“Let’s call it for today. I’ll dig into this as best I can. I’m really sorry for dragging you into it.”

Miyuki Kiseki bowed, a crane folding its wings. She ignored the black “smoke” of displeasure curling off Maya Hanazaka’s back, and offered Sham and Yunshi Bianqi a solemn apology.

After checking on Mizuki, she said it wasn’t a big problem. Only after Sham and Miyuki confirmed it again and again did the taut breath in their chests loosen. With a few final reminders, Yunshi and Maya, with no real chance to chime in, headed back alongside them.

Maybe that knot of guilt—the helplessness of failing a friend, the weight of being unable to help—shifted and became remorse for pulling Yunshi and Sham into the mess. That’s how we arrived at this scene.

“This isn’t on you directly. Why apologize for nothing?”

Yunshi’s voice was cool, a shaded stream under noon sun. Miyuki was good at everything, too good—kind to a fault. She was like a white lotus, untouched by mud. Yunshi didn’t want that blank white page drawn into the Underworld’s ink-splashed disputes; dip it once, and black would creep in sooner or later.

She didn’t want Miyuki to even know the Underworld existed. The world had another face; Miyuki didn’t need to walk it. No grand reason. Miyuki felt like her—at least, the purity before Yunshi first crossed that shadowed gate echoed the girl she’d been in a past life.

“Alright, alright, Kiseki, don’t blame yourself. I’m fine.”

Sham sounded gentle, a soft breeze after Yunshi’s cool air.

“Mm, thanks. I’m heading to the Student Council. See you.”

Miyuki bowed again; the tiredness on her face seeped through like dusk ink. Maya moved to speak, then swallowed it; maybe Miyuki needed a stretch of quiet alone.

Miyuki was an ordinary person. She didn’t burn with hot-blooded fire. She just wanted to guard her friends, but reality hit like cold rain and collapsed her paper shelter. Beyond the grit of anger and the sting of unwillingness, helplessness was the ache that throbbed.

For a girl whose heart held justice yet couldn’t even shield a friend, Yunshi felt only sympathy, a pale moonlight on water. Miyuki was like her in some ways, yes, but that particular pain—wanting to protect, yet being powerless—wasn’t one Yunshi had tasted deeply.

“Tch. I’m in a foul mood, so I won’t stoop to bicker with a sissy today. And Sham, be careful, okay?”

So you only hit me when you’re in a good mood? And what’s with that soft concern for Sham at the end—am I not human here? Yunshi screamed inside, deadpan face, fireworks in her head.

“She’s gone~”

Sham watched the space where the familiar figure had dissolved, regret leafing her voice.

“As expected, this won’t be simple, right?”

“Well~ who knows how it’ll unfold.”

“You’re really laid-back, Sham.”

They kept up idle chatter, tossing pebbles of words into a quiet pond. Inside, Yunshi kept threading possibilities, but the trail was thin fog.

“Hey, Xiao Yun.”

Sham slid into a lilting tone, sugar in tea. Yunshi’s shoulders prickled; cute voice or not… this sly fox talking like that felt wrong.

“What?”

A small step back, an instinctive ripple. She told herself it wasn’t fear—just her feet sore, needing a new stance. Definitely not fear, okay!

“Tonight…”

“Gulp…”

“Come to my place.”

“…”

Silence settled like fine dust, or maybe just plain awkward.

“Reason.”

“It’s been ages since I ate Xiao Yun’s cooking. I miss it~”

“Oh. Fine.”

Must’ve been my imagination, but Yunshi swore she heard a relieved sigh drift out.

“Then let’s buy ingredients. What do you want tonight?”

Sham’s place sat a short walk from Yunshi’s, just a single road between them. So at least ten times a month, Yunshi wound up at Sham’s home “mooching dinner.” No—more like “making dinner.” Sham ate like a bottomless pit; Yunshi despaired. Seven-tenths of every meal vanished into Sham’s stomach, a black hole with a smile. Yunshi’s appetite was a sparrow by comparison.

Sham once suggested living together. Yunshi refused on the spot; Sham ate too much—she couldn’t afford to keep her fed.

Then Sham pulled the three-act melodrama—crying, wailing, and over-the-top threats—and Yunshi’s head throbbed. In the end, Yunshi promised to make Sham a bento every day, and cook for her a few nights each month. Peace returned. But she underestimated a sly stomach’s persistence; that month, Yunshi lost count of how many times she rushed to Sham’s, feeding her, working herself ragged, one step from becoming a personal maid.

Annoyed or not, dinner still had to be made. She had no defense against Sham; the girl was her partner. People say the way to a girl’s heart is through her stomach. Yunshi had cooked this much and still hadn’t hit the mark. After Sham met the classmate named Mizuki, she finally behaved, quietly clinging to a new free meal ticket. Lately, she didn’t hound Yunshi as much. A little strange, but better than being chased. If someone else provided gourmet promises, Yunshi welcomed the peace.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t been to Sham’s place in a while—maybe a week. Before, she practically went every day.

“Xiao Yun, I want hotpot.”

“Rejected. Too time-consuming.”

“Twice-cooked pork.”

“Rejected.”

“Fried meat patties.”

“Mm, haven’t had those in ages.”

“I also want sushi and tonkatsu!”

“Baka. How much can you eat? It’s all meat with you!”

They chatted about food and life, heading toward the supermarket under late-afternoon light.

Sham ate like a bonfire and never gained weight. Why? Yunshi was curious, eyes wandering. Unnoticed by herself, she seemed to be evolving toward girlhood, petal by petal…

Japanese high school wasn’t like back in the Heavenly Kingdom; dismissal wasn’t too late. It was earlier, at least. So Yunshi had time to shop, unlike in her past life.

Sham kept sneaking hands toward extra “ingredients,” also known as snacks. Yunshi smacked her fingers a hundred times, each slap leaving Sham rubbing her reddened hand with teary eyes, a puppy whining at a closed gate.

By the time they finished shopping, the sky had steeped into dusk. They naturally walked the same way home. From the outside, a pretty foreign-looking girl glowed with happiness—at the feasts ahead—following behind a “younger boy.” The “boy” was slight, almost girlish, face smooth as a still lake. No scowl. No complaints, even as the girl laughed and giggled all the way. He simply let her be, and they drifted toward the same door.

Kindly adults wore the look of “Ah, youth,” mourning their own gone springs, or fretting when their kids would ever reach this stage.

But you’ve got it wrong. Forget Sham for a moment—Yunshi was just used to Sham’s “food mode.” She didn’t want to talk to that version. As for romance, sorry. They weren’t there yet.

“Home~ Xiao Yun, cook, cook~”

Sham lived in a small apartment, rent just a touch higher than Yunshi’s. Their buildings basically faced each other. Living together would be convenient, sure, but Yunshi’s lingering male consciousness balked. She flatly refused, leaving Sham very grumpy. (No free chef.)

The door clicked, and Sham pushed Yunshi straight toward the kitchen, not even letting her get her shoes off.

“Hey, don’t rush!”

“Move, move. I want a feast.”

When food entered the scene, Sham swapped her sly mask for cute mode, half-shoving the girl in front who was half a head shorter. Yes, shorter. Yunshi’s anger spiked like a thermometer.

“Oh, right.”

As if remembering something, Sham lifted both hands. Under Yunshi’s puzzled gaze, Sham’s fingers circled her face, then brushed the back of her head. Something slipped. The hair tie loosened. The coiled hair fell in a black cascade, spreading over her shoulder blades.

A river of glossy black hair—just like that, Yunshi stood as a cute girl, fully revealed. If before she drew a whisper—“Is that a boy or a girl?”—now it was a clear answer—“A cute meizi.”

“Sham, you—”

Her startled voice chimed out, no longer the carefully lowered, feminine-leaning tone, but a pure girl’s voice. This was Yunshi Bianqi’s true face, the real self under a trap’s shell.

“Ahem! Compressing my voice hurts. I really talked too much…”

It was uncomfortable, pressing her throat flat. She’d trained a fake voice, so day to day she could fool people. But keeping the pitch down hurt—especially for someone with a naturally good voice.

“Xiao Yun.”

Sham didn’t play around. She used a gentle tone she rarely gave Yunshi, a warm hand on snow.

“Baka. Don’t look at me like that.”

Yunshi snapped, trying for sharp edges. In her true voice, the words felt soft as marshmallows—no threat, only unexpected cuteness.

“Time to cook.”

She turned for the kitchen. Sham wrapped her from behind in one sudden hug, hand sliding up toward Yunshi’s collarbone. Yunshi jolted and pushed her away.

“Sham!”

“You don’t have to hide in front of me, Xiao Yun. Really, you don’t.”

“…”

Yunshi stopped resisting. She let Sham hold her from behind. Sham’s chin rested lightly on Yunshi’s small head, a touch full of ache.

“Sham…”

She found a thousand things crowding her chest—words, years, knots—and when she opened her mouth, nothing came. Only the girl’s name spilled like a drop.

“It’s pitiful, isn’t it? At this age, forced to play a boy, wrapping yourself in layers of lies…”

There was no retort. Even Yunshi, who often bit back at Sham without mercy, found her words falling like ash.

“You don’t need to act strong with me. I’m right here. I know the truest you—the one no one else sees. Isn’t that enough?”

Sham’s words moved like a spell, pulling gently. For some reason, Yunshi’s heart swelled with grievance she’d kept corked.

She wanted to cry, to flood the room and rinse out all that dull weight. She wanted… to be a real girl, just this once.

She couldn’t. A shard of male dignity held fast like a stubborn nail.

Does Yunshi not hurt? How could that be. She’s human—she cries, laughs, and wants to throw fits. She’s simply stored it all inside, a chest locked under quiet.

Before she donned a boy’s skin, she'd lived as a girl for many years, even as she lied to herself like mist veiling a mirror.

Yet when Yun Shi “returned” to a boy’s guise, she found she was already shaped by a girl’s life, so her old name felt like a shirt of thorns.

But what else could she do? Like a reed bent by river wind, Yun Shi could only accept.

When did she turn this soft, like wet paper in monsoon rain?

“It’s okay, Little Yun. Even if they don’t want you, you still have me. I’m your agent, your spare oar when the waves kick up.”

His comfort spilled out; Sham’s breath brushed her skin, warm as tea steam, and a sweet scent pricked her brain like spring plum wine.

Yun Shi swayed inside, though her face stayed still as stone.

“You...”

“........”

“You idiot...”

In the end, Yun Shi could only push out that flimsy word, like a leaf against storm.

She didn’t know what face to wear before Sham; a thousand thoughts collapsed into one sigh of complaint.

“Little Yun, don’t run from it.”

“I’m not...”

“Don’t run.”

“I said I’m not!”

Sham’s tender counsel didn’t lift her; it stoked a nest of fire in her chest like dry pine catching.

“You think I enjoy this, wearing a borrowed skin like iron chains? It’s all because of the Clan Head, you idiot, Sham!”

Yes—if not for the Clan Head, Yun Shi would never need to hide her name.

She could have faced everyone with her own face and paint, like a lantern lit openly at dusk.

But she couldn’t. To stay alive in the Underworld, she had to forge a false self, a paper mask hardened by rain. Simple, and cruel.