“Sham, can you tell me who you are—or what you are to the people trying to kill me?” Her voice trembled like a wind-chime in storm air.

After a breathless escape, Sham had dragged Mizuki into the music club room, where they chose to rest, saving strength like embers under ash.

Instruments stood in tidy rows like silent soldiers; porcelain teacups gleamed on the table like pale moons. Yet the space for composing felt heavy, a drum of lead.

Maybe now wasn’t the moment for truth; they were hunted, two deer under a cold moon. They should plan a way out, thread a path through thorns.

Without a method, walking out unharmed was a mirage on a desert horizon. Methods are made by hands and minds, like bridges grown plank by plank.

But Mizuki burned with questions, a moth circling a dark lamp. She wanted the beginning, the middle, the end—root and branch laid bare.

Why was she hunted? Why did her friend Sham burst from shadow to save her? Who was Sham beneath that calm surface?

There were too many questions, a tide that beat against her ribs. Miyuki Kiseki’s unease was natural, a sparrow startled into flight.

One moment you live in sunlight, the next knives are in the alley. Then a familiar face dives in, pulls you from the whirlpool’s mouth.

The first shock faded, and doubt rose like fog over a river. No matter what, questions were the heart’s loudest drum.

Miyuki Kiseki was truly uneasy; though saved, panic clung like wet cloth. Fear was natural, a winter current under the skin.

She wasn’t some flawless heroine. Holding onto reason in disaster was already a lantern in rain. Others might grab collars and beg, “Save me.”

Mizuki wouldn’t. She trusted Sham to give her a clear answer, like a lighthouse through mist. She would listen with both ears open.

What else could she do? Frenzy, regret, blind panic were wind against stone. Better to quiet the waters and plan the next step.

“Kiseki…” Sham hesitated, shadows crossing her eyes like clouds over a cold sun. Guilt pinched her voice to a thin thread.

“I know this sounds impossible,” Mizuki said, her breath a shaky reed, “but I trust you, Sham. We’re friends, right?”

“Mm? Mm…” Sham answered, like a small nod falling into snow.

“So please… tell me. What is this, really? What world am I living in?” The plea softened her tone, her head bowing like a leaf.

Sham looked at the girl, complicated feelings drifting like smoke. She’d never wanted Mizuki pulled into the Underworld, into the other side.

Mizuki was a friend, warm as early sun, kind as spring rain. That brightness didn’t fit the dark, a garden not meant for frost.

But today, Miyuki Kiseki had been dragged in, forced to watch shadows bare their fangs. If Sham hadn’t sensed a ripple sliding toward an empty strip of space, fate would have drawn a line in ash.

Perhaps Mizuki would have died here, a flower cut at dawn. Sham’s guilt bit deep; how could she drag a friend into her world?

That smiling girl didn’t belong to night. Sham’s heart ached like bruised fruit. How could she return a sky-blue world to Mizuki?

She didn’t know. Confusion stood like a crossroads without signs. But facts were stones already set. Maybe honesty was the cleanest blade.

“Alright. I’ll tell you everything, Kiseki.” The decision settled like a rock in a stream.

After a long breath, Sham answered at last. She chose a clearing of floor and sat, the hardwood cool as river ice.

She patted the ground, inviting Mizuki to sit beside her. Mizuki slid down, awkward as a cat on a ledge, shoulders brushing Sham’s.

“You can still back out,” Sham said, voice a low bell in a cave. “Are you sure you want to learn our truth?”

Her gravity was a winter draft that made the bones shiver. It felt like a door to hell cracking, the air thin and iron-cold.

“Mm.” Mizuki nodded, surprising even herself; the chill around Sham felt like mountain air, harsh yet clean.

“Listen,” Sham said, each word a flint spark. “We’re a kind of existence unknown to most—people born to the dark half of the world.”

“The place you live in, we call the Outer World, the bright world. We are the dark—people of the Underworld, the hidden side.”

Sham was surprised that Mizuki didn’t flinch, yet she explained patiently, slow as rain on dry soil.

“Uh, what is… that?” Mizuki asked, confusion fluttering like a moth.

“Think of us as the ones living in the shadowed margin. Ordinary people don’t know us. Like Spider-Man—no one knows his true face.”

“Mm.” She nodded again, a small pebble dropping.

“No one really imagines the ‘Avengers’ have regular names and lives either, right?” Sham’s tone drew a thin line of humor.

“That… makes sense, I guess.” Mizuki’s voice moved like cautious feet.

“Another one. Vampires hiding in the corners of the world—people don’t know they exist.”

“Well, vampires don’t exist…” Mizuki muttered, a leaf skeptical in wind.

“Anyway, our place isn’t the world you know. In the dark, dangers grow like thornbushes. I’m a Witch agent of the Magic Institution—Sham Einafel.”

“That’s my identity in the Underworld. The ones who attacked you were likely members of one of the Seven Clan Heads.”

“As for why they targeted you… I think you were accidentally dragged into their war. You saw something you shouldn’t have, so they moved to silence you.”

Her face was grave, a moon hidden by thunderheads. The weight of her words left no room for doubt. Mizuki sucked in a cold breath.

“Thinking back… a few days ago I did see something.” Her voice shook like reeds in night wind, but she told the truth.

“That could be the reason,” Sham murmured, the thought a whetstone. “The Seven Clan Heads act differently; nothing they do would surprise me.”

“But by the rules, people of the Underworld shouldn’t open a sealed space so brazenly. That’s a beacon in fog, pulling eyes.”

“Underworld directives are clear—we can’t expose our existence lightly.” Sham frowned, thought tightening like knots.

It was too strange, a puzzle missing its corner. Why abandon caution, inviting attention like flares? Unless…

“Wait—could it be…” Her words halted like a foot at a cliff.

“What is it, Sham?” Mizuki asked, worry beating like sparrow wings.

“Kiseki, do you carry anything special? I suspect it holds Mystic Power.” Sham’s gaze sharpened like steel to a point.

“Mystic Power? You mean…” Mizuki began, confusion rising, but Sham’s eyes had fixed on the necklace at her throat.

Sham stared, and her expression froze like frost on glass. “No way. That’s a Soul Gem…” she whispered, breath a thin ghost.

“Then it makes sense. Those people were after the Soul Gem—kill the witness, take the treasure. Now the recent events line up.”

Yes. Their goal was the Soul Gem. After the Magic Institution secured the first Magical Stone, resentment simmered like embers.

Now a second Magical Stone had appeared. They’d move mountains to get it, petitions and knives both, rain and fire.

“What… is going on?” Mizuki asked, baffled, like a compass spun by lightning. She could only look to Sham for a path.

Sham lifted her head and met Mizuki’s eyes, her seriousness a blade laid flat. “Kiseki, answer me honestly. Where did you get that necklace?”

“This? I bought it in a small shop,” Mizuki said, words steady as beads. “The shopkeeper muttered something about fate… then sold it cheap.”

She didn’t dodge. She answered plainly, like clear water poured.

“That’s it?” Surprise pinned Sham in place, a statue in midnight.

“Mm. That’s how I remember it. But it was a month ago,” Mizuki added, the past a blur of dust motes.

Someone must have planted the Soul Gem with Miyuki Kiseki. Whoever dared that had to be from “there,” the shadowed hallways of power.

They handed a precious Magical Stone to a high-school girl. No simple reason; threads ran deep. Mizuki might be the second bearer.

The attackers likely didn’t know. They thought she’d stumbled onto a trinket in the grass, so they chose murder first, theft second.

“Kiseki, I’m about to say something hard. Brace yourself.” Sham’s mind spun, then stilled like a coin on a table.

It was easy to reach the conclusion; the hurt was the cost. The truth could bruise a kind heart, yet hiding it was rot under floorboards.

She took a deep breath, evening her pulse like waves settling. “They attacked you for the necklace, Kiseki.”

“The necklace?” Mizuki echoed, as if the word weighed ten stones.

“Yes. It’s no ordinary accessory. It hides a Mystic Power reaction. I just confirmed it,” Sham said, voice a clean cut.

“It’s a rare treasure forged by the Magic Institution’s power and the Clan Head’s lifeblood—one of the few Soul Gems.”

“If it were a common Magical Stone, few would risk this. A Soul Gem is different—its power is unmeasurable, a storm in a bottle.”

“Everyone in the Underworld wants it. By coincidence, you got one. The Clan Head sensed it. So they searched your world again and again.”

“They dug into your school like foxes into snow, sniffing for the warm core. All for this.” Her tone was heavy, the weight like iron rings.

“Wait—if that’s true… then the attacks at school were…” Mizuki’s words faltered, thoughts slipping like feet on ice.

Because of me.

Her mind splintered into chaos, a hive kicked open. It had to be a joke—the problem she wanted to solve was born from her hands.

Fear blazed up, a prairie fire. Realizing she was the cause made her bones ring. She feared betraying friends, hurting innocents, being blamed.

“This isn’t your fault.” Sham’s gaze softened, warm as a shawl. Mizuki hugged herself, shaking like a leaf, panic paling her face.

“You never meant to hurt anyone. You kept trying, wanting to help more. I saw it all,” Sham said, words like steady rain on dust.

“Kiseki, blaming yourself for what wasn’t yours to carry is a thorn turned inward. If you want this to end, wait for the end.”

“I promise you. I’ll return you to a normal life,” she said, vow firm as a nail driven true.

“And… I’m sorry, Kiseki, for dragging you into the Underworld’s war,” Sham added, remorse a shadow across her cheek.

“After this, you’ll go back to your life. Treat it like a dream that burned bright and faded. Let it go.”

Forget it?

How do I forget? How do I sand away a memory carved into bone? Can I drown the first terror of my life like a stone in dark water...

“Are you going to erase my memories?”

Mizuki spoke in a daze, reluctance clinging like damp mist. The memory wasn’t worth keeping, yet it held a story with Sham; tearing it out felt like ripping a page loose in the wind.

“Sorry, I don’t have a trick that handy. If we ask someone who does, it might work~”

Sham didn’t answer with stern certainty. She smiled like sunlight through leaves, voice easy and warm, and it made Mizuki stare at her eyes in surprise.

“So, Kiseki, please don’t tell anyone we exist, okay? Just pretend none of this ever happened.”

Her expression shifted; her plea came hollow, like a bell in an empty hall. She must have her reasons. Maybe the place she lives is harsher than ours. She suffered enough, and it wasn’t her fault, was it? What right did we have to cast stones...

“Okay.”

“Thanks.”

No extra words. Between friends, a small nod is a lantern in the night.

Mizuki didn’t blame anyone, didn’t complain; calm settled over her like snow on quiet pines. What’s the use of pointing fingers? What’s gone won’t return. Better to cool the heart and accept the truth—it’s gentler on her, kinder to herself.

“Um, Sham, what do we do now?”

She hadn’t forgotten the hunt hounding them like wolves at dusk; this place wouldn’t shelter them long. Sham’s strength was keen, but they couldn’t lean on her alone; the last fight had drawn blood, and if this pace held, nothing would turn.

Damn it—what now...

“Relax. We’ve got reinforcements. You know I’m a Witch’s agent; my contractor is already rushing here. Her Mystic Power is strong. She’ll save you. We just need to wait, still as night.”

In Sham’s eyes burned unwavering trust, a lighthouse only lit for the ones close to her heart.

Meanwhile, a black-cloaked girl sprinted down the corridor, shadows trailing like ribbons. The Goggles veiling her face flashed pinpricks of green light.