“Oh-ho, someone’s hawk-eyed the human. Is it because she was Her Majesty’s partner?”

“Ew, so rough. And why’s she wearing a mask like moonlight painted on?”

The crowd buzzed like reeds in a river wind. The Elf from the Carne Family, who’d been inviting Adelaide, drew his brows like a taut bow. He went to demand who had burst in and stolen Adelaide into an embrace, but the newcomer had already taken Adelaide’s hand.

Warmth vanished like a candle snuffed. With no formal invite, the masked “Elf” stepped in, bold as a stormfront, and forced the waltz to start.

The move hit fast as a drumbeat. Adelaide didn’t panic; her pulse flared, then steadied like a lake under rain. She matched a toe-tip to the floor, leaned back, and turned—an elegant arc, a high-difficulty flourish that made the audience inhale like cold air in winter.

“Wait—”

No one could wedge that word in. The foreign steps burned bright, giving no space for outsiders, a desert wind that kept blowing. Even the troublemaker from before, an Elf of decent skill, could only watch the tempo carry Adelaide beyond his reach.

And the one seemingly dragged into a fierce, possessive dance—Adelaide—felt at ease, like a fish in familiar currents. She seemed to counter every move, yet she was smooth as silk drawn over glass, free enough to lift her gaze and study the masked face.

After all, this forceful entrance was exactly what she had asked for in that note, a spark struck on purpose.

“Pfft~”

The sharp footwork met a heated crowd, a kettle finally whistling. Knowing no one would catch their tiny expressions, Adelaide let a quiet laugh spill like a hidden spring.

“...So, this mask really looks weird?”

Half a month without a word, and their first line was a snort and a careful question, like rain tapping the eaves.

Holding back a smile, Adelaide raised her eyes to the mask—pale gold dusted with glittering blue-silver, like frost over dawn. Butterfly-like wings framed it; it hid neither her thin, rosy lips nor those gem-bright green eyes. She nodded, light as a feather.

“Nope. I can still see the sister I’m proud of. I’m very happy with it.” She paused, gaze drifting two inches to the side, and saw the lifelike long ears, art like a carved willow. “It’s just… seeing you suddenly become an Elf would surprise any sister a little.”

“It’s only Varie’s mimicry artifact...”

“Heh, I know. Back in the desert she bragged for hours about how hard it was to get. The effect’s stunning, so I get the showing off.” Adelaide’s eyes roved over Mira’s face and gold hair, a painter loving her subject, until Mira’s cheeks bloomed rose. “Your features, your shape, even your hair match… You really do look like an Elf now, Mira.”

She longed to touch those ears, to feel how real the craft was, like testing silk with fingertips. Their speed didn’t allow it, so she teased, soft as a breeze: “So, is the Lionheart Hero grieving? She’s only got one of these, right?”

“...” Mira lowered her lashes, thoughts knotting like vines, then gentled the words like water. “She said the artifact costs won’t be part of the trade contract. They’re something you… we owe her.”

“Mm-hmm.” Adelaide’s lips curved, recalling Varie’s pained face like a merchant watching coin melt. “You worked hard. I bet the Lionheart Hero complained the whole way~”

“She did grumble about the mimicry artifact, but…” Mira saw her sister’s good mood shimmer like morning light, then spoke after a breath’s hesitation. “After she saw you dance with the Queen, she got truly angry. She barely spoke. Her pupils were a single slit… It’s my first time seeing someone of the Nacha Tribe enter that state.”

“Oh? And then?” The question flicked like a sparrow’s wing.

“She watched halfway, said she had an old friend to see for half a month, then ran. I couldn’t stop her.”

Adelaide’s brows rose, a crane lifting from reeds.

“So she doesn’t plan to accept the request to meet the Queen?”

Mira nodded. Adelaide hummed, the sound low as distant thunder. “Looks like Her Majesty’s plan backfired…”

As Adelaide spoke, Queen Dreamlan and her current partner glided past, their path skimming hers like ships crossing at twilight. Adelaide met the Queen’s eyes and caught a calm, patient smile, a fisherman’s line paid out into deep water.

All right. Miscalculation or a long game? Hard to say yet, fog still hugging the river.

Either way, the longer the Queen and the Lionheart Hero tangle like twined banners, the more chances Adelaide can trade with the Queen—so please keep your stubborn fire, Lionheart Hero.

Adelaide sent one last silent, mocking laugh toward that absent figure, a spark flicked into the wind. Her steps sped with joy rising like a tide. A brief separation, then a swift seven-hundred-twenty-degree spin—her Fana Family white gown whirled open like a night-blooming flower, until Mira swept her back into an embrace. Only then did the crowd find breath to gasp, a wave breaking on stone.

All this time, other Elves had tried to peel Adelaide from Mira’s arms, fingers itching like cats at a fish. But the ball’s rules named no specific dance. So even if jealousy bit, no contestant could call a halt to their Sarman Empire piece, notorious as the highest-difficulty storm on that floor.

Their motion was quick and clean, two swallows turning in air. The snug, seamless rhythm even pushed the musicians beside them to quicken the beat, like logs tossed onto a growing fire. No gap opened for a hungry hand to intrude.

In this storm of steps, the music climbed toward its peak, a mountain trail near the summit.

Yet their voices fell quiet, like snow muffling a street.

It wasn’t focus on the dance. Quite the opposite. They moved on instinct, bodies conversing without words, hearts drifting like boats while their feet flowed.

The lake’s surface wore a silver chain of ripples. The lakebed hid the real unrest.

Seeing Mira’s near-speaking mouth falter like a shuttered lantern, Adelaide knew. Jokes about the Lionheart Hero were only preludes, light thunder. After that, like the music hitting its crest, it was time… to speak of that.

“Sis, I—”

“Shh…”

Adelaide slid close, a move like silk brushing skin, and cut Mira off. Warm breath grazed her ear, a moth’s wing, and the courage she’d gathered snagged in her throat like a caught fish.

“Let me go first, Mira.”

Turn after turn, Adelaide’s gaze never left Mira’s eyes, green as spring leaves after rain.

She stopped smiling. Lionheart Hero, Queen Dreamlan, even the ball’s stakes fell behind the next sentence, cleared like clouds from the moon.

“Mira, I’m sorry.”

Behind the mask, emeralds widened. Mira’s steps stuttered, a heartbeat misstruck.

“That day… I shouldn’t have shouted at you. You did nothing wrong.”

In the days apart, Adelaide had shaped a thousand apologies like folding paper cranes. In the end, she chose the simplest, unadorned arrow.

“I know you carry many questions. I should have told you everything. I’m sorry.”

“N-no, it’s me who shouldn’t—” Mira’s voice trembled, a leaf in wind.

“You’re my most precious sister, Mira.”

Adelaide cut in, gently, and closed her eyes like a prayer.

On this, she would lie no more, to herself or anyone. Fire laid bare.

“In this world, you’re the only one who’s seen the real Adelaide and accepted her.”

When her eyes opened again, red as garnets under flame, feeling broke its banks.

“You’re my sister, and the only one I can trust with my back, heart and shadow. So whether my bliss or my nightmare, you deserve to know.”

The song neared its end, like dusk touching the ridge. Their feet stopped. Adelaide and Mira faced each other, the gap shrinking like two magnets finding pull.

“Only…”

Mira listened, dazed, as Adelaide’s words wavered like a candle in wind. In those near crimson eyes, bitter, struggle, regret… and resolve burned together, coals under ash.

Before Mira could grasp it, Adelaide cupped her face, hands gentle as petals.

The crowd erupted into screams, a flock taking wing.

“They—they kissed?! At a moment like this?!”

“That human, Her Majesty’s partner, just kissed someone else?!”

Noise surged like storm surf after the first shriek. Mira stood blank, a deer in bright snow, until Adelaide let go, slid an arm around her waist, and heat ignited. It climbed from her neck to the tips of those mimic ears, flames licking gold—no wonder Varie winced; this artifact really was hyper-real.

“Eh… eh?”

Mira made a foggy sound, mind spinning like a compass near lightning.

Adelaide hadn’t truly gone mouth to mouth. She angled it, a stage trick that looked like a kiss, a magician’s mirror.

It was meant to stoke the crowd, draw eyes like moths to lantern light. Even knowing that, Mira froze.

Because a trick needs no touch. Yet she had felt it—a fleeting softness on her cheek, a plum blossom brushing skin.

Why… to this extent?

Conflicting thoughts collided like antlers. A deep tug of impulse and want stirred beneath, river meeting tide. Mira didn’t dare return the embrace; even that might snap her control like a brittle reed.

The world tilted. Then her sister’s voice came again, soft as night rain at the window.

“Please, give Sister a little more time.”

Adelaide buried her burning face in Mira’s gold hair, arms tightening, a knot drawn firm.

Yes. A little more time…

Time to take what she wanted; to sit somewhere no one could threaten, a peak above storms.

Time to prove she wasn’t the failure who couldn’t guard her treasures, who couldn’t guard Mira. Time to turn defeat to steel.

“When that time comes, I will tell you everything, Mira.”