Inside a modest room of a well-kept house in the peaceful town of Hoshizuki, a young blond boy with unmistakable European features rubbed his eyes.
"Hurry up, Oliver. You don't want to be late again."
Oliver groaned, frustration lacing his voice. "I'm up, I'm up..." He swung his legs off the bed, the cold floor a rude awakening from the warmth he wanted to cling to.
Dragging his fingers through messy blond hair, he sighed. The room was small, the furniture simple. The open window let in crisp morning air, but it did little to chase away the heavy feeling inside him.
His mind still buzzed with memories from the dream world—more vivid than any dream he'd ever had. Without thinking, his breath slowed, matching a rhythm he'd learned there, a strange muscle memory guiding him.
He reached under his pillow and pulled out a small brown notebook. Just then, the door opened, revealing Yumi's patient but impatient smile, her hand clutching his school bag.
"Yumi, give me a minute," Oliver started.
She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Didn't you say that yesterday? And the day before? If you don't hurry, you'll be walking to school again."
He grinned sheepishly. "Alright, five minutes. I need to clear my head."
Yumi's smile softened as she called to the little girl beside her. "Yui-chan, say good morning to Onii-chan."
Yui, bundled in an oversized hoodie, blinked sleepily. "Mornin', Onii-chan," she mumbled.
Oliver ruffled her hair gently. "Not dressed yet? You're gonna be late, just like your big brother."
His right hand tingled with numbness—probably slept on it wrong. But he barely noticed it. His gaze had flicked sideways—drawn to the faint outline of Yumi's bra beneath her thin top.
He stared for a moment too long, the morning light highlighting the slight swell beneath the fabric. His breath caught.
She's not even trying to hide it. If she's not careful, someone else might catch a peek.
He frowned faintly, more possessive than protective.
"Hey," he said casually, meeting her eyes as she turned to leave. "Your shirt's kinda see-through. You should fix that Yumi~"
Yumi blinked in confusion—then blushed slightly, adjusting her grip on the bag to shield herself without a word. She didn't thank him, but she didn't argue either.
Oliver smirked.
Maybe I need a girlfriend or something… someone to make mornings less awful. Or at least distracting in the right ways.
The little girl giggled at his half-joke and shook her head seriously. "I'll wait for you, Onii-chan."
His expression softened again. "Alright, five minutes, then I'm up."
Yumi nodded once more and turned with Yui in tow. As the door clicked shut, Oliver leaned against it and let out a slow breath.
The weight of the room settled around him again—his dream still vivid, still burning behind his eyes.
Routine took over. He walked to the wardrobe, pulled open the drawers, slipped on his pants and shirt, then shut them again. Just as he reached up for his school blazer and opened the wardrobe doors—he paused.
Air brushed his cheek.
He blinked.
Sunlight spilled from the crack between the doors. Pine and dew. A forest, thick and alive, where there should've only been hangers and cotton.
His hand hesitated.
Am I still dreaming?
He shut the wardrobe.
The latch clicked. Silence.
He opened it again.
The forest remained.
He stepped through, parting the shirts like curtains. Moss replaced the floorboards. The wardrobe behind him faded into the trees, vanishing like smoke.
He didn't question it. He didn't panic.
He inhaled deeply, and the scent of wet earth, tree bark, and clean air filled his lungs. Beneath it all, that subtle vibration—Qi. Stronger than ever.
And then he heard it.
A sob—raw, desperate.
He turned sharply.
A girl staggered into view. Her uniform was shredded, her legs coated in dried blood and mud. Her long black hair clung to her face in matted strands.
Her eyes widened. "O-Oliver…?"
"Mika?."
She ran.
He caught her as she crashed into him, both of them tumbling onto the soft, leaf-strewn earth. Her body pressed against his—hot, trembling, breathing too fast.
The scent of fear and desperation, blood and dirt, clung to her skin. She curled into him like she belonged there.
Oliver froze.
Her thigh rubbed against his.
Her chest pressed tight into his torso, the ragged blouse leaving little to imagination. Every breath pushed her curves into him. Her lips brushed his collarbone. Her scent—so close, so human, so broken—made his pulse quicken.
She was a wreck.
And somehow, that stirred something primal in him.
Vulnerable. Needing. Mine.
Her fingers gripped his shirt with frantic strength, her sobs wetting the fabric.
His hand hovered—then settled on her back, fingers spreading gently over sweat-slick skin.
"This… isn't a dream," he whispered.
She cried harder, clutching tighter.
"I thought I was going insane," she whispered. "I've been trapped here for months..."
Oliver's heart thudded.
The weight of her—emotional and physical—pressed into him. Her desperation seeped into his skin.
He didn't pull away.
Instead, he pulled her closer.
The forest watched in silence, the leaves above unmoving.
This wasn't a dream.
And Oliver knew exactly where he was.
The True Seclusion Formation.