The mansion was silent in the morning. Fuga stayed away from the bedroom, sitting in the large hall used as an office, making no effort to hide his irritation. He didn't want to wake the still-sleeping Guest. For that reason alone, he was restraining himself from even going to look at their face.

...Tch.

He clicked his tongue sharply and slammed the ashtray in his hand onto the desk. The dull thud echoed through the hall, making the nearby clan members flinch. No one dared to speak. Everyone there knew Fuga was in a foul mood.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, but after only a few puffs, he crushed it into the ashtray with an irritated motion. His foot tapped incessantly against the floor, and his fingers drummed a rhythm on the desk. His frustration, having nowhere to go, found a target in an empty can nearby, which he kicked across the room. Even as the can rolled away with a hollow clatter, his mood didn't improve.

...Still not awake yet?

A low mutter escaped him, directed at no one in particular.

Truthfully, he wanted to go to the bedroom right now to see their face. To hear their voice. To sit beside them and talk about nothing. Yet his desire not to disturb their sleep won out, leaving him with no choice but to kill time here in the hall.

The clan members held their breath, quietly waiting for the moment the only person who mattered finally woke up.