She held the girl, warmth pooling like a pocket of sunlight, and for a breath that was enough.

Maya reluctantly let go, fingers dragging like leaves off a branch, and met her eyes.

In the end, the words stayed caged like sparrows in her throat.

She’d planned to loose them on this winded chance, but courage froze like thin ice.

At her lips, confession warped into can we still be friends, like ink bled by rain.

“That... isn’t impossible,” Yun Shi said, scratching her head like a puzzled cat, her tone stiff as dry bark.

In truth, she’d already filed Maya under friend, a stone set long ago in a quiet stream.

She only faked reluctance, a mask held up like a folding fan for pride.

Maya parted her lips, words rising like mist, yet no sound crossed the cold air.

Once spoken, arrows don’t return; now, all she could do was accept the echo.

“Thanks,” she murmured, the word light as a moth wing in dusk.

Bold talk came easy like summer thunder, yet confession snagged like thorns at her sleeve.

It was the same then, when she confessed to Mizuki, long brewing like tea in a covered cup.

“Hanazaka Maya, you’re not yourself today?” Yun Shi asked, suspicion flickering like a fox’s eyes.

That girl-who-likes-girls had been odd since a moment ago, her unease rippling like reeds in wind.

Right now she looked more like an untouched maiden, dew bright on a first morning.

“It’s nothing big,” Maya sighed, her breath falling like a tired leaf.

“You’ll be at the Student Council these days, right?” Her question moved like a pebble across water.

“Yeah, of course,” Yun Shi said, her answer crisp as a snapped twig.

“Then good luck. Don’t forget the sports festival events you signed up for,” Maya added, voice gentle as drizzle.

“I know, I don’t need you to remind me,” Yun Shi muttered, old annoyance stirring like grit in her shoe.

She still recalled being set up by Maya, a prick that sat like a hidden thorn.

Classmates had voted her into the cheer squad, unanimous as a drumbeat under a bright banner.

Her heart had crumpled then, like paper in a sudden rain.

“I’m heading back. See you tomorrow,” Maya said, her farewell drifting like a lantern to the gate.

“Mm, bye,” Yun Shi waved, hand heavy as a wing after a long flight.

Maya watched Yun Shi’s back fade, a shoreline shrinking under fog, and reluctance tugged like tide.

She had wanted to speak, but silence froze over like a pond at dusk.

Only when Yun Shi vanished from her horizon did Maya turn, feet tracing the long shadow.

She said goodbye first, yet the one who truly left first was not her, like a boat cut free.

The sunset thinned and went dull, a coal losing its last glow.

...

Huff... huff... Mizuki Kiseki staggered, sweat soaking her clothes like summer rain, the cling a crawling ivy under her skin.

Droplets kept falling from her face like steady drips from a cave, and her body grew heavy as wet sand.

She was near her limit, a candle guttering in wind, but cliff above and sea below forbade rest.

“Just a little more,” she breathed, the words tiny as ants climbing bark.

With no tools, Mizuki climbed alone, hands on cold rock like barnacles, feet feeling for holds one step at a time.

Even spent, she dared not stop; the ocean below yawned like a mouth, yet she refused to fall.

Simple reason: she’d fallen many times before, each drop a bell toll into the sea.

Atop the cliff, Andrea stood cold and high, a hawk on a bare branch, eyes on the girl below.

For days, Andrea had trained Mizuki like a blade over a harsh fire, life and death disregarded like shed husks.

She seemed to forget Mizuki was her student, a role she had claimed like a name etched on stone.

A mentor should guard safety, a roof in rain; earlier she had, these days she turned the roof to thorns.

“Andrea Alex, isn’t this training too much for Mizuki?” Elena the Weapon Spirit spoke, her voice a stirred wind behind a sheath.

“It’s just right. She needs survival at the edge,” Andrea said, her tone flat as iron.

Her face gave nothing, a lake without ripples, thoughts sunk like stones.

“As far as I know, this would break anyone not war-forged,” Elana said, her protectiveness rising like a shield.

As an Artifact Spirit, Elana had spent long with Mizuki, feelings braided like vines.

“Mizuki Kiseki already has a code name, the Witch,” Andrea said, the word cold as a stamp.

“But code without battle is a paper sword; drawing out her power is hard,” she added, eyes like winter glass.

She did not care whether Mizuki could endure, concern locked like a door barred from inside.

“But she’s a child from the Outer World. Isn’t this too much?” Elana asked, worry thin as smoke.

“She chose to grow strong. With that resolve, she can’t fear pain,” Andrea said, urgency ticking like rain on tin.

“Times are tight. I don’t have time to mentor her slow. Every second counts like sand through a narrow glass.”

“So that’s why you rush her,” Elana murmured, voice low as evening.

“Yes. We can’t wait. She needs quick harvest,” Andrea said, a scythe already in hand under a dark sky.

She was likely right; the Underworld twisted like storm clouds, danger ready to break.

Battle could come any moment; Andrea might leave like lightning, unable to watch Mizuki.

So her harshness sharpened, a whetstone grinding day after day.

Yet it was still wrong; if Mizuki broke, the cost would spill like oil no one could clean.

There was no better way though, the road narrowing like a path along a cliff.

“Made it...” Mizuki’s small face went pale as paper, fingers finding the lip like hooked roots.

Blood striped her knuckles, skin flayed like bark; her hair was a snarled thicket without its usual sheen.

She remembered the first climb, when she fell from spent muscles, a stone dropped into blue.

The second, a misstep in midair; the third, a rest that stole all strength, a sleep on ice.

The most recent, Andrea stepped on her hand, pain like fire, and she fell back into the sea.

Not this time, Mizuki vowed, the words tight as a knot.

She clung to the edge, almost over; Andrea looked down, lifting a foot like a hammer to stomp.

Prepared, Mizuki pulled one hand back, then flowed along the face like a lizard, snatching a new hold.

Gritting her teeth, she drove upward; Andrea swung the other foot, a hawk’s strike in the wind.

Mizuki didn’t wait; she caught that foot, used the pressure like a springboard, and vaulted up under Andrea’s startled gaze.

Huff... huff... She finally exhaled, relief washing over her like cool shade.

This level of training was murderous, a grindstone that spared no grain, even without direct lethal risk.

For Mizuki to last this long was no small flame; it kept burning in the rain.

“This phase is cleared,” Andrea said, her verdict falling like a stamp in wax.

She added nothing else; teaching wasn’t her craft, only memory copied like a stencil onto Mizuki.

“Then we start the next,” she said, sword lifting like a silver line.

“Huh? More?” Mizuki asked, her voice thin as a reed in wind.

She was at her limit; recent days had been death-line drills, not hand-in-hand lessons by a gentle fire.

“Andrea Alex...” Elana began, her tone warning like distant thunder.

“I have my reasons, Second Soul Artifact,” Andrea cut in, words hard as knuckles.

She drew her sword, the point leveled like a compass needle, bidding Mizuki attack.

Mizuki forced her spent body upright, two daggers drawn like twin fangs, stance settling like a coiled cat.

She stepped in; her blades flashed toward Andrea, every learned trick poured out like a river.

But Andrea wasn’t a soft target; before her, Mizuki stayed on the back foot, a leaf before a gale.

Why fight so hard, why burn like this? For love, a north star in dark water.

To catch up to her, to save her, she pushed on with a pilgrim’s heart.

It was pure, it was naive, a rare snow that doesn’t melt in soot.

In this dark Underworld, keeping clean is hard; Mizuki was a clear spring under rock.

Many who enter never return to innocence; Yun Shi was one shaped by shadow.

She shed innocence for the Underworld’s ace, the Night Phantom, but lost the most precious thing, her heart.

Mizuki carried the heart Yun Shi lost into the Underworld, training to return it like a lantern brought home.

No one knows who becomes what; the future is fog, and people can only wait like fishermen at dawn.

Thud! Mizuki flew and hit hard, pain ringing like iron, yet she rose slow and steady.

Andrea admired her refusal to quit; her face eased, ice thinning under a shy sun.

“That’s it for today,” she said, her voice settling like dust after wind.

“...Yes,” Mizuki answered, the word small as a seed.

She wanted to continue, but her body barred the door like a fallen tree.

She dropped to the ground and blacked out, long drills draining her like a leaky gourd.

If she could, she’d sleep deep, a stone at the lakebed.

So the Night Phantom once trained this way, she thought; compared to that storm, she was a candle.

“I’m getting medicine. Don’t wander,” Andrea said, leaving a shaded spot like a small shelter.

She went for salve, footsteps even as metronome rain.

Staring at the sky, Mizuki let her heart drift like a kite to another place.

Elbow over her brow, she watched white clouds, wanting to reach, but strength fell away like sand.

She wished to catch that cloud, soft as cotton blown low, yet her hands were empty as dusk.