Ronwa sat on the worn-out wooden bench, surrounded by the soft whispers of spring. Gentle breezes slipped between the leaves, brushing her silver hair like a lullaby from nature itself. She gazed into the distance with gleaming eyes, her small fingers lightly tracing the edge of her book’s weathered cover, as if touching a heart full of memories.

  The book was old, stained with time and water, yet to her, it was a treasure beyond value.

  Lucas floated nearby, circling slowly like a tiny moon—sometimes drifting above her head, sometimes dipping beneath the bench—his ghostly eyes filled with quiet affection.

  With a warm tone and a faint smile on his translucent face, he said:

  "If I were alive, I would've baked you a cake today."

  Ronwa let out a soft laugh without lifting her eyes and replied:

  "It would've been the weirdest cake in the world."

  Suddenly, a calm male voice sliced through the quiet, coming from behind the trees:

  "Your hair color… it’s beautiful. Like moonlight at dawn."

  Ronwa's eyebrows lifted. She quickly turned her head toward the sound.

  There, just a few steps away, stood a young man who looked as if he had stepped out of an old, forgotten book.

  His dark brown hair was messy, unbrushed, falling over his neck carelessly. His half-lidded brown eyes glimmered with a strange mix of calm, sarcasm, and hidden sorrow.

  He wore a long beige coat, loosely open, with a belt dangling untied. His gaze softened as he bowed slightly with exaggerated elegance:

  "Good morning... Lady of Spring."

  But Ronwa didn’t smile. She furrowed her brows and hugged her book to her chest, speaking with a serious, childlike caution:

  "Mama warned me not to talk to strangers… especially suspicious ones."

  She turned her face away like his existence was utterly unimportant.

  Instead of being embarrassed, the young man clutched his chest dramatically as if struck by an invisible dagger and cried out:

  "Ah… My heart… shattered once again!"

  He sat on the opposite bench in a theatrical swoop, his coat curling around him like a cloak. From his pocket, he pulled out a bright red apple, taking a small bite calmly, never breaking eye contact with her.

  But then his eyes slowly shifted upward… to Lucas, still floating silently above the ground.

  The moment his eyes met the ghost’s, he froze.

  The apple stopped midway to his mouth. His gaze widened, and his voice trembled as he whispered:

  "L… Lucas?"

  Lucas’ small eyebrows drew together as his tiny face tensed.

  "How… can you see me?"

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  The young man gave a warm smile, one full of ancient memory, and looked at Lucas with a deep glint of nostalgia:

  "Ten years have passed since I last saw you… You used to be shorter. And brighter."

  Lucas gasped, descending slowly to the ground as if his strength had vanished. A storm of emotion flickered in his eyes, and though he tried to hold it in, his tears fell anyway. His voice cracked:

  "No… No one can see ghosts… No one… except…"

  Before he could finish, a small voice rose from the bench:

  "How can he see ghosts?!"

  Ronwa was staring at the young man with wide eyes, her hands clutching the book tightly. Her gaze was full of stunned wonder.

  The man looked at her and smiled faintly, yet there was a deep sorrow behind it. In a soft voice, heavy with time, he said:

  "I… am Akamori himself."

  Silence fell like a curtain dropped from the heavens.

  Lucas gasped, and Ronwa’s eyebrows shot up as she whispered:

  "You… you're the author?!"

  She turned to Lucas and added in a hushed tone:

  "But he doesn’t look old!"

  But Lucas was trembling now. He whispered, as if thunder cracked inside his chest:

  "No… It's impossible… A human can't see ghosts! Only… only the Princess can..."

  He turned toward Ronwa with a new intensity in his eyes—his old fear slowly transforming into pure realization.

  The young man stood slowly, and with noble grace, he knelt before Ronwa, placing one knee to the ground in a gesture full of reverence.

  He looked up at her with sharp, mysterious eyes and said:

  "My real name was Akamori Onkayo, back when I was human..."

  Then, after a brief pause, he added:

  "But now… I am Dazai Osamu. The Third Keyholder."

  Ronwa gasped, her little hands shaking as the book trembled in her grasp.

  And Lucas… froze completely, a silent scream rising inside him:

  "Ronwa… is the Princess."

  He was still kneeling before Ronwa, his posture noble, eyes respectfully lowered to the ground.

  Ronwa, meanwhile, was mumbling to herself in awe, her face glowing with surprise, her chest rising and falling as if her heart had forgotten how to stay calm.

  Amidst all the emotions flooding her… a small, quiet feeling crept in—a hidden happiness, for reasons she didn’t yet understand.

  “I’m... the Princess…?” she whispered to herself, voice trembling.

  “Then... everything’s real?! It’s really all true!”

  Lucas, still tense, stepped in, his tone full of suspicion:

  “But… why do you look human? You're a ghost like us, so how are you showing yourself like this?”

  Akamori—or rather Dazai—responded in his calm voice, still kneeling without moving:

  “My ability… allows me to appear in my former human form. But it drains a lot of energy, so I only do it when the meeting is important.”

  He paused, then slowly lifted his head, meeting Ronwa’s eyes with a soft, warm gaze.

  But just then, a distant voice broke the stillness:

  “Ronwaaa!!”

  Ronwa turned quickly—her mother was running toward her, face full of panic.

  She rushed in, wrapping her daughter in a tight embrace, then looked up at Akamori with sharp, blazing eyes:

  “What are you doing with my daughter?!” she shouted, her voice a mix of fear and fury.

  “I swear, if you don’t step back this instant, I’ll call the police!”

  Akamori calmly raised both hands in a gesture of peace:

  “Please, madam… It’s not what you think.”

  But her eyes narrowed even further, and she stepped forward like she might strike him:

  “Stay away from her!”

  Akamori took a light step back, his expression calm, even slightly amused. He gave a mysterious little smile, and with a small wave of his hand—

  Several large leather suitcases suddenly appeared behind him, worn by travel and clearly heavy with dust.

  “I’m simply… a traveler returning from a long journey.”

  He said this in an oddly smooth tone, making the mother suspicious he was fabricating the whole story.

  Just then, the tension was sliced by a shout from the library gates as they creaked open:

  “Mr. Akamori! You’ve finally arrived!”

  It was the elderly librarian, carrying a ledger in his hand.

  Ronwa’s mother froze. She turned toward the voice, then slowly looked back at Akamori with disbelief:

  “You… You’re Akamori Onkayo? The author?!”

  Akamori gave her a respectful little bow and said with polite restraint:

  “Indeed, I am. Apologies for causing alarm—I was simply running late for today’s meeting.”

  The mother looked from him to her daughter—who was still visibly stunned—then sighed deeply, her arms still wrapped protectively around Ronwa.

  But even as she relaxed, the doubt in her eyes didn’t fully fade.

  Meanwhile, Lucas leaned near Ronwa’s ear and muttered softly:

  “This guy… is completely insane. But somehow, he feels more real than I expected.”