The next day, Pengpeng jumped like a startled hare when Mira appeared out of thin air.

She was sanding a swing, scrubbing the metal chains until they flashed like river water. She straightened, proud as a gardener after rain, and admired the half-hour sheen. In the mirror-slick reflection, she caught Mira standing behind her, silent as moonlight, staring. Her heart lurched, and she almost tripped on flat ground like a foal.

"Uh, g–good morning, Lady Mira!"

Pengpeng seized the swing like a lifeline and bowed, fear fluttering like sparrow wings. It was only her second time facing Mira like this, face to face.

They’d lived in the same orphanage for nearly a month, yet Pengpeng, like the other kids, only left meals at Mira’s door per her instructions. She never saw Mira’s true face, only shadows like paper screens.

That distance felt like a winter wall, at least to Pengpeng. Add Mira’s chill at their first meeting, and Pengpeng’s mind went blank like fog at sunrise. The sandpaper in her hand brushed her sensitive tail behind her back, and a yelp almost slipped out like steam.

"U-ah—" Her face flushed like ripe apples; the sound stuck in her throat like thorns. After a long beat, she forced words out like trickling spring. "W–when did you get here, Lady Mira?"

"About twenty minutes. I saw you busy and waited."

Twenty minutes... that meant she’d watched from the start, like an owl in a pine.

Pengpeng remembered humming silly tunes while grinding rust, carefree as a street sparrow. Shame surged like wildfire, and she wished she could burrow into the ground like a mole. Her head overheated and stalled like a pot at full boil. Breathing felt tight, like a knot pulled too hard.

Silence settled like dust.

To Pengpeng’s surprise, the one to sweep it away was the cool, gold-haired woman herself.

"Why are you polishing the swing?"

The normal question stunned Pengpeng like a drop of rain on hot iron. She answered on instinct. "If it’s not smooth, the little ones’ hands might get cut by rust."

Her face held mild confusion, as if this were as obvious as daylight. She didn’t notice the ripple of thought crossing Mira’s eyes like wind across a lake.

Even if she had, she couldn’t know that this woman, aloof as a magazine Elf, was tugged back by memory. Mira remembered a cage crammed with a dozen orphans, remembered iron mesh rusted like dried blood, remembered palms torn raw like bark.

Mira shut her eyes like closing a fan, exhaled a thin breath like mist, and reopened them with calm light.

"So, everything here... you maintain it?"

Pengpeng nodded, dull as a struck drum. Mira let her gaze wander like a slow river. It was her first time truly looking: a swing set missing one swing, a slide dented like a bent reed, a wooden door newly painted like fresh lacquer, a brass handle tied with string so small hands could twist it, a fountain that no longer ran but shone like polished stone.

The orphanage was old, like autumn wood. Yet it wasn’t shabby; it held a careful warmth, fine-grained as woven straw.

"Um, so... did you come to me for something, Lady Mira?"

Pengpeng couldn’t read the tide in Mira’s eyes; she asked, timid as a mouse. Mira drew her gaze back like a net.

"Do you know the Elf apothecary nearby?"

"Huh? You’re going to an Elf apothecary?" Only then did Pengpeng notice Mira wore Elf ears like moonblades. "But Lady Varie said Elves can recognize your hair."

"I dyed it. They won’t notice now."

Pengpeng looked at the gold hair, a shade deeper like honey at dusk, and believed without thinking, simple as a chick. She blurted out the address, and only when Mira turned and left like wind did she realize she hadn’t asked why.

She didn’t need to. The answer arrived like a bell.

"Eh? These are... Crimson Blood Pills?!"

Half an hour later, Mira came back with a rectangular gift box, silk wrapping glimmering like water. Through a clear window, round golden pills sat in rows, bright as coins in sunlight. They clashed with the old orphanage like gold in a clay bowl, and they lit a fire in Pengpeng’s eyes like dawn.

"Th–that’s perfect! With these, Copato’s illness has hope!"

She jumped in place like a spring hare, then remembered the medicine was likely for Mira herself. She apologized in a flurry like falling leaves. Mira didn’t let the misunderstanding linger; she placed the box in Pengpeng’s arms like a warm brick. "They’re for Copato. Please deliver her dose each day."

She added, voice steady as a metronome. "Follow the instructions inside. Don’t halve it to save money. When this course ends, I’ll buy more."

Pengpeng froze, clutching the box like a raft. A moment ago, she had already decided—shameful as kneeling on gravel—to beg this guest to buy a second set, even if it stained clan honor like ink. For that child’s future, she would have crawled.

Now, pleading was needless. Yet the thought of that thin girl growing strong made Pengpeng’s knees drop like rain. Mira caught her before they hit the ground, hand firm as a branch.

"Th–thank you! I don’t know how to repay—"

"No need. I’m doing this for myself."

"Huh?"

Mira’s gaze drifted like a cloud. She steadied Pengpeng, then sighed as soft as wind. "My sister’s student has been spacing out lately, mind wrapped around her new friend like vine. Twice her spell arrays nearly bit back."

She glanced toward her small courtyard like peeking into bamboo. Inside, someone sensed something and let out a tiny, adorable sneeze like a kitten.

"In short, study is her top priority now. I don’t want her distracted, so..."

Pengpeng cut in, words pattering like quick rain. "Got it! I’ll double the discipline on the little ones. I’ll keep the peace like a quiet pond. Please rest easy, Lady Mira!"

Mira frowned faintly, a line like a reed. She added, "No need to go that far." But Pengpeng had already thumped her chest like a drum and pledged. Mira let it be, said a brief farewell like closing a book, and returned to her room.

That night, pen in hand like a twig, she wrote to Adelaide. At the end of her new “material,” she added a question like a small knot. Should I use a different reason? Will saying it this way end up limiting Anta’s chances to make friends?

Worry rocked her like a boat, and she nearly lost another night to wakefulness. Yet before the letter flew, the knot untied itself like silk.

She hadn’t expected the Crimson Blood Pills to work that fast, sharp as dawn light. Nor that Copato, the blue-haired cat-eared girl, was not truly quiet by nature. The gloom was just a symptom, like shade under noon trees.

Next morning, while Mira guided Anta’s magic practice like tending a garden, rustling came from outside like a mouse searching for the rice jar.

It was small at first, like drizzle. She ignored it. The owner mistook her silence for permission, and the stealthy steps grew bold like a strutting crow. The sound swelled, and soon there were two, the clatter like a sparrow fight.

At last, when one voice growled, "Come back with me!" like thunder under a low cloud, Mira stood. Two steps took her to the door; she opened it like a fan.

There was Pengpeng, face stormy as a summer sky, and a blue-haired cat-eared girl wriggling like a fish, Pengpeng gripping her collar.

"Anta!!"

"Copato! You can walk!"

Anta heard the cry and ran out like a stream breaking a dam. Pengpeng had to drop Copato; the two little ones collided and rolled on the ground like puppies, laughing. Pengpeng looked at Mira, awkward as a crane.

"I really warned them not to bother you, but this cub is too wild. The moment her health improved, she clamored to find your sister’s student. I even locked her up, and she still slipped out while I was cooking, like smoke."

Pengpeng rattled on, nerves tight as violin strings. Mira didn’t show impatience. Instead, her expression softened like evening light.

"It’s fine. Anta’s far beyond what her age calls for. A little slack is good."

The flip from yesterday stunned Pengpeng like a cold splash. Study first, wasn’t it?

"Um, isn’t that bad? If she keeps this up, it’ll disrupt your lessons, like wind in a lamp."

Mira’s softness thinned like gauze, and she fell quiet, thinking. Just then, Anta ran over and grabbed her hand, light as a bird.

"Then let Copato attend class with me! I promise I won’t get distracted!"

She swung Mira’s hand back and forth like a swing. Her big wet eyes brimmed like a pond. The blue-haired cat-eared girl grabbed Mira’s other hand and shouted, "I swear! I’ll be good, I won’t interrupt. Please let me study and play with Anta!"

You little cat, enough! Stop fussing! — Pengpeng clenched her teeth and pinched Copato’s scruff, lifting her into the air like a kitten. She was ready to march home and educate her with a rolling pin like a thunderstick.

Mira’s voice came from behind like cool shade. "It’s alright, Pengpeng."

"Eh?"

Pengpeng turned. Mira shook her head, and Pengpeng’s hand let go like a loosened knot.

Freed, Copato scampered back to Anta like a dart and hugged her tight. Mira watched them, eyes gentled like spring water, and patted both heads like smoothing silk.

"Finding Anta a study partner... that’s not a bad thing."

Pengpeng’s jaw dropped like a stone.