Chapter 2

Kusho opened the box. But this time, he touched the card.

Kusho didn't flinch when the space around him bent.

Reality didn't break. It folded.

A voice emerged.

"Are you the one who seeks the Circle?"

The room was gone. He stood in a dome of night, a garden lit by silver moonlight, thornbushes blooming unnaturally, glowing like veins of starlight. At the center: a round table of stone, surrounded by fifteen empty seats.

In front of the table stood a figure, cloaked in petal-black. Its face shimmered between masks, each shifting like it hadn't decided what it wanted to be.

"You found the Box of Thorns," the figure said. "But to open it is to play. And to play is to wager your soul."

Kusho took a step forward. "What's the game?"

The figure bowed slightly.

"We each draw three cards from the deck of fifteen. Each card has a Flower and a Power assigned to it. One of your cards must beat mine. If not, you lose the round."

"What kind of power?"

"They are not traditional powers. You should think symbolically: Loyalty, Pain, Perception, Memory. They react depending on the order, the intent, and the bluff behind the placement."

"So it's not just logic."

"No. It is intuition, reading, deception, and courage. A mind game."

Kusho nodded.

"Win, and you become the Founder. The first. The one who chooses the Circle. Lose... and your mind becomes the property of the garden."

Kusho said nothing. He sat across the table. The cards arranged themselves in front of him.

For round 1, Kusho drew three: Camellia, Foxglove, and Nightshade.

The masked figure drew its own silently.

"Declare your play," it said.

Kusho chose Nightshade.

The masked figure chose Iris.

Nightshade countered perception. The theme: Consequence over Illusion.

Result: Kusho wins.

Round 2

Cards drawn. Kusho held Aster, Violet, and Poppy.

The figure played Rose.

Kusho gambled with Violet.

Rose normally beat Violet, beauty over modesty. But Kusho intentionally baited, knowing the figure was playing aggressively.

His bluff was in the discard: he acted as if Aster was his key. The figure fell for it.

Outcome reversed. Kusho's Violet stood.

Each round became like a dance. Not just what to play, but why, and how. Kusho tracked patterns. He noticed the figure repeated Camellia after playing defensive cards. It hesitated before using Thistle. It disliked Dandelion.

Round 5

Both used Camellia. Tie.

Ties meant sudden death, a guessing round. One card face down. One bluff. One truth.

Kusho bluffed a low-value card. The figure overplayed. Kusho's card turned out to be Foxglove, lethal to overconfidence.

As the chairs began to glow, the Garden responded. The table pulsed after each victory. The thorns receded. The stars in the sky adjusted.

Round 9

Kusho noticed something: the cards were starting to respond to him. Not randomly. His choices influenced the draw. Was it sympathy? Or something deeper?

He tested it, thought of Snowdrop.

It appeared next round.

He played it second. It disrupted the figure's Rose.

By round 13, they weren't playing cards.

They were reading each other's thoughts.

It wasn't about what you played. It was what you wanted the other to think you feared.

Kusho used Poppy, dreamlike, to mask his final hand: Nightshade, again.

The masked figure said nothing for a long time.

"You shouldn't have known that. That trap was flawless."

Kusho shrugged. "It was."

"But you didn't care if you lost?"

"No," Kusho said. "I cared if you believed I would."

The final round.

Round 15.

Both played in silence. Cards were placed down.

Kusho laid down Snowdrop, Carnation, and Foxglove.

The figure hesitated.

Placed Rose, Lily of the Valley, and Thistle.

It chose Rose.

Kusho chose Foxglove — deceptively meek.

But Foxglove's hidden rule is that it mirrors the emotion of its opponent's play.

Rose is pride. Foxglove turned it against the figure.

The table glowed.

The Garden bowed.

"You are the Founder."

The silver ring descended into Kusho's hand.

He was now back in his room.

The cards were back in their box. A scroll appeared next to the box.

He opened it.

The Circle of Thorns.

15 seats.Each soul bonded to a flower.Members are chosen only by the Founder.Loyalty is absolute.Members know each other by real names and identities.Betrayal causes the loss of all power and life of the traitor.To access the garden, use the ring and say: "The Garden blooms."Members cannot be replaced unless they die.Members share knowledge, dangers, and secrets.Member must help each other in their respective goal.At a member's death, each members are notified of their death.Each member can call a meeting if they light the Silver Candle.

Each seat is named after each card: Nightshade, Lily of the Valley, Iris, Camellia, Aster, Foxglove, Carnation, Peony, Violet, Rose, Dandelion, Poppy, Thistle, Chrysanthemum, and Snowdrop.

He read it all. Then tucked the scroll and the box beneath the bookshelf as Étienne called him for dinner.

"Smells nice," Kusho said, stepping into the kitchen.

Étienne looked up, surprised. "You actually spoke before I asked?"

Kusho shrugged as he watched Étienne serve the food.

"So?" Étienne said.

"New school," Kusho replied. "New faces."

Étienne raised an eyebrow. "You didn't get expelled?"

"No."

"Any fights?"

"No."

Étienne smirked. "You make it sound like a funeral."

"There were people. Some of them knew me. One didn't like that."

Étienne nodded. "Teen politics. I remember."

Kusho chewed slowly.

Étienne watched him for a moment, then said, "You seem quiet tonight. Not the normal quiet. The thinking kind."

Kusho didn't answer immediately.

"I guess," he said at last, "I'm just… adjusting."

Étienne leaned back. "You don't have to explain anything, you know. You're allowed to think weird things. Or nothing at all. You don't owe the world clarity."

Kusho's jaw shifted slightly. He looked down at his bowl.

"…That's not how most people think."

"I'm not most people," Étienne replied. "And neither are you."

They ate for a while without talking. But it wasn't awkward. Just quiet.

Kusho looked at Étienne once. The man still wore his wedding ring. Still kept a photograph of his wife and daughter above the sink. Still whispered sometimes, when he thought no one heard.

Kusho didn't say anything. But he noticed.

He didn't mention the box. And that was the unspoken part of their relation, Étienne didn't ask too much. Kusho didn't give too little.

They existed in quiet agreement.

It was enough.

At least, for now.