The bell rang like a silver coin striking porcelain, folding the day shut like a paper fan. The teacher said “class dismissed,” and—maybe it was my imagination—the room paused long enough to catch a soft rush of relief, like steam slipping from a kettle.

Rakuyoku High School wasn’t that dull, right? The lessons had bite, the stories had color. If someone was that happy to bolt the moment class ended—other than slackers and delinquents—I couldn’t imagine who owned that kind of talent.

Miyuki Kiseki shifted her gaze. In her sightline stood a boy too graceful for comfort, like willow shade reflected in still water. His black, tied-up short hair ran a little long for a guy. His uniform sat neat on a frame too lean—like a reed, all wind and no bark. Not weak, just young; maybe even younger than Mizuki. The face, though—classic girl-pretty. Without the uniform, you’d mistake him for a she.

The boy yawned, a slow tide rolling off a bored shore. The lecture had never hooked him; he wanted out, clean as a bird slipping from a branch.

Mizuki knew him, sort of. She often saw him and her friend Mai sparring like cats over a sunbeam. Yunshi Bianqi—that was the name she had. Beyond the name, a blank map.

“Mizukiii~”

Mai’s voice lilted like a ribbon in wind. Mizuki blinked out of her own weather, reeled her stare back from someone, and tucked away her books like leaves back into a folder.

“Coming~”

She stood, crossed the aisle, and smiled, a small lantern lighting.

“Let’s go.”

“Don’t you still have Student Council work?”

“Uh… if it’s just walking partway, I’m fine. Probably.”

“You’re impossible. Whatever. I’ve got things to do anyway. Mizuki, you head to the Student Council room. I don’t mind.”

“But… is that okay?”

“Relax, I’m a perfect woman. A little thing like this won’t trip me~ Besides, a new game drops today. I can’t wait. Bye-bye, Mizuki~”

Already drunk on her own daydreams, Mai narrowed her eyes like a cat in sunlight, ignored Mizuki’s look, and drifted out of sight like a kite slipping its string.

Mizuki could only give a helpless smile, like rain tapping a closed window, a little resigned with this friend who’d been beside her since middle school.

She didn’t overthink it. She headed where her feet always knew—the Student Council. A first-year vice president, she was a sapling propped up by the President’s shade. For the President, Mizuki held a quiet debt, like a knot tied close to the heart.

“Little Yun, curry for dinner, okay~?”

“So annoying.”

“C’mon, c’mon~”

“...Fine. Just this once. Seriously.”

“Yay, Little Yun’s the best~”

A stolen glance, and there he was—the boy she’d been watching. Now he stood close—no, pressed close—to the school’s famed beauty, Sham Einafel. Mizuki knew Sham too, kind of a friend. But the way Sham cradled the boy’s arm and poured sugar with her voice—sweet as honey, sticky as summer—was intimacy carved in broad daylight.

It looked odd, like a taller tree hugging a slender sapling half a head shorter. But that wasn’t what hooked Mizuki’s eye. It was the heat around them: boys nearby glaring at the boy like knives catching sun.

Come to think of it, rumors around that guy ran like alley cats…

She left with a wry smile, stepped past the public sweetness, and went to report in at the Student Council.

By the time she arrived, another thing dropped. She was “asked” not to handle any Council tasks today.

“Eh? I don’t have work today?”

Mizuki tilted her head, cute as a sparrow, confusion bright on her face.

“Correct. How to put it… the young miss—no, the President—got a sudden urge today and scooped up your workload. Mine too, for that matter.”

Shizuru Yuna scratched her cheek, a little awkward, then laid it out like cards on a table.

“You know how the Pres—President gets. When she slacks, no one can touch her. When she grinds, no one can stop her. Thanks to her, everyone in the Council’s clocking out early. With luck, the next few days too.”

“That’s… a bit much…”

Mizuki knew President Asagi Renka had bite. She didn’t know it bordered on terrifying. Student Council work was a mountain range; even without eating or sleeping, Mizuki couldn’t promise a week. Yet there Renka sat, pen racing like a storm current, paperwork vanishing like frost under sun. Not only was she beautiful as a blade; her work was deadly. A frightening woman, and that was praise.

Surprised but not eager to wrestle it, Mizuki’s only regret was not leaving with Mai earlier.

“See you tomorrow, Mizuki.”

Shizuru Yuna waved her off with a smile like a spring breeze. Watching Mizuki’s back drift down the hall, Yuna sighed, then turned toward the Council room, air settling behind her.

With no plans, Mizuki wandered the streets, a leaf on a slow stream. She thought she should’ve gone with Mai; now that bird was gone for good. Going home felt too early, like sunset arriving at noon. At home, nothing waited but quiet rooms.

“Ugh~”

She sighed, a thin cloud in a bright sky. On the crowded street—people churning like a tide—Mizuki stood out by being alone. Her looks were part of it. More was the contrast: clusters of students like flocks, and Mizuki a single crane stepping through reeds.

Drifting, bored, she searched for time to burn. A side street offered a shop as inconspicuous as a pebble among bricks. It looked old, like it had stepped out of another decade or a country road. Next to the sleek high-end stores, it was a weathered gate in a row of glass.

She had little money anyway. Why not look? She slipped inside. The place was set like a museum of past lives—obsolete goods lined up like retired soldiers. No surprise the air felt empty of people. As the door clicked, the woman at the counter, probably the clerk, tossed out a lazy greeting like a blanket tossed over a chair:

“Welcome. We’ve got everything. But if you’re from the Clan Head’s side, turn back. If you’re with the Magic Institution, this way. Bring enough sincerity, though. The shop’s treasure isn’t for sale.”

The words were odd, like mist that smelled of thunder. Mizuki tilted her head, ran the terms around in her mind, and found nothing to catch on.

“Um… what are you talking about?”

“Hm? The literal meaning. You look Japanese. Are you with the Clan Head? If so, you’re not welcome.”

The lazy woman didn’t chase Mizuki’s question. She gave her a once-over, then answered as if swatting dust. Foreign face, Mizuki noticed, and her shoulders tensed before she steadied herself like a cup settling on a saucer.

“Um, what does ‘Clan Head’ mean?”

The woman blinked, a small hitch in her idle drift, then answered:

“You’re with the Magic Institution? If so, your sincerity’s a joke. I said I won’t hand it over without it. This is who you hired? That’s insulting.”

“Miss, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Still playing dumb? I said no. You can pile money like bricks and it’s still no—unless you’re willing to trade a Witch. How about that?”

“What’s that supposed to be? I really don’t know…”

“...”

Silence moved in like fog. The woman’s dull eyes kindled, a spark catching paper. She studied Mizuki slowly, like reading a watermark in light.

“Are you… from the Outer World?”

“?”

“No, nothing. Forget I said that…”

So, someone from the Outer World. Not the Clan Head, not the Magic Institution. Rare, like a white crow in summer.

Surprised but adaptable, the woman let the fact settle like dust on wood. Outsiders could wander in—it wasn’t impossible. Just rare.

“Welcome, customer. Browse freely. Even if you’re broke, you can look. Most of this isn’t priced for ordinary pockets. If you really like something, I can cut a deal.”

For reasons known only to her, the woman changed faces like clouds. Mizuki found it odd enough to fold and put away; the impression she held was just that—strange. She decided to look.

The clerk slouched back, a cat in a warm chair, flipping a magazine. Mizuki studied the shelves. Most things leaned toward odd—a lineup of guns and ammo, blades with cold smiles. She almost considered calling the cops. What even was this place?

At a glass case, military uniforms stood at attention. Every cut was women’s. The skirted set tugged at Mizuki’s curiosity like a shiny pin, but she wasn’t buying—cosplay wasn’t on her map. She could guess the vibe now. Maybe this was an otaku sanctuary wearing a thrift-store coat.

“So weird…”

More shelves, more war. Guns—she’d hoped they were models, beads of sweat gathering at her temple—uniforms, and even military magazines stacked like rations. Maybe she’d walked into the wrong kind of world. They say explosions are a man’s romance. For a girl like Mizuki, the poetry didn’t translate.

“Customer, that section doesn’t suit you. Head left. That’s your drift.”

The woman’s voice floated over like a paper boat. Mizuki blinked. So she’d taken the wrong turn—no wonder nothing called to her.

She turned left, lifted a hanging cloth like parting a curtain, and stepped into a gentler tide. Here, things were normal—beautiful, even. Display cases glimmered with bracelets and necklaces, pieces meant for girls and hands that wanted pretty things. Interest rose like a small flame.

“Hm? One hundred dollars each? That’s…”

They were lovely—high-end at a glance, probably imported. Then the numbers bit. A hundred dollars meant over ten thousand yen. With only two thousand in her wallet, Mizuki’s heart sank like a stone in a pond.

“Sigh…”

She let it go. This was a playground for the rich.

She was about to move on when something caught her like a fishhook. A necklace. Fine workmanship, the setting like petals around a heart. The stone inside breathed a faint glow, soft as moonlight on water. Against the market’s usual shine, this was something else.

Not vanity—just a pull. The piece sang to her, a note that felt carved for her throat. She checked the tag. “Priceless. Not for sale.” Sweat prickled across her back. And yet her fingers had already lifted it. She carried it to the counter, the way one carries a note to fate.

“Um, I’d like to buy this.”

“...”

The lazy woman saw what Mizuki held, and her face twitched like a wire pulled tight. Mizuki’s awkwardness deepened, a blush blooming like dawn.

“Hey, kid. That one’s not for sale…”

“Eh?”

“But… but… I really, really want it…”

Mizuki lowered her head, wounded pride first, like a kid caught red‑handed. That cute‑doll look could slay on sight; the slouchy clerk almost thought, fine, just sell it to her.

“Young miss, this one can’t be sold. I couldn’t explain it.”

The clerk rubbed her brow, headache prickling like rain. Mist pooled in Mizuki’s eyes, and guilt rose like smoke.

“Hm? When did this thing start glowing?”

She suddenly saw a faint halo breathing in the stone set in the necklace. It never glowed here, or so she remembered.

“Eh? It’s been glowing the whole time. I thought that was your store’s thing,” Mizuki said, voice small as a thread.

“Glowing… could it be…!”

The slouchy clerk shot to her feet, calm blown away like leaves. Shock flashed in her eyes; her lazy air vanished in a heartbeat.

This felt exactly like when the First Vessel Soul chose its master.

Could it be—

“What’s wrong?”

Mizuki watched her spark with excitement, nerves chiming first; she edged back a step like a startled fawn.

The clerk pressed her thrill down, steadying breath like tying a knot. Her gaze on Mizuki turned layered.

“Little sister, what’s your name? Which school?”

To Mizuki’s surprise, the woman who’d been bored to the bone now softened, even smiling as she asked.

“I’m a first‑year at Rakuyoku High School. Miyuki Kiseki. Vice President of the Student Council.”

“…I see. A student. Maybe it’s just like the First Vessel Soul…” she murmured, words drifting like dust toward the ceiling.

Mizuki frowned inwardly, confusion first. What was this woman doing—cold at first, then indifferent, now sighing at the ceiling? What on earth was she doing?

The clerk had no clue what Mizuki thought. She was simply weighing it all—another unrelated passerby about to stir up a storm. Complicated, yes. But if it’s the Artifact Spirit’s choice, as an observer, she could only send it to the right owner.

“I’ve changed my mind. Little sister, you want to buy it? I agree.”

“Eh—oh. How much?”

“Mm… with a discount, how about 5,000 yen?”

“Uh… um…”

“What? Too cheap? Want me to—”

“I only have 2,500 yen…”

“.........”

Silence swelled for a full minute, cold as a pond at dawn. The awkwardness said everything.

“Fine, fine. Take it. 2,500 it is.”

The slouchy clerk waved Mizuki on, a you‑win gesture. She propped her brow and refused to look at the necklace in Mizuki’s hands. Every second screamed how much it hurt to part with it.

So Mizuki spent her entire allowance on a necklace worth far more. The clerk was strange, sure—but truly a good person.

No one knew how much it stung for the clerk at the counter. That little pile of bills couldn’t even wedge into a tooth gap. Her face folded like mourning silk; it would break a heart to see.

“Stay cool. You ran into it, that’s all. Don’t worry—there’ll be a raise, a promotion… later…”

She could only talk herself down like that.

“Tell me, Arimil—why did you hand Elana to someone from the Outer World?”

A woman’s voice rose from behind, pulling the clerk back to herself.

“Who knows? You wouldn’t get it~”

Arimil smiled and looked toward the path Mizuki had taken. In her eyes, something unsayable rippled.

“From now on, the Underworld gets another storm. And at the center of it all will be a new face. Her name is… Miyuki Kiseki.”

Mizuki, already far away, knew none of this. She was drunk on today’s haul.

Only later, after she became a Witch, did she realize just how strange that shop had been.