The street breathed with comings and goings, strangers brushing past like wind through reeds, the clamor knitting a song that marched down the road.

Inside an unremarkable café, two girls who could turn heads sat by the window. No—judging by the clothes, one read as a boy. Still easy on the eyes.

“My treat. What do you want?” Yan Er asked with a bright smile.

Yun Shi propped her chin in one hand, her voice flat. “Coffee’s fine.”

“Okay then, two cappuccinos. But are we really stopping there? It’s a new spot. Don’t you wanna splurge a little?”

“Is that generosity of yours even okay?”

“It’s fine. I’m the older one here. Looking after a junior who’s still green is what an older sister should do.” Yan Er thumped her chest like a sunny drumbeat.

Yun Shi only felt bored. She didn’t want to engage, and still she spoke.

“You look… experienced.”

“It’s alright. I treat juniors to a drink now and then.”

“How many times have you lured Sawagawa Moa out?”

“Huh? How’d you know I asked Moa out?”

“Who else could it be? She’s the only junior you two even know, and she wouldn’t say no.”

“…Fine. Your read is spot on.”

Defeated, Yan Er sank back and waited for the coffee to arrive.

Yunshi Bianqi, she thought, really wasn’t ordinary stock.

Truth was, she’d asked Yun Shi out to talk her through things. These past days, even she could tell—because of that accidental kiss between Mizuki and Yun Shi, the air between them had turned strange.

Neither was really at fault, but leaving it to fester wasn’t a plan.

So Yan Er decided to play mediator, to help untie what sat between the two.

Last time, with Mai, she hadn’t helped much. She’d comforted Mai, sure, but Yun Shi was the one who solved it. It had nothing to do with Yan Er directly.

So she was unwilling to sit out. She wanted to help too.

Now that Yun Shi was in a bind, this was her shot. She had to do something.

When the coffee came, Yan Er couldn’t wait. She grabbed the sugar and poured. Watching crystals sink and vanish in the dark, joy fizzed in her like warm soda.

She turned to call Yun Shi—only to see Yun Shi lift her cup and drink. The sugar sat untouched on the table, like silent snow.

God, she actually drinks it black.

“Yun Shi, you forgot the sugar,” Yan Er reminded, eyes wide.

Most people add sugar, right? Why was this one drinking like a grown-up, so composed it hurt?

“No need. It’s fine as is.”

“It’s really bitter.”

“Ever had coffee that wasn’t?”

“But coffee only tastes good with sugar. Otherwise it’s so bitter you can’t drink it.”

“Mm. If it’s too bitter, it’s not good.”

That agreement caught her off guard. Yan Er blinked. She hadn’t expected it.

“If you know that, why not add sugar?”

“Because I don’t need it.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think? Coffee’s best bitter. Give it time and it turns fragrant. But if you add sugar, you drown in it. It tastes great, sure, but it does nothing for you.”

Her delivery was cool, her theory overlong, the kind of dramatic line that thinks it’s handsome and lands squarely in edgy. It should have been cringe.

But Yan Er didn’t hear a clown. She saw it.

Yun Shi’s words were theatrical, but the face wasn’t. A thin sadness clung to her like mist. Her eyes held a faraway warmth for a past gone cold. No way was she saying this to sound deep.

Yunshi Bianqi—maybe she really was someone with a story.

That’s what Yan Er thought.

Only the weathered know certain truths. Only the storied carry that faint, windworn air. And Yun Shi, clearly, had been through something.

In truth, Yun Shi carried many stories.

Ever since her rebirth, her road bent and bucked. She’d taken the worst malice the world could throw.

As blood of the Four Pupils Clan, there was too much to do, too much to learn. And all she’d wanted—what she hadn’t cherished in her last life—was family, was friendship. She wanted friends. She wanted to be accepted.

Yun Shi was just a normal person. At least last life. What she craved now wasn’t it the life of an ordinary person?

But losing herself in joy felt wrong. She had to keep reminding herself. She couldn’t. One day, she’d have to face everything.

Yan Er ignored all that iron resolve. She picked up the sugar, tugged the cup from Yun Shi’s hand, and poured. As the crystals melted and disappeared, the bitterness in the cup—and a shard of bitterness in her chest—softened and thinned.

“Yan Er,” Yun Shi said, face falling as if the surface had been scuffed, “I said no sugar.”

Her coffee had been “defiled.” She was dissatisfied on the spot.

Inside, a small warmth rose. She would never admit it.

“Coffee tastes better with sugar.”

“Nonsense. It’s clearly bitter—”

“You’re all bitterness. But add something too sweet, and the flavor gets better. A balanced cup beats what you drank before.”

She cut her off. Yan Er said it with a smile.

Yun Shi froze, staring at the sugared cup, words slipping away.

She had never considered that sweetness could be a kind of luck. That innocence wasn’t always a flaw.

Yes. She thought of Miyuki Kiseki. That hopelessly innocent girl. A whole different flavor from her own bitter.

Why am I thinking of her out of nowhere…

What about her is worth remembering…

And yet, she is sweet. Sweet enough to make you forget yourself.

Even someone as bitter as me sank into it.

“Yun Shi, coffee kinda spells you and Mizuki out. You’re the bitter. She’s the sweet. Miss one and the cup turns flat. Right now you two are just sitting there, like grounds with no hot water.”

“Uh…”

“Can’t you just make up with her? If you explain it right, it’ll be fine, won’t it?”

Yan Er still smiled.

She’d picked coffee and sugar on purpose. She wanted a doorway to open.

Right now, Yun Shi was only dodging. She needed someone to point out a road. Yan Er was doing just that.

“I never said I was mad at her, but…”

Yun Shi clenched her palm. Her face wavered.

“She’s ignoring me… Why would I go up and make a fool of myself?”

She forced the words out, drained.

Yeah. She really couldn’t do it. She couldn’t start.

“First, if you were straightforward, would it have gotten this bad?”

“!”

“If you say it plain, Mizuki won’t run from you. The truth is, Yun Shi, you never take the first step. Are you even a guy?”

By the end, Yan Er was teasing outright.

She really wasn’t a guy.

And… she really wasn’t the proactive type.

“So nosy. Who asked you!”

Yun Shi defaulted to form. Face hot, she grabbed the cup and drank.

Mm. With sugar, it really wasn’t the same as before.

Yan Er watched her smile, then, while the other wasn’t looking, she pulled out her phone. She sent a message. The recipient: Miyuki Kiseki.

After they paid, Yun Shi meant to head home. But Yan Er clung like ivy and wouldn’t let go. Yun Shi’s mood wasn’t great, so they drifted to a park.

There was a swing there. Grade schoolers usually played on it, but at this hour no small feet pattered. Yun Shi claimed the seat.

She sat and nudged her feet. The swing answered with a small arc, a soft creak, like a moth beating its wings.

Yan Er stood off to the side and watched in silence. An unasked pity rose in her chest.

Lonely people like swings. Without friends, they move alone and call it flying.

Yun Shi was lonely. She had been for years. She’d grown used to being alone, grown used to the cold—but never learned to be okay with it. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than a quiet life and a place she could finally belong.

“Are you very lonely?” Yan Er asked, barely louder than dusk.

“Mm.”

To her surprise, Yun Shi didn’t deflect. She accepted it.

Sunset split and spilled red across the girl’s face, deepening the sorrow like ink soaking silk.

A swing for one. A sunset for one. A world for one. And yet, there was someone standing by.

Her expression looked calm, a still pond. Only the eyes refused to lie. The deep loneliness there could not be hidden.

She watched the sunset like molten copper spilling across the sky, yet her eyes were empty—loose as windblown leaves, adrift toward a fogged future.

“We’re here, so we’re friends. Your circle is right here.” Yan Er’s voice was a warm lantern in twilight, a ring of light drawn close.

Yan Er smiled as she spoke; Yun Shi startled, her mind a still pond, staring at her like a deer caught in soft moonlight.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’ve long been one of us. Yun Shi, you’re our friend, so loneliness won’t swallow you.”

Yun Shi’s gaze was clouded, her heart a tangled forest—she looked at Yan Er, lost and silent.

At last, the day arrived like first spring rain—the day someone acknowledged her.

For so long, she had denied every bridge, fleeing the shore of reality like a skittish bird.

Then one day, she confessed to herself, and waited in the quiet, a small candle cupped against the wind.

Now, the words fell like petals: “You’re our friend.” And the gate swung open, a garden beckoning.

To say her feelings weren’t messy would be a lie—her heart was a storm-front, unsure whether to rejoice or ache.

She was that kind of person—a knot that never speaks. Outwardly calm as glass, inwardly a river begging for oars, craving someone to wade in.

So—could she let herself sink into this warm tide? Even if the current changed her, she would treasure this hard-won light.

Maybe she could, because Yun Shi remembered a former life like a faded photograph—back when friends were still within reach.

Just as she opened her lips, a girl burst into the park like a gust, cutting through the hush.

Yun Shi turned, startled; what filled her sight was Mizuki—breath ragged, cheeks wine-red, as if she’d run through the sunset.

Her collar was damp like dew on fabric, heat rising off her like summer rain; even her hurried scent felt urgent and sweet.

Yun Shi’s fingers dug into the swing’s chains; across from her, Mizuki braced her knees, and their eyes locked—four eyes threading a line.

Astonishment, haze, and questions pooled in Yun Shi’s gaze; complexity, hesitation, and resolve steadied in Mizuki’s.

Girl to girl—they existed here, this heartbeat carved in amber.

“Go get ’em, you two.” Yan Er laughed and waved, leaving the rest like a stage cleared under starlight.

Yes—Mizuki had been called by Yan Er. The text was a guiding hand, meant to help, meant to draw a bridge between two drifting boats.

It was simple: comfort Mizuki, explain Yun Shi’s heart, say Yun Shi cared—ask Mizuki to make peace, to mend the thread.

Once Yan Er left, Mizuki’s breath evened like ripples calming; she walked closer, trying to shape a smile like a thin crescent moon.

“Yun Shi.” Her voice was soft, a reed stirred by wind.

Yun Shi’s eyes snapped wide; her hands clenched tighter, knuckles pale as shells.

“Yan Er said she cares about us, so I… I want to say something.” Mizuki’s words trembled like a leaf, yet pressed forward.

“…What do you want to say?” Yun Shi’s tone was quiet, a shadow under a bridge.

“Yun Shi, I can’t let go of last time…” Her confession was a thread pulled from the loom.

“Mm. I know. A first kiss means a lot for a girl—I don’t blame you.” Yun Shi’s voice was a blanket spread over frost.

“No! That’s not it!” Mizuki’s protest snapped like a twig, sharp and clean.

“Eh…” Yun Shi’s surprise lilted, a small bird cry.

“I was scared—the bond between us might sour. So I ran! But that wasn’t true. I’ve always wanted to be friends with you. I don’t want to drop this.”

Silence opened like a door; Yun Shi’s grip eased, and inside her, the floodgate creaked, letting water glitter into light.

“So, can we make up? I want to keep being your friend.” Mizuki’s gaze held sincerity like a prayer candle, a plea cupped in both hands.

At this point, what else needed saying? The answer rose like morning.

“Pfft…” The laugh escaped like a bubble from a spring.

Yun Shi pressed a hand to her mouth, and the smile lit her face like dawn—Mizuki stared, dazzled, her thoughts snowed quiet.

She’d seen it again—his smile, the one that turned the world gentle. It felt like seeing fireflies wake.

“Idiot.” Yun Shi scolded with a grin, playfulness dancing like sun on water.

“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean!” Mizuki huffed, cheeks puffed like small sails.

“Nothing. As expected of an idiot—your words are idiot through and through.” Yun Shi’s teasing was a flicked pebble, making rings on a calm lake.

“How rude! I’m not an idiot!” Her protest was a bright spark, stubborn and warm.

“Mm. This kind of idiot—I really like.” Yun Shi said it with a smile, her eyes steady as stars.

Mizuki froze, simply staring at that smile, her mind falling quiet; it made her want more, like a thirsty field longing for rain.

If time could stop, she wished this frame could hold forever, like a pressed flower in glass.

If the future could bend, she wished to cross it now, like stepping through a shimmering gate.

“Let’s go home.” Yun Shi stood and patted Mizuki’s shoulder, then took the first step like a path unfolding.

Mizuki blinked, then hurried after, the recovered smile blooming on her face—a treasure found again after being lost.

Under the sunset, their shadows stretched long as rivers, reaching forward with no end in sight.

Unnoticed, they had already returned to what they were—mended like silk rethreaded, whole again.