Inside the Student Council room, black tea gleamed like liquid garnet; steam curled up like silk and carried a quiet aristocratic scent.

This blend was something Lian Hua had Yuna prepare, a rumor-laced royal brew that made even Mizuki praise it like a clear mountain spring.

Heat rose in Mizuki’s chest like a shy dawn; had she drunk too much, like a sparrow pecking again at grain?

“Don’t worry about it, Mizuki,” Lian Hua said, her voice smooth as tea rippling under a paper fan.

“Oh? Oh, yes, President,” Mizuki answered, the words fluttering like a timid sparrow.

“What’s wrong, Mizuki? Did I fail as a host?” Lian Hua asked, her smile thin as a crescent moon.

“No, nothing like that!” Mizuki blurted, her denial popping like a fish breaking the surface.

“Good. As long as my guest is content,” Lian Hua said, setting down her cup like laying a jade pebble on a tray.

Yuna lifted the teapot like a small kettle-ship and drifted out, leaving the room quiet as a pond at dusk.

“So, Mizuki, how far have you gotten?” Lian Hua asked, her gaze steady as a lantern behind paper.

The sudden turn hit Mizuki like a gust through reeds; her thoughts scattered like leaves across water.

Earlier, Lian Hua had told her everything, like a map spread on silk: the Asakura Family, the strike on the Church, and her invitation to the Witch.

Of course, she’d left out anything about Yun Shi, like a shadow kept behind a folding screen.

“Um…” The word hung in Mizuki’s mouth like a bead of dew; hesitation clung like fog to her sleeves.

“I know this is cruel to you, Mizuki,” Lian Hua said, the apology thin and cool as rain on stone.

“…”

“I’m sorry,” she added, a faint bow of words like a willow bending to wind.

“Pr–President…” Mizuki’s voice trembled like a string plucked in a quiet hall.

“You’ve just stepped out of war’s iron dusk and into daylight, like a moth finding sun,” Lian Hua said gently.

“Now you must face the Underworld’s cold again, a storm big enough to strip leaves from every tree.”

“I’m truly sorry, but I have no other path; what I need is power, clear and hard as ice.”

Her tone was earnest, a plea like a soft bell; she hadn’t planned to force Mizuki into anything.

“President, if I say yes… what happens to me?” Mizuki asked, her heart beating like a trapped bird.

“I’ll guarantee your safety, like a roof in heavy rain; I won’t let your world crack,” Lian Hua said.

“Most of all, I can help you meet the person you want to see, like a bridge laid over night waters.”

“—!” The spark leaped in Mizuki’s eyes like lightning; hope stirred like wind through bamboo.

“Mizuki, if I’m not wrong, the Witch Night Specter is the one you long to see, like a star behind clouds.”

“She’s strong and secretive, a moon hidden by fog; it makes sense a girl like you would be drawn.”

“You don’t even care about her background, like a deer drinking even from shadowed springs; honestly, I admire that.”

“N–no, it’s not like that. Night Specter and I…” Mizuki’s protest frayed like a ribbon in rain.

“Listen, Mizuki,” Lian Hua said, voice clear as glass. “I can get her to the Church, at least once.”

“She might join this plan, like a hawk drawn by scent; that’s a maybe, not a promise,” she warned.

“You know her strength. She could get pulled into Underworld strife, like iron to a magnet.”

“Other powerhouses may come, like thunderheads rolling in; people from the Clan Head’s side are likely too.”

“Shen Ling Zou, Yanbu Junichi, and Shitou Yuya—names in the Underworld that strike like steel on stone.”

“…” Mizuki’s silence settled like ash; her resolve sifted like sand through fingers.

“So what will it be, Mizuki?” Lian Hua asked, her words level as a blade set on a table.

“Join as a fighter and become a true powerhouse, like a pine rooting into rock.”

“Or live as a normal student, quiet as a garden path under sun; the choice is in your hands.”

She didn’t push; she let Mizuki drift through thought like a leaf mapping its own current.

The truth stung. Mizuki’s strength was still thin as paper; she couldn’t face real titans yet.

She had fought few true elites, like testing a river with a toe; only once had she faced one head-on.

That was when she first became a Witch, and fought Yanbu Junichi, a clash like wave against cliff—she lost terribly.

War had carved clarity into her, like frost etching glass; she knew how small she was now.

At best she could guard herself, like a shell closing on a pearl; against enemies, she would crack.

It puzzled Mizuki—why fixate on strength, like counting stars no hand can hold? The Underworld’s feuds hardly touched her.

“Your codename is ‘Demon Sovereign,’ a title gifted by war like a scar,” Lian Hua said, voice steady.

“For a newcomer, that’s strong, like a young hawk testing wind; but it’s far from enough.”

“Against a true powerhouse, you’d break like bamboo under snow; against me, you wouldn’t last,” she stated calmly.

“At this level, you can’t catch Night Specter; her strength is recognized like a seal pressed into wax.”

Seeing Mizuki’s confusion blur like mist, Lian Hua struck at truth like a needle, clean and sharp.

“She’s an Underworld titan, and a face of its filth, like lotus roots tangled in mud.”

“And you? No fame, just a pretty codename like a paper flower; you can’t stand beside her yet.”

“Do you want to catch her, and stand in front of her, like a mountain meeting the wind?” Lian Hua asked.

“To catch up?” Mizuki repeated, the word trembling like a line cast over deep water.

“Yes, Mizuki,” Lian Hua said, eyes bright as stars under a roof. “Have you thought about where she stands?”

“What she really wants, like fire under ash? Why she walks the darkest alleys, like a fox in winter?”

“If you want to know, then become strong, like iron baked in a kiln; earn the right to learn everything.”

“Then you can stand before her, like dawn before night, even match her steps and walk beside her.”

Lian Hua knew Mizuki’s soft spot, like a key to a hidden door; she used it to guide, not shove.

“Mizuki, I’ll say this with responsibility, like a vow carved into wood: the one you care for is a pitiful soul.”

“She needs someone to redeem her, like a hand pulling her from a well; that someone must have strength.”

“If you want to, you can do it, like a seed growing into a tree; just not now,” she said.

It wasn’t all calculation; a thin thread of feeling ran through Lian Hua’s words like red silk.

About Yun Shi, she hoped someone would drag her from darkness, like a lantern carried into a cave.

She couldn’t do it; she placed that hope in the girl before her, like a letter sealed and sent.

“To become strong… me?” Mizuki whispered, her thoughts drifting like snowflakes that refuse to land.

Could she stand before Night Specter, shoulder to shoulder, like two trees sharing wind, even protect her?

Yes, she was still weak, like flame in a first spark; but if she chose to grow, could she catch up?

“It’s odd, right, Mizuki?” Lian Hua’s eyes narrowed, a smile like sunlight through lace. “That I’d say all this.”

“But I think you need to weigh it, like stones on a scale; it’s survival in the Underworld.”

“And there’s one more thing,” she added, her tone light as breath. “Your adaptability is strong, like willow.”

“I’ve told you so much, and you accepted it fast, like rain sinking into soil; I must praise that.”

Mizuki looked at the tea’s surface, a mirror like dark lake; her gaze was lost as fog.

She sank into thought, like a feather drifting down; her choice loomed like a mountain in cloud.

This would be the biggest decision of her life, like choosing a path in a forest at twilight.

Without resolve back then, she’d never have had a future of her own, like a boat without oars.

Maya Hanazaka had been an ordinary student in middle school, a bright face like a flower in spring.

She stood out for looks and charm, like a ribbon on clean clothes; otherwise, nothing special.

But Maya liked girls—plain as moonlight on water—and her heart tilted toward women like a compass.

In middle school, she had friends, and people liked her, like bees around a blossom, though she shunned boys.

Her circle held Chieko Asakusa and Ayame Kusunoki, and… Mizuki—Miyuki Kiseki—like three sparrows on one branch.

The trio were harmonious for three years, calm as a lake; no sourness, just steady friendship.

Until one day, Maya felt her first love bloom like a camellia, soft and sudden.

She fell for Mizuki Kiseki, her good friend; affection swelled like tide against a quiet pier.

Unable to cage that feeling, Maya confessed, the words tumbling like apples from a basket, while Mizuki was lost in her own haze.

Then she was gently rejected, the no dropping like a petal; the curtain fell on a first love.

Maya’s hurt flooded her, a storm like sheets of rain; worst of all, her orientation was exposed.

The whole school labeled her a yuri-obsessed freak, whispers swelling like crows, and friendly eyes turned strange like frost.

Even her two closest friends stared different, puzzled like owls at daylight; Maya neared collapse like a wall with a crack.

At that moment, Mizuki—the friend who had refused her—stepped in front like a shield raised.

She spread her arms wide, words sworn like oaths: no matter what Maya became, she’d be her best friend.

She would stand against the whole school, like a lone tree against wind, to guard Maya; Maya wept hard.

From then on, Mizuki was Maya’s dearest friend, a lantern in rainy streets; they even applied to the same high school.

First love faded, but gaining a true friend felt like finding a warm hearth; it was still good.

“That’s my whole story,” Maya said, sitting in Yan Er’s place, voice trailing like smoke.

Because Maya was spiraling, Yan Er brought her home, a gentle act like leading a foal by rope.

Maya called her family, words tidy as folded clothes; tonight, she’d stay here under a kind roof.

“You want to laugh, right? I’m hung up on old things, like moss on stone; at school, I never do.”

“No, not at all,” Yan Er said, firm as a small drum. “I have zero prejudice about you, Maya.”

“Yan Er…” Maya’s voice warmed, like tea under a hand.

“And you’re just following your feelings, like a river to the sea; that’s not wrong. I think it’s cool.”

“Cool? People say that?” Maya blinked, surprise flitting like a sparrow.

“Of course,” Yan Er said, a grin bright as morning. “Maya is Maya, a clear stream in her own valley.”

“As long as you keep true to your heart, like a compass pointing north, let people talk like wind.”

“You do your thing,” she added, fist clenched like a tiny mountain to cheer her on.

Watching Yan Er’s simple courage shine like a candle, Maya was moved again; tears threatened like rain beads.

“Thank you, Yan Er…” Maya’s gratitude pooled like a warm lake; her shoulders eased.

“Okay, okay. No crying,” Yan Er said, palm gentle as a leaf. “I’ll back you up.”

“Honestly, meeting you and everyone was great, like finding stars in a new sky; nobody shunned me,” Maya said.

“Of course,” Yan Er replied, a laugh like chimes. “We’re friends.”

“Mm!” Maya nodded, vigor returning like spring shoots; her mood lifted like clouds parting.

Seeing her recover, Yan Er felt relief unfold like sunlight; a smile settled on her face.

It was rare to see this side of Maya, sweet as ripe fruit; happiness bubbled like a small spring.

If Maya knew what Yan Er was thinking, she’d probably cry again, like a summer shower in a heartbeat.

“Compared to you, that guy was outrageous,” Maya snapped, anger flaring like sparks. “He said he hated me!”

“If he hated me, he shouldn’t have dragged me away, like a cat hauling a kitten; that jerk Yun Shi!”

“Eh…” Yan Er blinked, surprise rustling like bamboo.

“It makes me furious. Let her go to hell, like a falling star; hmph, I’m ignoring her!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Maya,” Yan Er said, knocking lightly on her forehead like a tapping stick.

“Eh? Why? I didn’t do anything wrong,” Maya protested, guiltless as a clean slate.

“You’re very wrong,” Yan Er said, tone crisp as frost. “Think about what kind of person Yun Shi is.”

“If she helped you, it was sincere, like fire given on a cold night; saying that stuff was off on purpose.”

“But…” Maya’s doubt fluttered like moths around a lamp.

“Maya, don’t you get it?” Yan Er smiled, eyes soft as dusk. “When Yun Shi says she hates you, she’s worried.”

“Huh…” Maya froze, confusion like a blown-out candle.

“You airhead,” Yan Er said, fond as spring rain. “Invert what she says, like reading a mirror-script.”

“If she says don’t come close, it means come close, like warmth asked for under a blanket.”

“If she says she hates you, it means she cares, like fire under ash; if she says won’t help, she’ll help.”

.......

What I'm saying is, he's all knots like bamboo joints; he'll never speak straight. You should know it's just his sideways awkwardness—like a crab—not that he hates you.

After going in circles for ages, Yan Er finally explained, her temples throbbing like little drums; Maya Hanazaka went blank, a sparrow stunned by the first snow.

A pale dawn opened inside her—shame rising like a cold tide. Maybe it's on me. If I hadn't twisted his meaning, would we be here?

So what now? I was the one who hurled those over-the-line words like stones into a still pond—at that girl, wasn't I?