of himself, Rachel, and Vincent stared back at him, alongside the photo of his father with William that had sparked his investigation into Weston.

William. The name hit Ciel like a physical blow. How could he have momentarily forgotten about the Chancellor? William's claim of being Vincent's business partner suddenly took on a sinister new meaning. It must implicate him directly in Weston's drug dealing operation. Ciel felt a grim satisfaction in his decision not to report to William.

If that was the case, there had to be business documents detailing their partnership. Ciel's eye darted to the file cabinet across the room, recalling the countless times Vincent had made him observe the tedious process of filling out paperwork. 

With a soft grunt, Ciel pushed himself up from the desk and approached the cabinet. He pulled it open, revealing a daunting array of papers. A sigh escaped his lips at the prospect of sifting through the mountain of documents.

But then, something caught his eye. A corner of paper peeking out from behind the file cabinet, barely visible. Ciel's heart rate quickened. Could this be something the police had overlooked in their investigation? The possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him, tempered by caution. Whatever this hidden document contained, Ciel knew it could be the key to unraveling the mystery that had consumed his life for the past four years.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's fingers trembled slightly as he gently extracted the paper from its hiding place. His eye scanned the document, its contents sending a chill down his spine:

Company: Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals 
Product: Derrick Arden
Buyer: The Baron
Price: To be determined

He read it once, twice, three times, his mind struggling to process the information before him. The company name was unmistakable - Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals, his father's legacy. But the rest... Ciel felt his brow furrow in confusion and growing unease.

The 'product' - Derrick Arden. It was a name, not a drug or medical device. A person's name. The implications made Ciel's stomach churn. And the buyer, simply listed as 'The Baron', seemed more like a shadowy title from a gothic novel than a legitimate business contact.

Questions swirled in Ciel's mind, each more disturbing than the last. What kind of transaction was this document recording? How could a person be listed as a product? And who was this mysterious 'Baron'?

The paper in his hands suddenly felt heavy, weighted with secrets and horrors he was only beginning to uncover. Ciel realized with a start that he might be holding evidence of something far worse than drug dealing - something that could shatter everything he thought he knew about his father and their family's legacy.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's brow furrowed as he contemplated the name Derrick Arden. Something about it nagged at the corners of his mind, a faint echo of recognition he couldn't quite pin down. A public figure, perhaps? The possibility gnawed at him, prompting him to reach for his phone.

With quick, precise movements, Ciel typed the name into the search bar, his finger hovering for a split second before tapping the magnifying glass icon. His eye widened slightly as the results loaded, a photograph dominating the screen.

The image showed a young man with striking platinum blonde hair, thick eyebrows, and dull blue eyes. While the face stirred no immediate recognition, the accompanying information sent a jolt through Ciel. Derrick Arden, son of politician Neil Arden, reported missing. As he scrolled, fragments of memory began to coalesce. 

An article. Something about the politician's missing son and Weston University. The recollection hit Ciel with sudden clarity - he had read about Derrick's planned attendance at Weston shortly before the young man's disappearance. The implications of this connection, combined with the disturbing document he'd just uncovered, made Ciel's stomach churn. What sinister web had he begun to unravel?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's eye narrowed as he delved deeper into the article, each new revelation sending a fresh wave of shock through him. The words seemed to leap off the screen: over thirty students reported missing from Weston in the past couple of years. His mind reeled. How was this possible? More importantly, why had the police taken no action?

A surge of frustration and disbelief washed over him. How had he missed this crucial information? When he'd enrolled at Weston, all he'd heard were glowing reviews and prestigious accolades. Not a whisper about vanishing students had reached his ears. The stark contrast between the university's polished reputation and this grim reality left him feeling both foolish and angry.

As the pieces began to fall into place, a horrifying picture emerged. Students being sold like commodities. The Funtom drug is potentially being used to subdue them. But even as this theory took shape, new questions arose. If students were simply being trafficked, why the sudden shift to murder? The recent deaths of Soma and Maurice didn't fit the pattern of quiet disappearances.

Ciel's mind raced, trying to connect these disparate threads. There was a larger game at play here, one with rules he was only beginning to grasp. Whatever was happening at Weston, it was clear that the depths of depravity ran far deeper than he had ever imagined.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The monotonous rhythm of Monday morning found Ciel back in his dormitory at Weston, sprawled across his bed. He was savoring the last moments of solitude before the day's classes when a sudden knock shattered the quiet.

Ciel's brow furrowed, his mind quickly cycling through potential visitors. Who would seek him out at this early hour? Curiosity mingled with wariness as he pushed himself up, his feet finding the cold floor. 

With measured steps, he approached the door, his hand hesitating for a brief moment over the knob. The weight of recent revelations hung heavy in his mind, coloring even this simple act with suspicion. Taking a steadying breath, Ciel steeled himself and opened the door, bracing for whatever - or whoever - awaited him on the other side.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's eye widened slightly as he found himself face to face with Lawrence, the prefect's usually composed features marred by visible distress.

Without a preamble, Lawrence's voice cut through the air, low and urgent. "Why were you by the unmarked buildings at night?"

Ciel's mind raced, quickly assessing the situation. "You can come in, by the way," he said coolly, stepping aside. The last thing he needed was curious ears in the hallway overhearing this conversation.

Lawrence strode in, his agitation evident in his pacing. "You didn't answer my question," he pressed, his tone sharp.

Ciel's eye narrowed, deciding to counter with a question of his own. "I have a question for you," he said, his voice measured. "Why did you let me leave? You could've easily got me in trouble for roaming the campus at night."

Lawrence's fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture of frustration tinged with resignation. "Fine," he conceded, his voice tight. A beat of silence, then, "I... felt bad about what transpired between us regarding the Alois situation. Consider us even now." His eyes locked onto Ciel's, sharp and demanding. "Now answer my question, first year.”

Ciel's mind raced, weighing his options. Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford, not with the web of deceit he'd uncovered. Would revealing his investigation to an outsider truly benefit him? He opted for a carefully crafted lie. "I was out for a stroll to clear my head," he said, his tone nonchalant.

Lawrence's eyebrow arched skeptically. "Really? Near the unmarked buildings?" The disbelief in his voice was palpable.

Ciel met Lawrence's gaze steadily, offering a single, decisive nod. The lie sat uncomfortably between them, a palpable presence in the room. Ciel could see the doubt in Lawrence's eyes, but he held firm. In this dangerous game, half-truths and misdirection were his only allies.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Lawrence's voice cut through Ciel's thoughts, suddenly businesslike. "Okay, I think I'm done here, then." His expression had smoothed into careful neutrality. 

Ciel inclined his head, his single visible eye betraying a flicker of wariness. "Yes, I have class soon," he said, his tone carrying a clear note of dismissal.

Lawrence's gaze met Ciel's, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling in their depths. "For your sake," he said, his voice low and weighted, "I hope it isn't true." 

Before Ciel could formulate a response, Lawrence had already slipped out of the room, leaving behind a wake of uneasy silence. Ciel stood frozen, Lawrence's cryptic words echoing in his mind. What could he have meant? A gnawing doubt began to creep in - had withholding information been the right choice after all?

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As Ciel navigated the hallway, an unsettling change in atmosphere prickled at his senses. The usual chatter of students had dimmed to hushed whispers, punctuated by furtive glances in his direction. His eye caught sight of unfamiliar figures - men whose weathered faces and alert postures marked them as distinctly out of place among the student body. They stood with an air of expectancy, their gazes following his every move.

A chill ran down Ciel's spine as he recalled Lawrence's cryptic warning. The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed was one of impending doom. He quickened his pace, heart pounding in his chest, acutely aware of the closing net around him.

Ciel forced himself to ignore the stares, his mind circling back to the labyrinth of his investigation. Frustration bubbled within him as he faced what felt like an insurmountable impasse. 

The weight of his discoveries bore down on him, with no clear way forward in sight. The police, he thought bitterly, were likely nothing more than puppets of the school board, rendering them useless in the face of these sinister disappearances. And Alois, that crucial piece of the puzzle, had vanished - expelled to parts unknown, taking with him any hope of a direct confrontation.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel felt as if he were trapped in an endless loop, evidence mounting but with no one to present it to. Where was the justice in all of this? The question gnawed at him, a persistent ache that refused to subside.

Lost in his mounting dread, Ciel failed to notice the obstacle in his path until collision was inevitable. The impact against a solid form jolted him to a halt, time seeming to slow to a crawl. As he looked up, he found himself face to face with a man whose stern expression spoke of grim purpose. Ciel's breath caught in his throat, realization dawning - whatever was about to happen, there would be no escaping it.

Shaggy auburn hair framed a face etched with lines of experience, dark blue eyes regarding Ciel with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. A mustache and stubble added to the man's gruff appearance, his frown deepening as he scrutinized Ciel.

"Are you Ciel Phantomhive?" The man's voice, rough and authoritative, sliced through the air.

Ciel nodded, caution evident in his single visible eye. "Yes," he replied, tension coiling in his gut. "Who's asking?"

With deliberate slowness, the man reached into his coat. Ciel watched, rooted to the spot, as a metallic glint caught his eye. His breath caught as he realized it wasn't a weapon, but something equally foreboding - a badge.

"I'm Fred Abberline, of Scotland Yard," the man announced, his words reverberating in the suddenly hushed corridor.

The irony wasn't lost on Ciel. Mere moments ago, he'd been ruminating on the police's complicity in Weston's schemes, and now here they stood before him. A sick feeling of dread washed over him as he wondered what could have brought Scotland Yard to his doorstep. Whatever the reason, Ciel knew with chilling certainty that it boded ill for him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

What followed felt like a waking nightmare. "Ciel Phantomhive, you are under arrest for the murders of Soma Asman Kadar and Maurice Cole." Each word hit Ciel like a physical blow, leaving him reeling.

Before he could fully process what was happening, Abberline produced a pair of handcuffs. The cold metal against his wrists jolted Ciel back to reality, the click of the locks sealing his fate. 

Abberline's voice continued, reciting words that barely registered through Ciel's shock. "You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do or say may be given in evidence."

Ciel's mind raced, a maelstrom of disbelief and panic. How had it come to this? The cruel irony of being accused of the very crimes he'd been investigating threatened to overwhelm him. He was being framed - it was the only explanation. But who? And why? 

As the reality of his situation sank in, Ciel felt the carefully constructed world he'd built crumbling around him. All his investigations, all his carefully laid plans - had they led him not to the truth, but into an elaborate trap?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XI: End

Chapter Text

Chapter XII: Judgement

Ciel sat alone in the interrogation room, acutely aware of the oppressive closeness of the walls. The small, compact space seemed to press in on him from all sides, intensifying his growing sense of unease. His fingers moved of their own accord, drumming an erratic rhythm on the desk before him as his mind raced.

The room's stark emptiness felt almost deliberately designed to unsettle him. Dimly lit and devoid of any distinguishing features, it reminded Ciel of the countless detective shows he'd seen on television. But this was no fictional drama - the cold metal of the chair beneath him and the faint smell of disinfectant served as harsh reminders of his genuine predicament.

As the minutes ticked by, each feeling longer than the last, Ciel found his thoughts spiraling. What options did he have in this situation? The extent of the police's knowledge remained frustratingly unclear. More pressingly, how deeply were they entangled with Weston's corruption? The possibility that even law enforcement might be compromised left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Ciel's visible eye narrowed as he contemplated his chances of extricating himself from this mess. The odds seemed stacked against him, but he refused to succumb to despair. There had to be a way out - he just needed to find it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the creak of the opening door. He looked up to see the shaggy-haired detective from earlier entering the room, clipboard in hand. Ciel wracked his brain for the man's name, but it eluded him, slipping away like water through cupped hands.

"Detective Underline," Ciel ventured, his tone carefully neutral despite his uncertainty.

"Abberline," the detective corrected, his voice betraying no emotion at Ciel's mistake.

Ciel watched as Abberline took a seat across from him, the man's fingers intertwining as he studied Ciel with an intensity that made the boy's skin prickle. Abberline's gaze flickered between Ciel and the clipboard, heightening the tension in the room.

"Would you like a cuppa?" Abberline asked, his tone deceptively casual.

Ciel felt his guard rise instinctively. The offer seemed friendly enough on the surface, but he wasn't fooled. This was an interrogation, plain and simple, and Abberline was most certainly not his friend. Every word, every gesture was a potential trap.

Without a word, Ciel shook his head, declining the offer.

Ciel felt a flicker of irritation at Abberline's nonchalant tone, so at odds with the gravity of the situation. 

"Ciel Phantomhive, your father was a rather influential man, so was your mother," Abberline stated, his voice carrying a hint of something Ciel couldn't quite place.

"Is," Ciel corrected sharply, his eye narrowing. "My parents haven't been declared dead."

Abberline nodded, his expression grim. "All that fortune, all of that power was going to go to you. It was overwhelming, wasn't it?"

Ciel felt his patience wearing thin. "With all due respect, I don't see what this has to do with the murders-"

"You didn't want to inherit the company," Abberline interrupted, his tone assured.

Ciel felt a jolt of surprise. The detective's assumption hit uncomfortably close to home, but he kept his face impassive.

Abberline pressed on, his words sending a chill down Ciel's spine. "You see, you have a motive for these murders. But I've been wondering... maybe Soma and Maurice's deaths aren't where it started?"

Anger flared in Ciel's chest. "You don't have any evidence," he sneered, "and if you keep talking, that's where this conversation is going to end."

"You don't have an alibi for Soma and Maurice's murders, and there was evidence found specifically in your dorm room," Abberline countered.

Ciel felt his heart skip a beat. "Evidence?"

He watched, a growing sense of dread building in his stomach, as Abberline reached into his pocket. The detective placed something on the table - a transparent plastic bag. As Ciel leaned forward to look closer, he felt the blood drain from his face. Inside the bag was an ear.

"What the hell is that?" Ciel breathed, his eye widening in shock and revulsion.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel felt the world tilt beneath him as Abberline continued, his words hitting like physical blows. "You know what it is. And that's not the only thing. We found drugs from your father's company in your room. Anesthetic. The same Anesthetic that was found in the victims' systems."

A wave of panic threatened to engulf Ciel, but he fought to keep his composure. "Someone is trying to frame me," he insisted, hating the slight tremor he could hear in his own voice. "I didn't do this."

He watched Abberline's face, searching for any sign of belief or doubt, but the detective's expression remained frustratingly unreadable.

"If you confess now, we can try to lessen your sentence," Abberline offered, his tone almost gentle.

The suggestion sent a jolt of indignation through Ciel. Confess? To crimes he hadn't committed? The very idea was absurd. In that moment, Ciel knew he was done playing this game.

"I want a lawyer," he stated firmly, his voice regaining its strength. "I'm not talking to you anymore."

As the words left his mouth, Ciel felt a grim sense of satisfaction. Whatever trap had been laid for him, he refused to walk into it willingly. Now, more than ever, he needed to think carefully about every move.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Elizabeth stood in the bustling hallway of Weston, her green eyes wide with disbelief as she watched police officers move about, their presence a stark reminder of the unthinkable news. Her cousin, Ciel, arrested for murder? It seemed impossible, inconceivable even.

She felt Edward's presence beside her, his usual protective demeanor now tinged with shock and confusion. Elizabeth's mind raced, trying to reconcile the Ciel she knew with the accusations being leveled against him. How could the same person who had fought so hard to uncover the truth about what had happened to her be capable of such heinous acts?

It simply didn't make sense. There had to be some mistake, some misunderstanding. Elizabeth felt a surge of determination course through her. She needed to speak to Ciel herself, to hear his side of the story. Surely, he could explain everything.

As she watched the police cordon off Ciel's room and other areas of the school, Elizabeth felt a surreal detachment from the scene unfolding before her. It was like watching a crime drama on television, except this was real life, and the accused was someone she cared about deeply.

Elizabeth's heart ached with worry for Ciel and frustration at her own helplessness. She had to find a way to help him, to uncover the truth. Because if there was one thing Elizabeth was certain of, it was that Ciel Phantomhive née was no murderer.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"We need to go-"

"See him," Edward finished Elizabeth's sentence. She felt a wave of relief wash over her, grateful that her brother understood her thoughts so perfectly.

Elizabeth's vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Edward, seeking comfort in her brother's familiar presence. "He has to be okay," she murmured, her voice muffled against Edward's chest as sobs wracked her body.

She felt Edward's hand gently patting her back, his silence speaking volumes. At that moment, Elizabeth appreciated his steadfast support more than words could express.

Their shared moment of quiet grief was suddenly interrupted by a smooth, silvery voice. "Sorry to interrupt your moment, but, I can take you to see him."

Elizabeth lifted her head from Edward's chest, peering over his shoulder. Her gaze fell upon a stranger with raven hair and captivating ruby eyes. The man's presence was both alluring and slightly unsettling.

She felt Edward stiffen, stepping protectively in front of her. "Who’re you?” he demanded, his voice laced with suspicion.

The stranger's lips curved into a polite smile. "Oh, my, I forgot to introduce myself, my apologies. I'm Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel's psychology professor."

Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Ciel's name. Could this man truly help them see their cousin? Hope and wariness warred within her as she studied Sebastian's enigmatic expression, trying to determine if they could trust him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Elizabeth watched as Edward's emerald eyes narrowed with suspicion. "That's awfully nice of you, what's the catch?" he demanded, his tone sharp.

"Edward!" she exclaimed, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. She gently pushed her brother aside, stepping forward to address Sebastian herself. "Sorry about that, my brother is just protective of me," she explained, offering an apologetic smile.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Edward scoff and cross his arms, his posture radiating disapproval.

Sebastian's smooth voice drew her attention back to him. "I understand, after all, there's few people you can trust fully," he said, his gaze shifting to meet Elizabeth's. The smile he gave her was dazzling, seeming to radiate warmth and charm.

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush involuntarily, caught off guard by the intensity of Sebastian's gaze and the allure of his smile. She found herself momentarily flustered, her heart beating a touch faster than usual.

Gathering her composure, Elizabeth returned Sebastian's smile with one of her own. "We would be thankful for you to take us to see Ciel," she said, her voice carrying a note of gratitude and hope.

As she spoke, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and unease. While Sebastian's offer seemed like their best chance to see Ciel, something about the professor's charm felt almost too perfect, too calculated. Still, her desire to help her cousin overrode her lingering doubts.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles burst into William's office, his jaw clenched tight as he fought to maintain his composure. The realization that Ciel had been implicated in these crimes left him reeling. How could he have been so blindsided?

As he stood there, facing the impassive Chancellor, Charles felt a wave of frustration wash over him. While he and Ciel had been conducting their clandestine investigation, it seemed William had been orchestrating a plan of his own. The easily obtained evidence should have been a red flag, Charles berated himself. They had walked right into a trap, and he'd been too focused on the thrill of the chase to see it.

Now, Charles was certain that William knew the true identity of the killer. This frame-up had been in motion all along, with Ciel as the unwitting scapegoat. The more Charles thought about it, the clearer it became. Only William had the necessary access - to the evidence, to the unmarked buildings, even to plant false leads in Lau's office. Charles wouldn't be surprised if William had orchestrated Maurice's handover of the flash drive to Ciel from the start.

But the question that gnawed at Charles was: why Ciel? Was the boy simply an unfortunate victim of circumstance, or was there something more sinister at play? As he stared at William's inscrutable face, Charles felt his investigator's instincts kick into high gear. There was more to this story, and he was determined to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles eyed William, his chest heaving with barely contained anger. The Chancellor didn't even flinch at his abrupt entrance, merely glancing up from his paperwork with an infuriatingly calm demeanor.

"What game are you playing?" Charles demanded, his voice sharp with accusation.

"The same game you thought you could play with the school board. Only I played it better." The cadence that William spoke in was slow and deliberate, grating on Charles' nerves.

"What are you on about?" Charles shot back, struggling to maintain his composure.

"I know about your little double agent act," William replied, his tone icy. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? You sneaking around with Ciel—I have eyes everywhere. This is my school." William left his desk, sauntering towards Charles, like a predator entrapping prey.

Charles felt his muscles tense as William approached, but he held his ground. He knew he'd underestimated the Chancellor, but he wasn't about to back down now. His mind raced, trying to figure out how much William truly knew and how he could turn this situation to his advantage.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles fought to keep his voice steady, his mind racing. "So, what's your plan? Have Ciel take the fall and keep committing murders?" He tried to gauge what was next and more importantly—what was going to happen to him.

William was now right in front of him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The expression looked uncanny on William's face as if a smile didn't belong there. It was deeply unsettling.

"Not quite, you see. There is a grand plan in all of this. One you can't even begin to imagine." William's voice remained monotone, which sharply contrasted with his expression, making it even more disconcerting.

"How do I fit into all of this?" Charles questioned, fighting to maintain his composure.

"You don't. I want you to leave the school, forget this case, and cease all contact with Ciel and the school board." William's words were clipped and precise.

There was a pause before Charles quirked an eyebrow. "Or else?" he prompted, dreading the answer.

William's next words sent a chill up Charles' spine. "I'd rather not say."

That lone sentence already said everything Charles needed to know. The implication was clear - he'd be killed if he disobeyed. Charles felt his throat tighten as the gravity of his situation sank in. He was way over his head, and for the first time since taking on this case, he felt truly afraid.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel found himself sitting in Sebastian's class, confusion clouding his mind. Wasn't he just in the interrogation room? He blinked, trying to orient himself.

Sebastian's voice cut through his disorientation, “Wendigo psychosis is characterized by symptoms such as an intense craving for human flesh and fear of becoming a cannibal."

Ciel's eye darted to Sebastian, a jolt of shock running through him. Behind his professor loomed a dark figure, its presence seemingly unnoticed by Sebastian. The figure was humanoid but pitch black, with antlers giving it a deer-like appearance. Its black eyes bore into Ciel, seeming to stare right through him.

Suddenly, the figure pointed at Ciel, its elongated finger stretching impossibly across the room. Ciel felt it touch his chest, and to his horror, blackness began to spread from the point of contact. It raced across his body, a searing pain accompanying its progress as if something was being violently torn from him. As the darkness crept up his neck, inching towards his face-

Ciel jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat. He found himself on the uncomfortable bed in his cell, his hair sticky and matted to his forehead. Disoriented, he couldn't tell if it was morning or still the depths of night. The vivid nightmare clung to him, its unsettling imagery refusing to fade as reality slowly reasserted itself around him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As his breathing slowly steadied, Ciel's mind raced. What was the meaning behind this disturbing dream? The grotesque imagery of cannibalism lingered, unsettling him deeply. Was his subconscious trying to communicate something crucial, perhaps a hidden piece of the puzzle he'd overlooked? Or was it merely a manifestation of his stress and fear, a "wacky dream" born from his dire circumstances?

As the cell door creaked open, Ciel's eye landed on Abberline's familiar figure, flanked by a stern-faced correctional officer. 

"Come on, we've got a day ahead of us," Abberline commanded, his tone brusque.

Ciel rose, acutely aware of his sweat-soaked clothing clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The sensation only added to his growing sense of unease.

Abberline's gaze swept over him, a hint of something akin to pity flashing in his eyes. "You haven't been sentenced yet, so you're on remand," he explained. "Which means you get to keep your regular clothes."

The information left Ciel conflicted. Part of him longed to shed his damp, grimy attire, but the prospect of blending in with the general prison population sent a chill down his spine. His own clothes, at least, served as a small reminder of his life beyond these walls.

As they began their journey through the facility, Ciel found himself sandwiched between Abberline and the corrections officer. The cacophony of prison life assaulted his senses - angry shouts, profane taunts, and the clanging of metal doors echoing off the cold, unforgiving walls.

They halted before a familiar door. Abberline swung it open, gesturing for Ciel to enter while the corrections officer took up position outside.

Ciel stepped into the interrogation room, a sense of déjà vu washing over him. This time, however, two steaming cups of tea sat on the table, their gentle aroma filling the air.

As Ciel lowered himself into the chair, he became acutely aware of his parched throat. The tea beckoned invitingly, but he resisted the urge to reach for it, suspicion overriding his discomfort.

"I didn't poison the tea, you can take a sip," Abberline offered, his tone almost casual.

"No thank you," Ciel replied, his voice emerging as a hoarse whisper, betraying his thirst.

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the soft ticking of a wall clock. Finally, Abberline cleared his throat.

"I know you said you were done talking, but, I wanted to show you something," he said, his words hanging in the air with an unspoken weight.

Ciel tensed, bracing himself for whatever revelation the detective had in store. Despite his earlier resolve to remain silent, he found his curiosity piqued, wondering what could be so important that Abberline would risk breaking protocol to share it with him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's eye widened as Abberline placed a piece of paper before him. With hesitant fingers, he grasped the document, his gaze scanning its contents:

Patient name: Ciel Phantomhive

Main points: Antisocial, uses deflection as a coping mechanism, not able to interpret his emotions, very detached. 

Has revealed that he has been experiencing blackouts. Often seems disoriented during sessions and way of speaking seems to change. Could be a sign of DID.

Disbelief washed over Ciel as he realized these were therapist notes - Sebastian's notes about him. His mind reeled, unable to recall ever mentioning blackouts to Sebastian. The very notion was baffling.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Ciel blurted out, his hand shaking as he looked at the paper.

Questions raced through his mind. Why would Sebastian write such things? What purpose could it serve?

Abberline sighed, "This is what Dr. Sebastian Michaelis handed to me. Listen, let me give you some advice. Take advantage of it. Admit that you did it, and you'll get let off easy."

"Spending the remainder of my life locked up in a mental facility is not 'getting let off easy'," Ciel retorted, his voice sharp with anger and disbelief. "If you thought you could get me to confess to something I didn't do, and incriminate myself, then you're sorely mistaken."

Ciel felt a cold realization settling in his gut. Sebastian was finally showing his true colors. Of course, he was in on it. Ciel's feelings about his professor had always been a tangled mess of suspicion and grudging respect, but now, it seemed his wariness had been justified all along.

The conflicting emotions he'd harbored towards Sebastian - the feeling he couldn’t describe whenever he lay eyes on him, the curiosity, the constant sense of being off-balance in his presence - now crystallized into a sharp sense of betrayal. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every "accidental" touch now took on a sinister new meaning in light of this revelation.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Ciel's eye darted towards the sound, noting Abberline's expectant turn. The corrections officer's voice carried into the room, "The inmate has visitors, cut this conversation short, detective."

Ciel felt a flicker of surprise. Visitors? Who could possibly be here to see him?

Abberline sighed, his eyes closing briefly in what looked like exhaustion. "Just think about what I said," he muttered, his tone carrying a hint of resignation.

Anger flared in Ciel's chest, hot and sharp. "Go to hell," he spat, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. He hadn't meant to let his composure slip, but the mounting frustration and betrayal left him raw, his usual cool facade cracking under the strain.

As he rose to follow the corrections officer, Ciel's mind raced. Who were these visitors? And would their presence offer a lifeline, or merely add to the web of deception closing in around him?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He followed the corrections officer into another room, a solitary, closed-off space. As Ciel entered, his eye fell upon familiar faces: Elizabeth, Edward, and Sebastian. They sat around a table in the center of the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving them in privacy.

Ciel's gaze swept over them, taking in Elizabeth's tear-brimmed eyes, Edward's determined expression, and Sebastian's inscrutable facade. He fought to control the twitch in his eye, resisting the urge to glare openly at Sebastian.

Before he could process the situation, Elizabeth rushed to embrace him. "Ciel! Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" she asked, her hands gripping his shoulders as she pulled back to examine him. 

"Eliz- I mean, Lizzy, I'm fine," Ciel replied, his voice softer than he intended. "Let's sit down to talk."

As they settled at the table, Ciel deliberately turned to Edward, pointedly ignoring Sebastian. "It's good to see you, Edward."

Edward's gaze met his, sharp and assessing. "You look like the cat dragged in, cousin," he deadpanned his tone a mixture of concern and dry humor. Then, his voice hardened with determination. "We're going to get you out of here. They can't keep you here, you're a Phantomhive."

Ciel felt a flicker of surprise. "You don't think I did it?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock. "Of course not! There has to be a mistake. I'm just glad Sebastian offered to drive us here."

Her words forced Ciel to finally acknowledge Sebastian's presence. As their eyes met, Ciel noticed a smirk tugging at Sebastian's lips. The sight made his blood boil, igniting a desire to wipe that smug expression off his professor's face.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Oh, right." Ciel's mind raced, knowing he needed to uncover Sebastian's true motives once and for all. But with his cousins present, he couldn't speak freely. "Would you mind if I spoke to Sebastian alone for a moment?"

Elizabeth and Edward exchanged glances, their eyes flicking between Ciel and Sebastian. Ciel wondered if they sensed the underlying tension, though he doubted it, given their usual obliviousness to such subtleties.

"Yeah, that's fine," Elizabeth agreed, rising from her seat. "Edward, let's wait outside."

Edward followed suit, but to Ciel's surprise, he paused at the door. His cousin's gaze swept over them as if assessing the situation. Without a word, he then followed Elizabeth out.

As the door closed behind them, Ciel felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. He was finally alone with Sebastian, but the weight of their last interaction - the damning therapy notes - hung heavy in the air between them.

Ciel leaned forward, his restraint finally breaking as he fixed Sebastian with an icy glare. "What are you trying to do?" he demanded, his voice low and taut with tension.

Sebastian's response came devoid of its usual silky charm, his tone flat and emotionless. "Please elaborate on what you're specifically referencing."

Ciel felt his frustration boiling over, the words hissing out in a harsh whisper before he could stop them. "The fucking notes you wrote about me."

The vulgarity of his own outburst caught Ciel off guard. He paused, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of his own reaction, before quickly regaining his composure.

"You blatantly lied about what I had told you," Ciel continued, his voice now controlled but still sharp with accusation. "I never told you I was experiencing blackouts. You made that up."

"I...lied? Are you sure about that?" Sebastian tilted his head in confusion, like a cat. A loose strand of hair fell perfectly, framing his face as he spoke.

Ciel felt his anger rising, barely able to contain it. "Are you trying to gaslight me? Stop taking the piss out of me and answer my question. What are you trying to do?"

Sebastian's response came with a veneer of concern, belied by the subtle smirk playing at his lips. "My dear Ciel, you misunderstand. Those notes are a lifeline, not an anchor. An insanity plea could be your ticket to freedom. Surely you'd prefer that to languishing behind bars for eternity?"

Ciel's mind reeled, unable to grasp the logic behind Sebastian's actions. Was his professor genuinely convinced of his guilt, or was this all part of some elaborate frame-up? 

Ciel's expression twisted with disgust. "You're delusional. I'm innocent."

Sebastian's eyes glimmered with amusement. "Innocence is such a fickle thing, especially in the eyes of the law. But fear not, I have a proposition that could make all this... unpleasantness disappear."

Ciel felt trapped, cornered by Sebastian's implications and the weight of the false evidence against him. What game was Sebastian playing, and what could his mysterious "terms" possibly entail?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"What are these 'terms' you speak of?" Ciel asked his voice tight with suspicion.

"It's quite simple, really," Sebastian purred. "Your freedom in exchange for your services to William and I. A fair trade, wouldn't you agree?"

Ciel felt a surge of disgust. "Service to William and you? And do what? Take part in your human-drug trafficking ring?"

To Ciel's surprise, Sebastian's expression didn't betray shock, but instead... pride. "Oh, so you found the documents. I knew you could do it."

"What?" Ciel's mind reeled, struggling to process this sudden shift.

Leaning in close, Sebastian's voice dropped to a silky whisper. "But you've only scratched the surface. This goes far beyond what you've imagined. Your parents' disappearance, your enrollment here - all carefully orchestrated steps in a grand design. Even my lectures were breadcrumbs, leading you down this path."

Ciel felt as if the ground was shifting beneath him. "Why, for what purpose? Why would you do all of this to frame me?"

Sebastian's eyes gleamed with dark promise. "It's not about framing you, Ciel. It's about offering you a choice. Join us, and the world is yours. Refuse, and, well... I'm afraid your future looks rather bleak."

"Join what exactly?" Ciel demanded, his voice trembling despite his best efforts.

"Why, our organization, of course," Sebastian replied, his tone dripping with temptation. "A place where your talents could truly flourish. After all, isn't that what you've always wanted? To step out of your father's shadow and prove your worth?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"No!" Ciel's voice cracked with raw emotion. "I never wanted any of this. I just want... I just want to be left in peace!"

Sebastian's eyes glinted with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Oh, Ciel," he purred, his voice a silky caress. "Peace is a luxury your name doesn't afford you. The Phantomhive legacy isn't something you can simply shrug off."

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over Ciel's ear. "Besides, we both know that's not what you truly crave. Isolation has never suited you, has it?"

Ciel jerked back, his visible eye blazing with defiance. "Don't presume to know me," he spat. "You're just another liar, another manipulator."

Sebastian's lips curled into a knowing smile. "On the contrary, my dear boy," he murmured, each word deliberate and weighted. "I see you more clearly than anyone ever has. Your desires, your fears, your potential... it's all laid bare before me."

The intensity of Sebastian's gaze made Ciel feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that both terrified and exhilarated him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's mind raced, trying to process the implications of Sebastian's words. Everything he thought he knew was unraveling, and he found himself facing a choice he never imagined he'd have to make.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                                 A Day Ago

Lawrence stood rigid, his jaw clenched as he contemplated storming into William's office. An unsettling disquiet had taken root in his gut, a nagging sense that something was terribly amiss at Weston.

His mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. True, Ciel had reason to want Maurice dead, but Soma? The logic crumbled under scrutiny. Why would Ciel murder his own flatmate, only to then expose Alois and Maurice's misdeeds? The dissonance between Ciel's actions and the crimes he was accused of rang false to Lawrence's ears.

Then there was Claude's bizarre directive – a request so out of the ordinary it set alarm bells ringing in Lawrence's mind. The timing was too convenient, too precise. Ciel's presence near the unmarked buildings just as they were instructed to guard them reeked of a setup. But how could they have known?

Lawrence's brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. Hidden cameras seemed plausible, but that theory unraveled quickly. If surveillance was in place, why involve students in patrols at all? 

The more Lawrence pondered, the more questions arose, each more unsettling than the last. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the edge of something far larger and more sinister than he'd ever imagined.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Lawrence's hand hovered inches from William's door, poised to knock, when the muffled sound of voices from within stayed his motion. Curiosity overpowered propriety, and he found himself pressing his ear against the cool wood, straining to catch the conversation.

William's voice, unmistakable in its crisp articulation, cut through the barrier. "I know about your little double agent act. Did you really think I wouldn't notice? You sneaking around with Ciel—I have eyes everywhere. This is my school."

An unfamiliar voice responded, its tone laced with defiance. "So, what's your plan? Have Ciel take the fall and keep committing murders?"

Lawrence's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in shock. The implications of those words hit him like a physical blow. Ciel, innocent? William, the orchestrator of this elaborate frame-up? The foundation of everything Lawrence believed about Weston began to crumble.

William's reply was chilling in its nonchalance. "Not quite, you see. There is a grand plan in all of this. One you can't even begin to imagine." The banality in his tone, as if discussing the weather rather than life-altering conspiracies, sent a shiver down Lawrence's spine.

"How do I fit into all of this?" the stranger pressed.

"You don't," William responded, his words clipped and final. "I want you to leave the school, forget this case, and cease all contact with Ciel and the school board."

A pregnant pause followed, broken by the stranger's tentative query. "Or else?"

William's response, though quiet, seemed to echo in Lawrence's ears with terrifying clarity. "I'd rather not say."

Lawrence pulled back from the door, his mind reeling. The weight of what he'd just overheard threatened to overwhelm him. Everything he thought he knew about Weston, about William, about justice—it all lay in shambles at his feet.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The ancient floorboard betrayed Lawrence with a sudden, traitorous creak. He inwardly cursed his carelessness, his heart hammering against his ribs as he strained to hear any reaction from within. The ensuing silence stretched taut as a wire, pregnant with menace.

Just as Lawrence began to retreat, hope of escape flickering faintly, the door swung open. William stood before him, his face a mask of mock pity that sent chills down Lawrence's spine. It was the most emotion he'd ever seen on the Chancellor's face, and it terrified him.

William's voice dripped with false sympathy, each word a dagger wrapped in silk. "Well, well. What have we here? Eavesdropping, Lawrence? How very... disappointing."

In that moment, Lawrence became acutely aware of his isolation. The hallway stretched empty in both directions, devoid of potential witnesses or saviors. Panic clawed at his throat as the gravity of his situation sank in.

William shifted, revealing a man with choppy silver hair behind him. Lawrence recognized him vaguely from around campus but couldn't place a name to the face.

William's gaze flickered to the silver-haired man. "You see, Charles? This is the price of unwarranted curiosity. A lesson you'd do well to remember." His attention snapped back to Lawrence, eyes glinting dangerously. "As for you, my overzealous prefect, I'm afraid you've stumbled into something far beyond your comprehension."

The stranger - Charles, Lawrence now knew - spoke up, his voice tinged with what sounded like concern. "William, let him go-"

"No, no, no, no," William cut him off, each 'no' striking Lawrence like a physical blow. "You see, I can't do that. Now he knows too much."

Lawrence felt as if he were drowning, his chest tight as he struggled to draw breath. His mind screamed at him to act, to flee, to fight - anything but stand there helplessly. But his body betrayed him, refusing to move an inch.

Summoning what little courage he had left, Lawrence forced words past his constricted throat. "What are you going to do to me?" His voice sounded small and afraid to his own ears, nothing like the authoritative tone he usually used as a prefect.

William's lips curled into a smile that held no warmth. "That's for me to know, and for you to... well, you know how that one goes, don't you?"

Lawrence's eyes widened in shock as William's hand moved with startling speed. Before he could react, a glint of metal caught his eye - a gun, materializing as if from thin air. Time seemed to slow, his mind struggling to process the sudden escalation.

Then, in a blur of motion too fast for Lawrence to follow, William's arm swung towards him. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the gun's barrel arcing through the air, and then-

Pain exploded across his skull, a supernova of agony that obliterated all thought. The world tilted sickeningly, darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision. As consciousness slipped away, Lawrence's last coherent thought was a mix of disbelief and terror. How had it come to this?

The floor rushed up to meet him as he collapsed, the encroaching darkness finally claiming him completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XII: END

Chapter Text

Chapter XIII: Death; Part One

Lawrence's consciousness returned slowly, accompanied by a searing pain that radiated through his skull. He tried to move, to assess his situation, but panic set in as he realized he couldn't feel anything below his neck. His mind, still foggy, struggled to make sense of his predicament.

With great effort, he managed to tilt his head down, his eyes widening in horror at the sight that greeted him. His hands, pale and lifeless-looking, were suspended on either side of his body. Dark, viscous liquid - his blood, he realized with a sickening lurch - dripped steadily from his wrists into buckets placed beneath them.

The reality of his situation hit Lawrence like a physical blow, and he felt his stomach roil. The nausea that had been building suddenly made terrible sense. He was being drained, like some grotesque science experiment. The thought sent a wave of terror through him, intensifying the throbbing in his head and the sickness in his gut.

As the full gravity of his situation sank in, Lawrence found himself wishing desperately for the oblivion of unconsciousness once more. Anything would be better than this waking nightmare.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Lawrence's vision cleared, familiarity seeped into his consciousness. He was still in William's office. The realization brought no comfort, only a deepening sense of dread. 

Suddenly, William loomed into view, the gun he'd used to strike Lawrence still gripped in his hand. But the weapon wasn't aimed at Lawrence. With great effort, Lawrence managed to lift his heavy head, following the gun's trajectory to its new target: Charles.

Lawrence could feel something warm and sticky trickling down his face. Blood, he realized, from the blow to his head. It dripped steadily, some smearing across his glasses, further obscuring his already compromised vision.

William's voice cut through the haze of Lawrence's thoughts, each word dripping with a cruel amusement that made Lawrence's skin crawl. "You're awake. Having trouble moving, aren't you? That's just the drug taking effect. I administered quite a hefty dose, so you'll find speaking rather challenging as well. Which means, my dear prefect, no calling for help."

The taunting edge in William's tone sent a chill down Lawrence's spine. He wanted to respond, to demand answers, but his body refused to cooperate. All he could do was watch, helpless and horrified, as the nightmare continued to unfold before him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Lawrence watched, his vision blurry and distorted, as William reached into his pocket with his free hand. The gun remained trained on Charles, unwavering. A rattling sound filled the air as William tossed something - Lawrence couldn't make out what - in Charles' direction.

William's voice cut through the tense silence. "Take the pills, Charles." His tone was cold, brooking no argument.

Charles' response came out strained, tinged with disbelief. "I thought you were letting me go-"

William's laugh was chilling, devoid of any real mirth. "I was, but then I had a better idea. Something more... entertaining. Don't fret, your chances of survival are... reasonable. Probably."

"Probably?" Charles' voice rose, a mix of anger and fear. "Would you stop being so damn cryptic?"

"Now, now," William chided, his tone mockingly playful. "It's a surprise. I wouldn't want to spoil it for you. So, be a good boy and take your medicine."

Lawrence felt his stomach churn, not just from blood loss but from the horrifying realization of what he was witnessing. He wanted to shout, to warn Charles, but his body remained frustratingly unresponsive. All he could do was watch the scene unfold, a helpless spectator to William's twisted game.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Through his blood-smeared glasses, Lawrence observed Charles' reluctant compliance. With shaking hands, Charles extracted a single pill from the bottle, placing it hesitantly on his tongue.

"Swallow it," William commanded, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

Lawrence watched Charles' throat work as he forced the pill down, his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort. The look of dread on Charles' face made Lawrence's own stomach clench in sympathy.

"Take some more." William's voice was relentless, almost gleeful in its cruelty.

With visible trepidation, Charles shook out additional pills, tipping them into his mouth and swallowing hard. Lawrence could see the struggle in every line of Charles' body, the man's usual bravado crumbling under William's merciless gaze.

"More."

As Charles repeated the process, Lawrence caught a glimpse of raw fear in the man's eyes. Despite Charles' attempts to maintain a tough exterior, terror radiated from him in palpable waves. Lawrence felt his own heart racing in response, helpless to intervene as this nightmare unfolded before him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Good boy," William's voice dripped with mock praise, sending a chill down Lawrence's spine. "Now we're ready for some fun."

Lawrence's heart raced as William's attention shifted to him, those cold eyes boring into his own. "Now, as for you. Unlike our friend Charles here, your journey ends today. Any parting wisdom to share?" William paused, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, that's right. You're having trouble forming words, aren't you?"

Rage and desperation surged through Lawrence. He fought against the drug's effects, willing his uncooperative mouth to form words. What came out was barely intelligible, a slurred mess of syllables. "You... you... you're... monster," he managed to force out, each word a monumental effort.

William's sigh of disappointment felt like a slap to Lawrence's face. "How utterly uninspired. I had hoped for something more... memorable."

Lawrence's vision began to blur, the edges of his sight darkening. He could feel his life ebbing away with each drop of blood that fell into the buckets below. The steady drip-drip-drip seemed to echo in his ears, a macabre countdown of his remaining moments.

He fought against the encroaching darkness, desperately clinging to consciousness. But his body, weakened by blood loss and the potent drug, betrayed him. His thoughts became sluggish, disconnected.

As his awareness slipped away, Lawrence felt a profound sense of regret. There was so much left undone, so many words left unsaid. He wanted to fight, to rail against the injustice, but he no longer had the strength.

The darkness closed in, inexorable and all-consuming. This time, Lawrence knew with a chilling certainty, there would be no waking up. As the last vestiges of consciousness faded, his final thought was a wordless cry of defiance against the cruelty that had brought him to this end.

Then, nothing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                      Nineteen years ago

Vincent Phantomhive's knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight. The weight of his family's legacy pressed down on him, made heavier by the knowledge that their vaunted old money offered little protection against the harsh realities of modern business. His company, still in its infancy, teetered on the brink of financial ruin. Bankruptcy loomed like a specter, threatening to erase everything he'd worked for.

He could feel Rachel's concerned gaze on him, her worried glances a silent plea for reassurance. When she finally spoke, her voice cut through his brooding thoughts.

"Vincent, talk to me."

He sighed, the sound heavy with frustration and fear. "There's nothing to talk about. Ciel's condition is only getting worse, and he's barely a few months old."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel shake her head. Her words, when they came, were tinged with a mixture of understanding and apprehension. "I know you're doing what you think is necessary, but getting involved with William of all people is-"

"I know what I'm doing," Vincent snapped, cutting her off. Even as the words left his mouth, he felt a twinge of doubt. Did he really know what he was doing? Or was he just desperately grasping at any lifeline, no matter how dangerous?

As Weston's imposing edifice came into view, Vincent felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. The building loomed before him, its grandeur now seeming more threatening than impressive. He pulled the car to a stop, the silence between him and Rachel growing heavier by the second.

Rachel turned away, her gaze fixed on the window. "I'll wait for you in the car," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vincent's chest tightened. He understood her reservations, felt them himself, but the words to express this shared fear eluded him. Emotions had never been his strong suit. Instead, he reached out, taking her hand in his. He gave it a gentle squeeze, hoping the gesture could convey what his words couldn't.

"We're going to be okay," he reassured, trying to infuse his voice with a confidence he didn't feel. "Ciel is going to be okay."

Rachel didn't respond verbally. She turned to him, her eyes meeting his. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of emotions Vincent couldn't decipher. Was it doubt? Fear? Or something else entirely? The uncertainty gnawed at him.

Suppressing a sigh, Vincent released her hand and exited the car. As the door closed behind him, he felt as if he were sealing off more than just the vehicle's interior. With each step towards Weston, the weight of what he was about to do pressed down on him, a burden he'd chosen to bear alone.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Vincent stepped into Weston's hallowed halls, a flood of memories washed over him. The familiar scent of polished wood and old books transported him back to his student days. Yet, everything felt subtly different now, changed in ways he couldn't quite pin down. The corridors seemed narrower, the ceilings lower, as if the weight of his current predicament was physically altering his perception.

He found himself marveling at how much had changed since he'd last walked these halls. Back then, he and William had been mere students, their futures stretching out before them, full of promise. Now, here he was, a struggling businessman, about to meet William - not as a peer, but as the Chancellor of this prestigious institution.

Vincent approached a passing staff member, his voice sounding strangely distant to his own ears as he inquired about William's office. Following the directions, he made his way through the labyrinthine corridors, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Finally, he found himself standing before an imposing oak door. The nameplate gleamed: "William T. Spears, Chancellor." Vincent's hand hovered in the air for a moment, his resolve wavering. Then, steeling himself, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

The ensuing silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. Just as Vincent considered knocking again, the door swung open. There stood William, his face as impassive as ever. As their eyes met, Vincent felt a chill run down his spine. This was it - the point of no return.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Vincent Phantomhive, what a pleasant surprise." William's tone was coolly professional as if addressing a mere acquaintance rather than an old friend. The disconnect jarred Vincent, a stark reminder of how much had changed between them.

"Come in," William stepped aside, gesturing Vincent into the office.

Vincent entered, his eyes sweeping the austere room. The lack of personal touches didn't surprise him; William had never been one for aesthetics. The spartan decor seemed to mirror the man himself - efficient, impersonal, devoid of warmth.

Swallowing his discomfort, Vincent pressed on. "About that proposition you mentioned... My son, he's very ill, and I-"

"Ah yes, I'd nearly forgotten about your child," William interjected, his voice carrying a hint of feigned interest. "Congratulations, by the way. How old is he now?"

"Four months," Vincent replied, the brevity of his son's life so far weighing heavily on him. He forged ahead, "I'm facing some... financial hurdles with a crucial project. It's for a drug that could cure my son's condition."

William's eyes glinted with something Vincent couldn't quite read - interest? Amusement? "I've heard rumors about your company's precarious financial state," he said, his tone maddeningly neutral. "So, you're here to accept my offer in exchange for funding, is that it?"

The bluntness of William's words made Vincent's stomach churn, but he steeled himself. This was for Ciel, he reminded himself. For his family's future. Whatever the cost, he had to see it through.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                         8 years later

Vincent suppressed a sigh as Francis's voice cut through the quiet of his study. "How is Ciel going to take over the company with the way he is now?" Her tone, as always, was laced with that inquisitive edge that grated on his nerves.

He hadn't invited her to discuss the future of the company, but here she was, prodding at old wounds. Vincent had long since learned that Francis would always insist on having these conversations, whether he wanted them or not.

"Francis, I appreciate your concern, but you don't need to worry about this," he acknowledged, keeping his voice level and polite. He hoped, futilely, that she would take the hint and let the matter drop.

But of course, she pressed on. "Vincent, need I remind you that I'm still a Phantomhive, even though I married a Midford?"

Vincent felt a flicker of irritation. Did she think he'd forgotten? Did she believe he needed reminding of their shared blood? He took a deep breath, steadying himself before responding.

"Yes, of course, I'm aware," he affirmed, his patience wearing thin. "However, you weren't proclaimed as the heir. I was."

The words hung in the air between them, a reminder of old rivalries and unspoken resentments. Vincent knew this wouldn't be the end of it, but he held onto the faint hope that, for once, Francis might let it go.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"I'm still working on a cure for his illness," Vincent added, his voice tight with barely contained emotion. He clung to the hope that had become his lifeline. "He's been a little better lately. Haven't you seen?"

He searched Francis's face for any sign of understanding, any hint that she could see the improvement he so desperately wanted to believe in.

Francis's sigh felt like a physical blow. Vincent watched as she pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture that spoke volumes of her exasperation. "Ah yes, this cure you speak of constantly," she spoke, her tone making it clear she'd heard this refrain too many times before.

Vincent felt his chest tighten as Francis continued, her words cutting deeper than she knew. "Vincent, you have to think of the worst-case scenario, what if he-"

"Don't say it." The words burst from him before he could stop them, raw and pained. He couldn't bear to hear the possibility spoken aloud as if giving voice to it might make it real.

"I'm just saying," she began, and Vincent braced himself for what was to come, "if something happens, appointing Edward is an option I'll accept, considering your wife's..." Francis paused, and Vincent felt a surge of protective anger as she delicately added, "fertility problems."

The words hit Vincent like a physical blow. He felt his hands curl into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he fought to maintain his composure. The casual way Francis had brought up Rachel's struggles as if it were a mere inconvenience rather than a source of deep pain for his wife, made his blood boil. The implication that Ciel might be their only chance, their miracle child, hung unspoken in the air between them, making Francis's suggestion all the more cutting.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

And the idea of anyone but Ciel taking over the company - even Edward - felt like a betrayal of everything he'd been working towards.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ 

"Get out." Vincent heard the words leave his mouth, his voice deceptively calm. He could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

Francis's eyes widened, her face a mask of regret. "I apologize, I didn't mean to imply anything harsh-"

But it was too late. The dam of Vincent's composure broke, his emotions flooding out in a torrent. "GET OUT!" he roared, his arm shooting out to point at the door. He barely recognized his own voice, raw with fury and pain.

He watched as Francis wordlessly rose to her feet. The pity in her eyes as she glanced at him only stoked his anger further. Vincent felt his lip curl in disgust. He didn't need her pity, didn't want it.

As Francis left the room, Vincent felt the tension lingering like a heavy cloud. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his racing heart.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his tumultuous thoughts. Vincent's gaze softened as he saw a familiar tuft of slate hair peeking through the slightly ajar door. His son's sleepy face appeared, a mirror image of his mother’s more than his own.

"Daddy? I heard a loud noise. Did Auntie Franny leave?" Ciel asked, rubbing his eyes drowsily.

Vincent felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't meant for Ciel to hear his outburst. "Yes, she had something to do," he lied smoothly, not wanting to burden his son with adult concerns. "Go back to bed."

As he watched Ciel nod and turn away, Vincent felt the weight of his earlier conversation pressing down on him. He would prove Francis wrong. He had to.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                          Present Time

Ciel felt his breath catch in his throat as Abberline's words hung heavy in the air between them. "Lawrence Bluewer has died just yesterday." The detective's fingers were interlocked, his face a mask of weariness and something else Ciel couldn't quite place.

Lawrence? Dead? Ciel's mind reeled, struggling to process this new information. His visible eye widened, a mixture of shock and disbelief evident in his gaze.

"How did he die?" The question left Ciel's lips before he could fully consider its implications. He found himself leaning forward slightly, desperate for any scrap of information that might make sense of this unexpected turn of events.

Abberline's response did little to quell the growing unease in Ciel's stomach. "We're not sure yet, all we know is that he had extreme blood loss which was most likely his cause of death."

Ciel's mind raced, connecting dots and formulating theories even as Abberline continued speaking. "This puts me in quite a compromising position. Arresting you only to have another murder committed while you're in captivity."

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Ciel. Here he sat, accused of murders he didn't commit, while the true killer continued their spree unabated. He felt a knot forming in his chest, a mixture of frustration at his powerlessness and a gnawing fear of what this might mean for his own fate.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in Ciel's mind, a chilling realization dawned on him. The connection between the drug and human trafficking operations and the murders seemed undeniable. It was only logical to conclude that Sebastian and William, already implicated in the former, were likely behind the latter as well.

Yet, something nagged at him, a discrepancy that he couldn't quite reconcile. Why would they suddenly change their modus operandi? For years, students had been disappearing quietly, without fanfare. Now, abruptly, there were gruesome, public murders for all to see. The shift in strategy made no sense to Ciel, and it bothered him deeply.

His thoughts turned to Sebastian, and a wave of betrayal washed over him. The man had worn so many masks - therapist, professor, even... friend. All the while, he had been plotting with William, weaving an intricate web of deceit. Ciel felt a twinge of shame as he remembered how he had come to view Sebastian's office as a sort of sanctuary. Even though he had never fully trusted Sebastian, he had allowed himself to feel safe there. Now, that feeling of security was shattered, leaving Ciel feeling more alone and vulnerable than ever.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The sudden creak of the door jolted Ciel from his thoughts. He watched as Abberline's head swiveled towards the sound, mirroring his own startled reaction.

A corrections officer appeared in the doorway, his expression impassive as he delivered news that Ciel never expected to hear. "Ciel Phantomhive, you're a free man, for now, I guess."

"What?" The word escaped Ciel's lips before he could stop it, disbelief coloring his tone.

The officer's clarification did little to ease Ciel's confusion. "You got bailed out."

Ciel felt his body go rigid, the implications of those words sinking in. A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach as realization dawned. He didn't need to ask who had posted his bail or why. The answer was all too clear, and it filled him with a mixture of relief and apprehension. Freedom beckoned, but Ciel knew all too well that it came with strings attached - strings that led straight back to the very heart of the conspiracy he'd been trying to unravel.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel caught Abberline's gaze as the detective turned to face him. "I guess my work here is done, but I wouldn't exactly consider you a free man," Abberline said, his tone laden with a meaning Ciel couldn't quite decipher.

The words echoed in Ciel's mind as he followed the corrections officer out. What did Abberline mean? The cryptic statement sent a shiver down his spine, adding to the growing sense of unease that had taken root in his chest.

As he trailed behind the officer through the prison's maze-like corridors, Ciel felt his apprehension mounting with each step. The promise of freedom suddenly seemed hollow. Was he truly being released, or was he simply trading one cage for another, more insidious one?

The bright sunlight momentarily blinded Ciel as he stepped through the prison gates. As his eye adjusted, a familiar figure came into focus. There, leaning casually against a sleek car, stood Sebastian. The sight of his professor sent a jolt through Ciel's system. 

Sebastian cut an imposing figure in his tailored suit, his usually messy hair now slicked back save for a single, perfectly placed strand that fell across his forehead. The carefully cultivated image only served to heighten Ciel's wariness. This was not the affable professor or the concerned therapist - this was Sebastian in his true element, and Ciel knew he was walking into something far more dangerous than a simple ride home.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's eyes met Ciel's, that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing across his lips. With a fluid motion, he pulled open the car door. "After you," he purred, the words dripping with false courtesy.

Ciel felt his jaw clench, a surge of anger and resentment bubbling up inside him. He shot Sebastian a withering glare, pouring all his frustration and betrayal into that single look. Yet, despite his revulsion, Ciel knew he had little choice. Swallowing his pride, he slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against his skin.

He heard rather than saw Sebastian enter the driver's side, the soft thud of the door closing punctuating the tense silence between them. Ciel deliberately turned away, fixing his gaze out the window. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, a physical barrier between himself and the man he had once almost trusted.

The engine purred to life, and Ciel felt the car begin to move. He kept his eye resolutely on the passing scenery, refusing to acknowledge Sebastian's presence any more than absolutely necessary.

"You're still giving me the silent treatment?" Sebastian's voice cut through the tense silence, his tone mockingly light as if this were some trivial lovers' quarrel.

Ciel gritted his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. He kept his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, hoping that his pointed silence would discourage further conversation. But of course, Sebastian couldn't resist prodding at him again.

"Well, I guess it can't be helped," Sebastian sighed, his voice a perfect blend of resignation and amusement. "Just so you know, we're taking a slight detour."

The word 'detour' sent a jolt of alarm through Ciel. Before he could stop himself, his head snapped towards Sebastian, his carefully maintained silence shattering. "Where are you taking me?" The words tumbled out, sharp with fear and anger.

As soon as the question left his lips, Ciel cursed inwardly. He'd fallen right into Sebastian's trap, giving him exactly the reaction he'd been fishing for. Ciel watched as Sebastian's smirk grew wider, a surge of self-directed frustration rising in his chest.

"I don't want to spoil the surprise," Sebastian replied, his voice smooth as silk but laced with an undercurrent of danger that made Ciel's skin crawl.

Ciel turned back to the window, his mind racing. Whatever this 'surprise' was, he was certain it would be nothing good. He felt like a fly caught in a spider's web, being drawn inexorably towards some unknown fate.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel sank into the leather seat of Sebastian's car, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical force. He had accepted Sebastian's offer, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn't really a choice, he told himself. He'd been backed into a corner, left with no other options. And now here he was, sitting next to the man who had manipulated and betrayed him as if the chasm of deceit between them didn't exist.

As Sebastian started the engine, Ciel's mind raced. There has to be some way out of this, he thought desperately. His eye darted around the car's interior, searching for something, anything that might offer a glimmer of hope. He refused to believe this was the end of the line. Somehow, someway, he would find a way to turn the tables on Sebastian and regain control of his fate.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Then, Sebastian’s voice snapped him out of his train of thought. “We’re here.” 

Ciel glanced out the window, realizing that they were practically in the middle of nowhere. There was only a line building they were parked in front of, no telling what was inside.

The building stood apart from its surroundings and seemed to exude an air of exclusivity and secrecy. Its facade was a blend of Victorian Gothic and modern architecture, with weathered stone walls interspersed with sleek, tinted glass windows.

The entrance was marked by a pair of heavy oak doors, ornately carved with intricate designs that hinted at the luxury within. Above the doors, a discreet brass plaque bore the establishment's name in elegant script, the only outward indication of the building's purpose.

Wrought iron gates flanked the entrance, manned by stern-faced security guards in impeccable suits. Their presence, along with the subtle but noticeable security cameras, made it clear that this was not a place for casual visitors.

Ciel felt a surge of defiance as he turned to face Sebastian. "Did you bring me here to murder me?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow in a show of bravado he didn't entirely feel.

Sebastian's response was as smooth as ever, his face a mask of feigned innocence. "I would do no such thing. Why would you think that?" 

Ciel wasn't fooled for a second. He knew better than to trust Sebastian's act of wounded virtue. Under his breath, he muttered, "It wouldn't be the first time you've probably murdered someone."

"What was that?" Sebastian's voice carried a hint of sharpness that told Ciel he'd heard more than he let on.

Deciding it wasn't worth pursuing, Ciel shook his head. "Nothing," he said, eager to escape the suffocating confines of the car. "Whatever. Let's just get out of here."

Ciel's shoes crunched on the gravel as he followed Sebastian towards the imposing gates. His eye darted between the stern-faced security guards, their impassive expressions revealing nothing. To his surprise, Sebastian merely nodded at them, and they were waved through without a word. The ease of their entry only heightened Ciel's sense of unease.

The heavy oak doors loomed before them, their intricate carvings catching the dim light. Sebastian pushed them open with practiced ease, gesturing for Ciel to enter. As he stepped over the threshold, Ciel felt as if he were crossing into another world entirely.

As Ciel stepped inside, he was immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. The foyer was vast, with polished marble floors that reflected the warm light from crystal chandeliers overhead. The air was heavy with a mixture of scents - leather, wood polish, and expensive perfumes - that spoke of wealth and exclusivity.

To his left, a grand staircase swept upwards, its mahogany banister gleaming in the soft light. The walls were adorned with what looked like priceless artwork, each piece framed in ornate gold. Ciel noticed more discreet security cameras placed strategically around the room, their presence adding to the air of secrecy.

Before Ciel could fully process his surroundings, Sebastian was already moving. Without a word, his professor began ascending the staircase, his movements fluid and purposeful. Ciel hesitated for a moment, a part of him wanting to flee back through the doors. But curiosity and necessity propelled him forward, and he found himself following Sebastian up the stairs, each step taking him deeper into this world of opulent mystery.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As they reached the top of the stairs, Sebastian pushed open a door, holding it for Ciel with an enigmatic smile. Ciel stepped inside, his eye widening as he took in the unexpected sight. It was a bedroom, but unlike any he'd ever seen before.

The room exuded luxury, from the intricately painted ceiling to the plush velvet duvet adorning the bed. Rich mahogany paneling lined the walls, its deep hues emphasized by the purposefully dim lighting. The atmosphere was intimate, almost seductive, and Ciel felt a flutter of unease in his stomach.

Why on earth had Sebastian brought him to a bedroom? Unbidden, strange thoughts began to flood Ciel's mind, each more unsettling than the last. Before his imagination could run wild, Sebastian's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.

"Go get yourself cleaned up," Sebastian instructed, nodding towards another door. "There's a bathroom connected to this room."

Ciel opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips as he suddenly became acutely aware of his own state. He hadn't changed clothes in at least two days. His hair felt greasy against his forehead, and he was painfully conscious of the stale odor clinging to his skin. Grudgingly, he had to admit Sebastian had a point.

"Also," Sebastian added, "there's a suit in the closet."

Ciel's brow furrowed in confusion. "A suit? What do I need to get dressed up for?"

Sebastian's lips curved into that infuriating smirk once again, “It's part of the surprise," he remarked, his tone maddeningly casual.

As Sebastian left the room, closing the door behind him, Ciel was left alone with his thoughts and a growing sense of apprehension. Whatever this 'surprise' was, he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the door clicked shut behind Sebastian, Ciel felt an unexpected pang in his chest. A vague sense of disappointment washed over him, catching him off guard. He stood there for a moment, confused by his own reaction. Why should he feel disappointed? This was Sebastian, the man who had betrayed him and manipulated him. 

Ciel shook his head, trying to dislodge the unwelcome feeling. He didn't have time for this, didn't want to examine why Sebastian's departure affected him in ways he couldn't quite understand. With a frustrated sigh, he pushed the emotion down, burying it beneath layers of anger and suspicion. He had more pressing matters to focus on, like figuring out what game Sebastian was playing now.

Turning towards the bathroom, Ciel resolved to ignore the lingering unease in his gut. Whatever was going on, he needed to be alert and ready. He couldn't afford to be distracted by confusing feelings, especially not about Sebastian.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel stepped into the bathroom, his fingers working mechanically to remove his clothes. As the last piece fell to the floor, he found himself face-to-face with his reflection in the ornate mirror. The sight gave him pause.

His hair had grown longer than he'd realized, the usually neat strands now shaggy and unkempt. With a moment's hesitation, he reached up and removed his eyepatch - something he rarely did, even in private. The contrast between his eyes was stark: one a vibrant blue, alert and observant; the other a pale, unseeing grey.

His gaze traveled down his body, noting with a mix of surprise and dismay how his ribs seemed more pronounced, his frame even more slender than usual. Had he really gotten that thin? Ciel had to admit, grudgingly, that he'd been neglecting himself. The case, the constant chaos - it had all consumed him, leaving little room for self-care.

A weary sigh escaped his lips as he turned away from his reflection. He reached for the shower controls, letting the water run until steam began to fill the room. As he waited for the temperature to reach a comfortable warmth, Ciel couldn't help but wonder how he'd let himself become so absorbed in the investigation that he'd lost sight of his own well-being. It was a sobering realization, one that left him feeling more vulnerable than he cared to admit.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the last droplets of water trickled down his skin, Ciel reached for his eyepatch, securing it in place with practiced ease. He wrapped a plush towel around his waist, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the grime he'd shed in the shower. Stepping out of the bathroom, the cool air raised goosebumps on his damp skin.

His eye was drawn to the closet Sebastian had mentioned earlier. With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, Ciel approached it, his fingers hesitating for a moment before pulling the door open. True to his professor's word, a single outfit hung inside: a navy blue suit, accompanied by a matching tie. A brooch glinted on the outer jacket collar, catching the dim light.

Ciel's brow furrowed as he examined the suit. Reluctantly, he began to dress, each movement deliberate and wary. As he slipped on the jacket, a chill ran down his spine. The suit fit him perfectly as if tailored specifically for his frame. This realization only heightened his unease. How had Sebastian known his exact measurements? The question lingered in his mind, adding another layer to the mystery surrounding his professor's intentions and the increasingly blurred lines between their academic relationship and... whatever this was becoming.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

      ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian returned to Ciel's room, a sense of anticipation coursing through him after completing his... preparations. He grasped the door handle, opening it with practiced ease.

His eyes immediately fell upon Ciel, who seemed oblivious to his entrance, engrossed in adjusting his tie. Sebastian cleared his throat, a small smirk playing on his lips as he watched Ciel startle and turn towards him. The boy's face flickered through a range of emotions - shock, then quickly morphing into that delightful irritation Sebastian had come to expect.

Sebastian allowed his gaze to wander appreciatively over Ciel's form. The suit he'd procured fit the young man perfectly, accentuating his lithe frame in ways that pleased Sebastian immensely. While guessing Ciel's measurements hadn't been particularly challenging, the exactness of the fit was a stroke of fortune that Sebastian savored.

He continued his examination, drinking in every detail. Ciel's hair had grown slightly shaggy over the past weeks, lending him a somewhat disheveled charm. His stature and appearance straddled the line between boyish and masculine, with a hint of femininity, a contradiction that Sebastian found utterly captivating. Though he noted with some concern that Ciel had lost weight - something he'd have to address - Sebastian couldn't deny that the young man still cut a striking figure.

"Need help?" Sebastian offered, already moving towards Ciel with fluid grace. He didn't wait for a response, knowing full well that Ciel would likely refuse.

"No I-" Ciel began, but Sebastian was already upon him, his hands deftly adjusting the boy's tie. He relished the proximity, acutely aware of Ciel's warmth and the slight quickening of his breath. Sebastian's eyes flickered to Ciel's face, enjoying the look of shock and the way words seemed to fail the usually sharp-tongued youth.

As he finished with the tie, Sebastian couldn't resist leaning in slightly, inhaling deeply. Ciel's scent washed over him - that familiar, light vanilla aroma that always seemed to cling to the boy. It was intoxicating, and Sebastian had to fight the urge to linger.

"Did you just...sniff me?" Ciel's voice cut through Sebastian's momentary indulgence, tinged with disbelief and a hint of something else - curiosity, perhaps?

Sebastian straightened, composing himself. He met Ciel's questioning gaze, a smirk playing on his lips as he smoothly denied the obvious. "No," he lied, enjoying the game far too much to admit the truth. The slight furrow of Ciel's brow told Sebastian that his denial wasn't believed for a second, which only added to his amusement.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As he stood there, drinking in the sight before him, Sebastian felt a familiar thrill of anticipation. The evening ahead promised to be most interesting indeed.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XIII: END

Chapter Text

Chapter XIV: Death: Part Two

Ciel found himself trailing behind Sebastian once again, frustration mounting as he struggled to keep up with his professor's long strides. Sebastian's legs seemed to eat up the ground effortlessly, while Ciel's shorter limbs worked overtime just to maintain the gap between them.

"Would you slow down?" Ciel snapped, his irritation bleeding into his voice.

Sebastian glanced back, his pace unwavering. Those crimson eyes glinted with amusement as he replied, "If you were driving on a parkway, would you ask the other cars to slow down or would you try to match their pace?"

Ciel felt his eyebrow twitch involuntarily. "What type of question is that? I don't know," he retorted, baffled by the sudden non sequitur.

"The correct answer is trying to match their pace," Sebastian purred, his tone maddeningly didactic. "If you stop or slow down, they'll ram right into you."

As Sebastian turned his attention back to the path ahead, Ciel stared incredulously at his back. Was he really trying to school him like they were in class? The audacity of the man never ceased to amaze him. Ciel gritted his teeth, torn between the urge to argue further and the stubborn determination to prove he could keep up.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel, determined not to be outdone, quickened his pace. His shorter legs worked harder, but he soon found himself matching Sebastian stride for stride. He shot a smug look at his professor, a silent challenge in his visible eye, before fixing his gaze ahead.

Their destination loomed before them - a massive door that seemed to guard secrets beyond. Sebastian pushed it open effortlessly, revealing a scene that made Ciel's breath catch in his throat.

The room that stretched before them was a study in opulence and intrigue. Vaulted ceilings arched overhead, their intricate moldings whispering of a bygone Victorian era. Deep burgundy walls, flecked with gold, created an atmosphere of rich, almost suffocating luxury. The space was filled, with attendees perched on plush, velvet-upholstered chairs arranged in a perfect semi-circle facing the stage.

But it was the figure on the stage that truly caught Ciel's attention, sending a jolt of shock through his system.

"Aunt Angela?" The words escaped him in a barely audible whisper, confusion evident in his tone. His mind raced, trying to make sense of her presence in this unexpected setting.

As his eye swept across the crowd, more familiar faces emerged from the sea of strangers. Dr. Sutcliff - Grell - sat with her characteristic flamboyance next to the ever-enigmatic Lau, and the Vice Chancellor Claude Faustus next to them. Beside them was an unfamiliar man, his short blonde hair starkly contrasted by an undercut of black, thick-framed glasses perched on his nose.

Ciel felt his head spin with questions. Why were they all here? What was the purpose of this gathering? And most pressingly, what role did he play in all of this? The weight of unanswered questions pressed down on him as he stood at the threshold of this mysterious assembly.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Angela's voice, amplified by the handheld microphone, cut through the hushed anticipation of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, this auction will be different than our usual affairs. You are simply here to witness an... interesting night ahead of us all."

The spotlight bathed her in an ethereal glow, transforming her into a vision reminiscent of old Hollywood glamour. Her red hair cascaded in soft curls, perfectly complementing the luxurious crimson dress that hugged her figure.

"Now, let's begin," she purred, her eyes scanning the crowd with predatory intensity. Her gaze settled on Ciel, a smile playing at her painted lips. "Ciel Phantomhive, come to the stage," she beckoned, her tone leaving no room for refusal.

Ciel felt his body go rigid, rooted to the spot at the back of the room. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to resist whatever they had planned for him on that stage.

Suddenly, the weight of countless stares pressed down on him as every head in the room swiveled in his direction. The intensity of their collective gaze made his skin crawl.

Desperate, Ciel glanced at Sebastian, hoping against hope for some kind of intervention. Instead, he found his professor's eyebrows raised expectantly, one elegant hand gesturing towards the stage.

"No way in hell am I getting up there-" Ciel's protest was cut short as Sebastian's hand clamped around his arm, the grip unbreakable. Before he could process what was happening, Ciel found himself being half-dragged, half-marched down the aisle towards the stage, Sebastian's strength rendering his resistance futile.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

In a dizzying blur of motion, Ciel found himself thrust onto the stage, the bright spotlight momentarily blinding him. As his vision adjusted, he became acutely aware of his position - trapped between Angela's imposing presence and Sebastian's unyielding form.

The microphone was suddenly thrust into his face, Angela's saccharine voice dripping with false warmth. "Are you excited for what's to come?"

"Aunt Angela-" Ciel began, his voice a mixture of confusion and indignation.

Before he could finish, Angela yanked the microphone away, her lips nearly brushing his ear as she hissed a warning. "It's Madam Red on stage." Her tone was glacial, sending a chill down Ciel's spine despite the heat of the spotlight.

As she pulled back, her public persona slipped seamlessly back into place, leaving Ciel reeling from the abrupt shift. He stood there, caught between his aunt's dual personalities and Sebastian's inscrutable presence, feeling more like a prop in some twisted play than a participant in whatever was unfolding.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Nevertheless, let's bring them out," Angela announced, her voice dripping with anticipation.

Ciel's mind raced, trying to decipher her words. His unspoken question was swiftly and brutally answered as William emerged from behind the curtains, unceremoniously hurling a bound and gagged Charles onto the stage. The investigator crumpled to the floor, his muffled grunts of pain barely audible over the collective gasp of the audience.

"Charles!" Ciel exclaimed, his eye darting between Angela and Sebastian. "What's going on?" His demand was met with twin looks of amusement, their shared glance speaking volumes of unspoken conspiracy.

Before Ciel could press further, William reappeared, this time dragging a figure Ciel had never expected to see again. Alois Trancy, looking far worse for wear, was tossed onto the stage like a discarded doll.

"What the-" Ciel's exclamation died in his throat as Alois's gaze locked onto him. Those once vibrant blue eyes, now dull and filled with hatred, bore into Ciel from the floor.

The stage, once a platform for Angela's theatrics, had transformed into a tableau of Ciel's past and present colliding in the most horrifying way possible.

Angela's voice, smooth as silk yet sharp as a blade, cut through the tense atmosphere. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Alois Trancy and Charles Grey."

She gestured towards the two figures on the floor, her red dress shimmering under the harsh stage lights. "I know some of you are aware of the Trancy family's... transgressions. The son of successful lawyers, Alois thought he could get away with anything. He maintained his grades through nefarious means, even resorting to paying other students to take tests for him. But that's just the tip of the iceberg."

Her voice dropped to a theatrical whisper, "He had date raped a multitude of girls at parties, his parents ensuring he escaped consequences each and every time."

Ciel felt his blood run cold, then hot with rage. His visible eye widened, then narrowed as he glared at Alois. So Elizabeth hadn't been his only victim. The blonde boy's gaze darted between the audience and Ciel, a mixture of defiance and fear in those once-arrogant eyes.

Angela continued, her attention shifting to the other prone figure. "And here we have Charles Grey, a private investigator hired by the school board. Charles grew up poor, struggling to make ends meet. He resorted to pickpocketing, lying, and stealing to survive. Even after making a living fabricating information about suspects in cases he was investigating, it wasn't enough for him."

Ciel felt his head spin as he tried to process the onslaught of information. Charles, working for the school board? So this was what he'd been hiding all along. A jolt of shock ran through Ciel as he realized they knew about his collaboration with Charles. How much did they know? His heart raced as he grappled with the implications.

He had assumed the school board was in league with Weston's faculty, but clearly, the situation was far more complex than he'd imagined. The foundations of everything he thought he understood about Weston were crumbling beneath his feet.

Angela's cruel laughter rang in his ears, setting his teeth on edge. Her words about Charles being a "dirty cop" who framed people for murder left Ciel reeling. He found himself questioning every interaction he'd had with the silver-haired investigator. Had he been manipulated from the start?

As Ciel stood there, trying to make sense of this new reality, he felt more alone and out of his depth than ever before. The web of deceit surrounding him seemed to grow more tangled with each passing moment, and he wasn't sure who, if anyone, he could trust anymore.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

This entire spectacle seemed designed to air their dirty laundry, but to what end?

He found himself questioning the veracity of Angela's claims. Alois' transgressions aligned with what Ciel already knew, lending them a ring of truth. But Charles? The revelations about his past were harder to swallow. Yet, a nagging voice in Ciel's head questioned: what reason would Angela have to lie to this assembled crowd?

Before Ciel could delve deeper into his doubts, Angela smoothly passed the microphone to Sebastian. His professor's silky voice filled the room, sending an involuntary shiver down Ciel's spine.

"You may be wondering, what purpose do these two urchins serve?" Sebastian's tone was light, almost playful, belying the gravity of the situation. "Well, tonight, we will be offering one of them a chance to live, and one will face their death tonight." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the audience.

"At the hands of Ciel Phantomhive."

The words hit Ciel like a physical blow. His visible eye widened, pupils dilating in shock as the blood drained from his face. The implication of Sebastian's statement slowly sank in, each word a dagger of ice in his veins.

They wanted him to... kill someone? The very thought made Ciel's stomach churn, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin. He stood frozen, caught between the expectant gazes of the audience and the cruel smiles of Angela and Sebastian, feeling more trapped than ever before.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William, whom Ciel had all but forgotten, suddenly materialized beside him, pressing a sharp knife into his trembling hands. The weight of the blade felt alien and wrong, its presence a terrifying reminder of the choice he was being forced to make. The unreality of the situation threatened to overwhelm him, his mind struggling to process the nightmarish scene unfolding around him.

Ciel's heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else for a moment.

Sebastian's voice cut through the haze of his panic. "Now, Ciel, what will your choice be?"

"I-I can't do it," Ciel stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "What you're asking of me is-"

"Insane? Monstrous?" Sebastian interjected, his tone mockingly gentle. "To kill is human nature, and not just human nature. In nature, there are predators and prey. Question is, will you choose to be the predator or prey?"

Ciel remained silent, his gaze fixed on the knife in his hands, its blade catching the harsh stage lights.

Sebastian pressed on, his silky voice laced with persuasion. "Think of it like this: where was Charles when you got arrested? He wasn't there to save you, only to look out for himself. And Alois will continue to hurt more people, just like he hurt your cousin. You don't owe any of them mercy."

The logic of Sebastian's argument wormed its way into Ciel's mind. A part of him acknowledged the truth in those words. Charles had abandoned and lied to him, and Alois had caused immeasurable pain to Elizabeth and others. But to murder them? The thought still felt inconceivable, a line Ciel wasn't sure he could cross.

He stood there, caught between his moral repulsion and the insidious pull of Sebastian's reasoning, the knife a leaden weight in his hands and the eyes of the audience boring into him, waiting for his decision.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's silky voice curled around Ciel like a seductive serpent. "In this world, morality isn't black and white. Sometimes, taking a life can save many others. Isn't that a noble act in itself?" His hands, cool and strong, enveloped Ciel's, guiding the knife with practiced ease. Leaning close, his breath ghosting over Ciel's ear, Sebastian murmured, "I know you have the strength to do this, Ciel. Don't disappoint me by proving you're weaker than I thought."

The words sank into Ciel's mind, their logic inexorable. A chilling clarity washed over him. "I choose Alois," he breathed, the decision feeling both foreign and inevitable on his tongue.

Sebastian released him, and Ciel found himself moving towards Alois as if in a trance. The blond's eyes blazed with a fury that seemed to physically heat the air between them. Ciel removed the gag, a morbid curiosity compelling him to hear Alois's final words.

"Fuck you! Fuck you all!" Alois spat, his voice raw with hatred. "I had my way with your cousin before I die, and that's all that matters. She'll always be damaged, and my mark will always be on her and the other girls I took to the bedroom."

Something snapped inside Ciel. A tidal wave of rage, primal and all-consuming, crashed over him. With a swiftness that surprised even himself, he yanked Alois into a hostage hold and drew the blade across his throat.

Blood erupted from the wound, a crimson fountain that painted Ciel's vision red. Alois choked and sputtered, his life ebbing away with each gurgling breath. Ciel dropped him, watching with a detached fascination as Alois writhed on the floor.

A thrill of exhilaration coursed through Ciel's veins, followed immediately by a wave of horror at his own reaction. The dichotomy of emotions - the savage satisfaction warring with revulsion at his own capacity for violence - left him frozen, the knife still clutched in his blood-slicked hand.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Reality crashed back into Ciel with the force of a tidal wave. The knife slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor with a sound that seemed to echo in his ears. He stumbled backward, desperate to put distance between himself and the lifeless form of Alois.

His eye, wide with shock and horror, darted up to the audience. He braced himself for screams, for chaos to erupt at the sight of what he'd done. But instead, a sound he never expected filled the air - applause.

The crowd was clapping, their faces alight with a macabre excitement that made Ciel's stomach churn. He could see Angela's lips moving and could hear her voice cutting through the applause, but the words seemed to dissolve before reaching his brain. Only fragments registered - "exhilarating," "end of the show," "farewell" - each one feeling like a mockery of the horrific act he'd just committed.

Ciel stood frozen, his mind reeling as it tried to reconcile the gruesome reality of what he'd done with the audience's perverse approval. The world around him seemed to blur at the edges, the applause and Angela's voice fading into a distant, surreal buzz as the full weight of his actions began to settle over him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As most of the audience began flooding out of the room, Ciel felt his chest tighten. His breaths came in short, rapid gasps, each one more desperate than the last. He tried to inhale deeply, to regain control, but his lungs refused to cooperate. His hand flew to his throat, fingers clawing at his skin as if he could physically pry open his airway.

His eye, wide with panic, was fixed on Alois' lifeless form. The sight of his victim, the blood still glistening wetly in the harsh light, seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. Ciel's vision began to swim, dark spots dancing at the edges.

Distantly, as if through water, he heard an unfamiliar voice. "Shit, he's having a panic attack." The words barely registered in Ciel's mind, overwhelmed as it was by the crushing weight of what he'd just done. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Alois, couldn't escape the reality of his actions. The world around him faded, narrowing to the thundering of his heart and the desperate, futile struggle for air.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Suddenly, Sebastian's face swam into view, his crimson eyes locking onto Ciel's. His voice cut through the fog of panic, steady and commanding. "Focus on my voice. Breathe in and out." The words seemed to anchor Ciel, giving him something to cling to in the chaos of his mind.

Ciel felt Sebastian's hands on his shoulders, their weight oddly reassuring. He struggled to follow Sebastian's instructions, fighting against the frantic rhythm of his own body. Slowly, with great effort, Ciel managed to close his mouth, drawing in a shaky breath through his nose. He then parted his lips, letting the air escape in a trembling exhale.

Sebastian's voice continued to guide him, a lifeline in the storm of his panic. Ciel clung to it desperately, forcing himself to match his breathing to Sebastian's calm commands. Each breath was a battle, but gradually, the vice-like grip on his chest began to loosen.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the panic finally began to subside, Ciel became acutely aware of Sebastian's hands still resting on his shoulders. A surge of embarrassment and irritation washed over him, prompting him to roughly shove Sebastian's hands away. His eye darted around the room, taking in the remaining spectators.

Grell, Lau, William, the unfamiliar blonde man, Sebastian, and even his Aunt Angela - all of them were staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and clinical detachment. Their gazes felt like physical weights, pressing down on him from all sides. Ciel felt like a specimen under a microscope, being observed and analyzed by this group of morally dubious individuals.

His gaze then fell on Charles, who had witnessed the entire ordeal. The sight of the investigator sent a fresh wave of frustration through Ciel. He couldn't deal with Charles right now, couldn't face the questions or accusations that were sure to come.

Drawing on every ounce of his remaining strength, Ciel forced his features into a mask of cold indifference. He straightened his back, lifted his chin, and without a word, strode purposefully towards the exit. Each step was measured, deliberate, a silent declaration that he was still in control, still the Ciel Phantomhive. He pushed through the doors, leaving behind the scene of his greatest transgression and his moment of greatest weakness.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian watched as Ciel hastily exited the room, his crimson eyes following the boy's retreating form with a mixture of amusement and something else he couldn't quite name.

"Why are we trying so hard to recruit that brat, exactly?" Grell's shrill voice cut through his thoughts, dripping with disdain.

William's response was as cold and precise as ever. "Grell, Ciel is a pivotal part of our plan, remember?"

Sebastian regarded William with a mixture of amusement and disdain. The man's single-minded focus on their grand scheme had become tedious, bordering on obsessive. While William seemed to eat, breathe, and sleep their carefully laid plans, Sebastian found his own interests drifting.

The blueprints that had once captivated him now felt stale, lacking the spark of excitement they once held. Sebastian's lips curled into a subtle smirk as he contemplated the new direction his thoughts had taken. His own agenda was evolving, shaped by an unexpected variable that had injected fresh intrigue into what had become a rather mundane endeavor.

As William droned on about some minute detail of their strategy, Sebastian allowed his mind to wander, savoring the thrill of his personal machinations. The 'plan' might be William's sole fixation, but Sebastian had found a far more enticing subject to occupy his thoughts.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Would it be wise to let him wander off like that?" Lau interjected, his tone carrying its usual mix of cheerful nonchalance and hidden cunning.

Sebastian found himself answering before he could fully process the question. "He'll be fine," he purred, his voice smooth as silk. "It's not like he can go anywhere. The security won't even let him past the gate."

Despite his outward calm, Sebastian felt an unexpected urge to follow Ciel. He enjoyed seeing the boy's turmoil, the way his facade cracked under pressure. Yet, simultaneously, an unfamiliar desire to comfort Ciel arose within him. Sebastian mentally shook himself, surprised by the direction of his thoughts. Since when had he become so... soft?

Then, Sebastian’s mind drifted back to the event that just took place. When he watched Ciel draw the blade across Alois' throat, a jolt of exhilaration surged through his body. The sight of Ciel, his usually composed student, committing such a visceral act of violence sent a delicious shiver down Sebastian's spine.

The blood, Ciel's shocked expression, the raw brutality of the moment - it all coalesced into a tableau that left Sebastian breathless with excitement. He felt his pulse quicken, his senses sharpening as if to burn every detail of the scene into his memory.

In that instant, Sebastian realized he craved more. This singular act wasn't enough to sate the hunger that had awakened within him. He needed to witness Ciel cross that line again, to see him take another life. The desire was overwhelming, consuming Sebastian's thoughts with an intensity that both thrilled and unnerved him.

Angela's melodic voice cut through Sebastian's thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "If I may chime in, I don't believe I've met some of you," she said, her tone a perfect blend of politeness and curiosity.

Sebastian watched as all eyes in the room turned to Angela. Grell, predictably, was the first to react, bounding over to Angela with characteristic exuberance. "I'm Grell," she gushed, grasping Angela's hand enthusiastically. "I love your dress and what you've done with your hair, by the way. Is that your natural hair color-"

Before Grell could continue her rapid-fire questioning, Ronald intervened, unceremoniously shoving Grell aside. Sebastian smirked as Grell toppled over with a dramatic flourish. "Grell's a bit of a chatterbox," Ronald said smoothly, flashing a charming smile. "I'm Ronald Knox, pleased to meet you."

In the midst of all of this commotion, Sebastian noticed Claude standing standoffishly off to the side. Sebastian didn’t know much about Claude, but he was even more detached than himself.

Sebastian's attention was then drawn to Lau, who approached Angela with his usual enigmatic grace. To Sebastian's mild surprise, Lau took Angela's hand and pressed a kiss to it, an action that seemed to catch even the usually unflappable Angela off guard. "Lau," he said simply, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

Sebastian felt his eyebrow rise almost imperceptibly at the exchange unfolding before him. As he observed the interactions, he suddenly found his gaze locking with Angela's. He inwardly cursed his lapse in attention, realizing she had caught him watching.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Sebastian," Angela purred, her voice laced with teasing amusement.

Sebastian dismissed Angela's insinuation with practiced ease. Her flirtatious nature was as predictable as the tides, and he had long since learned to treat her provocations with the indifference they deserved. The years had taught him that Angela's words were as substantial as smoke, dissipating just as quickly.

He felt a flicker of annoyance, not at Angela's words, but at Ronald's childish reaction echoing in the background. The immature 'ooooh' grated on his nerves, a reminder of the tedious personalities he was forced to endure.

With calculated precision, Sebastian allowed a hint of mockery to seep into his voice. "It doesn't affect me in the slightest," he replied, his tone smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. His lips curled into a cold smile as he added, "Delusion doesn't suit you, it's not a pretty color."

As he delivered the retort, Sebastian observed the subtle shift in Angela's expression with a sense of satisfaction. Her reaction was exactly as he had anticipated - another predictable move in their endless game of verbal chess. In that moment, Sebastian reaffirmed what he had known for years: Angela, like everyone else in this room, was utterly transparent to him, their actions and reactions as easy to read as a children's book.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian dismissed Angela's insinuation with ease, secure in the knowledge that she had entirely misread the situation. His mind wasn't lingering on Angela or any of the others in the room. Instead, his thoughts were wholly consumed by a different presence - one that had just stormed out of the room in a flurry of conflicted emotions.

Ciel Phantomhive. The boy's name echoed in Sebastian's mind, accompanied by vivid images of his flushed face, the trembling of his hands, the defiant glint in his visible eye as he had left. Sebastian found himself captivated by these mental snapshots, analyzing every detail of Ciel's reaction to the night's events.

It was Ciel who occupied every corner of his consciousness, Ciel whose actions and potential fascinated him beyond reason. Sebastian realized, with a mixture of intrigue and mild concern, that he couldn't recall the last time any individual had so thoroughly commanded his attention.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's attention was drawn by a sudden commotion. His gaze shifted to Charles, whom he had nearly forgotten was present. A flicker of amusement danced in Sebastian's eyes as he observed the man's pitiful state. The sight of Charles, so utterly helpless, was almost comical to Sebastian.

He watched with detached interest as Charles thrashed against his bonds, his eyes darting about wildly. The spectacle drew the focus of everyone in the room, their collective gaze settling on the restrained man.

Ronald's voice broke the tense silence. "What're we gonna do with him?" he asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

Sebastian's eyes flicked to Lau as the man stepped forward, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Shall I do the honors and rid this problem of us?" Lau offered, his tone deceptively light.

Before Lau could act, William intervened, blocking his path with an outstretched arm. "No," William stated firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "We're letting him go, as promised."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at this unexpected turn. He observed the exchange with growing curiosity as Grell piped up, her voice laced with skepticism. "Since when did you care about upholding such promises?"

William's response was curt, his tone leaving no room for further discussion. "Don't question me. My motives are none of your concern."

Sebastian's interest was piqued by William's unexpected show of mercy. This uncharacteristic decision intrigued him, and he made a mental note to ponder its implications later. What hidden agenda could be driving William's sudden benevolence?

"Sebastian, take off his restraints," William commanded.

Without hesitation, Sebastian complied, approaching Charles with measured steps. He knelt beside the bound man, his fingers working deftly to untie the knots securing Charles' hands. The gag came off last, the duct tape peeling away with a satisfying rip that elicited a scowl from Charles.

Sebastian watched with mild amusement as Charles struggled to his feet, brushing off his knees and gingerly touching the angry red marks on his wrists. The man's discomfort was almost palpable, a tangible reminder of his vulnerability in this situation.

"I don't get it," Charles began, his voice strained but admirably controlled. "What are you getting out of all of this? Why are you rebelling against the school board, don't you have the same motives?"

Sebastian had to suppress a smirk at Charles' naive assumptions. If only the man knew how far off the mark he was. A part of Sebastian almost pitied Charles; had he simply minded his own business, he could have remained blissfully unaware of the true nature of things at Weston.

Grell's derisive snort drew Sebastian's attention. "What the school board is doing is a disgrace to our cause," she spat.

Sebastian observed with interest as Charles pressed for clarification, noting the hesitant glance Grell threw William's way. It was clear she was uncertain how much to reveal.

William took control of the conversation, his voice measured and deliberate. "With the absence of one of the most important members, the school board is scared. Scared that he'll go public at some point and expose us. They're gradually trying to shut us down. But, with the murders taking place at Weston, we can lure him back here, especially when he finds out a specific someone has joined our ranks."

Sebastian knew that the "specific someone" William was referring to.

While the others seemed fixated on the overarching plan, Sebastian found his interest waning. The end goal, whatever it might be, held little appeal for him now. Instead, it was Ciel's continuous development that truly captivated him. The boy's transformation, his struggles, his potential - these were the elements that made this game worth playing for Sebastian.

"Who is this person you speak of?" Charles demanded, his suspicion evident.

"I'm afraid I can't say," William replied, his tone brooking no argument.

He turned his attention back to the conversation at hand, amused by Charles' frustration and William's calculated evasiveness. Sebastian knew better than to reveal what he knew. After all, knowledge was power, and in this dangerous game they were playing, Sebastian intended to hold all the cards.

As the others continued their verbal dance, Sebastian remained silent, his thoughts centered on Ciel and the delicious chaos that was sure to unfold once the boy fully embraced his role in their plans.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel felt his stomach heave once more as he hunched over the toilet, his body expelling what little remained in his system. The acrid taste of bile burned his throat, mingling with the metallic scent of blood that clung to his hands. As he gripped the sides of the bowl, he noticed with detached horror how the crimson stains from his fingers smeared across the white porcelain.

Unbidden, images of Alois flashed through his mind, each one more vivid and nauseating than the last. Why had he done it? The question echoed in his head, unanswerable and accusing. Even as he tried to rationalize it as justice, Ciel knew deep down that this wasn't how things were supposed to be done. What truly frightened him, though, was the undercurrent of satisfaction he felt - a dark, twisted sense of accomplishment that made him sick to his core. What was he becoming?

A sudden knock at the bathroom door jolted him from his spiraling thoughts.

"Get lost," he snapped, not caring who was on the other side.

To his immense irritation, the door opened anyway. Of course, it was Sebastian. Ciel's eye narrowed as he caught a fleeting expression on his professor's face - was that worry? No, it couldn't be. Sebastian, like the rest of Weston's faculty, was nothing more than a manipulative psychopath. Worry wasn't in his vocabulary. As quickly as it had appeared, the look vanished, replaced by Sebastian's usual blank mask.

"I didn't say you could come in," Ciel muttered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and grimacing at the blood staining his once-pristine suit.

"I brought you a change of clothes," Sebastian said, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. "They should fit." He paused, seeming unsure. "Do you want me to stay?"

"No," Ciel replied without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to be alone with his turbulent thoughts and the crushing weight of what he'd done.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Sebastian placed the clothes on the sink and turned to leave, a sudden thought struck Ciel. "Wait," he called out, his voice hoarse.

Sebastian paused, looking back over his shoulder at Ciel.

"Where are my parents?" Ciel demanded, his tone sharp with accusation. "I know all of you know what happened to them."

Sebastian turned to face him fully, his demeanor shifting subtly. "We didn't kill them, if that's what you're asking," he said, his voice unnervingly calm.

"You liar!" Ciel snarled, pushing himself up from the floor. He stalked towards Sebastian, fury overriding his earlier nausea. "You killed them, didn't you?" He reached out, gripping Sebastian's collar tightly, his knuckles white with tension.

"I'm telling the truth," Sebastian insisted, his ruby eyes boring into Ciel's single sapphire one. His gaze was steady, unreadable.

Suddenly, Sebastian's hand moved up, gently caressing Ciel's face. The touch was unexpected, and Ciel found himself frozen in place, shocked by the sudden intimacy. Despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to pull away. The contact was oddly soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves.

Their faces were mere inches apart, Ciel acutely aware of Sebastian's proximity. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, Sebastian dropped his hand, as if physically restraining himself from some further action.

"I'm not lying," Sebastian said, his voice low and intense. "I know that your father, at least, is still alive."

Ciel felt as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. His grip on Sebastian's collar loosened, his mind reeling from this revelation. "What about my mother?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer yet desperate to know.

Sebastian shook his head, his expression uncharacteristically somber. "I don't know," he admitted.

Ciel searched Sebastian's face for any sign of deception but found only an unsettling sincerity. The possibility that his father was alive after all these years sent a whirlwind of emotions through him - hope, confusion, anger, and a deep, aching uncertainty. His mother's fate remained a mystery, another piece of the puzzle just out of reach.

He stood there, hands still resting on Sebastian's collar, caught between the urge to demand more answers and the fear of what those answers might be. The bathroom suddenly felt too small, the weight of this new information pressing in on him from all sides.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's hands fell from Sebastian's collar as he gave him a light shove, causing Sebastian to back into the door. "Get out," Ciel commanded, his voice low and firm.

Without protest, Sebastian complied, opening the door to leave. He cast one final, inscrutable glance at Ciel before stepping out of the bathroom, the door closing softly behind him.

Left alone, Ciel found his mind racing with new questions. If his father was truly alive, where could he be? And what fate had befallen his mother? These mysteries, which had driven him for so long, now seemed even more complex and urgent.

But another question nagged at him, one he was less prepared to confront. Why did Sebastian have such a profound effect on him? It was as if the man had cast some sort of spell, his mere presence consuming Ciel's thoughts and senses in a way that was both alluring and terrifying. Who exactly was Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel wondered, and why did he hold such power over him?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XIV: End

Chapter Text

  Chapter XV: Death; Part Three

Darkness enveloped Charles as rough hands secured a thick cloth over his eyes. The sudden loss of sight sent a jolt of panic through him, his other senses heightening in compensation. Unseen fingers gripped his arms, guiding — no, forcing — him forward. The cool night air hit his face as they emerged outside, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and exhaust fumes.

The gravel crunched beneath his unsteady feet, each step a precarious journey into the unknown. 

Charles' mind raced, grappling with the sudden turn of events. One moment, he had been in the opulent surroundings of the auction house, surrounded by William and his sinister cohorts. The next, he found himself whisked away by shadowy figures whose identities remained frustratingly obscure.

As he was shuttled to an unknown destination, a chilling realization settled over Charles. He was now a pawn in a game whose rules and players he couldn't even begin to fathom. The auction house, with all its horrors, had at least been a known quantity. Now, he was adrift in a sea of uncertainty, with no idea whether these new captors represented salvation or an even darker fate.

Without warning, his captors halted him, and Charles felt the unmistakable sensation of a vehicle door sliding open. The musty odor of old upholstery assaulted his nostrils as he was unceremoniously shoved into what he could only assume was the back of a van.

As the engine roared to life, vibrating through the metal floor beneath him, Charles found his voice. It came out shakier than he'd intended, betraying his fear.

"Hey! Where are you taking me?"

The question hung in the air, met only by the rumble of tires on asphalt and the deafening silence of his captors. As the van lurched forward, Charles felt a growing sense of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. Whatever destination lay ahead, he was certain it held nothing good.

The vehicle lurched to a halt, the sudden silence deafening after the constant hum of the engine. Charles tensed, his other senses straining to compensate for his lack of sight. The creak of doors opening sent a jolt of anticipation through him.

Without warning, strong hands gripped him, hauling him upright. Before he could react, he was airborne for a heart-stopping moment before crashing onto hard ground.

"What the hell?" The words escaped him involuntarily, a mixture of shock and indignation.

A dull thud nearby suggested something had been tossed beside him. Frustration welled up as he realized he couldn't see or reach for it, his bound hands adding to his helplessness.

The rumble of the vehicle's engine faded into the distance, leaving Charles in eerie silence. Determination set in as he wrestled with his restraints. The rope bit into his skin, each movement a painful reminder of his captivity.

"Fuck!" The exclamation burst from him as he finally wrenched his hands-free. The ease with which he escaped didn't escape his notice - a deliberate choice by his captors, no doubt.

Yanking off the blindfold, Charles blinked as the world slowly came into focus. His eyes fell on an unfamiliar phone lying nearby - a burner, he realized with a sinking feeling. His own phone, along with any potential evidence it contained, was now in their possession.

A deep sigh escaped him as he surveyed his surroundings, questions swirling in his mind. Why had William chosen to release him? The answer seemed clear - a calculated risk, knowing Charles couldn't expose the cult without implicating himself and the school board.

"William, you bastard," Charles muttered, grudging admiration mixing with his anger. The man's deviousness knew no bounds.

His thoughts turned to Ciel, the boy's pale, shocked face after Alois's death etched in his memory. Coercion was evident, but to what end? What sick game were they playing? 

As the full weight of the situation settled on him, Charles grappled with the bigger questions. What was William’s ultimate goal? How far would he go to achieve it? And where did Charles fit into their plans now?

With a sense of resignation, Charles picked up the burner phone. He knew there was only one person he could turn to in this mess.

"Undertaker," he said as soon as the call connected, "I'm in a bit of a jam."

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The oppressive atmosphere of the auction house seemed to close in around Ciel, each breath a struggle against the weight of his recent discoveries. Sebastian's words echoed in his mind, a lifeline of hope in this sea of horror. But hope wasn't enough; Ciel needed escape.

His eye darted warily, hyper-aware of the omnipresent surveillance. Cameras lurked in every corner, their lenses like unblinking eyes, while the muffled movements of security personnel beyond the doors served as a constant reminder of his captivity. Yet, Ciel's analytical mind refused to accept defeat. There had to be another way out, a blind spot in their defenses.

With measured steps, Ciel descended the stairs, each footfall carefully placed to minimize sound. The familiar path led him back to the auction hall, now eerily silent and empty. The absence of the Weston staff sent a chill down his spine. Where had they all gone? The question nagged at him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

His gaze fell upon a door near the stage, previously unnoticed. Could this be his escape route? Heart pounding, Ciel made his way down the aisle, the plush carpet muffling his approach. With trembling fingers, he grasped the handle, easing the door open.

The sight that greeted him sent his world tilting on its axis. A wave of frigid air washed over him, carrying with it the metallic tang of blood and the sickly-sweet odor of decay. Ciel's mind reeled, struggling to process the nightmarish scene before him.

It was a butcher's room, but the hanging forms weren't animals. They were people. Human bodies suspended from gleaming hooks, their pallid skin a stark contrast to the clinical stainless steel surroundings. The realization hit Ciel like a physical blow: these weren't just victims, they were... inventory.

Bile rose in Ciel's throat, acidic and insistent. He stumbled backward, fighting the urge to retch when a crinkling sound beneath his foot caught his attention. A note, its edges curled and stained, lay on the floor. With shaking hands, Ciel retrieved it, his eye widening as he took in the message scrawled in what could only be blood: 'Don't Eat The Meat'.

The simple warning, so starkly presented, drove home the full horror of his situation. Ciel's mind whirled, connecting the dots between the auction, and this macabre pantry. The truth was more terrifying than anything he could have imagined, and he was trapped in the middle of it all.

"What... is... this?" The words stumbled from Ciel's lips, each one a struggle against the tide of shock threatening to overwhelm him.

"You know full well what this is." The familiar voice sliced through Ciel's horror like a knife.

Ciel whirled around, his eye wide with disbelief as he found himself face to face with William. The man's impassive expression was a stark contrast to the grotesque scene surrounding them.

"This is what you've been doing? Consuming human flesh?" Ciel's voice crescendoed, a volatile mix of revulsion and fury. "It's monstrous!"

William's response was unnervingly composed. "Is it truly? Humans consuming other humans is no different from hunting animals. It's nature's way."

The nonchalant comparison between cannibalism and hunting sent tremors through Ciel. "You're deranged," he hissed, his mind spinning as he grappled for comprehension. "Is this your organization's true nature? A cult of cannibals?"

A soft laugh escaped William, grotesquely incongruous with the grim surroundings. "Haven't you already partaken in human flesh?"

The question struck Ciel like a sledgehammer. "What are you implying?" he demanded, as a horrifying realization dawned. Memories surfaced - Sebastian and Angela's cryptic exchange about the tongue dish, Angela's insistence on Sebastian's cooking. The implications were too nightmarish to contemplate.

Ciel's reality splintered as the pieces aligned. He'd been duped, and manipulated at every turn. Was his aunt as depraved as the rest? Was this what his mother had tried to warn him about Angela?

As the full impact of the revelation crashed over him, nausea surged in Ciel's throat. The depth of betrayal, the scale of deception, left him staggering. He'd walked willingly into their trap, now finding himself at the epicenter of a nightmare beyond imagination.

William's voice sliced through the air, each word precise and emotionless. "You're no different, Ciel. You killed without hesitation, just like your father."

"My father?" Ciel's voice quavered, shock mingling with dawning comprehension. His suspicions, it seemed, had only scratched the surface of a far darker truth.

"Let me tell you about Vincent Phantomhive," William continued, his tone eerily casual. "A man who denied his true nature, eventually succumbed to it, only to flee like a coward."

Ciel felt the ground shift beneath him. "Coward?" The word tasted alien. It clashed violently with the image of his father he'd clung to. "What do you mean?"

William's lips curled into a cold smile. "Vincent portrayed himself as selfless. Collaborating with me to find a cure for his son, after his company neared bankruptcy." His voice took on a mocking edge. "He killed, lied, committed unspeakable acts in the name of family. Then he abandoned you, and me, unable to face what he'd become."

Each revelation hit Ciel like a physical blow. He struggled to reconcile this version of his father with the man he thought he knew.

William pressed on, frustration edging his voice. "Now the school board hunts him, fearing exposure. They want Vincent dead." His eyes bore into Ciel's, burning with intensity. "Your presence here is meant to lure him back, to bend the school board to our will, once and for all."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The truth about Vincent's actions hit Ciel like a tidal wave, washing away the foundations of everything he thought he knew. His father, resorting to such desperate measures to keep the company afloat? The very notion seemed absurd, yet the pieces were falling into place with horrifying clarity.

Ciel's mind reeled as he grappled with this new reality. How could he have been so blind to the company's near bankruptcy? The lavish lifestyle, the cutting-edge research - it had all been a carefully constructed facade, hiding a truth far darker than he could have imagined.

A bitter laugh threatened to escape Ciel's lips. Did he ever truly know Vincent Phantomhive? Their relationship had always been strained, marked by distance and unspoken expectations. But this... this was beyond anything Ciel had conceived possible. The image of his father - stern yet principled, distant yet caring - began to warp and twist in his mind.

The magnitude of Vincent's actions - the lies, the killings, the unthinkable deeds - all supposedly for Ciel's sake, left him feeling hollow. A maelstrom of emotions churned within him: shock at the revelations, a perverse sort of gratitude for his father's sacrifices, and a deep, gnawing sense of guilt. Had he been the unwitting catalyst for his father's descent into darkness?

Yet, even as these thoughts swirled in Ciel's mind, a spark of suspicion flickered. Something about this narrative didn't quite add up. Vincent Phantomhive, the man who had faced every challenge head-on, suddenly running away? It struck a discordant note in the symphony of revelations.

Ciel's eye narrowed as he pondered this inconsistency. Was there more to this story than what William was revealing? The possibility that he was being manipulated once again, even in this moment of supposed truth-telling, sent a chill down his spine.

As the full weight of these revelations settled over him, Ciel felt himself standing on a precipice. The past he thought he knew lay in ruins behind him, while before him stretched a future fraught with uncertainty and danger. At this moment, Ciel realized that uncovering the truth about his father might mean confronting uncomfortable truths about himself as well.

Ciel's mind reeled as he processed William's words. Why was he being told all of this? The question burned on his tongue, but he held it back, wary of revealing too much of his inner turmoil.

William's response came unbidden as if plucking Ciel's unspoken thoughts from the air. "Join us," he stated, his tone matter-of-fact. "Help find your parents. That is what you want, isn't it?"

The offer dangled before Ciel, both temptation and trap. He recognized William's ploy, using his parents as bait to exploit his desperate need for answers. Yet what choice did he have? His investigation had reached an impasse without the cult's information.

A chilling realization crept over Ciel. "The murders... they were to attract attention. My attention," he whispered, voice barely audible.

"Indeed," William confirmed a hint of approval in his tone. "A red herring, orchestrated by Sebastian. To distract you, while framing you simultaneously. Elegant, really."

Sebastian's earlier words echoed in Ciel's mind. The entire scheme had been meticulously planned from the start, down to selecting Soma as the first victim. Of course, Ciel would be the prime suspect.

Yet Ciel recalled his bathroom confrontation with Sebastian. The man's usual mask had slipped, revealing an unfamiliar gentleness. It was as if he'd encountered an entirely different person. Sebastian, typically so guarded, had freely offered information about Ciel's parents.

The contradiction gnawed at Ciel. Wasn't Sebastian a cold-blooded killer? Why the sudden change in demeanor? This puzzle piece refused to fit, adding another layer of complexity to the bewildering situation.

Ciel felt the weight of his decision bearing down on him, both options before him equally abhorrent. Join this depraved cult or face their wrath? His mind raced, contemplating the consequences of refusal. What would they do to him? More urgently, what fate might befall Elizabeth and Edward if he didn't comply? The thought of his cousins in danger made his stomach roil.

With a leaden heart and clenched jaw, Ciel forced out words he never imagined uttering. "Fine. I'll join you." The admission tasted of ash and surrender, a betrayal of everything he stood for.

William's lips curved into a satisfied smirk. "Wise choice," he said, triumph coloring his tone. "Your initiation begins tomorrow morning."

Ciel felt his blood turn to ice. Initiation? The word hung in the air, heavy with sinister implications. What horrors awaited him in this 'initiation'? Standing there, trapped in the nightmarish butcher's room, Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just struck a bargain with the devil himself.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles huddled in Undertaker's morgue, a thin blanket barely warding off the bone-deep chill. His body ached, bruises and cuts marking his recent ordeal, but hunger and cold gnawed at him most fiercely. In the sterile silence, his chattering teeth seemed deafening.

Soft footsteps heralded Undertaker's return. Charles looked up to see the eccentric mortician approaching, pale hands carefully cradling a steaming mug.

Gratefully accepting the offered cup, Charles savored the warmth seeping into his palms. The rich aroma of hot cocoa wafted up, a small comfort in his grim situation.

"Thanks," he murmured, sipping the sweet liquid tentatively.

Undertaker's characteristic grin spread across his face as he tilted his head, regarding Charles with amusement. "You don't look so hot, Mr. Investigator," he quipped.

Rolling his eyes, Charles retorted sarcastically, "Gee, thanks for the keen observation." Despite his irritation, he found himself oddly appreciative of Undertaker's inappropriate humor.

Charles eyed Undertaker over his mug. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?" the mortician mused. "What's your next move?"

Realization dawned on Charles. "They? So you knew about them committing the murders—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Of course you did. Why didn't you tell me?"

Undertaker's grin widened eerily. "You had your suspicions. You needed proof. My telling you wouldn't have changed anything."

"It might've kept me from getting kidnapped," Charles scoffed bitterly.

"So what now?" Undertaker pressed. "You've hit a wall. There must be another way to expose them."

Frustration welled up in Charles. Undertaker was right; he was at an impasse. "Like what?" he asked, defeat coloring his voice.

Undertaker's reply held a hint of mischief. "If the police can't arrest them, you'll have to create your own evidence."

The words struck Charles like lightning, a plan forming. "They have Ciel," he said, voice strengthening. "They'll want him to join. We can use him to gather evidence and leak it to journalists. It'll force the school board to address everything publicly."

As he spoke, Charles felt renewed purpose. It was risky, but possibly their only chance to bring down Weston's corruption.

"The only question is... how do I reach him without tipping them off?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                      Twelve years ago

"Angela, just tell me the truth!" Rachel's voice cut through her thoughts. "Where did you and Vincent go together?"

Angela felt her heart race as Rachel's accusations hung in the air. The memory of that night at the bar burned in her mind, a bitter reminder of Vincent's rejection. She had laid her heart bare, only to have it crushed beneath his polite refusal. Yet here was Rachel, suspecting an affair that never happened, oblivious to the real pain Angela carried.

Angela scoffed, masking her hurt with derision. How ironic that Rachel's jealousy was so misplaced. "I told you already," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within, "all Vincent and I did was go to the bar."

"You're lying! I can't believe you! Why was there so much secrecy then?"

Angela felt a surge of resentment. If only Rachel knew how much she wished those accusations were true. "Rachel, honestly," she said, injecting as much nonchalance into her voice as she could muster, "Vincent is a grown man. Does he need to alert you of everywhere he goes?"

As Rachel's face contorted with hurt and anger, Angela allowed herself a moment of bitter satisfaction. Let her sister feel a fraction of the pain she endured daily, watching Rachel live the life Angela had desperately wanted for herself. The truth of that night - her confession, Vincent's gentle but firm rejection - remained her painful secret, one she'd take to her grave.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

                          The prior night

Angela sat on the bar stool, the room spinning slightly as she downed another drink. Her eyes slid to Vincent beside her, still staring into his untouched glass. The events of the night replayed hazily in her mind - running into him at the auction house, his silent presence throughout her show, and her impulsive invitation to the bar. Now here they were, and he hadn't taken a single sip.

"I didn't bring you here so I can drink by myself, you know," she slurred, breaking the silence.

Vincent seemed to startle out of his reverie, offering a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sorry," he murmured, taking a token sip.

The silence that followed felt oppressive. Angela's alcohol-addled mind fixated on her true purpose for this outing - to confirm if Vincent shared her long-held feelings. Liquid courage coursing through her veins, she made her clumsy move.

Her hand found Vincent's thigh, her fingers tracing a tentative path. She felt him stiffen under her touch.

"Angela, what are you doing?" Vincent's voice was tight with bewilderment.

The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "You know, for years, I wondered what life would be like if we ended up together."

Vincent's voice cut through Angela's haze, his tone a mixture of concern and discomfort. "Angela, you're drunk," he said, gently removing her hand from his thigh.

Rejection and frustration surged through Angela, her voice rising sharply. "No, I'm not! What's so great about my sister? Why does no one ever choose me?" Her outburst drew startled looks from the bartender and the few patrons still coherent enough to notice.

"Angela, calm down-" Vincent began, but she barreled on, years of pent-up emotion spilling out.

"Vincent Phantomhive, I love you! I've loved you ever since we were students at Weston." The words hung in the air, Angela's face flushed with alcohol and embarrassment, yet she couldn't stop herself.

Vincent's response was firm, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity and resolve. "I'm married to Rachel and we have a child now. Stop this right now."

Desperation clawed at Angela's throat. "But do you even love her? You don't look at her like you love her."

"What are you talking about? I do love her. I wouldn't have married her otherwise."

His words struck Angela like physical blows, each one chipping away at the fragile hope she'd harbored for so long. The finality in Vincent's voice left no room for argument, no crack for her to wedge her dreams into. As the reality of his rejection settled over her, Angela felt something inside her begin to crack and splinter.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Angela felt herself jolt back to the present, Rachel's accusatory stance before her a stark contrast to the painful memories. The weight of that night's rejection still clung to her, making Rachel's suspicions all the more bitter.

"The reason why Vincent told you we were at the bar was because nothing happened," Angela said, her voice tight with barely contained emotion.

Rachel shook her head, disbelief etched in her features. "You and I both know how... infatuated you are with my husband. He probably just told me because he felt guilty." Her voice hardened as she continued, "I need you to go, and never come back."

Angela felt as if the ground had dropped out from beneath her. "What?" The word escaped her in a strangled whisper.

Rachel's eyes were cold, her voice final. "You're no longer part of this family, Angela."

Panic clawed at Angela's throat. "You can't do that! I'm your sister. Please just think this through-"

"But you're not a Phantomhive."

Those words, so casually cruel, struck Angela like a physical blow. In that moment, all the years of resentment, jealousy, and unrequited love crystallized into something darker. As she stared at her sister - the woman who had everything Angela had ever wanted - she felt something within her snap. If Rachel wanted to cast her out, then so be it. But Angela would make sure she regretted it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                           Present Time

Ciel's eye snapped open, the unfamiliar ceiling of the auction house bedroom swimming into focus. Two days had elapsed since his reluctant pact with this depraved cult. The sensation of captivity, though self-imposed, clung to him like a second skin.

Oppressive silence engulfed him, a stark reminder of his isolation. The door had been locked since yesterday morning. How long since he'd seen a face, or heard a voice? The gnawing void in his stomach provided an unwelcome answer - far too long.

Hunger ravaged his insides, a constant, nagging presence that both sharpened his senses and dulled his thoughts. Was this deliberate starvation? The notion sent chills down his spine. What purpose could such cruelty serve? Was this their twisted initiation, breaking him down to reshape him in their image?

His mind raced, grappling with the weight of his decision. He'd agreed to join, yes, but his own agenda still smoldered within. The challenge now was to outmaneuver these master manipulators, to escape this labyrinth of secrets and lies.

A more pressing question surfaced. William had promised - or threatened - that the initiation would begin the following day. Yet two full cycles of light and dark had passed since that ominous declaration. The Chancellor's absence contradicted his own words.

Where was William? His uncharacteristic tardiness unsettled Ciel. In this environment of calculated actions, such delay couldn't be a mere oversight. Another mind game? A test of patience? Or had their carefully orchestrated plans gone awry?

The sudden turn of the doorknob jolted him from his thoughts. Ciel tensed, expecting William or Sebastian, but his breath caught at the impossible sight before him.

Alois.

But it couldn't be. Ciel had killed him. He'd felt the life drain from the boy's body. Yet here he stood, blood still oozing from the gaping wound in his neck - the very wound Ciel had inflicted.

"Why are you here?" Ciel demanded, his voice trembling despite his efforts to steady it.

Alois's lips curled into a cruel smile. "I was surprised that you killed me, you know. I didn't think you had the balls to do it."

"Shut up," Ciel spat, anger and fear warring within him.

"You were so self-righteous in upholding justice," Alois taunted, his fingers tracing the gruesome wound on his neck. "What happened to wanting to turn me in to the police?"

Suddenly, Alois began to cough, blood spattering from his lips just as it had in his final moments. Ciel's eye widened in horror. Then, cutting through the nightmare, he heard a faint voice - one that didn't belong to Alois.

Hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently. Alois's form wavered and dissipated like smoke. Ciel turned, his heart pounding, to find Sebastian standing before him, concern etched on his usually impassive features.

The realization that it had all been a vivid, terrifying dream crashed over Ciel, leaving him shaken and disoriented in the wake of his guilt-fueled nightmare.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's face contorted with confusion as he gripped Ciel's shoulders. "What happened? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

A ghost. The irony of Sebastian's words wasn't lost on Ciel. Had he truly seen Alois's ghost, or was his mind fracturing under the weight of recent events?

Realization dawned on Sebastian's features, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "The fasting," he murmured, more to himself than to Ciel.

"The fasting?" Ciel echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You're experiencing hallucinations, aren't you?" Sebastian's tone was matter-of-fact, tinged with a hint of amusement. "It's a result of your prolonged abstinence from food. Rest assured, you're not losing your mind." His trademark smirk played across his lips as he released Ciel's shoulders, creating a gap between them that Ciel found oddly discomforting.

Despite himself, Ciel felt a wave of relief wash over him at Sebastian's explanation. It made sense. Of course, Alois' ghost hadn't just appeared. He'd been foolish to even entertain the notion.

But then, a spark of anger ignited in Ciel's chest. "Well, what did you expect? You guys are the ones who locked me in here and left me to starve," he retorted, his words sharp with accusation.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's knowing gaze bore into him. "It's only been two days, Ciel. Your eating habits have been far from ideal for quite some time now."

Ciel felt a jolt of surprise at Sebastian's perceptiveness. The fact that his professor had noticed such a detail, had been paying such close attention to him, stirred a confusing mix of emotions in Ciel's already turbulent mind.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A rush of warmth flooded Ciel's cheeks, painting them a soft pink. "You're quite observant," he remarked, struggling to keep his voice steady. "What of it?"

Sebastian's lips curled into a knowing smile. "For future reference, don't allow your… fixations to control you. You must be the one in control."

The words struck a chord within Ciel. He had indeed become so consumed by his quest for the truth behind his parents' disappearance that he'd neglected his own well-being. The realization was as uncomfortable as it was undeniable.

Attempting to deflect, Ciel averted his gaze. "So? It's not as if you actually care," he muttered, his tone laced with feigned indifference.

"I do care," Sebastian's response was immediate, causing Ciel to snap his attention back to the man. "I consider you a friend, after all."

Irritation flared in Ciel's chest, mingling with a confusing warmth. "What twisted interpretation of friendship are you operating under?" he retorted, his voice sharp with disbelief and a hint of something else he couldn't quite name.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's lips curved into an amused smile. "This is precisely why you intrigue me, Ciel," he purred. "You're endlessly entertaining."

"This isn't a game-" Ciel began, his voice sharp with frustration.

"Regardless," Sebastian interjected smoothly, "it's time. Your initiation is about to commence. Come along now."

The abrupt shift in tone left Ciel momentarily off-balance, his previous indignation giving way to a surge of apprehension. Sebastian's casual demeanor only heightened the sinister implications of what lay ahead. With no other choice, Ciel steeled himself and rose to follow, every step feeling like a march toward an unknown, potentially terrifying fate.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian led Ciel into an uncharted area of the auction house, revealing a spacious dining hall. The aroma of the feast laid out on the extensive table tantalized Ciel's senses, causing his neglected stomach to protest audibly. 

Sebastian's amused glance at the involuntary noise only intensified Ciel's embarrassment. Warmth flooded his face as he desperately attempted to silence his body's treacherous demands, clutching his midsection in a futile effort to quell the hunger pangs.

However, the memory of the grotesque butcher room, with its macabre display of dismembered human remains, surged unbidden to the forefront of Ciel's mind. The realization that any sustenance provided by his captors could be tainted with unimaginable horrors made him recoil inwardly.

Despite the gnawing emptiness that clawed at his insides, Ciel resolutely pushed down the ravenous urge to partake in the tempting spread. His survival instinct warred with his revulsion, but the fear of consuming the unthinkable managed to overpower even the most primal of needs.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's mellifluous voice cut through Ciel's musings. "Take a seat," he invited the words echoing their previous therapy sessions. Obediently, Ciel settled into a chair at the table, Sebastian claiming the spot beside him.

Ciel's gaze fell upon the dish before him, a pie of indeterminate filling. Beside the plate sat a glass of water, its presence suddenly highlighting the parched state of his mouth. Deeming it relatively safe, he took a sip, the liquid providing a modicum of relief.

The dining hall doors swung open, revealing William's figure. "Apologies for the slight delay," he offered, his tone more befitting a tardy meeting attendee than the orchestrator of a cult initiation.

Ciel couldn't hold back the sarcastic remark that sprang to his lips. "Ah, yes, because leaving me to waste away from hunger for days on end is perfectly normal." It was a slight hyperbole, but Ciel was curious to see if he could crack William's typically unflappable composure.

William's face remained an inscrutable mask as he settled into his seat at the head of the table, unfazed by Ciel's pointed comment.

"And where are your other minions?" Ciel asked, noticing Sebastian stifling a laugh out of the corner of his eye.

"They're presently occupied with their teaching duties at Weston. Your concern should lie elsewhere." William replied, his tone even.

"And Angela?"

"You'll encounter her soon enough—"

"So, what role does she play? Is she also partaking in cannibalism—on second thought, don't respond. I believe I already know the answer."

"To clarify, while Angela is not an official member, she operates in a supporting capacity, working behind the scenes," William elaborated.

He swiftly changed the subject. "But let's not dwell on Angela. I couldn't help but notice you haven't touched your meal."

Ciel stiffened, his eyes darting to the untouched plate. "I'm not hungry," he blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips a little too quickly.

Sebastian interjected, "Ciel, mere moments ago, you were lamenting about being deprived of sustenance."

Inwardly, Ciel cursed. Sebastian had a point. He now realized his error in mentioning his hunger in the first place.

"I don't even know what this is—"

"Has that deterred you in the past?" Sebastian queried, canting his head to the side, his crimson gaze intently focused on Ciel.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's visible eye narrowed as he regarded the two men, his voice sharp with suspicion. "What's the meaning of this charade? Why are you so insistent that I eat?" He knew his words painted him in an unflattering light, suggesting an aversion to food that wasn't entirely accurate, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They were all aware of what the meal likely contained, and they clearly knew the depths of his hunger.

"This is your initiation. You did agree to join us, correct?" William's response was maddeningly calm as if discussing a mere formality.

Ciel found himself at a loss, his mind racing to find a way out of this impossible situation. His decision to join the cult had been driven by a desperate hope - a chance to locate his parents and ultimately escape this nightmare, all while keeping his cousins safe from harm. But now, faced with the grim reality of what that entailed, he felt that fragile plan crumbling around him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's hand trembled slightly as he grasped the fork, its weight suddenly feeling immense. With a deep breath, he plunged the utensil into the pie before him. As the crust gave way, revealing its contents, Ciel's eye widened in surprise. The filling looked... ordinary. Gravy, steak, peas, and carrots, along with some unidentifiable meat, lay nestled within the pastry. 

For a fleeting moment, hope flickered in Ciel's chest. Could it be that his fears were unfounded? That this was merely regular food? But no, he chided himself internally. This was part of his initiation. There had to be more to it, something sinister lurking beneath the mundane appearance.

Sebastian's voice, rich with pride, cut through Ciel's thoughts. "This is my specialty. I call it steak and kidney pie."

A chill raced down Ciel's spine, his suspicions crystallizing into certainty. Of course. This wasn't mere animal meat. It couldn't be. The true nature of the "kidney" in this pie was all too clear.

With grim determination, Ciel speared a piece of meat on his fork. He brought it to his lips, hesitating for just a moment before taking a bite. The flavor burst across his tongue, familiar yet alien. He swallowed hard, fighting against the revulsion threatening to overwhelm him. 

Despite every instinct screaming at him to stop, Ciel took another bite. And another. Each mouthful was a battle against his own disgust, a test of his resolve. But he pressed on, knowing that to falter now would be to invite consequences he dared not contemplate.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He could feel Sebastian and William’s eyes on him as he ate, both of them, not having touched the food in front of themselves. Sebastian’s gaze full of keen interest while William’s was impassive but also held an underlying current of interest.

As Ciel swallowed the last bite, a peculiar sensation washed over him. His stomach, hollow for days, now felt comfortably full. The satisfaction that accompanied this feeling was as unexpected as it was disturbing. He watched, a mixture of confusion and morbid fascination etched on his face, as Sebastian and William began their own meals as if they had been patiently waiting for him to finish.

The scene before him was surreal in its normalcy - three individuals sharing a meal, the clinking of cutlery against china the only sound breaking the silence. Yet the content of their repast hung heavy in the air, an unspoken horror that tainted the mundane act.

Ciel felt the weight of realization settle in his chest. With each passing moment, with each morsel consumed, he was being drawn deeper into this abyss of depravity. The line between his former self and this new, tainted version was blurring, threatening to disappear entirely.

But even as revulsion churned in his gut, a cold determination took hold. He had come too far to turn back now. His parents were out there somewhere, and he needed answers. The truth that had eluded him for so long was finally within reach, even if obtaining it meant crossing lines he'd once thought unthinkable.

A grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. After all, he was a Phantomhive. And Phantomhives, he was learning, were capable of far more than he'd ever imagined. If this was the price of uncovering the truth, then so be it. He would pay it, no matter the cost to his soul.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XV: The End

Chapter Text

Chapter XVI: The Hermit; Part Two
 
                     Two Weeks Later

Ciel found himself back in the familiar confines of his bedroom at the Phantomhive mansion, adhering to William's instructions to maintain a low profile. The passage of time since his last visit to Weston and his last encounter with Sebastian felt oddly stretched as if those experiences belonged to a different life entirely.

Sleep, when it came, brought no respite. Night after night, Alois haunted his dreams, a ghost that refused to be banished. Ciel could still feel the knife in his hand, still see the life draining from Alois's eyes. Even in death, it seemed, Alois had found a way to torment him.

Ciel tried to push the memories away, to lock them in some dark corner of his mind. But his conscience rebelled, forcing him to confront the horror of what he'd done. No matter how he justified it, the weight of his actions pressed down on him, an inescapable burden he was forced to bear.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The cult's sudden silence following his initiation unsettled him deeply. Their absence, rather than providing relief, only served to heighten his anxiety, leaving him to wonder what machinations might be unfolding beyond his sight.

During this period of recuperation, Tanaka had assumed the role of caretaker, his gentle admonishments about Ciel's neglected health a comforting constant. Though Ciel would never openly admit it, he found solace in Tanaka's attentions. A pang of regret over his earlier sharp words towards the butler lingered, yet the right words to express his apology eluded him.

On this particular morning, an unusually sunny day graced London, the cheerful chirping of birds filtering through the windows. Ciel rose from his bed with a sigh, settling before the mirror atop his desk. A decision had crystallized in his mind - it was time for a change.

Grasping the scissors that lay waiting on his desk, Ciel began to cut. Strands of slate-colored hair fell softly onto his shoulders, each snip a small act of transformation. As he finished, he surveyed his handiwork critically before adding the final touch: a neat side part.

This simple act of altering his appearance felt significant as if by changing his outward self, he might somehow influence the tumultuous circumstances that surrounded him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The sudden creak of his bedroom door shattered Ciel's reverie, causing him to whirl around in his desk chair. Tanaka's familiar, kindly face greeted him, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within Ciel.

"Young master," Tanaka said with a slight bow, "you have a guest. Shall I show them in?"

Ciel felt his eyebrow arch involuntarily. "Who is it?" he asked, unable to keep the wariness from his voice.

A wave of guilt washed over him as he regarded Tanaka. The loyal butler remained blissfully unaware of the nightmarish events at Weston - the accusations of murder, Ciel's imprisonment, and the horrors he'd both witnessed and committed. Ciel had concocted a story about taking a brief academic leave, a lie that sat uneasily in his stomach but one he deemed necessary. Part of him dreaded the possibility of Edward and Elizabeth dropping by unannounced. Their inevitable questions about his sudden disappearance were not something he felt equipped to handle. And the possibility of them telling Tanaka what had happened was also something Ciel did not want to deal with.

"It's a woman who calls herself Grell Sutcliff," Tanaka replied, his tone neutral.

Ciel felt his breath catch. Professor Sutcliff? No, just Grell, he corrected himself mentally, realizing the absurdity of maintaining formalities given recent events. What could she possibly want? Had William sent her? And if so, to what end?

As these questions raced through his mind, Ciel found himself torn between curiosity and apprehension. Whatever Grell's presence here meant, he was certain it would shatter the fragile peace he'd managed to carve out for himself in his temporary exile.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel rose from his seat, deciding to greet the visitor himself. "I'll greet her," he said. As he prepared to leave, Tanaka's voice caught his attention.

"By the way, I like your new look, young master," the butler remarked with a smile before turning to depart.

Ciel felt a warmth spread through his chest at the compliment, though he kept his expression neutral. He made his way out of the room and down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the grand hallway as he approached the entrance.

Upon opening the front door, Ciel's eye widened slightly at the sight of Grell in all her flamboyant glory. A slight breeze played with her crimson hair, and her unsettling grin spread across her face. Ciel felt a familiar unease settle in his stomach.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone sharp with suspicion.

Grell's lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. "How rude, you can't at least pretend to be happy to see me?"

Ciel maintained his steady gaze, refusing to indulge her theatrics. He waited silently for her to provide a real answer.

"Okay, okay," Grell conceded, raising her hands in mock surrender. "I'm just here to pass along a message."

Ciel felt his interest pique despite himself. "A message?" he prompted, his voice carefully controlled.

"William wants you to know that the police have dropped the charges against you. So, you can return to Weston effective immediately."

Ciel's mind raced at this news, considering its implications. His visible eye narrowed as he regarded Grell, searching for any hint of deception in her dramatic features.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's visible eye narrowed slightly as he regarded Grell. "...That's all?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the storm of thoughts brewing in his mind.

Grell's face contorted with indignation. "'That's all?' You lot these days are so ungrateful. William is the sole reason the charges have been dropped-" she began, her voice rising with each word.

Not bothering to hear the rest, Ciel promptly shut the door in her face, cutting off her tirade mid-sentence. He could hear Grell's muffled curse from the other side, but he paid it no mind.

As he stood there, his back to the closed door, Ciel felt a familiar weight settle in his chest. He was acutely aware that William and Sebastian were the very reason he'd been in this predicament, to begin with. The dropped charges brought a measure of relief, but the implications behind it were far more unsettling.

Ciel's mind raced. If he hadn’t accepted Sebastian's offer before, he'd likely be charged with murder. This development only confirmed his suspicions that Scotland Yard was firmly in the cult's pocket.

Or was it the school board pulling the strings? Ciel felt a dull ache beginning to form behind his eyes as he pondered this. The cult and the school board clearly had separate agendas now, but at one point, they had been united. What had caused this schism?

And why did the cult want to bring his father back? He had run away according to William. He didn’t want to be a part of any of this, understandably, so what was the cult going to do? Force him to be a part of it?

The complexity of the situation threatened to overwhelm him, each new piece of information only serving to muddy the waters further.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. Assuming it was Grell returning, he called out, "Go away, Grell."

The knocking persisted, growing more rapid and insistent. Ciel felt his irritation rising. "Grell, I told you to go away," he repeated, his voice sharp with annoyance. 

When the knocking continued unabated, Ciel's patience snapped. He strode to the door and yanked it open, ready to unleash his frustration. "What do you want-" he began, but the words died in his throat as he registered who stood before him.

"Charles?" Ciel breathed, his eye widening in shock.

Ciel's mind reeled. He hadn't seen Charles since the auction and had no idea what had become of him. Yet here he was, standing on Ciel's doorstep as if nothing had happened.

As the initial surprise faded, Ciel felt a surge of anger. He remembered the revelations about Charles - his lies about working with the school board, his shady past, and how he had abandoned Ciel when he needed him most. The betrayal stung afresh.

"Howdy," Charles greeted casually, his nonchalant tone grating on Ciel's nerves.

Ciel felt his jaw clench, a storm of emotions churning within him as he regarded the man who had deceived him so thoroughly.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's hand tightened on the doorknob as he attempted to shut the door in Charles's face, but Charles was quicker. His foot wedged itself in the gap, preventing Ciel from closing it completely.

"Wait, I need to talk to you," Charles insisted, his voice urgent.

Ciel felt his frustration mounting. He reluctantly reopened the door, his visible eye narrowing with suspicion. "What is it?" he demanded, his tone clipped.

"Can I come in?" Charles asked, glancing furtively over his shoulder.

Ciel's arms crossed over his chest, a physical barrier between them. "You can tell me outside," he stated firmly, unwilling to let Charles into his home.

Charles leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's not a good idea. I can't be seen with you."

Ciel felt his eyebrow arch involuntarily. "What do you mean?" he asked, curiosity warring with his lingering anger and distrust.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"I'll explain it to you once you let me inside," Charles insisted, his tone low and urgent.

Ciel felt torn, his mind warring with itself. Should he allow Charles entry? Given the man's history of deception, it seemed unwise to trust him now. Yet, despite his reservations, Ciel's insatiable curiosity won out.

Without a word, Ciel opened the door fully and stepped aside, allowing Charles to enter. He watched closely as the PI stepped in, noting how Charles's eyes darted around, taking in every detail of the entryway.

Ciel's attention shifted as Tanaka approached them. "Another guest? Who might you be?" the butler inquired politely.

Charles turned to Tanaka, extending his hand. "Charles Grey," he introduced himself.

Ciel observed as Tanaka bowed instead of accepting the handshake. "Tanaka, a pleasure to meet you," the butler responded. Charles's hand dropped awkwardly to his side.

Sensing the need for privacy, Ciel intervened. "Tanaka, he's not staying for long. We're just going to have a chat," he explained, his tone carrying a hint of dismissal that he knew Tanaka would recognize.

"Very well then, young master," Tanaka replied, taking his leave.

Once Tanaka had gone, Charles turned to Ciel with a raised eyebrow. "Geez, your family really is old money, huh? A butler, a mansion, the whole nine yards."

Ciel felt a flare of irritation at Charles's casual remark. "State your business," he demanded, eager to cut through the small talk and get to the heart of this unexpected visit.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Right," Charles sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I have a plan to take down the cult."

Ciel felt a jolt of surprise at Charles's words, quickly followed by a wave of bitter resignation. "Are you serious? It's too late for that. You saw what happened, what I... did," he replied, his voice tight with suppressed emotion.

Charles's response was swift and forceful. "They asked you to join, didn't they? So what? Is it 'if you can't beat them join them' now? What you did wasn't your fault, it was coercion."

Ciel felt a surge of anger at Charles's dismissive tone. "But I still committed the action. That was all me, not anyone else," he retorted, his visible eye flashing. "And, I can't trust you anymore, and I can't work with anyone I can't trust."

In his mind, Ciel knew it was too late to consider taking down the cult. His priority now was to use them to find his parents. Only then could he worry about escape.

"Listen, I know I didn't tell you about the school board, but I can explain-" Charles began, but Ciel cut him off sharply.

"You need to go. Now," Ciel demanded, his patience wearing thin.

Charles's next words hit Ciel like a physical blow. "You're a coward, is running away all you Phantomhives do?"

"What?" Ciel breathed, shock coursing through him. He realized with a start that Charles was referring to his father, but how could he possibly know about that?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“The cult told me about what they planned, they didn’t use any names, but, I deduced who they were talking about.”

Ciel felt a cold realization wash over him. Of course, Charles would know - the man wasn't stupid. But why would the cult reveal their plans to him and then set him free? Despite these swirling thoughts, Ciel clung stubbornly to his denial.

"I'm not running away," he insisted, his voice sharp with anger and a hint of desperation. "Now get out." He yanked the door open, his hand shaking slightly with the force of his emotions.

As Charles stepped over the threshold, he turned back to Ciel. "You'll regret this," he remarked, his tone ominous.

Ciel watched Charles's retreating figure, fighting the urge to call him back, to demand answers. Instead, he slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. He leaned against it, his heart pounding, as he grappled with the implications of Charles's words and his own conflicted feelings about the path he'd chosen.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                             A Day Later

As the chauffeur's car pulled up to Weston's entrance, Ciel steeled himself for what awaited him. The moment he stepped out, a palpable tension settled over the nearby students. Their hushed conversations ceased abruptly, only to resume with renewed vigor, their voices carrying deliberately to Ciel's ears.

"Look who's back," one student stage-whispered, eyeing Ciel with a mixture of fear and fascination. "Isn't he the one accused of murder?"

Another chimed in, not bothering to lower their voice, "Murders, plural. I heard it was more than one."

"And they're just letting him waltz back in?" a third student added incredulously.

A caustic voice sliced through the hushed conversations, laden with contempt. "Why the surprise? He's a Phantomhive, after all. Their ilk always manages to dance around the edges of the law."

Ciel's eye snapped towards the source of the comment, his gaze hardening into a piercing glare. The intensity of his stare swept across the gossiping students, causing a ripple effect of discomfort. One by one, they averted their eyes, suddenly finding the ground beneath their feet far more interesting than the subject of their whispers.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the whispers, momentarily dispelling the oppressive atmosphere.

"Ciel!" Elizabeth's exuberant cry preceded her as she rushed towards him, enveloping him in an enthusiastic embrace. Edward trailed behind, his hands tucked casually in his pockets, a stark contrast to his sister's effusive greeting.

Elizabeth pulled back, her eyes wide with concern and curiosity. "What happened? We were all set to bail you out, but the prison said someone had already beaten us to it! And then you vanished for two whole weeks!"

Before Ciel could formulate a response, Edward interjected, his tone measured but tinged with suspicion, "It was Sebastian who bailed you out, wasn't it?"

Feeling overwhelmed by the barrage of questions and the intensity of their concern, Ciel fumbled for a response. "Yeah," he managed, absently running a hand through his hair.

Elizabeth's brow furrowed slightly. "That was kind of him, I suppose, but we could have handled it ourselves." Her pout quickly gave way to a look of keen observation. "Wait a minute... something about you seems... different."

Ciel felt his pulse quicken, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. "Does it?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

Elizabeth's face suddenly lit up with realization. "You got a haircut! It's about time," she exclaimed, her smile bright and oblivious to Ciel's momentary panic.

Ciel felt a wave of relief wash over him, narrowly avoiding a sigh that threatened to escape his lips.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​His moment of respite, however, was short-lived.

Edward's keen gaze settled on Ciel, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. The scrutiny in his cousin's look didn't escape Ciel's notice, setting him on edge once more.

Sensing the need for a hasty retreat, Ciel seized the moment. "I should get settled back in," he announced abruptly, already stepping away. "I'll catch up with you both later." 

Without waiting for a response, he strode off swiftly, leaving Elizabeth and Edward in his wake. The words tumbled out in his haste, effectively cutting short any potential for further questioning or conversation. As he distanced himself, Ciel could almost feel the weight of Edward's suspicious stare boring into his back.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Ciel crossed the threshold into Weston, an oppressive atmosphere engulfed him. The air seemed to thicken, laden with accusation and suspicion. Every pair of eyes he encountered felt like a silent indictment, blaming him for the deaths that had plagued the school - Soma, Maurice, and now Lawrence.

Lawrence. The name echoed in his mind, a painful reminder of the pattern that had emerged. It seemed that proximity to Ciel had become a death sentence. The realization settled over him like a heavy shroud - he couldn't allow himself to form close connections any more. To do so would only invite further tragedy, providing his enemies with more leverage against him.

Weighed down by this grim resolution, Ciel trudged towards his dorm room. Exhaustion seeped into his very bones, a bone-deep weariness that went beyond mere physical fatigue. Upon reaching his room, he barely mustered the energy to stumble to his bed. Without even a cursory glance at his surroundings, Ciel collapsed onto the mattress, surrendering to the momentary oblivion it offered.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

            ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"G'evening there," a thick Scottish brogue pierced through Ciel's slumber. His visible eye fluttered open, consciousness returning sluggishly.

As his vision focused, Ciel found himself face-to-face with a stranger, so close that the scent of mint on the intruder's breath was overwhelmingly apparent. Startled by the sudden invasion of his personal space, Ciel jerked upright. His forehead collided with the stranger's with a painful thud.

"Ow!" They cried out simultaneously, both recoiling from the unexpected impact.

Nursing his throbbing forehead, Ciel's eye narrowed as he scrutinized the uninvited guest. "Who in the world are you?" he demanded, taking in the newcomer's appearance.

Before him stood a diminutive young man, his most striking features being a pair of enormous, round hazel eyes magnified behind circular spectacles. A mop of ginger hair crowned his head, and a constellation of freckles peppered the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

The stranger's face split into a wide, friendly grin. "McMillan's the name," he chirped, his accent thick and cheerful. "Pleasure to make yer acquaintance!"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"What exactly are you doing here?" Ciel pressed, confusion evident in his tone.

McMillan's response was cheerful and matter-of-fact. "Why, I'm yer new flatmate, of course!"

The words hit Ciel like a physical blow. A new flatmate? The implications of this development whirled through his mind. This had William's fingerprints all over it, but to what end? Was it merely another way to torment him? The irony wasn't lost on Ciel - just as he'd steeled himself against forming new attachments, William had thrust this stranger into his personal space.

Frustration bubbled up within him. This meddling from William couldn't be ignored. Despite his initial plan to keep his distance from the Chancellor, Ciel realized a confrontation was now unavoidable. The thought of facing William again so soon filled him with dread, but he saw no alternative.

Ciel's gaze drifted past McMillan, taking in the other side of the room for the first time. The space that had once been Soma's had transformed. A Scottish flag now adorned the wall above the bed, its bold colors a stark contrast to the room's subdued tones. The nightstand was laden with an eclectic array of books, hinting at McMillan's varied interests. The sight of this personalized space served as a tangible reminder of the change that had been thrust upon him, leaving Ciel feeling even more unsettled.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

McMillan leaned in, his eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement. "You're Ciel Phantomhive, aren't ye? The talk of the campus, that's for sure." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, tinged with a morbid fascination. "So, tell me, did ye really do in those lads?"

The incongruity between McMillan's eager expression and the gravity of his question was jarring. Ciel's eye narrowed, studying his new roommate with a mixture of wariness and disbelief. "You don't seem particularly afraid of me," he observed, his tone cool and measured.

Realizing his faux pas, McMillan straightened up, a faint blush coloring his freckled cheeks. He cleared his throat, attempting to adopt a more serious demeanor. "Ah, right. My apologies," he said, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I've got a bit of an obsession with true crime, ye see. Sometimes I get carried away."

The casual way McMillan brushed off his morbid curiosity left Ciel feeling even more unsettled about his new living arrangement.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

McMillan, sensing the tension, abruptly shifted gears. "Right then, will ye be joining the rest of us in the dining hall for supper?" he asked, his tone forcefully cheerful.

Ciel shook his head, his mind already elsewhere. "No, I've got some matters to attend to," he replied, his voice distant.

"Suit yerself," McMillan shrugged, seemingly unfazed. "I'll be seeing ye later, then." With a casual wave, he sauntered out of the room, leaving Ciel alone with his thoughts.

As the door closed behind McMillan, Ciel reconsidered his priorities. The confrontation with William could wait until morning. Right now, another curiosity pulled at him, or rather, someone.

With newfound purpose, Ciel rose from his bed and exited the room. He made his way out of the dormitory, his feet carrying him along a familiar path across campus. His destination: Sebastian's office.

As he approached the building, a question nagged at him. Would Sebastian even be on campus at this hour? The uncertainty added an element of risk to his impromptu visit, but Ciel pressed on, driven by an inexplicable need for answers - or perhaps something more.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's hand hovered, poised to knock, when suddenly the door swung open of its own accord. The scene that greeted him caught him off guard - Sebastian deep in conversation with none other than Cheslock.

The revelation that Cheslock was attending sessions with Sebastian sent a jolt of surprise through Ciel. He found himself eavesdropping on the tail end of their exchange.

"I appreciate your guidance, Professor Michaelis," Cheslock was saying, his usual bravado tempered by a note of sincerity.

Sebastian's response was smooth and reassuring. "It's my pleasure. I'm always here to offer a sympathetic ear." As he spoke, he placed a hand on Cheslock's shoulder, a gesture of comfort that inexplicably stirred something within Ciel - a feeling he couldn't quite name but that left him unsettled.

At that moment, both Sebastian and Cheslock seemed to register Ciel's presence. Cheslock's demeanor shifted instantly, discomfort evident in his eyes. He hastily pushed past Ciel, their shoulders colliding in his rush to exit.

"Until next time, Professor Michaelis," Cheslock called over his shoulder, not bothering to look back as he hastened down the hallway.

"Ciel," Sebastian purred, his voice a velvety caress, "what brings you to my office at this late hour?" The way Sebastian enunciated his name sent an involuntary shiver down Ciel's spine, stirring a desire to hear it again.

Startled by his own reaction, Ciel hastily shoved the thought aside, unsettled by its implications.

As Ciel stepped into the office, Sebastian closed the door behind them with a soft click. The professor's demeanor was disconcertingly normal as if the dark events of recent weeks had never transpired. The contrast between this facade and the Sebastian Ciel had come to know was jarring.

"Enough," Ciel snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Sebastian's eyebrow arched. "Enough of what, precisely?"

"This act," Ciel elaborated, his voice tight. "Stop pretending to be just another professor. Drop the charade, at least when we're alone."

A playful smirk tugged at Sebastian's lips as he cocked his head to one side. "And why does it bother you so?" he asked, his tone light but probing.

The question caught Ciel off guard. Why did it irk him so much?

Before he could formulate a response, Sebastian pressed on, his voice teasing. "Could it be that you missed me? Is that what brought you here tonight?"

Ciel found himself at a loss for words. The real reason for his visit suddenly seemed elusive, slipping away like smoke through his fingers.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's slender fingers delicately tilted Ciel's chin upward. For the first time, Ciel noticed thin, pale scars etched across Sebastian's hands, barely visible against his alabaster skin.

Ciel's mind raced. Scars? When did those appear? They seemed far too old to be from Sebastian's recent violent acts. These marks spoke of years gone by, a history written in flesh.

"Miss you? Have you lost your mind?" Ciel shot back, yet found himself unable to retreat from Sebastian's touch.

The idea of missing Sebastian struck Ciel as absurd initially, but a nagging doubt crept in. He couldn't deny the emptiness he'd felt during their two-week separation. Had he, in some perverse way, longed for Sebastian's presence?

Pride kept Ciel's lips sealed on the matter. This void made no sense. Sebastian had deceived him, fabricated their entire relationship for the sake of manipulation.

A lump formed in Ciel's throat as he swallowed hard.

Sebastian's voice caressed Ciel's ears like velvet, low and enticing. "Ciel," he murmured, "fighting against your true nature is futile. We're more alike than you care to admit."

The suggestion that he and Sebastian shared any similarity sent Ciel's thoughts into a tailspin. He grappled with the stark contrasts between them - Sebastian, a calculating, remorseless killer, and himself, driven to murder by a thirst for vengeance. Yet, a disturbing parallel in their actions gnawed at him. Sebastian's cryptic reference to Ciel's "true nature” only added to his confusion and unease.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Ciel demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

In a flash of clarity, Ciel's senses returned to him. He recoiled from Sebastian, mentally chastising himself for momentarily falling under the man's spell. As he distanced himself, Ciel caught sight of Sebastian's expression - a look of smug triumph, as though he'd just orchestrated a masterful checkmate in an elaborate chess match.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's lips tightened as he spoke, "No. This stops now. I came here with questions, and I intend to get answers."

"By all means," Sebastian replied smoothly. "I'm listening."

Ciel pressed on, "Why did you freely share information about my parents? And what's your strategy for locating them?"

"Strategy?" Sebastian's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Vincent will find his way to us soon enough."

"And if he doesn't?" Ciel challenged.

Sebastian's response was brimming with quiet confidence, "He will."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"You didn't address my initial question-" Ciel began, but Sebastian swiftly cut him off.

"Let's shift our focus to you, Ciel," Sebastian interjected, his tone laden with intrigue.

"What?" Ciel's surprise was evident in his voice.

Sebastian's eyes gleamed with curiosity as he pressed on. "How did it make you feel? Did you experience an adrenaline surge? Did you find it... pleasurable?"

Ciel instantly knew Sebastian was referring to Alois's death. The question about his emotional state puzzled and unsettled him.

"What's the purpose of this line of questioning?" Ciel demanded, his voice tinged with suspicion.

Sebastian's gaze swept over Ciel, analytical and probing. 

"You shouldn't harbor guilt," Sebastian stated matter-of-factly. "Alois was merely insignificant, like an insect. You're set apart from the rest, Ciel. You're a Phantomhive. Embrace that distinction."

Ciel's response was sharp with defiance. "I'm not a monster like you. I can't simply disregard the guilt I feel."

"I saw the exhilaration on your face after you killed Alois," Sebastian countered, his voice carrying a note of certainty. "I know you felt that rush."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel grappled internally with the sensation that taking Alois's life had stirred within him. It had undeniably awakened something - a dark, primal force he was reluctant to acknowledge or confront.

"Suppressing these... impulses will only consume you from within," Sebastian cautioned, his voice a silky whisper.

Ciel's response came out sharp and defensive. "I don't have any 'impulses'. That was an isolated incident. It won't be repeated."

Sebastian's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "We shall see about that," he purred, his words hanging in the air like a foreboding prophecy.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's unwavering certainty was disconcerting. How could he be so confident, as if he had an intimate understanding of Ciel's innermost thoughts and future actions? It was unsettling how he seemed to peer into the darkest recesses of Ciel's soul with such assurance.

Casting one final, skeptical glance at Sebastian through his narrowed eye, Ciel turned and strode out of the office.

As he walked away, his mind was in turmoil. What was this transformation taking place within him? He felt fundamentally altered from his former self. A metamorphosis had occurred deep inside Ciel, bringing with it a paradoxical mix of terror and exhilaration. This internal change was as frightening as it was thrilling, leaving him both unsettled and oddly invigorated.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The following morning found Ciel seated in William's vacant office. The unlocked door had presented an unexpected opportunity, which Ciel seized, determined to confront the Chancellor before his morning class.

The rhythmic ticking of the clock punctuated the tense silence, heightening Ciel's unease. Faint footsteps approaching the door signaled William's imminent arrival.

As the door handle turned, William appeared, momentarily taken aback by Ciel's presence. However, his surprise quickly gave way to his usual impassive demeanor.

"Ciel, how may I assist you?" William inquired, his tone eerily normal, as if recent events had never transpired.

Brushing aside his irritation at William's affected nonchalance, Ciel cut straight to the chase. "Why have you assigned me another flatmate? Is this some ploy to frame me for yet another murder?"

"Lower your voice," William admonished sharply. "The other dormitories are currently at full capacity. This arrangement is merely a temporary solution."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel found William's explanation dubious but decided not to press the issue for the moment.

"Let's address another matter," Ciel said, shifting gears. "The primary reason you wanted me to join was to draw Vincent back, correct? Yet it's been two weeks and he's still nowhere to be seen. Your grand scheme doesn't appear to be yielding results."

"I believe you've misunderstood our intentions," William replied, his tone measured. "Your mere act of joining our…organization wouldn't prompt Vincent's return, as he'd have no way of knowing. The key is to make your involvement known to Vincent."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"And how do you propose we accomplish that?"

"I want you to publicly declare yourself as the CEO of Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals."

Ciel blinked in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

The irony wasn't lost on him. Becoming the very thing his father had always intended for him? It felt like a cruel twist of fate. Ciel had never aspired to run the company, and now, to lure his father back, he had to step into that exact role.

"Furthermore, I want you to make a substantial donation to the auction house."

"I fail to see how this will achieve the overall goal," Ciel countered, skepticism evident in his voice.

"Knowing Vincent, he's still keeping a close eye on his company," William explained. "This action is subtle enough to signal your connection to us, yet bold enough to attract tabloid attention. It's the perfect bait to catch Vincent's notice."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel mulled over William's proposal, reluctantly acknowledging its strategic merit. The plan seemed carefully crafted, its potential for success undeniable. Yet, a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. The prospect of further enmeshing himself in the cult's web of deceit and manipulation left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

He found himself at a crossroads, torn between the tantalizing possibility of luring his father out of hiding and the dread of sinking deeper into this morally ambiguous quagmire. The weight of the decision pressed down on him, a constant reminder of the precarious position he now occupied. Despite his reservations, Ciel knew he was running out of options. The path ahead, murky as it was, seemed to be narrowing to this single, unsavory choice.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XVI: The End

Chapter Text

Chapter XVII: Interlude A

                                  ??

The school board of Weston comprised a select few members entrusted with enforcing the institution's long-standing rules and traditions. However, over time, corrupt individuals managed to infiltrate this exclusive council. These newcomers saw an opportunity to exploit the prestigious student body for financial gain. As their influence grew, the corruption spread, eventually tainting the very foundation of Weston itself. What was once a bastion of academic excellence and tradition gradually transformed into a facade concealing darker, more mercenary motives.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The board's operations were shrouded in secrecy, their meetings held in an exclusive private club that exuded an air of prestige and power. Access was strictly limited to a select few, adding to the mystique and untouchability of the organization.

Plush sofas invited intimate conversations within the club's opulent lounge while flickering candles cast dancing shadows across the room. At a round table, two cloaked figures sat opposite each other, their faces hidden in shadow. Before them, glasses of wine stood untouched, a silent testament to their anticipation.

"He's late," one figure observed, their voice taut with irritation. The speaker's posture radiated a palpable stiffness, every line of their cloaked form exuding impatience.

The other figure exhaled heavily, their sigh carrying the weight of long-suffering tolerance. "What's new?" they responded, their more relaxed bearing starkly contrasting their companion's rigidity.

As if summoned by their words, a third cloaked figure swept into the lounge with dramatic flair. Wisps of grey hair escaped the confines of their hood, offering a tantalizing hint of identity.

"Don't tell me you gentlemen started without me," the newcomer quipped, their voice rich with humor and an almost inappropriate cheerfulness given the setting.

"You sure took your time getting here," the rigid figure snapped, their words clipped and laden with disapproval.

"Oh my," the jovial latecomer retorted, amusement dancing in their tone, "I can't see your face, but I can just imagine how delightfully annoyed you look right now." The teasing words seemed designed to needle their uptight companion further.

The rigid figure remained silent, reaching for a wine glass and taking a measured sip. The relaxed one seized the opportunity to steer the conversation, "Let's just get down to business, shall we?"

As the jovial latecomer settled into their seat, they ventured, "Let me guess, is this little gathering about our dear Vincent Phantomhive?"

"It's been four years, and we still haven't located that weasel," the rigid one remarked, frustration evident in their tone.

The relaxed one muttered, "It shouldn't be this difficult. I'm starting to think the man left the country entirely."

"Ah, but remember," the jovial one interjected, "we have young Ciel Phantomhive attending Weston now. Quite the unexpected but welcome development, wouldn't you say?"

The rigid one countered, "Students are still being murdered, and we're no closer to finding the culprit. Charles Grey has gone radio silent, leaving us without leads. I'm cutting his direct deposit."

"Curious, isn't it?" the relaxed one observed. "The murders only started after Ciel Phantomhive began attending Weston. He was arrested, but then the charges were dropped rather swiftly."

"Are you suggesting Vincent's son is behind this?" the rigid one questioned.

"It's a possibility we can't ignore," the relaxed one affirmed with a nod.

A heavy silence descended upon the trio, thick with unspoken tensions. The jovial one finally broke the stillness, their voice tinged with a hint of apprehension despite their usual lighthearted demeanor. "A thought occurs... you don't think our dear cult could be retaliating, do you?"

"What do you mean?" the relaxed one prompted, curiosity piqued.

The jovial one elaborated, their tone growing more serious. "We put a pause on our... activities to avoid public suspicion. What if they're purposely trying to damage the school's reputation?"

The rigid figure uncrossed their arms, leaning forward slightly. Their voice, when it came, was measured and thoughtful. "That's... not entirely impossible."

"So you're saying it might not be the son after all?" the relaxed one questioned, a note of surprise in their voice.

The jovial one responded, their words careful and deliberate. "I'm saying that in our little game, we must consider all angles. Nothing is ever quite as it seems, is it?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

This exchange cast a new light on their predicament, the implications hanging in the air like a gathering storm. Each figure seemed to retreat into their own thoughts, weighing the possible consequences of this new theory.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                           Last Night

Claude Faustus occupied a precarious position on the fringes of Weston's inner circle. Despite his title as vice chancellor, he found himself consistently overshadowed by Sebastian, who seemed to hold William's unwavering trust. Claude's role had been reduced to that of a glorified gatekeeper - tasked with keeping the prefects oblivious to Weston's darker "traditions" while simultaneously using them to uphold the school's more visible regulations.

This state of affairs grated on Claude, piercing his typically impassive demeanor. The irony of his situation wasn't lost on him; he held a position of apparent authority yet commanded little genuine respect. The cult members mirrored William's dismissive attitude towards him, leaving Claude in a frustrating limbo of power without influence.

The disparity between his official standing and his actual treatment stirred a rare sense of discontent within Claude. It was a sentiment that simmered beneath his calm exterior.

Claude's mind churned with frustration as he pondered his position. Despite his unwavering obedience, William's trust remained firmly with Sebastian. What intangible quality did Sebastian possess that he lacked? What further proof of his loyalty was required?

With a weary sigh, Claude placed the stapler on his desk, having just completed the paperwork William had assigned. Seeking respite, he rose from his chair and stretched his legs.

Claude's footsteps echoed softly through the empty corridors as he stepped into the hallway, closing his office door behind him. His solitary walk was interrupted by a passing figure - Cheslock. Claude was mildly surprised to recognize the student, given his typically dismissive attitude towards the student body. While visually striking, Cheslock was unremarkable in most other aspects - average grades, mainly known for his association with Alois and Maurice's group.

Cheslock brushed past Claude without acknowledgment, seemingly lost in thought. Claude's curiosity was piqued - why was this student wandering the halls at this hour? While not yet past curfew, most students would be in the dining hall.

Tracing Cheslock's path backward, Claude's gaze fell upon Sebastian's office at the corridor's end. The realization that Cheslock had likely been consulting Sebastian wasn't entirely unexpected, given recent events - the death of one friend and the expulsion of another.

Intrigued, Claude found himself drawn towards Sebastian's office. Indeed, he reasoned, there could be no harm in simply passing by. His feet carried him forward, propelled by curiosity and the ever-present desire to understand Sebastian's inexplicable hold over William's trust.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Claude approached Sebastian's office, muffled voices filtered through the closed door. He paused, his curiosity piqued by the intimate tone of Sebastian's unmistakable voice.

"Could it be that you missed me? Is that what brought you here tonight?" Sebastian's words dripped with suggestive undertones.

A younger, unfamiliar voice retorted sharply, "Miss you? Have you lost your mind?"

Claude's eyebrows raised as he heard Sebastian murmur, "Ciel, fighting against your true nature is futile. We're more alike than you care to admit."

Ciel Phantomhive? Claude's interest intensified. What business did Sebastian have with the boy at this hour, and why did his voice carry such a seductive quality? It was as if Sebastian was attempting to entice the young Phantomhive.

Ciel's resistance was evident in his following words. "No. This stops now. I came here with questions, and I intend to get answers."

Claude was intrigued and perplexed by the dynamic unfolding behind the closed door. He wished he could witness the scene with his own eyes rather than rely on his hearing alone. A thought occurred to him - was this what William had meant when he instructed Sebastian to "handle" Ciel during that initial meeting?

Claude leaned in closer, his ear nearly pressed against the door, eager to unravel more of this mysterious exchange.

"By all means," Sebastian's silky voice responded. "I'm listening."

Ciel's following words sent a jolt through Claude. "Why did you freely share information about my parents? And what's your strategy for locating them?"

Claude's mind raced. He had only a vague understanding of William's plans for Ciel, his status as an outsider to the cult leaving him in the dark about many details. The mention of locating Ciel's parents startled him. Were they not dead as he had assumed? The implication that Ciel was more informed than he was about the cult's plans ignited a spark of irritation in Claude.

Sebastian's playful reply did little to quell Claude's growing frustration. "Strategy? Vincent will find his way to us soon enough."

"And if he doesn't?" Ciel pressed.

"He will," Sebastian assured confidently.

The conversation took an unexpected turn as Sebastian redirected, "Let's shift our focus to you, Ciel. How did it make you feel? Did you experience an adrenaline surge? Did you find it... pleasurable?"

Claude's brow furrowed in confusion. What was Sebastian referring to? The words carried a lewd undertone that left Claude both perplexed and uncomfortable. Surely, they couldn't be discussing what it sounded like... could they?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Claude strained to hear Ciel's response, the boy's voice tinged with suspicion. "What's the purpose of this line of questioning?"

Sebastian's following words were clear and deliberate. "You shouldn't harbor guilt. Alois was merely insignificant, like an insect. You're set apart from the rest, Ciel. You're a Phantomhive. Embrace that distinction."

Claude's mind reeled. Alois? What did he have to do with this conversation?

Ciel's voice trembled slightly as he replied, "I'm not a monster like you. I can't simply disregard the guilt I feel."

The vice chancellor struggled to make sense of the exchange. Were they discussing something entirely different from what he'd initially assumed?

Sebastian's next words, however, brought startling clarity. "I saw the exhilaration on your face after you killed Alois," he purred. "I know you felt that rush."

Claude felt as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. Ciel had killed Alois? Was this part of William's grand plan? But why? Claude found an unbidden smirk creeping across his face as the pieces fell into place.

Claude's keen ears caught the sound of approaching footsteps as the voices inside Sebastian's office faded. His heart rate spiked, realizing his compromising position. His eyes darted around the corridor, desperately seeking a hiding place.

Relief washed over him as he spotted the men's bathroom nearby. Without hesitation, Claude swiftly and silently made his way to the lavatory. He slipped inside just as the door to Sebastian's office began to open, narrowly avoiding detection.

Safe in his makeshift sanctuary, Claude leaned against the cool tile wall, his mind racing with the implications of what he'd just overheard. The vice chancellor's breath came in quiet, controlled gasps as he processed the wealth of information he'd inadvertently stumbled upon.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He’d have to keep an eye on Sebastian and Ciel. Sebastian was up to something; he just knew it. If he was going to prove himself to William, this was his chance.

Claude's mind whirred with possibilities as he collected himself in the bathroom. A new resolve crystallized within him - from this moment forward, both Sebastian and Ciel would be under his scrutiny. Sebastian's actions reeked of hidden agendas, and Claude was determined to uncover them.

This unexpected turn of events presented a golden opportunity. If Claude could unravel the mystery surrounding Sebastian's machinations and Ciel's involvement, he might finally earn the respect and trust he craved from William.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                           Present Time

Charles gaped at his computer screen, his eyes darting over the headline in disbelief: "Ciel Phantomhive, Son of Vincent Phantomhive and New CEO of Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals, Donates 900k to Auction House."

"What the fuck?" he muttered, his voice laced with shock and frustration.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of this unexpected development. Why would Ciel make such a substantial donation to that particular auction house? The implications were troubling. Had the young Phantomhive fully embraced the cult's ideology? Was he now actively funding their operations? 

This action seemed entirely at odds with the Ciel he thought he knew. Their last encounter had left Charles with the impression of a changed person, but this level of involvement was beyond anything he'd anticipated.

A grim realization settled over Charles. The act of killing Alois must have shattered something within Ciel, leaving him vulnerable to the cult's machinations. Charles clenched his fists, anger bubbling up inside him. This was the cult's doing, their toxic influence corrupting yet another victim.

With this public move, Charles saw his hopes of exposing the cult's activities crumbling before his eyes. The young Phantomhive's actions had effectively legitimized the very organization Charles had been fighting against.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He needed to contact the school board. They were at least against what the cult was doing, even if it was only because they were only worried about public perception of Weston.

Charles considered reaching out to his contacts, but a sobering realization struck him - he was without a means of communication. The burner phone provided by the cult had been discarded, a necessary precaution given the possibility of it being tracked. His personal phone, meanwhile, remained in the cult's possession, likely being combed for any helpful information.

A wry smile crossed his face as he acknowledged the irony of his situation. In his efforts to distance himself from the cult's influence, he'd inadvertently cut off his own lines of communication. 

With a resigned sigh, Charles came to a decision. He'd have to take a more direct approach if he couldn't reach out remotely. It was time to pay a personal visit.

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The following day, Herman, Gregory, and Edgar sat in the dining hall, the weight of recent tragedies pressing down on them like a heavy fog. The usual chatter and laughter were absent, replaced by a loud silence. Lawrence's death hung over them, a shadow they couldn't shake.

Herman's gaze swept over his fellow prefects, noting the emptiness where Lawrence should have been. The official story - suicide - didn't sit right with him. Lawrence was always so strong and determined. It just didn't make sense.

His mind wandered, recounting the string of misfortunes that had befallen Weston. Soma's murder, Maurice's drowning, Alois' expulsion - each incident blurred into the next, creating a tapestry of tragedy that seemed to smother the once-proud school.

A question nagged at Herman: Why now? Why this sudden onslaught of calamities? It was as if some dark force had descended upon Weston, turning their world on its head.

The clatter of a tray startled Herman from his brooding. He turned to find Edward Midford standing there, his presence unexpected and tense.

"Edward?" Herman's voice held a mix of surprise and concern.

Memories of their once-close relationship flashed through Herman's mind. He'd mentored Edward and treated him like a younger brother. But lately, things had changed. Edward had been avoiding him, and Herman couldn't fathom why.

He noticed Edgar and Gregory tense up at Edward's arrival, their reactions hinting at some hidden conflict.

Trying to bridge the gap, Herman ventured, "Edward? Where have you been? I haven't seen you lately."

Edward's response was sharp, venomous. "Don't act like we're mates."

Taken aback, Herman stammered, "What are you talking about?"

Before he could react, Edward's fist connected with his face. The force sent Herman reeling, toppling from his seat. As he struggled to right himself, he saw Edgar spring to his feet while Gregory seemed to shrink away.

"You knew, didn't you?" Edward's accusation cut through the air.

Herman tasted blood, feeling it trickle from his nose. 

Edgar's voice, tinged with anxiety, attempted to mediate. "Everyone just calm down."

Ignoring him, Herman locked eyes with Edward. "Knew what?" he demanded, confusion and defiance warring in his tone.

Edward's response was a seething hiss. "You knew about what actually happened to Elizabeth."

A deafening silence fell over the cafeteria. Herman, still reeling, struggled to make sense of it all. "Can you explain what's going on?" he managed.

Suddenly, a new voice cut through the tension. "What's going on here?" 

Herman found himself being pulled to his feet, face to face with Dr. Michaelis. The professor's calm demeanor was unsettling, and Herman noticed a flicker of surprise across Sebastian's features as he looked past him.

Following Sebastian's gaze, Herman saw Claude standing behind Edward. Claude's voice dripped with disappointment. "I'm disappointed, Herman. Getting into a physical altercation? That's not like you."

The accusation hit Herman like a second blow. He'd been punched, yet he was the one being reprimanded? The absurdity of it all left him speechless.

Despite the injustice, Herman mumbled, "I'm sorry, sir."

Edward's expression shifted from anger to bewilderment at Herman's response.

Sebastian's smooth voice cut in. "Now, now, Claude. Go easy on Herman, will you? Both of them have gone through a lot."

Herman couldn't help but notice the intensity of Claude's gaze as it locked onto Sebastian. Suddenly, a glint appeared in Claude's eyes - a mischievous spark that Herman had never seen before. It was as if a mask had slipped, revealing a glimpse of something hidden beneath Claude's usually impassive demeanor.

"Well then," Claude said, his voice carrying an unusual lilt of amusement, "I believe the only proper course of action is for these two to have a heart-to-heart in your office, Sebastian."

Even Sebastian, typically unflappable, seemed taken aback by Claude's unexpected suggestion. His eyebrows rose slightly as he replied, "Is that truly necessary? This appears to be an isolated incident. I'm confident they can resolve this without further intervention."

Claude, however, was undeterred. He shook his head, a hint of steel entering his voice. "No, we must ensure this behavior doesn't repeat itself. A thorough discussion is in order."

Edward finally broke his silence, his voice a mixture of frustration and resignation. "This is unnecessary. I don't need some forced heart-to-heart."

Claude's response was swift and unyielding, his tone carrying an undercurrent of authority that brooked no argument. "I'm afraid you've misunderstood, Mr. Midford. This isn't a request. Either you comply, or you'll face the consequences of your actions."

Sebastian, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange, sighed softly. His hand came to rest on his hip in a casual and slightly exasperated gesture. When he spoke, his voice was smooth as ever but with a hint of something - perhaps curiosity? - lurking beneath the surface. "Well then, gentlemen. Shall we retire to my office for this... chat?"

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose, a hint of exasperation coloring his usually smooth voice. "Gentlemen, this silent treatment is rather counterproductive."

Herman's gaze flickered to Edward, noting the younger student's defensive posture, arms tightly crossed over his chest. The tension in the room was palpable.

Clearing his throat, Herman ventured, "I'm not opposed to discussing the matter, but..." He hesitated, his eyes darting to the unexpected presence in the room. "I'm curious about Claude's involvement here. It seems... unusual."

Sebastian's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly as he turned to face his colleague. When he spoke, his tone was carefully neutral, but there was an undercurrent of something - perhaps suspicion? - in his words. "Indeed. Claude, would you care to explain the purpose of your presence?"

Claude's response was characteristically terse, his face an impassive mask. "I'm here to observe," he stated flatly, offering no further explanation.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes flickering between the two students. "Let's set aside Claude's presence for now, shall we? What exactly transpired in the dining hall?"

Herman's gaze darted to Edward, a mixture of concern and protectiveness crossing his features. Opting for discretion, he offered a carefully crafted half-truth. "It was merely a heated discussion between friends. Nothing more."

Edward's head whipped towards Herman, his expression a blend of surprise and something unreadable. However, he remained silent, his jaw clenched tight.

Sebastian's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "A friendly chat, you say? I was curious, considering I distinctly heard Elizabeth's name mentioned. And I'm quite aware of the... delicate situation surrounding her. That was the true subject of your 'discussion,' wasn't it?"

Herman's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Situation? What situation?"

Sebastian opened his mouth to elaborate, but Edward cut in, his voice sharp with barely contained anger. "When my cousin Ciel exposed the truth about your so-called friends, Alois and Maurice. They were the ones who hurt my sister."

Herman felt as if the ground had shifted beneath him. His mind reeled, trying to process this new information. Edward had a cousin at Weston? And Alois and Maurice were involved with Elizabeth? This contradicted the whispers he'd heard about Soma's alleged involvement - rumors he'd chosen to distance himself from, especially given their timing just before his vacation.

Ciel... The name tugged at Herman's memory, a vague recollection swimming to the surface. Suddenly, it clicked. His eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. Wasn't Ciel Phantomhive the student who had been arrested in connection with Soma's murder?

Yet, even as this realization dawned, Herman grappled with a new wave of confusion. Why was Edward singling him out? What had he supposedly done to warrant such anger?

Herman leaned forward, his voice a mix of bewilderment and growing concern. "Are you implying that I was aware of Alois and Maurice's actions towards Elizabeth? That I knew what they had done?"

Edward's response came through gritted teeth, his words laced with pain and betrayal. "Stop pretending. You knew, didn't you? I trusted you. Out of everyone, you were the only one I thought I could rely on..."

The raw emotion in Edward's voice struck Herman like a physical blow. He was at a loss, struggling to understand how he had become the target of such deep-seated resentment.

Herman leaned forward, his voice earnest and tinged with desperation. "Edward, I swear to you, I did not know of this. I would never have remained silent if I had known about such a heinous act."

Edward's gaze remained skeptical, his posture still tense. "I find that hard to believe."

Herman's expression softened, his words coming out gentle yet impassioned. "Please, you must trust me on this. Elizabeth means a great deal to me as well. I could never keep quiet about something so serious. You're like family to me, Edward - a younger brother I never had."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Edward's complex expression wavered, conflict evident in his eyes. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I'm sorry for striking you earlier."

A relieved chuckle escaped Herman's lips, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "This?" he gestured to his reddened cheek with a wry smile. "It's nothing to worry about. I've had worse in fencing practice."

Claude's sardonic voice abruptly shattered the moment of reconciliation. "How heartwarming. Wouldn't you agree, Sebastian?" He nudged his colleague, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Doesn't this touching scene just tug at your heartstrings?"

The sudden exclamation served as a stark reminder of Claude and Sebastian’s presences, casting a shadow over the fragile peace that had begun to form between the two students.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian straightened in his chair, his voice cutting through the tension with practiced ease. "Well, gentlemen, it appears our little tête-à-tête has reached its natural conclusion." His eyes, sharp and observant, flicked between Herman and Edward. "I trust this... reconciliation means we won't witness any further altercations?"

Herman and Edward exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. They turned back to Sebastian, nodding slowly, almost in unison.

"Excellent," Sebastian purred, a hint of satisfaction coloring his tone.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Herman and Edward emerged from Sebastian's office, their footsteps echoing in the hallway as they walked side by side. An uneasy silence hung between them, filled with unspoken thoughts and lingering tension.

Herman couldn't help but steal a glance at Edward, only to find the younger student's eyes already on him. Caught, Herman quickly averted his gaze, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.

"What is it?" Edward's voice was tinged with curiosity and lingering wariness, his eyebrows arching slightly.

Herman hesitated, then ventured cautiously, "Are we... alright now? Between us, I mean."

Edward let out a long, weary sigh. His shoulders slumped slightly as the last of his anger seemed to dissipate. "Yeah, we're good. I should've known better. You're a terrible liar, Herman. It would've been painfully obvious if you'd been hiding something from me."

The hint of fondness in Edward's tone suggested that the path to reconciliation had begun while wounds were still fresh.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Edward's mouth, a flicker of their former friendship shining through the recent tension. "Besides," he added, his voice carrying a newfound lightness, "you're an absolute idiot."

Herman let out a genuine laugh, the sound tinged with palpable relief. He gently nudged Edward's shoulder with his own, feigning indignation. "I-idiot? Me? I'll have you know I'm offended by such slander," he retorted, his mock-serious tone barely concealing his amusement.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian's gaze shifted to Claude as the door closed behind Herman and Edward, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. The air in the office seemed to thicken with unspoken tension. Claude's uncharacteristic assertiveness hadn't gone unnoticed, and Sebastian was intrigued and wary of this new development.

"Well," Sebastian drawled, a hint of challenge in his silky tone, "care to explain the purpose of that little performance?"

Claude's face remained impassive, but his golden eyes had a new glint. "Performance? I'm afraid I don't follow your meaning."

A smirk played at the corners of Sebastian's lips. "Ah, so that's how you want to play this. Very well, Claude. What's your endgame here?"

The facade of confusion dropped from Claude's face, replaced by a cold determination. "It's quite straightforward. I intend to reveal your true nature to William. To show him the selfish, manipulative creature you are, concerned only with your own interests."

Sebastian's eyebrow arched his voice a blend of curiosity and caution. "Would you care to elaborate on that rather vague accusation?"

Claude rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and controlled. His golden eyes bore into Sebastian's crimson ones, a hint of triumph gleaming in their depths. "William instructed you to 'handle' Ciel, but I doubt he meant for you to seduce the boy. Your little game isn't as opaque as you think, Sebastian. I see right through you." He paused, his voice dropping to a challenging whisper. "The real question is: what's your true objective here?"

A flicker of something - surprise? Amusement? - crossed Sebastian's face before his usual mask of calm reasserted itself. His lips curled into a smirk as he replied, "My endgame aligns perfectly with the cult's objectives. Oh, but wait..." He leaned forward, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You're not privy to the full scope of our plans, are you? After all, William's trust in you only extends so far."

Suddenly, a chuckle escaped Claude's lips, growing into an unsettling cackle that filled the room. His golden eyes glinted with malicious glee as he posed a question that cut to the core of Sebastian's carefully constructed facade. "I wonder, Sebastian... if forced to choose, who would it be? William, or young Ciel Phantomhive?"

For the briefest moment, Sebastian's composure faltered. A jolt of something unfamiliar - was it anxiety? - shot through him at Claude's words. His growing fondness for Ciel had not gone unnoticed by his analytical mind, but he'd dismissed it as mere amusement, a fleeting distraction. Ciel was just a pawn in his game, wasn't he? Indeed, these confusing feelings were just that - confusion.

Sebastian's true ambitions diverged significantly from those of the cult, but he'd be damned if he'd reveal that to Claude. His mask of indifference slipped back into place, but a seed of doubt had been planted. For the first time in a long while, Sebastian found himself on unsteady ground, and the sensation was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's response came swiftly, his voice a study in confident nonchalance. "William, of course. Is that even a question worth asking?" The words flowed smoothly, practiced as if reciting a well-rehearsed script.

Claude's lips curled into a knowing smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement and skepticism. "Oh, bravo. Quite the performance. Your delivery was impeccable, I'll give you that." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Believable? Not in the slightest. But I must admit, I admire your tone's unwavering conviction."

The air between them crackled with an unspoken challenge, each man acutely aware of the delicate dance of truth and lies they were engaged in. Sebastian's mask remained firmly in place, but a flicker of unease threatened to surface beneath it. Claude's perception was sharper than he'd anticipated, and for once, Sebastian found himself uncertain of his next move in this dangerous game of wits.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian cleared his throat, a subtle gesture that belied the inner turmoil Claude's words had stirred. Determined not to let his rival gain the upper hand, he smoothed his features into a mask of indifference. "Well then," he said, his voice a study in affected boredom, "if that concludes our little tête-à-tête..."

He let the sentence hang in the air, an apparent dismissal wrapped in the veneer of politeness.

Claude, however, seemed unperturbed by Sebastian's attempted deflection. He straightened to his full height, adjusting his glasses with a deliberate slowness that spoke volumes. His golden eyes, sharp and calculating, never left Sebastian's face as he replied, "For now."

The two simple words carried the weight of a promise - or perhaps a threat. It was clear that this exchange was merely the opening salvo in what promised to be a protracted battle of wills and wits.

As Claude turned to leave, the tension in the room lingered, a palpable reminder that the game between them had only just begun.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XVII: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XVIII: The Tower; Part Two

Ciel's reverie was abruptly shattered by McMillan's chipper voice cutting through his thoughts. With a frustrated sigh, Ciel was suddenly reminded of his exuberant flatmate’s presence. He turned to face McMillan, struggling to mask his annoyance.

"Say, are you planning to attend the Halloween bash tonight?” McMillan's eyes, magnified behind his round spectacles, sparkled with enthusiasm.

Ciel's brow furrowed in confusion. "Halloween bash?" he echoed his tone, a mixture of skepticism and mild curiosity.

McMillan's excitement seemed to bubble over as he exclaimed, "Don't tell me you haven't heard about it! It's all anyone has talked about lately. Edgar Redmond's throwing it, you know."

Edgar's name caught Ciel's attention, though he carefully schooled his features to hide his sudden interest. A conflict arose within him - his usual aversion to social events warring with a growing sense of intrigue.

Ciel's mind raced. Why would Edgar host a party in the wake of recent tragedies? Was this an attempt to restore a semblance of normalcy to Weston? Or was there something more beneath the surface?

A sudden, inexplicable feeling washed over Ciel. This wasn't going to be an ordinary party - he was sure of it. And with that certainty came a wild, almost desperate hope. Could his father possibly make an appearance at such an event?

"I'll attend," Ciel found himself saying, his voice steady despite the turmoil of his thoughts.

McMillan's eyes widened in surprise. "You will? That's unexpected. You don't strike me as the party-going type."

Ciel's visible eye narrowed, a hint of suspicion coloring his tone. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"

Realizing his misstep, McMillan backpedaled quickly, a too-bright smile plastered on his freckled face. "No reason at all! Just a random observation."

The exchange left Ciel wondering how much his new flatmate had deduced about him - and whether McMillan was as genuine as he appeared.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention," McMillan added, his enthusiasm seemingly undiminished by Ciel's scrutiny, "it's a masquerade party. Quite fancy, don't you think?"

Ciel's eyebrow arched slightly at this new information. A masquerade? The choice of theme struck him as both intriguing and potentially significant. His mind began to race, considering the implications.

In a place like Weston, where secrets seemed to lurk around every corner, the idea of a party with identities concealed behind masks felt almost too convenient. Ciel couldn't help but wonder if there was a deeper purpose behind this particular theme. Was it merely a festive choice for Halloween, or could it be a cover for something more sinister?

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Herman's voice expressed disbelief and concern as he approached Edgar, who casually lined up a shot at the billiards table in the student union. "A party, Edgar? Now, of all times? Is that really appropriate?"

As he spoke, Herman couldn't help but recall the chilling information he'd received from the other prefects. This very room, they'd told him, was where Soma's body had been discovered. Yet now, looking around, he found no trace of the tragedy that had occurred here. The disconnect between what he knew and what he saw was unsettling.

Edgar straightened up, his expression a blend of resignation and mild amusement. "Don't pin this on me," he said, twirling the cue in his hands. "It was Claude's brainchild. Something about 'lifting spirits in these trying times,' if you can believe it." He shrugged, a wry smile playing at his lips. "I didn't see much point in opposing the idea, so... here we are."

Without warning, Edgar extended a pool cue towards Herman. "Care for a game? Stripes or solids?"

Caught off guard by the sudden conversation shift, Herman hesitated momentarily before accepting the cue. "Solids, I suppose," he replied, his tone suggesting that his mind was still grappling with the incongruity of party planning amidst their grim circumstances.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Edgar's ruby eyes remained fixed on the table as he lined up his shot. "Come now, Herman, try to see the brighter side," he said, his voice hinting at forced lightness. "Claude's idea might have some merit. Perhaps we all need a distraction, something positive to focus on."

The crack of the cue ball breaking the formation echoed through the room. A single striped ball rolled into a pocket, eliciting Edgar's small, satisfied smile. He then went again, hitting another striped ball in the pocket.

Herman found himself considering Edgar's words. What more could possibly go wrong? Another death seemed improbable; the killer who'd taken Soma hadn't struck again. Maurice's drowning was deemed accidental, and Lawrence's death... well, officially, it was suicide. The thought left a bitter taste in Herman's mouth, but he couldn't deny the logic.

As Herman approached his turn, a new question occurred to him. "It's rather out of character for Claude to involve himself in student activities, isn't it?" he mused, bending to line up his shot. The cue struck true, sending two solid balls and, unexpectedly, some of Edgar's stripes into various pockets.

The surprising success of his shot stood in stark contrast to the unsettling thoughts swirling in his mind. Since when did Claude care about student morale? And why now, of all times?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Edgar's shoulders rose in a casual shrug. "Perhaps Claude has finally discovered his humanity and stopped acting like such a robot.” he quipped, a hint of sardonic humor coloring his tone.

Turning his attention back to the game, Edgar surveyed the table. Only two striped balls remained, positioned diagonally across from each other. With practiced ease, he lined up his shot, the cue stick striking true. The balls collided and rolled smoothly into separate pockets. Without missing a beat, Edgar followed through, sinking the eight ball with a satisfying thunk.

"Hardly a challenge," Edgar remarked, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice.

Herman felt heat creeping up his neck, his ears burning with embarrassment. Grasping for dignity, he muttered, "I... I was merely going easy on you."

A knowing smirk played across Edgar's lips. "Oh, is that so?" he drawled, his tone dripping with amused disbelief. "Keep telling yourself that if it helps."

The exchange left Herman feeling wrong-footed, both by the game's quick conclusion and the lingering questions about Claude's sudden interest in student affairs. He couldn't shake the feeling that, like the billiards game, there was more to this situation than met the eye.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles found himself at the entrance of the exclusive club, his eyes darting furtively around the perimeter. Every shadow, every passing figure drew his scrutiny as he searched for any sign of pursuit. The weight of his mission pressed down on him, making even the act of standing still feel dangerous.

Satisfied that he hadn't been followed, Charles allowed himself a moment to steady his nerves. He inhaled deeply, the crisp air doing little to calm the anxiety churning in his gut. With its air of secrecy and power, this place had only graced his presence once before. Yet the memory of that visit was enough to set his teeth on edge.

As he stood there, poised on the threshold between the outside world and the clandestine realm within, Charles couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to step into the lion's den. The club's imposing facade seemed to loom over him, a silent guardian of countless secrets - and perhaps, the answers he so desperately sought.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles raised his fist to the door, hesitating for a split second before rapping his knuckles against the polished wood. The sound seemed to echo in the stillness, followed by a profound silence that made Charles's ears ring. He stood there, pulse-quickening with each passing moment, until finally, a small slit in the door slid open with a soft scrape.

A pair of thin lips appeared in the narrow opening, the rest of the face obscured in shadow. "State your business," came a gruff voice, barely above a whisper.

Swallowing hard, Charles steadied his voice before responding, "Charles Grey. I'm here to discuss my employment status." The words felt heavy on his tongue, laden with implications he dared not voice aloud.

The slit snapped shut abruptly, plunging Charles back into a tense silence. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, fighting the urge to flee. Just as he was about to knock again, the slit reopened.

"Enter," the disembodied voice commanded, the single word carrying the weight of both permission and warning.

As the door began to open, Charles steeled himself for whatever awaited him on the other side, knowing that once he crossed this threshold, there would be no turning back.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Charles crossed the threshold into the private club, the weight of the atmosphere settled on him like a heavy cloak. The air was thick with secrets and unspoken threats, a palpable reminder of the dangerous world he was entering. This was no ordinary establishment; it was the nexus where the threads of the criminal underworld and organized crime intertwined.

Every step deeper into the club felt like a gamble. Charles was acutely aware of his vulnerability - a former cop in the den of wolves. His eyes darted from face to face, each unfamiliar visage a potential threat. The possibility of recognition hung over him like a sword of Damocles; just one person connecting his face to his past could spell disaster.

Despite his efforts to blend in, Charles couldn't shake the feeling of being an imposter in this shadowy realm. The quiet murmur of conversations and the clink of glasses seemed to carry hidden meanings, codes he wasn't privy to. As he moved through the space, he steeled himself for whatever lay ahead, knowing that every word and action could have far-reaching consequences in this place.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles stepped into the back room, finding himself in a circular chamber dominated by a round table. The air seemed to thicken as he recognized the cloaked figures seated around it. With a deep breath, he took his place among them, acutely aware of the weight of their hidden gazes upon him.

"Well, well," came a distorted voice from his left, belonging to the figure he knew as Apollo. Despite the voice changer, the surprise in the tone was evident. "This is quite the unexpected pleasure."

Before Charles could respond, another altered voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding. "Where have you been?" This was Ares, his rigid posture betraying his irritation beneath the cloak.

A chilling chuckle emanated from the third figure. "Ooh, looks like someone's in hot water," Cedric's modulated voice lilted with an unsettling playfulness that set Charles's teeth on edge.

The voice changers rendered each speaker indistinguishable, a calculated move that wasn't lost on Charles. His mind raced, noting the peculiarity of their code names. Apollo and Ares, borrowed from the pantheon of Greek gods, seemed to fit the exquisite nature of this clandestine group. But Cedric? Its ordinariness stood out like a sore thumb, making Charles wonder about its story.

Charles's eyes darted between the cloaked figures, searching for the subtle details that distinguished one another. The dim light caught on the delicate embroidery adorning their cloaks, each symbol a silent proclamation of identity.

On Ares' cloak, a minuscule sword glinted, its metallic thread catching the light with every movement - a fitting emblem for the rigid, martial persona he embodied. Apollo's garment bore a radiant sun, its golden rays spreading across the fabric like fingers of dawn, echoing the more relaxed yet authoritative air he exuded.

But Cedric's cloak caught Charles's attention - or rather, the lack of adornment did. The absence of any embroidery stood out more starkly than any symbol could have. It was as if Cedric reveled in being the exception, his blank cloak a puzzling contrast to the others' marked garments.

"I demand an answer when I address you, Charles Grey-“ Ares declared, rising to his feet with an air of authority. However, in a stunning display of gracelessness, he immediately lost his balance and crashed to the floor with a resounding thud.

Charles flinched at the sudden commotion, his eyes wide with disbelief. Did Ares just...trip over thin air? The incongruity of the situation left Charles momentarily speechless.

Apollo's voice cut through the stunned silence, tinged with a weary resignation. "You really should have stayed seated. Your clumsiness is legendary at this point." The exasperation in his tone was palpable, even through the voice changer.

In stark contrast, Cedric erupted into raucous laughter, his distorted cackles filling the room and adding an unsettling note to the already bizarre scene.

"Is he... alright?" Charles ventured, still trying to process what he'd just witnessed. This was a side of Ares he'd never seen before, and the juxtaposition between the man's usual rigid demeanor and this display of utter clumsiness was jarring.

Ares regained his composure, brushing off his cloak as he settled back into his seat. When he spoke, his voice carried a forced air of authority as if trying to erase the memory of his stumble. "Enough of that. Proceed with your explanation."

Charles took a deep breath, weighing his words carefully. "I owe you an account of my disappearance. As you're aware, I was investigating Weston when the cult abducted me. I narrowly escaped death, though, for reasons I can't fathom, they chose to spare me."

"Spared?" Apollo echoed, the distortion in his voice unable to mask his skepticism.

Charles nodded, his mind racing as he debated whether to disclose Ciel's involvement. The boy's actions weighed heavily on his conscience, but revealing them could put Ciel in grave danger. With a silent apology to his conscience, Charles decided to keep Ciel's transgression to himself. The potential consequences were too dire to risk.

Apollo's modulated voice cut through Charles' thoughts. "Your tale seems... incomplete. Are you certain you're not omitting crucial details?"

"Why would I withhold information?" Charles countered, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"Vanishing for two weeks without a word doesn't inspire confidence in your transparency," Apollo remarked, a sigh of frustration evident even through the voice changer.

Ares interjected, his tone sharp. "Are the auctions still occurring?"

Charles nodded, feeling the weight of their hidden gazes upon him.

"Then our course is clear," Ares declared, his voice hardening with resolve. "William must be eliminated."

"Eliminate?” Charles echoed, the word hanging in the air like a death sentence.

Ares leaned forward, his cloaked figure looming ominously. "Your final assignment, Charles: dispose of William. Swiftly. Quietly. No loose ends."

Charles felt his throat constrict, his pulse quickening. "I'm not... I'm not trained for this kind of operation," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You served as a police officer, did you not?" Ares' distorted voice carried a hint of impatience.

"Yes, an officer of the law," Charles retorted, finding his voice. "Not an assassin!" The words came out sharper than he intended, tinged with a mix of fear and indignation.

The contrast between his former role as a protector and this demand to become an executioner struck Charles like a physical blow. He could feel the weight of the cloaked figures' expectations pressing down on him, forcing him into a corner he never thought he'd occupy. The line he was being asked to cross seemed impossibly wide, and Charles found himself teetering on its edge, unsure if he could - or should - leap.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Apollo's modulated voice cut through the tension, his words measured and cold. "I stand with Ares on this matter. William's elimination is not just necessary; it's imperative. His reckless actions have become a liability we can no longer afford." The voice paused as if gathering momentum. "We have reason to believe he's behind the deaths at Weston. Moreover, his continued orchestration of the auctions, funded by misappropriated school resources, is beyond the pale. William's demise would effectively cripple the cult's operations."

The clinical way Apollo discussed murder sent a chill down Charles' spine. The weight of what they were proposing seemed to press down on him, making the air in the room feel thick and oppressive.

"Cedric," Ares' voice broke the momentary silence, "you've been uncharacteristically reticent. What's your stance on this?"

There was a pause, pregnant with anticipation. When Cedric finally spoke, his usually playful tone was absent, replaced by a chilling seriousness that seemed at odds with his previous demeanor. "I concur. It's the most prudent course of action available to us."

Ares leaned forward, his cloaked figure looming more considerable in the dim light. Though his face was hidden, Charles could feel the weight of his gaze. Ares' gloved hands came together, fingers interlacing in a gesture that seemed both casual and menacing.

"Indeed," Ares' distorted voice carried a note of finality. His hooded head turned towards Charles, the movement slow and deliberate. "This assignment, Charles, is not one you have the luxury of declining."

A pause hung in the air, complete with unspoken threats. His words were measured when Ares continued, each syllable dripping with implied menace. "I trust you're astute enough to comprehend the... consequences... should you attempt to refuse."

The threat, though veiled, was unmistakable. Charles felt a cold dread settle in the pit of his stomach. He was acutely aware that he stood at a crossroads, with danger lurking down every path. The choice before him was no choice - merely the illusion of one. As the weight of Ares' words settled over him, Charles realized that he had unwittingly stepped into a trap from which there might be no escape.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel found himself trudging back to his dorm room, a sense of disconnect weighing heavily upon him. The day's lessons felt like a surreal pantomime, jarringly trivial after his recent life-altering experiences. 

Sebastian's class had been particularly jarring. Watching his professor effortlessly slip back into his role, lecturing as if the world hadn't tilted on its axis, gave Ciel a bitter taste. Logically, he understood the necessity of maintaining appearances - after all, wasn't he doing the same? Yet, something about Sebastian's seamless transition grated on him like sandpaper on raw skin.

 As he opened the door, he was startled to find a suit and mask on his bed, tailored perfectly to his measurements.

The half-mask was a work of art in itself. Glossy black, adorned with intricate blue designs that seemed to swirl and dance in the light. What struck Ciel most, however, was its specific design - the right eye was concealed entirely, leaving only the left eyehole open. It was as if it had been crafted specifically for him to accommodate his eyepatch.

A chill ran down Ciel's spine as questions flooded his mind. Who could have left this for him?

McMillan burst in before he could ponder the mysterious gift, his face alight with excitement. “Well? What do you think?” he asked, practically bouncing on his heels. 'It's one of mine. Thought you might need something for the party.'

Ciel blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness. 'That's... surprisingly thoughtful,' he managed.

A hint of color rose in McMillan's cheeks at the compliment, however awkwardly delivered. "That's not all," he continued, his enthusiasm seemingly undimmed by Ciel's lukewarm response. "See the masks? I made them myself; I did. Bit of a hobby of mine, you could say."

As McMillan beamed with pride, Ciel found himself reassessing his roommate. The boy's apparent talents and perceptiveness were at odds with his usual bumbling demeanor. Ciel couldn't help but wonder if there was more to McMillan than met the eye and whether this gesture of friendship was as innocent as it appeared.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Ciel studied the intricate mask designed to accommodate his eyepatch, he reassessed his boisterous roommate. Perhaps there was more to McMillan than met the eye.

'Best get a move on!' McMillan urged, already half-dressed in his own costume. 'Party starts in an hour!'

Pushing aside his darker thoughts, Ciel steeled himself for the night ahead. He had a role to play and couldn't afford to let his guard down - not even in the face of unexpected kindness."

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

McMillan practically dragged Ciel through Weston's corridors, his excitement palpable. "Come on!" he urged, his Scottish brogue thickening with enthusiasm. "You won't believe yer eyes!"

As they entered the ballroom, Ciel found himself momentarily stunned. His visible eye widened, taking in the grandeur of a space he'd never known existed within Weston's walls. "It's like something out of a blasted fairy tale," he muttered, his usual cynicism tinged with reluctant awe.

Ciel's eye darted from face to face, his pulse quickening. Every laugh seemed too loud, every gesture potentially threatening. He clenched his fists, willing his racing heart to slow. 'You're safe,' he told himself, knowing it was a lie.

Ciel pushed back the unease, glancing down at his attire, the black suit fitting him perfectly. The red rose pendant McMillan had insisted upon felt oddly conspicuous. "You said this was a hand-me-down?" Ciel questioned, his tone skeptical. "It looks brand new."

McMillan beamed, adjusting his own dark green suit and ornate white half-mask. "Aye, well, maybe I stretched the truth a wee bit," he chuckled. "But you look smashing if I do say so myself!"

Ciel's eye narrowed as he surveyed the room, noting how their outfits stood out among the sea of masked figures. "We certainly make quite the pair," he remarked dryly, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to this night than met the eye.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A familiar figure caught his attention as Ciel's gaze swept across the room. The tall stature and the artfully disheveled raven hair could only be Sebastian. Even with a mask obscuring part of his face, there was no mistaking him.

Sebastian's crimson eyes, visible through his half-mask, rested on Ciel and then flickered briefly to McMillan. Something unreadable flashed in their depths, gone as quickly as it appeared.

"If you'll excuse me," Ciel muttered to McMillan, his tone clipped and formal. Without waiting for a response, he began weaving through the crowd towards Sebastian, his mind racing with questions and a peculiar sense of anticipation he couldn't quite quell.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Ciel approached, he observed Sebastian moving through the ballroom with the practiced grace of a waiter, offering glasses filled with a deep red liquid to the party guests.

"What are you doing?" Ciel inquired, sidling up to Sebastian.

Sebastian continued his task, barely glancing at Ciel as he replied, "Precisely what it appears - serving drinks."

Ciel's brow furrowed. "But why? And is that wine?"

"Edgar required assistance, so I volunteered," Sebastian explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "And no, it's not wine. Given the campus restrictions and recent... unfortunate events, it's merely grape juice."

Skeptical, Ciel pressed further, "Do you think my father might appear? Is that the real reason you're here?"

Sebastian's demeanor shifted abruptly. Leaning down, he murmured near Ciel's ear, his voice uncharacteristically condescending, "My, such a single-minded focus. Why this obsession with locating your parents? Are you perhaps afraid of being alone?"

Sebastian's sudden change in attitude took aback Ciel. Gone was his usual playful teasing, replaced by an almost mocking tone that left Ciel unsettled and confused.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel recoiled, his visible eye narrowing as he fixed Sebastian with a piercing glare. "What nonsense are you spouting?" he hissed, keeping his voice low but sharp. "If anyone's obsessed, it's the cult fixating on my father's return. The very cult you're a part of, might I add."

The exchange left Ciel perplexed. Sebastian's words and manner seemed oddly disconnected from his known involvement with the cult as if he were deliberately distancing himself from it.

Without another word, Sebastian turned away, moving to the opposite side of the room to continue serving drinks. Sebastian's cold demeanor cut deeper than Ciel wanted to admit. His abrupt departure left Ciel standing alone, myriad questions swirling in his mind.

As he watched Sebastian's retreating form, Ciel couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. What game was Sebastian playing now?

A familiar voice suddenly pierced through the crowd. "Ciel!" Elizabeth barreled towards him, enveloping Ciel in a bone-crushing hug.

"Eliza- Lizzy, I can't breathe," Ciel gasped, his voice strained.

"Oh! Sorry," Elizabeth chirped, releasing her iron grip. Her eyes sparkled as she beamed at him. "You look so cute!"

Elizabeth stood resplendent in a gown of soft pink, adorned with delicate white accents that seemed to shimmer in the room's light. A vibrant hot pink half-mask adorned her face, lending an air of mystery to her usually open countenance. Ciel noted with mild surprise that her golden locks, typically styled in playful pigtails, were now elegantly coiled into a sleek bun atop her head. 

Ciel's visible eye narrowed at Elizabeth's compliment, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. Eager to change the subject, he asked curtly, "Where's Edward?"

Before Elizabeth could answer, her brow furrowed slightly. "Wait, do you hear that?"

"Hear wha—" Ciel began, but then it reached his ears too: a faint creaking sound, barely audible above the room's chatter. A chill ran down his spine, and his senses were suddenly on high alert.

"It's probably nothing," Elizabeth said with a shrug, but Ciel couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness that had settled over him. His eye darted around the room, searching for the source of the noise, every muscle tense.

Oblivious to his unease, Elizabeth continued, "Anyway, you asked about Edward? He's skulking in the corner over there." She gestured across the room. "He didn't want to come but said he was here to keep an eye on me."

Ciel nodded absently, only half-listening. The mysterious sound nagged at him, a discordant note in the evening's carefully orchestrated chaos. Something was off.

Forcing himself to focus, Ciel followed Elizabeth's gesture. His gaze landed on Edward, true to her word, standing in the corner. But the figure beside Edward captured Ciel's attention - a stranger whose shoulder bore the unmistakable red band of a prefect.

"Who is that?" Ciel inquired, his tone a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Elizabeth squinted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I... think that's Herman Greenhill, the Vice Captain of the disciplinary committee." She strained to make out his features beneath the mask. "You've never met him before?"

Ciel shook his head, his visible eye narrowing slightly.

"Oh, that's right," Elizabeth chirped, sudden understanding lighting her face. "When you arrived here, he was already away on vacation."

Without warning, Elizabeth's enthusiasm bubbled over. "Well then, let's say hello!" she exclaimed, practically yanking Ciel.

As they approached, Ciel's keen eye caught sight of a faint discoloration on Herman's cheek, not entirely hidden by his mask. A bruise? Ciel's mind immediately began to race with possibilities.

Edward straightened up from his position against the wall, surprise evident in his voice. "Ciel? I didn't think you would come."

"I'm here now," Ciel replied curtly, his tone betraying little emotion. He then turned to Herman, his voice commanding a more formal cadence. "I don't believe we've met, I'm-"

Herman interjected, his voice hinting at intrigue beneath its authoritative tone. "Ciel Phantomhive. You're quite the subject of discussion on campus."

Ciel's visible eye narrowed almost imperceptibly at the interruption, his mind racing to decode the implications behind Herman's words. The prefect's statement hung in the air, laden with unspoken meaning that Ciel knew he'd need to unravel carefully.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The party continued, and Elizabeth's cheerful chatter washed over him, a reminder of a life he no longer felt part of. A lump formed in his throat as he watched his cousins converse with Herman, untouched by the horrors he'd witnessed. The gulf between them had never felt so vast.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian's gaze lingered on Ciel from across the crowded room, his mind unwillingly revisiting Claude's pointed words. The realization that his growing attachment to Ciel was becoming noticeable to others unsettled him profoundly. It was a dangerous development he couldn't afford to ignore.

His attention shifted, catching sight of Ciel's unfamiliar companion, whose eyes were also fixed on the boy. Sebastian felt a twinge of something unfamiliar - was it possessiveness? - at the thought of Ciel socializing with a peer. It was an unusual occurrence that stirred an unexpected reaction within him.

These emerging sentiments perplexed Sebastian. His growing concern for his student was unprecedented, a stark departure from his typically detached demeanor. The foreign nature of these emotions left him feeling off-balance, grappling with feelings he'd never before experienced for another person.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

His introspection was abruptly interrupted by a faint yet distinct creaking sound. Honed by years of vigilance, Sebastian's senses immediately snapped to attention. His eyes darted around the room, seeking the source of the noise. Despite his keen perception, he couldn't pinpoint its origin, adding another layer of unease to his already troubled mind.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The ballroom doors swung open, admitting two familiar figures. Despite their masked visages, Sebastian instantly recognized William and Claude. They strode purposefully to the front of the room, William grasping a microphone as Claude stood silently by his side.

William's voice, smooth and controlled, filled the space. "Good evening, everyone. In light of recent tragic events on campus, Claude Faustus, your vice-chancellor, has taken it upon himself to lift our collective spirits." He paused, allowing a smattering of applause before passing the microphone to Claude.

Sebastian felt a jolt of surprise. Claude had orchestrated this gathering? Not Edgar Redmond, as previously believed? This deviation from Claude's typically aloof demeanor set alarm bells ringing in Sebastian's mind. What hidden agenda was at play here?

As if sensing Sebastian's scrutiny, Claude's eyes met his across the room, a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Indeed, with Edgar Redmond's invaluable assistance in arranging this soiree, I'm pleased to see it come to fruition," Claude began, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something Sebastian couldn't quite place. "However, I'd like to dedicate this event to one Ciel Phantomhive."

The crowd's collective gaze swiveled towards Ciel caught mid-conversation with Edward, Elizabeth, and Herman. Sebastian watched as Ciel visibly stiffened under the sudden attention.

"Ciel, why don't you join us on stage?" Claude's voice carried a note of challenge barely disguised as invitation.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed, a cold dread coiling in his stomach. Claude's machinations spelled trouble for Ciel and, by extension, threatened to unravel Sebastian's own intricate plans.

The creaking intensified, still invisible to the oblivious crowd but unmistakable to Sebastian's keen senses. His gaze darted about, finally locking onto the source - a precariously hanging chandelier, its moorings on the verge of failure.

His attention snapped to Ciel, who reluctantly approached the stage, his path taking him directly beneath the unstable fixture.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still.

Without conscious thought, Sebastian's body sprung into action. Years of training and honed reflexes took over as he launched himself across the room. His heart pounded in his ears as he raced against time, desperate to reach Ciel before disaster struck.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian collided with Ciel, his momentum carrying them both to the ground and away from danger. A deafening crash reverberated through the room the instant they hit the floor. The chandelier plummeted, shattering against the marble in a splintering crystal and twisting metal cacophony. 

Startled screams filled the air as partygoers stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding the spray of debris. The floor trembled beneath them, the impact sending shockwaves through the ballroom. In the chaotic aftermath, Sebastian found himself sprawled protectively over Ciel, acutely aware of the boy's rapid breathing beneath him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's eyes darted across the room as the dust began to settle, locking onto Claude's face. The vice-chancellor's lips were curved into a knowing smirk, his eyes glinting with triumph behind his mask. At that moment, the truth hit Sebastian with the force of the fallen chandelier - he had walked right into Claude's carefully laid trap. His impulsive act to save Ciel had revealed far more than he'd intended, and Claude knew it. Sebastian's jaw clenched as he realized the precarious position he'd just placed himself in, all because of his inexplicable need to protect Ciel Phantomhive.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XVIII: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XIX: The Devil

In the aftermath of the crash, Ciel and Sebastian found themselves locked in an intense gaze, the chaos around them fading into a distant blur. Time seemed to slow, stretching the moment into an eternity. Ciel's mask lay shattered, the impact having knocked it askew, leaving both his eyes exposed. A wave of vulnerability washed over him as he realized his carefully guarded secret was now laid bare.

A wave of self-recrimination washed over Ciel, his mind reeling at his own carelessness. How could he have been so foolish? The absence of his eyepatch beneath the mask now seemed a glaring oversight, a critical lapse in his usually meticulous defense. The bitter taste of regret filled his mouth as he silently berated himself for this momentary, yet potentially catastrophic, lapse in judgment.

Sebastian's crimson eyes were fixed on Ciel's right eye, the grayed-out orb a stark contrast to its vibrant blue counterpart. His gaze held an intensity that Ciel had never seen before, a mix of fascination and something unreadable. The weight of Sebastian's body, still protectively covering him, suddenly felt overwhelming.

Reality came crashing back, and Ciel's instincts screamed at him to hide his weakness. He squeezed his right eye shut, his voice coming out harsher than intended. "Get off," he demanded, the words laced with a cocktail of emotions - fear, anger, and confusion.

A maelstrom of questions whirled in Ciel's mind. Why had Sebastian saved him? It defied logic. The cult had what they wanted; once his father returned, Ciel's role would be over. That had been his endgame all along. Yet here was Sebastian, the cold-blooded killer who never acted without self-interest, risking everything to save him.

Sebastian blinked as if emerging from a trance. He moved away from Ciel, his usual composure slightly ruffled. As the distance between them grew, Ciel felt a conflicting mix of relief and an inexplicable sense of loss, adding to his already tumultuous emotions.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Ciel!" Elizabeth's voice cut through the chaos, tinged with panic. She barreled towards him, Edward close behind, his face etched with concern. 

The siblings enveloped Ciel in a protective embrace, their arms forming a shield against the world. Unlike Elizabeth's earlier exuberant hug, this one felt different - a cocoon of warmth and solace amidst the turmoil. For a fleeting moment, Ciel allowed himself to sink into the comfort, a luxury he rarely indulged in.

"Oi! Are you alright?" McMillan's thick Scottish brogue pierced through the din. Ciel caught a glimpse of his flatmate’s freckled face, contorted with worry, pushing through the gathering crowd.

As the throng of concerned faces pressed closer, Ciel's gaze drifted, almost of its own accord, to Sebastian. The sight that met his eye was jarring - gone was the professor's usual composure. Sebastian stood apart, his crimson eyes unfocused, as if lost in a world of his own.

The cacophony of worried voices faded into a dull roar as Ciel's attention zeroed in on Sebastian. He watched, pulse-quickening, as Claude materialized beside the dazed professor. Claude's lips moved, forming words too quiet for Ciel to hear, but the effect on Sebastian was immediate and unsettling. A flicker of... was it fear? ... crossed Sebastian's face before his mask of indifference slammed back into place.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                          A Week Later

The crisp November air heralded the approach of Ciel's birthday, now just a month away. In the wake of the chandelier incident, the past week had unfolded like a surreal dream, leaving Ciel off-balance and searching for solid ground.

Sebastian, once an omnipresent figure in Ciel's life, had become as elusive as smoke. Every attempt to corner the professor after class was met with failure, Sebastian vanishing with an almost supernatural swiftness. Their usual therapy sessions, once a constant in Ciel's tumultuous life, were now marked by Sebastian's conspicuous absence.

The irony wasn't lost on Ciel. Their roles had reversed, with Sebastian now the one evading contact, mirroring Ciel's own past behavior. Even during class, those piercing crimson eyes that once seemed to see through Ciel's every facade now studiously avoided his gaze.

As he sat in Sebastian's class, Ciel's frustration manifested in the rhythmic tapping of his pencil against the desk. Each tap seemed to echo his mounting irritation, a physical representation of the questions that buzzed incessantly in his mind. The sound grew more insistent with each passing moment, a ticking time bomb of pent-up emotions threatening to explode.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As class ended, Sebastian's customary grace gave way to uncharacteristic haste. "Class is dismissed," he announced curtly, already gathering his things. Ciel's eye tracked every movement as the last student exited. With swift determination, he shut the door and planted himself against it.

Ciel's visible eye flashed with irritation as he confronted Sebastian. "What game are you playing now?" he demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

Sebastian turned, momentarily caught off guard before his usual mask of calm slid back into place. "I assure you, I haven't the faintest idea what you're implying," he replied, his silky tone belied by a subtle undercurrent of tension.

"Don't play coy," Ciel snapped, his gaze boring into Sebastian. "You've been avoiding me. Spit it out - what are you hiding?"

A heavy silence fell as Sebastian moved towards the exit. "If you'll excuse me," he murmured, a hint of warning in his low voice.

Ciel stood firm, blocking the way. "Why did you save me?" he pressed, frustration and genuine curiosity warring in his tone.

Sebastian's eyebrow arched elegantly. "What an odd question. It's merely what any decent person would do," he responded smoothly, a touch of condescension coloring his words.

"But you're far from decent, aren't you?" Ciel retorted, his words clipped and accusing. "You're a murderer. Every action serves your agenda. So what's your true motive this time?"

"There is no ulterior motive," Sebastian stated, his calm demeanor maddeningly intact.

Ciel's eye narrowed to a slit. "Did you orchestrate that chandelier incident? Another ploy to manipulate me by playing the savior?"

Sebastian sighed, a note of exasperation finally breaking through. "I assure you, I had no part in that... unfortunate event."

"Then who did?" Ciel demanded, his words razor-sharp. "You know, don't you? Who's trying to kill me?"

Sebastian's silence and averted gaze only stoked Ciel's growing frustration.

"Fine," Ciel bit out, his voice taut as a bowstring. "Answer me this, then - why did you really save me?"

As Ciel scrutinized Sebastian, searching for any trace of deceit, a sudden realization dawned on him. Sebastian's earlier words echoed in his mind:

"I do care," Sebastian had said without hesitation, drawing Ciel's attention sharply back to him. "I consider you a friend, after all."

The memory collided with the present moment, and Ciel's next words tumbled out, laden with disbelief:

"You can't possibly mean..." Ciel's visible eye narrowed, his voice a mixture of suspicion and incredulity. "Don't tell me you actually... care about me?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. It was the only explanation that made sense to Ciel. If Sebastian hadn't orchestrated the 'accident' and it wasn't part of some grand scheme, what other reason could there be?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's eyes locked onto Ciel, his usual eloquence deserting him. For the first time, the smooth-talking professor seemed at a loss for words.

Disbelief washed over Ciel. How could someone capable of such atrocities genuinely care for another? The absurdity of it all bubbled up, escaping as a bitter laugh. “This is absurd," he scoffed, his tone sharp with incredulity. "Pretending to be my friend? I thought your declaration of care was just another of your facetious remarks.”

Sebastian's composure slid back into place like a well-worn mask, “You always did have a knack for oversimplification. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you'd be... utterly captivating. Our little dance has been far more intriguing than I ever anticipated-“

Ciel's mind raced, grappling with Sebastian's cryptic words. What exactly was being oversimplified? His claim of friendship? The declaration of care? Ciel found himself teetering on the edge of a realization he wasn't sure he was prepared to face. Was there a deeper undercurrent to Sebastian's words, something that transcended mere friendship?

"What?" Ciel interjected, his voice sharp with sarcasm, desperately trying to cling to his cynicism. "Don't tell me you're about to declare your undying love." 

But as his eye met Sebastian's grave expression, the mockery died in his throat. His visible eye widened, a tide of disbelief crashing against a sudden, unwelcome understanding. No. It couldn't possibly be true. Why was Sebastian looking at him with such intensity? Surely he wasn't actually-

Ciel's mind reeled, refusing to accept the implication. No. He wouldn't allow it.

"No," he breathed, barely audible. "You can't possibly mean..."

Sebastian's lips curled into that infuriatingly knowing smirk, his crimson eyes gleaming with an intensity that belied his smooth tone, “My, my, Ciel," he purred, his voice a silky caress that sent an involuntary shiver down Ciel's spine. "You wouldn't have jumped to such a conclusion if you hadn't already sensed it yourself. Tell me, haven't you felt the... undercurrent between us? That delicious tension simmering just beneath the surface?"

The words hung in the air, charged with unspoken implications. Ciel found himself caught off guard, his usual sharp retorts failing him as he grappled with the unexpected turn of events.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel steeled himself, his visible eye flashing with defiance as he stepped towards Sebastian. "Whatever this... thing is between us," he said, his voice low and brittle with forced determination, "I want no part of it."

Sebastian's smirk widened, a predatory glint in his crimson eyes as he smoothly closed the remaining distance. Ciel found himself retreating instinctively, a jolt of surprise running through him as his back met the cool surface of the door. The realization of his predicament - trapped both physically and by the intensity of the moment - hit him with startling clarity.

"Oh?" Sebastian breathed, his voice a velvety murmur that seemed to caress Ciel's very skin. He leaned in, his lips mere inches from Ciel's ear. "Are you quite certain that's what you truly desire?"

Ciel's breath caught in his throat, any protest he might have made dying unspoken. Sebastian's closeness was intoxicating, a heady fog that clouded his usually sharp mind. The barest whisper of touch against his ear sent a tremor through him, his traitorous body responding even as his mind railed against it.

Sebastian pulled back slightly, just enough to lock eyes with Ciel. Those crimson depths seemed to search Ciel's visible eye, asking a question without words. The air between them felt charged, heavy with unvoiced longing and hesitation.

Ciel found himself balanced on a knife's edge. His carefully crafted defenses, the walls of logic and reason he'd built so meticulously, began to crumble in the face of this unexpected intimacy. Inside him, a war raged - duty and self-preservation clashing violently against a tide of long-buried emotions.

Caught in Sebastian's penetrating gaze, Ciel felt his resolve fraying, thread by thread.

In a moment of reckless, unthinking abandon, Ciel lunged forward. His fingers found purchase in Sebastian's hair, tangling in those silken strands. Their lips crashed together with a ferocity that startled them both, pent-up tension finally finding release.

Sebastian matched Ciel's fervor, one hand cupping the young man's face as he deepened the kiss. The world around them blurred and faded, leaving only the thunderous beating of their hearts and the electric current arcing between them.

Then, as abruptly as it began, reality came rushing back. As they pulled away, Ciel went rigid, the enormity of what he'd just done slamming into him with the force of a physical blow.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The week's events had afforded Sebastian ample time to contemplate his next move. While the circumstances were... less than ideal, he couldn't help but see the delicious potential to turn this situation to his advantage. His impulsive act of saving Ciel, though admittedly genuine, could be repurposed quite nicely in his grand design.

Sebastian found himself in the grip of an unfamiliar internal conflict. The realization that Ciel had evolved beyond a mere pawn in his schemes was most unsettling. The boy had, against all odds, carved out a place of significance in what Sebastian had long thought to be his cold, calculating heart. Yet, the pragmatic part of his mind refused to let these newfound... sentiments derail his carefully laid plans.

Sebastian's unexpected attraction to Ciel presented a tantalizing duality - a potential obstacle, yet also an irresistible opportunity. He wouldn't deign to call it love; no, this was pure, unadulterated desire, a primal lust that coursed through his veins. Sebastian's lips curled into his signature smirk as he contemplated the delicate balance he would need to strike – nurturing this budding relationship while ensuring it served his ultimate goals.

In this intricate game, Ciel had unwittingly become both his greatest weakness and his most valuable asset. Sebastian was determined to navigate this treacherous emotional terrain with the same cunning that had served him so well in the past.

The sight of Ciel's hidden eye had been... most enlightening. It revealed a vulnerability Sebastian found utterly captivating. He yearned to peel back more of Ciel's layers, to uncover every secret the young man held.

Their kiss had been a revelation. Ciel's inexperience was evident, yet endearing. Sebastian looked forward to... educating him further in such matters.

As his gaze lingered on Ciel, Sebastian noted with approval the improvements in his health since returning to Weston. It only served to heighten Ciel's appeal, fueling Sebastian's growing desire.

Sebastian's eyes gleamed with a potent mixture of hunger and calculated interest as he regarded Ciel. The game had changed, but Sebastian was nothing if not adaptable. This new development promised to be most... entertaining.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A myriad of emotions flickered across Ciel's face, his usual composure crumbling as he grappled with the aftermath of their impulsive act. His lips parted, then closed, words seemingly caught in his throat as he struggled to regain control of the situation.

Sebastian's lips curled into his signature smirk as he observed Ciel's inner turmoil. How delightfully vulnerable the young man looked in this moment of uncertainty.

Suddenly, Ciel's expression hardened, his walls slamming back into place. "This was a mistake," he declared, his voice cold and clipped.

Sebastian's lips curved into a knowing smirk, his crimson eyes alight with a mixture of amusement and something more sinister. "My, my, Ciel. How long do you intend to maintain this charade of denial?" he purred, his voice a velvet caress laced with danger. "The truth is quite straightforward - I desire you, and you, in turn, desire me. There's no use in pretending otherwise."

Ciel's visible eye narrowed, his jaw set in defiance. Then, without warning, he pivoted. "What exactly did Claude say to you that day?" he demanded, his tone sharp and probing.

Sebastian blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. A soft chuckle escaped him as he regained his composure. "Ah, Ciel," he mused, a hint of admiration coloring his voice, "you never fail to keep me on my toes."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Answer me," Ciel demanded, his voice sharp with determination.

Sebastian's crimson eyes flickered with calculation. Revealing Claude's words would risk exposing his own machinations - a risk he wasn't willing to take. "I'm afraid I can't divulge that information," he replied smoothly.

Ciel's visible eye narrowed suspiciously. "Is Claude involved as well? I haven't seen him with the others."

"Claude's position within... our circle is rather delicate," Sebastian offered his tone carefully measured.

"What's that supposed to mean-" Ciel began, but Sebastian swiftly cut him off.

"Oh my, is that the time?" Sebastian glanced at his watch with exaggerated concern. "I'm afraid I have another class to attend to."

With practiced grace, he maneuvered Ciel away from the door, opening it and gesturing for the young man to exit.

Ciel turned, his gaze intense as Sebastian ushered him out. "This conversation isn't finished," he warned.

"Indeed," Sebastian purred, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "We shall... continue our discussion soon. But perhaps we should leave Claude out of it next time, hmm?" His words carried a subtle warning as the door closed between them.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

William navigated the rain-slicked roads with practiced precision, his hands unwavering on the steering wheel. His gaze remained fixed ahead, the rhythmic swish of windshield wipers punctuating the tense silence within the vehicle. Raindrops danced across the asphalt, creating a shimmering, mirrored surface that reflected the gloom of the evening.

Upon reaching the auction house, he brought the car to a precise stop. William's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, his fingers moving to adjust his glasses in a practiced motion. His gaze then methodically scanned the surroundings, cataloging the positions of security personnel and surveillance cameras with clinical detachment.

Stepping out into the damp night air, William approached the front gate with purposeful strides. The security guards, recognizing him instantly, offered silent nods of deference as they swung the gate open. No words were necessary; William's authority was implicit, granting him unquestioned access to the shadowy world that lay beyond.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William strode into the building, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as he made his way to the main hall. As he pushed open the double doors, he froze, his carefully maintained composure momentarily shaken by the sight before him.

There, perched on the edge of the stage as if awaiting his arrival, sat Vincent Phantomhive.

Time seemed to have stood still for Vincent; he appeared unchanged from their last encounter four years prior. His slate hair still fell gracefully over his brows, framing those piercing blue eyes. At first glance, one might mistake him for an older version of Ciel. Yet, there was an undeniable difference in their bearing - a certain insouciance that was uniquely Vincent's.

"Vincent," William intoned, his voice a study in practiced indifference, masking the jolt of surprise that had momentarily seized him. Years of iron-clad self-control enabled him to maintain his stoic demeanor. "I see you've found your way in. How... nostalgic."

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken history and simmering tension, as William regarded the man who was a ghost of the past but also a persistent thorn in his side.

"William," Vincent responded, his tone deceptively blithe as he gracefully descended from the stage. A smile danced on his lips, failing to reach his eyes. "Still as unchanging as ever, I see. Don't tell me you've forgotten our old secret passage. Some memories die hard, it seems."

William affected a veneer of irritation, inwardly relishing this fortuitous development. He had begun to doubt Vincent would ever resurface, but his skepticism had been pleasantly disproven. “I distinctly recall ordering that entrance sealed ages ago. Clearly, my instructions were neglected. I assume your unexpected appearance is due to-"

Vincent's facade of amiability crumbled, replaced by a scowl that hardened his features. "Why have you dragged my son into this?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Because you, Vincent, reneged on our arrangement," William replied, his tone sharp and unforgiving. "You chose to flee rather than face your responsibilities."

Vincent's eyes flashed, abruptly changing tack. "Where is Rachel?" he demanded.

William's eyebrow arched, genuine surprise coloring his typically impassive features. "I was under the impression you'd be privy to that information," he replied, a note of confusion creeping into his voice. If Vincent himself was in the dark about Rachel's whereabouts, it raised troubling questions.

"Don't attempt to deceive me," Vincent growled, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"I assure you, Vincent, I'm being entirely truthful," William responded, his mind racing to process this unexpected development. "I genuinely do not know Rachel's location."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Vincent's composure wavered momentarily, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. William, ever vigilant, seized upon this momentary lapse. His hand moved with practiced efficiency to the small of his back, fingers curling around the familiar hilt of his concealed knife. A twinge of annoyance flashed through him at the absence of his firearm, but he dismissed it swiftly. The blade would suffice.

"Returning here was a grave miscalculation on your part, Vincent," William stated, his voice as cold and sharp as the steel he now wielded. With fluid precision, he slashed at Vincent, who barely managed to evade the lethal arc.

"So, my death is still your endgame, I see," Vincent observed, a hint of dark amusement coloring his words despite the dire situation.

William's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his voice carrying a note of finality. "You've brought this upon yourself, Vincent. Your continued existence has become... inconvenient for our operations."

"Your operation?" Vincent's laugh was sardonic, laced with bitter amusement. "It's in shambles, William. Even your precious school board has washed their hands of you."

William froze his usually impassive facade cracking. "What are you implying?"

Vincent's eyes glinted with malicious glee. "A little birdie told me. It seems the school board is baying for your blood. You've got a Judas in your ranks, old friend."

The notion of a traitor in his inner circle seemed preposterous to William, yet a seed of doubt had been planted.

"You're fabricating this," William accused, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.

"I assure you, it's the gospel truth," Vincent countered smoothly. "A bit of financial persuasion loosened their tongues quite effectively. They spilled every sordid detail about the school board's intentions for you." He paused, letting the tension build before delivering the coup de grâce. "To put it bluntly, William, the school board wants you in a pine box."

William fought against the rising tide of paranoia but found himself succumbing. He'd been betrayed before; the possibility, however unlikely, couldn't be dismissed.

"Who?" he demanded, his composure slipping.

Vincent's smile was razor-sharp. "Now, now, William. Where's the sport in simply telling you?"

The exchange left William off-balance, his carefully constructed world threatening to crumble around him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William lashed out with the knife once more, but Vincent moved with unexpected grace, evading the blade. In a fluid motion, Vincent struck William's wrist with a precise chop, sending the weapon clattering to the floor.

Shock registered on William's face. Vincent's newfound agility was startling. Had he spent these four years honing his physical prowess? Before William could recover, Vincent swiftly kicked the knife out of reach and, with a calculated sweep of his leg, sent William crashing to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind from William's lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned. Vincent, seizing the advantage, retrieved the fallen knife and knelt beside his prone opponent.

"Does this bring back memories, William?" Vincent's voice was low, tinged with a mix of satisfaction and bitterness. "Our last altercation ended quite differently, didn't it? But I'm not the same man you bested before. I've... evolved."

Vincent's eyes hardened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Let me make this abundantly clear, William. I have no intention of meeting my end here, least of all by your hand." His grip tightened on the knife, a grim smile playing on his lips. "So you and your depraved little cult can go straight to hell."

The doors to the auction hall suddenly swung open, catching both William and Vincent off guard. Angela stood there, her face a portrait of evident shock.

Her ruby eyes widened, "Vincent?" Then, as if a switch had been flipped, she processed the scene before her. Her gaze darted between William, still on his back, and Vincent kneeling beside him, knife in hand. "What on earth is going on here?"

Security guards materialized behind her, their weapons trained on Vincent.

"Well, looks like it's time for my graceful exit," Vincent quipped, springing to his feet. He darted behind the rows of seats as gunfire erupted, bullets splintering wood where he'd stood moments before.

Angela threw herself in front of the guards, her voice sharp with panic. "No! Cease fire this instant!"

William struggled to his feet, his usual composure in tatters. "Angela, what do you think you're doing?"

"What do you mean?" she shot back, incredulity coloring her tone. "He's not supposed to die! You told us we were bringing him back!"

William's face contorted, a mix of rage and disbelief. "You naive, foolish woman! Did you truly believe Vincent would return willingly?"

Angela froze, the truth dawning in her eyes. "You... were you planning Vincent's demise from the start?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William's lips curled into a cold smirk. "Why the surprise, Angela? I've never hidden this from you. Need I remind you that you're merely a fringe player in our little ensemble? I could just as easily dispose of you as I plan to do with Vincent."

Angela's gaze darted about, her usual composure crumbling as she struggled to form a response. The weight of William's words seemed to rob her of speech, leaving her uncharacteristically vulnerable.

William regarded her with thinly veiled contempt, a derisive sigh escaping his lips. "Just as I suspected," he muttered, dismissively turning his back on her. The gesture spoke volumes, underlining Angela's insignificance in his grand scheme.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                         Thirty years ago

The clang of metal on metal echoed through the fencing hall as two figures, clad in pristine lamés, engaged in a fierce duel. Their épées met in a flurry of precise movements before they retreated, each analyzing the other's stance with calculated intensity.

Suddenly, one lunged forward with lightning speed. The tip of his blade found its mark, throwing his opponent off balance. In a fluid motion, the victor leveled his weapon at his fallen adversary's chest.

"Checkmate," declared the victorious fencer, his mask sliding off to reveal the stern, youthful features of William T. Spears, captain of the disciplinary committee. He extended a hand to his defeated opponent, who clasped it firmly, rising to his feet. As the second fencer removed his helmet, Vincent Phantomhive's boyish grin emerged, his eyes twinkling with the exuberance of youth despite his position as vice-captain.

"Don't get cocky now, William," Vincent teased, his voice light with playful banter. "Next time, I'll be the one wiping that smug look off your face."

William's eyebrow arched elegantly, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "Is that so? I'd be most intrigued to see you translate those bold words into action, Phantomhive."

"Oh, you can count on it," Vincent retorted, his eyes glinting with mischievous determination.

A moment of companionable silence settled between them as William extended his hand once more, this time for a handshake. Vincent grasped it firmly, and as their hands met, a faint blush crept up to William's ears.

The moment was shattered by a cheerful voice calling out, "Vincent! Didn't you promise me a date today?" Rachel stood in the doorway, her youthful features luminous with anticipation.

William's nascent smile vanished instantly.

"Ah, right... It slipped my mind," Vincent muttered, his voice barely audible. Turning to William, he added, "We'll pick this up next time, shall we?"

William offered a curt nod as Vincent called out to Rachel, "On my way!" He jogged towards her, helmet still in hand.

As Vincent and Rachel strolled side by side down the hallway, leaving William behind, a brief silence settled between them. Rachel eventually broke it, her voice tinged with curiosity. "I don't think your friend William likes me very much."

Vincent's eyebrow arched in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

"He always clams up around me, never even says hello or makes eye contact."

A mischievous grin spread across Vincent's face. "Maybe he fancies you,” he teased, playfully nudging her shoulder.

Rachel's laughter rang out. "No, thank you. He's not quite my cup of tea."

"Oh?" Vincent's voice took on a flirtatious edge. "And what exactly is your type?"

"Oh, you know," Rachel replied with a coy smile, "Someone charming, with a distinctive mole under his eye, and dreamy, blue eyes that you could just get lost in. Not you, of course," she added with a playful wink.

"Oh, absolutely not me at all," Vincent agreed, feigning seriousness as he shook his head. "Couldn't possibly be."

"Right," Rachel nodded, maintaining her mock-serious expression for a moment longer.

Their eyes met, a spark of mirth passing between them. Suddenly, they both erupted into peals of laughter, their mirth echoing through the hallway.

William emerged from the fencing hall, his steps faltering as he caught sight of Vincent and Rachel's retreating figures. Their laughter, light and carefree, drifted back to him, each peal seeming to echo in the empty corridor. He stood there, motionless, watching as they disappeared around a corner, their mirth fading into silence. The sound of their shared joy lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the sudden, hollow feeling in William's chest.

Chapter XIX: The End

Chapter Text

Chapter XX: Interlude; Side B

                       Thirty years ago

As autumn leaves began to paint Weston's campus in hues of gold and crimson, Vincent Phantomhive stood on the precipice of his academic journey. The weight of expectation settled on his shoulders like a familiar cloak; he was determined to leave an indelible mark on the institution's elite from day one.

With calculated nonchalance, Vincent chose an unconventional approach to catch the eye of Weston's upper echelons. Having meticulously pored over every line of the university's hallowed rule book, he decided on a bold move. In full view of passing faculty and students alike, Vincent reclined on the manicured lawn, the leather-bound tome of regulations resting open on his chest as he feigned a carefree slumber.

Time seemed to stretch as Vincent lay motionless, his every nerve attuned to his surroundings. Then, as if summoned by his silent challenge, he felt the rhythmic prod of a shoe against his side. A mixture of triumph and irritation flickered across his features as he languidly opened his eyes.

Looming above him, outlined against the autumn sky, stood a figure that exuded authority. "First-year," the voice was clipped, tinged with impatience, "remove yourself from the lawn. Immediately."

Vincent's gaze traveled upward, taking in the newcomer's appearance with deliberate slowness. Raven hair, meticulously groomed, framed a face dominated by striking chartreuse eyes magnified behind wire-rimmed spectacles. The young man's rigid posture screamed of discipline and order.

With a practiced casualness that belied his racing thoughts, Vincent's eyes locked onto the red band encircling the other's arm. The emblem of the disciplinary committee - exactly the attention he'd been aiming to attract. A smirk threatened to tug at the corner of his mouth as he realized his ploy had worked to perfection.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"How presumptuous," Vincent drawled, a challenge glinting in his eyes. "What makes you so certain I'm a first-year?"

The bespectacled man's lips thinned, his patience clearly wearing. "Only a first-year would display such brazen disregard for our institution's decorum. Now, I won't repeat myself again. Off. The. Lawn."

With fluid grace that belied his earlier repose, Vincent rose to his feet. He extended his hand, a disarming smile playing on his lips. "Vincent Phantomhive, at your service. And you are...?"

The disciplinarian's gaze flicked pointedly downward. "You're still trespassing on the lawn, Phantomhive."

"Ah, my apologies," Vincent chuckled, taking an exaggerated step onto the path. "There. Now, about that name of yours?"

"No." The word fell like a gavel, curt and final.

Vincent blinked, momentarily thrown off-kilter. "I'm sorry, 'No'?"

Without deigning to elaborate, the bespectacled man turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Vincent staring after him, a mixture of frustration and intrigue etched on his features.

In the days that followed, Vincent found himself inexplicably drawn into a game of cat and mouse. His quarry: the enigmatic, bespectacled disciplinarian who had so thoroughly rebuffed him. With the tenacity of a bloodhound, Vincent shadowed the bespectacled man’s movements across campus, always maintaining a careful distance, yet ensuring his presence was noted.

Through hushed whispers in crowded hallways and overheard conversations in the library, Vincent had gleaned his target's identity: William T. Spears. Yet, this clandestine knowledge only fueled his determination. It wasn't merely the name he sought, but the satisfaction of hearing it from William's own lips - a formal introduction that would acknowledge Vincent as more than just another first-year nuisance.

As he navigated Weston's labyrinthine social hierarchy, Vincent's pursuit of William became almost ritualistic. Each near-encounter, each narrowly missed opportunity for interaction, only served to sharpen his resolve. In William's rigid adherence to rules and protocols, Vincent had found an intriguing puzzle - one he was determined to solve, no matter how long it took.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William halted abruptly, pivoting on his heel with military precision. His chartreuse eyes flashed dangerously behind his spectacles, barely contained irritation etched into every line of his face. "Are you engaging in some form of puerile stalking, Phantomhive?" he hissed, his voice low and taut with annoyance.

Vincent's lips curled into a lazy smirk, seemingly unperturbed by William's ire. "Stalking? How crass. I prefer to think of it as a dedicated pursuit," he drawled, amusement dancing in his eyes.

William's jaw clenched visibly. "What. Do. You. Want?" Each word was bitten off with barely restrained frustration.

"Oh, nothing much," Vincent replied, his tone deceptively light. "Just a small matter of social etiquette. A proper introduction, if you will."

Confusion momentarily replaced anger on William's face. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Vincent's smirk widened. "Why, my dear disciplinarian, you never formally introduced yourself to me. Rather rude, don't you think?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William's eyes narrowed, a mixture of exasperation and reluctant intrigue flickering across his features. "You are... peculiar, Phantomhive," he said, his tone caught between irritation and grudging respect. With a resigned sigh, he straightened his posture, as if preparing for a formal address. "Very well. I am William T. Spears. Satisfied?"

Vincent's face lit up with triumph, a cat-that-got-the-cream smile spreading across his lips. "There, was that so terribly difficult?" he purred, clearly savoring his small victory.

William's jaw tightened, his patience visibly fraying. "Now that we've dispensed with these frivolous pleasantries, may I attend to my duties without further interruption?" he asked, each word clipped and precise.

"Ah, but I'm afraid I must trespass upon your time for just a moment longer," Vincent replied, his tone light but his eyes sharp with purpose. "There's one more small matter I'd like to discuss."

A muscle twitched in William's cheek. "What is it now, Phantomhive?" he ground out, bracing himself for whatever new annoyance this first-year had in store.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Vincent drew himself up, his eyes gleaming with determination. "I want to join the disciplinary committee," he declared, his voice ringing with unexpected conviction.

William's eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline. A bark of incredulous laughter escaped him. "You can't be serious, Phantomhive. After that abysmal first impression? You must be delusional."

"I assure you, I'd be an invaluable asset to your cause," Vincent pressed, his tone earnest yet tinged with a hint of challenge.

"Oh, how very persuasive," William drawled, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "Clearly, you've taken leave of your senses. I'm done here." With that, he spun on his heel and strode away, leaving Vincent standing alone.

But Vincent's lips curled into a determined smirk. This was far from over.

In the weeks that followed, Vincent launched a silent campaign of attrition. He became William's shadow, materializing in lecture halls, the library, and even the dining hall - always within eyeshot, yet never directly engaging. He watched with growing satisfaction as William's composure gradually eroded, the prefect's eye developing an intermittent twitch whenever he spotted Vincent.

It was a delicate dance of persistence and restraint, and Vincent reveled in every minute of it. With each passing day, he could feel William's resolve weakening, crumbling under the weight of Vincent's relentless presence. It was only a matter of time before William would crack, and Vincent intended to be there when he did, ready to seize the opportunity he'd so patiently cultivated.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The library was shrouded in twilight, the soft glow of reading lamps creating islands of light in the sea of shadows. William hunched over his textbook, his pen scratching across the paper with metronomic precision. Across the table, Vincent lounged his posture a study in calculated nonchalance. His arms were folded on the polished wood, chin resting atop them, eyes never leaving William's face.

The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, until finally, it snapped.

"Fine," William murmured, the word escaping him like a long-held breath. Defeat colored his tone, barely audible above the rustle of turning pages.

Vincent's head lifted slowly, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I beg your pardon?" he drawled, his voice a blend of innocence and triumph. "I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that."

William's jaw clenched, his gaze stubbornly fixed on his book. "You heard me perfectly well, Phantomhive," he gritted out.

"Oh, but I insist," Vincent pressed, leaning forward, his smile sharp as a razor. "Do enlighten me."

A muscle twitched in William's cheek. Finally, he looked up, meeting Vincent's gaze with a mixture of resignation and irritation. "You can join," he said, each word clearly costing him. "The disciplinary committee. You're in."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

In the blink of an eye, a year had passed since Vincent's unconventional induction into the disciplinary committee. He had seamlessly integrated himself into the role, his natural charisma and sharp intellect propelling him to the upper echelons of Weston's academic hierarchy. The once-rebellious first-year had transformed into a respected figure, though a glint of mischief still lurked behind his polished exterior.

As spring blossomed across the campus, painting Weston in a riot of colors, the air hummed with anticipation for the annual Spring Banquet. The disciplinary committee, now including Vincent among its ranks, had been entrusted with overseeing the prestigious event.

The Great Hall buzzed with activity, a sea of impeccably dressed students and faculty mingling beneath crystal chandeliers. Amidst this refined chaos, Alexis Midford's booming voice cut through the ambient chatter like a foghorn.

"Isn't this a splendid affair?" he bellowed, his enthusiasm as outsized as his voice. "The very epitome of Weston's grandeur!"

Beside him, Diedrich, the current vice-captain on the disciplinary committee, winced, his face a mask of long-suffering exasperation. "Must you always speak as if addressing a rally, Midford?" he grumbled, massaging his temples. "I marvel at how your poor girlfriend hasn't gone deaf by now.”

Diedrich cut an imposing figure, his jet-black hair swept to the side in a severe part that accentuated his sharp, emerald eyes. The contrast between his dark features and vibrant gaze lent him an air of intensity that matched his no-nonsense demeanor.

Turning to Vincent, Diedrich's tone softened slightly, tinged with a hint of concern. "Speaking of his girlfriend, I do hope this boisterous oaf is treating your sister with the respect she deserves, Vincent." He jerked his thumb towards Alexis, who adopted a mildly offended expression.

Vincent's response came with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with mischief and fraternal pride. "Knowing Francis, Diedrich, I'm more inclined to worry about her treatment of Alexis. My sister isn't exactly known for her gentle touch."

Alexis let out a laugh that carried an undercurrent of nervous agreement. "You've hit the nail on the head there, Vincent. Strong-willed doesn't even begin to describe her. But that's part of her charm, isn't it?" His voice held a mixture of admiration and trepidation, painting a vivid picture of the formidable Francis Phantomhive.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As his gaze wandered across the opulent hall, Vincent's attention was suddenly captured by a scene unfolding near the refreshment table. A waiter, clearly overstepping his bounds, was leaning in uncomfortably close to a young woman. The girl's discomfort was palpable, her dark blue eyes darting about as if seeking an escape. Vincent found himself transfixed by her appearance – golden tresses framed her face like a halo, falling in perfect waves that seemed to catch and reflect the chandelier's light.

Without conscious thought, Vincent found his feet carrying him toward the unfolding drama.

As he drew nearer, the girl's voice reached his ears, tight with restrained anger. "Leave me alone," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

The waiter, oblivious or uncaring, pressed on. "I like it when girls play hard to get," he drawled, his voice oily with false charm.

Vincent felt a spark of mischief ignite within him, coupled with a genuine desire to intervene. With the practiced ease of someone accustomed to bending social norms, he smoothly inserted himself into the situation.

"My good man," Vincent addressed the waiter, his voice a blend of aristocratic charm and thinly veiled threat, "I couldn't help but notice your enthusiastic attention to our guest here. While your dedication to service is admirable, perhaps it's time you extended your talents to other areas of the room. Unless, of course, you'd prefer a more formal discussion with the disciplinary committee."

His words, though polite on the surface, carried an unmistakable edge. Vincent's eyes glinted with a dangerous amusement, daring the waiter to challenge him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Care to repeat yourself?" the waiter slurred, his words edged with belligerence.

Vincent's lips curled into a smirk, his voice dripping with false politeness. "I'm certain your hearing is perfectly functional. Unless, of course, the alcohol has affected that as well?"

Enraged by the taunt, the waiter launched a clumsy swing at Vincent. With a quickness born of natural agility and perhaps a touch of luck, Vincent managed to lean away from the attack. The waiter's momentum carried him forward, sending him sprawling ungracefully to the floor.

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. The assembled guests reacted in a spectrum of emotions - some watched with poorly concealed amusement, while others wore expressions of scandalized disapproval. The Spring Banquet had just become far more entertaining than anyone had anticipated.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the waiter lay sprawled on the floor, Vincent's moment of triumph was short-lived. A familiar, clipped voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd, causing him to stiffen instinctively.

"Phantomhive. Explain yourself." 

Vincent turned slowly, his gaze traveling upward to meet William's piercing chartreuse eyes. The disciplinary committee leader stood mere feet away, his posture rigid with disapproval. That telltale twitch had returned to William's eye, a sure sign that Vincent's antics had once again managed to fray his superior's carefully maintained composure.

For a fleeting moment, Vincent considered crafting an elaborate excuse. But as he locked eyes with William, he knew that his usual charm might not be enough to wiggle out of this particular predicament. 

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The disciplinary committee office, usually a bastion of order, now thrummed with tension. Vincent lounged in the chair across from William's desk, his posture deceptively casual despite the gravity of the situation. William, for his part, looked as if he was fighting off an impending migraine.

"Phantomhive," William sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "what in heaven's name possessed you this time?"

Vincent's eyes glinted with a mixture of defiance and amusement. "Come now, William. Surely you're not suggesting I should have allowed that inebriated buffoon to assault me?"

William's gaze sharpened. "Don't play coy. It's always you, isn't it? At the center of every debacle, every disruption. Perhaps admitting you to the committee was a grave error—"

A soft knock interrupted William's tirade. The door creaked open, revealing the blonde girl from the banquet. Her presence seemed to alter the very atmosphere of the room.

"Pardon the intrusion," she began, her voice gentle yet firm. "Phantomhive, was it?"

"Vincent," he corrected, a warm smile replacing his earlier smirk.

The girl's blue eyes flickered between Vincent and William. "I feel compelled to clarify the situation. That waiter was harassing me quite persistently. Vincent intervened on my behalf. Please don't punish him for something he couldn’t control.”

Her words hung in the air, challenging the narrative William had constructed. Vincent leaned back, a look of vindication settling on his features as he awaited William's response.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William exhaled slowly, the fight seeming to drain out of him. "Very well," he conceded, his tone a mixture of resignation and lingering irritation. "You may take your leave, Rachel.”

Rachel's gaze lingered on Vincent for a moment, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. With a slight nod, she slipped out of the office, leaving behind a palpable shift in the atmosphere.

As the door clicked shut, William's attention returned to Vincent. His eyes narrowed, a calculated gleam replacing his earlier exasperation. "Now, what am I to do with you, Phantomhive?" he mused, his tone deceptively light. "Ah, yes. I couldn't help but notice your... nimble evasion earlier. Perhaps we can channel that agility more productively."

Vincent's eyebrow arched, intrigue evident in his expression. "Oh? And how do you propose we do that?"

A thin smile spread across William's face. "How do you feel about fencing, Phantomhive? I find myself in need of a new sparring partner."

"Fencing?" Vincent echoed, surprise coloring his voice. A slow grin began to spread across his face as he considered the proposition. "Well, William, you certainly know how to keep things interesting."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the seasons turned, so too did the dynamics within Weston's hallowed halls. Under William's tutelage, Vincent found himself drawn into the world of fencing, the clash of blades becoming a metaphor for their evolving relationship. What had begun as a punishment transformed into a shared passion, forging an unexpected bond between the rigid disciplinarian and his mischievous protégé.

With the dawn of a new semester came inevitable change. Diedrich, the formidable Vice Captain, bid farewell to Weston, leaving a void in the disciplinary committee's ranks. In a move that surprised many - perhaps even Vincent himself - William appointed him as the new Vice Captain. The position was a testament to how far Vincent had come, and how much William had grown to trust him.

Yet, fencing and new responsibilities weren't the only developments in Vincent's life. His chance encounter with Rachel Dalles at the Spring Banquet had blossomed into something more. Their shared wit and charm drew them together, stolen moments between classes turning into longer conversations, which in turn evolved into something deeper. As autumn leaves began to fall, Vincent and Rachel's relationship officially began, adding yet another layer to Vincent's increasingly complex life at Weston.

The once-troublemaking first-year had become not only a respected member of the disciplinary committee but also a man coming into his own, balancing duty, passion, and romance with a grace that was uniquely Vincent Phantomhive.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

But, beneath Weston University's veneer of academic prestige and tradition, a darker current stirred. While Vincent and William's friendship had blossomed, nurtured by their shared responsibilities and mutual respect, an insidious force threatened to unravel the bonds they had so carefully woven.

The catalyst for this subtle shift was Undertaker, the eccentric human anatomy professor whose unconventional methods and cryptic demeanor had long been the subject of whispered rumors among the student body. When William caught the professor's eye and subsequently became his teaching assistant, the change in William was almost imperceptible at first.

Yet Vincent, with his keen eye for detail and intimate knowledge of his friend, couldn't help but notice the gradual transformation. William's demeanor, once softened by their camaraderie, began to harden. His words, previously tinged with dry humor, now carried an edge of detachment. Even his gaze seemed different as if he were looking through people rather than at them.

As the days passed, Vincent found himself increasingly unsettled by this metamorphosis. He grappled with questions that plagued his thoughts: What had triggered this change in William? What secrets lay hidden behind Undertaker's knowing smirk and William's newfound aloofness? The answers eluded him, but Vincent couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous lurked just beneath the surface of Weston's hallowed halls.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Determination crystallized within Vincent, a resolve to uncover the truth behind William's transformation, regardless of the consequences. With purposeful strides, he navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Weston's dormitories, his destination clear: William's room.

As he approached the familiar door, Vincent paused, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. His knuckles rapped against the wood, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. Seconds stretched into an eternity as he waited, ears straining for any sign of movement within.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing William's face. The sight that greeted Vincent sent a chill down his spine. William's usually meticulous appearance was slightly disheveled, his eyes carrying a distant, almost haunted look behind his spectacles.

"Vincent?" 

The use of his first name hit Vincent like a physical blow. Gone was the formal "Phantomhive" that had become a term of endearment between them. This simple address change spoke volumes about the chasm that had opened between them, a gulf Vincent was determined to bridge.

Vincent's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized William's disheveled appearance. "What's happening to you, William? You look... unsettled," he probed, his voice a mixture of concern and barely concealed frustration.

William's response came too quickly, too smoothly. "I'm not sure what you mean. Everything is perfectly fine."

"Don't insult my intelligence," Vincent snapped, his patience wearing thin. "We both know that's far from the truth."

A heavy sigh escaped William's lips, his shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. "Not here," he murmured, glancing furtively down the hallway. "Come inside. These walls have ears."

Intrigued and alarmed by William's paranoid behavior, Vincent stepped into the room. The soft click of the door closing behind them seemed to echo ominously in the silence.

Vincent turned to face his friend, determination etched on his features. "Alright, we're alone now. Speak freely. Is Undertaker overworking you? Is that what's causing this... change in you?"

William's laugh was hollow, devoid of any real mirth. "Undertaker? No, he's not the problem. The issue, Vincent, is far more pervasive. It's this world we live in – it's rotten to the core."

The vehemence in William's voice caught Vincent off guard. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, about to plunge into something far darker and more complex than he had anticipated.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"The world?" Vincent echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief and growing concern.

William nodded, his movements erratic as he paced the confines of his room. Vincent's eyes tracked him, a sense of unease building in his chest with each of William's agitated steps.

"I understand now," William murmured, his voice taking on an almost reverent quality. "I see it all so clearly."

Vincent's brow furrowed. "Understand what, exactly?"

William halted abruptly, fixing Vincent with an intense stare. "I once clung to the belief in absolute right and wrong, that justice meant punishing wrongdoers. But what if I told you that morality itself is nothing more than an artificial construct? A tool wielded by the powerful to control the masses?"

Vincent recoiled slightly, struggling to reconcile these words with the William he thought he knew. "What in God's name are you talking about?" he demanded, a mix of confusion and alarm coloring his voice.

A strange light gleamed in William's eyes, a combination of excitement and something darker, more unsettling. "Words aren't enough. You need to see for yourself," he declared. "Tomorrow, at dawn. Meet me in front of the dorms. I'll show you where it all began – where the veil first lifted from my eyes."

As Vincent stared at his friend, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the precipice of something monumental and terrifying. Whatever William had discovered, it was clear that their lives – and perhaps Weston itself – would never be the same.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ 

As dawn broke over Weston's campus, Vincent stirred from a restless sleep. The weight of anticipation hung heavy in his chest, a mix of curiosity and apprehension for what the day might bring. His concern for William, once a pillar of stability in his life, now drove him to confront the unknown.

With measured steps, Vincent made his way out of the dormitory. The crisp morning air nipped at his skin, a stark reminder of the early hour. As he emerged from the building's shadow, his eyes fell upon a familiar figure.

There, bathed in the soft light of early morning, stood William. He was leaning against his car, his posture unnaturally rigid even for him. The sight of his friend, so changed yet so familiar, sent a shiver down Vincent's spine.

William's terse command, "Let's go," broke the morning stillness. He moved to the driver's side with an unsettling automaticity, shutting the door with a finality that made Vincent's heart skip. Swallowing his growing unease, Vincent eased himself into the passenger seat, the car's interior feeling suddenly claustrophobic.

The journey unfolded in an oppressive silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine. William's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, his eyes glazed with an eerie detachment. It was as if his body was present, but his mind had drifted to some unreachable place.

Their destination loomed suddenly out of the mist - a structure that seemed to belong to another era entirely. Its Victorian Gothic architecture exuded an aura of faded grandeur and hidden secrets. As they entered, Vincent was struck by the contrast between the building's imposing exterior and its eerily elegant, yet deserted interior.

The stillness was shattered by a blur of motion. A figure materialized before them, arms outstretched in a grotesque parody of welcome. It was Undertaker, his face split by a grin that sent chills down Vincent's spine.

"Welcome, Vincent Phantomhive," Undertaker's voice oozed with unsettling glee. "I've been waiting for you."

Vincent's eyes narrowed suspicion and confusion warring within him. "You were waiting for me?" he echoed, his tone cautious.

Undertaker skipped ahead, his long hair swaying with each exaggerated step. Vincent and William trailed behind, the former's face a mask of confusion, the latter's set in grim determination.

"You see, Phantomhive," Undertaker's voice lilted with barely suppressed glee, "this world of ours is nothing but a grand farce! Beneath our polite smiles, we're all just waiting to tear each other apart. Those who can't keep up? Well, they become the main course!" He punctuated this with a giggle that sent shivers down Vincent's spine. "But oh, the students of Weston? Those from the right families? We're special, you see. Chosen to be either the vessels of great power or the sacrifices that feed it. Isn't it delightful?"

Vincent's brow furrowed, his usual charm giving way to open skepticism. "Vessels? Sacrifices? Have you gone completely mad?" He turned to William, expecting to see a shared look of disbelief, only to find his friend's face etched with somber acceptance.

"Mad? Me?" Undertaker cackled, spinning on his heel to face them. "Oh no, I assure you, I'm perfectly sane. It's the world that's mad, my boy!" He stopped abruptly before an imposing door, its surface covered in strange symbols. "Now then, are you ready to see just how deep the rabbit hole goes?"

Vincent stood frozen, caught between his innate curiosity and a growing sense of dread. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, the realization that whatever lay beyond that door would change everything.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Despite every instinct screaming at him to turn back, Vincent found himself stepping over the threshold. The sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine. At the center of the dimly lit room stood a small shrine, encircled by flickering candles. Their dancing light cast eerie shadows across the obsidian figurine at its heart - a grotesque creature with imposing antlers crowning its head.

"Don't be shy now," Undertaker's voice dripped with barely contained excitement. "Take a closer look, my boy."

Drawn by a morbid fascination, Vincent approached the shrine. His eyes fell upon a leather-bound book resting before the statue. With hesitant hands, he lifted it, his curiosity overriding his apprehension.

As he leafed through the pages, his brow furrowed in confusion. "' The wendigo,'" he read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper, "' known as the spirit of winter in Algonquian folklore, is a spirit with human-like characteristics. Wendigos were humans possessed by the wendigo spirit, causing them to eat the flesh of other humans.'"

Vincent's mind reeled. A folklore book? Here, in this secret room? He glanced back at the statue, realization dawning. "Is this... is this supposed to be a wendigo?" he asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice.

Undertaker's voice took on an eerie, sing-song quality as he spoke, his words sending a chill down Vincent's spine. "Oh, a day will come, my dear boy, when a great snowstorm shall descend upon us all. It will tear through our carefully constructed world, leaving naught but starvation in its wake. And in that moment of desperation, the Wendigo shall choose its vessels... and its sacrifices."

Vincent's mind reeled. A cult. This was a bloody cult, worshipping some mythical spirit. But to what end? What could they possibly hope to gain?

Suddenly, Undertaker's tone shifted, catching Vincent off guard. "Tell me, Vincent, why did you so desperately seek to join the disciplinary committee upon arriving at Weston? William here tells me you were quite... persistent."

Vincent's gaze darted to William, who stood unnervingly still and silent, before returning to Undertaker's expectant face. The abrupt change in topic left him wrong-footed, but he rallied quickly.

"Status," Vincent replied, his voice carefully measured. "I wanted status within the school."

A knowing grin spread across Undertaker's face. "Ah, but what you truly craved was power, wasn't it? It's only natural, after all. We are all children of the Wendigo, driven by an insatiable hunger. The Wendigo offers limitless power, Vincent. And all you need to do to join us is one simple thing."

Despite himself, Vincent felt a flicker of curiosity. "And what might that be?"​​​

As the conversation progressed, an insidious odor crept into Vincent's consciousness. The stench, previously lurking at the edges of his perception, now assaulted his senses with growing intensity.

"William has already completed his initiation," Undertaker interjected, his voice dripping with macabre glee. "Why don't you enlighten our friend, William?"

William's eyes, previously glazed and distant, snapped into focus. His gaze met Vincent's, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his features. "It's better if I show you," he intoned, his voice devoid of its usual crisp authority.

Vincent watched, a growing sense of dread pooling in his stomach, as William approached a hidden mechanism. With a fluid motion, he drew back the heavy curtains on the stage.

The sight that greeted Vincent defied comprehension. There, sprawled on the stage in a grotesque tableau, lay Diedrich. Or what remained of him. His body was a patchwork of mutilation, limbs missing or mangled beyond recognition. The state of decay suggested he had been there for weeks, his once imposing figure now a horrific mockery of human form.

Vincent felt the foundations of his world crumble. His carefully cultivated composure shattered, the charm and confidence that had been his armor stripped away in an instant. When he finally found his voice, it was barely a whisper, raw with shock and revulsion.

"What... what did you do?"

The words hung in the air, a trembling accusation in the face of unthinkable horror.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The full weight of the situation crashed down upon Vincent, shattering his worldview in an instant.

"Diedrich... why him?" Vincent's voice trembled, a mixture of horror and disbelief. "What could he possibly have done to deserve this?"

William's response came in a chilling monotone as if reciting a memorized line. "Diedrich was destined to be a sacrifice. It's nothing personal."

Desperation clawed at Vincent's insides. He lunged forward, gripping William's shoulders, searching his friend's eyes for any sign of the man he once knew. "William, snap out of it! This isn't you – can't you see Undertaker's manipulating you?"

William shrugged off Vincent's hands with unsettling ease. "This is the real me, Vincent. Perhaps you never truly knew who I was."

Undertaker's voice slithered into the conversation, a serpent offering poisoned fruit. "Now, now, Vincent. I'm presenting you with a choice, not a demand. William made his decision." His lips curled into a grotesque smile. "The question is, what will you choose?"

Vincent stood frozen, caught between revulsion and a horrifying curiosity. The crossroads before him seemed to stretch into an abyss, with unthinkable consequences lying down either path.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Vincent's eyes flashed with a mixture of fury and revulsion. His voice, when it came, was low and dangerous, each word dripping with contempt. "I'll make my choice right here, right now. There's not a chance in hell I'm joining your depraved little cult."

A chilling laugh bubbled up from Undertaker's throat, echoing off the walls of the macabre chamber. "Oh, my dear boy," he purred, his tone a disturbing blend of amusement and certainty. "Time has a way of changing even the most steadfast minds. You'll come around, Vincent Phantomhive. Just you wait."

The ominous promise hung in the air, a palpable threat that seemed to cling to Vincent's skin. He stood his ground, jaw clenched, every fiber of his being rejecting the madness before him. Yet, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered doubts – how long could he resist? What price would his defiance exact? The battle lines were drawn, but the war, it seemed, was far from over.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XX: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXI: The Tower; Part Three

      Present Time|Before Vincent’s return

As dusk loomed over the city, Vincent sat alert in his parked car, his eyes fixed on the ornate facade of the private club, serving as the school board’s clandestine headquarters. His vigilance was rewarded when Charles Grey finally emerged from the building.

Vincent observed with interest as Charles stepped onto the sidewalk, the investigator’s cautious movements betraying a sense of unease. Charles’s head swiveled periodically, eyes darting about, clearly sensing he was being watched but unable to confirm his suspicions. Vincent allowed himself a small smile; years of experience had refined his ability to remain undetected.

From across the street, Vincent watched as Charles approached his vehicle. The investigator's nervous energy was evident even from this distance, his fingers fumbling slightly with his car keys. As Charles's engine roared to life, Vincent's hand moved to his ignition. His mind was already racing ahead, formulating the best approach to present his proposition to Charles.

With practiced precision, Vincent allowed Charles to gain a comfortable lead before easing his own vehicle into motion. He maintained a careful distance, expertly weaving through the evening traffic to keep Charles's car in sight without arousing suspicion. Vincent's eyes remained fixed on his quarry, his movements fluid and assured as he shadowed the investigator through the city streets.

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As Charles brought his car to a halt outside his apartment building, an inexplicable unease settled over him. He couldn't pinpoint its source, but the sensation prickled at the back of his neck, refusing to be ignored.

Attempting to shake off the feeling, he made his way into the building and up to his floor. As he reached for his keys, fumbling slightly with the lock, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

His instincts, honed by years of investigative work, kicked into high gear. Charles pivoted sharply, his hand instinctively moving towards the concealed weapon at his hip. His eyes locked onto a figure standing unnervingly close behind him.

"Hold it right there," Charles snapped, his voice sharp with tension. "I don't know what you're up to, but sneaking up on someone like that is a damn good way to get yourself into trouble."

The stranger raised his hands in a placating gesture, his demeanor eerily calm. A disconcerting smile played across his lips as he spoke, "My apologies, but I must ask - do you recognize me?"

Charles's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the man before him. An unsettling sense of familiarity washed over him, though he was certain they'd never met. The slate hair, piercing blue eyes, and that distinctive mole beneath one eye... It wasn't recognition, per se, but rather a haunting similarity to someone he knew.

Realization struck Charles like a physical blow, his eyes widening in disbelief. Surely it couldn't be... And if it was, what possible reason could he have for being here?

The stranger's voice cut through Charles's racing thoughts, tinged with amusement and a hint of satisfaction. "Judging by your expression, I'd say you've figured it out, haven't you?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles's eyes narrowed, his voice laced with suspicion. “Vincent Phantomhive. Well, I'll be damned."

"Correct,” Vincent replied, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "I must say, your reputation precedes you, Charles."

Charles's hand hadn't moved from his concealed weapon. "Cut the flattery. What's your game? And how the hell do you know who I am?"

Vincent's expression sobered, his eyes darting to the shadows around them. "Let's not air our laundry in the hallway, shall we? I think we'd both prefer this chat to be a bit more... private. You know as well as I do that secrets have a way of growing legs in places like this."

The implication hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dangers. Charles found himself at a crossroads, weighing his curiosity against his instinct for self-preservation. Whatever Vincent Phantomhive had to say, it was clear this was no casual visit.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles reluctantly stepped aside, allowing Vincent into his apartment before securing the door behind them. His posture remained tense, ready for any sudden movements.

Vincent's eyes roamed the space, taking in every detail. "So, this is where the illustrious investigator-turned-ex-cop hangs his hat," he mused, his tone a mix of curiosity and mild amusement.

"Cut the small talk," Charles snapped, his gaze sharp. "How is it you know so much about me?"

Vincent's expression hardened, his usual charm giving way to a sober intensity. "I've had my eye on the school board's machinations for quite some time. Your little investigation into that semester-opening murder? Hardly went unnoticed." A flicker of genuine concern crossed his features. "I knew Ciel had enrolled at Weston - no doubt trying to track down Rachel and myself - but I never imagined it would come to this." His piercing gaze locked onto Charles. "Out with it then. How deep has William dragged my son into this cesspool?"

Charles scoffed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And why should I trust a single word out of your mouth? You were in bed with this cult from the start."

"It wasn't like that," Vincent snapped, a rare flash of emotion breaking through his composed exterior. "Everything I did, every choice I made, was for Ciel. If you had a child, you'd understand. You'd do the same."

"What are you on about?" Charles demanded, his curiosity piqued despite his better judgment.

Vincent's voice lowered, tinged with a mix of regret and determination. "My collaboration with William was solely to develop a drug to cure Ciel's illness. Once he started improving, I realized the depths I'd sunk to. I had to vanish, to protect him from what I'd become entangled in."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Illness?" Charles prodded, his tone sharp with curiosity.

Vincent's eyes darkened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability breaking through his composed facade. "Selective IgA deficiency," he stated, his voice steady but underlined with old worry. "Simply put, Ciel's body was dreadfully inept at producing the necessary antibodies. The boy was perpetually ill, landing himself in hospital more times than I care to count." His tone shifted, taking on a harder edge. "Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals was on the brink of financial ruin. I required immediate funding. William presented an... unsavory solution. Membership in exchange for the means to save my son. Fortunately, I managed to develop the drug, and Ciel's health began to improve. It was at that point I realized I had achieved my goal, and the time had come for me to extricate myself from the cult's clutches."

Charles felt the ground shift beneath him, his preconceptions about Vincent Phantomhive crumbling. The man's revelations painted a picture far removed from the cold, calculating figure he'd imagined. Vincent's apparent concern for his son added an uncomfortable layer of complexity to the situation.

Pushing aside his conflicted thoughts, Charles steeled himself. "About your earlier question," he began, his voice grim. "Ciel's in deep. Might be past the point of no return, if I'm being honest."

"Elaborate," Vincent demanded a sharp edge of urgency in his tone.

Charles met Vincent's intense gaze head-on. "The cult's got their hooks in him. Ciel's part of their inner circle now. I witnessed him..." he paused, the words tasting bitter, "...take out another student."

Vincent's response blindsided him. "Did he consume any of the victim's flesh?" 

"Come again?" Charles sputtered, thrown completely off-kilter.

A dark understanding dawned on Vincent's face. "Ah, so you're not privy to the full picture," he mused, his finger tapping thoughtfully against his chin. "Allow me to enlighten you about 'The Children of the Wendigo.'"

"The Children of the Wendigo?" Charles echoed, his brow furrowing.

"Indeed," Vincent confirmed, a grim smile playing on his lips. "They're rather tight-lipped about the moniker. Tell me, are you familiar with the wendigo?"

"Native American folklore, isn't it?" Charles offered, a spark of his old interest in myths flickering to life. "Used to be quite keen on that sort of thing, back in the day."

Vincent nodded, his tone taking on a lecturer's cadence. "They've got this warped belief that Weston's cream of the crop is destined to be either vessels or sacrifices for this wendigo spirit. Some great snowstorm is meant to hit, and starve everyone out. That's when the wendigo makes its grand selection."

Charles' mind raced, pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. "Hold on," he interjected, his voice tight. "Are you saying all those missing students were... consumed? But the numbers don't add up. There's no way the cult could've..." He trailed off, realization dawning. "Bloody hell. The auction house. They were flogging these kids off to 'patrons' for their sick feasts."

The horror of the situation settled over Charles like a lead weight, his investigator's mind already connecting dots he wished he could unsee.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Charles' mind raced, pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. "Hold on," he interjected, his voice taut. "The murders. The missing organs. It all ties in, doesn't it?"

Charles frowned, puzzlement creasing his brow. "But... why are they so hellbent on getting to you?"

"William, at the very least, wants me six feet under," Vincent stated matter-of-factly.

Charles' eyes widened in shock. When William had spoken to him, he'd never hinted at wanting Vincent dead. Even though names weren't mentioned, Charles had pieced together that Vincent was the subject. "Why?" he pressed.

"He views me as a threat now that I've fled. Thinks I'm plotting something," Vincent explained dismissively before redirecting, “You're certain you never witnessed Ciel partake in their... dietary practices?"

"Not that I saw," Charles replied, a knot forming in his gut.

Vincent fell silent, his brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, his voice came low and ominous. "If that's the case, they've likely already put him through the initiation. We may be too late."

The weight of Vincent's words hung heavy in the air, the implications sending a chill down Charles' spine. He'd known things were bad, but this? This was a whole new level of depravity he'd scarcely imagined.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Not to worry," Vincent continued a glint of determination in his eye. "I have a strategy."

"What's your play?" Charles asked curiosity piqued despite his reservations.

"I believe it's time I made my grand reappearance to William and his cohorts."

"Have you lost your mind?" Charles balked. "Didn't you just say William wants you dead?"

"Precisely why it must be me," Vincent countered, a sly smile playing at his lips. "He'll be so fixated on his plans to eliminate me, that he won't see what I'm really up to."

"Out with it, then," Charles pressed impatiently.

"I'm going to convince him there's a traitor in his ranks."

Charles' brow furrowed skeptically. "Would that actually work?"

"After joining that cult, William became obsessed with the idea of betrayal. After my departure? I'd wager his paranoia has only intensified. The key to dismantling this whole operation is to watch the cult tear itself apart from within. While they're busy with their internal strife, we'll swoop in and save Ciel."

Charles furrowed his brow, a nagging question finally breaking through. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Vincent's expression softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his composed exterior. "If something were to happen to me, I need someone to see this through. To protect Ciel, to ensure he's freed from the cult's clutches. That someone is you."

"Me?" Charles scoffed. "Your son hardly trusts me at the moment."

A wry smile played on Vincent's lips. "Ciel doesn't fully trust anyone. It's in his nature. But you... you have a chance of getting through to him."

Charles couldn't believe his luck. It was almost too perfect. He cleared his throat. "In that case, there's something you should know. The school board... they want William dead."

Vincent's eyes widened momentarily before his features smoothed back into their usual mask of calm calculation. "Well now," he mused, a dangerous glint in his eye. "That does work out rather perfectly for us, doesn't it?"

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel's mind reeled, the reality of what he'd just done crashing over him like a tidal wave. He'd kissed Sebastian. Actually kissed him. The memory of those unexpectedly soft lips lingered, a phantom sensation that refused to fade-

"Bloody hell," Ciel muttered, shaking his head violently as if to dislodge the thought. He couldn't afford such distractions, not with everything at stake. His jaw clenched, a familiar mask of cool detachment sliding into place. There were far more pressing matters at hand than whatever... that had been.

Yet even as he steeled himself, pushing the memory to the far recesses of his mind, Ciel couldn't quite shake the unsettling warmth that had blossomed in his chest. It was a complication he neither wanted nor needed, but one that refused to be easily dismissed.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's brow furrowed as he mulled over Sebastian's evasive response regarding Claude. It was... unsettling, to say the least. That fleeting expression of what appeared to be fear on Sebastian's face when Claude whispered in his ear - it was unprecedented. In all their encounters, Ciel had never witnessed such vulnerability from his enigmatic professor.

Was Claude the puppet master behind the chandelier incident? But to what end? Ciel's interactions with the vice-chancellor had been minimal at best, making the notion all the more perplexing. Perhaps he was barking up the wrong tree entirely. Claude's words to Sebastian might be utterly unrelated to the attempt on his life.

A wry smirk tugged at Ciel's lips as he considered his current standing at Weston. He was hardly the most popular student, true, but who would go to such lengths to see him dead? The list of potential suspects was disconcertingly long, given recent events.

Ciel's fingers drummed against his thigh, a habit he'd picked up when deep in thought. The pieces of this puzzle refused to align, each new revelation only served to muddy the waters further. One thing was certain - he couldn't afford to let his guard down, not when the next attempt on his life could be lurking just around the corner.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

It was glaringly obvious that the chandelier's fall had been a deliberate act, timed precisely to coincide with Ciel's passage beneath it. The culprit had to have insider knowledge of his summons to the front of the room. If Claude wasn't behind it, that left William as the prime suspect in Ciel's mind.

A sharp rap at his dorm room door jolted Ciel from his musings. Expecting McMillan's cheery face, he swung the door open, only to find himself frozen in shock.

"Aunt Angela?" The name escaped his lips in a surprised whisper.

The sight before him was a far cry from Angela's usual polished appearance. Mascara streaked down her cheeks in inky rivulets, her nose reddened from what Ciel could only assume was prolonged crying. She looked utterly distraught, a sharp contrast to her typically composed demeanor.

Ciel's mind raced, trying to reconcile this unexpected visit with the web of conspiracies he'd been untangling. What could have reduced his enigmatic aunt to such a state? And more pressingly, why had she come to him?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"What's happened?" Ciel asked, his tone a careful blend of concern and wariness. Despite the shock of seeing his aunt in such a state, he couldn't shake off his suspicion. Her involvement with the cult still hung between them, an unspoken tension that colored every interaction.

Angela didn't respond immediately. Instead, she lurched forward, enveloping Ciel in an unexpected embrace. He stiffened at the contact, his body instinctively recoiling from the sudden intimacy.

"Oh, Ciel," Angela's voice was thick with emotion, muffled against his shoulder. "It's all gone so terribly wrong."

Ciel's mind raced, torn between the instinct to comfort his distraught aunt and the nagging voice of caution that whispered of potential deception. His hands remained at his sides, neither returning the embrace nor pushing her away.

"Aunt Angela," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "I can't help if you don't explain what's going on. What's happened?"

As he spoke, Ciel's eye darted around the hallway, checking for any observers. Whatever was unfolding here, he couldn't afford to let his guard down. Not when every shadow at Weston potentially concealed a threat.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel stepped backward, guiding Angela into the room without breaking her embrace. He shut the door with a soft click, acutely aware of the need for privacy. His hand awkwardly patted her back, a poor imitation of comfort. "There, there," he muttered, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.

As Angela's sobs subsided, she pulled back slightly. "Vincent's returned," she managed, her voice raw. "But Ciel, it's all gone horribly awry."

Ciel's visible eye widened, a jolt of shock coursing through him. "Hold on," he demanded, his voice sharp with urgency. "Father's back? Where did you see him?"

"The auction hall," Angela replied, her words tumbling out in a rush. "He and William were there. I think they fought. But Ciel, there's more." She paused, her eyes searching his face. "William... he admitted his true intentions. He never meant to simply bring Vincent back. He planned to kill him all along."

"What?" Ciel breathed, his mind reeling. The implications of Angela's words crashed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep away what little certainty he had left.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The realization hit Ciel like a physical blow. William had been lying to him from the start. He cursed himself for ever believing a word that had passed the Chancellor's lips. A chilling thought crept into his mind – had William succeeded in killing Vincent? The mere possibility made Ciel's throat constrict, and his mouth suddenly bone dry.

"What exactly did William do?" Ciel pressed, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Angela shook her head, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Nothing yet. Vincent seemed to gain the upper hand in their confrontation. But I'm at a loss, Ciel. William even turned his threats on me. You must do something."

"Alright, calm yourself," Ciel replied, his tone measured despite the turmoil in his mind. "I'll see what can be done." The words felt hollow; in truth, he hadn't the faintest idea of how to proceed.

As Angela's ragged breathing slowly steadied, Ciel's mind raced. If his deductions were correct, William was now actively trying to eliminate both him and his father. But why? Was Vincent truly such a threat, as William had claimed the school board believed? Or was there something deeper, more sinister at play?

"Oh, Ciel," Angela breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "You truly are the most wonderful nephew one could ask for." Something in her tone struck a discordant note, setting Ciel's nerves on edge. She turned to leave, a smile playing across her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes.

As Angela swept out of the room, something small and glinting tumbled from her pocket, landing on the floor with a soft clink. She seemed oblivious to the loss, her heels clicking down the hallway.

Ciel waited until her footsteps faded before approaching the fallen object. As he bent to retrieve it, his visible eye widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat.

There, gleaming innocently in the dim light, lay the Phantomhive family ring – the very one his mother had worn without fail, day in and day out. Rachel had guarded that ring jealously, never once removing it from her finger. And yet, here it was, inexplicably in Angela's possession.

A chill ran down Ciel's spine as he cradled the ring in his palm. The weight of it felt wrong, as if it carried far more than just metal and gemstones. His mind raced, grappling with this new piece of the puzzle that refused to fit.

"But why?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, unanswered and foreboding.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

A nagging intuition drove Ciel back to Sebastian's office, the weight ring feeling heavy in his pocket. If Angela had possessed it, surely Sebastian must know something. He found himself outside the familiar door, his knuckles hovering for a moment before rapping against the wood.

Sebastian swung the door open, his expression infuriatingly composed. "Ah, I had a feeling you'd grace me with your presence again," he purred, a knowing glint in his eye.

Ciel's visible eye narrowed. "Did you now?"

"Indeed," Sebastian's lips curled into a smirk. "My irresistible charm was bound to lure you back eventually."

"Your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?" Ciel scoffed, fighting the urge to roll his eye. "Are you going to let me in, or shall we conduct our business in the hallway?"

Sebastian's smirk widened as he stepped aside with a flourish. "By all means, do come in."

As Ciel crossed the threshold, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into the spider's web once again. Yet, with the weight of the ring in his pocket and the myriad of unanswered questions swirling in his mind, he knew he had little choice but to play Sebastian's game - for now.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel strode into Sebastian's office, his posture taut with tension. As Sebastian closed the door with a soft click, Ciel produced the ring, its sapphire glinting in the dim light. "Care to explain why Angela had this in her possession?"

Sebastian's head tilted, his expression one of calculated innocence. "Is that ring supposed to hold some significance?"

"Don't insult my intelligence," Ciel snapped. "It's the Phantomhive family ring."

Sebastian's lips curled into that infuriating smirk. "My, such venom in your voice. Well, I can't say I've ever laid eyes on it before," Sebastian mused, his tone maddeningly casual. "What makes Angela's possession of it so peculiar?"

"It belonged to my mother," Ciel snapped, frustration evident in his clipped words. "She never removed the blasted thing. Not once."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Sebastian mused, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "One wonders if our dear Angela might know more about Rachel Phantomhive's whereabouts than she's let on."

The suggestion sent Ciel's mind reeling. The notion of his mother willingly parting with the ring, let alone giving it to Angela, seemed absurd. Yet if Angela knew of Rachel's location, why maintain her silence?

"You truly claim no knowledge of this?" Ciel pressed, his tone laced with skepticism.

"None whatsoever," Sebastian replied smoothly. "Though I imagine your thoughts mirror my own. 'If Angela was aware of Rachel Phantomhive's location, why has she remained so tight-lipped?' Unless..." He paused, a dark amusement dancing in his crimson eyes as they bored into Ciel's. "Perhaps Angela... disposed of Rachel herself."

The weight of Sebastian's words hung in the air, heavy with sinister implications. Ciel felt his blood run cold, the possibility he'd been avoiding finally given voice.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Bloody hell," Ciel muttered, his carefully constructed facade cracking slightly. "You can't possibly think..."

Sebastian's eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "In our world, my dear Ciel, we must entertain every possibility, no matter how distasteful. After all, we've seen firsthand the depths to which people will sink."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A cold fury ignited in Ciel's chest, spreading through his veins like poison. If Sebastian's insinuations held any truth, the sheer audacity of Angela's performance was staggering. To have the gall to appear at his door, weeping and seeking comfort, all while potentially harboring such a dark secret...

His hand clenched around the ring in his pocket, its edges biting into his palm. The pain grounded him, a sharp reminder of the stakes at play.

"My, my," Sebastian drawled, a hint of approval coloring his tone. "It seems our little pawn is finally beginning to see the true nature of the game board."

Sebastian's eyes glinted with sudden remembrance. "Ah, I nearly forgot. I have something for you." He glided to his desk, retrieving an object from a drawer with fluid grace. As he placed it on the polished surface, Ciel's eye widened in recognition.

A switchblade knife gleamed under the office lights.

"Use it as you see fit," Sebastian purred, his tone deceptively casual.

Ciel's brow furrowed, suspicion coloring his voice. "What in blazes would I need a knife for?"

Sebastian's smile was all teeth. "Need I remind you of your precarious position? Self-preservation is paramount in our little game."

As much as Ciel loathed to admit it, Sebastian's logic was sound. With unseen enemies lurking in every shadow, paranoia had become his constant companion. His fingers twitched towards the blade, the weight of it promising a modicum of security in this treacherous world he'd found himself in.

"Fine," Ciel muttered, pocketing the knife with feigned nonchalance. "But don't think for a moment this means I trust you."

"One last thing," Sebastian purred, producing a slip of paper from his pocket with theatrical flair. "My personal number. Should you find yourself in... a tight spot."

Ciel scoffed, even as he pocketed the paper. "How dreadfully chivalrous of you," he sneered, his words dripping with venomous sarcasm. "Playing the gallant knight to my helpless damsel. I assure you, I'm more than capable of handling myself."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Of course," Sebastian replied, his smile sharp as a blade. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a Phantomhive. Consider it a mere... precaution."

"A precaution," Ciel echoed, his eye narrowing. "Or another way to keep tabs on me?"

Sebastian's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Can't it be both?"

Ciel turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Again, this doesn’t mean I’m letting my guard down around you, Sebastian.”

"Oh?" Sebastian's voice was silky smooth, laced with amusement. "That's not quite the impression I got when your lips were on mine."

Ciel froze, his body going rigid. He turned slowly, his face flushing crimson. "That... that was a momentary lapse in judgment," he stammered, struggling to maintain his composure.

Sebastian's smile widened, predatory and pleased. "Ah, but what a delightful lapse it was. When shall we discuss it properly, I wonder?"

"There's nothing to discuss," Ciel snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

"Such a tease," Sebastian purred, his tone dripping with flirtation.

Ciel felt his face burn hotter. Without another word, he yanked the door open and bolted from the room, Sebastian's low, sensual chuckle following him down the hallway.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                         Thirty years ago

Vincent's acquaintance with Rachel blossomed exponentially when he was finally introduced to her sister, Angelina Dalles, who had also gone to Weston. The contrast between the siblings was immediately apparent. Where Rachel was a picture of understated elegance, Angelina was a vibrant shock to the senses. Her hair blazed a brilliant red, a stark contrast to her alabaster skin. But it was her eyes that truly arrested Vincent's attention - twin rubies that seemed to glow with an inner fire.

Rachel's demeanor was one of quiet confidence, a gentle strength that drew people in without overwhelming them. Angelina, on the other hand, radiated an effervescent energy. Her personality was as bold as her appearance, filling any room she entered with an almost palpable vitality.

The sisters were like night and day, each compelling in their own unique way. Vincent found himself intrigued by the dynamic between them, wondering how two such different women could share the same blood.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

When Vincent and Rachel would have outings together, Angela would tag along, her presence adding a vibrant energy to the atmosphere. But there was an undercurrent of something. Vincent couldn’t help but notice the way Angela looked at him. The way her gaze lingered on him with eyes full of adoration and…something else Vincent found unexplainable at the time.

Vincent knew that Angela didn’t like her hair, and that it was a constant source of insecurity for her, so he constantly made it a point to compliment her hair.

“Hey, Angela.” He called out, breaking her out of her own reverie. They sat on the grass, staring at the lake across from them absentmindedly. Rachel’s absence, having excused herself for a brief period, left them with a rare moment of solitude.

She glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Yes?”

“Your hair looks beautiful.” He complimented, giving her a radiant smile.

Heat rose to Angela’s cheeks, and she looked away. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course,” Vincent affirmed, his tone genuine. “How many times do I have to say it? You’re quite the catch. Any man would be lucky to have you.” 

Angela’s smile dropped at the last part of that sentence, suddenly finding interest in the small pebble nestled along the grassy plain beneath them. And with a swift motion, she threw it into the lake. 

The pebble hit the lake’s surface with a small ‘plop’, that created a ripple effect on the lake. The action was sudden, but spoke volumes, as if she was trying to cast away her dejection at Vincent’s well-intentioned words.

Vincent’s obliviousness to her feelings always gave her a sharp pain in her heart. He was her everything, but all he ever thought of her was that she was his girlfriend’s sister. Despite being the more exuberant sister, she always lived in her older sister’s shadow no matter how much she tried to get out from under it.

Chapter XXI: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XII: Ten Of Swords

Rain poured down, the droplets pitter-pattering on the pavement as Ciel stood before the auction house. Lighting lit up the night sky, as the thunder crackled echoing Ciel’s fear, anticipation, and nervousness. The hood of his hoodie was pulled low, casting a shadow over his face.

He twirled the Phantomhive ring in between his fingers, in deep thought. Ciel was tired of being lied to. It was time to get some answers. Sebastian’s insinuation had gnawed at him. If true, it meant that Angela from the very beginning was trying to weasel her way back into his life with an ulterior motive. But what was her endgame? Did she want the Phantomhive name? Or was it the family fortune she wanted? Or, was it a mixture of both?

With decisive steps, Ciel approached the gate. His voice was steady, and eerily calm, despite his spiraling emotions that threatened to come to the surface. “Let me in, I need to speak with my aunt.”

The security guard didn’t answer, but instead tapped his earpiece, listening to whoever was on the other end. After a bit of muted conversation, he nodded. “Come in,” he replied after a moment of confirmation, his tone clipped and professional.

Ciel strode past the gates, entering the auction house. His heart raced. With each step, he hoped that Angela was hosting one of her ‘auctions’.

He arrived at the main hall, opening the door, to see Angela tampering with the stage equipment, too engrossed in what she was doing to notice Ciel walk in. The sound of water dripping from his hood broke the silence.

“Angela,” Ciel called out, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

Angela spun around with a jolt, startled. “Ciel! What a surprise. What brings you here?”

Getting straight to business, Ciel whipped out the ring, showing it to Angela. “This fell out of your pocket. What were you doing with this?”

Angela’s eyes widened slightly before her expression went back to neutrality. “That old thing? Rachel gave it to me.”

“When?” Ciel’s tone was sharp.

Angela let out a strained laugh, “I don’t keep a diary of every little thing that happens, Ciel. Do you?”

“Enough lies!” Ciel exclaimed, even surprising himself with the anger in his voice. “I’m sick of the lies. You know, don’t you? You know where my mother is.”

“Why would I know where she is? You’re not making sense.”

A terrible realization then dawned on him. “What you told me about my father’s return. Was that all a lie?” 

“Ciel, please, I need you to calm down-“

In a move that even shocked himself, Ciel took the switchblade from his pocket, leveling it at Angela’s throat.

"No more games," he hissed, eyes blazing. "The truth. Now."

Angela gulped.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Angela reluctantly gave in, putting her hands up. “Just…lower that.”

“Not a chance.”

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t lie about Vincent. He did return. However, I currently don’t know where he is.”

Ciel's grip tightened on the blade. "Next question. The ring. How did you get it?"

“Ciel, please-“

“Answer. The. Question.” Ciel glared, each syllable punctuated by his barely contained rage. His hand trembled as he gripped the switchblade.

Angela’s eyes then flickered to his unsteady hand, then, her facade collapsed. A smirk terrifyingly stretched across her face. “You don’t have the guts.” She taunted, her voice dripping with a newfound confidence. It was as if she had just realized who she was dealing with. Her demeanor shifted from cornered prey to the predator.

“Angela, this is unbecoming of you.” A familiar silky voice interjected.

Ciel whipped around, to face Sebastian who was standing behind him. No longer aiming the switchblade at Angela’s throat. “Sebastian?” His eyes widened in shock.

There stood his professor, who had placed a hand on Ciel’s shoulder, his signature smirk gracing his features.

Angela’s voice dripped with disdain. “Sebastian, surely you can see that this brat isn’t cut out for our world. He’s weak, incapable.” 

“On the contrary,” Sebastian purred, “I think he’s quite capable.”

“What? You can’t be serious,” Angela erupted peals of laughter, doubling over.

Ciel’s gaze darted between them, frustration evident. “I’m still here, and I’m not done with you, Angela.”

Angela’s laughter subsided, dramatically wiping away a nonexistent tear. “I’ll entertain you, then. I killed Rachel Phantomhive, my dearest sister.”

Ciel’s mouth went dry. Angela’s declaration was so bold, he couldn’t believe it. “What?”

“Are you hard of hearing? I pried this ring off her cold dead fingers.”

Ciel’s voice came out, barely a whisper. “Why?”

“She was simply a nuisance. She cast me out of the family, which is why I was never at family gatherings. I didn’t abandon the family, I was disregarded, treated like trash, because I don’t bear the Phantomhive surname.”

Sebastian then chimed in, “That’s only the half of the story.”

“What are you talking about?” Angela snapped.

Sebastian then took out a small book from his pocket, walking in between Angela and Ciel. Angela’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Ciel, this is Angela’s diary from her school days at Weston. She seemed to harbor quite the infatuation with your father.”

“Give me that!” Angela lunged for the book, only to be deftly sidestepped by Sebastian.

His voice took on a mocking tilt as he read aloud: “‘Vincent is so dreamy, like a prince out of a fairy tale. If only he wasn’t my sister’s boyfriend, I’d have snatched him up myself. My sister always gets everything she wants. Sometimes I wish she would just drop dead.’”

Ciel balked at the revelation, unsure of what to say. Was Sebastian really insinuating that…Angela killed his mother because of a crush she had years ago.

Sebastian’s voice cut through the cool air like a bullet, “You still harbor feelings for him, don’t you? That’s why you got involved with the cult in the first place, because of him. When he disappeared, You wanted to bring him back no matter what, and wanted to have him all to yourself, no matter who got in your way-“

"You've got it all wrong," Angela interjected, her voice dripping with disdain. Sebastian's eyebrow arched elegantly, a flicker of intrigue dancing in his crimson eyes.

"Oh? Do enlighten us then," he purred his tone a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

Angela's lips curled into a bitter smile. "My dear sister always had everything handed to her on a silver platter. I was left wondering, 'Why am I never the chosen one?'" Her voice took on a razor's edge. "And then she had you, Ciel. The perfect little heir. It only served to deepen the chasm between us."

Her gaze fixed on Ciel, eyes glinting with a mixture of malice and long-suppressed pain. "From the moment you drew your first breath, I resented your very existence."

Ciel's visible eye widened, a cocktail of shock and disbelief evident in his features. "You... resented me?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of this revelation clearly unsettling him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel shook off his unbalanced feelings, continuing with his questioning, “But, there’s a discrepancy here. My parents disappeared together during a ‘business trip’. If what you’re saying is true, you must’ve been able to isolate and then…dispose of her.” Ciel felt strange talking about his own mother’s potential death.

Angela’s face contorted into a scowl, deliberately avoiding Ciel’s probing question. Her gaze shifted accusatorially toward Sebastian “Where did you even get that?” Angela demanded, pointing at the diary in Sebastian’s possession.

Sebastian’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “I propose a trade.” He purred, his slender fingers ghosting over the diary’s cover. “I tell you once you answer Ciel’s question, a fair trade, don’t you think?”

A look of frustration flashes across Angela’s visage. She clicked her tongue in annoyance before finally giving in. “If you really must know,” she began, her voice tight with barely contained anger, “I orchestrated a separation. It wasn’t as straightforward as you’re imagining.”

“You…orchestrated a separation? That’s remarkably vague. Elaborate.” Ciel’s tone was sharp, his visible eye narrowing.

Angela’s lips curled into a sneer, her patience visibly wearing thin. “For Vincent’s son, you are remarkably slow on the uptake. Very well, I’ll spell it out for you.”

She shifted her weight, one hand resting on her hip as she let out an exasperated sigh. "For weeks, I kept the Phantomhive manor under surveillance, paying particular attention to Vincent. It became increasingly clear that he was distancing himself from the cult. Even as an outsider, I could see the writing on the wall."

Angela's eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and malice as she continued, "Then, fortune smiled upon me. One night, I managed to sneak into the manor while all of you were sleeping. Vincent's computer proved laughably easy to access - your birthday as the password? How charming.”

Her voice took on a tone of dark amusement. "Lo and behold, he'd left a browser tab open. Flight bookings for two to the United States. Just two, mind you, not three. It didn't take a genius to deduce he was planning to flee with Rachel, leaving everything - and everyone - else behind."

Ciel's fingers instinctively tightened around the switchblade’s hilt, the weight of the weapon suddenly very present in his hand. Sebastian's keen gaze flickered to Ciel's white-knuckled grip, a flicker of interest crossing his features.

Oblivious to the mounting tension, Angela pressed on with her chilling narrative. "The next step was simple enough - I orchestrated a little vehicular chaos to throw a wrench in their plans. A hired hand, a staged collision, and suddenly their carefully laid escape was in disarray."

Her lips curled into a cold smile as she continued, "In the ensuing confusion, it was child's play to manipulate Vincent into urging Rachel to take a separate car to the airport, while he handled the aftermath of the vehicle collision. Of course, the 'helpful' driver was another of my pawns. Instead of the airport, he delivered her straight into my waiting arms at the auction house." 

Angela's voice dropped to a near whisper, her eyes glinting with a mix of triumph and something darker. "And there, in this den of secrets, I finally rid myself of my dear sister."

Angela's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "You know what, Sebastian? I find I've lost interest in how you acquired my diary. What truly intrigues me is your apparent allegiance to my darling nephew." Her voice dripped with false hurt. "After all we've shared, I'm wounded. Tell me, what's your ultimate objective in this little game?"

Sebastian's response was as smooth as silk. "There is no ulterior motive."

A harsh laugh escaped Angela's lips. "Oh, come now. Are you merely putting on a show for my dear nephew? Surely your scheme is far too vital to abandon so easily."

A chilling laugh escaped Ciel's lips, the sound brittle and devoid of humor. Both Angela and Sebastian stared, caught off guard by this unexpected reaction.

"How utterly contemptible," Ciel sneered, his visible eye glinting with a mixture of disgust and something darker. "You murdered my mother over petty jealousy? Your depravity knows no bounds, does it?"

He found himself oddly detached from Angela's insinuations about Sebastian's hidden agenda. At that moment, he realized he simply didn't care anymore. Sebastian's earlier words echoed in his mind - people like this were cockroaches. A bone-deep weariness settled over Ciel, the weight of all he'd endured finally taking its toll.

Angela opened her mouth to speak, but that was cut off as Ciel, driven by a surge of long-suppressed rage, launched himself at her. The switchblade flashed in the dim light as he struck, again and again. He watched as blood started to pour from Angela’s mouth, a sick feeling of satisfaction taking over.

As Ciel stood over her, chest heaving, Angela's lips curved into an unexpected smile. It was genuine, devoid of malice or mockery, catching Ciel completely off-guard.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible as the light faded from her eyes.

Why was Angela thanking him? He had just taken her life and she was smiling at him. Thanking him for killing her. It didn’t make sense.

The bloodied knife trembling in his grasp, and he dropped the knife. For a fleeting moment, as the full weight of his actions threatened to overwhelm him.

No.

No.

He refused to let remorse consume him. Not this time. Not ever again. Ciel's gaze drifted to Sebastian, the bloodied knife still clutched in his trembling hand. Angela was no better than Alois - vermin that needed to be exterminated. It was a necessary evil.

“How cruel,” Ciel remarked, as he dropped to his knees in front of Angela’s body.

      ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian observed Ciel kneeling before Angela's lifeless form, a solitary tear tracing a path down his cheek. An unfamiliar sensation tugged at Sebastian's chest, one he promptly attempted to dismiss as an inconvenient distraction.

Unable to bear the scene any longer, Sebastian began to turn away. Ciel's voice, however, halted him mid-motion.

"Wait," Ciel called out, his tone surprisingly vulnerable. "Stay."

Something in Ciel's plea rooted Sebastian to the spot as if he'd been transformed into a statue. He willed himself not to turn back, dreading the expression he might find on Ciel's face.

Once more, Sebastian attempted to leave, only to hear soft footsteps trailing behind him. Suddenly, he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.

"Don't go." Ciel's words were barely a whisper as he rested his forehead against Sebastian's back, seeking an anchor in the storm of his emotions.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

                           4 years ago

Rachel sat rigidly in the back seat, her eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where she caught the driver’s sneaky glances. Unease settled in her stomach as she had realized quite some time ago that g they were not heading to the airport.

Her upper lip quivered almost imperceptibly, the only outward sign of her fear. Who was this driver? What did he want? And where was he taking her? These questions flooded her mind, knowing that what awaited her likely wasn’t pleasant.
 
With subtlety, Rachel scanned her surroundings. Her breath caught in her throat as she noticed the metallic glint of a gun resting against the driver’s seat. The presence of the gun was an unspoken threat. Rachel then glanced out the window, noticing the car’s breakneck speed. 

A thought of escape flashed in her mind, but reality quickly extinguished that fleeting hope. If she were to jump out, it would most definitely mean instantaneous death for her. Even if, by some miracle, she did survive the fall, she would be critically injured, and the armed driver would catch up to her, and likely haul her back into the car.

How had a single trip to escape this nightmare Vincent had gotten himself in gone so wrong? And did they take Vincent too? Or was it just her? As all of these came to her, Rachel unconsciously twisted the Phantomhive ring that sat on her ring finger, a small comfort in the growing terror ahead.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"I’m calling the cops, You've wrecked my car!" The other driver's voice rose in pitch, a mix of anger and panic coloring his words.

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly to temper his mounting frustration. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him - he was the victim here, yet somehow found himself on the defensive. 

"Sir," Vincent began, his tone measured but firm, "I believe you've misunderstood the situation. You were the one who collided with my vehicle, not the other way around." He paused, surveying the damage with a critical eye. "I'm confident we can resolve this matter between ourselves. There's really no need to involve law enforcement."

As he spoke, Vincent's mind raced, acutely aware of the precious minutes ticking away. Every moment spent here was a moment Rachel drew further away, heading towards what he hoped was still the airport. The sooner he could extricate himself from this mess, the better.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Vincent's eyes darted between the man and the damaged vehicles, his mind calculating swiftly. With a practiced casualness that belied his inner urgency, he reached into his breast pocket. His fingers brushed past the plane tickets - a stark reminder of the stakes at hand - before closing around a thick fold of bills. “The damage looks largely superficial, so I propose we settle this amicably. Two hundred pounds should do more than any cover minor repairs. We’ll go our separate ways, no authorities involved, no tedious paperwork. A clean, simple, resolution for us both.”

As he spoke, Vincent maintained steady eye contact with the other driver, his expression a carefully crafted mask of reasonableness and calm. Inwardly, however, his thoughts raced. Every second spent here was a second too long, a second that widened the gap between him and Rachel. He silently willed the man to accept, acutely aware of how much hung in the balance of this seemingly mundane interaction.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The other driver's eyes flickered between Vincent's face and the proffered cash, indecision warring across his features. After a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, his hand darted out, snatching the bills with an almost guilty swiftness.

Without a word, the man turned on his heel and clambered back into his vehicle. The car's engine sputtered to life, and Vincent watched as it pulled away, taillights receding into the distance.

A long, shaky exhale escaped Vincent's lips, tension draining from his shoulders. The relief was palpable but short-lived. His gaze snapped to his watch, and a fresh wave of anxiety washed over him. Time, always his enemy, seemed to mock him now.

"Damn it all," he muttered under his breath, yanking open his car door. As he slid behind the wheel, his mind raced through calculations - traffic patterns, alternative routes, the unforgiving schedule of commercial flights. 

The engine roared to life, and Vincent peeled away from the curb, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. A silent mantra played in his head: It's not too late. I can still make it. I have to make it.

Little did Vincent know, as he sped towards what he hoped was a reunion with Rachel, that fate had already set in motion a series of events that would alter the course of his life irrevocably.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The car's sudden halt jolted Rachel from her anxious reverie. Before them loomed a building she didn't recognize, its façade an ominous blend of shadow and stone. Rachel's heart, already racing, now thundered against her ribcage with renewed intensity. Each beat seemed to echo the mounting dread that threatened to overwhelm her.

With fluid, practiced movements, the driver retrieved his weapon. The metallic click as he checked the chamber sent a chill down Rachel's spine. She watched, paralyzed, as he exited the vehicle, his footsteps crunching on gravel as he rounded the car to her side.

The door flew open. Before Rachel could react, a rough hand clamped around her upper arm, yanking her from the relative safety of the backseat. She stumbled, her legs weak from fear and the long drive. The driver's grip tightened, bruisingly strong, as he steadied her.

In one swift motion, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against her temple. Rachel's breath caught in her throat, the world narrowing to the point of contact between steel and skin. The Phantomhive ring on her finger - once a symbol of love and family - now felt like a leaden weight, a reminder of all she stood to lose.

As the driver began to steer her towards the building, Rachel's mind raced. Where was Vincent? What was this place? And most pressingly, would she ever see her beloved Ciel again?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The imposing security guards flanking the entrance stepped aside, granting them silent passage. Rachel felt a chill run down her spine as the driver steered her through the threshold and into the building's shadowy interior. Their footsteps echoed ominously as they traversed the empty corridors, finally emerging into what appeared to be a grand theatre.

Rachel's eyes darted around the space, taking in the rows of plush seats and the ornate proscenium arch framing the stage. The gun pressed against her back served as a grim reminder of her powerlessness in this surreal situation.

Without warning, the heavy velvet curtains on the stage began to part with a soft rustle. Rachel's breath caught in her throat as a figure was revealed, bathed in a harsh spotlight. Her mind reeled, refusing to accept the identity of the person standing before her.

"Angela?" Rachel's voice was barely a whisper, a mixture of disbelief and dawning horror coloring her tone.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Dearest sister!" Angela's voice dripped with false sweetness, her eyes glinting with malice. "I've been eagerly anticipating your arrival."

Rachel's mouth opened, but Angela cut her off before she could speak. "Oh, spare me the predictable questions. They're such a bore, aren't they? I orchestrated this little reunion for a reason, so let's not waste time on trivialities."

"You... you're behind this?" Rachel's voice trembled, disbelief warring with growing horror.

Angela's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Indeed. You see, from the moment we were born, you've been a thief. You stole everything - our parents' affection, my friends, and even..." Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper, "My first love."

"Your first...?" Rachel's eyes widened as realization dawned.

"How delightfully oblivious you've always been," Angela spat, her composure cracking. "You dismissed it as a mere infatuation, but it was so much more. And you," her voice rose, quivering with long-suppressed rage, "you crucified me for something that never even happened between Vincent and me!"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Angela's face glinted with conflicted emotions, “That night at the bar with Vincent? It wasn't what you thought. You see, the cult that ensnared your precious husband? I'm part of it."

She paused, her voice slightly cracking at the beginning, "I joined to be closer to him, to win him over. But it all backfired spectacularly." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "So, dear sister, just as you've frozen me out all these years, I've decided it's time to return the favor." 

Her face suddenly hardened, all pretense of sisterly affection vanishing. Without any further words, she nodded at the driver who was still holding Rachel, as if they were speaking some noncommunicative language.

The driver suddenly took the gun from Rachel’s temple, scooping Rachel up in a grotesque parody of a bridal carry. Her frantic kicks and screams did nothing to deter him as he strode purposefully towards an adjoining room. As they crossed the threshold, Rachel's cries caught in her throat.

The room before her was a nightmarish perversion of a butcher's shop. Instead of animal carcasses, human remains hung from gleaming metal hooks, their lifeless forms swaying gently in the chill air. The sight jolted Rachel back to horrifying reality.

"Please!" she shrieked, her voice raw with terror. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Unmoved by her pleas, the driver carried her deeper into this chamber of horrors. At the far end loomed a massive icebox, its imposing presence made even more sinister by the unlocked padlock swinging from its latch.

With brutal efficiency, the driver wrenched open the icebox lid. In one fluid motion, he hurled Rachel into its icy depths. She barely had time to gasp before the lid slammed shut above her, plunging her into darkness.

The ominous click of the lock engaging echoed in the confined space. Rachel's fists pounded against the unyielding lid, her screams of "LET ME OUT!" growing increasingly desperate as the cold began to seep into her bones.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
 
                          Present Time

Sebastian's crimson eyes remained locked on Ciel, drinking in every nuance of the young man's demeanor. Ciel sat rigid in one of the auction hall's plush red seats, a study in stillness amidst chaos. His visible eye, usually alight with calculation, now stared vacantly at Angela's lifeless form sprawled on the stage before him.

The once-vibrant auction hall had transformed into a tableau of muted horror. Shadows seemed to creep from every corner, swallowing the gaudy opulence that Sebastian typically reveled in. This newfound gloom, heavy with the weight of recent events, settled over the room like a shroud, much to Sebastian's distaste. The stagnant air, thick with the lingering echoes of violence, offended his refined senses, leaving him yearning for the electric anticipation that usually charged his carefully orchestrated scenes.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The Phantomhive ring glinted as Ciel absently twirled it between his fingers, a hypnotic dance of metal and gemstone.

Despite the heavy atmosphere, Sebastian found himself captivated by the sight of Ciel taking Angela's life. When Ciel had first mentioned Angela's unexpected visit, Sebastian recognized it as a pivotal opportunity, one too valuable to let slip away. With calculated precision, he had ensured the knife found its way into Ciel's hands, knowing full well the young man's capacity for violence. Sebastian had orchestrated this scenario, confident that Ciel would once again cross the threshold into murder.

Sebastian's victory was tempered by curiosity about Angela's true motives for approaching Ciel. Had she aimed to pit Ciel against William? And if so, why? Though Angela's death had rendered these questions seemingly moot, Sebastian's instincts told him that this loose end wouldn't remain unresolved forever. In his experience, such mysteries had a way of unveiling themselves, often at the most inopportune moments.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"My, my," Sebastian's silky voice sliced through the heavy silence. "I must say, you're handling this with remarkable composure. One might almost think you unmoved by such a... personal act."

Ciel's response came low and measured, his visible eye fixed on a point beyond Sebastian. "She wouldn't have disposed of the body. Not my mother's."

Sebastian's eyebrow arched, a flicker of intrigue dancing in his crimson eyes. "Oh? And what brings you to such a macabre conclusion?"

As Ciel attempted to rise, Sebastian extended a hand, hovering just inches from the young man's shoulder. Ciel's gaze flickered to the offered assistance, a muscle in his jaw tightening. "I don't require your help," he said, each word crisp and final.

Rising to his feet without assistance, Ciel adjusted his jacket with an air of forced composure. Yet, despite his earlier rebuff, Sebastian noticed how Ciel unconsciously gravitated towards him, his body betraying a need for proximity his words denied. 

"Angela mentioned killing her here, in the auction house," Ciel continued his voice barely above a whisper. "Her body must still be on these premises."

Sebastian's brow furrowed slightly. "Intriguing theory, but wouldn't the stench of decay have alerted us to its presence by now?"

Ciel's eye gleamed with grim determination. "Not if she was preserved somehow."

Sebastian's eyes gleamed with fascination as he studied Ciel. The boy's mind seemed to be operating on an even keener analytical level than usual. He couldn't help but wonder if this heightened state was a result of Ciel forcibly suppressing his emotions about the violent deaths of both his mother and aunt. The psychological implications were utterly captivating.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Preserved?" Sebastian echoed, a note of skepticism in his voice. "In the butcher's cold room, perhaps? But surely we would have noticed a corpse among the other... merchandise."

"There has to be a more concealed location," Ciel pressed on, his mind racing. "A hidden compartment, or maybe... a freezer?"

Sebastian's eyes widened as realization struck. "The icebox," he breathed, pieces falling into place. "There's a locked icebox that William and I never paid much attention to. Could that be...?"

Ciel strode silently into the butcher's cold room, Sebastian following with keen interest. As they entered, a blast of frigid air enveloped them. Sebastian observed Ciel's reaction as the young man's gaze swept over the grisly "merchandise" before quickly averting his eyes, revulsion evident in his expression.

“You’ll become…accustomed to it, being surrounded by death constantly eventually dulls its impact,” Sebastian found himself saying, surprising even himself with the attempt at consolation. These unfamiliar feelings, though somewhat more comprehensible now, still caught him off guard with their manifestations.

“I don’t want to get accustomed to it.” Ciel retorted sharply, cautiously navigating around the suspended bodies, careful to avoid any contact.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel made his way to the back of the room, Sebastian following closely. Sebastian watched as Ciel cautiously approached the icebox, kneeling to examine the padlock.

"It's locked, alright," Ciel muttered. He glanced up at Sebastian. "Don't suppose you know how to pick a lock?"

Sebastian's lips quirked into a slight smirk. "Unfortunately, that particular skill eludes me."

Ciel's brow furrowed in thought. "Charles knows how to pick locks."

"Charles?" Sebastian's tone sharpened. "Involving him after William's explicit orders would be"

"You don't seem to care much about William's orders," Ciel interrupted his visible eye narrowing. "It doesn't seem like your goals align with the cult's at all."

Sebastian's eyebrow arched elegantly. "Oh? And how would you presume to know that? You're hardly privy to the cult's objectives, Ciel."

"...You're right, I'm not," Ciel conceded, his voice cooling. "But the way you talk about the cult, it's as if they're separate from you." His gaze locked onto Sebastian's, challenging. "Who exactly are you, Sebastian Michaelis?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian felt a rare moment of bewilderment. Ciel had an uncanny ability to catch him off-guard. "Who... am... I?" he echoed, the words feeling foreign on his tongue.

"You're trying to earn my trust, aren't you?" Ciel pressed, his tone sharp. "So why don't you enlighten me about yourself?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly. "Earn your trust? What gives you that impression?"

"The knife you gave me, for one," Ciel replied, rising to face Sebastian. A knowing smirk that seemed forced played across his lips. “Your timely arrival to 'back me up', and let's not forget how you saved me. You want me to trust you." His visible eye glinted with challenge. "But it won't be that easy."

Sebastian felt a flicker of annoyance, his eye twitching almost imperceptibly. It was unusual for him to be on the back foot in their exchanges, and he found the sensation... unsettling. After a moment, he smoothed his features into a mask of cool indifference. Very well, he thought. If this is the game Ciel wants to play, he'd oblige... for now.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"I began as a hospital resident," Sebastian said, his tone measured. "However, I never completed my residency. Instead, I pivoted to academia."

"Is that the origin of those scars on your hands?" Ciel inquired, his gaze sharp.

Sebastian felt a flicker of surprise at Ciel's observation of his faded scars. He nodded, allowing a hint of approval to color his voice. "Indeed. Remnants of surgical practice."

"What prompted your departure?" Ciel pressed his tone a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"William recognized my potential," Sebastian replied smoothly. "He extended an offer to join the University faculty."

"And the cult, I presume," Ciel added, his voice dry.

Sebastian's gaze lingered on Ciel, a mixture of fascination and calculation dancing behind his crimson eyes. This sudden probe into his past was unexpected, and Sebastian found himself intrigued by Ciel's motives. Was this an attempt to deflect from the grim tableau surrounding them, or something more?

The transformation in Ciel was as stark as it was captivating. Gone was the vulnerable youth who had sought solace in Sebastian's arms mere moments ago. In his place stood a figure of sharp inquiry and steely resolve. Yet, beneath this newfound assertiveness, Sebastian could discern the faint tremors of inner turmoil, like aftershocks following an earthquake.

A thrill of satisfaction coursed through Sebastian as he observed this metamorphosis. Ciel's evolution aligned perfectly with the trajectory he had so meticulously planned. Each piece was falling into place with an exquisite precision that bordered on artistry. Yet, even as he reveled in his success, Sebastian found himself captivated by the unexpected nuances in Ciel's performance - the flickers of vulnerability that added depth to his carefully crafted facade.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's visible eye narrowed, his tone sharp with suspicion. "What drove you to join them? And what exactly are the cult's objectives?"

Sebastian's lips curled into a subtle smirk. "At first, our values aligned," he replied, his voice smooth as silk.

"Such as?" Ciel pressed, refusing to let Sebastian off the hook.

Sebastian's eyes glinted with dark amusement. "I view the consumption of human flesh as no different from consuming animals. The cult shares this perspective. However," he paused for effect, "they take it a step further, worshipping a creature from Native American folklore."

Ciel's brow furrowed, a mixture of confusion and disgust crossing his features. "What are you talking about?"

Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Have you ever heard of the wendigo, Ciel?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XII: The End

Chapter Text

Chapter XXIII: The Devil; Part Two

Angela's words kept slithering back into Ciel’s consciousness, stirring up doubts he'd tried to bury:

Angela's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "You know what, Sebastian? I find I've lost interest in how you acquired my diary. What truly intrigues me is your apparent allegiance to my darling nephew." Her voice dripped with false hurt. "After all we've shared, I'm wounded. Tell me, what's your ultimate objective in this little game?"

A maelstrom of doubts swirled in Ciel's mind. Was Sebastian orchestrating an elaborate game, each move calculated to ensnare him? The possibility that Sebastian's apparent care was merely a façade, a tool to manipulate Ciel's trust, left an acrid taste in his mouth. But to what end? What could Sebastian possibly gain from this intricate dance of feigned affection?

Ciel's fingers pressed against his temple, a futile attempt to quell the relentless tide of questions. He let out a weary sigh, disgust at his own preoccupation rising within him. Here he was, mind entangled in thoughts of Sebastian, while the weight of his actions hung heavy around him. The blood of his aunt still stained his hands, the revelation of his mother's fate a raw wound in his chest. Yet, traitorous as it was, his mind kept circling back to those enigmatic crimson eyes and that infuriating smirk.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's mind drifted to his recent visit to the butcher's cold room. The stark contrast between his reactions struck him - where once the grisly sight had shaken him to his core, this time he'd navigated the macabre scene with unsettling ease. It was as if death had become a familiar companion, no longer eliciting the visceral response it once had. The realization sent a chill down his spine, more chilling than the room itself had been.

Two lives had been extinguished by his hand, their blood a permanent stain on his conscience. Yet, Ciel found himself disturbingly calm. Where was the torment, the guilt that should be tearing him apart? Instead, he recalled the intoxicating rush that had surged through him as he'd taken Angela's life. The memory of that euphoria lingered, a dark whisper urging him to experience that thrill again. 

This growing comfort with death, this hunger for the power it brought - it terrified him. But not as much as it should have, and that was perhaps the most frightening realization of all.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The question clawed at the edges of Ciel's mind: Was he metamorphosing into something monstrous? He grappled with the thought, desperately clinging to justifications. It was necessary, unavoidable - he repeated these mantras, trying to drown out the unsettling truth. But the whisper of doubt persisted, reminding him of the dark thrill he'd felt, the rush that had been a little too sweet, a little too addictive.

Lying on his bed, Ciel's gaze fixed on the ceiling, his mind a tumultuous sea of conflicting emotions and rationalizations. Almost unconsciously, his hand reached for the phone beside him. He scrolled through his contacts, fingers hovering over Charles' name before pressing the dial. The futile attempt at connection was met with silence - the line as dead as the bodies that now haunted his conscience. The lack of response felt oddly fitting, a reflection of the moral void he found himself teetering on the edge of.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel's mind drifted back to his and Sebastian's fruitless search for the key at the auction house. He remembered watching Sebastian methodically check Angela's pockets - a long shot, but one they couldn't afford to overlook. The memory of their increasingly desperate hunt, combing through every nook and cranny of the building, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

A sudden realization hit him like a jolt of electricity. Angela's body still lay where it had fallen in the auction hall, a macabre reminder of his actions. Sebastian's smooth assurance that he'd "take care of it" did little to quell Ciel's unease. If anything, the casual way Sebastian had dismissed such a gruesome task only intensified Ciel's discomfort, adding another layer to the growing mountain of questions he had about his enigmatic... what? Ally? Enemy? Something else entirely?

His brooding was abruptly interrupted by a freckled face materializing in his field of vision, paired with a chirpy voice that grated on his already frayed nerves.

"Hey, whatcha doing?" 

Ciel suppressed a sigh. Of course, it was McMillan, his unwelcome intrusion as poorly timed as ever.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel sat up, his visible eye narrowing. "It's nothing," he said curtly, the dismissal automatic. For a fleeting moment, he toyed with the idea of asking McMillan if he could pick locks. The sheer absurdity of involving his seemingly naive roommate in this web of deceit made him discard the notion instantly.

"Doesn't look like nothing to me," McMillan chirped, plopping down on Ciel's mattress with an easy familiarity that made Ciel bristle. "Come on, you can tell me if something's eating at you. I want to help!"

The sudden probing caught Ciel off guard. He leaned back slightly, eyeing McMillan with a mixture of surprise and wariness. "You want to help me?" The question came out sharp, tinged with disbelief.

McMillan's freckled face crinkled with what appeared to be genuine worry. "Well, after that chandelier nearly flattened you, it's pretty clear someone's got it out for you. You know, 'cause of those murders they thought you did." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Someone's trying to do you in, I reckon."

Ciel's visible eye flickered with interest. "Any theories on who might be behind it?" he probed, his tone carefully neutral.

McMillan's freckled face scrunched up in thought before he shook his head. "Not a clue, I'm afraid. But say the word, and I'll help however I can!"

"Why the sudden philanthropy?" Ciel's words dripped with suspicion.

McMillan blinked, genuinely puzzled. "Why not? Aren't we mates?"

Ciel's brow furrowed. This abrupt declaration of friendship echoed Sebastian's earlier claims, setting off alarm bells in his mind. "Fine," he conceded reluctantly. "If I need anything, I'll let you know."

As McMillan beamed at him, a thought struck Ciel like a bolt of lightning. Angela's words about his father's return nagged at him. She'd sworn she wasn't lying. For a moment, Ciel considered confronting William about it but quickly dismissed the idea. If Angela's warnings about William held any truth, approaching him could be disastrous.

Ciel weighed his limited options and a dwindling list of potential allies. The web of deceit surrounding him seemed to grow more tangled with each passing moment.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

William sank into his chair, a weary sigh escaping his lips as he massaged his temples. "A traitor," he muttered, his voice laced with bitter amusement. "How dreadfully predictable." The irony of his situation wasn't lost on him - he, who prided himself on control and order, was now unable to trust a single soul. Not even Sebastian, that cunning bastard who'd wormed his way into becoming an indispensable cog in the cult's machinations.

That blasted chandelier incident had been most illuminating, he mused, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. He'd instructed Sebastian to 'handle' Ciel, but it seemed the two were developing a rapport that was... unexpected, to say the least.

William's eyes narrowed as he recalled the scene - Sebastian, moving with surprising speed to pull Ciel out of harm's way. It mattered little who had orchestrated that little spectacle; what concerned William was Sebastian's actions. He hadn't ordered the man to save the Phantomhive brat. In fact, at this juncture, the boy's continued existence was of no consequence.

"Sebastian, Sebastian," William murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Acting on your own initiative, are we? How... concerning." The thought of Sebastian pursuing his own agenda sent a chill down William's spine. It simply wouldn't do to have such a wild card in play, not when the stakes were this high.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Enter," William called out, his voice crisp and authoritative in response to the knock. The door swung open, revealing Claude's stoic figure. William's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Claude, another potential loose end in this increasingly tangled web.

A fleeting thought crossed William's mind - could Claude be the traitor? But no, he dismissed the notion almost as quickly as it had formed. Claude was woefully ignorant of the full scope of their operations. William had never even deigned to show him the auction house. The man was so far removed from the inner workings of the cult that he might as well have been a mere spectator.

William's lips tightened into a thin line as he recalled the sequence of events. Claude had stumbled into their world well after Sebastian. Those extra months of acquaintance with Sebastian had bred a familiarity that William didn't share with Claude. It wasn't trust, per se - William trusted no one fully - but Sebastian had proven his utility time and again.

Claude, on the other hand, remained an enigma. His motivations, his true capabilities, his loyalties - all shrouded in ambiguity. A wild card, William mused, and in this high-stakes game, wild cards were liabilities he could ill afford.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Claude's voice, as impassive as ever, cut through the silence. "You summoned me, Chancellor?"

William's eyes glinted with a calculating light. "Indeed. Come closer, Claude. I have a... delicate matter to discuss."

Claude approached, his movements measured and cautious. "What is this about?"

William leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I'm about to divulge information I've shared with no one else." He paused, gauging Claude's reaction. "Vincent Phantomhive lives. He's returned."

Claude's face remained an impenetrable mask, betraying nothing. "You don't seem particularly pleased by this development," he observed coolly.

"Astute as ever," William replied, a hint of sarcasm coloring his tone. "My grand design was to use young Ciel as bait, drawing Vincent back to Weston. The endgame? Vincent's demise." His lips twisted into a grimace. "But the bastard slipped through our fingers. He's in the wind now."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William paused, his eyes narrowing as he fixed Claude with an intense stare. "But that's not all. Vincent had the audacity to suggest there's a turncoat among us. He claimed the school board is baying for my blood." His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "Now, how do you suppose he came by such... sensitive information? Someone must have made a little trip to the school board's inner sanctum, spilling secrets like a punctured wine main once Vincent promised to offer them compensation.”

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

A supposed traitor presented Claude with the perfect opportunity to spread his wings, to prove his worth - perhaps even surpass Sebastian in William's esteem.

"A traitor?" Claude's voice carried a hint of feigned concern. "Surely you don't suspect that I-"

"No, I don't," William cut him off curtly. "I called you here to seek your input on the matter."

Claude couldn't quite suppress a flicker of surprise. William, asking for his advice? His position as Vice Chancellor suddenly seemed to carry real weight. This unexpected turn was... most fortuitous.

"If we're dealing with a traitor," Claude began, his tone carefully measured, "perhaps we should systematically narrow down our suspects. Let's start with myself, for instance." He deftly turned the spotlight on himself, a calculated move to appear above suspicion.

William's response was swift and decisive. "Until now, you've been kept at arm's length from the cult's inner workings. It's improbable you'd have the necessary connections with the school board."

Claude nodded, then ventured, "What about Grell?"

"Grell's devotion to our cause is unwavering," William replied. "Moreover, she lacks the finesse for such intricate betrayal."

"Ronald, then?"

"Another newcomer, like yourself. While I took a considerable risk with him, he's far too simple-minded for such machinations. Besides, what would be his motive?"

"Lau?" Claude pressed on.

William's lips thinned. "An obvious suspect, certainly. But unlikely. Lau's actions invariably serve his own interests. Siding with the school board would jeopardize his business ventures, regardless of any potential compensation from Vincent."

Claude allowed a pregnant pause before delivering his coup de grâce. "Well then, that leaves us with only one option: Sebastian Michaelis." At last, he'd maneuvered the conversation to his true target.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

William hesitated, a flicker of reluctance crossing his usually impassive features. "He's another obvious choice, but-"

Claude seized the opening, his words measured yet incisive. "He's your most trusted associate, isn't he? I'd wager he's executed the lion's share of your directives. His intellect and cunning are undeniable. Given his profession, he possesses a unique talent for manipulation - one that might even fool you into believing he's loyal when he's anything but."

"That may be true, however-" William began, but Claude pressed on, cutting him off.

"And let's not forget the Halloween incident," Claude added, his tone deceptively casual. "We both witnessed it. Before anyone could react, he was already moving towards Ciel, as if on pure instinct. It seems he's grown rather... attached to your pawn."

Claude's words hung in the air, heavy with implication. He'd planted the seed of doubt, now he just had to wait and see if it would take root in William's mind.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

After a prolonged silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, William finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of resignation and resolve. "You've made a compelling case, Claude. Sebastian is indeed the only plausible traitor among us."

Claude carefully schooled his features, suppressing the triumphant smirk that threatened to break through his composed facade. "Given this conclusion, I believe you can anticipate my next suggestion," he said, his tone measured and expectant.

William nodded, his eyes hardening with grim determination. "Indeed. We must put Sebastian's loyalty to the test. An ultimatum is in order." He paused his words carrying the weight of a death sentence. "He must eliminate Ciel to prove his allegiance. Should he falter, it will confirm his betrayal of our cause, marking him irrefutably as the traitor."

His gaze locked with Claude's, a silent understanding passing between them. "We'll see which path he chooses - loyalty to us, or the Phantomhive boy. This will be the crucible that reveals Sebastian's true nature."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian observed Ciel and McMillan as they made their way down the corridor, presumably en route to the dining hall. He couldn't help but notice the way Ciel's flatmate seemed to hover close to him. A twinge of an unfamiliar emotion tugged at Sebastian's insides, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

The hallways teemed with students rushing to their morning destinations, creating a bustling atmosphere that stood in stark juxtaposition to the hollow sensation growing in Sebastian's chest.

The apparent closeness between Ciel and McMillan bothered Sebastian more than he cared to admit. He found himself pondering McMillan's true identity and purpose. While not a new student, McMillan's assignment as Ciel's flatmate had been explained away by William as a matter of convenience - Ciel's room being the only one with a single occupant. Yet the circumstances surrounding McMillan's room change remained suspiciously vague.

Sebastian felt an intense longing to be near Ciel, a desire that bordered on envy towards McMillan. He craved to inhale Ciel's unique scent, to touch him and witness the way his face would flush with heat, to kiss him-

But no. Patience was key.

Sebastian knew he had to bide his time, allowing Ciel to come to him of his own volition. His goal was for Ciel to rely on him completely, to become Ciel's sole anchor in this turbulent world. Only then could Sebastian truly test the limits of the young Phantomhive's resolve.

Ciel fascinated Sebastian like no one else ever had. He saw Ciel as an equal in a world of inferior beings; nothing more than cattle. The boy's capacity for violence was breathtaking, his very essence captivating. Sebastian likened Ciel's transformation to that of a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon, slowly unfurling into a magnificent butterfly.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's brow furrowed as he considered Ciel's persistent moral hangups. The boy's nagging conscience was proving to be a stubborn impediment to his glorious transformation. Such quaint notions of guilt had no place in the world Sebastian envisioned for his protégé. 

With a thoughtful tap of his watch face, Sebastian's lips curled into a slight smirk. Perhaps it was time for another of their little chats - a chance to further mold that impressionable mind. After all, what were a few ethical boundaries when weighed against Ciel's true potential?

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Weston's halls seemed to stretch endlessly before Ciel as he made his way back to his room, his footsteps echoing dully against the polished floors. The weight of the day's classes pressed down on him like a physical burden. His usual sharp awareness had dulled to a foggy haze of exhaustion, his mind fixated on the promise of his bed.

Ciel had managed to slip away from McMillan's cloying presence, employing the kind of strategic maneuvering that had become second nature to him at Weston. Now, in the welcome emptiness surrounding him, he could finally hear himself think. The solitude felt like drawing a full breath after being underwater - necessary and relieving.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ciel found his mind repeatedly drawn back to his confrontation with Sebastian, the unexpected kiss lingering in his thoughts. His own words, dripping with sarcasm, echoed in his memory:

"What?" Ciel interjected, his voice sharp with sarcasm, desperately trying to cling to his cynicism. "Don't tell me you're about to declare your undying love." 

The irony of his mockery now unsettled him. Sebastian hadn't spoken of love - only desire. Yet Ciel couldn't shake the memory, couldn't stop dissecting every word, every look. He tried to rationalize it away - surely Sebastian couldn't truly love him. It was impossible, wasn't it?

 The key felt unusually heavy in his hand as he approached his door, the familiar motion of unlocking it requiring more effort than it should.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​However, the key never made it to the lock. The door swung open of its own accord, revealing Sebastian's tall frame filling the doorway, his trademark smirk playing across his lips.

Ciel's exhaustion evaporated instantly, replaced by a jolt of surprise. His professor's unexpected presence in his private space sent a flutter of conflicting emotions through his chest. Against his will, Ciel found his eye tracing Sebastian's features - the sharp angle of his jaw, the perfect curve of his mouth, that dark hair that stirred memories of their shared moment-

"What are you doing here?" Ciel forced steel into his voice, even as his pulse quickened traitorously.

Sebastian's response came in the form of action rather than words. In one fluid motion, he pulled Ciel into the room, the sudden movement drawing an undignified sound of surprise from the younger man's throat. The lock clicked behind them with a finality that made Ciel's skin prickle.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Ciel demanded, fighting to regain his composure.

"I thought we might benefit from a change of venue for our sessions," Sebastian purred, his voice carrying that familiar silky quality that never failed to set Ciel on edge.

Sessions. The word caught Ciel off guard. He hadn't given them much thought lately - they'd seemed like a relic of his early days at Weston when William had forced him into therapy. Now that the cult's true nature had been exposed, surely the pretense was unnecessary.

"Sessions? I thought we weren't doing that anymore."

Sebastian's elegant fingers carded through his dark hair, the gesture drawing Ciel's eye despite himself. "Whatever gave you that impression?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Where's McMillan?" The question left Ciel's lips before he could stop himself. He caught the brief shadow that crossed Sebastian's features at the mention of his flatmate - a flash of something dark and possessive that vanished as quickly as it appeared, smoothing back into Sebastian's practiced smirk.

"How cruel of you," Sebastian purred, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Here I am, gracing you with my presence, and your thoughts drift to another." The theatrics fell away as Ciel's expression remained unmoved, drawing an elegant sigh from Sebastian's lips. "I haven't seen him.  But his absence presented me with a rather... convenient opportunity."

"Opportunity?" The word had barely left Ciel's lips when Sebastian closed the distance between them, his presence suddenly overwhelming Ciel's senses. The proximity sent Ciel's pulse racing, though he fought to maintain his composure.

"We need to discuss our kiss properly, Ciel," Sebastian's voice dropped to a silky murmur. "This avoidance of yours... it's rather unhealthy. You're bottling up your feelings."

"What is there to discuss? It was a-"

"A mistake?" Sebastian's voice carried a dangerous edge of amusement. "Yes, you've made that claim repeatedly." His fingers found Ciel's jaw, the touch feather-light yet electrifying. "But I can't help but wonder... what if we were to make that particular mistake again?"

"What?" The word escaped as barely a whisper, Ciel's visible eye widening as heat flooded his cheeks. Sebastian's proximity was intoxicating, making the room spin ever so slightly. His body moved of its own accord, drawn forward like a moth to a flame...

Only for Sebastian to pull away, his features settling into an unreadable mask. "Just teasing," he offered with that infuriating closed-eye smile, leaving Ciel frozen with his mouth slightly parted in shock. "Actually, I came here for a different matter entirely."

The abrupt shift left Ciel reeling. Sebastian's unexpected retreat felt wildly out of character - the man who usually pressed every advantage now suddenly backing away. Even more unsettling was Ciel's own reaction, the sharp sting of disappointment mixing with mortification. He jerked his gaze away, acutely aware of the heat still burning in his cheeks.

"What... did you want to discuss?" Ciel managed, his voice betraying a slight tremor as he struggled to regain his footing in their verbal dance.

Sebastian's tone shifted seamlessly into that clinical detachment Ciel had come to recognize - the voice that made him feel like a specimen under glass. "How are you processing recent events?"

"Fine." Ciel's voice hardened as he crossed his arms, armor sliding back into place.

"Let's not play this game, Ciel. You're far from fine." Sebastian's words carried that practiced blend of concern and authority that set Ciel's teeth on edge.

Something in Ciel snapped. "Why do you pretend to care?" he spat, words sharp with sudden venom. "What, you think a few stolen moments and confessed feelings give you the right to dissect me? I warned you it wouldn't be this easy to earn my trust. Stop treating me like another one of your psychological experiments."

"Very well. You want honesty?" Sebastian's voice dropped its professional veneer, taking on a darker edge. "Continuing down this path of self-flagellation and guilt will devour you whole. You'll become nothing but a hollow shadow, destined for padded walls and sedatives." He stepped closer, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "What you did was justice in its purest form. These needless feelings of remorse - cast them aside. The past is written in blood, Ciel. It cannot be undone."

His crimson eyes bore into Ciel's single blue one. "Alois, Angela, all the others - they're cattle. But you and I? We're predators among sheep. I see it in you, even if you resist acknowledging it. We're cut from the same darkness, you and I."

The words hung heavy in the air between them, leaving Ciel struck silent by their weight and the ring of truth he didn't want to acknowledge.

"If I accept that truth..." Ciel's voice wavered, raw with emotion, "Then I truly am the monster everyone believes me to be."

"My dear boy," Sebastian's voice carried a dark warmth, almost tender in its cruelty. "The moment you chose to end a life with your own hands, society branded you a monster. Why cling to illusions? The mask of normalcy you wear - it's nothing but a comforting lie you tell yourself."

Sebastian's words sliced through Ciel's carefully constructed defenses. Had he been desperately clinging to a false image of himself? Each justification, each rationalization he'd built around his actions suddenly felt paper-thin, crumbling under the weight of Sebastian's brutal honesty.

"Embrace your true nature," Sebastian purred, his hands finding Ciel's waist and drawing him closer with practiced ease. "Come to me." Ciel found himself trapped in Sebastian's gaze, those crimson eyes seeming to pierce through every defense he'd ever built, laying bare every secret he'd tried to hide.

Acting on impulse, Ciel's hands rose to frame Sebastian's face, his fingers trembling slightly against that porcelain skin. He stretched upward, seeking Sebastian's lips, but the height difference proved frustrating. Their lips barely brushed before Sebastian pulled back just enough to press a finger against Ciel's mouth.

"This won't suffice," Sebastian murmured, his voice rich with amusement. In one fluid motion, he lifted Ciel as if he weighed nothing, positioning him so Ciel's legs straddled his waist, bringing their faces level at last.

Their mouths met again, more urgent this time, a dance of barely contained yearning. Sebastian deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance, drawing a small sound of surprise from Ciel. A brief battle for control ensued, but Sebastian's experience won out, leaving Ciel pliant in his arms.

Breaking the kiss, Sebastian's lips traced a burning path down Ciel's throat. He found a sensitive spot that made Ciel gasp, head tilting back instinctively as Sebastian marked the pale skin there, drawing forth sounds Ciel hadn't known he could make.

Sebastian pulled back suddenly, drawing a frustrated sound from Ciel. "Why... why did you stop?" Ciel asked, his voice unsteady, still catching his breath.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself rather too much," Sebastian's smirk was positively wicked. "Perhaps I should make you beg.”

"You sadist," Ciel muttered, his face burning crimson.

“My, you’re making me all hot and bothered.” Sebastian purred, eyes glinting with amusement. “Is this how you engage in dirty talk?”

With unexpected gentleness, Sebastian lowered Ciel onto the bed, his gaze questioning and almost tender. The look caught Ciel off guard - there was something almost feline in Sebastian's expression, a surprising vulnerability that seemed at odds with his usual calculated demeanor. Despite his cat allergy, Ciel found it oddly endearing, like glimpsing a different facet of Sebastian's nature.

"What are you doing?" Ciel couldn't help the genuine laugh that escaped him, a sound he hadn't heard from himself in years.

"I prefer willing participation," Sebastian murmured. "I want to hear you ask for what you want, not protests. Your choice."

"Not happening," Ciel shot back, his defiant smirk matching Sebastian's earlier one.

"Then I suppose I'll have to convince you," Sebastian's voice carried a dangerous promise.

Sebastian guided Ciel back against the mattress, his touch both gentle and possessive. His hand slipped beneath Ciel's shirt, exploring with deliberate slowness. Finally, his finger reached Ciel’s nipple, rotating slowly on the tip. The unexpected sensation drew a soft gasp from Ciel's lips, his body responding instinctively to Sebastian's skilled touch. Sebastian captured his mouth again in a searing kiss, his fingers continuing their torturous exploration.

Sebastian returned his attention to Ciel's neck, marking a deliberate path lower, each touch drawing increasingly desperate sounds from Ciel. Then Sebastian withdrew, his smirk knowing and predatory. “My, my, you’re getting hard.” Sebastian grabbed Ciel’s hardened member under his pants, causing Ciel to gasp again. “What should we do about this?”

 Ciel remained stubbornly silent, determined not to yield in this battle of wills. But he almost completely lost it as Sebastian rubbed his crotch area through his pants, with deliberate slowness. Ciel was closer to the edge of his control, his body betraying his determination to resist submitting. He was growing harder by the second, this teasing feeling torturous.

"Please," Ciel finally relented, his pride crumbling.

"Please what?" Sebastian's voice was rich with satisfaction.

"Stop teasing," Ciel managed, voice rough with need.

"As you wish," Sebastian purred, his triumphant smile evident in his tone.

Sebastian pulled off Ciel’s pants, tugging at his underwear to reveal his throbbing member. Sebastian spat in his hand, lubricating it, and grabbed his cock, stroking slowly and seductively. His touch was torturously gentle, drawing shaky breaths from Ciel, and prompting Ciel to flutter his visible eye closed. “Look at me," Sebastian commanded softly, his voice hypnotic.

Ciel’s visible eye fluttered open, as he maintained eye contact with Sebastian. He watched as he kept stroking, getting gradually faster. Ciel heaved heavy breaths, the pressure building up like a champagne bottle, until he finally felt himself reaching his climax.

“I’m coming!”

“No. No. You have to ask. What’s the magic word?” Sebastian taunted, stilling his movements.

“Please, can I come?” All sense of pride had left Ciel in the moment.

Sebastian then put his mouth on Ciel’s cock, his head, bobbing up and down. Ciel quickly orgasmed, “Sebastian!” he moaned out, shooting his load in Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian swallowed, his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down. Sebastian took Ciel’s cock out of his mouth, giving Ciel a satisfied smirk.

"Good boy," He purred, voice rich with approval.

Chapter XXIII: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXIV: The Hanged Man; Part One

Sebastian watched Ciel's sleeping form, his usual mask of control slipping as he found himself reaching out to trace the boy's features. The moment his fingers made contact with soft skin, he jerked back, unsettled by his own gentleness.

This unfamiliar pull towards Ciel disturbed him. He'd initially dismissed it as mere fascination, then simple desire. But now... now he couldn't explain away the possessive need that coursed through him. The way he craved not just Ciel's body, but his complete attention, his very presence.

Sebastian's crimson eyes narrowed as an unwelcome realization settled over him. He didn't just want to possess Ciel - he wanted to consume him entirely, to be the sole focus of that sharp blue eye. How... inconvenient.

These... feelings would inevitably compromise his plans, yet he had no choice but to proceed. The irony wasn't lost on him - forced to maintain a crumbling scheme by the very attachment that threatened to destroy it.

Sebastian's lips curled in contempt at the thought of ordinary humans. They were cattle, painfully predictable creatures that he could read and manipulate with ease. It was why psychology had drawn him - the simple pleasure of understanding minds far inferior to his own.

But Ciel... Ciel was different. Each reaction, each sharp retort sent a thrill through him that Sebastian hadn't experienced since his first taste of true power. The cult had initially promised such excitement when he'd grown bored with his medical residency, but their methods proved disappointingly crude. They processed bodies like a slaughterhouse - no finesse, no appreciation for the artistry of preparation and consumption that Sebastian had perfected.

Speaking of which... he had work to do. Angela's body wouldn't prepare itself.

             ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Tell me about my son," Vincent's tone carried that familiar aristocratic command even in a dimly lit kitchen. "Everything proceeding as planned, I trust?" He watched the figure working with deliberate movements at the counter.

"Ah, well," came the lilting Scottish brogue, "The young master's quite the tough nut to crack. A bit reserved, that one. But I reckon I'm making headway!" McMillan turned, his freckled face splitting into that characteristic bright grin, at odds with the gravity of their meeting.

"Good. He needs someone watching his back, especially after that chandelier business." Vincent's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "It has William's stench all over it."

"Oh! Actually," McMillan's cheerful demeanor remained, though his eyes sharpened with intelligence, "heard something rather interesting from the prefects. Seems the prefect that threw the party—Edgar let slip that Claude Faustus - the Vice Chancellor came up with the idea of the party in the first place.”

Vincent's fingers drummed against the counter, a habit from his Weston days. "Claude... William's puppet, perhaps?"

"Could be," McMillan mused, his Scottish lilt thoughtful. "Though I've been wondering if our Vice Chancellor might be playing his own game, sir."

"What possible motivation would he have to orchestrate an attempt on my son's life?"

"Still working that particular puzzle out, I'm afraid."

"Then I suggest you make that your priority." Vincent's tone carried the weight of years of authority, brooking no argument.

"Right you are then," McMillan chirped.

"Who saved Ciel from the chandelier?" Vincent asked, realizing he'd overlooked this crucial detail.

"A psychology professor - Sebastian Michaelis," McMillan replied, his Scottish lilt carrying a note of intrigue.

Vincent's brow furrowed. The name meant nothing to him, yet this professor had inserted himself into Ciel's life. "Tell me about him."

"Well," McMillan's cheerful facade remained though his eyes sharpened, "Like you said, I was able to get a peek at his therapy notes - when I mentioned to Abberline that you sent me.”

"Therapy?" Vincent's voice carried a hint of disbelief. The thought of his son willingly attending sessions seemed... unlikely.

"Here," McMillan produced his phone with practiced efficiency. "Took pictures of the notes."

Vincent's eyes narrowed as he read:

Main points: Antisocial, uses deflection as a coping mechanism, not able to interpret his emotions, very detached. 

Has revealed that he has been experiencing blackouts. Often seems disoriented during sessions and his way of speaking seems to change. Could be a sign of DID.

Vincent lowered the phone, his aristocratic composure wavering slightly. Though years separated him from his son, these notes painted a portrait of instability that felt... wrong.

"Have you witnessed any of these supposed blackouts?" 

"That's just it," McMillan's usual cheer gave way to calculation. "I suspect these notes are fabricated."

"What game is this Sebastian playing?" Vincent's fingers drummed against the counter, a habit from his Weston days.

"A rather elaborate one, I'd wager," McMillan replied.

"Your position has proven valuable," Vincent acknowledged. "But now that you’re directly involved, it carries risk. I won't have another innocent man’s death on my conscience."

“You may go," Vincent's aristocratic dismissal was curt but not unkind.

"Mind if I take the coffee along?" McMillan gestured to his freshly made drink, maintaining his cheerful facade despite the gravity of their meeting.

"By all means," Vincent replied with a dismissive wave, already lost in thought about this new information concerning Claude.

As McMillan's footsteps faded down the corridor, Vincent allowed himself a moment of strategic contemplation. Charles's role in their elaborate game was proceeding perfectly - the whispers of betrayal would already be taking root in William's paranoid mind.

A ghost of a smile played across Vincent's lips. The next move would be delicate: courting an alliance with the very people who'd signed his death warrant. The school board's desire for his demise would make negotiations... interesting, to say the least. But then, Vincent had always excelled at turning enemies into allies, even if temporarily.

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel shifted uncomfortably in his seat during Sebastian's lecture, his mind drifting to their intimate encounter. Despite his reluctance to acknowledge it, Sebastian's expertise had been undeniable - a thought that brought both irritation and a flutter of something else entirely.

His elbow propped on the desk, chin resting in his palm, Ciel found his attention caught by Sebastian's lecture despite himself.

"When you think of 'survival of the fittest,' what comes to mind?" Sebastian's voice carried through the classroom, smooth as silk. "A lion stalking a zebra? A snake striking at a frog?" He paused in his measured pacing, crimson eyes sweeping across the room. "But what if we look beyond the wild? Can this principle not apply to human society itself?"

Each word felt like it was meant for Ciel alone, Sebastian's gaze never truly leaving him as he continued.

"What I'm describing is social Darwinism," Sebastian's tone carried that dangerous edge Ciel had come to know too well. "Though the theory itself is fundamentally flawed - it relies on distinctions of class and race to justify supposed superiority." His eyes locked with Ciel's. "True adaptation has nothing to do with these external factors. It's about one's ability to evolve within society itself. Some adapt..." That infuriating smirk played at his lips. "Others perish."

The class was completely silent for a second, the atmosphere tense before Sebastian chuckled, breaking it. "Of course, I'm only joking. But what I want you to think about is, how can you do your best to adapt to society?"

Despite himself, Ciel found himself drawn in by Sebastian's performance. The man commanded attention effortlessly, weaving complex ideas into engaging discourse. His apparent perfection was almost infuriating - no one should be this flawless.

Yet Sebastian's words about adaptation stirred darker thoughts. The cult's true nature - their worship of a wendigo spirit - still churned in his mind, competing with the raw wounds of his mother's fate and Angela's death. The revelation should have seemed absurd, but it explained their practices with disturbing clarity. Why keep their beliefs hidden for so long? And their name - "Children of The Wendigo" - why had it only been mentioned now?

The thought struck him suddenly - in all his investigation, he'd never heard the cult called by any name. This omission seemed increasingly significant.

"Ciel?" Sebastian's voice carried that infuriatingly smooth quality that never failed to command his attention.

Ciel's eye snapped to Sebastian, caught off guard by the sudden focus. "What?"

"Do you have any thoughts on adaptation in society?" Sebastian's gaze held its usual predatory interest.

"Well," Ciel replied, his voice carrying a sharp edge of understanding, "some predators use camouflage in the wild. Adaptability can mean blending in."

Sebastian's lips curled into that knowing smirk. "An interesting observation. Blending in can indeed be a useful survival tactic." His crimson eyes bore into Ciel's, words heavy with implication. "Though one must be careful not to lose oneself in the process."

Ciel felt Sebastian's words strike a chord within him. Blending in, concealing his true nature - it was a skill he had honed from a young age, a necessary defense against the harsh realities of his life. But at what cost? Had he truly lost sight of himself along the way?

His eye narrowed slightly, a silent challenge in their heated exchange. "Sometimes the only way to survive is to play by their rules, even if it means becoming a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"Interesting insight, I'll be sure to keep that in mind,” Sebastian remarked, leaning back against his desk as he watched the class file out. His eyes, however, never strayed from Ciel, silently commanding the young man to remain seated.

Ciel obeyed the unspoken directive, staying rooted to his chair. He had been meaning to ask Sebastian something that had been weighing heavily on his mind.

Once the last student had exited and the door clicked shut behind them, Sebastian turned his full attention to Ciel. He stepped closer, bracing his hands on either side of Ciel's desk, looming over the seated boy.

"Did you enjoy it?" Sebastian purred, his voice carrying that infuriating silky quality. "I apologize for my hasty departure last night - class preparations, you understand."

Ciel inwardly cringed at the thought of someone, especially McMillan, potentially catching them in a compromising position. "You don't have to explain yourself. Having you stay would have been disastrous." He paused, then fixed Sebastian with a pointed stare. "But I do have a question for you."

Leaning in, Ciel whispered, his voice low and laced with underlying tension, "What did you do with Angela's body?"

Sebastian's lips curved into that knowing smirk. "My, my, Ciel. Always so direct." His crimson eyes glinted with dark amusement. "I've handled the matter appropriately."

"You've said that before," Ciel pressed, his tone sharp. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It means," Sebastian murmured, "that you needn't concern yourself with such details. There are far more interesting matters to discuss." His gaze bore into Ciel with predatory intensity. "Like my earlier question - did you enjoy it?"

Heat rose to Ciel's cheeks at Sebastian's bluntness. "Stop being cheeky," he muttered, irritation barely masking his embarrassment.

"No need to be shy," Sebastian's voice carried a smugness that Ciel found overly annoying. "I'm merely curious about your... assessment."

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Ciel replied, though his words lacked their usual venom.

"Everything about you is my business," Sebastian purred, leaning close enough that his breath ghosted across Ciel's ear. "So tell me, did you enjoy it?"

Ciel suppressed a shiver at the proximity, his visible eye narrowing. "What I enjoyed or didn't enjoy is irrelevant. I'm leaving." He grabbed his backpack, rising from his seat.

"My, my. Have I struck a nerve?" Sebastian's infuriating smirk widened. "Very well, I'll leave it be. For now."

Sebastian's eyes lingered on Ciel's retreating form until his phone vibrated. A text from William lit up the screen:

'Meeting in the Faculty Room'

His eyebrow arched at the unexpected summons. William rarely contacted him so directly. How... tedious. What could their esteemed Chancellor want now?

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian stood before the faculty room door, contemplating how much had changed since those first meetings of the semester. How... unexpected things had become.

Inside, the familiar tableau awaited - a round table that seemed to mock their false equality. The faculty room's wood paneling and towering bookcases maintained their scholarly facade, while shadows crept between leather-bound volumes as if acknowledging the darker purpose this space now served.

William commanded one section, Claude to his right like a coiled serpent. Grell had predictably claimed William's left side, her crimson presence a stark contrast to his rigid formality. Lau lounged next to Claude, that cryptic smile firmly in place, while Ronald slouched in his chair next to Grell. The single vacant chair between Claude and Lau seemed to await Sebastian with a mocking invitation. Grell's shrill voice grated through the air as she pestered William with her usual attention.

"Why are we here again?" she whined.

"I'll explain shortly," William replied, his tone clipped.

Sebastian's eyes swept across the familiar scene - Ronald slumped in boredom, Lau wearing that infuriating cryptic smile, and Claude... Claude's gaze fixed on him the moment he entered.

"Ah, our guest of honor arrives," Claude remarked, his voice carrying that underlying threat Sebastian had grown to detest.

Guest of honor? Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly. What was Claude planning?

"Sebastian. Take a seat." William's voice maintained its professional polish, though the order beneath was unmistakable.

Sebastian complied, settling into his chair. How fitting that this corporate facade should mask their darker dealings.

"Vincent Phantomhive has returned," William announced, his voice cutting through the chatter.

The room fell silent. Sebastian kept his expression carefully neutral, though this confirmed Angela's final words. How... interesting.

"What? After all this time?" Ronald's boredom vanished instantly.

"Where is he?" Grell demanded, leaning forward.

William's jaw clenched. "If you'd allow me to finish." The sharp edge in his tone silenced them immediately.

"He appeared at the auction house," William continued, adjusting his glasses. "Used our secret passage to gain entry."

"We have a secret passage?" Ronald blurted out.

Grell's teeth clicked in irritation. "Honestly, how clueless are you?"

"I haven't been here that long," Ronald muttered defensively.

William's voice hardened. "Before he escaped, Vincent shared something... rather concerning."

"Oh?" Lau's perpetual smile widened. "Do tell."

"He informed me that-" William began.

"There's a traitor among us." Claude's voice sliced through the air, his eyes never leaving Sebastian.

The tension hung thick in the air, suffocating in its intensity. Sebastian found himself intrigued - why would Vincent reveal a traitor's existence to William? Was there truly a traitor, or was this another move in Vincent Phantomhive's game?

"A traitor?" Ronald and Grell's voices blended in shared disbelief.

"Furthermore," William continued, his tone sharp, "he claims to have paid this individual to inform the school board about our... activities. They've apparently decided I'm better off dead."

"My, my. Why would he warn you?" Lau's ever-present smile carried a dangerous edge, as he stroked his chin in deep thought.

William's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "This was no warning. It was a threat. He knows of Ciel's involvement - he's trying to force my hand."

"Hold on," Grell cut in, "wasn't the school board after Vincent? Why would he turn to them?"

"Must have a death wish," Ronald muttered.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed imperceptibly as he considered the situation. Vincent's supposed suicide mission felt... off. If death had been his goal, why disappear again? No, this was clearly a more calculated game. The school board couldn’t know about Vincent’s involvement with the traitor. A man of his connections would hardly need to rely on a cult member as his informant. The risk of betrayal would be far too great.

This was something else entirely. A battle of minds, with William as the unwitting player.

"Indeed." William adjusted his glasses. "He aims to drag me down with him. The school board will target me first, now that I'm their priority."

"Or perhaps," Sebastian's voice carried its usual silky mockery, "he's using you as a convenient shield." All eyes turned to him at this observation.

William's jaw tightened. "A possibility. However, the immediate concern is identifying our traitor."

The atmosphere shifted as suspicious glances darted between them, each member suddenly aware of being both observer and suspect.

"Claude and I have already analyzed potential suspects," William stated.

"Oh? Since when are you two so close?" Lau's smile widened, the question dripping with false innocence.

Sebastian watched William and Claude exchange looks of apparent understanding. How... interesting. Lau had highlighted the obvious irregularity of their sudden collaboration.

This confirmed Sebastian's suspicions about Claude's machinations. That snake was finally showing his hand.

"That's irrelevant," William dismissed. "The suspected traitor is-"

"Sebastian." Claude's voice carried that insufferable satisfaction.

Grell let out an exaggerated gasp, hands flying to her mouth in theatrical shock. Lau's perpetual smile widened as he studied Sebastian with barely concealed intrigue.

"My, my. How fascinating," Lau remarked, his tone carrying that infuriating lightness.

Ronald's gaze darted between Claude and Sebastian, his confusion evident as he wrestled with words that wouldn't come.

Sebastian's lip twitched imperceptibly before his features smoothed into practiced indifference. So this was Claude's game.

"And how did you reach this conclusion?" Sebastian's voice remained silk over steel.

William had grown truly desperate if he was letting Vincent's games and Claude’s manipulation affect him so deeply. Paranoia had always been William's weakness, and Vincent was clearly exploiting it masterfully.

"You're quite the manipulator, Sebastian," Claude's voice dripped with satisfaction. Sebastian found that statement quite ironic.

Claude continued, “Skilled at twisting minds - precisely why William chose you to handle Ciel. But you've grown rather... attached to your subject, haven't you? Your loyalty lies not with our cause, but with that Phantomhive brat. Is it really so far-fetched to imagine you working with Vincent, given your... interest in his son?"

Sebastian found Claude's attempts to paint him as the traitor both amusing and irritating. 

"Hold on, what exactly are you getting at?" Ronald interjected, furrowing his eyebrows.

"The chandelier incident," Claude adjusted his glasses with smug precision. "Sebastian saved Ciel Phantomhive - a boy who no longer serves any purpose to us. That protective instinct is quite touching, really." His eyes gleamed with mockery.

"William," Sebastian turned to their leader, ignoring Claude's baiting, "surely you don't actually believe this?"

Sebastian studied William's impassive facade, recognizing the paranoia that Claude had so carefully nurtured. Perhaps there was still a way to turn this situation to his advantage...

"Bassy, you wouldn't betray us, would you?" Grell's voice dripped with exaggerated distress.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous nickname, deeming it beneath his dignity to acknowledge. 

"Bassy?" Ronald echoed, brow furrowed.

"Oops," Grell's sharp teeth glinted in a coy smile as she toyed with a lock of red hair. "Old habit."

Sebastian felt a flicker of irritation at Grell's presumed familiarity. Whatever past she was alluding to held no interest for him.

"Sebastian Michaelis." William's voice sliced through their exchange like steel. "Do you truly worship the Wendigo spirit?"

"What an odd question, of course I do.” Sebastian purred, the lie flowing smoothly from his lips. As if he cared about their primitive folklore.

"Prove it then," William demanded, crossing his arms.

"Oh?" Sebastian tilted his head, “And how would you have me do that?"

"Kill Ciel Phantomhive," William stated coldly. "Prepare his remains for our feast."

For the first time in years, Sebastian felt his carefully maintained composure genuinely slip. A flash of raw possessive fury crossed his features before he could suppress it. The very thought of harming Ciel, of destroying what he considered his, sent an unfamiliar wave of revulsion through him.

The silence stretched dangerously as Sebastian's crimson eyes blazed with barely contained rage. He could feel Claude's smug satisfaction, practically taste the man's victory. This was a masterfully laid trap - refuse and confirm his betrayal, agree and potentially lose Ciel. Neither option was acceptable.

"Kill Ciel?" Sebastian's voice emerged silk-smooth but with an underlying dangerous edge that made even Grell shift uncomfortably. "How... disappointing. After all the work I've put into molding him, you'd have me waste such potential?"

"Getting protective, are we?" Claude's voice dripped with satisfaction. "How unlike you to question orders."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Every word from Claude's mouth felt like an intended provocation. "Merely pointing out the inefficiency," he replied, voice dangerously soft. "Ciel has proven quite useful in our operations. His father's actions shouldn't negate that."

"Enough." William's voice cut through the air like steel. "This isn't a debate, Sebastian. Either prove your loyalty with Ciel's death or face the consequences." His chartreuse eyes glinted dangerously behind his glasses. "I trust I don't need to elaborate further."

Sebastian felt something dark and amused unfurl in his chest. These insects, with their petty displays of power, actually believed they could threaten him? The sheer audacity was almost entertaining. Still, he couldn't quite suppress the possessive rage that flared at their presumption to decide Ciel's fate.

His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Very well," Sebastian purred, his voice carrying a finality that made Claude's smug expression falter slightly. “If you insist."

The words carried a promise, though perhaps not the one William and Claude assumed.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                        1 Month Ago

McMillan watched from the vacant classroom window as Ciel Phantomhive was led away in handcuffs. Though they'd never spoken, he'd observed the young heir's dramatic entanglements from afar. The murders though... those accusations felt off somehow.

His position at Weston had always been precarious - a scholarship student among elite bloodlines. Someone like Ciel Phantomhive inhabited a different world entirely. But that was the point, wasn't it? His unremarkable presence made him invisible to those he watched.

He'd grown comfortable in the shadows, cataloging the dramas that unfolded before him. It was safer there, in the background.

This was how it should be.

His fingers pressed against the second-floor window as the police car pulled away, carrying a handcuffed Ciel into uncertainty.

The classroom door creaked open, revealing a police officer, his face obscured by the low brim of his cap.

"Sir? You've missed your car - they've just left," McMillan offered, his cheerful tone masking growing unease.

The officer advanced silently, ignoring McMillan's words. "Excuse me?" McMillan's voice wavered slightly, Scottish brogue more pronounced with nervousness.

The figure halted abruptly.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he removed his cap.

McMillan studied the man's features - there was something hauntingly familiar about them, like a face from old photographs. The realization danced just out of reach.

"Allow me to introduce myself. Vincent Phantomhive," the man's voice carried that unmistakable aristocratic command.

Vincent Phantomhive? The name hit McMillan like a physical blow as recognition dawned. The face from those archived articles - Ciel's supposedly missing father. But why this elaborate police disguise?

"Vincent Phantomhive? The missing CEO?" McMillan's carefully cultivated cheerfulness cracked with genuine surprise. "What brings you here?"

"A proposition," Vincent replied, aristocratic polish intact despite his disguise. "I need someone to watch over Ciel."

"Shouldn't that be your job?" The words slipped out before McMillan could catch them.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Vincent's tone carried finality.

"But he's just been arrested," McMillan pressed, “Aren't you concerned?"

"Ciel's detention will be brief." Vincent's confidence spoke of power and influence.

Of course, McMillan thought. The Phantomhive name would ensure quick release, though that hardly guaranteed Ciel's freedom.

"Why me though? I'm nobody."

"Precisely," Vincent's lips curved slightly. "A scholarship student, removed from Weston's politics. Perfect for my plans. The compensation would be... substantial."

McMillan's practiced smile didn't waver, though his eyes sharpened at the mention of payment. "What exactly would this involve?"

"Something simple - access Detective Abberline's evidence. Photograph it. Mention my name, and he'll cooperate."

"Just your name alone carries that much weight?" McMillan's cheerful facade cracked slightly, revealing a sharper mind beneath. "Seems a risky assumption that he'd simply believe a random student claiming to work for a supposedly dead man."

Vincent's lips curved into a knowing smile, that aristocratic confidence never wavering. "Abberline has... particular reasons to believe any message from me. The mere possibility that I'm alive will be enough." His eyes held a calculated glint. "He's been waiting for such a sign."

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The precinct buzzed with organized chaos - phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the shuffle of papers, and footsteps creating a constant din. McMillan threaded his way through the maze of desks, his usual cheerful demeanor carefully in place as he approached the detective's workspace.

Detective Abberline sat hunched over his desk, newspaper spread before him like a shield against the world. His shaggy auburn hair and unkempt stubble painted a picture of exhaustion and resigned frustration.

"Detective Abberline?" McMillan kept his voice light, unassuming.

Abberline barely glanced up, eyes heavy with disinterest. "Whatever it is, make it quick. I've got enough Weston headaches without adding to them."

"I'm a student there, actually-"

"Then definitely no." Abberline's attention returned to his paper with pointed dismissal.

McMillan leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to barely above a whisper. "Vincent Phantomhive sent me."

The change was instant. Abberline's head snapped up, his previously bored expression sharpening into intense focus. His hand shot out, grabbing McMillan's arm with surprising force as he pulled him closer.

"Choose your next words very carefully," Abberline hissed, eyes darting around the busy precinct. "That name isn't something you throw around lightly, especially not here." His grip tightened. "And if you're playing some kind of game, claiming to have contact with a ghost..."

McMillan's mind raced, the disconnect between Vincent's assurance and Abberline's hostile reaction setting off warning bells. Something wasn't adding up - Vincent had promised instant cooperation, yet here was Abberline practically threatening him. Unless...

Keeping his voice steady and low, McMillan met Abberline's intense stare. "Vincent Phantomhive is alive. He said those exact words would be enough for you."

The transformation was immediate. Abberline's aggressive demeanor melted away, replaced by a carefully controlled alertness. His eyes performed one more sweep of the precinct before returning to McMillan.

"What does he need?" The question came clipped, and professional - a complete reversal from moments ago.

Ah. McMillan suppressed a smile as understanding dawned. The hostility had been an act, a test perhaps, or a show for any watching eyes. Vincent's confidence in Abberline's cooperation hadn't been misplaced after all.

"Access to the evidence from Ciel's arrest. I need to photograph everything."

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                         Present Time

Ciel walked through the deserted corridors of Weston, lost in thought when the unexpected buzz of his phone snapped him back to reality. He glanced at the screen, his uncovered eye narrowing as he saw the caller's name: Sebastian. A fleeting thought crossed his mind - he had never actually given Sebastian his number, despite having received the professor's contact information. Yet, he quickly dismissed this realization with a sense of resigned acceptance. At this point, it hardly shocked him that Sebastian would have obtained his number through some means. It felt like just another minor breach in the series of intrusions Sebastian had made into his life.

Annoyance seeped into Ciel's tone as he answered the call, forgoing any greeting. "How did you even get my-" He began, but Sebastian's voice cut him off before he could finish the question.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Details, details," Sebastian's silky voice cut through the line. "Wouldn't you rather know what became of our mutual acquaintance?"

Ciel's breath caught. Angela. Even now, he could feel the phantom warmth of her blood on his hands. His grip tightened on the phone.

"Finally decided to share, have you?" Ciel kept his tone sharp, refusing to let Sebastian hear how the memory affected him. "How generous."

"Meet me at the dormitory entrance," Sebastian purred, clearly enjoying himself. "I'll show you exactly what became of her."

Despite his better judgment, Ciel found his feet carrying him through Weston's halls, drawn like a moth to a flame. The autumn air bit at his skin as he pushed through the building's heavy doors, immediately spotting Sebastian's lean figure against a sleek black car.

The late afternoon light caught Sebastian's raven hair as it danced in the wind, the sight making Ciel's breath catch traitorously in his throat. Sebastian's eyes lifted from his watch, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips.

"Our destination?" Ciel kept his voice sharp, refusing to show how Sebastian's mere presence affected him.

"My home." Sebastian's smile was all innocent, but his eyes held something darker.

Ciel's mind raced. Sebastian had kept Angela's remains at his house? It seemed absurdly impractical - surely someone like him would be more careful about evidence. Yet nothing about Sebastian ever made complete sense.

"Your home?" The words came out less steady than Ciel intended, heat rising to his cheeks at the thought of entering such an intimate space. The implications hung heavy in the air between them.

"Nervous?" Sebastian's voice carried that infuriating blend of silk and mockery. "I assure you, there's nothing to fear."

Ciel fought down a surge of apprehension. Nothing to fear? His aunt's corpse awaited him, and more unsettling still was the prospect of being alone with Sebastian in his private domain. His pulse quickened traitorously at the thought-

"I'm not nervous," Ciel snapped, the words sharper than intended.

Sebastian opened the passenger door with fluid grace, but something in his usual smirk seemed off. "Ladies first," he purred, though the words carried an unfamiliar tension beneath their teasing surface.

Ciel shot him a venomous glare as he slid into the seat, choosing silence over retaliation. Yet he couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong - Sebastian's tone held an edge he'd never heard before, a crack in that infuriating perfect facade. From a man who wielded words like weapons, even this slight deviation felt significant.

Ciel tracked Sebastian's movements as he circled to the driver's side, each motion carrying that usual predatory grace. The engine purred to life beneath Sebastian's touch, the car gliding away from Weston's grounds with practiced ease.

As they merged into traffic, an unusual silence settled between them. Sebastian's fingers drummed against the steering wheel - a small tell that seemed jarringly out of place for someone usually so composed. The subtle irregularity in Sebastian's demeanor made Ciel's skin prickle with unease. Something was definitely wrong; Sebastian never fidgeted.

"What's wrong with you?" Ciel couldn't keep the sharp edge from his voice, irritation masking growing unease.

Sebastian's crimson eyes flicked to him momentarily before returning to the road, his expression carefully neutral. "Oh?"

"The fidgeting," Ciel pressed, his visible eye narrowing. "It's not like you."

Sebastian's fingers stilled instantly on the wheel as if caught in an unconscious betrayal. "Merely excess caffeine," he offered smoothly, though the excuse rang hollow.

Ciel scoffed quietly, turning to stare out the window. The obvious lie hung between them, adding to the strange tension that had settled in the car.

The journey ended sooner than expected - had Sebastian really been this close to Weston all along? The car purred to a stop before a modern apartment complex, all glass and sharp angles. Something about its sleek facade seemed fitting for Sebastian, yet Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to step into the lion's den.

Sebastian got out of the car and Ciel did the same. Sebastian walked ahead of him, as Ciel took cautious steps toward the apartment.

The lobby doors opened smoothly under Sebastian's touch, revealing an interior that seemed designed to intimidate with its cold perfection. A massive aquarium dominated one wall, its blue glow casting eerie shadows across the polished floor. Black leather seats sat in perfect, untouched arrangements - the kind of calculated minimalism that made Ciel feel like an intruder just by existing in the space.

He couldn't help but think how fitting it was, this pristine facade hiding whatever lurked beneath. Just like its resident.

Their footsteps echoed against the cantilever stairs as Sebastian led the way upward. Ciel found himself wondering if Sebastian's actual living space would mirror the lobby's cold perfection. Each step brought him closer to uncovering another layer of Sebastian's carefully guarded world.

Sebastian's key turned smoothly in the lock, the door swinging open to reveal... something both expected and surprising at once. The space spoke of Sebastian's precise nature, yet hinted at depths Ciel hadn't anticipated.

Black walls rose around them, a dramatic contrast to the stark white ceiling that made the space feel larger than it was. Rich wooden floors stretched beneath his feet, partially covered by a velvet rug whose intricate patterns drew his eye despite himself. Deep crimson couches commanded the living area - their color was an echo of Sebastian's eyes that couldn't be coincidental.

Massive windows dominated one wall, the city sprawling beneath them like a conquered kingdom. Ciel's attention caught on the abstract ink blots adorning the walls, their shapes seeming to writhe and transform as he studied them. Something about their fluid darkness felt unsettling, yet he couldn't look away.

"Quite the residence," Ciel remarked, forcing his tone to stay light despite his growing curiosity about what each detail revealed about Sebastian.

"How diplomatic of you," Sebastian's voice carried that familiar mockery. "Though I imagine it pales in comparison to the Phantomhive manor."

Ciel fought down a scoff. The manor had long since lost its grandeur to him, its opulence fading into mere backdrop after nineteen years. These walls, though - every carefully chosen element felt like a piece of Sebastian's puzzle, one Ciel found himself wanting to solve despite his better judgment.

Sebastian shrugged out of his jacket with fluid grace, the motion revealing his pristine white dress shirt and perfectly tailored slacks. He extended one hand toward Ciel, the gesture somehow both courteous and commanding. "Your jacket?"

"I'd rather-" Ciel's protest died in his throat as Sebastian stepped behind him, long fingers already sliding the jacket from his shoulders with an intimacy that made his pulse quicken.

"Such poor manners," Sebastian's voice came as a low murmur against his ear, "keeping your jacket on in another's home." The warmth of his breath sent an unwanted shiver through Ciel's body, heat rushing to his face and ears before he could suppress it.

Sebastian withdrew as suddenly as he'd approached, hanging their jackets with precise movements that betrayed nothing of the moment they'd just shared. The normalcy of the gesture felt almost mocking.

Reality crashed back as Ciel remembered why he was actually here. "Angela. Where is she?"

"A moment, if you would." Sebastian's voice held that infuriating smoothness. "There's something I need to attend to first." He glanced back, crimson eyes unreadable. "Make yourself comfortable in the living room."

"What could possibly take precedence over showing me my aunt's corpse?" Ciel's words came sharp with suspicion.

Sebastian did not explain, simply gliding away into the depths of his apartment. Ciel stood alone, anger warring with growing unease. Seeing no alternative, he moved to the living room, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. Sebastian was clearly stalling - but for what?

Chapter XXIV: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXV: The Hanged Man; Part Two

Ciel shifted restlessly on the crimson couch, his visible eye drawn again and again to the writhing inkblot paintings that adorned Sebastian's walls. Their fluid darkness seemed to mock him as the minutes crept by with excruciating slowness. Ten minutes had passed - or was it longer? Time felt distorted in this carefully curated space, each second stretching like honey dripping from a spoon.

"My sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting," Sebastian's voice suddenly purred from behind him, the silky tone sending an involuntary shiver down Ciel's spine. He turned sharply, unsettled by how silently Sebastian had approached.

"What took you-" The words died in Ciel's throat as he took in Sebastian's transformed appearance. Gone was the pristine dress shirt and formal attire, replaced by a fitted black turtleneck that clung to his frame and dark brown trousers that spoke of careful tailoring even in their casual design. Even his feet, usually clad in polished oxfords, now bore simple gray house slippers.

The sight was jarring - like seeing a predator attempting to masquerade as a house cat. This version of Sebastian, stripped of his usual formal armor, felt uncomfortably intimate. Yet even in this more relaxed state, he somehow maintained that infuriating air of calculated perfection.

"You kept me waiting just to change clothes?" Ciel's voice came out sharper than intended, irritation barely masking his unease at this unexpected glimpse behind Sebastian's carefully maintained facade.

"Such impatience," Sebastian purred, his voice carrying that infuriating blend of silk and mockery. "I merely thought the occasion warranted... proper preparation."

Ciel's visible eye narrowed suspiciously. "What are you playing at?"

"I've been rather anticipating this moment," Sebastian's crimson eyes locked onto Ciel's with predatory intensity, "when I could show you exactly what became of your dear aunt."
      
            ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles lingered in the shadows outside the dive bar, his fingers trembling slightly as he lit a cigarette. The habit, long abandoned, had crept back into his life like an old friend - or perhaps an old enemy. The irony wasn't lost on him.

Exhaling slowly, he watched the smoke curl upward into the darkening sky, dissipating like the certainties he'd once clung to. Vincent's choice of meeting place gnawed at him. For a man whose very existence was meant to be a secret, whose every movement carried mortal risk, selecting such a public venue seemed remarkably careless. Or perhaps, Charles mused grimly, that was precisely the point.

Charles crushed his cigarette beneath his heel, grinding it methodically into the concrete. With practiced casualness, he pushed through the bar's heavy door, the stale air and dim lighting washing over him. Vincent's silhouette was unmistakable - shoulders straight despite his obvious attempt to appear unremarkable, dark glasses an incongruous shield in the bar's murky interior.

Charles slid onto the neighboring stool, barely glancing at the man he'd once pursued as a ghost.

"Eyes forward," Vincent murmured, his aristocratic tone barely audible above the bar's ambient noise. "We're strangers here."

Correcting his rookie mistake, Charles fixed his gaze on the scratched bartop. He caught the bartender's attention with a raised finger. "Whiskey. Neat."

The glass appeared before him, amber liquid catching what little light filtered through the grimy windows. Charles took a measured sip, letting the burn ground him. "What's so urgent it required this little charade?"

"I need something from you." Vincent's words carried the weight of command, even in whispers.

"What is it?" Charles kept his voice low, matching Vincent's discretion.

"I'm going to negotiate with the school board."

"Are you insane?" Charles barely contained his shock, conscious of keeping his voice down. "These are the same people who signed your death warrant."

"Their verdict was based on fear," Vincent's voice remained measured, aristocratic even in conspiracy. "They saw me as a liability after I escaped from the cult. But I'm offering them something invaluable - my silence, in exchange for William's downfall. The complete dismantling of his little operation."

"And where do I fit into this suicide mission?" 

"Insurance." The word hung between them, heavy with implication. "I need someone they can't dismiss as a ghost."

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian had led Ciel to an elegantly set dining table, a silver cloche commanding attention at its center. The setup felt like a perverse parody of fine dining, making Ciel's stomach turn as memories of past "meals" surfaced unbidden. His eye fixed on the covered dish, dreading what lay beneath its polished surface.

"What is this?" Ciel's voice came sharp with suspicion, though he already feared he knew the answer.

"You haven't eaten today, have you?" Sebastian's tone carried that infuriating blend of concern and mockery. "I thought we might remedy that."

"How thoughtful," Ciel's words dripped with bitter sarcasm. "Though we both know what you serve at your table, don't we?"

"Does it matter?" Sebastian's crimson eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Human, animal - they're all just meat in the end. Cattle, waiting for slaughter." His lips curved into that knowing smirk. "What I create is art, unlike those butchers at the cult. Soon enough, you'll fully understand the beauty in it."

Ciel sat frozen, Sebastian's words hanging in the air between them. The silver cloche lifted with theatrical grace, revealing an artfully plated dish - minced meat garnished with fresh basil and caramelized onions, accompanied by crusty bread. 

"Stuffed roast heart with deviled kidneys and garlic liver," Sebastian announced with the pride of a master chef, elegantly transferring portions to their plates.

Despite himself, Ciel found his eye drawn to the meticulous presentation. The aroma wafting up was mouthwatering, the composition worthy of any fine dining establishment. Then the realization struck him like a physical blow - this was what Sebastian had meant to show him. This elaborate meal was Angela's final form.

"This is-" Ciel's voice caught in his throat.

"Indeed," Sebastian's lips curved into that knowing smile. "It’s part of your dear aunt's essence, transformed. By consuming her, she becomes part of you."

The horror of it should have overwhelmed him - Sebastian had butchered his aunt's remains into this grotesque feast. Yet Ciel felt nothing. No revulsion, no grief, not even a flicker of the guilt that had plagued him since taking her life. The memories of her death, so vivid moments ago, seemed to dissolve like smoke.

The numbness should have terrified him. Instead, a cold clarity settled over him as Sebastian's words echoed in his mind: it truly didn't matter anymore.

They ate in silence, the clink of silverware against fine china the only sound breaking the heavy quiet. Each bite was a masterwork of flavor - garlic melding with caramelized onions, the meat impossibly tender. Ciel found himself savoring each morsel despite knowing - or perhaps because he knew - exactly what he was consuming.

In this shared transgression, this elegant horror, Ciel felt something shift between them. No words were needed; the act itself spoke volumes. Sebastian's crimson eyes would occasionally meet his across the table, carrying an unspoken understanding that made Ciel's pulse quicken. He was crossing a threshold, stepping further into Sebastian's dark world with every bite, and the most disturbing part was how natural it felt.

The silence broke as Sebastian set down his silverware with deliberate care. "You know," he began, his voice carrying an unfamiliar note of sincerity, "I've never experienced this sort of... connection before. So I’ll be honest with you.” His lips curved into something Ciel had never seen - not his usual calculated smirk, but a smile that held genuine warmth, making it somehow more unsettling.

Ciel quirked an eyebrow, “What are you talking about?”

Sebastian's fingers drifted to a kitchen knife lying on the table, caressing its blade with almost loving attention. The gesture made Ciel's skin prickle with instinctive warning. "The cult has presented me with a choice," Sebastian's voice carried its usual silk but underneath lay something darker. "Your death, or my punishment for betrayal."

Ciel felt his pulse quicken, every muscle tensing for fight or flight. But what came next stopped his breath entirely.

Sebastian rose with fluid grace, crossing to Ciel's side. With elegant precision, he extended the knife, handle first. "I need you to stab me."

"Have you lost your mind?" Ciel's visible eye narrowed. 

"It seems your father has quite the talent for manipulation," Sebastian's voice carried its usual silky mockery, though something darker lurked beneath. "Angela spoke true about his return. He planted the seed of a traitor in William's mind, and Claude," his lips curved into that knowing smirk, "has been rather eager to paint me as the culprit. William now demands proof of my loyalty - your death, to be precise." His crimson eyes gleamed. "A request I find myself disinclined to fulfill."

"What possible reason could Claude have to target you?" Ciel's tone came sharp with suspicion.

"Oh? Isn't it obvious?" Sebastian purred. "William trusted me with the cult's operations while Claude remained an outsider looking in."

The words struck Ciel like a physical blow as memory surfaced - Sebastian's cryptic comment about Claude's 'delicate' position. The Halloween masquerade, its elaborate setup... comprehension dawned with terrible clarity.

"The chandelier," Ciel's voice hardened. "That was Claude's doing?"

Sebastian's uncharacteristic silence felt deafening.

"You claimed you'd be honest," Ciel's tone carried a dangerous edge.

"...Indeed it was." Sebastian's admission came smooth as silk, though something in his expression shifted.

"Why hide this from me?"

"...To protect you," Sebastian's voice carried that infuriating smoothness.

"Don't insult my intelligence," Ciel's response crackled with cold fury. "If protection was your aim, you'd have warned me. This was about you maintaining control, wasn't it?"

Sebastian's eyes flickered away - a tell that sent Ciel's rage boiling over. His fingers twisted in Sebastian's turtleneck, yanking him down to eye level. "You bastard. I thought we-" The words died in his throat, too raw to voice.

"You thought what, exactly?" Sebastian's lips curved into that infuriating smirk. "Have you forgotten my nature? I am, after all, a creature of pure self-interest."

The lie hung between them, as transparent as glass. Every action contradicted Sebastian's words - the way he'd thrown himself between Ciel and the falling chandelier, his choice to defy the cult. These weren't the calculated moves of someone serving only himself. But the rage still coursed through Ciel's veins, hot and demanding.

"Fine then," Ciel's voice came sharp as a blade. "You need me to stab you, correct?" Ciel took the knife from Sebastian’s hand.

Understanding crystallized - Sebastian wanted this to appear as a failed assassination, with Ciel fighting back and escaping.

"Allow me to show you where to avoid vital organs-" Sebastian's instruction cut off in a sharp inhale as Ciel drove the blade into his abdomen.

"My, such eagerness," Sebastian's voice came strained yet still carried that infuriating hint of amusement, blood staining his perfect smile. As Ciel's hand moved to withdraw the blade, Sebastian's fingers closed over his with surprising strength.

“Leave it," he commanded, voice tight with pain. “Unless you intend to watch me bleed out."

"I must say," Ciel's lips curved into a cold smile, "seeing you vulnerable has its appeal."

“Look who’s the sadistic one now?” Sebastian's trademark smirk flickered across his bloodied lips before his expression turned grave. "You need to disappear. The Phantomhive manor - go there. Don't let anyone know where you are. I’ll come find you when the time is right.”

"Bastard," Ciel spat, though the word carried less venom than he'd intended. His visible eye lingered on Sebastian's form - the normally impeccable professor now hunched over, darker wetness spreading across his black turtleneck where the knife protruded. Something uncomfortably close to concern threatened to surface, but Ciel pushed it aside, turning sharply on his heel.

He paused at the threshold, fighting the urge to look back one final time. When he did, Sebastian's carefully controlled expression had slipped just slightly, pain and something else flickering across his features. Ciel forced himself forward, letting the door close behind him with quiet finality.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian braced himself against the wall, one hand curled around the knife still embedded in his abdomen. He forced himself to wait, counting the seconds until Ciel would be clear of the building. Only then did he allow himself to move, each step carefully measured as he made his way toward the lobby.

The pain was... exquisite. Even with his extensive experience inflicting suffering on others, he'd never quite appreciated it from this angle. Ciel's eagerness with the blade had been both surprising and oddly satisfying - such delicious brutality lurking beneath that proper exterior. Though the blade had missed vital organs, blood loss remained a pressing concern. Time, usually his faithful servant, now worked against him.

The lobby doors parted silently, releasing Sebastian into the merciful darkness of night. The streetlights cast just enough shadow to obscure the knife's handle and the spreading stain across his turtleneck from any casual observers.

Each movement to his car felt like an exercise in precision, his usually fluid grace reduced to careful calculation. The key trembled slightly in his hand - how fascinating, he thought distantly - as he guided it into the ignition. The engine's purr felt oddly muted, as if already far away.

He knew the sequence of events his hospital arrival would trigger: administration would notify the Weston, which would alert William. The thought almost made him smile - everything proceeding according to plan, even as his vision began to blur at the edges.

The city lights began to blur and dance across his vision, his usually precise control slipping as weakness invaded his limbs. Not yet, he commanded his failing body. Just a little further. The hospital's harsh fluorescent glow beckoned like a distant lighthouse. With the last remnants of his renowned grace, he guided the car to a stop, fingers fumbling with mechanical precision to shift into park.

Sebastian's last conscious thought was of the peculiar poetry in his position - head dropping onto the steering wheel, the horn's sustained wail piercing the night as darkness claimed him.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The steady rhythm of keyboards and muted conversation filled the hospital's reception area, another quiet night shift in progress. The nurse at the front desk paused in her typing, head tilting slightly as an unusual sound filtered through the glass doors.

"Do you hear that?" she called to a passing doctor, who stopped mid-stride. The distant blare of a car horn, unrelenting and ominous, cut through the hospital's sterile quiet.

"Sounds like someone's laying on their car horn," the doctor muttered, already moving toward the entrance. The automatic doors parted with a soft hiss, releasing him into the night air.

Through the fluorescent glare of the hospital lights, the doctor spotted a black car haphazardly angled against the curb, as if its driver had lost control in the final moments of parking. The sustained blare of the horn cut through the night air as he approached, catching sight of a dark figure slumped over the steering wheel. His mind immediately began cataloging possibilities - another drunk driver, perhaps, or something far more sinister.

The doctor rapped sharply on the driver's window. "Sir? Can you hear me?" Silence answered his call. Testing the handle, he found it unlocked - a small mercy. As he eased the man's head from the horn, dark hair falling limply to the side, the doctor's practiced eye caught something that made his blood run cold.

A knife protruded from the man's abdomen, the black fabric of his turtleneck glistening wetly in the harsh hospital lights. "Christ," he muttered, medical training kicking in as he assessed the situation. With careful but urgent movements, he gathered the unconscious figure into his arms, the man's considerable height making the task awkward.

He burst through the entrance, the unconscious man's legs swaying lifelessly with each step. The nurse at reception looked up, her eyes widening at the sight. 

"Get me a stretcher!" he barked, his voice carrying the sharp edge of emergency. "Stab wound to the abdomen, significant blood loss. We need an OR prepped, now!"

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian's crimson eyes fluttered open, his usually sharp awareness dulled by a fog of disorientation. With mechanical precision, he assessed his state - bare chest, pristine bandages wrapping his abdomen, the sharp sting of an IV in his arm. Ever graceful even in recovery, he began to ease himself upright.

Firm hands pressed against his shoulders, halting his movement. "Easy now," a gentle yet authoritative voice cautioned. "You've just received a transfusion. Best to let your body adjust." 

His gaze focused on the nurse - dark skin contrasting strikingly with lilac hair that bordered on white, her dark eyes carrying professional concern. How... bothersome, to be at someone else's mercy.

His eyes found her identification badge - Hannah Annafellows, her photograph a poor capture of the striking figure before him. "Nurse Annafellows," his voice carried its usual silk despite his condition, "I assure you, my injury hardly warrants continued observation. If you'll excuse me..." Once again, he attempted to rise, only to find her hands surprisingly firm against his shoulders. Either she possessed unexpected strength, or his body was betraying him more than he cared to admit.

Time worked against him. By now, they would have discovered his faculty ID among his effects, setting in motion the exact chain of events he'd anticipated - Weston would be notified, and through them, William. But he needed to reach Ciel before matters escalated further. This sterile prison would not serve his purposes.

"At least wait for the doctor's assessment," Hannah insisted, her gentle tone carrying steel beneath.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Sebastian murmured, pushing himself upright with what remained of his usual grace. Hannah stepped back this time, though concern flickered across her features. The moment his feet touched the cold floor, his body betrayed him - limbs unusually heavy, balance deserting him entirely. His knees buckled, a moment of indignity saved only by Hannah's swift intervention as she caught him, supporting his weight with surprising strength.

"As I warned you," her voice carried gentle reproach as she helped him back to bed. "Your body needs time to recover." 

The brush of her fingers across his forehead felt oddly intrusive, yet he found himself unable to muster the strength to protest. "A fever," she murmured, reaching for the thermometer. The device beeped its damning verdict: "104 degrees. This is serious - I need to notify the doctor immediately."

The realization settled over Sebastian like an unwelcome shroud - he was caught here, trapped by his body's betrayal. His carefully orchestrated timeline would need to be... adjusted. How terribly inconvenient.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The city lights blurred past as the chauffeur drove Ciel toward the manor. His hands still tinged with phantom warmth from Sebastian's blood, his mind replaying the evening's events with merciless clarity.

The initial satisfaction of driving the blade into Sebastian had been... intoxicating. A fitting retribution for the manipulation, the lies, the betrayal. Yet that triumph had crumbled the moment Sebastian's perfect facade cracked, revealing genuine pain. Something in Ciel's chest had tightened at the sight. No - Sebastian couldn't die. Death seemed too mundane, too human for someone like him.

The memory of Sebastian's vulnerability felt wrong, like witnessing something forbidden. He'd grown so accustomed to the professor's infuriating smirks and calculated grace that seeing him genuinely wounded seemed impossible. As if Sebastian were some immortal creature merely playing at humanity.

His thoughts turned to the elaborate web of manipulation surrounding them. Would the cult accept this staged attack, or had they already grown too suspicious of Sebastian? His father's role in this troubled him. Vincent couldn't have specifically targeted Sebastian - they had no connection Ciel knew of. No, this was Claude's doing, whispering poison into William's ear.

But his father's larger game gnawed at him. Using William's paranoia as a weapon was clever, certainly, but to what end? Was his goal to shatter the cult from within? And at what cost? Ciel's fingers clenched in his lap, surprising himself with the surge of resentment toward Vincent. Whether his father had intended it or not, Sebastian was paying the price for his schemes.

The manor materialized from the darkness as the car rolled to a stop, its familiar silhouette both welcoming and imposing. Ciel had barely reached the top step when the heavy door swung open, revealing Tanaka's weathered face creased with concern.

"Young master," Tanaka breathed, relief evident in his voice. Before Ciel could react, he found himself enveloped in the butler's embrace - a rare break in Tanaka's usual propriety that spoke volumes about his worry.

Ciel stiffened momentarily before allowing himself to return the gesture. "I'm fine," he murmured, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

Tanaka pulled back, his eyes carrying that knowing look that had always seen through Ciel's facades. "I've reinstated the security detail," he stated, his tone brooking no argument. "Your father entrusted me with your safety. I intend to honor that duty."

"Tanaka-" Ciel's protest died as his eye fell on three familiar figures standing at attention in the foyer.

Finny bounced forward first, blonde hair held back by cheerful clips that belied his combat training. "Welcome home!" His smile carried the same infectious energy Ciel remembered.

Mey-rin adjusted her thick glasses, cranberry hair falling forward as she bowed deeply. "Young master," she greeted, professional despite her nervous fidgeting. "We're here to serve."

Bard completed the trio, cigar clamped between his teeth as he offered a casual salute. His scraggly stubble and easy stance hadn't changed, but his eyes carried sharp assessment beneath their friendly glint. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

The sight of his old security detail stirred memories from four years ago when the wounds of his parents' disappearance were still raw:

                         Four years ago

"Bodyguards?" Sixteen-year-old Ciel's voice cracked with indignation, his hands clenching into fists. "I don't need to be coddled, Tanaka. I need to be left alone."

"Young master," Tanaka's voice carried that gentle firmness that had become more frequent since his parents vanished. "This is temporary. Your safety must be our priority until-"

"Until what?" Ciel cut him off, his single visible eye blazing. "Until they come back? They will come back, so why do I need protection?" The words held all the desperate certainty of a child clinging to hope, even as doubt gnawed at its edges.

"Young master," Tanaka's voice softened, heavy with unspoken burdens. "There are matters at play that you cannot yet-"

"Then enlighten me!" Ciel's words cracked with raw frustration. "Stop treating me like a child who needs to be shielded from the truth!"

Tanaka's silence and averted gaze only stoked Ciel's anger. The butler's face bore the weight of secrets he refused to share.

"Of course," Ciel scoffed, arms crossing tight against his chest. "More silence."

"Oi, ease up there, kid. The old man's just looking out for you." The rough voice from behind made Ciel whirl around, coming face to face with a stranger - tall, blonde, with military bearing despite his unkempt stubble. The smell of cigarettes clung to him like a second skin.

"And who," Ciel's voice came sharp as ice, "are you supposed to be?"

"My, my, quite the fierce little captain we've got here," the man grinned, seemingly immune to Ciel's hostility. "Complete with the eyepatch and everything."

Ciel's fists clenched at his sides, rage building at being dismissed so casually. He was sick of adults who thought they could patronize him with fake cheer while keeping him in the dark.

The man with the cigarette introduced himself, "I'm Baldroy, but I go by Bard." 

A youthful-looking man with wide, innocent eyes and distinct red hair clips bounced up behind Bard. "I'm Finny, nice to meet you!" His voice carried an enthusiastic lilt.

Following Finny, a young woman with large, round glasses stumbled forward, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. "M-Meyrin at your s-service!" she stammered out, her nervousness palpable.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Is a trio of bodyguards truly necessary?" Ciel questioned, his tone laced with exasperation.

Tanaka, ever patient, explained in his gentle yet firm manner, "Young master, each of them possesses unique skills and expertise. While it may seem excessive, it is entirely for your well-being and protection."

"Fine, do as you wish," Ciel dismissed with a scoff, crossing his arms tight against his chest. "I'm going to my room.”

As Ciel strode away, he noticed the three bodyguards trailing behind him like obedient puppies. His visible eye twitched with irritation as he halted abruptly and spun around. In his sharp, icy tone that belied his youth, he snapped, "I don't need an entourage, you bunch of oddballs. Stop following me.”

The pattern persisted throughout the bodyguards' stay, with the loyal trio shadowing Ciel's every move. However, perhaps fortune smiled upon him, as he never bore witness to their true capabilities in action - a small mercy amidst the suffocating surveillance.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ 

                           Present Time

Bard swaggered up to Ciel, reaching down to ruffle his hair. "Well, look at you! Bet you've grown a few inches since the last time we saw ya, eh?"

Ciel scowled, batting Bard's hand away and meticulously fixing his hair. "Spare me the flattery, Bard."

Finny bounded forward, his infectious grin lighting up the room. "He sure is different from how we remember him, isn't he?" He placed his hands behind his head, rocking back on his heels.

Mey-Rin nodded sagely, her thick glasses slipping down her nose as she dabbed at her eyes. "Ah, just look at our young master. The growing pains he must have weathered..." She sniffed dramatically.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The familiar weight of protection settled over Ciel, unwanted yet necessary. As much as it grated against his pride, he couldn't deny the small measure of relief their presence brought. The cult's shadow loomed too large to face alone, though he'd never voice such weakness aloud.

"Mey-rin. Finny. Bard." Each name carried the weight of command as Ciel addressed them. "Your lives belong to me now. Protect me with them."

The trio's shock was palpable - they'd clearly expected the same resistance from four years ago. Only Tanaka's knowing smile suggested he'd anticipated this growth in his young master. 

"About damn time," Bard grinned around his cigar, breaking the tension.

"You can count on us!" Finny's enthusiasm practically radiated from him.

"Yes, young master," Mey-rin straightened her glasses with newfound purpose.

Chapter XXV: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXVI: The High Priestess

Sebastian endured the doctor's examination with practiced patience, his crimson eyes occasionally flickering to Hannah's hovering presence. The doctor's pen hovered over his clipboard, ready to record each response.

"Any nausea? Chest pain?"

"No," Sebastian's reply came smooth as silk.

"Breathing difficulties?"

"None whatsoever."

The doctor lowered his clipboard, a knowing look crossing his features. "Good - no transfusion rejection. Though the fever gave us a scare, you're stable now. But then, you'd know the signs, wouldn't you?" A pause. "Our records show you did your residency here."

Sebastian's eyebrow arched elegantly. "Oh?" His tone carried just the right note of polite interest, even as his mind raced with the implications of this connection.

"At any rate," the doctor continued, scanning his notes, "the blade's trajectory missed vital organs - quite fortunate. And your decision to leave the knife in place likely saved your life. Prevented excessive blood loss." His tone carried professional approval.

"In that case," Sebastian's voice remained smooth despite his growing impatience, "I assume I'm free to leave?"

"I'm afraid not." The doctor's response was firm but measured. "Your body has undergone significant trauma. You'll remain under observation until we're confident in your recovery." The clinical finality in his tone suggested he was well-versed in dealing with resistant patients.

"That's hardly conducive to my current needs-" Sebastian's smooth objection cut short as an all-too-familiar voice sliced through the air.

"Now, Sebastian, you really should heed his medical advice. You appear rather... compromised." Claude's words dripped with false concern as he entered, William's rigid form following close behind.

Perfect timing. Sebastian's thoughts carried acid, though his features remained masterfully composed. "William. Claude. What an unexpected pleasure."

The doctor and Hannah exchanged glances, reading the sudden tension. "We'll give you some privacy," the doctor offered diplomatically, ushering Hannah out. The door's soft click seemed to seal Sebastian's fate.

"Explain." William's voice cut through the air like steel.

"I moved to eliminate our person of interest," Sebastian's voice carried its usual silk, even from his prone position. "Unfortunately, he proved more... resourceful than anticipated. The knife found its way into my abdomen, and he made his escape."

"How remarkably convenient," Claude's tone dripped honey-coated venom. "Do enlighten us on how young Phantomhive managed to overcome you."

 "One might wonder if the real traitor tipped him off."

"How amusing." Claude's voice carried that insufferable satisfaction. "William, surely you see through this farce?"

"My, my," Sebastian's lips curved into that knowing smirk. "The evidence speaks rather clearly, wouldn't you say?" He drew back the covers with deliberate grace, revealing his bandaged torso. "Rather convincing, don't you think?"

"Self-inflicted, naturally," Claude dismissed.

"My dear Claude," Sebastian purred, his voice dripping mockery. "The medical staff can verify the wound's trajectory. Quite impossible to achieve alone."

William's silence stretched, his chartreuse eyes studying Sebastian through gleaming spectacles. Finally: "Claude, dispatch the others. Find Ciel."

A smile of triumph spread across Claude's features.

"That won't be necessary," Sebastian's voice maintained its silken quality. "Once I've recovered - a matter of days, really - I'll handle young Phantomhive myself. The boy has made this... rather personal."

"Sebastian." William's voice cut like steel. "You've failed. I'll overlook this... incident. But we'll deal with Ciel Phantomhive without your... intervention."

Sebastian felt white-hot fury course through his veins, though his features betrayed nothing but elegant contrition. "Indeed, my performance has been... lacking," his voice carried its usual silk, masking the dangerous edge beneath. "How terribly remiss of me. I do hate to disappoint." Each word dripped perfect subservience, even as murderous intent simmered just below the surface.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The private club's opulence struck Vincent as a thin veneer over something far more sinister. As he and Charles stepped inside, the air seemed to thicken with unspoken depravity, heavy with the weight of countless dark dealings. Crystal chandeliers cast shadows that danced like restless spirits across mahogany-paneled walls, their light doing little to dispel the darkness that seemed to seep from every corner.

Charles shifted uneasily as they entered the private club, acutely aware of the calculating stares that followed their every move. The patrons' predatory gazes made his law enforcement background feel like a neon sign. Vincent, for his part, seemed to find Charles's discomfort rather amusing.

The back room revealed a scene that bordered on the theatrical - three cloaked figures seated around a circular table, their faces obscured in shadow. Vincent had to suppress a smile at the melodrama of it all.

"Vincent Phantomhive," came a digitally altered voice, cold with barely concealed hostility. "Your presence here is most unwelcome."

"I do enjoy making an entrance," Vincent replied with his signature polish, ignoring Charles's warning look.

"And what, pray tell, brings you to grace us with your company?" another distorted voice inquired, laden with dangerous curiosity.

"Charles, explain this violation of-" The third figure's reprimand was suddenly drowned out by wild, unrestrained laughter.

One of the cloaked members doubled over, cackling with a familiar manic energy that made Vincent's eyebrow rise in recognition.

"Vincent Phantomhive!" the figure exclaimed between fits of laughter, dramatically throwing back his hood. "Still stirring up such wonderful trouble, I see!"

"Undertaker?" Vincent's composure cracked, revealing genuine shock beneath. Standing before him was a man who should be dead.

"Undertaker?" Charles breathed, echoing Vincent, his voice tight with confusion and mounting dread. "How is he involved in this?"

Vincent's head snapped toward Charles, aristocratic features sharpening with sudden interest. "You've encountered him before?" But before Charles could respond, they were interrupted.

"You're rather compromising our position, Cedric," another modulated voice cracked with genuine alarm.

Vincent felt his carefully maintained composure slip. This unexpected revelation threatened to shatter his meticulously crafted plans. His fingers curled into tight fists as his mind raced - what twisted game was Undertaker orchestrating? More pressingly, how had he survived? Vincent had been certain that-

"Oh, how I've missed our delightful little games," Undertaker's voice dripped with that unsettling blend of madness and mirth as he rose from his seat. His attention shifted to his shrouded companions, his tone taking on a more menacing edge. "These theatrics have run their course, wouldn't you agree? Let's dispense with these absurd disguises." His grin widened dangerously. "Ares first."

"How dare you-" The rigid voice of Ares rose in protest.

The words died as Undertaker moved with uncanny speed, fingers closing around Ares's throat as he ripped back the hood. Vincent's eyes narrowed as Johann Agares's face emerged - Weston's previous Chancellor and another specter from his past.

"Apollo next," Undertaker sang, the playful tone making his threat more chilling.

With a flourish, Apollo's hood fell back to reveal Aleister Chamber's unmistakable features. Vincent's lip curled - so the whispers about the Chamber family's ties to human trafficking held truth after all. How fitting that such a man should have his fingers tangled in Weston's web of corruption.

None of this aligned with Vincent's carefully laid plans. Undertaker's presence upended everything - where had he been lurking all these years? And Charles... Vincent's gaze cut to his companion. Had the investigator concealed this connection, or was his own history with Undertaker merely another twisted coincidence? The possibility that William knew, that this was all part of some larger game, sent Vincent's mind racing with new calculations.

One look at Charles confirmed the man was equally blindsided. The investigator's face had drained of color, his usual composure fractured by genuine shock. At least in this, Vincent could be certain - Charles was as trapped in this spiraling web of revelations as he was.

"Ah, much better," Undertaker's voice carried that familiar manic lilt as his fingers remained locked around Agares' throat. "I'm afraid your roles in our little production have reached their end."

"You can't possibly-" Agares' words strangled into silence as Undertaker's grip constricted. Vincent watched, paralyzed, as the man's face contorted, skin taking on a violent purple hue. Each desperate gasp for air echoed in the suddenly still room.

Vincent's mind screamed at his limbs to move, to intervene, but primal terror held him frozen. Beside him, Charles stood equally rigid, both men reduced to unwilling spectators of Undertaker's casual display of brutality.

The raw power emanating from his old tormentor sent ice through Vincent's veins. In all his careful planning, all his strategic maneuvering, he'd never truly understood what Undertaker was - what kind of monster wore that ever-present grin.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                        Thirty years ago

Vincent found himself in an impossible position after discovering the cult's existence. His closest friend William had fallen under their sway, Diedrich lay dead, and the weight of these secrets threatened everyone he held dear. One wrong move, one whispered word to the wrong person, could bring destruction raining down on those he needed to protect.

The questions plagued him relentlessly - how had William strayed so far from the man he'd known? What force could have twisted his rigid sense of justice into this perversion? None of it aligned with the friend he'd trusted for so many years.

But beneath all these uncertainties lurked an even more troubling question - what game was Undertaker truly playing? 

Undertaker haunted Vincent's footsteps in the weeks that followed, materializing like an unwelcome shadow in the most unexpected places. His persistent attempts to indoctrinate Vincent with the cult's twisted ideology became a maddening constant.

Vincent found himself plagued by Undertaker's words, even in his dreams. The man's voice would slither through his unconscious mind, that particular conversation replaying with cruel clarity:

"Diedrich held a special place in your heart, didn't he, Vincent?" Undertaker had asked, his voice a gentle caress that made Vincent's skin crawl. "Tell me, what if death isn't the final chapter? Through our sacred ritual of consumption, you could inherit everything that made Diedrich who he was - his strength, his wisdom, his very soul. All of it could live on within you."

Vincent's fingers clenched into fists. "Is that how you justify this madness? Pretending it's some noble preservation?"

"Madness?" Undertaker's lips curved into an indulgent smile. "Tell me, in nature, what happens to a fallen deer? The wolves consume it, and through that consumption, the deer's energy, its very life force, continues. We simply... elevate this natural process." 

He began to pace, his enthusiasm building. "Think of the human body as a vessel of power, of knowledge. When we consume the flesh of the exceptional, we take that power into ourselves. Diedrich's death needn't be an ending - it could be your beginning, Vincent. Your ascension."

"You're insane," Vincent whispered, horror dawning as he realized the depth of Undertaker's conviction.

"Insane? No, no." Undertaker's eyes gleamed with fervent belief. "I'm awakened. The world hungers, Vincent. It devours the weak, the unprepared. We simply choose to be the devourers rather than the devoured." He extended his hand. "Join us. Become what you were meant to be. Let me show you how to transcend mere humanity."

"And William?" Vincent's voice was tight. "Did you 'awaken' him too?"

"Ah, William." Undertaker's smile widened. "Such a brilliant mind, once he embraced our truth. He understood that power requires sacrifice. That to reshape this corrupt world, we must first reshape ourselves." He took a step closer. "You could be so much more than William. Your potential exceeds even his."

Vincent felt fury coil in his chest, cold and precise. The very notion that he could be seduced into their depraved circle was laughable. Undertaker's grand philosophies were nothing more than the ravings of a madman, and Vincent would sooner die than let such poison take root in his mind.

One by one, students vanished from Weston's halls, each absence a calculated move that Vincent could do nothing to prevent. The truth of their fate burned in his chest, yet he dared not breathe a word of it - not to Francis, not even to Rachel. Such knowledge would only endanger those he held dear.

He found William in the fencing hall, that sacred ground where their friendship had first taken root. How fitting that it should serve his purpose now.

William stood in full fencing attire, his movements carrying that precise grace Vincent knew so well. Vincent observed his form with detachment before clearing his throat. "Care for a match?"

William paused, removing his helmet with mechanical efficiency. His usually pristine hair fell forward, and he smoothed it back with practiced discipline. "What purpose would that serve?" he asked, voice clipped and measured. "Another defeat seems rather pointless."

"On my terms," Vincent replied, his cultured tone masking deeper intent. "Should you lose, you'll depart from the cult's embrace."

"And should victory be mine?" William's question carried professional curiosity.

"Then I shall join your ranks." Vincent let the lie fall from his lips with practiced elegance, even as revulsion threatened to choke him. The stakes left no room for hesitation - William's salvation rested upon the edge of his blade.

"How terribly rash of you," William remarked, adjusting his glasses with mechanical precision. "Don your equipment."

Vincent dressed with fluid efficiency, each piece of fencing gear settling into place like armor for the battle ahead. The helmet came last, a steel mask to hide the desperation in his eyes. His fingers curled around the sword's grip as he assumed his position opposite William.

"En garde," William's voice rang with ritual precision. Then, sharp as steel: "Allez!"

They advanced in perfect synchronization, crossing the en garde line with practiced grace. Their blades met in a brief kiss of steel before both men retreated, sizing each other up like circling predators.

William struck first, his advance carrying devastating speed. Vincent barely managed to deflect the attack, his parry more desperate than elegant. His friend's newfound velocity spoke of countless hours of solitary practice.

"Do you see now?" William's tone cut through the air with that clinical edge. "While you occupied yourself with romantic pursuits, I honed my skills in this very hall. My superiority in speed and strength is merely a fact."

"Such delightful arrogance," Vincent's aristocratic drawl carried just the right note of mockery. "But pride often precedes a fall, wouldn't you agree?"

With fluid grace, Vincent launched his counter. A deceptive feint drew William's blade high, leaving him exposed to Vincent's true target - a swift strike to the side that landed before William could adjust his defense.

"Point to me," Vincent purred, retreating with calculated elegance. Even hidden behind his mask, his smirk carried in his voice.

William aggressively went in for another attack, his speed still unmatched, and swung his sword high, striking Vincent in the shoulder before he could react. He stepped back, as Vincent felt his shoulder. “You were saying?” He teased.

Their deadly dance continued, each point hard-won. Though Vincent pressed his advantage, they remained locked in a stalemate. William's preternatural speed and tactical brilliance proved formidable, forcing Vincent to match cunning with cunning.

Vincent advanced with aristocratic grace, channeling all his strength into a single, calculated strike. The blade shattered precisely as he'd anticipated when William moved to parry - a tactical sacrifice that left his opponent momentarily defenseless.

Yet William's response defied all propriety. He lunged forward with killing intent, his broken blade seeking flesh rather than points. Vincent barely evaded the strike, his mind reeling at this breach of etiquette. Before he could recover, William's leg swept his feet from beneath him with brutal efficiency.

The impact drove the air from Vincent's lungs as he hit the floor. William's foot pressed against his chest with mechanical precision, the jagged remnant of his blade poised for a killing stroke.

"That's quite enough." Undertaker's fingers closed around William's wrist, his voice carrying that unsettling blend of amusement and authority. "I require Vincent among the living, dear William. Were you truly prepared to end him?"

William's perfect composure cracked, his hand trembling as he turned to Undertaker. "Why does he command such fascination when I stand before you?" The raw emotion in his usually measured voice stirred something uncomfortable in Vincent's chest.

William's sword clattered to the floor as he sank to his knees, his rigid composure finally shattering.

Time seemed to crystallize as Vincent lay there, clarity cutting through his exhaustion. A single thought emerged with knife-sharp precision - as long as Undertaker drew breath, this madness would never end. The solution presented itself with cold simplicity.

In one fluid motion, Vincent seized the fallen blade. His body moved with deadly purpose, driving the broken sword deep into Undertaker's chest - a mere inch from his heart. Undertaker's eyes met his, that insufferable grin spreading across his face even as he toppled backward.

William's face transformed from shock to raw fury, his usual mask of control obliterated by the sight of his mentor's fall.

"You... you fool!" William's composure shattered completely as he seized Vincent. "Why would you do this?!"

"This madness would never end while he drew breath," Vincent's voice carried steel beneath its polish.

Vincent watched Undertaker's prone form, a detail nagging at his tactical mind - the blood pooling seemed oddly minimal for such a wound.

William rushed to his mentor's side, pressing his hands against the wound with desperate precision.

"William," Undertaker's voice remained unnervingly calm, that same mad humor dancing beneath his words. "Harbor no hatred for Vincent. His actions spring from devotion to you. Carry forward with our designs after I've departed. And let young Vincent leave - he'll face no consequences for this deed."

Vincent felt his careful calculations falter. Undertaker offering mercy? This unexpected grace felt more unsettling than any threat.

"Get out!" William's voice cracked with raw emotion. "Leave, now!"

The command jolted Vincent from his analysis. He removed his helmet with fluid grace and departed, his mind already racing to understand Undertaker's final game.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                       Present Time

Agares crumpled to the floor as Undertaker cast him aside, turning his unsettling attention to Vincent. 

"Such a delightful expression, Vincent. One might think you'd witnessed something impossible," Undertaker's voice dripped with mockery.

"I drove that blade through your chest," Vincent's composed facade cracked further. "I watched you fall."

"What twisted game is this?" Charles demanded, his investigator's instincts fighting against the madness before him.

"Ah, dear Charles. I'd almost forgotten our audience," Undertaker's grin widened. "Your presence adds such an interesting dimension to our little reunion."

Undertaker's attention snapped back to Vincent, giggles bubbling up like poison. "Did you truly believe it would be that simple? Undertaker's manic laughter filled the air as he fixed his gaze on Vincent. "I've long prepared for such attempts. A daily regimen of coagulants ensures any wounds I sustain bleed far less than they should. I must commend your execution, though. Perfect form, even if the results proved disappointing. But then, I've always maintained the upper hand in our little dance, Vincent."

Vincent's jaw clenched as Undertaker's mockery twisted the knife of realization - decades of careful planning, undone by a madman's game.

"Is this your revenge then?" Vincent's voice carried careful control. "And these plans for William's demise - you sat among the board, orchestrating his downfall while playing both sides?" 

The implications hit Vincent like a physical blow. William couldn't know - his old friend was as much a pawn as the rest of them.

"Revenge?" Undertaker's laughter held that familiar manic edge before his expression shifted to exaggerated hurt, chartreuse eyes gleaming. "Such a mundane motivation. I thought you understood me better than that."

"Then what game are you playing?"

"You, Vincent. It's always been you."

"What?"

"William was merely a stepping stone - malleable, predictable. But you..." Undertaker's voice carried dangerous fascination. "Your resolve, your brilliance, your delicious cunning. Look how masterfully you've maneuvered yourself here. I want to see what heights you'll reach, what depths you'll plumb when properly... motivated."

Vincent felt his careful composure threaten to crack. All of this - the deaths, the manipulation, the years of careful planning - reduced to one madman's twisted entertainment.

"The cult, the ideology - it was all theater for your amusement?" Vincent's voice carried deadly precision.

"Humans are such fascinating creatures," Undertaker mused. "Give them a belief to cling to, a hope to chase, and watch them dance. But oh, how quickly it grew tedious. Until you provided such delightful new entertainment."

"Let me understand this clearly," Charles cut in, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "While playing the role of a simple mortician, you orchestrated this entire elaborate scheme, waiting for Vincent to take the bait?"

“It was a much more meticulous process than that,” Undertaker started, “Did you think Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals' collapse was mere misfortune?" Undertaker's grin widened. "A few words in the right ears, a few contracts mysteriously falling through... watching you turn to William in desperation was exquisite entertainment."

"You orchestrated our financial ruin?" Vincent's voice carried deadly calm.

"I merely created the circumstances that would force your hand. After all, what wouldn't a father do to save his dying company - and his ailing child?"

The truth crystallized with devastating clarity - Undertaker had been the puppet master from the beginning, every thread of Vincent's life manipulated by those unseen hands. The revelation left a bitter taste in his mouth. He, who prided himself on seeing three moves ahead, had been playing a game rigged from the start.

A movement caught Vincent's eye - Aleister Chamber attempting to slink away like the coward he was. Undertaker noticed too, his perpetual grin widening as he turned his attention to the would-be escapee. "Leaving so soon, Aleister?" With casual grace, Undertaker's foot came down on Chamber's back, drawing a pained gasp from the man.

"Edgar Redmond - my nephew at Weston," Aleister choked out between labored breaths. "Surely we can come to an arrangement. Money is no problem, he can get it for you-“

"How disappointingly predictable," Undertaker's foot pressed deeper, cutting off Chamber's desperate bargaining. "Always reaching for your wallet when cornered. As if mere money could satisfy my appetite for entertainment."

In one fluid motion, Undertaker grabbed Aleister by his expensive collar and dragged him to the window. "You see, entertainment has always been my currency of choice." He pressed Chamber against the glass, the man's protests becoming increasingly frantic. "And nothing entertains quite like watching the powerful realize how powerless they truly are."

The window shattered with a decisive strike, and Undertaker held Aleister suspended over the edge. "Your nephew Edgar - such an obedient pawn in my little game. Shall we see if he'll miss his dear uncle?"

"Please, I-" Aleister's final plea cut short as Undertaker simply... let go, his grin never wavering as he watched Chamber plummet.

The sickening impact echoed through the room, drawing an involuntary flinch from Charles. Vincent remained motionless, his strategic mind - for the first time in years - utterly blank. All his careful calculations, his meticulous planning, crumbled in the face of Undertaker's casual brutality. For once, Vincent Phantomhive had no moves left to play.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Claude and Hannah stood in the vacant hospital room, the harsh fluorescent lights casting severe shadows across their faces. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of their surroundings.

Claude adjusted his glasses with clinical precision. "I trust you understand the delicacy required?" His voice carried that familiar mechanical efficiency.

Hannah's fingers brushed against the vial in her pocket, its presence like a cold weight. "The dosage seems... excessive."

"Concerned for dear Sebastian?" Claude's lips curved into a cold smile as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Remember your position, Hannah. We cannot afford his interference when we make our move against Ciel Phantomhive."

Hannah's fingers tightened around the vial, her composure cracking for just a moment. "And if there are... complications?"

"Then we'll have one less obstacle to deal with." Claude's golden eyes gleamed with satisfaction behind his glasses. "Either outcome serves our purpose."

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Hannah slipped into Sebastian's darkened room, moonlight filtering through the window blinds. The vial and syringe felt heavy in her hands as she approached his bed, watching his chest rise and fall in seemingly peaceful sleep.

Her movements were precise as she prepared the injection, finding a vein in his arm with practiced ease. The needle hovered over his skin as she hesitated. "I'm sorry about this," she whispered.

Sebastian's finger twitched—a detail she might have missed if she hadn't been watching so closely. Before she could process its meaning, elegant fingers wrapped around her wrist with surprising strength.

"My, my... working late, aren't we?"

The voice came from behind her, deceptively light. Hannah turned to find a man in traditional Chinese clothing, his presence somehow both casual and threatening. His eyes remained nearly closed, yet she felt the weight of his attention.

"Who are you?" Hannah kept her voice steady, though her pulse quickened.

His lips curved into a knowing smile as his gaze fell to the syringe. "That particular shade of that drug... I'd recognize it anywhere. After all, I developed it specifically for Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals." He opened his eyes slightly, the sharp intelligence in them belying his leisurely demeanor.

"You're not authorized to be here." Hannah's professional mask remained firmly in place.

"How interesting." His smile widened. "Neither is that drug you're holding. Tell me, does Claude often ask you to handle his more... delicate tasks?"

The mention of Claude's name shattered her composure for just a moment.

"It would be unfortunate if the hospital board learned about unauthorized drug trials." His words carried silk-wrapped steel. "Careers have ended for less."

Hannah's throat tightened. "Why are you helping him?"

"Let's just say I find Claude's little games tedious." His casual tone couldn't quite hide the edge beneath. "I prefer to... complicate his plans when possible."

Hannah's hand trembled slightly as reality settled in. Her career, her reputation—everything she'd worked for balanced on this moment. This wasn't worth becoming a pariah in every hospital across the country.

She held out the syringe.

"If I may ask... who are you?"

His smile turned enigmatic. "Lau will suffice." He said as he took the syringe from her hand.

Hannah paused in the doorway, her silhouette stark against the corridor light. "I won't breathe a word to Claude," she said softly, not turning back.

"A wise decision," Lau's voice carried that same deceptive lightness.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The sound of Hannah's footsteps faded into the hospital's nighttime quiet. A moment passed before Lau's amused voice broke the silence.

"You can stop pretending now." His smile was audible in his words. "Though I must say, your performance was quite convincing."

Sebastian's crimson eyes opened, studying his self-appointed savior with calculated interest. "Such an unexpected guardian angel.” he purred, voice smooth as silk despite his condition. "Though I doubt altruism motivated your interference."

"Let's just say the meeting proved... enlightening." Lau's perpetual smile carried a sharper edge. "Watching Claude puppet William so expertly—why, if our dear chancellor would turn on even you at Claude's word, what chance would a humble businessman like myself stand?"

"Ah." Sebastian's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Self-preservation dressed as benevolence. How very like you, Lau."

"Such is my nature," Lau's perpetual smile carried knowing amusement. "Though if you intend to keep the young Phantomhive breathing, you might want to consider a hasty departure."

Sebastian's crimson eyes narrowed, a rare flicker of surprise crossing his features. "How did you—"

"Now, now," Lau cut in, voice lilting with casual insight. "Let's not pretend. Your dedication to the boy extends beyond mere duty or betrayal, doesn't it?"

He gestured elegantly toward a chair across from the bed, where a bag sat that Sebastian hadn't noticed before. "I took the liberty of retrieving your belongings. Consider it... an investment in future entertainment."

Lau was an elegant cipher, his perpetual smile masking depths that even Sebastian's keen perception couldn't fathom. While Ciel's unpredictability had a certain logic to it—a pattern within the chaos that Sebastian had learned to anticipate—Lau remained thoroughly inscrutable. His casual demeanor and half-lidded eyes concealed calculations that left Sebastian with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of being several moves behind in a game whose rules he didn't fully understand. It was a sensation he neither appreciated nor often experienced.

"...I'll keep that in mind," Sebastian said, carefully rising from the hospital bed, suppressing a wince as the wound pulled at his stitches.

Lau departed without another word, leaving Sebastian to examine the bag's contents. His phone and wallet were there, but the clothes were unfamiliar—a plain black t-shirt, dark green zip-up hoodie, and grey sweatpants with running shoes. He held up the casual attire with mild distaste. Far from his usual style, but circumstances left little room for sartorial preferences.

Sebastian's lips pressed into a thin line as he dressed, mind already racing through scenarios. The cult would be moving against Ciel now, and the manor would be their most likely first target. Time was not on his side.

Chapter XXVI: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXVII: Strength

Ciel's thumb moved mechanically across his phone screen, the endless scroll of information failing to distract from the suffocating reality of his confinement. The manor's familiar walls, once a sanctuary, now felt like an elaborate cage. Each passing hour stretched his nerves thinner, the forced inaction gnawing at him while the cult remained free to move against him.

But it was Sebastian's absence that truly plagued his thoughts. A day had elapsed since their violent parting since Ciel had driven that blade into him. Sebastian's promise to find him echoed hollowly now, the silence that followed speaking volumes. Despite his best efforts to remain detached, Ciel couldn't quite suppress the unwelcome flicker of concern that rose whenever he pictured Sebastian lying in that hospital bed.

With a sharp exhale of frustration, Ciel clicked off his phone, plunging the room into darkness. The soft shuffle of feet outside his door - Mey-rin and Finny standing guard - served as a constant reminder of his vulnerability. He'd traded one form of captivity for another, and the irony wasn't lost on him.

The sharp click of the door opening shattered the darkness. Light flooded in as Mey-rin stepped inside, her movements carrying an edge of urgency that immediately set Ciel on alert.

"Young master," her voice was low, measured in a way that made Ciel's pulse quicken. "Someone's at the door. Finny and Bard are handling it, but I thought it best to stay with you."

Ciel pushed himself upright, his mind racing through possibilities. Sebastian, finally making good on his promise? Or had the cult already found him? The uncertainty prickled across his skin as he strained to hear any sound from below, each second of silence stretching taut with possibility and threat.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Bard and Finny descended the manor steps with practiced silence, their holstered weapons a cold comfort against the night's uncertainties. The polished wood creaked beneath their feet despite their caution, each sound echoing through the stillness.

At the door, Bard pressed his ear against the heavy oak, his voice pitched low but commanding: "Who's there?"

The silence that answered carried weight, heavy with threat. Bard's eyes met Finny's, years of working together allowing volumes to pass between them in that single glance. Their weapons cleared leather in perfect sync, the metallic whisper of steel on leather barely audible.

With a swift motion that spoke of countless drills, Bard yanked the door open, both guns trained on the threshold. The light spilled out to illuminate two figures - Grell Sutcliff's crimson hair blazing like fresh blood in the darkness, Ronald Knox's more subdued presence at her side.

"Not another step," Bard growled, his finger steady on the trigger. "State your business."

Bard's gaze lingered on their suitcases, instinct screaming danger before his mind could process why. Grell's lips split into a predatory grin, teeth gleaming in the darkness. "Why don't you step out here and find out what we want?"

The invitation hung in the air for only a heartbeat before Grell moved - faster than seemed possible. Her hand shot out like a viper, fingers closing around Bard's collar. One savage yank sent him sprawling onto the gravel, his gun clattering away into the darkness.

"Bard!" Finny's shout turned to a curse as Ronald's briefcase clicked open with mechanical precision. Metal segments unfolded with fluid grace, assembling into a lethal polearm that caught the moonlight along its blade.

The weapon whistled through the air where Finny's head had been a split second before. He rolled past Ronald's strike, muscles coiling to spring toward his fallen comrade, but the night air suddenly filled with a mechanical snarl.

Grell stood over Bard, one heel grinding into his chest, her own case discarded. In her hands, a modified red circular saw roared to life, its crimson blade spinning with hungry anticipation. Her voice carried a sing-song quality that made the words all the more chilling:

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy painting you all such a lovely shade of red."

Finny exploded into motion, his kick cutting an arc through the night air, but Grell was already moving. She danced backward with unsettling grace, the saw's angry whine dopplering as she took her place beside Ronald. The maneuver spoke of practiced coordination between the two intruders.

"On your feet," Finny muttered, hauling Bard upright without taking his eyes off their attackers. Bard shrugged off the gravel, his military bearing reasserting itself despite the indignity of being thrown.

"Nice toys you've got there," Bard's voice dripped with calculated derision, trying to bait them into revealing more. "What is this - some kind of cosplay gone wrong? Or did you raid the props department at a B-movie studio?"

"Oh my," Ronald's laugh held no warmth, his eyes flicking to Bard's military fatigues. "An American soldier separated from his gun? Now there's a tragedy." Each word dripped with mock sympathy, the blade of his polearm catching the moonlight as he shifted stance.

Bard's response was unhurried, deliberate. The click of his lighter cut through the tension as he lit a cigarette, the ember's glow briefly illuminating his hardened features. Smoke curled from his lips as he spoke: "Trust me, kids - a gun's the least of what you should be worried about."

"How adorable," Grell purred, the saw's motor growling in harmony with her words. "The guard dogs think they have teeth."

"Teeth?" Finny's voice had lost its usual cheer, replaced by something darker that made even Grell's smile falter. "You've wandered onto Phantomhive ground. Everything here is a weapon - including us." The boyish features that had earned him so many underestimations settled into something predatory. "And you're about to learn why that was a mistake."

Finny's gun clattered to the ground as he launched forward, a blur of controlled violence. Grell's saw screamed through the air, seeking flesh, but Finny was already moving. "Too slow-" Grell's taunt died in her throat as Finny's body arched backward with impossible flexibility, the saw's deadly edge whistling harmlessly above him. In one fluid motion, he planted his palms against the ground and propelled his legs upward, his boots connecting with Grell's jaw with devastating precision.

The impact sent her staggering, a manicured hand flying to her face. "Not the face, you brute!" she shrieked, fury warring with vanity as she frantically fumbled for her phone. The screen's glow illuminated her growing horror as she examined her reflection. An angry purple bruise was already blooming across her chin, marring her carefully cultivated appearance.

Her theatrical dismay transformed into raw rage. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to perfect this complexion?" she snarled the saw's motor revving with renewed menace. "I'm going to peel that pretty face right off you!"

Ronald pinched the bridge of his nose, an exasperated sigh escaping him at his partner's priorities. Bard and Finny exchanged bewildered glances - of all the reactions they'd expected from their attacker, this narcissistic meltdown hadn't been one of them.

Grell launched herself at Finny, the saw's crimson arc leaving trails in the darkness. Finny weaved through the attacks with almost inhuman precision, each dodge bringing him a hair's breadth from dismemberment. The night air filled with the saw's hungry whine and Grell's manic laughter.

"Such delightful reflexes!" Grell's voice carried an edge of genuine excitement between strikes. "But how long until that pretty face of yours slips? Everyone makes a mistake eventually!"

Her leg swept out like a viper, aiming to topple Finny, but he was already airborne. His counter was devastating - one fluid motion that sent Grell's beloved saw spinning into the darkness. The loss of her weapon only made her grin sharpen.

"Well then," Finny's voice carried none of its usual warmth. "Shall we see what you're capable of without your toy?"

Grell's tongue clicked in irritation, but her stance shifted to something more predatory.

Across the grounds, Bard's boots crunched gravel as he sprinted for the manor's entrance. Ronald's polearm whistled through the air behind him, missing by inches.

"Running away already?" Ronald's taunt carried across the distance. "And here I thought American soldiers were supposed to be brave!"

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The sounds of combat echoed through the manor - metal shrieking against metal, manic laughter piercing the night. Ciel's pulse hammered against his ribs as he crossed to the window, each step measured despite his urgency.

The scene below froze his breath in his lungs. Finny and Grell danced a lethal waltz across the grounds, their movements illuminated by intermittent moonlight. But Bard's absence rang alarm bells in Ciel's mind, and the sudden thunderous crash from below only confirmed his fears.

"Those sounds..." Ciel's words trailed off as heavy thuds reverberated through the floorboards.

"Don't concern yourself with Bard, young master." Mey-rin's voice had shed its usual timidity, replaced by something cold and professional. Her glasses clinked softly as she removed them, eyes sharp and deadly as she reached beneath Ciel's bed. The sniper rifle she withdrew gleamed with deadly promise. "He can handle himself. But I believe our Finny could use some... precise intervention."

Ciel stared at Mey-rin with newfound wariness. How many other weapons lay hidden throughout his bedroom? The thought that he'd been sleeping above an arsenal all this time was both unsettling and oddly reassuring.

The rifle found its home against the windowsill with practiced ease. Mey-rin's breath steadied, her entire being transforming into something predatory and precise. The crack of the shot split the night, and Grell's shriek of outrage followed as the fabric of her pants and flesh tore. Finny, moving like he'd anticipated the shot, was already in motion - his kick sweeping Grell's other leg with brutal efficiency.

"That tear in your outfit?" Mey-rin's voice carried the chill of a morgue, worlds away from her usual nervous stutter. "That was courtesy. The next one goes somewhere far more vital." Her finger caressed the trigger with intimate familiarity. "Your choice - leave while your legs still work, or become target practice."

Ciel found himself taking an unconscious step back from his maid, this deadly stranger wearing Mey-rin's face. The transformation was so complete, so unsettling, that he had to remind himself they were on the same side.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The chase wound through the manor's corridors, Ronald's blade whistling through the air where Bard had been heartbeats before. Each near-miss drew them deeper into the mansion's maze, though something in Bard's retreat felt too measured, too purposeful.

The room they entered was austere - steel walls, minimal furnishing, the kind of space designed for survival rather than comfort. Ronald's steps echoed off the metal as he followed Bard inside, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

"A panic room? Not very sporting of you," Ronald taunted, twirling his polearm. "Cornered yourself just to make this interesting?"

Bard took a long, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the ember's glow reflecting off the steel walls. His answering smile carried no warmth. In one fluid motion, he was through a second door, the heavy steel slamming shut with pneumatic finality.

"What the-" Ronald's words died as a soft hiss filled the air. Green-tinged gas began seeping from hidden vents, filling the space with deadly efficiency.

The polearm clattered to the floor as Ronald doubled over, his lungs burning. Through the observation window, Bard's face appeared, smoke curling from his lips as he spoke:

"Interesting thing about rat poison - just enough exposure leaves you wishing you'd died. Too much actually grants that mercy." His voice carried through the intercom, clinical and cold. "Let's see which you get today."

"You bastard-" Ronald's curse dissolved into violent coughing, his body betraying him as the gas did its work.

Ronald's legs buckled beneath him, the polished steel floor rushing up to meet his face. The world began to blur and fragment, colors bleeding together like wet paint. His lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass, each desperate gasp bringing fresh waves of agony. Through dimming vision, he watched Bard's silhouette grow hazier beyond the window, the soldier's cigarette ember floating like a malevolent star in the growing darkness.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Grell's eyes snapped up to the window, rage twisting her features as she glared at Mey-rin. Blood seeped between her fingers where she clutched her wounded leg. This had spiraled far beyond their simple mission, but failure wasn't an option - not with William's trust at stake.

Desperation fueled her movement as she lashed out, her good leg connecting with Finny in a savage kick. The effort sent fresh fire through her injury, but adrenaline carried her forward. She half-ran, half-limped toward her discarded saw, salvation glinting in its crimson blade.

Her fingers had barely brushed the handle when a foot came down on the weapon. Her eyes traveled upward, following the leg to its owner, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Bassy?" The name escaped her lips in a breathless whisper.

Sebastian stood above her, somehow managing to make even a simple hoodie and sweatpants look elegant. The casual attire should have diminished his presence - instead, it only emphasized his dangerous grace. Moonlight caught his features at angles that made Grell's heart flutter traitorously.

Reality crashed back as comprehension dawned. Sebastian here, now, defending the Phantomhive manor? The pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity.

A carnivorous grin spread across her face, triumph overwhelming her pain. "Oh my, what would dear William say?" she purred. "His most trusted servant caught protecting the very prey he was ordered to kill."

"How ironic coming from someone who can barely stand," Sebastian's voice carried its usual silky mockery. "I wonder what William would think of your rather spectacular failure here."

Sebastian's attention shifted briefly to the unfamiliar young man with deceptively boyish features standing across from them. The stranger regarded their exchange with evident confusion, his combat stance never wavering despite his uncertainty.

A gunshot cracked through the night air, drawing Sebastian's gaze to the manor windows above. Through the darkness, he caught fragments of voices carried on the wind. One in particular made his lips curve into a knowing smirk - Ciel's unmistakable command of "Don't shoot."

"Pardon my asking," the blonde youth ventured cautiously, "but who exactly are you, sir?"

Sebastian appraised the situation with newfound interest. For Ciel's elderly butler to have secured such capable protection spoke of impressive foresight. Not that Sebastian would have expected any less from the Phantomhive household.

"An ally," he offered smoothly in response to the blonde youth's question, his tone revealing nothing more.

The manor's heavy doors groaned open, commanding everyone's attention. A figure emerged from the darkness - combat fatigues, tactical gear, and a gas mask obscuring weathered features. In his grip was Ronald's limp form, which he unceremoniously dumped at Grell's feet. The man pulled off his mask, revealing close-cropped dirty blonde hair and stubbled features that spoke of hard-earned experience.

Sebastian caught Grell's expression souring as she glared at her unconscious partner. "Useless fool," she spat under her breath.

"This ends now," the military man's voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. "Leave. And don't think about coming back." The threat in his words needed no elaboration.

Grell's features shifted from irritation to forced indifference, like an actor changing masks mid-performance. "How tedious this all became," she sighed with theatrical weariness. She turned to her fallen partner, delivering a sharp slap across his face. "Up and at 'em, you lazy oaf."

"Might be a while before he rejoins the living," the military man's voice carried a grim sort of satisfaction. "Rat poison tends to have that effect."

Grell's fingers found Ronald's wrist, pressing against his pulse point. "Still ticking, at least," she muttered. With surprising strength, she hoisted Ronald's unconscious form over her shoulder, handling him with all the care of a sack of flour. 

They watched in silence as Grell disappeared into the darkness with her burden. The moment she vanished, Sebastian felt the weight of their collective scrutiny shift to him - three pairs of eyes studying him with varying degrees of suspicion.

"Care to explain who you are?" the military man's voice carried an edge beneath its casual tone.

Before Sebastian could respond, the manor doors creaked open once more. Ciel emerged, a young woman with plum-colored hair trailing close behind him.

"He's a friend," Ciel cut in, his tone brooking no argument. "He came looking for me after hearing I was in trouble."

"A friend," the military man echoed, skepticism evident in every syllable.

"My, my," the bespectacled woman's voice carried a teasing lilt. "I wasn't aware the young master had those." Her playful observation earned a sharp look from Ciel that sent her gaze dropping to her feet.

Sebastian filed away this interesting dynamic, noting how even Ciel's bodyguards felt comfortable enough to occasionally prod at his prickly demeanor.

"Sebastian," Ciel gestured tersely to the newcomer before indicating each of his defenders in turn. "Bard, Finny, Mey-rin."

"A pleasure," Sebastian's silky courtesy carried a hint of impatience. "However, Ciel and I have pressing matters to attend to."

Finny stepped forward, his boyish features set with surprising authority. "I'm afraid that's not possible. The young master stays with us."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed fractionally. "I assure you, I'm more than capable of ensuring his safety."

"No offense," Bard's voice dripped with exactly that, "but one man with no military training doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

"I can handle myself," Ciel's sharp tone cut through the growing tension.

"But young master, we were specifically tasked with your protection-" Mey-rin's protest died as a hand settled on her shoulder.

Sebastian recognized the elderly butler who appeared behind her - Tanaka, the one who'd orchestrated this impressive security detail.

"Mey-rin, Finny, Bard," Tanaka's gentle voice carried unexpected authority. "You've fulfilled your duties admirably. However, if the young master wishes to leave with Sebastian, that choice must be his."

The weight of Tanaka's words settled over the group like a heavy cloak. Bard was the first to break the taut silence, releasing a long breath around his cigarette. "The old man's right. We did what we were meant to do."

"But-" Finny's boyish features hardened with resolve, his earlier deadly grace still evident in his stance. "We know nothing about him. After everything that's happened, how can we just-"

"I know enough," Tanaka interrupted, his usual benign smile replaced by something more knowing. "Sebastian's appearance here, despite his own injuries, speaks volumes about his intentions."

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Sebastian's features before he could mask it. "Your observation skills are... impressive. How did you notice?"

"Your stance," Tanaka's reply carried quiet confidence. "You're favoring your right side, distributing weight to protect the injury. The Sebastian I recall moved with perfect symmetry." His eyes held a knowing glint. "Old butlers notice such things."

His eyes met Sebastian's in measured assessment, decades of experience evident in his steady gaze. "You understand precisely what's at stake," Tanaka's voice carried the weight of years of service, steel beneath silk. "The young master's safety has been my sacred duty through three generations of Phantomhives. Do not make me regret this decision."

"I assure you," Sebastian's response was smooth but carried its own weight of promise, "your trust will not be misplaced." The words hung in the air between them, both men understanding that any betrayal of that trust would have fatal consequences.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The familiar hum of Sebastian's car engine filled the silence between them. Ciel watched the darkened streets blur past his window, the night concealing their escape.

"Where exactly are you taking me?" he finally asked, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer.

"Back to my home," Sebastian replied smoothly, his eyes never leaving the road.

"Isn't that rather obvious?" Ciel's tone carried a sharp edge of skepticism. "They'll look for us there first."

His mind churned with mounting anxiety. Every safe harbor had been stripped away - Weston was forbidden ground now, the manor no longer secure. Would this be his life going forward? Constantly running, looking over his shoulder, waiting for the cult to finally catch up? The weight of these questions pressed down on him, making the car feel suddenly claustrophobic.

Sebastian's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "We won't linger," he assured, crimson eyes briefly meeting Ciel's in the darkness. "I simply need to retrieve certain... necessities." A knowing smirk played at his lips. "Besides, Grell and Ronald are the cult's primary enforcers after me. With both of them incapacitated, we have a brief window of safety. Rat poison and a wounded leg aren't quickly overcome - even for them."

Ciel let the questions die in his throat. The weight of everything - the cult, the violence, their uncertain future - felt too heavy to probe further right now.

The journey to Sebastian's apartment passed in a blur of familiar motions - the stark lobby, the endless stairs, until finally, they stood in the living room that had hosted their last encounter. The memory of that night hung between them, unspoken but palpable.

Sebastian moved to the panoramic window, his silhouette stark against the cityscape below. "William has a particular way of handling betrayal," he said, his voice carrying an edge of dark amusement. "He'll allow his rage to cool first - calculate, plan, then send his most efficient killers. It gives us a brief window of safety." His reflection in the glass curved into a familiar smirk. "Twenty-four hours, at least, before the real hunt begins.”

"Twenty-four hours," Ciel repeated, the words tasting bitter. The brief window of safety suddenly seemed impossibly short.

"William's reach extends far beyond the cult itself." Sebastian's voice carried grim certainty as he turned from the window. "Police departments, banking systems, transportation hubs - his web of influence touches everything. Money talks and William's voice carries particularly well." His lips curved into a humorless smile. "We'll need to move like ghosts to slip through his network. One mistake, one camera, one credit card transaction..." He left the consequences unspoken.

Sebastian shrugged off his hoodie, the casual attire still jarring against his usual pristine image. "It's strange seeing you look so... normal," Ciel remarked, trying to mask his discomfort with criticism.

"Would you prefer me unclothed?" Sebastian's voice dropped to that dangerous purr that never failed to make Ciel's pulse quicken. His smirk carried familiar heat as he advanced slowly.

"Absolutely not," Ciel snapped, cursing the warmth flooding his cheeks. His protest sounded weak even to his own ears.

Sebastian closed the distance between them, each step deliberate. "Are you quite certain about that?" The words ghosted across Ciel's skin, heavy with implications.

Ciel tried to hold onto his anger - to remember every lie, every manipulation. But when Sebastian's lips claimed his, rough and demanding, all that carefully maintained fury dissolved into nothing. This kiss was different from their others - raw, desperate, almost punishing in its intensity.

When Sebastian pulled back, his crimson eyes bore into Ciel's visible one with devastating focus. "You see, we're quite different," his voice carried dangerous heat. "I want to see everything - especially the parts you're so desperate to hide." His fingers ghosted over Ciel's eyepatch, drawing a sharp inhale from the younger man.

Ciel remained frozen, heart thundering against his ribs. The thought of showing Sebastian that vulnerability, of laying bare his deepest insecurity, sent equal waves of terror and temptation through him.

"A fair trade," Sebastian's smooth voice held an edge of steel. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

The implication was clear - Sebastian wanted to show his injury in exchange for seeing Ciel's eye. Before Ciel could object, Sebastian's fingers found the bottom of his own shirt. "Wait-" Ciel's protest died in his throat.

His gaze caught on the white bandages encircling Sebastian's midsection, damning evidence of what he had done. A complicated mix of remorse and something else entirely coiled in his chest. But another question burned a stronger, demanding voice.

"How can I possibly trust you when you're still keeping secrets?" The words escaped before Ciel could stop them.

Sebastian's expression shifted subtly. "What secrets do you mean?"

"Angela mentioned your plans for me." Ciel's voice hardened. "What exactly were those plans, Sebastian?"

The silence that followed spoke volumes, only confirming Ciel's suspicions.

"This is exactly what I mean—"

"Initially," Sebastian cut in, his voice unnervingly calm, "I intended to corrupt you. To reshape your very essence." His crimson eyes held Ciel's with unsettling intensity. "But I discovered something fascinating - there was no need. That darkness was already within you, merely waiting to surface."

The weight of this revelation left Ciel momentarily speechless.

"You were a curiosity at first," Sebastian continued, each word measured. "An experiment in human nature - how far one could be pushed, how thoroughly one could be molded. But you..." His voice softened imperceptibly. "You proved to be far more intriguing than I anticipated."

"So that's all I was?" Ciel's voice carried a razor's edge. "Your lab rat?"

"No," Sebastian's response came without hesitation. "You became something far more significant. Something I hadn't expected.”

Understanding dawned in Ciel's mind with sudden clarity. "Claude knew, didn't he?" His visible eye narrowed. "That's why you kept it from me. He was using it against you."

Sebastian's slight nod was confirmation enough. Ciel studied him carefully, unaccustomed to seeing such raw honesty in those usually guarded features. The anger that had been burning in his chest began to cool, replaced by something more complex.

"But Claude wasn't the only one who knew." Sebastian's voice was steady, almost clinical, making his words cut deeper. "William was the one who initially gave me precise instructions - manipulate you, twist your mind, use you as bait to draw out Vincent." His eyes met Ciel's unflinchingly. "I agreed readily enough. After all, it aligned perfectly with my own plans for you."

The calculated cruelty of it all hung in the air between them - this careful architecture of Ciel's suffering, designed by multiple hands.

"How strange," Ciel remarked, trying to mask how much this revelation affected him. "You're being unusually forthcoming. What happened to the Sebastian who speaks only in riddles and manipulation?"

"And yet," Sebastian's voice carried a dangerous warmth, "you've stayed, despite knowing exactly what I am." His eyes gleamed with something predatory. "Things between us have shifted, haven't you noticed? I've changed you, just as you've changed me. I can see it in every move you make."

"Oh?" Ciel's voice was sharp with mock interest. "And what exactly do you see?"

"I see the memory of that blade haunting you." Sebastian moved closer, his presence overwhelming. "The thrill of having that power over me. The rush of violence. You want to feel it again, don't you?"

As Sebastian let his shirt fall closed, he closed the distance between them. Ciel's heart betrayed him, racing at the proximity.

"You clearly don't understand me at all," Ciel managed, but his breathless tone undermined the denial.

“On the contrary, I know you better than you know yourself.” Sebastian’s gaze was now locked on Ciel’s lips, causing him to gulp. “And right now, in this very moment, I want you all to myself, and you do too. The very fact that you can’t deny it proves it.”

Words failed Ciel as the truth of Sebastian's assessment struck him with devastating force. His carefully constructed defenses crumbled beneath that knowing gaze, leaving him exposed in ways that both thrilled and terrified him. How had Sebastian learned to read him with such devastating accuracy? It was as though Sebastian could peel back every layer of pretense, every carefully maintained lie, to see the darkest parts of him that even Ciel struggled to acknowledge.

Sebastian, despite lying and manipulating him, had saved him twice now. When no one else was there for him, he was by his side. It was undeniable that they had gotten closer, their relationship growing into something more. But Ciel didn’t know what to call it.

The tension finally snapped. Ciel couldn't dance around this anymore.

"What exactly is this between us? What would you call this... relationship?"

"Why label what we have?" Sebastian's voice was honeyed poison. "It's merely desire, nothing more."

“Even you sound like you don’t believe that.”

For the briefest moment, Sebastian's carefully maintained facade cracked. Something raw and unguarded flashed across his perfect features - an emotion Ciel had never seen before - before his usual mask of control slid smoothly back into place.

"My, how perceptive you've become," Sebastian murmured, and for once, his voice held no trace of mockery. "The truth is, I find myself in unfamiliar territory. This... connection between us defies my usual classifications." His lips curved into a smile that, for once, seemed genuine. "Perhaps we should simply experience it, without trying to define it."

"Wait, what do you mean by-" Ciel's words dissolved into a sharp intake of breath as Sebastian's cool fingertips slipped beneath his shirt, tracing delicate circles around his nipple that made him shiver.

A soft sound escaped Ciel's lips as his eyes fluttered shut, heat rising to his cheeks.

"Every little sound you make only feeds my desire," Sebastian murmured, his voice thick with wanting.

Sebastian was so close, Ciel could feel something poking his lower stomach.

Sebastian was hard. 

Desire had taken over, Ciel in a rare moment of boldness grabbed Sebastian’s crotch, drawing out a deep, appreciative groan from Sebastian.

Sebastian’s hands moved to the waistband of his pants, pulling them down. Ciel got a full view of Sebastian’s cock, its size impressive.

The sight of Sebastian’s cock only made Ciel get harder than he already was as he grabbed a hold of it, taking control and stroking it. His touch deliberate and claiming.

"So eager," Sebastian's usually smooth voice carried a ragged edge.

Ciel's gaze lifted to meet Sebastian's, dark with intent as he maintained his steady rhythm.

A wicked thought curved his lips. "I wonder what that composed mask of yours will look like when it finally breaks?" Ciel teased.

He knew how Sebastian reveled in control. The chance to strip that power away, to see him unravel, was too tempting to resist.

Sebastian's trademark smirk faltered for the first time.

In one fluid motion, Sebastian guided Ciel onto the coffee table, breaking their connection. Then he rose and stepped away.

"Where are you going?" Ciel's voice betrayed a hint of frustration.

"Don't move," Sebastian commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

When he returned moments later, he was fully naked, holding something that made Ciel's breath catch - clear evidence of his intentions.

"Lube?” Ciel's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Can't bear to relinquish control, can you?"

"You should know by now," Sebastian's voice was velvet over steel, "I always lead this dance."

Sebastian poured the lube onto his hand, slathering it onto his sizable cock.

Then, Sebastian spread Ciel’s legs, drawing him closer and entering him. Ciel gasped at his size filling his hole, the sensation overwhelming. Sebastian’s hip movements found a rhythm that left Ciel breathless.

"Bloody-" The word caught in Ciel's throat.

The pace quickened, their sounds of pleasure mingling in the darkness. Sebastian captured his lips in a passionate kiss, never breaking their intimate dance.

"Tell me you want this," Sebastian's voice was rough with desire. "Tell me you want my essence inside of you.”

Ciel kept his lips sealed, refusing to surrender completely despite his burning need.

"I won't yield so easily," he managed between ragged breaths.

"I would expect nothing less," Sebastian's dark chuckle sent shivers down his spine.

Sebastian's attentions grew more focused, more intense, overwhelming Ciel's senses until coherent thought dissolved into pure sensation. He started to lick Ciel’s nipples, as he stuck a finger inside of his hole as he thrust. The combination of touches left him gasping, drowning in pleasure. He needed-

"Please," Ciel's resistance finally shattered. "I need you."

Sebastian's release was followed with a deep groan of satisfaction. He withdrew slowly, drinking in the sight of Ciel trembling beneath him.

Chapter XXVII: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXVIII: Interlude: Side C

                        6 years ago

The sterile halls of the hospital had lost their allure for Sebastian. The harsh fluorescent lights cast sickly shadows over polished floors, each squeak of his shoes echoing through corridors that smelled of antiseptic and despair. The operating theater, once his sanctuary, now felt suffocating, the precise dance of scalpel against flesh, the intimate knowledge of life's machinery - now felt hollow. Its cold steel surfaces and precise machinery a mockery of the raw power he craved. Even the observation deck above, filled with its parade of observers, only emphasized the clinical distance between himself and what he truly desired. 

Observation wasn't enough anymore. The clinical distance between surgeon and subject left him hungry for something more visceral, more profound. He needed to feel life itself slipping through his fingers, to do more than simply witness its end.

The solution presented itself with elegant simplicity. The hospital's donor program was robust, efficient - and largely unsupervised. Who would notice if certain organs never reached their intended recipients? It was dangerous, yes, but the risk only heightened his satisfaction. After all, in a system of abundance, who would miss the occasional piece?

The whispers began gradually - inventory discrepancies, missing documentation, questions that lingered in administrative meetings. Sebastian recognized the signs of growing suspicion and forced himself to retreat. Weeks of restraint stretched into months, each day a masterclass in patience that left him increasingly hollow.

He stood now in the surgical theater, methodically cleaning blood from his gloves after another successful procedure. Above, the observation deck had been filled with pharmaceutical executives and hospital board members, all eagerly watching his technique. His colleagues had been aflutter about the importance of the demonstration - something about groundbreaking anesthesia research. Sebastian barely registered their excitement.

His reputation at the hospital had become almost mythical. Residents whispered about his perfect technique, nurses praised his steady hands, and even his supervising surgeon had begun to step back, allowing Sebastian near-complete autonomy in the operating theater. His meteoric rise through the ranks was unprecedented - a brilliant young surgeon whose skill exceeded his years.

How amusing, Sebastian thought, that they celebrated the very hands that harbored such darker purposes. Their admiration, their trust, was just another symptom of how easily humans could be deceived by a pleasant facade and technical precision.

The pristine efficiency of the approved procedure left him cold. Even with an audience of powerful observers studying his every move, even with the supposed prestige of the moment, he felt nothing but gnawing emptiness. His carefully maintained facade of professional interest masked a growing hunger that proper surgical protocol could never satisfy.

"Sebastian Michaelis." The voice cut through the air like steel - not a question, but a statement of fact.

Sebastian turned to find himself under the scrutiny of calculating chartreuse eyes. The man before him radiated authority in every detail, from his impeccably tailored suit to his precisely adjusted glasses. Everything about him spoke of controlled power.

"And you are?" Sebastian's response dripped with practiced charm, though something in those unusual eyes made him pause.

"William T. Spears, representing Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals." He extended his hand with mechanical precision, the gesture more command than courtesy.

Sebastian studied the offered hand, reading the layers of intention beneath this seemingly simple introduction. He accepted the handshake with his usual confident grace, even as his mind cataloged every detail of this unexpected encounter. "Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals? That's quite a prestigious organization."

"We should continue this conversation somewhere more... private." William's tone left no room for refusal, despite its professional veneer.

"Such need for privacy?" Sebastian's lips curved into an intrigued smile. "How mysterious. What could Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals want that requires such... discretion?"

"Follow me and find out." William's command was wrapped in professional courtesy as he turned, clearly expecting compliance. Sebastian found himself trailing in the man's wake, curiosity overwhelming his usual caution.

The empty patient room William chose felt suddenly smaller when he closed the door, trapping them in artificial fluorescent light.

"You've made quite a name for yourself," William began, each word precisely measured. "Brilliant surgeon in the making. But what if I told you there's a more... fitting opportunity for your particular talents?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Let's discuss what I find most fascinating about you - your conspicuous lack of history." William's glasses caught the light as he adjusted them. "No records of schooling before university. No background to speak of. You simply materialized, fully formed, into the medical community."

"If you're attempting to make a point-" Sebastian started, but William cut through his words with surgical precision.

"But then there's your previous residency. The mysterious cases of disappearing donor organs. And now, remarkably similar incidents at this hospital. Quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?”

Sebastian felt ice crawl through his veins. His own carelessness had led to this moment. His fingers flexed unconsciously, preparing for whatever action might become necessary. Yet something about William's solitary confrontation suggested this wasn't a simple exposure of crimes.

"There's another discrepancy in your carefully constructed image," William adjusted his glasses with precise movement. "Your age doesn't quite add up."

Sebastian's silence was calculating.

"Even for a resident, you're remarkably young. Too young, in fact." William's analytical gaze dissected every detail of Sebastian's appearance. "I'm sure you've brushed off questions with charming deflections about youthful appearances, but the timeline of your credentials... well, it simply isn't possible."

"That's quite the accusation," Sebastian maintained his pleasant smile, though his eyes had turned cold. The implications hung heavy in the sterile air between them.

"Let's not waste time with denials," William's voice carried professional disdain. "We both know your documentation wouldn't withstand serious scrutiny. The question is - just how thoroughly have you fabricated your identity?"

The silence that followed was electric with possibility and threat.

"Well then," Sebastian's voice had shed its warmth entirely. "Shall we discuss your actual purpose here? Surely you didn't arrange this private chat merely to threaten me with exposure."

"No," William's lips curved into something almost resembling amusement. "As I said, I'm offering an opportunity. One better suited to your... particular interests."

"Do enlighten me."

"I serve as Chancellor of Weston University, alongside my partnership with Vincent Phantomhive." William's words carried careful weight. "I want you to join our faculty."

Sebastian's eyebrow arched elegantly. "You're suggesting I abandon a surgical career to become a professor? That seems rather... anticlimactic, given this elaborate setup."

"There's far more to it than that." William withdrew a business card, the gold embossing catching the fluorescent light. "But some things are better demonstrated than explained. When you're ready to see what lies beneath the surface of Weston's prestigious facade, come find me."

The card felt heavy with implication in Sebastian's hand - William T. Spears, printed in elegant gold lettering above multiple prestigious titles.

Sebastian turned the card over in his fingers, irritation warring with curiosity. The private confrontation was clearly meant to unsettle him - a power play wrapped in professional courtesy. Yet he couldn't help but admire the thoroughness of William's investigation. Such detailed information about his past suggested connections in places Sebastian had thought himself invisible. A worthy opponent, then, or perhaps a dangerous ally.

Sebastian accepted William's offer days later, choosing psychology over the more obvious path of biology. His decision raised William's eyebrow - a slight tell that Sebastian noted with amusement. After all, who better to teach the intricacies of human behavior than someone who had made a study of manipulating it?

Standing before his first psychology class, Sebastian found himself unconsciously positioning his hands as if preparing for surgery. Different tools, same precision. These young minds laid bare before him like patients on an operating table, ready to be dissected - not with scalpel and forceps, but with carefully chosen words and calculated silence.

"The human psyche," he began, savoring each word, "is remarkably similar to human anatomy. Layer upon layer of complexity, each one hiding something deeper, more vital." His eyes swept the classroom, cataloging reactions with clinical detachment. "And like any good surgeon, a psychologist must know exactly where to cut."

The initial weeks at Weston unfolded with excruciating slowness. Sebastian found himself adapting to lecture halls instead of operating theaters, marking papers rather than marking incision points. William maintained his surveillance, appearing in Sebastian's lectures with calculated randomness, observing how effortlessly he commanded the classroom. But beneath the mundane facade of academia, Sebastian sensed something brewing - each day a careful preparation for something darker.

Then came the day that changed everything...

"I believe it's time to put your particular talents to use," William's voice cut through the unusual silence of his office. His fingers remained steepled before him, the position deliberate, powerful. "Are you prepared for that?"

The summons itself had been notable - William preferred to maintain distance, to orchestrate from afar. This direct approach suggested something significant.

"What did you have in mind?" Sebastian's question carried just the right note of polite interest.

William's response was to place two items on his desk with precise movements: a syringe filled with vibrant green liquid, and beside it, a pill bottle bearing the Funtom logo. The items sat between them like a test, a challenge.

"I need you to select one of our students for a... clinical trial." William's clinical tone belied the weight of his words. "Think of it as a return to your medical roots."

Sebastian's lips curved into an amused smile. "Experimenting on students? How delightfully unethical. The board would have quite the reaction to this."

"This isn't a matter for levity," William's sharp tone carried steel. "Complete this task, and you'll understand your true role here. I promised to make use of your talents, didn't I?"

"Very well," Sebastian smoothed his expression to professional interest. "What exactly does this experiment entail?"

"This is a new anesthetic compound. Powerful enough to sedate a bear, with an interesting side effect - complete paralysis upon waking." William adjusted his glasses. "Should our subject regain consciousness, they'll find themselves quite... helpless."

"Ah," Sebastian's eyes gleamed with recognition. "So this is the breakthrough causing such excitement in pharmaceutical circles."

"Your task is simple: choose your method, select your subject, and deliver them to me. The rest will be... handled." William's gaze fixed on Sebastian. "Syringe or pill?"

"Syringe," Sebastian answered without hesitation, his surgical precision already asserting itself.

"As expected," William's lips twitched. "Old habits from your residency days, I presume?"

"One tends to favor familiar tools," Sebastian replied smoothly, a dangerous sort of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Though I suspect you counted on that preference when preparing your... options."

A cold approximation of a smile crossed William's features. "Indeed. You're proving to be as perceptive as your file suggested." The words carried both approval and warning - a reminder that he held knowledge as his weapon.

"I must admit to some curiosity," Sebastian's voice remained casual despite his sharp focus. "Those files of yours - their existence is rather... interesting. I wonder, just how much are on those files?”

His mind worked through the implications. Only one person had access to those carefully crafted documents from his past. Someone he hadn't seen in years. But William's possession of them suggested impossible connections, threads woven in shadows Sebastian hadn't noticed until now.

"The files?" William's tone carried practiced nonchalance. "A fortunate discovery. One might say they simply... fell into my hands." The deliberate vagueness of his answer hung between them, both challenge and deflection. “But, they had just enough information about you.”

A subtle shift occurred in Sebastian's understanding. William's threats, however elegant, betrayed something crucial - need. All this careful maneuvering, the extensive research, the orchestrated recruitment... William hadn't gone to such lengths merely to threaten him. No, Sebastian realized with growing satisfaction, he was being courted for his particular talents. The power dynamic wasn't quite what William wanted him to believe.

"The origin of those files is, perhaps, less interesting than their purpose," Sebastian's smile carried a new edge of confidence. "I look forward to being of service."

Something flickered behind William's glasses - a brief recognition that his carefully constructed leverage had lost its bite. His features smoothed back into professional detachment, but the damage was done. "Very well," he said, voice clipped. "Let's proceed with the task at hand."

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian conducted his lectures with newfound purpose, each class an opportunity to study his prey. William's lack of deadline was a gift - it allowed for careful, methodical selection. He cataloged his students with clinical precision: social connections, daily routines, personality traits. Every detail carefully weighed and measured.

The classroom offered perfect cover for observation. While discussing psychological theories, he noted which students hung back in shadows, which ones rarely engaged with peers. He found himself drawn to the solitary male students - something about masculine pride crumbling into fear held a particular fascination. The quiet ones, he knew from experience, often screamed the loudest.

A familiar thrill coursed through him at the thought of wielding such power. Though he had yet to claim a human life, the possibility now lurked at the edges of his consciousness like a whispered promise. The transition from animal specimens to human subjects felt like a natural evolution of his... interests.

One student in particular had caught Sebastian's attention. Desmond Ross - isolated, withdrawn, academically floundering. The name itself seemed to carry a certain poetic weight. How fitting that his first test subject should present himself so perfectly.

When Desmond approached after class, anxiety evident in his hesitant posture, Sebastian felt an almost electric sense of anticipation.

"Dr. Michaelis?" The young man's voice carried that particular note of academic desperation. "I'm having trouble following the material. Would it be possible to go over it during your office hours?"

"Of course," Sebastian's smile was professionally concerned, carefully masking the satisfaction beneath. "Unfortunately, my morning hours are quite full. Perhaps we could arrange something in the evening?" 

The suggestion hung in the air between them, seemingly innocent, perfectly reasonable.

Desmond's hesitation was brief but telling - that instinctive flutter of prey sensing danger without understanding why. "Yes... evening would work," he finally replied, his uncertainty masked by academic politeness.

Sebastian noted the momentary resistance with clinical interest. How fascinating, these unconscious survival instincts humans possessed, even when they chose to ignore them.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Evening shadows crept across Sebastian's office, the fading light painting strange patterns through the window blinds. Each tick of the ancient clock on the wall marked time with predatory patience, while steam from the carefully prepared tea cups twisted like spectral dancers in the dimming light. The academic facade - leather-bound books, polished desk, dignified furnishings - seemed to watch with quiet anticipation, knowing they would soon witness something far removed from their scholarly purpose. 

The syringe lay prepared in his desk drawer, its contents catching what little light remained - a promise of things to come. Sebastian savored these moments of anticipation, this perfect stillness before the hunt. How civilized it all appeared: a simple professor's office, a student meeting, a gesture of academic concern. The banality of the setting only heightened his pleasure.

The aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted from the two cups on Sebastian's desk, each positioned with deliberate care. His fingers drummed once against the polished wood, a rare tell of anticipation, before stilling at the sound of footsteps.

The door creaked open with almost theatrical timing, revealing Desmond's uncertain figure in the threshold.

"Ah, Desmond," Sebastian's voice dripped warmth and welcome, the perfect mask of professional concern. "Please, come in. I took the liberty of preparing some tea for our session." His gesture toward the waiting cup was elegant, practiced - everything precisely as it should be.

Desmond dragged his chair closer to Sebastian's side rather than maintaining the professional distance of the desk between them. His trembling hands betrayed his nerves as he lifted the teacup, took a hesitant sip, then set it down with a soft clink. His eyes darted about the office, never quite settling.

"There's no need for such anxiety," Sebastian offered, studying each minute tremor, each flickering glance.

"I'm not—" Desmond started to protest, then caught himself. "Well, perhaps I am. It's just... being here, with you." Color crept into his cheeks. "I've always admired your work, Dr. Michaelis. Your lectures, your insights..."

Sebastian felt his carefully laid plans shift ever so slightly. Admiration? This was... unexpected. His colleagues at the hospital had respected his skills certainly, but always maintained a careful distance - as if some instinct warned them to stay clear. But this boy's admiration held something more intimate, more earnest.

"Is that so?" Sebastian's voice carried a new note of genuine curiosity.

"Yes," Desmond's earnestness was almost painful to watch. "I know it might sound like empty flattery, but... I truly want to follow your path. To be like you."

Sebastian savored the exquisite irony. Here sat this young man, constructing an idol from Sebastian's careful fabrications, completely blind to the predator beneath the professor's polished veneer. If only he knew what path he truly wished to follow.

"How very kind," Sebastian's smile held genuine amusement. "Though I wonder if you truly understand what it means to be... like me."

"What do you...?" Desmond's question slurred, confusion bleeding into fear as his eyelids grew heavy. "The tea... you..." His head dropped to the desk with dull finality, consciousness seeping away like spilled ink.

Sebastian regarded his handiwork with clinical satisfaction, tilting Desmond's slack face to better observe the drug's effects. Such perfect timing. He had rejected the obvious path of the syringe, choosing instead to lace the tea - a more elegant solution, he thought.

"Oh, William," he mused aloud, dark amusement coloring his voice. "Did you really think I'd be so... conventional?" His fingers drummed once against the empty teacup. "I do so hate being predictable."

Sebastian's fingers traced across his phone screen with practiced elegance. "It's done." The words hung in the air for a moment before William ended the call without response. Sebastian's lip curled slightly at the rudeness, though he supposed such theatrics were beneath his new employer.

The wait was brief. William appeared in the doorway like a shadow made manifest, his glasses catching the dim light. "Well done," he offered, studying the unconscious form slumped across Sebastian's desk.

"And now?" Sebastian's question carried equal parts curiosity and anticipation.

William's next words cut through the pretense with surgical precision. "Tell me, Sebastian - have you ever taken a human life?"

"I haven't had the pleasure," Sebastian admitted, interest piquing at this turn of events.

"Perfect." William's voice was clinically detached. "Then consider this your initiation. Kill him. The method is yours to choose."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "A fascinating proposition. Though I do wonder about the logistics of removing a corpse from university grounds without drawing attention."

"The architects of Weston were quite... forward-thinking." William adjusted his glasses with mechanical precision. "These offices connect to an extensive underground network. Perfect for discretely moving certain... problems. I've made all necessary arrangements."

"Your thoroughness is admirable," Sebastian murmured, fingers trailing to the fountain pen resting on his desk. He felt William's gaze sharpen with interest at his choice of instrument.

"The pen?" William's question carried a note of professional curiosity.

"In surgery, precision means the difference between life and death," Sebastian mused, testing the pen's weight in his hand. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a crisp handkerchief. He rose with fluid grace, moving behind Desmond's slumped form.

With practiced efficiency, he positioned the cloth beneath Desmond's neck, angling the head just so. Every movement was calculated, born from his surgical experience. "Blood flow is all about direction and control.”

"The carotid bifurcation," Sebastian explained with academic detachment, “Where the artery divides - a particularly vulnerable point. Death comes quickly here, especially with the paralytic already slowing his heart rate." 

Sebastian continued, "The angle is crucial. Too shallow, death takes longer. Too deep, messier than necessary. But just right..." His voice carried the same tone he'd use discussing theoretical cases in class.

The pen slid home with surgical accuracy. But then - a complication. Desmond's eyes flickered open, awareness flooding back at the moment of its departure. The paralytic had done its work; he couldn't move, couldn't scream. But his eyes... his eyes held the perfect moment of recognition, of understanding. Sebastian watched with clinical fascination as fear bloomed in those eyes, trapped within a body that wouldn't respond.

Sebastian's fingers pressed against Desmond's neck, monitoring the weakening pulse with professional interest. He watched awareness fade from those still-open eyes, life ebbing with each slowing heartbeat until... nothing. The transition from person to corpse was fascinating in its simplicity.

"Remarkable," William's voice held a note of genuine appreciation. "Both your technique and the drug's efficacy. Clean, efficient, controlled." His clinical assessment of death matched Sebastian's own detachment. "Most impressive."

"Your technique suggests experience," William observed, studying Sebastian with renewed interest. "Are you certain this was your first?"

"My studies required... practice," Sebastian's lips curved into a slight smile. "Pigs, primarily. Their anatomy is remarkably similar to humans. Though I must say, the psychological element of this was far more... engaging."

"You are quite the enigma... Sebastian Michaelis." William's pause before the name was deliberate, testing. "Assuming that's who you truly are."

"I find it best to accept praise at face value," Sebastian replied with practiced charm, smoothly steering them back to the matter at hand. "Now, about these underground passages you mentioned..."

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The weeks that followed fell into a precise rhythm - select, execute, dispose. Sebastian's methods remained clinical, pristine, each death a carefully orchestrated performance that left no evidence behind. The arrangement satisfied his darker appetites, yet questions lingered. His own motivations were clear enough - the thrill of power, the artistry of death. But William's purpose remained opacity itself. What drove a man of such position to orchestrate these elaborate eliminations? Why seek out someone like Sebastian?

Autumn painted the campus in dying colors as they walked its grounds together, fallen leaves crackling beneath their measured steps. The silence between them held weight, like the pause between heartbeats.

"Something has been troubling me," Sebastian finally spoke, his voice carrying just enough curiosity. "That night, you called it an initiation. Into what, exactly?"

"Have you ever indulged in consuming what you've taken?" William's question cut through the autumn air with surgical precision.

For once, Sebastian felt his practiced composure waver. His collection of organs had been about possession, about holding life's essence in his hands. The thought of consumption had never crossed his clinical mind. Yet now that William raised the possibility, something stirred in his consciousness - a new form of intimacy with death he hadn't considered.

"I haven't had that particular... pleasure," Sebastian replied, curious where this line of questioning led.

"I'm assembling a select group," William's voice held careful measure. "Individuals with specific appetites. Your skill set makes you... uniquely qualified to assist."

"To what end?" Sebastian studied William's profile, noting a shift in his usually controlled demeanor.

"Are you familiar with the wendigo myth?"

What followed was a passionate discourse on ancient mythology that Sebastian found both fascinating and absurd. William's usual clinical detachment dissolved into something almost fervent as he spoke of transformation through consumption. Sebastian watched this crack in William's perfect facade with growing interest. The man actually believed these tales - or at least, appeared to. Either possibility presented... intriguing opportunities.

Perhaps, Sebastian mused, he could embrace this façade of belief. After all, what was one more mask to wear? And if William wished to dress murder in mythological costume, well... that only made the game more entertaining.

William introduced Sebastian to an elegant auction hall, where he became acquainted with Angela. Her striking red attire and commanding presence spoke of refined authority. Though she approached Sebastian with flirtatious remarks, there was something performative in her attention - less genuine interest, more calculated assessment wrapped in charm.

Their interactions settled into an peculiar rhythm, her provocative comments met with his polite deflections, neither truly invested in the dance but both finding it oddly entertaining. Through these exchanges, Sebastian learned of her connection to William - fellow Weston alumni, though she kept herself carefully distanced from their more intimate operations. Instead, she'd carved her own niche, orchestrating these specialized auctions where human remains found their way to particular collectors.

Sebastian's curiosity led him to participate, claiming his first prize - a human heart. A fitting purchase, he mused, for a surgeon turned collector.

William's earlier words about consumption lingered in Sebastian's mind as he studied his prize. The heart sat before him like a challenge, an opportunity to elevate this act beyond mere trophy-taking. His thoughts turned to his other passion, one that had always complemented his appreciation for precision - the art of cuisine.

He'd long since mastered the delicate science of cooking, finding in it the same satisfaction as surgery: the perfect cut, the precise timing, the artful presentation. How fascinating, he mused, to combine these skills into something entirely new. To transform his macabre trophy into a culinary masterpiece.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                       4 years ago

Two years into his role at Weston, Sebastian found himself pondering a curious absence. Vincent Phantomhive, the supposed pharmaceutical mogul William claimed partnership with, remained a ghost - never seen, never involved in their darker endeavors. The disconnect between Phantomhive's legitimate business and their activities grew more conspicuous with time.

These years had seen William expanding their circle with calculated precision. Sebastian's contribution to recruitment had been Lau, discovered in the city's shadows. He'd found him holding court in a high-end brothel, an elegant figure of questionable profession who kept a woman perpetually draped across his lap - his "sister," he claimed, though the lie was as obvious as it was irrelevant.

William's own recruitment had yielded Grell, a regular presence at Angela's auctions whose enthusiasm for their work matched her penchant for dramatics. Sebastian found her particularly grating, especially her insistence on the infantile nickname "Bassy." Still, he maintained professional tolerance - after all, his interests lay in the opportunities their arrangement provided, not the company it required.

"Bassy!" Grell's voice cut through the faculty lounge like a poorly tuned violin. She draped herself across his desk with theatrical grace, red hair spilling over his carefully organized papers. "I heard about your little demonstration with Desmond. So precise, so elegant!" Her fingers walked up his arm. "We simply must compare techniques sometime."

Sebastian delicately extracted his papers from beneath her, his smile never wavering. "I prefer to work alone."

"For now," she purred, but there was steel beneath the flirtation. "But William has such plans for you. We all do."

The threat in her words was about as subtle as her hair color, but Sebastian merely archived it alongside the growing collection of power plays and posturing that seemed to define their little group.

Their ranks continued to expand with calculated precision. Ronald appeared in their midst - another of William's findings whose origins remained obscure. Sebastian maintained careful distance, finding neither reason nor inclination to engage beyond necessity.

More intriguing was Claude's appointment as Vice Chancellor. His integration into their circle seemed too neat, too purposeful. Initially, Sebastian regarded him with professional indifference, but noticed a curious pattern emerge: beneath Claude's apparent apathy lay a particular hostility toward Sebastian, manifesting only in William's absence. These subtle shifts in Claude's demeanor, these carefully timed displays of antagonism, warranted careful observation. Sebastian filed away each interaction, each veiled slight, recognizing in Claude something more calculated than mere personality clash.

Sebastian vividly remembered their first exchange and how Claude’s hostility towards him was apparent:

"Sebastian Michaelis." Claude's voice carried the precise tone of someone tasting something unpleasant. Their hands met in the prescribed social gesture, but Sebastian noted how Claude's fingers tensed slightly, as if resisting the urge to crush rather than shake.

"Vice Chancellor Faustus." Sebastian matched Claude's grip pressure exactly, neither yielding nor escalating. "I've heard so much about you."

"Have you?" Claude's glasses caught the light, momentarily obscuring his eyes. "How fascinating, considering how little anyone seems to know about you."

From that moment forward, Sebastian regarded Claude with practiced indifference, recognizing that maintaining careful distance would serve him better than engaging with such calculated hostility.

One afternoon, muted voices drew Sebastian's attention as he approached William's office. He stilled his footsteps, lingering by the closed door.

"I want out, William. I'm done with you and this entire... organization." The unfamiliar voice carried aristocratic polish even in its rejection.

"That wasn't our arrangement, Vincent." William's response was ice.

Sebastian's eyebrows rose fractionally. Vincent Phantomhive himself? Now this was intriguing.

"And what exactly will you do if I walk away right now?" The challenge in Vincent's tone made the air feel suddenly thicker with unspoken threats.

The silence stretched, heavy with implication.

"As I suspected," Vincent's voice carried with a certain smugness that made his mockery cut deeper. "All bark, no bite."

"Consider carefully what you're risking," William's tone had shifted to something darker. "Actions have consequences."

"Go to hell, William." The words carried the weight of years of accumulated contempt.

Sebastian registered the approaching footsteps and eased back from the door with calculated precision, maintaining his position with stillness.

The door swung open, revealing the man whose name had dominated Weston's whispered conversations. In person, Vincent Phantomhive proved more striking than any photograph had captured. His slate hair fell with deliberate carelessness over sharp features, while a distinctive beauty mark beneath his eye lent distinction to otherwise classical good looks. Everything about him spoke of carefully crafted perfection, from his immaculate posture to the measured grace of his movements.

Sebastian studied him with clinical interest, noting how Vincent's commanding presence filled the doorway without effort. Here was someone who had learned to weaponize charm, though Sebastian found the polished exterior rather tiresome - like admiring a meticulously maintained museum piece. More intriguing was the dangerous intelligence that glinted behind Vincent's blue eyes, suggesting depths beneath the flawless facade.

Vincent's gaze locked onto Sebastian, something unreadable flickering across his features. His eyes narrowed - not with suspicion, but with the sharp focus of someone cataloging every detail for future reference. Without breaking stride, he continued past, leaving only the fading echo of footsteps in his wake.

Sebastian watched him disappear around the corner, mind already dissecting the implications of what he'd overheard. So the untouchable Vincent Phantomhive wanted to sever ties with their little enterprise. His lips curved into a slight smirk. William had never struck him as someone who handled rejection well - this would prove... interesting.

Lost in contemplation, Sebastian only registered William's presence when his shadow fell across the floor. 

"I trust you found that exchange... enlightening?" William's voice carried its usual precise chill.

"Fragments, certainly," Sebastian's lips curved into that knowing smirk. "Though I suspect there's quite a story behind this little drama."

"Indeed." William adjusted his glasses with mechanical precision. "Perhaps it's time you understood the full scope of my history with Vincent Phantomhive."

As William unraveled his history with Vincent, Sebastian absorbed each detail with clinical precision. The carefully constructed tale traced their path from Weston students to bitter enemies - their close friendship, Vincent's violent betrayal that had claimed someone precious to William, and his eventual return when his son's illness and their company's finances began to fail.

But something in William's measured delivery struck a false note. His account was too neat, too practiced - like a surgical site stitched too perfectly to hide the mess beneath. Sebastian recognized the technique; he'd employed it often enough himself. William was excising certain truths, leaving pristine scars where messy wounds should be.

"Forgive my curiosity," Sebastian's voice carried practiced courtesy, "but this elaborate game with Vincent Phantomhive seems... inefficient. Why not simply eliminate him?"

"I want him broken." The deadly softness in William's tone made the words more chilling than any shout.

"Mere revenge?" Sebastian's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "That seems beneath you." He studied William's carefully controlled expression, sensing darker currents beneath the simple explanation. No, this obsession with Vincent ran deeper than vengeance - there was something far more deliciously twisted at play.

"You misunderstand." William's voice dropped to something intimate and terrible. "I want to dissect him piece by piece, watch that perfect composure crumble, until there's nothing left but raw nerves and desperation. Then, when he's finally, exquisitely broken..." His glasses caught the light, masking his eyes. "I'll devour every last piece of him. This isn't about revenge. It's about possession."

Sebastian was still skeptical of Williams response but pursuing that thread now would only waste valuable time. 

"How should we proceed?" Sebastian asked, steering them toward more immediate concerns.

"We observe," William adjusted his glasses with mechanical precision. "If Vincent chooses to walk away... well, I believe we can arrange a suitable farewell. And then, naturally, we close this particular chapter of his story."

Suddenly, a photo fell out of William’s pocket. Sebastian went to pick it up, turning it over. It was of - a young boy with slate hair that matched Vincent’s and an eyepatch. Something about the boy aight his attention, but Sebastian couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Before he had a chance to figure it out, William smoothly retrieved the photo before he could study it further.

"That's not relevant. Yet." William's slight emphasis on the last word didn't escape Sebastian's notice.

Chapter XXVIII: end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXIX: The Tower; Part Four

After their intimate encounter, exhaustion had finally claimed Ciel, his usually sharp features softened by sleep. Sebastian knew they needed to move - time was a luxury they couldn't afford.  Yet he found himself lingering, his gaze trailing over Ciel's exposed form. The young man's frame was deceptive in its delicacy; beneath that apparent fragility lay lean muscle, a subtle strength that matched the steel in his character. But it was Ciel's face that held Sebastian's attention, vulnerability transforming his usual guarded expression into something almost innocent. The sight stirred an unfamiliar protective instinct that Sebastian chose not to examine too closely.

With practiced care, he gathered Ciel into his arms, noting how the younger man unconsciously curled closer to his chest. Each step toward the bedroom was measured, and deliberate. Sebastian couldn't help but wonder - was this unguarded state simply fatigue, or had Ciel finally allowed himself to truly rest in his presence? The thought carried more weight than he cared to admit.

As Sebastian settled Ciel onto the bed, a soft sound escaped the younger man's lips. His visible eye fluttered open, still heavy with sleep. "Sebastian?" The name came out as a drowsy murmur, stripped of its usual sharp edges.

Sebastian found himself caught between regret at disturbing Ciel's rest and an unexpected rush of... something at the sight before him. Ciel's carefully maintained facade had crumbled in his half-conscious state - hair tousled against the pillow, lips still soft from sleep, his uncovered eye struggling to focus. It was a rare glimpse of Ciel without his armor of pride and precision, and Sebastian found it strangely captivating.

A dangerous kind of complacency settled over Sebastian as he watched Ciel drift between sleep and waking. Twenty-four hours, he'd calculated earlier. Surely they could afford these few precious moments of peace. It was unlike him to indulge in such wishful thinking, to let his guard down even slightly. Yet here he was, rationalizing delay when every instinct honed over years of survival screamed at him to move.

Later, he would recognize this moment as the fatal flaw in his usually impeccable judgment.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The neon signs from the private club cast sickly colors across Charles' face as he slammed his fist against the brick wall. "I can't believe he slipped through our fingers," he snarled, frustration evident in every line of his body.

Blue and red lights already flickered in the distance, drawing closer. Vincent stood motionless beside him, his silence more unsettling than any outburst. The usual calculated confidence had drained from his features, leaving something harder to read in its wake.

"Vincent," Charles ventured carefully, "bringing the police into this... are you certain?"

Vincent's laugh held no warmth as he uncrossed his arms. "William's influence is built on carefully maintained appearances. With the school board eliminated, his hold over the police has weakened considerably." His lips curved into a cold smile. "Let them raid this den of depravity. Arrest everyone inside. It's one more piece of his empire crumbling."

The approaching sirens grew louder. "We should go," Vincent added, already turning away. "There's no need for us to be caught in the cleanup of this particular mess."

The car door's slam echoed through the empty street as Charles slid behind the wheel, Vincent taking his place in the passenger seat. The engine's growl seemed unusually loud in the heavy silence between them, city lights painting strange patterns across the windshield as they pulled away from the club.

Charles found himself stealing glances at Vincent, unsettled by this uncharacteristic quiet from a man who usually wielded silence like a weapon. The streetlights caught the harsh lines of tension in Vincent's jaw, the distant look in his eyes suggesting thoughts far darker than the night around them.

The memory of Undertaker's revelation sat like poison in Charles' thoughts. He had grown to trust that eccentric figure and found an odd sort of comfort in their strange companionship. How many times had they shared information, strategies, even the occasional dark joke? And all along, Undertaker had been the puppet master, orchestrating their every move with hidden strings.

"About what Undertaker said—" Charles ventured, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. But how does one even begin to discuss such a betrayal?

"Stop." Vincent's voice cut through the air like steel. "This has spiraled far beyond what I anticipated, Charles. I won't drag you any further into this mess." His next words fell between them with crushing finality. "After tonight, we go our separate ways."

The car swerved slightly as Charles' hands jerked on the wheel. "Have you lost your mind?"

"You need to understand something." Vincent's tone carried an edge of desperation Charles had never heard before. "This isn't just another game of chess where I can outmaneuver my opponent. Undertaker has backed me into a corner I can't escape." His laugh held no humor. "My only move now is to find Ciel and Rachel and run – not just from London, but from England itself.”

"So this is it? The great Vincent Phantomhive choosing to run?" Charles' grip tightened on the steering wheel. "You just said William's grip on the police is weakening—"

"And when that same police discover Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals' connection to human trafficking?" Vincent's voice cut like glass. "When they uncover your position on the school board?" Each word fell between them with the weight of a guillotine blade. "How long before they start pulling threads and watching everything unravel?"

The truth of Vincent's words hit Charles like a physical blow, leaving him speechless. They were trapped in a web of their own making, each escape route leading to another deadly complication.

William had inexplicably allowed him to keep his freedom, but Charles harbored no illusions about that mercy extending to Vincent's conspirators. His grip loosened slightly on the wheel as the full weight of their situation settled over him. One wrong move, one whispered word of his allegiance to Vincent, and that tenuous freedom would vanish like smoke.

"And Ciel..." Vincent's voice caught on his son's name, a rare crack in his composure. "I've already dragged him too deep into this mess. As CEO of Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals, he's not just my son anymore - he's a target with a title." The bitterness in his voice was palpable. "I refuse to watch my sins destroy his future too."

Charles exhaled slowly, defeat seeping into his bones. "So this is really the end of the road for us, then?"

"It seems so." Vincent turned to meet Charles' gaze, and something shifted in his usually guarded expression. "Though our time working together was brief, Charles... you proved to be a remarkable ally."

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Full consciousness had returned to Ciel with startling clarity. He found himself studying Sebastian's profile against the sheets, still struggling to process their newfound intimacy. Sebastian lounged beside him with casual grace, crimson eyes fixed on the ceiling with infuriating serenity.

The sight of Sebastian looking so perfectly composed made Ciel's cheeks burn. Those dark lashes fluttered with false innocence, a stark contrast to their passionate encounter mere moments ago. Despite his best efforts, Ciel's gaze betrayed him, drawn to Sebastian's exposed torso. Even wrapped in bandages, Sebastian's form was distracting - all lean muscle and sculpted definition. A glimpse of abs peeked through the wrappings, making Ciel's flush deepen as he remembered how they felt beneath his fingers.

"My, my," Sebastian's silky voice carried that familiar note of amusement. "Your gaze is rather intense. Are you perhaps trying to burn holes through me with those lovely eyes of yours?"

Mortification washed over Ciel in waves. Where had that earlier boldness vanished to? The memory of his own brazen behavior made him want to disappear into the mattress entirely. "Just... be quiet," he muttered, retreating to the edge of the bed as if distance could restore his dignity.

"How amusing," Sebastian purred, rolling onto his side with fluid grace. He propped himself up on one elbow, his knowing smirk only intensifying Ciel's discomfort. "You're quite desperate to maintain distance now, despite being remarkably... close just moments ago."

Ciel shifted to the bed's edge, feet hovering above the floor. "I need to use the toilet," he announced, the excuse transparent even to his own ears. He was barely beginning to rise when—

Sebastian moved like a liquid shadow, suddenly pressed against Ciel's back. Strong arms encircled his waist, long legs bracketing his smaller frame. Sebastian's breath ghosted across the nape of his neck, sending involuntary shivers down his spine.

"Perhaps you require... assistance?" Sebastian's voice dropped to that dangerous velvet purr that never failed to make Ciel's pulse race.

"Let go," Ciel demanded, trying to pry Sebastian's arms from his waist, his attempts only making Sebastian's embrace tighten possessively.

"Now, now," Sebastian murmured against his ear, dark amusement coloring his tone. "If you want freedom, you'll have to be more... persuasive than that."

"Like hell—" Ciel's defiance was cut short as Sebastian smoothly reversed their positions, pressing him into the mattress. Their fingers interlocked above Ciel's head, Sebastian's weight pinning him in place as he straddled him.

Time seemed to freeze as their gazes locked - Sebastian's crimson eyes burning into Ciel's sapphire one with an intensity that made breathing difficult. The air between them grew thick with unspoken tension.

"Ah, perhaps this is enough... for the moment." Sebastian's smirk held wicked promise as he released Ciel's hands and gracefully withdrew, leaving the younger man flushed and flustered on the bed. The abrupt loss of contact felt deliberate, calculated - another one of Sebastian's games of control.

Ciel pushed himself up from the bed, all too aware of Sebastian's darkly amused gaze following his movements. The bastard was clearly enjoying his discomfort, savoring every moment of Ciel's flustered state. 

Sebastian moved to his dresser with fluid grace, retrieving a white t-shirt. Something to preserve your modesty," he purred, tossing it at Ciel, who fumbled slightly before catching it. The simple action somehow felt loaded with meaning.

Ciel snatched his discarded pants from the floor, quickly pulling them on, all too aware of Sebastian's gaze following his movements. He fled the bedroom, the door closing behind him with enough force to betray his embarrassment.

Only then did the realization hit him - he had no idea where the bathroom was in Sebastian's apartment. His pride warred with practicality for a moment before stubbornness won out. The thought of returning to face Sebastian's smug expression was unbearable. He'd find it himself, even if he had to check every door in this place.

After wandering through Sebastian's unexpectedly vast apartment, Ciel finally located the bathroom. The mirror reflected his thoroughly debauched state - hair mussed, skin marked with telling signs of their encounter. Sebastian's shirt hung loose on his frame, the collar dipping to expose his collarbone. But as he adjusted the oversized garment, something else caught his attention - a whisper of movement from the shower curtain behind him, so slight he might have imagined it in the mirror's reflection.

The air suddenly felt thick with tension as Ciel turned, every nerve screaming danger. That movement... had it been his imagination? Or was someone lurking behind that innocuous barrier of fabric? The silence seemed to pulse with possibility.

His fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the curtain. One quick movement, he told himself. Like ripping off a bandage. But the moment his hand grasped the fabric, another shot out from behind it. Ciel barely had time to register what was happening before he was yanked backward, a strangled cry escaping his lips as strong arms locked him into a hostage hold.

"One move and your neck snaps." The threat ghosted across Ciel's ear, each word precise and cold.

Footsteps thundered down the hall before the bathroom door burst open, revealing Sebastian. For a fraction of a second, something raw and dangerous flashed across his features - a glimpse of genuine fear and fury that vanished beneath his usual composed mask.

"Touch a single hair on his head," Sebastian's voice carried lethal calm, "and I'll separate your head from your shoulders."

"Kill him?" A familiar voice came from behind Sebastian, making Ciel's blood run cold. Claude stepped into view, adjusting his glasses with mechanical precision. "Oh no, the plan has... evolved."

Sebastian's head turned with deliberate slowness, his lips curving into a dangerous smile. "Claude. Your jealousy has become rather tedious."

"Jealousy?" Claude's voice dripped venom. "You're a liability the cult can't afford. The sooner William sees through your facade, the better." Each word carried years of festering resentment.

"You said killing wasn't the plan anymore." Ciel forced his voice to remain steady despite the fingers hovering at his throat. "What changed?"

"Ah, yes." Claude's glasses caught the light, masking his eyes. "William had an... epiphany. Why waste such perfect bait? Your death will be so much sweeter with Vincent there to witness it." His lips curved into a cold smile. "After all, what father wouldn't come running to save his precious son?"

Sebastian moved like lightning, yanking Ciel free while his leg shot out in a devastating kick that sent the assailant sprawling. He positioned himself between Ciel and Claude, confidence radiating from his smirk. "Your schemes seem to be unraveling rather spectacularly."

"Are they?" Claude's answering smile held something vicious. 

The shift was instant - before Sebastian could process the threat in Claude's tone, Claude had closed the distance between them. One hand locked around Sebastian's throat while Claude's forehead crashed into his with brutal force. Sebastian's grip on Ciel faltered as he staggered.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Blood trickled between Sebastian's fingers as he tried to steady himself, the world tilting dangerously around him. Through his blurred vision, he caught the glint of a syringe - watched in helpless fury as Claude plunged it into Ciel's neck. Ciel's body crumpled like a marionette with cut strings, Claude lowering him to the floor with mock gentleness.

Each of Claude's steps toward Sebastian echoed with deliberate menace. Before Sebastian could gather his scattered senses, Claude's knee drove into his abdomen with crushing force. White-hot pain exploded from his existing wound, stealing his breath. Despite Sebastian's basic martial arts experience, Claude's raw brutality overwhelmed his more structured fighting style. Each of Claude's strikes spoke of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of breaking people.

Through the haze of pain, Sebastian barely registered Claude's command: "Take him." The words seemed distant, muffled by the thundering in his ears as he doubled over.

Claude crouched beside Sebastian's hunched form, fingers threading through his hair with mock tenderness. "How the mighty fall," he murmured, his voice carrying dark satisfaction. "Did you really think a Vice Chancellor would be so... ordinary?" The grip on Sebastian's hair tightened. "I'm so much more than the simple academic you presumed me to be."

"Now, what would be the most fitting end for you, Sebastian?" Claude's voice dripped with cruel contemplation.

"I'm afraid I'll have to interrupt your little planning session." The familiar lilting voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Sebastian's vision cleared enough to find Lau standing in the doorway, his ever-present smile carrying an edge of danger that even Claude couldn't ignore. Once again, the enigmatic man had appeared at precisely the right moment to save him.

"Well, well... Lau." Claude's voice carried theatrical surprise. "Siding with our resident traitor?"

"Traitor?" Lau's perpetual smile never wavered. But something sharp glinted in his half-lidded eyes. "There was never any betrayal to speak of. This was always a witch hunt." His tone shifted slightly, gaining a dangerous edge. "But then, you already knew that, didn't you?"

"I'm not sure I follow your meaning."

"William never ordered Sebastian's death." Each word fell like a carefully placed chess piece. "And we both know how... particular William is about unauthorized initiatives." The threat beneath Lau's gentle tone was unmistakable.

Claude's silence spoke volumes, the threat in Lau's words hanging heavy in the air between them.

Claude's laughter erupted suddenly, jarringly loud in the tense space. His entire frame shook with it as he draped an arm around Sebastian's shoulders with false camaraderie. "Oh, isn't this delightful, Sebastian?" He managed between bursts of unsettling mirth. "Such precise maneuvering from our dear Lau."

Rising with deliberate grace, Claude smoothed his clothes as his laughter subsided into something more dangerous. "Very well, I'll grant you this reprieve. But Sebastian..." His voice dropped to a silken threat. "Do look forward to our next encounter. I promise it will be... decisive."

"Looking forward to it," Sebastian ground out through clenched teeth, his voice rough but carrying a lethal promise despite his current state. Each word was a challenge, even as pain radiated through his body.

The door clicked shut behind Claude with insulting casualness, the sound echoing like mockery in Sebastian's ears. Though he knew Ciel was being taken - had watched it happen through pain-blurred vision - he remained helpless to stop it. The only cold comfort was knowing they needed Ciel alive as bait.

Sebastian's fingers curled into fists against the floor.  His own complacency had led to this—seduced by peaceful moments and unexamined feelings. The truth struck him with devastating clarity - Ciel had become more than just a weakness. He had become Sebastian's vulnerability, his blind spot, his fatal flaw. And that terrified him more than any threat Claude could pose.

Sebastian's head snapped toward Lau, pain giving his words an edge. "Your timing is remarkably convenient. How exactly did you know where to find us?"

"My, my," Lau's smile remained unchanged, but his raised hands carried a hint of mockery in their peaceful gesture. "Is that any way to thank your savior? Twice now, I've stepped in on your behalf."

"Your interference seems rather... calculated." Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "This goes beyond mere self-preservation. What game are you really playing, Lau?"

"Such suspicion," Lau's perpetual smile carried a hint of something almost genuine. "Not every action has hidden motives, Sebastian. Sometimes..." He paused, his usual playful tone softening slightly. "Sometimes a debt is simply a debt. And I do owe you one."

"A debt?” Sebastian's voice carried equal parts skepticism and curiosity.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten?" Lau's smile widened slightly. "Your invitation into the cult's inner circle proved... quite profitable for my interests. Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals has been particularly beneficial to my business ventures."

"That's your only reason?" Sebastian's tone suggested he was searching for the trap in Lau's simple explanation.

"Sometimes the simplest answer is the truth." Lau's gaze dropped to Sebastian's torso, where crimson was beginning to seep through white bandages. "Your wound has reopened. What do you plan to do about that?"

"Since you're feeling so charitable," Sebastian's words dripped sarcasm, "my suture kit and bandages are in the closet. I'll handle it myself."

Lau took the hint, disappearing into Sebastian's bedroom. The sound of rummaging followed while Sebastian forced himself upright, staggering to the couch with considerably less than his usual grace.

When Lau returned, he unceremoniously dropped the suture kit and fresh bandages into Sebastian's lap. Instead of leaving, he lingered, watching intently as Sebastian began sorting through the medical supplies.

"Enjoying the show?" Sebastian managed a smirk despite the pain radiating through his body.

"Have you ever stitched yourself up before?"

"First time for everything."

"In that case..." Lau extended a cloth he'd retrieved from the bedroom, his usual smile carrying an edge of genuine concern. "You might want something to bite down on. Self-surgery isn't quite as elegant as operating on others."

"Speaking from experience?" Sebastian's eyes narrowed, studying Lau with new interest.

"Let's just say..." Lau's perpetual smile held something darker. "I've had practice."

The implication hung heavy in the air between them before Sebastian accepted the cloth, clenching it between his teeth. With practiced precision born from years of surgery - though never on himself - he threaded the needle. The first puncture through his skin drew a sharp intake of breath, muffled by the cloth.

Just that first stitch made Sebastian's vision swim with pain. A grim understanding settled over him - for all his surgical expertise, being both doctor and patient was going to be an exercise in exquisite agony.

      ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

With practiced authority, Tanaka had sent Mey-rin, Finny, and Bard home - their protective duties seemingly concluded. The manor felt unusually empty without their presence, each room echoing with hollow silence as he completed his nightly maintenance routine.

He was just finishing his meticulous cleaning of the parlor when his phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration somehow ominous in the quiet house.

His phone was strictly for business matters, its use was rare and purposeful. The unknown number on the screen gave him pause - likely one of those scam calls the news had been warning about lately. He declined it, only to have it buzz again immediately, more insistent this time.

Something in that persistence made him answer. "Yes?"

"We have Ciel Phantomhive." The voice was coldly precise. "If you wish him to survive, you'll deliver a message to Vincent Phantomhive."

"Vincent?" Tanaka's composure cracked slightly. "Master Vincent has been presumed dead for—"

"Vincent Phantomhive is very much alive.  "If you involve anyone else and if you breathe a word of this to another soul... Ciel's life is forfeit. Am I making myself clear?"

Tanaka's throat tightened, decades of composure nearly cracking under the weight of the threat. "Clear."

"Good. You have his number. Make the call." The line died with crushing finality, leaving Tanaka alone with the impossible choice before him.

Tanaka stared at the phone in his hand, decades of careful composure warring with the impossible revelation. Vincent - alive? The weight of this knowledge settled heavily on his shoulders, along with the chilling reality of Ciel's capture.

Tanaka's weathered hands trembled slightly as he scrolled through his contacts. There it was - Vincent's name, preserved like a ghost in his phone all these years. The impossibility of the moment made his finger hover over the number.

The dial tone seemed to stretch for eternity. Then—

"Tanaka?" That voice. That unmistakable voice he'd thought silenced forever. Vincent Phantomhive, speaking to him as if death had merely been an inconvenience.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The final stitch done, Sebastian slumped back against the couch, sweat beading on his forehead from the self-inflicted ordeal. His wound pulsed with each heartbeat, but at least the bleeding had ceased. Each breath came measured and deep as he fought to center himself.

"You know," Lau's voice carried that deceptively casual tone that usually preceded something far more pointed, "you and the young Phantomhive seem... rather close these days."

Sebastian's head turned slowly toward Lau, his expression dangerous despite his weakened state. "Careful where you tread, Lau."

"No need for such hostility." Lau's perpetual smile widened slightly. "I merely observe what's obvious - your protective instincts, the intimate setting I found you both in, the distinct lack of proper attire—"

"Consider your next words very carefully." Sebastian's voice dropped to something lethal.

"My, my." Lau's eyes cracked open slightly, genuine amusement dancing in them. "Have I touched a sensitive spot?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, but Lau pressed on with devastating casualness. "To think I'd live to see you in love."

"Love?" The word fell from Sebastian's lips like something foreign, making him sit upright despite the protest of his wound.

"Have I misspoken?" Lau's smile carried knowing amusement. "Though I must say, you two certainly do behave like lovers."

Love? The concept ricocheted through Sebastian's mind like a stray bullet. He'd classified his feelings for Ciel as mere desire, hadn't he? But even as he formed the thought, he knew it rang false. Desire was simple, clinical - this was something far more complex, more dangerous. Yet love? The possibility sent an unfamiliar tremor through his carefully ordered world.

How had Ciel transformed from a simple instrument of manipulation into... this? Sebastian had understood his desire to possess Ciel, to claim him completely, but there was something else now - something that made his chest tighten in ways that defied his clinical understanding. Lau's words had struck a chord that continued to resonate, forcing him to examine feelings he'd carefully avoided naming.

"Fascinating," Lau's soft laugh cut through his thoughts. "I never thought I'd see that expression on your face. Real emotion looks quite striking on you, Sebastian."

For the first time in recent memory, Sebastian felt heat creep across his cheeks, an embarrassing betrayal of his usual control. "This conversation ends now."

"My, my," Lau's voice dripped with delighted mockery. "The great Sebastian Michaelis, actually blushing. What would dear William say?"

"William," Sebastian seized on the name like a lifeline, his expression hardening back to familiar calculation. "His new plan to use Ciel as bait could spiral into something far worse than he intends."

Sebastian pushed aside his emotional turmoil. He'd already let feelings cloud his judgment once today - an error that had cost him Ciel. He couldn't afford such weakness again.

"Indeed," Lau's playful demeanor melted into something sharper. "The auction house - that's where they'll take him. William does love his theatrical settings."

Chapter XXIX: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXX: The Emperor; Part Two

                       Hours earlier

William stood in a hospital room, the sterile smell and bright, fluorescent lights incredibly vexing. His eye twitched, an old habit coming back that he had tried to suppress usually. 

He glanced down at Ronald, who lay in the hospital bed. The doctor’s grim prognosis echoed in his mind. A slim chance of waking up from a rat-poison-induced coma—he was told. His lip curled slightly.

The very thought of that irked him. How many times had he been failed by these people he had called allies? Ronald was as useless to him as he was an idiot. The only reason he had chosen to recruit him was because he seemed easy to manipulate and his fighting abilities appeared formidable. But, he and Grell got bested by a common bodyguard protecting Ciel.
 
Unacceptable.

William’s gaze traced the life-sustaining equipment with clinical interest—oxygen mask steadily fogging with shallow breaths, the IV  dripping with false promises of recovery. He reached down, gripping the oxygen mask, and yanked it away.

Ronald’s eyes snapped open, bloodshot and wild with sudden consciousness His mouth gaped and closed as he struggled to breathe. 

“Ah, there you are,” William remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. “Rather fitting, isn’t it? Gasping like a fish out of water, desperately clinging to life.”

He savored each moment of dawning comprehension in Ronald's eyes, the helpless understanding of betrayal. This - this was power in its purest form.

The door's soft click barely registered as William glanced up, unhurried. Grell's crimson hair caught the harsh fluorescent light as she limped in, the bandage on her leg a testament to her own recent failure.

He watched with clinical interest as her eyes moved from the oxygen mask dangling from his fingers to Ronald's desperate gasping. The shock blooming across her features was exquisite - a perfect portrait of dawning horror that William wanted to preserve like a butterfly pinned to velvet.

"What are you doing?" Grell's initial caution made her voice unnaturally soft, eyes narrowing with predatory focus.

With deliberate casualness, William let the mask clatter to the floor. "Ronald has proven himself... redundant," he said, adjusting his glasses with mechanical precision. "I'm simply removing unnecessary pieces from the board."

The change in Grell was instant, electric-like watching a match ignite. Her earlier wariness vanished beneath a wave of dark delight. "Oh, William," she practically purred, "how deliciously cruel of you." Her theatrical swoon might have been comical if not for the genuine pleasure dancing in her eyes. Even now, her flair for drama managed to draw the ghost of a smirk from William's usually stoic features.

William felt his irritation dissolve as he watched Grell. She too had failed him, yet her particular brand of madness remained... entertaining. Useful, even.

Ronald's desperate gasping interrupted his thoughts. William's gaze dropped to him, lips curling with distaste. "Still fighting, are we? I suppose that tenacity is almost admirable."

"Oh, William," Grell's voice dripped with sultry eagerness, "shall I help our dear Ronald find his peace?" She glided to the opposite side of the bed, eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement.

A slight nod was all the permission she needed.

With theatrical grace, Grell yanked the pillow from beneath Ronald's head. Her movements were almost loving as she pressed it over his face, applying more pressure as he struggled. The thrashing gradually weakened until, finally, stillness claimed him - the last breath trapped beneath pressed cotton.

"Grell." William's voice cut through the moment. "Inform Claude that our plans for young Phantomhive have... evolved."

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                       Present Time

Sebastian studied his reflection, adjusting the sleeves of his tailored suit with practiced precision. The familiar elegance of formal attire felt like armor, a return to calculated perfection before the impending chaos at the auction house. Every detail had to be flawless - tonight's performance could not afford a single misstep.

"My, my... quite the dashing figure you cut." Lau's voice drifted from the doorway, tinged with mock regret. "Had I known we were treating this as a formal affair, I would have dressed for the occasion."

"One should always look their best when dancing with death," Sebastian replied dryly, making a final adjustment to his tie without breaking his gaze from the mirror. "Now, we need to move. Time isn't—"

A knock at the door cut through their exchange.

"A visitor?" Sebastian's voice carried a dangerous edge. "How inconvenient."

He strode to the front door with fluid purpose, Lau a silent shadow behind him. The doorknob turned under his grip, and—

Vincent Phantomhive stood before him, that commanding presence unchanged since their brief encounter at Weston. Studying him now, with Ciel's features burned into his memory, Sebastian could trace the genetic echoes between father and son. Where Ciel's features held that fascinating blend of delicacy and strength, still evolving into their final form, Vincent's appearance felt like admiring a completed masterwork - beautiful but lacking the captivating vulnerability that made his son so... intriguing.

"Vincent Phantomhive.” Sebastian's voice remained silken despite his surprise. "What an unexpected pleasure. Though I do wonder how you located us."

"My, my, seeing a ghost in the flesh is quite the experience." Lau's perpetual smile carried an edge of genuine intrigue.

"Tanaka's call was illuminating," Vincent's calculated tone cut through the pleasantries. "As was the tracker on Ciel's phone, which I notice remains here." His sharp gaze dissected Sebastian. "So you're the infamous Sebastian Michaelis. Tanaka had quite a bit to say about you."

"All flattering, I hope—"

"Enough games." Vincent's voice turned to steel. "What exactly are your intentions toward my son? And more importantly, what's your real connection to William?"

"My connection to William?" Sebastian's smile held no warmth. "Your little 'traitor' performance provided Claude Faustus the perfect opportunity to frame me. Rather convenient how one father's actions can cascade into such... interesting consequences."

"A cult member then." Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting this is somehow my fault?"

"You abandoned Ciel, knowing full well what the cult was capable of. Not to mention entangling yourself with them in the first place, placing your entire family in their crosshairs."

"I never anticipated they'd target him." Sebastian caught the flicker of genuine pain that crossed Vincent's features - a brief crack in his composed facade that felt oddly satisfying to witness. So even the untouchable Vincent Phantomhive had his weaknesses where Ciel was concerned.

It seemed they had something in common. But he had to be careful to not let Vincent know that.

"Come now," Sebastian's voice dripped mockery, "surely you're not that naive."

"You're deflecting." Vincent's voice carried that same sharp edge Sebastian had heard in Ciel's. "What exactly is your relationship with my son?"

Sebastian had to appreciate the irony - this interrogation felt remarkably familiar. Ciel's suspicious nature suddenly made perfect sense.

"Fascinating as this reunion is," Sebastian's tone shifted to something more precise, "we're rather pressed for time if you want to see your son alive. They'll have taken him to the auction house."

Sebastian allowed himself a moment of dark amusement - here he was, knowingly leading Vincent exactly where William wanted him. But then, sometimes the obvious trap was the only path forward.

"Then we'll finish this discussion in my car." Vincent's command brooked no argument as he turned, his exit clearly expecting compliance.

Sebastian's gaze slid to Lau, who had been watching their exchange with his usual enigmatic smile. "Joining us?"

"Oh my, how could I possibly miss such entertainment?" Lau's voice carried that familiar note of amused anticipation.

Sebastian's smirk was his only response as they followed Vincent. The car that awaited them bore a telling dent in its side - the physical remnant of Angela's orchestrated "accident." The sight stirred an odd sort of appreciation for how intricately their paths had been tangled from the start.

"Still sporting that dent, I see," Sebastian couldn't resist the prod, watching for Vincent's reaction.

Vincent paused with his hand on the driver's door, his gaze sharpening as it met Sebastian's across the car's roof. "Interesting. You seem rather well-informed about my... accident."

"Informed? Not at all. Merely making conversation," Sebastian's reply dripped false innocence.

Vincent's skepticism was palpable as he slid into the driver's seat. Sebastian claimed the passenger side while Lau settled in back, his perpetual smile visible in the rearview mirror.

"Is there a reason he's joining us?" Vincent's tone carried that familiar sharp edge Sebastian had heard so often in Ciel's voice.

"My, my. Like father, like son - that delightful directness must run in the family,"  Sebastian couldn't resist the jab, earning a soft laugh from Lau.

"Lau, at your service," came the lilting introduction from the back seat.

"I didn't ask for introductions."

"Oh, but how could I resist?" Lau's amusement was evident. "Such delightful family drama unfolding - it's better than theater."

"Let's focus on the matter at hand," Vincent said as the engine roared to life. The car pulled smoothly into motion before his next carefully chosen words. "Tanaka tells me you volunteered as Ciel's protector. He must have seen something in you to allow that." The implication hung heavy in the air.

"Seen something?" Sebastian's lips curved slightly. "You misunderstand. Ciel made his own choice to leave. No one - not even you - can force him to do otherwise."

"Interesting perspective." Vincent's eyes remained fixed on the road. "Speaking of choices, I came across some rather fascinating therapy notes when Ciel was arrested. Your notes, to be precise." 

Sebastian's interest sharpened, though his tone remained casual. "Your ability to access such private records is... impressive. Though I wonder what point you're trying to make."

"The point?" Vincent's voice carried lethal precision. "You deliberately fabricated a diagnosis to frame my son for murder."

"What an interesting theory." Sebastian's response was silk over steel.

"But here's what fascinates me," Vincent's voice carried dangerous curiosity. "You frame him, and then something changes. I assumed Elizabeth or Edward convinced Francis and Alexis to post bail but imagine my surprise when I discovered it was you." His eyes caught Lau's in the rearview mirror as if sharing a private joke. "Frame him, free him, then volunteer to protect him. Quite the elaborate performance, Sebastian."

"So tell me - what's your real game?"

"You misunderstand the sequence of events," Sebastian replied smoothly. "William orchestrated Ciel's framing to draw you out. I simply played my assigned role. I never harbored ill will towards your son.”

"Is that so?" Vincent's tone sharpened. "Then explain to me why my son - your student, your patient - was in your apartment?"

For once, Sebastian's silver tongue failed him, the silence stretching thin.

"Yes, do tell us," Lau's voice dripped with feigned innocence, his knowing smile reflected in the rearview mirror. "Why was the young Phantomhive in your apartment, Sebastian?"

Sebastian's eyes met Lau's in the mirror, promising retribution for this particular betrayal.

"That's not something I can discuss." Sebastian's voice carried careful neutrality.

"Can't?" Vincent's tone turned razor-sharp. "Or won't?"

Sebastian's gaze drifted to the passing cityscape, a clear dismissal of the conversation. But Vincent wasn't finished.

"You pushed him to murder, didn't you?" Vincent's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "This is all some twisted game to you."

"Ciel made his own choices," Sebastian's voice remained measured. "I merely... offered guidance."

"Then you're cut from the same cloth as William."

The comparison sent ice through Sebastian's veins. To be equated with William - that insecure, obsessive puppet master - made something dangerous stir beneath his carefully maintained composure.

"Choose your next words carefully—"

"Oh my," Lau's voice cut through the tension with deliberate casualness. "Since Sebastian won't be honest, I suppose I'll have to be. You see, he harbors quite... particular feelings for your son."

"What exactly are you implying?" Vincent's voice turned deadly quiet.

"Lau." Sebastian's warning carried a lethal promise.

"Oh, didn't you know?" Lau's smile was audible. "They're sleeping together."

The silence that followed Lau's words felt like a physical weight in the car. Sebastian watched Vincent carefully, noting how his carefully maintained composure seemed to fracture at the edges.

"You can't be serious." Vincent's disbelief carried an edge of something dangerous.

"I never joke about such delicious scandals," Lau practically purred from the back seat.

Sebastian's mind was already calculating the most efficient way to end Lau's existence - perhaps his hands around that perfectly squeezable throat—

"Are you in love with him?" Vincent's question cut through his murderous plotting. His eyes remained fixed on the road, but his voice carried the weight of a blade.

Sebastian found himself in an unfamiliar position - trapped by a truth he himself wasn't ready to acknowledge. 

"I'm... uncertain," he admitted the words tasting foreign on his tongue.

Vincent's expression might have been carved from stone. "Let's be clear - I don't trust you. But for now, saving Ciel requires cooperation. Once this is over?" His voice hardened. "You'll stay away from my son. People like you are a poison, and you've tainted him enough."

Sebastian had to suppress a dark smile at that. If Vincent only knew the true extent of Ciel's... corruption. How thoroughly they'd crossed lines that could never be uncrossed.

"How interesting that you still think you can dictate his choices," Sebastian's voice carried silken mockery. "The boy you left behind has grown into someone quite... independent. Whether I stay or go - that will be Ciel's decision alone."

Vincent fell silent, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as Sebastian's words hung in the air. The remainder of the drive passed in thick, suffocating tension until the auction house loomed before them. As the car rolled to a stop, Vincent's gaze moved from Sebastian to Lau in the rearview mirror.

"I'll handle William. Create a distraction while you get Ciel out."

"Running again?" Sebastian's voice carried quiet venom. "How shortsighted. The moment you flee, Elizabeth and Edward become targets. This won't end until you end it - properly this time."

"Just do as I say," Vincent's command carried all the weight of empty authority.

Sebastian's lips curved slightly. If Vincent truly believed he would play the obedient pawn in this little scheme, he was about to learn otherwise. 

"My, my, how exciting," Lau's voice drifted between them as they exited the car.

The auction house rose before them like a monument to darker purposes, its shadows seeming to reach for them with hungry fingers.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Consciousness returned to Ciel in fragments, his eyes fluttering open to unfamiliar shadows. The realization hit with cruel clarity - his body refused to obey any command beyond those simple blinks. His attempts to cry out produced nothing but the faintest whisper of sound. As his vision adjusted, recognition dawned - the auction house stage stretched before him, its familiar architecture now twisted into something sinister by his helpless position.

Movement flickered at the edge of Ciel's vision - a dark shape he couldn't turn to see. Then Claude's face filled his limited view, leaning close with clinical interest.

"He's awake," Claude announced, hands gripping Ciel's shoulders as he propped him against the wall like a discarded doll.

The new angle revealed William and Grell lounging in the auction seats, an audience to his vulnerability. The familiar red logo of his family's company mocked him from the empty syringe beside Claude.

"My apologies for using your company’s own creation against you," Claude's voice carried false courtesy. "But we needed you... compliant."

"Pity we can't hear his thoughts right now." William's clinical observation carried from the shadows.

"Patience," Claude's smile held no warmth. "The paralysis is temporary."

"How dreadfully boring," Grell draped herself across the seats with theatrical disappointment. "All this waiting is killing me."

"The real entertainment," William's voice carried quiet satisfaction, "begins now." His fingers tapped out the countdown with mechanical precision. "Three... two... one..."

The doors swung open on his final word, and Ciel's heart seemed to stop. There stood Sebastian and Lau, but it was the third figure that made his breath catch - his father, alive and real before him. A storm of emotions crashed through Ciel: bitter resentment warring with desperate relief, childhood longing tangled with adult anger. All he could do was stare, trapped in his paralyzed state as years of complicated feelings threatened to overwhelm him.

Ciel's attention shifted to Sebastian, questions burning in his immobile throat. His father and Sebastian together - when had that happened? Despite everything, his heart betrayed him with an ache of longing at the sight of those crimson eyes.

Then there was Lau, whose presence made even less sense. The man he'd known as part of the cult now stood with Sebastian. The alliances had become a twisted web he could no longer untangle.

"Lau," William's voice carried practiced disappointment. "I hear you've chosen to side with our dear traitor. How... disheartening."

"My, my," Lau's perpetual smile didn't waver. "For someone claiming heartbreak, you sound remarkably unmoved."

"At last." Ciel watched William rise from his seat with that mechanical precision he'd always despised. The way William stared at his father made his skin crawl, even in his paralyzed state. Grell trailed after him like an eager shadow, that distinctive red case in hand.

"The feeling's mutual." His father's voice - so familiar yet strange after all these years. Ciel felt those eyes land on him repeatedly, each glance carrying the weight of years of absence. Even now, his father seemed torn between rushing to his side and facing William.

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Vincent registered Sebastian and Lau's presence beside him with grim appreciation. His eyes caught William's subtle movement - the telltale reach for a concealed weapon.

Shit.

A split-second glance at Sebastian confirmed they'd both seen it. No time for words - pure instinct took over. Sebastian dove behind the seats while Vincent yanked Lau down with him, gunshots shattering the auction hall's silence.

Vincent bit back his growing realization that Sebastian might be right - his carefully laid plans crumbling with each shot. But hell if he'd admit that now.

"Still convinced diplomacy was the wisest choice?" Sebastian's mockery cut through the gunfire's echo.

"Save the commentary," he snapped.

"I can hear you scurrying about, Vincent." William's voice rang through the hall with dangerous amusement. "Like a rat in a maze."

"Damn it." Vincent's mind raced through options. "On my signal, we move."

"Whatever you say, fearless leader," Lau's cheerful compliance seemed absurdly out of place.

They crept along the rows, keeping low. Vincent's next words carried quiet authority: "Sebastian, handle Claude. Lau, take the redhead. William's mine. Once I get his gun, move."

Sebastian and Lau split like shadows - Sebastian darting left, Lau slipping right. William's shot cracked through the air as Sebastian blurred past, the bullet finding empty space.

"Scurrying about in the dark?" William's voice carried dangerous amusement. "What are you vermin plotting?"

Vincent emerged from cover, hands raised in surrender.

"Finally decided to stop hiding?" William's voice dripped satisfaction.

"Undertaker’s alive."

For a fraction of a second, William's perfect composure cracked - all Vincent needed. He launched forward, fingers locking around William's gun hand. They grappled for control, the weapon discharging upward with a deafening crack that left them both reeling. Vincent's kick found William's knee with brutal efficiency, the gun clattering free in the chaos.

Vincent snatched up the fallen gun, training it on William. Through the ringing in his ears, he caught what he'd been looking for - that flash of genuine shock at Undertaker's name. William truly hadn't known.

"Don't move." Vincent's command cut through William's step forward. "Undertaker's been playing us both. He infiltrated the school board, and orchestrated his own 'death' - he wanted you eliminated. And now the board's gone, wiped clean."

"You're lying." William's composed facade cracked further, desperation bleeding through.

"For once," Vincent's voice carried cold certainty, "I wish I was."

"Nice attempt at distraction," William's voice steadied. "But I watched him die. Your lies won't save you or your precious son. Besides," his lips curved, "you lack the resolve to pull that trigger."

"You're right." Vincent's agreement carried dangerous calm.

"What?"

The gun skidded across the floor, disappearing into the shadows.

"Have you lost your mind?" William's disbelief was palpable.

"Let's settle this properly - just you and me. I win, you listen to the truth. You win..." Vincent's smile held no warmth. "Well, then you get what you've always wanted."

William adjusted his glasses with mechanical precision, “How... intriguing." William's initial surprise melted into something predatory. "Very well. I accept your terms." Each word carried the weight of years of waiting for this moment.

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

While Vincent and William's confrontation commanded center stage, Sebastian and Lau slipped through the darkness like twin shadows. Lau caught flashes of red between the seats - Grell stalking him with predatory grace, that signature suitcase held ready.

"Playing hide and seek, are we?" Grell's voice lilted through the darkness with dangerous whimsy. “Do be a good boy and come out. I'd hate to ruin that pretty face of yours - but then again, red would look so divine on you."

From the flowing sleeves of his Changshan, Lau's butterfly knives appeared like extensions of his fingers. He could hear Grell's footsteps drawing closer, her excitement practically radiating through the darkness. Perfect.

The moment Grell reached for his hiding spot, Lau struck - blades dancing toward that carefully maintained face. She jerked backward with a dancer's grace, barely avoiding the kiss of steel.

"You did NOT just try to ruin this face!" Grell's outrage echoed through the hall.

"Oh my," Lau's smile remained serene despite his lethal intent. "How terribly clumsy of me."

"You'll regret that," Grell's playful demeanor vanished as she snapped open her case. The circular saw roared to life, its crimson blade hungry for revenge.

She launched forward, the saw's arc cutting through the air where Lau had been a heartbeat before. His knives found their mark with surgical precision, slicing above her bandaged shin. Fresh blood bloomed against the pale skin beneath her plaid skirt.

"Did you know," Lau's voice remained conversational as Grell clutched her leg, "there are precisely 280 vital points on the human body? I do so enjoy exploring them all."

"Oh my," Grell's pain transformed into theatrical delight. "If you wanted to explore me so badly, darling, you should have just asked. Though usually, I prefer dinner first."

"How flattering," Lau's smile never wavered. "But I'm afraid you're not quite my... preferred specimen."

"Enough talk." Grell's voice dropped its playful edge, raw bloodlust seeping through.

"Indeed." Lau moved like flowing water, butterfly knives carving silver arcs through the air in a lethal 'X'. Grell found herself forced on the defensive, each precise slice coming closer than the last as he systematically closed the distance.

She abandoned her saw's wide swings for quick footwork, desperate to create space. Her leg snapped up in a vicious kick - Lau's arms caught the blow, but the sheer force sent him skidding backward, his usual smile finally slipping.

"Running away?" Lau's voice carried quiet amusement. "Rather counterproductive for someone who prefers close combat—"

Grell's approach turned erratic - zigzagging through shadows, a crimson blur trying to disrupt his reading of her movements. The saw arced toward him in a deadly swing, but something in her eyes made him hesitate. The feint came fast - her saw abandoned mid-swing as her fist shot upward.

Lau twisted away from the uppercut with barely a breath to spare, his blade finding her inner wrist in retaliation. First blood again.

"Point number two," Lau's voice remained light as blood dripped from Grell's wrist. "I'm being quite kind, avoiding that previous injury of yours. Though at this rate, blood loss will make our dance rather short."

"My death means nothing," Grell's theatrical facade cracked, revealing something darker. "William's vision will succeed with or without me."

"How tragic," Lau's smile carried a hint of genuine pity. "Such devotion to someone who'd discard you without a second thought."

"That insufferable smile of yours," Grell's voice turned razor-sharp. "I think it's time we did something about it."

"My, my," Lau's smile only widened. "Whatever happened to your artistic ambitions? No more plans to paint me crimson?"

           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

From his paralyzed position, Ciel tracked the three simultaneous battles unfolding. A slight twitch in his finger sparked hope - feeling was slowly returning. His attention snapped to Sebastian, who emerged from the shadows with deliberate grace, approaching Claude like this was nothing more than a casual meeting.

"Finally decided to stop lurking?" Claude turned with mechanical precision, as though he'd been counting the seconds until Sebastian's appearance.

"Lurking implies fear," Sebastian's voice carried silken menace. "This is a hunt - and you, dear Claude, are merely prey."

"Bold words," Claude's glasses caught the light. "Have you forgotten how easily I put you down earlier?"

"I admit, I underestimated you," Sebastian's voice carried calculated curiosity. "Such... unexpected combat prowess. Who are you really, Claude?"

Claude's laugh held no warmth. "Who am I? How fitting you should ask." He paused, savoring the moment. "Though I can't reveal everything, I'll satisfy some of your... curiosity."

From his forced stillness, Ciel watched the exchange with growing fascination. He hadn't witnessed their earlier fight, but the idea of Sebastian - whose every movement usually carried such precise control - being overpowered seemed almost impossible. Claude had always projected the image of a meticulous academic, making his combat expertise feel like a jarring contradiction.

The question echoed in Ciel's mind: What mask had Claude been wearing all this time?

“Despite what you might think, William never wanted me here. He objected quite strongly, actually. But certain... influential parties ensured my appointment."

"How illuminating." Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly. "No wonder William kept you at arm's length. But why Weston? What brought someone like you…here?”

"That revelation," Claude's smile turned predatory, "will have to wait. For now, let's conclude our earlier discussion about your imminent death."

Through his paralyzed state, Ciel caught something he'd never seen before - Sebastian's composure cracked, if only for a moment, at Claude's mention of 'influential parties.' The reaction was barely perceptible, but Ciel had grown too familiar with Sebastian's masks to miss it. Did he know something about these mysterious connections? The question burned in Ciel's mind, but answers remained frustratingly out of reach in his immobile state.

Claude struck without warning, his grapple aimed with lethal precision. Sebastian's evasion looked almost casual, but Ciel could sense the tension coiled beneath his composed exterior.

"Rather eager, aren't you?" Sebastian's mockery carried an edge. "Though I should warn you - I don't intend to lose twice."

Claude struck first with a high kick that Sebastian evaded, but his pivot brought his other leg around in a deadly arc. Sebastian barely got his arm up to block, the impact forcing him backward.

"Hesitating to attack?" Claude's voice dripped condescension. "Or is that wound still troubling you?"

"I strike when it suits me," Sebastian's reply carried dangerous patience.

Claude's spinning back fist cut through the air with brutal speed, but Sebastian caught the arm mid-motion. His knee drove up into Claude's stomach with precise revenge.

"Consider us even for earlier," Sebastian's voice held cold satisfaction.

From his forced stillness, Ciel watched Sebastian move with lethal grace - a side of him he'd never witnessed before. Something like pride stirred in his chest.

Ciel tested his arms - feeling had fully returned. But the realization brought little comfort. What good was partial mobility? Running would only make him an easier target, and fighting wasn't an option. He remained trapped, just with the added torture of being able to move while watching others fight his battles.

Chapter XXX: End

Chapter Text

Chapter XXXI: The Emperor; Part Three

Lau studied Grell's bloodied form with mild interest. Each of his precise strikes had found its mark, yet she remained standing - a testament to either impressive endurance or pure fanaticism. The gap in their abilities had been evident from the start.

"Still standing?" his voice carried that same pleasant tone. "How fascinating. Though I must say, this dance is becoming rather... monotonous."

Grell's shoulders heaved with each breath, but her grin remained sharp despite the blood loss. "Don't you dare underestimate me," she snarled, theatrical flair undiminished even in defeat.

Grell charged with a theatrical battle cry, but her movements had lost their deadly grace. Lau remained motionless, watching her approach with growing disappointment. His eyes cracked open, their usual mirth replaced by something colder.

"How terribly anticlimactic."

One precise kick to her injured leg shattered her balance. As she stumbled, his fingers found the pressure point on her neck with surgical accuracy. Grell crumpled, crimson hair matted against blood-stained skin.

"It seems you were the only one painted red after all," Lau mused, studying his fallen opponent.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

William's gaze swept over Grell's fallen form with clinical detachment. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken judgment.

"Does it pain you?" Vincent's voice carried that familiar mockery. "Watching your loyal followers fall one by one?"

A ghost of a smile touched William's lips as he adjusted his glasses. "Loyalty? How sentimental. Grell was merely a tool - one that proved... insufficient."

"Still hiding behind that mask of indifference?" Vincent's words cut deeper than intended, stirring memories of a time when William's capacity for feeling had been all too evident.

The taunt struck its mark. William moved like a coiled spring released, his kick cutting through the air where Vincent had stood heartbeats before. But Vincent knew this dance too well - his counter was brutal poetry, fist connecting with William's jaw in a perverse echo of past caresses. The impact sent William staggering, fingers rising to touch the point of contact with almost reverent precision.

"You should know," Vincent's voice carried quiet confidence, "I'm not the same man you knew at Weston. While you clung to the past, I evolved."

"One lucky hit hardly proves anything." But William's words contradicted the smile creeping across his usually stoic features.

Vincent caught it - that flash of genuine pleasure breaking through William's careful mask. Was he actually... enjoying this?

Vincent felt his own lips curve upward, mirroring William's expression. Their combat stirred memories of fencing halls and... something far more personal.

                    Thirty years ago

The fencing hall echoed with the clash of wooden swords, their usual protective gear abandoned for informal practice. William had taken it upon himself to teach Vincent the art of fencing - a lesson that invariably ended with Vincent on the floor.

Vincent lunged forward, but William moved like water, sidestepping with practiced grace. The wooden blade tapped Vincent's shoulder. "Point to me."

Frustration drove Vincent's next attack, but his eagerness betrayed him. He lost his footing, landing hard on the polished floor. Before he could recover, William was there, straddling him, practice sword pressed to his heart. Vincent's breath caught as their eyes met.

He found himself unable to look away as William leaned closer. Vincent's lips parted, words failing to form. Then William's mouth found his, and in what Vincent would later call a moment of weakness, he surrendered to the kiss.

"What the hell?" Vincent shoved William away with sudden violence, scrambling upright. His voice shook with anger, with fear. "Have you lost your mind? We're both men!"

"Yet you kissed back." William's response came quiet, almost clinical. His glasses lay forgotten on the floor, and dark hair fell across his face, making him look suddenly younger, more vulnerable. The shock in his usually composed eyes was jarring.

"I did no such thing. You're delusional."

"Am I?" William rose slowly, something raw and dangerous crossing his features. "Or are you lying to yourself?"

"You bastard—" Vincent launched forward, fists knotting in William's shirt collar.

"We both felt it." William's voice cracked with unprecedented emotion. "Since you forced your way into my life, everything's changed. At first, I despised you like the vermin you were, but now..." His careful mask finally shattered. "My heart races when I see you, and it's your fault. I was content before you invaded my world."

"What are you..." Vincent's grip loosened slightly, uncertainty creeping into his anger.

William advanced with deliberate steps, each movement carrying dangerous intent. Vincent found himself retreating until cool stone pressed against his back, the wall a silent witness to his cornered state. William's palm connected with the wall beside Vincent's head, the gesture both intimate and threatening.

"I think I-" William's voice caught, the confession stealing his usual precision. He swallowed hard, chartreuse eyes holding a vulnerability Vincent had never seen before. "Damn you, Phantomhive. You've made me feel things I never wanted to feel."

The words hung between them, charged with terrifying honesty. Vincent found himself trapped between the cold stone at his back and the heat of William's body, so close he could feel each shaky exhale against his lips. The familiar scent of mint from William's afternoon tea filled his senses, making everything feel dizzyingly intimate.

Their lips met with crushing intensity, William's carefully maintained control finally shattering. Despite himself, Vincent responded with equal fervor, their kisses carrying years of unspoken tension. For a moment, all carefully constructed walls between them crumbled into nothing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Their clandestine meetings in the fencing hall became a carefully orchestrated dance - each encounter wrapped in shadows and stolen moments. The clash of practice swords gave way to softer sounds, their private ritual hidden behind locked doors and drawn curtains.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                        Present Time

"I will admit though, your form has improved," William's voice carried that same precise tone that had once guided Vincent through fencing stances, now edged with something darker. "Though some weaknesses remain."

Vincent's laugh held no humor. "Still trying to teach me, William?" The words carried echoes of countless private lessons, of moments when 'instruction' had given way to something else entirely.

Each clash brought them closer, their combat an intimate mockery of past embraces. The violence between them felt like a twisted evolution of former passion - every strike carrying the weight of what they'd once been, what they'd destroyed.

Their fists connected with brutal intimacy, each blow carrying echoes of gentler touches. Vincent and William moved in a deadly dance, their bodies remembering a different kind of closeness as they traded strikes. Blood painted their features, yet neither seemed to feel the pain - too caught in this violent parody of their past embrace.

Vincent's fingers knotted in William's collar, their faces inches apart. The proximity triggered a flood of memories, voices from the past crashing over him with devastating clarity.

“You act as if we're strangers now." William's voice from that day in the fencing hall cut through time, sharp as a blade.  “As if every moment we shared was nothing but a dream I fabricated."

Vincent remembered his own cruel laugh, the way he'd forced his features into a mocking smile while his heart threatened to shatter. “Oh, William." He'd made his voice drip false sympathy, each word chosen to wound. “Did you actually believe there was something real between us? How... adorably naive."

The memory of William's composure cracking - “Don't" - a single word that had carried oceans of pain.

Something fractured in William's expression - a glimpse of raw devastation before his features hardened into something cold and unfamiliar. 

"I see." William's voice carried dangerous quiet. "Then let's proceed as you wish. Consider everything between us erased." His tone could have frozen hell itself. "Though I wonder, Vincent - was your hand trembling from disgust just now, or from forcing yourself to lie?"

The accusation hit like a physical blow, but Vincent maintained his cruel smile even as something vital seemed to die in his chest.

He remembered stepping closer, fighting to maintain his mask even as something inside him screamed to confess the truth. Pain had slipped through for just a moment - a crack in his perfect act that he'd quickly sealed, though his eyes had betrayed him, warring with the cruelty he forced himself to speak.

Now, decades later, Vincent held William with that same proximity, blood rather than tears staining their faces. The weight of unspoken truths hung between them just as heavily as it had that day, violence replacing the words they still couldn't voice.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Their punches had slowed down, the energy having been zapped out the both of them. William sluggishly put his hands on Vincent’s shoulders, while Vincent did the same, both of them gazing into each other’s eyes, complex emotions in their stares.

"Why?" The question escaped William with unexpected softness, making Vincent's breath catch. "That day in the fencing hall... why maintain the lie when we both knew the truth?"

Vincent's laugh held no warmth. "Does it matter now? Look at us, William." His gesture encompassed the auction hall, the years of calculated hatred between them. "You got what you wanted - your perfect revenge. Isn't that enough?"

"It's not that simple." William's voice carried that familiar clinical edge. "All these years, I waited for you to admit what we had was real. That it wasn't just another calculated move in your endless games." His lips curved into something almost loving, yet terribly wrong. "I wanted the truth more than I wanted revenge."

"The truth?" Vincent's laugh held no humor. "Is that why you're trying to kill me now? Your idea of closure?"

"Things evolved." William adjusted his glasses with mechanical precision. "Undertaker recognized my potential when you discarded it. He showed me how to transform weakness into strength." Each word fell like a carefully placed blade. "But you couldn't bear to see me surpass you, could you? So you took him from me."

"For God's sake, William." Vincent's voice cracked with frustration, a hint of their old intimacy bleeding through. "Your precious Undertaker isn't dead. And he's been playing us both - twisting everything at Weston into something perverse." 

The fluorescent lights caught William's glasses as his head tilted, the gesture unnaturally precise. "More lies-"

"He's a cancer," Vincent cut in, watching William's perfect composure fracture at the edges. "He saw your pain and weaponized it. And you-" His voice softened with something like grief. "You let him reshape your love into this grotesque parody of revenge."

William's fingers locked around Vincent's throat with precision, each digit a physical manifestation of years of twisted devotion. "If he's alive," his voice remained perfectly controlled despite the darkness bleeding through, "then do enlighten me. Where is my mentor hiding while I waste resources searching for a ghost?"

Vincent's hands found William's, His pulse thundered against William's palms, each heartbeat a countdown of remaining oxygen.

"My, my... such a touching reunion." The voice sliced through the tension like a perfectly timed knife, carrying that familiar undercurrent of dark amusement. "Though I must say, William, that's hardly the proper way to greet an old friend."

William's grip went slack, his hands falling away from Vincent's throat as if burned. The transformation in his usually composed features was devastating - shock-shattering his careful mask to reveal something raw and childlike beneath. "That voice..."

Vincent's eyes found the source, his own features hardening into something dangerous. "Undertaker." The name fell from his lips like a curse.

He caught the minute tremors in William's body beside him and watched as decades of carefully constructed purpose crumbled in the face of this impossible reality. William's whispered "What?" carried the weight of years of grief and misdirected vengeance, his widened eyes fixed on the ghost that had orchestrated their tragedy.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian and Claude's deadly dance ground to a halt, their attention drawn to the new player on their stage. Sebastian's fingers curled into fists, pieces of a puzzle he'd been assembling for years finally clicking into place.

The memory of William's words from six years ago echoed with new significance - those mysteriously acquired records of Sebastian's past. Only one person had possessed those files and had guarded them with the same zealous care with which he'd guarded all of Weston's secrets. Undertaker's fingerprints had been all over this game from the start, though Sebastian had only glimpsed their edges.

Claude's earlier smirk about "influential parties" took on new meaning. Sebastian's eyes narrowed as he studied his opponent's reaction - or rather, the calculated lack of one. Where William's composure had shattered, Claude remained unnaturally calm, as if Undertaker's appearance was merely an expected scene in a carefully scripted play.

Sebastian's lips curved into a dangerous smile. Of course, Claude had known. His position at Weston, his carefully orchestrated antagonism - all of it reeked of Undertaker's particular brand of manipulation. The only question was how deep their connection ran.

His eyes met Claude's across the space between them, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. The game board hadn't been upended at all - merely revealed for what it truly was. And Claude, it seemed, had been playing by different rules all along.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's attention flickered to Ciel, still slumped against the wall but watching with sharp awareness. Something in Ciel's expression caught his notice - not just shock, but a flash of recognition that made Sebastian's eyes narrow slightly. The possibility that Ciel knew Undertaker added another layer to their already complex web of connections.

"I see my suspicions weren't entirely unfounded." Sebastian's voice carried its usual silk, though something darker lurked beneath.

Undertaker's attention shifted to him with theatrical slowness, as if only just registering his presence. "Sebastian Michaelis." That unsettling grin widened. "What a delightful reunion." He glided past the frozen forms of Vincent and William, each step deliberately casual.

"You-" Vincent's composure cracked slightly as his gaze darted between them. "You know him?"

Undertaker's laugh echoed through the auction hall, the sound setting Sebastian's teeth on edge. "Know him? My dear Vincent, I gave him that name." His grin turned knife-sharp. "After all, every stray needs a proper identity, doesn't it?"

"My, my," Lau's voice drifted through the tension with practiced casualness. "What delightful secrets keep unfolding." He lounged in one of the plush auction seats, Grell's defeated form at his feet as if they were all merely attending an entertaining show.

Sebastian's eyes cut to Lau with that familiar warning - the one that never seemed to deter Lau's inconvenient observations. His attention shifted back to Undertaker, gaze sharpening to something lethal.

"Shall we discuss ancient history?" Undertaker's grin widened, deliberately ignoring Sebastian's murderous look. "A nameless young man appears at my door, requesting a rather extensive set of forged credentials. So particular about the details - medical licenses, academic records, even immigration documents." His voice carried theatrical reminiscence.  

“A blank slate," Undertaker's voice carried dark amusement. "That's what fascinated me most. Not running from a past, but creating one from nothing. A young man with no name, no history - just a burning desire to understand what made humans tick."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed fractionally. This wasn't the revelation he'd wanted to share.

"The medical career was an inspired choice," Undertaker continued, each word deliberately aimed to provoke. "What better way to study humanity than to take them apart? Though I do wonder if anyone at that hospital ever noticed how your eyes lit up during surgeries-“

Sebastian watched Undertaker's theatrics with growing irritation. The fool was revealing too much, each word making Ciel's visible eye sharpen with dangerous interest.

"Your point?" Sebastian kept his voice precisely controlled, though he couldn't help glancing at Ciel again. The boy was analyzing every word despite his paralyzed state - always so clever, even when seemingly helpless.

"Ah yes!" Undertaker's enthusiasm grated against Sebastian's nerves. "I've come to collect the young Phantomhive."

Sebastian noted Vincent’s trembling hands, he was scared of Undertaker. “I thought this elaborate scheme was meant for me."

"Oh Vincent," Undertaker's grin widened to something that made even Sebastian's skin crawl. "You were merely the bait. You see, you proved... disappointingly rigid in your convictions. But your son-" 

The way Undertaker looked at Ciel sent a surge of possessive fury through Sebastian that he carefully suppressed. This wasn't part of his plans. Ciel was his to corrupt, his to mold - not some toy for Undertaker's amusement.

"He has such delicious potential for corruption," Undertaker practically purred. "Watching his father die before him, shattering that last pillar of morality... Well, imagine what he might become with proper guidance. The things I could make him do."

Sebastian's fingers twitched with the urge to silence Undertaker permanently. He'd worked too long, too carefully with Ciel to let this madman interfere. Though he had to admit, there was a certain irony in how their goals for Ciel aligned, even if their methods differed entirely.

Before Sebastian could move, Vincent launched himself at Undertaker with grace turned lethal. The attack lasted mere seconds before Undertaker had him pinned, foot pressing against Vincent's chest with theatrical precision.

"My, such reckless behavior," Undertaker's voice carried that familiar sing-song mockery.

"Why?" The raw emotion in William's usually controlled voice drew Sebastian's attention. This was new - William's perfect composure cracking.

"Why?" Undertaker echoed, head tilting with exaggerated curiosity. "Do elaborate, dear William."

"The staged death. These years of silence." Each word carried mechanical precision despite the pain beneath. "Explain."

"Oh William," Undertaker's tone dripped false sympathy. "Still so wonderfully blind. Your desperate need for approval made you such a perfect piece to move. Those records you 'found' about Sebastian? Left precisely for you to discover." His grin widened. "You performed exactly as expected."

Vincent's fingers locked around Undertaker's ankle with calculated defiance. "There's your truth, William. Nothing but a puppet dancing on his strings."

Claude's approach carried that irritating smugness Sebastian had grown to despise. "How fascinating to watch you all realize your roles," he adjusted his glasses with mechanical precision. "Though William's particular susceptibility to manipulation does make one question his fitness to lead."

Sebastian felt unfamiliar doubt creep in, his usual certainty wavering. Even with Lau's previous assistance, the odds seemed…problematic. His gaze flickered to Ciel, still paralyzed but watching everything with sharp awareness. Undertaker and Claude together presented a rather significant tactical challenge.

The sound of Sebastian's palm connecting with his own cheek cut through his spiral of uncertainty, drawing every eye in the room.

"Oh my," Undertaker's voice carried delighted curiosity. "Has our carefully controlled Sebastian finally cracked?"

"Sebastian," Vincent's voice remained commanding despite his position. "Take Ciel and go. That's an order."

"Be quiet." Sebastian's tone carried its usual silk. "I'm trying to think."

A vein pulsed in Vincent's forehead. "What did you just-"

Sebastian's gaze flickered involuntarily to where Ciel had been - only to find empty space. Something in his chest tightened at the boy's absence, but he forced his features to remain perfectly composed. The fact that Ciel had managed to slip away without even his notice was both irritating and... impressive.

"Sebastian," Vincent's voice carried an odd inflection that drew his attention. "You're proving to be just like William. Perhaps even Undertaker." 

The deliberate shift in Vincent's eyes toward the stage spoke volumes. For once, their intentions aligned perfectly - create enough of a spectacle to keep attention from Ciel's escape. Though Sebastian had to admit, Vincent's chosen method of cooperation was rather…grating.

"Like them?" Sebastian let silk-wrapped venom fill his voice, playing up his reaction to the intentional slight. "How fascinating. Shall I demonstrate exactly what that means?" 

His lips curved into his signature smirk. The one that suggested he knew exactly how to take someone apart, piece by precious piece. Let Undertaker and Claude focus on this performance - every second of their attention was another step of distance for Ciel.

Even as he maintained his predatory facade, Sebastian's mind calculated frantically. He had no way of knowing how far Ciel had gotten, whether the paralysis had fully worn off, what condition he might be in. The uncertainty was maddening, but he pushed it aside. Right now, his role was to be the perfect distraction - and if that meant embracing the monster they believed him to be, well... he could be quite theatrical when required.

Sebastian launched at Claude with lethal grace, forcing him to retreat from the stage. Each calculated movement was designed to keep Claude's attention firmly on him rather than their surroundings.

From his peripheral vision, Sebastian caught Vincent's fluid motion - leg snapping up to drive Undertaker back. The attack missed but achieved its purpose as Undertaker danced away, allowing Vincent to regain his footing with aristocratic precision.

"This performance grows tedious," Sebastian let silk-wrapped boredom fill his voice. "Shall we conclude it?"

Claude's lips curved into that insufferable smirk, but before he could respond, the mechanical shriek of the circular saw tore through the air. 

Time seemed to slow as the saw's mechanical shriek harmonized with Claude's flesh parting. The blade caught halfway through his spine with a wet crunch, the mechanical force jerking his body like a puppet with tangled strings. Sebastian watched those golden eyes widen behind blood-misted glasses, that insufferable composure finally shattering as understanding dawned a moment too late. 

The saw carved upward with methodical brutality, transforming Claude's perfect posture into a grotesque tableau - his pristine suit blossoming red, glasses askew as his body fought between staying rigidly upright and folding in on itself. A final, gurgling attempt at dignity escaped him as he crumpled, his mechanical precision reduced to twitching limbs and spreading crimson.

As Claude's body crumpled, Sebastian's gaze lifted to find Ciel standing there, Grell's saw still humming in his grasp. The boy's visible eye held something darkly beautiful - no hesitation, no remorse, just pure lethal intent.

Sebastian felt a surge of possessive pride. His careful molding had produced something exquisite indeed. Though he had to admire how Ciel had developed his own particular style of brutality - there was a certain... artistry to his choice of execution.

"That's for trying to kill me." The words came out strained as Ciel swayed slightly, the saw's weight and lingering paralysis clearly taking their toll. Sebastian noted how his muscles trembled with the effort of staying upright.

Ciel's visible eye found Sebastian's, a storm of unspoken things passing between them. Before either could break that charged silence, Undertaker's manic laughter shattered the moment.

"Oh, how magnificent!" Undertaker's hands came together in theatrical applause. "Such beautiful brutality! Please, young Phantomhive, show us more!"

"Focus on me," Vincent's voice carried an edge of desperation beneath its aristocratic command. Sebastian caught the horror bleeding through Vincent's careful mask - the father finally witnessing what his son had become.

Sebastian glided to Ciel's side with fluid grace, arm slipping around him both possessive and supporting. "Perfectly executed," he murmured against Ciel's ear, voice carrying dark pride. The slight tremor in Ciel's frame spoke of exhaustion, but his eye still held that lethal clarity Sebastian had so carefully cultivated.

"The bastard deserved worse," Ciel muttered, his weight becoming heavier against Sebastian's side. Sebastian tightened his supporting grip, acutely aware of how the paralytic still coursed through Ciel's system. The boy's display of brutality had clearly drained what little strength he'd regained.

"My, my... quite the gathering of enemies I seem to have collected." Undertaker's grin stretched impossibly wide, those familiar chartreuse eyes dancing with the same manic glee Sebastian remembered from years ago. The sight made something cold coil in his chest - he knew too well what that particular expression preceded.

"I believe I'll contribute to this little reunion." Lau's voice carried that infuriating casual tone as he approached. Sebastian fought back a smirk - for once, the enigmatic man's interference might actually prove useful.

"How uncharacteristically direct of you," Sebastian couldn't quite keep the sardonic amusement from his voice. Every potential ally improved their odds, even one as unpredictable as Lau.

"Count me in." The raw hatred in William's voice drew Sebastian's attention. When William raised his head, his usual mechanical precision had shattered into something primal. Sebastian studied the transformation with clinical interest - decades of carefully buried pain blazing to the surface, twisting William's features into something almost unrecognizable. 

"Finally decided to rejoin reality?" Vincent's words carried that polished venom Sebastian had grown familiar with - the same cutting precision his son wielded, though Vincent's held decades more practice. But something else slipped through that careful mask, a warmth reserved solely for William.

"Shut up, Phantomhive," Sebastian noted how William's usual mechanical tone softened on the surname, transforming what should have been cold formality into something almost tender - like watching ice crack to reveal what lay preserved beneath. Decades of history condensed into those two syllables.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ciel felt his head spin trying to make sense of the scene before him. Just moments ago his father and William had been at each other's throats, raw hatred in every blow. Now some unspoken understanding passed between them, years of history Ciel couldn't begin to decode. The whiplash of their changing dynamic made his teeth clench.

"What the hell is this?" The words escaped him in a harsh whisper, disgust coloring every syllable. He felt Sebastian's grip tighten slightly at his outburst, those crimson eyes flickering to his face with dangerous amusement - as if his confusion was somehow entertaining.

"Oh, how precious," Undertaker's voice lilted with theatrical delight. "All of you banding together against poor, defenseless me?" His grin stretched impossibly wide as his gaze fixed on Ciel. "You see, dear boy, this is what weakness reduces them to - scrambling to form pathetic alliances because they can't stand alone." 

A dark hunger crept into his voice as he continued, "But you... you're different, aren't you? That display with Claude was absolutely exquisite. You've finally embraced what you truly are - something far more fascinating than these pretenders could ever be “

Lau's foot cracked across Undertaker's face mid-monologue, the impact carrying his usual fluid grace despite its brutality. “Ah, so forgive my rudeness.” he smiled, lowering his leg with artificial politeness. "But you simply talk too much.”

Blood trickled down Undertaker's pale skin as he touched his nose with almost childlike fascination. "Now that was quite the—" 

Vincent struck from behind, his kick shattering Undertaker's balance with precise fury. The man's knee hit the ground with an echoing crack, forcing a rare sound of pain from his throat.

"I believe—" Undertaker's words died as William's foot connected with surgical accuracy, snapping his head sideways. For once, William's mechanical precision served violence instead of protocol.

Sebastian abandoned his post at Ciel's side, his knee driving up into Undertaker's face with elegant brutality. All pretense of civility dissolved as they descended upon him - Lau's fluid strikes, Vincent's calculated fury, William's mechanical precision, and Sebastian's elegant violence combined in a symphony of retribution.

Ciel watched the savage display with dark fascination. The sight of these polished, controlled men reduced to raw violence should have been jarring. Instead, he found it oddly fitting - as if their carefully maintained masks had finally cracked to reveal the monsters beneath.

When they finally stepped back, Undertaker lay shattered on the polished floor - that theatrical grace reduced to twitching limbs and wet, rasping breaths. Blood matted his silver hair to the marble, his usual manic grin replaced by split lips and broken teeth. Each attempt at movement only made him curl tighter into himself like some grotesque insect crushed but not quite dead.

The heavy doors of the auction hall crashed open, shattering the moment. Charles Grey froze mid-stride, Abberline at his shoulder, as they took in the carnage before them. Their eyes locked on Undertaker's broken form,  the remnants of Claude, and Grell’s slumped form on the floor, professional composure cracking for just a heartbeat before Abberline forced himself to clear his throat - a painfully ordinary sound in the aftermath of such violence.

"Bloody hell," Charles surveyed the carnage, his usual bravado subdued. "Care to explain this particular mess?"

"All I'm seeing," Abberline cut in with deliberate professional detachment, "is the aftermath of Undertaker and Chancellor Spears' criminal enterprise." His pointed omission of everyone else's involvement hung heavy in the air.

"Charles," Vincent's voice carried that familiar blend of command and curiosity. "I don't recall inviting law enforcement to this party."

"Someone had to clean up your mess," Charles shot back. "Your little spy McMillan was quite helpful in arranging this particular solution." His gesture encompassed Abberline's presence.

Ciel felt the blood drain from his face as understanding dawned. McMillan - his seemingly innocent, bumbling flatmate - had been his father's eyes and ears all along. The revelation hit him like a physical blow, memories of their interactions suddenly taking on a more sinister cast. Every friendly gesture, every moment of apparent concern... had it all been carefully orchestrated surveillance?

His visible eye narrowed as anger began to replace shock. Of course his father would plant a spy - another form of control from the man who'd abandoned him, yet still presumed to monitor his life from the shadows. The irony of being watched by the very person who'd left him alone twisted like a knife in his chest.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Abberline stepped forward, badge glinting as he pulled out his handcuffs. His voice shifted to formal authority: "Undertaker and William T. Spears, you're under arrest for racketeering, conspiracy to murder, and human trafficking." 

Abberline's professional mask slipped slightly as his eyes landed on Grell's crumpled form. "Status on that one?"

"Ah, just taking a little nap," Lau's perpetual smile never wavered as he pressed elegant fingers to Grell's throat. "Pulse strong enough to cause more trouble later, I'm sure."

"Perfect. Add her to the collection." Abberline's voice regained its official authority. "Charles, if you would?"

Lau stepped back with theatrical grace as Charles moved to collect Grell's unconscious form. Meanwhile, Abberline approached his primary targets, the metallic click of handcuffs echoing through the hall. Undertaker, despite his battered state, somehow maintained that unsettling grin. William simply offered his wrists with mechanical acceptance, his usual precision reduced to quiet surrender.

Ciel's visible eye narrowed as Charles lifted Grell with surprising gentleness. Another piece of the puzzle shifted into focus - Charles's convenient appearances, his persistent attempts to help, that careful balance of truth and omission. Just how long had the investigator been part of his father's web?

"When exactly did you plan to mention knowing my father?" The question came sharp with accusation, vexation of being kept in the dark bleeding into his tone.

Charles paused mid-stride, Grell's crimson hair spilling over his arm. Something flashed across his features - guilt, perhaps, or frustration. "Only met him after you shut me out, kid." His voice carried that familiar gruff honesty. "Though I'm starting to think I was the last one to join this particular circus."

Words failed Ciel as the weight of betrayal settled over him. His gaze dropped, unable to bear the sight of any of them - especially his father, who seemed just as incapable of meeting his eye. The silence between them carried years of unspoken hurt.

"We'll handle the... aftermath." Abberline's professional tone faltered slightly as his eyes swept over Claude's remains painting the auction hall floor. Even a veteran detective seemed unnerved by the particular brutality of Ciel's handiwork.

The echo of footsteps and Grell's dragging feet faded as Charles and Abberline departed, leaving behind a tension thick enough to choke on. Vincent, Sebastian, and Lau remained - an audience Ciel suddenly couldn't tolerate.

"Lau." Ciel's voice came out tight with barely controlled emotion. "Leave."

"Oh my, but the real entertainment is just beginning-" 

"GET OUT!" The words erupted from Ciel with unexpected force, his finger jabbing toward the exit. For once, his composure shattered completely, raw fury bleeding through.

"Very well, I know when I'm not wanted." Lau's perpetual smile carried a hint of genuine understanding as he glided toward the exit. The door's soft click felt like the closing of a theater curtain before the final act.

Ciel moved with deliberate steps toward his father, each footfall echoing his thundering pulse. His hand rose with the weight of years of abandonment, of lies, of carefully buried pain-

The crack of palm against cheek shattered the silence.

Vincent's head snapped sideways, the sound reverberating through the auction hall like a gunshot. The perfect symmetry of father and son - one marked by violence, the other by pride - stood frozen in the aftermath of that single, devastating blow.

"I hate you." The words tore from Ciel's throat, rough with years of suppressed rage. His voice shook, but his eye remained razor-sharp, boring into his father with cold fury.

Vincent met his gaze unflinching, and somehow that steady look only fueled Ciel's anger further.

"Everything - every single horrific thing that's happened - it all leads back to you." Each word came faster, sharper, years of bitter truth spilling out like poison. "You couldn't just accept having a sick child, could you? Couldn't bear the thought of your precious heir dying. You should have let me go." His fists connected with Vincent's chest, each impact weaker than his words. "I would have been better off dead than being your - your puppet - your project - your goddamn legacy!"

"Ciel." Vincent's voice carried that familiar command, softened by pain. "Everything I did was for you-"

"Don't." Ciel's laugh held no humor, only jagged edges. "Don't you dare. It was never about me. It was about you - your needs, your ambitions, your precious fucking legacy. You needed an heir to carry the Phantomhive name, and a dead son couldn't do that, could he?"

"I spent years imagining you dead or kidnapped,” 
Ciel's voice dripped with bitter mockery. "When all along you were just hiding like a rat in the shadows."

"No." Something raw cracked through Vincent's polished facade. "I was searching for you and Rachel-"

"Mother?" The laugh that burst from Ciel's throat was wrong - high and sharp and terrible. It kept building, transforming into something hysterical that twisted his features into a grotesque mask of mirth.

"She's dead." The laughter cut off as suddenly as it had started. "Aunt Angela killed her. Because of you." Each word fell like a blade between them.

"What are you-" 

Ciel's fingers locked around Vincent's neck with vicious grace, yanking him down until his lips brushed his father's ear. "And when dear Aunt Angela confessed, I killed her." His whisper carried dark intimacy. "Then Sebastian and I shared a very special meal."

Vincent went rigid against him, horror blooming across his features as understanding dawned. His carefully maintained composure shattered completely, showing the man beneath the mask for the first time.

"You... consumed..." Vincent's voice cracked on the word, his aristocratic polish crumbling as he stared at his son. "With him?" His eyes darted to Sebastian, who watched the scene unfold with dangerous satisfaction.

"Oh yes," Ciel's smile carried something terrible - a darkness that transformed his delicate features into something predatory. "Sebastian has quite the talent for... preparation. She tasted divine."

"This..." Vincent's voice carried raw horror as the realization settled over him. "I thought the cult had poisoned you, but it was him all along." His eyes cut to Sebastian with lethal intent. "Come with me. Before he destroys what's left of you."

"You lost the right to call yourself my father the moment you abandoned me." Each word fell like ice between them, Ciel's voice carrying that particular cruelty Sebastian had so carefully cultivated.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian drank in the scene before him with dark satisfaction. Ciel's laughter held that perfect edge of madness, his delicate features transformed by pain into something exquisite. The careful masks they'd all hidden behind were finally shattering, revealing the magnificent creature Sebastian had known lurked beneath Ciel's polished surface.

This was his masterpiece - Ciel stripped of pretense, embracing the darkness that had always been his birthright. Sebastian's careful corruption had merely cleared away the debris of morality, allowing Ciel's true nature to flourish.

Sebastian observed Ciel with a sense of pride. His careful guidance had stripped away Ciel's facade of morality, revealing the young man's innate darkness - a trait Sebastian saw as Ciel's true inheritance. In Sebastian's eyes, he had merely cleared the path for Ciel's authentic self to emerge.

Vincent's voice cut through the tension, sharp with anger. "Stop looking so pleased with yourself, Sebastian. I suppose you're relishing this - driving a wedge between me and my son."

"I'll refrain from commenting on that," Sebastian replied, his tone tinged with subtle amusement.

Ciel interjected, his voice steady. "No, father. Sebastian isn't responsible for the distance between us. That gulf has existed for years, long before he entered the picture."

Vincent's frustration was palpable as he retorted, "So what's next? Are you two planning to continue this murderous spree and run off together like some twisted couple?"

Sebastian seized the opportunity to redirect the conversation, his voice carrying a note of calculated curiosity. "Speaking of couples, isn't that what you and William were once, Vincent? Lovers?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A flicker of emotion crossed Vincent's face, briefly betraying his composure and confirming Sebastian's suspicions. "We're not discussing that," Vincent snapped, attempting to regain control of the conversation.

"I see," Sebastian replied, his voice carrying a hint of triumph. "Your reaction speaks volumes. I had my theories, but you've just confirmed them."

Ciel's gaze darted between the two men, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. "Is this true?" he demanded, fixing his father with an accusatory stare. "You're such a hypocrite," Ciel snarled, his voice low and filled with contempt.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Vincent's voice carried a mix of defensiveness and attempted understanding as he spoke. "It was a long time ago before I met your mother. I came to my senses and realized it wasn't the right path." His tone shifted, becoming more urgent as he addressed Ciel directly. "What you're going through now, son - it's temporary. I've experienced something similar. You'll move past this phase, just as I did."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"You're wrong," Ciel retorted, his voice sharp with conviction. "You're the one in denial. I've finally embraced my true self, something you never had the courage to do. You've always tried to mold me into your perfect heir, pushing me to be someone I'm not. Well, I'm done pretending. You can have your precious company back. I'm through with all of it."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter XXXI: The End 

Chapter Text

Chapter XXXII: The Lovers

Ciel's eyes were fixed on the passing scenery outside the chauffeur-driven car he had summoned. His finger tapped a restless rhythm on his thigh, betraying his inner tension. Beside him, Sebastian maintained an unusual silence, his typically smooth conversation noticeably absent. 

The presence of the chauffeur created an invisible barrier, forcing them into this awkward quiet. Both were acutely aware of the many things left unsaid, topics too sensitive or dangerous to broach with an unknown listener so close at hand. The weight of their unspoken words seemed to fill the car, making the silence between them almost tangible.

The vehicle halted, depositing them once again at the entrance to Sebastian's apartment. As the car pulled away, Ciel and Sebastian remained rooted in place, enveloped by a tense silence.

A chill breeze swept past, causing Ciel to instinctively wrap his arms around himself. The thin fabric of Sebastian's borrowed t-shirt offered little protection against the night's cool air.

"Feeling the chill?" Sebastian inquired, his eyebrow arching with practiced elegance.

"No," Ciel retorted, his stubborn nature asserting itself. "I prefer to have this conversation out here."

"And what conversation might that be?"

"In front of my fa— Vincent," Ciel corrected himself, "I defended you. But don't mistake that for ignorance. I caught every word spoken earlier."

"You'll need to be more specific," Sebastian prompted, his tone carefully neutral.

Ciel's gaze hardened. "Undertaker revealed quite a bit about you. Fabricated records, no real name - you're not the medical resident you claimed to be. Who are you really, Sebastian?"

"Does it matter? Sebastian Michaelis is who I am now," he replied, voice smooth as silk yet unyielding as steel.

"More evasion. More deflection." Ciel's voice carried a bitter edge. "Even when you seem sincere, I can't help but feel you're lying."

Sebastian stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "As I said, I am who I am. The man before you is Sebastian Michaelis."

"This is pointless. You'll never be honest with me. Whatever this thing between us is, it can't—"

Sebastian silenced him with a kiss, one hand cradling Ciel's face. Despite his protests, Ciel found himself responding, anger melting into something more complex.

When Sebastian finally pulled back, his eyes held Ciel's with unusual intensity. "Interesting, isn't it?" His fingers traced Ciel's jawline, drawing an involuntary shiver. "That Lau, of all people, would point out how we behave like lovers."

His voice softened. "And he was right. Rather ironic that he'd be the one to make me realize I'm in love with you."

The words were spoken so casually that Ciel almost missed their significance. Ciel blinked, uncertain if he'd heard correctly.

“What... did you just say?"

Sebastian's gaze intensified. "You asked me to define our relationship. At the time, I couldn't. But now I understand. I'm in love with you... No, even that doesn't fully capture it. What we have transcends traditional love. It's far deeper, more profound. We understand each other in ways no one else can. You're mine, Ciel, and I am yours."

Ciel found himself speechless, taken aback by Sebastian's bold declaration. Lau's observation had rung true, despite how he'd dismissed it. Every shared moment between them - their kisses, their intimacy, their understanding - had already revealed what he'd refused to acknowledge. They had indeed become lovers, though that word seemed too simple for what they were.

"You wanted me to define our relationship. I couldn't before, but now I understand. Love isn't even adequate to describe this. What we share goes deeper - it's darker, more profound. We see each other's true nature. You're mine, Ciel, as I am yours."

Ciel felt his defenses crumbling, yet his pride refused to yield. "I don't belong to you," he snapped, cheeks burning. "And you're not mine. Is possession your particular fetish?"

"Would it bother you if it was?"

Ciel's expression hardened, walls slamming back into place. "You're deluding yourself. This isn't love - it can't be. You've confused obsession with actual feelings."

"Have I?" Sebastian drew closer. "You chose me over your own father."

"What's your grand vision here? Us as some criminal power couple, wreaking havoc together?" Bitter laughter escaped Ciel. "When I said I was done, I meant all of it. My father's world, this life - and you."

Sebastian's laugh held dark amusement as if Ciel's protests were merely entertaining. "This 'obsession' you speak of flows both ways, my dear Ciel."

"Keep dreaming," Ciel snapped, jerking his head away and batting Sebastian's hand aside.

"Don't follow your father's path," Sebastian's voice carried a dangerous edge. "His denial endangered everything he claimed to hold dear."

Ciel's eyes narrowed sharply. "Is that a threat? Love you or face consequences for those close to me?"

Something unreadable flashed through Sebastian's crimson eyes, gone before Ciel could decipher its meaning. Then, with unexpected gentleness, Sebastian's fingers threaded through Ciel's hair.

"Nothing so melodramatic," he murmured, his tone lighter. "I haven't completely lost my mind."

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian felt an unfamiliar twist in his chest as soon as the words left his mouth. The comparison to Vincent had been a mistake - one that tasted bitter on his tongue. Regret. How strange to experience such an emotion. The sting of rejection was equally foreign, unsettling in its novelty.

This confession had veered far from his expectations. Yet even as doubt crept in, Sebastian studied Ciel's defiant posture with knowing eyes. Was this truly rejection? No - he knew Ciel too well. This was pride at work, that familiar stubborn refusal to acknowledge feelings that would make him vulnerable.

Sebastian knew he needed to tread carefully - too much pressure and Ciel would retreat entirely. Yet there was still room to maneuver, to challenge that stubborn pride.

"It's interesting," Sebastian mused, his finger tracing Ciel's bottom lip with deliberate slowness. "You had every opportunity to walk away from all of us, yet here you are, returning home with me. This denial seems rather cowardly, especially for you."

"That's not what—" Ciel began, but his protest lacked conviction.

"But it is," Sebastian purred, his trademark smirk playing across his features. "Even now, you're not pulling away from my touch. You stay because you want to. Because you enjoy being with me. Why not admit what we both know is true?"

Sebastian parted Ciel’s lips lightly with his thumb, pushing his thumb into his mouth. Ciel’s visible eye fluttered shut, grabbing ahold of Sebastian’s wrist, and licking his thumb.

"You see?" Sebastian's voice carried dark satisfaction. "Neither of us can resist the other."

As Sebastian withdrew his hand, Ciel's visible eye fluttered open, as if emerging from a trance.

"D-damn it," Ciel muttered, massaging his temples.

Sebastian's mocking remark cut through the air. "What are you so afraid of? Letting me in completely? Erecting these walls as a defense mechanism is unhealthy, you know."

"Is this another therapy session?" Ciel retorted, irritation evident in his voice. "You're insufferable."

"There you go. Open up to me more," Sebastian encouraged, clearly relishing the moment.

"Oh, sod off," Ciel snapped.

"Ciel, avoidance isn't the answer," Sebastian chided.

"Alright, fine. You want honesty?" The words erupted from Ciel like a dam breaking. “Every single thing about you infuriates me. The way you excel at everything effortlessly. How you seem to possess an omniscient understanding of all things. That damned smirk, your impossibly perfect hair, your flawless physique - it's absolutely maddening. Even the manner in which you confessed your love just now as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Whereas I... I..."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Sebastian's eyebrow arched with amusement at Ciel's outburst - these supposed insults sounded more like admiration poorly disguised as criticism. Just a bit more pressure and Ciel's walls would finally crumble...

"You what?" he prompted softly.

But Ciel suddenly turned the tables, his voice sharp with accusation. "Isn't it rather hypocritical that you're demanding honesty when you can't even offer the same yourself?"

For a moment, Sebastian felt genuine surprise at Ciel's counter, before his composure returned with a slight smile. This was the Ciel he had fallen for - sharp, defiant, impossible to truly corner. "You make a fair point," he conceded, his voice carrying newfound warmth. "Perhaps we should approach this gradually?" He hadn't surrendered his goal of breaking through Ciel's defenses, he would have to just put in a little more effort.

"Just as I thought- hold on, what?" Ciel's prepared argument died on his lips, thrown by Sebastian's unexpected agreement.

"You're shivering," Sebastian observed, his eyes noting Ciel's slight trembling. "Let's continue this inside where it's warm."

"Wait-" Ciel's protest was cut short as Sebastian swept him off his feet in one fluid motion, cradling him against his chest. Ciel stared up at him, momentarily stunned into silence.

"Put me down this instant," Ciel demanded, fixing Sebastian with an icy glare as he squirmed against the hold.

"Such petulant behavior," Sebastian chided, his voice carrying that infuriating blend of amusement and concern. "Unless you're eager to catch a cold, I suggest you stop struggling."

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian carried Ciel into the apartment, ignoring his protests. Once inside, he gently set Ciel down, keeping his hands resting lightly on the younger man's waist. Ciel glared up at him, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

"I told you to put me down," he snapped, trying to step back. But Sebastian held him in place, crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

"And I did. Eventually." His smirk was infuriating. "Now, I believe we were in the middle of a conversation?"

Ciel scoffed, turning his head to the side. "There's nothing more to say. You're clearly delusional and I'm done indulging your fantasies."

A dark chuckle escaped Sebastian's lips. "Such defiance. Yet your body tells a different story." His fingers traced idle patterns against Ciel's waist, drawing an involuntary shiver. "Every reaction, every breath - they betray your true desires." 

Despite his best efforts to resist, Ciel found himself leaning into the touch, hating how his body responded so readily. His visible eye flashed with stubborn pride even as he melted against Sebastian's frame.

Words caught in his throat as he struggled to maintain composure. "I... this isn't..."

"Isn't what?" Sebastian breathed against his ear, voice heavy with intention. "Isn't exactly what you want?"

Ciel's fingers twisted in Sebastian's shirt, torn between pushing away and pulling closer. Years of carefully constructed walls threatened to crumble under the weight of emotions he could no longer contain.

"I despise you," he whispered hoarsely. Then with sudden, fierce conviction: "Damn you to hell, Sebastian. Yes - I love you. Are you satisfied now? You've become essential to me, as vital as breathing. I hate that you've wormed your way so thoroughly into my life, but I love you more than I can bear."

The confession spilled out raw and unfiltered, leaving Ciel unable to meet Sebastian's gaze. Gentle fingers tilted his chin upward, forcing him to face those captivating crimson eyes.

Sebastian's expression had transformed into something unguarded and genuine. "At last," he murmured, thumb grazing Ciel's lip. "My beautifully stubborn love. You've utterly consumed me as well. You're both my vulnerability and my strength."

Their lips met with pent-up emotion behind the kiss. Ciel's arms wound around Sebastian's neck as they finally surrendered to the inevitable gravity between them. When they separated, both breathless, Ciel pressed his forehead against Sebastian's chest.

"I still hate you a little," he muttered, no real venom in the words.

Sebastian's warm laugh rumbled through his chest. "I would expect nothing less."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles stood in the auction house doorway, the familiar space now transformed by police tape and uniformed officers. Twenty-four hours had done nothing to dispel the heavy atmosphere or the metallic stench that seemed to permeate every surface.

"Remind me why you dragged me back here," he muttered to Abberline, watching forensics teams document the scene with mechanical precision.

The detective's usually earnest face carried a grim edge. "Your... unique perspective on this situation could prove invaluable."

Charles's eyes swept the scene, taking in details the other investigators might have missed. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "We both know what really happened here. Ciel's fingerprints are all over that weapon. Hard to spin that as self-defense."

"True," Abberline conceded, "but Grell Sutcliff's prints are there too. William's testimony confirms it was her weapon. He openly admitted to sending her to eliminate Ciel at the manor." He paused, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "The Phantomhive staff corroborated everything when I interviewed them this morning."

Charles's brow furrowed. "William's being unusually forthcoming. Since when does he volunteer information?"

"Perhaps guilt? Remorse for his actions?"

A bitter laugh escaped Charles. "William T. Spears and guilt?" His voice carried a cynical tone. "No. The William I knew was incapable of remorse."

"That donation though," Charles kept his voice low, eyes scanning for potential listeners. "Nine hundred thousand pounds from Ciel to this place. That kind of paper trail could drag the Phantomhives right back into this mess."

Abberline's usually earnest expression hardened into something more calculated. "Money talks both ways. A few strategic payments to the right journalists, and those articles disappear. The cult orchestrated everything - they're the ones who need to face justice."

"You're suggesting we—" Charles cut himself off abruptly as footsteps approached. He painted on a practiced smile as an officer passed, waiting until the echo of boots faded before continuing. "This isn't exactly legal, Detective."

"Says the man who spent years playing both sides." Abberline's quiet words carried weight. "Don't think I haven't done my homework on you, Charles."

Charles felt the weight of Vincent's request pressing down on him. His years of walking the line between law and shadow had taught him the cost of such promises. Protecting the Phantomhive name while keeping their connection to the cult buried would require a delicate balance - one wrong move and everything could unravel. Yet he owed Vincent this much, even if navigating these treacherous waters might prove to be his most challenging performance yet.

          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The harsh buzz of the cell door broke William's carefully maintained meditation. "Visitor," the guard announced, the metallic click of handcuffs echoing off concrete walls as they secured his wrists.

At least he still had this small dignity - his own pressed shirt and tailored slacks, a final armor against what awaited him. Soon enough he'd be stripped of even this, reduced to numbered uniforms and regulated routines. The thought made his jaw clench imperceptibly.

Their journey through the cellblock became a gauntlet of chaos - prisoners hurling obscenities and threats, their voices bouncing off steel and stone. William maintained his rigid posture, each step measured and precise despite his bonds. He refused to let this circus of degenerates see him flinch.

The visitors' room door finally offered an escape from the cacophony. William entered with his head high, curiosity carefully masked behind his usual stoic facade. Who would dare visit the fallen chancellor of Weston?

The visitor's chair held exactly who William expected - Vincent Phantomhive, immaculate as ever in his tailored suit. A bitter irony, that his oldest friend and greatest enemy would be the only one to witness his fall.

The guard's retreating footsteps faded as William took his seat, the cold metal a stark reminder of his new reality. Their eyes met across the table, decades of history hanging heavy between them.

"Such a fall from grace," Vincent's voice carried careful neutrality. "The great William T. Spears in chains."

"Indeed." William's admission held a ghost of his former pride. "Though I'm still adjusting to this... new reality."

Vincent leaned forward, dropping all pretense. "What's your angle, William? The police are singing your praises - the cooperative witness, so eager to confess. Since when do you surrender so gracefully?"

"Surrender?" William adjusted his glasses with his cuffed hands, the gesture absurdly formal in his current state. "The game is finished, Vincent. You've won. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"You never admit defeat this easily-"

"Tell me," William cut in, his voice carrying dangerous curiosity, "how is young Ciel? I hear he's made some rather... interesting choices regarding his allegiances."

Vincent's carefully maintained composure cracked, just for a moment.

"Ah," William's soft laugh held no warmth. "So he chose Sebastian after all. Tell me, does it sting? Knowing your own son prefers the company of a murderer to his father?"

"I didn't come here for your games," Vincent's voice held careful control.

"No?" William's lips curved into a cold smile. "Then enlighten me - why grace me with your presence? Surely not concern for my wellbeing."

"Hardly." The scoff carried years of bitterness. Vincent's shoulders squared slightly. "I came for closure. No more manipulation, no more mind games. Whatever you need to say, say it now."

"Very well." William's carefully maintained facade cracked, raw hatred bleeding through. "You're a sanctimonious hypocrite, Vincent. You stand there judging me while pretending your hands aren't just as bloody as mine." 

His voice carried lethal precision. "Those missing students - you knew from the beginning. Before we had the police in our pocket, before any of this started, you knew. And what did the noble Vincent Phantomhive do?" William's lips curled with contempt. "Absolutely nothing. Too busy protecting your precious reputation."

He leaned closer, words dropping to a dangerous whisper that would elude surveillance. "You let me use your own company to develop that paralytic drug. The same drug that left our victims helpless. Tell me, Vincent - how do you sleep at night pretending to be better than me?”

Vincent's lips curved into a smile that held no warmth, his features arranging themselves into practiced cruelty. "I rest quite peacefully these days." His eyes caught the harsh fluorescent light, turning them to ice. "What keeps you awake at night, William? All this carefully nurtured hatred... perhaps it's easier than admitting what truly haunts you?"

William's words cut like steel beneath their professional veneer. "Play the righteous father all you want, but we both know the truth that lies beneath your perfect facade. Even your own son saw through your performance - chose a murderer over his own flesh and blood. Rather telling, wouldn't you say?"

William savored the micro-expressions flickering across Vincent's carefully maintained facade - the almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw. Such delicious irony that after all Vincent's scheming, all his calculated sacrifices for Ciel, he'd lost his son to the very darkness he'd tried to shield him from.

The harsh scrape of boots against concrete shattered their moment. "Time's up." The correction officer's voice carried that particular blend of boredom and authority. "On your feet, inmate.”

The correctional officer's grip was impersonal but firm as he hauled William to his feet, the handcuffs clinking with cold finality. As he was guided toward the door, William turned - one last calculated glance over his shoulder at the man who had been friend, lover, and ultimately architect of his downfall. Vincent remained seated, aristocratic posture perfect even now, watching William's departure with those same unfathomable blue eyes that had once held such different emotions.

Then the heavy door swung shut between them with decisive finality, severing their last connection just as cleanly as Vincent had cut their ties all those years ago.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Charles stood transfixed over Claude's remains, his seasoned investigator's detachment crumbling as he studied what Ciel had done. The nauseating stench of death felt different here - more personal somehow. After years of working as a cop, he'd thought himself immune to the horror of violent ends. He'd documented the quiet violence of drowning, the explosive aftermath of gunshots, the raw desperation of stabbings, the blind rage of bludgeonings. But this... this was something else entirely. It was almost as if Ciel had taken his time, and turned revenge into a grotesque art form. The precise cuts spoke of something beyond mere murder - a darkness Charles hadn't wanted to believe Ciel possessed.

Memory crashed through him - Alois' death flashing vividly in his mind. Back then, he'd been able to rationalize it, console himself that Ciel had been a puppet dancing on Sebastian's strings. But this... this was something else entirely. The calculated brutality before him spoke of choice, of purpose. Of someone who had learned to savor the kill.

A bitter laugh caught in his throat. Here he was, passing judgment when he owed Ciel his life. When the boy had shown him mercy despite knowing every betrayal, every lie. The irony wasn't lost on him - a former cop, now conspirator in covering up the very darkness he'd once sworn to fight. But then, hadn't they all compromised themselves for the Phantomhives?

Abberline's voice cut through his dark reverie: "Charles. Need you in the butcher's cold room."

His stomach clenched at the words. A high-end auction house with its own butcher's facility?

Abberline led the way to an industrial door tucked against the stage's shadow, its steel surface carrying the patina of frequent use. Something about its solid presence felt wrong here, like finding a butcher's blade at a symphony.

The door's hinges protested as Abberline heaved it open. A wall of bone-deep cold rushed out, carrying with it the metallic sweetness of preserved meat and older, darker things. Charles stepped into the artificial winter, his breath crystallizing before him, and felt his mind try to reject what his eyes were processing.

They hung like obscene decorations - human bodies suspended from gleaming hooks, swaying ever so slightly in the climate-controlled air. Each corpse told its own story of violation: limbs harvested with surgical precision, torsos carved open and emptied of their precious contents. One victim had been split from sternum to hip, their remaining features so mutilated that gender had become an academic question. The commercial efficiency of it all - the careful preservation, the organized display - made it somehow worse than any crime scene he'd witnessed.

"Christ almighty," Charles breathed, the words forming ice crystals in the frigid air. "What the hell have we stumbled into?"

"There's more." Abberline's voice had taken on that careful neutrality cops used when steeling themselves. "Icebox in the back. Locked tight. Think you can get into it?"

"If I can reach it, I can open it." The words tasted bitter in Charles' mouth as reality sank in. They'd have to thread their way through this macabre forest of hanging flesh to reach their target. His years of investigative work hadn't prepared him for this choreography of avoidance - this desperate dance between suspended corpses.

They picked their path with grotesque precision, each step measured to avoid brushing against the gently swaying bodies. The soft creak of metal hooks tracked their progress, while their shoes left betraying prints on the frost-covered floor. Abberline moved ahead with rigid focus, but Charles caught the slight tremor in his colleague's usually steady hands. Even seasoned detectives had their breaking points.

The icebox loomed before them, its chains and padlock a crude barrier against whatever truth lay within. Charles' fingers moved with practiced efficiency as he worked the bobby pin into the lock, each click echoing in the frozen air. The mechanism yielded easily enough - it was what came after that made his hands shake.

Abberline heaved the chains away, and together they lifted the heavy lid. The cold that rushed out felt ancient, thick with the weight of long-buried secrets. There, perfectly preserved in her frozen tomb, lay a woman whose face made Charles' breath catch in his throat. Death had granted her an unsettling serenity - her delicate features unmarred by time or decay. Though her golden hair lay incomplete against the frost, damaged in places, her face bore the same aristocratic beauty that lived on in her son. Charles could see Ciel in the gentle curve of her cheekbones, the refined slope of her nose. She might not have shared the distinctive slate hair of the Phantomhive men, but there was no mistaking who this was - Rachel Phantomhive, frozen in time like a tragic masterpiece.

"Preservation's kept her intact," Abberline's clinical observation barely masked his horror. "She's been here for years."

Charles felt the world tilt beneath him. "This is her. Rachel Phantomhive." The words fell like ice into the frozen air. After all these years of investigation, here was the answer to one of their darkest questions. 

"You mean-"

"Vincent needs to know." Charles' voice cracked with the weight of what they'd found. "His wife... we finally know what happened to her."

Chapter XXXII: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXXIII: The Emperor; Part four

'WESTON UNIVERSITY SHUTTERED: Chancellor William T. Spears in Custody, Vice Chancellor Claude Faustus Still Missing.' The headline glowed accusingly from Ciel's phone screen as he curled into the corner of Sebastian's leather couch. The words felt surreal, reducing weeks of blood and chaos to a few sanitized lines of text.

A week had passed since their world had imploded, and he'd found sanctuary in this apartment, avoiding the inevitable confrontation waiting at the manor. His father's presence there felt like a sword hanging over his head.

Sebastian lounged beside him, all elegant lines and bare skin, steam rising from his coffee cup in lazy spirals. Ciel found his gaze drawn to the healing wound on Sebastian's abdomen, then quickly away - still adjusting to this new intimacy between them. Even after everything they'd shared, the casual display of skin made his cheeks warm.

"Such modesty," Sebastian purred, his trademark smirk evident in his voice. His eyes flicked to the headline on Ciel's phone. "Well, it seems I'm officially unemployed. How tragically mundane."

"It feels strange," Ciel murmured, something uncertain flickering in his visible eye. "This quiet... it's almost unsettling."

"Indeed." Sebastian's voice carried dark amusement as he lowered his coffee cup. "A peaceful ending seems rather ill-suited for creatures like us, wouldn't you agree?"

Ciel's slight nod was all the acknowledgment needed.

"Still," Sebastian's voice dropped to that dangerous velvet tone that never failed to make Ciel's pulse quicken, "we might as well savor this momentary peace." The coffee cup found its place on the table with deliberate grace as Sebastian leaned in, claiming Ciel's lips with possessive intent.

Ciel twisted away from the kiss, holding his phone out of reach. "Wait." His visible eye remained fixed on the screen. "I need to finish this article."

"Such dedication to current events," Sebastian's tone carried that familiar blend of amusement and irritation. "The story's over, Ciel. We've earned our moment of peace."

"I just want to be certain..." Ciel's voice trailed off, unable to voice his lingering unease.

"Very well." Sebastian rose from the couch with fluid grace, his earlier warmth cooling to something more distant. "Do let me know when the news holds less appeal than your lover."

Ciel's eyes tracked each carefully sanitized line of the article:

'Chancellor William T. Spears of the prestigious Weston University has been arrested on multiple charges including human trafficking, conspiracy to murder, and racketeering. Two alleged accomplices - Grell Sutcliff and an individual known only as 'Undertaker' - remain in police custody facing similar charges. All await trial. The Vice Chancellor, Claude Faustus, expected to assume leadership, has been reported missing.'

The words felt hollow, too neat. Years of carefully orchestrated horror reduced to sterile newspaper copy. They'd written Claude off with a single line - no mention of the butchered remains that bore witness to his true fate. No hint of the frozen horror waiting in that icebox, or the countless lives devoured by Weston's hunger.

Could it really end so simply? A few arrests, some bureaucratic reshuffling, and everything tied up in clean, publishable prose? Ciel's gut twisted with familiar paranoia. When had anything in his life ever resolved itself so neatly?

       ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian retreated to his bedroom, each step measured despite the irritation simmering beneath his composed exterior. Over the past week, he'd watched Ciel slip into a pattern of distraction - eyes constantly drawn to news updates, mind clearly churning with possibilities and threats. That sharp focus that had once been trained so exclusively on Sebastian now scattered like light through fractured glass.

The change gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. Sebastian had grown accustomed to being the gravitational center of Ciel's universe, and this shift in orbit was... intolerable. Behind his closed bedroom door, Sebastian's lips curved into a dangerous smile. If Ciel couldn't willingly give him the attention he craved, then perhaps it was time to remind his lover exactly who he belonged to.

The decision crystallized into action. Sebastian emerged from the bedroom with predatory purpose, crossing to where Ciel sat absorbed in his phone. In one fluid motion, he plucked the device from Ciel's hands.

"Hey, what do you think you're-" Ciel's indignant protest died as he met Sebastian's gaze.

"Get up." Sebastian's voice carried that silken authority that brooked no argument. "We're going somewhere."

Ciel's visible eye narrowed, wariness warring with obvious curiosity. "Where?"

"Now that," Sebastian purred, satisfaction curling through him at Ciel's poorly concealed interest, "would spoil the surprise."

                                          ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
                         
                                                   One Week Earlier

The familiar weight of the Phantomhive manor pressed down on Vincent as he sat in his study, surrounded by the trappings of a life he'd abandoned years ago. Paperwork scattered across his desk - the mundane machinery of reclaiming his position as CEO. Each document represented another step in erasing Ciel's brief tenure at the company's helm, another reminder of his son's rejection.

The task wasn't difficult, merely tedious. Vincent found himself grateful for the distraction, for anything to keep his mind from dwelling on Ciel's choice to remain with Sebastian rather than return home.

His eyes caught on the photograph still haunting his desk - himself and William in their Weston days, young and foolish, wearing prefect bands and genuine smiles. A time before everything rotted from within. With deliberate precision, Vincent laid the frame face-down, as if he could bury the past as easily as hiding a photograph.

The sharp trill of his phone cut through his brooding. Vincent's hand hesitated over the device, his mind cycling through the limited number of people who had this number. Each possibility carried its own weight of complication.

"Hello?"

"Vincent." Charles' voice carried that particular weight he reserved for devastating news. "We found her."

Vincent's fingers tightened around the phone. "Rachel?"

"At the auction house." Charles' words came carefully measured. "She was... she's been there all along."

The confirmation settled like ice in Vincent's chest. Ciel had told him the truth about Rachel's death, but had kept this final piece of knowledge from him - perhaps his son's last act of cruelty, or mercy.

"Damn it." The words felt hollow in his throat.

"You don't sound surprised."

"Ciel told me she was dead." Vincent's voice remained carefully controlled. "He kept the location to himself."

"Do you want to see her? To know where-"

"No." The word cut sharp and final. "Have her sent to the mortuary. I'll arrange the funeral."

"Vincent... who did this to her?"

The phone slipped from Vincent's fingers as he ended the call, unwilling or unable to voice Angela's name. His eyes fixed on the photograph still lying face-down on his desk. In one fluid motion, born of rage and grief too long contained, he swept the frame off the surface, watching it shatter against the wall.

"FUCK!"

His legs gave out beneath him as decades of carefully maintained composure finally crumbled. Vincent slid to the floor, knees drawn to his chest like a child, his hand pressed against his forehead as if he could physically hold back the tide of emotions threatening to drown him.

                                           ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                                                       Present Time

Recognition hit Ciel like a physical blow as Sebastian's car rolled to a stop before the Phantomhive manor. His sanctuary of the past week shattered by the sight of those familiar gates.

"You brought me home?" Disbelief sharpened his voice to a knife's edge. "What possible reason-"

"Closure," Sebastian's silken voice carried that infuriating certainty. "It's time you faced your father properly."

"Closure?" Ciel's laugh held no humor. "Have you finally lost what's left of your sanity? Actually, don't answer that - we both know you crossed that line long ago."

"Such venom." Sebastian's smile held dangerous amusement. "But you've brought this on yourself, my love. Your recent... preoccupation needs addressing." 

Ciel's mind raced, trying to decode Sebastian's game. Was this revenge for his earlier rejection? Some twisted form of relationship counseling? Whatever Sebastian was plotting-

A sharp rap against his window shattered his thoughts. 

Tanaka's weathered face appeared at the window, wearing that knowing smile that had seen Ciel through countless childhood rebellions. With a resigned sigh, Ciel lowered the barrier between them.

"Young master," Tanaka's voice held warmth beneath its professional tone. "It's good to see you in such... spirited form."

"Tanaka." Ciel managed through clenched teeth, shooting a venomous glare at Sebastian.

"Perhaps you'd prefer to continue this reunion inside, rather than lurking at your own gates?" Tanaka's suggestion carried polite amusement.

"Actually, we were just-"

"We would be delighted," Sebastian smoothly cut through Ciel's escape attempt, his voice carrying that perfect blend of charm and authority that made Ciel want to strangle him. "Wouldn't we, Ciel?"

Ciel retreated into sullen silence, arms crossed tight against his chest. The childish gesture only registered when he caught Sebastian's lips curving into that insufferably knowing smile. Realizing he was actually pouting - like some frustrated child - only darkened his mood further.

"You'll have to forgive his mood," Sebastian offered smoothly, clearly savoring Ciel's discomfort. "The journey has left him... rather out of sorts."

"No need for explanations," Tanaka's gentle reproach carried decades of devotion. "The young master will always have a place here. The Phantomhive manor remains his home, regardless of where he chooses to rest his head."

Sebastian emerged from the car with his usual fluid grace, while Ciel followed with visible reluctance, each step carrying the weight of his apprehension. As Tanaka held the manor's heavy doors open with practiced ceremony, the familiar entrance hall stretched before them - but it wasn't empty.

The sight that greeted Ciel stopped him in his tracks. There, standing in the foyer as if summoned by his darkest fears of confrontation, were Elizabeth and Edward. Before he could process their presence, Elizabeth's face lit up with radiant joy.

"Ciel!" Her voice carried all its usual warmth as she launched herself forward, golden curls bouncing with the motion. She collided with him in one of her characteristic embraces, arms wrapping around him with crushing enthusiasm.

"I've missed you so much! Have you seen what they're saying about Weston? It's all over the news and-" Elizabeth's excited chatter tumbled out in a rush, her grip tightening with each word.

"Lizzy-" Ciel managed to gasp, his ribs protesting under her enthusiastic squeeze. "Can't... breathe..." His fingers tapped weakly against her shoulder in a desperate bid for mercy.

"I'll leave you to your reunion," Tanaka announced with his characteristic mix of formality and warmth, bowing slightly before making a discreet exit. His footsteps faded into the familiar silence of the manor's corridors.

From the periphery of his vision, Ciel caught Sebastian's poorly concealed amusement at his predicament. His former professor's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, crimson eyes dancing with barely contained mirth. Ciel shot him a venomous glare over Elizabeth's shoulder as she finally released him from her crushing embrace.

Edward stepped forward, his usual stern demeanor softening as he placed a steadying hand on Ciel's shoulder. "It's good to see you safe, cousin," he offered, genuine relief evident in his voice despite his attempt at casual delivery.

Elizabeth's attention suddenly shifted, her green eyes widening as they landed on Sebastian. "Dr. Michaelis!" she exclaimed with innocent surprise. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Indeed," Edward echoed, his tone carrying a sharp edge of skepticism. His raised eyebrow and knowing look suggested he understood far more about Sebastian's presence than his sister did.

"Why exactly are you both here?" Ciel asked, his visible eye narrowing with suspicion at their unexpected presence.

The atmosphere shifted perceptibly as silence fell over the group. Elizabeth's usual radiant energy dimmed, her fingers twisting nervously in her skirt.

"Oh, Ciel..." Elizabeth's voice softened with gentle sympathy. "They found Aunt Rachel. She's..." Her words faltered, emerald eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"No longer with us," Edward finished for her, his typically stern features grave with shared grief. The formal phrasing couldn't quite mask the raw emotion beneath.

Ciel felt his chest tighten. So they'd finally discovered the icebox's grim contents. The truth he'd been carrying alone for so long was now painfully public. He could feel Sebastian's knowing gaze on him as he constructed his performance of shock.

"What?" Ciel managed, his voice carefully calibrated to convey disbelief. "My mother... dead?" The words tasted bitter - not from grief, but from the necessity of this charade.

"But Ciel!" Elizabeth's natural optimism surged back, her face brightening like sun breaking through storm clouds. "Uncle Vincent is alive! He's here!"

Elizabeth's attempt at cheer only made Ciel's mood darken further. The mention of Vincent's name sent a familiar bitterness coiling through his chest, made worse by knowing he'd have to maintain this facade of familial reconciliation.

New footsteps entered the foyer, deliberate and measured. Ciel didn't need to look to know who had joined them - he'd recognize that calculated stride anywhere. Vincent appeared behind Elizabeth and Edward, his features arranged in a perfect mask of paternal warmth.

"Ciel." Vincent's voice carried carefully crafted emotion. "You've come home. Now we can finally be whole again as a family." The performance was flawless, though to Ciel's ears, each word dripped with hypocrisy. Their recent confrontation hung unspoken between them, invisible to his oblivious cousins.

Vincent's gaze shifted deliberately to Sebastian, his smile taking on a razor's edge. "And who might this be?" The question carried volumes of carefully veiled tension.

"Sebastian Michaelis," Sebastian offered smoothly, his trademark smirk playing at his lips. "I was Ciel's professor at Weston. When he asked for a ride here, I could hardly refuse." The lie flowed with elegant precision, and Ciel could see Sebastian savoring every moment of this elaborate theatre. His crimson eyes danced with barely concealed amusement at their shared deception.

         ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"Tell me, Sebastian," Vincent's voice carried that dangerous politeness as they gathered around the ornate dining table. "What was your field of expertise at Weston?"

The spread before them was classic Tanaka - perfectly arranged dishes that no one seemed genuinely interested in eating. Crystal glasses caught the light, their reflections dancing across polished silverware like silent witnesses to this elaborate performance.

Ciel focused intently on pushing food around his plate, using his fork to create intricate patterns in his untouched meal. Anything to avoid participating in this carefully orchestrated farce. He could feel Sebastian's occasional glances, tinged with dark amusement at his obvious discomfort.

"Psychology was my primary focus," Sebastian replied, his voice carrying that silken professional tone that never failed to set Ciel's teeth on edge. "I'm also a licensed therapist. In fact, Ciel and I continued our sessions at my apartment after leaving campus - which explains his recent whereabouts."

Vincent's fork paused halfway to his lips, his visage arranging itself into an expression of calculated concern. "Sessions in your private residence?" The words carried a subtle edge beneath their polite veneer. "That seems rather... unorthodox for a therapeutic relationship."

"I've always found that a more intimate setting yields better results," Sebastian answered smoothly, his smile never wavering. "Traditional office environments can feel rather sterile. I prefer to create an atmosphere of... trust."

"How... fascinating." Vincent's words dripped with careful consideration. "Ciel has always been rather... selective with his trust. Yet he seems quite comfortable with you." The observation carried layers of unspoken meaning, his eyes studying Sebastian with calculated intensity.

"Indeed," Sebastian's lips curved into that knowing smile that made Ciel's stomach twist. "Ciel and I share quite a special bond-"

"What are the arrangements for mother?" Ciel cut through Sebastian's dangerous line of conversation, his voice sharp and deliberate. His eye remained fixed on his plate, fork scraping against expensive china with more force than necessary.

Vincent's expression shifted seamlessly to practiced grief. "The funeral is scheduled for tomorrow. Your presence would mean a great deal." Each word was perfectly weighted with paternal warmth, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Of course he'll be there!" Elizabeth's voice rang out with innocent conviction, her emerald eyes wide with earnest certainty. "It's his mother's funeral. He has to come." The pure simplicity of her logic highlighted how little she understood of the complex web surrounding them.

        ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The departure rituals dragged on with excruciating politeness - Elizabeth's crushing farewell embrace, Edward's knowing looks, Vincent's perfectly measured goodbye that carried volumes of unspoken tension. Each moment felt like an expertly choreographed dance of pretense, until finally, mercifully, they escaped into the cooling evening air.

Sebastian's car offered sanctuary from the suffocating atmosphere of the manor. As they slid into their seats, neither spoke immediately. The silence between them felt heavy with everything that had transpired - every careful lie, every loaded glance, every moment of theatrical grief they'd been forced to perform.

Ciel slumped against the leather seat, physical and emotional exhaustion finally claiming him now that they were safely away from watchful eyes. Sebastian remained still beside him, his usual smirk replaced by something more contemplative as the manor's lights grew distant in his rearview mirror.

"Will you attend your mother's funeral?" Sebastian's voice broke the silence with deceptive casualness.

"Pull over." Ciel's command came sharp and sudden.

"Oh? Whatever for?" Sebastian's tone carried that infuriating blend of innocence and mockery.

"Drop the act and stop the damn car," Ciel snapped, his patience finally shattering.

Sebastian complied with elegant precision, guiding the vehicle to the roadside with fluid grace. The engine's purr faded to silence, leaving them suspended in the gathering darkness.

"What exactly was that little performance about?" Ciel's voice dripped frustration. "Don't insult me by pretending it was about 'closure.'"

Sebastian's lips curved into that dangerous smile Ciel had come to both love and hate. "Perceptive as ever, my love." His fingers carded through dark hair with practiced elegance. “I've been feeling rather... starved for attention lately. Your mind has been elsewhere."

"Starved for—I haven't been distracted—"

"Haven't you?" Sebastian cut in smoothly. "Always checking news updates, dwelling on past events. The cult is finished, yet you can't seem to let it go."

"So this was what? Some twisted form of punishment?"

"Not punishment," Sebastian purred. "I simply wanted your attention where it belongs - focused entirely on me. Nothing else. No one else."

"Are you serious?" Ciel's voice cracked with disbelief. "All this because you wanted attention? What are you, five?"

Sebastian's hand found Ciel's chin with practiced precision, turning his face with gentle but inexorable force until their eyes met. "My, my..." His voice dropped to that dangerous velvet tone that never failed to send shivers down Ciel's spine. "Your anger is quite... enticing."

Sebastian's crimson eyes flickered downward, a knowing smirk playing across his features. "Your mouth speaks defiance, but your body betrays you entirely."

"You're wrong," Ciel managed, heat flooding his cheeks as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to maintain some dignity.

"Am I?" Sebastian's voice carried dark amusement as he gently but firmly moved Ciel's hands away from his lower region. “The evidence suggests otherwise, my love."

Ciel entirely blamed his arousal on the way Sebastian’s voice had dropped to that low purr. Now there was no way he was keeping his pride in the situation. Sebastian had him cornered.

"Perhaps I should lend a hand," Sebastian murmured, his touch light but purposeful.

"H-here?" Ciel glanced around the confines of the car, suddenly hyper-aware of their exposed setting. "Shouldn't we wait until we're somewhere more private?"

Sebastian's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Why wait, when I can provide relief now?" His fingers moved with deliberate intent.

Sebastian’s hands already started unzipping Ciel’s fly, sliding his pants down slightly.

Ciel sucked in a sharp breath, his protests dying on his lips as Sebastian's touch elicited an involuntary reaction. In this moment, any semblance of pride or restraint seemed to slip through his fingers.

Sebastian’s hands rubbed the head of Ciel’s cock that was dripping with pre-cum, eliciting a soft gasp from the younger man. 

"Your body seems quite responsive today," Sebastian noted, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "Care to share what's gotten you so worked up?"

Ciel averted his gaze, a flush creeping across his cheeks. "It's... your fault," he admitted, the words coming out barely above a whisper.

Sebastian's thumb traced idle patterns, drawing another shiver from Ciel. "In that case, I suppose it's my responsibility to see this through," he murmured.

Ciel bit his lip, giving a slight nod as he leaned into Sebastian's attentions.

The pre-cum dripped down Ciel’s cock, as Sebastian’s fingers found the base of his cock, slowly stroking up and down.

Ciel’s cock ached for more. “P-please, go faster.”

“No. You’re not ready to cum yet, I want to tease you a bit more.” Sebastian’s finger left his cock, opening his glove compartment and reaching for a rubber band.

“What’re you gonna do with that-“ Ciel started only to cut himself off by Sebastian placing the rubber band just above his balls.

The rubber band was tight, and painful on his throbbing cock, but weirdly enough felt pleasurable at the same time.

Sebastian lowered his head, and his tongue licked the tip of his cock, swirling around.

The pressure kept building up, and it was getting unbearable, he was going to break soon-

Sebastian put his thumb over Ciel’s urethra. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”

“I don’t think I can hold it in.” Ciel breathed, his voice strained.

“Yes you can.”

Sebastian started stroking faster, and Ciel fluttered his visible eye closed. Sebastian used his other hand to pull Ciel’s chin down. Ciel opened his eye, holding eye contact with Sebastian. "Pay attention to me," he murmured. "Your eyes are only for me. For me alone."

The stroking only got faster, the sensations intensified, drawing ragged gasps from Ciel. "Say my name," Sebastian commanded, his voice rich with possession. "Let the world know you're mine."

Ciel was at his limit, “Sebastian!” Ciel came, throwing his head back, his back arching and his load shooting up, staining his pants. 

“Look at the mess you’ve made.” Sebastian chuckled, licking the remains off of Ciel’s pants.

                                            ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sebastian pulled up to his apartment, guiding Ciel out of the car with a sense of urgency.

"What’s going on?” Ciel asked, confusion evident in his voice.

Sebastian remained silent, ushering Ciel inside. Once in the apartment's living room, Sebastian stepped close behind Ciel, gently but firmly pressing him against the wall. 

Ciel's breath caught as Sebastian's proximity surrounded him, trapping him between the solid surface and Sebastian's body. The tension in the air was palpable, Sebastian's intentions unclear.

Sebastian leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting against Ciel's ear. "I've been thinking about this the entire car ride," he murmured, his voice low and heavy with intent. 

Ciel glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening as he felt Sebastian's hard longing pressing against him. The air between them seemed charged with anticipation.

Ciel’s visible eye widened as he looked over his shoulder at Sebastian, who gently pushed his back head to the wall, bis cheek touching the wall. “Wait, I just came-“

Ciel was cut off by Sebastian’s pants dropping to the floor. Sebastian then pulled Ciel pants down. Ciel could now feel Sebastian’s cock between his butt cheeks, poking at the entrance.

“But I haven’t. Surely you weren’t expecting me to let you off the hook just like that?” He heard Sebastian spit into his hand.

“Hold on-“ Ciel felt Sebastian’s member abruptly enter him. 

Ciel arched his back, a moan escaping his mouth. Sebastian pulled his cock in and out, each time he re-entered sending waves of pleasure through Ciel.

Ciel’s cock was once again dripping with precum against the wall, twitching.

“I thought you said you just came? You want to cum again?” Sebastian’s hand wrapped around his cock as he moved slowly in and out.

“Wait, it’s sensitive right now-“ Ciel pleaded, but Sebastian’s hands were unrelenting.

Sebastian then suddenly withdrew, “Spread your legs slightly.”

Sebastian positioned his cock in between Ciel’s legs. “Now squeeze your legs together.” 

Ciel did as he was told, squeezing his legs. Sebastian created friction in between Ciel’s legs, sliding in and out. Sebastian let out a low groan, “You’re doing good, keep going.”

Ciel continued to squeeze his legs, their cocks rubbing together. Sebastian’s pre-cum dripped in between his legs, creating a wet sound as they moved against each other.

Ciel reached his limit again, climaxing. But he didn’t climax alone, Sebastian came at the same time as him, his and Ciel’s load permeating the wall.

“We should take a shower.” Sebastian said, pulling the remainder of his clothes off.

Chapter XXXII: The end

Chapter Text

Chapter XXXIV: The World

The rain’s downpour made the grass glisten in the graveyard. Ancient oak and yew trees created shadowy canopies over the graves. The Phantomhive family plot in particular befitted the Phantomhive family’s old money status.

It included several generations of family members’ graves, set on elevated ground to mark their social status. It was surrounded by carefully maintained roses and had fresh gravel paths leading to it.

Vincent stood at his wife’s grave, his eyes wet, but not from the rain. He stared emptily at the engraved words.

He couldn’t protect Rachel, and now he wasn’t sure if he could even save his son. Was it too late? Had his efforts to protect his son been completely null and void? This game that he had been playing had unknowingly been subverted by Undertaker, and William…he had also lost him long ago. Everything he had ever attempted had failed, and he had felt defeat like no other.

Suddenly, he could hear the sound of feet embedded in the grass, next to him. Without even looking, Vincent spoke:

“You’re a day late.” He commented, his voice uncharacteristically weak.

“I simply came here to pay my respects. Your son on the other hand…It’s better if you hear it from him.” The taunt in Sebastian’s voice was unmistakable, not having a smidge of sincerity.

Vincent clenched his fists and tightened his jaw.

He glanced slightly over at his son, who stood beside Sebastian underneath his umbrella. Ciel, his only son. He was almost unrecognizable now like he was a phantom of his former self. His visible eye had a hardened look, and while he looked significantly healthier, he carried a weary demeanor.

Ciel’s hands were in his pockets, appearing casual, “Vincent, how are you?” But his tone was clipped and professional. 

“Ciel, don’t pretend as if you care about how I am. I think you have made yourself perfectly clear that you despise me.”

Vincent couldn’t help but notice the corners of Sebastian’s lips turn up ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed into slits.

“You’re right, I don’t, so let’s drop the formalities. I have a proposition for you.”
Vincent’s brow furrowed, “And what could that be?”

Ciel handed a small booklet to Sebastian, who passed it to Vincent. Vincent’s fingers trembled slightly as he received it.

It was a passport.

Vincent opened it, scoffing. “Randall Cassidy, really?”

He was in disbelief at the amount of nerve the two of them possessed. After all he had done for the boy, he just wanted to send him away? Just like that?

“You can leave the country, under this new identity. Leave everything behind, including me, and start anew. The public already thinks you are still missing or probably dead, so it won’t make a difference if you do leave.” Ciel explained methodically as if he had no attachment to his own father.

“What about the company?” Vincent inquired, pursing his lips.

“I’ll take over the company, just like you intended.” His tone was flat like he didn’t even care about the responsibility he would be taking.

Vincent searched Ciel’s face for any reluctance, but there was none visibly. “Why the sudden change of heart? You’ve always despised your position as my heir.”

“Things change. I am no longer the naive, fragile, little boy you have grown to know.”

“I have never thought of you as naive, nor fragile. You were merely innocent. And it seems I have failed in preventing you from being corrupted.” Vincent’s tone was of utter defeat. He had lost. This person he was speaking to was no longer the Ciel that he knew.

Vincent watched as Ciel’s face finally glinted with some emotion, which was a mixture of seldom and anger, the emotions seeming to war within him.

“What would I gain in leaving?”

“If you ever truly cared about me, and not your own selfish desires, you would leave. There is nothing for you here.“ He asserted.

Those words stung Vincent.

It was true. His wife was dead, his son was gone, and Undertaker and William’s misdeeds stained his company. What would be the point of staying?

Vincent peered over at Sebastian, who already held his gaze, uncomfortably so.
He scowled, “Was this your idea? What am I saying? Of course it was. Your influence on my son is-“

Sebastian shook his head, “I’ll stop you right there. You misunderstand our relationship. We are partners. I don’t give him directives, we communicate.”

“It disgusts me how you act as if this is normal. You are a monster and…” Vincent’s eyes flickered to Ciel, “So are you, now. You became implicit as soon as you aligned yourself with him. Are you okay with that?”

There was a pause. “And what’s wrong with being monstrous?” His mouth twisted, forming into something almost unrecognizable.

Then, the realization finally dawned on him. It finally sank in that from the very beginning, he had doomed his own son. It wasn’t just Sebastian’s doing, it was himself. Ciel would have never enrolled at Weston if he had never faked his disappearance, Ciel would have never met Sebastian, and become entangled with the cult. None of this would have happened. 

A feeling of existential dread crept over Vincent. This whole time he’d know deep down, but he tried to deny it.

At that moment, all Vincent could hear was the rain. He could see Ciel open his mouth to say something but couldn’t hear the words. Sebastian placed a hand on Ciel’s shoulder and they both walked away.

Leaving him alone in deafening silence.

             ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

                   One Month Later                         
                                               

The Phantomhive Pharmaceuticals CEO’s office was remodeled in every way that differed from the former CEO’s decor.  The office that once contained Phantomhive family memorabilia had been methodically stripped, the walls now bare. 

Deep slate gray had replaced royal blue. The heavy wooden desk that had witnessed decades of family dealings was now a sleek onyx glass and steel one. A large abstract painting was located on a wall, dominated by crimson and black, suggesting both wealth and violence.

Ciel sat behind the sleek desk. The sound of clicking emanated from the keys on his computer, his fingers dancing along them.

Suddenly, a knock was heard at the door, Ciel’s fingers pausing. He glanced up, his visible eye trained on the door.

“Come in,” He drawled, a yawn threatening to leave him.

Lau’s face emerged from the door, his perpetual smile gracing his features. He held an ample amount of documents in his hands.

“Ciel, how nice to see you.” He slithered to the desk, " I’ve obtained the test results for the new drug.”

The documents landed in Ciel’s hands, as he eye-scanned the papers. His lips twitched into a slight close-lipped smile, peering up at Lau. 

“You seemed very pleased at the conclusive test results. I wonder, how will you celebrate your achievements?” A knowing look appeared across Lau’s face.

Ciel cleared his throat, setting the papers down. “Lau, I know what you’re thinking, you’re not invited if that’s what you mean to ask.”

“My, you wound me, I thought we were business partners.” He feigned hurt, laying a hand on his chest. His eyes that always appeared half-closed then opened ever so slightly. “Or, is it because even after all we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me?” His tone was deceptively light, despite his heavy implications.

“Trust is not the issue here.” Ciel clarified curtly. There was truth to Lau’s words, he couldn’t discern whether this perpetually smiling man was friend or foe. Every interaction felt like a game of chess where only Lau knew all the pieces in play. His seemingly casual provocations always carried layers of meaning that Ciel found himself analyzing long after their meetings, searching for hidden threats or opportunities between the lines.

Lau ruffled his hair, “What are you-” Ciel questioned, addled. The sudden invasion of his personal space sent a jolt through him. It wasn’t just the unexpected touch - it was how Lau could so casually shatter the careful barriers between CEO and business partner, between professional and personal.

For a moment, Ciel felt like that vulnerable boy again, before quickly burying the sensation beneath practiced irritation.“What are you-”

“I always wondered what it would be like to do that.” He chuckled lightly, putting his hand at his side, “I’m aware of how you like to allot your time to Sebastian.”

He turned scarlet, “That’s not-”

An oh-so-familiar silvery voice interjected, “That’s not what?” He hadn’t even heard Sebastian enter as he appeared next to Lau. Sebastian positioned his hand on his hip, his expression containing amusement. Ciel hated and loved Sebastian’s impeccable timing—as of now, however, he hated it. 

He rubbed his temples, “Not you too,” He sighed exasperatedly.

“I simply couldn’t resist, Sebastian. I do hope you’ll forgive me laying hand on your…intimate partner-”

“All right, that’s enough,” Ciel rose from the desk, guiding, no, practically pushing Lau out of the door. 

He could hear Sebastian’s stifled laughter as he shut the door. Ciel turned on his heel to face his former professor, his eyebrow twitching.

“You.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Sebastian, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Sebastian stood with his hands folded behind his back, like a child that had just gotten into trouble. “Me?” He pointed at himself, “No, of course not.”

Ciel sighed, “Moving on to matters of actual importance, Lau came to give me the test results.”

“And?”

“They were conclusive.” Ciel looked off to the side, in deep thought. “The drug itself raises the levels of dopamine, making it highly addictive. It’s a foolproof way of incentivizing consumers with mental disorders such as anxiety or depression to purchase more.” He elucidated. 

Sebastian’s lips curled into a smirk, “What an exploitative idea you’ve concocted. Your way of thinking almost exceeds my own level of cunning.”

“Nonsense, anyone with a brain could’ve come up with this in two minutes. I am simply using my resources and expanding them.”

The raven stepped closer to Ciel, his long legs making it look as if he had taken one big step. His finger brushed against Ciel’s cheek, while the younger man leaned into his touch, momentarily closing his visible eye.

“You never cease to intrigue me, which is why I will always remain at your side.” Sebastian’s words carried rare sincerity, his eyes burning with desire. His lips met Ciel’s who readily accepted the gesture, their lips moving in perfect synchronicity.

They both pulled away, “The board meeting is at three,” Ciel said, gazing into those deep-set eyes.

“Shall I attend in my usual capacity?” Sebastian inquired with a knowing smile.

“Better not. They’re still adjusting to the new management structure. No need to make them more… uncomfortable.”

            ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“In other news, the can of worms unleashed from harrowing revelations of  Weston University continues. The Vice-Chancellor, Willam T. Spears, and Grell Sutcliff, an art professor, await trial in police custody.” A news anchor spoke in a professional tone as she read her script. 

Ciel watched as she cleared her throat to say her next line. However, something about what she said next caught his attention. “While William T. Spears and Grell Sutcliff remain in custody awaiting trial, authorities have refused to comment on widespread speculation about the status of the third primary suspect, known only as ‘Undertaker.’”

Ciel’s fingers tightened on his knees as grainy security footage played across the screen - a familiar silver-haired figure glimpsed in a hospital corridor, then vanishing like smoke. The timestamp was unclear, the location unspecified. “Multiple sightings have been reported,” the anchor continued, “though none have been officially verified…” Sebastian switched off the TV with practiced casualness, but Ciel caught the slight tension in his movement. “Rumors and shadows,” Sebastian dismissed, though his eyes held something careful. “Nothing more.”

 “You say that, but the look in your eyes says something completely different.” Ciel countered. 

The very notion that Undertaker’s whereabouts were not public knowledge worried him. Why were the police withholding this information from the public? Something about it didn’t sit well with him. It made it feel as if Undertaker was still steps ahead of everyone in this game of his, which is what made Undertaker a dangerous foe.

Sebastian lifted a refined brow, “Undertaker has nothing to do with us anymore. He can’t do anything to us at the moment. If he chose to, it would prove to be detrimental for him.”

“Undertaker is unpredictable and a threat. Did you forget how he plotted against my fath-Vincent?” Ciel caught himself mid-sentence. He mentally cursed himself.

Sebastian looked mildly entertained at his slip-up, gliding closer to him and plopping on the couch. “Did I not tell you before? Your focus should be on me and only me.”

“This is not a matter we should take lightly.” Ciel watched as Sebastian’s hand snaked itself on his thigh, releasing a sharp intake of breath.

“Your past still chains you. You sold the Phantomhive estate, relocated, chased off your own father, and still you worry. Perhaps I should take your mind off of it all?”

Ciel lightly blushed, “Can’t. Remember? We invited Elizabeth and Edward for a celebration dinner.”

“Oh, yes, it had nearly slipped my mind.” Sebastian smirked, “Since Elizabeth had insisted after showing up unannounced last time that we share a dinner since you took over the company.”

A loud crash could be heard in the other room. Ciel’s head snapped in its direction, while Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. 

“I’ll go check on our little hen.” His voice had dropped an octave, as Ciel glanced at him, nodding.

“Yes, that would be…beneficial.”

Then, a reverberating knock came from the door. Ciel immediately got up, trekking towards the door. “That must be them, I’ve got this.”

Sebastian left the couch gracefully and wordlessly went towards his destination.

Ciel twisted open the doorknob, as two faces materialized. Elizabeth grinned, moving to wrap her arms around Ciel. The familiar gesture struck him as almost absurd now - her innocent affection colliding with the calculated cruelty he’d embraced in business. Yet he returned the embrace with practiced ease, another performance in his growing repertoire of necessary deceptions.

“Ciel!” She explained in a high-pitched squeal that was almost ear-shattering.

He flinched at the sound while noticing Edward sticking a finger in his ear and wincing. 

“Lizzy, will it kill you to bring down the noise level?” There was unmistakable annoyance in his tone.

“Oops, sorry. I got a little too excited, but look at you now! You seem…more mature and…did you get taller? You were always so much shorter than me.” Elizabeth huffed playfully.

It didn’t escape Ciel’s notice of how Edward looked off to the side as if trying to dissociate from the situation. Ciel realized that finding out that he was living with his former professor must’ve been jarring for his cousin, who didn’t seem too fond of Sebastian. Elizabeth either didn’t seem to mind or deliberately tried to ignore it. Either way, Ciel didn’t really care what they made of it. He was past the point of caring what people thought of him.

“You guys can come in, I promise I don’t bite.” Ciel plastered a smile on his face, that seemed unnatural even to him. 

              ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Edward didn’t know exactly what was going on with his cousin and Sebastian but there was clearly something unnatural about their relationship. The way Sebastian would get deeply involved with Ciel’s personal issues, bailing him out of jail, even showing up at the Phantomhive manor—it was highly unusual.

Now, he was sitting at an incredibly uncomfortable dinner with Ciel, Elizabeth, and Sebastian. Elizabeth remained entirely oblivious to the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. Edward had never voiced his discomfort with Sebastian to Elizabeth, after all, it was just a feeling. He didn’t have any evidence but something was extremely off.

Was he being paranoid? No. That couldn’t be it. The very basis of Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship was inappropriate and Vincent suddenly up and leaving after discovering he was alive was suspicious enough.

“Edward. You’ve been silent since you’ve come here.” Ciel stabbed his fork into his food. “And you haven’t touched your food.” He took a bite.

“Don’t be shy, Edward, take a bite.” Sebastian chimed in.

“It’s really good, Edward. You should try it.” Elizabeth had already tried some of it, her eyes gleaming with unassuming innocence.

Edward glanced at his food. When Sebastian had walked in earlier with a plate of unidentifiable meat, cow leg, he called it, he could feel unease settle in his gut. He didn’t know why, it was a strange feeling. 

Despite his concerns, just by looking at the meal, Edward could tell that there was care put in the meal and it didn’t smell bad either. The spices and seasoning emanated from the meat that was cut up into delectable squares paired with white rice.

So he caved in.

What was he so nervous about? It was just food. He took the meat with his fork and the taste filled his mouth. It was exquisite. Edward raised his eyebrows, his eyes meeting Sebastian’s.

“This is actually really good. Where did you learn to cook?” Edward’s defenses wavered ever so slightly as his genuine surprise betrayed his calculated silence.

“I’ve only recently picked up the habit,” Sebastian responded. “Cooking has become something to take my mind off of…recent events.”

“Yes, It’s been unfortunate what happened at Weston,” Elizabeth interjected, a solemn expression on her face.

Was he just being paranoid about Sebastian? He needed to recollect his thoughts.

“If you excuse me, where’s the bathroom?”

Ciel paused mid-bite, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “Down the hall on your right, " he directed.

“Thanks, cousin.”

Edward turned to leave the table, the taste of Sebastian’s exquisite cooking still lingering on his tongue. He couldn’t help but notice Sebastian’s gaze following him - not hostile exactly, but carrying an undercurrent of something predatory that made Edward’s skin prickle. He’d spent years watching out for Elizabeth and Ciel, learning to trust his instincts about people. Those same instincts now screamed that something was deeply wrong in this apartment.

The hallway stretched before him, modern and pristine like everything else in Sebastian’s domain. As he reached for the bathroom door, a sound stopped him - muffled but unmistakably human. Every fiber of his being told him to return to Elizabeth, to maintain the polite fiction of this dinner. But that protective impulse that had served him through years of watching over his family now pulled him deeper into the shadows.

Each step felt like crossing a threshold he couldn’t uncross. The sound came again - clearer now, carrying notes of desperation that made his stomach twist.

His feet stopped at another door, this one radiating a foreboding presence. With trembling fingers, he turned the handle, every instinct screaming for him to turn back. What he found made his breath catch in his throat.

A young man lay before him, bound and bleeding. Reddish-brown hair fell across round glasses, one lens spiderwebbed with cracks. Tears tracked down freckled cheeks as he struggled weakly against his restraints. But it was the clean absence where his leg should have been, the pool of crimson spreading beneath him, that made Edward’s world tilt sideways.

Edward almost gagged at the sight.

He felt as though his feet were rooted to the ground as he stared at the boy. His mind warred with itself—the right thing to do would be to untie him and help him escape, but, his body was screaming at him to get out of there and take Elizabeth.

His mind raced, desperately seeking a rational explanation. Did Ciel know? The thought died as quickly as it formed - of course, Ciel knew. They lived together. Every muffled cry, every desperate plea would have echoed through these walls. His cousin hadn’t just known. He had participated.

Then his thoughts circled back to dinner, to the “cow leg” he’d praised moments ago, and understanding hit him with physical force. He’d eaten human meat. His own hand flew to his mouth as if he could somehow take back that bite, that compliment, that moment of unwitting participation in their monstrosity.

Edward stumbled back to the dining room, his legs barely keeping him upright. Three pairs of eyes tracked his return - Elizabeth’s concerned, Sebastian’s amused, and Ciel’s… knowing.  It was a look that also held a warning. He wanted him to keep silent about what he had just discovered.

“Did you find the bathroom well?” Ciel’s voice carried a perfect facade of cousin-like concern. “I must admit, when I first came here, I got quite lost myself.” The friendly tone felt like acid in Edward’s ears - how had he never noticed before how practiced his cousin’s performances were?

“Lizzy, we need to leave.” Edward fought to keep the tremor from his voice, to maintain some semblance of control. “Now.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But Sebastian was going to make dessert-”

Edward’s fingers closed around her arm, harder than he intended, desperation overwhelming gentleness. “We’re not staying for dessert.”

“Edward, you’re hurting me.” She winced.

“What’s the rush, Edward? Are you getting cold feet?” Sebastian’s taunt was apparent. Edward’s gaze then snapped to Ciel, who had a smirk on his face that looked foreign to his features.  

Edward loosened his grip, “Please, Lizzy, I want to go.” He pleaded.

“Alright,” She got up from her seat, “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly,” She addressed the two.

“No worries, we’ll keep in touch,” Ciel remarked with certainty, but Edward knew the truth about him.

He was a monster.

 Monster - The END