“Haa...”

After the last enemy fell, Mizuki finally let the weight drop from her shoulders like snow sliding off a roof. She looked at her hands—months ago they were clean; now they carried the iron sheen of dried blood. Her fingers tightened, knuckles like pebbles in winter creek-water.

This was the Underworld’s truth, cold as a midnight sea. She knew more lives would be taken by her hands, and the worst was how numbness spread like frost. She was slowly getting used to it, soul dimming like a lantern in wind.

“Mizuki.”

Andrea stepped in from the sidelines, boots whispering like leaves.

“Not bad.”

That was all, but from her it was a high tide of praise. She rarely let such words slip.

Mizuki only offered a faint smile, thin as moonlight on steel. She knew this kind of work would come again; there was no escaping the storm.

All she could do was adapt, like roots gripping rock. Hesitation would drown her.

“Thanks.”

One thread still tugged at her—a distant ache for her friends in Japan, a warmth like classroom sunlight she missed more than she’d admit.

She didn’t yet know their bonds had frayed like old rope, each strand pulling apart.

Japan, Rakuyoku High School looked the same on the surface, bright as a morning pond. Students wore smiles of expectation, chatter bubbling like sparrows—Sports Day was close, joy hung like banners in wind. Some contestants openly canvassed, asking familiar faces to cheer.

Youth felt good, fresh as spring rain.

Passing teachers couldn’t help the gentle smiles; memory stirred like autumn leaves. They had felt that same thrill once, and now nostalgia warmed them like tea.

One homeroom teacher watched the lively crowd, then turned to leave. She paused—there, a student half-leaning on the window, eyes drifting over the yard. No sparkle of excitement on that face, just calm like still water, with a trace of sorrow clouding the gaze.

“Isn’t this Yunshi Bianqi? What are you watching alone?”

As her homeroom teacher, she knew a bit about this one. Brilliant at study, a star bright as a frost-clear moon, but with a quiet, solitary orbit.

Don’t be fooled by the cute-girl look—this one was actually a guy, a secret tucked like a knife under silk.

“Teacher Sawano, is there anything urgent?”

And yes, this kid carried himself like a small adult, voice neat as folded paper.

“Is it really okay to talk to a teacher like that?”

Sawano felt a sigh rise like steam. With a student who didn’t act like a student, she felt pressure in her chest like a tight apron string.

“So, do you need me for something?”

“No. I saw you leaning here like you had nothing to do. The Student Council must be wearing you down. President Asagi isn’t around—rest would be best. Go out with friends; play a bit to ease the weight.”

“...I don’t have close friends.”

“Then go shopping with the girls you get along with. You’ve got plenty of boys around you too.”

“...Teacher, you don’t understand a thing.”

Like a little adult, Yun Shi sighed, breath thin as mist. Under Sawano’s puzzled look, she walked past her, footsteps soft as falling petals.

“Goodbye, Teacher.”

Yun Shi didn’t bother to explain. She needed silence, needed to cool the fever of her thoughts.

Under the big tree in the yard, she sat in the shade where light dappled like fish-scales. It was a sakura, but the blossoms had long fallen; it wouldn’t bloom again until next year, branches bare like ribs against the sky.

She looked up at the blue, and her mood sank like a stone in a well.

“It’s been a week...”

She counted on her fingers, voice a murmur like rain. A week since Mai’s confession had struck like thunder in a summer storm.

Since that day, Yun Shi hadn’t said a word to Mai, nor to Sham. Even the remaining friends, Mizuki and Yan Er, had slipped from her daily orbit like stars behind clouds.

It wasn’t just her; all four had gone quiet. Mizuki and Yan Er still managed a few light phrases, but Mai and Sham had frozen solid, ice between them.

Their feelings had cracked, a mirror webbed with fractures. Yun Shi had gone over it again and again, and every answer pointed back to romance. Mai and Sham had fallen for the same person and split; Yan Er and Mizuki had bristled because the person they liked had drifted toward her; it was a tangled polygon, a net tightening.

Why hadn’t this happened before? It felt absurd, like she’d stumbled into a harem lead’s plot, a joke with a bitter aftertaste.

She sighed again, breath curling like smoke. The knot inside was complex.

She had never wanted this. She’d once said love polygons were the worst, a stain on love’s purity. But when many hearts turned toward her and she couldn’t answer each one, she felt like the one profaning love, a temple bell struck to crack.

Yun Shi had never dated. She was troubled like a traveler lost in fog. She couldn’t answer Sham or Mai because she didn’t know who she liked. If she knew, the path would open like a gate.

Then she wouldn’t have twisted everyone’s ties into knots like tangled kite strings.

“Three days until Sports Day. Will she come back...?”

At the thought of Mizuki’s return, Yun Shi’s courage faltered like a candle in wind. Their relations had shifted; she feared facing Mizuki’s eyes, feared what Mizuki might think.

If she could, she didn’t want Mizuki to know any of this—she wanted to tuck it away like a letter left unsent.

She lifted her phone and stared at her contacts, names lined up like stepping stones. She dialed the one voice she could still reach.

“Hi hi, it’s Moa~”

“You’re really bright.”

Yun Shi let a rare, thin smile slip. If only she could keep Moa’s optimism, smiling at people like sun on a winter wall.

“What’s wrong, Yun Shi-chan? You sound so tired.”

They say a woman’s intuition is sharp; maybe that was true.

“It’s nothing, I’m just a little worn out... Sawagawa Moa, our school’s Sports Day is soon. You know, right?”

“Of course! Don’t worry, I’ll come cheer for you guys!”

“Mm. I’m looking forward to it.”

For a week, the only person she could speak to was Moa. That was her one warm ember.

This week hadn’t been kind. With no friends around, she buried herself in Student Council work, grinding from early to late, trying not to think of anyone. She’d never cared about being alone before, but now solitude fit her badly, like shoes that pinched. Sham and Mai were gone from her days; becoming her old self felt wrong all over.

Habit is a terrible thing. Once you get used to laughter like birdsong around you, returning to an empty room feels like winter set in.

“Yun Shi-chan, you’re definitely hiding something from me, right?”

Sawagawa Moa’s intuition was keen; otherwise she wouldn’t have seen through Yun Shi’s disguise back then, like spotting thread beneath silk.

Yun Shi’s smile turned wry, a curve like a bent reed.

“I want to head abroad before Sports Day. Come with me.”

No explanations; she stepped straight into the current.

“...Okay. I’ll get ready.”

Moa caught the weight in Yun Shi’s voice and didn’t press. She hung up and rushed to prepare, her feet quick as sparrows.

Staring at the dark screen, Yun Shi felt her mood drop again, a bucket lowered into a deep well. She stood, didn’t spare the school a glance, and walked out through the gate, shadow long as late afternoon.

She decided—if she couldn’t numb herself here, she’d drown the noise in battle in the Underworld. A few days’ leave from school would be fine; paper could turn like leaves.

The Underworld’s situation was unstable, a sea chopped by too many winds. Fights flared everywhere, sparks like fireflies. Intelligence said the Kananin Family would launch a large-scale strike; aside from the Four Pupils Clan, other clan heads would be drawn in, directly or indirectly, threads pulled into the loom.

Yun Shi chose a target the way a storm picks a coast—she’d vent on the Church.

At the port they’d used before, she waited, patience like a stone on the pier. Soon, Moa arrived in her Mingya Middle School uniform, trotting with the bounce of a fresh wave.

“Yun Shi-chan?”

Moa offered a cautious hello. Yun Shi looked back once, eyes cool as lake glass, then turned and headed for the waterline.

There, a submarine for deep-sea runs hid like a whale. It stayed submerged, surfacing only when it sensed familiar Mystic Power. Calling it up wasn’t hard for Yun Shi; her signal pulsed like a beacon.

She opened the hatch, slipped in first, swift as a shadow; Moa followed, breath quick as fins. The door sealed, and the sub slid down into the dark, then punched forward like a fired arrow, speed shocking as thunder underwater.

Inside, Yun Shi worked the console with steady hands, light washing over her face like lantern glow. She set their destination near the Irish Sea, skirting London’s chaos like a storm-front she refused. Mizuki was there too; she didn’t want to meet her gaze.

“Hey, Yun Shi-chan, you’re hiding something from me, aren’t you?”

Moa asked again, her voice soft as cotton. Yun Shi’s hand paused; her face stiffened, mask brittle as shell.

“What’s going on with you?”

By habit, Yun Shi rarely let personal trouble ripple the surface; if it did, she swallowed it like bitter medicine. If she was truly troubled now, it meant the dam had cracks.

“...You might not understand, but I really learned this—feelings aren’t kind things.”

“What do you mean?”

“So... children don’t understand.”

Expecting a middle schooler to grasp what weighed on a high schooler with a college memory felt naive, like asking fish to read the sky.

“You act so big—aren’t you the same age as me?”

“At least, I’m more mature.”

“I’m plenty mature, okay? What’s small about me?!”

Moa clearly misunderstood, eyes darting to Yun Shi’s height and chest, a mortifying glance like a pebble tossed and forgotten.

“I don’t mean physical maturity. I mean inside. Sawagawa Moa, do you think you’ve got enough of that?”

“Uu...”

Yun Shi’s words caught Moa’s breath like a hiccup. Her cheeks flushed, color blooming like peach blossoms, and her tongue tangled into silence.

“So how could you understand my mood, Moa?”

Yun Shi leaned back, the seat cradling her like a cold wave. Her tone was calm, but with a dusk-dark fade. She used Moa’s given name now, not the usual full—outside Sham and Mizuki, she rarely did that.

Moa’s face smoothed with worry, understanding that Yun Shi’s mess was deep water she might not swim. But—

“Even so... I want to carry a bit of it for you. We’re friends, right?”

“...Mm. That’s true.”

That single word—friend—warmed Yun Shi like a hand around a cup. For days, that was the one thing she’d wanted to feel again.

Hours later, the submarine surfaced by a small island, quiet as a turtle in sun. It looked like any ordinary island, scrub grass and sand, but it hid a Church branch; a firefight had scorched it days ago, smoke-stains like bruises.

Yun Shi changed into her Witch gear, buckles shining like fish-scales, and slipped on her Goggles, lenses dark as night water. She climbed out and took the shore, resolve sharpening like a blade.

She didn’t come for anyone. She came to throw punches at the sky and hear the echo.

She sent the submarine down again, then moved along the beach with Moa, footprints the only ink on the pale sand.

“Yun Shi-chan, what exactly are we here to do?”

“I’m here to cause trouble for the enemy. Simple as a stone. You patrol. I’ll hunt for intel. I want to erase one small squad before sunset.”

“Yun Shi-chan, you’re too bold—just walking into the enemy’s turf like this...”

“Relax. I’ve got a plan tucked like a map in my sleeve. Go. I’ll take this side.”

“All right.”

Moa dipped her head, resigned, and slipped deeper into the forest, like a small doe melting into fern-shadow.

Intent set like flint, Yun Shi angled toward the island’s cave to see if anyone set up camp, a hawk’s mind studying stone and dark.

She didn’t notice the woman ghosting her steps, a shadow slipping like water behind leaves...