Dazai—formerly Akamori—smiled his confident smile, tinged with slight sarcasm, then extended his hand theatrically to the bookstore owner and said in a dramatic tone:

  "Dear sir, lead me to my doom… I mean, to my desk, where I shall sign the papers of dreams."

  The bookstore owner let out a deep laugh and shook his head:

  "You haven’t changed a bit, you odd one."

  He took him by the shoulder, and they entered the bookstore while people began to line up in a long queue inside the quiet hall, holding both old and new books by Akamori—some with worn pages, others clutching them as if they were treasure.

  Dazai walked in with confident steps, his hands in the pockets of his coat, and his face bore a strange mixture of solemnity and mockery. Then he turned to the crowd and said in a voice loud enough for all to hear:

  "Ah, how I love the smell of paper and excited people… It's like the scent of life, only less stressful."

  He sat on the chair behind the table, pulled out a black metal pen, then looked at the first girl in line and said:

  "Will your signature be the first drop of blood today?"

  The girl stepped back slightly and smiled shyly, while Dazai chuckled softly and said:

  "A joke, a joke… I haven’t signed with anyone’s blood in a long time."

  Then he signed her book with a graceful signature and stamped it with a strange little scribble, saying:

  "Remember, every signature I write… carries a piece of my misery."

  Lucas leaned in and whispered to Ronwa:

  "I don’t remember him being this weird… I think he got crazier after death."

  As for Ronwa, she stood beside the line, watching him with shining eyes, holding her small book tightly in her arms, her heart pounding with anticipation, her mind torn between seeing him as the beloved author… and the holder of the third key.

  The line was long, and time passed slowly, but Ronwa kept gripping her small book tightly, her face glowing with excitement and worry all at once, while Lucas floated beside her, watching the scene with sparkling eyes. Her mother placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, smiling at the sight of her daughter's happiness.

  And finally…

  Their turn came.

  Ronwa stepped lightly toward the table, and when she looked up, Akamori—or Dazai—was looking at her with a strange calm. Before she could speak, her mother said in an embarrassed tone:

  "I’m sorry about what happened earlier… I thought you were a stranger trying to harm my daughter."

  Dazai tilted his head slightly, a sarcastic smile passing over his lips, but he simply replied:

  "Only the strange ones make stories, madam."

  Then he turned to Ronwa, who handed him the book shyly. As soon as he took it from her, his eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise. He gently flipped through its pages and slowly touched the cover like someone brushing against an old memory.

  "This… this is the best book I ever wrote…"

  His voice softened, with less sarcasm, as if nostalgia had broken through the layers of his strange persona.

  "This book is over ten years old… yet it’s clean, not torn, not a stain or a fold."

  Ronwa answered him in a quiet voice:

  "Because it’s my treasure… and I’ve been waiting for you to finish its ending."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He paused for a moment, then finally smiled—a rare, sincere smile—and said:

  "Then… I will."

  He opened the cover page, wrote a graceful signature, then added a small line:

  “To Ronwa… who brought my story back to life.”

  Then he pulled out another pen from his pocket, golden in color, and handed it to her:

  "This is your reward… I’ll write the ending for you, and for you alone."

  Ronwa jumped with joy, wiping light tears from her eyes and hugging the book to her chest. Dazai, meanwhile, lifted his eyes to the sky and whispered to himself in a soft voice only Lucas could hear:

  "How I love seeing my princess joyful… even if only for a few minutes."

  At the moment of Akamori’s farewell after giving her the book, Ronwa left with her mother after the author completed signing her favorite book. Her heart fluttered with joy, especially after hearing his promise to write the missing ending. While she whispered little words to him, she felt that Dazai could hear every one—even without seeing her. And he answered with a mysterious smile as he bid her farewell:

  "The next meeting won’t be long, my princess."

  While the mother and her daughter were walking briskly toward the station, Lucas floated beside them, observing the scene with a mysterious smile. But before they reached the station, Olesya suddenly stopped in front of a small shop. She looked inside, then turned to her daughter and said in a soft voice:

  "One moment, I’ll buy something quickly."

  Ronwa’s steps quickened, her eyes filled with curiosity, and she asked innocently:

  "What is it?"

  Her mother replied calmly, although she seemed a little tense:

  "Your grandmother is probably angry right now. We haven’t been home all day."

  Then a light laugh escaped from Olesya, and she continued with a childlike excitement that wasn’t without mischief:

  She's going to be very angry... I didn’t tell her we were going out today... oh my God.

  She added with energy and speed, as she shifted her gaze to some products on the shelves:

  "Don’t worry, I’ll use her anger to our advantage, but you have to trust me."

  She quickly picked out a luxurious skin moisturizer, placed it in her shopping basket, and paid for it quickly.

  Then she exited the shop and hurried toward the station, saying to Ronwa in a cheerful tone:

  "This will calm her down, and when we return, we’ll make things right."

  As the mother moved swiftly, Lucas whispered gently, in a voice so low it was as if he didn’t want anyone to hear:

  "Ronwa... do you really think your mother will succeed?"

  Ronwa smiled, then replied with clear confidence in her voice:

  "I trust her. She always finds a way."

  And as she walked side by side with her mother, she felt she didn’t need anything else but to have her by her side. In that moment, everything seemed to be in its right place.

  The sun had set and night had drawn its curtain when Olesya and Ronwa reached the doorstep. The house looked eerily quiet, and the upper window facing the road was tightly shut.

  Ronwa whispered:

  "Mama… the door is locked from the inside."

  Olesya replied with a tense smile:

  "That means she’s inside… waiting for us."

  As soon as they opened the door and stepped in, a heavy silence fell over the place, broken only by the faint ticking of the wall clock. It wasn’t long before the parlor door swung open with force, and Grandmother Mavra appeared, standing like a stone wall, her gaze sharp as knives, her hands clasped behind her back.

  She said in a cold, metallic voice:

  "Welcome… two ladies who’ve had a long day, while leaving the only responsible person in this house to wrestle with time alone."

  Olesya stepped forward, raised the moisturizer like a small shield, and smiled with forced sweetness:

  "Oh Mother, I brought you something. A luxurious skin cream… to soften your lovely hands."

  Grandmother’s expression didn’t change. She looked at the cream as if it were a mud-stained rock, then said sharply:

  "Do you think what I lack is lotion? Or that your guilt can be cleansed with a scented lie?"

  Ronwa trembled, tightening her grip on her mother’s arm, as the grandmother continued with a bitterly sarcastic tone:

  "The house needed cleaning, dinner wasn’t prepared, and the laundry is still wet in the garden, but the noble lady preferred to stroll with a ghost and her daughter."

  Olesya tried to keep her smile, but her voice dropped slightly:

  "I just wanted to make her happy. She’s a child."

  The grandmother immediately responded:

  "And this house is not a playground for children, but a place where responsibility is built, step by step… Yet it seems you’ve still not learned that, Olesya."

  Olesya lowered her head for a moment, then said with a firm tone:

  "I’m the one who made the mistake. Ronwa has nothing to do with it."

  The grandmother looked at the little girl, then said coldly:

  "A child learns from her mother. And if her mother is reckless… who will teach her? Ghosts?"

  Ronwa's face turned red, and she felt her tears rising, but she held them back. She didn’t want to make her mother cry more.

  Then Olesya stepped closer, gently placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder, and said in a low voice:

  "I’ll do everything that needs to be done tonight. Just let her rest, she’s been waiting for this day for years."

  The grandmother was silent for a moment, then turned toward the kitchen and said without looking at them:

  "Dinner is not ready yet. Don’t forget, stories aren’t written with ink alone… but with actions."

  And she left the room.

  Ronwa stood in place, her eyes glistening with tears, but she looked at her mother, who smiled and said:

  "We’ll prepare dinner, and you’ll see—she’ll soften… one day."

  Ronwa chuckled softly and whispered:

  "Maybe if we add the moisturizer to the soup."

  Olesya laughed for the first time in hours, then said:

  "That’s how real stories are written, my love."

  "I’d really appreciate it if you could take a moment to rate the story!"