Yun Shi stepped into a room sized like a balanced box. Chairs lined up like disciplined ranks. The air felt stern, winter-hard, perfect for a war council. She scanned slowly, eyes like a broom. It was spotless, shrine-clean, not a mote of dust, the cleaner’s care written like frost.

Mizuki entered and froze, heart snagged like cloth on a thorn. The faces were familiar, old scars under fresh light. Tyrant stood there, black cloak like a storm wing. Seeing that hood, her anger flared like a red coal. With Aya present, she swallowed it, and shot Yun Shi a cold glare.

A woman beside Tyrant whispered, voice like moth-wings, unwilling to stir trouble. Across the table, another woman’s hate sat like ink, yet she spoke none. She checked her pistol, movements tight as clockwork. Next to her stood a girl, purple hair split into twin tails like violets. Pretty face, school age, likely a junior high student. Mizuki remembered her from before, an image that lingered like a stamp. From her looks, she was Japanese like Mizuki.

A soft cough cut the air. Aya’s symbolic throat-clearing fell like a pebble in a pond, asking for quiet. She was our ally, the nominal officer. No one dared get too wild.

The joint operation between the Single Leaf Clan and the Magic Institution was agreed, like two cranes sharing one sky. Among the Seven Clans’ mixed waters, finding Single Leaf as ally was hard. The Institution wouldn’t let Single Leaf be wiped out. That would hurt them more than help, a loss echoing like a cracked bell.

The loose crowd put away their tasks, drifting closer like fish to bait. Aya saw they could listen; satisfaction bloomed like a small lantern. She stepped forward, and took the table’s center like a stake in the ground.

I’m the captain of the Special Task Force. Glad to meet you. I’ll coordinate your actions. You know Single Leaf and the Institution are partnering. I’ll cut the fluff. We formed units with several Witches and agents, plus Single Leaf members. Each group is divided by power grades. Your unit is the Special Task Force, one of the best, with top-tier combat strength. Those in the Special Task Force may act with near autonomy, without waiting for direct orders. You may decide the battle’s flow yourselves. Premise is simple: have the skill to carry that weight.

Each line from Aya landed deep, like rain on dry earth. No one dared slack. Aya had a leader’s aura; just standing, she cast a field like a mountain.

Autonomy tastes like freedom, but it weighs like iron. On a battlefield, solo heroics are unwise. One rash move can drown a unit, like a boat capsizing in sudden wind. People organize early, tasks set like tiles in a roof. That’s why soldiers obey orders. Without discipline, consequences fall like hail, more than one person can bear.

Sweat beaded on Mizuki’s brow, cold as dew. It was her first time in this world. She was nervous, and somewhere under that, afraid.

Yun Shi, Sham, and a few others stayed calm, faces like still water. They were used to this kind of storm.

Our enemy is the Divine Ling Family. Their combat power hits hard, like iron hammers. We need a plan. Single Leaf fought them for days without turning the tide. Your arrival from the Institution is our only hope.

Our task is to find the Divine Ling Family’s Crystal Tower. Pinpoint its location for a clean operation. The battle starts tomorrow at eight sharp. Choose weapons as you wish. Keep cohesion like woven reeds. Next, introductions.

Aya eased her stern look, voice softening like dusk light. She swept her gaze over us, then raised a polite hand to introduce each identity.

This is one of the Institution’s combat power, Tyrant. Heh, hardly a stranger here.

She pointed at the scowling woman, smiling like spring yet edged like steel. Her hand shifted to the woman beside her, whose gentle smile rested like a calm river.

This is Hawk Hunter, one of Tyrant’s companions.

Her hand moved again, turning to the other woman.

This is Comet. She’s the agent for Tyrant and Hawk Hunter.

Finally, her hand turned toward the Japanese schoolgirl.

This is Thunder Lady, little sister. Like the two Artifact Spirit masters, she’s Japanese.

At that, the others’ eyes slid to Yun Shi and Mizuki, glances like needles. What they felt was their own weather. Yun Shi ignored the looks, gaze cool as shade. Mizuki, under so many eyes, grew awkward, rubbing her hands like warming frost.

This is the Magician, agent to those two Artifact Spirits.

And here is one of the two Artifact Spirit holders. A Witch specially added to the Special Task Force. She has no title yet, so call her what you like.

Aya faced Mizuki’s side as she spoke.

In this unit, every Witch and every agent carries a title, honor for the strong, a second name like a banner. Titles hold weight and power that don’t shake easily. Weaker Witches have no titles. Mizuki had no real battles yet, so no title. Some grumbled, but she was an Artifact Spirit holder. Her future might burn brighter than theirs.

And this is the other Artifact Spirit holder, Night Phantom.

The words barely fell when Tyrant and Comet bared anger like drawn blades. Weapons flashed out, muzzles and edges pointed straight at Yun Shi. Li Xiang, obedient beside Aya, caught the fever. She yanked her pistol free, rage blooming like wildfire.

The turn shocked Mizuki, breath snagging like a trapped bird. The one they aimed at, Yun Shi, stayed calm. Not a tremor. Her poise was ice under sun.

Killing intent, hatred, and fury swarmed toward Yun Shi like a storm front. Reasons didn’t matter; they poured it onto her body like tar.

Enough. Aya’s voice dropped, heavy as a drum. Her head dipped a fraction, a lid on boiling water. She warned anyone about to move. Her earlier smile vanished like smoke.

Have this one as a teammate? What a joke. You want me to give my back to an enemy who might stick a knife any second? Tyrant pressed down her fire, but deep hatred shone like a scar. Her greatsword looked ready to fall, aimed at Yun Shi. She was furious because she hated those three clans to the bone.

That kind is no teammate. She’s an enemy. Comet racked her XM1014, metal clicking like teeth. She twisted her face, ready to greet Yun Shi with lead.

You—!

I don’t agree she joins this unit. Kick her out!

Xiang!

Miss, don’t persuade me. I won’t tolerate an enemy staying here!

Even Aya couldn’t steady it now. She hadn’t thought Li Xiang, who obeyed her word, would catch the mood. Their hate latched onto one person like wolves.

Why. This shouldn’t be it. Why choose hate over talent? Why weigh vengeance over utility? That kid did nothing. Aya didn’t know how to cut this knot. Few in the Underworld can lay down grudges and use talent born from enemy soil.

What are you doing! Mizuki couldn’t hold it anymore. Why aim murder at Night Phantom for no reason? She did nothing!

She didn’t think. She took one long step and stood before Yun Shi, like a small tree braving wind. Shy softness shattered; anger rose like a summer storm. Why be so unreasonable? Night Phantom is a good person!

Move, you little brat! Tyrant saw Mizuki plant herself without fear. A spark of surprise flickered in ash. A weakling dared the gap, glaring up, courting death. Her anger snapped back, voice rasping like a saw.

I won’t! Mizuki heard the malice and felt a nameless fire climb her chest. She ignored the stunned stares, lifted her head, and shouted back like thunder.

You little brat—! Few ever dared speak to her like that. Those who did were equals. This small girl yelled across the gulf, stoking Tyrant’s furnace.

Stop, Miyuki Kiseki. Yun Shi saw the spiral and knew it was bad. She didn’t want Mizuki hurt. She stepped forward, cold and spare, and pulled Mizuki back, keeping her from tearing the fabric wider.

But, Night Phantom—!

Enough! Mizuki tried to say more. Yun Shi didn’t give room. Her shout cut the thread like a blade. Her face hid under a mask, thoughts lost in shadow. Yet—

Already enough. The words fell like ash.

She was used to it. Being treated like this, she had learned the taste. Underworld or Outer World, nowhere to rest, like a bird without a branch.

But Miyuki Kiseki was different. She had a home, a path back, a warm lamp. She didn’t need to stand with me and swallow this hate. This hate belongs to the Witch called Night Phantom.

Night Phantom? Mizuki watched Yun Shi. The girl in front seemed to soften, as if the strings cut. Her voice turned tired and rough, old in a breath. Looking at the shorter girl felt like watching someone abandoned in rain.

Yun Shi said no more. The hunters behind kept their eyes sharp. She didn’t speak; she moved, step by step, quiet as falling leaves. Under Mizuki’s surprised gaze, she walked out of the war room.

Left behind was a lonely back, thin as a reed.

Mizuki tried to speak, hand lifting like a hesitant bird, then fell. She stood in place, staring at the back fading from her sight.

Sham moved up and stood beside Mizuki, her face folded with worry like wrinkled silk.

Little Yun, why is it only you who gets treated like this.

Why—?

Hm?

Why didn’t you help Night Phantom? She was struggling. Why watch her with guns on her, watch her be hated? Why didn’t you help?

I—

Why? Aren’t you her agent? You said I could meet her again. Why does our meeting look like this?

I—

Why didn’t you tell me the whole story? You never told me everything about Night Phantom. She’s good, right? Then why let this happen? Why!

…

Mizuki didn’t know how many whys poured out. She didn’t know why she was this angry. Yet it felt wrong that someone in her heart was treated like trash by teammates. She didn’t know why she’d rage for someone she’d met twice. But she felt a familiar scent in Night Phantom, something she knew, even if the reason hid like mist.

Happy now, are you!

Aya’s anger flared, a spark catching dry straw. After that ruckus, her heart was a storm with no quiet shore.

She slammed the file onto the desk; papers burst and drifted down like blossoms cast by a celestial maiden, falling into the mortal world.

It was the operation plan she’d prepared to present, a map of lines and hopes. But Yun Shi walked out, and the whole thing fell apart, like a clay jar cracking.

For what? Couldn’t he set aside his private grudge for the bigger picture?

Aya couldn’t make sense of it, thoughts tangling like reeds in a current.