The living room was shrouded in heavy silence, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the ornate grandfather clock that stood sentinel in the corner.Rinko Schnee sat alone on the lavish, velvet-covered couch, his eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the grand hearth. But sleep refused to claim Rinko. His mind was restless, swirling with suspicions and thoughts he couldn't escape.'Selene...'Her name echoed in his mind like a haunting melody. It was a feeling he couldn't shake—a gut instinct telling him something was amiss, and she was at the center of it. The events of the night, the mysterious robot, and the increasingly strange behavior of those around him, all pointed back to her.'The robot...' Rinko thought bitterly, 'It was most likely a decoy. But why? The robot itself had no reason to poison Rinko or push Klein aside. It must have been controlled by someone.' His thoughts darted back to Selene. 'She was the one who led me to the room where we found the robot. It was her and Arthur's idea to show me the place. It couldn't be a coincidence.'Rinko's brow furrowed as he leaned back against the sofa, his sharp blue eyes narrowing in thought. 'It's most likely her or Arthur.. Or both... Either way, I need more proof.' He couldn't let suspicion drive him into rash actions. He needed answers—clear, undeniable proof. Until then, he had to stay patient, stay observant.Across the manor, a door creaked open.Willow Schnee opened her eyes, blinking against the pale glow of moonlight spilling through her bedroom's windows.Her head throbbed, a cruel reminder of yet another night spent drowning her sorrows in alcohol. She groaned softly, clutching her temples as she staggered out of the room.The hallway was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the manor's heaters.The moonlight reflected off the towering windows, casting silvery patterns on the polished floors. Willow's steps were slow and unsteady, her bare feet making soft sounds as she shuffled toward the kitchen.Her mouth was dry, and her stomach was queasy.She needed something—anything—to settle her body. Water, wine, and even the bitter tea the staff prepared for her hangovers would do.She slouched as she descended the grand staircase, the cool air biting at her skin.Rinko remained still, hearing the faint sound of his mother's footsteps echo through the quiet halls. His sharp blue eyes narrowed as he listened, his mind calculating.Willow didn't notice him, but Rinko's sharp gaze followed her as she moved through the manor, her figure illuminated by the faint moonlight spilling through the grand windows.She rarely left her room these days. Seeing her now, shuffling unsteadily toward the kitchen, further solidified what he already knew.She was a broken woman, a prisoner in her own home, drowning herself in alcohol to escape the world Jacques Schnee had built around her.It was a pitiful sight.Rinko sighed, shifting his gaze back to the flickering flames in the hearth. His thoughts returned to his mission.The murderer was still out there, hidden within the Schnee staff, and he needed to tread carefully.Rushing now would jeopardize everything. He was methodical, deliberate, and patient—qualities that set him apart from others.Yet, his focus faltered as faint sobs drifted through the silence.The sound was distant but unmistakable, pulling his attention back to his mother. His sharp ears picked up the soft, broken cries coming from the kitchen.Rinko raised an eyebrow. 'Is she crying..?'He could recall a passage from his journal—his mother had never hidden her resentment toward him. Not entirely. He bore too much resemblance to Jacques, and that alone had tainted her perception of him.Still, she was his mother, and he couldn't ignore her suffering.With a resigned sigh, Rinko stood and walked toward the kitchen.The sight that greeted him was disheartening. Willow was slumped on the cold tile floor, a nearly empty bottle of wine clutched in her trembling hands. The moonlight streaming through the kitchen window highlighted her disheveled hair and hollowed cheeks."Father..." she mumbled, her voice slurred and heavy with grief. "Why did you leave me? Why did my children leave me? They left me... to Jacques... that devil."She raised the bottle to her lips, but nothing came out. It was empty. She let it fall to the floor with a hollow clink, her body sagging as she hiccuped softly."Arghh... Hic..."Rinko leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the back of his head in frustration. "Oh, Mother... you don't look okay." His voice was soft but carried a hint of exasperation.Willow's head snapped up, her glassy eyes locking onto her son's figure.For a moment, there was confusion in her gaze—uncertainty about whether he was real or just another cruel figment of her imagination."Rinko..." she murmured, her voice cracking.He stepped closer, his footsteps echoing in the quiet kitchen. "You shouldn't drink yourself into oblivion like this. It's not going to help."Willow let out a bitter laugh, one that sent shivers down his spine. "What do you know about what helps?" she shot back, though there was no venom in her tone, only despair. "You're just like him... you even look like him..."Rinko stiffened but didn't let her words get to him. "I'm nothing like Jacques," he said firmly, crouching beside her.She didn't respond, instead burying her face in her hands as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "I just wanted to be free... to have a family, a real family," she whispered. "But all I have are ghosts. Your father... Winter... even Weiss. They've all left me."Rinko's jaw tightened. 'A real family?' He could have argued with her—pointed out that she still had him, still had Whitley, Weiss and how everything has changed, and his father isn't what he used to—but he knew it would fall on deaf ears."You're not alone," he said after a long silence, his voice quieter now. "It might feel that way, but you're not."Willow sniffled, lifting her head just enough to look at him through red-rimmed eyes. "Why are you even here?" she asked, her tone wavering between curiosity and bitterness."To find answers," Rinko replied simply, standing and offering her his hand. "And maybe to remind you that you still have something left worth holding on to."For a moment, Willow stared at his outstretched hand as though it were a foreign object, something alien to her world of isolation and despair.Then, with a slight, hesitant movement, she reached out—but the fleeting vulnerability shattered as she slapped his hand away. The sound of her rejection echoed in the quiet kitchen."It's too late for that, Rinko..." she muttered, her words dripping with a bitterness that seemed to cut even deeper than her slouched frame suggested.She didn't meet his gaze, her eyes instead focused on some distant, invisible point, lost in her own pain. "Although you are my son... I've always disliked you."Her words hit Rinko like a blade, sharp and unexpected.Though he wasn't Rinko, hearing them made his heart feel as if it had cracked.If the real Rinko had been here, Kakashi was certain the boy's heart would have hardened into something unrecognizable.Rinko's fist clenched at his side, nails biting into his palm as he suppressed the surge of emotion threatening to rise.His jaw tightened, but his voice came out steady, though laced with quiet determination."No, Mother," he said firmly, the faintest tremor betraying his resolve. "It's never too late."Willow let out a bitter laugh, hollow and joyless."No. Why are you really here, Rinko?" Her voice rose, trembling with both anger and intoxication. "Why are you back, huh? You've never given a damn about how I feel—not in years! You ignored me, always trailing after Jacques, always playing the perfect little heir. And now you crawl back to me? What, to play the good son? To act like the past never happened?"Her voice cracked, raw with years of suppressed anguish. "You left me to rot in this place, Rinko! You and your father both. That pain... the pain of my own son ghosting me, abandoning me..." Her voice wavered, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "It hurts me to my very core, and I will never forget that."She pointed a trembling finger at him, her breathing uneven. "Just go back to Vale, or wherever it is you came from. I don't want to see you anymore." Her voice faltered, dropping into a whisper, almost as if she were pleading."You're not even the real Rinko... He's in Vale right now, isn't he? You're just... just a figment of my imagination, something my mind conjured up to torment me." Her voice cracked, her words laced with despair. "Please... just go."Rinko froze. Her words sank into his mind like heavy stones, each one pulling him deeper into the ocean of her anguish. For a moment, he struggled to find his voice, his jaw tightening as he tried to push past the lump forming in his throat."But—""I SAID LEAVE!" Willow screamed, her voice raw and trembling as she grabbed the empty wine bottle beside her. Without hesitation, she hurled it at him, the bottle spinning through the air with reckless force.The glass shattered against Rinko's head with a sharp, sickening sound.Rinko staggered back, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his skull. Blood trickled down the side of his face, but he didn't raise a hand to stop it. He could have dodged it with ease—his reflexes were more than capable of that—but he didn't. He let it hit him.Because she needed to see.Willow's eyes widened in horror, the fog of her drunken haze momentarily lifting.She expected the bottle to pass through him, as all her imagined tormentors had before. But this time, it didn't. The sight of the crimson streak on his pale hair, the glass shards scattered at his feet—it was real."You..." Her voice was a whisper, trembling with disbelief. "You're... really here."Rinko steadied himself, his expression calm despite the pain. He stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between them, his movements deliberate and non-threatening."Yes, mother," he said softly, his voice firm but gentle. "I'm really here. I'm not a ghost or a figment of your imagination. I'm here to protect you. To help you."Willow's breath hitched, her body trembling as she stared at him. The anger and bitterness in her eyes wavered, replaced by something raw and fragile—an emotion she had buried under years of pain and alcohol."But why..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "Why now? After everything... why would you care now?"Rinko knelt beside her, ignoring the blood still dripping from his head. He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder, his touch firm but not forceful."Because no matter what's happened between us, you're still my mother," he said, his voice steady. "And it's never too late to make things right."For a moment, silence filled the room. Willow stared at him, her tears spilling over as she crumbled under the weight of her emotions. She closed her eyes, letting the tears flow freely, as though surrendering to the vulnerability she had so long suppressed. Rinko watched her, his heart heavy yet resolute.For the first time in years, he saw not the broken woman his mother had become, but a glimmer of the strength she once possessed—the strength he intended to help her reclaim. "Rinko... I—" Willow began, her voice trembling. But when she opened her eyes, her words faltered.Behind Rinko, a figure stood—cloaked in black from head to toe, their face obscured by a mask. A glint of steel in their hand caught the dim moonlight. "Rinko—watch out!" Willow screamed, panic flooding her voice, Rinko's eyes widened.It was too late. The knife plunged into Rinko's back with brutal force. "Rghh!" He groaned, staggering forward. The assassin had waited for the perfect moment, striking when Rinko Schnee's guard was down. "RINKO!" Willow's cry echoed through the room, raw and desperate. The killer yanked the knife free, blood dripping from the blade, but before they could strike again, Rinko spun around and activated his aura, his movements fueled by adrenaline.With a surge of determination, he tackled the attacker to the ground. The two struggled violently on the floor, but the wound on Rinko's back seared with pain, slowing him down. The assassin took advantage, landing a solid kick to Rinko's chest, sending him sprawling backward. Rinko hit the floor hard, wincing as he tried to push himself up, but his body betrayed him. The assassin stood, their movements fluid and deliberate as they prepared to finish the job. But then, a guttural growl filled the room. "DON'T TOUCH MY SON!" Willow screamed, her voice filled with a fury Rinko hadn't heard in years. Glyphs formed around her, and with a burst of power, she summoned a Beowolf. The Grimm materialized with a snarl, its blue eyes locking onto the intruder. The assassin froze for a moment, their confidence wavering, before making a dash for the open window. The attacker jumped out."Coward!" Willow spat, taking an unsteady step forward, her rage burning through the fog of her drunken state. But as she moved, the alcohol and adrenaline caught up with her, she faltered, stumbling to her knees and her summon crumbled."Rghh..." She groaned, clutching her head as dizziness overtook her. Her thoughts snapped back to Rinko. "Rinko!" she gasped, turning toward him. Rinko lay on the floor, his breathing labored, a crimson stain spreading across his back. Willow crawled to him, her trembling hands reaching out. "Rinko, stay with me! Please!" Rinko's vision blurred as he looked up at her, his mind reeling. He hadn't expected the attack, and the pain was relentless.The killer had chosen their moment well. And so, Rinko fell unconscious.[End]