Noir kept his gaze trained on her face, carefully observing the minute shift of her expression.

As he watched a grim look replacing the warm smile on her face, a myriad of emotions washed over him, too complex for him to understand.

Until the end, all that remained was relief— great, overwhelming relief as if he had accomplished a daunting task or discarded the heavy burden on his shoulders. He was relieved that he had decided to inform her, because he knew that she was the one person who would believe him. She wouldn't take his words as mere nonsense.

"It's not too late yet," he stressed, his expression somber. "The black mist around you is still faint, Director, so I think nothing will happen to you anytime soon. But it doesn't hurt to be more careful from now on…"

His words petered off into silence as she gently shook her head. Rising to her feet, she approached him, and the ever warm smile returned to her face.

"It's okay," she said.

Noir was rendered speechless at that. What's 'okay'? What did she mean by that?

"Old age, sickness and death— these are all the natural cycles of life. Everyone will go through them at some point of time. So if the day comes when I must go, then I will go. Rather than worrying about the future, isn't it better to just enjoy the present?"

Since his recent growth spurt, Noir's height had shot up like a bamboo shoot, making him so tall and lanky that the director had to raise her heels a bit to reach the top of his head. But she did it anyway, ruffling his brown curls like she always did when he was still a child.

Crow's feet gathered on the corner of her eyes when she smiled. And her hair… when did her hair start to turn gray?

Noir continued to stare at her as she continued, her tone as serene and gentle as ever, "That's why… there's no need to be afraid. But still, thank you so much for telling me, Noir. It must have been hard on you, huh?"

No, what are you saying? How could it be hard on me? Isn't it supposed to be you? After all, you're the one who will die…

But the words simply lingered on the tip of Noir's tongue, unspoken. For he was struck with a new, haunting realization.

"You knew."

It was meant to be a question, yet his tone made it sound more like a statement.

And the faint shimmer in her eyes dispelled the last vestiges of doubt left within him. The director knew— even without Noir telling her, she had already known that her time in this world was limited. The realization crashed into Noir like a ton of bricks, leaving his mind spinning.

Since when?

Since when did she find out? Was it recently or… had it been much earlier?

And yet, she still told him not to be afraid, that everything was but the natural cycles of life. Even when she knew that her death was approaching, she still took it as a priority to comfort him first and foremost. Facing this kind of her, Noir instinctively knew that all words of persuasion would be useless, and he could never change the fate that had been set in stone.

Even so…

A bitter taste lingered in Noir's mouth.

Why, exactly, was he given this ability? If he was supposed to do nothing but watch, if he was supposed to accept death as something natural, why made him see the aura of death around her? Why give him the false hope that he could, in the smallest chance of events, turn everything around and save her?

The air in the office suddenly felt stifling, as though the faint black mist he had seen on her body was now coiling inside his chest.

Perhaps… he found himself thinking. Perhaps this is really a curse to torment me, after all.

***

Time continued to pass like grains of fine sand slipping through open fingers, heedless of one's desperate attempt to hold on to it.

Although the director behaved like she usually did, Noir, as the person in the know, could see it clearly— the traces of exhaustion in her eyes she could barely conceal, the haggardness hidden beneath her smiles, the drastic weight loss, the marks of illness.

It eventually got to the point where other staff members and frequent volunteers noticed it as well, but the director always dismissed their concern with a carefree laugh, "I'm not young anymore, so of course, I won't seem as energetic as you youngsters. Don't worry, just a couple of pills and a good rest will do the trick."

At first, everyone had bought her excuse easily, but as days turned to weeks and months and the director's health never recovered, even the most slow-witted started to sense that something was wrong.

But alas, it was already too late by then.

The busy daily routine, her tireless dedication to the job, and her refusal to seek proper treatment ultimately led to her collapse.

And throughout it all, Noir simply watched. He watched and did nothing.

Like she told him to.

***

The next director-to-be, chosen by the director herself, rushed out of the hospital room while bawling her eyes out.

Seated on the bench, Noir watched her retreating back and sighed, knowing that the talk had most likely ended without conclusion.

He waited for a while before entering the room, and was immediately greeted by the director's cheerful voice, "Oh, Noir, you're here! How is school today? Have you had dinner?"

Noir answered her queries one by one as he methodically changed the water in the vase, closed the curtains, and fluffed up the pillow on her back. The director's eyes followed his busy figure, though Noir had no way of knowing what kind of expression she made.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, "You saw it, didn't you?"

"Mn," Noir replied casually before taking a seat by her bedside. He grabbed an apple and a knife from the fruit basket and began peeling the skin with practiced ease, leaving a long trail of clean, curling ribbon.

The director had no idea whether to laugh or cry at his nonchalant demeanor. Accepting the peeled apple, she held it in her wrinkled hands before lamenting with a mix of fondness and bitterness, "Goodness, that girl is just too softhearted. I've just said a few things and there she went crying her hearts out. How could I leave with a peace of mind if she keeps making me worry?"

"Give her a little more time," he replied. "She will come around soon."

The director heaved another sigh. "Why can't she be more like you? You're so easy to raise, and even after you grow up, you rarely make me worried…"

Knowing that the director simply wanted to chatter and pour her heart out, Noir quietly sat on the side like a silent listener, only moving to pull the blanket higher for her.

"Aiyah, look at me running my mouth off." Shaking her head in amusement, she reached out a free hand toward Noir. "Come here and let me have a good look at you. Hmm, it feels like just yesterday you came to our orphanage, and in a blink of an eye, you're already a high school student! Really, how time flies…" she muttered, more to herself.

Noir held her thin and wrinkled hand in his own, his gaze silently lowered. Allowing her to study his face and gush about how handsome he was and how he was going to be a heartbreaker in the future.

I want to look at you too, was what he wanted to say. I want to have another look at you, to remember what you look like, but Director…

I can no longer see your face.

Right now, in front of Noir was not a human figure but a dark ball of mist with the director's voice.

The more her condition deteriorated, the thicker the aura of death around her became, so much that it fully shrouded her whole body. The sight made Noir feel a little sick. At this rate, he feared that he would start forgetting what she looked like.

When she unknowingly drifted off to sleep in the midst of the conversation, Noir remained still for a moment before slowly rising to his feet. He stretched out a hand toward where he believed her face was, trying to dispel the black mist to no avail.

It was no use.

Even though he could see it, there was nothing he could do to change this tragedy.

Absolutely nothing.