The castle had been bnketed by darkness, it's daytime bustle now repced by a resonant silence. Slivers of cold and bright moonlight cut through the window, seeping in, and slicing the room into pnes of silver and pitch. It was just enough to outline the still forms of Naofumi, Ren, and Motoyasu, each long since fallen into exhausted sleep.

  Only Noritoshi Kamo remained awake.

  Rigidly ying on his assigned bed, he sighed softly, careful as to not awake the others. Try as he might, he could not will his body to rex. A familiar, coiled tension held him fast—the same hyper-vigince honed in the cutthroat halls of the Kamo estate, now magnified by utter alienness. The familiar feeling of worry added with the humiliating vulnerability of the summoning, the gnawing uncertainty of this world's rules, and the sheer, overwhelming wrongness of it all. Each concern fed into the next, twisting into a tight, suffocating knot in his chest that strangled any hope of sleep.

  The dry, humorless thought crystallized. This wasn't his first vigil in an unwelcoming dark.

  He remembered the first nights after his exile, after he'd learned of his mother's new, untainted family. The streets of unfamiliar towns had been his pce of sleep then. Like a ghost, he moved as wandering exorcist cleansing the weeping curses that festered in the shadows of Japan. At that time, he had one simple goal. Wear himself to the bone, until the hollow where his pride had been was too tired to ache.

  In the end, it brought him to Sakurajima. A monstrous colony. The only thought that appeared in his head was, perfect. A pce where he could usefully throw his life away, saving civilians, aiding sorcerers who still had a pce to return to. A clean end, with a purpose.

  Now, looking back at it, the sheer horror of that mindset finally struck him. He was looking for a reason to die and wrapping it up as him searching for a purpose. He'd wrapped his own destruction in the banner of duty. The shame he felt wasn't because of the failure, but in the nihilistic elegance he'd assigned to it.

  How pathetic. What a waste that would have been. It was only ter, amidst the rubble and after Maki's blunt words, that he gained the resolve to reconnect with his mother and her new family.

  Almost everything had gone terribly, but at least that had been his world. His eyes traced the alien consteltions beyond the moonlit window. The air had smelled right. The curses obeyed rules he understood. He could look at the impossible heights of the strongest and know, with cold certainty, his own limit. He knew where he stood, even if that pce was in the gutter.

  Here, there was no such certainty. Everything was unknown and uncertain, because tched onto his soul, was an anomaly. Flexing his fingers, the first thing he felt was neither cursed energy—the energy he'd been born with and lived with his whole life—nor mana, the energy that had suddenly appeared inside his body when he was summoned to this world. No, it was the weight of the Legendary Bow, its presence humming in his mind. A constant feeling of wrongness, as if in every waking moment, it's always pulling in something. Something he couldn't perceive nor even get a read.

  Yet, for every moment he spent bearing that weight, he could feel himself gradually begin to perceive the outline of his own soul. The foreign pressure acted like smelling salt, forcibly awakening his vision to something he could never perceive before. Something he could only dream of achieving despite years of meditation and training. Here he was, just one day in this new world, and he was already being pushed into a leap of self-awareness he'd thought impossible.

  The cursed energy flowing within his body was something he was beginning to comprehend on a deeper level than he had ever thought possible. Its flow, its rhythm, the precise mechanics of its use—all id bare, revealing how startlingly inefficient his previous use of it had been. This first step in enlightenment stemmed from a single source he could now perceive as the faint, glowing outline of his own soul.

  All this improvement, merely because he could see the the faint outline of his own existence. It was both terrifying and exhirating. The thrill of such rapid, fundamental growth was undeniable—a sorcerer's dream. Yet, he couldn't help but feel the imaginary sharp scent of danger. To be remade so quickly…

  His thoughts suddenly turned to Itadori Yuji. To a boy who had contained a king, whose very soul was a battlefield. Was his growth this disorienting? This violent?

  With a slow sigh, he sat up, the pallet rustling faintly beneath him. "This power…" he murmured into the thick silence of the shared bedchamber. "It's truly reshaping my understanding from the inside out." His own voice, a hushed blend of awe and trepidation. All of this, merely because he's the Bow Hero.

  Shaking off the spiraling thoughts, he rose. He moved with quiet steps, the ingrained stealth of a jujutsu sorcerer, each step a measured whisper on the stone floor, ensuring he did not disturb Ren's quiet breathing or the Shield Hero's rest. Motoyasu, he noted with a gnce at the sleeping Spear Hero, seems like the type who wouldn't wake up even if the world was ending. Slipping through the heavy door, he emerged into the corridor's cooler air.

  He intended to walk, to let motion quiet the storm of worry and conflicting feelings that had piled up within him. The castle had sunk into stillness, his footsteps echoing faintly as he wandered through vacant, moon-washed hallways and past silent armories. His aimless exploration led him finally through an arched gateway and into the castle gardens.

  Here, under a sky drowned in stars, the world opened up. The frantic energy of the day was leached away by the brilliant, crifying light of the full moon. It silvered the dewy grass, traced the elegant but dormant rose bushes, and cast long, deep shadows from a solitary oak trees. The overwhelming noise in his mind began to recede a little, repced by the chill, clean silence of the night

  A tension he hadn't fully acknowledged began to uncoil. With a slow, controlled exhale, he released his grip on his palm. A sphere of compressed blood—Convergence—flew from his palm, unraveling into a dark, sinuous ribbon that glistened in the moonlight. It was finally free after being held in check for hours. He spent several minutes in quiet practice with his birthright. He watched, his expression one of focus and a little contentment, as the blood obeyed his will. It glided through the still night air, levitating, twisting, and curling like a living serpent sustained by the flow of his cursed energy.

  Then, with careful, deliberate focus, he introduced a trickle of mana into the mix.

  The result was instantaneous. Where earlier in the day his attempts to reinforce his own body with mana had ended in frustrating dissipation—the foreign energy slipping through his body like mist—this was different. Here, with his cursed technique as the conduit, the mana responded. It did not csh with his native energy, rather, it merged with it, catalyzing each other, creating a reaction where the whole was exponentially greater than the sum of its parts. A dual aetheric engine, he realized, the analogy clicking into pce with thrilling crity.

  A synergistic hum vibrated up his arm, a resonance born from the union of two disparate powers. The dark ribbon of blood before him seemed to sharpen, its edges becoming more defined, its crimson hue deepening to a vitral shade under the moon. He could feel the difference: a surge in efficiency that made the energy expenditure feel effortless, a spike in raw power that thickened the air around the technique, and a hyper-precise level of control that made the blood feel like a natural extension of his nervous system.

  The blood in the air coalesced once more into a sphere, Convergence taking pce. The compression was strong. Stronger than any he had ever achieved in his entire life. An entire lifetime of effort, surpassed in a single night. To feel power beyond his previous imagination resting in his fingertips… he ached to use it.

  The king had prohibited it, of course. But that prohibition was for the presence of others. Here, now, he was utterly alone.

  He could use his technique. Right here right now.

  A mix of childish excitement and raw impatience surged within him. He needed to see the exact measure of this improvemen. The exact quantity the leap granted by merging mana with cursed energy. With a final, sharp inhation, he csped his hands together, aiming them toward the star-strewn sky. Convergence was already complete, the sphere sipping into his palms, arms vibrating with contained force.

  [Piercing Blood]

  The sound barrier shattered with a deafening crack as the attack unched, faster than sound itself. The projectile, a scar of crimson light, tore a line hundreds of meters into the sky before vanishing into the deep vault of night.

  As expected, the speed and power had increased tremendously. Piercing Blood theoretically had no upper limit; its velocity was a direct result of its compression. In theory. In practice, the physical limitations of the medium—the blood's own heat capacity, its structural integrity under such forces—had always imposed a harsh ceiling. Mach 2, perhaps 3, was the historic limit for the Kamo cn. A limit written in biology and physics.

  But now, with mana in the equation, everything had changed. Mana acted as another fuel for his cursed technique, but it was also a stabilizing agent, a reinforcing ttice that could hold the blood together at a molecur level. It allowed the fluid to withstand pressures and temperatures that should have vaporized it. The old ceiling, the one that had defined his cn's potential for centuries, now seemed like a pane of gss beneath his fist.

  Surpassing every single Kamo was no mere dream.

  Without his conscious control, he felt his face break into a wide, unrestrained grin. Perhaps if there were a mirror nearby, he thought with a distant part of his mind, I could see what kind of manic expression I'm wearing. A pure, electric ecstasy filled him at the sheer prospect of such attainable strength.

  It was snuffed out as quickly as it had fred.

  Pride in a jujutsu sorcerer was only virtuous when you could back it up. And Noritoshi didn't have the confidence—nor perhaps the right—to cim this power. If it were one of the others summoned, he thought, the names and faces of those who had stood against Sukuna fshing before him, they would achieve better results. They wouldn't waste this chance.

  The familiar, stern mantra embedded deep into his being by the elders of his cn, rose from the depths of his conditioning, cooling the fever in his blood.

  Kamo Noritoshi. Pnt humility in your heart.

  He took a slow, steadying breath, the night air cold in his lungs, and let the discipline of his name settle over him once more like a heavy, familiar cloak.

  Several minutes passed in silence as he calmed his breath and mind, focusing on the dual energy flowing within him—the familiar, sharp crackle of cursed energy and the smoother, cooler current of mana. The fusion, it seemed, could be applied not only to his technique but to basic reinforcement as well, though the increase in strength and durability was marginal. For now, it was more energy-efficient to rely solely on cursed energy for that purpose; the mana blend was a specialized tool, optimized for his innate technique.

  As he pondered this, a soft tap sounded on a broad leaf beside him. Then another. And another. More began to fall until a slow, macabre drizzle pattered against the stone path and foliage. The blood he had unched into the heavens was returning to earth, dyeing the moonlit garden in streaks and sptters of crimson.

  A deeper sense of strangeness settled over him as he watched the scene turn red. He could still feel it. Every falling droplet hummed with a faint, residual connection. By the logic of his old world, blood expended in a technique like Piercing Blood was spent fuel—its cursed energy utterly consumed, the medium rendered inert and useless. But this… this retained a thread of linkage, as if the mana woven into it had preserved its "avaibility," keeping it within his domain of control.

  With a quiet sigh of exasperated realization, his gaze shifted to the form of the Legendary Bow—currently in its transformed state as a pillow bow, its central gem glowing softly in the night.

  The crimson rain ceased. With the blood still linked to him, he began drawing it close again using Convergence, intending to clean the desecrated garden. But as the droplets lifted from leaves and stone, his focus sharpened. A strange feedback echoed through the connection—a subtle resistance, a warmth that was not the night air.

  Several droplets had not fallen on stone or foliage. They had nded on living, breathing forms trying to conceal their presence. A technique that had worked wonders, he had to admit; he would never have sensed them otherwise. But his blood was now a network of invisible threads, and he felt them pinly—silent figures holding their breath in the garden's deeper shadows.

  He did not startle. He did not look. He simply finished his task, the blood coalescing into a silent, swirling sphere beside him, leaving the garden cleansed of evidence.

  Only then did he turn, his voice cutting through the tranquil night with calm, unwavering authority.

  "All of you who are hiding," he said, his gaze sweeping the darkened hedges and archways. "You can come out now."

  Silence greeted him. But a moment ter, six figures in dark clothing, each wearing a mask, appeared kneeling before him. Ninja? Their attire certainly looked like it. He studied them carefully, his eyes moving over each from head to toe, and found he couldn't fix their characteristics—height, body type—in his mind. Must be magic, then. He channeled pure mana into his eyes, hoping for some insight. No luck. If that didn't work, then the mixed energy wouldn't either.

  "Who are you people?" Noritoshi asked, his voice level but edged with command.

  One of the masked figures shifted slightly. The voice that emerged was deliberately neutral, a smooth, androgynous monotone crafted to reveal nothing. "We are what the people of this kingdom call the Shadows, my lord."

  "Expin," Noritoshi ordered, his mana still prickling at his senses, testing the edges of the magic that clung to them.

  "We are in the direct and sole service of the Crown," the Shadow began, the expnation seeming to come from the entire group as much as the single speaker. "We have no individual names. Our uniforms are enchanted to obscure distinguishing features—height, build, even the sound of our breath. Gender is concealed; identity is irrelevant. We are a single instrument."

  The Shadow paused, as if allowing the concept to settle. "We are the unseen hand of sovereignty. Our duties are those that require absolute deniability: intelligence gathering, espionage, the protection of the royal bloodline from shadows, the delivery of messages that must never be intercepted, and, when decreed by the Crown, execution. We are not soldiers. We are a secret service, existing only to enact the monarch's will beyond the light of day."

  Noritoshi considered them for a long moment. "You're very forthcoming with that information. Can I even trust it?"

  "It is because we know that deceiving you would only result in a bad retionship in the future," the lead Shadow replied, the androgynous voice unwavering. "We can discern that even if not today, you would inevitably dismantle any lie we might have told."

  Then, all six figures spoke in perfect unison, a single, resonant voice emanating from behind the masks: "We stake our lives that we are telling the truth, my lord. You are free to ask the nobles, or even His Majesty the King, for confirmation."

  Silence stretched between them. Finally, Noritoshi said, "No need. I more or less understand your purpose now. But I have to ask."

  "Yes, my lord?"

  "Protection of the Legendary Heroes. Does that fall under your duty, too?"

  "Only to a certain extent, my lord."

  Noritoshi hummed thoughtfully at that answer. 'Only to a certain extent' means they wouldn't be assigned as their party members, then. So perhaps he could trust the party the king would provide him... to a certain extent.

  "Alright, dismissed. And no need to tail me again."

  The Shadows began to move.

  "That also means no hiring a third party to do it for you."

  They froze. There was a beat of palpable silence before they gave a single, synchronized nod. Then they moved again, melting back into the shadows of the hedges and archways from which they had come, until not a trace of their presence remained.

  Hopefully all that posturing and intimidation worked in my favor, Noritoshi thought, the stern mask he'd worn finally slipping into a weary expression. He truly hadn't been able to detect their presence at all, nor could he now. His only gambit had been to project an image of someone who could, someone untouchable and all-knowing. It was a desperate bluff. This world, he reflected as the cool night air settled around him once more, had just proved itself to be truly dangerous.

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  Noritoshi didn't return to his room. He was too tense to sleep and too wary to allow himself to fall unconscious. Instead, he spent the remaining hours of night in the garden.

  Wasting time? No. Wasting time would mean he wasn't spending it wisely and had nothing to show for it. This was practice. He sat in focused silence, maniputing blood to levitate in shimmering spheres around him. He cycled through forms—sometimes shaping it into the whirling Convergence, other times taking the form of Slicing Exorcism's chakrams. He spun them through the air, not with intent to strike, but to feel the flow of his mixed energy and understand its weight and resonance in this new world.

  It went better than he'd hoped.

  His focus bore fruit. Several Bow Forms unlocked in his mind's eye and he swapped them, equipping new bow each time a form was unlocked, and he even gained a new one. Though, the realization behind it was so painfully obvious he questioned why he hadn't attempted it from the beginning.

  Weapon Form Unlocked: Cursed Energy Amplification Bow (Legendary Rare)

  Equip Bonus: +20 ATK, +10% CE Capacity, Skill: [Cursed Energy Imbue]

  Ores Equipped: [0]

  Status: UNLOCKED

  This form was curious. The moment it unlocked, he felt the knowledge of its use settle into his instincts—he could manifest it immediately. Instantly, the weight of his cursed energy grew heavier, a dense, potent pressure swelling within his core. He could feel it—a vast, dark reservoir rapidly expanding and stretching the boundaries of his spirit. The sudden influx was simply an overwhelming torrent of power that left him breathless and gripping the grass beneath him for stability. Yet, when he checked his status with a trembling thought, no new energy bar had appeared.

  As for Cursed Energy Imbue... he had assumed it meant any arrow fired from this bow would automatically be infused with his cursed energy. His theory was soon put to the test.

  He focused, and an arrowhead of shimmering, blue energy coalesced upon the bow's string. It was coated in a familiar, crackling aura—the signature of his own cursed energy was unmistakable. Yet, when he checked his internal reserves, he found no drain. Not on his mana, not on his stamina, and, most perplexingly, not even on his freshly expanded pool of cursed energy. The bow had created the arrow at no apparent cost. The energy was undeniably his in signature and essence, yet it existed independently of his reservoir. It was simply a perfect replication. What a mystery.

  Soon, dawn arrived, and the garden was bathed in the bright, hopeful glow of a new sun. No matter the world, Noritoshi found, the rising sun held a universal promise. For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased as he watched the light spill over the hedges, bringing a quiet sense of peace.

  As the golden light grew, life returned to the castle. The quiet was broken by the distant sounds of opening doors and the soft, hurried footsteps of servants beginning their morning tasks.

  He stood from the dew-damp grass. With a thought, the lingering blood orbiting him converged into a single, dense sphere—faster and with more fluid control than st night—and he closed his fist around it, the crimson essence vanishing from sight. Just then, he sensed a presence approaching, followed by the crisp, measured sound of footsteps on the gravel path. It was the head maid.

  "Lord Bow Hero," she said, offering a practiced curtsy. "Breakfast has been prepared in the main dining hall. Would you prefer to proceed there first?"

  "No," Noritoshi replied, his voice calm but firm. "I will wake the others first. We will go together."

  "Understood, my lord. We shall await the Heroes's presence." With another slight bow, she withdrew, leaving him alone in the morning light.

  The door to their shared room was already ajar when he arrived. The scene inside was precisely as he'd expected.

  Naofumi was already sitting on the edge of his bed, bleary eyed running a hand through his messy hair with a deep, groggy yawn. Ren was already dressed, standing by the window with his arms crossed, gring at the cheerful sunrise as if it had personally offended him. "It's barely dawn," he muttered, his voice dripping with a cranky venom that made the air feel colder.

  "Morning," Noritoshi said evenly.

  "Too early," Ren grumbled, not looking away from the window.

  Naofumi just blinked slowly, still processing the concept of consciousness. Then, he responded, running both hands down his face with a groan that was more exhaustion than greeting. "Ungh. Morning."

  In the far corner, Motoyasu was a lump under his bnkets.

  "Motoyasu. Up. Now."

  A loud, rhythmic snore from below the bnket answered for him.

  "Up," Noritoshi announced more loudly, his voice cutting through the morning fog. He walked directly to Motoyasu's bed and nudged the bundled figure with his bow. "Now."

  "Eh? Wha—? The dies! Are they here to greet us?" Motoyasu's muffered voice was suddenly alert, though his mind was clearly elsewhere.

  "Breakfast is ready in the same hall as yesterday," Noritoshi stated, addressing all of them. He gave Motoyasu one more pointed look. "We'll go together once you're all presentable."

  They got ready with a surprising, if weary, efficiency. The walk to the dining hall was silent, but the air between them was lighter—less a suffocating tension and more a simple, shared quiet.

  Seeing the opportunity, Noritoshi cleared his throat. "Before we eat," he began, drawing their gnces. "There is something I should have done yesterday. I can offer you all a portion of my energy—cursed energy. If your weapons absorb it, it may help unlock new forms for you."

  He gave a slight bow of his head. "My apologies for the oversight."

  Naofumi shrugged, his expression pragmatic. "No harm done. Yesterday was… a lot. If it helps, I'll take it. Thanks."

  Ren gave a short, curt nod, his earlier crankiness softened by practical interest. "You have my gratitude."

  Motoyasu's face lit up with a warm, earnest smile. "You really shouldn't apologize. You're being very generous already. Thank you, truly. I gratefully accept your gift."

  With nods all around, Noritoshi extended his hand, a shimmering, blue aura coalescing around it. "Then let's be quick about it."

  "Ren, hold out your sword."

  Without a word, Ren complied, presenting his sword so the jewel in its hilt caught the light. Noritoshi pced two fingers just above it. A tendril of shimmering, indigo-blue energy, like concentrated midnight, spiraled from his fingertips and sank into the jewel. The sword gave a low, resonant hum as it absorbed the power, its surface gleaming briefly with a dark sheen before settling.

  "Now, Naofumi."

  The Shield Hero held out his left arm, the small shield attached to it. As Noritoshi repeated the process, Naofumi visibly shivered, a sharp inhale escaping him. "Gah—It's… chilling," he muttered, flexing his fingers as the st of the energy vanished into the shield's face. "A deep cold. Not unpleasant, just… stark."

  "It's quite normal to feel like that," Noritoshi said, moving on. "Motoyasu."

  "Ready!" Motoyasu procimed, thrusting his spear forward, its tip gleaming. The cursed energy flowed, and Motoyasu's cheerful expression shifted to one of thoughtful surprise. "Huh. It really is cold. The kind you feel in a deep cemetery or an old haunted house… a stillness that gets into your bones." He blinked, looking at the now-quiescent spear. "I thought it might feel a little warm. It looks like a cold blue fme, but the feeling is all winter."

  With the transfer complete, the three heroes stared at their weapons. A faint, dark shimmer lingered in the air as Noritoshi lowered his hand. Their weapons glowed briefly before the light faded into the material.

  "Well?" Noritoshi asked. "Can you feel it?"

  Naofumi frowned, turning his shield over. "I can… sense a new form. But it's locked. A tooltip says 'Minimum Level: 45'."

  Ren let out a sharp breath, his eyes fixed on his sword's status. "'Level 60 Requirement.' That's… quite a substantial requirement."

  Motoyasu groaned, sagging as he looked at his spear. "Level 55! That's practically a legendary-tier unlock! How are we supposed to wait that long?"

  A level requirement that high… but no such limit existed for me, Noritoshi noted. It must be because the cursed energy is native to me. My weapon recognizes it as a core part of its wielder, not an external unlock.

  "The restriction is one thing," Ren said slowly, his analytical tone now edged with clear disbelief as he read past the level gate. "But the listed attributes… this makes no sense. It cims effectiveness against targets fortified by Holy Magic."

  "Mine too!" Motoyasu chimed in, his compint momentarily forgotten. "It says 'Super-Effective vs. Cursed Entities'! Wait, that's amazing, but…"

  Naofumi's head snapped up, his eyes wide as he looked from Ren to Motoyasu. "Hold on. Mine says the same. 'Enhanced defense and damage effectiveness versus Holy-blessed and Curse-corrupted foes.'" He stared directly at Noritoshi, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's… not how elements work. Holy and Cursed are opposites. A weapon is strong against one, weak to the other. Having a form that's effective against both…"

  Ren finished the thought, his usual crankiness repced by pure, stunned scrutiny. "It's illogical. It viotes every established rule of weapon affinities I've seen. What is this energy?"

  "Hahahaha," Motoyasu grinned and let out a little ugh, the implication dawning on him st but with no less impact. "It's like a master key! Something that can break both divine protections and dark hexes!"

  "Noritoshi, what have you given us?"

  Motoyasu's grin widened, showing all his teeth. He strode forward and cpped a heavy, friendly hand on Noritoshi's back, the impact making him rock forward a step. "You really gave us something crazy, Noritoshi! A legendary cheat code!"

  Before Noritoshi could offer a stiff reply, Motoyasu had him in a loose headlock, ruffling his hair with a knuckle. "Come on, don't just stand there looking serious! This calls for a celebration!"

  "Motoyasu—release me," Noritoshi grunted, but the protest was half-hearted, a reluctant acceptance of the roughhousing. He extracted himself with a practiced, fluid twist, smoothing his hair down with a look of mild exasperation that cked any real heat.

  Naofumi watched the dispy, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "He's right, though. This is… beyond anything I expected. Thank you, Noritoshi. Seriously."

  "Indeed," Ren added, his arms crossed but his severe expression softened by a hint of approval. "A strategic asset of the highest order. Our survivability has just increased substantially. My thanks as well."

  "See? Even Mr. Gloomy agrees!" Motoyasu cheered, throwing an arm around Ren's shoulders, which Ren immediately shrugged off with a scowl.

  "Do not touch me without warning, you oaf."

  "Ah, but Ren! With power like this, we'll be unstoppable! The dies won't be able to resist us!" Motoyasu procimed, striking what he obviously thought to be heroic pose.

  Ren's eye twitched. "Your single-minded focus on courting female attention is an astoundingly obvious tactical weakness. This power should be focused on our mission, not your… social calendar."

  "Jealousy is an ugly color on you, Ren!"

  "It is not jealousy! Call it contempt for your ck of discipline."

  "Contempt, he says! You're just bitter because you brood in corners instead of sharing your heart!"

  Naofumi shook his head, his smile becoming more genuine as Ren's sharp, logical jabs gets parried by Motoyasu's buoyant increasingly shameless retorts.

  "And they're off," he muttered to Noritoshi.

  Noritoshi watched the exchange. They're unreliable and would put their pride before their lives on the line. He knew that and yet... this faint bickering and undeniable sense of a team forming—felt like the first real weapon he unlocked.

  "Let them be," Noritoshi said, the ghost of a smile on his own face.