The moon hung like polished bone in the night, a silver thread stitching light into the city’s dark seams. Traffic lights winked like fireflies, engines hummed like distant surf, and a tide of people poured along the sidewalks in a living tapestry.

It was late. Office workers flowed home like a retreating current. A few students drifted back like stray leaves. Some girls laughed their way into neon, shopping with friends as if chasing stars. Day’s silent lamps woke like constellations; the streets blazed, bright as noon’s mirror.

Everything looked ordinary, surface-smooth as still water.

They didn’t notice the veil. They didn’t see what the world tucked under its own shadow.

A tower rose like a spear into the sky, the tallest blade of the city’s forest. From that height, the crowd below was a swarm of dark seeds, hard to call human—save for a flicker of moving shadow, quick as a swallow. Night wind pinched the corner of a cloak; the hem fluttered like a black petal, hinting at a skirt underneath. Follow the petal upward, and a person blooms.

Her eyes hid behind Goggles, cool as glass. A black mask covered her mouth and chin, like a second face welded on. Beauty cut through the concealment like moonlight under clouds; even that sliver of cheek held a dangerous glow. The cloak hung comical as a magician’s prop, smothering her curves in fabric that fell like wet ink.

She watched the distance, still as a stone lantern, and her focus felt like a string drawn tight. With the Goggles’ night vision, the dark opened like a pond, and every shadow swam into shape.

“A Witch needs explosive power, Mizuki. Jump to the next rooftop, quick.” The voice was playful, airy as a flute.

“But that’s too far! It’s a full fifty meters!” Panic nipped at the words like winter wind.

“Don’t worry. A Witch’s body isn’t that flimsy. Slip into Witch state, and your gears will spin smooth.” Calm pressed down like a warm palm.

“Even so…” Doubt pooled in her chest like cold rain.

“Enough stalling. Up you go, my master!” The cheer cracked like a whip.

Through the green tint of night vision, with a pinch of magnification, the cloaked girl spotted two figures on a distant rooftop, voices rising and falling like the tide.

She wouldn’t go there. Curiosity still hooked her gaze like a fish.

It had been half a month since Miyuki Kiseki became a Witch. The storm at Rakuyoku High School—those delinquent incidents—had ebbed on schedule. On paper, the police had stepped in and netted the culprits; the file shut like a book with the last page blank. But the girl knew the truth. It wasn’t police. It was the Underworld stirring the pot, burning its fingers, and letting go. The girls had weighed in, too, blades hidden in sleeves. Under their interference, the matter slipped closed, and school life returned to its old groove like a needle to vinyl.

That storm changed Miyuki Kiseki, a plain student turned Witch. To ease her into the Underworld, Sham dragged her out night after night, pacing the city’s rooftops like cats on temple tiles.

There was reason. A newborn Witch is soft clay. She needs to harden quick.

In the Underworld, a Witch’s job is simple as stating weather. No rigid orders from on high. You do what benefits you; you tilt toward your own wind.

A bounty system.

That’s the backbone of Witch work.

Each Witch base pins bounties up like festival lanterns. Pick what suits you. Finish, then take the pay, heavy as a purse of stones.

It’s also Yun Shi’s main grind. With no steady income, she eats bounties like bread, and the reward rains down as money, clean as coin.

“Even if it’s a bounty, why is mine cleaning factory junk?” Mizuki wailed, her voice fraying like a torn flag.

Yes, tasks come in flocks. They match your reach. Some are simple to the point of silly, drifting like paper boats.

Find a lost kitten. Break ground for dull civil works. Nab a small-time criminal. Haul integrated boxes for some factory that smells like rust.

A parade of odd jobs, tailor-fit for Mizuki. Don’t ask how she knows. She’d rather bite her tongue.

Yun Shi watched, silent as a raven, while Mizuki sifted through factory scrap, picking bones from ash. Then she turned away, mind sharpening like a blade.

Her own job was more like a straight punch. Tonight she’d smash a drug den and net every last name, a clean sweep across the board.

It looked like playing cop, but it wasn’t the same. People posted the jobs; choice was your own compass. Even a kill order, if you take it, you take it with clear eyes.

“Hm?” The sound pricked the air like a pin.

As Yun Shi turned to leave, Mizuki glanced toward the highest tower, suspicion lifting like a bird. Her gaze landed there, crisp as frost.

“Probably a trick of the eye…” Her doubt folded like paper.

She didn’t see the cloaked girl drop from the edge, a shadow peeled from stone. The cloak whipped up around her neck like a coiling snake.

— Scene cut —

Morning rose like warm milk. School kept its rhythm, the halls chattering like sparrows. Students traded dreams and small gossip, their faces bright mosaics, emotions playing across them like sunlight through leaves.

But a pack of eyes sharpened like knives, all aimed at one spot. The boys stared like their father’s killer stood there, jealousy burning like oil. The girls gazed as if at a playboy, a silent verdict rolling in like fog: a familiar face had fallen.

There was reason. Picture it—a guy with two girls orbiting him like moons. First glance hits wrong. Make the girls beautiful enough, and envy climbs like ivy. People are people. Men, especially, stew like kettles.

“Xiao Yun, you’re coming to get bubble tea with me!” One voice sparkled like ice.

“Yun-kun is going to browse CDs with me!” The other cut in like a trumpet.

In the wide corridor, two girls hemmed in a single figure—no, look at the uniform, that said male. One clearly foreign, her stare bearing down like a storm front. Don’t go, or face thunder, said her silence. The other stood with a no-retreat aura, heroic heat rolling off her like summer. Pressed to the wall was poor Yun Shi, a girl in male clothing, cornered like a cat.

Both girls were gorgeous, faces bright as camellias, pressing in around one “boy.” Anyone would taste sourness in their mouth. The boy himself was as pretty as a watercolor. If he were a girl, the scene might be pure eye candy. But he was a “boy.” If three girls gathered, folks might mutter yuri and move on. Surround a guy, and the script flips like a coin.

Harmless trap? No. Turned out to be a wicked harem king, the crowd decided, their thoughts clacking like abacuses.

Yun Shi felt her eye twitch like a hooked fish. Being encircled by beauties fired zero thrill. Pressure piled like bricks.

It had just been chance. The two bumped into each other and struck sparks, arguing bubble tea versus CDs. Then “the boy” Yun Shi walked by, and those sparks leapt to him. It twisted into a contest: accompany Yun Shi to my place and prove my idea right. A tug-of-war with him tied in the middle like a rope knot.

And to top it off, the student body fired death rays with their eyes, heat lines buzzing like lasers. Yun Shi’s head throbbed like a drum.

What did I even do to you? Why blast me every day with those looks? You’ve got me afraid to come to school!

“Damn it, a femboy running a harem? What is this world!” A boy’s outrage sputtered like coal.

“Die, you smug normie!” spit another, words sharp as gravel.

“My goddess fell for this sissy. How are we bros supposed to live?” The cry cracked like dry wood.

“Yunshi Bianqi, drop dead!” The shout hit like a thrown brick.

“Sure, he’s cute, but inside he’s muck. As a girl, even I can’t watch this.” A sneer curdled like milk.

“Why are there torches and gasoline in my hands?” someone murmured, horror blooming like mold.

“Uu-uu, the Vice President likes a boy. What do I do…” Tears beaded like rain.

The crowd—no, the students—breathed murder like smoke. Their words held one written character: death, bright as a red stamp.

Wait… that last line sounded like the truth slipping out like a fish.

Hey! Stop looking at me like that. You’re jealous! Jealous I’m prettier!

Don’t think I don’t know what’s in your heads. You came to gawk. Go home and stare at a screen!

Even saints carry three wild flames. Yun Shi wasn’t some broad-hearted gentleman. Her capacity sat squarely at a girl’s measure, small bowl, quick spill.

“I mean, I…” Emotion surged first, then words staggered like a colt.

I only wanted to buy vegetables.

She didn’t get to say it. Both girls slapped her with glares, eyes snapping like traps.

“Xiao Yun, which is better!” The demand rang like steel.

“Yun-kun, which is better!” The challenge thumped like drums.

For crying out loud! Why rope me in? Those people are still stabbing me with their eyes! And now you too?

Her heart roared like a caged tiger. If not for the “be a gentleman” rule she clung to like a talisman, she’d have shouted by now.

She used to trash-talk anime protagonists with harems. Now karma bit like a dog.

Sure, it looked like she was flirting, but that only works if she’s male. She wore a boy’s uniform, fine, but she lacked the… toolset. The fact hung there like an unstruck bell.

Yun Shi’s face was very pretty, shaded with feminine softness like peach fuzz. There was no trace of man-scent. Logically, people should suspect. What boy looks this cute? This is a girl pressed into boy-font, drawn with delicate lines and labeled “male” in thick ink.

But rumors at school ran dense as bamboo. Folks had filed Yun Shi away as a cute boy without thinking. Simple minds, clear water, easy reflection.

“Hehehehehe…” A strange laugh bubbled out of the crowd like swamp gas. The eye-lasers chilled, and heads creaked toward the sound like rusty gates.

“Maya-chan, don’t! Calm down!” Mizuki lunged to grab the rampaging yuri girl, hands clutching like vines. Stop the crime, she begged, voice shaking like a leaf. It was useless. The yuri girl’s strength rolled heavier, like a boulder.

“Maya Hanazaka…” Cold sweat spilled down Yun Shi’s back like a sudden rain. Even her brave heart shrank like a shutter.

No joke—last time, Maya beat her so hard she got hauled to the infirmary like a broken kite.

“Die, sissy. How dare you run a harem.” Maya’s words cut like a blade.

“Wait, Maya Hanazaka—” Panic broke like glass.

“Talk is useless! Stealing my woman? Go to hell and atone!” Her fury blazed like wildfire.

“That’s why I’m trying to say I’m not—” Words tripped, tangled like string.

“Silence, Yunshi Bianqi!” The shout slammed like a door.

“At least hear me out, you jerk!” Desperation flared like a match.

Boom!

The yuri girl charged like a bull, and nobody dared stand in her path. The crowd parted like water, smooth in their cowardice. A hand snagged Yun Shi’s collar. She was yanked forward, dragged along the hall like a kite behind a runaway wind.

In just minutes, a girl dressed as a boy was hurled from the third floor by a twisted lesbian; she dropped like a snapped kite—brutal to watch.

Why me? What did I even do to provoke anyone?

Fear flooded Yun Shi, her chest fluttering like a sparrow in storm-winds; tears gathered like dew—one more shove and she’d cry.