Bring up Rakuyoku High School’s yearly sports festival, and Yun Shi’s interest dries up like rain on hot stone.

It’s just boys and girls flinging sweat like summer rain, a spectacle where friendship outranks victory.

With memories from two lives, she’s tasted youth already; today’s festival can’t stir a winter-lake heart.

But as Student Council staff, duty bites like a tight collar; meetings grind, reports pile, opinions buzz like cicadas.

It’s early on the calendar, yet banners bloom; students toss ideas like petals, hoping to carve their names into spring.

Youth is meant to be spilled like wine; leave a trace with these girls, maybe—she only lets the thought drift.

Lucy raised the topic, and Yun Shi’s mind waded into old waters, a past life of sweat, laughter, and squabbles.

Those sunken memories glimmer like shells, inviting nostalgia yet scraping fresh wounds across a tired heart.

So she didn’t say much; while Mizuki and the others chirped bright as swallows, she kept a stone-silent mouth.

They parted from Lucy and headed home; Yun Shi drifted with the current, worrying about two who’d stormed off like thunder.

“Ah, the sports festival—I can’t wait; it feels like spring buds ready to burst,” Mai said, lounging with hands behind her head like a sun-cat.

Yan Er peeled off at the corner like a leaf on wind; so only three walked on.

“Yes. It’s tiring, but when it starts, I’m excited,” Mizuki said, eyes shining like evening stars.

Yun Shi yawned, her voice a cold breeze. “Boring.”

Cars flowed like a river beside them; they walked the curb like any passersby, faces bright as lanterns, steps as ordinary as dust.

“You never seem interested,” Mai sighed, rubbing her temple like smoothing wrinkled paper. “Get a spark going, or doors stay shut.”

“No need. What can I share with kids?” Yun Shi’s tone was iron; inside, she felt old as mountain stone.

Besides, there’s a bounty on her from the FFF Brigade, like wolves howling for sport.

“Feels like you lump us in too,” Mai stared flat-eyed, a pond without ripples.

“...” Mizuki stayed quiet, snow-soft gaze resting on Yun Shi.

The air turned odd, like clouded glass, yet trust hummed warm as a kettle.

“No. You two are different,” Yun Shi said, words lantern-soft in drifting fog.

“Eh?” They blinked, startled like sparrows.

“Different because…” She didn’t look back; she kept walking, feet tapping like beads on a string.

“I only acknowledge these few. School’s noise is ash; having you is enough,” she said, voice low as dusk wind.

Her words fell like warm tea into cold palms; Mai and Mizuki felt heat bloom in their chests.

She’d finally placed these girls in her heart, like precious stones hidden from storm.

Before, she’d feared losing hard-won friends and wore thorns, choosing distance over doorways.

But fate plays tricks like spring rain; her prickly acts didn’t breed dislike, they deepened affection.

After all that, everyone already treated Yunshi Bianqi as an anchor in their small circle, a pillar under a quiet roof.

Why? The “playboy” rumors were smoke; her temper seemed iron, yet warmth hid like an ember under frost.

Sharp tongue, soft heart; small pride, awkward kindness—never once did she show a cruel face.

Rumors fray like old rope once you know her; in truth, she’s a lonely wanderer using a grim mask to guard her shore.

Know she’s a girl, and sympathy wells up like spring—cold stares for no reason, nettle-rumors pricking skin, yearning for friends yet empty-handed.

Mai learned that truth and shifted like dawn; pity turned into care, steady as a hand under rain.

“So, can I say you’re being honest now?” Mai teased, laughter bright as wind through chimes.

After everything—especially what churned in the Underworld—Yun Shi had to admit it: these girls were her friends.

She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh; fear still nipped like a stray dog at her heel.

But she wanted them—wanted these friends like candles in night.

“Since you said that, I won’t press,” Mizuki smiled, voice gentle as silk. “Remember, we’re here. If you’re stuck, reach out.”

“...Really?” Yun Shi asked, hope flickering like a sparrow at the eaves.

“Of course. We’re all your friends, Yun-kun,” Mizuki said, her smile blazing clean as morning sun.

“Is that so…” Yun Shi kept walking, yet the corner of her mouth lifted like a crescent moon.

Maybe she’d found friends worthy of trust, stones to moor a drifting boat.

A train sighed into the station like a silver serpent and halted before them; Mai checked the time, eyes twinkling.

“Then I’m heading out. See you tomorrow,” she waved, voice light as wind.

“See you tomorrow, Mai,” Mizuki answered, warm as lamplight.

“I don’t want to see you tomorrow. Later,” Yun Shi said, words dry as autumn leaves.

“Hey, Yun-kun, that’s rude!” Mizuki puffed, cheeks rosy as peaches.

“So noisy,” Yun Shi muttered, a breeze closing a door.

Mai laughed, climbed aboard, and the train slid away like moonlight across water.

Only Mizuki and Yun Shi remained on the roadside, sharing a stretch of path like two leaves drifting together.

The air felt awkward, a thin mist; alone with Yun, Mizuki still found the steps uneven.

“We walked together before, didn’t we?” Mizuki asked, turning with a soft smile like dawn.

“Mm. Long ago,” Yun Shi answered, voice calm as a shaded pool.

She remembered those days—back before Mizuki entered the Underworld—when she’d handed Mizuki a small gift, like a pebble warm from sun.

“It’s strange, but I’m happy,” Mizuki said, laughing softly, like bells in a clear sky. “Being close to Yun-kun feels like a dream.”

Back then, Yunshi Bianqi was rumor-wrapped, a so-called playboy; Miyuki Kiseki was the respected vice president, high as a white tower.

Worlds seemed apart like banks of a river; no one expected the water to braid together.

Time turned the current; now Yun Shi sits within the Student Council, while Mizuki stepped into the dark Underworld like a star under deep waves.

Fate is a crooked painter, changing lines and gifting accidents like sudden rainbows.

“I think it’s wonderful to know you—because we’re friends!” Mizuki beamed, pure as clean paper, unstained even after night’s touch.

“Don’t say dumb things like that,” Yun Shi grumbled, face warming like embered coal, eyes slipping away.

“I just wanted to say something, hehe…” Mizuki scratched her cheek, cute as a kitten.

To Yun Shi, Miyuki Kiseki was a lotus—rooted in mud, yet petals untouched, moon-pale and clean.

“My place is that way. I’m off,” Yun Shi said at the fork, pointing down a quiet lane like a stream.

“See you tomorrow, Yun-kun,” Mizuki waved, smile steady as a lighthouse.

Watching Yun’s back fade into evening grain, she felt a hint of joy glimmer there, like sunlight on water.

Mizuki turned to go, never seeing Yun glance back, wearing a smile clear as spring—the kind born straight from the heart.