Qi San turned.
Slowly–deliberately–as if he wanted them to notice the movement.
His eyes settled on Kiaria first.
Then drifted.
One by one, he looked at each of them, as though weighing something unspoken. There was a hint of intention in his gaze–something forming behind his eyes–but the moment did not welcome words.
So he said nothing.
Instead, he began to walk.
Step by step, he moved backward into the paper courtyard. His body turned toward the scattered field of paper creations, yet his head remained angled toward them. He watched them even as he left them.
He was enjoying this.
Their faces.
The stillness.
The confusion that hadn't yet found language.
Every reaction lay exposed–raw, unguarded. It was as if the moment itself had stripped them of the instinct to hide.
Qi San saw it all.
"Hahaha…"
The sound began like breath slipping through teeth–barely there.
Then it grew.
