Adelaide felt like she was still dreaming, and it wasn’t just the drowsy fog the Dreamfeast Spider had spun over her like damp silk.

More than that, she had just slipped free of a rotten memory, then opened her eyes to the last face she wanted—one of the people at its heart.

If she met Mira’s eyes now, she had no faith in her mask. Her emotions would spill like ink.

Fine. She was a half‑crippled girl with no strength to tie a chicken. Against a legend‑class monster, passing out on the web seemed reasonable.

So she shut her eyes, knit her brow, and pretended the Dreamfeast Spider’s nightmare still held her like a tide.

In the dark behind her lids, two quick footsteps struck. A blade hissed. Silk snapped; restraints parted like frost under sun.

She lost support and began to fall. Mira caught her, steady and warm as stone at noon.

Through a thin layer of cloth, Adelaide felt human warmth for the first time in ages, a hearth in winter.

See? She saved me, even after dropping those cruel words like knives.

Of course. Even a so‑called villainess noble wouldn’t leave me here to die—her thought cut off with sudden weightlessness, like a bridge giving way.

Her feet left the ground. Mira’s arms pressed against her thighs and the nape of her neck. She was scooped and held, cradled like a stream lifting a leaf.

Adelaide spent a few seconds feeling the soft warmth beneath her forearms, a cloud under the skin, before her mind caught up.

I… just got—princess carried?

Uh?

Her first princess carry stilled both breath and brain. Heat climbed her face like sunset spilling over roofs.

This—this is just normal rescue protocol, right?

The shame‑bright tide swept her earlier thoughts away. The soft, heated press under her arm made her whole body burn like kindled pine.

She couldn’t keep acting. She cracked an eye open—and met Mira’s gaze, clear as water in a cave pool.

Mira was looking right at her. Even the underground dark couldn’t drown the light in those eyes.

“Finally… made it…”

That familiar yet strange tone froze Adelaide, a bell struck in fog.

Why is she wearing that expression?

Tears. Joy. Guilt—braided together like three threads.

Like a child who clawed a beloved teddy bear out of a fire.

Because of me?

A needle of pain pricked Adelaide’s mind. Her memory collided with the “dream” again, sparks flying.

Five years apart, then all that came after meeting again—she had almost forgotten how Mira used to be, holding only the “dream” of a cocky villainess.

But seeing Mira now, Adelaide remembered. The past unfurled like a scroll.

Yes. Mira… always was like this.

Ancient memories loosened the taut wire inside Adelaide. Weariness surged up like a tide and quietly took her.

She closed her eyes again.

…

Resting in her arms… for a bit… doesn’t sound bad…

Adelaide woke to a pool of warmth, like dawn inside a cave.

She opened her eyes to orange firelight. The campfire crackled—pop, crack—like seeds in a pan. She lazily rolled over under a draped coat.

She hadn’t slept this soundly in ages—no sweat‑slick nightmares, no sudden knife‑twists under her ribs, only slow breaths like waves.

For once, like a child, she wanted to stay curled there and steal more minutes from the morning.

The impulse held until she saw the blonde girl resting with closed eyes against a rock wall, quiet as frost.

“Mira…?”

Adelaide snapped awake. She glanced around. Beyond the ring of firelight, darkness lay thick, with scattered glowing plants like stars. They were still underground.

It looked like a makeshift camp, a hearth carved from shadow. Adelaide scanned the circle, then back to Mira, who sat opposite the fire with closed eyes.

Mira had given Adelaide her coat, so she wore only a thin shirt. Heat eddied from the fire and stirred her gold hair like wind over wheat.

Shadows drafted over her face like an artist’s brush laying careful strokes. Firelight carved and softened her features like a statue waking.

For the first time in five years, Adelaide saw her asleep. Without the thorns, Mira’s face began to overlap an older memory like two photos aligning.

When she’s quiet like this, you can still see the past—like a lantern behind paper.

Then Mira opened her eyes and met Adelaide’s stare. Awkward silence fell like a dropped curtain between them.

“Um… good evening?”

“…”

It’s evening because everything’s black—Adelaide thought the spur‑of‑the‑moment joke fit the scene like a pebble in a pond, but Mira gave no reaction and turned away.

Huh?

Why? When she carried me, the air between us felt warm. Why go cold like the academy again, frost over a window?

Wait—don’t tell me… that was my imagination?

“You were caught by a Dreamfeast Spider.”

Just as Adelaide started spiraling, Mira spoke, her voice cutting clean as a blade.

Her tone wasn’t the ice‑cold slice from last time, but it held distance—like a gate kept shut, iron and quiet.

Adelaide narrowed her eyes and thought, a hand pressing her chest to steady the tremor.

“Mira.”

She said the name gently, like back when they were small, a pebble set in a stream to calm it.

“Thank you.”

Mira didn’t answer, so Adelaide continued, voice soft as dusk.

“I’m sorry. After last time… sis… I never had the courage to seek you out.”

Maybe because Adelaide raised the banquet night, Mira finally turned. She stared straight into Adelaide’s eyes, searching for truth like a diver reading the current.

“What do you want to say?”

“Mira, do you still… hate me?”

Sadness colored Adelaide’s voice. Her gaze fell like rain.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known—I hurt you on your birthday, then tried to pretend nothing happened…”

“I don’t remember.”

“Eh?”

“If you mean the night of my fourteenth birthday, I’ve already forgotten it.”

Adelaide couldn’t process it. Her mind stumbled like a foot on loose stone.

Forgot… how?

“Side effect of the Time Domain. Not just that night—most memories before awakening are smeared.”

Mira’s cold voice held no emotion, like a weather report before dawn.

“So stop dragging up the past. Stop acting like some big sister—I don’t care, and I don’t care about your history.”

Adelaide went quiet. Silence pooled around her like ink.

She had wanted to use the privacy to ask what Mira felt. The answer swerved off the map like a cart wheel in mud.

But in that case, everything starts to make sense. Pieces clicked like beads on a string.

She’d wondered why Mira showed disgust at her yet kept silent about that night. That contradiction gnawed like a mouse.

Because she doesn’t remember.

If so… maybe my plan to win Mira over still has a shot. A thin bridge appeared in the mist.

Something in her gut felt wrong, a grit under the tongue, but Adelaide pushed it aside. She felt happy—no, buoyant—like a kite catching wind.

She was a genius at strategy. Once she knew Mira’s stance, she could craft a response, a fan folded to the right angle.

First, she needed to wear loss, like someone who just realized they’d lost their closest kin.

“So… that’s how it is…”

Then she should go quiet and let the fire’s crack and pop speak for her, time flowing like sparks, until she sounded decided.

“Adelaide von Douglas…”

When confusion lifted Mira’s eyes, Adelaide raised her head. Mist still clung to her gaze like morning dew. She stared straight, forcing herself to rally, and held hope like a candle.

“That’s my name. It might sound strange to you, but in these five years apart, I haven’t forgotten yours for a single breath.”

Finally, she would wear a smile tinged with sorrow and speak in the voice she used at Mira’s bedside, telling bedtime tales like soft rain.

“You’ve changed—your hair isn’t the old color, and you don’t even remember me. But even so, I still want to be your sister. Like when you first came to our home, Mira.”

After that one‑two of sentiment, even Adelaide felt moved, her own heart misting over. Mira’s icebound face faltered and softened for a heartbeat like thaw.

“I said I don’t care. Stop bringing it—” Mira saw Adelaide rising from the bedding and suddenly grew flustered, words tangling like thread. “Cl—”

Her words cut off. Adelaide leaned in close, eyes bright with decision, a blade of light.

“If once isn’t enough, I’ll say it twice. If twice isn’t enough, I’ll keep saying it until you accept me. I’m not giving up, Mira.”

They stared at breath’s length. Their breathing even drowned the fire’s crackle, tide against tide.

Mira broke eye contact first. Her gaze slid away like a bird taking wing.

Looks like Adelaide won this round.

Heh. My performance is divine. Who could refuse a sister like me—Adelaide was basking when something soft plastered over her face like a blanket.

She peeled it off and found a dress with the skirt cut away, the fabric marked by washed‑out stains like pale rivers.

“Clothes.”

“Hm?”

“Put on your clothes.”

Adelaide glanced down and realized she wore only two thin undergarments and white thigh‑high stockings, snow on skin.

She was almost bare, pressed against Mira. Pale skin lay exposed, blushed by the fire into suggestive pink like peach petals.

She paused, then obediently retreated under the bedding, a turtle pulling into its shell.

“Did… you see… everything?”

“Your clothes got spider blood on them.”

The answer was basically a yes. Heat flared across Adelaide’s face again, a rush like steam.

Even five years ago, she and Mira had never seen each other’s bodies. That was why the violet birthmark on Mira’s abdomen had shocked her that night, a moon on skin.

Only now did she realize she handled touch worse than she thought, soft things turning her to flame.

No. She shook her head hard, like rattling a bell.

Calm down, Adelaide. Calm down. You’re both women; this level of contact shouldn’t make you blush like a schoolgirl.

Now isn’t the time to fuss over that. Hold the line.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, but the words still stammered out; the mood she’d built was gone like smoke.

“Th‑thanks, Mira…”

Mira looked aside. Whether it was the fire or not, her face looked pink too, a cherry tint.

“I only did it for myself. Carrying you, your blood would stain my clothes otherwise.”

“Huh? Carry me?”

“I don’t have the energy to make you another wheelchair. Or do you plan to walk out of here on your own legs?”